Covenant (34 page)

            Many of them waved at the passing convoy.  Ordinarily, he would have lowered the glass and returned the greetings of his loyal flock, but he kept the window sealed, quietly ruminating on how blissfully ignorant they were of the tenuous position in which their Kingdom found itself. 

            He turned to the Director.  The military man was seated next to him, brow furrowed in thought. 

            “Noah Cutty was indeed zealous, as you promised he was,” Bishop Prince said.  “I pray that he’s competent as well.”

            “Cutty should have no major issues collecting Thorne, sir.  I expect we’ll have Thorne in our custody before nightfall.”   

            The Director’s original plan had been to simply eliminate Thorne, but that morning, the chief technology servant had contacted them with the disturbing news that the Judas’ treachery ran deeper than they had thought.  According to recent investigative traces of their database, the Judas had plundered their most confidential data sources and copied volumes of highly combustible data onto a storage device of some kind—including explicit details about their most classified project, Revelation.   

Revelation.
  The intricately layered, holy vision that had come to Bishop Prince in a dream several years ago, the execution of which he and the Director had been toiling and scheming ever since.  If the plans leaked into the wrong hands, there was no telling the havoc Satan could wreak on the Kingdom.

            Common sense suggested that the Judas had given the storage device to Thorne.  Eliminating Thorne would prove of no consequence if he had passed his information to others.  A thorough interrogation was in order—and though Bishop Prince had never participated in such affairs in the past, the threat they faced was so acute that he might question Thorne himself.

            “You understand my concerns, yes?” Bishop Prince said.  “The Judas could expose our work.”         

            “He wouldn’t have transferred the data to Thorne at their meeting,” the Director said.  “That would’ve been too risky, for both of them.  He’ll be leading Thorne to it.  That’s how he operates—that’s how he was
trained
.”  

            “By you,” Bishop Prince said. 

            The Director accepted the rebuke with a shrug.  He was the only man on earth who could have gotten away with a response like that in the bishop’s presence, and he knew it. 

            “We should assign more men to this mission,” Bishop Prince said.  “We have a force of hundreds.  Why are we entrusting a task of this magnitude to one agent and his female partner when we could dispatch an entire team to capture Thorne right now?”

            The Director’s eyes hardened.  “As you should be aware, sir, we’ve always used two-agent teams for domestic missions.  It gives us a measure of anonymity.  A squad of say, five of our vehicles boxing in Thorne somewhere and attempting to apprehend him could be a public relations disaster.  Thorne isn’t an average civilian—the man’s a Marine, not long out of service, heavily armed, and you hit him with lots of firepower, he’s going to hit back.”  The Director smacked his fist against the palm of his hand, causing Bishop Prince to flinch slightly.   “You want some snot-nosed brat with a camera phone recording video of a major shootout between him and our agents, and posting it online for the whole world to see?  Or perhaps you’d like to see those vultures in the TV news crews coptering over the scene and talking up every eyewitness within five miles?  Best of all, how about we mistakenly kill a few innocent civilians in the process, create some nice collateral damage? Too many variables can go haywire with deploying a large unit—and that’s why I don’t allow it.”

            “We have monitoring capabilities online, and contacts in the media.  We could shut down any story before it spread, clean up any fallout.”

            “I will handle this my way.”  The Director’s mouth was a sharp line.  “You preach your sermons—I keep your ass safe.  That affirmative with you? 
Sir
?”

            Bishop Prince paused.  “I don’t appreciate your tone, Director.  Remember your place.”

            The Director’s fists had been clenched, his jaw tight.  He blew out a hiss of air.           

            “I’m sorry, your grace,” the Director said.  “This is a tough spot for all of us.  I ask only that you trust me as you have in the past, and relax.  We’ve dealt with breaches like this before.  We must remember, God is on our side, and no weapon used against us will hurt us.”

            He smiled at the Director’s paraphrased scripture.  The Director was not known for his Biblical erudition.  Bishop Prince wondered if the man ever cracked open the book at all.  

            “God can speak through the most unlikely mouths, I see,” Bishop Prince said.

            The Director shrugged, offered a rare smile.       

            The motorcade arrived at the tall wrought-iron gates of his mansion.  The agents at the guard booth waved them through, and the vehicles entered the long, wide, curving driveway.

            “Do you wish for me to remain on the premises, sir?” the Director asked. 

            “That won’t be necessary.  Contact me with any updates you receive.”

            Bishop Prince glanced at his Piaget watch.  The Swiss timepiece featured an eighteen-carat white gold case and bracelet set with baguette and trapeze-cut diamonds, a dial with trapeze and brilliant-cut diamonds, and a winding crown set with round brilliants.  Priced at over a quarter of a million dollars, the watch had been a present from a European financier who wanted Bishop Prince to guarantee that his soul would be conveyed to heaven after his death—a destination the bishop had assured him was his upon receiving the gift.  He who gives greatly to the man of God shall receive greatly from God, too.

            It was eleven o’clock.

            He just remembered: he had a date with an angel. 

62

            “An anagram,” Anthony said.  “You mean a word that, if you switch the letters around, can form another word, right?”

            “Exactly.  A single word, a phrase—any of them can be used to create an anagram.”

            He slid his chair beside hers and studied the small letters arrayed on the table.

E L E L M R W O A Y K R

            “Each letter comes from the name ‘Kelley Marrow,’ ” she said.  “We’ve found out that this Bible never actually belonged to the girl, so Bob must’ve meant to use her name as a code to shed light on these highlighted scriptures.”

            “Do we have to use all of the letters?”

            “That’s usually how it works.  You have to use every letter in the original word or phrase, and you can use the letter only once in the new word.  For example, ‘parental’ and ‘paternal’ is an anagram.  So is ‘eleven plus two’ and ‘twelve plus one.’ ”

            “Now I know why I asked you to handle this stuff.”

            “Come on, you ought to be better at this than I am, baby.  You’re the writer.  Words are your stock in trade.”

            “Stories are my stock in trade.  The words are only a method to communicate my meaning.”

            “Just like Bob’s anagram.”   

            She began to move the squares around the table.  He picked up the Bible and paged through it. 

            There were hundreds of verses highlighted in several colors.  Which, when strung together sequentially, made no coherent sense, as they’d learned from their tedious efforts to transcribe some of them last night.

Think, dammit.  What is Bob trying to tell us?

            He swung the laptop toward him and powered it on.  Lisa ignored him; she was submerged in concentration, hands flying as she arranged and re-arranged letters.

            He restored the Internet connection.  On Google, he entered the search term:
anagram.
   

            Over a million results popped up.  He selected a site that featured something called an anagram server.

            He skimmed the Web site.  The anagram server would create an anagram from the word of your choice, or assist in decoding one, for free. 

            In the Decode field, he typed: KELLEY MARROW.

            Within a few seconds, the server returned a list of thirty-seven possible results.  He read the list.

            “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. 

            “What is it?” Lisa asked.  She looked up.  She was grinning.

            “I think we’ve got our answer.  What’re you smiling about?”

            “Why don’t we compare?”

            He read the letters she had configured.  Her solution was the same answer the anagram server had placed at the top of the list.

YELLOW MARKER

            “That’s the one I found online,” he said.  “I used an anagram generator Web site.”

            “I used this.”  She tapped her head.  “Good old-fashioned brain power.  No computer can compare.”

            “I think it was Einstein who said that he didn’t know the answer for everything, he just knew where to go to find it.”  He opened the Bible and sped through the pages.  “If I ever see Bob again, I’m gonna give him a gold medal for cleverness.  Marking up all these passages in different colors, making it look like some studious teenager’s Bible—that was a stroke of genius.”

            “What’s the first verse highlighted in yellow?” she asked.

            “Just a minute.”  He turned a page so frantically that he tore the corner. 

            He located the first passage outlined in yellow marker.  It was Genesis 34:1-2.  He read it aloud:

And Dinah the daughter of Leah, which she bare unto Jacob, went out to see the daughters of the land.  And when Shechem the son of Hamor the Hivite, prince of the country, saw her, he took her, and lay with her, and defiled her.

            They had read the same verse last night, and it had meant nothing to him.  But reviewing it this morning brought gooseflesh to his arms.

            Lisa chewed her bottom lip.  “I don’t get it.  Do you?”

            But he hardly heard Lisa—Susie Marrow’s words were whispering through his thoughts:
After what happened to my baby?  After what that terrible man who calls himself a prophet did to her?

            He dug Bishop Prince’s book out of his satchel.  He stared at that face.  That disturbingly familiar face.

. . . he took her, and lay with her, and defiled her.

            And he realized, at last, the terrible truth.

            Hands trembling, he fumbled out his cell phone.

            “What is it?” Lisa asked.  “Who’re you calling?”

            “The one who can give us the answers we’ve been looking for,” he said.  “My sister.”

63

            On the fourth ring, Reuben answered the phone at the house in Decatur.  Hip-hop boomed in the background. 

            “Reuben, it’s your Uncle Tony.  Turn down that music, will you?”

            “My bad.”  The music’s volume dropped several decibels.  “Wassup, Unc?  I been working on that press release blaster thing for you since the crack of dawn, man.  Be done soon, today prob’ly.”

            Anthony had to concentrate for a moment to remember what the hell the kid was talking about.  The press release blaster.  The program he’d asked Reuben to create, to help promote his books.  It was as if he’d the conversation about it with his nephew in a previous life.

            “Thanks, Reuben.  I appreciate it.  Listen, is your mom around?”

            “Nah.  She spent the night with some dude.   She got her celly with her, though.”

            “She never answers when I call her cell.”

            “Just keep blowing her phone up.  I gotta do that sometimes to get her.”

            “That’s what I’ll do then.”

            “You got a new number or something, Unc?  I never seen the number you’re calling from.”

            “What’s your mom’s cell number?” he asked, ignoring the question.  “I don’t have it memorized.”

            Reuben gave him the number.  Anthony scribbled the digits on a notepad. 

            “You all right, man?” Reuben asked.  “You sound kinda uptight or something.”

            “I can’t get into it right now.”  A troubling thought occurred to him.  “Hey, why don’t you go to a friend’s place for the rest of the day?  Somewhere you can chill out.”

            “Huh?”

            “Reuben, I don’t have time to explain.  Just do it.”

            “But I’m working on this code, man.  Can I stay another hour?”

            “Fine, one more hour.  Then go.  And be careful.  Call me at this number when you’re settled.”

            He terminated the call and punched in Danielle’s number.  After five rings, voice mail picked up.  He hung up and called again, fingers drumming the table, Lisa watching him with a befuddled expression. 

            On the third attempt, Danielle finally answered in a scratchy voice.  “Who the hell keeps calling me?”           

            “It’s me, Tony.  We’ve gotta talk.  Right away, and in person.  Where are you?”

            “Boy, you done lost your goddamn mind?  You having some kinda war flashback or what?”

            “We’re coming to pick you up.  Give me an address.  Please, Danny, it’s important.”     

            She muttered something under her breath about his rudeness, but she gave him an address in Stone Mountain, which he jotted down. 

            “What’s this all about, anyway?” she asked.  “You talkin’ crazy, Junior.”

            “We’ll be there within an hour.” He hung up before she could ask more questions.     

            “Now, will you please tell me what’s going on?” Lisa asked.

            “I’ll tell you on the way,” he said, gathering their things.  “Let’s move out.”