“We have to find these leaders. What we’ve discovered is bigger than the murders of CIA agents. It’s bigger than extraordinary rendition of American citizens. It’s fucking Orwellian. Time to locate the architects of this death squad. These men have to be put away for life; they’re more dangerous than Miguel’s killers. They’re a cancer inside the body of our government.”
That was it. The old soldier was right. Their anger and passion were critical. Once they were freed tonight, he would enhance and direct that outrage. He would drive them forward to use all their connections and energies. They would uncover the rats hiding underground and pursue them.
And he would be following.
46
Houston sat down next to Lopez in the cell. The motion was awkward, their arms and legs chained. They were isolated from all the other detainees in the small police station, the guards giving them a wide berth. It was like they had the plague or were considered otherwise extremely dangerous. It was almost comical, the reality ruining any jest at the absurdity.
Others arrested in nearby cells stared over at them with a macabre interest. Already they could hear whispers. The most common phrase was the priest and the whore. Tabloid trash. Their new identities. Houston sighed.
“Our one phone call — for nothing. I couldn’t reach him. No answer. I don’t know where he is.”
Fred Simon. Their only hope. “I’m sorry, Sara. We were close.”
“It can’t end like this, Francisco!” Her blue eyes pleaded and then closed tightly. She seemed to instill a forced calm over her emotions. “After what we know, what we’ve seen, the Agency will send someone. They’ll disappear us, render us, to a place that the light of day won’t reach. From what we know now of their program, they could even try to have us killed. The truth will be buried with us. These monsters will get away with it.”
Lopez hung his head. He saw no counterargument. Rationally, there was no way out. No hope. No reasonable way to end this nightmare.
For it is by faith that we walk and not by sight.
He heard the words of St. Paul, as clear as if the apostle had spoken them himself. Or is it just my mind, playing tricks on me? He could give a sermon on faith, but he didn’t seem to live it. He had told Houston that God would not abandon them, right before he was slandered and tossed out by the Church. It might have fit her expectations, but it was a deep challenge to his. Do I trust in God, or not? It wasn’t perhaps what Houston wanted to hear, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do.
“Then I’ll pray, Sara.”
Houston stared at him blankly.
The arresting officers had taken nearly everything when they booked them. The arrowhead pendant was gone. His cross, his rosary, both gone. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t sure he needed the strength of his older brother anymore, and God sure as hell didn’t need a string of beads. We need the beads, the pendants, the talismans.
He struggled off the bench and knelt down on the floor. The other prisoners stopped their chatter for a moment. Heads turned and glanced over in their direction. Some gathered along their bars as he prayed.
Lopez crossed himself. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord; Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Maria, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell; the third day He arose again from the dead. He ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and life everlasting. Amen.”
There was some laughter in adjoining cells. “Hey, man, it is the fucking Priest!” Another voice called, “You can have the priest! What I want is the whore! Yeah, baby, your turn next!” There were several hisses for quiet and more howls of laughter.
Lopez ignored them. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil.”
The lights went off. There was a distant sound of rumbling, almost like thunder, but not as expansive. “Damn!” called one voice in a neighboring cell, and then there was total silence. All the chatter ceased.
He paused a moment but decided to continue anyway. He crossed himself again, the chains rattling in the dark, preventing significant motion in his Sign of the Cross. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”
Emergency lights kicked in, bathing the room in a deep red. Lopez heard shouts and then gunfire. The prisoners around them began to panic, talking, then shouting in fear. Loud commands from officers could be heard over the din and on top of it all, more gunfire. Chaos was erupting throughout the station. He felt the building shudder and rock, the movement capped by the thunderous sound of an explosion.
He was about to begin the next prayer, when he felt a soft touch on his shoulder, accompanied by the rattling of chains.
“Francisco…” It was Houston.
Lopez opened his eyes, a shape in front of them coming into focus. A man stood outside their cell, silhouetted in the dim red of the emergency lighting. In his right hand was a gun.
Houston crouched next to him and put his hand in hers. “Sounds corny, but I’d rather die next to you, Francisco. Not alone over there.”
He held her hand, touching his forehead to hers. He resumed his prayer. “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.”
The man raised the gun and aimed at them.
“As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.”
A loud gunshot sounded, and Lopez tensed instinctively. The silhouette jerked suddenly, the head to the left, the body then dropping straight to the floor. Another shadow ran in from the right. Lopez could tell immediately that it was not a police uniform, but he could make out little of the shooter’s appearance.
“Francisco Lopez and Sara Houston?” the voice shouted earnestly.
Houston answered first. “Yes!”
“I was sent by Fred Simon! I’m here to get you out of this! We have to hurry — the entire station is under some kind of assault!”
He removed a set of keys and unlocked the cell, rushing beside them. Lopez saw a youngish man, perhaps in his thirties, well-built with short-cropped hair. Within seconds, he had freed them of the chains.
“Quickly, let’s go! I have a vehicle waiting for you outside!”
They didn’t need to be encouraged. Together, the three of them raced out of the detention floor and out a back exit as directed by Simon’s man. As they ran, they caught a glimpse of the carnage at the station. Fires were burning and spreading everywhere. They did not see a single officer standing. All were dead, splayed out at desks, on floors, many riddled with bullets. It was like a war zone.
“Through there!”
They crashed through an emergency exit door and found themselves in a parking lot behind the station. A black SUV was idling in front of the door.