“Right,” he said tightly, opening his door. “Come on.”
They got out and looked around. It was neither a fancy, high-rent business district, nor an old, run-down neighborhood. The office buildings were moderate in size and age, of the windowy block style that hadn’t changed much in a hundred years. Dave and Kathy walked right to the one supposedly housing the First New Testament Gospel World Fellowship Church.
In the lobby, they found a directory of the offices. It had no listing for the church itself. However, Dave spotted a line reading, “First New Testament Gospel World Fellowship, Nathan Routledge, Pres.”
Dave looked at Kathy. “Who’s he?”
“Um—I’ve seen his name in the credits of the show,” Kathy said. “I think he’s some kind of manager.”
The room number puzzled Dave, till Kathy realized it was a flight down, at the back of the building. As they worked their way through the halls, they passed a dentist, an optometrist, a hair-care shop that specialized in gold-plating hair, a computerized custom shoe-crafting shop, and other services. Dave also saw specialty stores, such as one that dealt in antique handmade “pearl shell” buttons—Dave knew they were made of freshwater mussel shells. Their greatgrandfather had worked as a button-cutter in Westphalia, many years before; maybe this place had some of old Morris’s buttons. Most of the people they saw in the halls seemed to be customers of the hair-care shop.
“Maybe this is the business office of the church,” Kathy said hopefully, looking again at the slip of paper as they walked.
“I still can’t figure out where that big church is.”
Dave led her down a flight of stairs and found the unpretentious door to the “Fellowship.” Inside, they found a tiny reception room with an attractive, primly-dressed holographic receptionist behind her desk against the far wall, making the room seem twice as big as it was.
“How may I help you?” the holorec inquired politely.
“Um—we want to see Rev’ren’ Jason Matthew Wayne,” Kathy said hesitantly.
The holorec had not smiled. “I’m sorry, the Reverend is busy at the moment and can’t be disturbed. Did you have an appointment?”
“Um, no. We came all the way from Missouri—”
“You can arrange a visit with the Reverend by a simple phone call. There will be a small fee, of course, unless it’s a local call. I tell you what. Why don’t you go back to your hotel and call the Fellowship number, and have him visit you there?”
“We already interviewed him by phone,” Dave said stiffly. “We want to speak to him in person.”
“I’m very sorry. You understand, the Reverend has so many followers that, as much as he would like to, he can’t see all of them personally. But he will make time for you, I assure you. In any case, he will pray for you. May I have your names and your problem, so he can pray for you?”
“He already is,” said Dave shortly. “We’ll be going.”
He tugged Kathy toward the door. She looked at him questioningly, but said nothing till they were out in the hall again. He pulled her a few steps away from the door and stopped.
“Don’t you want him to pray for you?” She sounded puzzled.
“He already is,” Dave repeated hotly. “Look, we’re not going to get through that setup; she’s a computer simulation, and you don’t argue with computers.” His voice dropped despondently. “Besides, what she said makes sense. The Reverend can’t just drop everything and see everybody who shows up on his doorstep.”
“Call him and ask for a personal appointment?”
“The only number we have will get the same computer—it’ll still tell us, phone interviews only.”
Kathy thought a moment. “Maybe we could stay over till Sunday and go see him at the Fellowship Church services.”
“If we can find it.” Dave looked at her, then glanced up and down the hall. “Still, maybe you have something—they have a lot of space here, a whole corner of the building. Maybe they have services here. You know, those shows are heavily recorded and cut and patched. There must be a studio involved.”
“Davey, what are you saying? That the church is fake?”
“Not fake. But it could be a studio set. The services could be in a fairly small room, with only a few in the congregation.”
“A small congregation.” Kathy brightened. “We’d have a real good chance of speaking to him, if we could get in!”
“Yeah. But I didn’t see any announcements anywhere of services. There wasn’t anything on the building directory or in the lobby and there’s nothing here.”
“I didn’t see one in the reception room, either.” She frowned. “Maybe it’s by invitation only. Like, for the Reverend Wayne’s original supporters, or if he worked a miracle on you.”
They looked around gloomily for a moment.
“Wait a minute,” said Dave. At the end of the hall, he saw an exit sign over a door. “Let’s have a look.” He walked briskly down the hall, with Kathy at his side.
He pushed open the door and found a loading area, built into the lower level of a slope. A couple of trucks were backed up to the dock. No one was in sight.
“Maybe we can get in the back way.” He led her outside.
On the dock, Dave found that the First New Testament Gospel World Fellowship Church had its own delivery door. He wasn’t sure exactly what he would find behind it, but he had worked in a factory most of his adult life and knew something about loading docks and security. Receptionists and executives made him uncomfortable, but here where the real work took place, he should find the kind of people he knew. With a deep breath, he yanked the door open and stepped inside. Kathy followed.
Inside, a uniformed guard sat in a walled booth behind a security window, regarding them with arms folded.
A live guard, Dave quickly realized; a hologram would not need a security booth. He was a handsome young fellow with a mustache, wearing a trig uniform in Confederate gray with butternut piping. The blue armpatch Said ATLANTA CENTURY SECURITY, INC., and his ID badge showed a picture of him and his name, MARCUS GENTRY.
“What can I do fer you?” Marcus Gentry asked through a speaker. He looked bored.
Dave suspected he was glad to see them break his routine. “We have a private delivery for—” Dave paused; he almost mentioned the Reverend, but that had gone nowhere.
“President Nathan Routledge,” Kathy said suddenly, pretending to read it off the slip of paper in her hand.
“He don’t come and go by this door. You tried the front office?”
Dave’s heart pounded. He wasn’t used to lying his way around, but this was for Trippy. “We aren’t like National Express, you know? It’s just a delivery.”
Marcus Gentry still hadn’t moved. “I’ll see he gets it. Where is it, anyhow?” He looked pointedly at Dave’s empty hands.
“He’s got to sign for it.” Dave slapped his hip pocket suggestively.
“I’ll sign for it.”
“We got to witness Mr. Routledge signing it,” Kathy said earnestly. “That’s why they sent two of us.”
Marcus Gentry frowned at her thoughtfully, then punched into his phone console with one hand and hooked a light phoneset over his head with the other. When he pushed another button, all sound coming through the speaker from his side of the booth stopped. He spoke into the phone briefly.
Dave knew he and Kathy had stumbled onto the right story. The guard’s job was to keep out people with no business here, but he could not risk sending away people who might be expected by the president of these offices. Marcus Gentry was passing the problem up the line to someone else.
As Dave watched anxiously, the guard hung up and turned the sound back on again.
“Mr. Routledge is not available,” said Marcus Gentry formally. “His secretary is not expecting you. What does this concern?”