He knew what he had to do: push forward, press on, and, worst case, live to fight another day. It was what he was trained for. He thought back to Jackson Drucker and the rest of his men, thought of their chewed-up bodies littering that Iraqi ghost town, thought about how he’d failed them all. But he’d lived and he was fighting on, and he had to keep doing that. And that didn’t involve him spending any more time in that ER ward than he had to. Which is why, less than an hour after they’d finished patching him up, he was already outside the hospital and making his way to downtown Houston.
Chapter 81
They were still debriefing Father Jerome by the time dawn finally made its appearance over the western suburb of Houston, all five of them—Matt, Gracie, Rydell, Danny, and Dalton—helping each other out in the difficult task of telling the frail old man how the last twelve months of his life had been one big lie.
They told him about Rydell’s original plan. About the smart dust and the launchers and the planet reaching its tipping point. About Drucker’s taking hold of it and perverting it to his agenda. Then they got into the more sensitive topic of what Drucker’s people had done to him. The treatments. The drugs. The LRAD talking to him up on the top of the mountain. And with every new revelation, with every additional detail, his bony shoulders sagged further and the creases in his weathered face got deeper.
By the end of it, he looked thoroughly bewildered, but he was holding up better than Gracie had expected. She’d been worried about how he would take it, but he hadn’t fallen apart. He’d seen a lot in this life, she reminded herself. Bad things. More than most people could ever imagine. For all his physical frailty, the man seemed to have a remarkable inner strength. And yet . . . surely, it all had to be devastating, she told herself. Then she remembered his comment on the plane, and wondered what his inner voice had been telling him all along.
“The voice on the mountain,” he finally said, looking vaguely into the distance. “It was amazing. Even though it didn’t make sense that it could actually be happening to me, it felt so . . . real. Like it was inside my head. Like it knew what I was thinking.”
“That’s because they put those thoughts in your head in the first place,” Gracie told him, her tone careful and soft.
Father Jerome nodded, a sanguine acceptance darkening his face. He sighed heavily, and after a moment, he lifted his gaze toward Rydell. “And you’re going to say it was all your idea?”
Rydell nodded.
Father Jerome’s brow furrowed with a dubious shrug.
Gracie caught it. Her eyes darted across to Matt, who seemed to catch it too, then she swung back to the priest. “What is it?”
The priest didn’t answer. He seemed to be in his own world, processing everything he’d been told, weighed down by it all.
“I’m tired,” he finally said in a hollow voice. “I need to rest.”
GRACIE AND DALTON retreated to their room, Rydell to his. In the fourth room, Danny and Matt stretched out on their beds, staring at the ceiling, sharing a moment of peaceful reflection. They’d caught the early morning news on the in-room TV. The top story was, as expected, the sign’s appearance over Darby’s mansion and the subsequent frenzy, but there was no mention of Father Jerome going missing. So far, they were keeping it quiet.
After a while, Danny asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“Same thing you’re thinking about,” Matt said.
“Drucker?”
Matt replied by way of a slight grunt.
“It just really gets my goat, you know?” Danny said. “The idea that he might weasel out of this without damage.”
“Look, the guy’s a dirt bag, no argument. But there’s not much we can do, short of putting a bullet through his skull.”
Danny didn’t answer.
After a beat, Matt asked, quite matter-of-factly, “You want to go put a bullet through his skull?”
Danny tilted his head to one side, gave Matt a maybe look, then stared at the ceiling again. “Not really my style.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“But if Rydell doesn’t take care of him in a big way, I might want to reconsider.”
“We could grab him and lock him up in my cellar for a couple of years as payback,” Matt remarked flatly. “Just feed him dog food and toilet water.”
Danny pursed his lips and nodded, mock-mulling it over. “Nice to know we’ve got options,” he said with a smile.
Matt tilted his head over to him. “It’s good to have you back, man.”
Danny nodded warmly, then turned to stare at the ceiling. “It’s good to be back.”
IN HIS ROOM, Rydell wasn’t staring at any ceiling. He was pacing around, racking his brain, trying to think of another way out. He needed to call Rebecca. He needed to hear her voice. He checked the clock on his cell phone. It was still too early on the West Coast. Especially for Rebecca. That thought brought an inkling of a smile to his face. It also released a tear that trickled down his cheek.
He wiped it off with his sleeve and sat down on the edge of the bed. What an end, he thought. Everything he’d achieved. A true master of the universe, self-made, from nothing. And it was all about to be flushed down the toilet.
He had to talk to Rebecca. He tapped an R into his contacts list, pulled up her number. Poised his finger on the call button. But couldn’t do it. Not because of the time difference. Because he didn’t know what to tell her.
He set the phone back down next to him, felt his eyes filming over, and watched his hands shiver.
IT WAS ALMOST NOON when Matt stepped out of his room to hit the vending machine again. Gracie was out there too, leaning against the grille of the Navigator, a cold can of Coke in her hand. He downed some coins and pulled out a can of his own. Snapped the lid open, took a long sip, and joined her.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked.
“Nope.” She smiled. “My body clock’s so out of whack I don’t even know what day it is.”
“It’s the day after Christmas,” Matt said with a knowing smile.
“Really?” She grinned and looked around. “Not exactly a white one this year, huh?”
Matt nodded. Took another sip. Said, “You should get some rest. You’re about to have the most intense few months of your life. Of anyone’s life.”
“What, even worse than the last few days?” she quipped.
“Oh yeah.” He shrugged. “That was a cakewalk.”
“Some cakewalk,” she said, dreamily. She caught his glance, then looked away, staring through the scenery around them, her mind wandering off.
“What?” he prodded.
She shrugged. After a quiet moment, she said, “It seems like such a waste, don’t you think?”
“What?”
“All those people, at the stadium. Around the world. Hanging on his every word. Singing. Praying. Did you ever hear anything like that in your life?”
He didn’t reply.
“They were loving it. They loved believing in him. They were lifted by it. I know, it’s primitive and it’s cultish and it’s even a bit creepy, but somehow, some part of me thought it was beautiful. For a moment there, they were all happy. They’d forgotten about their problems and their jobs and their mortgages and everything that was wrong in their lives. They were happy and they were hopeful. He gave them all hope.”
“False hope,” Matt corrected.