The Hammer of Eden

He squeezed her hand gratefully. “I just hope he’s okay now.”

“Yeah.”

Drifting off to sleep, Judy kept hold of his hand.

* * *

They all met up at five A.M. in the Eureka office of the FBI. As well as the local resident agents, there were representatives from the town’s police department and the county sheriff’s office. The FBI always liked to involve local law enforcement personnel in a raid — it was a way of maintaining good relations with people whose help they often needed.

There were four residential communes in Humboldt County listed in Communities Directory: A Guide to Cooperative Living. The FBI database had revealed a fifth, and local knowledge had added two more.

One of the local FBI agents pointed out that the commune known as Phoenix Village was only eight miles from the site of a proposed nuclear power plant. Judy’s pulse accelerated when she heard that, and she led the group that raided Phoenix.

As she approached the location, in a Humboldt County sheriff’s cruiser at the head of a convoy of four cars, her tiredness fell away. She felt keen and energetic again. She had failed to prevent the Felicitas earthquake, but she could make sure there was not another.

The entrance to Phoenix was a side turning off a country road, marked by a neat painted sign showing a bird rising from flames. There was no gate or guard. The cars roared into the settlement on a well-made road and pulled up around a traffic circle. The agents leaped out of the cars and fanned out through the houses. Each had a copy of the picture of Melanie and Dusty that Michael kept on his desk.

She’s here, somewhere, probably in bed with Ricky Granger, sleeping after the exertions of yesterday. I hope they’re having bad dreams.

The village looked peaceful in the early light. There were several barnlike buildings plus a geodesic dome. The agents covered front and back entrances before knocking on the doors. Near the traffic circle, Judy found a map of the village painted on a board, listing the houses and other buildings. There was a shop, a massage center, a mailroom, and an auto repair shop. As well as fifteen houses, the map showed pasture, orchards, playgrounds, and a sports field.

It was cool in the morning this far north, and Judy shivered, wishing she had worn something heavier than her linen pantsuit.

She waited for the shout of triumph that would tell her an agent had identified Melanie. Michael paced around the traffic circle, his whole body stiff with tension. What a shock, to learn that your wife has become a terrorist, the kind of person a cop would shoot and everyone would cheer. No wonder he’s tense. It’s a miracle he isn’t banging his head against the wall.

Next to the map was a village notice board. Judy read about a folk dance workshop that was being organized to raise funds for the Expanding Light Fireplace fund. These people had an air of harmlessness that was remarkably plausible.

The agents entered every building and looked in every room, moving rapidly from house to house. After a few minutes a man came out of one of the larger houses and walked across to the traffic circle. He was about fifty, with disheveled hair and beard, wearing homemade leather sandals and a rough blanket around his shoulders. He said to Michael: “Are you in charge here?”

Judy said: “I’m in charge.”

He turned to her. “Would you please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“I’d be glad to,” she said crisply. “We’re looking for this woman.” She held out the photo.

The man did not take it from her. “I’ve already seen that,” he said. “She’s not one of us.”

Judy had a depressing feeling that he was telling the truth.

“This is a religious community,” he said with mounting indignation. “We’re law-abiding citizens. We don’t use drugs. We pay our taxes and obey local ordinances. We don’t deserve to be treated like criminals.”

“We just have to be sure this woman is not hiding out here.”

“Who is she, and why do you think she’s here? Or is it just that you assume people who live in communes are suspect?”

“No, we don’t make that assumption,” Judy said. She was tempted to snap at the guy, but she reminded herself that she had woken him up at six o’clock in the morning. “This woman is part of a terrorist group. She told her estranged husband she was living in a commune in Humboldt County. We’re sorry we have to wake up everyone in every commune in the county, but I hope you can understand that it is very important. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t have disturbed you, and, frankly, we wouldn’t have put ourselves to so much trouble.”

He looked at her keenly, then nodded, his attitude changing. “Okay,” he said. “I believe you. Is there anything I can do to make your job easier?”

She thought for a moment. “Is every building in your community marked on this map?”

“No,” he said. “There are three new houses on the west side just beyond the orchard. But please try to be quiet — there’s a new baby in one of them.”

“Okay.”

Sally Dobro, a middle-aged woman agent, came up. “I think we’ve checked every building here,” she said. “There’s no sign of any of our suspects.”

Judy said: “There are three houses west of the orchard — did you find those?”

“No,” Sally said. “Sorry. I’ll do it right away.”

“Go quietly,” Judy said. “There’s a new baby in one.”

“You got it.”

Sally went off, and the man in the blanket nodded his appreciation.

Judy’s mobile phone rang. She answered and heard the voice of Agent Frederick Tan. “We’ve just checked out every building in the Magic Hill commune. Zilch.”

“Thanks, Freddie.”

In the next ten minutes the other raid leaders called her.

They all had the same message.

Melanie Quercus was not to be found.

Judy sank into a pit of despair. “Hell,” she said. “I screwed it up.”

Michael was equally dismayed. He said fretfully: “Do you think we’ve missed a commune?”

“Either that, or she lied about the location.”

He looked thoughtful. “I’m just remembering the conversation,” he said. “I asked her where she was living, but he answered the question.”

Judy nodded. “I think he lied. He’s smart like that.”

“I’ve just remembered his name,” Michael said. “She called him Priest.”

19

On Saturday morning at breakfast, Dale and Poem stood up in the cookhouse in front of everyone and asked for quiet. “We have an announcement,” Poem said.

Priest thought she must be pregnant again. He got ready to cheer and clap and make the short congratulatory speech that would be expected of him. He felt full of exuberance. Although he had not yet saved the commune, he was close. His opponent might not be out for the count, but he was down on the canvas, struggling to stay in the fight.

Poem hesitated, then looked at Dale. His face was solemn. “We’re leaving the commune today,” he said.

There was a shocked silence. Priest was dumbstruck. People did not leave, not unless he wanted them to. These folk were under his spell. And Dale was the oenologist, the key man in winemaking. They could not afford to lose him.