which Andre and his crew had beaten the crap out of him was now a ninety-nine-cent store. Otherwise Kansas Avenue looked much the same. It was still filthy and decrepit, no place for the Renaissance Mission Congress. But the old clapboard building, still peeling, still deeply tarnished with mildew, did seem peculiarly appropriate for the First American Secular Revivalists.
Jack got out of the car and led Nina into the building that held so many memories for him.
Where there had once been pews and pulpits was now a large work space divided into cubicles by cheap, movable half walls, each equipped with a desk, cordless phone, computer terminal, and the like. A soft murmur of voices filled the area where once a choir had opened up their throats and their hearts to God.
The cubicles were filled by an eclectic army of men and women whose ages Jack judged to be from their early twenties to their late sixties. They all looked extraordinarily busy. Only a young girl glanced up as they went past.
Armitage-and presumably Peter Link-occupied a separate office, what had once been Reverend Myron Taske's rectory. Jack, in the center of the room, looked around. The huge armoire was still against one wall, Taske's battle-scarred desk was opposite, but everything else was different-modern, sleek, gleaming. Maybe it was the new furniture that made the room look so small, Jack thought. Or perhaps it was his memory playing tricks on him. Either way, as in the Langley Fields buildings, Jack felt a dislocation-as if he were both here and not here. He wondered if that was how Emma felt when she appeared in the backseat of his car.
By this time, Armitage was behind his desk. 'You said you wanted a list of members who had defected over the last eighteen months.'
Jack cleared his throat. 'That's right.'
Armitage nodded. 'I can do that.'
His fingertips flew over his computer keyboard, typing in the algorithm that would decrypt the FASR database. A moment later, he was scrolling down a list, cutting and pasting into a new document. He pressed a key, and the printer began to hum. Then it spit out two sheets of paper. Armitage leaned over, pulled them out of the hopper, handed them to Jack.
Jack was aware of Nina very close beside him, leaning in to read the list so easily, so effortlessly, he felt a stab of envy. For him it was a struggle of the first order. He concentrated in the way Reverend Taske had taught him, remembering the three-dimensional letters Taske had made for him, so Jack could feel them, understand their individual nature in order to recognize them in two dimensions, make sense of their sequences. The letters stopped swimming away from him, began to gather like fish around a coral reef. Jack began to read the names, slowly but accurately.
'See anyone you know?' Armitage asked.
Jack, concentrating fully, shook his head.
Nina looked around, said to Armitage, 'Honestly, I don't get what you're all about.'
'It's not so mysterious, despite what the talking heads on Fox News claim,' Armitage said. 'I and people like me don't want to live in a 'Christian nation,' we don't want members of the Administration to be anointing themselves with holy oil. Above all, we don't want a president who believes he's doing the will of God. We simply want the freedom to explore the unknown, wherever that might lead.'
'Where d'you stand on the human soul?'
'Several leading scientists around the world who are missionary secularists believe that what we call a soul is in fact electrical energy, that when the body dies, that energy lives on. That's one of the mysteries they're trying to solve.'
'And God?'
'God is a personal matter, Ms. Miller. Many of us believe absolutely in God, in whatever form. It's not God that we're fighting against. It's what's done in God's name by all the 'systems of religion.'
'Here, let me give you an example from history.' He rummaged around his desk until he found a hardcover book titled
'All Bibles and sacred codes have been the cause of the following errors:
That man has two really existing principles, viz., a body and a soul.
That Energy, called Evil, is alone from the body, and Reason, called Good, is alone from the soul.
But the following contraries to these are true:
Man has no body distinct from the Soul-for what is called body is that portion of the soul discerned by the five senses…
Energy is the only life, and is from body, and Reason is the bound or outward circumference of energy.'»
Armitage closed the book, set it aside. 'What William Blake is saying is that there is no evil inherent in human beings. I believe him. The story of the poisoned apple from the Tree of Knowledge is a fiction created by men who, from the first, sought power over others by keeping them ignorant.'
Nina said, 'Still, I don't understand your preoccupation with finding the meaning of things. What if there is no meaning?'
'Keeping yourself in ignorance is the Church's idea,' Armitage said calmly. 'Knowledge is wisdom, Ms. Miller. Wisdom is power. Power provides individuality.'
'It also feeds the ego,' Nina said. 'An excess of ego breeds chaos.'
'Come on.' Jack took Nina by the elbow, moved her toward the rectory door. 'This guy can debate you until Gabriel comes calling.' As he hustled her out the door, he said, 'Thanks for your help, Armitage.'
'Anytime.' Armitage was already back to work, scanning his e-mails.
'I just may take you up on that.' Jack closed the door softly behind him.
AS SOON as Jack and Nina left the FASR offices, a young woman in her early twenties got rid of her current call. She was pretty, dark of hair, fair of cheek. In fact, in looks, size, and age she was remarkably similar to the homeless girl Ronnie Kray had picked up off the street for the use of her left hand, the girl who was now moldering in his refrigerator.
The pretty FASR worker dialed a local number. Almost immediately, she heard the familiar male voice on the other end.
'Yes, Calla.'
'He just left,' Calla said into the receiver.
'You're certain it's him,' Kray said.
Calla looked down into the open drawer of her desk. Among the pens, pencils, erasers, paper clips, and spare staples was the small photo of Jack McClure Kray had given her. It had the same flat, slightly grainy look as the photos of Alli Carson that hung on the wall of Kray's house in Anacostia.
'Absolutely,' Calla said.
'Tonight. Same time, same place.' Kray broke the connection.
TWENTY — SIX'
'DDAMNIT!'
Secretary Dennis Paull rarely lost his temper, but as those who worked closely with him could attest, when he did fly into a rage, it was best to say, 'Yessir!' and get out of his way.
'Goddamnit to hell!' The Secretary of Homeland Security had his cell phone jammed so tightly to his head, circulation was being cut off to his ear. 'The occupants were roasted alive, then.'
He listened intently to the harried voice on the other end of the line. The call had come in just as he was about to go into a debriefing with the POTUS, the Secretary of State, and one of the ranking generals-he forgot who, they all looked, spoke, and thought alike-who had just returned from the successful arm-twisting of the Russian president, Yukin. The POTUS was jubilant. He told Paull to get his fanny over to the West Wing, that they were all going to gorge themselves on beluga caviar, a parting gift from Yukin, who had knuckled under to the president's agenda.
Paull had been on his way to see his wife, not that she would recognize him. But when he failed to see her
