Losing Rydell was a huge blow. Drucker hated being in that position. Right now, he couldn’t read the man’s state of mind. There had been too many upheavals. Rydell had to be unhinged, and unhinged meant unpredictable or, worse, irrational. Would he act impulsively and bring the whole thing down on them all, even if it destroyed him in the process? Or would he retreat and regroup and try to come up with a way out that kept him in the clear?
Drucker wasn’t sure. He hoped it would be the latter. That would also give him time to regroup. Time to come up with an alternative. Because right now, he needed one.
He frowned, his eyes burning into the framed portrait of his son that stared back at him from the edge of his desk. He felt like he was failing him. Failing his memory, failing to make up for his pointless death.
“We might need to bring our plans forward,” Maddox’s voice prompted him from his speakerphone. The soldier sounded bleak, defeated. Not a tone of voice he was used to hearing from him.
“We can’t do that,” Drucker grumbled. “Not with Rydell running around out there. Any sign of his daughter?”
“No,” Maddox said. “The plane dropped her off in L.A. She’s not using her cell or her credit cards. She’s out of play for the time being.”
Drucker sighed. “They’ll go for the brother. That’s all Sherwood cares about. Are you all set for that?”
Maddox just said, “We’re ready.”
“Then finish it,” Drucker ordered him, and hung up.
Chapter 75
Afternoon turned to evening as the sky overhead went from bright blue to a soft pink and the clocks skipped past five o’clock. Matt and Gracie still hadn’t found anything. They’d worked their way down from the top of the stadium without success. The show was about to start, and they still had a lot of ground to cover.
Checking out the suites wasn’t easy. For this unscheduled event, all the seating in the stadium was free— except for the suites. Matt and Gracie quickly found out that most of those had been allocated to Darby’s personal guests, some to the media, and the remainder to the guests of the other preachers that Darby had invited to share the stage with him. Access to the suites sections was restricted and tightly controlled by beefy security guys in black sweatshirts who knew all the scams. Still, Gracie managed to get into both banks of suites on the fourth and club levels by charming some bona fide invitees and tagging along with them, dragging Matt with her. They swept through them, all forty-five suites in each bank, on the lookout for any high-tech gear or for men who didn’t look like they were there for a spiritual experience. They didn’t find either.
They had just cleared the first bank of suites on the club level when the music faded down and the lights dimmed. Everyone pushed forward for a closer view. Matt and Gracie edged closer. A chorus of voices rose on the overhead speakers and the reverend’s hundred-member choir filed onto the stage, taking up their positions solemnly as they sang “Let There Be Light.” The crowd erupted wildly, clapping and cheering before joining in. The effect was remarkable. Seventy thousand voices, all singing together, soon accompanied by the countless thousands of others outside the stadium’s walls, a chorus of worship echoing across the Houston twilight.
Matt frowned. Father Jerome’s appearance was drawing near, and they still hadn’t found any trace of Danny or of the guys who were holding him. Matt had to make some decisions. He had to go for the likeliest spots and forget about the rest. There wasn’t enough time. He scanned the dark stadium, and settled on two target areas beyond the bank of suites they were still checking out: the two banks of suites on level two. Each bank had thirty- nine suites in it, which would take time to vet. They’d have to forgo the main seating tiers and hope for the best.
The singing ended and Darby strolled out onto the stage, basking in the wild applause. Massive overhead video screens beamed a close-up of his face across the stadium.
“Greetings in Christ,” he boomed, drawing the same words back from the excited masses.
Matt and Gracie weren’t going to stick around for his speech. They slipped back through the suite and pressed on with their sweep.
They advanced slowly, checking out the rest of the floor. Half an hour later, they’d come up empty-handed. Two other megapastors had come on stage in the meantime, delivering rousing sermons to tumultuous cheers. In between their speeches, the choir sang backup to some of the biggest names in Christian rock. Matt and Gracie descended to the level three concourse and were on their way to level two when Gracie suddenly gasped and spun around and ducked into the cover of Matt’s bulk.
“What?” he asked.
She peered out, then slipped out of view behind him again. “Ogilvy,” she said. “He’s right there.”
Matt’s fists clenched. “Which one?”
“Slick guy, by the concession stand. Graying hair, rimless glasses. He’s in a light-colored suit.”
Matt scanned the crowd. The concourse was filled with wall-to-wall people. A couple of heads parted and he caught a glimpse of someone fitting Gracie’s description. “Come on,” he said in a low voice as he took Gracie’s hand and cut through the crowd behind Ogilvy. He lost him, then saw him appear again, about fifteen yards ahead, heading for the suites. The fact that Ogilvy was about five-six wasn’t helping. Matt tried to press ahead, but the crush of people was like quicksand. He saw a small opening in the crowd and nosed into it, only to slam into a couple of tall rancher types who were cutting across him on their way back from the concession stands. One of them spilled his beer all over his shirt and shoved Matt back angrily.
“Watch your step, doofus,” the man snapped. “What’s your rush?”
Matt’s arm tightened and his eyes narrowed and he was about to pounce, but Gracie held him back and subdued him with a forced smile.
“Easy, big guy.” She turned to the angry rancher and cranked her flirt look up to eleven. “No damage done, boys. What do you say we just forgive and forget and go back to enjoying the sermons. It
Matt held back and waited for the other guy to nod. The rancher scowled, thinking about it, then grudgingly gave him a tiny bob of the head. Matt nodded back, took Gracie’s hand, and pulled her into the throng of people, but he couldn’t see Ogilvy anywhere. He craned his neck and hoisted himself on the tips of his toes and scanned around intently.
There was no sign of him.
OUT AT THE EDGE of the red lot, Rydell and Dalton watched with awe as the crowd rose into song and settled down again. Some of them had brought small 12-volt-powered TV sets with them, and clusters of people were massed around each set, listening to the sermons and responding with the occasional “Amen.”
Rydell cast his gaze across the plain of cars, then looked up at the sky. The last glints of daylight had dipped down behind the horizon. “Let’s send it up,” he said. “We can’t wait much longer.”
Dalton brought the Draganflyer out of the Lincoln and set it down on the ground. He checked the light and flicked the HD video camera under its belly to night-vision mode. He then switched the Draganflyer’s engines on, glanced around, and guided it up. It rose quickly with the silent whirr of a high-powered household cooling fan and disappeared in the night sky.
Rydell studied the area around them, trying to divine where he would put the launchers. To their right were some low-lying structures, on the other side of Kirby Drive. “Let’s send it out over those buildings over there,” he said, pointing in that direction. Then he seemed to have second thoughts. He shifted his gaze over to the stadium. Something about its north-south axis was tugging at his mind. His eyes narrowed a touch, and he said, “Actually, send it up there,” pointing behind them, north of the stadium. He checked the image the skycam was sending back
