to his heart prevented him from raging at this lunatic. “I won’t use the spare phone, Pravus. I’m opening the package now.”
With no regard for possible fingerprints, since he knew full well there wouldn’t be any, Paul tore the manila envelope open and the wooden sign slid free. He read aloud, “Pestis ex Rana. Plague of frogs.” Paul scrambled for the pictures, terrified to look at them but desperate to find his assignment. “LaToya.” The anguished whisper escaped past all his self-control.
“You’ve seen the photograph?” Pravus nearly sang the question, his voice was so smooth. “Good. I wonder how many people she killed with her drugs. How many more did she enslave by making them addicts? Her death will make the world a cleaner place. The fact that you associated with her and her kind makes your ministry a failure. It makes you a failure, Reverend.”
“No, Pravus, that’s not true. Jesus went to the sinners. How do you help them if you won’t reach out to them? You think you can solve the problems of the world by destroying sinners, but that isn’t Jesus’ way.”
“It was Moses’ way. And it was God’s way. How many died because of the plagues?”
“But God sent Jesus. He always planned to send His Son. Even in Moses’ time God gave Pharaoh chance after chance. LaToya is a part of the kingdom of God now. Even people who haven’t repented are loved by God. It’s not for you to decide if they’re worthy of life.”
“You plead eloquently for the people who foul your mission. Jesus was a new way, and now there is a new way yet again. Me. Do you need me to make pretty little LaToya cry and beg so you’ll believe she’s here? I’d be glad to do it. It would be my pleasure, really. My chisel is newly sharpened.”
“No, don’t hurt her anymore,” Paul shouted. He looked at the picture and saw the absolute terror on LaToya’s face. Duct tape over her mouth and around her wrists. LaToya, who had so recently adopted a lifestyle of chastity and modesty, stripped bare and displayed in a photo for her minister. She was cut. Red blood gleamed against her black skin. Beside her lay the dress; it would be her burial shroud. In the picture, Paul could see clearly Pharaoh, Moses, and Aaron painted on the dress just as they were on the dress Juanita wore. Around Pharaoh’s feet, frogs, blood red, not green. But Pravus had rendered them with a fine, gifted hand so they were unmistakable.
“Do you see the address?”
It was scrawled in dried blood across one of the photos. “Yes, I’m going. This time I won’t fail, Pravus. I’ll tell them exactly what you want. Do you have any other words for me to say? Do you want me to preach to them? Should I arrest them? Tell me exactly what you want me to do so I can obey you. I want to do whatever you need so LaToya can be spared.” Paul hated the sound of his begging. He wondered if he shouldn’t deal with Pravus from a position of strength. Right now he didn’t have it in him.
“Go to the house. It’s within running distance. Remember, I’m watching you. You’re by the front door of the mission this time, rather than in your rooms.”
It chilled Paul to realize how closely he was being watched.
“Come out the front door, without contacting the police, and head straight for that address. I’m not going to give you as much time as before, Reverend. I remember a time when you weren’t the least bit patient with me.”
The phone clicked. Paul read the address, knew exactly where he was going and why, dropped the photo on the table, and ran.
Rosita crept into the entry area of the mission, staying close to the wall. She slipped up to the table and snatched up the picture. She clapped her hand over her mouth at the ugly sight, then she produced yet another cell phone, the one that nice lady detective had slipped her last night. She called with the address.
With another fearful look at the picture, she gathered the pictures into the envelope Paul had left behind and took it into the kitchen with her. She prayed fervently as she carefully slid it behind a cupboard for safekeeping as Detective Collins had instructed her. With a faint heart because of what she knew her friend LaToya was going through, but a soul rock steady in the Lord Jesus Christ, who had pulled her out of a living hell, she went back to preparing breakfast.
Pravus watched the pastor run, then he turned back to the mission for one last glance. Through the front window he saw little Rosita, so happy, so helpful, so terribly soiled, take his package.
He’d planned to involve her eventually, but he was pleased she’d volunteered.
Then he swung his binoculars back toward the pastor. He couldn’t see Pastor P every second, but he’d picked this place to live because his view was so ideal. Rather than try to pick out the running man, he just watched the doorway of the house where the good pastor was destined. Maybe this time he’d meet his end.
If so, Pravus would savor it. If not, there were many more people who needed to be shrouded with purity. And many more pictures for Pravus to paint.
Keren grimly took the message and phoned every car in the vicinity, and there were plenty of them. The fact that it wasn’t Paul who called made her angry. What did the man plan to do on his own?
Pravus had no doubt come up with some very creative threats. Even though she’d expected it, planned for it, Keren was furious. She was a lot more comfortable with fury than with being scared to death.
The crack house Pravus had chosen to hit wasn’t far, and Paul would no doubt beat them there. Keren went in quiet, no sirens. Nothing to draw attention to herself.
A demon was watching. She knew with God on her side, no one could stand against her.
Paul set some kind of land speed record running to Ahmad’s house.
His ribs were punishing him for it, but they didn’t even slow him down. He was up against big trouble with this destination.
There would be no one trying to kill him in this place. In this house they’d all be sleeping off a night of drugging. He wasn’t going to be able to get them out in time. He had to stop the explosion. Racing against time, he prayed with every step. He only hoped Pravus had used the same method to vent his rage. Paul had given some thought to defusing a bunch of gasoline bombs. But if Pravus chose another, more elaborate explosive, Paul was going to die along with a house full of people.
He hesitated for one second before he simply set the sign on the ground against the house; then he went in and began opening doors, looking for a way to the basement. Unlike Carlo’s place, this was a house, not an apartment building. It was part of a row of ancient, decrepit houses that lined this block. Paul knew if this house went, the whole row would go. But it wasn’t a very large house. It didn’t take him long to find the way downstairs.
The smell of gasoline hit him the second he opened the door. He ran down the stairs and froze in horror. Every support post in the murky cellar had a gallon glass jar taped to it. A couple of inches of yellow gasoline showed in each jar, all of which had been plugged with red rags. Wires, stripped of their insulation, with two ends frayed and bent just sparking distance apart, ran into every jug and dangled inches above the gas. The wires ran to every light socket in the basement, waiting for a spark to ignite the tightly enclosed fumes. The walls glistened from being soaked with gas.
Paul looked desperately for a fuse box and saw nothing. He ran for the first light sockets. There were no bulbs in them. Instead a converter had turned the socket into an outlet with four plug-ins. Pravus had plugged in a bomb. Paul jerked the plugs out of the first socket, careful not to strike a spark in his hurry. He got all four of them out and ran on to the next converted socket. When he grabbed it, the light fixture pulled out of the ceiling. Its corroded wires nearly broke off in Paul’s hand. Paul forced himself to slow down. If he broke a wire he might set the bomb off without any help from a murderer. He gently disconnected the bomb wires from the power source.
Gas fumes thickened the air. He went to the next socket and the next and the next. He pulled the last plug free just as his cell phone rang.
“How dare you toss my sign on the ground like so much trash, Reverend? For that alone I’ll declare this effort of yours a failure.”
Paul looked around, trying to see anything he missed in the room. The only light filtered through dirt- encrusted windows. At that second Keren came running down the stairs. Paul wanted to shout at her to get out. Get away. But he was starting to know Keren well enough to not waste his time. He pointed at the light fixtures, hit the MUTE button on the phone, and said, “Look for any other plug-ins. Look for a fuse box. I don’t know what else he might’ve hooked up wires to.”
