About two months down the road, Leroy felt healed up enough to be ready for action. When he reported to the preacher, his marching orders weren’t at all what he expected. Instead of getting back on the trail of little Miss Hannah, Abe told him to tail a feller who lived in a hole in the ground some twenty miles away from the compound. His boss was pretty tight-lipped about what was going on in that place. Wouldn’t give Leroy the lowdown on why it was there, who built it and for what purpose.
“How come you can’t get my buddy Chopper to handle this?” Leroy had asked irritably. “I thought he was doin’ all kinds of surveillance work for y’all.”
“Mr. Bowdeen is out of the country at the moment,” Metcalf informed him frostily. “He will return soon, and then I’ll have him take charge of the matter. However, I need help immediately. I’ve received intelligence that the doctor has arranged a meeting in the city sometime tomorrow. You are to follow him there and report back to me.”
The feller Leroy was supposed to follow was named Doctor Aboud. The name sounded Ayyy-rab which automatically made Hunt think the doc was up to no good. Bright and early the next morning, Leroy staked out the hole in the ground waiting for a whistlepig to poke its head out. This particular whistlepig was sporting a three-thousand-dollar suit. He climbed into a BMW and headed for the fancy side of town.
Leroy snapped to attention when the bartender at the Peninsula cut into his musings and asked him if he wanted a refill. He ordered another whiskey neat and darted a stealthy look at the two men by the fire. Every now and then a word of their conversation drifted in his direction. Leroy could tell that the big feller had a Russian accent. What business did an Ayyy-rab doctor who lived in a hole in the ground have with a shady Russian?
Leroy bent sideways on the pretext of straightening his pants leg. He made sure he took a good long look at the Russian, so he could describe him to Abe. He leaned over further but couldn’t catch any of the rest of what they were saying. It didn’t matter much. Abe had told him to keep his distance. Leroy had a sneaking suspicion that while Abe wanted him to figure out who the little doc was meeting, the preacher wasn’t too keen on having Leroy know exactly what the little doc was doing.
That was fine by him. He didn’t want any part of this detour anyway. As far as Leroy was concerned, only two things mattered. The first was making sure Daniel snagged the rest of those pricey doodads so Hunt could nab them for himself later on. And the other important thing was finding Miss Hannah. She knew a few secrets that Leroy didn’t want getting back to Abe. The only way to make sure she wouldn’t spill the beans was to get to her before any of the preacher’s flunkies did.
Leroy noticed that the confab by the fireplace was winding down. The Russian and the Ayy-rab stood up and shook hands all friendly like. Leroy figured his report would satisfy old Abe until Chopper got back stateside. Leroy had no personal stake in what the little doc was up to. The mercenary had his own To Do list to complete. Step One: Find little Miss Hannah. Step Two: Kill her.
Chapter 4—Rare Collectibles
Joshua Metcalf turned his vehicle onto a blacktop county road. He was unfamiliar with the area and consulted the directions his father had given him. Ears of corn and stalks of wheat ripened in the late summer sun. Here and there a white farmhouse or red barn rose from the sea of yellow grain.
Joshua was in a self-congratulatory mood. The past several months had elevated him in the hierarchy of the Blessed Nephilim as well as in his father’s estimation. As head of the Order of Argus, he was his father’s eyes and ears among the faithful. He commanded an invisible army of agents deployed at all the North American compounds whose task it was to identify rebellious behavior and report these infractions to him. More recently, his influence had expanded to Europe where the Fallen mercenary, Mr. Bowdeen, was training hand-picked squads of marksmen to act as the Nephilim’s first line of defense against the incursions of the outside world. Several of these warriors had also been chosen to swell the ranks of the Order of Argus.
Although Joshua’s responsibilities were meant to be kept secret, gossip had a way of disseminating important news among the community. He fancied that people treated him with a newfound respect, if not outright fear. Their reactions pleased him—especially the fear.
He glanced down at the written instructions which were to guide him to his destination and turned at the next intersection. As the vehicle accelerated smoothly, Joshua reveled in the fact that he now possessed a car of his own. His role in the Nephilim required him to travel a great deal, both on land and by air. This car gave him the freedom to come and go—a privilege which few in the sacred brotherhood possessed.
Of course, taking commercial flights was tiresome. He had no great love for rubbing elbows with the Fallen. Their unseemly comportment and vain attire were a constant source of irritation, but contact with them served to remind him of his own superiority. He belonged to God’s elect—a secret brotherhood descended from a race of angels, set apart from the common throng of sinful men. On Judgment Day, the Blessed
