‘Is it necessary?’ he uttered, and then realised he was speaking.
Is it necessary? I’m certain their silence can be bought.
What if it can’t?
It’s a risk, I know. He nodded. But I’m not prepared to have blood on my hands.
You already do.
No, I don’t. Carl exceeded his authority. He killed unnecessarily.
The voice laughed unkindly.
It’s true. I never asked him to kill. I asked him to…
Tidy things up?
Shepherd winced. Yes, he’d used those words and left Carl to interpret them, knowing full well what that would mean. The man had been fiercely loyal; loyal enough that he would happily have taken a bullet for him. Deep down, Shepherd had been aware that there would be a body or two before this was all satisfactorily resolved.
Your hands are already bloodied.
I have never killed anyone. I’m a man of faith.
You are a man with ambition. That’s why I’m here.
I only wish to do God’s will.
They need to die, then.
Shepherd’s gaze drifted onto them. The voice was right, of course. Money most certainly wouldn’t silence them. A threat might… but he couldn’t take that chance.
No. If you want the things your heart desires, you must kill.
His hand tightened around the pistol, but he resisted the urge to raise it, aim it and pull the trigger.
I wonder… are you a good man?
I am.
I wonder.
I’ve just… I’ve never had to shoot someone before.
Certainly not like this, in cold blood, so close that he could hear her heart pounding. It took an iron will to kill so deliberately, so intimately. It would be easier if she were running, or struggling, but like this?
That is why you need me.
Shepherd’s hand tightened on the gun.
I am what you need.
What do you mean?
Strength, William Lambert. Strength.
Lambert. That wasn’t a name he’d used in a long time, not since he’d started preaching as a young man. He always preferred his mother’s maiden name — Shepherd was so much more appropriate for his calling. What’s more, the family name was one his father and grandfather preferred maintain a low profile; well away from the tittle-tattle of newspaper columns and latterly, glossy kiosk magazines.
I have all the strength I need.
Yes? Then finish the job.
‘This isn’t… this isn’t what the Lord wants of me,’ he uttered. ‘Not if He wants me to make His word known. I can’t do that with blood on me.’
Rose stifled a whimper as he said that.
You can.
Cooke stirred drowsily on the floor.
Hurry now. The man is waking up.
This can’t be what God wants of me.
Yes it is. He wants them dead. He wants you to lead the world to Him. And I’m here to help you.
‘No, I’m not sure…’
Yes! God sent me to you. Now do it!
If He wants them dead, then let Him do it.
The voice was silent.
Cooke opened his eyes blearily and moaned. He squinted drunkenly at Shepherd. ‘Where’s m’ glasses?’ he mumbled with a thick, clogged voice.
‘Julian,’ hissed Rose quietly, keeping her eyes warily on Shepherd. ‘Shh, just be still, Jules.’
William Shepherd turned to look down at the tattered canvas sack on the wooden bunk frame to his side. His hand reached for it, feeling the small, infant-sized bones inside through the threadbare cloth.
‘It’s an angel in there,’ he said quietly to Rose and Julian.
‘An angel.’
Rose nodded obediently.
‘We need him,’ he explained in a quiet, abstracted voice.
‘We need him to read the words.’
Julian was still squinting, trying to make sense of what was going on.
‘That’s right,’ whispered Rose encouragingly, ‘we need him.’
Ignore the bitch! Do it!
Shepherd shook his head, a nervous shake that looked more like a tic. No, I can’t. He couldn’t murder two people in cold blood, and in the next moment turn to the holiest relic in the world and paw at it with his bloodied hands. That couldn’t be what God would want, that couldn’t be Do it!
He raised the gun from his lap, slowly, heavily.
‘Shepherd!’ cried out Julian. ‘Stop! I got a signal earlier… I got a signal!’
Shepherd hesitated.
‘I made a call!’
He held the gun on Cooke.
‘I made a call, Shepherd! It’s going to be enough to sink you,’ said Julian. ‘It’s enough information to have the press sniffing around you.’ He lowered his voice, making it sound as reasoned and calm as he could. ‘That’s enough to fuck your campaign up. It’s over.’
Do it!
Shepherd’s finger slid onto the trigger.
‘Wait!’ cried Julian, raising his hands. ‘Listen!’
The gun remained on him, Shepherd’s finger trembling on the trigger.
‘Listen… the point is… you haven’t killed anyone, have you? It was Barns who did it. Not you. We saw that.’
The voice fell silent in his head.
‘What happened with Grace… yes, that’s going to look bad, I know. But… but, you’re not guilty of murder. Barns is,’ said Julian. ‘Do you understand? Lower the gun. Rose and I — we can still help you.’
Shepherd stared silently at him, the gun still aimed, but wavering.
‘I know you’re a good man,’ Julian whispered. ‘I know you just want to spread God’s word,’ he said shooting a curious glance at the linen and tattered canvas bags on the bunk and managing to force a smile through the jagged pain in his leg. ‘That’s a noble thing. This story… what happened out here in the past… is the past. It’s just that. You’re not Preston. You’re not evil. I know that.’
Shepherd’s hand was shaking. ‘Who did you call?’
‘I won’t tell you,’ said Julian, struggling to keep his voice even. ‘You know that would be very stupid of me.’
‘What did you say?’
‘Enough.’
‘What did you say?’
‘Enough to make you look too… unstable to elect.’
Shepherd bit his lip angrily. The muzzle of the gun twitched and trembled erratically. ‘Fuck you!’ he snarled. ‘FUCK YOU!’
‘But… it’s not murder! Shepherd, listen! I’ve damaged your reputation, okay? Forget about the White House — it’s over. I had to make the call. But look, you’re not guilty of murder. Not yet.’
