I tried to keep silent, but I couldn’t. ‘Karen…she had to have an emergency Cesarean. They…neither of them made it.’ My eyes were damp, but I was determined I wouldn’t cry in front of Sara. ‘They think…you see, Karen and I were both…brainwashed by Rothmann and his sister. They think the drugs may have been behind what happened.’
Sara sat motionless, her hands on the wheel.
‘I’m sorry, Matt,’ she said, after a time. ‘I really am. Nobody deserves that.’
‘You fucking hypocrite. You’re going to kill me.’
‘I meant I’m sorry about Karen and the kid.’ She paused. ‘What was it, the child?’
‘A…a boy.’ I tried to remember the name we had chosen for him, but it was still gone.
She looked at me. ‘You’re going after Rothmann, too, aren’t you? They let you out of…wherever…to track the fucker down.’
I nodded, keeping my eyes off her. I felt sick. Telling my ex-lover about Karen and our son seemed the worst kind of betrayal, but I hadn’t been able to stop myself.
The Soul Collector slid the stick back into Drive and moved forward, checking the monitor. ‘Well, we’d better make sure our target doesn’t get too far ahead,’ she said, with what might once have been tenderness.
I didn’t know what to think. Working with Sara meant that Rothmann had no chance of escaping, no matter how deadly the man who had taken him was. But she had killed Quincy without an iota of compunction. After she’d dispatched Rothmann, she would treat me in exactly the same way.
At least that would send me down the shadowy road to join my named and nameless dead.
Twenty-Seven
The Master, whose wrists had been bound with rusty wire, watched the driver out of the corner of his eye. The bearded man was handling the pickup with relaxed movements, his eyes glinting in the light from the dashboard. There was a curious smell in the cab, something organic but decidedly unhealthy.
‘Where are you taking me?’
Apollyon glanced at him. ‘Need to know basis only. Don’t worry, you’ll be going to meet Lord Lucifer soon enough.’
Heinz Rothmann thought about that. When he had revived the Antichurch, he had been completely cynical about it-who worshipped the Devil in the 21st century other than needy degenerates? But gradually he had come to understand the attraction of occult knowledge, despite the fact that Adolf Hitler had ultimately discounted its power. It seemed, as in many things, that Heinrich Himmler had more imagination than his Fuhrer, with his deep interest in Teutonic lore and symbols. Since the failure of the plot against the President, Rothmann had found the Antichurch a more pressing interest than the militia of conditioned subjects he and his sister had set up.
‘I am ready to meet Our Lord whenever he desires that,’ he said devoutly.
Apollyon gave a hollow laugh. ‘Don’t be too hasty, asshole. My sister was a Mistress of Lucifer. What kind of a welcome do you think she’s preparing for you in Hell?’
Rothmann saw a way to exert pressure. ‘You shared power with a woman? There is no sanction for that in the Antigospel.’
‘Not even in the one you rewrote so your sister could wear the gargoyle mask?’
The Master wondered how Apollyon knew about that. Security in his organization had been tight until the meddler Matt Wells had intervened. Where was he now? Had the female assassin dealt with him as she had Apollyon’s sister and the negro? That would be a pity. He had hopes for the Englishman, hopes that could still be fulfilled, whatever Apollyon did.
The bearded man jabbed his elbow into Rothmann’s ribs. ‘I’m not hearing your answer, Kraut.’
‘My sister…’ Rothmann fought the pain. ‘My sister and I were twins.’
‘As if that makes a difference.’
The Master needed to divert his captor to more fertile ground. ‘Do you know who the blonde woman is?’
‘The Soul Collector? Sure I do. She kills for money.’ The bearded man turned to him. ‘Like me.’
Rothmann decided to twist the knife. ‘So she killed your sister to reduce the competition?’
Apollyon reduced speed behind an eighteen-wheeler. ‘Don’t get cute with me, shithead. You heard what the blonde bitch said-she saw Abaddon in Maine.’
‘That doesn’t seem like a reason to blow her head apart.’
‘What are you trying to say, asshole?’
‘Simply this. The Soul Collector used to be the Englishman Matt Wells’s lover. It can hardly be a coincidence that they both turned up at the barns.’
Apollyon hit the horn as the eighteen-wheeler slowed to a crawl. ‘They’re in this together?’
Rothmann kept as cool as he could. He knew that survival depended on sowing doubt in his captor’s mind. ‘Of course. This whole thing is a trap. Someone engineered it so that you and your sister would be neutralized.’ He paused. ‘Do you have any enemies, Apollyon?’
The bearded man swerved to the left and floored the gas pedal. Rothmann pressed back in his seat as he saw headlights approaching fast. At the last moment, Apollyon wrenched the wheel to the right. There was a horn blare from the other vehicle.
‘I’ve been a gun for hire for eleven years,’ the bearded man said. ‘I’ve got more enemies than your false Antichurch has got followers.’
Ten minutes later, he pulled into a gas station and made a call. His face was still set hard when he got back into the pickup. Then his nostrils flared.
‘What is that stink?’ he said, searching under the dashboard. He found a small package loosely wrapped in silver foil and opened it. The smell immediately got worse. ‘For the love of Lucifer.’
Heinz Rothmann looked at the shriveled heart. He had added a commandment to the Antigospel, requiring the faithful to keep the vital organs of their deceased loved ones. The owner of the truck had obviously been obedient. He was gratified to see that Apollyon looked physically ill. Obviously, he wouldn’t be going back to remove his sister’s heart.
‘They’ve stopped,’ Sara said, taking her foot off the gas. ‘Just over two miles ahead, outside a place called Caluga.’ She pulled up and reached toward the backseat.
I had visions of her preparing for battle. ‘What are you doing?’
She laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I need to educate myself before I take further action. Let’s see what’s in Abaddon’s rucksack.’
I watched as she removed the contents. There wasn’t much-a combat knife, some ammunition clips and a laptop.
‘Bingo,’ Sara said, opening the computer and turning it on. After a few moments, her fingers started moving rapidly over the keys. ‘I’m in.’
I was impressed. ‘The last time I saw you with a laptop, you knew even less than I did.’
Her eyes stayed on the screen. ‘A lot of things have changed since then.’ She looked up. ‘Including my appearance. What do you think?’ She moved her head like a film star advertising shampoo.
‘Em, fine.’ I was trying to remember what she had looked like when I loved her, but that had gone into the void.
‘Fine?’ she said, in annoyance. ‘The surgery cost me fifty thousand dollars.’
‘It was worth it,’ I said, not wanting to incite her to further violence. I didn’t tell her that her gait had given her away.
‘Like the twenty grand I spent on technology skills was worth it.’ She gave me a dead-eyed stare through what I presumed were contact lenses-her eyes weren’t blue when we were together. ‘Okay, the woman who called herself Abaddon knew what she was doing. There are no obvious files and no favorites on her internet program.’
‘How about email?’
Sara gave me another hollow stare. ‘Oh, thanks for reminding me.’ Her fingers flew about. ‘Completely empty. Either she didn’t use it or she deleted all her messages.’
