‘What is that?’ Meat said. ‘Is that—?’
Seeing nothing moving, Jason flipped on the headlights. Now the form was easy to identify. ‘Yeah. It’s a body.’
Making a slow approach, Jason scanned the immediate area. No vehicles. No men.
‘All clear,’ Meat confirmed with a second set of eyes.
Jason parked the truck close to the bridge. He and Meat got out and slogged over to the dead man.
‘Is it one of them?’ Meat asked, focused on the headwrap and tunic.
‘No,’ Jason said. He pointed to the feet. ‘He’s wearing marine-issue combat boots. And that’s the same turban Al-Zahrani’s driver was wearing.’ He crouched next to the body, clasped the shoulder, and turned it over.
The head slumped back and the throat yawned open like a grisly smile where it had been deeply sliced from ear to ear.
‘Awh, Christ,’ Meat said, putting his hand to his mouth. ‘That’s foul.’
Immediately, they both recognized the face … and it was no Arab.
‘Staff Sergeant Richards,’ Jason said, shaking his head. ‘Figures.’
‘I never liked that guy,’ Meat said. ‘What a prick.’
Jason kicked the body into the water. ‘Damn, Crawford. What were you thinking?’ he seethed.
‘Hate to state the obvious, Google. But there must’ve been more of those guys under this bridge. ‘Cause they killed this fuck,’ he pointed at the dead staff sergeant, ‘and the truck he was driving isn’t here any more. I think that means Al-Zahrani is gone.’
‘Not exactly,’ Jason replied confidently.
58
LAS VEGAS
Brooke Thompson and Thomas Flaherty strolled up the cathedral’s centre aisle, their eyes pulled in every direction by the interior’s ambitious design.
Shafts of muted sunlight penetrated the gravity-defying geodesic dome and wove together above the voluminous prayer hall. The outer walls were clad in alternating blocks of polished and crenulated Jerusalem limestone. The central altar, dominating the rear wall, resembled a concert stage with its huge viewing screens, speaker clusters and spotlighting arrays.
Most impressive to Brooke was the magnificent bronze baldachin that formed a lofty canopy over the altar. It depicted the haloed Jesus with rockstar hair and flowing robe, His welcoming arms spread wide in blessing, His feet surfing a cloud. Throughout the space she noticed no other iconography: no Holy Mother; no apostles or saints; no dove nor crucifix. Simply the Saviour.
Thousands of seats arranged in tiered arcs had already been installed on the main floor, but the balcony was still an unfinished piece of curved concrete.
‘I guess tithing really does pay,’ Flaherty said.
‘I’d say,’ Brooke agreed.
‘Welcome,’ a cheery voice called to them from somewhere in the front of the hall.
Flaherty spotted the greeter first. ‘Over there,’ he said, pointing near the centre stage where a small hive of workers was busily assembling a mammoth pipe organ. Off to the left, a gaunt man with a pure white pompadour waved and headed for the front steps to meet them.
The guy shot like a bullet up the main aisle, and opened his arms as wide as the bronze Saviour overhead. ‘Welcome, my friends!’ He planted himself at arm’s length and proffered a hand, first to Brooke. ‘Minister Edward Shaeffer, at your service.’
‘Hi, I’m … Anna,’ she said, accepting his soft, manicured hand.
‘May Christ’s love
Anxious to get her hand back, she said, ‘And this is my fiance, Thomas.’
‘Oh …
‘Thank you,’ Brooke said. She noticed that when the minister glimpsed her modest ring, his enthusiasm diminished notably.
Shaeffer relinquished her hand and took up Flaherty’s.
‘Thomas,’ the minister repeated, ‘A name straight from the gospels,’ he said. ‘Though I trust you are not a doubter, Thomas.’
‘Seeing is believing, but I’m flexible,’ Flaherty said with a smile.
‘Excellent.’ The minister stage-whispered to Brooke, ‘He’ll make a find husband, I’m sure.’
‘We’ve just moved into town,’ Flaherty explained, ‘and we were hoping to have our wedding ceremony here.’
‘I’m sure we can work that out, though the cathedral won’t be open for another three or four months.’
‘We were thinking about next October,’ Brooke said.
‘That should do just fine.’
‘While we’re here, would it be possible to meet Pastor Stokes?’ Flaherty asked.
The directness of the request caught Shaeffer off guard. ‘Oh, I’m afraid he’s indisposed at the moment.’ The minister hadn’t a clue as to why Pastor Stokes had been holed up in his office all day. Typically Stokes was a diehard advocate of ‘open-door’ management. But Shaeffer had twice been turned away by Stokes’s assistant, even when he’d made it clear that the company who’d delivered the organ had important questions about the installation. ‘Been a very busy day.’
I’m sure it has, thought Flaherty. ‘But he is here today?’ he delicately pushed.
‘Last I checked, yes,’ the minister said with growing incredulity. ‘Though for wedding arrangements, you’ll need to speak directly to our Minister of Ceremonial Rites, Maureen Timpson. And she’s on vacation until next Wednesday. I’ll gladly give you her card and some information …’
‘That won’t be necessary, Edward,’ a warm voice called out.
A tall figure materialized from the shadow beneath the balcony.
Brooke immediately recognized Randall Stokes from the glitzy picture in Flaherty’s file.
‘Well, I stand corrected.’ The minister’s blushing cheeks showed genuine surprise.
‘Did I hear “wedding”?’ Stokes said with a well-rehearsed smile. Striding down the main aisle, his artificial leg limped slightly on the incline. ‘How exciting.’
Brooke immediately understood how Stokes had achieved celebrity status. The man had presence - tall and handsome, meticulously dressed. Though she noticed his complexion was pallid and his red eyes showed fatigue.
‘I’d shake your hand, but I’m feeling a bit under the weather today,’ Stokes apologized. ‘Edward, I’ll talk to Anna and Thomas so you can finish what you’re doing.’
The minister was momentarily stumped, but knew not to question Stokes. ‘Splendid. That will do just fine. It was very nice to meet you Anna, Thomas. Once again, welcome. And we look forward to seeing you on Sunday!’ He put his hand over his heart and half bowed before ambling back towards the altar.
‘Please, walk with me,’ Stokes said, giving each of them equal attention. ‘We have so much to discuss. We can talk in my office.’
‘I figured I’d save you some trouble,’ Stokes said, pressing the button for the elevator at the end of the long corridor that connected to the lobby. ‘I’m sure you have many questions.’
Unsure of the context of his remark, Brooke and Flaherty remained silent.
‘However, if we’re all going to be honest,’ Stokes added, ‘shouldn’t you use your real name, Ms Thompson?’ He looked deep in her eyes. ‘Ms Brooke Thompson. Isn’t that right?’
Brooke gave Flaherty an uneasy glance.
Flaherty spread his hands and squared his shoulders. ‘Look Stokes—’
‘I must admit … I don’t know who you really are, my good man. And I don’t like that.’
‘Smith. John Smith,’ Flaherty replied curtly.
Stokes grinned tightly. ‘Of course. Have it your way, Mr Smith.’
The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. ‘Please,’ Stokes motioned them inside.
