The Vanished Man (Lincoln Rhyme 5)

"Eight. The doors open at seven-thirty."

"Thank you, Father."

"Not a problem."

The man smiled and walked away in the direction of the school. Reverend Swensen resumed his vigil, nervously squeezing the handle of his attache case. A look at his watch. It read 7:15.

Then, finally, after an interminable five minutes, he saw what he'd been waiting for, what he'd traveled all these many miles for: the black Lincoln Town Car with the official government license plates. It eased to a stop a block from the Neighborhood School. The minister squinted in the dusk as he read the plate number. It was the right vehicle. . . . Thank you, Lord.

Two young men in dark suits got out the front. They looked up and down the sidewalk--including a glance at him--and were apparently satisfied that the street was safe.

One of them bent down and spoke through the open rear window.

The reverend knew whom he was speaking to: Assistant District Attorney Charles Grady, the man prosecuting the case against Andrew Constable. Grady was here with his wife for the recital that their daughter was participating in. It was the prosecutor, in fact, who was at the heart of his mission t

o Sodom this weekend. Like Paul, Reverend Swensen had entered the world of the nonbelievers to show them the error of their ways and to bring them truth. He intended to do so in a somewhat more decisive way than the apostle, though: by murdering Charles Grady with the heavy pistol now resting in his briefcase, which he clutched to his chest as if it were the Ark of the Covenant itself.

Chapter Twenty-three

Sizing up the scene in front of him.

Carefully noting angles, escape routes, how many passersby were on the sidewalk, the amount of traffic on Fifth Avenue. He couldn't afford to fail. There was a lot riding on his success; he had a personal stake in making sure Charles Grady died.

Around midnight last Tuesday Jeddy Barnes, a local militiaman, had suddenly appeared at the door of the double-wide that served as Reverend Swensen's home and church. Barnes had reportedly been hiding out in a camper deep in the woods around Canton Falls after the state police raids against Andrew Constable's Patriot Assembly a few months ago.

"Make me some coffee," Barnes had commanded, looking over the terrified reverend with his fierce fanatic's eyes.

Amid the staccato tap of rain on the metal roof, Barnes, a tough, scary loner with a gray crew cut and gaunt face, had leaned forward and said, "I need you to do something for me, Ralph."

"What's that?"

Barnes had stretched his feet out and looked at the plywood altar Reverend Swensen had made himself, thick with sloppy varnish. "There's a man out to get us. Persecuting us. He's one of them."

Swensen knew that by "them" Barnes was referring to an ill-defined alliance of federal and state government, the media, non-Christians, members of any organized political party and intellectuals--for starters. ("Us" meant everybody who wasn't in any of the above categories, provided they were white.) The reverend wasn't quite as fanatical as Barnes and his tough militia buddies--who scared the soul out of him--but he certainly believed there was some truth to what they preached.

"We need to stop him."

"Who is it?"

"A prosecutor in New York City."

"Oh, the one going after Andrew?"

"That's him. Charles Grady."

"What'm I supposed to do?" Reverend Swensen had asked, envisioning a letter-writing campaign or a fiery sermon.

"Kill him," Barnes had said simply.

"What?"

"I want you to go to New York and kill him."

"Oh, Lord. Well, I can't do that." Trying to put on a firm front although his hands were shaking so bad he spilled his coffee on a hymnal. "For one thing, what good'll it do? It won't help Andrew any. Hell, they'll know he was behind it and they'll make it even harder--"

"Constable's not part of this. He's out of the equation. There're bigger issues here. We need to make a statement. You know, do what all those assholes in Washington're always saying in their press conferences. 'Send a message.' "

"Well, just forget it, Jeddy. I can't do it. It's crazy."