Standing outside, behind the shield of vehicular metal, Special Agent in Charge McCarry unfurled the first of many scrolled architectural plans that the Order had filed with the city planner’s office. But he couldn’t concentrate on an engineer’s map of lines and circles. Instead, he found himself staring at the stagnant bunkers. What kind of activity was going on inside? More than that, why hadn’t the son of a bitch called back and asked for Decker? Stringing them all along, but that was to be expected.
The architect leaned over the map, smoothing out the page with the palms of her hand. She placed rocks on the corners of the paper to keep it from curling up. Then she adjusted her bifocals. In her sixties, Adele Sawyer had been only tangentially involved with the original project. She had never even seen the finalized plans. But she was the first one the feds had located, and the only one to come down on such short notice. Her gray hair was tied back into a thick ponytail. She wore a cable-knit sweater and jeans.
Adele started to explain the plans. “As I recall, Jupiter wanted a large enough entry hall so it could double as a meeting place—a room where the members could get together to discuss common problems—”
“Where’d he get the money for something this big?” McCarry groused. “How much did this thing cost? Four million? Five, maybe?”
The older woman was unfazed by McCarry’s brusqueness. “Actually, the external structure isn’t much more than boxes strung together. Slabs of steel-reinforced concrete. Hard as hell to penetrate, but not all that expensive to build because there’s no detail.”
Staring at the blue-inked dimensions, McCarry tried to get a fix on the actual size. He glanced at the command post a couple of cars away. The mayor was briefing a troop of his lackeys, getting ready to present them to the media. Los Angeles was nothing but a three-ring circus. He glanced at Decker. “You’ve been inside. What can you tell us about it?”
Decker tightened his coat and waited for the first glimpse of dawn. How many hours before people turned on their television sets for the morning news? How many hours before the few gawkers became a major crowd control problem? How much time before a terrible stalemate with lives at stake became bedlam? Eyes focused back on the blueprint. He pointed to an area. “This is the entry?”
Adele nodded.
“It’s got high ceilings as I recall.”
“Fifteen feet according to the plans.”
“There’s a big stained-glass window in the ceiling.”
“So we can penetrate from the top?”
“Not without a battering ram,” Decker said. “It’s steel-mesh over steel bars. At the time, I wondered why it was constructed with so much metal. But it was a big mother window so I thought the steel was necessary for support. There are some small dormer windows at the junction between wall and ceiling. They’re also barred—well, you can see for yourself. Do you have the exact dimensions?”
“The exact outside dimensions are a foot by eighteen inches,” McCarry answered. “Even without the bars, they’re too small for any of my current men to penetrate. Unless they’re like arrow slits. Small on the outside and bigger on the inside. What do the plans say?”
Adele said, “Twelve by eighteen on the outside and inside.”
“Around the size of a small doggie door,” Decker said.
McCarry said, “I’m wondering if we can take the bars off—spray them with liquid nitrogen from a long distance and crack them apart—if we have anyone who’s small enough to fit inside. A woman maybe.”
“Lieutenant?”
Decker turned around. It was Webster and Martinez with Europa Ganz in tow. She was also dressed in a sweater and jeans. She and Adele—with their grayish hair and fresh faces—could have passed for mother and daughter.
McCarry asked, “Who are you?”
“They’re from my department,” Decker answered. “The woman is Dr. Europa Ganz—Jupiter’s daughter. The one I called about Bob’s capacity to fabricate explosives.”
“Of course.” McCarry shook hands with her, showing a glint of animation. “So you must know the inside of the place.”
“Actually, the last time I was inside the Order was something like fifteen years ago.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I was wondering that myself.”
Decker said, “Sir, she knows Bob Ross—”
“Knew Bob Ross,” Europa interrupted.
“A Bob Risso, Russo, Rizzo. Something about that name is sticking in my head.” Decker was exasperated. “I can’t pull it up…”
McCarry said, “Since you know Ross, what can you tell us about him?”
“Knew him!” Europa corrected again. “As in past tense.”
Martinez said, “I got hold of Asnikov—”
“Go for it,” Decker said.
“Who’s Asnikov?” McCarry snapped. “The deprogrammer? What’s going on here? If you’re running an independent investigation and keeping us in the dark—”
“Special Agent McCarry, I’ll be happy to enlighten you, just as soon as I know what’s going on—”
“So what does Asnikov have to do with anything?” McCarry stiffened. “I’m in charge of this task force—”
“Excuse me,” Adele interrupted. “If this spat is going to take a while, I’ll get a cup of coffee.”
“I’ll come with you,” Europa said.
“No, you stay here,” Decker said. “We need to talk to you—”
“But I told those two everything I know about Bob.” Europa pointed to Webster and Martinez.
“Told them what?” McCarry asked. “What’s going on?”
“Excuse me,” Adele said. “I’ll just be over—”
McCarry said, “Someone please fucking fill me in!”
Decker nodded to his men. They told him what they had learned from Europa in less than a minute. Europa verified their accounts with the occasional nod.
After they had finished, Decker said, “She knows both Venus and Bob. Plus, being Jupiter’s daughter, I thought she could give us a psychological profile—”
“Me?” Europa asked. “I barely knew Dad when he lived with the family. He jumped ship when I was fifteen.”
“You’ve been in contact with him,” Decker said.
“Strictly pleasantries,” Europa answered. “‘Thanks for calling, Dad. Talk to you later.’ Plus, I haven’t spoken to Jilliam or Bob in fifteen years—”
“Still, you know more than we do,” McCarry broke in. “Why do you think Bob is doing this?”
“If you mean killing people, I have no idea.”
Martinez said, “You told us he had a paranoid quality to him.”
“But back then, he’d been stealing. Plus, he was heavily involved with drugs. The combination would make anyone paranoid.”
Decker seized a thought. “Dr. Ganz, what if Bob had been caught stealing again? How do you think he might react? Maybe paranoid?”
“Who’d he be stealing from?” Webster asked.
“Jupiter’s the only one with money,” Decker answered. “It would have to be the boss.”
“But Jupiter’s dead,” McCarry said. “Are you saying that Bob killed him?”
“Not necessarily,” Decker said. “What I’m suggesting is maybe Bob’s been slowly poisoning him—keeping him doped up and essentially brain dead—so he could rip him off—”
“Poisoning?” Europa interrupted. “My father was poisoned to death?”
“He had arsenic in his system—”
“When did you find this out?” Europa demanded to know.
“About twelve hours ago,” Decker answered.
“Good Lord!” Europa sighed. “How long had the poisoning been going on?”
“The coroner couldn’t tell. She mentioned something about looking at his bones to get a more exact time frame.”
“Did your father start the Order of the Rings of God with independent wealth?” McCarry asked.
“I…I don’t know,” Europa answered.
Decker asked, “Did your father have money when he did his disappearing act?”
“I was fifteen. How would I know?”
“Maybe your mother said something to you?”
“We never talked about Dad. The subject made her very bitter.” She tried hard to bring memories into focus. “I never remember my mother worrying about finances. But we certainly weren’t wealthy. I know she spent a great deal of money trying to locate Dad. It had to have come from somewhere.”
“But you don’t know anything about your father’s cash reserves when he took off.”
“No. But he must have been living on something. He was gone for ten years…” Europa paused. “My memories are a bit cloudy. But if I recall correctly, I remember Mom having it harder financially after he came back. But by then I was an adult. I was more attuned to things like money problems.”
“Or maybe your father decided to reclaim some of the money you’d had been living on,” Martinez said.
Europa said, “That’s very possible.”
“Can we get back to Bob?” McCarry asked. “You said he was paranoid?”
“I said he had a paranoid quality to him.” A hesitation. “Not unlike my father actually.”
“Bob admired your father,” Decker remarked.
“Hero-worshiped him.”
“What about his own family?” McCarry asked.
“He never said much about them. He grew up back East. I had the feeling that he didn’t get along with his father—”
“That’s it!” Decker shouted. “That’s motherfriggin’ it!”
“What?” Martinez asked.
Decker clapped his hands once. “In the editorial section of yesterday’s paper, some guy named Rizzo or Russo wrote a scathing letter about Emil Ganz. Basically saying that Ganz had plagiarized every important piece of research he had ever done—”
“That’s nonsense,” Europa said.
“I gave you the paper, Bert—”
“It’s in the car. I’ll get it.”
Europa became agitated. “My father had lots of negative characteristics, but I never heard anyone say anything remotely concerning plagiarism.”
“Was Bob’s father a scientist?” Decker asked her.
“I have no idea what his father did.”
“The Russo/Rizzo in the paper owned some kind of holistic imports business—”
“Oh my goodness!” Europa shrieked. “Bob did tell me something about a family business.”
“So there you go,” Decker said. “If I remember correctly, the letter Russo/Rizzo wrote dealt with Ganz’s integrity in science.”
“I’d like to interject a point,” Webster drawled. “Dr. Ganz, you told us that you thought that Bob had a sponsor for gettin’ him into Southwest Uni—”
“I thought maybe—”
“Maybe it was his own father,” Webster suggested.
“If Bob’s father had been an important person to Southwest, Bob wouldn’t have been expelled,” Europa answered. “Sad, but true. It’s who you know.”
“What if the plagiarism accusations were true?” Webster asked.
“It’s nonsense—”
“But if they were, maybe Southwest took Bob in just to shut up his father,” Webster said. “After all, Ganz had been their pride and joy.”
“Not at that time,” Europa countered. “He was a subject of ridicule.”
Decker said, “But think how bad it would have looked for the university if one of their acclaimed top professors had been a research thief. Supporting a dishonest scientist is a lot more damaging to a name than supporting a crazy one.”
McCarry said, “I don’t know why we’re wasting time with this. Bastard Bob hasn’t even called back—”
“That’s not surprising,” Europa said. “Bob loves games.”
McCarry asked, “So he’s viewing this whole thing as a game?”
“No doubt.”
McCarry spit on the ground. “Lots of hostage situations. But I always get the psychos.”
“Lots of criminals are psychos,” Decker pointed out.
“Yeah, but most psychos are dumbshits—low IQ’s with learning problems. Bob doesn’t fit that category. Even among psycho leaders who tend to be a brighter bunch, Bob would probably stand out as one of the smartest. Plus, he can build bombs.” He turned to Europa. “Am I right about this?”
“Bob is very bright.”
“Ted Kaczynski with an army of zombies behind him,” McCarry said. “A hostage situation with lots of kids and a paranoid but bright leader. We’re in big trouble.”
“He’s waiting for you to make a move,” Europa said. “Wait him out. Because every time you move, you show pieces of your hand. Point of fact. If you want to keep Bob engaged, you give him games, not warfare. He’s not interested in brute force, he’s interested in finesse.”
“I thought you didn’t know this guy,” McCarry said.
“I don’t know him per se,” Europa said. “But I know game players. Southwest is filled with them. See, Special Agent in Charge McCarry, like most army men—or paramilitary if you will—you’re thinking in terms of a two-person, zero-outcome game. Meaning someone has to lose. And losing, in this case, is losing very big. Instead of win/lose, you should be thinking in terms of a win/win—the Nash equilibrium point—where all parties are at their optimal position—”
“What the hell are you talking about?” McCarry asked.
Europa gave a long sigh, as if it was a burden to deal with the lowly non-math sector of the population. “Don’t make a move until the odds are stacked in your favor.”
McCarry’s cellular phone rang. He picked it up, turned his back to the group and spoke in hushed tones into the receiver. Martinez returned, newspaper in hand. He gave it to Decker. “The letter was written by Dr. Robert Russo, Sr.”
“Dr. Russo”—Decker scanned the letter and read out loud—“Mediocre physicist…plagiarizer, thief, kidnapper, adulterer.” He looked at Europa. “What do you know about that?”
“Nothing.” Her voice was stiff. “Can I see the letter?”
Still reading, Decker said, “‘…probably running from some irate husband who just got tired of Ganz messing with his wife…’” He gave the missive to Europa. “Upon rereading this, it looks like Ganz was having an affair with Russo’s wife.”
“Bob’s mother,” Webster said. “You know, maybe it was Ganz who got Bob into Southwest University of Technology. Maybe he did it out of guilt. Or out of pressure—”
“My father wasn’t around when Bob got into Southwest,” Europa said.
“Maybe he was, and you just didn’t know about it.”
Europa frowned, then read the letter carefully. “This is patently ridiculous!”
“What part is ridiculous?” Decker asked. “The plagiarism or the affairs?”
“I didn’t know anything about Dad’s personal life. But I do know he’s no plagiarist. Academics is filled with petty people. This guy is psycho!”
“Then he probably is Bob’s father,” Martinez said.
Webster checked his watch and talked to Decker in a low voice. “It’s time for Asnikov. Maybe we should leave before Mr. Fed has other ideas.”
“Go ahead.” Decker waited a moment. “If you can, bring Asnikov down here when you’re done. He might know something about the physical layout of the Order. Plus, it’ll make McCarry feel better.”
Europa was still holding the letter. “Actually, the letter is similar in tone to Bob’s rantings during a bad trip.”
“What letter?” McCarry asked.
Europa showed him the newspaper clipping.
“Jesus!” McCarry answered. “So Ganz was screwing this guy’s wife—who’s probably Bob’s mother?”
“I’d bet money on it,” Decker said.
“Bob Junior must have had one hell of a rotten relationship with Bob Senior if he turned his own father’s archenemy into his personal hero.”
“So Bob poisoned my father to death?” Europa asked.
“Drugs and alcohol murdered your father,” Decker said. “Suicide still hasn’t been ruled out.”
“What about the arsenic?”
“According to the coroner, it wasn’t what killed him.”
Decker paused. “You know, if Bob was ripping off your dad, it made sense to have kept your father alive. Because now that he’s dead, I’m betting that all of Jupiter’s money goes to you—or at least to the living heirs.”
“Why? What do you know about my father’s finances?”
“He had a million-dollar life insurance policy with you as the beneficiary,” Decker said.
Her eyes had widened. “I don’t believe…are you sure?”
“I think so—”
“You think?”
“I’ve heard something to that effect, yes.”
“Then why haven’t I heard about it?”
“Because your father’s death has been ruled suspicious,” Decker said. “First, the cause of death has to be determined before an insurance company will pay. If it is ruled a homicide, you have to be cleared as a suspect. But I’m not talking about the insurance policy—which is clearly yours. I’m thinking that Jupiter must have had bank accounts. We know he took money from his parishioners.”
“He did?” Europa asked.
“Condition of joining the cult,” Webster said. “You give up your worldly assets to Father Jupiter, who spends the money for the good of the group.”
“It’s the communal money—in Jupiter’s bank accounts—that Bob could have been embezzling. Now that he’s gone, unless otherwise stated, Jupiter’s money goes to the closest living heirs.”
“My brothers and me.”
“Unless Jupiter has a will stating otherwise. And even if he did, you could contest it.”
“So now that my father is dead, the money Bob was embezzling is mine.”
“And Bob’s life on easy street is down the toilet.” Decker hesitated for a moment. “Although I’m still not sure how Nova plays into all of this.”
“Who’s Nova?” Europa asked.
“Another guru from the Order,” Decker said. “We found his dissected parts in a ranch owned by your father.”
“My God!” Europa exclaimed. “That’s horrible. And that was Bob’s doing also?”
“Probably,” Decker answered. He looked at McCarry, who was staring at the blueprints. Staring, but not absorbing anything. “You’re awfully quiet.”
McCarry jerked his head up, then rubbed his forehead. “My boss is taking the six A.M. down from Sacramento. I’d like to have a plan formulated by then.”
“You’re about to be displaced,” Decker said. “Forget it. No way I’m working with your boss, McCarry. We started this mess together, we’ll end it together.”
McCarry was shocked. That kind of loyalty was unheard of. Made him suspicious. What did Decker have up his sleeve? He asked, “Is it my good looks?”
“McCarry, I refuse to break in another fed,” Decker said. “If I have to recap my story one more time, I’ll puke.”