Nick listened to Jonah’s lecture with rapt attention.
He sat in the front row with one leg crossed over the other, his too-short khakis showing cheap black dress socks. He took notes and made eye contact. He didn’t want to look obsessed, just intensely interested, with a dash of socially awkward.
He was glad he’d arrived early, because every seat was filled. There were at least a dozen attendees standing in the back. They’d come to see Jeff Silva, not his son, so Jonah had his work cut out for him. He was a good speaker, comfortable at the pulpit and invested in his topic. He believed what he was saying. He projected well and enunciated in a clear voice. The problem was his audience didn’t care. Jeff was the prophet. He was the cult leader. He’d written a book of mystical mumbo-jumbo called The Path, which had sold enough copies to pay for his compound. He was the grand wizard of religious extremism. He had a secret commune and an unknown number of teenaged wives.
Jonah was a scholar type with a slight “children of the corn” vibe. He didn’t have the charisma of a true guru. He wouldn’t appeal to conspiracy theorists or the hypermasculine gun crowd. He wasn’t outdoorsy enough for off-the-grid, antigovernment fanatics. With his slender build, tailored suit and handsome face, he could pass for a young lawyer or politician.
They didn’t like him.
The feeling was probably mutual, but Jonah was smart enough to hide it. He gave a vague explanation for Jeff’s absence and launched into a practiced introduction of his father’s greatest feats, complete with high-definition slides.
The vintage photos of Jeff in the early days of the commune were excellent. He looked hale and hearty with his full beard and woodsy-Californian tan. There were pretty blondes in long skirts in the background.
Even Nick, who hated everything Jeff Silva stood for, found the scenes viscerally appealing. They hinted at a simpler life, and a masculine, back-to-nature aesthetic. Nick wasn’t immune to that message. He could get into farming, fishing and building his own cabin. What he rejected were the religious beliefs, which included the subjugation of women. He was turned off by the idea of underage partners and multiple wives. He had nothing against polyamorous relationships, or any other sexual pairings, but the benefits of polygamy were lost on him. He wasn’t interested in siring a horde of children.
Jonah didn’t dwell on the illegal or immoral aspects of his father’s flock. He offered a thoughtful, introspective analysis of Jeff Silva’s spiritual writings. It was no small task, because the base material was shallow and trite. Most of the listeners weren’t as engaged as Nick. A fair number of attendees walked out.
When Jonah was finished, Nick clapped with so much vigor that he dropped his pencil and notebook on the floor. He gathered the items and waited for the crowd to disperse. A couple of guys hung around to ask Jonah questions about Jeff. Then they were alone, except for the security guard at the door.
Nick had a dog-eared copy of The Path. He presented it to Jonah proudly. “Do you mind signing it for me?”
Jonah signed his name in an elegant scrawl.
“I enjoyed your lecture.”
“Glad somebody did.”
Nick glanced around the empty space, aware that Jonah hadn’t received a warm response. “I don’t mind missing your father. I wanted to see him, but I think this was a blessing in disguise.”
Jonah gave him a puzzled look.
Nick clutched the book in his hands. “I’ve been studying the text for months,” he said, which was true. “I wasn’t able to grasp the deeper meaning of every passage. Your words cleared up so many questions for me. When you speak, it all makes sense.”
Jonah smiled with pleasure. Jeff Silva’s book didn’t have a deeper meaning, as far as Nick could tell. The cult leader was no literary genius. He’d ridden an inexplicable wave of luck and timing as a young prophet. He had the shameless confidence and grandiosity of any high-functioning sociopath with narcissistic personality disorder. Jonah was intelligent and articulate, but doomed to stay in his father’s shadow.
Nick knew he had to sell Jonah on his next pronouncement, so he went for broke. “I had a life-changing moment while I was listening to you. I don’t know if it’s fate, or a miracle, or something else beyond explanation. I just know that I want to join you and your father. I want to live the way you live.”
Jonah stopped smiling and picked up his briefcase. “I’m glad you were inspired, Mr. Dean.”
“Nick.”
“My father and I attend events like this to lift spirits and encourage alternate religious pathways. We make connections with people and we accept donations, but we don’t recruit new members.”
Nick wasn’t surprised by the brushoff. He didn’t expect to get an exclusive invite on his first try. “Hear me out before you decide. I’m a botanist by trade. It’s my dream to work on a communal farm among true believers, away from the toxins of society. I’m ready to supplicate myself, like you said.”
“You can go off-grid without joining our sect.”
“It’s not about going off-grid. The path I choose is yours.”
Jonah started walking away from the podium. “We don’t initiate outsiders anymore. My father forbids it.”
Nick followed him down the aisle. “Maybe you need some fresh blood.”
“He doesn’t think so.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you have a say?”
Jonah paused, narrowing his eyes. Instead of answering that, he made a swift countermove. “Are you married, Mr. Dean?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s your wife?”
“At home.”
“Have you discussed your plans with her?”
Nick massaged the nape of his neck. “Not yet.”
“Do you intend to leave her behind?”
“No,” Nick said, after a short pause. Avery had advised him to play a devoted husband. “I’ll convince her to come with me.”
Jonah wore a skeptical expression, as if he’d heard tales about modern women. Very few men were willing to leave the comforts of society to join a cult like theirs. Even fewer women would sign up for a life of toil and submission.
“I know I can convince her, because I’ve been struggling with a health issue, and I haven’t told her my latest prognosis.”
“Which is?”
“I’ve got a rare brain disease. It’s terminal.”
Jonah’s brows rose. “My condolences.”
“Doctors are quacks,” Nick said, dismissing the bad news. “I can beat it. Physically, I’m still strong. I just need to live clean, stay active and pray. My wife will support me. We’ll fight it together.”
“The Haven doesn’t have any medical facilities. We’re faith healers.”
“Perfect,” Nick said. “I hate hospitals.”
Jonah rested his briefcase against his thigh, contemplative. “I’d like to help you,” he said, and he sounded sincere.
“I’ll do anything,” Nick said.
“You’ll have to divest your assets and leave your home. Leave everything. That’s what total supplication means. You’ll have no communication with the outside world. No income, no property, no bank account. No cell phones. No connection to anyone but us.”
“I understand.”
“Go home and talk to your wife. If she’s willing to take these steps, contact me. I’ll consider your request.”
Nick drew in a breath of excitement. He was making progress! He couldn’t imagine what kind of idiot would give away every dime he’d saved, every possession he owned, for a chance to worship a madman and die in the woods. “This is amazing!”
Jonah nodded his agreement. “Amazing.”
Nick wondered if Jonah wanted to rebel against his father more than he wanted to help a dying man get his final wish. It didn’t matter to Nick, of course. He’d exploit either option. “How do I reach you?”
“Send me a message,” Jonah said. “It’s brotherjonah@gmail.com.”
Of course it was.
“Thank you,” Nick said, shaking his free hand. “Thank you so much.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll need a few weeks to get everything settled.”
“Good luck.”
Jonah strode out the door with the security guard trailing behind him, and that was it. The arrangements had been made. Nick felt a surge of dark triumph. He was closer to getting inside the commune and taking Jeff Silva down. Closer to killing him, if he had to.
Nick hoped he would.
But he couldn’t celebrate too soon. Maybe Jonah had no intention of keeping his promise for a meeting. Nick hadn’t expected to win him over so easily. His goal for this weekend was to engage in a conversation with Silva, and establish a channel of communication. As far as Nick was concerned, he’d hit it out of the park. He’d made a real impression.
He couldn’t wait to tell Avery the news. She’d been a key factor in his success. Her advice was spot-on and her insight invaluable. He’d like to reach through his phone and kiss her. He’d like to do more than kiss her.
He walked to his hotel with a spring in his step. As soon as he entered his room, he called SAC McDonald for a debriefing. McDonald seemed impressed with his performance. He’d been reluctant to send Nick to Las Vegas. McDonald didn’t want to risk more lives on special ops involving Silva. The FBI couldn’t afford to do nothing, though. One of their agents had been murdered.
“Okay, Diaz,” McDonald said. “You’ve got your green light.”
Nick pumped his fist in the air. “Thank you, sir.”
“We’ll flesh out your identity and everything else in case they do a background check.”
“I’m sure they will.”
“The timeline is a problem.”
“We have to move fast,” Nick said. “It was an impulsive offer. I don’t want to let the opportunity slip away.”
“So I have to find you a young, attractive female agent with undercover experience who is available now, and willing to do a long-term, top-level assignment.”
“Yes,” Nick said.
“The list of qualified agents under thirty is going to be short.”
“Go up to thirty-five.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Write me a detailed report of your interactions with Silva and turn it in tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good work,” he said, and hung up.
Nick opened his laptop and logged in. He spent the next couple of hours writing his report. After he submitted the file, he checked his inbox. There was a message with a link to a professional profile for Special Agent Ellen Hawkins, a former army medic with undercover experience as a cyberdecoy for online predators. She was a pretty blonde cheerleader type. Young and green, at twenty-six.
Nick doubted he’d find a better match. He needed someone with nerves of steel, and most army veterans fit the bill. She’d be a team player. He responded with an affirmative. Then he shoved away from the hotel desk, sprawled across the bed and called Avery. She answered on the second ring. She was home now, curled up on her couch with a glass of wine. Her lipstick was bitten off, eye makeup slightly smudged.
“I hope you don’t mind these extra calls,” he said.
“I wouldn’t answer if I did.”
“Why don’t you get a kitten?”
“A kitten?”
“To replace the cat you lost.”
“Do I look lonely?”
“No,” he said. She looked cozy. He could easily imagine a soft ball of fur in her lap, purring with pleasure. “It went well,” he said, describing the afternoon’s events. “I got the green light from my boss.”
“Congratulations.”
“I owe it all to you.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Sure you did. You knew my story needed more. I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere with Silva if I hadn’t told him I was dying. He asked if I was married, too. Even what you said about the chess game gave me an edge.”
“Now you have to find a partner.”
“They already selected someone.”
“A hot blonde doctor?”
Heat crept up his neck at her teasing tone. “Not a doctor. A former army medic.”
She took a sip of wine. She seemed subdued, even sad.
“What’s wrong?”
She sighed, shaking her head.
“Tell me.”
“Off the record?”
“Come on. This isn’t an interview.”
“Is it a consultation?”
“No.”
“What is it, then?”
It was unprofessional, inappropriate and ill-advised. “It’s informal,” he said, settling against the pillows.
“Why did you ask me who I was with today?”
He shouldn’t tell her the truth. He should claim it was a confidentiality issue. “I thought you were on a date.”
“And?”
“Were you?”
She laughed. “Would you be jealous if I was?”
“I can’t answer that.” Because yes, he would be. He wanted to be the only one with her, spending time on her couch. Him, or a fluffy kitten.
“I have a cousin,” she said, changing the subject. “Not a real cousin. He’s related to Ruth, and he’s like a brother to me. He’s married now with two little boys. Ruth says I’ve been distant since he started a family.”
“Ah.”
“I suppose I have been. I’m better with the kids at work. Patients.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I feel bad about it. And I think you’re to blame.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“You… You caused all of this upheaval!” She gestured with her free hand to emphasize her distress. “You started it by asking Ruth about me and hunting me down and making me remember things I don’t want to remember.” Her brows drew together and her lips trembled. “I don’t want to obsess about what I might have done differently, or who I left behind. I don’t want my life turned upside down. I can’t sleep at night, because of you. I’m torn between agonizing over the past and worrying about the future.”
Nick wasn’t sure how to respond to this heartfelt confession. He couldn’t sleep, either, for different reasons. “If it’s any consolation, I feel disrupted, too.”
“How?”
“I don’t do this. I don’t…get close to people easily.”
She fell silent for a moment, absorbing those words. He hoped they carried weight with her, because they were rare. He didn’t engage in deep conversations with anyone. He didn’t talk about his childhood, or reveal his innermost thoughts.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said finally.
“To The Haven?”
“What if they kill you?”
Once again, her concern caught him off guard. Not only was he unaccustomed to emotional entanglements, he also hadn’t fielded a question like this before. He didn’t tell his adoptive parents about dangerous assignments. It wasn’t allowed, and he didn’t want them to know. “I need to score an initiation meeting before I worry about getting killed.”
“They could kill you at the initiation.”
He smiled, raking a hand through his hair.
“It’s not funny.”
“I’m not going anywhere yet. When I do, I’ll have an arsenal of backup at my disposal. My team will take every precaution.”
“That haircut is terrible, by the way.”
“Thank you. I did it myself.”
“I can tell.”
“Do I look ugly?”
“Hardly.”
Damn. She was good for his ego. “When this assignment is over… Can I call you?”
She inhaled a shaky breath. “What do you want to call me for, Nick?”
“To say all the things I can’t say now.”
“All right,” she said softly.
The urge to continue this exchange until it became explicitly sexual was difficult to resist. He suspected she’d be open to his advances. She felt the same attraction he did, the same connection. The intimacy between them had already been established. She’d been drinking. She might do anything he asked.
“I should go,” he ground out.
She smiled, as if she could see the arousal etched on his face. “Sweet dreams,” she said, kissing her fingertips and touching the screen.
Then she was gone.
He tossed his phone aside with a low groan. He spent several moments with his fists clenched at his sides, his pulse pounding.
When he had his body under control, he rose from the bed. He considered hitting the hotel bar for a nightcap, and to scan the crowd. This was Las Vegas, the land of tawdry hookups. He wouldn’t have any trouble finding a partner.
Even so, the desire for anonymous female company wasn’t difficult to set aside. It was nothing compared with his very strong, very specific need for Avery. He couldn’t afford to get spotted by someone in Silva’s circle, either. He was playing a dutiful husband and religious zealot, not a lonely bachelor on the prowl.
He’d have to drink alone.
Decision made, he ordered room service and raided the minibar. He poured himself a neat whiskey and stared into the mirrored wall behind the liquor cabinet. His father’s eyes stared back at him, dark and intense. Sometimes the resemblance bothered him. Tonight it didn’t.
He might be his father’s son, but he was his own man. He would be defined by triumph, not tragedy. Pride welled up within him, because he’d done it. He’d approached Silva, played his part and set the groundwork for initiation to the cult. The wheels were in motion. He was one step closer to reaching his goal.
He raised the glass to his reflection. Salud.