Frannie scrambled to her feet and ran into the bathroom, emerging with a box of tissues. Plucking several out, she tucked them into Mariah’s hand, grateful she had something to do as tears slid down her own cheeks. Mumbled words of frustration mixed with entreaties to Mariah to “Please, stop,” came through gritted teeth as she rubbed Mariah’s arm. Experiencing a new and powerful emotion, Frannie Manzetti felt the physical and emotional distress of another.
Thomas knelt down close to Mariah’s head. Stroking her hair, he kissed her while mumbling words like, “It’s gonna be all right” and “Please stop crying, baby. I can’t stand this” over and over again. Tears of rage and impotence filled his eyes and throat as her sobs pierced his heart. Angry at not being able to soothe and protect her, he wanted to tear something apart.
Michael’s tears tracked down his cheeks as he stood behind Mariah’s chair, his hand kneading her shoulder. He was a man who helped bear the sorrow of others; still, he found himself overwhelmed by his inability to comfort this woman who had come to mean as much to him as any member of his family. His supplication to God to protect this child, this woman who needed His love, was said with all the reverence and sincerity he possessed.
She felt and heard them through the crushing grief. Mariah had never allowed herself this luxury, this release, always scolding herself when she felt depressed, convinced that crying was not the answer.
But she was wrong: the tears were a catharsis. She was glad they had come when those closest to her were nearby. These people would never know how grateful she felt at this moment, that they were not revolted, would still lay their hands on her. She had truly feared that no one would ever want to come near her, let alone touch her.
Exhausted but at peace for the first time in many months, her tears finally subsided. Frannie scooped up all the discarded tissues then stuffed them into the empty box which she put on the coffee table. Catching Michael’s eye, she nodded toward the front door. He nodded back, and they left. What Mariah needed most right now was the affirmation from a man who accepted her for what she was—and what she was becoming.
Michael opened the door, and Frannie looked back at Mariah. Through tear-swollen eyes, she could see Thomas’ face wreathed in anxiety—and possibly love? Mariah’s smile deepened and his eyes lost their desolation as he took her head in his hands and kissed her lips gently.
The conference room was moderately cool, helped by the heavy velvet drapes that banished the heat of the late afternoon sun. Even in the artificial light, the polished mahogany table, surrounded by black leather swivel armchairs, spoke to class and power, a far cry from a police interrogation room.
Not counting him, there were four others present; three men and one woman, all dressed in the uniform of traditional somber suits.
Gabriel Winters—Technical Operations Officer, Central Intelligence Agency, currently undercover as a special agent with the FBI—was aware of every sound in the room. First was the muted hiss of the air-conditioner. The second was the whisper a Mont Blanc pen wielded by the bald man to his left, sitting hunched over a leather-bound legal notepad.
The third sound was the creak of a chair rocking back and forth in a measured cadence. It was the woman on Gabriel’s right, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes cast downward.
To the woman’s right sat a man drumming the fingers of his right hand on the table, glancing several times at the dark drapes as if he wished to see through them to the world outside.
The white-haired man between the drummer and the scribe sat with his hands folded on the table. It was not necessary to guess his thoughts or any of the others, because Gabriel Winters knew precisely what they were.
“Your preliminary proposal has merit,” said the woman, her cultured tones low and neutral. If she was excited it wasn’t obvious by her voice or face. She had been with “The Company” long enough to conceal outward signs of emotion from the average person. Nonetheless, her coworkers had no trouble discerning the slight tremor in her voice.
“It definitely seems like an opportunity that may never come again.” The drummer took his eyes off the drapes long enough to make the inane statement.
The white-haired man, the Chief, unfolded his hands and placed them flat on the table then shifted in his seat. The movement was possibly a sign of irritation, maybe at the drummer’s banal remark. He said, “I believe we’re prepared to go forward with this. Good work, Winters. I must say the possibilities are mind-boggling.”
Then he smiled. It held acknowledgement and praise, and he used it sparingly. Everyone knew Gabriel Winters was his protégé, possibly his heir apparent, but they accepted, if begrudgingly, that Gabriel’s strategies were usually brilliant, his methods of accomplishment unique.
“So we’re all in agreement?” Never taking his eyes off Winters to check for their anticipated nods, the Chief said, “Continue.”
“The premise is simple,” Winters began. “In order to develop her talents for our needs, we have to get her out from under the FBI.” The law forbade the CIA from domestic operations; however, this was an unprecedented case with no rules that applied.
He had their attention. The drummer had ceased. Only the scratch of the Mont Blanc and the soft sigh of the air-conditioner broke the silence.
“There’s a bond between Mariah Carpenter and Agent Manzetti that goes beyond a mere assignment. Manzetti guards Carpenter like a Hell’s Angel guards his Hog. We have to discredit Manzetti and, at the same time, get me assigned to her vacated position. I’ve already insinuated myself into Osterman’s good graces by flattering his childish ego and making myself indispensable by completing the ridiculous assignments he gives me.”
He paused to allow for comments. When he received none, he continued, his smooth baritone confident, precise. “I’ve also spoken with several in-house psychiatrists to get their concurrence as to Ms. Carpenter’s usefulness. They practically drooled with excitement. Having seen the DVD, they’re eager to chart the progression of her psychic ability to see how far it goes without interference. Then they’ll know how to manipulate and control it.
“The murder trial just confirmed my belief in her increasing skills. We must put her under our protection immediately, especially after the incident with the Koreans. At this point, I doubt anyone could overcome her, but they won’t be averse to killing her if they can’t have her. Better she be dead than used against them.”
Again he stopped. Again he was met with silence. His voice was low, nearly hypnotic. “I’ve located a new safe house for Ms. Carpenter on a street near her church. It’s the last one on a hill. It has a back yard that butts up against more of the hill which levels off to a service road used rarely by city utilities. The house will be wired with surveillance equipment, and the RV with the monitoring equipment will be parked on the service road. We’ll use the trees to camouflage it even though it’s an eighth of a mile from the house. I’ll have men stationed at either end of the road to make sure no one stumbles on it.”
Gabriel’s mentor beamed. Previously briefed, he knew what came next. The agency had used psychic spies since 1974; however, Mariah Carpenter’s potential went beyond anything in their arsenal.
“Now: how to discredit Agent Manzetti. We’ll infiltrate a cult known as TAOC—The Army of Christ—whose only reason for existence is to expose and eliminate the Antichrist. We’ll target one of the fanatics and convince him that Mariah Carpenter is the one they’re looking for. We won’t even have to reward him: TAOC believes that, by performing this service to the Lord, they’ll be granted a place at his side on judgment day. Our infiltrator will plant a few suggestions and allow the target to think it’s his plan to kill her when she’s on stage singing in the choir. We’ll slip him a gun, probably a .22 or a .26, loaded with blanks.
“By that time I’ll have voiced my concerns to Osterman regarding the too few agents guarding Ms. Carpenter, being careful to make no derogatory remarks about Manzetti’s capabilities. But Osterman is a closet chauvinist. It won’t take much for him to believe that Manzetti doesn’t have what it takes to handle a job of this magnitude. When I tell him that ‘my sources’ have heard about an attempt on Ms. Carpenter’s life being planned for Sunday services, Osterman will see the wisdom in my suggestion, which is to plant additional agents in the church, fully armed, just in case.”
Winters steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair while he swept the others with hooded eyes. “I’ll hand-pick the agents, and scatter them throughout the congregation at strategic locations since we won’t know which entrance the fanatic will choose. When he gets close enough to Ms. Carpenter, one of the agents will take him out with, hopefully, no more than a couple of shots. Panic in the church will be kept to a minimum by the additional agents in the congregation who will calm everyone down.
“It’ll look like Manzetti isn’t able to guard Carpenter. I’ll get Osterman to remove her from the case and slide me into her place.”
The smile on his lips never reached his eyes. They all knew Gabriel Winters, and were secretly glad he was on their side. In the same low, conversational tone, he said, “After the excitement dies down, I’ll insist on a new safe house where we can better protect her. The rest is up to the surveillance team and the shrinks who’ll convince Mariah Carpenter that her psychic powers are needed to help her country maintain its standing as the most powerful nation in the world community.”