Startled, Dom turned and looked through the rear window of the Cherokee.
Less than a hundred yards behind was a pickup truck, an all-terrain job,
loftily perched on tires twice as wide and more than twice as high as
ordinary tires. Spotlights, currently unlit, were mounted on the roof,
and a snowplow, currently raised off the road, was fitted to the front.
Although Dom was certain that private citizens living in the mountains
might own similar trucks, this one had the look of a military vehicle.
The windshield was tinted, the driver unrevealed.
He said, "You sure they're following us? When did they show up?"
Piloting the Cherokee up the county road, Ernie said, "I noticed them
about half a mile after we left the motel. When we slow down, they slow
down, too. When we speed up, so do they."
"You think there's going to be trouble?"
"There will be if they ask for it. They're probably only Army pussies,"
Ernie said. He grinned.
Dom laughed. "Don't get me in a war just to prove Leathernecks are
tougher than GIs. I'll happily accept your word for it."
The road became steeper. The somber ashen sky grew lower. The dark
trees drew closer on both sides. The pickup stayed behind them.
Mrs. Halbourg, Emmy's mother, answered the door, letting a puff of warm
air out of the house into the frigid Chicago morning.
Father Wycazik said, "Sorry to come unannounced like this, but the most
extraordinary thing is happening, and I had to find out if Emmy-"
He stopped in midsentence when he realized that Mrs. Halbourg was in
terrible distress. Her eyes were wide with shock-with fear, too.
Before he could ask what was wrong, she said, "My God, it's you, Father.
From the hospital, I remember. But how did you know to come? We
haven't called anyone yet. How'd you know to come?"
"What's happened?"
Rather than answer, she took him by the arm, ushered him inside, slammed
the door, and hurried him upstairs. "This way. Quickly."
Coming directly from the Mendozas' apartment Uptown, he expected to find
something odd at the Halbourg place, but not this state of crisis. When
they reached the second-floor hallway, Mr. Halbourg was there with one
of Emmy's older sisters. They were standing halfway down the hall at an
open door, staring into a room at something that seemed equally to
attract and repel them. In the room, something thumped, rattled, then
thumped twice again, followed by a musical burst of girlish laughter.
Mr. Halbourg turned, a ghastly expression on his face, and blinked in
surprise at Stefan. "Father, thank God you're here, we didn't know what
to do, didn't want to make complete fools of ourselves by calling for
help and then maybe nothing's happening when help gets here, you know.
But now you've come, so it's settled, and I'm relieved."
Stefan looked warily through the open doorway and saw the usual
accouterments of a bedroom occupied by a girl of ten-going-on-eleven,
the changeling age between childhood and adolescence: half a dozen teddy
bears; big posters of the current teenage idols, boys utterly unknown to
Stefan; a wooden hat rack hung with a collection of exotic chapeaux
probably purchased from thrift shops; roller skates; a tape deck; a
flute lying in an open case. Emmy's other sister-in a white sweater,
tartan-plaid skirt, and kneesocks-was standing a few feet inside the
room, pale and half-paralyzed. Emmy was standing up in bed, pajama-clad,
looking even healthier than on Christmas Day. She was hugging a pillow,
grinning at the same astonishing performance-a poltergeist at play-that
riveted her sister and frightened the rest of her family.
As Father Wycazik stepped into the room, Emmy laughed delightedly at the
antics of two small teddy bears waltzing in midair. Their movements
were nearly as precise and formal as those of real dancers.
But the bears were not the only inanimate objects infused with magical
life. The roller skates were not standing still in a corner but were
moving about on separate courses, this one past the foot of the bed and
moving fast, then slow. The hats jiggled on the rack. A Care Bear on a
bookshelf bounced up and down.
Stefan went to the foot of the bed, careful to avoid the roller skates,
and looked up at Emmy, who still stood on the mattress. "Emmy?"
The girl glanced down at him. "Pudge's friend! Hello, Father. Isn't it
terrific? Isn't it wild?"
"Emmy, is this you?" he asked, gesturing at the capering objects.
"Me?" she said, genuinely surprised. "No. Not me."
But he noticed that the flying-waltzing bears faltered when she turned
her attention away from them. They did not drop to the floor, but
bobbled and turned and bumped against one another in a clumsy and
aimless manner quite different from their previous measured grace.
He also saw indications that the previous phenomena had not all been
this harmless. A ceramic lamp had been knocked to the floor and broken.
One of the posters was torn. The dresser mirror was cracked.
Seeing the direction of his gaze, Emmy said, "It was scary at first. But
it calmed down, and now it's just . . . fun. Isn't it fun?"
As she was speaking, the flute rose out of the open carrying case, up
and up, until it was about seven feet off the floor, only a few feet to
the left of the floating teddy bears. Out of the corner of her eye, the
girl caught a glimpse of the rising instrument. When she turned to look
directly at the flute, sweet music began to issue from it, not just
random notes but a well-executed tune. Emmy jumped up and down on the
bed excitedly. "That's 'Annie's Song'! I used to play that."
"You're playing it now," Stefan said.
"Oh, no," she said, still staring at the flute. "My hands got so bad,
my knuckle joints, that I had to give up the flute a year ago. I'm
cured now, but my hands still aren't good enough to play."
Stefan said, "But you aren't using your hands to play it,
Emmy."
His meaning finally penetrated. She looked down at him.
"Me?"
Deprived of her focused attention, the flute produced only a few more
poorly executed notes and fell silent. It still hung in the air, but
now it bobbled and dipped erratically. Emmy returned her attention to
the instrument. It steadied in the air and began to play again.
"Me," she said wonderingly. She turned to her sister, who was still
paralyzed by fear and amazement. "Me," Emmy said, then looked at her
parents, who were standing in the doorway. "Me!"
Stefan appreciated what the child must be feeling, and his throat was
pinched so tightly with emotion that he had difficulty swallowing. A
month ago, she'd been a cripple, unable to dress herself, with nothing
to look forward to except further deterioration, pain, and death. Now
she was not only cured and her damaged bones reknit, but she was also in
possession of this spectacular gift.
Father Wycazik wanted to tell her that somehow this gift had been given
to her unwittingly by Brenda
n Cronin, her Pudge, but then he would have
to explain where Brendan had gotten his gift, and he could not do that.
Besides, he hadn't time even to tell them what he did know. It was
ninefifteen. He should have been in Evanston by now. Time was of the
essence, for Stefan was beginning to suspect that he would be catching a
flight for Nevada before the day ended. Whatever was happening in Elko
County was bound to be even more incredible than what was happening
here, and he was determined to be a part of it.
Emmy looked at the floating bears, and they resumed their formal dance
once more. She giggled.
Stefan thought about what Winton Tolk had said only a short while ago in
the Mendozas' Uptown apartment: The power's still here, still in me. I
know . . . I feel it. And not just . . . not just the power to
heal. There's more. Winton had not known what powers he might possess
in addition to the healing touch, but Stefan suspected that the
policeman was in for some surprises similar to those that had thrown the
Halbourg household into turmoil.
"Father, will you do it yourself?" Mr. Halbourg asked from the doorway,
where he stood with his wife, his voice sharp
with anxiety.
Mrs. Halbourg said, "Please, we want it to be done as soon as possible.
Immediately. Can't you begin at once?"
Baffled, Stefan said, "I'm sorry . . . but what is it you want done?"
Mr. Halbourg said, "An exorcism, of course!"
Stefan stared at them incredulously, only now fully realizing why they
had been in such distress when he had arrived and why they had greeted
him with such relief. He laughed. "There won't be any need for an
exorcism. This isn't Satan at work. Oh, no. My heavens, no!"
From the corner of his eye, Stefan saw movement on the floor. He looked
down at a two-foot-high teddy bear that was tottering past him on stiff
little stuffed legs.
Winton Tolk had said that he sensed he would need a long time to learn
what his powers were and to be able to control them. Either he was
wrong or the task was far easier for Emmy than for him. That might be
the case. Children were much more adaptable than adults.
Emmy's parents and her other sister edged into the room, fascinated but
wary.
Stefan understood their wariness. All seemed well, the power benign.
But the situation was so awesome, so profoundly affecting on a primitive
level, that even an unfaltering optimist like Stefan Wycazik felt a
tingle of fear.
After using a pay phone at a Shell service station in Elko to get in
touch with Alexander Christophson in Boston, Ginger accompanied Faye to
Elroy and Nancy Jamison's ranch in the Lemoille Valley, twenty miles
from Elko. The Jamisons were the Blocks' friends who had been visiting
on the evening of July 6, the summer before last. They had surely been
caught up in the unknown events of that night and had been detained at
the motel for brainwashing, with everyone else, though they remembered
differently, of course. According to their program of false memories,
they had been allowed to evacuate the danger zone, taking Ernie and Faye
with them. They believed they had returned to their small ranch, where
they and the Blocks had passed the next few days. That was also what
Faye and Ernie had believed-until recently.
Ginger and Faye were paying a visit to the Jamisons not to inform them
of what had actually happened but to determine, as indirectly as
possible, if the Jamisons were having troubles of the kind afflicting
Ginger, Ernie, Dom, and some
of the others. If they were suffering, they would be brought into the
mutually supportive community at the motel-the members of which had come
to think of themselves as the "Tranquility family"-and would join the
search for answers.
But if the brainwashing had been effective, the Jamisons would not be
told anything. To tell the Jamisons would be to endanger them.
Besides, given the urgent strategy developed last night with Jack Twist,
if the Jamisons were not already suffering, there was no point wasting a
lot of time convincing them that they'd' been brainwashed. Time was
precious, and every passing hour carried the Tranquility family deeper
into danger. Jack believed-and convinced Ginger-that their enemies
would soon move against them.
The drive from Elko in the motel's van was quick and scenic. The
picturesque Lemoille Valley-fifteen miles long, four miles wide-began at
the foot of the Ruby Mountains. Wheat, barley, and potato farms occupied
the lowlands, though the fields were unplanted now, slumbering under
scattered patches of snow.
Between the valley floor and the mountains, the higher lands and
foothills offered lush pasturage, and that was where the Jamisons had
their ranch. At one time, they owned hundreds of acres on which they
raised cattle, but eventually they sold off much of their property,
which had risen substantially in value, and got out of the livestock
business. Now, in their early sixties and retired, they owned about
fifty acres in the foothills, employed no ranch hands, and kept only
three horses and a few chickens.
As Faye turned off the main valley road onto a lane leading into the
highlands, she said, "I think someone's following US.
The back doors of the van had no windows, so Ginger looked at the
side-mounted mirror. A nondescript sedan was about a hundred feet
behind them. "How do you know?"
"Same car's been back there since the Union 76 in town."
"Maybe it's coincidence," Ginger said.
When they had followed the lane over halfway up the valley wall, they
reached the long narrow driveway to the Jamisons' ranch, which led half
a mile back through deep shadows thrown by flanking rows of big pines.
Faye pulled into the driveway and slowed to see what the other car would
do. Instead of going past, farther up into the hills, it pulled to a
stop and parked along the outer lane, directly across from the entrance
to the Jamisons' property.
In the sideview mirror, Ginger could see that the car was a late-model
Plymouth, painted a flat ugly brown-green.
"Obviously a government heap," Faye said.
"Pretty bold, aren't they?"
"Well, if they've been eavesdropping on us the way Jack says, through
our own telephones, then they know we're on to them, so maybe they
figure there's no point in playing coy with us." Faye took her foot off
the brake and headed up the driveway.
Watching the unmarked Plymouth dwindle in the side mirror, Ginger said,
"Or maybe they're getting in position to take us into custody. Maybe
they've put tails on all of us, and maybe they're just waiting for the
order to snatch us all at the same time."
On the narrow, gravel driveway, the interlacing shadows of the
overarching pines wove a darkness nearly as deep as night.
As they drove up the two-lane road through the broad snowcovered meadow
toward the massive blast doors, Colonel Falkirk sat in the front
passenger's seat of the Wagoneer, thinking about the c
atastrophe that
would ensue from the revelation of Thunder Hill's secret.
From a political perspective, this would make the Watergate mess look
like a tea party. An unprecedented number of competing government
institutions were involved in the cover-up, organizations that often
operated in jealous opposition to one another-the FBI, CIA, National
Security Agency, the United States Army, the Air Force, and others. It
was a testament to the degree of potential danger that these groups
could work together with nary a hitch and without a single leak in more
than eighteen months. But if the coverup were uncovered, the scandal
would extend throughout so much of the government that the faith of the
American people in their leaders would be severely shaken. Of course,
very few in any of those organizations knew what had happened, no more
than six in the FBI, fewer in the CIA; most of their men involved in the
cover-up didn't know what they were covering up, which was why there had
been no leaks. But the numero uno of each organization-the Director of
the FBI, the Director of the CIA, the Chief of Staff of the Armywas
completely in the know. Not to mention the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs
of Staff. And the Secretary of State. And the President, his closest
advisers, the Vice-President. A lot of prominent men might fall from
grace if this affair was not kept under lock and key.
The political destruction wrought by the release of the secret would be