Page 104 of The Devil's Advocate

‘Oh my God,’ said Gruber. ‘What happened?’

The Pastor looked down into the channel at the dead bodies of Richard Barnes, Cole Reed and Seth Reed. They’d all been shot through the chest and head.

Gruber was intelligent. Of that, there was no doubt. He could spin a lie, he could build a compelling argument around his views and he even knew how to construct a detonator, but he was never quick on the uptake.

It wasn’t until Denvir drew his Desert Eagle that he realized what had happened to the other members of the White Camelia once their usefulness had been exhausted. He held up his hands in surrender, and fell to his knees, but before he could plead for his life, the gun bucked in Denvir’s hand.

Denvir kicked Gruber’s body over the bank, then aimed and fired two more shots. Still with the gun hot in his grip, he stared at the bodies below and said, ‘And when you don’t need me anymore, are you gonna kill me like the others?’

The Pastor shook his head, found the pickaxe he’d left at the side of the bank.

‘You don’t have anything to worry about, Brian. They weren’t like you and I. We know what has to be done, and we have the stomach for it. Gruber could fashion a bomb, but he didn’t have the heart to set it off. Ever wonder why those devices didn’t explode in those churches?’

‘You mean he messed them up on purpose?’

‘That’s exactly what I mean. He understood the need for bloodshed, and he encouraged and facilitated it, but he wouldn’t get his hands dirty.’

‘But what about the case he gave to Francis?’

‘That’s fine. I checked it myself. It will work. He had no problem building something for someone else to use. In his mind it absolved him of responsibility, you see. Like I said, we’re the onlyrealknights. We understand a revolution is born in blood. The others were weak. And there can be no weakness in our ranks. Now grab that shovel over there and give me a hand,’ said the Pastor.

Denvir nodded, holstered the gun. The Pastor threw the broad, flat end of his pickaxe into some loose dirt at the top of the bank, levered the handle down and tipped a load of soil onto the bodies below. Denvir bent down to grab the shovel, then stopped, moved around and bent over again, this time keeping the Pastor in sight.

‘I told you not to worry, Brian. Now, is everything in place for tomorrow?’ said the Pastor, continuing to lever dirt over the side of the bank.

‘Everything is ready,’ said Brian.

‘And you know what you have to do?’

‘I’m clear. I’ve got some of the guys ready too. They’re locked and loaded. All they’re waiting for is my signal.’

‘I’ve dreamed of this for a long time. The reckoning. Tomorrow we unleash hell. And then we’ll take back our country.’

THE SEVENTH DAY

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

BLOCH

Bloch pulled the SUV into the lot of a strip mall on the edge of town just after nine in the morning. It was an unusual cluster of stores. A laundromat, diner and video-rental store. Bloch couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a video store, but wasn’t surprised to find one in Buckstown. This place was still in the 1980s. Some folks in Buckstown thought it was the 1880s.

She was on an errand for Eddie. He had a hunch. A theory, really. And Bloch thought he might be onto something. This would be the litmus test.

Across from the strip mall was County Hall. The seat of legislature in the county. Bloch crossed the street, kept her head down as she passed the security cameras at the entrance to the county hall parking lot. She didn’t want her plates showing up on those cameras. Nothing that could tip off Korn.

There were a few dozen cars in the lot. Every bureaucracy needed people to keep the machine moving. The entrance to County Hall was via lacquered pine double doors. One was held open, the other shut. Inside, Bloch found a list of internal fiefdoms printed on a plastic board and affixed to the wall. Little placards on the board gave directions to various floors and offices. The office she wanted was on the first floor, room 5.02. She followed the signs to the room. It was small, with a six-seat waiting area and two counter windows. No one was waiting, so she approached the first counter. There were no staff behind the counters, but through the Plexiglas she could see someone sitting at a desk by the window. Bloch coughed, hoping to catch the woman’s attention. It didn’t work. A sign told her to ring the bell for attention. Bloch looked around but couldn’t see a bell. Then, on the next counter, she saw it, slapped it and waited.

A lady with a high, tight weave in her hair and a hand-knitted cardigan over a white silk blouse tutted behind her desk, then got up and slowly came forward. The flesh on her feet spilled over the top of her tight, one-inch heels, and her glasses hung around her neck on a gold chain. As she reached the counter Bloch caught the scent of old sweat beneath the lady’s perfume.

‘Can I help you?’ said the lady, in a way that made Bloch feel like the last thing this woman wanted to do was help anybody. She had the air of someone who liked to poke cats with sharp sticks and blame it on the neighborhood kids.

‘Yes, I would like to see the death certificate for Colt Lomax, please,’ said Bloch, smiling politely.

The lady behind the counter put her glasses on, and gave Bloch the once over, then pushed the glasses down to the end of her nose as if she didn’t like what she saw.

‘And you are?’ she asked.

‘A customer,’ said Bloch.