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And then the staff members clapped their white gloves briskly and the partygoers streamed out, some still holding glasses and appetizer plates. The string quartet folded up their act as neatly as street musicians. Staff left platters and stations. The throng surged toward the entrance, funneling past Evan and out the colossal door at his back.
He stood in place, holding firm against the current.
As the last guests flowed out, Evan sensed movement way up above on the second-floor landing.
Luke Devine stood near the top of the staircase, his palms resting on the railing. He wore a beautifully fitted suit—a costume change?—and it struck Evan that he hadn’t taken note of Devine’s clothing before, an uncharacteristic lapse.
Devine beamed down; he looked positively delighted.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt the whole evening,” Evan said.
“This is what the party was for,” Devine said.“You.”His voice found resonance off the walls and ceiling and came back legion.
“Are we gonna keep shouting like Romeo and Juliet?” Bizarrely, Evan’s voice did not echo as Devine’s did. “I’m rusty on my iambic pentameter.”
“Of course not.” Devine nodded at the stairs. “If you’ll join me.”
He made a magnanimous gesture eastward toward the master wing of the building. The place was so massive that cardinal points seemed necessary; it was like orienting on a mountain range or an open prairie.
Evan moved up the stairs past the three monkeys. His boots made the only sound, rapping against the wooden steps hollowly, as if requesting entry.
Devine stood on the landing above, backlit severely so he was nothing more than an outline of a man. Somehow, magically, he was holding the ARES 1911, though Evan had not seen his pistol conveyed upstairs during the mass exodus.
The interminable staircase seemed to grow longer even as Evan mounted it. Devine held the pistol out to his side. Tenpenny appeared to claim it, glared at Evan, and then retreated from view, leaving a suspended trail of smoke from his cigarette.
At last Evan reached the top, Devine waiting patiently with a posture suited to a military portrait. Over the small man’s shoulder, Evan cast an eye at the alluring scarlet door. He wondered just what it would take for him to see behind the curtain.
“Welcome back,” Devine said.
He coasted smoothly across the Calacatta marble. His head and torso glided evenly at Evan’s side; his footfall made no sound.
They reached the door. The upholstery was tufted silk with big glossy buttons.
“Why don’t you come in.” Devine palmed the previously locked door, which swung inward on lubricated hinges without so much as a creak. “I’d like to show you exactly what I’m up to.”
45
Eye of God
The inside of the door was padded as well, and it sucked closed behind Evan and Devine with a soundproofed thunk. Devine slid home a barrel bolt as thick as a .50 BMG round. After the expansiveness of the mansion, the windowless room felt cramped.
Plush scarlet carpet. Two baroque gilded chaise longues with scarlet upholstery against opposing walls. Flocked scarlet wallpaper with fleurs-de-lis.
In the center was a Faraday cage the size of a railroad car, its slatted door ajar.
Inside: A desk with a wireless keyboard and mouse. A chair. Wall-mounted racks holding hard drives.
The far side of the cage was an unbroken screen the size of five large TVs stacked top to bottom.
“I’ve been waiting to talk to you for so long,” Devine said. “I have so much to share with you.”
Evan looked at him.
“Please.” Devine indicated the chair. “Sit.”
Evan sat.
In the dark monitors, Evan could see his own reflection in front of Devine’s. Even standing, Devine was only a bit taller than Evan, backdropping him like a shadow’s shadow.
