The Reverend picked up the only other weapon he could find and brought his arm down as hard as he could, willing his twisted hand to hold on to the prayer book as he slammed the spine into the Watcher’s head over and over again. He raised the knife again, ready to at least exact revenge.
“What’s going on in there? Over here, there’s more of them.”
A police officer stood at the entrance to the tunnel and was waving frantically for help. It was the only thing that stopped Reverend Michael from finishing what the Watcher had started forty years ago. He slid the book, wet with blood, into his pocket and rose to his feet. Wiping his hand on the inside of his jacket, he staggered out toward the light.
“Mugging,” he whispered to the officer as he looked around for a familiar face. He started to sway just as an arm came around his back and pressed painfully against his broken ribs.
“I have him, Officer.” It was Reverend Wright’s voice. “We’ll get him to medical care.”
“The ambulance is on its way,” the cop protested. “He really doesn’t look good.”
“I agree, we’ll make a point to hurry,” said Wright, nodding in the direction of the car.
They walked as quickly as Reverend Michael’s injuries would allow over to a black Lincoln Continental with the name of the Georgia Diocese in small gold lettering just under the door handle. Next to the words was a small, discreet depiction of two keys, one silver and one gold laid across each other.
Reverend Wright opened the back door and helped the brother into the back seat, gently sitting him up against the leather.
“We failed,” said Reverend Michael to the cleric already sitting in the back seat. He gripped his arm, trembling. “We lost everything.”
Reverend John didn’t look at him but said to the driver, “Take him to Bethesda Home for Boys. They’ll know what to do.”
“Was it on her? The list, the list is gone,” whispered Reverend Michael, his breathing becoming more labored.
“I was a step too late as well. The list is in their hands for now, but that is for another day and different people. We have a vow to fulfill. As soon as you’re able, you’ll join us.”
“Wisconsin.”
“Yes, we’ll be fine until you can join us. Rest now, there’s no more than can be done today.”
“What have we done? If they find out…” Reverend Michael began to weep. “You can’t take me to Bethesda. It will only confirm the list.”
“There is still hope. Do not forget about the one who lives in Richmond. We’ve managed to at least keep that identity a secret, even now. We still have a chance to stop them.”
Chapter Two
Ray was flipping through channels during a commercial when the doorbell rang.
He had hesitated and thought about calling out to Lily to get the door before he remembered she wasn’t living here anymore. A momentary pang of sadness came to rest in his belly. He wasn’t used to being alone and hadn’t tried very hard to get past it.
“Okay,” he muttered, slowly getting up from the couch, pushing up and out of the sagging middle to go look out the front window. Not too many people came by at night.
He pulled back just enough of the gauzy curtain in the family room to get a glimpse while checking to make sure the long strands of hair were in place on the top of his head. Three men in long coats bundled up against the cold stood on Ray’s front step, their gazes fixed on the front door.
A shiver went down Ray’s back shaking him hard enough to let go of the curtain. He took a step back trying to decide what to do as the doorbell rang again, this time accompanied by a sharp and rapid knocking.
“It can’t be,” he whispered.
He walked quickly to the front hall and reached inside the drawer of the small table for the key to the back door, scooping up the small thumb drive in the shape of a racecar with the number three on the side. The knocking grew more insistent.
One step away from the door was the loose floorboard. He pried it open just enough to let the long thin USB device roll in and drop between the two layers.
Thank goodness, I was too lazy to fix that, he thought, gently pushing the board back into place until it was level with the rest of the floor.
He looked at the key still in his hand and considered scaling his back fence. The neighbor’s dog would quickly give him away.
“Who is it?” he called out, buying a little time to think.
“F.B.I., sir. Are you Ray Billings?”
Ray felt a sense of relief wash over him. It’s not them, he thought.
“Yes, just a second.”
Ray peered out of the peephole at the fish-eyed view of the men’s heads.
“Can you show me some I.D.?” he asked. The short man in front deftly reached inside of his coat and pulled out a thin leather wallet, flipping it open to reveal a gold badge.
Ray let out the breath he’d been holding and unlocked the front door. He stepped aside as the three men pushed past him into his house.
It wasn’t until the door shut that the first blow hit him. They hustled him quickly to his office, his feet barely touching the ground, before securing him to a chair.
“Where is it?” asked the shorter man who had shown him the badge.