They passed a bunkroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, then went into a long, wide room. Greer’s team was seated around a huge conference table. Two smart screens the size of blackboards were suspended on one wall.
Owen was standing at the back wall. His arms were folded over his chest. His eyes were as chilling as the steel weapon cases. Remi looked away as soon as she could. Greer led her over to two open seats next to Selena. Remi sent a glance around the table. None of them were looking particularly welcoming. Course, none of them had gotten much rest over the past few days, either.
“Soon, Professor, you’ll be able to return to your regular life,” Owen said.
Remi’s mind replayed a slice of her life before her world imploded. As much as she missed the routine of daily life in academia, the sociologist in her was intrigued with the alternate realities Greer and his team had shown her. She realized her work so far had only scratched the surface of hidden human societies.
Owen nodded toward Kit, who began his explanation. “There are terrorist cells lying dormant in our country. Recently, some of those have been activated for various purposes that include taking revenge against our warriors and introducing chaos to undermine our country. Some of those cells have connected with the criminal elements in our country to traffic drugs, making money to fund their activities in hot spots here and abroad. It’s an effective network we’re in the process of discovering. They’re working with the WKB, and the WKB are hiding in some of these utopian or cult societies. Hence the intersection of our interests.”
Remi got up and started pacing around the conference room. She walked past stacks of her boxes, organized by the symbols she’d marked on them. “You’ve got my files, all my data, but you don’t have my eyes. I’ve been studying these groups for years, looking for their similarities and differences. Let me help you find the patterns you’re looking for.”
“Agreed,” Kit said. “Sounds like a good place to begin. But first, Max, put up the senator’s picture.”
Remi looked up at the big smart screen. The image she saw was the stuff of her nightmares. Her hands covered her mouth, but didn’t block her gasp. She recognized the picture—and the man. Oh, sweet Mother Mary. Was he behind all that had been happening to her? She was twelve when that picture was taken.
She realized the room had gone silent. She ripped her gaze from the big screen to the table full of people who had turned and were now staring at her.
“Remi—do you know this man?” Greer asked.
Her heart was pounding in her ears. She felt cold and terrified and numb. She nodded.
“Who is he to you?” Greer asked.
Oh, God. She needed to vomit. Not a good reaction here, in front of these mercenaries who probably ate crybabies like her for breakfast.
She pulled a long draw of air in through her nose, then another, fighting back the bile. These people knew her secrets, knew her shame. Her eyes watered, but she didn’t blink.
“He was one of the prophets in the community where I grew up.” Her voice was a whisper. She wasn’t even certain she’d spoken aloud. No one spoke. No one moved.
Greer exchanged glances with Kit. “Motherfucking sonofabitch,” he growled, and got up from the table. She was afraid for a second that he was going to pull her into his arms. If he did, she would break.
Instead, he came to stand in front of her, blocking her from the team—and from the picture of Prophet Josiah. “I’m tainted,” he’d said. He wasn’t nearly as soiled as she.
“Baby, breathe,” he whispered as he hunched his shoulders, cupping her inside their wide span. She lifted her terrified gaze up to him, latching on to his calm eyes. “Breathe, baby.” He took his hands from his pockets and peeled hers from her face. The heat in his hands made her realize how cold she’d gone. He kissed her fingertips, then looked at her and said something that sounded like, “I will end him.”
She couldn’t have heard that right.
“Remi,” Kit said, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it, “was the WKB involved with your community?”
She pulled a long breath at last, then leaned her forehead against Greer’s chest. Two more slow breaths, and she was ready to talk. Greer stepped aside but stayed near.
“No,” she answered Kit. “But I left when I was fourteen. Maybe they are now.”
Kit turned back to Max. “Bring up the fingerprints,” he ordered.
Max added images to the screen—two fingerprints and an image of the burned-out shell of a car.
“You sent us scans of three fingerprints,” Kit said, glancing at Greer.
“You did?” Remi asked him.
“Yeah. Remember when I was ‘videoing’ the table? I used an app we have on our phones to scan fingerprints from the Dunbars’ and Mr. Haskel’s glasses.” He shrugged. “Just out of curiosity.”
“We had two hits from those scans,” Max told them, “for crimes that have been unsolved for decades.” Over the top of the burned car, he showed a pic of a gangbanger whose lifeless body was slumped over his steering wheel.
“Two different fingerprints, two different unsolved crimes from thirty, almost forty years ago. The car bomb was in Los Angeles and the gangbanger in San Diego.”
“There must be some mistake,” Remi said. “The Dunbars and the Haskels are natives of the community. They’ve never left it.”
“Except…during their tithes,” Greer said.
Remi stared at him, then shook her head. “No. They don’t travel anywhere except by horse or horse and buggy. It’s a two week round-trip to go to the market in their buggies.”
Greer shrugged. “Someone’s helping them. Sally had to have help getting down to Wolf Creek Bend the night she came to kill Kit. Not to mention, how did her ‘parents’ come after her so quickly when we took her to the clinic? No way could they have come that far that fast. And who contacted them anyway? They don’t have phones. No, the Friends aren’t as isolated as they would have us think.”