Chapter 74
Priest knew that in past lifetimes he had been a mighty warrior, a slayer of men, a ravager of women, just as he was now. After all, the old oak tree spread its roots in the soil, growing tall, hard, and strong. And when it died, it sprouted from its own acorn to live again. But it was still an oak. So it was with Priest.
His awareness of his prior existence was more than a belief. Priest often awoke from a dream, and in that moment of awakening, for a brief instant, he could almost recall the men he had been. He could almost hear the screams of the dying as they pleaded with him to spare their lives.
Just as Ms. California begged for her life right now. As he dragged her bound form from the house to the old well out back, she cried and pleaded with him. And Priest almost wavered. Not from any sense of mercy. Hearing her terrified cries aroused him, almost enough to take her back to his basement for a few more days of usage.
But he’d already snipped her fingers for his necklace. It was time for her to join the others.
In the concrete basement beneath a German Gasthaus, a wooden ball makes a unique sound as it rolls down an alley to crash into nine wooden pins. The sound is picked up and amplified by the enclosing concrete walls, sloshing back and forth like Pilsner in the drinking glasses of the red-faced rollers.
Something about the sound of a woman’s bound body falling down his well reminded Priest of that. Déjà vu.
As he walked back toward the house, Priest realized he was hungry, although not for food. The source of his hunger was one Janet Johnson, whatever her real name might be.
He didn’t know her real name. It was something that had only happened to Priest once before. Usually his sources could deliver a dossier on anybody in the world, a dossier that was thick enough to pop the hinges off a briefcase. But where Janet Johnson was concerned, there was nothing. Nothing real, anyway. There was plenty of stuff about her make-believe life. Birth certificate: Janet Donovan, Gaithersburg, Maryland, August 28, 1982. High School Diploma from Quince Orchard High, class of 2000. BA in history from University of Maryland, class of 2004. Marriage certificate to one Jack Johnson signed in Silver Spring, Maryland, September 2, 2004.
As he paused at the kitchen table to stare at the papers spread across it, Priest shook his head. Garbage. Every last scrap of it. The only other person he had ever encountered with a similar dearth of information was her pretend husband. But Priest knew some things about Jacky boy that put the lie to the false background. And they put the lie to all the information on Janet that lay spread out before him as well.
Deep cover. Part of Jack Gregory’s team. That told him all he really needed to know about that live little minx. And soon enough, he would have all the time in the world to encourage her to tell him the rest.
The sad thing about being a warrior of such high standards was that Priest bored of his conquests so rapidly. He didn’t think that would be the case with Janet Johnson. If she was acceptable to Jack, then she would be among the best. She would take a very long time to break. Priest couldn’t ask for more than that. That she was drop-dead gorgeous was merely icing on the cake.
Priest turned toward his front door. The day was drifting away from him, and he still had so many things to do. The drive to his hide position alone was going to take an hour and a half by the back roads, and then he had a hard forty-five-minute hike after that. And he wanted to be there well before the high school let out and Janet Johnson made her way home.
Normally he would have selected a hide that was more easily accessible. But this time that would not do. Not when Jack Gregory was involved. The man’s nose for trouble was uncanny, almost as if he had a sixth sense that warned him of danger. And Jack was not a man to trifle with. Priest had learned that firsthand.
The vantage point Priest had chosen was a brushy enclave in a crack in the cliff face across the canyon from the house Jack and Janet rented. It allowed entry along a trail hidden from the other side of the canyon. And the way the spot was shaded meant no stray glint from the lenses of his binoculars would betray his position.
He glanced down at his watch. 14:34. Perfect. Just enough time to get settled in before Janet got off work and returned home, provided she kept her routine. Whatever time she arrived didn’t really matter. Priest could wait.
As he adjusted his binoculars, Priest smiled. He had all the time in the world.