The Tower A Novel (Sanctus)

42





The front door of the Church of Christ’s Salvation opened into a warm, high-ceilinged entrance hall running the entire width of

the building. It was plainly decorated in white that caught the glare from the tall windows looking out onto the snow-covered

street. Three sofas, also white, were arranged in a horseshoe around a low coffee table with leaflets and small booklets on the

surface next to a jar filled with multicoloured plastic key rings. The only real clue as to what went on in the building was

coming from the television fixed above the bare brick fireplace.

Now you have watched me on TV today.

The Reverend Fulton Cooper said, his eyes burning from the screen.

I’ve taken my own step of faith to come in front of the camera and talk to you across America. But now you need to take a step of

your own. YOU need to do something for Him.

‘Please take a seat,’ Miss Carolina said, ‘the Reverend will be with you soon. Can I get you some coffee?’

‘That would be fine,’ Franklin settled into the sofa opposite the TV.

I want you to look out of your window. Do it right now and see what is happening in the world. I know you have terrible floods out

there in Texas and in New Mexico. I know you have drought in Illinois and Indiana. These are the signs of His coming.

The Reverend moved across the screen to a window and the camera followed showing the swirling blizzard over the rooftops and the

distant ships in the bay.

Here in the holy city of Charleston we have snow where no snow ought to be. Maybe Hell has frozen over too, my friends, because

Carolina sure has. And so has Florida. And so has Georgia. Is this not evidence that mankind’s sins have sorely displeased the

Lord and that His great reckoning is upon us?

The camera swept back to him, eyes still blazing down the lens, challenging the viewer.

You need to make a vow of faith to make your peace with the Lord and you need to make it fast. If you have wandered from the flock

then now is the time to return. Be reconciled with your Lord and do it now, for time is running out. The true Church will always

welcome you. Call the number on the screen right now. Salvation is waiting.

A graphic of a dove flew across the screen, wiping the Reverend from view and dragging an infomercial in on its tail.

Franklin reached forward and fished a key ring from the jar. It had a phone number stamped on it next to a website address, the

same ones that were now scrolling across the screen beneath images of American soldiers marching on dry foreign soil. The picture

changed to a group of wounded servicemen and women gathering together in a field hospital, some with bandages round their heads,

others with limbs missing – all of them praying.

A caption crashed onto the screen:

OPERATION SAVIOUR

Saving the souls and rebuilding the lives of those destroyed in the Holy wars

The door opened behind them and Miss Boerman reappeared. ‘Reverend Cooper can see you now if you’d like to follow me.’

The first room they passed through was divided into small cubicles, each containing a computer terminal, a phone and an operator.

There must have been twenty of them, all fairly young, all talking and tapping, filling the room with the hum of overlapping

conversations.

The next room contained two parallel lines of people stuffing envelopes with the same books and key rings they had seen on the

coffee table. One was in a wheelchair, another had a prosthetic hand and Shepherd put it all together – the youthful demographic,

the discipline and order, even the limp and the scar on Miss Carolina’s face – these must be some of Cooper’s Christian

soldiers, rescued from wherever they’d been fighting and now doing the Lord’s work for the Church that had saved them.

They followed Miss Boerman up some narrow stairs and through a heavy door into a different world. Gone were the utility desks and

bare brick walls. Everything on the upper floor was plush and expensive. They were in some kind of salon with deep red velvet

furniture and wood panelling on the walls that had been painted a soft, expensive, chalky grey. There was a fire in the hearth and

split logs piled neatly to one side of a carved marble surround.

‘Let me see if he’s ready,’ Miss Boerman said, disappearing through a hidden door in the panelling.

Franklin leaned in to Shepherd, keeping his voice low. ‘Looks like the good Reverend lives above the shop, you know why he does

that?’ Shepherd shook his head. ‘Because in the state of South Carolina religious organizations are exempt from property tax. It

means he can live in all this luxury, right in the heart of town, without paying a dime to do it.’

He stood back up as Miss Boerman stuck her head round the edge of the hidden door.

‘The Reverend Cooper will see you now,’ she said.





43





By the time the sun dipped low enough to touch the horizon, Liv and Tariq were ready to leave. Following the discovery of Kasim’s

theft everyone had decided they should try and get to Al-Hillah as planned, food or no food. They didn’t really have much choice.

They filled as many canteens as they could carry and drank freely from the pool to fully hydrate themselves before the long march

ahead. One small consolation of Kasim’s clandestine departure was that he had not been able to take much water as filling the

canteens at the pool would have been too obvious. As a result Liv and Tariq had plenty of spare water containers for their

journey. They were heavy but Liv consoled herself with the thought that the more they drank, the lighter they would become.

The two of them set off with the sky still bright but the sun now gone, rising out of the depression in the ground like the dead

coming back to life. Tariq led the way, past the dam and along the line of the river back towards the compound. Al-Hillah lay

directly beyond. They had talked about taking a wide route to avoid the compound entirely, but with hunger already gnawing at

their stomachs and the extra miles this would add to their journey they had decided to risk taking the direct route instead,

timing their march so they could creep past it as close as they dared under cover of darkness.

Night fell quickly and so did the temperature. Liv pulled her clothes tight against the creeping cold but could still feel it

slowly taking hold of her feet, numbing them as they trudged forward. Ahead of them the compound glowed into life as the battery-

powered security lights switched on automatically, using power collected by solar panels during the day. She felt drawn to them, a

moth to the light. ‘They seem brighter tonight,’ she said.

‘It’s because they’re getting closer,’ Tariq whispered, then pressed his finger to his lips. ‘We should keep quiet. Sound

travels further in the still of a desert night.’ It felt good to be moving again and she found the tightness that had tugged at

her as she walked away from the compound was lessening again with every step she took back to it.

For the next hour they walked in silence, settling into a steady pace, stopping occasionally to adjust anything on their packs

that made a noise. It was in the soft silence of one of these stops that they heard it, a steady, rhythmic sound, rising and

falling as the night breezes shifted it around. Liv titled her head towards it and Tariq did the same. Through the whisper of the

wind they heard it again, the unmistakable thrum of a diesel engine.

‘Generator,’ Tariq whispered. ‘That’s why the lights are so bright. They must have fresh supplies of fuel and have switched on

the main perimeter lights. Someone else must be there.’

Liv listened harder, trying to pick out any other sounds of life. She was listening so hard that when the new sound came, close

and loud, it made her spin round in alarm. It had come from behind, a haunted, moaning sound from over by the river. The sound

came again, rattling and wet and she saw what had made it. It was a man, shuffling up the bank, his breath coming in gasping,

laborious moans.

Kasim.

Liv started to back away as his eyes locked onto her, so wide and staring that they seemed to glow in the night. A thick, viscous

rope of dark drool leaked from his mouth and he raised an arm to point directly at her, his hand bent into a claw.

SaHeira, he said, his voice ragged and raw.

Witch.

Then he coughed, a fierce racking sound that brought him to his knees and sent him into convulsions. He rolled onto his back,

fighting for air. Then his eyes rolled up into his head and he started to spasm. Liv jumped as a hand fell on her shoulder. ‘Don

’t look,’ Tariq said, trying to turn her away from the death throes.

Liv shrugged away, her eyes transfixed by Kasim, bucking and twitching on the ground, fighting for his final breath. He gave one

last long shudder then was still.

‘Look,’ Tariq said, pointing past his body, ‘you were right.’

Kasim’s canteen drifted in the water where he had stopped to drink, driven by thirst and lack of supplies. Tariq stepped over the

body and retrieved his backpack lying on the bank. Inside were the missing rations. ‘We need to get away from here,’ Tariq said,

shouldering the bag. ‘He made too much noise. People will be coming to see what it was.’

Liv turned to the compound glowing brightly in the night, close enough now to pick out details. She could see the spindly

structures of the guard towers, the shiny-sided buildings, the drill tower in the centre still throwing water high into the air;

but no movement, and no people. She started walking towards it, following the line of the widening stream to its source at the

centre of the compound. She did not want to look upon the agonized death mask of Kasim any more. But most of all she did not want

Tariq to see the tears that had started to run down her cheeks. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. Maybe it was exhaustion

– or guilt. Wherever she went it seemed, people died – and she was weary of death. It seemed to walk alongside her, taking the

lives of everyone she touched and driving others away. She couldn’t shake the growing feeling that it was she who was at the

heart of all this misery – that she was the cause and the curse.

‘What are you doing?’ Tariq said, drawing level with her, his voice a low whisper so it would not carry.

‘I’m going back,’ she said, her eyes fixed on the compound. ‘And if they shoot me then they’ll be doing me and everyone else

a favour. You go on to Al-Hillah if you want. I’m tired of running scared.’

She marched on, feeling relieved more than anything as the tension continued to unwind inside her. The adrenalin of the incident

with Kasim burned away leaving a gnawing sickness in the pit of her empty stomach and her muscles feeling heavy and weak. Ahead of

her the compound opened up a little as her perspective shifted. She could see past the main building now into the wide central

area where the derrick rose from the main pool of water. There was still no sign of life, no horses, no people. Maybe they had

realized the water was poisoned and ridden away.

The compound opened up a little more and she saw two vehicles parked by the main transport hanger that hadn’t been there before:

a jeep and a transport truck. It explained the fresh supplies of fuel. She was close enough now to read the registration plates

and make out the logo on the side of the truck – a flower with the earth at its centre. The heat of hope warmed her exhausted

muscles and she broke into a shambling run. It was the symbol of the international aid agency ORTUS – the charity Gabriel worked

for. He had said he would come back. He had promised. Maybe he had …

She made it to the gate too exhausted from her sprint even to call out his name. She rattled the gate then found a stone on the

ground and started banging it against the steel frame. The anvil clang echoed in the night like a chapel bell and she kept at it,

beating the stone against the metal until it splintered in her hands.

A door opened on the side of the transport hangar, framing the silhouette of a man and Liv crumpled to her knees, all her energy

spent. The figure hurried out of the door towards her and another followed. She could not make out details of their faces because

of the bright lights shining behind them. She watched them draw closer, clinging to the gate to keep herself vaguely upright as

hope drained steadily out of her. The way they moved, the slope of their shoulders, other tiny things told her, long before they

reached the gate to open it, that neither man was Gabriel.

She let go of the gate and allowed herself to slump down the last few feet to the cold earth. The smell of the earth filled her

nostrils as her head made contact with the ground. Then she gave in to the welcome relief of oblivion, closed her eyes and let the

darkness take her.





44





The Reverend Fulton Cooper was shorter than Shepherd had expected but he displaced the air like a much larger man. He was standing

in the middle of a large room that had been converted into a TV studio, talking to a tall reed of a man clutching a clipboard and

wearing headphones. The studio was basic, just three cameras on wheeled tripods with wireless transmitters plugged in the back

feeding a signal directly into a large iMac in the corner. Including the laptops the telephone operators were using there was

maybe less than twenty thousand dollars' worth of technology on display. No wonder the Reverend could afford to base his church in

a million-dollar mansion. He was broadcasting to the world with a miniscule overhead and no taxes to pay.

‘Gentlemen.’ Cooper finally turned his attention to them, all smiles and open arms. ‘My apologies for the wait. As you can see

I am rather busy, but I am more than happy to be of assistance if I can.’ He stayed where he was, inviting them to come to him,

establishing the power structure.

Franklin didn’t move. ‘And we surely appreciate that,’ he said. ‘Is there maybe somewhere more private we could talk?’

Cooper’s smile widened. ‘I have nothing to hide from any of these people: we can talk about anything right here in this room.’

‘All right,’ Franklin said. ‘How’s your catching?’

The smile slipped a little. ‘I don’t get your meaning?’

‘Your catching,’ Franklin repeated, then his arm shot forward sending something arcing through the air. Cooper took a step back,

his smooth veneer further ruffled by the unexpected move and swatted the object away with his left hand, sending a plastic key

ring skittering across the floor of the studio.

‘You’ll never make the team catching like that,’ Franklin said, finally taking a step forward. ‘Did you know only around ten

per cent of the population are left-handed? Also most people use the same hand to do everything like throw, catch – write

threatening postcards to NASA.’

The smile returned but it didn’t quite make it to Reverend Cooper’s eyes. ‘Take twenty minutes, everyone,’ he announced to the

room. ‘Gregory, can you run infomercials on a loop until I’m finished with these gentlemen?’ He turned back to them. ‘Why don

’t we sit down,’ he gestured towards two sofas in the middle of the studio arranged around a low table with a laptop on it.

‘Miss Boerman, if you would be so kind as to bring us a large pot of coffee.’

‘Coffee!’ Franklin said. ‘Now there’s an idea.’

They settled in the sofas and sat in silence while the room emptied, Cooper busying himself with his cell phone in a way that

suggested whatever was on his phone was far more important and deserving of his attention than they were. Shepherd didn’t mind.

It gave him the chance to study him up close: he found him vaguely fascinating. His head seemed too big for his compact body and

every facial gesture seemed amplified. He also hummed with a restless energy that combined with his carefully combed silver hair

and expensive colour-matched suit to make him come across like a high-powered corporate executive or a senator with his eye on

higher office.

‘If you could switch your phone to silent and leave it on the table while we talk,’ Franklin said, ‘I would appreciate it.’

Cooper looked up.

‘This is an informal interview but an important one and I don’t want you to be distracted while we talk.’

Cooper obeyed, reluctantly laying his phone down next to the laptop.

‘Mind if I smoke?’ Franklin asked, producing his pack of cigarettes.

Cooper’s frown deepened. ‘I believe smoking inside any public building is illegal.’

Franklin tapped a cigarette out and popped it between his lips, reaching a finger inside the pack to fish out his lighter. ‘That

’s true but I believe the deeds to this house are in your name, which makes it a private residence. A man can do whatever he

likes in his own home.’

‘I’m afraid I must still insist that you do not smoke.’

Franklin shrugged, returned the cigarette to the pack and laid it on the table next to Cooper’s phone. ‘Your house, your rules.

’

The door closed as the final person left and Shepherd reached into the laptop case to pull out copies of the postcards sent to

Kinderman and Douglas.

‘Recognize these?’ Franklin asked.

The Reverend took them and studied them, his eyes struggling to focus, his vanity preventing him from wearing reading glasses.

‘Of course I recognize them.’ He looked up and smiled. ‘Those are the shining words of Genesis.’

Franklin returned the smile but there was no warmth in it. ‘Do you recognize the handwriting?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Because it’s mine.’

Silence stretched out in the empty room. The sofa creaked as Franklin leaned forward. ‘Care to tell us why you sent them?’

Cooper opened his mouth to reply but the door opened and Miss Boerman reappeared carrying a tray of coffee. She moved the laptop

to one side and placed it on the table, careful to avoid the documents and other items on the table. Cooper waited until she had

left. ‘Do you believe what is written in the Bible, gentlemen? Are you men of faith? Because if you know your Scripture then you

will not be blind to the clear signs that judgement day is upon us. I saw that those telescopes were an insult to the Lord,

modern-day versions of the Tower of Babel, symbol of man’s pride in seeking to gaze upon the face of God, and I prayed to Him

saying, “Lord, I know we have offended you, what would you have me do in your blessed name to make amends?”’

‘And he told you to send death threats?’

Cooper smiled like a gambler with an ace in the hole. ‘Death threats? I sent no death threats.’

Shepherd reached into the case and handed over copies of the final letters sent to both Kinderman and Douglas. ‘Then maybe you

can explain these.’

Cooper took them and held them at arm's length taking his time to inspect them before handing them back. ‘If you recall I

admitted I did write those cards. But these are letters, and they have been typed not written.’

‘So you’re saying you did not send these?’

‘I did not.’

Franklin leaned further forward, his voice dropping in a way that was both conspiratorial and menacing. ‘Quite a coincidence,

though, don’t you think, them both making reference to the exact same thing.’

Cooper chuckled. ‘I don’t think I am the only one who has read the Bible and paid heed to the teachings of the good book. Let me

ask you something, gentlemen. If you were aware that a heinous crime was being committed would you not seek to prevent it from

taking place? Are you not, as law enforcement officers, duty bound to uphold the law? Well I follow the highest law there is, a

law that is second to none. So, yes, I will admit I did send those cards, I saw it as my duty to remind those people of the danger

of what they were doing, but I did not threaten anyone, as God is my witness I did not do that. Nor am I responsible for the

events that have succeeded in toppling these towers.’

Franklin stiffened. ‘What events?’

Cooper looked surprised. ‘Well now, surely you know.’

‘Know what?’

Cooper leaned forward and tapped something into the laptop. ‘I don’t know if you were trying to keep a lid on it but I’m sure

you are aware, news travels awful fast these days.’ He turned the screen round for them to see. It showed a Twitter feed, new

tweets appearing almost every second, all using the same hashtags:

WDW Kate @WebbieWorld349

Explosion at Marshall Space Center. James Webb telescope destroyed? Latest. ow.ly/c5mK #NASA #HUBBLE_WEBB

Letitia Potorac @metaevolve

#NASA $8bn space telescope sabotaged? fb.me/1B49ZI2yW

Ira Upinski @eyeupinsky

#NASA #HUBBLE Space Telescope knocked out of orbit, several sources confirm: bit.ly/wRNi0c

‘It appears my prayers have been answered and the good Lord has once again confounded the vain attempts of mankind to know His

mystery. Your prompt appearance here and the nature of your questions merely confirms to me that these rumours must be true. They

are true I take it – the Hubble telescope has been disabled and its successor destroyed?’

‘Yes,’ Shepherd said.

‘Well how about that. Thank you, gentlemen, thank you kindly. You have just given me the theme for the second part of today’s

show. Now if you have no further questions I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take your coffee elsewhere. I am in the

middle of a live broadcast here.’ He began to rise.

‘I have a question,’ Shepherd said. ‘Why didn’t you sign the cards?’

‘Because I was quoting the Bible: I would not presume to sign my name after the words of the Lord.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘Also I’m wondering why the cards all have different postmarks?’

Cooper shrugged. ‘I travel a lot. I guess I must have posted them wherever I found myself to be.’

‘Could we see a copy of your schedule going back to May?’

‘For what purpose exactly?’

‘It would help us match your whereabouts with the postmarks and confirm your story.’

Cooper hesitated. ‘I’ll get the office to send you over a copy.’ Franklin produced a card and handed it over. The Reverend took

it and flipped it over in his soft, manicured hands then fixed the smile back in place and gestured towards the door.

‘It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen. I’m sorry I could not be more helpful.’

The gate clanged shut behind them on the snow-covered street. ‘You think he sent the letter?’ Shepherd asked.

Franklin reached into his pocket, pulled out his rumpled packet of Marlboros and tapped out a cigarette. He cupped his hand

against the cold and fired up a battered Zippo that looked like it had been rescued from a car wreck, sucked the flame into the

cigarette then let out a long stream of smoke. Despite everything they had been through in the last twelve hours or so this was

the first time Shepherd had seen him smoke. ‘If it wasn’t him then he knows who did.’ Franklin took another deep draw, the

cherry glowing bright and red against the soft, silent white of the street. ‘I got an instinct for these things. That’s why I

wanted to come here and look the man in the eye. That was a nice touch at the end there, by the way, asking him about the cards.’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘I was just yanking his chain a little.’

‘It showed good instincts. Pushing a man’s buttons, knocking him off centre, sometimes that’s all it takes to start cracks

forming, and the cracks show you where the weaknesses are.’

Shepherd looked out into the street. ‘Didn’t get us anywhere though, did it?’

Franklin took a final deep pull on his cigarette then dropped it to the ground, crushing it with his shoe. ‘Not yet.’ He studied

the building, spotted a gap between the mailbox and the wall and crammed his empty pack of cigarettes into it. ‘But you can’t

just toss in a line and expect to haul out a fish straight away. You need to learn a little patience, Agent Shepherd.’ He stepped

into the snow, heading for the corner.

Shepherd followed, tilting his head down against the weather. ‘Where we headed now?’

‘Police station up on Westside, but we’ll need a ride there. You got your phone handy?’ Shepherd pulled it out of his jacket

pocket. ‘Call a cab and get it to pick us up at the Fast and French on Broad Street in twenty minutes.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The nearest place we can get some goddam coffee.’

Reverend Cooper watched them leave, following them with his eyes until they disappeared in the snow. Behind him he heard the door

to his private office open and he listened to the approaching footsteps. He waited until they were close enough then turned

suddenly, shooting out his arm to catch Miss Boerman’s face hard with the back of his hand. She was knocked sideways by the

force, crashing against his desk and knocking a phone to the floor as she scrambled to recover. Cooper was already on her,

grabbing her throat with one hand and pulling the other back to strike her once more.

‘Don’t you EVER do something like that again.’

She closed her eyes but made no move to get away. Cooper’s hand curled into a fist as his rage balled up inside him. He wanted to

break her nose and see her spitting teeth through split lips. He wanted to hear the snap of her fingers and her cries of pain. He

wanted to …

He stepped away, breathing heavily as he fought to master the demons that used to be the master of him. Now was not the time to

let the devil back in.

‘Get out,’ he said. She stood up, straightening her suit jacket, the red marks of his fingers already rising up on her white

cheek. ‘Tell the studio to be ready to broadcast in five minutes and close the door on your way out.’

He waited until she had gone, then picked the phone up off the floor and dialled a number from memory. Outside in the street the

footprints of the FBI agents were already being rubbed out by the steady fall of snow. If only the men who had made them and the

threat they posed were as easy to erase. Then again – maybe they were.

The phone clicked as it connected. Then Carrie’s brittle, little-girl voice answered.