“No,” Father Gabriel said, looking at me. “However, I don’t want the curtain closed to the cockpit.”
What the hell did he think I’d do? He’d just threatened my wife in my presence. My main goal was to fly this $30 million tin can as fast as it could go. He’d be back to the Northern Light in time to make that damn call. As Micah and I entered the cockpit, I went for the pilot’s seat, but Micah blocked me. We’d always agreed to switch off responsibilities with each flight. We’d been doing that for years, and he’d piloted us to the Eastern Light, which meant it was now my turn. However, instead of arguing, I nodded, thankful, as Micah spoke wordlessly. His eyes told me that he was upset too, but he’d be able to concentrate, better than I. My mind would be somewhere else.
“As fast as possible,” I whispered.
He nodded.
Once we were airborne and had given our coordinates and plans to the Detroit airport, I settled back. With the open sky and setting sun ahead of us, continually out of reach, I let my mind go somewhere else. It was as Micah had predicted, but it was different. I wasn’t allowing my thoughts to linger in the mansion in Bloomfield Hills. I let them go there only long enough to say a prayer that Sara would make it two more days. Then I switched gears and allowed my mind to focus on the future, one different from the one the man sitting in the cabin of this plane predicted, a future I planned on delivering—sooner rather than later.
With each mile I formulated my plan. Wednesday’s shipment couldn’t be canceled or changed. It had to happen. Too many alarms would sound if everything didn’t go as scheduled. The Light was a too-well-oiled machine. I didn’t mean the religious organization. I meant the large moneymaking enterprise.
That was when I remembered Thomas. I wondered when he was next scheduled to fly to the Northern Light and if anyone had figured out that he was missing. If someone had, would that lead to unwanted attention on the Northern Light? The flight plans I’d been happy he’d made last Friday now had me worried. If Father Gabriel had been notified of his disappearance, I hadn’t been informed, and I doubted Thomas was scheduled to return on the weekend. It would be today or later this week.
I didn’t know whether Father Gabriel’s concern over the stupid envelope was real or not, but either way it needed to be found.
I worked to mentally retrace my steps. The obvious conclusion was that I’d put it in the pocket of my coat; however, Montana wasn’t Alaska. I didn’t remember whether I’d worn a jacket at the Western Light. If I had, that was probably where it was. If I hadn’t and I’d had it in my hand when I boarded the plane, maybe I’d left it in the cockpit. Or I could have taken it with me into the airport in Lone Hawk. Hell, I couldn’t remember. Maybe I’d taken it in the truck I borrowed or left it in the motel room . . .
Perspiration dotted my brow. The possibilities were multiplying, and each one added to my apprehension.
As soon as we arrived, I planned to check the cockpit of the smaller plane, after I made damn sure Father Gabriel got to his apartment or the temple, or wherever he wanted to be to make that damn phone call to Elijah.
Delivering that envelope was the first step toward buying me the time I needed—just a couple of days.
CHAPTER 26
Sara
Though my eyes ached to open, I stayed still, contemplating my next move as questions bombarded my mind, momentarily quelling the fear I should have been feeling at my new circumstance.
Was I being watched? How would I escape? How, in this day and age, could this be happening? How did one man have so much power?
The answer to the final question was simple. We, Father Gabriel’s followers, had given it to him. With each follower—chosen or otherwise—we’d given him our minds and our bodies. We’d willingly done his bidding, physical or psychological, without considering the consequences or the human toll.
Each day without my medicine made the world clearer. I could look upon The Light with a new perspective. The daily psychological warfare was fierce and perfectly executed. If it were only a religious cult, it would be well planned, but now, considering the numbers I’d seen at the lab combined with the small bit of information Jacob had shared during our late-night talk about the pharmaceutical enterprise, the operation as a whole was flawless.
Each and every person in The Light fortified Father Gabriel’s strength. He couldn’t do what he did alone, but with nearly a thousand people, he moved mountains and ruined lives. He did it in the name of God, but he was the only one profiting. Each of us was made to believe that without him we’d be no one. The reality was the opposite.
Without us, he’d be nothing.