“We did. We called you.”
“No. You offered me an underhand deal, which I did not accept. Your dad talks about loyalty, but all he means is loyalty to him, isn’t it?” Eddie put his head on one side. He still had the grin on his face, but it looked sort of stupid now. “Is that new? The loyalty thing? Or has he always been like that?”
“Chris. Dad-o’s worth billions. He doesn’t even know how much he’s worth. You’re that rich, you don’t need to act normal. No one does. You do what you want.”
“So you wouldn’t even know if there was something off about him.”
“Hey. You’re not dealing with a bunch of rednecks here. This is the future President of—”
“Eddie.” I took out my wallet. “This is very important.” I flicked through the business cards till I found the one I wanted. “If there is ever a point where you get worried by your dad’s behavior. If that ever happens, call them. This is the Registry. This is not an under-the-counter deal. It’s got no possible financial advantage for you, or me, you understand? But it may just save your father’s life. Or more.” He took the card and looked at it. I said, “This is an official number, but it’s not the one in the phone listings. It’ll get you through to someone who’ll listen. OK?”
Eddie passed it to Ghirelli. “You’re security. You keep it.”
“I’m trying to help you here,” I said.
Eddie clapped me on the back. “Hey, Chris. You helped a load. You really did.”
“Call that number.”
“Yeah, sure, Chris. We’ll bear it in mind. And meanwhile . . . I think the Captain here’s got something for you in return. A gift. From us. Right, Captain?”
Ghirelli pulled something from his pocket, held it out to me.
It was a thumb drive.
“CCTV,” he said. “You may find it useful.”
I held the reader up, prior to slipping it back into my pocket. “If I’d had this, it might have been more help. But let me tell you both what I think’s going on. In case one of you is actually listening.
“Your god is prodromal. That means it has entered a phase of measurable, observable phenomena, acting on the physical world. At the same time, it’s formed some kind of link with your father. They get personal, sometimes. You ever do research on this? No, you didn’t. Now, I can’t say how the two things will play out together. But I can tell you the next stage is usually an incarnation. Will you think about it for a minute? You know, just mull it over, next time your old dad’s ranting about slaves or something. Ask yourself who’s really talking, will you?”
I looked at Eddie, his grin barely faded, at the middle-aged security guard, his face as blank as a poker player’s.
Somehow, I was glad the Ballington Estate was not on my list of places to sort out. But I’d send in a report. I’d write it all down, send it off, and hope that someone, somewhere, had the sense to pay attention.
It was growing dark as I drove back. I phoned Angel from the car. The call went straight to voice mail. I knew I shouldn’t worry. She was probably asleep, or at the cinema, or a concert, or somewhere else she couldn’t use her phone. But it bothered me, anyway.
Worrying was one thing I was good at, after all.
So I called Silverman, and the first thing he said was, “Have you seen the news?”
After the call I drove a little further, and at the nearest rest stop I parked in front of a McDonald’s. Then I found my phone and Googled the story.
YOU TOOK OUR HEARTS, YOU TOOK OUR SOULS, YOU TOOK OUR LIVES, said the headline. Underneath, a little less dramatically, was written: Small town sues energy giant.
They were taking us to court. The town of Big Hollow. The mayor, legal advisors, and a certain Reverend Richard Cleary, mentioned in passing in the article. We had deprived the people thereabouts of both income (a singular attraction, drawing visitors from miles around) and spiritual succor. Some shyster lawyer had been pleased to take the case, and made a big speech about foreign companies riding roughshod over the American people. No one, it seemed, had troubled to look up the legal status of our US branch, nor its registered address. Certainly, no one had counted up our own small contribution to the local economy: the amount we’d spent on helium balloons. I thought we might at least have got a “thank you” out of that . . .
Chapter 46
A Man’s Name
I tiptoed down the corridor, slid my key card in the lock and turned the handle, gently as I could. The lights were off but I could see she wasn’t in the bed.
“Angie . . . ?”
“I’m here.”
She sat, curled under a blanket in the armchair.
I said, “What’s up?”
“Nothing’s up.”
She flexed her shoulders, stretched her legs. I asked whether I’d woken her, but she shook her head. “I was thinking, is all.”
“What about?”
“Oh—just listening to the music, really . . .”
But she didn’t have her headphones, or her iPod.
I asked her, “You OK?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You sure I didn’t wake you?”