Crisscross

"But not The Light."

She allowed a tight little smile. "No. Not The Light. That's why I stick with the small-time weekly—formerly small-time, I should say. Those ex-clusives we had on the Savior last June bumped our circulation and it's stayed up."

Jack wondered what she'd do if she knew she was talking to the so-called Savior.

"I've had offers from every other paper in town, plus the Washington Post and Times, even the San Francisco Chronicle, but this is where I stay. And you know why? Because The Light isn't afraid of anyone. It's not in the pocket of some larger corporation that's always trying to cover its ass. George Meschke's a tough son of a bitch of an editor, but he's fearless. Oh, he makes damn sure you've got your facts straight and your sources lined up, but if that's all copacetic, then he goes to press."

"He still behind you after the suits and threats?"

She nodded. "He's a human bulldog. He doesn't let go." She pointed at Jack and he noticed how her pinkie stuck up. "But you—" She must have spotted his stare; she pointed the stub straight at him. "Can't keep your eyes off it, can you. I'll answer your unasked question: boating accident eight years ago. Outboard propeller. Satisfied?"

"Hey, I wasn't—"

"Yeah, sure." She switched to her index finger as a pointer. "Anyway, I've got George and the paper to watch my back, but you're just one guy. For your own good, my advice is stay away."

"Can't do that."

"Listen, I told you: You're not going to find anything, and you risk making nasty enemies."

"Wouldn't be the first time. I've managed to tick off a few people in my day."

"Not like these, you haven't. These aren't just a bunch of kooks—kooks believe their nonsense, charlatans don't. Bottom-rung, true-believer De-mentedists qualify as kooks, but the charlatans at the top have got tons of money, a shark tank full of lawyers, and a huge number of volunteers who will be only too glad to ruin your career, your reputation, even your marriage—if you're married. They're tenacious, relentless, vicious. Have you got a life situation that will stand up to a gang of pros and amateurs peeking into every corner of it?"

Got to find me first, Jack thought.

But the idea of a well-financed horde prying at his life, uncovering his secrets—he had so many—made him edgy. More than edgy…

"That would make me very upset," he told her.

Something in his tone must have caught her attention. She stared at him for a long moment.

"Are you saying you're not a nice person when you're upset?"

"I'm saying I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me the mistakes you made that got you kicked out."

She lit another cigarette. "Are you fucking deaf? I'm telling you, you can't move high enough up the ladder to get access to membership records."

"I think I might have a way to, shall we say, accelerate my progress."

Her eyes narrowed. "How?"

Jack wagged a finger at her. "Trade secret."

Her face darkened. "After all I've just given you?"

"You tell me what you know and what I should avoid, and when this is all over I'll tell you how I got in, what I saw, and what I learned—just you."

"An exclusive," she said, leaning back. "Maybe."

That surprised Jack.

"Maybe? You've got something better?"

A little cat smile here. "Maybe… maybe a lot better." The smile faded. "And maybe not. Okay. I'll trust you—to an extent. I can tell you that the intake procedure is pretty straightforward: Just fill out the forms."

"A church has forms?"

"It's only legally a church. In real life it's a closely held corporation with a CEO and a board of directors, although they don't call themselves that. I've poked at many religions and cults, but no one's come after me like the Dementedist Church. That's because it's not a church, it's a for-profit behemoth."

"I've gathered that. But do they ID you on day one?"

"No. You don't have to showr ID then and there—that would create a cloud in the relentlessly su

"More Dormentalese?"

"No. That's a common business practice—a non-disclosure agreement. After signing that you'll be asked, very pointedly, to make a donation to the temple and pay for your first Reveille Session in advance."

"What happens there?"

"The supposed purpose of Reveille is to wake up your sleeping xelton so you can start the fusion process. It's really a cover for the RT—Reveille Tech—to pry out the most intimate details of your life. These go into a file that will be used against you should you turn against the church."

"That's it? We sit and play Q and A?"

Grant gave him the full smile this time, stained teeth and all. "Oh, no. There's so much more to it than that."

"Like what?"

"You'll see, you'll see."

Jack wasn't sure he liked the way she said it.

She reached into a drawer and took out a couple of sheets of paper.

"Take a look at these," she said, handing them across. "It's a list of the Dementedist hierarchy and all their abbreviations. Some are my work, some come right out of the church bulletins and newsletters. I've stuck in a few comments here and there."

Jack took the sheets and sca

Cooper Blascoe—Prime Dormentalist (PD)

Luther Brady—Supreme Overseer (SO) and APD (Acting PD)

High Council (HC)

Grand Paladin (GP)

President of the Council of Continental Overseers (PCCO)

Continental Overseer (CO)

Regional Overseer (RO)

Temple Overseer (TO)

Temple Paladin (TP)

Fusion Aspirant (FA)

Fusion Initiate (Fl)

Reveille Candidate (RC)

Null (N)

NB:Cooper Blascoe was the first PD with Luther Brady as his SO.

When Blascoe went into suspended animation, Brady took over PD

duties while retaining the SO position.

Jack looked up. "Oh, yeah. I meant to ask about this suspended animation thing. What's up with that?"

"He was in such close contact with his xelton that he's immortal, and put himself into a state of suspended animation to await the Great Fusion."

"No, really."

"You're a big boy: Read between the lines."

Jack shrugged. "He's dead, right?"

"He was on in years. You can't have the founder of an apocalyptic cult die before the apocalypse. So he doesn't die, he goes into suspended animation to wait for it."

"In Tahiti?"

"That was where he was living. Probably where he's buried."

Jack sensed a lack of conviction on her part.

"What's a paladin?"

"Security." Grant jetted a stream of smoke from the corner of her mouth. "Think of them as the Dementedist KGB. The Grand Paladin's name is Jensen; he's their Beria."

"Sounds ominous."

"He is."

Jack read on.

Other Designations:

Fusion Ladder (FL)—The progressive steps ascending toward FF.

Fusion Aspirant (FA)—One who has passed through the FI stage and has started to ascend the FL.

Full Fusion (FF)—One who has ascended the FL all the way to the top and achieved complete fusion of both xelton halves.

Null (N)—A member of the unfortunate 7.5 percent of humanity who houses a xelton that ca

Sham Fusion (SF)—When a null FA's desire for fusion is so great that they enter a state of denial, believing they are achieving levels of fusion when they are not. This is a tragic occurrence.

Xelton Name (XN)—When the FA reaches the fifth level, his TO will be able to discern the name of his or her xelton. The name always contains a double-o.