Unseen

Men, women, and, yes, children. All seemed totally at ease within their little world.

I envied them that, a little.

A few moments later, the door of the van opened without any knocking preliminaries, and three more men crowded in. The one in front was shorter than most federal agents, and wider; he was definitely a senior man, probably close to fifty, and although he looked soft, I was certain he was not. The benign smile and low hum of contentment emanating from him were treacherous; he seemed to have a touch of Earth power about him—something like what Janice Worthing radiated, but of course at a much lower level. It must have served him well in gaining trust and eliciting confessions.

“You must be Special Agent Rostow,” I said. I dismissed the other two with him, and he didn’t bother to introduce them, either. “I’m Cassiel.”

He smiled reassuringly and gestured for a chair. One of the individuals watching the monitors got up and rolled his over; you had to be quick to catch the expression of a

He settled himself in the rolling chair and moved it to sit across from me, elbows resting comfortably on his thighs, hands dangling. Casual and relaxed. “Cassiel,” he repeated. “I’m pleased to meet you. There are lots of stories going around about you. Is any of it true?”

“All of it,” I said. “Especially the parts that say I’m dangerous.”

“I think I’ll take my chances,” he said. His smile invited me to share the naughty conspiracy, but I didn’t smile back. “So. Half the agency is turning over rocks looking for you, and you just show up here. To what do we owe this honor?”

“Necessity,” I said. “I need to get inside the compound.”

“Inside,” he repeated, and leaned back in the chair. The back gave a small squeak of protest. “For what purpose?”

“If you’re thinking you can keep me here and talking until you get a response from your superiors, I can tell you what it will be—detain me and send me on to Quantico,” I said. “You don’t want to know my purpose, because you won’t care; in any case, you’re not inclined to trust me at all, and you’d never help me get inside. Correct?”

He blinked a little, and some of the benign trust-me aura faded. I liked him better this way: suspicious. “I suppose so,” he said. “I have no reason to help you, and plenty of reasons to do what my bosses tell me. For one thing, I’d like to retire in a few years on my hard-earned pension. So tell me what I ought to be doing for you and why. Make it convincing.”

We were drawing glances from the monitor techs, and Rostow must have noticed; without moving his gaze away from me, he snapped his fingers rapidly and pointed to the monitors. “Eyes forward, people. Always forward.”

There was a murmur of assent. He cocked an eyebrow at me, waiting.

“You’re aware that the Church of the New World is involved in child abductions,” I said. “And murder.”

“Some of them,” he said. “But it’s a subgroup. Most of their activities are perfectly legal, which is why we’re observing, not taking action. No evidence that this compound is anything but a bunch of people getting together to reject modern life. I’m not going Waco on a bunch of would-be Amish. Not unless I see evidence that something is really going on inside that needs stopping.”

“There’s something evil here,” I said. “Or was, until recently. I need inside to find out what they’re pla

“Pearl,” he repeated. “Who the hell is Pearl?”

“No one you can find in your monitors,” I said. “You may think of her as—a spiritual leader. She influences others, the way Earth Wardens can; she found a ready audience in the Church of the New World, who already distrusted the modern world, and the Wardens, once they learned of their existence. Pearl has used her influence to make them increasingly afraid of you, and us, making them withdraw even more radically.”

He didn’t indicate whether he agreed with me. “And the children?”

“They believe they’re saving them,” I said. “Rehabilitating them. They think the Wardens will maim or kill them. Make no mistake, Pearl’s followers believe they are saving the world, not bent on destroying it. That’s the danger of fanatics. They’re blind to everything but their own preconceptions.”

“You’re not telling me much I didn’t find out from interviews with detainees,” he said. “And?”

“And if Pearl was inside the compound—and I assure you that she was, recently—she may be back, especially if she has unfinished business there. It’s our best chance to get to her, if we work together.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Miss, we’re the FBI. We don’t cooperate with civilians in investigations, unless we’re the ones doing the investigation and they’re the ones doing the cooperating.”

“I know.” I smiled, with bared teeth. “But I believe that you might make an exception for me.”

“Or I might slap some cuffs on you and hand you over to Quantico, just like they’re going to ask me to do.”

“Not if you want to live,” I said softly. I saw the agents around me stiffen, and a few reached quite calmly for weapons. Rostow didn’t bother. “Please understand, threats are not my preferred method, but I can’t lose this chance; she was here, and I believe she will return.”

“I’d advise you not to make empty threats, ma’am.”

“I can kill every one of you in this room by stopping your hearts, and there is nothing any of you can do about it. That is far from an empty threat. Do you understand?”

“Sure,” Rostow said. He moved quickly, standing in one fluid motion, drawing his handgun at the same time, flicking the safety off, and firing three times in rapid succession.

Straight at my head.

Chapter 9

CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.

I was no Fire Warden, but I didn’t need to be one to disrupt the bullets in his gun; in the past few moments, I’d chemically changed the powder in all of their bullets into a similar but inert compound that wouldn’t fire, no matter how many times he pulled the trigger.

Rostow’s eyes widened, but he took the shock in stride, and his people were well trained. It was close quarters, and they swarmed me ... or tried to. But it was a metal van, and I was an Earth Warden. Metal flowed up over their feet, trapping them in place, tripping them up and binding them to the floor of the van wherever they hit.

I didn’t kill anyone.

I didn’t have to.

I’d left Rostow unbound, to make the point. His chair rolled a few inches, and stopped as it bumped into the leg of one of his two assistants, who was pi

“I didn’t have to be so nice,” I said. “Do we have an understanding now about why you don’t want to make me angry?”

He was beaten, and he knew it. Rostow looked down at the gun in his hand, flicked the safety back on, and holstered it with a quick, fluid motion. “What do you want?” His voice was clipped and businesslike now. He was done trying to persuade or reassure me. “If you’ve hurt any of them ...”

“Bruises,” I said. “And you tried to put three bullets through my skull, Agent Rostow, so I would suggest you have no grounds to expect too much in the way of restraint from me. What I want is for you to tell me how the people in that compound come and go.”

“They don’t,” he snapped.

“They must. They can’t be totally self-sufficient. Not yet.”

He hesitated, then said, “They bring in supplies and new recruits once a month. One of them leaves to pick up the supplies and recruits in a minivan.”

“Where do the recruits come from?”