Judgment Day (40 page)

With inhuman speed the demon twisted, the bullet merely creasing the human scalp. Then the thing leapt at him, kicking him in the chest, sending him sprawling. When he brought the pistol up to shoot again, she grasped his wrist in her hand—her powerful hand. Wrenching the gun free, she threw it down the hall behind her. Her fingers couldn't completely circle his wrist, yet she held him tight. Then an inch beyond each of her fingers his flesh was pierced. Closing his eyes he could see the demon fingers extended beyond hers, the nails buried in his flesh. Wincing with pain he threw a wild punch at her face, but her free hand shot out, grasping his other wrist. Then she lifted him to his feet. Closing his eyes he could see the demon image, floating in front of the human face. Every orifice glowed red, the eyes brightest of all. Grinning, she slammed his gun hand against the wood paneling twice, breaking his wrist. His pain delighted her and she dragged him to the other wall, prepared to break his other wrist. Then the police came up behind her. She dropped him and stepped aside as two policemen with guns drawn came down the hall.

"If I'm arrested, I'll tell the police everything. How will you explain that chamber of horrors in the basement?"

She smiled and so did the demon.

"These men are part of our little worship group. You're not going to jail, you're going to take Ruth Breitling's place."

Realizing he was doomed to be spread-eagled on the altar in the hidden

basement, he struggled to his feet. As he did, she punched him in the face, knocking him to the ground again.

"You're stronger than you look, Ms. Waters," one policeman said.

"Take him, please," she said, feigning fear.

Pointing their guns, they ordered him to freeze and roll onto his stomach.

"Take him to the basement and tie him to the bed," she ordered.

Deciding to die in an escape attempt, Proctor tensed, ready to jump the closest officer. Suddenly a hail of bullets ripped through the ceiling over their heads.

"Drop your guns!" Rich shouted.

Briefly eyeing the automatic rifle in Rich's hands, the policemen dropped their weapons. Proctor crawled down the hall toward Rich, careful to stay below the line of fire. Then he stood next to him, holding his broken wrist.

"Back up," Rich ordered Rachel and the policemen.

Proctor watched the demon through his eyelids. It snarled and glared, but obeyed Rich. It does fear the gun, Proctor realized. It must need the host.

Ordering them into a conference room, Rich ripped out the phone wires, then pulled the door closed and tied the phone wire to the knob, then stretched it across the hall, tying it to another doorknob. Cinching it tight, they collected the weapons in the hall, then hurried toward the back. They heard the door splinter as they fled.

CHAPTER 76 SETBACK

Sacredness of human life! The world has never believed it! It has been with life that we settled our quarrels, won wives, gold and land, defended ideas, imposed religions. We have held that a death toll was a necessary part of every human achievement, whether sport, war, or industry. A moment's rage over the horror of it, and we have sunk into indifference.

—
NEW IDEALS IN BUSINESS
, IDA TARBELL

C
row was in his Washington apartment sound asleep when Rachel's call on his private line woke him.

"Ruth Breitling has escaped," Rachel said bluntly.

Still groggy, Crow struggled to understand.

"Impossible," he said, his mind shaking off sleep cobwebs. "She was locked in and there was a guard."

"She had help," Rachel explained. "George Proctor led a raid. They killed the guard and broke Ruth out."

Crow fumed. Proctor had interfered with his plans before and could again in the future. Proctor had to be taken out of the game.

"What do the police know?" Crow asked.

"Nothing yet," Rachel said. "The two officers who responded to the security alarm were our people. They'll report what we tell them to report, but we can't sit on it much longer if we're going to use the police."

"Get some of our people over to Christ's Home," Crow said. "She'll probably try to get through the quarantine."

"George Proctor's too smart for that," Rachel said.

Rachel was right. The way to keep Ruth safe was to get her off the planet; take her to the New Hope. But because of the quarantine, the Fellowship fleet was grounded within the United States—would they violate that ban? No, once Ruth was free there wouldn't be enough reason to risk a flight. They would hide her until they could find a way to get her off the planet.

"I'll call Simon," Crow decided. "He'll know where Proctor might take her."

A few minutes later a sleepy Simon Ash was on the phone.

"Simon, what do you know about George Proctor?" Crow demanded.

Knowing his boss rarely answered questions, Ash didn't bother to ask what was going on.

"I know everything," Simon Ash said. "He's a dangerous religious fanatic, and a self-anointed bodyguard for Mark Shepherd and his people."

"Where would he go if he wanted to hide out?"

"Several places. He can disappear into San Francisco, Los Angeles, or Portland, but he hates cities, so he might run to Alaska. He's been buying property there—very remote property—but it's undeveloped. In a few years it'll be bigger and better equipped than his Idaho facility."

"What Idaho facility?" Crow asked.

"He has a farm in Idaho, north of Caldwell—a fortress, really. Barbed-wire fences, concrete walls. But Proctor wouldn't
go
there to hide. That's the first place police would look."

Crow thought for a moment and then realized Proctor wasn't trying to hide. He thought of himself as a hero for rescuing Ruth Breitling. To Proctor it was Crow who should be hiding, and Crow had to change that. After ordering Ash to gather as much information as he could about Proctor's Idaho property, he called Rachel back, giving her the location.

"If he doesn't show up in Christ's Home, he'll most likely run to Idaho."

"I'll contact Fry," she said. "He might have contacts with ATF. If Proctor takes Ruth Breitling there, we can quarantine his compound."

"That's not good enough," Crow said. "We can't have them telling their story."

"I doubt your friend Ruth will want to talk about her relationship with you."

"Proctor might, though," Crow said. "We need to discredit him."

"I'm listening," she said.

"Burn Autumn Rest. Blame the death of the guard on Proctor. Spread the word that George Proctor suspected a New Age group was worshiping on the property and destroyed it."

"I understand," she said. "I better go now, I smell smoke."

Thirty minutes later an angry Mr. Fry called.

"Kidnapping Ruth Breitling was stupid. You've jeopardized everything."

"By the time your Thorpe gets that sphere working the cult will be twenty light-years away," Crow shot back.

"Thorpe's closer to flying that sphere than you know. Besides, I've taken steps to slow the cult down. This fiasco with Ruth Breitling is blowing up in your face. If you
go
down, Crow, don't even think of implicating us."

"Don't threaten me, Fry," Crow grumbled. "This situation can work for us if we spin it the right way."

"I'm listening."

"I'll tell the press that as a community service I had been letting a New Age Christian group use the facilities at Autumn Rest. Self-proclaimed protector of the faith, George Proctor learned about it and set fire to the facility to teach the heretics a lesson. He murdered a security guard in the process. Proctor flees to his compound in Idaho where a federal warrant will be served for his arrest. He and his people will resist arrest, a firefight ensues, and he and Ruth Breitling die in the battle. It will be rumored that Ruth was pregnant with George Proctor's baby and that she hadn't been kidnapped, she had run away with her lover."

Fry chuckled at the audacity of the plan.

"It won't work if she gets a chance to tell her story," Fry pointed out.

"That's why you have to make sure she doesn't. Once she and Proctor are in Idaho, see that all communication with the compound is cut off."

"I can make it happen," Fry said confidently.

"This can't become a siege, Fry. The FBI and ATF need to go in soon."

"What we need is for them to start the fight. I can arrange that too, Crow, but from now on yoii don't make any moves on the cult without checking with me. You're an amateur. In a few days you'll see what a professional can do."

Fry's insults were hard to take, but Crow listened silently, knowing he needed his help, for now. But Crow had no intention of reporting to Fry, or to anyone but his Master.

CHAPTER 77 SIEGE

Buzzards circled overhead and the wind blew hard on the day the Branch Davidians died.

—
TIME
MAGAZINE, MAY 3, 1993

T
hey reached the Idaho compound by midday. Guy's wife, Marilyn, took charge of Ruth, drawing her a bath and rounding up clothes. A local doctor came and set Proctor's wrist, X rays would have to wait. Ruth refused any medical attention and when the doctor insisted, Marilyn ordered all the men to stay away from her. As details of Ruth's experience leaked out, the women felt empathy, the men collective guilt. Ruth adamantly refused to let Ira be contacted and again, Marilyn and the other women defended Ruth's right to make that decision.

By evening the police buildup began. Proctor ordered the compound secured. Gates were locked, guard posts were manned, children were kept inside, provisions were inventoried. Semi-automatic weapons were converted to full automatic. The buildup around the compound continued through the night, helicopters landing just over the nearest hill. From the watch towers, Proctor's guards could see lights moving through the woods toward the perimeter.

FBI and ATF agents came to the gate in the morning, brandishing warrants for Proctor's arrest and to search the property. Proctor made the agents wait at the gate while he finished his breakfast, then two cups of coffee. When he finally sauntered out the agents were furious. Flanked by four armed men, Proctor opened the gate, letting the agents inside. Each agent wore a jacket with large yellow letters spelling either FBI or ATF. The agents reflected the affirmative action policies of the federal government. The FBI was represented by a black woman, a Hispanic male, and a white male. The ATF sent a white woman, an Asian male, and a white male.

"We have a warrant for your arrest," FBI agent Hernandez said.

"On what charge?" Proctor asked.

"We'll explain it to you on the way."

"You'll explain it to me now," Proctor said.

Hernandez locked angry eyes on Proctor but didn't try to take him prisoner, knowing Proctor's men were ready to defend their leader.

"You're charged with arson and murder," the white FBI agent said.

Proctor turned to the agent who spoke.

"Who was murdered and what was burned?" Proctor asked in a slow even tone.

Now the agent stepped toward Proctor, reaching inside his coat. Snapping their rifles to their shoulders, Proctor's men froze him midmotion. The agent slowly pulled his hand from his coat holding a pair of handcuffs.

"You're under arrest, Proctor," the agent said. "You know the routine, turn around and put your hands behind you."

Proctor smiled while his men laughed.

"Take it easy, Smith," Hernandez said.

"Back off!" the female ATF agent said to Smith.

Smith hesitated, wanting to defy the order, but stepped back.

"I'm Agent Crosby," the female ATF agent said. "We have witnesses who saw you break into Autumn Rest Cemetery and set fire to it. An unarmed security guard by the name of Harlan Kimble was murdered during the break-in."

"You have your facts mixed up," Proctor said, his bright blue eyes animated. "I broke into Autumn Rest Cemetery to rescue Ruth Breitling who was being held there against her will. In the process of rescuing her we subdued two people, tied them up, and locked three others in a room. When the man who was guarding Ruth fired on us, and then refused to surrender, I defended myself and my people. The man who died must be this Kimble. There was no fire."

Now the agents looked at each other, surprised by Proctor's willingness to confirm parts of the story and confused by his addition of details they had not heard. Crosby and Hernandez stepped back to confer. Now Smith turned to Proctor.

"Turn around, Proctor, I'm going to cuff you," Smith ordered.

"No," Proctor said, eyes twinkling, the hint of a smile on his lips.

Smith flushed, unnerved by a man who didn't defer to his position of power.

Smith stepped toward Proctor, Hernandez hurrying back to step between them.

"We don't know anything about Ruth Breitling being involved in this,"

Hernandez said. "But come with us and we'll listen to your story."

"In a democracy you do the investigation before you make arrests, not after."

Now Hernandez flushed, angry at being lectured.

"We've got a burned-out building and a body," Hernandez said. "We have five witnesses who have identified you as one of the men who broke in. That's probable cause, Proctor. You'll have a chance to defend yourself in court."

"I'll never make it to court if I go with you," he said, looking at Smith.

"I guarantee your safety," Hernandez said. "You'll be under FBI protection."

Proctor's men laughed, the agents glowering.

"Here's what I'll do," Proctor said. "I'll agree to be interviewed about the incident at Autumn Rest. I want a panel of judges that we mutually agree on. At the hearing I'll provide witnesses and evidence. If at the end of that hearing the judges issue a warrant for my arrest, I will surrender."

"How dare you dictate to us!" Smith spat, Hernandez holding him back with a hand on his chest.

"You're resisting arrest," Agent Crosby said.

"I'm giving you a chance to avoid embarrassment and do your jobs properly," Proctor said. "And I'm keeping myself alive," he added, staring at Agent Smith.

"You religious fanatics are all alike—paranoid!" Smith snapped. "The only enemies you have are in your own twisted mind."

"That's what they told Custer at Little Bighorn," Proctor said.

More laughter from Proctor's men infuriated Smith.

"All right, Mr. Proctor," Hernandez said. "We'll
go hack and talk
over your offer, but I'm not making any promises."

" 'Kings take pleasure in honest lips; they value a man who speaks the truth.' Proverbs 16:13," Proctor said.

As the agents turned to go, Agent Crosby's head exploded, the sharp crack of a rifle firing following a half second later. Brains and blood showered Hernandez, and he flinched reflexively, reaching out to catch Crosby as she fell. All dead weight, she slipped from Hernandez's grasp, collapsing into a limp pile of limbs and torso.

Everyone was shocked by the agent's sudden death. Proctor reacted first, ordering his men to back toward their building. Now the agents pulled pistols and dropped to the ground. Smith opened fire immediately, his first slug hitting Proctor in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Now Proctor's men opened fire, their M-16s on full automatic, spraying the air, pinning the agents to the ground.

Rich snaked an arm around Proctor, helping him up, while Jim and the others covered their retreat with automatic weapons fire. Now the federal snipers opened up. A slug ripped through Jim's leg, and he collapsed to the ground. The wound spurted blood, the artery severed. More men raced from the farmhouse, helping Proctor and Jim. Guy threw Jim over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, hurrying toward the open farmhouse door. Proctor was through first, hurrying away from the door so the others could enter. As Guy stepped through, a bullet passed through his neck. Collapsing to his knees, Guy was pulled inside and Jim was lifted from his shoulder. Two bullets whizzed through the door, smacking into the wall on the far side of the room. The two men still outside dove in, the steel door slammed and bolted. From the second story and roof, Proctor's riflemen targeted the federal snipers. Using high-powered binoculars, spotters directed the return fire, driving the federal agents to cover.

Shutters on all sides of the house were closed and at every hidden gun port was a man armed with a rifle. Ineffective gunfire continued inside and outside the house for another minute until Proctor ordered his men to save their ammunition. Turning to the wounded, they found Guy had bled to death where he had fallen and Jim was unconscious from blood loss. Karla Simms was summoned, the only nurse in the compound. She applied a tourniquet to Jim's leg, then ordered him taken to the infirmary. A few minutes later she sent her son Tommy running through the complex to find men with Jim's blood type.

The children were frightened but well drilled and filed down to the basement where only a bomb—or fire—could reach them. Proctor pried the slug out of his Kevlar vest, then thanked God for sparing him.

After sending Rich off to check the defenses, Proctor went looking for Marilyn. He hadn't delegated the job of telling her that her husband was

dead, but someone had taken the initiative. He found her in Ruth Breitling's arms, sobbing.

"I'm sorry, Marilyn," he said. "He died saving Jim's life."

Nodding, she controlled her crying, wiping her eyes with her hands.

"Why did they shoot? Why?" she asked.

"One of their agents was killed."

"We started it?" she said, incredulous. "You said we would never shoot first."

"It wasn't us. The bullet hit the agent at an angle. The shot came from outside the compound."

"They wanted a war," she said.

"Someone did," Proctor said.

"It's because of me, isn't it?" Ruth asked, drying her own eyes.

"They would have come after us eventually, Ruth. They've been looking for an excuse."

"If only I had gone home," Ruth said. "I should have told the police what happened."

"There were police there last night," Proctor said. "They were working for Crow."

Eyes wide she said, "He's a Satan worshiper. He's evil."

"I know. His assistant is no prize either."

Proctor didn't explain what he knew about Rachel Waters.

"I can tell people what happened," Ruth said. "I can tell them about what he did to me." Then resting her hand on her stomach, "But I must tell Ira first."

Seeing the gesture and the pain in her eyes, Proctor and Marilyn understood. Marilyn hugged Ruth tighter.

"It's your baby too, Ruth. Don't forget that. With you and Ira as parents it will grow up to love the Lord."

Rich came in, telling Proctor Agent Smith was on the line.

"I thought I'd killed you, Proctor," Smith said. "They'll sell those bulletproof vests to anyone. Next time I'll aim a little higher."

"The next shot is mine," Proctor said.

"You don't scare me, Proctor!" Smith said.

Proctor could hear a slight tremble in his voice.

"What do you want, Smith?" Proctor demanded.

"You have one hour to surrender."

"I gave you my conditions."

"That was before you murdered an FBI agent, Proctor. Now you'll surrender unconditionally or we'll come in and take you."

"The shot that killed your agent came from outside the compound. One of your own people killed her."

"You're a liar, Proctor. One of your trigger-happy farmers squeezed off that round. But I'll still make you a deal. If you surrender now, I'll recommend a charge of second-degree murder."

"I'll see your men answer for the murder of Guy Francis," Proctor said.

"Crosby had a little boy, Proctor."

"Guy Francis had a wife and two kids."

"I'm going to give you an hour, Proctor, but just so you know we're serious . . ."

The line went dead in midsentence. Proctor turned to see Rich and the others waiting to hear what was said.

"It looks like we're in for a siege. That will work for us. The television crews will be here soon. Once the world is watching we'll contact the Fellowship on New Hope station. Mark Shepherd will make sure our message gets out. Then we'll have Reverend Maitland brought in to negotiate. We've got video of what happened to Agent Crosby at the gate. We can prove we didn't shoot her, and with Ruth Breitling to tell her story, we'll be all right."

Suddenly Proctor heard shouting from deep in the building. Hurrying to the sound, he found Mark Carter stretched out on the floor, his chest soaked with blood—he was eighteen. Mark's parents were wheat farmers in eastern Oregon and financial supporters of Proctor's movement. A weekend warrior himself, Mark's father was proud when his son asked permission to join the movement full-time, and prouder still when Proctor accepted him.

Fingers on the boy's neck, Rich shook his head. Other men were hurriedly covering the bullet-resistant Plexiglas with plywood. Proctor could see a bullet hole in the plastic.

"What happened?" he asked.

"He was standing lookout," Rich explained. "He stepped across the window and the round came right through."

In the distance Proctor heard the phone ringing. He knew who was calling before he answered.

"Get the message, Proctor?" Smith said.

"You murdered a teenage boy!" Proctor said angrily.

"Teflon-coated bullets, Proctor. Your bulletproof glass isn't any good, and neither is your Kevlar. You have one hour to come out with your hands up."

"We have women and children in here, Smith."

"You should have thought of that before you started this."

The line went dead. Rich and the others were looking at him, but all Proctor could see was a dead teenage boy whose mother and father had entrusted him to his care.

Pushing past the others he climbed to the top level of the farmhouse. The original house had a third level that they had expanded so there were four dormers along each side. The windows in the dormers attracted enemy fire, but steel shutters stopped even the Teflon bullets. Instead of using the windows, they had built gun ports high on the wall, just below the eave. While the dormers attracted the fire, their snipers fired from hidden positions. Climbing up onto the gun platform he held out his hand, demanding a rifle. Handing over the weapon without a question, Cobb McGriff stepped aside.

"Where's the communications center, McGriff?" Proctor asked.

"It's the blue van across the road behind the state police cars."

Proctor looked through the scope, scanning the vehicles gathered on the edge of their property.

"I see it."

"What are you doing, sir?" Rich asked, climbing the platform to stand next to him.

"They sent us a message, Rich. I'm sending a reply."

"Are you sure about this, sir?"

"It's justice, Rich. An eye for an eye."