system as he pushed his door open and dashed out, running round to Safiya’s jeep and leaping aboard as the two escort drivers floundered behind the safety cushions.
Safiya crunched the jeep into gear and accelerated away from the red light, swerving briefly to avoid a couple of startled motorists before clearing the junction.
“This had better be worth it!” she shouted above the hot wind.
“It’s worth it, trust me,” Ethan said. “MACE has gotten things all neatly packaged up and Rachel’s fallen for it, but the whole thing stinks. Something just doesn’t add up.”
Safiya drove two blocks before turning right, then left, then right again, and pulling up alongside a red pickup parked by the sidewalk. Ethan jumped out of the jeep and climbed into the pickup to see Aaron Luckov grinning at him from behind his thick beard.
“Three years of peace, Safiya and I had, before you came back here. Three whole years.”
Ethan smiled grimly as the pickup pulled away.
“Safiya going to be okay?”
“She’s pretty damned sore with you, Ethan,” Luckov said, “but she’ll come round. It’s not like we’re doing this for fun. Not entirely anyway.”
“Where’s Griffiths?”
“Not far,” Luckov said. “He phoned you?”
“Yeah,” Ethan said. “Whatever he’s got to say, it had better be good, because Israel’s going to be on my ass for this.”
AMERICAN EVANGELICAL ASSOCIATION
NEW COVENANT CHURCH, WASHINGTON DC
Lucas Tyrell had never failed to be impressed by the fabulous scale of the monuments erected by the faithful.
“It is more blessed to give than to receive,” he murmured as he tossed a handful of biscuits into the backseat of the car, Bailey crunching them noisily.
“What?” Lopez asked from beside him.
“The church,” Tyrell gestured. “How’d you suppose it got so wealthy if it really was giving and not receiving?”
The New Covenant Church dominated an entire corner of the block, a broad white building with narrow smoked windows shaped like medieval stained glass. The central portico was a vast triangular affair of steel and more glass, the central panels mirror-finished in the shape of a huge crucifix that reflected the early-morning sun’s rays.
“We shouldn’t be here, Tyrell,” Lopez said.
“Guess this is how much it costs to have God on your side,” Tyrell continued as they walked toward the vast portico. “Lucky He takes dollars.”
“Tyrell,” Lopez muttered sternly.
“It’s your call,” Tyrell said with a hefty sigh. “I’m not quite ready to put this case aside. Are you in or not?”
Before Lopez could reply, her cell phone buzzed in her jacket pocket. She pulled it out, listening intently for a few moments before ringing off.
“What is it?” Tyrell asked.
“We just got the files on Daniel Neville,” Lopez said, switching to her PDA and opening an e-mail. “Claretta Neville came up clean, no criminal record or history of any kind with the police except in connection with Daniel’s gang activities. Turns out that her African heritage is Ethiopian.”
“As would be Daniel’s,” Tyrell said thoughtfully. “Aren’t there tribes in Ethiopia who are said to be the descendants of Israel, lost tribes or something?”
“Maybe, I saw something on TV about that once.” Lopez nodded. “Michael Shaw, the hospital orderly, is also clean, nothing but a couple of parking violations. Casey Jeffs is …”
Lopez broke off for a moment as she read.
“Is what?” Tyrell asked.
“Is of interest. He’s been an employee of the institute for the past sixteen years. However, prior to that he was a patient, long-term psychosis. His name flagged up in relation to a homicide charge from back in 1984.”
“You’re kidding? He killed someone?”
“Went to trial.” Lopez nodded as she read. “A late witness testimony caused the case to collapse amid accusations of fraud and Casey was acquitted. The full file’s at the station.”
Tyrell rubbed his chin with one hand. “What about DNA from Daniel Neville’s room?”
“Dozens of them,” Lopez said. “It’ll take weeks to obtain profiles, and we haven’t got a suspect in custody to match them against. Besides, we know that Casey was nowhere near Daniel when he died.”
Tyrell let out a long sigh. “Powell will piss all over it. What else do we know about him?”
“Orphaned young. Mother was a hooker working San Antonio, died back in 1984 from a heroin overdose …” Tyrell frowned and looked at the pixelated image on Lopez’s PDA. A straggly haired blond woman, her features creased with the passing of the years. “Casey was arrested for killing her; attorneys filed for manslaughter charges and got a prosecution. He got taken in by the institute for treatment after the trial collapsed.”