recovery from terminal psychosis, when medical science had plucked him from oblivion, Casey Jeffs had been employed as a handyman undertaking menial tasks at the institute. The employment served as a valuable psychological anchor amid a strange and often hostile world. In these modern days of empowerment to the weak and support of the needy, Casey’s apparent success in leading a near-normal life was held by the institute as a symbol of the power of rehabilitation. The meek shall inherit the Earth, Patterson reflected as he looked into Casey’s innocent features. But the meek needed those who could lead the way, the shepherd to their flock. Patterson knew that he himself represented the closest thing to a father and a family that Casey had ever known.
“We should ease his suffering, and help him to find God,” Patterson responded. “Daniel has suffered enough, hasn’t he?”
Casey nodded seriously. “We all have, Pastor.”
Patterson wondered where Casey might have picked up the reply, doubtful that it could have tumbled unbidden from the confused miasma of his own mind. Daniel Neville had been allowed to live in order to study why he alone had survived the experiments, but now he was a liability that Patterson could not afford.
“Did the police officers actually see Daniel Neville?” he asked.
“One of them did.” Casey nodded. “They let him into the room for a moment.”
Patterson nodded slowly, and made his decision.
“You remember what we spoke of, Casey? That we would do it just like we did before?”
The blue eyes twinkled. “Yes, boss, I know what to do.” A flicker of doubt appeared. “Will it be like last time? The police made me think about the last time, about how—”
Patterson overcame his revulsion as he reached out and patted the back of Casey’s hand.
“It won’t be like last time, Casey, and even if it is, I will protect you when you need me.”
The childlike relief in Casey’s eyes contrasted with the lumbering movements of his body as he stood from his chair and loped out of the office. Patterson leaned back in his chair and looked down at his desk. There a broadsheet was emblazoned with an image of Senator Isaiah Black alongside the results of the most recent polls. Patterson bit his lip as he read.
Black’s popularity had increased in spite of, or perhaps because of, his distancing himself from the American Evangelical Alliance. Patterson felt his eyeballs surging briefly in their sockets, and he forced himself to remain calm. The polls weren’t any more psychic than he was, and could change almost literally overnight. As for the police at the institute …
Patterson dug out his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number, waiting for the line to connect. The digital warbling of advanced security functions assured him that Byron Stone was leaving nothing to chance in Israel.
“Yes?” came the drawling Texan voice as the line picked up.
“There has been a complication,” Patterson said briskly. “One of the bodies may have been identified, and detectives are snooping around. Ensure that the surgeon is close at hand. We may require him to void any investigations.”
The pastor could almost hear Byron Stone’s irritation down the line.
“Your amateurs should never have been employed to transport the remains. Just make goddamn sure you give us enough warning, Pastor, understood?”
Somehow, Patterson managed to rise above the Texan’s imperious tone.
“Of course.”
JABALIYA
GAZA STRIP
AUGUST 26
How on earth did the two of you come to be here?” Dr. Hassim Khan asked.
Ethan struggled out of the chair to which he had been tied. As he stood, he saw that his hands were trembling. He flexed them a few times as Rachel appeared from the tunnel behind him.
“Are you okay?” Ethan asked.
“I’ll be fine,” she muttered coldly, passing by him to perch on the edge of a crate nearby.
Ethan could hardly blame her for being pissed with him, considering the situation they were now in, but it wasn’t like he’d pushed her out of the goddamn airplane. He turned to Hassim Khan and explained how MACE had pursued them, and their escape with the camera footage into Gaza.
Hassim asked Ethan’s captors, “You know of this MACE company?”
“Private contractors,” the younger one said, his features twisted with disgust. “They infect our land like a parasite.”
Hassim gestured to the Palestinian who had questioned Ethan.
“This is Mahmoud. He and his companion, Yossaf, have been protecting me here.”
Ethan wasn’t sure how to acknowledge the men who had moments earlier been threatening to slit his throat. He decided simply to ignore them, keeping