piled into the helicopter—Darby, two of his assistants, the priest and the monk, Gracie, and Dalton. Less than a minute later, the chopper lifted off the ground, swooped around for a rousing pass over the crowd, and straightened out on a direct trajectory to the city, the two news choppers trailing in its wake.
Chapter 68
Houston, Texas
Matt was leaning forward, his eyes fixed on the wall-mounted plasma screen in the FBO’s executive lounge at Hobby Airport. Rydell was also there, watching it with him. He had arranged the night flight from Boston, borrowing a jet from one of his dotcom buddies. It had dropped them off in Houston before continuing onward to Los Angeles, whisking Rebecca off to the relative safety of an old friend and a big city. At Hobby, Rydell had arranged for them to have exclusive use of the fixed base operator’s facilities, figuring it made sense to hang back at the airport and figure out what their next move would be before going into the city proper and risking exposure. Then they’d sat back and watched.
The live coverage cut away from Grace Logan’s feed and segued to the network’s fixed camera at the edge of the airport, and the sight of the chopper taking off deflated Matt. He’d been hoping to see the sign show up over the false prophet, and to take its appearance as a sign that Danny was close by. It hadn’t happened, but that didn’t stop him from scrutinizing every corner of the screen, looking for anything suspicious right until the feed switched over to the aerial view from one of the trailing choppers and cut him dry.
Matt slumped back into the sofa, dropped his head back against it, and shut his eyes. “Reliant Stadium,” he said. “That’s where the Texans play, isn’t it?”
Rydell was already on his BlackBerry. “Let’s see what the weather’s like tomorrow.”
“Why?” Matt asked.
“The stadium’s got a retractable roof. If it looks like it’s not going to rain, they’ll have it open—which they’ll need to do if they’re planning to put a sign up over him.”
Matt kept his head back, staring at the ceiling. He sucked in a deep breath. “Tomorrow, then,” he said.
They sat in silence for a moment, thinking ahead, trying to let some clarity back into their minds. Matt stared up at the ceiling. He felt a burgeoning optimism. He was getting closer to Danny, and he’d made it alive so far. The continuation of neither of which was a given, not by any measure.
“It’s not going to be easy finding Danny,” Rydell added. “The stadium’s huge.”
Matt frowned. He’d been thinking of something else. “Maybe we won’t have to.” He glanced across at Rydell. “Drucker told you he wanted to talk, right?”
“Last I heard, he was in D.C.,” Rydell told him. Then something occurred to him. “Unless he’s here. For all this.”
“Call him. Tell him you’re here if he wants to talk. And tell him to get his ass down here if he isn’t here already.”
Rydell weighed it. Seemed to like it, but with a slight reticence. “He’ll suspect something’s up.”
Matt shrugged. “He’ll still want to meet with you, and that’s something we can control. We’ll pick the place. We can be ready for him. Besides, it’s not like I’m juggling ten different options here.” He played it out one more time, then nodded, going for it. “Make the call.”
“You sure?” Rydell asked.
“Get him down here,” Matt confirmed. “I think we’d both like to hear what the bastard has to say.”
Chapter 69
River Oaks, Houston, Texas
The area around Darby’s house was entirely sealed off by the police. Running a perimeter four blocks out on three sides, their barricades were blocking all access except for residents. The back of the house looked out over the golf course, and access to the club was also now under strict police control. Officers and dogs patrolled the greens, on the lookout for overzealous believers and angry fanatics. The governor also had the National Guard on standby, should the need for more manpower arise.
The chopper set down in the parking lot of the country club, and its occupants were shuttled across the golf course to their host’s mansion under police escort. News vans crowded the edges of the cordon, a long row of white vans and satellite dishes. Throngs of hysterical worshippers were massed against the barricades, clamoring for Father Jerome to come out and talk to them, desperate for a glimpse of the Lord’s envoy. A couple of whackos had infiltrated