Stuart Woods - Heat

“Thank you, sir,” Schooner said, managing a smile.

“You have a very fine soul,” Coldwater said, his gaze boring into Schooner. “Go with God.” He stood up and walked back up the garden path.

Schooner and Ruger stood as he left.

“Mel, would you mind waiting in the car for a moment?” Ruger asked.

“Sure,” Schooner replied, and turned back toward the house.

Ruger walked up the path and rounded a curve. Coldwater was standing beside an iron deer, gazing out over the view.

“Jack Gene?”

Coldwater turned and looked at Ruger.

“There’s something I thought you’d want to know.”

“What is it?”

“Herman Muller has made Jesse Barron the assistant manager at Wood Products.”

“ What? ”

“I know, it’s entirely unexpected.”

“Barron hasn’t been there eight weeks yet, has he?”

“Just about that.”

“Herman has never let anybody help him manage that place.”

“It occurred to me that it might be some sort of defensive move.”

“That’s possible, I suppose. We haven’t entirely coopted Barron, yet. Maybe Herman thinks of him as an ally against us.”

“I think that must be it.”

Coldwater turned and looked out over the mountains again. “Still, eight weeks on the job, starting on the hopper like everybody else. That’s very impressive.”

“I suppose it is,” Ruger replied.

“Kurt, I think it’s about time I met Jesse Barron.”

“I’ll see to it, Jack Gene.”

“Let’s keep it subtle; I just want to get the feel of him.”

“Consider it done.”

Coldwater’s attention seemed to drift back to the landscape. “Thank you, Kurt.”

Ruger backed away, then went to join Schooner.

Jesse stood by the truck and looked at the First Church of St. Clair. It was medium-sized, as churches go, prosperous looking, a Greek facade topped by a soaring steeple. The building sat on a broad lawn, now covered by snow, at the base of the mountain that loomed over the town. It was a respectable-looking church, Jesse thought.

Jenny took Carey to church faithfully, every Sunday morning, but she had never asked Jesse to come. Then, that morning, she had snuggled up to him in bed, pressed her naked breasts against his back and said, “There’s a communal Thanksgiving dinner at the church today. Carey and I would like you to come.”

“I’d like that,” he had responded, relieved that she had finally given him an excuse to see the congregation up close.

Jenny led him into the auditorium, and Jesse was stopped in his tracks at the sight of the place. It was not very different from the more prosperous churches where his father had preached, with one exception: at the rear of the church, looming over the choir loft, was a large stained-glass window depicting Jesus Christ, who was holding in his hand, not a dove, but a pair of lightning bolts. Jesse’s attention was drawn to the face; something about it was odd. As Jesse followed Jenny down a side aisle, the face seemed to change slightly, until another face was revealed. It recalled the optician’s billboard in The Great Gatsby ; the eyes seemed to follow him as the face changed.

He followed Jenny down a flight of stairs, and they emerged into a large basement room with a table that stretched nearly the length of the church. There was a great bustle as women set the table and streamed from the kitchen with platters of food, while others stood to one side of the room with their children. Carey ran over to a small group and greeted two other little girls.

On the other side of the table, standing in threes and fours, the men waited, chatting idly and watching the progress of food from the kitchen.

Jenny tugged at his sleeve. “Why don’t you go over there and introduce yourself to some of the men?” she asked. Then, without waiting for a reply, she followed Carey to the clutch of women.

Feeling abandoned, Jesse walked around the long table and approached the men. He was relieved to see somebody he knew.

“Hey there, Jesse,” Pat Casey said, extending his hand. “Let me introduce you to some fellows. This is Luther Williams, that’s Paul Carter, and over there is Hank Twomy.”

Jesse shook their hands and sensed a reserve among the men. They had stopped talking as he approached.

“I’m glad to see you here,” Casey said. “We should have gotten you to church a long time ago.”

“Thanks, Pat; I’m glad to be here.”

“Congratulations on your promotion. You’re moving right up at Wood Products.”

“Thanks,” Jesse said quietly.

“Herman Muller must think highly of you.”

Jesse shrugged. “I’m glad to make a little more money. I appreciate you sending me down there. I don’t know where I’d be if you hadn’t been nice enough to do that.”

“Glad to be of help, and I’m glad to see you settling into our town so well. It’s starting to seem like you’ve always been here.”

“It seems like that to me, too,” Jesse replied, truthfully. “If you’d have told me three months ago that I’d be where I am now, I’d have thought you were crazy.” That was the truth, too. In fact, he had expected to be dead by this time.

There was the sound of movement in the crowd and Jesse turned to see Jenny beckoning to him from the table. He went forward with the other men and took a seat opposite her and Carey, all the men on his side and all the women and children on the other. Then, as if at some secret signal, the room fell suddenly quiet, and Jesse followed Jenny’s gaze to the head of the table. There stood a tall man dressed in white trousers and a white silk shirt, open at the throat. His skin was bronzed and his long hair was entirely white, and Jesse thought he looked like nothing less than an apparition. His face was just recognizable as that of the young man in uniform that Jesse had seen in the photograph at his briefing in Atlanta; moreover it was recognizable as the face that had alternated with the face of Jesus in the stained-glass window upstairs.

The sound of a door slamming caused Jesse to look toward Coldwater’s right. There, staggering drunk and making his way toward the minister, was Phil Partain. The two men seated nearest Coldwater, one of them Kurt Ruger, jumped up and intercepted Partain, steered him from the room. The minister seemed not to notice.

Jack Gene Coldwater raised his hands wide and his voice was like the rumble of thunder. “We thank our God for this day; for the lives we lead together; for the love we share; and, most of all, for the purity of the consecrated blood that flows in our veins.”

Jesse suddenly realized that his was the only face turned toward the speaker. Every other head was bowed, yet he was unable to wrest his gaze from Coldwater.

“We thank our God for the new world that awaits us, just beyond our sight; for his choosing of us from all the people of the earth, to do his final will; for the lightning from heaven that awaits our enemies. We thank our God for this food, this plenty afforded to those who follow his new word. Amen.”

“Amen!” the group said in chorus, startling Jesse.

He leaned across the table toward Jenny. “Who is that?” he asked.

“That’s our pastor, Jack Gene Coldwater,” she replied, then began to eat. She didn’t seem anxious to continue about Coldwater, so Jesse began to eat, too.

Pat Casey spoke up from beside him. “He is a very remarkable man, Jesse. You will get to know that.”

The dinner was over, and people were making their goodbyes as the dishes were taken away. Jesse stood with Jenny and Carey, ready to leave, but Jenny seemed to be waiting for something. Shortly, Pat Casey tapped Jesse on the shoulder from behind.