Stuart Woods - Heat

“I’m with you, pal,” Casey said, swinging past the church and starting up the mountain.

“We’re not going to the church?”

“The pastor wants to see you in his home. That’s a rare honor, believe me.”

“I’m flattered.” Jesse glanced down at the bottom of the newspaper’s front page. SEATTLE ANTI-ABORTION ACTIVIST DEAD IN PUGET SOUND PLUNGE, it read.

“What’s that piece?” Casey asked.

Jesse read aloud: “‘The body of Martha Terrell Peary, a prominent member of Seattle’s pro-life movement, was found in her car near the Tacoma Narrows bridge yesterday, the victim of an apparent accident. Raymond Peary, her husband, said his wife often took late-night drives and that she must have lost control of her car. Mrs. Peary had taken a leading part in many demonstrations against family planning clinics in the Northwest over the past four years, and it seemed ironic to her friends that she should have died on the night of the firebombing of the Parsons Street Clinic, in Seattle, by unknown perpetrators.’ That’s it.”

“Well,” said Casey, “win some, lose some.”

Jack Gene Coldwater’s house was situated at the end of a long drive, very near the top of the mountain. It was a solid-looking stone structure, with elaborate plantings along the drive and in the turnaround at the front door. Jesse thought it looked like something out of an architectural magazine. This impression was reinforced when they were let inside by a pretty young woman and shown to the pastor’s study.

Coldwater sat in a leather armchair, his striking profile toward the door, apparently lost in a book. The room was paneled in walnut and lined with bookcases. Books were everywhere, on a sofa, on a coffee table, on the floor and on the limestone mantelpiece. A cheerful log fire burned in the grate.

“Pastor,” the woman said softly, “your guests are here.”

Coldwater looked up and smiled. “Jesse, how are you?”

“Fine, sir.”

“Miss Betty,” Casey said to the young woman, “do you think you could find me something to nibble on in the kitchen?”

“Of course, Chief,” she replied, and led the way. Casey closed the door behind them.

“Come and sit down,” Coldwater said, indicating a matching chair facing his own.

Jesse sat down.

“I believe the sun is over the yardarm,” Coldwater said, looking out the window at the winter twilight. “May I offer you something to warm you up?”

“Thank you sir, maybe a bourbon.”

Coldwater went to a drinks trolley and poured them both a stiff drink, handed Jesse his, sat down and raised his glass. “To a better day.”

Jesse raised his glass and drank. It was excellent.

Coldwater took a small sip, then set his glass down on a side table. “What do you know about us here, Jesse?”

“About the town?” He set his drink down.

“About the church; about me.”

“Not very much, I guess. The Thanksgiving dinner was my first visit to the church.”

“No gossip around town?”

“I’ve been spending most of my time at home, when I’m not working.”

Coldwater nodded. “At Jenny Weatherby’s. A fine young woman, Jenny; fellow could do a lot worse. Nice little girl, too.”

“I’ve grown fond of them both.”

“Good. A man needs the affection of a woman.”

They sat silently for a moment, and Jesse elected not to speak first. After all he had been summoned here.

“I want to tell you something of the background of this place,” Coldwater said. “I came here some twenty years ago, fresh out of the army and the Vietnam war. I came with a couple of thousand dollars in back pay and two friends, Pat Casey and Kurt Ruger. Pat, you know; have you met Kurt?”

“No, sir.”

“A financial wizard. One of the best minds for money in the country. On Kurt’s advice, we pooled our funds and made a down payment on land that includes this mountain. We built a log church on the site where the First Church now rests, lived in it, worshiped in it, conducted our lives in that building for years. We worked hard, marshaled our resources and attracted others to our way of life. We multiplied and prospered.” He stopped and looked at Jesse. “Are you a religious man, Jesse?”

“My father” — he stopped himself; he had nearly said that his father was a minister — “kind of rammed it down my throat, I guess. I didn’t feel close to the church at home, but I... I guess I sort of carved out my own religion from all of what was thrown at me as a boy. I believe in God, I really do.”

“Do you believe that some people are chosen personally by God?”

“Yes, sir, I believe that. I’ve never known what he wanted me to do, though.”

“Jesse, I believe God has brought you here, to us. Do you believe that God can do that?”

“I believe God can do anything ,” Jesse said, nodding vigorously.

“Good man. Do you believe that God speaks directly to some people?”

“I’m sure he must,” Jesse said. He looked into the fire for effect. “Sometimes I wish he’d speak to me.”

“Do you believe God chooses some groups of people over others?”

“Well, the Israelites were the chosen people of the Bible, weren’t they?”

“Yes, until they renounced and murdered his son,” Coldwater replied softly. “God has never forgiven them for that; they are, each of them, cursed. God has a new chosen people now.” He leaned forward and bored his gaze into Jesse’s eyes. “They are here, in this community, and God has chosen me to lead them to him.”

Jesse let his eyes widen slightly and his jaw drop.

“Do you believe that is possible?” Coldwater asked.

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Do you think I am insane, Jesse?”

“No, sir; you seem very sane to me.”

“People to whom God speaks are often thought to be insane. Some of them are, I suppose, but I assure you, I am not.”

Coldwater suddenly sat up straight and pressed his back against his chair. “Jesse,” he said, and his voice seemed to waver, “Jesse, sometimes God gives me to know about people, and he is speaking to me of you at this moment.”

Jesse leaned forward. “About me? ”

“You have had a great tragedy in your life,” Coldwater intoned, closing his eyes. “You have lost those dearest to you in the most violent way.”

“Yes,” Jesse said, “it’s true.”

“There are three little girls and a lovely woman; they are with God.”

“Yes,” Jesse said again, allowing his voice to waver. I’ll match you con for con, he thought.

“They are happy, but they are worried about you,” Coldwater said. “They want you to have a new life.”

“Can you see them?” Jesse asked.

“God can see them. God has chosen this moment to heal your wound, to make you whole again.”

“Oh, God,” Jesse moaned. He was actually enjoying this. The guy was some salesman, and this was some pitch.

Coldwater opened his eyes and looked at Jesse, then closed them again and his brow furrowed. “There is someone else,” he said.

“Sir?”

“Another little girl, younger than the three.”

A chill ran through Jesse. What was going on here?

“She was torn from you, but she has not forgotten her love for you.”

Tears sprang involuntarily to Jesse’s eyes. “ Sir? ”

“She is far from here, but with kind strangers.”

“Who?” Jesse demanded. “Who is she with?”

“A young couple in a sunny place.”

Miami, Jesse thought, she’s still in Miami. What the hell is going on here?

Coldwater opened his eyes again, then reached out, took Jesse’s hand and pulled him to his knees. “Will you pray with me?”