M McDonald - March Into Hell

"No, I don't think so, but we may never know for sure if you don't know how you do it."

"Honestly, if I have to feel that fear every time I send out some kind of mental image, I'd rather not have the power."

"I don't blame you, but if you could try and focus it just enough to draw Kern to a meeting, afterward, you can forget all of this and go back to your semi-normal life."

"I thought flyers were going to draw him to the meeting?"

"They might, but he might not risk it, despite the temptation, but if he can be enticed by a little mental summons, that would make it a sure thing."

Mark shook his head. "Okay, so assuming Kern is there, however he gets word of the revival, what are you going to do? My idea was just to get him there so he could be arrested. I didn't plan to hold an actual revival."

"It has to look real, or Kern will get spooked and may not show his face. I'm going to talk about your miracles a little bit and then, I hate to say it, but you're going to have to make an appearance. Nobody will come out to see me."

"But I thought that would look suspicious?"

Jim drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his eyes distant. "We might have to make it look like we'd 'captured' you-like Kern did."

Mark turned and leaned back against the car door, holding his hand up. "No way."

"It's the only way I can think of to draw out Kern and his followers. In fact, we can approach Kern's group ahead of time, tell them personally about the revival. It'll be a secret meeting, but we'll make sure to invite his followers, possibly make a pact to join his guild."

"You want to hold a revival with me as the unwilling guest, and invite Kern's group to attend?"

"Yes, and mixed in with the worshipers will be police and FBI."

Jim stopped the car in front of a derelict building, and Mark leaned forward to see past him. So this was it. It certainly wasn't impressive. The crumbling cement steps led up to a building that looked like it should have been demolished about the time of the Vietnam War. The yard was nothing but a narrow strip of mud split by a cracked sidewalk. At least three of the windows were boarded over with plywood, and the brick had graffiti decorating the lower third of the building.

Mark looked around. "I'm going to get some shots. Keep an eye out for me." He slipped his left arm out of the sling. He could manage without the support for a few minutes. He stepped out of the car and took a half dozen snapshots of the building and the neighborhood.

If nothing else, there could be something useful in the photos that might not jump out at them now. As he raised the camera to squeeze in a few more, a jolt of energy shot through his hands.

Adrian exited Union Station, shouldering his way through the throngs of commuters. He was tired and stiff from the long train ride, and the bus ride from El Paso to San Antonio had been even worse. His neck felt stiff and he rolled his head to ease the pain. If only the border police hadn't taken him aside to question him. He couldn't believe they'd searched his rental car. Good thing he'd made other provisions to send the goods north. Did he look like a drug mule? Hell no. Even in his disguise, it should have been apparent to the cops that he was above that kind of thing.

Now there would be a detailed record of him crossing the border, even if it was under an alias, he hated to leave a loose end dangling. He glared at a woman clutching a toddler's hand as they impeded his way on the sidewalk. He skirted around them, his irritation adding to his foul mood. It still angered him that he'd been forced to use his last established alias.

He'd already burned through three for this trip. Not only did it cost him money to create a new one to replace the used ones, but it took time to build a legitimate history for each one. Sure, Tom Peterson, his newest identity, had a paper history, but a good detective would be able to cut through it if he was looking. Adrian hated to use it to buy his bus and train tickets, it was a potential paper trail, but there was no way around it. At least he'd had the foresight to keep this complete identity package at Sonya's home in El Paso.

Despite the cold drizzle, the memory of Sonya's welcome embrace warmed him. She was the only woman who understood him. When he achieved the power due him, he would bring her to the new compound, when he established it.

As a cab drove by and splashed him with dirty water, he vowed it was going to be sooner rather than later and definitely not in Chicago. Sonya's pitiful begging to come with him to Chicago had almost swayed him, but he'd placated her by telling her of his need for a place to hideout, a bolt hole, if needed.

He'd contemplated buying a plane ticket, but security at airports was too tight. The chances were slim that anyone would recognize him with his blond hair, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Taking the 'L'was the last thing he wanted to do, but it was the last train he'd have to take for awhile. As he settled onto the hard plastic seat, he froze. On the floor of the train was a bright yellow flyer with Mark Taylor's photo. He ignored the dirty look from the woman on the opposite seat as he lunged from his seat and snatched the paper off the floor.

Mark swished the developer over the prints, wondering if this time, the magic would return. It had been a week since he'd taken pictures of the cult's building. Those photos hadn't developed into anything special, but the energy had returned to the device. It had been a week since then and even without the future photos, Mark had been busy. Jim and Jessie had been busy doing their own parts, putting word on the street about the revival. With their connections, they could plant information.

Meanwhile, Mark arranged the use of a warehouse, folding chairs and a sound system. It was almost a good thing he didn't have any future photos to worry about. Tomorrow was the big day, and his stomach was tied up in knots. Even though his 'capture' would be faked, just the thought of having to re-enact something like that made him shiver. He forced the thought out of his head as he noted the images emerging on the prints.

Damn. Deja-vu.

Lily and Jessie looked up from where they were hunched over a floor plan of the warehouse as Mark approached with the still damp photos, and held up the prints, his feelings mixed as he announced, "I have pictures."

Jessie held a red pen poised over the paper. "You mean, you have pictures? Future ones? "

"Yep."

Lily beamed at him. "I told you. The camera was waiting for you to be healed before putting you back to work."

He gingerly rotated his shoulder. It was far from completely healed, but he didn't need the sling anymore, and that was a relief. "Maybe, except while I have pictures, it would have been nice to start out with something easy. Instead, it looks like a repeat of my kidnapping."

Jessie tossed the pen on to the desk and stepped over to him, her hand out to see the photos. "Well, it's not like you weren't aware of the kidnapping, and it's not real, so it shouldn't be all that shocking."

"Yeah, well, even if the photo depicts a staged scene, it's still a little disconcerting to see a photo of myself lying in a puddle of blood."

Lily rubbed her hand up his arm, her expression concerned, before turning her attention to the pictures. She tilted her head to look at the images as Jessie flipped through them.

Mark crossed his arms as he watched them examine the shots. Jim's idea had been okay in theory, but now that he could see the outcome, it wasn't looking so promising.

Jessie held one up. "I'm not positive, but the tall guy in the background could be Kern."

He shook his head. "I suppose it's possible, but he's out of focus so it's impossible to tell."