Chris Jordan - Torn

Maggie hugs the much taller woman’s arm as they approach the black Suburban that will take them up the mountain, to the forward offensive position. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this one,” she admits. “I’ve been working up a profile for Arthur Conklin’s wife, Evangeline-she’s the leader of the more radical faction.”

“I know who she is, Mags. I downloaded your file on my BlackBerry.”

“Sorry. Didn’t know if you had time to read it.”

“I’m a multitasker. You know that.”

The doors lock as the driver accelerates out of the parking lot.

“So what’s the new angle?” Monica prompts.

“Oh! Sorry!” Maggie says, staring out the tinted window. “I’ve seen this place in photographs, but they don’t do it justice. Really spectacular.” She gives a worried sigh, makes a brave smile for her friend. “Okay. Back to Evangeline. Eva the Diva. The psych data is not exactly encouraging. Taking prior behavior patterns into account, and similar cults that depend on a single, charismatic individual, I think there’s a pretty good chance she’ll go off the deep end. She may trend into an apocalyptic scenario and not be able to see a way out.”

Monica nods. “With their leader dying and the factions struggling for power, we’ve been assuming the worst. Unfortunately it’s taking a lot longer to break their defenses than we anticipated. Can you believe they have weapons-grade blast shutters? Acetylene won’t cut the stuff. Had to send for a hi-temp plasma torch and even that’s slow as hell.”

“So we’ve no idea what’s happening in the Pinnacle.”

Monica nods. “Or the other building, the one they call the Bunker. Unfortunate name. Can’t help but think of Hitler. Speaking of apocalyptic scenarios.”

“What about the tunnel Shane mentioned?”

“Yeah, well, that’s part of the bad news, I’m afraid. We finally located the entrance, but somebody rolled an explosive device into the lower part of the tunnel-we’re thinking modified RPGs-and blew it up. Collapsed at least a hundred yards of the tunnel, which is just your basic six-foot diameter fiberglass conduit, and not capable of withstanding any sort of explosion. We can dig it out, but it will take time. Days, not hours.”

Maggie looks sick, and not from the helicopter ride. “They blew the tunnel? Who, exactly, do you know? Which faction?”

“All I know, it was probably somebody with the security service. We found a van nearby with traces of the explosive.”

“Eva’s people,” Maggie says.

“Is that good or bad?”

“It’s all bad,” Maggie says. “But Eva is worse. She isn’t just keeping us from getting in. She’s keeping them from getting out.”

The Suburban slows to a stop. The women step out into the frigid air and look up to the massive structures built into the mountain.

“It’s so quiet,” Maggie marvels. “I hadn’t expected that.”

Monica glances down at her much shorter companion. She’s about to make a comment, then thinks better of it.

Quiet as the grave, she almost said.

Evangeline decides she’s waited long enough. She’d been delaying until Vash got back-he’d been fussing like an anxious schoolboy, very unlike him-but she simply can’t wait any longer. He’ll miss the big moment, but that’s just too bad. Weems has been assembling his Sixes, those who were already in residence at the Bunker, just as she has gathered her own people, ostensibly so they can cut a deal and get on with the sad business of mourning the Profit. What would the One True Voice think of all this Sturm and Drang, she wonders. What would Arthur do?

Easy answer, as far as Evangeline is concerned. Whatever the situation, when given a choice, Arthur always selected for the survival of the organization. Even if it meant that not every individual member would survive. As a scientist he understood the importance of culling, of cutting away the deadwood, and had structured the Rulers accordingly. Many drones at the lowest level, feeding the hive, and only a select few at the top, to reap the benefit.

What’s going to happen is, Weems and his followers have decided to join Arthur in the afterlife. At least, that’s what his latest blog entry says, courtesy of Evangeline. Best thing: when the Feds bring in their forensics experts, and they will, they’ll discover that the fatal command originated on Wendy’s personal computer, as if he, not Evangeline, pushed the fatal button.

A shame, really, how grief made poor, ugly little Wendy delusional. But totally believable. Pure genius.

Eva decides to make one last attempt to raise Vash on the intercom. No response. Odd, she assumed he wanted to share in the moment, but then it occurs to her that lover boy would rather not be in the room when she presses the button. He prefers to operate from the shadows, maintaining plausible deniability. Which, come to think, isn’t a bad thing in this case because if worst ever came to worst, he can’t be called as an eyewitness to the event.

An event, not a crime. Crime is for those at the lower levels.

The screens show that all is ready. Weems and his Sixes-a small group of the wealthiest, longest-serving Rulers-have gathered in his conference room in the Bunker. The sound quality is terrible-all booming echoes and static-but it’s not necessary to know what they’re saying. They’ll be discussing her offer, coming up with counteroffers. The visuals tell her all she needs to know: they all look so somber that it really isn’t that much of a leap to conclude that a final solution might be on the agenda.

Eva has her finger over the screen, about to make the one little touch that will turn the Bunker into a death zone, when the most extraordinary thing happens. Wendy actually leaps out his chair, exclaiming something.

Does he know?

And then, a miracle. The completion of perfection. Because three more people enter the conference room. Three people and a child. The big man Vash identified as the former FBI agent, Shane, accompanied by-who is that?-is it Irene Delancey? Yes! Why it looks like someone has blacked her eyes, or is that her makeup running? And then, the icing on the cake, that little pest Haley Corbin comes into view, hugging Arthur’s grandson to her side.

Eva is stunned. Vash delivered! He found a way to get all of her enemies into the Bunker, where the sad event will take place. This is way better than having to make the woman and the boy disappear somehow later. They’ll be among the victims blamed on Wendy. Too bad about the boy-she had such high hopes, but he hadn’t worked out, and sometimes you just have to acknowledge a mistake and move on.

She has to pause for a moment and wipe away the tears. Tears not of grief, but of joy. This has to be a sign from Arthur himself, his way of letting her know that she’s made the right choice.

“Bless you, Arthur,” she says.

She presses the button, releasing the gas. Fentanyl, a favorite from Vash’s old killing grounds. The lethal effects of high doses of Fentanyl had first been established by Russian security forces, who had used it against Chechen terrorists holding hostages in a Moscow theater. Indeed, it was so lethal that almost everyone died, hostages included. It had been particularly effective against the children.

To fall asleep and never wake up. Is that so bad?

Maggie keeps shuffling between the heated, idling Suburban-your tax dollars at work-and the frigid cold of the Colorado morning. If she wasn’t so worried she’d be able to appreciate the stunning beauty of the setting. The clear air, the awesome majesty of the high country, the illusion that you can see forever. But at the moment the mountains and the altitude are the enemy, making it difficult to execute the mission. Helicopters have been coming and going from the roof of the Pinnacle, which turns out not to be booby-trapped, as Shane had warned in his brief call. Thank God for small favors. There haven’t been many. The blueprints that came through from the sat phone have been helpful, but even so, no one anticipated the difficulty of breaching what turns out to be a modern fortress.