Cult by Warren Adler Page A

Pompous. An obvious phony.” Her anger peaked and ebbed. “By some miracle, we finally got to see our boy. He was zonked out, glassy-eyed, a zombie. He was always with this girl, his Big Sister. He couldn’t make an independent decision. He called us Satan’s people. Imagine that.”
    As she talked, Mrs. Prococino explored Barney’s face, as if she were gauging the effects of her words on him, testing, prodding. “The law was with them. There was nobody to turn to for help. We couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”
    She seemed to be debating whether or not to continue. Then she nodded and went on. “All Vinnie and I could think about is what we’d done wrong, where we made our mistake. At night… we just lay there in bed, the two of us, Depression babies from Italian immigrants who came up the hard way, and they had reduced us to two quivering jellyfish. Nobody ever told us how to handle this. Nobody. In the camp, these bastards would tell us, ‘Withdraw. Withdraw,’ and call us Satan. Franco would shout back, ‘Fuck you, you monsters. Fuck you.’ But that only made it worse.”
    Naomi understood her earlier reluctance. “They had taken away my boy, not only from me and Vinnie, but from himself. And the worst part was that I hated him for it. My own flesh and blood.”
    She held back tears to the limit of her control, then they came gushing out. Turning away, she wiped them, embarrassed. When they saw her face again, she was smiling thinly.
    â€œListen. It has a happy ending. We went through six months of hell, trying to figure out ways to get at him. We tried everything, letters to our congressmen, to the FBI, even the CIA. We contacted others who had lost loved ones to the Glories, spoke to ex-members. Nothing. Just like you. I’m sorry, Mr. Harrigan. Your plight is not unique.”
    â€œBut how did they start?” Barney asked.
    â€œWho knows? They’re tyrannical, especially in politics. It may sound nuts, but they want to take over the world. God help us. Father Glory as the great one, leader of the world. The living Jesus.”
    â€œUnbelievable,” Naomi said.
    â€œBastard,” Barney muttered.
    â€œFather Glory,” Mrs. Prococino said contemptuously. “He lives like a potentate. He’s a front within a front within a front. He’s got worldwide business interests. He needs numbers, believers, and the best way to get them is through religion. Then he sends these kids out to raise money. That’s all they do once they’re completely under control. Raise money and get other kids in… to raise money. That’s the scam.”
    â€œThe meek aren’t the ones who inherit the earth,” Mrs. Prococino said suddenly, and a sour bitterness filled the room.
    Naomi couldn’t help but wonder if Mrs. Prococino was letting her hate blind her.
    â€œAnd your son?” Barney prodded. “How did you get him out?”
    It was, of course, the central issue for Barney. He asked the question with frantic anticipation.
    â€œKidnapped him. That’s the truth of it. Call it what you want. We told the press ‘subterfuge.’ Sure it was illegal, but who gave a rat’s ass? It was, believe me, the only way. Kidnapping. Pure and simple. We picked him up selling candy. He was on one of their fund-raising teams. They either raise money or do things to gain credibility and acceptance so they can raise more money.” She checked herself. She had started off again on the well-rutted path, stopping suddenly when she realized that she had continued to stray.
    â€œTo do all this cost us plenty. We hired a guy to kidnap him, a deprogrammer. It was like planning the snatching of a President. All cloak-and-dagger. It cost us every cent we had. We got him into a van and raced away as fast as we could. Then we holed up in a deserted cabin and the deprogrammer went to work. We had to lock him in a