dressed like Coker and carrying Bayou Solar assault rifles, called out variations of “Good morning, Doctor” and “Good luck, sir.” No one spoke further as Coker headed south on 1, west on Geary Boulevard, then north on Twenty-fifth Avenue, stopping short of California Street. There he cut the engine and affixed night-vision goggles to his head, handing a second pair to Paul and lowering his voice so his people couldn’t hear.
“The other half of the team is in position with visual contact of the home. Two unit leaders, including myself, and twelve SWAT team members.”
“How many attendees are we expecting?” Paul said.
“Most we have been aware of is twenty-three, sir.”
“Paul.”
“Here you go, Paul.” Coker handed him what looked like a credit card with an embedded circuit board, which he had aligned with the frequency in Paul’s molar-implanted receivers.
“You’ll be able to hear all our transmissions, as well as the ones from the bug in the house. And it also tells us where you are, no matter what.”
The fidelity was amazing. Through the night-vision goggles Paul detected no movement between them and the dark house. He heard an animal—probably a dog—padding around, whining quietly. He also heard the hum of what he assumed was the refrigerator and the tick of a clock.
About half an hour later he and Coker looked up when they heard more noise in the house. “Has to be the old lady,” Coker said. “We’re sure she lives alone.”
The dog came to life when a light came on, and Paul heard running water as the woman fussed in the kitchen. She was clearly talking to the dog and filling water and food bowls.
Several minutes later, Coker said, “Bogey, three o’clock.” Paul smiled at his calling the first visitor by the same term he would use for incoming enemy aircraft.
A tall, slight man in his early twenties approached the house. He wore modest-to-cheap clothes and a jacket too light for the weather. His hands were in his pockets.
The man knocked lightly three times on the front door. When the woman opened it, he said, “He is risen.”
She responded, “He is risen indeed.”
“Sounds religious to me,” Coker said.
Paul recognized the phrase as an early church greeting, referring to Jesus.
What made two such ordinary, unprepossessing people—an old woman living with a dog in a ramshackle house and this nondescript shabby dresser whose very bearing seemed timid—join a forbidden group, given the danger? Neither seemed particularly bold or visionary or dangerous. They’re not firebrands, Paul thought. They’re losers with empty lives they try to amp up with make-believe and the hope of some glorious reward after death. Secret meetings are their only excitement.
But that didn’t explain Andy Pass, who had a family, the respect of his colleagues, and an important, fulfilling career. And what about Paul’s own father? He flushed at the thought.
“See something?” Coker said.
“No. These people make me sick. That’s all.”
Over the next fifteen minutes a score of visitors showed up, singly and in pairs. Paul noted a middleaged couple, probably the oldest aside from the hostess. He guessed them to be in their late fifties. The man was thick and walked with a limp. The woman carried a large purse and appeared to be wearing a white uniform underneath a tattered coat.
“Could be armed,” Coker said.
“Yeah,” Paul said. “Bonnie and Clyde. What a couple of sad sacks.”
“House could be a bomb shop, for all we know.”
“Well, I think we’re all here now,” the elderly woman’s voice said.
“All right!” said Coker, reaching for his helmet.
6
“LET’S START by passing around the Bible. Don’t anyone take too long with it. As we wait for our turns, the rest of us can sing.”
“That’s it. The Bible is contraband,” Coker said. “Let’s roll.”
“Wait,” Paul said. “I want to hear this. We might catch what their game is.”
It was as if
“The other half of the team is in position with visual contact of the home. Two unit leaders, including myself, and twelve SWAT team members.”
“How many attendees are we expecting?” Paul said.
“Most we have been aware of is twenty-three, sir.”
“Paul.”
“Here you go, Paul.” Coker handed him what looked like a credit card with an embedded circuit board, which he had aligned with the frequency in Paul’s molar-implanted receivers.
“You’ll be able to hear all our transmissions, as well as the ones from the bug in the house. And it also tells us where you are, no matter what.”
The fidelity was amazing. Through the night-vision goggles Paul detected no movement between them and the dark house. He heard an animal—probably a dog—padding around, whining quietly. He also heard the hum of what he assumed was the refrigerator and the tick of a clock.
About half an hour later he and Coker looked up when they heard more noise in the house. “Has to be the old lady,” Coker said. “We’re sure she lives alone.”
The dog came to life when a light came on, and Paul heard running water as the woman fussed in the kitchen. She was clearly talking to the dog and filling water and food bowls.
Several minutes later, Coker said, “Bogey, three o’clock.” Paul smiled at his calling the first visitor by the same term he would use for incoming enemy aircraft.
A tall, slight man in his early twenties approached the house. He wore modest-to-cheap clothes and a jacket too light for the weather. His hands were in his pockets.
The man knocked lightly three times on the front door. When the woman opened it, he said, “He is risen.”
She responded, “He is risen indeed.”
“Sounds religious to me,” Coker said.
Paul recognized the phrase as an early church greeting, referring to Jesus.
What made two such ordinary, unprepossessing people—an old woman living with a dog in a ramshackle house and this nondescript shabby dresser whose very bearing seemed timid—join a forbidden group, given the danger? Neither seemed particularly bold or visionary or dangerous. They’re not firebrands, Paul thought. They’re losers with empty lives they try to amp up with make-believe and the hope of some glorious reward after death. Secret meetings are their only excitement.
But that didn’t explain Andy Pass, who had a family, the respect of his colleagues, and an important, fulfilling career. And what about Paul’s own father? He flushed at the thought.
“See something?” Coker said.
“No. These people make me sick. That’s all.”
Over the next fifteen minutes a score of visitors showed up, singly and in pairs. Paul noted a middleaged couple, probably the oldest aside from the hostess. He guessed them to be in their late fifties. The man was thick and walked with a limp. The woman carried a large purse and appeared to be wearing a white uniform underneath a tattered coat.
“Could be armed,” Coker said.
“Yeah,” Paul said. “Bonnie and Clyde. What a couple of sad sacks.”
“House could be a bomb shop, for all we know.”
“Well, I think we’re all here now,” the elderly woman’s voice said.
“All right!” said Coker, reaching for his helmet.
6
“LET’S START by passing around the Bible. Don’t anyone take too long with it. As we wait for our turns, the rest of us can sing.”
“That’s it. The Bible is contraband,” Coker said. “Let’s roll.”
“Wait,” Paul said. “I want to hear this. We might catch what their game is.”
It was as if
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