The Doomsday Prophecy

Chapter Forty-Nine

As the morning rolled by, Ben could feel his strength slowly returning and his impatience mounting. He lay on the rumpled sheets reading his Bible, working through all the facts in his head.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Slater. Who was he? Not an agent. Not a cop. He wasn’t a warrior like Jones. He was a leader, an organiser, a brain. Obviously a man with considerable power at his fingertips. One of the movers and shakers. A politician, maybe, but not a prominent figure – Alex had never heard of him. Perhaps one who preferred to stay in the shadows, working behind the scenes. And one who, for some reason that was still a complete mystery, was politically interested in Clayton Cleaver and, by extension, politically threatened by Zoë’s ostraka discovery.

Religion and politics. Cleaver was aiming at governorship, but he was still only small potatoes in the larger game. What if someone else, someone far higher up the ladder, someone with much more to gain or lose, had a stake in this too? Votes and power were a big motivator, worth killing for.

But some inner voice told Ben there was something else to it. Did political ambition alone explain how Slater, or the forces he represented, was apparently able to hijack CIA resources to enable his plans? There was something bigger going on.

And as Ben leafed through the Bible on the pillow next to him, that thought kept returning in his mind and chilling his blood.

After a while he couldn’t bear the inactivity any longer. Just after midday he got to his feet, feeling a little woozy but much stronger. He was wearing only a pair of shorts. Alex’s dressing was tight around his chest and shoulder.

He picked up the ring and hung it back around his neck. Walked over to the window and looked out at the farm buildings and paddocks, the sweeping prairie and the mountains in the background.

Something caught his eye. In one of the barns, among old farm implements and junk, was the rusting hulk of an ancient Ford pickup truck. He gazed at it for a moment, then nodded to himself.

He went to the wash basin and splashed cold water over his face, then walked back over to the bed and pulled on the jeans that had been left out for him. They fitted well, and he wondered whose they were. Not Riley’s, not with a thirty-two-inch waistband. He remembered the old man had mentioned a helper, Ira. He pulled on the shirt that had been left out too.

The aroma of coffee was floating up from downstairs, and someone was moving about down below.

Ben ruffled up his hair in the mirror and made his way down the wide wooden staircase.

He found Alex down in the big farm kitchen, standing at an old cylinder-fed gas stove, frying strips of bacon in a battered pan. She turned in surprise as he walked in. ‘I was just about to bring you something to eat.’

‘What other US political figure uses the Bible as a campaign platform?’ he asked.

Alex stared at him for a moment. ‘You mean, apart from a President who said God told him to go to war with Iraq?’

‘Lower down the scale,’ he said. ‘Someone working hard to make it to the top.’

‘There are a thousand evangelical political wannabees out there,’ she answered. ‘Some are bigger than others. But I can’t just pluck one name out of the hat. Why are you asking about this all of a sudden?’

‘It’s nothing. Just thinking. Probably way off the mark.’

‘You shouldn’t be up so soon.’

‘I feel a lot stronger.’

‘You look it. But you can’t just spring up like a jack-in-the-box. You should rest a while longer.’

‘I’m not going back to bed. There’s a truck out there. Looks old, but maybe it’ll get us out of here. I’ll give Riley double what it’s worth, so he can replace it with a better one.’

‘Nice thought,’ she said. ‘But we’re not going anywhere in that, at least not yet. I already tried it. Battery’s all right, but the starter motor seems to be gone.’

‘A doctor and a mechanic,’ Ben said.

‘Make good coffee too. Want some?’

‘Love some.’ He gratefully accepted a mug from her and took a sip.

‘I made French toast, too. And some bacon and beans.’ She laughed at his expression. ‘You don’t have French toast where you come from?’

‘I only know Irish toast,’ he said. ‘That’s regular toast, soaked in Guinness.’

‘Try some. It’s fried bread with sugar.’

He sat down at the table and ate. ‘Where’s her ladyship this morning?’

Alex jerked her thumb upwards. ‘She won’t come out of her room.’

‘Riley?’

‘He’s stubborn, like you,’ she said. ‘He’s limping around out there tending to the animals. Tough old bird. Told me he was a marine once.’

‘Vietnam?’

‘Korea,’ rasped a voice. They turned. The front door creaked open and Riley hobbled into the kitchen, his gnarled hand clutching a stick. ‘Something smells good.’ He lowered himself stiffly into his chair at the head of the table. Alex passed him a piled plate and he muttered a few words of Grace before he dug into it. The three of them ate in silence for a while, then Ben mentioned the old truck in the barn.

‘If you can get it going, it’s yours,’ the old man said. ‘Tell you what, you dig real deep in the back of that old shed, you’ll find another truck there under a tarp. Engine gave out years back, but I reckon the starter on that one’s still in good shape. Might be worth a try.’

‘We’ll check it out.’

Riley reached across and took a bottle from a nearby cupboard. It was filled with clear liquid. ‘I always have a drink after a meal. Care to join me?’ He popped out the cork and sloshed some into three mugs. He took one for himself and slid the other two across the table. ‘Mighty good stuff,’ he said. ‘Distilled it myself.’

Ben sipped it. It tasted about twice the strength of Scotch. ‘Reminds me of poteen. Irish moonshine.’

‘Knowed a guy who ran a ’69 Dodge Charger on it,’ Riley muttered.

Ben watched him appreciatively. He was a tough old man, but with a good heart. ‘I wanted to thank you for letting us stay here. There was no need to give up your bedroom for me. I’d have been happy with the barn.’

Riley scratched the white bristles on his chin and smiled sadly. ‘That’s Maddie’s old room. I don’t go there much. She’d have wanted you and your lady here to use it.’

Ben and Alex exchanged glances and didn’t reply. Then the door creaked open and they all turned to see Zoë standing there uncertainly.

‘Pull up a chair, miss,’ Riley said.

Alex stood and went over to fetch the pan from the stove and a fresh plate. ‘Come and eat something, Zoë.’

Zoë looked subdued as she sat at the table and picked at the food that Alex pushed in front of her. Ben ignored her. Riley finished his food, licked the plate with relish and drained the last of his moonshine. ‘That was darn good.’ He leaned back in his chair and took out a battered pack of Lucky Strikes. Ben accepted one, and they lit up.

Zoë glanced over at the cheap plastic phone that hung on the wall in the corner of the kitchen. ‘Ben,’ she said sheepishly, ‘would it be OK for me to call my parents?’

Ben was about to say no, but before he could speak Riley cut in. ‘Phone don’t work, miss,’ he said. ‘Been gathering dust there for the last two years. Never paid the bill. Maddie, she used to call up her sis once in a while. But I never much liked talking on that thing anyway. I like to look a person in the eye when I talk to them.’ He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. ‘Nearest phone’s at the Herman place,’ bout nine miles west across the ridge there.’

Zoë turned to Alex. ‘What about your cellphone?’

‘You won’t get reception up here,’ Riley said. ‘Hermans don’t get it neither.’

‘Fine. Then I’ll go to the Herman place,’ Zoë said. ‘Is there a horse I can borrow?’

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Ben warned her.

Just then, the sound of hooves in the yard made him turn to look out of the window. Through the dusty pane, a bronzed young guy with glossy black hair and a denim jacket was dismounting a tall grey horse and tying it up to a rail.

‘That’s Ira,’ Riley said. ‘Must have found that steer.’ He rose from the table and hobbled outside to join the young guy.

Zoë was watching keenly out of the window. Ben followed her gaze and knew what she was thinking. Ira looked as though he had a lot of Native American blood. He was handsome and fit-looking, about twenty-three.

‘Remember what I told you,’ Ben said. ‘You stay indoors. People are out there looking for us.’

She didn’t reply.

‘Good,’ Ben said. ‘Now let’s see if we can get this truck started.’