“Was he trying hard to convince you? Like one of those crackpot preachers who claim to know the hour and date of the apocalypse?”
“More like he had it written in his calendar,” Faraday said. “Very matter-of-fact. That was right before he took us to the armory, showed us how many guns they had.” He looked at Lewis. “A crap-ton, by the way.”
“Here’s what I don’t get,” June said. “If you’re not supposed to know where it is, how do you know where to go when the shit hits the fan?”
“There’s a protocol,” Faraday said. “They say they’ll send an alert to the members, with GPS coordinates and detailed directions.”
June frowned. “What if it’s a natural disaster that happens without warning, like an earthquake or tsunami? There won’t be time to send an alert before the cell network goes down.”
“Don’t matter,” Lewis said. “Whatever happens, they gonna know about it ahead of time. Because they the ones gonna pull the trigger.”
“I agree,” Wilkinson said. “It’s one of several reasons I’m seeking alternative options.”
“What are the other reasons?” June said.
“All the weapons. As if preparing for war rather than self-defense. Also the recordings, which became steadily more dire, more apocalyptic. I decided the group was dangerous. More likely a problem than a solution. After Faraday’s last trip in July, I decided to end my participation.”
“And you told Sanjay Mishra.” June was guessing, but the barren look on Wilkinson’s face told her she was correct. “Why did they come for him, but not you?”
Wilkinson looked out the window again, the rain streaming down the glass, his coffee forgotten in his hand. “Because I didn’t tell the Messenger about my decision,” he said quietly. “Unlike Sanjay, I continued paying for my membership. Unlike me, Sanjay was a man of principle. He agreed with me about the threat. He was going to reach out to a journalist. I suggested Katelyn Thorsen. In that way, I am responsible for her death, as well.”
The coffee shop was silent for a moment. Then June said, “What do you think they’re planning? Maybe something to do with the tech conference this weekend?”
“It’s possible,” Faraday said, “but I doubt it. Have you heard those recordings? The Messenger has something more ambitious in mind.He seems to think he’s planning the end of civilization as we know it. But I have no idea what that plan entails.”
“Whatever it is, it’s coming soon,” June said. “Lewis and I just talked to a guy named Troy Boxall who says they moved the date up.”
Lewis frowned. “Faraday, did you ever go back out to the compound, get more intel on what they’re up to?”
“Isaac stepped back, so I did, too. At the time, I thought I was too busy.” The security man shook his head and lowered his eyes. “Now I think I just didn’t want to know. I wanted to pretend everything would be fine.”
June turned to Wilkinson. “Would you talk with the police? We’re having trouble getting them to take this threat seriously. A call from Isaac Wilkinson might get their attention.”
“I already called the Seattle police on Isaac’s behalf,” Faraday said. “Four days ago. I spoke with a captain who said the area was outside his jurisdiction. He told me he’d speak to the appropriate county sheriffs and someone would get back to me. But we’ve heard nothing since.”
June’s stomach sank. “The captain you spoke to. What was his name?”
“Captain Durant,” Faraday said. “Why do you ask?”
44
Hollis
Hollis Longro pulled the Rivian into the parking lot of a modest office building in Greenwood and found a place two slots down from the blue minivan. He glanced at his watch, gauging the time. Unless they’d already slipped out the back, he had about forty-five minutes to wait. Nickels was due any minute.
Hollis didn’t want to do what he had to do next. It was never easy, being the right hand of a visionary. He reminded himself that he’d done worse things for the Movement. A leader needed to be capable of doing whatever was necessary. The Messenger had taught him that long ago. Actually, what the Messenger had said was that if Hollis couldn’t kill a man, he didn’t belong in the Movement. So he’d done what the Messenger had asked, again and again. No matter how he felt about it. Now he couldn’t imagine leaving, where he might go, what he would do.
He hadn’t liked ordering Enderby to kill the girl. She’d done nothing to them. She was just a girl. But the Messenger had insisted.And the cause was just. Otherwise, humanity would be lost to the Industrial Machine forever.
Besides, this wasn’t on him. It was the Marine’s fault. Peter Ash. At least now Hollis had a name for that relentless fuck, thanks to his old friend on the cops, one of the Movement’s Hardcore Originals. They’d met when the Messenger and Hollis and a few others were sleeping in the old Resilient Systems storefront, living rough and dreaming about the end of the world. Rather than roust them, Tom Durant had joined them. He’d already owned a copy of the Unabomber’s Manifesto and carried it with him everywhere. At the Messenger’s direction, he’d moved to the Seattle PD, where he’d moved up through the ranks to captain, where his duties included supervising the department’s domestic terrorism unit. That position allowed him to steer any attention away from the Movement.
The Messenger had kept the storefront because certain things still required a physical address, like vehicle registration. Using a vacant building was a good way to discourage questions, not to mention providing a private place to meet.
And now the Dark Time was almost here, months earlier than planned. Hollis was still getting used to the idea. He thought he’d have more time to prepare himself. Part of him had always wondered if they would actually go through with it. Had hoped that, perhaps, the Industrial Machine would relent and the plan would become unnecessary.
He lowered the car window and lit a cigarette and remembered how they had gotten to this point, right at the brink.
It started a few weeks ago, when Troy Boxall texted him, saying that the journalist, Thorsen, had called him for an interview about the company he’d sold. At the very end, though, she asked a gotcha question about Gun Club.
