"Sure."

"Listen, don't worry about me saying anything, okay? I mean about you couldn't get it up. You're worried about a lot of things. All this is new to you, right? And your daughter missing and all. Anybody asks me, I'll say we like to screwed ourselves to death."

"Thanks, Sister."

"Don't you worry about a thing. Everything is going to be okay for you here. We'll all be looking out for you, Brother Thomas."

I heard the door close and she was gone. I rolled up in the two scratchy blankets and thought about Gretel in her agony Gretel on fire. I knew how she would react if I could tell her she had been a victim of some kind of crazy political action cult, of people who wanted to remake the world by tearing it down and starting all over again. Cave people, trying to reinvent penicillin, Zippo lighters, and disco.

It has nothing to do with me, I told Gretel. I never think about stuff like this. It hurts my head. I think about the blue sea and tan ladies and straight gin with lots of ice. I think about how high out of the water. a marlin might go, and how much of Meyer's chili I can eat, and how very good piano sounds in the nighttime. I think about swimming until I hurt, running until I wheeze, driving good cars and good boats and good bargains. Sure, I do my little knightlike thing, restoring goodies to the people from whom they were improperly wrested, doing battle with the genuinely evil b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who prey on the gullible, helpless, and innocent. I was going to keep on doing that from time to time, to support you and me, girl, in the style we like best, if you had consented. I know from nothing about terrorism, funny churches, and exotic murder weapons, like the one they killed you with.

But here I am. In a sense, I was hunting for you.

I have killed one of them in a strange way. And nearly made love to another. I am in it now. I am going to let them run me and see what happens. And I swear before whatever G.o.ds there be, including even the one these crazies bow down to, that if they give me the faintest whispery breath of a chance, I am going to blow them all away, every one, without mercy without hesitation. If I saw a fire starting in a kindergarten, I would throw water on it.

One down and nine to go. This time, my dead love, I am not doing my knightly routine. I have shelved that as inappropriate for the occasion. The old tin-can knight had too many compunctions, scruples, whatevers. For this caper, I am the iceman. I have come here and brought the ice. It is a delivery service. One time only.

Twelve.

ON THURSDAY, two days after Christmas, I had my first experience of listening to Sister Elena Marie. It was set up at midafternoon in a small cement-block building the same size as the one where I had been locked up.

Chairs and stools were brought in. The camp generator was cranked up. A Sony color set rested on a low table, with a videotape deck beside it. Blankets were hung to shut out the light from the two windows. There was a feeling of expectancy, a muted excitement. Alvor was the only one missing. Stella sat close beside me.

Persival, almost invisible in the dimness, said, "Let us pray. Our Father, we thank thee for the opportunities which are being given to us. We are humbly grateful to be given a chance to play a part in the great events which will reshape life in this world and the future of humanity. We pray that we will be worthy of your trust in us. Our strength, our resolve, our determination, will all flow from your endless power. Since last we met in this room, one of us has been taken to your kingdom. Forgive our Brother Nicholas for his transgressions, his failure to comprehend the stern disciplines required of your children. There is a new one among us, a Brother Thomas, who came to us in search of his daughter and who has been thinking of remaining with us, adopting our vows, our ways, and our great mission. He is still uncertain, Lord. He is still confused. We are healing his lonely heart. Please give him the understanding of us and our ways so that he may join with us in our resolve, that he may become willing to sacrifice himself if necessary, in your bidding. We are thankful to you for providing this chance to hear, now, our beloved Sister Elena Marie speak your words from her heart. We are together, Lord. We are all as one. We are all united together in your holy cause. Amen."

Chuck stepped forward and switched the set on, and when it warmed up, he turned on the Betamax with the tape ready to roll.

The head and shoulders of Sister Elena Marie filled the screen. She stood silently, making a strong eye contact with everyone who looked into that screen. She was in color, long warm chestnut hair with golden lights in it. It hung to her shoulders. Oval face, clear features, a look of breeding and composure. Minimal makeup. Eyes of a most unusual shade of blue, almost a lavender blue. Wide eyes, set far apart. Flawless complexion, but with the small signs of age. I guessed her at about thirty-six to thirty-eight. Broad mouth with both lips equally heavy.

There was background music, soft music, an organ doodling with simple chords, as when the crowd has a.s.sembled, awaiting a wedding. Or a funeral service.

The music trailed off. She took a step closer to the camera. Just the face filled the screen: It was not a professional production. The camera was evidently stationary. No detail of the shadowy background was visible.

"Brothers and Sisters of the great Church of the Apocrypha," she said. Contralto resonance. Lovely diction. She could have played the Mrs. Miniver part with distinction. "I am looking into your eyes, your special individual eyes, the windows of your soul. I am looking through your eyes, into your heart, into your deepest thoughts. There is nothing, you can possibly think that would surprise or dismay me, or make me love you the less. I know of all the dark and evil places that exist in every man and woman, the places we hide from each other and even from ourselves. It is only by joining together we can overwhelm the darkness within and the darkness without."

She paused for several seconds, widening her lovely eyes slightly. I did have the impression that she was looking further inside me than I wanted her to.

"Each one of you has a special place in my heart. I do not love you as a group. One cannot love people en ma.s.se, in the abstract. I love you for yourself, for the struggles you have made in the name of goodness and justice and freedom in the world, and for the sacrifices you will make in the future. Though I appear to be talking to everyone in this room, I am talking to you alone. To you!"

Pause. Slow bat of long eyelashes and a half smile, personal and almost sensuous.

"We are alone, you know. You and I. Everyone. But we have found something which eases the pain of the essential loneliness of every human. We are together in our purpose. We are all part of one another, forever. In all the endless dying and rebirthing, in all the aeons of time over which we will return here, again and again, we will know and recognize one another, just as we have during this time on earth, and if in some future time it is necessary for all of us to come together again, and save the world and humanity from an epoch of commercial slavery, cruelty, and shameful exploitation, then we will do so, we of the Apocrypha!"

Her voice had risen and strengthened. Though I couldn't decide what she was sayirig, I found it very stirring. It was flattering somehow to be part of a purpose so great that it overlapped all the thousands of years ahead.

She moved back just a little, then gave a smile of apology. "Now I must ask you once again for patience. We must proceed with the greatest caution or lose the element of surprise on which we must depend. Our many friends in other nations are helping us, just as they promised. You know that perhaps even better than I. Some small arrangements have been delayed for the sake of greater safety. The transport of incoming supplies is a delicate problem, and it is being solved every day. And every day more of us are being trained. Warehousing, transport, and supply. Everyone is working very hard on these problems. There is always the danger of penetration of security. Be ever alert. Our technical staff is identifying more pressure points as time goes by. Think of it this way. The longer we have to wait, the greater the blow we can strike. Continue with your training. You are the soldiers of the Lord! You will put him back upon his throne on earth, and you will live all of your days in peace and love and freedom forever."

She closed her eyes, and the lights that shone upon her face and hair were slowly, slowly dimmed until the screen was dark. The Betamax made a clacking sound, and Chuck leaped to turn it off, then sat again.

Persival said, "Sister Nena, please give the closing prayer."

She was behind me. I heard her stand. "Dear Lord, we thank thee for the privilege of hearing Sister Elena Marie speak your words with her sweet lips. Grant us the patience to endure the waiting, and the skill and the bravery to overcome all odds when at last we march in thy service. Amen."

She rattled it off so quickly I knew it was rote, and I suspected that I was probably the only one in the room who could not say the usual closing prayer.

Someone pulled the blankets away from the windows, and we were suddenly all squinting in the bright afternoon light. I looked at the television set and the tape deck. They were standard consumer items. But the way they were used was very professional. Very effective. These people seemed exalted by what they had heard. They beamed at each other and touched each other in ways of affection. I did an appropriate amount of beaming and touching. They were holding Sister Elena Marie in their hearts. She had come across to each one of us as an individual. She spoke to aloneness, in warmth and comfort.

I asked Brother Chuck if there were any old tapes I could hear.

"We don't keep any around. We'll show this one again tonight, and everybody will want to hear it again. Then I erase it and put it back in the mailer and send it on back. They dupe the ones for the camps from a master they make at headquarters."

He looked at me with a telltale intentness. It was the game of which hand holds the marble. I got instantaneous help from my actress friend of long ago. Tom McGraw would ask.

"Where is headquarters anyway?"

"Cla.s.sified," he said, smiling, whacking me on the arm.

"When do we get the next one?"

"There's no schedule. When she has something to say to us, she makes a tape, and they dupe it and send it out. They cost a lot, those tapes, so they get sent back blank to be reduped."

I wandered on out. I filed an item in the back of my mind. Somewhere in America, Betamax tapes were being sent in to a central place. If they were saving money on tape, they wouldn't be wasting it using couriers. If it were my problem, I'd use the mails. And I would have a permanent filler on the first fifteen minutes of each tape. They would be plainly labeled as church property, and they would have some old duck in a backward collar reading a dissertation on the philosophical impact of Martin Luther on political thought in middle Europe. And then the Sister. I would have them sent to a mail drop for courier pickup and delivery to home base. So if I happened to find the mailing address, it would probably give me no help at all.

I sat through it again that evening, and the impact of her was intensified, if anything. She did not fade. She just seemed to get stronger. And it was difficult to shake the illusion that she was looking directly at me. I could not estimate how big a woman she was. There was nothing to compare her to. She was in perfect proportion and could have been three feet tall or seven and a half. Dark-blue velvety dress with lace at the throat. No jewelry.

After it was over, Persival got me aside and said, "I want you working out with the group tomorrow. Any objection?"

"Me? No. No objection. Only, what is being done to locate where my little girl is?"

"They're trying to find her, and when they do, they'll let me know immediately. Report to Brother Chuck at eight sharp. Field exercises."

"Wearing what?"

"Ask him now."

Chuck told me we weren't leaving the land the Church owned, one full section of land, mostly up and down and sideways, so we'd wear fatigues, a light pack, and an ammo belt, and carry a weapon. He and Ahman took me over to supply, after Chuck got the key. The biggest fatigues were a little high in the ankle and short at the wrist. I explained my shoe problem, and they found a pair of size twelve sneakers and some thick nylon-and-wool socks. Ahman threw me the weapon, harder than he had to. The light was bad, just the single bulb going inside the warehouse door, and I didn't grab it close enough to the balance point, so the muzzle end tapped me over the ear, drawing a drop of blood.

"Watch it," I told him.

"Watch out for yourself, Brother," he said. "What is this thing anyway?"

"It's an Uzi," Chuck said. "Made in Israel."

"Very small and light. Good weapon?"

Ahman shrugged and said, "You won't be firing it. All you do is carry it. You'll be glad it's light before the day is over. Some friends picked up a couple of truckloads of these in Lebanon. So we've got some. Makes for nice confusion. Remember what Arafat said after Camp David? He said there hadn't been any terrorism in the United States, and now they had proved themselves ready for some. For a lot,.baby. A big lot. So when they bring down some of the brothers and sisters with Israeli weapons, they'll wonder what the h.e.l.l, won't they?"

I carried my issue gear back to T-6. The sneakers felt right with two pairs of the socks. I found the right hole for the belt, filled the canteen, and positioned it at a better place on the belt. Chuck had told me I would be carrying twenty pounds of rock in the backpack, so I made careful adjustment of the straps, bringing the padding to the exact place where the straps. .h.i.t the tops of my shoulders. Then I inspected the Uzi under the light. It hadn't been built for pretty. It was an ugly, simple, straightforward little weapon. The empty clip snapped into place easily. It had a good balance, and a simple three-way control for safety, single fire, and full automatic. It looked designed for quant.i.ty production. I couldn't give it full approval until I had a chance, if ever, to fire it Then I would learn the cycle of fire and whether it would ride up at full automatic, or whether the gases were diverted just right to make it easy to hold on target. It hung well over the shoulder on its fat little sling and came off the shoulder fast, with your hands falling into the right position. I had heard that since I had been around this kind of hardware they had upped the cycle of fire, upped the muzzle velocity to practically double, and reduced the weight of the projectile. A man could carry a lot more rounds into a firefight, do just as much damage with each hit, and hit oftener.

I was up early and observed the usual routine of the others-that wherever I strolled, somebody was keeping an eye on me. Brother Thomas was an unknown quant.i.ty.

When I had been wakeful in the night, I had realized that my a.s.sumption that they would mail the tapes had to be wrong. This outfit preferred to take no chances at all. It had to be a handdelivery system, and so it would do no good at all to try to find a return address.

When I went back to sleep I dreamed of Sister Elena Marie, smiling at me, talking to me. It was very important that I understand what she was saying, but I could only catch a word or phrase here and there, and they were in a foreign language I could not even identify. She was telling me how to get around behind the screen, back to where she was, and she was becoming angry because I couldn't understand what she was telling me. If I could get on the same side of the screen as Sister Elena Marie, then Gretel would be spared. When I yelled at her in rage, it woke me up again.

I ate little because I had a good idea of what they were going to try to do to me. I guessed they could probably run me into the ground. But out of pride I wanted to make them have to stretch to do They had six hundred and forty very rugged acres. It was a bright chilly day, at first. Chuck ran the group with whistle signals. I had to be briefed on those. Most of it was standard operating procedure for patrols. Infiltration, cover and concealment, giving covering fire, without ammo. It involved a lot of running. I had a fifteen year disadvantage with most of them, and I was carrying eighty more pounds uphill than were the two girls. But they wasted energy in random movements. I husbanded every ounce, made no unnecessary step. I was sweating heavily by late morning, and they all looked dry. They were conditioned.

There were special little moments of humiliation. Once when we had crossed a swollen creek and were going up an abrupt rocky slope on the other side, I got so winded near the top that I was grabbing small trees to yank myself along. As I was doing that, Stella went by me, running uphill on tiptoe, deft as a goat, and turned to give me a smile and a quick wink before leaving me behind, looking uphill at the bounding flex of those hips under the tough denim.

At another time, when I was breathing with my mouth open, gulping air hungrily, I sucked in a large California beetlebug, coughed him out violently, and couldn't stop coughing. But I was d.a.m.ned if I was going to say uncle. I was ready to drop first and be carried in. And I was also ready to cheat. I had weeded my twenty pounds of rock down to about three pounds. It helped.

When I was down to counting the minutes before I would probably pitch forward onto my face, I was saved by misadventure. Sister Nena took a good fast run to clear a creek, jumped well, and landed on a stone that turned as her foot struck it. She fell heavily on gravel, equipment clanking, and moaned as she reached for her right ankle. Her olive complexion was a yellow-white, her eyes squeezed by pain. I was first to reach her, and carefully unlaced the sodden sneaker and eased it off, then peeled the sock down and off her foot.

Chuck knelt beside me, and the others stood around looking down at her. "Busted?" he asked. I told her to hold on tight, and I slowly manipulated the ankle joint. She sucked air. I made her work it herself. I knew from wide experience it wasn't bad.

"Just a little sprain, I think, but you shouldn't walk on it right away."

Chuck looked around at the slope of the land, the direction of distant peaks. "About a half mile back," he said.

Barry was wearing a macho silk scarf, offwhite. Chuck wrapped the ankle tightly and tied it in place. I said I could carry her back. She said she could hobble and hop. She said it was her own d.a.m.n clumsiness. Barry said he'd carry her. I said he could take over when I got tired. I didn't tell him I was already so tired I wondered if I could make a half mile by myself. Suddenly the sun was covered and the rain began to fall again. Chuck took my pack, hefted it, looked at me with a raised eyebrow, and dumped out the remaining rocks. Two of them. Apple-size. Barry took the weapon. Nena stood up on one foot, with Stella helping her balance. I bent and put my shoulder in her middle and had her lean forward as I stood up with her, my right arm wrapped around her legs just above her knees. She was smallish but solid. The rain refreshed me. It cooled me off. I made pretty good time. A few times I lost my footing on the uneven ground, and when I caught myself it would drive my shoulder into her middle, making her gasp. And each time I apologized, and each time she told me not to bother. Stella walked behind me, telling Nena how soon she would be up and around, which I knew was true. Barry offered twice to take, over, but I said I was fine. I made it back in with her and, at Chuck's direction, took her to the trailer she shared with Stella. It was larger and older than mine. I bent over and knelt and perched her on the edge of her bunk, and she thanked me with an unantic.i.p.ated shyness.

After the noon meal they went out again in the rain, but I was excused.

"We're doing some target work," Chuck explained. "We do it in bad weather when sound doesn't carry well and there's less chance of hikers around the perimeter."

"I could use some brushup on that."

"You're not cleared for live ammo, Brother."

"Brother Persival is the one who'd clear me?"

"When you're ready."

"What kind of weapon is that?"

He showed it to me but didn't let me handle it. "Pretty good. Better than it looks. It's Russian. Kalashnikov a.s.sault Rifle. It's got a good reach, and it's fast and accurate enough. Of course, for real long-range accuracy, we've got better stuff. Scopes and all. Haris is the best one here at that game. He can hit a pie plate at a thousand meters on a still day."

"Good for Brother Haris."

"Is that being sarcastic or something, Brother?"

"No. I mean it's good shooting."

"Yes, it is." Off he trotted, tootling his whistle. The camp seemed empty. I knew that Nena was in her quarters. I wandered around, wondering who was watching me. Somebody had to be on the gate. Alvor the silent one, if they hadn't rotated the duty. Persival had to be somewhere. I thought it out during my aimless stroll in the misty rain. I had not pa.s.sed any test. I had not proved anything to anybody. So somebody wanted to know how badly I wanted to take off. Would I go down the road or start out cross-country? What would Tom McGraw do? They had all Tom's money, and they were trying to locate his girl. So why not use up a piece of the rainy afternoon calling on the pretty little woman he had carried back to camp? Ask her how she was doing.

I rapped on the door and she called, "Come in?"

"How you doing?"

"Okay I guess. I was so d.a.m.n mad at myself. Sister Nena; the gazelle. See how she floats through the air." She was on the bunk. She had been reading.

"What's the book?"

She closed it and handed it to me. Worn binding, dog-eared pages. The Loving Heart by Sister Elena Marie. "Hasn't anyone given it to you yet?"

"First I ever heard of it."

"You should read it. You should have your own copy. I guess somebody just forgot. It's wonderful. She's a great woman, truly great. I miss seeing her. I used to see her when I was in the regular camps. She used to visit. She still does that sometimes, I think."

"How long ago was that?"

"Five years. More than five. Nearly six."

"Back when you were twelve years old?" She laughed. "Hardly. I'm twenty-eight."

"You don't look it. n.o.body would guess. Were you at more than one of the regular camps?"

"Oh, sure. You get moved around. They don't want you to sink roots anywhere except in the Church. And a lot of us get moved because family has come to try to take us home. When we're already home in the best sense of the word. My mother spent a lot of time and money trying to find me and take me away. But that was a long time ago."

"Where is she now?"

"I wouldn't have the faintest clue, Brother. She is nothing to me. I have no interest in her."

"She's your mother, like I'm Kathy's father."

"That's a biological happenstance, Brother Thomas. I don't think we'll discuss that further. You have no right of approval or disapproval over anything I do or think or am."

"I'm just trying to understand is all."

"Don't try. Just accept. You're not open enough, Brother. You are closed up tight. Sister Elena Marie says there are answers which have to come before the questions."

"Makes no sense to me."

She looked at me with exasperation. "Will you try something with me? Will you let me try to show you something? Will you really try to cooperate, by that I mean letting things happen that try to happen?"

"Sure. Try what?"

"Can you sit there, on the floor, and cross your legs Buddha style?"

I sat and managed it, with a certain amount of creaking, saying, "Untangling myself will be something else again."

She smiled and settled down in front of me, not wincing at all as she moved her taped ankle into position, so close that our knees touched. "We take each other's hands like this, so that you are feeling the pulse here, in my left wrist, and I am feeling your pulse in your left wrist. Let the hands and forearms rest like this. Yes, so there's no strain. After a little while, if we are doing it right, our pulse rates will become identical, and quite slow. Like sixty beats per minute. Now you look into my eyes, not in any sharp focus because then you look at one eye or the other. Kind of unfocus a little, so you see them both. Unfocus as if you were looking beyond me. You can feel my pulse? Good. Now what you have to do is take long slow breaths. On each inhalation you say three words very slowly and distinctly inside your head. We are one. And you say it silently and in the same rhythm as you exhale. I'll match my breathing to yours, and then it should stay matched without my thinking about it. You say the words until they are meaningless, just sounds, like a mantra. What you have to do is concentrate on looking into my eyes and trying to hear the silent words I am saying. Try to hear my words inside your head and I try to hear yours inside mine. Stay aware of the pulse and the slow breathing. Keep your back straight and your eyes just a little unfocused. And try to kind of... give yourself to it, and let it happen. Start now. No, wait. I forgot. Don't let any outside thoughts come into your head. If you start to think of anything besides pulse, breathing, looking, listening, and the words, it sets you back. Okay. Go."