“Dammit, Rebecca,” Harry said. “There may be a dangerous man in here.”

“Then it’s good I’m with you guys. Are you Carson?”

“Mr Winkler’s coming,” Owsley said, the enhanced voice booming over the amplification system. “He’s pulling up outside. Places everyone.”

I said, “What the—”

Harry grabbed the kid’s hand and we continued forward, the main room a hundred feet distant. We could see nothing of that section of the floor, blocked by a mountain of large rectangular shapes. We heard a door open, the one in front. A light snapped on and we crouched behind a donkey engine and peered forward, seeing a man in a wheelchair whirring into the main room. Someone in the rafters had trained a spotlight over the man, like he was a major celebrity. A dozen steps behind a scowling woman was at the edge of the spotlight, arms crossed, pacing like she’d prefer to be anywhere else. I heard her say, “Give it up, Eliot. Let go.”

“Welcome, Eliot Winkler,” Owsley’s voice boomed over the PA system, the words echoing in the structure. “It’s a blessed day … A heavenly day!” A dramatic pause before Owsley boomed, “Bring me the animal!”

We crept forward, stopping behind a huge wooden crate. “These are what the semis were delivering,” Harry whispered. “There must be a half-dozen of the things.”

“The time approacheth, Eliot,” Owsley’s voice thundered, then shifted to a softer voice, as if reading: “The disciples were amazed at His words. But Jesus answered again and said to them, ‘Children, how hard is it to enter the kingdom of God!’”

“I know that verse,” Rebecca said, “It’s from Matthew—”

“Shush,” Harry said. “I’ve got to get you outside.”

Another spotlight snapped on in the upper reaches of the tower. I looked up and gasped, seeing the top twenty feet of a rocket gleaming in the light.

“Jesus, Harry. It’s some kind of missile.”

Another spotlight flared on, aiming high, but below the first, illuminating another twenty feet of tapering missile shaft.

“What’s that sound?” Rebecca Owsley asked, looking up toward a metallic grinding. “A plane flying over?”

It was the roof being retracted, gears straining high above as cloud-to-cloud streaks of lightning illuminated the inside of the tower.

“God’s looking down on us, Eliot!” Owsley roared. “We have his blessing!”

The roof opened fully to reveal a sky rippling with electrical energy, the clouds boiling black and purple and lit from within.

A countdown began. “Ten,” called Owsley’s voice.

“What’s going on?” the kid asked.

I yanked at Harry’s arm. “They’re going to fire the thing.”

“Nine,” Owsley intoned, followed by “Awalalcabahalladadamashuasu …”

“What the hell?”

“Talking in tongues,” Harry said.

“Eight …”

We stumbled ahead as a third spot snapped on, illuminating twenty more feet of gleaming metal thorn. Only the base remained in the dark. What would happen when the rocket fired?

“Seven … Ishnohisadocodocaballaha … six …”

“Maybe it’s a suicide thing,” I said, heart pounding in my chest. “The flames will fry everyone.”

“Five …”

Harry tripped over something on the floor and went down.

“Four …”

“Come on,” I said, pulling on his arm as the kid ran in to grab the other one. “We gotta run.”

“Three …”

Harry yanked at his ankles as Owsley yelled TWO. “I’m wrapped in baling wire or something … Run, Carson … get the kid out the—”

“One!” Owsley shrieked, followed by … “LET ME BE YOUR VEHICLE OH MIGHTY GOD!”

Too late. Harry and I froze, bodies tensed against an explosion. Seconds passed with no explosion, no rocket lift-off. Harry stripped the wire from his feet and peered around the final crate into the main room, now lit as bright as daylight.

He whispered, “I don’t believe it.”

58

I followed Harry to his vantage point and saw the object in full, illuminated from tip to base. But the base wasn’t a rocket engine, it was an opening about eight feet high and five wide.

The object wasn’t a missile, it was a gigantic needle.

As in sewing.

It got stranger. I saw Richard Owsley standing at the needle’s base in a snow white suit and holding the tether of a Dromedary camel. Owsley was twitching like he was being jabbed with cattle prods and ranting like a madman into a wireless microphone.

“Arabacaddahasheem … Thank you for this miracle, oh Lord … Alacacabadelonayamayah.”

“My God,” Harry whispered. “I understand it now.”

“Please tell me.”

“From Mark 10:25,” Rebecca Owsley said. “‘It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter Heaven.’”

“Baracbadaceemandadada …” Owsley continued. “We implore you ALMIGHTY GOD TO aragagdabenapana …”

The man in the wheelchair was twenty paces from the base of the needle and in either the throes of ecstasy or madness, arms above his head, twitching and shaking and screaming “THANK YOU, GOD!” almost as loud as the amplified ululations of Owsley and the growing thunder, the storm crossing directly above. The woman was shaking her head in disbelief as Owsley led the camel toward the needle’s eye. Rain poured through the open roof and Owsley’s face turned to meet it.

“Bless this mighty symbololahhheeeegagawashae, oh Lord, and thank you for giving it us and ahhahgagmelbethashaloma …”

The three of us were spellbound as Owsley stepped into the needle, yanking the rope. The camel balked, perhaps spooked by the thunder, and stopped dead. Owsley strained at the tether.

“HARDER!” the old man howled. “PULL HARDER!” He turned to the shadows, screaming, “HELP HIM, YOU FOOLS!”

Two burly security types ran from the dark, one helping Owsley with the tether, the other putting his shoulder to the camel’s rump, causing it to buck and jump.

“GET IT DONE!” the old man raged.

Harry and I stood transfixed until a bolt of lightning seemed to explode inside the building, followed by the shrieking of metal being torn. We turned to see a huge section of the wall crash inward. Support timbers tumbled to the floor in a cloud of dust. The walls shook.

“What the hell?” I said.

“A bulldozer just pushed in the wall,” Harry said. “It’s pushing a … Jesus!”

“What?” the kid asked, staring at the mayhem.

“About a thousand gallons of diesel fuel,” Harry said, eyes wide in horror.

I saw it through the settling dust, the big Cat bulldozer from outside, its wide blade rolling a silver tank over fallen timbers and sheets of corrugated metal. “BLASPHEMY AGAINST GOD!” a voice howled. I saw a man standing at the controls, shirtless, a horizontal slash across his chest and madness in his eyes.

Frisco Dredd.

“BLASPHEMERS!” Dredd screamed, shaking his fist, his face a rictus of anger. “YOU CANNOT CHANGE THE LAWS OF GOD!”

The scene was so unreal that no one moved. Lightning exploded. The lights shivered and went out, returned seconds later. The camel had dropped to the ground, its last defense. No way the men would move the beast. They turned and ran, competing with Owsley for the lead. Three others appeared in their wake, probably the crew who’d been handling spotlights and audio. The woman was beside Winkler, trying to pull him from the building. He spat at her and swatted her away.

“Get the kid out,” I yelled over the pounding of thunder and the roaring of the ’dozer.

Harry tossed the kid over his shoulder like a sack of meal. “Run, Carson,” he shouted, heading for the door. I watched the bulldozer pivot, aiming for the needle. Eliot Winkler, his face a mask of fury, seemed to take it as a challenge and rolled his wheelchair before the oncoming bulldozer, holding up his hands in a Halt motion. I pulled my weapon and drew a bead on Dredd, but smelled fuel fumes and held the shot: Sparks from my gun could ignite the air and turn us all into Dredd’s sacrifices.