subject they occasionally discussed over coffee or a meal. Of course, Dixie Lou had omitted certain details of her own colorful biography and embellished others, never revealing the murders she had committed or the cunning scams she had perpetrated.
“I haven’t caught up on my rest,” Dixie Lou said, heading for the door. “If I think of anything more later I’ll let you know.” She glared at Katherine and added, “Remember this, too: It wasn’t my idea for Amy to visit you. It was her own.”
This was the truth, but in the shadowy chambers of Dixie Lou’s mind she hoped Amy had not survived, for her death would open new opportunities.
Chapter 9
All my life I’ve sensed something deep within myself, linking me with other women. Now I know what it is.
— The Reflections of Lori Vale (unpublished manuscript)
A golden sunrise illuminated a desolate plain in eastern Washington State, casting long shadows from the rock escarpments and barren hills as the flaming sphere became brighter, sharing its warmth with the earth.
Walking briskly up the Hill of Golgotha, Vice Minister Styx Tertullian smelled the rank, musty odor of human death and saw tiny droplets of dew glistening on clusters of three-toothed sagebrush and great basin blue sage. Overhead, red-tailed hawks and turkey vultures soared. He was thankful for God’s wisdom and generosity in allowing mortals such as himself to behold such wonders. They made him think of far greater glories awaiting him in the Kingdom of Heaven. Styx wore a silver robe, with a long black stole draped over his shoulders.
In his left hand he carried a gleaming double-edged sword, freshly sharpened to a razor’s edge.
To reach the eternal, heavenly reward the Vice Minister needed to remain true to his faith, as he was doing this morning while trudging up a dirt and sand pathway lined with human skulls, some of which still had skin clinging to them that hadn’t been picked away by the carrion-eaters. He paused for a moment, admiring the translucence of a piece of flesh as sunlight passed through it, then continued on.
This hill was a Bureau-built reconstruction of the far-away site of Jesus’ crucifixion by the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, in collusion with the Sadducees. In ancient days the skulls had been of Christian martyrs, but in the modern version they represented something entirely different—the vengeance of the Lord against blasphemers and schemers.
An eye for an eye. Blood for blood.
The Bureau of Ideology was the agent of God.
On adjoining land, the headquarters of the Bureau included millions of square feet of underground structures, with sixty-six levels of subterranean office space, living quarters for staff, and facilities for the storage of vehicles and aircraft. To the uninformed a portion of the land looked like a small town of four or five thousand inhabitants, containing houses, businesses, a central park and six churches in a variety of architectural designs. Some employees of the Bureau—predominantly men—lived in the houses, but most, comprising in all nearly thirty thousand persons, lived in underground apartments. None of these people were married. They were the governmental equivalents of Catholic priests and nuns, married through their professions to God.
To prevent the leakage of secrets to ideological enemies, only a few employees were ever permitted to leave the area. It was five miles across barren land to the nearest boundary of the facility, which had no visible delineation and only a few plainclothed guards, since other methods of security were employed. Chief among them were implanted medical devices connected to the vital organs of all BOI employees as a condition of employment, ensuring that none of them—other than the highest officials—could approach the perimeters. If they attempted to do so, the implants were triggered and heart and brain functions ceased. Human nature being what it was, with its inherent weaknesses,
“I haven’t caught up on my rest,” Dixie Lou said, heading for the door. “If I think of anything more later I’ll let you know.” She glared at Katherine and added, “Remember this, too: It wasn’t my idea for Amy to visit you. It was her own.”
This was the truth, but in the shadowy chambers of Dixie Lou’s mind she hoped Amy had not survived, for her death would open new opportunities.
Chapter 9
All my life I’ve sensed something deep within myself, linking me with other women. Now I know what it is.
— The Reflections of Lori Vale (unpublished manuscript)
A golden sunrise illuminated a desolate plain in eastern Washington State, casting long shadows from the rock escarpments and barren hills as the flaming sphere became brighter, sharing its warmth with the earth.
Walking briskly up the Hill of Golgotha, Vice Minister Styx Tertullian smelled the rank, musty odor of human death and saw tiny droplets of dew glistening on clusters of three-toothed sagebrush and great basin blue sage. Overhead, red-tailed hawks and turkey vultures soared. He was thankful for God’s wisdom and generosity in allowing mortals such as himself to behold such wonders. They made him think of far greater glories awaiting him in the Kingdom of Heaven. Styx wore a silver robe, with a long black stole draped over his shoulders.
In his left hand he carried a gleaming double-edged sword, freshly sharpened to a razor’s edge.
To reach the eternal, heavenly reward the Vice Minister needed to remain true to his faith, as he was doing this morning while trudging up a dirt and sand pathway lined with human skulls, some of which still had skin clinging to them that hadn’t been picked away by the carrion-eaters. He paused for a moment, admiring the translucence of a piece of flesh as sunlight passed through it, then continued on.
This hill was a Bureau-built reconstruction of the far-away site of Jesus’ crucifixion by the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, in collusion with the Sadducees. In ancient days the skulls had been of Christian martyrs, but in the modern version they represented something entirely different—the vengeance of the Lord against blasphemers and schemers.
An eye for an eye. Blood for blood.
The Bureau of Ideology was the agent of God.
On adjoining land, the headquarters of the Bureau included millions of square feet of underground structures, with sixty-six levels of subterranean office space, living quarters for staff, and facilities for the storage of vehicles and aircraft. To the uninformed a portion of the land looked like a small town of four or five thousand inhabitants, containing houses, businesses, a central park and six churches in a variety of architectural designs. Some employees of the Bureau—predominantly men—lived in the houses, but most, comprising in all nearly thirty thousand persons, lived in underground apartments. None of these people were married. They were the governmental equivalents of Catholic priests and nuns, married through their professions to God.
To prevent the leakage of secrets to ideological enemies, only a few employees were ever permitted to leave the area. It was five miles across barren land to the nearest boundary of the facility, which had no visible delineation and only a few plainclothed guards, since other methods of security were employed. Chief among them were implanted medical devices connected to the vital organs of all BOI employees as a condition of employment, ensuring that none of them—other than the highest officials—could approach the perimeters. If they attempted to do so, the implants were triggered and heart and brain functions ceased. Human nature being what it was, with its inherent weaknesses,
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