Neal Barrett Jr. (31 page)

“Hurry, this way,” Chan said, gesturing with his weapon.

Howie stared at Chan as if he’d never seen him before. “What—what the hell happened?”

“This is no time for talk,” Chan said. “We must go!”

Chan stepped over the dead trooper, gripped Howie’s arm, and shoved him roughly down the path.

Howie balked. “Listen, friend, this is the way they was taking me to string me from a tree.”

“Fine. You are free to take any path you wish,” Chan said sharply. “I am going
this
way. I wish you good fortune on your journey.”

Chan trotted off quickly down the path, leaving Howie behind. Howie hesitated only a moment. He glanced back once at the carnage, then followed after Chan.

I
t seemed to Howie they were doing nothing more than circling the giant tree. Chan paused every few yards to search the thick patch of ferns to his right, poking the foliage with his weapon. His face was strained, the skin taut across his cheeks. Howie didn’t figure this was any time to poke around plants, but managed to keep his silence.

A man shouted in the distance. Another answered, crying out in alarm. Howie was ready to take his chances, climb the fence and run, do anything but stay where he was.

“Ah! I have it,” Chan said. “In here, quickly!”

“In where’?” Howie said.

In answer, Chan stepped into the stand of ferns and vanished. Howie looked curiously at the spot where his friend had disappeared, then stepped into the greenery. Chan tapped his ankle. Howie started and looked down. Chan was halfway down a hole, a narrow cleft at the base of the tree.

“Be careful,” Chan said. “It is quite steep.”

Howie gripped Chan’s shoulder and followed him through the darkness. He smelled earth and the scent of wood. Touching the sides of the tunnel, he felt wet roots and dirt.

In a moment, the passage widened. Chan stopped. The air was cool and wet; Howie heard the steady drip of water somewhere. Chan handed Howie his weapon. Howie could hear him searching about. A spark lit up the darkness; a flame came to life in Chan’s hands. He moved the flame to a lantern, and turned the wick up high.

The tunnel came to life. Howie stared in wonder at the sight. Tangled roots gripped clots of stone and earth. Everything glistened with beads of moisture. The passage was narrow, and no more than six feet high.

“I have only been here once before,” Chan said. “We are fortunate to find my lantern. I was afraid I had left it in another passage.”

Howie stared at Chan. “You been here before? How’d you
find
this place?”

“As you recall, I am a spy,” Chan said patiently. “Spies are supposed to find things. There are maps, drawings, from a time even before the days of old High Sequoia. This place is not supposed to exist, but it does. As you can see. We are fond of saving old things in China. That is where I discovered the map, and many other ancient things. Do not ask me how it came to my country from here. We know little of that terrible time, but it is my belief that men hid in this place during the Great War.”

“And the Churchers, they don’t know about the tunnels?”

“Certainly not.” Chan looked sternly at Howie. “We would not be here if they did. For a man who is supposed to be hanging from a rope at this moment, you ask a great many questions.”

“I ain’t ungrateful,” Howie said. “I just like to have some idea what I’m doing. I don’t see nothing wrong with that.”

Chan leaned back against the damp earth. He closed his eyes a moment, then looked thoughtfully at Howie. “Yes, you are right. I cannot blame you for being curi-ous. I am quite curious about a number of things myself. I am especially curious about a friend named Cory, who also seems to be a person called Howie Ryder. This Howie Ryder is a person who has killed a very prominent member of the Loyalist delegation. I learned of this event from a Churcher who is Lawrence’s cook. I have paid this Brother well for some time, in order to gain certain information. Finally, he earns his keep, and I am able to vanish from my quarters with seconds to spare. If I had not been warned, I would now be dead.” Chan shook his head. “It is not healthy to be a friend of this Howie Ryder. People who know this person seem to suddenly disappear.”

“What—what are you talking about?” Howie stared at Chan. “
Who’s
disappeared?”

“Howie Ryder, everyone who knew you is dead,” Chan said gently. “The Churchers have eliminated any person who had anything to do with you. A Sister named Lorene, another named Marie—”

“God,
no
!” Howie cried out. A terrible fear gripped his heart. “Aw, they wouldn’t! They wouldn’t murder them girls!”

“Yes,” Chan said, “They would, my friend. There is also a Brother named Jonas. He is dead as well. And several more.”

“I rode in a carriage with him from New Los Angeles. All I did was
talk
to him.”

That is apparently enough,” Chan said. “This thing you have done, it is clearly of great importance, some-thing the Churchers are determined to keep to themselves.”

Lorene, Lorene
! Tears blurred Howie’s good eye. He tried to hold back the sorrow, but all he could see was Lorene, her face and her shining hair, her mouth when she laughed.

“I am sorry,” Chan said. “I do not pretend to under-stand all this. I only know that it is so.”

“They—Ritcher Jones,” Howie said, “He knew I wanted Harriver Mason dead. The thing is,
he
wanted the bastard out of the picture, too, and he used me to get it done.”

“Ah, the peace talks. Yes.” Chan nodded in sudden understanding. “This explains a great deal.” He looked soberly at Howie. “There is much here I do not know, but the picture is growing clear, Howie Ryder. High Sequoia is determined to maintain control of this war be-tween the Loyalists and Rebels in your country. I know this is so. And to do this, they must control the peace talks as well. It is they who will decide the points of compromise. The two opposing forces will imagine they have agreed upon terms—but those terms will truly come from High Sequoia itself.”

Howie looked confused. “The Churchers have got that much clout in California? They can really do that?”

Chan showed Howie a weary smile. “I see you are unaware of the truth, friend Howie Ryder. This is not surprising. It is what you, and everyone else, is supposed to think—that High Sequoia is a small religious sect and nothing more. That is not so. Lawrence has a great deal more than this
clout
you speak of. High Sequoia
is
the ruling force in California. Its people are in key positions; they have been there for many years. Public officials are elected, yes—but it is men like Ritcher Jones and Lawrence who make the real decisions.”

Chan paused. “That is the true danger to your country, and to the rest of the world as well. This
new
High Sequoia is new only on the surface. It grew from a haven for the lawless, where men could get anything they wanted for a price. Arms, women, food. Anything, if you could pay. Now the men who rule High Sequoia wear robes and call themselves a church. But nothing has changed. It is the same. Lawrence’s ‘new tomorrow’ will be subtly but rigidly controlled. He has manipulated the war to his liking by controlling the source of supply for both armies. He will manipulate the peace as well. The war will end when High Sequoia wishes it to end. Then the people Lawrence has placed within both the Loyalist and Rebel governments will form a
new
United States. High Sequoia will rule not only California, but your entire nation as well.”

“God A ’mighty,” Howie said. He was startled by the enormity of what Chan was saying. The whole country, run by men like Lawrence and Jones. Chan was right— they were far more dangerous than Lathan or Colonel Jacob, or a bunch of damn generals out for glory. All the armies had was men and guns. Lawrence had
God
whispering secrets in his ear, and that made everything fine. If you were crazy as a loon, it was
right
to kill Lorene or Marie or anyone else who got in the way, because dying was the greatest thing anyone could do. You were doing a person a favor, sending him off to the Lord. A terrible picture appeared in Howie’s head—Lorene and Marie, lying cold and still, all the color gone from their cheeks, their lips pale as chalk.

“My friend, we have very little time,” Chan said, as if he guessed Howie’s thoughts. “There are things I must know. Things that perhaps you can tell me.”

“I figured there was a lot of things 1 knew,” Howie said bitterly. “It don’t appear like I know hardly anything at all.”

The lantern began to flicker, and Chan turned the wick up higher. “There is much here that
few
people know,” Chan said. “High Sequoia has covered its tracks well. And they are not the only danger, my friend.”

Chan laughed, a quick, hollow sound laced with anger. “If I had not been marked for death through my friendship with you, my own companions would have managed to murder me before we returned to China.”

“I got an idea there was a problem,” Howie said. “I just didn’t know what.”

“It is a great deal more than a
problem
,” Chan said shortly. “If you have been to New Los Angeles, you have seen the great stock pens there, and you know that Asia is a major market for meat. There are factions in China that strongly oppose these dealings. Unfortunately, these factions are weak. The people you met at our quarters represent the party presently in power. These men care little for China; they are blinded by the lure of great profits.”

Chan hesitated, then placed his hands on his knees and leaned closer to Howie. “In China, we have long raised other kinds of—stock. Creatures, animals, that have not been seen in your country since the Great War. This stock is still in short supply. The stock from your country is
not
. It is shipped to my country—live—then butchered in remote areas and sold in markets throughout Asia. My friend, the people who eat meat from California do not
know
that it comes from stock with two legs. They are not aware that such a horror has taken place in your country since the Great War.”

“My God …” Howie stared at Chan.

“Ah, I was almost certain that you knew the truth,” Chan said with some relief. “I see that it is riot necessary to convince you.”

“I know stock’s the same as people, if that’s what you mean,” Howie said darkly. “I know a whole lot about that.”

“It is an appalling secret,” Chan said. “And one that the trading powers in my country will go to any length to protect. They share this interest with the few in your country who know the truth. I will tell you, Howie Ryder, that I was sent to California to spy on my people, not yours. I was sent to attempt to stop what is almost certain to begin—here, at High Sequoia.”

Howie shook his head. “If you’re goin’ to try to stop this trading in meat, you got a damn near impossible job on your hands. Especially right now.”

“No. You do not understand,” Chan said. “What I came to stop has riot yet
begun
. But it will, if High Sequoia and traders from China have their way.” Chan gripped Howie’s shoulder. “There was a place in your country called Silver Island. It was not what people believed it to be. Things were done in this place that—”

Howie cut him off. “I know all about Silver Island,” he said harshly. “What the hell do
you
know about it?”

Chan raised a brow. “You are full of surprises, Howie Ryder.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Howie said. “What do you know ’bout Silver Island?”

“I know that High Sequoia was the silent partner, the major force behind the breeding experiments that took place at Silver Island. I know this is why my people are here—they are willing to pay any price to learn how to set up such a facility in China. They have come to California to learn these procedures firsthand.”

Howie was puzzled. “Firsthand
how
? Silver Island’s gone. Hell, I been there. The whole thing’s burned to the ground!”

“The place you saw is gone, my friend,” Chan said. “But the terrible things that happened there are not. Silver Island is
here
. At High Sequoia.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

H
owie felt as if a great and awesome presence had risen up within him, a surge of pain and anger that threatened to consume him. He heard himself cry out, felt his fists tighten until his palms began to bleed.

Chan was startled by the sudden, frightening change in his friend; the face he saw in the dim light was a face he didn’t know, a man he’d never seen before. He waited, held his breath until the storm began to subside.

“You
know
this,” Howie said finally, staring at his hands. “You sure what you’re saying? Silver Island’s here?”

“Yes. It is here.”

“Where is it? How far from here?”

“Not far. Two, perhaps three miles to the west. The

Brothers and Sisters are told it is a private retreat for Lawrence and the elders of the Church. No one who is not supposed to be there goes anywhere near it.”

“I expect they got some guards.”

“Some. Not many. Obedience is the guardian at High Sequoia.”

Howie looked wearily at Chan. “They start out here with new people and stock, or did they bring some with ’em from Silver Island?”

“I cannot say. I know where it is—I have certainly not been inside.” Chan looked curiously at Howie. “What is it, my friend? Why do you wish to know these things?”

“Because Silver Island took my sister,” Howie said harshly. “They took her away when she was a kid to their goddam better tomorrow. That’s why I came to this place, ’cause Ritcher Jones said Mason was here.”

Chan was silent a long moment. “Yes, of course. I am most sorry, my friend. It is little wonder you have such anger in your heart.” He laid a hand on Howie’s arm. “I believe I know what you are thinking. But you must not allow yourself to dwell on this. Your sister could not be here. You know this isn’t so.

“How do I know she’s not here?” Howie’s eyes blazed with sudden anger. “I don’t know nothin’ at all. They didn’t murder everyone at Silver Island. Some of ’em got away. A few down Mexico to Nueva Panama. And some others hid out in the ’glades. I
talked
to them, Chan. They
knew
her. A girl there told me she was good with little kids. She kept them from getting scared.”