31

            By following the GPS signal transmitted by Thorne’s cell phone, Cutty had traced him to a residence in Duluth, a home owned by Michael Alfaro, an individual whom had appeared on Thorne’s known associates list.  Shortly after their telephone chat—which had, frustratingly, revealed little about Thorne’s iniquitous motives—Thorne had left Alfaro’s and gone to a fast food establishment within two miles’ proximity of his friend’s house. 

            They canvassed for Thorne at the burger joint—and found his cell phone in a garbage can at the edge of the parking lot, along with another phone that apparently belonged to his wife.

            It appeared Thorne had figured out that he could be tracked via the cell, and had ditched it, whereupon he had either gone to an undisclosed location, or returned to Alfaro’s.  He was proving to be a most resourceful adversary. 

            Using a map of the housing community that Genesis pulled from a publicly accessible database, Cutty determined the placement of Alfaro’s home in relation to the rest of the neighborhood.  The house stood on a cul-de-sac, fronting a parcel of dense forest that separated the various building phases of the subdivision. 

            He did not risk having Valdez drive past the house, for Thorne or his friend could be conducting surveillance.  Instead, he instructed her to park on the other side of the woods, in the driveway of a home that was under construction.  None of the surrounding homes had been completed, either.  Theirs was the only vehicle on the block, conspicuous, to be sure, but there should not be any traffic through that side of the community.

            They climbed out of the SUV.  Valdez carried her .38.  He had drawn his Glock, and had the Remington rifle slung over his shoulder, too, and the night vision binoculars dangling around his thick neck.  

            He led the way across a newly sodded yard, wet grass squishing beneath their sneaker soles, and they entered the woods at the rear of the property.

            The cold, persistent drizzle had dampened the forest.  Overhanging leaves dripped water onto their heads.  Higher above, the pale moon peeked like an observing eye through a cheesecloth of clouds.

            “God is watching us,” he whispered to Valdez over his shoulder, and indicated the moon with a nod of his head. 

            She glanced from him, to the heavens.  Said nothing.

            “It’s what the Prophet teaches,” he said.  “God is always watching, always judging, to see if we are fit for the kingdom or deserve to be cast into hell.  The Prophet has God’s ear, Valdez.  More than that, he’s God’s mouthpiece—so we can rest assured that everything he teaches comes directly from the mind of the Almighty.  You do believe that . . . don’t you?”

            “Si.”   She nodded vigorously.

            He smiled.  “Of course.  I knew you would.  Or else, you wouldn’t be working with us, would you?”

            “No.” 

            “Sometimes I have to ask these things.  It is written that those who are not with the kingdom are against the kingdom—and hell will be their reward.  That goes for all of us.  None is spared divine judgment.”

            She nodded again.  The sincerity in her eyes gave him a warm feeling.  She was a true believer.  Their future in the coming kingdom—together as husband and wife, he prayed—was assured.

            Others would not be so blessed.  The unbelievers.  The worshippers of false gods.  The hedonists.  The unrepentant sinners.  Although those unfortunates would be present in the kingdom, they would not enjoy the rights to which servants were entitled.  They would be outcasts—some day, literally confined in camps on the most barren edges of civilization.

            He looked forward to that day.  The world would be a cleaner, happier place without such people staining the earth.    

            They neared the edge of the forest, and stopped behind a large maple.

            After another ten yards or so, the woods cleared, and gave way to Alfaro’s neatly trimmed back yard.  The house stood about twenty yards away. 

            Plastic chairs, a table, and an umbrella occupied the slab of concrete that served as the patio.  A sliding glass patio door led to the kitchen, but the view beyond was obscured by a set of vertical blinds, the long slats only partially open.

            There was another window at the back of the house.  The blinds were partly open, a ghostly glow coming from the room.        

            He raised the binoculars to his eyes.  The night vision display was a luminous green, and significantly improved his view of the house’s interior.  Beyond the patio door, through the vertical blinds, there was a kitchen. 

            It appeared to be empty.      

            He scanned to the room from which the glow emanated.  From his vantage point, he didn’t get a full view, but he saw the edge of a computer monitor, desk, and chair.  No people, though. 

            He lowered the binoculars.  Valdez looked at him expectantly.

            “I don’t see anyone inside,” he said. 

            “Thorne and wife is gone?”

            “That’s what we’ll have to find out.  Let’s move.”

            Moving low and fast, he led Valdez across the lawn, to the patio.  There was no house yet built on the left, and the home on the right was under construction, no nosy neighbors presenting a threat, and the entire neighborhood was quiet, the only sounds the plinking of rain, and water trickling through gutters.

            It took Valdez less than ten seconds to quietly spring the lock on the sliding patio door.  She was so skilled that he almost asked, as a joke, if she had been a burglar prior to joining their organization, but he doubted she would appreciate his attempt at humor.  Women were so mysterious, so easy to offend, that he had to be careful.

            The door vanquished, they slipped inside the house as silently as ghosts.