First Daughter by Eric Van Lustbader

Author:Eric Van Lustbader [Lustbader, Eric Van]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780765321701
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2008-08-18T11:00:00+00:00

"I was wondering why you insisted she come down to the hospital."

"To be honest, Jack, she was glad I asked. I think she wanted to come."

Jack sipped his coffee, said nothing.

"I know you're still pissed about her and Jeff."

"You could say that. He was my best friend."

"Jack, what he did--he was never your friend."

Jack's eyes slid away, staring at nothing.

"Sharon did it to get back at you, because she blamed you for Emma's death. She made a mistake." Bennett's voice was low, urgent. "Jack, don't fuck things up with this girl. She loves you." He gave a little laugh. "Shit, you're not the hard-hearted bastard you think you are."

AS JACK turned onto Kansas Avenue NE, he saw Nina waiting for him. He'd called her while walking out of the coffee shop in Tysons Corner. She leaned against her black Ford, smoking one of her clove cigarettes. She looked unaccountably fetching in boots with sensible heels, dark slacks, and a navy peacoat buttoned up to the chin. She seemed oblivious of the sleet.

The Hi-Line had been transformed into the Black Abyssinian Cultural Center. The electronics shop behind which Andre and his crew had beaten the crap out of him was now a ninety-nine-cent store. Otherwise Kansas Avenue looked much the same. It was still filthy and decrepit, no place for the Renaissance Mission Congress. But the old clapboard building, still peeling, still deeply tarnished with mildew, did seem peculiarly appropriate for the First American Secular Revivalists.

Jack got out of the car and led Nina into the building that held so many memories for him.

Where there had once been pews and pulpits was now a large work space divided into cubicles by cheap, movable half walls, each equipped with a desk, cordless phone, computer terminal, and the like. A soft murmur of voices filled the area where once a choir had opened up their throats and their hearts to God.

The cubicles were filled by an eclectic army of men and women whose ages Jack judged to be from their early twenties to their late sixties. They all looked extraordinarily busy. Only a young girl glanced up as they went past.

Armitage--and presumably Peter Link--occupied a separate office, what had once been Reverend Myron Taske's rectory. Jack, in the center of the room, looked around. The huge armoire was still against one wall, Taske's battle-scarred desk was opposite, but everything else was different--modern, sleek, gleaming. Maybe it was the new furniture that made the room look so small, Jack thought. Or perhaps it was his memory playing tricks on him. Either way, as in the Langley Fields buildings, Jack felt a dislocation--as if he were both here and not here. He wondered if that was how Emma felt when she appeared in the backseat of his car.

By this time, Armitage was behind his desk. "You said you wanted a list of members who had defected over the last eighteen months."

Jack cleared his throat. "That's right."

Armitage nodded. "I can do that."

His fingertips flew over his computer keyboard, typing in the algorithm that would decrypt the FASR database.

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