The Power(60)

There’s another round of shouts and ‘Praise!’ from the crowd.

‘To be here in Bessapara, the land where God has shown Her wisdom and Her mercy, is a great blessing to me. For you know that Our Lady has told me that women are to gather together! And to perform great wonders! And to be a blessing and a consolation to each other! And’ – she pauses after each word for emphasis – ‘where have women gathered together more than here?’

Stamping, hollering, whoops of delight.

‘We’ve shown what the power of a mighty crowd praying together can do for that young man Christian, haven’t we? We’ve shown that the Holy Mother cares for men and women alike. She doesn’t withhold Her mercy. She won’t send Her goodness just to the women, but to anyone who believes in Her.’ She makes her voice soft and low. ‘And I know some of you have been asking, “What about the Goddess who’s meant so much to you all? What about She whose symbol is the eye in the palm of the hand? That simple faith that sprang up from the soil in this good country, what about that?”’

Allie allows the crowd to go very quiet. She stands with her arms folded in front of her chest. There’s weeping and rocking among the people gathered here. There’s waving of banners. She waits a good long while, breathing in and out.

She says in her heart: Am I ready?

The voice says: You were made for this, child. Preach it.

Allie unfolds her arms and holds her palms up to face the audience. In the centre of each one is tattooed an eye, with the tendrils extending out.

The crowd explodes in screams and cheers and stamping of feet. The men and women in the audience surge forward and Allie feels grateful for the crash-barriers and the ambulance people standing in the aisles. They’re climbing over seats to get closer to her, they’re panting and sobbing, they’re breathing in her breath, they want to eat her alive.

Mother Eve speaks calmly over the din. She says, ‘All gods are one God. Your Goddess is another way that the One has expressed Herself in the world. She came to you as She came to me, preaching compassion and hope, teaching vengeance against those who have wronged us and love for those who are close to us. Your Goddess is Our Lady. They are one.’

Behind her, the rippling silk curtain that has stood as a backdrop to the event all evening falls gently to the ground. It reveals a painting, twenty feet high, of a proud, buxom woman in blue, her eyes kind, the skein prominent across her collarbone, an all-seeing eye in the palm of each hand.

Several people faint at that moment, and some begin speaking in tongues.

Good work, says the voice.

I like this country, says Allie in her heart.

On her way out of the building towards the armoured car, Allie checks her messages from Sister Maria Ignacia, her trusted and loyal friend at home. They’ve been following the chatter online about ‘Alison Montgomery-Taylor’, and although Allie’s never acknowledged why she wants the files on that case to disappear, she asked Sister Maria Ignacia if she could somehow make it happen. It will just get harder as the months and years go on, there’s always going to be someone wanting to make money or influence out of this story, and although Allie thinks any reasonable court would acquit her, there’s just no need to go through it. It’s late at night in Bessapara, but it’s only 4 p.m. on the East Coast and – thankfully – there’s a message. Some loyal members of the New Church back in Jacksonville have sent one saying that, with the help of an influential sister-in-God, all the documentation and electronic files relating to this ‘Alison Montgomery-Taylor’ will be dealt with.

The email says, ‘Everything will disappear.’

It seems like a prophecy, or a warning.

The email doesn’t name the influential sister-in-God, but there’s only one woman Allie can think of who could make police files disappear just like that, just by making a phone call maybe, just by making one call to someone she knows. It must be Roxy. ‘You look after us, and we’ll look after you,’ she’d said. Well, good. Everything will disappear.

Later, Allie and Tatiana Moskalev eat a late supper. Even with the war, even with fighting on the northern front with the Moldovan troops and the stand-off in the East with Russia herself, even still the food is pretty good. President Moskalev of Bessapara lays on roast pheasant and Hasselback potatoes with sweet cabbage for Mother Eve of the New Church, and they toast each other in good red wine.

‘We need a fast victory,’ says Tatiana.

Allie chews slowly and thoughtfully. ‘Can you have a fast victory three years into a war?’

Tatiana laughs. ‘The real war hasn’t even begun yet. They’re still fighting with conventional weapons up there in the hills. They try to invade, we push them back. They throw grenades, we shoot.’

‘Electrical power’s no use against missiles and bombs.’

Tatiana sits back, crosses one leg over the other. Looks at her. ‘Do you think so?’ She frowns, amused. ‘For one: wars aren’t won by bombs, they’re won on the ground. And for two: have you seen what a full dose of that drug can do?’

Allie has seen it. Roxy showed her. It’s hard to control – Allie wouldn’t want to take it; control has always been her speciality – but a full dose of the Glitter, and three or four women could take down the electricity of the island of Manhattan.

‘You still have to be near enough to touch them. Make a connection.’