Delusion in Death (In Death #35)(31)

“Children?”

“They abducted them. Those they abducted they indoctrinated, or attempted to indoctrinate into their ideology. Once they’d purged—people, culture, technology, finance—the children would repopulate and rebuild.”

“Why haven’t I heard of this?”

“The Purging is documented, though whitewashed and diluted. Study your history, Lieutenant. Past is prologue.”

“Shit.” She turned to her board. “Maybe this is some fringe group of terrorists, and I’m going in the wrong direction.”

“Has there been any contact with authorities? Any claim for credit?”

“No. And damn it, this type of group wants the credit.”

“I agree. Any attack during the Urbans initiated by these fringe groups was immediately followed by a message sent to the nearest military or police authority. It was always the same message: ‘Behold a Red Horse.’”

“Horse? What the hell does a horse have to do with it?”

“I remember this,” Roarke added. “I’ve read of this, of them. They didn’t have a specific leader or figurehead, and were for the most part scattered and disorganized. But fervent all the same. They believed the wars, and the social and economic upheaval before them, signaled the end-time. And they not only welcomed it, but sought to help it along to their own ends.”

“Great.” She shoved the disc in her pocket, then a hand through her hair. “Add possible whacked religious fanatic to the mix. What’s with the horse?”

“The Second Horseman of the Apocalypse,” Summerset told her. “‘And when he had opened the second seal I heard the second beast say “Come and See.’”

“‘And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.’”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t blame him,” Roarke said. “He didn’t actually write it.”

“The red horse is often interpreted to represent war,” Summerset added. “And so they used that symbol, and that passage to symbolize their beliefs, and justify their murder of innocents.” Summerset studied her boards. “I don’t know if it’s what you have now.”

“It’s a hell of a long time to wait between attacks, but I have to follow this up. I appreciate the information.”

“Of course.”

Roarke looked after him when he left. “Difficult memories for him. You understand difficult memories.”

“Yeah, I do. And it’s worse if they decide to make a replay. That horse thing’s from the Bible?”

“Revelation.”

“I’ll need to take a look at it, and at your data. Maybe there’s another connection, personal grievance, greed, and bastardized religion. Abducted kids. We don’t have that. Possibly the killer was an abducted kid—toddler gets snatched, raised in Crazy Town, grows up and decides to saddle the red horse.”

She shook her head. “I have to work through this.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” He took her shoulders, drew her in for a kiss. “I’ll come into Central later if I can.”

She went to her desk, called up Roarke’s data. She gauged her time, hit the highlights, ordered the cross to run, and the results to copy to both home and office comps.

While it ran, she read Summerset’s data, picked through it, wrote up her own notes. Somewhere, she mused, there’d be a file on known members of this Red Horse cult. Sealed and buried maybe, but they’d be somewhere.

Once she’d organized for the briefing, she decided she’d program Revelation to audio on her vehicle computer. Save time.

She hauled up everything she needed, snagged her coat on the way out.

She intended to bypass her office, head straight to the conference room to update the board, program the new images. And spotted Nadine Furst, Channel 75’s top screen reporter, best-selling author, and dogged crime beat investigator pacing the corridor outside her bullpen.

They may have been friends, but at the moment, the always camera-ready, sharp-eyed Nadine was the last thing she wanted to deal with.

Nadine’s power-red toothpick heels clicked, and the glossy pink bakery box she carried swung back and forth with her movements. Eve wondered why, of all days, her men hadn’t snatched the baked goods and given Nadine a pass into her office.

Couldn’t get past her, Eve calculated, and into the conference room where even Nadine didn’t have the balls to intrude.

Eve moved forward, recognizing by those clicking heels and the swinging box Nadine was steamed.

“Getting an early start today,” Eve commented on Nadine’s return trip.

Those cat-green eyes fired. “You don’t return my half dozen contacts, and Jenkinson—Jenkinson, for God’s sake—turns down three dozen handmade pastries and tells me I have to wait out here or in the lounge. I get nothing but spin and double-speak from the media liaison. I deserve better than this, Dallas. Goddamn it.”

“I haven’t returned your contacts or any from the media. We’re Code Blue until the media conference later today.” Eve shot up a hand before Nadine could snarl a response. “My men, including Jenkinson, have more on their minds than pastries. Whatever you think you deserve, Nadine, there are times you just have to wait.”