10
According to their intelligence, the target of their mission had gone to an Atlanta dining establishment called The Varsity. Cutty exited the interstate and cruised eastward along North Avenue. The restaurant was ahead, a neon palace in the night.
Cutty drove a late-model, black Chevy Suburban with tinted, bullet-proof glass, a supercharged engine, and reinforced steel panels. He could have selected any vehicle from their extensive fleet, but he’d chosen the Suburban because it was the largest available.
He liked big things: big trucks, big guns, big buildings. Not because he was short in stature and attempting to over-compensate. Great size reminded him of the Almighty.
God was bigger than everything, a hugeness that was impossible for the human mind to comprehend. To surround yourself with large items served as a reminder of God’s vastness, how you were so insignificant in comparison to the Divine.
At the debriefing earlier that evening in the Armory, his superior had handed him a big mission, too. Their mark was a high-ranking member of their organization, a past leader in their division, but he was a Judas who sought to betray them in the worst possible way. Cutty’s superior had confided that this was such a crucial task that only one of Cutty’s caliber was worthy of the job.
Cutty would not fail. Throughout his eight years of service, his mission completion rate was one hundred percent, a division record. When you were fulfilling your life’s true purpose, God blessed the work of your hands.
Quiet as usual, Valdez sat in the passenger seat, watching the night-dimmed city pass by through the window. Like him, she wore nocturnal gear: black tracksuit, black sneakers. Her hair was so thick and dark it blended nearly perfectly with her clothing.
Lately, he’d been entranced with her hair. He wanted to run his fingers through it and see if it felt as silky as it looked. He imagined snipping a tiny lock of it when she wasn’t looking, and keeping it on his person, to privately touch whenever the mood took him.
She glanced at him, suddenly aware of his attention.
“Is okay?” she asked.
“Yes, everything’s fine. Here’s our turn.”
He turned into the diner’s crowded parking lot. He had never eaten there, and he immediately decided that he never would. The cloying aromas of the artery-clogging junk food almost invoked a gag reflex.
Growing up, he hadn’t been allowed to consume fast food of any kind. His family had lived on a communal farm in south Georgia. They had cultivated their own fruits, vegetables, and grains, raised chickens, and fished in a nearby lake. As a teenager, he’d once eaten a McDonald’s hamburger, and had suffered an upset stomach for two days.
“Look at these heathens, Valdez, defiling their temples,” Cutty said. “Doesn’t it disgust you?”
“Si,” Valdez said, scowling with displeasure.
“Burgers, fries, hot dogs, shakes. All crap that destroys the temple. And they’re allowing their children to eat this garbage, too. No wonder our nation’s kids are fatter than ever.”
She bobbed her lovely head in agreement. He raked his gaze across her body, which was concealed, frustratingly, by her loose-fitting clothing.
“Do you ever allow crap like that into your temple?” he asked.
“Ah, no,” she said, and made a gagging sound.
He smiled. “I bet you don’t. I bet your temple is in fantastic condition.”
She only looked at him.
“Do you like my temple?” he asked. “I work out six days a week, perform lots of weightlifting and cardio, and I eat well, too, only wholesome organic food, no garbage like they serve here.”
She appeared bewildered. Somewhere, he’d lost her.
“Never mind,” he said. “Let’s find somewhere to park in this grease pit.”
After a minute of cruising, he found a spot on the ground level of the double-deck parking structure, in a corner not far from an exit.
Intelligence had indicated that the Judas was due to rendezvous with an individual who might be assisting him in his treachery. Cutty’s first priority was to identify the man’s accomplice. Then, to detain the Judas for questioning, by force, if necessary.
Cutty secretly hoped that the use of force would be necessary. He had not asked his superior about the nature of the Judas’ betrayal, hadn’t inquired how the man schemed to damage their organization. The details were irrelevant. Unrepentant disobedience to God’s authority was a sin, and harsh punishment was an appropriate response.
The wages of sin is death. That was Romans, chapter six, verse twenty-three. Sin was not a game. God meant business.
He retrieved a large duffel bag from the back seat. Among other things, it contained a lightweight gray jacket, baseball cap, and tinted eyeglasses, elements of a rudimentary disguise.
There was little possibility that the Judas would identify him. The traitor had left their division prior to Cutty’s recruitment, and as agent in the most covert unit, Cutty’s identity was known only to his superior and the few others who had served alongside him. To all others, he was only a voice on the telephone, a username on the network.
But he had advanced as far as he had because he believed in taking extra precautions. He found the zipper along the seam of the black tracksuit pants, yanked it down, and snatched the bottoms away to reveal the blue jeans he wore underneath. He swapped the tracksuit jacket for the gray one, and donned the cap and the eyewear.
He lifted his arms. The jacket adequately concealed the bulge of the pistol that lay holstered against his ribs.
“I’m going to check out the scene inside, see if I can locate our guy,” he said. “Sit tight. I’ll radio you with further instructions.”
A tiny, flesh-colored earpiece was wedged in his ear, as well as in Valdez’s, and miniature microphone transmitters were affixed to the collars of their shirts. The communications system enabled them to stay in contact when separated by up to a thousand yards.
He opened the door, paused. “Want me to grab a burger for you while I’m inside?”
She frowned. “Ah . . . no.”
“That was a joke,” he said.
“Ah! Funny, very funny.” She laughed, but it was one of those obligatory laughs that people offered out of courtesy, not out of genuine amusement.
He did not understand women under most circumstances, and this Valdez was a total enigma. Perhaps, if they could enjoy a long, productive partnership, they could establish a rapport . . . and perhaps that rapport could lead to something more.
The thought gave him a warm jolt of pleasure.
On the sidewalk outside the restaurant, an elderly panhandler in a wheelchair beseeched passerby for money. He was a pathetic sight: rheumy eyes, cracked lips, wooly gray hair and beard that desperately needed trimming. He wore torn, soiled clothes that looked salvaged from a trash heap.
Although Cutty had urgent business inside, he approached the man.
“God loves you,” Cutty said.
The man squinted. “Huh?”
Cutty opened his wallet, found a twenty-dollar bill, and offered it to the beggar. The man opened his mouth in a grin that showed diseased-darkened gums and rotted teeth.
“God loves you,” Cutty said again, “and so do I.”
“Oh, God bless you!” the man said.
“May God bless you as well, my friend.” Cutty removed a card from his wallet and pressed it into the man’s grime-covered fingers. “The gates of the Kingdom are open. Those are the times and locations of our Sunday services, and you may also view our programs on television or listen in on the radio.”
“I’ll do that, brother. I sure will.”
Cutty smiled and gave the man’s frail shoulder a friendly touch. One should never overlook an opportunity to minister to the downtrodden. For he that is least among you all, the same shall be great.
His smile fading, he headed inside.