On a number of occasions the “messiah followers” had informed the police of vehicles whose occupants were behaving “suspiciously.” Mostly the drivers proved to be high, but on three occasions the passengers had been armed with sniper rifles or automatic weapons, and there’d been another shoot-out, with casualties. Art Knowles and Lor Lu were kept informed, and Lor Lu told the crew.
* * *
Lee had arranged with a national supermarket chain to meet the cavalcade at prearranged points with “deli trucks,” providing a considerable selection of sandwiches, salads, hot soup, pizza. . . . Before arranging a meeting with one of them, she’d ask the police escort how long the train was. Then she’d inform the supermarket chain headquarters. For the most part, the police let her know in advance of plans to chop the train off.
Every healing stop had become more or less like the one at Evansville: a huge mass of cars and people, with hundreds waiting to be healed. And the whole country witnessed it. Seldom had so many people followed an event so closely, in America and internationally.
* * *
Matthew Shaughnessy had two strike teams of his own. The problem was positioning them. In the cab of his headquarters truck, he could monitor Millennium’s “Tour News” on the WebWorld, and generally knew when the bus was scheduled to be somewhere. But those somewheres were always loaded with cruisers and police, while a hit attempt along the highway was high risk. Any vehicle waiting beside the road was quickly investigated, and there was always at least one police chopper overhead, with more standing by, ready to act.
He was also monitoring the police channels, but there was so damned much radio traffic on them, a lot of it pulse traffic that had to be descrambled. And for the most part he never knew which call units were which, and which were important. He felt like a blind man groping through a heap of chocolates, hunting for the raspberry creme centers. Finally he’d settled on command channels, which greatly reduced the radio traffic to sort through, but mostly lacked needed details.
Obviously Forsberg hadn’t foreseen the amount of police resources the states and counties would invest in protecting these Millennium sonsofbitches. And one thing about Forsberg you could rely on: he was a tightwad, never willing to assign adequate backup units for contingencies.
Now, of course, Forsberg didn’t have anything remotely like the resources he’d had as director, not in quantity and sure as hell not in quality. And he’d failed to realize that mercenaries lacked the brains and discipline for a mission like this. If that strike force in Indiana had been driving within eight miles per hour of the speed limit, they wouldn’t have been stopped. And if they’d been paying attention, they’d have seen the backup cruiser, for crissake, and taken it out when they took out the first one.
He’d have to rely on his own wits, and improvise. It was what he did best. Probably, he told himself, that’s why Forsberg had sought him out. That and his perseverence.
* * *
On the twelfth evening, the tour bus pulled up to a small motel on I-40, at the east edge of Memphis. Lor Lu had reserved it for Millennium and its media entourage. National guardsmen had kept the parking lot clear, and people well away. Their pitch was, “Stay back, folks. Even messiahs have to get their rest.” It seemed to work.
Lee had showered and was getting ready for bed when someone knocked. “Who is it?” she asked.
“Security, Miz Shoreff.”
Security? It wasn’t a voice she knew. Motel security, she decided.
“Just a minute,” she said. “I just got out of the shower.” After wrapping herself in her bathrobe, she set the safety chain on the door, and opened it a few inches. Through the gap she saw a uniformed man with a star on his shirt. “You Miz Shoreff?” he asked.
“Yes, I am.”
He handed her a folded paper. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, and waited while she unfolded it, scanned it, then braced herself on the doorpost. The Shelby County Sheriff’s sergeant repeated himself. “I really am sorry, ma’am,” he said quietly, then turned and left.