Chapter 8
Let your women keep silence in the churches: for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience, as also saith the law. And if they will learn any thing, let them ask their husbands at home: for it is a shame for women to speak in the church.
—1 Corinthians 14:34–35, The New Testament
The sleek black jet banked to the right, and through a starboard window Lori saw the forbidding terrain of a mountainous region below, with craggy, snowy peaks and sheer rock walls that dropped off to winding rivers and wide green plains. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the landscape. As the jet descended below the highest mountain tops, a barren, rocky valley became apparent, with a narrow ribbon of highway and an arched stone bridge that spanned a ravine. The plane passed over the bridge and set down on a straight section of highway. After the landing, the aircraft taxied onto a side road and came to a stop at the base of a cliff, with the engines still running.
A hatch opened in the passenger compartment floor by the forward bulkhead, and Dixie Lou stood over the hole, looking down. Holding her black transmitter, she pressed buttons on it. Each time she did so, the plane moved a little like a big toy, first forward, then to the right, then back.
“OK,” Dixie Lou said, finally, and she pressed the transmitter once more. The jet engines shut down.
Lori heard men’s voices, coming from beneath the craft.
“Hurry it up,” Dixie Lou said to them, a tone of command. She stepped back from the hatch, and moments later four large men poked their heads through and looked aft toward Lori. The men boarded gingerly, and Lori saw that they were muscular Caucasians of around thirty, in pale gold uniforms that bore green-and-orange shoulder patches with the sword-cross design on them.
“Medical assistance is required, M’Lady?” one of the men inquired, looking at Dixie Lou. He bowed to her.
Dixie Lou pointed toward Lori, and the men moved to her side. Lori saw her slip a handgun into a pocket of her dress. “The girl’s mother is back there,” Dixie Lou added, pointing toward the rear. “On life support.”
Carrying a medical kit, the shortest of the men leaned over the tilt-back seat where Lori sat. He cleaned the injuries to her forehead and temple, causing her to grimace in pain, though he said they appeared to be only superficial. Then he opened a package and removed what looked like a flat white sponge, which he placed against her head. It stuck there, covering the injured areas. Lori felt soothing coolness, but she was a little dizzy. She heard the other men behind her, talking in low tones.
“How are you doing?” the man asked Lori. “A little better?”
Lori nodded.
“That’s good,” he said. “We knights live only to serve.” He smiled, stepped back.
Knights? The comment intrigued her, but she didn’t ask about it.
She looked back toward the rear compartment, saw her mother lying in the midst of medical equipment, and heard the men say they were preparing to move her. Lori made a sudden move and tried to go back there, but was restrained by the knight with her.
“You can see your mother tomorrow,” Dixie Lou said, as she looked on. “But not now. She needs to get better first.”
“Are you a doctor?” Lori wanted to know, struggling unsuccessfully to free herself from the man’s iron grip. “What qualifies you to say I have to wait?”
“I outrank you.”
“I’m not even in your organization.”
“Just do as I say. I don’t have time to argue with you.”
“What if she dies before tomorrow?”
“She won’t. Her vital signs have stabilized.”
The knight escorted Lori down a metal staircase that took them out of the aircraft and through a rock-lined opening at ground level. Dixie Lou followed, and the three of them reached a metal platform which joined another staircase that led underground, to a second platform. Here Dixie Lou tried to take Lori’s arm, but the girl shook her off and stood on her own. A tubular railing ran along one side, and beyond that was a narrow gauge train track with dark tunnels at either end. Overhead, Lori saw a network of steel girders and struts.
“We’re a mess,” Dixie Lou said, gazing in a small mirror she had brought from her pocket. She wiped dried blood from the cut on her cheek, arranged her braided hair. “We’ll get you a room where you can rest and clean up.”
Dixie Lou handed the mirror to Lori, who accepted it with a scowl and attempted to do something with her own long hair. It wouldn’t settle down, and stuck out at the sides. The medical patch looked silly on her head, but she was feeling a little better, no longer dizzy.
“My mother was shot in the head. How can you say she’s going to make it through the night?”
“Medical science can work miracles now.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Two blocky female guards in pale gold uniforms moved from behind them to the front, and stood on the platform by the tracks. They pointed small electronic devices at the tracks and the platform, casting beams of light that Dixie Lou said were for a security check.
With a low hum, a rail car emerged from one of the tunnels and came to a stop at a platform gate.
Dixie Lou held Lori back while the guards inspected the car. After pronouncing it fit, Lori followed the black woman onboard and they sat side-by-side on a wide seat, with Lori ordered to sit by the window. The gun in Dixie Lou’s pocket pressed hard against Lori’s hip. The guards stepped onto exterior running boards on each side of the car.
“We’re going to spiral up the inside of a mountain,” Dixie Lou said as the rail car got under way with a smooth, metallic whir. “This is an old Greek monastery that’s been converted to our uses. It’s called Monte Konos.”
“Spare me the history lesson,” Lori said. But she thought, We must be in Greece.
“You’re too smart to learn anything, eh? Well, people like you wear numbers across their chests. That German Shepherd back at the goddess circle was a retired police dog, and it sniffed drugs in your purse. What did you have in there?”
“Like I said, I had food in the purse earlier, a hamburger and fries. They were in wrappers, but maybe some of it spilled and I didn’t notice.” As the rail car jostled Lori against the stocky woman, she felt intermittent tingling, and a sense of foreboding.
“You think you’re a good liar because you got away with it a few times, but don’t try it around me anymore. I grew up on the streets, girl-child, and I saw a lot better liars than you. I know you had something illegal in that purse.”
“Right, a burger laced with heroine. It’s one of the pictures on the wall at the fast food joint.”
“You have a smart mouth.”
“If you don’t want to hear it, send us back to Seattle.” Lori felt very tired, and angry.
“Get used to this place,” Dixie Lou said, a suggestion with a hard edge. “It’s your home now.”
The rail car entered what looked like a miner’s tunnel hewn from solid rock. In dim light from lamps alongside the tunnel, Lori saw water dripping down the walls, and the air entering the car smelled musty.
“What are you gonna do with that gun in your pocket?” Lori asked. “Shoot me and toss me out in a tunnel?”
“Don’t tempt me. No, I’m grateful to you for killing those soldiers and driving the van, and because of that I’ll give you some leeway. But I warn you, don’t push me too far.”
Lori sensed that this was no idle threat, but she wouldn’t back down to anyone. She was tired of adults making a big deal about a little marijuana. She liked the drug, and beer, too. They relaxed her, buffered her from the pains and cruelties of the world. What harm could there possibly be in that?
“If you’re so grateful, let us go home,” Lori demanded.
“You know too much.”
“What? I don’t know anything. And neither does my mother.”
“Both of you know more than you realize.”
“Well whatever, we won’t talk.”
“I can’t risk it. Besides, you’re in danger from attackers now. Here we live with constant high security, but it’s always been that way at Monte Konos. They used to lift monks in and out on baskets that hung off the side of the cliff. They also built secret passageways and stairs honeycombing the mountain.”
Lori stared blankly out the window, listened to the metallic drone of the rail car.
Dixie Lou pointed ahead, waggling a stubby finger. “We’re coming up on the remains of one. Look right and left at the next wall lamp, and you’ll see where our rail tunnel was cut across an old foot path.”
At the lamp, Lori looked, and saw ancient, dark passageways going in either direction. The walls of the tunnels, including the larger one the train passed through, were streaked with black. Curling her upper lip in revulsion, she said, “What is this moldy old dump, anyway? Did you get a deal on the rent out here?”
Dixie Lou spoke calmly in response, but her charcoal eyes flashed anger. “For centuries Monte Konos was a monastery where only men were allowed. We thought it was appropriate for us to do something entirely different here. Besides, this is a very remote place, beyond the prying eyes of the BOI.”
“The BOI?”
“The Bureau of Ideology. An international terrorist organization of men, masquerading as Christians. We prefer to call them the Bureau of Idiots.”
“Your mortal enemies, I presume?”
“The sarcasm in your tone has been duly noted. In case you’re interested, our UWW—United Women of the World—is half a century older than the BOI. We date back to the nineteenth century and the women’s movement led by Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Our founder was a friend of Stanton’s—Josephine Angkor, ancestor of our current Chairwoman.”
“Why did the BOI commandos attack an undefended goddess circle?”
“The Bureau claims to advance Christian causes, but in reality that translates into benefiting men.”
“So it’s the men against the women?”
“Basically, it’s always been that way—and it’s come to a head.” Touching a button on the wall, Dixie Lou lowered all the window shades, blocking the view of tunnel walls.
“You’re just a bunch of male bashers, aren’t you?” For a moment Lori focused on the cut across the black woman’s cheek.
Leaning close and exuding foul breath, Dixie Lou snarled, “Lori Vale. Such a sweet-sounding name for a young troublemaker.”
The rail car continued to spiral up the inside of the mountain. Lori wanted to be anywhere but here. She considered trying to grab the gun that pressed against her hip and breaking free, thinking back to when she almost jumped out of the old Chrysler her mother was driving. Now, as then, she didn’t care if she got hurt; she just wanted to escape.
An orange EMERGENCY STOP button was on the wall not far away. She could lunge for it, bring the rail car to a jolting stop and leap off. But she didn’t know where she would go, and reasoned that any attempt would just cause Dixie Lou to either kill her or put tighter restraints on her. Even more importantly, she didn’t want to risk a reprisal against her mother.
“I’m always edgy when I don’t have a cigarette,” Lori said, but I’m not going to ask you for anything.”
“If you’re nice to me, I might be able to get you a couple of packs.” She rubbed one of her oversized gold earrings.
Lori’s eyes burned. “They were in my purse. Not drugs, just cigarettes.”
“Foolish child! What do you think cigarettes are?”
Lori glowered at her, refusing to admit that she had a point.
From the seat beside her, Dixie Lou studied her for several moments, while Lori held her own gaze. “We’ll talk about your attitude tomorrow,” the woman snapped.
Lori shook her head in dismay.
She heard an explosion. A video screen flashed on in front of Dixie Lou, and a female voice reported: “Trouble in Sector Three! Tracks destroyed!”
In the tunnel ahead, Lori saw the orange glow of fire.
Alarms sounded. The rail car jerked to a stop, then backed up at high speed, slowed, and darted into a side tunnel. Another explosion followed, closer this time, and the car rocked.
The car sped through another detour, and abruptly all lights went out as it came to a hard stop. The sound of heavy doors could be heard, closing. Two thumps.
The car was bathed in light as a hatch opened in the ceiling. A stairway snapped down and Dixie Lou led Lori up it. They were in a large, rock-hewn chamber, with low natural light entering through a plexed-in hole at the top. The plex was leaded panes. Female security guards encircled them. They exchanged odd three-finger salutes.
Accompanied by the guards, Dixie Lou led Lori out of the cavern, which narrowed into a tunnel. Their footsteps echoed off the walls of the ancient corridor.
“Monks started carving these passageways nine hundred years ago,” Dixie Lou said, her voice agitated. “Feel the rock floor, rutted from all the feet that have crossed over it.”
With the rubber bottoms of her jogging shoes, Lori felt a rut that curved upward on each side where the walls of the passageway joined the floor. For a moment she thought she heard voices, like the eerie medieval chanting of monks, but soon it passed like a gentle breeze, and she ascribed it to her imagination. Here and there, bright halogen light fixtures had been placed to illuminate the way, modern technology cohabiting with the past.
They reached a rock staircase that led upward, with rutted, chipped steps. In silence, Dixie Lou climbed, followed by the American teenager.
Lori heard the muffled sounds of gunfire, and overheard a guard telling Dixie Lou that her security forces were mopping up the saboteurs.
“We can never relax here,” Dixie Lou said to Lori. “Too many strange occurrences, sabotage attempts against our heat, lights, power. For your own safety don’t go anywhere without an escort. We’ll set something up for you tomorrow.”
“The BOI?” Lori asked.
“Can’t be. If they knew where we were, they’d blow the whole mountain up. No, we think it’s a clandestine men’s rights movement, claiming that we don’t treat our knights well. Totally preposterous!”
“Why are they called knights?”
“Because they serve our needs. The most popular are the stud knights.” Dixie Lou surprised her by laughing, a wicked cachinnation that echoed off the rock walls.
At the top of the staircase they reached a cobblestone street, which led to a three-story stucco and brick building with round, concave windows. A guard at the entrance gave Dixie Lou the three-finger salute, which Dixie Lou explained this time.
“‘W’ for Woman,” she said, demonstrating a salute as she led Lori into the lobby. A small fountain gurgled.
Lori laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said. “Do you have signet rings and Dick Tracy watches, too?”
“I’ll assume you’re just tired,” Dixie Lou said in a measured tone. “You’ve suffered a terrible trauma and can’t be expected to think straight. But I warn you, don’t continue to test my patience. You don’t want to be on my bad side.”
Saying little more, they rode an elevator to the third floor. The air was thick between them. Lori followed Dixie Lou along a narrow, stucco-walled hallway. Water stains smeared the ceiling, and dark streaks of mildew. At a heavy black door, Dixie Lou showed Lori how to operate a security panel to unlock the door.
“Remember the code numbers,” Dixie Lou reminded her.
The door swung open, revealing a tattered studio apartment with simple furnishings.
“You’ll stay here,” Dixie Lou said. “Meals are served in the Refectory Building—three seatings for each meal. You’ll find a schedule inside the apartment, and a map of Monte Konos—at least the part that isn’t off-limits to you.”
Lori heard a muffled, distant explosion, saw Dixie Lou stiffen.
Without another word the strange woman hurried down the hall and left.
* * *
Dixie Lou Jackson paced nervously in front of her fellow councilwomen, who were seated in a half-circle of black leather chairs on the elevated platform of the chamber. She glanced uneasily at Amy’s empty red leather chair, then away. It was mid-evening, not long after the conclusion of the long flight to Monte Konos. In all that time she hadn’t eaten anything. With the attack on her goddess circle and the rail sabotage here, her stomach was too upset. She still wore the white gauze dress (soiled now), the black bead bracelets, and the gold sword-cross necklace.
Behind the council, on a high pedestal once occupied by a cross of Jesus, loomed the statue of She-God, representing all the heroines who had ever walked the earth. On the statue’s upturned palms rested the jewel-hilted Sword of She-God, a weapon steeped in lore and mystery. According to legend, it had been used by ancient female warriors—thousands of years ago—to vanquish their enemies. Some tales even described Joan of Arc in possession of the weapon in the fifteenth century.
“Amy hasn’t reported in,” a blonde councilwoman, Deborah Marvel, said in a throaty, emotion-choked voice. “We can’t make contact with her or with Katherine.” She was referring to Katherine Pangalos, the wealthy UWW contributor Amy had gone to visit just outside the city of Salonika. Katherine, through a circuitous chain of title, owned Monte Konos itself.
On a nearby table the Internet computer flashed images of paramilitary forces and materiel under UWW control, information transmitted in the women’s impenetrable code. Below that, a message screen reported no knowledge of the whereabouts of their beloved Chairwoman.
Dixie Lou stared across the church at the empty pews and stained-glass windows. The darkness of night loomed beyond, where their enemies might be approaching. “As all of you know, the BOI attacked me last evening near Seattle. I recognized their uniforms, and thought I saw the Vice Minister of Minority Affairs leading the raid. What’s his name?”
“Tertullian,” Deborah said.
“Right, the wacko with the high-pitched voice.” Dixie Lou slumped into her own chair, on one end of the half-circle.
“And now Amy’s missing,” Deborah said. “The BOI again, do you think?”
Shrugs and blank faces gazed back at her.
“And what’s this I hear about another baby?” Dixie Lou asked, looking at Deborah. “A sighting in Mexico?”
“She-apostle number twelve,” Deborah responded. “The last one. Unfortunately her mother ran away with her, and one of our agents shot a priest, killing him. We’re combing the villages and hills, looking for her. She can’t have gotten far, a poor peasant woman without resources.”
Dixie Lou grunted, thinking about the sighting, and savoring the feeling that she was in command of the UWW now, because Amy was missing. Though she’d never liked the Chairwoman, Dixie Lou had played up to her skillfully, and as a consequence had been selected as her hand-picked successor, number two in the organization. Could this be the moment when Dixie Lou would accede to power? She felt her pulse quicken in anticipation, but worried about BOI involvement. They had methods of penetrating security. Had someone in this very room betrayed her and Amy?
The stocky little councilwoman also wondered if the fateful hand of She-God had moved Lori Vale like a puppet, saving Dixie Lou’s life so that she could become Chairwoman.
Her gaze wandered searchingly around the half-circle and focused finally on the sharp-chinned profile of Deborah Marvel, the third most powerful woman in the UWW. Had she orchestrated the attacks? But Deborah was Dixie Lou’s friend, or seemed to be. Still, Deborah was almost too strong at times, with an irritating habit of arguing with Dixie Lou and trying to get her to change her mind on certain issues. This rarely succeeded and occasionally they voted differently. Normally, however, the two women put up a solid front to the others.
Another of Dixie Lou’s allies, a narrow-faced councilwoman named Nancy Winters, said, “Look at this.” She pointed at the computer monitor, which had shifted half of its screen to a Level 7 security display, showing someone with credentials passing through checkpoints. Dixie Lou saw an elderly woman rushing down a passageway and up a flight of stairs. It was Dr. Katherine Pangalos, the one Amy had gone to see. Dixie Lou despised her.
The door to the council chamber burst open and the gray-haired woman rushed in.
“Katherine!” one of the councilwomen exclaimed. “Is Amy with you?”
“They’ve taken her prisoner,” she replied, short of breath. “The Bureau—I barely got away through an escape hatch.” Turning to Dixie Lou, she added bitterly, “I guess that puts you in charge. Are you happy now?”
Outraged at the characterization, Dixie Lou rose from her chair. She wasn’t very tall, but made up for it with her aggressiveness. “You’re suggesting that I had something to do with this? BOI forces attacked the goddess circle; I narrowly escaped with my own life.”
“How utterly convenient, you’re safe.”
“Oh, and I suppose I set it all up? A BOI-outfitted helicopter, men in uniforms, the whole bit?”
“Could be done.”
“Impossible,” Dixie Lou said. “Unlike you, I’ve taken the Vow of Angkor to guarantee my loyalty.” She was referring to the sacred rite of deep hypnosis initiated by the founder of the UWW, a great grandmother of Amy Angkor-Billings—an oath that all of the organization’s personnel had to undergo. Katherine Pangalos, since she was a major contributor and not technically a member, had never been required to undergo the ritual. To Dixie Lou, this smacked of favoritism, of strings pulled at a very high level.
Obviously, Pangalos considered herself too good for such a pedestrian oath.
“What about you, Katherine?” Dixie Lou pressed. “They got Amy, but not you?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “How utterly convenient.”
With a condescending expression Katherine gazed down her wrinkled nose at the small but muscular woman, and said, “Unlike you, I do not have a ghetto background. I would have no motive to betray my sisters. You, on the other hand, could be bought no matter the oath you purportedly took, and my guess is, it wouldn’t take much.”
Dixie Lou’s cheeks felt hot, and in a fury she lunged at the old woman. Katherine’s accusing, sneering face was all she saw. Before she knew it she was pulling Katherine’s hair and dragging her to the floor. Though small, Dixie Lou was younger and tougher, having grown up in the inner city.
Katherine cried out.
With considerable effort, several councilwomen pulled them apart.
“Explain how you got away and Amy didn’t!” Dixie Lou screeched. “You’re only accusing me to deflect attention from yourself!”
“Slut!” Katherine howled.
“All your money and you couldn’t protect Amy?”
“In the confusion of the attack I was able to escape, and . . .”
“Isn’t that nice for you?”
The women glared at each other. Pangalos had bruises on her face, but they weren’t enough for Dixie Lou.
“Some unfortunate things are being said in the heat of the moment,” Deborah said. “I’m sure neither one of you really thinks the other is involved in these awful events. You’re both upset. All of us are.”
Unable to stand the erudite, finishing school expression on Katherine’s face, Dixie Lou seethed. All that patrician upbringing, all the money the old woman had, and she had used it to wheedle her way into Amy’s favor. If Amy didn’t return, it was a two-edged sword for Dixie Lou. While she would ascend to the position of Chairwoman, that would leave an opening on the council—one that Katherine would undoubtedly fill, since Amy had promised her the first available position. Despite Katherine’s advanced age, she looked as if she had quite a few years left in her. She would have to take the oath then—small consolation.
If natural processes were permitted to proceed. A big if, as far as Dixie Lou was concerned.
“I can’t return to my home,” Katherine said, as she watched Dixie Lou warily, with four councilwomen standing between them. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Then you’ll have to stay here where it’s safe,” Dixie Lou said, in a sarcastic tone. “We’ll do lunch.”
Fear seeped into Katherine’s face, which pleased Dixie Lou immensely.
“Don’t let her agitate you,” Deborah whispered to Dixie Lou. She patted the de facto Chairwoman’s forearm, reassuringly.
Dixie Lou took a long, deep breath. She could usually count on Deborah to take her side, at least on matters of the most importance. This ex-housewife had also come from humble beginnings in America, and that formed a bond between them, a subject they occasionally discussed over coffee or a meal. Of course, Dixie Lou had omitted certain details of her own colorful biography and embellished others, never revealing the murders she had committed or the cunning scams she had perpetrated.
“I haven’t caught up on my rest,” Dixie Lou said, heading for the door. “If I think of anything more later I’ll let you know.” She glared at Katherine and added, “Remember this, too: It wasn’t my idea for Amy to visit you. It was her own.”
This was the truth, but in the shadowy chambers of Dixie Lou’s mind she hoped Amy had not survived, for her death would open new opportunities.