Free Repairman Jack [08]-Crisscross by F. Paul Wilson Page B

Satisfied?"
    "Hey, I wasn't—"
    "Yeah, sure." She switched to her index finger as a pointer. "Anyway, I've got George and the paper to watch my back, but you're just one guy. For your own good, my advice is stay away."
    "Can't do that."
    "Listen, I told you: You're not going to find anything, and you risk making nasty enemies."
    "Wouldn't be the first time. I've managed to tick off a few people in my day."
    "Not like these, you haven't. These aren't just a bunch of kooks—kooks believe their nonsense, charlatans don't. Bottom-rung, true-believer Dementedists qualify as kooks, but the charlatans at the top have got tons of money, a shark tank full of lawyers, and a huge number of volunteers who will be only too glad to ruin your career, your reputation, even your marriage—if you're married. They're tenacious, relentless, vicious. Have you got a life situation that will stand up to a gang of pros and amateurs peeking into every corner of it?"
    Got to find me first, Jack thought.
    But the idea of a well-financed horde prying at his life, uncovering his secrets—he had so many—made him edgy. More than edgy…
    "That would make me very upset," he told her.
    Something in his tone must have caught her attention. She stared at him for a long moment.
    "Are you saying you're not a nice person when you're upset?"
    "I'm saying I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me the mistakes you made that got you kicked out."
    She lit another cigarette. "Are you fucking deaf? I'm telling you, you can't move high enough up the ladder to get access to membership records."
    "I think I might have a way to, shall we say, accelerate my progress."
    Her eyes narrowed. "How?"
    Jack wagged a finger at her. "Trade secret."
    Her face darkened. "After all I've just given you?"
    "You tell me what you know and what I should avoid, and when this is all over I'll tell you how I got in, what I saw, and what I learned—just you."
    "An exclusive," she said, leaning back. "Maybe."
    That surprised Jack.
    "Maybe? You've got something better?"
    A little cat smile here. "Maybe… maybe a lot better." The smile faded. "And maybe not. Okay. I'll trust you—to an extent. I can tell you that the intake procedure is pretty straightforward: Just fill out the forms."
    "A church has forms?"
    "It's only legally a church. In real life it's a closely held corporation with a CEO and a board of directors, although they don't call themselves that. I've poked at many religions and cults, but no one's come after me like the Dementedist Church. That's because it's not a church, it's a for-profit behemoth."
    "I've gathered that. But do they ID you on day one?"
    "No. You don't have to show ID then and there—that would create a cloud in the relentlessly sunny atmosphere they like to present—but they'll run a background check on you within a day or two. That's how I got caught. After filling out the forms—one of those, believe it or not, is an NDA—"
    "More Dormentalese?"
    "No. That's a common business practice—a non-disclosure agreement. After signing that you'll be asked, very pointedly, to make a donation to the temple and pay for your first Reveille Session in advance."
    "What happens there?"
    "The supposed purpose of Reveille is to wake up your sleeping xelton so you can start the fusion process. It's really a cover for the RT—Reveille Tech—to pry out the most intimate details of your life. These go into a file that will be used against you should you turn against the church."
    "That's it? We sit and play Q and A?"
    Grant gave him the full smile this time, stained teeth and all. "Oh, no. There's so much more to it than that."
    "Like what?"
    "You'll see, you'll see."
    Jack wasn't sure he liked the way she said it.
    She reached into a drawer and took out a couple of sheets of paper.
    "Take a look at these," she said, handing them across. "It's a list of the Dementedist hierarchy and all their abbreviations. Some are my work, some come right out of the church bulletins and