"I follow the plan given me by a higher power."
"It's just a sick game to you. God has nothing to do with it."
"I am the chosen." He took a long breath. "I hoped you would see, I've wanted you to see, but your eyes are blinded to that because you've accepted worldly acclaim and responsibilities over the spiritual."
She stared holes into McNab as he muttered under his breath and finessed dials. "Funny, I didn't see anything spiritual in the way you slaughtered those two men. I've got one for you. From Romans, chapter two verse three. 'Do you suppose, O man, that when you judge those who do such things and yet do them yourself, you will escape the judgment of God?"'
"You would dare use His word against me? I am the angel of His justice, and the sword of His fury. Born and bred to deliver His verdict. Why do you refuse to see, to acknowledge?"
"I see exactly what you are."
"One day you'll kneel before me and weep tears of blood. You'll know the grief and despair only a woman can know."
Eve glanced at McNab, who was hunched over his equipment and swearing under his breath. "You think you can get to Roarke? You overestimate yourself. He'll flick you off like a gnat. We've already had some good laughs over it."
"I can rip out his heart any time I please." The voice had changed. There was fury in it but the fury was nearly a whine.
"Prove it—he'll meet you. Name the spot."
There was silence for a long moment. "You think you can draw me out that way? Another Eve offering forbidden fruit? I'm not the sheep but the shepherd. I have accepted the task, I hold the staff."
The voice wasn't quite controlled. No, Eve thought, it was fighting for control. Temper and ego. Those were her keys inside him.
"I think you're too much of a coward to risk it. You're a sick, pathetic coward who probably can't get it up unless he uses both hands."
"Bitch, cop whore. I know what women of your kind do to a man. 'For a harlot may be hired for a loaf of bread, but an adulteress stalks a man's very life.' "
"I'm getting something," McNab whispered. "I'm getting it. Keep him talking."
"I wasn't offering you sex. I don't think you'd be very good at it."
"The harlot did. She offered her honor for her life. But God ordered her execution. His will be done."
He has another one was all Eve could think. She may already be too late. "You're boring me, pal. Your riddles are boring me. Why don't we just go to the main match, you and me, and see what shakes down?"
"There will be nine before it is accomplished." His voice grew stronger, like an evangelist's saving souls. "A novena of vengeance. It's not your time, but hers. Another riddle, Lieutenant, for your petty and secular mind: Pretty girls grow into pretty women, but once a whore, always a whore. They come running when the price is right. You'll find this one in the west, in the year of her crime. How long she breathes depends on her—and you, Lieutenant. But do you really want to save a whore who once spread her legs for the man you spread them for? Your move," he said and ended transmission.
"He's bouncing the transmission all over hell and back. Goddamn it." McNab shoved at his hair and flexed his fingers. "Got him on Orion, into Stockholm, up into Vegas Two, and through Sydney for Christ's sake. I can't pin him. He's got me out-equipped."
"He's in New York," Roarke said. "The rest is smoke."
"Yeah, well, it's damn good smoke."
Eve ignored McNab and concentrated on Roarke. His face was pale and set, his eyes icily blue. "You know who he has."
"Yes. Jennie. Jennie O'Leary. I just spoke with her two days ago. She was once a barmaid in Dublin and now runs a B and B in Wexford."
"Is that in the west of Ireland?" Even as Roarke shook his head, she was rising, skimming her fingers through her hair. "He can't want us to go to Ireland. That can't be right. He's got her here, he wants us here. I don't have any authority in Ireland, and he wants me in charge."
"The West Side," Peabody suggested.
"Yeah, that would fit. The West Side—in the year of her crime," she added, looking at Roarke.
"Forty-three. Twenty forty-three."
"West Forty-third then. That's where we start. Let's move, Peabody."
"I'm going with you." Roarke laid a hand on Eve's arm before she could protest. "I have to. McNab, call this number." He turned long enough to scrawl a 'link series onto a card. "Ask for Nibb. Tell him to have a 60K Track and Monitor unit and a 7500MTS sent over, along with his best tech to install it here in my wife's office."