Chapter 22
President Pershing had been contacted by the kidnappers, and an initial meetup had been set for the next morning, outside the Atlanta airport.
Reggie summoned the Tuxes to our headquarters, and my stomach issues were tinted with a let-me-at-’em aggression, which was new.
I was on the front lines, raring to make Reggie and Aunt Libby proud.
I was scaring myself, which felt right: this was my opening night, my world premiere, and my appearance opposite Dame Judi Dench in a Shakespearean adaptation where she sends me into shiningly armored, trumpeted battle.
“Libby’s right about Fleming Fairmont,” said Reggie. “He’ll be acting as the go-between. He’ll be insufferable but he’ll bring us to the lair. Where, if they’ve got the Diadem, all hell may break loose.”
“Do you really believe that?” asked Timothy. “The whole legend of the Moirai stuff?”
Reggie turned to Edwin, whose research had been exhaustive: “The Diadem has a checkered history. It was most likely forged in gold for a marble statue of Apollo in the Parthenon, because Apollo managed to outwit the Fates once, by getting them drunk. He wheedled them into sparing the life of Artemus, a Tyrrhenian prince he was in love with, although Artemus’s wife died in his place.
But that’s how the myth began, that the Fates could be fooled or manipulated.
“The story goes that if the stones are restored to the Diadem, whoever wears it will be granted worldly rewards beyond measure, invincible self-determination, and the deferral of death, possibly forever. Which brings us to someone on the verge of the greatest victory, which means he’s rapacious for a supernatural leg up, as an insurance policy. ”
“Reese Dantine,” said Reggie.
Our supervillain had arrived.
“He’s running for president,” said Mikaela.
“And the election’s next month,” said Brock.
“He’s ahead in the polls,” said Pei-Sze.
“Which means he’s freaking out,” Reggie concluded. “And he’s incredibly rich.”
“He’s worth fifty-eight billion, without liquidating any real estate,” said Marcus, after skimming a Wall Street website. “And most of that’s tax-free, thanks to his megachurch.”
I loathed Reese, and not just for his right-wing isolationist America-first policies. It was the gladhanding, sanctimonious element: the only thing worse than a scummy politician is a scummy politician convinced he’s been anointed by the Almighty.
Reese was in shape, commissioning sleek suits, often worn with open-collared dress shirts for a hip-school-board-president effect.
His head of thick, dark (most likely dyed) curls emphasized his not-your-granddad’s-minister routine.
Like a country star plotting his rise on the pop charts, Reese had crossed over.
He’d written, or had ghostwritten, a shelf of best-selling memoirs with titles like God Wants a Prosperous America and My Sacred Journey to Wholesome Leadership.
He’d built his flagship glass cathedral, which had become a prayer-with-pizazz destination for extended families and retired seniors, and he’d opened branches around the world.
His beatific blond wife had toned down her lacquered bouffant hairdos and drugstore Jezebel makeup, and she’d given birth to three towheaded and photo-ready tykes who were paraded onstage at rallies.
The Dantines pushed themselves as A Family of Faith, and Reese’s candidacy had become inevitable and embraced by supporters who loved “what Reese stands for,” along with his “belief in core American values.” While initially referring to LGBTQ+ people as “deviants and criminals,” we’d lately become a more benevolent “problematic and troubled.”
Reese scared me because, while there’d been plenty of evangelical candidates, he was the first to achieve what Aunt Libby called “God-fearing mainstream stardom.” He was, on an oily, aftershaved level, sexy, in the manner of the best-looking married man from out of town at a Grand Hyatt lobby bar.
“Dantine’s on track to be president,” said Reggie, “which is why Fairmont doesn’t leave his side. He’s greased the wheels, with support for the guy as a Republican loyalty oath. He’s Dantine’s number one lackey, doing whatever it takes to send his meal ticket to the White House.”
President Pershing had already served two terms, and the Democratic candidate, while outstandingly qualified, was a woman, and odds were that the country still wasn’t ready.
In addition, Veronica Carlyle was a wonk, a dedicated civil rights lawyer, and a three-term senator, a résumé that should’ve worked in her favor but made non-college-educated citizens, and a surprising number of female voters, inordinately suspicious.
I’d canvassed for her, and was hoping against hope for a resurgence, but Reese Dantine was a repellent powerhouse, with his followers proclaiming him “the voice of real America” and “a grassroots hero.”
But had Reese himself kidnapped Reata, or were his actions cloaked behind loyal associates? How arrogant was he? Was Fleming handling the ugliest extortions? And what did Reggie have planned?
“Reese is most likely keeping his hands clean,” Reggie said, “but we’ll find out. Reata is probably being held somewhere in the Clarion Cathedral, which is temporarily closed for renovations.”
“I’ve got ground plans and surveys,” said Marcus, posting these charts on his wall of screens and to everyone’s phone, “but they’re incomplete.
Dantine has the local civil servants who issue construction permits on his payroll, so it’s hard to get a complete picture.
But Reggie asked about a lair, and this place is two city blocks of blind alleys. ”
“We have no idea who’ll be on-site,” said Edwin, “so you’ll be carrying traditional weaponry. Gunplay or explosives in a pile of glass present unique obstacles, from shards to structural collapse. So you’ll have to be incredibly careful.”
“We’ve been warned about bringing any support personnel to the airport,” said Reggie. “They only want me and Andrew.”
This was the first I’d heard of my potential role in the transfer: “Why did they ask for me?”
“I’m not sure,” said Reggie. “Maybe as a backup hostage, especially since Reata mentioned you in the ransom video, or because since you’re our newest recruit, they think you’ll be the most malleable. Which isn’t true. Are you good?”
If Fairmont and Dantine had targeted me as a weakling, then I only had more to prove. Reggie was already presuming my participation.
“And remember, everyone,” said Reggie, “our priority, at all costs, is Reata.”
The group was quiet on the plane to Atlanta. I was sitting beside Brock, who told me, in a low voice, “Watch out. Good Christians are scary.”
“I asked around for dirt on Reese Dantine,” said Timothy, leaning over from his seat behind us.
“Because sometimes guys like that can be total kink monsters. I’ve heard rumors about him and the girls in his God Squad, who dress up like cheerleaders except with embroidered faces of Dantine on their chests, and they warm up the crowds by dancing to Christian rock. ”
“Have you ever heard Christian rock?” asked Mikaela from across the aisle. “It’s the music that makes kids at bible camp cut themselves.”
“I kind of want to meet the wife, Devotion Dantine,” said Brock.
“That’s her real name. She runs the church’s Shower of Blessings University and produces this reality show set in biblical times called The Real Housewives of Abraham—there are twelve of them and they squabble over one of the wives showing her ankles and who gets to bring Abraham his crude wooden bowl of fresh figs.
Last week Naomi of Galilee found out she was barren and they made her leave the tent. ”
“What will you say to Reese?” Timothy asked me.
“I’ll most likely just listen,” I said, thinking about it. “Until we get Reata back and then I’ll tell him which of his kids is gay. I’m thinking the four-year-old who likes being on camera and lip-syncing during the hymns.”
“Once we’re on the ground,” said Reggie, who’d been sitting a few rows up but was checking in before our descent, “we don’t know each other. We’ve got separate rental cars from different agencies.”
“Mikaela and I are sales reps for these new chewable antidepressants, in town for a medical conference,” said Pei-Sze. “They’re called Gladrex Gummies.”
“I’m Chaz Mondrelle,” said Brock. “I’m building a new boutique hotel downtown where the amenities include eco-friendly shampoo, which we pour into guests’ hands at the front desk, to eliminate bottles.”
“I’m a sophomore at Georgia State,” said Timothy. “And if anyone recognizes me from my OnlyFans, I’ll say it’s for credit in my Queer Studies program.”
“God save the Tuxes,” said Reggie.
Reggie and I disembarked last, and followed instructions on Reggie’s phone to a secluded area outside the terminal, where Fleming Fairmont was standing beside a black minivan.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said Fleming. “It’s been too long.”
“Fleming?” said Reggie, touching the corner of his own mouth. “You’ve got a few drops of Dantine’s cum right here.”
“There’s no call for vulgarity. But to the matter at hand: Have you brought the jewels? All of them?”
Reggie was carrying Jenn’s pink-tinted see-through plastic tote, but as Fleming reached for it, Reggie held back, saying, “Not until we see Reata, in the flesh, and take her home.”
“Of course. Get in the van.”