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pallid features.
He was repeating a procedure Smith thought he had
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used for the final time only a few short days before. And while he monitored
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his progress on the angled computer screen, one nagging question continually
tugged at the back of his mind.
What was Moss Monroe's business with the Truth Church?
As part of his preliminary research into suspected illegal activities on the
part of Esther Clear-Seer, Smith had executed a background check on the Church
of the Absolute and Incontrovertible Truth weeks ago. It was during this
search that he learned of the purchasing and stockpiling of armaments on the
grounds of the sprawling ranch complex, and of the lavish lifestyle the
self-proclaimed Divine Prophetess enjoyed on the backs of her shorn flock.
Even with that evidence in hand, Smith remained leery of committing CURE'S
resources to the destruction of the Truth Church. The public memory of the
Branch Davidian fiasco was too fresh, and at the time of that siege Smith was
concerned the federal government was involving itself in a quagmire of sticky
constitutional issues it had no business testing. To this day Smith felt
America had sat in their living rooms and calmly watched the violation of the
First and Second Amendments and, quite probably, the Fourth and Fifth, as the
fires in Waco raged.
Smith believed to the very core of his rock-ribbed, patrician soul that the
Davidian leader was delusional, and that those who followed him were doomed
dupes. But there was no law against religious cupidity or blind, unswerving
acceptance of a madman's ravings. In the end the Davidians had simply fallen
victim to a different kind of zealotry.
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It was this frame of mind that had Smith willing to shelve the potential
problem near Thermopolis earlier in the year. Only recently, after learning of
FBI interest in the ranch and of the disappearance of one of their operatives,
had Smith reexamined the situation.
As Smith's knobby fingers tapped remorselessly along the desk's edge, the mute
computer keyboard lit up like a patchy pale fireworks finale.
What was Moss Monroe's interest? he wondered.
A red alarm light in the upper left-hand corner of the screen began blinking.
Smith had hacked into the files of the Thermopolis First State Bank, and now
the computer was demanding the proper access code.
At this, as at each subsequent level of the system, Smith repeated the codes
that had gained him admittance once before.
It took but a moment to access the account files of the Church of the Absolute
and Incontrovertible Truth and its head, Esther Clear-Seer.
Smith's brow furrowed as he scanned the information. Nominal changes since the
previous check. In fact, there was too little change. Nothing had been taken
out of either account in more than a week, and even then it was only a
pittance. He reviewed the computerized records. Up until eight months before,
there had been a constant cash flow in and out of both accounts.
Understandable, considering the funds required to run a complex the size of
Ranch Ragnarok.
Smith pursed his thin, bloodless lips.
If these accounts were now dormant...
Smith pecked rapidly at the keyboard, calling up a
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listing of all accounts controlled by either Esther Clear-Seer or the Truth
Church.
It took only three seconds for the computer to respond. There was only one
other account, opened at the precise time the other two had been virtually
abandoned.
It was an ancillary account in the name of the Truth Church Foundation. The
account was wholly separate from the main church account, which was part of
the reason Smith had missed it until now.
He cursed inwardly, remonstrating himself for allowing his advancing years to
taint the methodical manner with which he approached a problem. Not too many
years ago it would have been routine for him to examine the bank files
thoroughly the second time through. As it was, he had settled for the two
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known accounts on his reexamination of the records, and then he was largely
concerned with the earlier weapons and explosives purchases. Whatever the
reason, it had simply never occurred to him to check for a new account.
For the man who virtually pioneered the discipline of forensic accounting, it
was an unforgivable lapse. Age was taking its toll.
Smith read the first few lines detailing the Truth Church Foundation account
transactions, then stopped before he came to the first withdrawal.
Smith removed his rimless glasses and blinked several times, as if his vision
had suddenly become blurry.
Once he had replaced the glasses, he checked the screen again.
There was no mistaking the figure glowing in amber. The funds of the Truth
Church had exploded into the millions of dollars in a matter of two short
months.
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Urgently Smith traced the numbered record of the first major deposit.
He had the answer in a matter of seconds. Zen and Gary, the ice-cream kings of
New England, had dropped a quarter million dollars into the Truth Church
coffers. Their bank kept digitized photocopies of all canceled checks. Smith
called up the record of this particular transaction. He was presented with a
color image of a garish check. In the lower left, on the memo line, someone
had scrawled, "Prophecy."
Smith frowned like a lemon drying.
Was this a joke? Esther Clear-Seer had been calling herself Prophetess. But
that was just her title. Or was it?
Smith dismissed the possibility. No one parted with a quarter of a million
dollars to hear his fortune.
Smith returned to the Truth Church Foundation account and traced the next
deposit. It was a woman's name that meant nothing to him, but when he
cross-referenced the name with those listed in CURE'S massive database, he
discovered that she was a Hollywood actress, famous for her roles as a defunct
prime-time soap-opera diva and subsequently as mistress to a New Age faith
healer.
Smith felt a tightening in his throat.
He scanned the computer files rapidly.
Some of the checks were harder to trace than others, but the pattern formed by
those that were more easily identified demonstrated that the Truth Church
ranch had recently become a magnet for the crystals-and-cuviur segment of
American society.
At the beginning of the cycle, it seemed as if the church had touched only the
fringes of wealthy
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society. Transaction after transaction showed that numerous celebrities had
made the Truth Church the payee on dozens of checks. But the most alarming
aspect was the trend appeared to have begun moving into the mainstream. The
CURE computers traced checks to various political figures and business leaders
whose names Smith recognized.
That's why Moss Monroe had gone out there. The specific motivation was as yet
unclear, but obviously there was something to be had at the Truth Church ranch
for which these people were willing to pay dearly.
Smith withdrew from the Truth Church Foundation account and severed his
computer connection with the Thermopolis First State Bank.
Once he backed into the computer's main drive, he leaned back in his cracked
leather chair. The instant his fingertips left the keyboard's capacitor field,
the letters winked out. The desktop became a pool of blackish onyx, the
computer screen a single, unblinking amber eye staring sullenly up at him from
some fearful nether region.
There was nothing more to go on.
Smith glanced at his Timex. It was 11:00 p.m.
Remo had yet to check in. But that wasn't unusual. CURE'S enforcement arm had
never been as punctual as Smith would have liked, and it was possible that
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