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

decided against it. He simply nodded and they smiled back and wished him a good afternoon.
    Such happy people.
    He stepped through the etched glass front doors and stuttered a step when he saw the metal detector. Another one? Why hadn't Grant mentioned it? Not that it mattered; he was still unarmed.
    The detector stood to the left; to his right was a turnstile. A smiling, young, uniformed woman stood behind a barrier table between them.
    Jack opted for the turnstile but the young woman called to him.
    "Sir? May I see you over here?"
    As he turned and approached her, Jack put on an uncertain expression that was only partially feigned.
    "This is, um, my first time here and…"
    She beamed at him. "I could tell. My name is Christy. Welcome to the New York temple of the Dormentalist Church."
    Jack detected an uppercase C in her tone.
    Christy wore her dark hair long and couldn't have been much past twenty. A college girl, maybe? She had three braids across the front of her jacket. She also had circles under her eyes. Looked tired. Probably one of the volunteers Grant had told him about.
    "How may I help you?" she said.
    "Well, I'm interested in, um, joining the Church, or at least looking into it, and—"
    "Were you at the rally yesterday?"
    "Rally?"
    "Sure. In Central Park. We were there to spread the word."
    Jack remembered passing a cheering group on his way to Maria Roselli's.
    "Oh, yes. I heard some things that interested me and I…" He pointed to the metal detector. "Why's that here?"
    Her smile held. "Just a necessary precaution in this world of terrorists and fanatics from other religions who feel threatened by the miraculous spread of Dormentalism."
    Jack wondered how long it had taken her to memorize that.
    "Oh. I see."
    "If you'll just put your keys and change into this little bowl—just like at the airport—I'll clear you through."
    Just like the airport… Jack's last airport experience had had a few shaky moments. But he expected none here.
    As he emptied his pockets, he looked beyond her and saw other gray uniformed people of all ages bustling around the two-story lobby—
    Lobby… right. That was what it was. This place hadn't been built as a church or temple; it looked like a hotel. A balcony ran along the rear wall. A closer look revealed a lot of old Art Deco touches still hanging on; enough so you might expect to see George Raft or William Powell hanging out near the registration desk.
    Instead, with all these uniforms passing back and forth, he felt as if he'd wandered into a Trekkie convention.
    "Do you wear the uniforms all the time?"
    "Oh, no sir. Only in the temple—and traveling to and from, of course."
    "Of course."
    He saw a uniformed woman enter and walk to the turnstile. She swiped a card through a slot, waited a couple of seconds, then pushed through.
    Jack put on a smile. "You take MetroCard here?"
    Christy giggled. "Oh, no. After you reach a certain level, you get a swipe card that's coded into our computers. See that Temple Paladin over there?"
    Jack spotted a burly man seated in a kiosk a dozen feet away. His jacket was like Christy's but deep red, almost purple.
    "When you use the card your face pops up on his screen and he lets you through." She smiled apologetically at Jack. "But newcomers like you, I'm afraid, have to go through here."
    For the second time in as many hours Jack stepped through a metal detector. As he retrieved his change and watch, Christy picked up a phone and mumbled something into it. She hung up and grinned.
    "Someone will be here soon to escort you to one of the interview rooms."
    "Who?"
    "Atoor."
    She said it the way some women still said "Bill Clinton."

6

    A few minutes later a good-looking guy, maybe thirty, approached and extended his hand.
    "Welcome to our Church," he said, smiling like everyone else Jack had seen. "I'm Atoor and I'll guide you through the introductory phase."
    Jack shook the guy's hand. "Jack. Jack Farrell. Pardon me, but did you say your