The Eye of Moloch by Glenn Beck Page B

ghost-white hair, barbed wire, vinegar, and whit-leather. She wasn’t concerning herself with the prayer or the piety of the other dinner guests; her attention was fixed on only one person.
    Old age can etch a sour expression onto a person’s face, but that alone couldn’t account for the ire he saw burning behind those sharp, watery eyes. As this frail, withered woman stared across the table at Thom Hollis, she looked for all the world as though she knew him, and loathed him with every ancient fiber of her being.
    •   •   •
    He’d suddenly found his appetite wasn’t what it should have been, and just as soon as good manners allowed, Hollis had quietly excused himself. He wandered to the great room, perused the shelves, selected a Faulkner novel he’d always hoped to tackle, and took a seat alone to read by the light of the fire.
    Later, when dinner was finished and the others began to filter in to have their coffee, he closed his book and retired to his suite. There he found the laptop computer he’d requested earlier, opened on his desk and ready to run. It had been several weeks since he’d had even brief online access so there was a great deal of catching up to be done.
    The machine was configured for maximum stealth in its internet connection, bouncing all masked requests and responses through heavy firewalls, virtual private networks, and shadow servers scattered around the world. The performance was slow and spotty due to all this security, but the trade-offs were necessary and the setup would be more than adequate for his needs.
    He’d just finished tapping into the group’s many e-mail accountsto begin the long download of messages when Cathy Merrick and her son came to his door. She apologized profusely for the boy’s confessed behavior, and this time when Tyler said he was sorry it was clear that he spoke from the heart. He’d obviously been read the riot act from multiple directions already, but Hollis felt the need to make the central point once again.
    “There are lives on the line here, son,” he said, “and my people and your folks believe there’s a great deal more at stake than only that. Do you understand?”
    The boy nodded.
    “Good. Let’s not speak of it again. Now, I’ll be out in your uncle’s workshop tomorrow morning at seven. I want you to come by then, seven sharp, and I’ll give back what I took from you.” Before the mother could raise an objection he continued on. “The people hunting us are looking for a trail to follow. There isn’t much friendly shelter out here that we could have reached by this time, and one thing they’ll be looking for is a place that’s gone quiet, where something’s changed in the past couple of days. We have to assume they’re watching everyone and everything, and that means all of you here need to behave just like you did before, like nothing’s any different. Okay?”
    Tyler didn’t respond until his mom gave a mild thump to the back of his head, and then he said, “Okay.”
    Hollis stood and walked over to them. “I regret I’ll have to say good night to you both now. Ma’am, I hope you have a pleasant rest, and I thank you again for your kindness today. And Tyler, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
    When they’d gone he closed the door and returned his attention to the scrolling computer screen. Though the massive influx of messages was far from complete he began to scan the subject lines and summaries to gauge their general tone.
    From the old public boxes it was all-caps hate mail mostly, rife with the sort of empty threats, vulgar slurs, and general ugliness thatanonymity promotes in the lowest class of mind. Already it was obvious that only a tiny fraction of what came in here would prove worthy to be passed along to the group for reading and response.
    Next he opened a Web browser and clicked to one major news site after another to check the headlines.
    He couldn’t say what he’d expected to see being reported