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  They were across the river from the compound. “Look at this.” He handed Loggerman his own glasses. “See what you think,” he said.

  “It’s the barn.”

  Sarah said, “The communications come from there.”

  “No antenna?”

  “They use computers tied to the internet. The messages are coded. Your target is those computers,” said Eddison.

  On the now-dark river, Sarah brought the workboat around and headed home to the anchorage, the engine quietly moving the boat.

  Loggerman thought again about his daughter when she was still a little girl, hair flying behind, running barefoot in the African grass.

  Chapter Seven

  Wednesday

  By the afternoon, the Tinker tent party had already drawn at least a thousand visitors, an overwhelming crowd for a small town like River Sunday. Many were from out of town and state. As he walked to the tent area with Doctor Mike, Loggerman noticed the license plates on the parked cars along Strand Street. Several were from New York and he spotted one from California.

  “Tinker’s coming. Tinker’s coming,” men and women sang ecstatically but out of rhythm as they rushed along Strand Street, holding the hands of their children. The families were dressed up as though they were attending church. The green and white emblem was brightly displayed on many shirts.

  Doctor Mike, walking beside Loggerman, explained. “We go through this every month. The whole town is taken over by the Tinker fans.” She looked around. “I don’t see the television trucks yet. River Sunday gets featured on television if a celebrity from Hollywood comes to the event. Lots of famous people want to be seen with Tinker.”

  Loggerman said, “Their donation gets them an interview on air. They get better parts in movies.”

  “It’s cynical but true,” she answered. “I’m sure they are told what to say about Tinker. Not many of these television personalities know anything about energy anyway.”

  They walked through the rows of tents to the courthouse steps where microphones had been installed. May and June were standing on a wooden table constructed to the right of the courthouse door. The young girls were tuning their instruments. They were in the white dresses as before but in this case they each had a white camellia corsage pinned to their chests.

  Scotty waved from under the platform. “I’m checking the sound,” he said as he worked on the audio computer.

  “Here we go, girls,” he called upward.

  The music began with a jig, its melody tumbling over the background noise of the visitors talking at the tents. When the young voices burst forth, the whole audience listened quietly.

  Boots and blossoms

  Boots and blossoms

  Boots and blossoms

  I’ll get one and you’ll get none

  As the young entertainers danced back and forth, the crowd of teenagers in front of the pavilion began to move to the music, singing the words in tandem.

  Doctor Mike pointed out special Tinker Institute guards present with their machine guns hidden under loose jerseys. Loggerman noticed the gate guard still carrying his shotgun. Gramps was standing next to the platform, smiling at the girls.

  “All ready for the King of the Working People.”

  She nodded. “The security tells you. Kings become scared as they age, afraid of being bumped off by their officials.”

  Loggerman added, “Or, he has made a lot of enemies.”

  “Actually I think it’s part of Ferrars’s promotion of the Tinker brand. His theory is the more guards he puts around his boss, the bigger the image of power.”

  “He may be right. The successful African leaders I’ve worked with understand how to appear strong to their citizens. Many also display their own private armies,” said Loggerman.

  As the concert continued, Spire, dressed in a green pant suit and wearing sunglasses, appeared at the antique wooden door of the courthouse. She surveyed the crowd and stepped quickly down the steps. She began talking to some of the young people listening to the music.

  Looking at her, Doctor Mike whispered, “She’s looking for new converts. Those kids can’t see it, but she’s got the same hatred I see in all the Tinkers. No matter what they are when they join, Spire trains the volunteers to have iron hearts. They learn to smile very prettily but you can see they have become killers. Somehow in the training they forget anything but the Tinker cause and become so fervent they can kill.”

  “I’ve met Spire.”

  Loud applause began with cheering and whistles. For the first time Loggerman saw Cole Tinker. The man appeared in the doorway and began to wave to his fans. He stood, his rotund body portraying good humor and friendship.

  Loggerman, trained as a Marine always to watch all around him for trouble, immediately spotted the white-haired man dressed in dirt covered jeans and blue work shirt. The person had a scowl on his face and was pushing other attendees out of his way. As he moved to the courthouse steps where Cole Tinker was standing, he pulled a knife.

  Loggerman was only a few feet from the assassin. Next to him was a tent with a display of wooden walking canes. He grabbed one, toppling a rack of them. In the noise of falling wood and screaming spectators, he swung back his arm and came down, catching the man’s knife with the wooden club. The surprised attacker dropped the blade. As he reached for it, swearing at Loggerman, he was wrestled to the grass by the camouflage-dressed guards. Instantly he was dragged away from the crowd, yelling and fighting. With a few blows the guards subdued him into silence.

  Tinker came down the courthouse steps, extending his hand to thank Loggerman. He smiled, saying in a soft friendly voice, “I know him. His farm is heavily invested in ethanol corn and thinks we will hurt his profits. He has tried to hurt me once before.”

  Loggerman said nothing. He picked up the cane as Tinker moved away to talk to clamoring fans

  “I’m glad you used one of our cane products,” said a booth attendee, picking up fallen canes.

  Two men and a woman came into the tent, all dressed in black.

  Doctor Mike said, “Meet some clerics. They all use that name.”

  “Who’s the boss, a pope?” he asked. “You say cleric one or cleric two to call someone?”

  The stranger smiled and extended his hand. He said, “We manage.” He had a stare filled with depth of understanding. His eyes struck as though the man had physically punched Loggerman against his chest, as though the cleric were discovering all his thoughts now and in the past.

  “So you’re here to preach for Tinker?”

  “We preach for all.”

  Doctor Mike interrupted, “Their religion is totally different from anything you ever heard of. It’s been growing on city streets since you’ve been away.”

  “I’ll have to get out my Bible.”

  “The Bible is not the only proof,” the tall man replied.

  “I thought it was the main Christian book.”

  “We use all religions. Archeology guides us.”

  Doctor Mike said, “They support massive archeology projects in the Holy Land. They have proved much of the actual history of the early religions there.”

  “So what’s different?”

  “They have no personal names. They call each other ‘cleric.’ They don’t use church buildings. The early religions met outdoors where everyone could attend. They do the same.”

  He asked the tall cleric, “Your people are present in the mobs near my ship in Baltimore.”

  “We are there for peace and safety as we are with all crowds. We have no other mission and we do not carry posters for anyone. We are friends to all. We have our booth here to reach out to friends. Our canes are only a symbol of our wishing to help the needy. We sell them to fund our mission. In your case one saved a life.”

  “So you are someone to help support a person.”

  The woman cleric smiled. “To support in the same way as a cane does. As always, like most of the religions of the past, we help the poor
, the disabled, or those in need. Today, the government does so well by providing all sorts of free assistance in living life. Tinker does the same, providing free energy.”

  The tall man added, “Today there is a new poverty. Men and women need to feel relevant, not to be supported but instead to be free on their own, to be self-reliant.”

  “They can work,” said Loggerman.

  “Yes, work is always the answer to self-reliance and freedom. However, the workplace has changed. The self-reliant business has changed. None of this can be done. It’s the fault of intelligence and aptitude most of the new poor do not possess. Training cannot make them capable in many situations. So they are permanently dependent and without freedom. They are the new poor.”

  The woman cleric said, “Their numbers are growing. The world of technology eliminates more and more each year. The rich are the ones who understand and profit from the technology. The new poor are those who cannot understand it and compete.”

  “I see why you have the symbol of the cane. However, from your viewpoint, what is the future for these people?”

  “We think they will live in an unfortunate heaven on Earth with everything provided except self-reliance. The result for these people is a dead life, a life of subservience and slavery to the government provider. Our purpose is to find any skill or meaning in their lives to provide them some glimmer of self-reliance. Some already believe freedom only comes with life after death, a new heaven where self-reliance is preserved. Meanwhile we try to aid them. They are the modern poor in spirit.”

  “At least someone cares,” he said with a smile.

  Tinker had returned to the courthouse doorway and waved to the crowd. He was talking to the fat man who had flown into the compound with Spire. Up close his head was similar to a flattened basketball. His pudgy fingers carried a green small book in which he making notes.

  “It’s all about electricity, you know.” The accountant Whithers stood beside him.

  “It’s so simple,” said the accountant, gesturing happily. “Everyone uses it. Give people free electricity and they will be so happy. “

  “Interesting,” agreed Loggerman, trying to appear friendly.

  “Yes, no one likes the dark. A switch on, a switch off. It’s like a candy bar.” Then Whithers moved away to watch the girls who were readying their next songs.

  At the door, the football head slowly shook his head back and forth to Tinker. Tinker nodded but he had lost his effervescent smile.

  Doctor Mike said the guests were a composite of the support Tinker was engendering throughout the country. “This is a see and be seen type party,” she said. “They need to send home the photo with him for the home paper.”

  Soft drinks were handed out in front of the courthouse. Local officials and business persons had arrived. Guests were talking and drinking as waitresses and waiters passed among them. Young very attractive women and men passed among the clusters of politicians and businessmen. Barely more than teenagers, these Tinker volunteers wore expensive fashions and the green circle on their chests. The women seemed mirrors of each other. The men were handsome and well dressed. Their smiles, sparkling eyes, and voices hummed with the promises of Tinker’s future energy deeds.

  “Stephanie’s job is being one of those volunteers,” said Doctor Mike.” I hate to say it, but any one of them, boys or girls, would go to bed with you right now if you’d make a sizeable donation.”

  Doctor Mike grabbed his arm as they walked from the event. She pointed to Ferrars beside a police cruiser conversing with the sheriff. Inside the car the assassin was chained on the back seat.

  “He won’t see daylight again,” she said.

  Chapter Eight

  The twilight had turned to night as he approached the Chesapeake Hotel. He saw a glint from the jewelry of a person sitting on the porch and knew it was Ferrars.

  “Have all your guests gone home?” Loggerman said. “Hard to imagine you without all the fans around you.”

  Ferrars leaned forward, some light touching his rough face, and said, “I’ve been waiting for you.” The scar on his face looked like an ugly smile, standing on one end. It was always in view, not hidden like the one on Elizabeth’s forehead.

  He almost smiled as he thought of the two bonding from their violent past.

  Loggerman’s boots stamped upward on the wooden porch steps. He said, “I thought you’d still be questioning your farmer prisoner.”

  “Cole asked me to send his thanks again for saving his life.” Ferrars scar was powerful, squeezing into a deep chasm as he talked, accentuating his authoritative demanding tone.

  “He told me the fellow was upset about losing money his bio fuel crops.”

  “Well, you being in the oil business, I suspect you don’t like those farmers, either. You’d probably rather stick to selling real oil.”

  He sat down next to Ferrars. His rocker was comfortable but old. His hand felt the decades of old and new paint covering the chair arms.

  Ferrars said, “I’ve been informed by Spire, my assistant, you’d like to see your daughter while you are visiting River Sunday.”

  “Yes.” He remembered suddenly what the old guard Gramps had said when he was visiting the Institute. The old guard mentioned Spire might be up to something letting him visit. Was she taking advantage of his unexpected visit? Planning?

  “Cole said if you had given us some warning of your trip here, we might have been able to help. As you know, Stephanie’s on assignment.”

  “I know. Spire and Elizabeth informed me when I visited.”

  “Cole wants to help, though. He asked if you could do him another favor.”

  “What can I do? I am just in Baltimore to load my freighter. Assuming the Tinker mobs at the pier will let me.”

  “Yes, I know you have had problems. We don’t have anything to do with those protesters. They arrange their marches on social media. Many people are concerned about energy costs as you can imagine, being in the business.”

  He paused, as if thinking about how to present the request of his boss, and then said, “You see, Cole Tinker doesn’t like to see all this street violence. He’s trying to get the message out so everyone can sit down in peace and solve the problem. As a matter of fact, the members of the Institute, many of them the very firms who sell electricity to the public, are dedicated to finding cheaper energy for the people.

  “He thought you might be a panelist at our meeting in Baltimore this Friday. People will be in the audience from all over the country and the world. We expect to present a better way to proceed on the goal of free energy for everyone. He thought you could provide insight from a petroleum company, one which has to find the oil.”

  “I’d prefer not to support you guys.”

  “Cole thought we might be able to get Stephanie there after the lecture. She could trade places with a volunteer working with the audience. Then she could meet with you. It would not be a long visit.”

  “She could help with the audience?” He was thinking fast. If she was at the meeting she was alive. Perhaps he could convince her to come away with him. It was a chance he had to take.

  “Sure, it’s part of her job. We’d have to get permission from her field coordinator. This will not be easy so we can’t guarantee anything. Your visiting plans don’t give us much time but Cole is very thankful and wants to help, especially in family matters. He refuses to take sides in your issues with Elizabeth.”

  “I understand.”

  “So, could we count on you?” His voice had slipped from the tone of a friendly salesman back to the authoritarian message of control, of demand.

  “You may not like what I have to say.”

  “No matter. We want truth in all our work.”

  Ferrars stood and put out his hand in a friendly manner, trying to make his face less ugly. His hand felt limp.

  Loggerman sensed he was shaking hands with the devil, agreeing to a bargain he would regret. However, he knew he had no choic
e.

  Ferrars walked toward the steps, but stopped and turned his face to Loggerman.

  “I doubt you know Cole Tinker as well as we do. Not so long ago, Cole Tinker was just another small farm owner. His people owned a small gas station up in the country. Anyway, Cole found out other people were having trouble; things were wrong here and everywhere.

  “Whenever he wasn’t farming he was out finding people jobs. He just talked jobs - what people wanted to hear. He went on the radio and got people all over the state of Maryland to offer to hire people, appealed to them just like a preacher talks about God. Cole found his voice. The press began calling him ‘the king of the working people.’

  “They sent for Cole to settle strikes anywhere in the country. He’d go there in someone’s airplane and talk to both sides and settle the strike. So he got this power.

  “Way Cole figures it, there’s nothing more important to a grown man or woman than a job, especially a solid good paying job. People like to be able to look up to themselves.”

  “What about energy?”

  “He realized the jobs are driven by who’s got the energy resources. Give cheap energy to the people and there will be jobs created by them for everyone.”

  “What do the other politicians do?”

  “First of all he isn’t a politician. He’s not like other men. Cole wants to help people but not for any kind of career. When his job is done he can go back to his farm.”

  “He was a Congressman.”

  “He found out power was with the people, not with the committees in Congress. He formed the Tinker Institute instead.”

  “His own committee.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, tell me, what do the politicians who have the congressional offices do now?”

  “Nothing they can do. Every one of them is supported by the profits. Cole wants to give money back to the people in the form of cheap or free energy. He says direct to the people instead of through the Congress.”

  He looked at his watch and began to walk away. “If you will excuse me, I must go to Cole’s reception on his yacht.” He pointed to the harbor in the distance. Small craft clustered around a white yacht. “Would you like to come out to the boat? Cole has a little party for special friends after the monthly tent program.”