Psychological Damage (Gray Spear Society) Page 9

  Even when the legate wasn't actively using his gift, it was hard to look at him. Smythe's gaze kept wandering away despite his best efforts to pay attention. It was like trying to climb a pole covered with grease.

  "Atalanta already gave her report," Ethel said. "What did you find out about the Lost Child Initiative?"

  "They seem legit," Smythe said. "They really find and rescue children. It's also true they're looking for Wesley, and have been for a long time."

  He produced the "hot sheet" and gave it to Ethel. She handed it to the legate.

  "I passed some information to Edward," Smythe added. "He should be here."

  "Go get him," Ethel said.

  Smythe left the conference room and found Edward in the workshop. Electronic gear filled shelves covering the walls. There was everything from computer parts to stereos to antique ham radios. One rack held spools of wire of every size and color. Edward had a complete set of jeweler's tools, including a grinding wheel the size of a silver dollar.

  He was sitting in front of a rack of monitors that went from floor to ceiling. It took four computers to drive all the displays, and he seemed to be using every one.

  "They want a report," Smythe said.

  Edward jumped. "Sir, I didn't hear you walk in. I don't think I'm ready. I'm still investigating."

  "Tell us whatever you know." Smythe noticed a wallet sitting on a table and pointed at it. "Is that yours?"

  "Yes, sir," Edward said.

  "Why isn't it in your pocket?"

  "I sit here all day. Why do I need to carry my wallet?"

  Smythe shrugged. "Let's go."

  Both men went back to the conference room. Smythe sat down. Edward walked to the opposite side of the room from Atalanta and stood respectfully.

  "I've been focusing on Father Reginald Wulfram," Edward said. "He founded the Lost Child Initiative, and his name popped up when I was researching the Brotherhood of the Luciferian Child. He is definitely the central player. However, he dropped out of sight about a year ago. Nobody knows where he is, or at least they're not saying."

  "Did you learn anything new about the Brotherhood?" the legate asked.

  "It formed about the time Wesley was born, sir. The phrase 'Luciferian Child' refers to him specifically. The order started in Rome but then came to the United States. That's all I know, sir. The records are locked away in the Vatican archives. Maybe the Catholic Church is embarrassed to admit they exist."

  "Did you ask the Spears cell in Rome for help?"

  "Yes, sir," Edward said. "They talked to some local sources but didn't learn much."

  The legate frowned. "Unacceptable. I will call the Legatus Legionis of Europe after this meeting. We will get answers, even if that means somebody has to break into the Vatican archives and steal the damn records."

  "Thank you, sir. There is one last item. Smythe gave me a bank account number. I used it to check the financial records of the Lost Child Initiative and found some very shady accounting. I think the Brotherhood is stealing donation money."

  "It's not stealing if they're the same organization. Thank you. You're dismissed."

  Edward hurried out of the room.

  Nobody spoke for a long moment.

  Finally, Smythe said, "We can assume the Brotherhood will attack us sooner or later. They must think we know where Wesley is. They'll try to capture prisoners for interrogation."

  "Yes." The legate nodded. "It's a good thing we don't know."

  "I don't like sitting here with a big bulls eye on our front door, sir. We're giving them all the time they need to plan a proper assault. I'd rather take the fight to them on our terms. I have an idea."

  "Go on."

  Smythe leaned forward. "Let's tell the Lost Child Initiative that Wesley was seen at a location we choose. When the Brotherhood comes, we ambush them."

  "It's a good thought," the legate said, "but we have limited manpower. This ambush could turn into a full scale battle against a large, heavily armed force. All four of us will have to be there. While we're out, headquarters will be an easy target."

  "The defensive systems are mostly automated. Jack just has to press buttons. Edward, Kamal, and Nancy know how to shoot a gun if it comes to that. Alternatively, we could just evacuate and destroy this facility beforehand. It's been discovered anyway. Eventually, we'll have to leave no matter what."

  Ethel winced. "Evacuating will be an enormous pain in the ass. With the enemy watching our front door, we'll have to sneak out the back with whatever we can carry. Irreplaceable relics, written records, and tons of expensive equipment will be left behind. It could take years to get properly settled again." She sighed. "You're right, though. We can't stay here any longer. A shame. This place has been my home for a long time."

  The legate tapped his fingers on the table. Nobody spoke.

  Finally, he said, "I agree we must evacuate even if it is 'an enormous pain in the ass,' and it must happen quickly. That is the price we pay for sloppy security. But instead of destroying this place, let's turn it into a giant death trap. We want our enemies to receive a warm welcome when they come for us."

  "Good idea, sir," Smythe said, "and I hate to question your orders or quote regulations to you, but I must make one point. We haven't proven the Brotherhood are enemies of God. According to the rules of the Gray Spear Society, they are still civilians. Slaughtering them might not be justifiable."

  The legate furrowed his brow and stared at Smythe for a long moment. The room was very quiet.

  "Ethel mentioned you tend to be insubordinate," the legate said.

  Smythe looked down at a table. "I'm a doctor. I took a sacred oath to save lives, sir."

  "Your oath to the Society supersedes your Hippocratic Oath."

  "Yes, sir." Smythe nodded slightly.

  "We know Wesley is one of God's special children. The Lord specifically ordered us to protect him. The Brotherhood's intention to kill Wesley is proof they are His enemies. Ethel, I trust your intuition in these matters. What's your opinion?"

  Ethel was silent for a moment before answering. "These are exceptional circumstances, sir. I agree we must destroy the Brotherhood to protect Wesley, but let's not assume they're evil. It's just as likely they're good men who are simply misled. But if they attack my home..." She shrugged. "Violence begets violence. We're not forcing them to come here."

  "Nicely put," the legate said. "Let's get to work."

  * * *

  Aaron had driven for three straight hours when he decided to stop for food and gas. He turned off the highway in Plainfield, Indiana, which was a small, semirural suburb of Indianapolis. There was a nice selection of restaurants clustered near the highway along with several gas stations and a huge motel.

  Aaron picked a steakhouse for their first proper meal of the trip. It had a brown, wooden exterior. Even though dinnertime was hours away, the parking lot was already crowded. He parked the van in a discreet spot where it couldn't be seen from the road. There was no such thing as being too careful.

  Everybody got out and stretched. So far the trip had been remarkably quiet. Nobody had talked much. Wesley had seemed happy to just listen to the radio and stare out the window.

  The group went into the restaurant. Aaron immediately smelled broiled beef and his mouth watered. The interior was dimly lit, which he also appreciated. He asked for a table as far from the other diners as possible.

  Once everybody was seated, he said, "Order whatever you like. We're not in a hurry. I'm not planning on reaching St. Louis until tomorrow."

  When the waitress came, Aaron asked for a large prime rib with a baked potato and broccoli. Marina ordered a broiled chicken breast. Wesley had spaghetti and meatballs. Finally, Yvonne ordered a fish and shrimp combo.

  After the waitress left, Aaron said, "Yvonne, I just realized how little I know about you. Since you're part of the team, you should tell us about your background."

  Yvonne bobbed her head and blushed. "I have a doctorate in botany.
"

  "Really?"

  "From Cornell University. My specialty was exotic root systems. My friends even called me 'rooty' back then."

  "No offense," he said, "but I can't imagine you as a scientist."

  "I was a good one for a while. After I got my degree, I dedicated my life to saving the rain forest. I went to Brazil and became a radical activist. I chained myself to trees and camped in the jungle. I sabotaged logging equipment. I was as hardcore as they came. The Brazilians gave me a nickname too: la mono güera del noche. The blonde night monkey."

  "It sounds better in Spanish."

  "It's not nice in either language," she said. "I became an expert at sneaking into places and creating chaos. That part of my life ended when two loggers caught me. They were going to turn me over to the police, but not before they had some fun with their blonde plaything. That's when I discovered an axe can cut down more things than just trees."

  Marina smiled.

  "I had to flee the country after that," Yvonne said. "I went to San Francisco and became the queen of extreme environmentalism. For the first few months I kept a low profile, but eventually I went back to my old tricks. I attacked companies that imported Brazilian wood products. When petty vandalism didn't make a difference, I moved up to arson."

  "That sounds crazy," Aaron said.

  She shrugged. "I was passionate. The police started looking for me, so I ran away again. I had reached Chicago when I was finally arrested."

  "When was this?"

  She blew air through her lips. "Thirteen years ago. Seems like forever. Ethel came to me in jail and convinced me to join the Spears. Then she arranged for my escape. That's my story."

  "Not quite." He shook his head. "I'm sure the many years as a Spear were even more interesting. You must've been on some tough missions."

  "Yes. Very tough." She looked down.

  "Did you ever receive a gift from God? A special ability like my corrosive spit or Marina's venom?"

  She nodded.

  "What is it?" Aaron said.

  Her skin became pale. "I don't want to talk about it."

  "Why not?"

  She covered her face with her hands.

  "I know what she can do," Marina said, "and it's unbelievable. I saw her in action before she became afraid of everything. She touches..."

  "No!" Yvonne said. "Please, don't tell him anything. I don't want to be reminded of that part of my life. I'll never use my gift again." Her eyes were wild.

  Aaron expected Wesley to add his two cents, but the boy just watched passively.

  The food arrived and ended the conversation. Everybody ate their fill, and Wesley order ice cream for dessert. The kid had an appetite.

  They went back outside. A bright sun in a clear blue sky had warmed the air, but it wasn't hot enough to make Aaron sweat. He loved this time of year, when memories of the long winter in Chicago were still fresh and he could truly appreciate springtime. Going outside was a pleasure.

  A semi truck rolled past them and parked in a secluded corner of the parking lot. The trucker looked around as he climbed out. His black T-shirt was stretched across his pot belly. A black baseball cap covered his greasy hair. Aaron had been a street cop for long enough to have a strong intuition. Something wasn't quite right about this guy.

  "Wesley," Aaron said, "do you see him?"

  Wesley nodded. "We need to talk to him right now."

  "Why?"

  "He's hiding something bad."

  "We really can't..."

  Without warning Wesley started walking at a quick pace towards the trucker. Aaron, Yvonne, and Marina hurried to catch up with the boy.

  "Hi!" Wesley said as he approached the trucker. "What do you have in the truck?"

  Alarm flashed on the man's face, but visible anger quickly replaced it. "None of your business, kid. What do you want?"

  "I want to look inside your truck."

  "No fucking way." The trucker crossed his arms defiantly.

  Wesley took a step towards him. "Are you a criminal?"

  "No! What is this? Are you some kind of mini-cop?"

  They exchanged long stares.

  Aaron didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to drag Wesley away from a potentially dangerous situation, but another part wanted to know the truth about the trucker.

  "I have three questions," Wesley said. "Is something in that truck that shouldn't be there?"

  "No," the trucker said. "My load is one hundred percent legal. I have papers and everything."

  "Liar. Is that something a person?"

  "I already told you! Nobody is in there!"

  "Another lie," Wesley said impatiently. "Is this the first time you kidnapped somebody?"

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" the trucker yelled. "Get away from me!"

  Wesley turned to Marina and said, "Kill him, please."

  She raised her eyebrows. "Are you serious?"

  "This is a very bad man."

  She sometimes wore white gloves to cover her pointed, black fingernails. She pulled the glove off her right hand.

  "Wait," Aaron said. "Stop!"

  Marina charged the trucker and struck him in the chest with a kick. As he fell backwards, she rammed her fingernails into his neck. Aaron knew she was injecting a lethal dose of venom, and there was nothing he could do to save the man's life. In just seconds he slumped to the ground.

  "Damn it, Marina!" Aaron said. "I told you to stop! Eight year old boys aren't allowed to give kill orders."

  Marina stepped back from the trucker. "I didn't kill him! I just put him to sleep. Give me a little credit, please. Now let's see what the bastard was hiding."

  She climbed into the cab of the truck. It was large enough to have a tiny sleeping compartment in back.

  She stepped out a minute later, and a teenage girl with long brown hair came with her. The girl was completely naked except for underwear stained with urine. She was rubbing rope marks on her wrists, and she had similar marks on her ankles. She blinked in the sunlight without speaking. Clearly, she was in shock. Aaron took off his shirt and handed it to the girl.

  Moving with surprising quickness, Wesley grabbed Aaron's ankle and drew a knife he kept in a sheath there. Wesley sprinted over to the trucker. Putting all the weight in his small body behind his attack, Wesley stabbed the trucker's stomach. The long blade was buried to the hilt.

  "Shit!" Aaron said. "Let's get out of here!"

  He picked up Wesley and ran back to the van. Marina and Yvonne followed close behind.

  As soon as everybody was in, Aaron started the engine. He looked around as he pulled away. Fortunately, it appeared nobody had witnessed the murder, but the parking lot was crowded with cars. It wouldn't take long before somebody saw the body.

  Once they were safely away, Aaron said, "Wesley, what the hell was that?"

  "What's wrong?" Wesley said calmly.

  "You just killed a man!"

  "You kill people, too."

  "But I'm a professional," Aaron said. "I have the maturity and training to judge when it's appropriate. You're eight."

  "That girl wasn't his first victim. I saved her life and probably others."

  Once again, Aaron was reminded of the difficulties inherent in arguing with Wesley. The boy was so damn reasonable.

  The van reached the highway, and Aaron accelerated to seventy miles per hour. As the distance from the crime scene grew, he slowly relaxed. He decided to try a new tactic.

  "I want you to think of us as your foster parents. It's our job to take care of you, just like your real parents did. Now, did they kill people when you told them to?"

  "Yes," Wesley said. "Many times."

  Aaron hadn't expected that answer. "Boy," he muttered, "talk about bad parenting."

  "That's not true! They loved me. It was hard living on the road, but they made sure I always had what I needed. They suffered so I'd be safe and happy. They even gave up their lives."

  Aaron felt deeply guilty for
mentioning the dead parents. "Sorry."

  "You should trust me more."

  "You're a child. I have shoes older than you."

  "Are your shoes a natural lie detector?" Wesley said. "Can your shoes smell evil on a man? Do your shoes always know what path to take?"

  Aaron frowned.

  "That truck driver needed to die. We were put there to kill him and save the girl. You think it was just luck, but with me there is only destiny."

  "There will be more incidents like this?" Aaron said.

  "A lot more."

  Chapter Nine

  Brother Norbert entered the suite where Father was staying. The Brotherhood had rented a large portion of the top floor in the Chicago O'Hare Hilton in Rosemont. The location was distant enough from downtown Chicago to be safe, but not so distant as to be inconvenient.

  Father had the best room of all, of course. It was a big suite on the corner with curved, bay windows. The walls were a soft peach color. The carpet had an interesting brown weave pattern which was nicer than the usual drab carpeting found in most hotels.

  Father was sitting in his wheelchair with his two attendants behind him. He was speaking to a man in a black suit and tie who Norbert didn't recognize.

  "Ah, Brother Norbert," Father said. "I'm very pleased to introduce you to Captain Johann Huttenlocher of the Swiss Guard."

  The captain had black hair and tanned, leathery skin. His shoulders were impressively broad. When he shook Norbert's hand, his grip was as strong as a vice.

  "Nice to meet you," Norbert said. "How many soldiers did you bring?"

  "Forty."

  "That's all? I was expecting more."

  "It was hard enough getting forty men out of Rome without attracting attention," Huttenlocher said in a thick, German accent. "We had to arrange private transport, which was not inexpensive. You can't take assault rifles and high explosives onto commercial aircraft."

  "I apologize if I seem ungrateful." Norbert ducked his head. "We desperately need as much help as we can get."

  "Father Wulfram was explaining the situation to me. You've been observing the Devil's henchmen. What have you learned?"