“This was where your implant was?” she asked.
“Yup. It’s a Chrysalis. When you get the implant and the tattoo over it, they call it ‘getting your wings’—like these are an angel’s wings. What a crock. Burke makes like he’s all Holy and possessed by God, but it’s all a show. He’s one hundred percent practical. And he’s smart. Say, for example, like with the technology thing. He knew he couldn’t let his people have cell phones and internet—then we’d have a means to communicate, and we could spend time learning about real religions—in other words, learning what a fake he is. And conveniently, God tells him that technology was not for the faithful. Only the ‘Justified’—the guards—are allowed to have iPads and phones. And of course, we have no choice but to sit and take it. Just like everything else inside those walls—you’ve got no choice. Once you go in, you’re only coming out in a body bag. So, before I ditched the toolbox from the truck, I rooted through it and grabbed a utility knife. I’d been thinking about that moment for months, right? I stashed myself away under the tarp and started digging it out as soon as I was hidden. It’s just under the skin, they don’t put it in too deep. Then when I got it out, I threw it off the road as far as I could.” Emily was again at a loss for words momentarily.
“You mean to tell me that you dug this implant out of the middle of your back—in a spot where you could barely even reach… using a utility knife… while you were hidden on the back of a truck… while bouncing down the road?”
“Deputy… Have you ever feared for your life? Like really, really feared that you were going to die? Because I have. And I’m a heroin addict, right? I’m guessing I’ve done a lot of things that you’ve never done.”
Emily wanted Frank to come down to the station to go into protective custody, but he wouldn’t even consider it. She wanted him to go on record. He said, only if you can guarantee a conviction for Burke, which of course, she couldn’t do. Instead, she assured him that she would not put his name into any report, and she would not compromise his identity or his location in any way. So, he kept talking.
He explained that there were levels of MCP membership and that most of the MCP members were the lowest level—known as ‘the Faithful,’ this was the entry level for the MCP. It was where 99% of the MCP resided, and the woman would never get to any other level. There was a second, higher level known as ‘the Justified.’ This was the MCP security force. These were the guards who manned the gate and patrolled the grounds of the MCP compound. These men had the power to command an ordinary member of the MCP. As in, “You must obey my commands, for I am one of the Justified, and you are merely one of the Faithful.” This power was abused frequently, a fact of life in the MCP. “You get used to the abuse after a while,” Frank said, “That’s the worst part. You get used to it. Physical and mental abuse—they were usually discreet about it—nothing really out in the open, but it was constant, and after a while, you got conditioned to expect it. If one of the Justified forced himself upon a Faithful woman, it was condoned—maybe not openly, but there was nothing the woman could do—she had to submit or pay the price. Any member of the Justified could kill her, or her family, and make up some lie about how they were all sinners, and there was nothing she could do about it. So, that’s what passes for normal in the MCP. Not all of the Justified are abusive and I’d guess only a handful of them were really bad, but the problem is, you never know which one you’re dealing with. They’re like faceless jailers. I only got to know a couple of them and even then, I was only guessing at what they were capable of behind closed doors. Some of them were actually pious—a few of them seemed like good people who actually believed the garbage that they were shoveling. But you never really knew. For all I knew, the seemingly ‘good and pious’ Faithful might have been the worst rapists of them all. There was no way to know.”
Frank went on and Emily just listened as he seemed to pour his heart out. She could tell it was therapeutic for him to tell someone about the hell he had been through. He was clearly still processing it.
The head of the Justified, he said, was known as ‘the Seraphim’, and he was rumored to be a bounty hunter for the MCP. He was the head of security for the MCP, and he commanded the eighty-seven other Justified. Including him, it meant there were eighty-eight guards for the entire compound. As always, the number eight figured prominently for them.
There was one other level of MCP—'the Council of Elders’. There were, of course, eight of them. And that included Burke, and his number two in command, Reverend Thompson. Just as with the ranks of the Justified, Frank explained, they pretended like the eight elders were all equal, but it was well known that they were not—the Seraphim commanded the Justified, and Burke commanded the Elders.
“They have dogs,” he said, “They let them roam the compound after lights out—everyone knows, after ten p.m. you don’t go outside. But they’re not dogs. I don’t know what they are. I saw them once. A little too close up. It was the only time I tried to venture out after dark. They’re wolf half-breeds, I’m pretty sure. They’re killers and they just let them run around from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m., so if you go outside… for any reason… you’re dead.”
Emily wasn’t sure what to say to this. She wanted to take notes, but she was afraid she would spook him if she did. She wanted him to keep talking.
“Mr. Monteiro, I don’t know how much you’ve been told about the murder victims, but I want to ask you about the Bible verses that were written on them. I’d like to read one of the verses to you, if I may. This was written on the second victim… ‘For if God spared not the angels that sinned, but cast them down to hell, and delivered them into chains of darkness, to be reserved unto judgment, and spared not the old world, but saved Noah the eighth person, a preacher of righteousness, bringing in the flood upon the world of the ungodly’…It ends there.”
“It’s not finished,” Frank said, “it goes on to talk about the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah being burned, and judgement day.”
“Judgement day?” Emily asked.
“The apocalypse. The end of the world,” he said. “You know… Armageddon?” he said, “It’s not a coincidence that they quoted those particular verses. The part about Noah and the great flood is just a prelude. Notice how it says that Noah was the eight person? This is central to the MCP philosophy. I don’t know what they’re planning. I’m just glad to be out of there, right? But I’m telling you—they’re planning something. It’s not an idle threat. They didn’t send this message just for laughs. There’s something coming. I wouldn’t underestimate them. They’ve never advertised like this—murdering people in broad daylight and leaving a calling card—the thing is, they don’t care anymore if they’re caught. Think of all the publicity this will generate. Burke isn’t stupid. This is the work of the Seraphim, and it’s been condoned by Burke, which means they’ve stopped caring about what the outside world thinks. So, either Burke has completely lost his mind, or they’re planning something that will make all of this moot.”
Like every other time Frank stopped talking, Emily didn’t know how to respond. She decided to let it go for the moment. She wondered if maybe Frank was reading into it too much—obviously he couldn’t be impartial, and his bias was maybe making him see things that weren’t there. At least she hoped that was the case.
She asked him if he had any idea how the victims might have been killed. She explained that they had had internal burns, inhalation burns, similar to as if they had been in a house fire. She explained that they had not had any external burns—other than the scripture.
“I don’t know,” he said, “Like I said, before—they didn’t exactly advertise their methods. They used to keep everything entirely secret—they would just disappear people in the middle of the night. Nothing like this.”
“Do you think their belief system is evolving?”
“I don’t know. I’m not exactly up on Burke’s moral code, if he even has one. All I know is, I’m sure he’s capable of this. He used t
o make the Seraphim hunt down anyone who defied him. There was a story about it. I heard it from a guy… his name was Alex.” Once again, Frank started crying softly as he talked. “He was my only friend. For two years. My only friend. We would whisper to one another at meals sometimes. That was the only time you could do it. All the noise from the other people… it was the only time we could talk.” Emily gave him a moment to compose himself. He continued, “He used to say that the Seraphim was the chosen punisher. He would hunt you down if you tried to escape or even if you thought about it. The Seraphim did all the MCP’s dirty work.”
“Did this Seraphim have a real name?”
“Probably, but I don’t know it. Alex would say that he thought he’d seen him in the night, he was afraid the Seraphim was coming for him, that kind of thing. He was like the boogeyman—the one who kept you in line, just through fear tactics.”
“Did this Alex give any details? Did the Seraphim burn his victims?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know. It was just a rumor. I didn’t even think he was real—I thought Alex was just seeing and hearing things. I just figured it was a rumor about a bounty hunter—name him the Seraphim, after the biblical angel of fire—and tell everyone that if you tried to escape, he would hunt you down. It makes people think twice about escaping. I knew what they were capable of already, I mean, it was really unnecessary.”
“But you don’t think they would advertise murders like this?” Emily asked, indicating a photo of the scripture on the second victim’s skin.
“Why would they? It’s a little too obvious, right? I mean, you cops see this, and what’s the first thing you think of? The MCP. Why would they do that?”
“That’s a good question,” Emily said, and not for the first time, it occurred to her that maybe this was all a set-up. It would have been easy to stage these murders as if the MCP had committed them. It could have been anyone who was interested in drawing unwanted attention to the MCP compound. It could have even been Frank, the man she was talking to right now. Who else would have a better reason to frame the MCP? It was an interesting thought. She decided to stow that line of thinking away for the moment. If Frank was acting, he deserved an Oscar.
“They’re trying to blow up the world, you know,” he said to her in a soft, almost soothing voice.
“What are you talking about?”
“Look—I know it sounds nuts—the ravings of a junkie who was crazy and dumb enough to join a cult… but I’m telling you, Deputy… they’re trying to end the world. I don’t know how they’re gonna do it. They might try to blow it up—a bomb or something. But they’re trying to end the world. Like, as in, the Apocalypse. I mean, it’s part of their name. Think about it. The Messianic Cathedral of Penance. The Messiah is the second coming of Christ. In their twisted world, that’s Burke. He’s constantly preaching about the apocalypse… They really believe that stuff—they’re trying to make it become real. That’s why they’re stockpiling coal and wood and canned goods and whatever. It’s like a challenge to them—if they make the world end… if they make it all go away—cell phones and television and cars and fast food—then they’ll be proven right, like some kind of crazy self-justifying prophecy. I think Burke wants to stand in the ashes and laugh, and say, ‘See? I told you it was coming. I told you I’m the chosen one.’ I don’t know how he’s gonna do it, but you need to let people know about it.”
“I’m going to do that Frank. And if you will consider testifying, that would be the best way to stop Burke.”
“No way, I already TOLD YOU—” he began to get agitated.
“OK, OK, That’s fine. But there is one last thing I’ve got to ask of you.”
“Yeah, OK, what?”
“I want to show you the faces of the two murder victims. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yeah, why not, right? I’m on a roll. Let’s get it over with.”
Emily pulled up the first victim—the female—on her phone. She showed Frank the picture of the young woman’s face. It was pale and light blue in death. Frank looked at it and shook his head. “She looks familiar,” he said, “But it’s like I said. You know everyone, because you spend a lot of time together, but you don’t really know any of them. It’s not like you get to talk to each other—I mean, meals are the only time at all for semi-private conversation. And even then, you don’t know if the person you’re talking to is a ‘true believer’. So, you end up talking about the Bible, or the sermon from the day before, and it’s not like I really knew anyone. Even my wife became a stranger.”
“OK,” said Emily, “I understand. But let’s try the second victim, just the same. OK?” Frank nodded his assent through tears. She pulled up the male victim and showed Frank the pale death face. This time she got a different reaction. Recognition.
“That’s Ezekiel,” Frank said, “He was in my study group. I liked him. He was… He was kind of a friend… I mean, I only talked to him once or twice, but I got a feeling, like he was on my side.” The tears flowed freely now.
“Ezekiel? Are you sure? Did you know his last name?”
“Ezekiel Abraham,” he said. “Kind of hard to forget that name.”
Emily sat in stunned silence for a long time. She was overwrought momentarily. It was obvious to Reverend Santos this name meant something to her.
“You know him?” he asked.
“Yes, Father,” she said. “I went to the MCP compound recently, to interview Reverend Thompson. While I was there, Ezekiel Abraham left a note on my car, on the windshield. He begged me to help him escape.”
Chapter 9
Lucas Burke, known to his followers as the Messiah, watched the planes come and go from the tiny air traffic control tower in the middle of the MCP compound. He liked to come up here to relax. It replenished his faith to sit on the second floor, which had wrap-around windows, and watch his plan come to fruition. On the surface, it was just a tiny airport in the middle of rural Colorado. Nothing to attract attention other than the frequency with which the aircraft took off and landed. For such a remote airport, it was an anomaly—they were constantly coming and going. And they would frequently deviate from their flight plans, gaining altitude to get into the upper regions of the atmosphere. This might have been remarked upon, had someone been paying attention, but of course, no one was. They stayed away from busy airports and avoided commercial hubs.
Not that it mattered. Even if someone took notice, there was nothing they could do about it. The final stage of the plan was nearly complete. He knew there was no stopping him now. So, he might as well enjoy himself.
Burke leaned his chair back and put his feet up. He kicked off his brown loafers. It had been a long day. He took out the bottle of Macallan 18-year-old Scotch that he kept in his secret cabinet and poured himself a glass. Alcohol was forbidden for members of the MCP, but he was not a member. He was the Messiah.
At 43, Burke was a small man, and one might have been forgiven if they thought he was meek when they first met him. He tended to come across as humble and docile at first. This was intentional. He had blonde hair and light features and he typically wore business casual attire—no ridiculous old-fashioned garb for him. That was an indulgence that he allowed the Seraphim, who rarely left the MCP campus, but Burke preferred to be practical. He wore khakis and a button-down, and he occasionally put on an MCP tie when he had meetings with outsiders.
As a child, he had always been fascinated by airplanes and loved to watch them fly. Even now he would sit in the tower and let his thoughts wander, and when he heard the approach of an engine, he would get a small rush of excitement. The tower was really unnecessary, he had to admit—no one used it except him, and everyone knew it was his private place of worship and contemplation. It had communications equipment, and a radar, which mostly sat idle. As with most small airports, the pilots communicated directly with one another to make sure only one plane used the runway at a time.
Burke saw the lights of a Cessna circling on approach
and thought of what he had accomplished. He wasn’t just thinking about the planes. He was also reflecting on the tactical maneuver currently under way in Washington, D.C. These two operations were the culmination of years of planning, and while he knew they would result in loss of life, they had faceless victims. The irony of large numbers of people dying being an impersonal affair was not lost on him. He felt nothing for them.
On the other hand, when he thought about poor Mary Elizabeth Sorrow, the beautiful young woman whom he had been forced to make an example of, he got a lump in his throat. He felt alternatively sad that she was gone, and furious that she had made him do what he had warned her repeatedly about. And yet, she had not changed her sinful ways. It always seemed to be that way with the wicked. There was no helping it.
He knew her death would eventually get into the news—his connections couldn’t shield him from the media forever—but he didn’t care anymore. Things were moving fast now. The Seraphim had been very busy, indeed. He was no longer even bothering to hide his actions. And then there had been a nighttime security breach by the doctor and her husband. It was hard to believe how bold they had been—it positively strained the imagination. No matter. It had just been more work for the Seraphim, and he had been happy to oblige.
For years, the Seraphim had begged him to be allowed to practice his particular means of punishment, and Burke had finally relented. What did a few more lives matter in the grand scheme of things? The Lancasters had sealed their own fate; he had no reservations about delivering them to the underworld. But what had happened with Mary Elizabeth Sorrow bothered him. He wished there could have been some other way. He had liked her. He had spent many nights with her—many more than a typical member of his flock. A part of him still longed for her touch. If only she would have listened to him. If only she could have seen the truth.
He knew that there were more like her; the Seraphim had been busy, and he was not even close to being finished with his work. It was going to get ugly. The Messiah was used to sticking to the shadows, but soon there would be no need to cover up what the MCP was doing. Things would accelerate, and in a few more days they would reach a critical mass. He smiled thinking of it. He wished, for all the world, that he could be there to see it. But he knew that such thoughts were folly. His disciples would carry out the plan and there would be a place in heaven for them as a result.
The Armageddon Prophecy Page 8