Season of the Witch

by David L. Golemon

  Madam Prudhomme looked at Henri. That look said that she had decided to say the words he wanted to hear. “I have an investment in construction as you may or may not know. Oh, just a small outfit out of Metairie that builds and equips oil platforms. This small outfit likes to stay clear of the limelight because, well, they like to skirt certain construction codes and licensing when it comes to offshore platform construction.” Liza took and pen and paper and scribbled a note and gave it to Henri. “The main office is in Lake Charles, but you will be better off going to this place, Maritime Welding in Metairie. It’s not far. Ask for Bobby Joe. It seems he isn’t too keen on the men who subcontracted his welding shop for a big job in the Gulf.”

  “Liza, who is Briggs working with?” Henri asked as he gave the address to Ryan.

  Madam Prudhomme reached for the derringer and then placed it into her bodice underneath her ample breasts.

  “The Russians.”

  Chapter Ten

  Event Group Complex,

  Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada

  Xavier Morales studied the holographic three-dimensional diagram of the symbols that had been copied from the sliding-glass window at Alice Hamilton’s home. Niles Compton stood by the Doctor inside the cleanroom with his arms crossed.

  “Well?” Niles asked impatiently.

  Xavier took a breath and rubbed his tired eyes. He knew the Director was under extreme pressure, not by anyone from above, but on himself.

  “Europa is having a difficult time with the symbols. It’s as if she knows what they are, but it’s almost as if her memory bubbles are being attacked every time she assembles the images in the hologram or any program she has. It’s as if the symbols themselves have some form of self-destruct code inside the shape of the structure of the design. It’s like some outside program is running and every time she gets close, the memory bubble fails. Diagnostics show nothing other than her normal processing parameters.” Morales shrugged his shoulders. “I just don’t know.”

  Niles pursed his lips and fought his own memory on the subject of a deteriorating program. He pulled out a chair and angrily tore of his protective gloves and head-cover. He adjusted the microphone at the terminal.

  “Europa, are you accessing foreign databases for the meaning and design of the symbols?”

  Xavier looked at Niles as he wondered at the director’s line of inquiry.

  ‘Yes, Doctor Compton.’

  “We’re accessing every database across the globe, Doctor. She has broken into every system of higher education the world over. Hell, we even crashed the archives at the Vatican and any nutcase on the web. Nothing.”

  “Europa sever all outside influences. Confine yourself to Event Group file database only.”

  “Severed, Doctor Compton.”

  “Now, reconfigure the symbols as noted and copied by Group forensics.”

  The hologram changed from the meaningless scramble of strange and broken symbols produced by whatever interference the symbols produced. Soon, the green hologram had all of the symbols as copied from the watery streak lines on the glass window.

  At first the symbols held. The most dominate set were two triangles with a straight line through both. The second most used was the four-pointed pentangle but with a slight difference from the historic design. Instead of a circle around the star another triangle wound around its points.

  “The symbols are holding,” Morales said. “Europa, make your investigation quick.”

  ‘Processing.’

  Both Xavier and Niles hoped that whatever influence stopped them before was waning as they were only using the closed-looped system of Europa without the need of other databases.

  The enthusiasm was short-lived as the symbols started to disassemble and break apart. Xavier cursed.

  “Europa why are the symbols changing shape?” he asked, losing patience with the Cray.

  ‘What symbols are you referring too, Doctor?’

  “Are you kidding?” Morales asked as he slammed his gloved hand down on the table, knocking his microphone off its stand.

  Niles placed a calming hand on Xavier’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and thought. Morales was right, the symbols were creating their own tapeworm and scrambling any attempt at deciphering them. Niles watched as the robotic arms made to insert and remove stored bubble files stopped moving. He decided to take a chance.

  “Europa, check your last command”

  ‘Processing request. Last command requested was historical file search of department 5656 symbolic files.’

  “Display symbols, please.”

  As they watched, the symbols reappeared. Then just as suddenly broke apart into a meaningless jumble.

  “Europa, does your memory have an imprint of the symbols?”

  ‘To what symbols are you referencing, Doctor?’

  Both men were lost as to how this could be happening. When the cleanroom door opened, they both turned and saw a young female computer tech enter.

  “Excuse me, Doctor Morales,” her eyes widened when she saw Niles Compton sitting next to Xavier. “Director.”

  “What is it?” Morales asked.

  “Doctor, I know I’m only a grad student and a freshman intern from Pepperdine, but I think I may have part of the answer to Europa’s problems with the symbols as they were copied.”

  “Why didn’t you take it to your supervisor, Professor Thompson?” Niles asked, and then they saw outside the cleanroom window in the waiting area that her computer department supervisor was pacing and looked very angry. “Oh, I guess you did,” Niles said. “I gather you have a different point of view, so you decided to go over his head?”

  The girl looked sheepish.

  “Well, at least you have something,” Niles said. “Shoot, before your supervisor takes that very same advice and shoots you.”

  “May I?” she asked, as she pulled out a third chair on the terminal counter.

  Niles nodded. She sat. Compton and Xavier exchanged looks.

  “Although we don’t have a clue as to why the symbols magically break apart and Europa has no memory of our requests, I may have stumbled across something that Europa can assist with.”

  “Not following specialist,” Niles said, placing another restraining hand on Morales shoulder who was becoming agitated.

  “Europa, hologram the design for earlier inquiry for symbols recovered from the Hamilton crime scene.”

  On the hologram pad, the symbols once more came on. The young tech just waited patiently. The symbols started to disassemble almost immediately.

  “I think we established that Europa is having a hard time retaining the symbols and her memory of them. It has to be some form of tape worm in the design of the symbols,” Xavier said as he waived the girl’s supervisor into the cleanroom to gather up his grad student.

  “Doctor, please allow me to explain,” the girl said as she saw her angry supervisor enter the room and stand with his arms crossed.

  Xavier exhaled in exasperation and then gestured with his hand for her to continue.

  “We’re concentrating on the symbols and wasting time,” she said to a shocked trio of vastly more experienced computer technicians. “Europa, place the crime scene photos of the glass into the existing hologram, please.”

  On the pad, overlaid on the disassembled symbols, a photo of the sliding glass door appeared complete with the condensation as created by the air-conditioned house meeting the warmer outside air of Las Vegas.

  “Europa, please enlarge and enhance the glass.”

  Europa did as she was commanded. With the blowup you still couldn’t discern where the symbols had even been drawn in the fogged condensation.

  “I told you this was a waste of time. As soon as you overlay the symbols, Europa goes into shutdown and we still have nothing.”

  “That’s because you’re looking for the meaning of the symbols, Professor Thompson, and whatever program is overriding Europa’s abilities at deciphering them starts its interferen
ce.”

  “Isn’t that the idea?” Niles asked before Xavier could.

  “Forget that aspect,” she said, almost becoming exasperated. “Europa, on the hologram go to infra-red please and look for trace elements other than condensation and regular household impurities.”

  “I told her this was a waste of time. Without the symbols in the hologram, I don’t know what it is you are hoping to achieve,” her supervisor said.

  “We won’t know what the symbols mean, at least as of yet, but how about the identity of who or what wrote them on the glass?”

  Ridiculous theory,” her supervisor said angrily. “You’re wasting our time here. The symbol written in blood came back as having been written without any trace of how it was done. What makes you think—”

  “Display the print Europa,” she hurriedly said before she could be interrupted again.

  ‘Identification fingerprint is now added.’

  The look on the faces of three most experienced computer men in the world were priceless as the infrared hologram started showing trace lines of a fingerprint through the watery condensation.

  “As I said gentlemen, the symbols remain a mystery, but the person or thing that wrote them is hiding in plain sight.”

  “Thus far you have made two references as to the author of the symbols as, who and thing. Explain,” Niles said.

  “Europa, the points of identification on the print, can you identify them from the FBI’s IAFIS database?”

  Everyone in the cleanroom knew the FBI IAFIS database was short for Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System.

  ‘The print is identifiable, but no record of the person responsible for the print is currently on file.’

  “Told you. This is a waste of time,” her supervisor said, getting ready to remove her from the cleanroom.

  “Europa, I understand the individual responsible for the print isn’t on file, but is the style of the print available in the database?” The young woman felt the hand of the supervisor on her shoulder.

  ‘Yes.’

  Everyone froze.

  “Is the print human?” she asked.

  ‘Negative.’

  “Identify fingerprint origin, please,” Niles asked, standing up.

  ‘Yes, Doctor Compton. The print origin is that which has been dubbed—extraterrestrial— Grey species.’

  “My God!” Xavier said, shooting an angry glance at the supervisor of this rather extraordinary young technician. The supervisor pulled away and decided silence may just actually be the better part of valor.

  “Thank you for your assistance young lady,” Niles said, smiling for the first time since Jack and Sarah’s wedding three nights before. “Professor Thompson, please escort your tech back to her station and issue her a full Europa security clearance. “Do you agree Doctor Morales?”

  “Most assuredly.”

  Niles and Xavier watched Thompson display a new-found respect for the extremely young and talented grad student as they left the cleanroom.

  “You know Doctor, I feel ashamed I don’t even know that girl’s name.”

  Niles started for the door as the intercom started making a short chime indicating Compton call into security. He turned and smiled at Xavier Morales.

  “Well, there’s a reason why she’s so smart, Doctor. She came to me last year after she completed her thesis. Her name is Loretta.”

  Compton opened the door and then turned once again.

  “Loretta Golding. Pete Golding’s niece.”

  * * *

  Niles sat at a station outside the cleanroom and dialed the extension for security. “Colonel, what do you have?”

  “We have identified the photo Alice had in her possession.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Boston, 1955. Small dig there concerning Boston Common. Permission to send a team there.”

  Niles took a deep breath. “I want a full meeting of the department heads first Jack.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Sound an Event alert and inform the President by coded message. We know who killed Virginia.”

  “Who?” Jack asked, his rage burning through the comm system.

  “The Grey’s are back.”

  Two minutes later the computerized tones of four bleeps and one longer bleep sounded throughout the complex. Department 5656 went into Event mode.

  Baton Rouge, Louisiana

  * * *

  Congressman Harold Briggs was sitting and staring into the storm filled night. His campaign manager was talking at a rapid pace as to what subjects would be covered at the next rally set for Northern Michigan. The day before he had been ambushed when he found himself losing his place even with a teleprompter. The days polls had shown he had slipped by eight points and was now in a virtual tie with both of his Republican and Democratic opponents.

  “Congressman, did you hear what I just said?”

  He turned from the window inside the suite at the Hyatt Place hotel. “Yes, I heard you say my numbers were down.”

  “That’s not what I just said, Congressman. I said Senator James Booker just rescinded his endorsement of you.”

  “Uh, huh.”

  “Look, if you’re worried about Mr. Fleming, I’ve got a call into his office in Washington. With your debacle in Houston I’m sure he’s got his hands full putting out fires in the capitol.”

  The campaign manager looked at Briggs and she grew angry. She gathered up her briefing materials and placed them in her briefcase.

  “I better go to bed before I end up resigning right here, right now.”

  Briggs didn’t react to her comment as his mind had shut down. Instead he walked to the bar and again poured another drink. The woman left the suite, slamming his door as she did.

  With drink in hand he turned and faced the window again. The lights of Louisiana’s capitol were diffused in the rain and for the most part all he could see was his own reflection. As he lifted the glass to his lips he suddenly froze as his reflection wasn’t the only one he was looking at in the glass. Asmodius was right behind him. Briggs screamed and dropped his glass and fell to the floor as he turned to see nothing. He started to cry and placed his hands over his eyes. He tried to stand and fell. His eyes roamed to the large television. This time he found the sudden energy to stand as he ran for the remote control. He turned up the sound.

  ‘…the reason for the disaster has yet to be determined. Rescue boat were on the scene within five minutes of the explosion that rocked the entirety of the Gulf region. Thus far the United States Coast Guard claims the casualty list will be in the extreme. At this time not much is known as to the bottom-line ownership of the Mystery Deep platform, but the Maritime Industries Management firm said the investigation is ongoing.’

  Harold Briggs again collapsed into the divan facing the television. When he turned toward the window, again he saw the image of the giant Grey. It was smiling at him. He squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could and then threw the remote control and struck the window. The plastic device shattered. That was when Briggs knew if he wasn’t careful, he would end up like his campaign manager—a victim of Sokol and his Grey ally covering their tracks. His cooperation with the Russians would be forced to continue as the threat from Asmodius in the window’s reflection was clear and precise a warning about his silence and his further relationship as he would ever receive.

  * * *

  Coast Guard Cutter, USCGC Resolute,

  Eighty-six Miles South of Louisiana

  The Gulf seas were furious, adding to the difficult task of looking for survivors of the disaster on the Mystery Deep platform. Thus far, other rescue elements had only recovered eighteen bodies, mostly burned beyond any form of identification without the use of DNA and dental records.

  The Coast Guard Cutter Resolute out of Galveston Texas, had been on a routine patrol east of their base of operations when the distress calls were sounded. It had taken them nearly two hours to get to the scene due to the rad
ical weather shift in recent days of mystical storm patterns that developed suddenly and from nowhere. By the time the Resolute had arrived, just the few bodies had been recovered. She stood on station while other rescue vessels steamed home with their sorrowful results.

  As the large cutter broached the high seas the alarm onboard was sounded.

  “Captain, lookouts report body in the water!”

  “Where-away?” Lieutenant Junior Grade, Wendel Acheson asked, raising the field glasses to his eyes as the Resolute dipped into a large sea trough.

  “Four degrees starboard, eight hundred yards distance, Captain.”

  Acheson couldn’t see anything from the bridge windows. He shook his head as he knew he couldn’t use his most valuable life-saving tool, his HH-65A Dolphin helicopter. It was sitting in its deck hangar tied down due to the rough seas.

  “Helm, dead slow, steer one-five-nine. Make ready lifelines and let’s see if we can get a boat in the water.”

  “Aye, Captain,” answered his Master Chief.

  “Captain, lookouts report swimmer is signaling.”

  “Alive through this mess and from a platform that is burned down to its stanchion legs?”

  “Aye, Captain, second and third lookouts report same. Swimmer is alive.”

  “Okay, let’s do what they pay us for ladies and gentlemen.”

  Twenty minutes later USCGC Resolute did the job the nation paid her to do. They pulled out of the stormy seas the one and only survivor of the disaster on Mystery Deep—a woman named—Vexilla Trotsky.

  * * *

  Metairie, Louisiana

  “I swear I don’t know how this state stays above water!” Will Mendenhall said as he fought to see through the rain and the darkness. The windshield wipers were on high and still he was forced to travel frustratingly slow.