Season of the Witch

by David L. Golemon

  Briggs became silent.

  “Was this rogue Russian killed in the Mystery Deep explosion?” Farbeaux asked.

  “I don’t know,” Briggs finally said.

  “But the Grey did survive. Is that correct?” Henri asked with brows raised.

  Briggs was shocked and stunned that these men knew what they knew. “How…how did you know?”

  “Because the son of a bitch dropped a damn building on us last night,” Mendenhall said angrily.

  Briggs lowered his head. “I didn’t know what this madman Sokol had in mind. He’s completely nuts!”

  “Sokol? Dmitri Sokol?” Farbeaux asked.

  “You know him?” Mendenhall asked.

  “I know of him. He’s not a very nice man.”

  “Strange how many not very nice people you know,” Ryan quipped as he looked at Henri.

  “What is this man’s plan with the Grey?” Farbeaux asked, ignoring Ryan’s remark.

  “Look, that Grey bastard is just as insane as Sokol. It’s not like the other Grey’s.”

  “We kind of noticed that Congressman,” Mendenhall said, rubbing the bandage on the back of his neck.

  “They call him Asmodius. He can do things. Strange things. As I said, it’s not like the Grey’s from the war. This one is powerful and under Sokol’s control. His bosses in Russia tried to eliminate them both. I was hoping they succeeded when Mystery Deep went up in flames.”

  “Well, we can definitely say that one of them survived,” Ryan said.

  “Congressman, may I suggest that you walk us to the door and smile as you show us out,” Farbeaux said as he stood Briggs up. He pocketed the syringe and the small bottle so the Congressman could see him do it. “I may also suggest that your health may have taken a turn for the worst. Perhaps you’re really not up to running for such a stressful job as President.” Henri smiled.

  “Blackmail again?” Briggs asked.

  “No, we just offered you an alternative to other solutions,” the Frenchman said as he angrily pushed Briggs toward the door.

  “Other federal authorities will be by to transfer Ms. Trotsky to a more secure location. I suspect she may have a lot to say about not only her employer Mr. Sokol, but also the men he betrayed. It might be what you call, in her best interest.”

  “You bastards!” Briggs hissed. The he straightened his coat and used his fingers to rearrange his hair.

  Ryan unlocked the door and the three men stepped out with Briggs smiling and shaking their hands.

  “Thank you, gentlemen for traveling so far. Your prognosis is very encouraging.”

  Ryan, Mendenhall and Farbeaux smiled in return and then turned to leave when the hallway was filled with a scream. They all went back to the room. The State Troopers along with Briggs security detail were trying to open the door, but every time they came close the door was pushed back with enough force to toss the troopers backward. They started to ram their bodies into it and finally the door flew open. Ryan reached for his weapon but then remembered they were left in the car before they came in. He cursed himself.

  As the door was forced open, a blur passed them as the body of Vexilla Trotsky was thrown out into the hallway. Nurses screamed and orderlies fell trying to avoid the crushed body of the lone survivor of the Mystery Deep disaster.

  As the State Troopers looked on wide-eyed, one of the secret service men yelled to ‘watch out.’ As they turned, the Grey was standing by the large window and was grinning. Then just as suddenly, it started to fade to nothing.

  “Did you guy’s see that?” the first trooper asked as his shaking hands pointed his service weapon at nothing.

  “What went on in there?” the second asked, looking directly at Briggs. Then both troopers turned to ask the three doctors.

  They were gone.

  Chapter Twelve

  Desert Springs Hospital,

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Inside the I.C.U. all was quiet. Niles Compton sat at the side of Alice Hamilton as the on-duty nurse checked her I.V. drip. Niles turned away and choked down his anger at what had happened to Alice and Virginia. He felt he had failed his two most trusted people. The nurse turned to him and gave him a reassuring smile.

  “I’ve never seen a woman fight so hard. Every time her vital signs take a dip—she seems to struggle back.” The nurse saw the pain in Niles face and patted his hand. “She must be a very important lady to have the Surgeon General on the case.”

  Niles nodded. “She’s important to quite a few.”

  “Take heart, she’s a fighter.”

  Niles looked down at the serene face of Alice Hamilton as the nurse opened the curtain and then left. Compton reached out and took Alice’s hand and squeezed it tight, hoping in some way that one of his oldest friends would know he was there. He lowered his head as the respirator beat a lonely note.

  The curtain was pulled back again and Niles saw Jack Collins and Sarah standing, afraid that they were intruding. Niles nodded his head that indicated they were doing anything but. He removed his glasses and acted as though he were cleaning them while not really hiding his red eyes.

  “We just wanted to check on her before we left,” Jack said as he watched Sarah move to the opposite side of the bed to sit and take Alice’s hand just as Niles let go of her other.

  “So, you ready?” Niles asked.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this Niles. On that you have my word.”

  Niles nodded at Jack.

  “I suppose you heard the news?” Jack asked as he saw Sarah lower her head as she said a silent prayer for Alice. He gestured for Niles to step out of the area.

  “What news?” Niles asked.

  “After you left the complex, Henri and his team checked in. You know what happened at the hospital in New Orleans, but one thing you don’t know is that immediately after our French friend spoke with Congressman Briggs, the bastard called a press conference for tonight. The speculation is running wild in the press, but Henri seems to suggest the good Congressman is contemplating stepping out of the race for the presidency due to health reasons.”

  “Let’s get a cup of coffee, Jack,” Niles said, turning to Sarah who nodded that she was staying with Alice.

  Out in the corridor, Niles ignored the coffee machine and faced Collins.

  “The Congressman doesn’t know it, but he may well have just saved his own life. You wouldn’t believe what the President was contemplating.”

  Jack looked toward the closed off section of the I.C.U. “Well, the President knows what that lady in there has done for her country. I think he may not have really cared what he had to do to protect her and us. After all, he’s the still the President, he can pretty much get away with what he wants finally. I don’t think he really gives a damn about the consequences.”

  Niles just nodded.

  “Excuse me gentlemen.”

  Both Jack and Niles turned to see a rather large and rotund man standing near them. He stepped forward with outstretched hand.

  “Yes?” Niles said, ignoring the handshake offer.

  “I represent some colleagues that you may have had dealings with the past year and a half. I believe the last time they spoke to you they offered a settlement of sorts about differences of opinion in national and historic affairs. Opinions regarding the Atlantic Ocean incident and perhaps more recently in Mongolia?”

  Jack tensed and Niles placed a hand on his arm to calm him. The rotund man held up his hands in mock defense.

  “I don’t wish any unpleasantness gentlemen,” he said, taking a step back from the withering glare of Jack Collins. “My associates asked me to come by and offer our sincere condolences for the loss you have sustained in Ms. Pollock and your security personnel. I understand Ms. Pollock was a very great woman and one of the best engineers in the world.” The man looked sheepish and he refused to look Jack in the eyes. He concentrated solely on Niles Compton. “We also want to express our hopes and wishes for a speedy recovery of Mrs. Hamilton. He
r exploits in her representation and defense of your nation is legendary beyond measure.”

  “Quit playing games, Russian, why are you here?” Jack said, ignoring the warning look from Niles.

  “The peaceful overture offered by my associates after the incident in Mongolia last month, I have come here to reaffirm that offer of peace between our organizations. The incidents proceeding the death of Ms. Pollock and your men and the injury of Mrs. Hamilton, was not perpetrated by any current member of my organization.”

  Silence met the man’s proclamation of the shadow government in Russia’s innocence in the matter. Jack took a menacing step forward.

  “The man you seek is in Louisiana and his name is Sokol.”

  “We know who he is. Dmitri Sokol. The number ten man in the falsity you call a government,” Niles said, his proclamation stunning their Russian visitor.

  “Director Compton, we wish to proceed in this matter and remain neutral. We will take care of our internal problems if you would allow us to, and we would be more than happy to—”

  Jack moved to strike the man from Siberia, but Niles stopped him and actually pulled the gun from Jack’s sports coat before Collins knew it. He turned on the Russian just as Sarah came out of the curtained off area of the I.C.U. She froze just as Niles Compton, one of the gentlest men she had ever met, cocked the Glock nine-millimeter, and placed it squarely under the heavy-set man’s chin.

  “Tell this to your superiors,” Niles said, “we will take care of Dmitri Sokol and his pet Grey ourselves. And then tell them to make arrangements for their replacements, because we’re coming after them with every fucking thing we have at our disposal.” Niles pushed the pistol into the man’s double chin. He was tempted to start the war right then and now, but Jack eased the gun down.

  “Go on, get,” was all Collins said to the Russian.

  “I think I missed something,” Sarah said as she forcibly tried to still her heart.

  Niles turned away as the Russian hurried down the hallway looking back as if Collins would be on his heels.

  “Frankly Niles, you’re beginning to scare me a little,” Jack said as he placed his arm around Sarah.

  “Jack, get Charlie and Matchstick back. Kill that son of a bitch Sokol and that murderous Grey. Then I need all of my people here.” Niles turned away as he wanted to sit more with Alice. He stopped and turned. “I think I just declared war on a bunch of assholes that won’t take my threat lying down. Good luck you two. Will, Jason and Farbeaux will meet you in Boston.”

  Jack and Sarah watched Niles turn and open the curtain.

  The last thing they saw was Niles bending his head and speaking with Alice.

  “Come on Short Stuff, we have some work to do.”

  Novosibirsk, Siberia,

  Russia

  Number One sat in his customary spot at the long table. The toast points and caviar sitting untouched on his china plate. He listened to the banter around the table as he watched the members of the inner circle of the shadow government far more relaxed than had a right to be. For a man that prided himself on keeping a firm grip on any situation, he felt the loss of control for the first time since their plan went into motion twenty years before. An hour before dinner, a video report had come into his private quarters from their man in the American west, Vladimir Malchivich. The man was a bloated fool of major proportions, but one that would never contemplate inflating or lessening a threat to the committee. The threat laid down by the man who controlled the only organization in the world that actually knew about the Presidium and the Committee, the Event Group, was now foremost on Number One’s mind. He picked up the unused butter knife and clinked it against his crystal wine glass. His dark, angry eyes informed the red-coated waiters that they should exit immediately.

  “Number Three, has there been any word from our sources on the ground in America regarding Sokol?” his face soured as he said the name of the man that had cost them well over a hundred highly trained commandoes and betrayed the Committee.

  Number Three stood up and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He swallowed. “Our consulate liaison in New Orleans has heard rumors he and his people are held up somewhere outside the city. Location unknown at the moment. We have dispatched twenty of our staff from their current missions in Germany to investigate.”

  Number One toyed with the fork, moving sturgeon caviar from one side of his plate to the other. Number Three remained standing, not sure if he was required to say more. Finally, he eased down into the chair.

  “It seems that Sokol’s murderous action against this Group has inflamed the situation to the breaking point. Instead of the Quid-Pro-Quo we had hoped for after Mongolia, it seems that this Director Compton isn’t in the mood to treat our recent proposal with any validity. After Dmitri Sokol and his Grey is found and dealt with, we must consider the prospect that the situation with Department 5656 will escalate. We must plan accordingly. I’m afraid we have to bloody them somewhat even more than the fool Sokol to make them see reason. With us losing our chance at a friendly President thanks to Compton’s and his peoples recent visit to our cowardly Congressman Briggs, we have lost a tremendous opportunity and many, many months of planning.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Number Nine said from her chair.

  “We strike while the iron is hot. With their problems dealing with Sokol, they may not see us coming.”

  “Kill even more of them?” the woman called Number Nine asked.

  Number One silently looked up. He knew this woman was watching him closely. She was a long ago graduate of the old Soviet ways and she, like many others in the room, were sad the good old days had vanished.

  “Do you have an aversion with that prospect, Number Nine?”

  “On the contrary, sir. In the completely foolish attempt at skullduggery and diplomacy in offering this Group a form of peace after Mongolia, we have delayed what in my opinion was the inevitable. We should have shown from the start our true inner-strength and resolve in the matter.”

  “Then we are in agreement,” Number One said as he placed his knife down loudly. “And number Nine, I want to commend you for holding your opinion on my docile ways until you saw an opening and opportunity to exploit it.”

  The woman blushed—she knew then that what she had said would forever color the way Number One looked at her. She, like a few others around the table, were now on Number One’s list of people on the Committee to watch.

  “The minute we hear from our sources that either Sokol has been dealt with by Compton and his people, I suggest we strike at the heart of the Group even more ruthlessly than the idiot Sokol.”

  “Orders?” Number Nine asked, partially standing.

  “Cut the heads off this foolish chicken.”

  “Heads?” Number Nine asked.

  This Event Group is like a multi-headed Hydra, it has many heads. So, start by cutting off the most dangerous ones first. I want Doctor Compton and Colonel Collins eliminated. Then maybe we can come to some form of negotiating point that the American’s will understand.”

  The Committee and Presidium chamber grew silent as most looked at their appetizers as if someone had placed a cow patty on the china dishes.

  Number One looked from face to face and then angrily slid his own plate down the table. He then stood and angrily angled toward the door. He stopped and faced the Committee.

  “Colonel Collins first. Without him, their sword isn’t as sharp.”

  * * *

  Barataria Bay, Louisiana

  The island just off the coast of New Orleans was famous for one thing—it was the base of operations for a man that assisted in saving New Orleans and the American south during the War of 1812. The bay was the home waters of Jean Laffite, a privateer of some renown who was influenced by Brevet Major General Andrew Jackson to side with America in a battle that placed the final knife in the belly of the British Empire and their desirous designs on the new continent. Barataria had been a major concern in regard t
o security and a home base for his ships for the pirate until, as history often proves, you are only as valuable as the assistance you give and when you give it. Immediately after the war the United States reneged on the promise of a pardon for Lafitte and his men and soon a bounty had been placed on the privateer until he and his loyal followers were chased out to sea by the U.S. Navy, never to return to New Orleans or American waters again.

  The sun was starting to set when the large yacht eased into the bay only a mile from the national park called Laffite’s Island and dropped anchor. Sokol excused the Panamanian captain and his three-man bridge crew to join his own men below decks as he would use this time to reassert some authority over an increasingly unstable Asmodius.

  Sokol heard the heavy footfalls coming up the stairwell from far below in the darkened spaces of the hold. Sokol closed his eyes as he stared out of the large bridge windows growing more apprehensive as the pounding of footstep grew closer. Since the attack on his former assistant Vexilla Trotsky in her hospital bed in New Orleans, the Russian had sensed a loss of control over the Grey. Instead of eliminating a voice that could lead the American authorities straight to him personally, Asmodius and that fool Harold Briggs had drawn the attention of the very men and women the Committee and himself would prefer to avoid at all costs—the Event Group. Gone was the Committee’s interest in just exposing the Group in the American desert, now both he and the Siberian Group may have inadvertently declared war on the only people in the world that could prove the government in Moscow was nothing more than a sham regime who was controlled out of Siberia. As much as Sokol himself wanted to take over the Committee, he knew that making an enemy the likes of Department 5656 may just make his takeover moot if the Russian people found out that Vladimir Putin was nothing more than a puppet and imposter. Now Sokol found himself in the same exact predicament that Number One found himself in. Dodging the likes of Colonel Jack Collins.