Season of the Witch

by David L. Golemon

  The two assistants exchanged worried looks as they had never seen their boss turn this shade of white before. They knew the man to be ruthless and one that was never second guessing himself on any subject. But things had changed for Number One after he devised the plan to go after the secretive Group in the American desert. This Collins and Compton had the man most feared in Siberia apprehensive and frightened. No one knew the reasons for this but Number One himself. Now, something had happened that set off alarm bells in the committee halls.

  Finally, one of them stepped forward. “Sir—”

  “Do we have assets on Director Compton and Colonel Collins?”

  “Only Compton at this time. Colonel Collins is off the grid on a field assignment.”

  “Do you fools have any idea just what field assignment Collins could be on?” Number One asked angrily as he shoved everything that sat on his desk off the edge, and then standing up and facing his two cowed assistants. “He’s hunting Sokol and the Grey. If Collins finds them before we find Collins, this committee is doomed. The world will have proof that the idiots in Moscow are nothing more than puppets to our will! And now because of Sokol and his out of control Frankenstein our one hope of pulling this mirage off is dead! Another trail for Collins and Compton to follow!”

  The same man started to say something but the second stopped him from receiving more rage from Number One.

  The portly man who once served as a young Lieutenant in the K.G.B. in the seventies grabbed the closest of the two assistants and shook him by his lapels. Number One seemed to have lost his mind.

  “Get me the location of Collins, Sokol, his little pet, and I want every agent we have in the States to converge on them. I want them dead!”

  “Director Compton?” the bravest of the two asked an infuriated Number One.

  “Kill him immediately!” Number One smiled and seemed to relax for the briefest of moments. “That may get Collins to show his hand and give us his location.”

  * * *

  Thirty-two miles south of

  Key West, Florida

  The giant container ship plowed through the increasingly rough storm that had tracked the vessel since its departure from Louisiana three days before. The Kyoto Maru, a ship with Japanese registry, was riding high as if the containers she carried on her decks were empty. With the storm-tossed seas there was little fear the United States Coast Guard would interfere in their crossing from the Gulf to the Atlantic.

  Dmitri Sokol stood to the rear of the captain and watched Asmodius from a safe distance. The Grey seemed to be enjoying the rough seas as they passed just south of the Florida Keys. The wipers on the large and towering bridge structure were having difficulty keeping the flood of sea water from obscuring the view. Every time the giant ship dipped into a trough, Asmodius stabilized his strangely shaped legs and seemed to enjoy the ride back up. The captain and his crew watched nervously as the Grey turned toward them. The armed men of Asmodius’ army stood watch on the frightened crew of the Kyoto Maru.

  “You’re not worried about your followers in those containers?” Sokol asked as the ship went into another depression.

  Asmodius smiled, exposing its sharp and clear teeth. Most of the Japanese crew turned away as every time they had interaction with the Grey, they were tempted to throw themselves into the sea.

  “They…sleep…they…prepare…They…and…their…ancestors…have…waited…many…life-times…for my…return.”

  Asmodius turned back to watch the seas ahead of the ship.

  There had been times Sokol had tried to offer his help to Asmodius just for a promise from the Grey that its assistance would still be available in dealing with the Committee after the Grey’s little war was completed, but all Asmodius had done was smile. The Grey hadn’t been mentally aggressive since New Orleans, but Sokol feared that if he pushed the creature any further, he may not like the end result.

  “Captain, we have an intermittent radar contact bearing three-four-seven,” said the man at the radar console. The Japanese Captain moved and placed his face into the ‘boot’ of the scope and examined the contact. He looked up at Sokol and shook his head.

  “Too big for a pleasure craft in this storm,” he said. “Has to be the American Coast Guard.”

  “This is USCGC Endurance, calling container ship Kyoto Maru. We advise you alter course to three-six-seven degrees. The storm is worsening to the north. Come in Kyoto Maru.”

  The captain reached for the microphone, but it was suddenly jerked from his grasp. It floated in the air to the amazement of his crew and then it smashed into the radio console. Asmodius was smiling again. It slowly shook its head.

  “Captain we have the vessel in sight. According to the computer, they are who they say they area. “The USCGC Endurance. A two-hundred- and eighty-foot cutter out of Fort Lauderdale.”

  The Captain looked from his radar man to Sokol as if asking the Russian what he should do.

  Asmodius turned away from the window and then moved to the large bridge hatchway to the outside bridge wing. Sokol hurriedly battened down the hatchway. With any luck whatsoever maybe Asmodius would be swept into the hard seas. Sokol watched from the drenched window as Asmodius turned in the direction of the Coast Guard Cutter.

  “The Endurance has altered course and is on track to intercept us, Captain. She asks that we slow to one -third.”

  Sokol was still watching Asmodius as it stood on the elongated bridge wing of the Kyoto Maru. Then, as he had seen many times before, Asmodius raised its large hands to the black skies. It closed its yellow eyes to the view of the enormous waves. Sokol couldn’t see but he did hear the seas grow louder. Asmodius stiffened and then clapped all eight fingers together just as lightning and thunder rent the air. It was so loud and full of power that every man on the bridge thought the Kyoto Maru had exploded.

  “Captain! Rogue wave!” shouted the radar operator.

  As Sokol turned to the many bridge windows, the darkness of the sky obscured his view. Then he saw it. The foam at the base of the wave highlighted the giant swell. It was tremendous in size as it rose to a height of half a mile. Then he saw the coast guard cutter as it vanished into its trough. Then the wave broke over the large cutter and that was when Sokol and the bridge crew saw the sleek vessel break in two as the wave totally covered its remains. Then they braced as the remnants of the rogue wave broke over the forward section of the Kyoto Maru, pushing her deep into the sea.

  Sokol picked himself up after watching the death of so many American sailors happen without a whisper of a distress call going out. At least two hundred men had been snuffed out in less time than it took to take a drink of vodka. Every man on the bridge was turned to silence as the hatch door opened and a dripping wet Asmodius stepped inside. It turned to first Sokol, and then faced the captain.

  “Follow…the…storm.”

  “Course?” the man stuttered in fear.

  “Until the storm…dissipates…outside of…Boston.”

  “What happens when we arrive?” Sokol asked.

  “War…happens. The battle…for the…world…I created many thousands of…years…ago.”

  Sokol and the rest of the crew that saw Asmodius that day would go to their graves remembering the absolute joyous smile on the Grey’s scaly lips.

  The Battle of Salem was at hand.

  Part III

  The Father of Lies

  * * *

  “Sometimes science is not, cannot, be the answer…”

  ~ Doctor Niles Compton,

  Director, Department 5656

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cambridge, Massachusetts

  Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III walked in the back garden of one of the most beautiful estates he had ever been in. Even with the evening clouds starting to roll in over the skies of New England Charlie was still amazed at the sense of peace the magnificent mansion brought to his state of mind. He was greeted by many young people who strolled the grounds the same as hims
elf. Always polite, always cordial. It was almost as if he weren’t being held against his will but an invited, respected guest.

  Charlie spied a bench that had just been vacated by a large man in his early twenties that had been reading a book while the last of the sun vanished. As the boy walked by Ellenshaw saw that he was reading ‘Paradise Lost.’ The typical story of good versus evil and one that Charlie found relatable to the few words of explanation he received from staff and even Elsbeth Barlow. Charlie sat at the bench and watched the mansions staff roam here and there as they prepared for the new guests to arrive. Thus far he had counted over a hundred different people either lived, worked or studied at the estate. He figured he should have something to report to the Colonel when the expanded field team arrived.

  Charlie relaxed and removed his wire-rimmed glasses and closed his eyes in thought as the smell of rain became more prominent. He heard movement to his left and opened his eyes. The blur was of two figures walking toward him. One medium and one extremely small. He replaced his glasses and then sped Elsbeth Barlow and walking beside her was Mahjtic Tilly. He watched. Matchstick was still disoriented and still had not spoken much since his revival from the grave. Although questioned lightly by him the small alien had not much to say. Sometimes when Ellenshaw spoke Matchstick would look at him as if he really didn’t know who his old friend was. Late this afternoon when Matchstick was dozing in the wonderful prison Elsbeth claimed was their bedroom, he could have sworn Matchstick was crying in his sleep. He was concerned that the alien’s memory of Gus and the many others that died with Matchstick that night came to him only in dream-like phases. Charlie worried about the mental strain that was being applied on an already taxed state. Charlie smiled and moved down the bench and then patted the wooden seat next to him, inviting Matchstick to sit. Elsbeth assisted him onto the bench. Then she gave the small alien a peanut butter cup.

  “Well, Slim, have you been spying on my pupils enough to give your Colonel Collins a precise report?” She smiled and then eased her old body onto the bench beside Matchstick.

  “Is that what you think we do, spy?”

  Elsbeth cackled. It wasn’t her normal laugh as it seemed to have a twinge of sadness to it. “Well, if I were in your shoes, I would be doing just that I imagine. But then you people have different priorities than we.”

  “Miss Barlow, how is it you know more about us than ninety-nine-point nine percent of the people in the country?”

  Elsbeth rubbed her arthritic hands together and looked at Ellenshaw. “Well, Slim, old Elsbeth has been around for more years than this body likes to say. I know most of what happens around the world. Politicians really cannot keep secrets. Slim, do you think my kids here do nothing but cast spells and chant rhythmic tunes to alter the very properties of physics?”

  “Well, yes, that’s exactly what I think. You have admitted as much. Through demonstration and speech, you have told me so.”

  Elsbeth removed a small bottle from her flower-print house dress. She shook out two pills and swallowed them.

  “When they are finished with their studies, they are sent out into the world.”

  “You set them free to alter normal people and their lives?”

  “Slim, we live by a simple rule, we are never to change the course of human history for selfish purposes.”

  “That’s why when we were losing the war with the Greys you didn’t lift a finger to assist?”

  “Oh, once the invasion was complete, we would have fought just as hard as anyone else. We all knew from past experience that there are some very good people in the world. Let’s just say we bided our time.” Elsbeth placed her pain medication in her dress pocket and then smiled over at Charlie while rubbing Matchsticks bald head. “After eight thousand years Slim, the doctors tell me I’m finally dying. I don’t really know how to feel about that. Since the time of Rome, I thought I was ready to let go. Now I think I’m scared.”

  Charlie leaned forward as a freshening breeze washed over his stringy white hair. “Miss Barlow, what are you?”

  “I think you’ve pretty much guessed I’m not one of you.”

  “Yeah, I only have a doctorate from Stanford, but I pretty much deduced that much.”

  Elsbeth reached over and pulled Matchstick onto her lap. Charlie could see that the arthritic pain medication was helping her. She again rubbed Matchstick’s bulbous head. “To make a long story short, I was sent here by this little guy’s race. Covertly. I wasn’t of their world, but it was my people who, close to five hundred thousand years ago, taught my enemy everything he knows. Since then,” she handed Matchstick another peanut butter cup, “it’s been our duty to watch for his return.” She looked past a chewing Matchstick and fixed Charlie with her blue eyes. “And Asmodius has indeed returned to place claim on a world the master of lies believes he created.” She smiled at Matchstick. “Does your mind recall the tales my little friend as told by your people?”

  Matchstick closed his almond shaped eyes as if in deep thought. He shook his head negatively.

  “Well, when your friends arrive, we’ll see what we can do to get you to remember the ancient times.” She tapped his green head with a fingertip, making him flinch. “It’s in there somewhere.”

  “If you and your power can’t stop this Asmodius, what can little Matchstick do?”

  Elsbeth helped Matchstick climb down from the bench. “You go wash up for our company, get some of that chocolate off your face.”

  Matchstick looked at Charlie and Ellenshaw nodded his head that he should go inside.

  Elsbeth made sure Matchstick was out of hearing range. She turned to Charlie. “Slim, Matchstick and his kind are the only beings in the universe that cannot be mentally manipulated by the Greys. Matchstick and all of his ancestors have a built-in immunity to the games the Grey’s play. This is why they could never be trusted and millions of years after they built the Grey’s society, they were enslaved.”

  “And Matchstick, how did you know he wasn’t dead?”

  “I heard his faint heartbeat when it started up again. When I sleep, I wander the world. Not just this world, but also others. If I could explain it Slim I would. Needless to say, when I saw that our little onion headed friend was still alive, I knew we had a fighting chance at stopping Asmodius.”

  “Then why do you look so down?” Charlie asked.

  “Matchstick’s death experience has changed him. You can see it. I’ve watched you with him.”

  Charlie leaned back on the bench. “It’s like a part of him didn’t come back from the grave.”

  “Like Pet Semetary?” Elsbeth asked in all seriousness, and then cackled heartily when she saw Charlie’s shocked expression. “I saw that movie. Written by a New Englander.”

  Charlie was shocked that someone like Elsbeth Barlow knew who Stephen King was but decided to skip the subject of magical animals coming back from the dead. The Matchstick event was enough for him.

  “Well, Slim, when your friends arrive, I hope we can go into that bulbous little green noggin’ and see if we can’t find what that boy lost while visiting the land of the dead. If not, Asmodius will take back what it thinks is his and his alone.”

  Elsbeth stood and started walking away. She stopped and turned. “I took the liberty of supplying you with a bit of formal wear for this evening, Slim, I hope it fits. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see if dinner is almost ready. I suspect your friends may be hungry after their travels. See you at dinner.”

  Charlie watched Elsbeth leave and continued sitting as the first raindrops started falling. He looked into the dark skies and he got the cold chills. When he shivered his gaze went up to the third-floor window where he and Matchstick shared a room. The small alien was watching him from the window. Then he was gone. Charlie was wondering if he had seen him at all. He stood up and as the rain started coming down harder his memory sharpened. He could have sworn he saw another form standing behind his friend. A large form. Ellenshaw shook his head k
nowing then that his mind was just playing tricks on him.

  “Shouldn’t have done all of that stuff in ’69, I should have known it would catch up with me.”

  * * *

  Jack was on his cell phone with Sarah as she gave her new husband a status report on Alice. Thus far the amazing Mrs. Hamilton was still comatose but alive. He tried to keep the conversation short and to the point as he felt Henri’s eyes on him. Then Sarah offered up a worrisome addition to her report.

  “Jack, we have a major problem.”

  Collins closed his eyes, not needing any additional distractions.

  “Niles and I assume Master Chief Jenks is on his way to Boston. We tried to stop him, but he threw a resignation letter at Niles and left the hospital after arriving from his field trip to France. We don’t know how he got word about Virginia, but he did. We suspect Xavier may have dropped the ball.”

  “Why Doctor Morales?” Jack asked, rubbing his eyes as the pain began to creep into his temples.

  “Because when he quit, he armed himself and then took Xavier and Anya with him. He may have gone insane over Virginia’s murder. With Morales with him, he knows where your team is Jack.”

  “I hate to do this but call Director Compton and let’s get Wilkerson at the FBI to arrest the Master Chief. Make up a charge. Explain its for his own safety, but we don’t want him or his ‘guests’ hurt. Explain to agent Wilkerson that it wouldn’t make me happy if something happened to them.” Jack closed the cell phone and then turned his head. He saw Carl and explained.

  “Shit, Jack, with Jenksy on the loose, that man could kill us all and we wouldn’t even see him coming.”

  “One mess at a time,” Collins said as his headache had increased tenfold.