Disciples of the Serpent: A Novel of the O.C.L.T.

by Williams, Sidney

  A little silver car marked TAXI cruised to a stop. No one ever got a car that quickly. Freya felt panic start to rise, but as the silver compact pulled away, a small black sedan slid past after it, and in the same second a mobi chirped in Mike’s pocket.

  “Got ’em? Good.”

  He broke the connection and hit the phone face again with his thumb and waited just a second.

  “Pick us up.”

  Freya swore silently again. A little black sedan was pulling to curbside in a few seconds. The son of a bitch really was efficient.

  Twenty-Eight

  “If you were Keon, where would you go?”

  O’Donnell stood in front of a full-screen map in the Aisteach conference room. The predominant color was a muted beige for most of the geography, with thoroughfares contrasting in a bold mustard yellow. Reds and blues pinpointed various locations, while round blips indicated law enforcement and emergency vehicles.

  Rees had had it pulled up and said it offered the latest geographic information system available along with smart mapping and interfaces with other systems including terrorist databases. That included a terrorist-tracking system and feeds related to strange phenomenon that other agencies wouldn’t have found as exciting. Too bad they didn’t have an undercover operative embedded with this Ning group.

  Rees sat now beside Kaity while Bullfinch stood just behind them, looking toward the view screen. All of them were bathed in the screen’s glow, blanketed in a distorted mirror of it.

  “Maybe I’d go after the last puzzle pieces to keep them safe, but I don’t know where the symbols and stones are buried. Like I said, after a point, he kept it to himself. Wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “How well do you know him?” O’Donnell asked. “What’s he eat? What kind of coffee does he like? We’ll track him like we would a terrorist and tie in with the cams around the city and facial recognition.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Tea, juice, scotch, cigarettes?”

  “He quit smoking. Uh, he likes his coffee.”

  “Starbucks?”

  “Just regular coffee. Black.”

  “A favorite shop then? What’s he buy?”

  She closed her eyes, thinking.

  Rees relayed the info through his Bluetooth as O’Donnell coaxed details from Kaity, softening her voice. A patience and gentleness Bullfinch hadn’t seen before emerged from the officer. When she needed, the brusque manner could be submerged. She projected all the empathy and patience of a victim services counselor.

  Bullfinch let the relay session continue and stepped from his place behind the others and approached the map screen’s beige glow. He scanned street names, noted the highway numbers and occasional bursts of blue indicating water. Just about everything of the city’s topography was represented.

  “Can you show Ley lines on this system?” Bullfinch asked, raising his voice to interrupt the gentle quizzing. Given the proficiency of Rees and his team in matters of the paranormal, it seemed possible.

  “Magic paths again, professor?” O’Donnell asked.

  “Energy lines,” he said. “They’re relevant to the beliefs of those we’re tracking and were noted by the conspirators. They’ll be relevant to the task.”

  Rees touched the Bluetooth earpiece again and in a moment a new network of crisscrossing lines appeared in orange across the display. They stretched across the city in a couple of places.

  “Can you zoom out?”

  Rees spoke softly again.

  Bullfinch observed the trajectory. They angled on up the coast and southward as well. He mentally calculated distances and spots on the lines, sacred locations, ancient sites.

  He realized everyone stared at him. He looked back at the curious eyes. O’Donnell looked particularly quizzical and skeptical at the same time.

  “Go on with your work,” he said. “It’s important to stay practical. I’m just gathering my thoughts.”

  When the questioning began anew, he stepped toward the map and lifted a hand. The screen continued to reflect the map’s topography onto his skin, but he stayed focused on the map’s face, running a finger along one line and another, letting an index finger tip glide west then back to the city.

  Ireland was dappled with sacred places. So many choices. Keon might go any direction, but perhaps some of the puzzle pieces had been planted close to Dublin.

  His finger glided north and landed on Mellifont Abbey. County Louth. What was that, twelfth century? It was a beautiful collection of ruins, certainly a qualifying spot. He let his finger slide a little west, and it fell on the Hill of Tara, an important point for the Celtic high kings. Equally worthy.

  He let out a quiet sigh. Needle in a haystack. Or a stone in rock pile. It was impossible to guess where the young scholars would have placed their little puzzle pieces.

  But almost against his will, his hand slid west, farther west toward a point of myth and legend that had been in his thoughts for a while now as all the talk of serpents and legends had, well, coiled and writhed.

  It was there all right, dissected by aley line.

  Wherever the puzzle pieces were held, he had had a feeling they’d be going to the spot in front of his eyes now. Croagh Patrick. With all his time in the states, he had to remind himself it would be pronounced crow-guh. County Mayo, not that far from the North Atlantic Ocean. The spot was often called The Reek, and it held great significance in the annals of Irish faith, mystery and legend. It almost had to be the point they were all heading, if the little pieces told the story they seemed to.

  It was a monument to what the people they pursued were about, what they wanted. In his gut it produced a deep and troubling fear.

  He moved near its point on the screen and put a finger on its locator dot.

  “Mr. Rees, do you have anyone near this location? It might become important if we don’t locate our young man soon.”

  They were getting closer. Freya felt excitement building.

  From the back seat, she watched the young African man step out of the Europcar rental outlet near City Centre where the hired car had deposited him. He was accompanied by a young woman in a green blazer and dress that almost matched the company’s sign. He nodded frequently, hearing a spiel about the care of the vehicle, no doubt.

  “Too much to hope he’s got it in a storage locker in town,” Mike said. He sat in front beside the stoic driver, and his tone was a blend of boredom and weariness.

  “Guess I’m gonna get to see the lovely Irish countryside.”

  “You might enjoy the scenery,” Freya said.

  She’d tired of his grim attitude. She wouldn’t let him kill her mood. She was the one who’d climbed around crumbling ruins and chased through half the country already. She was the one who’d killed more people for the cause than she cared to think about.

  Mike was just a necessary evil because the disciples needed his people’s bankroll. His commentary wasn’t necessary.

  The young man shook the Europcar representative’s hand and tossed his satchel into the back seat, then climbed behind the wheel. Would he lead them all the way?

  She closed her eyes just a second and drew in a breath, reminding herself that wherever this took them, they had to be getting closer. Closer to the goal, to realizing the possible. Closer to proving the truth of the past and realizing the glorious excitement of harnessing the power and energy so long forgotten, literally buried.

  Twenty-Nine

  Keon had not traveled the highway in years, but suddenly it all seemed familiar again. As he headed through the countryside, looking across the still-familiar fields with occasional sprouts of stone—old walls and houses and vestiges of turrets and keeps. He remembered the old days, slinking through those structures. At first he’d been seeking more marks or more pieces of his little puzzle he could use. Later the purpose had shifted.

  He’d cruised in another rental in those later days, a van, hurling toward adventure, excited by the game, wondering who’d find the
clues they had been placing and how it would all come together. All of it had been coupled with the tantalizing notions and fragments they’d picked up. What if the symbols, the secrets tied to real legend?

  The road signs and the names of the small towns had sounded quaint to his immigrant brain in those days. Kil- and -derry prefixes and suffixes seemed to be everywhere. They’d envisioned archaeologists of the future, what was then the future, puzzling over the artifacts and the beliefs they seemed to represent.

  They’d had a celebration back in the day, when the last piece had been hidden. Kaity had poured wine when he’d met them after the placement, and they’d hoisted them high and toasted.

  They’d never imagined the urgency or the real power of what they were playing with. They’d compiled the pieces just for authenticity. The real players today in their little scavenger hunt were more ominous than the quizzical scholars or the quirky amateurs they’d imagined.

  The GPS map on the rental’s dash unfurled before him, clicking off the distance in small numbers at the lower corner. A turn was coming up, an angle off the main road that would lead him down the final leg.

  Then what?

  He’d find that last piece, dig it up, and then drive to the ocean and throw it in. That would do it. Sunken beneath the waves, that would be good enough. No one would ever find it there. It would rest with the things it might just possibly have the power to summon.

  “He’s turning,” Mike growled. “Slow down a little.”

  The vehicle dropped speed almost too abruptly.

  “Go past the turn. We’ll catch up with him.” He turned to Freya. “Get on the horn to your friend and tell him the same.”

  Freya felt a flutter in her stomach as she thumbed Jaager’s number. It was amazing how close they were to finishing. They definitely didn’t want to tip their hand now. Not with the rise so close, so possible. Everything might be realized now. Everything she’d dreamed since she first read hints of the Ning in the handouts from the little group she’d attended. She’d dreamed of the power and turning the tables on the world. Now it was in sight.

  The driver slowed after passing the roadway and then made a U-turn on the narrow highway and backtracked. The African’s rental was just disappearing around a curve ahead when they angled onto the road he’d taken, gravel and grit crunching under their tires.

  She spoke softly into the cell, giving directions. She looked up at road signs as their vehicle moved along. First was a small highway number marker. Not far past it, another sign appeared, and she knew when she saw it that it had to mark their destination.

  Blackton Priory.

  A Celtic cross stood just inside the gray stone wall that stretched beside the roadway. Jagged and craggy, the wall still looked sturdy in spite of the centuries it had weathered.

  Keon counted them in his head. Blackton was a thirteenth-century settlement, so eight hundred years? The awe of that hadn’t struck him on the previous visit. He’d been too young.

  He’d known when it was selected the marking would pre-date the settlement, but that was supposed to be part of the mystery for any searchers who came later. It would be unexplained, just as the disparate markings they’d discovered on sites they’d worked.

  He had a few more years behind him now. He understood years and their passing just as he understood many things he hadn’t on his last visit. He’d come to understand gravity and youthful indiscretion as well as the solemnity of the study of the past.

  He took things seriously in a way he hadn’t in the old days, in a way he’d never have listened to back then. Who could have anticipated how wrong a game could go all those years ago?

  They’d joked the pieces might never be found, but even by the time of the last piece being placed, Keon had worried about the little hints of the truths behind the hidden alphabet.

  As reports of findings from Roman graves and other digs plus new theories about the influence of comets had filtered to him through news accounts and reports in archaeology journals, he’d grown more concerned over what they’d stumbled upon. They’d been obfuscating more than they’d realized in their thought experiment.

  In the day, he, Kaity, Hayden, Nathan, Liam, the others, had all laughed at old Professor Burke and his worries and concerns about integrity and ethics when he learned of the game. They’d told him they were breaking new ground, inventing a discipline, a blend of archaeology and sociology with a dash of psychology and anthropology, not to mention the metaphysical. They would shatter tired old protocols and invent their own new models with the world as their lab and the people their lab rats.

  The giddiness had long faded. The time had come to pay the price for their arrogance and insurrection. The rats had turned. He walked across the familiar expanse of lawn, resting the small collapsible shovel he’d brought with him over one shoulder, scanning the random, jagged stone blocks that jutted up at intervals that bore no discernable pattern.

  They looked familiar, but the piece had been hidden somewhere beyond the first wall, or the remains of the wall, which had served the priory as a fence but also formed a portion of one building corner. All that remained of that dwelling now were a few bits of wall with window-shaped openings.

  Green mossy growth coated much of the stone while sprigs of grass and brush popped up in various spots between stone. He moved past those as well. He’d wanted to place their prize so that it seemed it was something previous excavations of the site had missed. In those days, the excavations of this spot had been just a decade before.

  As he moved around the first wall, heading toward the heart of the settlement where more complete structures remained, dark clouds began to roll in.

  He should have brought a poncho as well as his little shovel. Live and learn. It was as if the world did not look fondly on his actions today, but things had been bright and sunny on the first visit. The plan had seemed blessed by the heavens. Maybe omens weren’t reliable.

  A crack of distant thunder rumbled. A challenge to his train of thought. He ignored it and stepped around stones and past the central wall with a series of vaulted openings. They looked familiar.

  How many paces from the wall? He’d memorized it long ago. Now he wasn’t quite certain. Had it been ten, a nice round number?

  He’d start with that. If he had to dig a couple of holes, that wouldn’t be the end of the world. Suddenly his head tilted back and a laugh he couldn’t contain burst from his throat. A couple of holes wouldn’t be the end of the world, but what rested at the bottom of one of them might be.

  He looked down at his feet, and at the grassy patch just in front of his toes. Time to try and avoid finding out. He took the shovel from his shoulder and drove the blade into the ground.

  “Let him do the work.” Mike passed the small pair of binoculars to Freya. “Worst thing about waiting, you can’t have a cigarette. He might see the smoke.”

  “Maybe it’s not buried too deep,” Freya said. “When we nab him, you can light up.” She hoped the sarcasm just lightly coated her words and didn’t drip down onto his shoes.

  They turned as slight vibrations rippled their way across the ground. Jaager approached, flanked by the walking Groom brother.

  “Gang’s all here,” Mike said under his breath. “Guy digs up the rock, we’re ready to get the show on the road.”

  “OK, we’ve found him,” Rees said. “Or at least we have a sighting.”

  “Quicker than before,” O’Donnell said.

  “He wasn’t fighting rain and covering his features. And someone named Mack from Professor Bullfinch’s side of the pond stepped in digitally to offer his help, I’m being told.”

  He spoke into his Bluetooth and jerky color imagery filled the screen in front of him. Angled from overhead, the video pointed down on a car, and a man working with the hose from a petrol pump.

  He looked to be in a hurry.

  Rees moved to Kaity’s side and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “Is that your
friend?”

  The camera offered a view mostly of the top of the man’s head. Her eyelids narrowed as she studied the form.

  “The build is right.”

  “Anything else?”

  O’Donnell focused on the woman rather than the screen. As the man returned the pump handled to its cradle she caught sight of something that brought a flicker of recognition.

  “What is it?” O’Donnell asked.

  “He’s still wearing a dangling earring. I can see it. Maybe the same one he always wore. That’s Keon.”

  “Where is this?” Bullfinch asked.

  “Map point,” Rees said softly for the Bluetooth.

  An overlay appeared on the screen.

  “That’s almost into Country Cork,” the director said.

  “Can we see the ley Lines?” Bullfinch said.

  The screen flickered again, offering a new network of lines over the highway view.

  The professor stepped toward the screen, studying it for just a few seconds, his gaze moving from point to point.

  “There,” he said.

  His finger angled toward a point high on the map.

  “That has to be where he’s headed. That’s an old monastic settlement. When was this taken?”

  “Two and a half hours ago.”

  “My god that’s two hundred and fifty kilometers away,” Bullfinch said. “He’s had time to get there.”

  “You really think that’s where he’s headed?”

  “It’s a pretty good point for their little scavenger hunt. Kaity?”

  She nodded.

  “It makes sense to our thinking in those days. We wanted the pieces to turn up where they seemed to fit naturally with a little mystery at times.”

  “If they catch him there and obtain the last symbol, we don’t know what could happen…”

  “We can get you there fast,” Rees said. “We’ll call up Garda Air Support. They should lend us a chopper.”

  “You have a chopper? Not winged unicorns?” O’Donnell asked.

  “Don’t be absurd,” Rees said. “If we were going to use anything like that we’d have winged humanoids, not mythical creatures that don’t exist.”