Apocalypse Cult (Gray Spear Society)

by Alex Siegel

  "We'll kill one to save a thousand," she said. "We'll kill a thousand to save the Earth. If the mission demands it, I'll even sacrifice a member of my team, including myself. That's the cold calculus of war."

  Her phone rang, and she had a brief conversation. She hung up.

  "A Muslim extremist group just announced that they're planning a major terrorist attack against the United States during the Fourth of July weekend. It's all over the news. The government claims the message is bogus, but everybody is taking it seriously, just in case."

  A shiver went down Aaron's spine. "I bet Simon's men faked the announcement. After they finish the attack, the Muslims will be blamed."

  "Which will create an international crisis. The entire world could be thrown into chaos, exactly as Simon had planned."

  "Damn. The plan isn't even that complicated. Just blow up a lot of innocent people and make sure the wrong guys are held responsible. Doing it on the Fourth of July is a nice touch because everybody will feel patriotic about declaring war. We'll be bombing the Middle East the next day."

  "Does the calculus make sense now?" Ethel asked.

  "Yes, ma'am." He sighed. "Suddenly, the numbers are adding up."

  Chapter Twenty

  They were five hours into the second round of searching Lake Michigan by air. Aaron's legs were cramping from being locked into one position for so long. He felt sure engine vibration had loosened every filling in his teeth. His eyes were so tired from staring through binoculars at sparkling green water that he could hardly focus.

  The search had been a colossal waste of time, which was already in short supply. Edward had given Aaron pictures of ten ships, but he and Ethel had found only two so far, and neither had turned out to be the right one. Aaron was painfully aware that every hour that passed increased the chance of disastrous failure.

  "What happens if we can't find these assholes, ma'am?"

  "We will," Ethel said. "Be confident."

  "We spent all day flying back and forth across this damned lake like a couple of chumps."

  "I'll call Edward."

  "He probably passed out. How much sleep has he had in the last three days? I admire the man's dedication, but this isn't a healthy lifestyle."

  Ethel made her call.

  After she finished, she said, "Good news. Edward confirmed the cult purchased a large yacht one year ago, so we're on the right track. They registered it under the name Scimitar of Allah."

  "Cute," Aaron said. "Simon wanted to make sure the authorities would blame the Muslims for the attack."

  He flipped through his thin stack of printed photographs until he found a ship with the right name. It was a handsome vessel, white with dark windows that wrapped around the upper decks. There were three decks total, not counting the hold. The tall mast sprouted sophisticated navigation equipment instead of sails. He gave the photo to Ethel, and she studied it.

  "If Edward knew the name, why didn't he call us earlier?"

  "He fell asleep," she said.

  He nodded. "Ah." He took back the photo, which had specifications printed at the bottom. "It's a big boat, 135 feet long, capable of carrying tons of explosives with plenty of room to spare."

  "Which means we'll be fighting a large, well armed crew. I'm sure Simon picked his best soldiers to guard the centerpiece of his entire plan."

  "And they can blow up the bomb at any time if they're losing the fight. Sounds like a suicide mission."

  "Yes," she said. "Welcome to the Gray Spear Society."

  "I've wondered about that name, ma'am. Where did it come from?"

  "During the middle ages we would always conduct our business at night. We would stab our enemies with spears coated with dark ashes as camouflage. The gray spear became our symbol."

  "Interesting." He tapped his fingers on the picture. "If this ship is delivering the explosives, the target must be close to the water."

  "On the Fourth of July, big crowds gather on the beaches and piers of Lake Michigan to watch fireworks."

  Aaron grimaced. "And the biggest crowds can be found in the cities: Chicago, Milwaukee, and Green Bay."

  "Yes," Ethel said. "Thousands of people packed close together, unable to flee. A perfect target for a bomb."

  "Of course, this is all speculation, ma'am. We may be completely wrong."

  "All the evidence—what little we have—points in one direction. We don't have time to second guess ourselves. We have to trust our instincts, and mine are telling me we're right. Simon wanted an Apocalypse."

  He nodded. "It's a simple recipe. Just pack a boat with explosives, drive it into a crowd, and blow it up."

  "Not so simple," she said. "The ship and the explosives cost millions of dollars, and Simon needed absolutely loyal volunteers to make the preparations. This was a huge project that took years to accomplish. You have to respect that kind of leadership."

  "I guess so. How do we find the ship?"

  She pointed at the lake. "We keep looking."

  He sighed.

  An hour later their fuel ran low, and they turned back towards the Kenosha airport. The sun would set soon, so there was no chance of more flying today. The search had failed for now.

  "Maybe the Coast Guard can look for the ship," Aaron said. "They operate at night and have enough manpower to watch all the major ports."

  "What are you suggesting?" Ethel asked.

  "We could notify the authorities that terrorists armed with a giant bomb are on the Scimitar of Allah."

  "No. Absolutely not."

  He raised his eyebrows. "Why not, ma'am?"

  "This is a Society mission. We will deal with it ourselves."

  "That's just a policy. Under the circumstances, I think we can justify a little flexibility. We won't find this ship by just searching the lake, and we don't have a lot of time."

  She shook her head. "It's not an accident that Agent Hoskins and his entire team were wiped out along with the crew of that Coast Guard cutter."

  "That was a lot of bad luck."

  "How many missions have you completed?"

  "None, ma'am," he said in a humble tone.

  She looked out at the horizon. "The pattern is always the same. God draws a red circle around the enemy, and everybody inside that circle dies, guilty and innocent alike. Total cleansing. Sterilization. No trace of contamination can remain. We will be the only survivors, if we survive."

  "God didn't blow up that cutter or kill those federal agents. Actually, Marina and Victor killed five of them."

  "You dare to assume you know God's methods?"

  "Well, I certainly don't understand them, ma'am," he said. "Why doesn't He just tell us where the cult ship is? Or destroy it Himself?"

  "Because that's our job," she said. "If He gets directly involved, it means we failed badly."

  He stared at her. "You're contradicting yourself. A second ago you implied He killed Agent Hoskins. Is God involved or not?"

  "I can't answer that question in a way that will satisfy you. One thing I do know is that using the Coast Guard will accomplish nothing except filling more body bags."

  "Then can we ask other cells for help? We're not alone. You could call your boss, ma'am."

  "This is our territory," she said firmly. "Marina, you, and I will have to solve this problem alone."

  "Why?"

  "Because that kind of request is an admission of incompetence. If I have to call the legatus legionis and beg for help, he'll wonder if I'm still qualified to run my team. He'll wonder if any of us should be members of the Society at all. I'd better have a damn good reason before I make that call."

  He pointed at her. "This is about pride."

  "Not quite. An incompetent Spear is one who must retire. Are we really so overwhelmed that we need to plead for emergency aid? What do you think?"

  "You're asking me, ma'am?" he said.

  "You're a very intelligent man," she said. "Is there another solution to our problem?"

  "You already
eliminated all the obvious solutions."

  "Then think of a non-obvious one. Impress me."

  He could see the approaching shore as a horizontal green line separating the sky and the water. The scattered clouds were high and wispy. Sunlight coming through the window warmed the right half of his body too much.

  "Oh, shit!" he said. "I just remembered something!"

  "What?"

  He stared at her. "The Fourth of July is Sunday, but the Navy Pier fireworks show is always on a Saturday. If that's the target, then the attack happens tomorrow!"

  "The Pier will be jammed with tens of thousands of tourists." She furrowed her brow. "We may have less time than we thought."

  He looked up at the blue ceiling of the cockpit. The airplane was old, and the fabric was threadbare from decades of people bumping their heads. Exhaustion gummed up his brain like dirty engine oil.

  "I have one idea, ma'am."

  "What?" Ethel said.

  Aaron took out his phone and called Edward.

  Edward answered, "Hello?"

  "I need information about Brittany Waters," Aaron said. "Girl, age fifteen, blonde hair. She was with the cult at the campgrounds."

  "Hold on." There was a long silence. "I found her, sir. She's locked up in Cook County Juvenile Detention. She is accused of being an accessory in the kidnapping of Frank and Caroline Waters."

  "Good work. I'll be in touch." Aaron closed his phone.

  "Brittany Waters?" Ethel said. "What would she know?"

  "She slept with Simon, and maybe he talked to her while they were in bed. Guys like to brag before sex. The problem is that Brittany is in Juvenile Detention."

  She grunted. "I'll get her out. That won't be hard."

  "What are you going to do to her, ma'am?"

  "Interrogate her, of course. If she doesn't want to talk, it could get very rough. We can't afford to be patient."

  "I know." He sighed. "That damned calculus of war again."

  * * *

  Marina and Aaron sat in the front seat of a police car parked on Odgen Avenue in Chicago. They were across the street from the Cook County Juvenile Center. The huge, white buildings looked like generic office space rather than a prison for children. Only a relatively small red sign in front indicated their true purpose.

  Early morning sunlight made him squint. He was somewhat rested thanks to several hours of deep sleep. His bed back at headquarters had felt like a dream come true after days of taking only short naps wherever and whenever he could.

  Ethel came out the front door of the Juvenile Center. She wore a regular police uniform, which fit her well, and she strode with the confident gait of a veteran cop. Brittany Waters walked beside Ethel, her hands cuffed behind her back. The girl wore a green shirt and pants with the letters C.C.J.C. printed on them. The shirt had odd brown stains on the front. Her left eye was puffy.

  Ethel held Brittany firmly by the arm. The two of them crossed the street, and then Ethel pushed Brittany into the back seat of the police car. Ethel sat beside the girl.

  Brittany looked at Aaron with wide eyes. "You! I thought I smelled shit."

  He ignored her and spoke to Ethel instead, "Any trouble, ma'am?"

  "No," Ethel said. "I just presented my paperwork and received my prisoner."

  It hadn't been so easy for Edward. He had spent hours forging the paperwork and tweaking Cook County computer files so that everything would appear legitimate.

  Marina handed a syringe to Ethel, who immediately jabbed it into Brittany's thigh. The injection was over before Brittany had time to scream in pain.

  "What the fuck was that?" she yelled.

  "It will make you relaxed and cooperative," Ethel said.

  Brittany squirmed, but with her hands still cuffed, she didn't accomplish much.

  Marina drove off.

  "Where are we going?" Brittany said.

  "Someplace private," Ethel said. "We just want to ask you a few questions."

  "Go rot in Hell. I'm not talking to you."

  "Simon had a secret plan. He wanted to blow something up. Tell us what you know."

  Brittany clenched her jaw and glared silently.

  "That's fine." Ethel leaned back. "I'll ask again in a few minutes."

  Aaron shifted in his seat. He dreaded what was coming next, but he knew of no better alternative. They needed answers now. The deadline, with strong emphasis on dead, was just hours away.

  They arrived at a small meat packing plant in northern Chicago. It was closed for the holiday, so they had the whole facility to themselves. Ethel used a key to open a back door, and the entire group went inside.

  The interior of the plant had long assembly lines—actually, disassembly lines—where large animals were chopped, cut, and packaged. Everywhere Aaron looked, he saw sharp blades attached to complicated machinery. The metal surfaces were polished and spotless, but the odor of rotting meat still lingered in the air. The stubborn expression on Brittany's face was replaced by fear.

  "What are we doing here?" she said hesitantly.

  Nobody answered.

  She tried to run, but Ethel tripped her before she could take two steps. Brittany fell hard on the concrete, unable to protect herself with her hands bound. Ethel jerked her back to her feet.

  They proceeded to a large freezer in the back of the slaughterhouse. The freezer was currently empty of meat, but many steel hooks hung from the ceiling. The frigid air turned their breath to fog. There was a bathtub filled with water on the floor.

  "Do you feel like talking yet?" Ethel said.

  Brittany shook her head but not with enthusiasm.

  Ethel grabbed her arms, and Marina grabbed her feet. Brittany struggled with all her strength without much success. Ethel and Marina dropped the girl into the bathtub of water. Brittany splashed around for several seconds before she managed to get her head above water. She gasped for air.

  "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" she screamed. "That's cold!"

  She tried to climb out, but Ethel shoved her back under. Finally, Ethel allowed the girl to keep her head and chest out of the water. She knelt in the tub with her hands cuffed behind her back, shivering and miserable.

  "Hypothermia," Ethel said. "It's horrible, isn't it?"

  Brittany gritted her teeth.

  "And it's a relatively safe form of torture. A healthy teenager like you could spend an hour in that freezing water without suffering real harm."

  "You bitch!" Brittany cried.

  "Feel free to start talking any time."

  Nobody spoke as they watched the girl suffer for a few minutes. Aaron desperately wanted to leave the room, but he knew Ethel wouldn't approve. He had to be strong.

  Brittany swallowed as if nauseous. "I don't feel good," she muttered.

  "The injection must be working," Ethel said.

  "What did you give her, ma'am?" Aaron said.

  She looked at him. "Rohypnol, ketamine, mescaline, and a few others substances. I invented the recipe years ago. I call it the 'cocktail of nightmares.' I don't like to use drugs, but with so little time left, we can't mess around." She turned her attention back to Brittany. "Now, I'll ask again. Simon had a secret plan. What is it?"

  Brittany shook her head with a clumsy jerking motion. Her skin was so pale, it was almost blue.

  "That water must be very, very cold," Ethel said in a suggestive tone. "Like a thousand tiny teeth biting at your skin. Can you see the teeth in the water? Swirling around... hungry... so white... so sharp..."

  Brittany's eyes grew wide. Her breathing became fast and violent. Suddenly, she let out a scream of terror. Aaron could tell she was having a horrifying hallucination. She thrashed around in a desperate attempt to climb out of the tub, but Marina held her down.

  "I can take the teeth away," Ethel whispered in the girl's ear.

  "Please..." Brittany whimpered.

  "Tell us about Simon."

  The girl's teeth rattled together. She seemed to find fresh strength and remained silen
t.

  "Did you notice all the hooks above us?" Ethel said. "Hundreds of them. They're coming down now, reaching towards you. The needle-sharp points are piercing your flesh. They're digging into your muscles and organs like hungry, steel parasites. Slowly, you're being ripped apart..."

  Brittany's eyes rolled in her head like a terrified animal. She tried to scream again, but it stuck in her throat. Ethel allowed the torment to go on and on. Brittany thrashed so hard she almost tipped the bathtub over.

  Finally, Ethel said, "Shhh... It's all right now. You're safe. I can help you, but you have to help me first."

  The girl sobbed uncontrollably. She made inarticulate noises as if she had forgotten how to form words. Ethel helped her out of the tub, removed the handcuffs, and laid her on the frosted floor in a fetal position. Ethel stroked Brittany's hair to calm her down.

  "Talk to me," Ethel whispered.

  "Simon never told me his plan," Brittany pleaded in a raspy voice. "I don't know anything!"

  "You want to go home, don't you?"

  "Yes!"

  "Then tell me something useful, or we'll put you back in the water."

  "No, no, no." Brittany vomited onto the floor as convulsions ran up and down her entire body.

  "Talk."

  "We just had sex. Nothing else!"

  "I've been with enough men," Ethel said. "There is always something else."

  Brittany squeezed her eyes shut. "Papers..."

  "What about 'papers?'"

  "In a special apartment in Chicago, where Simon takes his favorite girls. He calls it his 'oasis of love.' That's where we had sex. He keeps his secret papers there."

  Ethel leaned in. "Where, exactly?"

  "The Spire. Number 5333."

  "Very good." Ethel carried a service pistol as part of her police costume. She stood up and handed the gun to Aaron. "Shoot her."

  "What, ma'am?" he said.

  "She's an ally of those who would burn this world, a tool of God's enemies. She's unfit to live any longer."

  "But..." The gun felt heavy in his hand.

  "That's an order. Pull the trigger, so we can go."

  Aaron glanced at Marina but saw no compassion on her face. Then he looked down at Brittany, who had drifted off to her private realm of nightmares. The girl mumbled incoherently and blinked very often, unaware that her life was almost at an end. Aaron loaded a bullet into the gun's chamber.