by Pat Mullan
"Yeah, man. The right thing would have been to turn this over to the NYPD team investigating the murders. But this thing stunk to me. So when I found this locker of Miller's and the bag he had stashed, I thought it might be important. I've worked for General Bart before so I asked his advice. You know the rest."
He took a key from the ring at his waist, opened his desk and pulled out the large bottom drawer on the right. Reaching down he brought out a black imitation leather sports bag with the zipper attached to a small combination lock.
"No-one knows about this discovery but myself. And General Bart. I'll turn this over to you. I don't want to know about it."
The meeting was over. No pleasantries. Javier, the Efficient. That's how MacDara thought of him as he took the bag back to his suite.
It wasn't difficult prizing the lock away from the zipper and sliding it open. Nothing much inside at first glance : a golfing glove, some golf balls, stamped with various clubs and tournaments, a plastic bag of Doral Country Club tees, a small dog-eared notebook on a wire spine, a Publix supermarket shopping bag.... probably contained some dirty laundry, guessed MacDara as he peered inside. His guess was wrong. It contained a long white robe of a simple monastic style. He picked up the notebook and leafed through it. Scattered notes on various pages, some hand-written in pencil, some in ball-point, mostly notes on golf dates, a shopping list, some flight times from Miami International and Fort Lauderdale, and one curious entry : an address in Dania of the El Habesh Mosque.
MacDara found the place just as dusk was falling. Which suited him fine. It was an odd, circular-looking building, almost like an upturned chamber-pot. It used to be a mosque. The building was about two hundred yards off Sheridan in Dania, just south of Fort Lauderdale. It was difficult to spot from Sheridan because it lay in a run-down part of the neighborhood. Abandoned warehouses and piles of rusting cars sitting among hills of used tires camouflaged it from the road. He would never have found it if Mueller's notebook hadn't mentioned the steakhouse nearby. Old ranch style building with weather beaten red shingles. Unmistakable. He pulled into the steakhouse parking lot, already filled. The steaks must be good here. Maybe another time. There were few lights on this stretch of roadway and the traffic was sparse, so he had no trouble dashing across and disappearing among the piles of old tires on the opposite side of the road. The mosque stood alone on an empty lot about a hundred yards beyond the last abandoned warehouse. MacDara could see robed figures, in twos and threes approaching the mosque door.
He hurried back to the car and took the plastic shopping bag containing Mueller's white robe out of the trunk. Back again behind the warehouse he donned the robe. It reached his ankles and the sleeves were too long. He rolled the sleeves up into cuffs at his wrist and hoped no-one would notice. Blend and belong, he told himself.
Incense rose in bursts from burners swung by a white-robed person at each corner of the chamber. A round black carpet covered the entire floor, accentuating the twelve foot diameter white circle at its center. A cylindrical red altar stood in the middle of that white circle. A red snake coiled around the base of the altar and climbed into the air above. Its head shone an arc of ambient light directly on to the circle. About one hundred hooded white-robed figures stood motionless in circles around the altar. MacDara had entered unnoticed and merged into the outer circle. In his white robe he was indistinguishable from the others.
All eyes were focused on the black-robed figure kneeling at the altar. Minutes passed in total silence. The chamber filled with the heady aroma of incense. The black robe rose and turned to face MacDara's sector of the chamber. He was hooded with his face cloaked in shadow and MacDara had a sense that he was lithe and agile. A white circle enclosing a red snake emblazoned the front of his robe. He raised his arms and stretched them towards his audience and his voice carried with the depth and timbre of a Shakespearean actor.
"Brothers and Sisters, the infidels are about to fulfil their own prophesy. Read their Book of Revelations : gather them to the battle of that great day into a place called Armageddon."
His voice reverberated from the rafters of the cathedral ceiling and the brothers and sisters all raised their right arms with clenched fists and responded in unison :
"You are Truth. You are Justice."
"Brothers and Sisters, the time is near. In five years we reach the millennium. In five years our world will be engulfed in a Holy War. The infidels will fulfil their prophesy. The signs are here."
"You are Truth. You are Justice."
"Brothers and Sisters, you are the Chosen. You are the New Life. You will not perish. You will inherit the Earth."
"You are Truth. You are Justice."
"Brothers and Sisters, your Chosen One is going to be persecuted. The infidels will attack you. But you will not perish. You will inherit the Earth."
"You are Truth. You are Justice."
Six robed figures, with distinctive red armbands, moved into the white circle and surrounded the Chosen One.
"Brothers and Sisters, the disciples of the Inner Circle will protect the Chosen One."
"You are Truth. You are Justice."
"Brothers and Sisters, be prepared to give your lives for your Inheritance. Have no regrets. If called, do it willingly. You are the New Life. You will be reincarnated. You will not perish. You will inherit the Earth."
"You are Truth. You are Justice."
MacDara had seen and heard enough. That voice was unmistakable. The Chosen One was now kneeling at the altar again. The Inner Circle stood around him. The Brothers and Sisters had begun to move clockwise, within their respective circles, around the altar. The incense burners were swung even more frantically and the air had become thick and smoky. MacDara slipped from the chamber.
The entrance vestibule was dimly lit and he didn't notice the Brother standing inside the mosque door until he reached for the doorhandle. The Brother moved a step forward into the light and MacDara thought he was trying to say something. But he didn't. Instead he stepped back into the shadows and MacDara left, pondering the significance, if any, of that encounter.
MacDara sent an urgent E-mail to Shields and when the flight arrived from Miami The General was there to meet him. They didn't talk until Shields had closed the soundproof barrier that separated them from the driver. Then he reached over to the bar and poured two glasses of Dewars.
"What happened in Florida?"
MacDara filled Shields in on his close encounter with the Corvette and his meeting with Doctor Dan . He did not tell the General about Kate Whiteside's real father. As far as MacDara was concerned, that would remain a secret with him forever unless he had to reveal it to protect Kate. He covered his meeting with Javier Uribe at the Doral. But he saved the important news till the end.
"I know who heads the Circle of Sodom."
General Shields sat upright. You could almost imagine him coming to attention as MacDara spoke those words.
"Owen, this is too serious for levity. I have no sense of humor these days."
"It's no joke, Sir. I'm certain that I know who it is."
MacDara went on to describe his uninvited attendance at the service in the El Habesh Mosque.
"That voice was unmistakable, Sir. I didn't see the face but there's only one voice like that. His name is Tony Thackeray."
MacDara went on to describe the Honorable David Anthony Llewellyn Thackeray, his family pedigree, and his keynote speech at the GMA dinner.
"But you didn't see this person. You still can't be certain it's Thackeray."
"I am certain, General. Tony Thackeray has a messianic presence. There's only one voice like that. And the Thackeray Institute, the perfect cover. It gives him a legitimate reason for the lifestyle that he leads."
"OK, just suppose that you're right. What about this cult that he heads?"
"They're new. Or they must have been well hidden. They have an Inner Circle that acts like bodyguards. He calls them his disciples and says that they'll protect
the Chosen One. And he is the Chosen One."
"This Circle of theirs. Could they be your Circle of Sodom?"
"I'm certain of it. That snake in a circle on the Chosen One's robe was exactly the same as the tattoos. I'm sure if I'd been able to get to any of those six disciples that I'd have found the same tattoo on their arms."
"None of this makes any sense to me. Why would Thackeray want to use his Circle to eliminate Murph' and yourself? And what about the attack on Ruth Whiteside and the murder of Baker's security man? Was he involved in that? And don't forget the killing of Jay Russo. Where does that fit into any of this? I think it's stretching things a bit to connect all of this to Thackeray. And, what, in heaven's name, would be his motive. He has everything. This does not make any sense."
Owen couldn't argue with the General's logic. He only knew that all of these events were connected. The General hadn't finished.
"Tell me something else. What link could there possibly be between Zach Walker and this man Thackeray? They're from totally different worlds. And you've always maintained that the killing of Murphy Armstrong and the attempts on your life are connected to that incident in Korea with General Walker. Now you're telling me that Thackeray is responsible. If both of these assumptions are correct, then you're really saying that Zach Walker and Tony Thackeray are in this thing together. I find that difficult to buy."
Owen finally cut in :
"You're right, Sir. It all sounds illogical. But I'm convinced there's a connection. Maybe not in the case of Jay. I've been thinking a lot about that. The Assistant D.A., Stern, told me that he was convinced that Liz had bumped off Jay. Well, suppose he was right. Look at it this way. She and Jay were in trouble. Jay was screwing around. She has the odd fling herself. Meets Thackeray. They looked pretty thick to me. Suppose he does her a favor and eliminates Jay? She may not have asked him to do it. But, if Thackeray's Circle is responsible for these killings, what's one more to him?"
"Now, that is plausible. Maybe too plausible. This all hinges on your belief that Thackeray is involved in these killings. We do not have one shred of evidence for that. Even if you do establish that Mueller was a member of this cult and that Thackeray is indeed the head of it, that does not prove a thing. Besides, what is his motive. I have to come back to that. I see no possible motive."
MacDara had to admit that Shields was right. It all seemed a bit too far-fetched. But so were the deaths of Murph' and Jay and the Kid.
"Sir, I have to find the motive. And the connection between all of these events. I know only one place to begin. At the beginning. Korea, 1970."
SEVENTEEN
Gloucester, Massachussetts
What a spirited lady, thought Owen MacDara, as he looked at Ruth Whiteside. Ignoring the therapist's advice, she had discarded her crutches and was coming towards him using the furniture as props to propel herself yard by yard across the room. Gripping him by the right wrist with the firmness of a much younger person she leveraged him into a seat on the couch beside her.
"I hope I didn't drag you away from something. But I haven't seen you in two months, or so they tell me. I still find that hard to accept."
"So do I," said Kate cheekily as she appeared with two gin and tonics and gave one to Owen. She brought a ginger ale for her mother, who said :
"The days of g&t's are over for me. But I do like a glass of white wine with dinner. Sometimes two these days."
"Cheers!" saluted Owen, "I'm glad to see you on the mend."
"Oh, they're mollycoddling me. Therapist every morning. Nurse every afternoon. Even wanted to send me daily hot meals. You know. That meals-on-wheels business. Well, I told them 'what for". I'm not an invalid, you know."
"You'll outlive all of us," said Owen, "you're indestructible!"
"Well, somebody didn't think so," said Ruth Whiteside changing the atmosphere of levity in the room; almost a cue for Kate, who said:
"I'm off to prepare dinner. You two have a lot to discuss. I've heard it before."
"What do you remember about that day?" asked Owen as Kate headed for the kitchen.
"Everything. That is, until I blacked out. I remember I was surprised that the doorbell only rang twice."
"Why is that?"
"Benny and I had an arrangement. He met anyone who came to the house and, if he thought I should see them, he'd ring the door bell three times. That evening it only rang twice. I didn't answer. Then it rang again, three times, the second time. So I thought it must be Benny. That's why I answered the door."
She paused to take a sip of her ginger ale and then continued :
"They seemed such nice young men. Two of them. Early twenties I'd say. Just the kind of boys that the Mormons send out. They had a religious tract in their hands. You know, something that looked just like that magazine of the Jehovah's Witnesses. What is it called? The Watchtower, I think. Well, they started to talk about God and about faith and asked, very politely, if they could come in and talk with me. They said they'd spoken with Benny and he said it was OK. Knew his name and all, they did. Normally, I would just say 'no thanks, I'm not interested', to people like that. But that evening I was feeling a little lonely. So I invited them in. Thought I might find it entertaining."
She looked at Owen with a wry smile :
"Turned out to be too much entertainment for me!"
"If this is too painful for you..."
"No, no. I must tell you. You need to know. And I need to talk about it. Help me out to the deck."
Owen helped her onto her feet and then let her use him to support herself as they made their way out to the deck. As they sat down Kate arrived with two glasses of Chardonnay and just as quickly retreated again.
"To fortify me," Ruth commented as she raised the glass of wine to her lips. Then she continued.
"It was just like day turning into night after they came into the house. Except that it was already night outside. One of them bolted the outer door and the other pulled the drapes across the doors leading out to the deck. I like to keep those drapes open to watch the moonlight on the water. I asked them what they thought they were doing and one of them told me to shut up. Shut up! In my own house. I was shocked. Told them to get out. But one of them grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back and threw me on the couch. The other one came around behind me, grabbed my hair, and held me in a choke hold. I was terrified. I asked them what they wanted. Told them I didn't have very much money. Said they could take my jewellery. One of them said, 'We don't want your money or your jewellery. That's all you people think of. Money.' And he said it with such venom. 'Where's your husband's papers? Where's his research notes. We know he was writing his memoirs. We want those notes.' "
Ruth stopped and drank some more of the Chardonnay. It did seem to fortify her and she almost looked as though she'd gotten a second wind as she continued :
"I told them I didn't know anything about any research notes of Harry's. Said that Harry never told me anything about his writing. That was the truth. Almost. If you leave out the journal I gave you. They didn't believe me. One of them took down an oar that Harry had mounted on the wall. He started to beat me with it. In a frenzy. I was in agony. I couldn't lift my arms. The pain was unbearable. I was lying on the floor. Gasping, I remember, for air. I was too hurt to even scream. Then the beating stopped and I seemed to lapse in and out of consciousness. I could hear them tearing the house apart."
Ruth stopped again, finished the Chardonnay, and looked over at Owen :
"The next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital."
Just then Kate appeared and announced that dinner was ready. Owen thought that propitious. Despite Ruth Whiteside's considerable inner strength, the memory of the events of that evening had taken their toll.
Ruth Whiteside had retired for the evening and Owen and Kate were sitting on the deck enjoying coffee and Drambuie and watching the moonlight throw silver bands across the water.
"It's so peaceful here", said Kate and, then, correc
ting herself, "it was so peaceful here."
"I won't be able to see you for a while, Kate."
"What's going on, Owen? I'm so worried."
"I just can't tell you now. But I promise you that you and your mother are getting the best protection. Ken Baker won't let anything happen to either of you again. He's one very angry man."
"My father was murdered, wasn't he?"
"Yes, I believe he was. We have no body and no proof but he had stumbled into something evil when he was researching his memoirs. The attack on your mother proves that. They were trying to find out what he knew."
"They? Who are 'they' ? Owen. Is General Walker one of them?"
"I don't know who 'they' are and I don't know what they are. And I'm not sure where General Walker fits in all of this. Did you ever meet the General?"
"No, I don't think so. Why do you ask?"
"Just curious. Obviously, he and your father knew each other well. Thought you might have encountered the General at some social event or something."
"Is there something you're not telling me, Owen? Was there something between my father and the General that I should know about?"
"No, no, Kate! Nothing that I'm aware of. I'm just searching for anything, nothing."
"What happened in Miami?"
"I just met with an old colleague and mentor of your dad's. Doctor Dan Pepper. Your dad went to see him when he was researching his memoirs. But he couldn't help. Only a great old man who thought the world of your dad."
"Yes, I know. My father loved him. Often spoke with us about him."
Owen MacDara kept his new concern well hidden. Now that he knew that Kate was General Zachary Walker's daughter he felt a growing trepidation about her future. There is one thing he did tell himself. She would never learn that from him. He spent the night in Gloucester. In the guest room. He had barely dropped off to sleep when he felt the warmth of Kate's body and her arm encircle his waist.