Demon Key

by David Brookover

  “I want out, too,” added a sobbing Teddi. “And I’m sorry about shooting you, Dex.”

  Dex waved his hand dismissively and groaned. “Ah, think nothing of it.”

  Jackson cleared his throat. “But the temple might hold the secret to our monster investigation.”

  “It don’t hold shit, Jackson!” he retorted tetchily. “Trust me.”

  “Then you both take off. I’m staying to check it out.”

  Dex and Teddi exchanged weary glances, then followed Jackson’s lead toward the temple.

  Chapter 61

  The temple’s luminosity had weakened to a pale champagne by the time they climbed over the sidewall onto the stairs. During their hike around the lake, Dex described his appalling experience with the vampire properties of the urns. He purposely left out the part about the lake creature. One amazing creepy story was hard enough to swallow.

  Jackson listened attentively as he contemplated the menacing pagan statue above the altar. The one phenomenon Dex couldn’t explain was the temple’s glow.

  “When did the temple light up?” Jackson asked.

  Dex scratched the stubble on his chin. “I’d say about the time I went for a swim.”

  “Where’d you enter the water?”

  Dex pointed at the bottom step at the water’s edge. “There.”

  Jackson knelt and inspected the step. The temple glow was nearly extinguished, as he frantically searched the immediate area for a trigger or switch. He found nothing.

  “Maybe the trigger’s on one of the underwater steps,” Teddi suggested, beginning to feel like her old self. Her joints ached from weeks of inactivity, but she masked the pain. After all, Dex was worse off in the pain department than she was, and she was to blame.

  Jackson’s gaze followed his flashlight beam into the water. “There are quite a few steps down there.” He studied the shoreline behind them. “I’m guessing that the lake’s water level is much lower during normal rainfall seasons, and a lot more of this temple is exposed.”

  “So?” Dex pressed, his pain tolerance nearly eroded, along with his patience.

  “None of this madness began until the flooding rains,” Jackson reminded them. “The Swinson murders. The voodoo magic that infected all three of us.”

  “Where are you going with this?” Teddi demanded, anxious to leave the grotto.

  “In light of Dex’s encounter, it seems reasonable to believe that the high water in this lake could very possibly be the catalyst for awakening the temple’s evil,” Jackson theorized. “But for some strange reason, it didn’t stay awake.”

  Dex and Teddi watched Jackson again probe the areas adjacent to the final dry step. Suddenly, he stopped and splashed his flashlight beam across its surface.

  Jackson glanced up at them. “Notice anything different about this step?”

  They moved closer and compared it with the others.

  “That last one looks kinda moldy,” Teddi observed.

  “Yeah, I see it, too,” Dex chimed in.

  “It’s not mold. It’s black, because it’s not the same kind of rock as the other steps,” Jackson said.

  “Why would the builders do that?” Dex muttered.

  Teddi snapped her fingers. Despite a splitting headache, it felt good to be able to think again. “This is farfetched, but maybe it has some kind of magical properties.”

  “Not as farfetched as you think.” Jackson stooped over and splashed water on the step. The temple’s luminance increased.

  “I’ll be damned,” Dex said.

  “You probably will be,” Teddi ribbed him. Her sense of humor was recovering, too. “So the step’s some kind of magical water switch. What’s the big deal?”

  Jackson grinned. “When the water level rises another quarter of an inch, the temple’s light will be sustained for a much longer period of time.”

  Dex winced from his aching wounds. “So who’s going to know? It’s hidden down in this grotto,” he grumbled.

  “Don’t you see, someone’s waiting for this temple to come alive, so he can unleash whatever ancient power is stored here.”

  Teddi folded her arms across her chest and shivered. “Like who?”

  Jackson’s grin faded. “Like whoever sicced that evil spirit on you.” He sighed. “But as far as identifying that person, we’re back to square one.”

  “Think it might be a local?” Dex prodded.

  “Swinson’s dead, and that leaves who?” Teddi added, hooking Dex’s arm.

  Jackson shrugged and ran his hand absently along the step’s smooth black surface. “That’s the million-dollar question, but I expect him to show up soon.”

  “You seem pretty positive about that,” Teddi said.

  Jackson nodded and patted the black step. “I am. Another quarter of an inch and the curtains rise on his magic show. And by now, he’ll be desperate to kill us since we’ve neutralized his evil spirit. He can’t afford to have us hanging around ruining his plans, whatever they are. We’re the only ones wise to his grotto game.”

  “I don’t feel too wise at the moment.” Dex scowled, then looked over at Teddi. “At least we have answers to a couple of your questions: what’s so special about this time of year and what has occurred to instigate the ritual, although you were talking about Swinson at the time.”

  She nodded. “The rain. It has the power to reactivate this ancient temple. That leads me to another whole set of questions . . .”

  Dex raised his free arm. “Whoa, let’s celebrate the discovery of these answers before you go huntin’ up some new questions. Deal?”

  “Deal.” She laughed thinly. “Any idea about who our voodoo man is?” Teddi asked.

  Jackson shook his head. “I’ve made an inquiry, but I haven’t heard anything back yet.”

  “How about using your psychic powers?”

  “I’ve tried, but I can’t break through. It’s like he’s blocking my abilities with his.” He contemplated her suggestion. “But, I guess I can try again.”

  Jackson moved to Teddi’s side and gently clasped her hand. He closed his eyes, waiting for a vision. After several fruitless minutes, he sighed and released her hand.

  “Nothing,” he lamented. “Teddi, can’t you remember anything you did after you left the hospital?”

  She frowned and mulled it over. “I can’t remember anything since Swinson tried to kidnap me.”

  Jackson brightened and snapped his fingers. “Hmm.”

  “You’re Mister Sunshine all of a sudden,” she snapped. “What’s up?”

  He ignored her. “Dex, did you visit Teddi a lot in the hospital?”

  “Well, yeah, sure.”

  “And did you talk to her?”

  He nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. You know, just in case she could hear me.”

  “Don’t feel bad. I did more than that — a lot more. Teddi convinced me that she’d developed mental telepathy, and she actually spoke to me on various subjects, including my secret trip to Brazil.”

  “I don’t remember any of that,” she objected.

  “You did more than that,” Dex said. “Especially down in the hospital cafeteria. I was with Jackson, and we both witnessed your out-of-body, telepathic tricks.”

  Jackson nodded. “So, it appears that the whole time we thought we were talking with you, we were communicating with the person responsible for your coma. That’s how he knew to arrange ambushes for me in the rainforest.”

  The others gawked.

  “I foolishly revealed that my Brazil trip objective was to locate an antidote for Teddi, and our voodoo man was determined to stop me.”

  Dex pressed his hand against his rib wound to ease the pain. “Well, I don’t remember everythin’ I told her.”

  “Can you remember what you talked about during your last visit?”

  “Well, I reckon I might’ve told her somethin’ about my Everglades trip with John Redfeather.”

  “Really? I’ve got to hear that one.”

&n
bsp; “You will. I have a lunch date later this mornin’ with John and this snooty professor from Florida Atlantic University. We’re goin’ to try and make heads or tails of our findin’s.” He paused. “And I’ve got to bring you up to date on the monster that escaped this grotto lake. Its playin’ havoc with the gators in the Everglades.”

  “I saw them on the flight over here.” He peered into the lake. “There must be some reason why it left the safety of the grotto after Swinson died.” He shook his head. “Another damn piece to fit into our puzzle.”

  “This is becoming one helluva puzzle,” Teddi muttered.

  Jackson licked his lips and asked quietly, “Teddi, do you know where you docked your boat or parked your car tonight?”

  She tried her best to stimulate a memory, but it was hopeless. Her slate was blank. “Sorry, but I just can’t remember squat,” she replied, frustration tainting her words. “I can’t even remember coming out here in the first place.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” Jackson said. “Let’s hit the road. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before we crash that lunch meeting with Dex this morning.”

  “Does your itinerary include a stop at a local hospital?” Teddi asked.

  “Yeah — sure. Of course.”

  She gave Jackson a frail hug. “You look frazzled, Jackson.”

  He managed a weak grin. “I am. We’ve got a measly quarter inch of lake floodwater left to go before this step is activated and all hell breaks loose.”

  “You’re overlookin’ one minor detail,” Dex said facetiously.

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Our mystery guy holds all the cards. He could walk right up to us with a bomb in a pizza box, and we wouldn’t be the wiser. That’s enough hell breakin’ loose for me!”

  “We’re not safe wherever we go until we nab him. Is that it?”

  “In a nutshell.”

  Teddi shivered. Now that was a cheery thought. “I don’t think that’s the only thing bugging you, Jackson,” she pressed.

  The psychic frowned. “I thought I was the only intuitive one in the group.”

  “You’re stalling,” she prodded.

  “All right, you nailed me. I’m worried about Zeus.” He paused. “A possessed Brazilian tribal chief warned me that Zeus and I were about to become history, and with you guys keeping me busy here, I haven’t had a chance to go home to check on him,” Jackson responded gravely. “Zeus wouldn’t stand a chance against our voodoo man.”

  Although that was true, his real concern was the mass killing he’d witnessed in his jungle psychic vision. Both Teddi and Dex died in it!

  Once again, he’d have to find a way to short-circuit fate to prevent that horrifying vision from becoming a reality.

  Chapter 62

  Leus raised his nose and sniffed the bayou breezes from his doghouse on stilts. The air was humid and thick with scents, but he remained inside the screened safety of his porch. There would be no playing and chasing varmints through the bayou today. An extraordinary sensation stimulated the large Rottweiler’s seldom-stirred preservation instinct, and although there was no explicit danger floating among the scents in the light summer breeze, Zeus deferred to the high road of caution.

  Something was out there. Coming for him.

  He lay still in the escalating morning heat and maintained a wary vigil.

  Everyone aboard the Coast Guard cutter held a top-secret government security clearance. This was a special crew. They dealt primarily with the country’s offshore Homeland security issues. They didn’t chase drug smugglers, unless there wasn’t another Coast Guard team in that particular crime area.

  Captain Simon Stuart ordered Jeff Jamison to the bridge. Jamison ejected the mini-DVD from the ship’s digital camcorder with eight-gigabyte memory and a 25X optical zoom, and slipped it into the top desk drawer in his workroom. He would replay it for the captain later, and then seal the video for delivery to the Secret Service agents who were standing by to greet the cutter in Tampa.

  Doug Darby waited until Jamison left his workroom before entering. Darby located the mini-DVD with the sea serpent footage and loaded it into Jamison’s computer. Within minutes, he had skillfully copied the data to a full-size DVD. He returned the mini-DVD to the drawer and closed the computer’s DVD copy windows. Cracking the door ajar, Darby checked the corridor for traffic. Seeing no one, he crept away.

  Three hours after the Coast Guard cutter docked in Tampa Bay, Darby strode into a seedy neighborhood bar on the fringes of downtown Tampa and slipped into a booth. The green leather-like cushion was cracked with age, and the stuffing was rearranged into uncomfortable lumps. He scooted along the padded bench until he found a somewhat tolerable section. He didn’t really mind the discomfort. He didn’t plan to be there long.

  A waitress with too much girth and too little makeup sauntered over and asked the usual question without enthusiasm.

  “Whadda have?”

  “Whatever dark beer you have on tap.”

  She retreated toward the bar. Sitters and standers, all trying to catch the Florida Marlins baseball game, packed the curved counter. Darby couldn’t see who they were playing, and he didn’t give a hoot. When he left this shit-hole of a bar, he would be a rich man.

  The front door opened, and a man wearing a Tampa Bay Buccaneers polo shirt and toting a small portfolio scanned the bar. His gaze settled on Darby. The lieutenant recognized him immediately. He was a noted columnist who wrote for The New York Times.

  The columnist strode straight to the booth and slid into the bench opposite Darby.

  “You Doug Darby?” he asked sharply.

  Darby nodded. “You got the cash?”

  The columnist patted the black leather portfolio.

  Darby untucked his tee shirt, tugged apart the Velcro strap encircling his waist, and removed the DVD. He placed it on the table. The columnist unzipped the portfolio and pushed a thick envelope across the table. He grabbed the DVD sleeve, checked that there was a disc inside, and then deposited it inside the portfolio.

  The waitress arrived and plunked the beer mug in front of Darby.

  “You want to run a tab?” she asked.

  Darby pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to her.

  “Keep the change,” he said.

  The waitress grunted something that resembled thanks, and turned to the columnist. “You want somethin’?”

  The columnist shook his head.

  “Suit yourself.” She left and serviced the next booth.

  “This is, uh, of the highest quality?”

  Darby bristled. “Of course. This is exactly what you-know-who will see,” Darby retorted, referring to their earlier conversation when he had name-dropped the President of the United States.

  “Very good.” The columnist slid from the booth. “Good-bye.”

  Darby watched him go. What a prick. Didn’t even say thanks. He glanced at the thick envelope on the table beside his frosted mug and stuffed the money into his jeans pocket. I guess he figured the dough was all the thanks I needed.

  His ass was sore from the lumpy bench, and he tried not to limp as he walked to the front door. The last thing he wanted to do was attract attention.

  Darby stepped outside into the rainy gloom. He glanced at his watch in the red and blue light of the bar’s neon window signs. Ten-oh-five. Perfect. In three hours he would be catching the red-eye to Mexico where there was no extradition. He had squeezed enough money out of The New York Times to live it up down there for many years.

  He jogged around the corner to his car. He fished the remote from his pocket, but before he could press the keypad, he felt a cold gun barrel against the back of his neck.

  “Shut up and don’t turn around,” a deep male voice commanded.

  Shit! He was being robbed! Shit, shit, and double shit! His emotions plummeted from Cloud Nine and landed in Deep Shit.

  “You violated your security clearance,” the man revealed.


  Darby panicked. Prison! Oh no! Not that! He’d rather give up the cash than spend his life inside one of those hellholes! From the enticing dreams of a sandy La Paz beach to the shocking nightmare of a cramped jail cell. Darby felt sick.

  “The columnist has been robbed and beaten,” the man stated nonchalantly. “His death would arouse suspicion.”

  Darby didn’t like the way he emphasized the word his. In fact, it scared the hell out of him.

  “Give me the money.”

  Darby’s hand dropped to his jeans pocket.

  “Easy now. Nice and slow,” the man warned.

  Darby tugged the envelope free.

  “Drop it,” the man ordered.

  Darby swallowed. Good-bye, Mexico. Good-bye, easy life. He dropped the envelope, and it splashed into a shallow puddle.

  “Say good-bye, asshole,” the man growled, as his eyes blinked yellow and red.

  A bullet shattered Darby’s skull and scrambled his brain before he could open his mouth to beg for mercy. He slumped into the puddle.

  Lieutenant Doug Darby had just received his dishonorable discharge from the United States Coast Guard.

  Chapter 63

  It took a gargantuan physical effort for Teddi and Dex to scale the tunnel ladder up to the mausoleum before collapsing against the damp walls. They gulped the air in whistling wheezes. Both their complexions were chalk, and dusky bags bulged beneath their eyes.

  Jackson appraised them in the soft light of the single overhead bulb. “You two all right?” he asked, concerned for their sudden onset of exhaustion.

  “Just . . . just really tired,” Teddi managed.

  Dex was too weary to answer. He merely nodded at Teddi’s reply.

  Jackson didn’t press the issue, although he was concerned. Suddenly, he remembered that Wilkerson and his men were still prowling the key and were probably mad as hornets. Dangerous hornets. Armed hornets. All of a sudden he didn’t feel that well, either. How were they going to get past the FBI agents and return to the mainland?