Divine Trilogy

by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

  "Shit. He's not making this easy."

  "We were able to track his cell phone."

  "You get a location?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Where?"

  "Some dive hotel in Mission, of all places."

  Jasi frowned. What is Hawley doing in Mission?

  Ben's 'com beeped again.

  "I'm putting Matthew on speaker," he said.

  "We have a team in place outside the EZ Sleep Motel," Matthew said. "All exits are covered."

  "Did anyone get a visual on him?" Jasi asked.

  "We've confirmed Hawley is inside, and it looks like he'll be there a while. He just ordered Chinese." Matthew cleared his throat. "Jasmine, I can send a helicopter if you want in on the takedown."

  She caught Brandon's eye. "I'll need an extra seat, Matthew."

  24

  EZ Sleep Motel, Mission, BC

  The helicopter dropped Jasi and Brandon a few blocks away, and an unmarked police car drove them to the motel. The rundown building covered in flaking baby-blue paint and graffiti suggested the rooms were paid for by the hour. Not a place one would typically expect to find a millionaire like Becket Hawley.

  Jasi confirmed the time. 8:12 PM.

  She and Brandon joined the agents hunkered down in the parking lot behind a rusty RV that looked as though it hadn't moved in several decades.

  The dimly lit street and parking lot were dead quiet.

  "Agent Norman," she said, surprised to see one of the agents who had assisted them at Sanctuary.

  "I was reassigned," he said, giving Brandon a nod.

  "Fill us in."

  "Becket Hawley's in room 109." Agent Norman handed her a pair of binoculars. "That red Ford Fusion parked in front is his rental car."

  "He make any calls?"

  "Only one. Wang Ho's Chinese Restaurant. His supper arrived about thirty minutes ago."

  "Anything suspicious about the delivery?"

  "I don't think so. He paid the delivery guy and went back inside." Agent Norman's gaze drifted to the hotel window. "He looked out the window about ten minutes ago, but there's been no movement since."

  "You sure he didn't see any of you?"

  "Positive."

  "And there's no way out of that room other than the door."

  "Not unless he's Houdini."

  Becket Hawley was no magician. Intuition told her the man was a demented serial killer who enjoyed hunting down his innocent prey.

  "You and your partner want to go in first?" Agent Norman asked.

  "Yeah." She withdrew her gun from her shoulder harness. "You and your team follow us in. But send a couple of agents to the back alley to watch the bathroom window, if there's one."

  Agent Norman issued the command to his team.

  "Ready?" she asked.

  Brandon and Agent Norman nodded.

  Squatting low, she moved between the vehicles in the parking lot, inching closer to Hawley's room. Who's hunting who now, asshole?

  Brandon crouched beside her, and muted rustling behind her indicated the backup team had moved into place.

  She studied her target. Room 109. Curtains drawn, only a faint yellow glow inside. She hoped Hawley was sitting on his bed, wolfing down his chop suey and fried rice, and she hoped he choked on it when they broke down the door.

  She motioned for Brandon to veer left, while she continued toward Hawley’s rental car. Sliding a jackknife from her pocket, she stabbed the back tires. The hiss of air that followed ensured Hawley wouldn't get far if he happened to make it past them. She sprinted around the side of the car. When she was positioned on the right side of the door to Hawley's room, and Brandon was in place on the opposite side, she raised her fist.

  Everyone halted.

  Pressing her ear to the door, she heard the theme song for Dexter.

  How fitting.

  She held up three fingers and mouthed the countdown. Three…two…

  On one, Brandon kicked the door in.

  "CFBI!" she shouted, moving inside. "Becket Hawley, you're—" She froze.

  Apparently she'd been wrong. Hawley did have one magic trick up his sleeve. He had somehow vanished from his carefully guarded room.

  "Shit!" Seething, she yelled, "Search the room!"

  Agents swarmed the place. They searched the closet, bathroom, under the bed—everywhere—but Hawley was gone.

  "Check the back alley and every room and car on this lot," she ordered. To Agent Norman she said, "You're with us."

  "Listen, Agent McLellan, we did everything—"

  "Then how the hell did he escape without anyone seeing him?"

  "I'm not sure. We had the entire motel covered, front and back."

  She groaned in frustration and strode into the bathroom. Gripping the edge of the sink, she glared into the mirror. "Where are you, you bastard?"

  "We have an APB out on him," Agent Norman called out.

  Her senses tingled. Hawley was nearby. She could feel him.

  Her gaze wandered from the shadows under her eyes to the reflection of the motel room. A cheap pressboard dresser sat in the far corner near the window, and above it was…a crawlspace hatch.

  He couldn't be…

  She strode out of the bathroom. As she moved closer, she spotted a stress fracture on the dresser's surface. Next to it, in the dust, was a fresh shoeprint.

  Gotcha!

  "Everyone stand back."

  "What are you doing?" Brandon asked.

  "Hunting."

  Agent Norman and Brandon stared at her as though she'd lost her mind.

  She pointed to the dresser then up at the hatch in the ceiling. In a firm voice she called out, "Becket Hawley! If you don't show yourself, I'm going to shoot the ceiling until one of my bullets finds you."

  No answer.

  She aimed the Beretta and pulled the trigger. A bullet ripped through the drywall, sending a small plume of white dust into the air.

  "Hawley?"

  Silence.

  Then she heard him. Hawley was making his way across the ceiling. She aimed at the center, near the light, and fired three times. Another cloud of dust detonated around her. A piece of the ceiling broke away, tumbling to the ground and revealing a hollow area.

  "I've got two full clips, Hawley. And you've got nowhere to go but down."

  "Are you sure you want to do this?" Agent Norman said. "You might kill him."

  She shrugged. "His choice."

  The next two bullets tore out another chunk of drywall and the lighting fixture from the ceiling. The ceiling began to buckle.

  "Agent Norman," she said, "you shoot the left side. Brandon, you go right. Let's put this guy out of his misery."

  "Okay, okay!" a voice screamed. "Don't shoot me. I'm not armed."

  Jasi aimed her gun at the ceiling and waited.

  This time Hawley was anything but quiet as he moved toward the nearest opening. When his head emerged, his hair was covered in cobwebs and dust. He raised his hands. "See? No gun."

  "Come on down," she said, watching his every move.

  "Ah, Agent McLellan," the man said, scurrying closer to the edge. "I was hoping—"

  "Watch out!" Brandon yanked her out of the way just as the entire ceiling came crashing down.

  After the dust settled, Becket Hawley was sprawled facedown in the rubble, blood oozing from a gash on his arm.

  She moved to the man's side and touched his wrist. "He's still alive."

  Hawley moaned.

  "What's he saying?" Brandon asked.

  "I think he wants us to turn him over."

  She cuffed Hawley. Then they rolled the man onto his back.

  "I couldn't breathe," he said, panting. "Thank you."

  "Don't thank me yet. You're under arrest." She holstered her gun, activated the voice record on her 'com and read him his rights.

  Brandon inspected Hawley's pockets. "Look what I found." He held up a cell phone. "Outgoing numbers have been wiped clean."


  "Any incoming calls?" she asked.

  "Only two in the last three hours. One is a private number."

  "Call the other one."

  A minute later, Brandon said, "It went to Lazarus's voice mail."

  "He set this whole thing up you know," Hawley said. "You want to know who's involved, talk to Lazarus."

  "That's not possible."

  "Why?"

  "Lazarus killed himself."

  Hawley didn't even miss a beat. "Guess there'll be no rising of the dead this time." He tried to stretch his arms and let out a groan. "I think my ribs are broken. I need a doctor."

  "We'll consider calling one if you cooperate. Who does the private number belong to?"

  "What do I get if I tell you?"

  She straddled him, digging one knee into his chest. "You get to breathe. Tell me who's in the hunt club."

  "Can't do that."

  "Then give me one name. Is Giles Christiansen involved?"

  "Who?"

  "Father Jeremiah."

  Hawley laughed. "That nutcase? He was oblivious, too occupied with his creepy cult following to see what was going on right under his nose."

  Jasi gaped at him, stunned. "But he had to know why you were paying him."

  "Lazarus handled the business side of things, our investments. Told Father Jeremiah they were for the cult, out of the goodness of our hearts. And the guy believed every word."

  "You're saying Lazarus is the brain behind the hunt club?"

  "The kid was smarter than he looked—brilliant actually. He planned the hunt club, found the members and organized our events. And he came up with the whole bear sighting thing to keep everyone confined inside the fence."

  "And the victims?"

  Hawley shrugged. "No one anyone really missed. Poor bastards were half dead anyway. They just didn't know it yet."

  "Some of those 'poor bastards' were on their way to recovery and living decent lives," she shot back. "How could you pick on the weak?"

  "But we didn't. The greatest challenge in hunting is stalking an animal that is physically fit, one you have to track, corner and then put down."

  The coldness of his words cut right through her.

  "We gave them a chance," he said. "The rules were clear. One hunter, one 'huntee'. If they made it past the fence and onto Sanctuary grounds, they'd live. It's the ultimate game of survival."

  "And how many made it."

  "None. Every hunter hit their target. Some with rifles, some with handguns, a couple prefer knives and one likes to pretend he's Arrow."

  "What about Oliver Gathmann?" she asked.

  Hawley's gaze clouded over. "He built cool buildings for a few of us, but he wasn't a hunter. He didn't know how to track his prey, how to instill panic in their hearts and make them run for their lives." He looked deep into her soul and stripped away her breath. "Not like me."

  She stifled the urge to rip him apart, her hands fisting his shirt.

  Then he smiled. "Now how about that doctor?"

  "I don't think so."

  Hawley studied her for a moment. "You're a wounded soul, aren’t you?"

  She released him and stood quickly. "You don't know anything about me."

  "But I do. We have mutual acquaintances."

  "If you're talking about my father or Paxton Helling, I've already talked to both of them."

  "I don't know your father well, but Paxton and I, we go back a long way. We have a special arrangement."

  "What kind of arrangement?"

  Hawley clamped his mouth shut.

  "Did Paxton participate in the hunt club?" she asked, dreading the answer.

  "He's too virtuous for that."

  She swallowed hard. "But he knew about it."

  "He found out by accident. He's always poking around where he shouldn't be. I should've killed Paxton when I had the chance." Hawley's tone was devoid of emotion.

  "Why didn't he turn you in then?"

  "I gave him some incentive not to. And Paxton has his own secrets to protect."

  "So you blackmailed him."

  "We blackmailed each other. It was a mutual agreement. A kind of…stalemate."

  "What could you possibly have on Paxton?"

  "That, my dear Agent McLellan, is for me to know and you to find out."

  "Oh, I will. Trust me."

  "Next time you see Uncle Paxton, ask him about your mother. He was obsessed with her abilities."

  The Beretta was back in her hand and pointed at the man's face in seconds.

  "Jasi," Brandon warned.

  Ignoring him, she leaned in close to Hawley. "What about my mother?"

  "It must have been very difficult for little Jasmine to find her body."

  Jasi released a growl. "What the hell do you know about that?"

  Instead of answering her question, he said, "I know you're a psychic."

  She pressed the gun against his head. "What are you talking about?"

  "Your mother was also gifted. A psychic, like you."

  This couldn't be true. Pop would have told her.

  But he didn't tell me about the hospital visit.

  "Tell me what you know, Hawley."

  "I'm not saying another word unless you cut me a deal."

  "The only deal you're getting," Brandon cut in, "is that you get to leave here alive and not in a body bag."

  "He's right," she said between clenched teeth. "Talk!"

  But Becket Hawley was done talking.

  Jasi wanted to wipe the smug grin off his face. As the man's words replayed in her mind, she tried to make sense of it all. Her mother had been a psychic.

  Could my mother see into the mind of an arsonist? Or did she have another gift?

  Jasi straightened and brushed off her hands as though she'd touched something slimy. She couldn't bear to look at Hawley. He was the keeper of secrets, and she fought the overpowering urge to promise him anything—even his freedom—for the answers she so desperately wanted.

  Her data-com rang. "I'll take this outside. I need some fresh air."

  Brandon followed her.

  Outside room 109, she set her 'com on speaker. "We've got him, Matthew."

  "Thank God."

  "Brandon and I are going to head back to Sanctuary."

  "Before you do, there's something you need to know."

  She glanced at Brandon. "What?"

  "Hawley owns a fishing lodge in Oregon, near Klamath Falls. A team went in about half an hour ago and searched the place."

  "What did they find?" Brandon asked.

  "At first glance? Nothing. Until someone noticed a discrepancy in the design of the building. Hawley had a kind of panic room installed, but it's not like anything you've ever seen."

  Jasi swallowed hard. "How do you mean?"

  "We found a number of heads mounted on the wall. Seven were human."

  "Jesus. Hunting trophies."

  Hawley was the hunt club member who had decapitated his victims.

  Including Sheral Downham.

  "Two other things," Matthew said, his voice ominous. "There was a melted yellow mass on the mantle below the heads. We suspect it's the missing amethyst bracelet you've been looking for. And we found blueprints inside the room that confirm Hawley's lodge was built by a Washington company connected with this case."

  "Let me guess—Mole Tech."

  "You got it."

  "Oliver Gathmann, the CEO, showed up at Sanctuary this morning," she said, "but he's probably back in Washington by now."

  "Not quite, Jasmine. RCMP pulled Gathmann's body from Davis Lake ten minutes ago."

  "Davis Lake? That's not far from Sanctuary."

  "Or the EZ Sleep Motel."

  "You think Becket Hawley killed him?"

  "Gathmann was shot, one bullet to the base of the skull. Whoever killed him was in the hills, almost half a mile away."

  "Jesus," Brandon said. "How many people can make a shot like that?"

  "Only one I can think of," Jasi said.<
br />
  Her stomach churned as she returned to the motel room. Hawley watched her every move. When his eyes met hers, they narrowed, and a slow smirk spread across his face.

  "Agent McLellan," he said. "I think it's time to do some bargaining."

  "Unless you're going to give me the list of hunt club members, you've got nothing to deal with."

  "You'll want to hear about this. Trust me."

  25

  Sanctuary, outside Mission, BC

  Natassia, Ben and Agent Anthony were already waiting when the RCMP transport helicopter landed in a grass clearing near the gravesites in the woods. Brandon disembarked, followed by Agent Norman and his team.

  Jasi was last, her mind still reeling from Becket Hawley's final revelation. It had cost her. She'd have to speak on the man's behalf at his trial, but if what Hawley had told her was true, it would be a small sacrifice.

  "You get it?" she asked Ben.

  After a search of Oliver Gathmann's office at Mole Tech, Matthew's team discovered a number of blueprints for concealed earthships and secret chambers, many of them owned by other investors, including motivational speaker Van Harvard and Judge Cyrus Timmons. Only Mole Tech and the owners knew these existed. Lazarus had arranged for the construction of one of these earthships. Who paid for it exactly, and whether Christiansen knew anything about it, was yet to be determined.

  Ben unrolled a blueprint. "There's an entrance somewhere in the rocks on the ridge." He indicated the entrance marked by a solid slab of rock. "The problem is the blueprint doesn't specifically say where. The earthship—"

  "Let's call it what it is," Jasi interrupted. "A bunker."

  "The bunker is vented in multiple places," Ben said. "And a generator inside provides all power. There's even a clean air filtration system installed. Some of you will navigate the upper ridge in search of vents or anything that suggests a possible bunker."

  "Amanda thought she saw someone disappear around here," Jasi said. "They must have gone inside."

  "That also explains where Lazarus was running to," Brandon added.

  She nodded. "Exactly."

  "What about the X-Disc?" Natassia asked. "Why didn't it pick up on the bunker?"

  "Rock's too thick," Ben said.

  "Agents Howe and Killgore," Jasi said. "I want you on that chopper. Tell the pilot to fly as low as he can over the ridge, and radio me if you see anything."