The Suicide Society

by William Brennan Knight

The investigations into the nature of the extraordinary crimes against humanity were aggressive, but the international intelligence community had no advance warning of the Mumbai explosion. They struggled to find the connection between Mumbai and Istanbul, but there were only unfounded rumors and few legitimate leads.

  Religious leaders discussed, argued and finally reached a consensus on the tragedy. There were rumors that the newly elected Pope had very publicly prophesized the exact time of the second explosion, but what could be done? Local Italian law enforcement officials had no authority at the Vatican, and besides, who would have the nerve to detain the Pope for questioning? Therefore, interrogating him would prove impossible even under the most compelling circumstances.

  ***

  From a room in the underground bunker at the base of an abandoned copper mine in Desolation, Arizona, a solitary figure huddled in a dark corner. Slivers of light would occasionally confirm his presence in shadow, and his pale skin and contorted features appeared briefly as he passed through the light from time to time. The environment was silent except for an occasional high-pitched squeal followed by a deep, ominous moan.

  The Benefactor’s neurological circuits and kinetic conduits buzzed with the pure black energy that flowed through them. The first bomb brought great joy as the panic and fear that traveled through the interconnected auras of his followers reached the Benefactor’s neurological limbic system. The second explosion multiplied the intensity, and Mr. Cox nearly lost consciousness as the ecstasy of global anxiety, depression and fear washed over him.

  Images of the suffering flashed through his mind, and he reveled in glee at the rising death count, the pain of separation and the mangled bodies of people tossed like so many discarded rag dolls. He soaked up the anguish in pulsating quantities of infectious despair, and he released much of it through the pipeline he shared with his most intimate minions. The revelations served as a reward to the faithful and also stood as a frightening reminder to anyone who might find cause to question their loyalty.

  However, the dark purity of the energy remained contaminated. A gray, ethereal material glowed with a sickening virtue that filled Mr. Cox with an inexplicable dread. He knew instinctively it emanated from that bitch Sarah. Why hadn’t he killed her mother when he learned of the pregnancy? He sensed her malignancy even before the birth. But the wench had begged and pleaded, and in return, she had been willing to submit to the vilest of his perversions. She endured beatings and sexual torment of unmentionable vulgarity, simply to earn his permission to let the child live.

  Cox tried to kill both mother and child. He starved them and subjected them to mind numbing thirst. Yet, the woman somehow managed to keep the girl alive. Sometimes Cox wondered exactly why she willingly sacrificed so much. Still, he was increasingly preoccupied with his own work and plans for the ascension. As the years passed, he became less interested in both of them.

  For a brief time, when Sarah reached puberty, he noticed and began paying more attention to her, much to the sorrow of her mother. In fact, Cox had taken many liberties with the girl as she developed into a woman. He returned one day to find the mother hanging from a rope in her squalid bedroom. The Benefactor remembered chuckling to himself, and he left her for several days so that Sarah could watch her rot.

  Yet now, despite all the good fortune, Mr. Cox felt troubled. He couldn’t pinpoint Johansen’s exact location, and it gnawed at him like caustic acid. In fact, he was having trouble finding Abernathy as well. Every connection for that general area seemed to fade and scale over. Fortunately, Alan provided the physical location of the car, which allowed Mr. Cox to stay engaged.

  His third encounter with the rogue was equally unsettling. Mr. Cox was accustomed to searching through the thoughts and memories of his victims with ease, but this entity was different. He evaded the Benefactor’s mental probes and remained enigmatic. This posed a significant threat; there was no way to deny it. The situation prevented the Benefactor from fully enjoying the catastrophic misery he recently inflicted on mankind.

  Instinctively, he reached out to Watts. I am having difficulty locating Abernathy and the girl with my mind.

  Watts woke with a start from a deep sleep. He rubbed his eyes and gathered his thoughts. “I… I don’t know what to say. There is a problem?” he said to an empty room.

  I am unable to remain fixed on their location. Contact Alan, I need… some type of amplification.

  “Of course. I will do it immediately.” Watts reached for his cell. May Satan help them all if something yet again had once again gone wrong with that damn girl.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Munoz pulled away as dirt and gravel sprayed behind the car. He sped out toward the highway, still dazed from the gunshot that missed him by mere inches. A sniper assumed a hidden attack position, and Munoz was exposed. He turned on the radio, and it cackled with the squawk from the local police, FBI and the highway patrol. Every call would be monitored from this point, so there was little reason to try and stay covert. He picked up the prepaid phone and dialed the number Yolanda had given him.

  “Jose?”

  “Yolanda, I need your help.”

  “I can’t. They’re on every line, and they have you covered. A chopper is on the….” She was cut off, and for a moment, the line remained open but silent.

  “Detective Munoz, this is Special Agent Foss. We need to talk. You’re charged with some very serious offenses. I suspect there must be some mitigating circumstances in these crimes. Come in voluntarily, and we can get this mess cleaned up.”

  Munoz scrolled through the contact list on Herman Walker’s tablet. He typed in “Foss” and three names were highlighted. He tossed the pad device aside and picked up his phone. “Special Agent Foss, what’s your first name? Is it John, Bennett or Arturo?”

  There was a pause at the other end of the line. “My name is Arturo. How would you know that?”

  “Who do you report to, Arturo?” Munoz grabbed the tablet and selected Arturo Foss. He scrolled up the list to the next two names. “You report to James Elderson, and he reports to Aldus Moses. Do those names sound familiar, Arturo?”

  Munoz thought he heard the sound of scuffling on the other end of the phone. After some moments, Foss said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh I think you do, In fact, I have two complete lists that I have cross-referenced, and your name appears on both of them.”

  “… You’re going to die,” growled Foss.

  “I don’t think so. In fact, if you don’t call off these assassins, I’m going to send these lists to several law enforcement agencies and a bunch of news websites. I suspect you can squelch it in most places, but I might get lucky if I send it to enough people.”

  There was an audible grunt, and Munoz could hear the sound of a fist slamming into a desk. “What do you want?”

  “Good. That’s much better, Arturo. Let’s start with you calling off the slugs that are trying to kill me. If the unmarked squad behind me isn’t gone in the next minute, I hit the send button and transmit the information.”

  There was no answer on the other end of the phone, but in less than a minute, the trailing car broke off the chase and retreated. Munoz could also hear the whirling blades of an approaching helicopter as it took a circular pattern, slowly looping around the detective’s vehicle but remaining out of his line of sight.

  As a police officer familiar with protocol, Munoz imagined that Foss was receiving instructions even as they talked. No doubt the authorities were working frantically to shut down the nearest cell tower and cut off his communications with the outside world. Foss would try and keep him on the line until the tower was isolated from the network. In all likelihood, Munoz had only a few minutes to act.

  “Munoz, are you there?”

  Jose picked the phone up off the seat. “I’m here, Foss.”

  “We’ve removed all units from the vicinity. What do you want us to do next?”

 
“Make sure there is nothing blocking my entrance to I-5. Then I want you to arrange a chartered flight at Sea-Tac International to take me to Qatar.”

  “Qatar? Let me guess; they have no extradition?” Foss made no effort to hide his contempt.

  “You got it my friend. Now get it done.”

  “Ok, but it’ll take some time.”

  “I expect the charter to be waiting at the airport,” said Munoz. “If it isn’t, I press send, and the world will know about your organization.”

  “Let me work on it. Just don’t do anything until you hear back from me.”

  Munoz ended the call. He turned sharply into a nearby roadside gas station and pulled up next to a car in the process of being serviced. An older man was replacing his vehicle’s gas cap when Munoz walked over with his badge open and extended. The man regarded Munoz suspiciously, primarily because of his unkempt appearance. The rumpled clothes and beard stubble left the detective looking haggard and unlike the usually meticulous police officers from the nearby precinct.

  “Sir, I am Detective Jose Munoz with Seattle PD. I am in pursuit of a dangerous suspect, and I need to confiscate your vehicle.” The man continued to stare at Munoz. “There’s no reason to be fearful. If I damage your car, you’ll be fully reimbursed.”

  When he still didn’t get a response, Munoz walked to the passenger’s side and opened the door. An elderly lady looked up at him and drew back in fear.

  “Ma’am, I’m Detective Munoz of Seattle PD. I need your vehicle. You’re going to have to get out immediately.” He reached inside and gently gripped the woman’s arm while exerting just enough force to pull her out of the car. The action brought the startled man to his senses.

  “Hey, don’t pull her like that.” He walked aggressively toward Munoz. The detective opened his jacket, revealing the revolver tucked into its shoulder holster. The old man stopped abruptly while the woman began to cry.

  “Sir, listen carefully. Take your wife, get into my car, and drive eastbound. I need you to do this now.”

  Apparently sensing the seriousness of Munoz’ tone, the man made his way around the car, assisted his wife, and exchanged keys with the detective. Maintaining an icy stare, the couple walked to the unmarked police cruiser, and the man helped the woman into the car. Several seconds later, he pulled out onto the highway, moving eastbound.

  As the squad receded into the distance, Munoz got into their green LeSabre and headed westbound. He had no more than 10 minutes before the couple would be stopped by the highway patrol. No doubt the authorities would be frantically working to isolate the nearest cell tower and take it offline. Once that was accomplished, there would be no way for Munoz to transmit any data, and his leverage would be lost.

  When they were eventually pulled over, the couple provided a detailed description of their own car and a harrowing account of their encounter with the crazed detective. Munoz knew he must locate another vehicle, hopefully with no one in it. If he was to have any chance of avoiding capture, two more vehicles would have to be stolen.

  ***

  The sedan turned on I-10 and headed east toward Arizona. They drove through the darkness for hours with an ever-present feeling of apprehension. Zach left Sarah brood in her own internalized world, hoping the quiet would allow the effects of the recent trauma to recede a bit. Still, he needed to learn more about what they were facing.

  “Sarah, what does he want? What does he want with you... Sarah?”

  She was jarred from her semi-stupor. “What, what is it?”

  “Why do you matter so much to him? What do you know?”

  “I—I know things,” she replied. “Where he comes from and where he gets his power. What he wants to accomplish. He liked to talk while he—raped me.”

  “Please, Sarah, tell us about these things? Where does he come from and who is he?”

  “I can’t. He will find out.”

  “No, he won’t. I won’t let him in here. He can’t hurt you right now.”

  She asked for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes as she tried to find the words. “There was a cave in at the mine. There were nine men trapped down there for 17 days with no food and little water. Only three of them survived. Some said they ate the other dead miners and survived by drinking their own urine.

  “Two of them went insane and killed themselves shortly after they were found. They had bite marks all over their bodies and had clawed out their own eyes. The people who found them suffered from depression for years after.

  “Mr. Cox walked out on his own, smiling and thanking everyone. Those who were there said he was healthier than he ever looked, but somehow, he was changed. His smile was too bright, and his eyes blazed with an unnatural hatred. Something happened to him down there. Something powerful and frightening.” She paused as though the memories were too painful to recount.

  “He left the town for many years, but on a hot morning with a gray sky, he returned. He said he came to rescue us, and for a while, he brought riches and built things and gave away much money. But there were changes happening that no one was aware of. We woke one day, and it was almost like everyone was under his control. We all paid a horrible cost. He is so very powerful.”

  “Can you tell me what happened down in the mine?” asked Zach.

  “No one knows. But whatever gave him his power came from that cave. He always went into a kind of trance when he… did things to me. He would groan and smile and twist his hands as though he was holding a precious object. The only word he ever uttered during those moments was sonellion.”

  “Sonellion? Do you know what that means, Sarah?”

  “No, he never would speak of it. But he has built a huge organization of people—horrible people—spread all across the world. They would do anything for him. He calls it the ‘Network’. The most loyal of his followers are insane. They carry out missions to destroy things and ruin lives. I’m not sure of all the ghastly things they do, but they are everywhere. No one can be trusted… and Zach?”

  “Yes?”

  “Another bomb has gone off. Many more are dead.”

  Zach contemplated her words for a moment. He looked over at Anston whose jaw was clenched and face drawn tight in a mask of sadness and chagrin.

  “How did this start? Where does he get his recruits?”

  “I’m not sure how it started. The followers come in a different ways. They are greedy, desperate or unbalanced. The ones he needs that won’t cooperate are usually blackmailed or threatened. But those closest to him have one thing in common. They all tried to commit suicide, and he somehow saved them. He can appear in your head—but you already know that.”

  “The visions, Jarad. That’s the connection. I’m interfering with his recruitment work. I’m being drawn to the same people he is, except I think he’s aware of far more of them than I am.”

  “As bizarre as it all sounds, it makes some sense,” said Anston. “The question is what we can do about it? His power seems almost infinite.”

  “I’m not sure. But he’s encouraging us to come to Desolation, and I feel like it’s important that we go. There’s so much I have to learn, and I’ve got to try and stop him.”

  “I understand, Zach. We’ve come this far, we might as well see it to the end.”

  “Since we have some time, I might as well tell you about the last vision I had before we were kidnapped by Abernathy. It was a girl, Jarad. Her name is Kathy, and she also knows this ‘Benefactor.’ I encouraged her to meet us in Desolation. Somehow, I sense she is another piece of this puzzle.”

  “Jesus, Zach. I don’t know if I…” But Anston didn’t finish.

  ***

  Munoz changed cars two more times as he headed back to Portland. He confiscated four different mobile phones along the way, recognizing the need to stay one step ahead of the FBI and the local authorities.

  He picked up the newest phone he acquired and connected to the direct line O’Malley gave him when they talked earlier.

  The ph
one rang once before it was answered.

  “O’Malley.”

  “O’Malley, this is Munoz.”

  “Detective, are you safe?” he asked.

  “No, I’m anything but safe. I can only use this phone one time, so don’t try and call me on this number.”

  “Understood.”

  “Have you had a chance to analyze the data I sent you?”

  “Yes, we did, and it’s almost beyond belief,” said O’Malley. “Deputy Commissioner Trardent and Commissioner Green are both on the list. They answer to someone name Balmier. He is a major trader and holds a seat on the Mercantile Exchange. It appears that Balmier is one of eight lieutenants who report to a guy named Thomas Abernathy.”

  “My God,” said Munoz. “So the Commissioner of the Chicago Police Department is part of a scheme to plant a nuclear bomb in the city?”

  “It appears that way. Detective, my captain wants to talk to you. This database has names on it that are so prominent he’s afraid to take it to anyone for fear of being discredited or even killed. There are high-profile political and business leaders and even high ranking members of the clergy. We need your help with this. We’re running out of time and we’ve got to find that bomb.”

  “I’m heading for the Portland airport. If there’s any way I can get to Chicago, I will. I’m going to need help getting a ticket…”

  “Understood. I think Captain Murkell has a couple reliable contacts in the federal Air Marshal Service, maybe even the FAA. I’ll see if we can pull any strings on our end. If the pattern is consistent, we have less than 10 hours before the third detonation.”

  “Third detonation?”

  “I guess you haven’t heard. Another nuke just went off in India at exactly midnight, eastern time. Estimates say almost 100,000 are dead so far.”

  “Oh Lord…We’ve got to stop these madmen. I’ll do whatever I can to get there.”

  “Look, you’re so hot right now there’s no way you’ll be able to get a ticket, especially since most flights are canceled anyway. I don’t care what it takes; we’ll get you a seat on a plane out of there. Call me back on this number in an hour.” said O’Malley.