The dark green Ford sedan pulled out from the airport and accessed the Eisenhower eastbound. They traveled for several miles before connecting with I-90 and then exiting onto a surface street. Two left turns later, the unmarked squad car pulled up to a building with a dimly lit sign that read, “Church of the Holy Spirit.”
O’Malley looked over at Munoz. His face was darkened by the shadows of a full moon that had not yet receded. “Murkell has known the priest here since he was a kid. He tells me there’s no way we’ll be discovered. Besides, we think he might be able to help. Let’s go; I know the captain is eager to meet you.”
They walked to a back door. The multiple footfalls made a distinct crunching noise as their feet sunk into the gravel. Inside what must have served as the church lunchroom, there was a refrigerator, sink and microwave. Two men looked up as they entered, and it was obvious which one was the priest and which was the cop.
The grizzled officer with the shock white hair and fingers stained with nicotine smiled briefly and extended his hand. “I’m Captain Murkell; this is Father Halstead. Sit down, Detective, we have a lot to discuss, and we don’t have much time.”
Munoz took a seat and pulled it up to a small card table. O’Malley and Murkell sat on either side. The level of stress in the room was palpable. Murkell opened a laptop computer that displayed a map of the Water Tower district on Chicago’s north side.
“Three days ago, we apprehended a suspect of Central Asian dissent who murdered a parking garage attendant. As we inspected his car, the dogs and equipment verified a radioactive signature. Based on the type of radiation, the high particle count, and the parts and tools they left behind, we believe he had accomplices who placed a suitcase nuclear bomb in the vicinity.”
“I take it you’ve swept the area?” said Munoz.
“Of course,” replied Murkell. “Our people have covered nine blocks and counting. We suspect the bomb is in a shielded enclosure. Who knows how radiation leaked out into the vehicle, but either the bomb is located outside our perimeter, or the local signature isn’t strong enough for our equipment to pick up.”
“I see,” said Munoz. “Please continue.”
“Both of the bombs in Istanbul and Mumbai were detonated in a house of worship, so we identified all the local Christian churches in the neighborhood.”
He pointed at concentric circles that emanated from the location of the seized vehicle. “Each one of these circles represents an area they could have reached by foot within a reasonable time period with diminishing probability. We’ve searched every church in the first three areas, and we’re now in the most distant zone.”
“It sounds like you’re doing everything you can,” said Munoz. “So, how can I help?” asked Munoz.
“We’ve analyzed the command structure you sent us. They’ve infiltrated the highest levels of law enforcement and virtually every level of society. We have to be very careful who we contact. You know much more about this than we do. I don’t know how, but you’ve got to help us find that bomb.”
“This is your territory, Captain. Where would you suggest we start?”
O’Malley rubbed his face with his hands. “Well, I think it’s fair to say that Commissioner Trardent knows where it’s at. Let’s arrest the bastard and interrogate him.”
Murkell shook his head. “We’ve gone over that before, Kevin. He’ll have officers all around him. Any attempt to arrest or even abduct him would certainly fail. Trardent is not an option.”
“Hmmm…,” said Munoz as he perused the list, “what about this Cardinal, his name is Riggs?” He tapped at the name on the screen. “It looks like he is a ranking member of both the church and a lieutenant in the stealth organization. If the bomb is in a church, wouldn’t he know about it?”
Murkell rubbed at his eyes. He hadn’t slept since this nightmare started, and his thinking was sluggish. “Risky at best. Cardinal Riggs will be surrounded by an army of bishops and priests. He lives in a compound, which is called the Holy Church of the Name on State Street. It’s like a fortress, almost impenetrable.”
“Could the bomb actually be in Riggs’ church?”
“No, we’ve already swept the area. No sign of radiation there.”
Munoz got up and poured himself a cup of the stale coffee. For a moment he stared at his surroundings. He turned to the priest who was sitting silently while fingering beads and mumbling in whispers.
“Father?”
The priest’s eyes fluttered open.
“Father, we may need your help. Do you have enough standing to get us an audience with Cardinal Riggs?”
The old man ran a hand through the few stands of white hair that remained on his head. “Yes,” he said while nodding slowly. “I know him, and I suppose I could arrange a meeting if that’s what Chad wants. But what on earth do you need to see the Cardinal for?”
Munoz shook his head. “I wish I could say for certain. Maybe it’s nothing, but we have to talk to him.”
The old priest rose to his feet and shuffled slowly towards the door. “I’ll phone them and request an audience. I believe I have the standing. But what should I give as a reason?”
Murkell paused for a moment. “Tell him it concerns Xavier Watts and Thomas Abernathy; that should be sufficient.” Both O’Malley and Munoz snapped their heads toward Murkell in unison.
“Is that wise?” asked Munoz. “Won’t that alert him to our intentions?”
Murkell looked at his watch. “Detective, we don’t have much time. We’ve got to find out where the bomb is hidden and very soon. If we don’t act quickly, there won’t be anyone left to question.”
Munoz raised his eyebrows, puffed his cheeks and exhaled slowly. “I suppose you’re right. Are we going to try and get in alone?”
“We’ll have to. We have no clue how deep this thing goes or even what it’s really all about for that matter. Here Munoz, take this revolver. I hope you won't have to use it.”
Some moments later, Father Halstead appeared in doorway. His shoulders slumped, and a dim light cast a silhouette that looked older than the man himself. “The meeting has been arranged in one hour. Something about those names you gave me...” He shook his head slowly. “The Church involved in the destruction of mankind…. Satan has truly arrived to reign. May the Lord have mercy on us all.”
They drove in the unmarked squad in silence; a pounding summer rain cascaded over the windshield and reduced the visibility almost down to zero. The trip across the 12 city blocks was painfully slow because of the weather and the receding night sky. Munoz repeatedly checked his watch. After a seeming eternity, the car turned off State Street onto a narrow driveway hidden by a fence covered in thick vines.
As daylight illuminated their surroundings, Munoz could see the grounds were immaculately groomed. The lawn was a lush carpet of green Bermuda that resisted the summer heat. They followed the winding road past the rectory and drove around the orchid garden until they reached the massive stone structure that served as the local Catholic Church.
O’Malley found a parking spot in front of the building. Bluebirds sang from their nests, shrouded by the thick matting of maple and oak leaves that draped the 100-year-old trees. Munoz opened his door and exited cautiously. The church looked more like an ancient castle than a place of worship. Its sheer size and massive stone construction was meant to be intimidating, which it was, at least to Munoz.
While walking up the expansive steps through the facade of the cathedral, Jose crossed himself fervently. As a devout Catholic, he could not fathom how the Church could possibly be involved in this conspiracy. Yet the database was damning, and the appearance of many high profile ecclesiastical heavyweights confirmed a substantial degree of Christian culpability.
Munoz, O’Malley, Murkell and Father Halstead arrived at the threshold, aware of the security cameras that followed their movements. They stood before the imposing structure as the forged bronze doors slowly swung open. Their steps were tentative, and they
were careful to avoid scuffing the polished travertine. A hidden voice echoed off the granite walls, and it was some moments before a smallish, rotund man in a black frock appeared from behind a Roman column.
“Greetings,” he began while bowing slightly. “I am Father Mulroney. Please follow me. The Cardinal has agreed to grant you an audience.”
At the priests beckoning, they moved down an expansive passage toward a vestibule encased in bulletproof glass and then on to outer antechamber. Munoz could not help but marvel at the many artifacts from important events in the evolution of Catholicism. An imposing free-standing crucifix was the most compelling feature of the church, along with frescoes and reliefs depicting the Stations of the Cross, which adorned the nave.
Their collective footsteps echoed off the marble floor tiles as they walked down the aisle between the pews, arriving at the thick monolithic black granite mensa at the altar. Behind the commanding structure stood a small man in a black cassock and a red undergarment. He looked down at a large, gold embossed Bible. He continued reading for some minutes, aware of the presence of visitors, but purposely ignoring them. Finally, he placed a gold inlaid bookmark between the pages, and with great deliberation, closed the book. He regarded the four of them carefully, spending the most time looking at Munoz. He tapped his glasses on the altar thoughtfully.
“His eminence, your guests have arrived,” announced Father Mulroney.
“Father Halstead, it’s always pleasant to see you. What business brings you to the parish? And who may I have the pleasure to make acquaintance with?”
Halstead bowed per protocol. “Your eminence, Cardinal Riggs. This is Captain Chad Murkell of the Chicago Police Department, Sergeant Kevin O’Malley of CPD, and Detective Jose Munoz. They have, er, questions and issues they were hoping to discuss.”
Riggs wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to welcome you to this most holy place. However, I would be less than forthright if I didn’t express concern over a visit from law enforcement. How can I be of assistance?”
Both O’Malley and Murkell looked at Munoz, who apparently had been silently elected as the spokesman for the group. He cleared his throat. “Cardinal Riggs, I assume you are aware of the two nuclear explosions in Istanbul and Mumbai.”
“Of course I am aware of these tragedies. Terrible, just terrible. Have you come to pray, my son?”
“Not really. We’re here because we have reason to believe that a nuclear device has been placed somewhere in Chicago. If the previous pattern of 12 hours between explosions holds, it will detonate in less than three hours.”
An unmistakable look of anger flashed briefly across Riggs’ eyes. He again wiped at his brow before turning his attention back to Munoz. “This would be a tragedy of horrific proportions. I pray that you are able to stop this calamity in time. Of course, I will help in any way I can. Have you apprehended the perpetrators? Do you need me to talk with them?”
“No your eminence,” said Murkell. “Although one suspect was apprehended, we believe he had accomplices who planted the bomb. The suspect in custody was released before we could get out any useful information from him. We don’t know where it’s at.”
“Well, then I wonder why you are here instead of trying to find the terrorists? What can I do to help?”
“Cardinal Riggs, you must see the connection with the previous two bombings,” said Munoz. “The first was placed in a Muslim mosque, the second in a Hindu mandir. It would make sense that the next bomb would be put inside a Christian church. Do you agree?”
Riggs’ eyebrows rose slightly. “Ah—I see. Indeed it would. But there are well over a thousand churches in Chicago. It would be like finding the proverbial needle in the haystack.”
“Well, we believe we know the general location. It’s likely here in the Water Tower district.”
Riggs shrugged. “That doesn’t really help. There are over 150 churches in the immediate area.”
“That’s why we’re here Cardinal Riggs. We were hoping you could help us narrow it down.”
Riggs brow furrowed. He grabbed a cloth and wiped at the perspiration pooling on his forehead. “Again, how can I help you?”
“You can help by telling us where the bomb is located. You do know where it is, don’t you, Cardinal Riggs?” Munoz used his cop-authoritative voice.
Turning toward a partially hidden Father Mulroney, Riggs nodded subtly. Mulroney instantly disappeared, the sound of his rustling slippers echoed off the stone walls. “How would I possibly know the location of a terrorist bomb?” Riggs asked.
Munoz reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a folded document. His eyes remained locked with Riggs. He glanced down at the paper before continuing. “Does the name Terrance Morris mean anything to you, Cardinal?”
Riggs eyes widened for a brief moment. “I’m not sure. We have thousands of parishioners. It is impossible to know each one personally.”
“Ok,” replied Munoz. “What about Harlen Epstein, does that name ring a bell? Or Paul Trardent the police commissioner; do you know him?”
“I know of them. What of it? They are friends and parishioners.”
“Really? You have no other kind of relationship with them? How about Thomas Abernathy? I assume you know him, considering he is your boss. Xavier Watts perhaps? Do you care to look at the rest of the list, Riggs? Munoz extended the paper towards the stunned Cardinal, who was backing away from the altar.
“I don’t know what you are talking about. What is it you want?”
“Where is the bomb, Cardinal Riggs? What is the purpose of this organization you are a part of? Who is the leader, and what is his objective? We have several of your subordinates in custody, and they are talking freely. We want to know everything, Cardinal.”
Riggs seemed to contemplate the question for some time. The façade of his contrived smile receded, and his upper lip curled back in a sardonic sneer.
“You don’t understand do you, Detective?” he said. “There is no way for you to stop him. You will cower before his might. When the cleansing fire engulfs the sinners, the world will bow down, and the new order will bring punishment upon the earth.”
“We need you to tell us where that bomb is, Cardinal Riggs,” said Captain Murkell. “You are a man of the cloth. How can you let millions die?”
“You still don’t understand. The world is corrupt and needs direction. Through their suffering, the remaining survivors will recognize the importance of obedience.”
“Obedience to who?” asked Munoz.
“Why, the Benefactor, of course.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The rising sun began to streak the walls of the decrepit hotel room as the embedded stains in the translucent window coverings created ominous gray shadows against the peeling wallpaper. The hours passed slowly as Zach, Sarah and Anston tried to sleep but with little success. Sarah remained sitting upright, staring at the front door while rocking back and forth through the night. The room was hot, and Zach was aware of a sickly odor that never completely left his nostrils no matter how long he stayed in the room.
He paced the floor for nearly an hour as the relentless bombardment of negative energy surrounded him and continued to sap his strength. The lack of communication with anyone from the town besides Hefe was wearing down his resolve, and he was questioning the wisdom of walking straight into the den of the enemy.
Sarah showed increasing signs of strain as the influence of the Benefactor worked its tentacles around and through the shield Zach had. Periodically she would pull on her hair and moan, grinding her teeth while breathing irregularly.
Only Anston seemed calm while sitting on a wooden chair in the corner. His hands were crossed in his lap and his eyes fluttered open every so often. Zach wondered if his friend had finally succumbed to the stress. He never intended to draw Anston into this horrific ordeal in the first place, and with each bizarre twist, he watched his friend retreat further inside.
“Jarad, are you all right?”
Anston nodded. “I’m just meditating. I was thinking about Carly. I can only imagine what she’s doing right now. I’m sure she has the police out looking for us.”
“Carol is probably throwing a party. I should have let her go a long time ago. Let her get on with her life without my constant interference and… stalking. That’s really what it was, wasn’t it? I’ve been stalking her ever since the divorce and launching my little terrorist attacks to keep her from moving forward—without me.”
Anston took a deep breath and released it slowly, his eyes closing once again. “There is irony here, Zach. We’re probably not going to survive this place, but it seems you’re finally cured of your obsession. I don’t think you need the support group anymore.”
“If we get out of this, the first thing I’m going to do is apologize to her. And then I’m going to start a new life and find my own happiness.”
“Keep it up, Zach, and you’ll be graduating from the group magna cum-laude.”
Zach turned his attention to Sarah, who had moved to a corner of the room and slid to the floor. Her legs were drawn up to her chin, and her arms were wrapped around them. She stared absently through glazed eyes and continued raking a deep, bloody abrasion into her neck and cheek.
“I’m worried about her,” Zach whispered to Anston in a low tone. “I’m in her consciousness, and she’s falling apart. The bombardment of negative thought is relentless. She senses the assault and feels like she’s losing her mind.”
“What can we do about it?”
“Not much. I’m having trouble holding it together as it is. We’ve been isolated here so they can break down the shell. It’s this Benefactor person Sarah told us about. Person, entity, I don’t know what it is. Whatever he wants, if he breaks through, he’ll freely enter our minds.”
Jarad shook his head. “With all we’ve been through we still don’t know what any of this is about.”
The Suicide Society Page 32