by Eric Flint
“I like the Wizard of Oz,” a female voice echoed from a speaker over his head. That was Penny.
A light flickered on as he approached a solid white door, its edges coated with greasy fingerprints and dirt, as if no one used the doorknob. On the other side of the peephole, he knew, Penny was staring at him.
“It’s me,” Carlos said—he hated this password crap she’d instituted.
“Come on,” Penny said, “what’s the response?”
Penny had obviously gorged herself on too many movies, probably James Bond or the old spy show, Mission Impossible, but this nonsense came from some Christmas movie.
“Fine.” Carlos took a deep breath, and blew out the air with a sigh. “I like the Tin Man.”
“Thank you,” Penny said.
The door buzzed and sprung open. Carlos entered the so-called inner sanctum.
Penny grinned. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
“Why do you insist on these silly spy antics?” Carlos asked. “I’ve never even seen the movie we’re quoting.”
“We’re quoting A Christmas Story.” Penny shot Carlos a reproving glare. “One of the funniest movies ever.”
“What Christmas story?”
“I feel like we’re Abbott and Costello here doing who’s on first.”
“What?” Carlos asked.
“What’s on second,” Steve chimed in, yanking ripped and faded overalls up.
“You people are insane.” Carlos smacked his forehead. “I don’t know what you’re—”
Penny’s face turned red, she laughed so hard.
“What?” Carlos was truly perplexed.
“Never mind. Thank you for playing, though,” Penny said.
Steve grinned and rubbed his white whiskers with rough hands, like they’d been chewed on like a dog toy.
Carlos grabbed a coffee-stained mug off a shelf and filled it with water from the cooler. “Why use any lines from any movies? Gates, locked doors, and cameras aren’t enough?”
“Let her have some fun,” Steve said. “I don’t quite understand either, but using passwords certainly doesn’t hurt.”
“If you two haven’t noticed, people aren’t beating down the door to uncover what happens in a machine shop. No one cares. Hell, I doubt if more than one percent of the people who drive by—don’t nobody walk on this street—even notices we’re here.”
“Enough,” Steve said.
“So tell us what happened.” Penny grabbed another mug, dropped a bag of black tea in, and drew hot water from the cooler.
Carlos worked his way around and behind a battered old three-drawer filing cabinet, and sat in a chair resembling refugee furniture from the mid-seventies.
“They want to continue meeting with me.”
“And?” Penny motioned with her hand as if trying to pull the information out of him.
“So I’m in,” Carlos said, “what more do you want?”
Penny smacked the top of the filing cabinet. “You know damn well what kind of information we’re seeking.”
“Ease up, Penny,” Steve said. “No need to get angry.”
Penny rolled her eyes.
Carlos grinned. “Fine. They had plenty of questions, and for a moment I thought they had caught on to the scene over at Animal Control, but for now, they aren’t sure what’s going on and haven’t connected the two events.”
“They aren’t sure, huh?” Steve rubbed his chin. “The cops or the FBI still investigating the matter?”
“I don’t know,” Carlos said.
Penny frowned.
“Look,” Carlos folded his arms, “I couldn’t ask too many questions, right? I mean, I had to kind of work with what they tossed at me. If you want my opinion, the local cop, this Pedro, isn’t interested. The FBI guy did most of the asking and appears more eager to use me as an informant.”
“Interesting,” Steve said. “We’ll keep tabs on them as best as we can to be sure they aren’t getting too close.”
“And you want me to continue meeting and figuring out if they’re learning too much?” Carlos asked.
“Yes.” Penny picked up the phone.
“It’s starting up again, the demon universe leaking into ours, right?” Carlos gazed at Steve.
Steve shrugged. “Let’s just call it the ‘other’ universe. We don’t really know for sure what we’re dealing with. But, yes, we think so. There’ve been too many horrific coincidences lately.”
“Speaking of a coincidence,” Carlos drummed his fingers atop the cabinet, “did we have anyone over at Animal Control today? Once the police arrived?”
Steve shook his head and glanced at Penny, who now had the phone up to her ear. She frowned. “No, not that I’m aware of,” she said to Steve and Carlos, then spoke into the receiver: “Hey, John. Be here first thing in the morning. We need to be cutting stainless all day. Let Danny and Ian know also. Right.” A second later she hung up.
“Our old enemy has returned, I’m afraid,” Steve said. “They’re up to something. The two men who died in the hotel weren’t an anomaly or wannabes. No way. The Câ Tsang is back.”
“Great,” Penny said. “We’ll be dodging the law, the Câ Tsang, and Nephilim from another world.”
“Maybe Nephilim,” Steve cautioned. “We don’t really know what they are. We’ve never known.”
Chapter 11
Jasper dropped into the chair opposite Agent Temple Black, and slumped. For some reason, someone insisted on having all the chairs in the conference room at the maximum height. He released the chair from the extreme height down to an appropriate level. Temple had kept hers at maximum height, and no doubt her feet dangled. Perhaps she needed to feel as if she were in control and wanted the height.
The conference room itself wasn’t large, seating perhaps twenty people—more than enough for this little meeting. He wondered when his boss, the agent in charge of the Merrillville office, would arrive with the ASAC from the main office.
“Pssst.”
Jasper glanced at Temple. “Yes?”
“How do you lower the chair?”
“The little lever on the side?” Jasper raised an eyebrow.
“I’m lifting it,” Temple said, and laughed.
“Really?” Jasper shook his head, trying not to laugh at the absurdity. “When you lift the lever, plop down on the chair.”
“Here goes.” Temple plopped down hard, sending the chair to its bottommost position.
The conference door swung open and in walked SSA Johnson and ASAC Masters.
Jasper stood, and felt a little more loosened up at Temple’s chair height shenanigans. “SSA Black, I’d like you to meet ASAC Masters and SSA Johnson.”
She grinned. “Masters and Johnson, won’t forget those names.”
ASAC Masters sported his usual nonplussed countenance.
“Never mind,” Johnson said. He obviously understood the reference, but the ASAC’s obtuseness remained true to Jasper’s memory. “All right, none of us wants to be here on a weekend evening.”
He took a seat at the head of the table, Masters next to him. Both wore suits—a rarity for Johnson. He must be trying to impress the headquarters agent and ASAC Masters.
“No need for formality here.” So Temple decided taking charge of the meeting was a strategy for success. That wasn’t surprising, given the brassy nature she’d displayed during their interactions. “Jasper and I have reached an understanding.”
“We have? That is how you see it?” Jasper adjusted himself in his chair.
“Yes. SAG is taking over the investigations.” Temple’s tone was matter-of-fact.
“Hold on.” Masters ran his fingers through slicked back hair. “What is SAG?”
Jasper opened his mouth—
Temple pointed a chiding finger at him. “Scientific Anomalies Group.”
“And what is this group exactly? Never heard of it.” Masters glanced back and forth between Jasper and Temple.
“Neither had I, sir,
” Jasper said.
“We investigate matters the field won’t touch and the locals ignore.”
“Who runs the group? You?” Johnson asked, cutting in.
“I’m the supervisor—”
“She has one person who works with her, Special Agent Vance Ravel. He’s here too,” Jasper said, “but I think he’s attempting to analyze a few samples they collected today.”
“I’ll show you.” Temple stood and walked over to a dry erase board, which snapped on—surprising Jasper. “We were stood up to investigate matters of national security. Watch.” She gestured at the screen and dimmed the lights.
“Huh,” Jasper said, “I didn’t know dry erase boards were capable of such a feat. Fascinating.”
“It’s a SMART Board,” Temple said. “They’re installed in most of the field offices.”
“I don’t need a presentation,” Masters said. “Tell me what’s going on here, but first, who do you report to?”
Temple’s shoulders slumped and her head lolled backward, clearly exasperated. She took a deep breath. “Fine.” She raised the lights. “I’m going to run the slideshow as I speak.”
Behind Temple, slides whisked by displaying formulas and high-resolution photos of objects Jasper couldn’t make heads or tails of.
“We’re part of the Critical Incident Response Group,” Temple continued, “you know, CIRG—”
“Yes, we’re all well aware of the Division—”
Temple coughed. “We were conceived to handle counterterrorism leads believed to be nonsense. We quickly evolved beyond dull CT leads and now investigate matters falling in the cracks and outside normal FBI guidelines and protocols.”
“I don’t understand how the kidnapping of a child and subsequent double suicide are nonsensical or fell through the cracks,” Masters said.
Perhaps the ASAC wasn’t so obtuse after all, but Temple wasn’t telling him the whole story, either. Jasper wanted her to keep going, because it would quickly become too fantastical for both Masters and Johnson to accept.
“The crimes are serious.” Temple paced in front of the screen. “Think about their nature, though.”
“But the missing girl has been found and the men are dead,” Johnson said. “And the other case, a straight up homicide, has no Bureau nexus.”
“A pile of meat with protruding bones doesn’t strike you as extraordinary?”
“You’re wasting our time—why are we even talking?” Masters asked.
“Exactly,” Temple said. “My group has already been granted concurrence to operate in Indianapolis’s AOR by your SAC. And your man here, Agent Wilde, seems intent on watching us, which is why we’re talking. I simply can’t have him hampering our investigations, especially since he doesn’t believe we belong here.”
“Fine,” Masters said, “go about your business, but have this wrapped up by tomorrow. The SAC says yes a little too easily if you ask me. I don’t want you and your group, what was it, SIG?”
“SAG, sir—”
Jasper hid a grin.
“Whatever, I don’t want you ruining the relationships with the locals we’ve worked so hard to develop. I don’t believe for a moment any of what you’re investigating will make a difference to the Bureau. We’re overstepping our mandate, and remember, we do not typically investigate murders and suicides.” There was a pause, and he drove home one more point: “And do with this as you will, but your group sounds like another pointless headquarters initiative the field not only disdains, but despises.” Masters ended the tirade red-faced.
Wow. Perhaps Masters was pissed for driving up to Merrillville on a weekend, and missing little Johnny’s ballgame or something. Jasper suppressed a grin. He respected him a little more for having a pair—most executive management didn’t—but he’d been hard on Temple and even though she’d tossed Jasper under the bus, he thought Masters had gone a little too far. One thing was clear, Temple believed in what she was doing. She believed in the work and the mission she’d been given by FBI HQ. She wasn’t just going through the motions. Jasper had to respect that.
He cleared his throat. “Sir, I don’t think Agents Black and Ravel can wrap the investigations up in a day.”
“Are you for real?” Johnson asked. “All right, I’ve had enough of this.” He spun his chair. “ASAC Masters?”
“Hold on a minute. How did HQ even find out about the investigations out here?”
“Agent Wilde’s report itself,” said Temple. “There were certain anomalies in the report responsible for triggering an alert. You see, Agent Ravel created a list of keywords.”
Johnson cut in. “What was in the report capable of triggering the alert?”
“Oh, let’s see,” Temple said. “Suicide by thermite, stone slabs, possible ritual killing, cults—”
“I said nothing about a cult,” Jasper protested.
“Fine, I added the cult bit, but the other evidence in the report as well as at the scene suggested cultlike activity. You get the point.”
“We need Agent Wilde here assigned temporarily to this SAG thing,” Johnson said.
Masters’ eyes narrowed and he spread his hands, palm up. “What for?”
“Look, if it’s going to take Agent Black and her assistant Ravel more than a day, I’d rather have someone from the Merrillville office tag along so those ‘relationships’ you mentioned don’t get burned.”
“Thank you, sir,” Temple held up a hand, “but Agent Wilde’s help won’t be necessary—”
“Oh, but it is, and it’s happening. If you don’t like it, go back to the Hoover building with all the other zombies.”
“I don’t work out of the Hoover building,” Temple said, a bit stiffly.
“I agree.” Masters thumped the table top. “I’ll square it with the SAC and make a call to the Assistant Director at CIRG. But consider yourself TDY’d to this SIG or whatever it is.”
“Sir, it’s SAG”—Jasper stood—“but I’d rather not—”
“Nope,” Johnson said, “it’s too late. I need you to watch over the HQ personnel so they don’t run amok here. That’s all.”
“For how long?” Jasper didn’t want to whine, but it must have come across like one.
“If there are more of these men out there, and these investigations are somehow linked, a Bureau nexus may exist after all. Just don’t piss off the local cops, okay? Lord knows, Agent Wilde, you have a unique ability.”
“Pissing people off?” Temple asked.
“Jasper knows how to push my buttons.” Johnson’s additions to the conversation had to be for the benefit of ASAC Masters and Agent Black.
“Anything else, sir?” Jasper stared at Masters.
Johnson glanced at Masters. “I think we’re done.”
“Great,” Jasper said, “shall I provide updates?”
“Get through the weekend and give us a report next week.”
“Roger that,” Jasper said.
Masters and Johnson stood.
“Thank you,” Temple said.
Both men shook their heads and walked out of the conference room.
* * *
“Well, the meeting went swimmingly,” Jasper said. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
Temple had her back to him, tapping away on a keyboard near the screen, which was still flashing images. “Would you rather work applicant matters?”
“What? Hell, no. You might as well put me on permanent complaint duty, listening to all those crazy tinfoil hat people—”
Temple laughed. “Only the best and brightest, or those in deep shit, end up with those duties. You know, Vance and I are the Bureau’s tinfoil hat people.” She stretched. “I’m heading back to the hotel for some sleep in a few minutes. It’s been a long day and I need to recharge.”
“Yeah, well, seems fitting for you two.”
Temple paused a moment, said nothing, and reviewed a dozen images in seconds.
“Wait,” Jasper said. “What was that?”
/> “Which?”
“The one with the weird-looking man.”
Temple paused the display and tapped a few more keys. “This one?”
“No.”
“How about now?”
“Yes. Why do you have a photo of a man that looks like that? How could you?”
“This is a photo of the man in the vehicle we saw at the homicide scene earlier today.” Temple cocked her head and raised her eyebrows.
“But why include him in this display of yours?” Jasper asked.
“He was at the scene, right? And a pile of meat is not normal, or maybe you hang around meat packing plants?”
“Good one. No. But I’m thinking we’re on to something. The man on the screen is about as nondescript in the same way as the two men who committed suicide. Especially if you take the dark hair off the men at the hotel.”
“Interesting.” Temple stood straight up and her eyes widened. “What if the men at the hotel wore toupees or something?”
“Yes, but there was no way to tell, they were ash. Man, but my brain is fried,” said Jasper. “I need to go relax. Perhaps we can get Vance and analyze this tomorrow, what do you say?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Jasper said, “want to join me for a drink or two, and a bite to eat? I know a place, a dive, but the bar food is good. The clientele is interesting—and mostly harmless.”
“Sounds like my kind of place,” Temple said. “Let me phone Vance, though I doubt he’ll join us.”
Vance had already gone to sleep, so Jasper had Temple follow him in her rental to a bar he favored over in Schererville. He loved this place since they stocked a brand of whiskey that had grown on him, and served greasy bar food. They used to have live bands, but had gotten away from that ruckus in favor of a well-stocked old school jukebox and pool tables.
At least in this bar he could relax a bit and hope that Temple would as well. Another reason for choosing that bar as a venue to chill out with her was that the clientele was racially mixed, and no one was out of place. Well, Masters and Johnson in their suits perhaps, but almost anything else worked. The truth was that he was worn out, and couldn’t believe the homicide at Animal Control had been earlier in the day and that the rescue of the girl and the suicides had been the previous evening.