by Vince Milam
His view of the departed speedboat coincided with the thunderous pounding of a man running along the wooden pier, the sound emphatic through the sticky night air. The third one’s hauling ass. Yes! Yes!
Nick’s initial assessment changed. The rapid footfalls headed toward the back of the car. He snuck a peek over the hood to peer through the front and back windshield at nothing but the raised trunk lid, and ducked back down.
A lone shot, then a second, boomed through the air—both aimed away from him. The loud footfalls were close, close, and then the sedan rocked forward at the sound of flesh-on-flesh and the crunch of a body against the open trunk. A cry in Spanish spread across the Potomac—loud, filled with anguish. Nick peered around the front grill to the rhythmic metallic pounding of a body against the side of the car.
A very large black man gripped the Sureños gunman in a bear hug and commenced converting him into tenderized gang member. The large man slammed the gang member’s upper body again and again against the side rear panel of the car.
“Freeze! Homeland Security!” Nick called as he rose and aimed his gun at the pair of men. Again, it was ignored. What is wrong with you people? “I mean it! Freeze!”
The large black man stopped his pounding, his prey now unconscious. He dropped the Sureños gang member to the pier and nudged him with his foot.
“Homeland Security! Drop to the ground!” For God’s sake, is anyone going to listen to me? Nick’s adrenaline abated as an internal danger alarm tapered off.
“Quit pointing that gun at me,” the large stranger said as he shifted his gaze back and forth along the dock. He began a brisk walk, passed Nick, and seemed to search for something in the shadows of the dock area.
The stranger halted and reversed course, passed Nick again at a brisk pace, and asked, “Anyone else? Did you see anyone else?” A command more than a question, his voice filled with frustration and rage, deep as thunder.
“Drop! Face down!” Nick barked and made a quick gesture with his pistol toward the ground.
“Will you shut up, quit pointing that thing at me, and answer my question!”
They stood in the full moonlight, a dozen feet apart, and both men breathed hard through their nostrils. The large stranger cast another glance toward the long-shadowed dock area. A boat in the distance sounded a lone low horn.
“Who the hell are you?” Nick asked. He lowered the pistol but kept his finger on the trigger. “And that guy was shooting at you. Are you hit?” His hands began to shake from the post-adrenaline rush and he tried not to vomit.
The man lifted his nose as if to capture scent. “There’s no need to curse,” he said to the night air, eyes closed, sensing. “Close. So close. I’ll get him. By God, I’ll get him.” The man turned to look at Nick. “I am not hit. Thank you for asking.”
The pounded gang member moaned. Nick pulled his cell phone and asked for backup. A sudden and deep desire for the sound and presence of his fellow federal agents filled him. The large man turned and walked away, his strides fast and adamant.
“Hey. Hey!” Nick said. “You can’t leave. Hey!”
“Bishop Luke Sikes,” the man called over his shoulder. “Tabernacle of the Divine Spirit. Culpeper. In Virginia, son.” He disappeared into the night.
Chapter 5
Springtime brought bugs. Coastal bugs. They flew and slammed onto any nighttime surface below artificial light. Nadine, Cole, and Francois occupied the over-water deck of a Rockport fish house, illuminated by an overhead pole lamp, and swiped insects that decided, for whatever buggy reason, to crash-land onto their personal eating area.
Sitting with Cole. Little weird, little weird, Nadine thought. But get over it. He’s still a dear friend. The lover thing just didn’t work out and nothing new there.
“We could sit inside and avoid these flying critters,” Cole said. “No smoking, of course.”
Nadine made a backhanded peace sign toward Francois, who lit a smoke and placed it between her extended digits. He lit a second one for himself. Cole sighed.
Nadine had hitched a ride on the Department of Homeland Security plane to Corpus and arrived at the end of St. Mary’s Road where FBI and Refugio County lawmen swarmed around dead bodies and large, well-built containers. Radiation testing equipment showed low-level contamination outside the containers, which indicated bad news on the inside. The FBI and DHS huddled to discern authorizations and turf. The FBI took the lead due to their early arrival at the deadly finale of the situation.
Nadine rode back to Rockport with Cole, Francois, and R.L. The state of the Aransas County Sheriff’s boat, still functional given the numerous bullet holes, prompted Cole and R.L. to discuss paperwork related to repairs. Otherwise, talk had been minimal, close proximity to Cole awkward. Francois had arranged for them to meet at the restaurant for drinks and dinner.
Nadine and Francois drank margaritas neat—no ice—while Cole sipped a Shiner Bock Beer. The southeastern breeze kept the mosquitoes at bay, if not the larger insects.
“So, would you care to fill me in on what prompted you to arrive in Corpus Christi yesterday?” she asked Francois. “Is that sense of yours tuned across such great a distance?” The priest’s internal radar offered ample opportunity to collect and collate data points. Good stuff. His strange sense and my analytics make for a helluva formidable effort. I wonder if Cole has missed me?
“Oui, to some degree,” Francois said. “And yet one must consider our sheriff’s location. A type of attractant?”
“Attractant?” Cole asked. “There’s no reason on God’s green earth for Aransas County to attract horrible stuff. Are you nuts?”
“And so,” Francois said. “We have witnessed two such events over the course of the last twelve months. Une coïncidence? I think not.”
Nadine raised a hand at a passing waiter and ordered another round of drinks. The first margarita had taken the uncomfortable edge off. She began to slip into an operational team framework. Francois had a point. Cole’s geographic location had attracted two of those things—foul living entities—and this fact provided salient information. Information: digestible and figured into future algorithms.
“You sensed one of those creatures here. From your Chicago conference,” Nadine said. “You’re really amping your skill set up, Francois.”
The Frenchman shrugged and waved a dismissive hand. She and Cole had witnessed the birth of his talent while they pursued evil from Wales to the killing fields of Syria. Their last adventure—or quest, as Francois called it—to Ebola-infected West Africa and the wilds of Mexico had shown further growth and finer tuning of this God-given sense.
“Well, we never encountered this one. This creature,” Cole said.
He’s relieved about that. Understandable, but we’ve got to get beyond it, bucko. Once again, we’ve entered a realm beyond our understanding.
“It fled, to be sure,” Francois said. “The demon. Disparu. Vanished. This, too, I sensed. Its ability to flee, hide, and reemerge. A coward and deceiver. And yet. And yet I sense another cause. A purpose, mes amis.”
She leaned back and blew smoke at the night sky. Rockport held little light pollution, and the stars blinked across great swaths of the heavens. All in all, a great day for Nadine and the good guys. Once again, her role as a world-class information technology consultant who solved puzzles within the shadowed top-secret world of US clandestine services had been justified. Both the FBI and DHS had given her the appropriate kudos once the bodies and radioactive material were removed. One of the DHS guys had even patted her back.
“Let’s extrapolate such a purpose,” she said to the night sky. “Is the Big Guy upstairs getting us together for something else? As a counterforce? An endeavor other than what went down today?”
“Ah, mon cher. Most astute. And yet I would expect nothing less from you.” Francois joined her to stare into the heavens.
Nadine had grown from a spiritual skeptic during the Wales and Syria adventures. Her faith had
taken root, albeit in a unique Nadine manner. Their Africa and Mexico quest had pinballed her through a wide range of spiritual emotions and set the stage for her to become comfortable not knowing all the answers. That’s one big-ass hard pill to swallow, she had thought.
The waiter arrived to take their food order, and Cole ordered a collective array of entrees, clearly to spare them Francois’s often-acerbic epicurean exchanges with wait staff. Cole is more reserved tonight. Is it me?
Nadine’s relationship with Cole had proved a short and bittersweet ride. She’d discussed it on the phone with Francois a month earlier.
***
“Cole and I split up,” Nadine started. “How’s life at the Vatican? Any other demon chasers to hang with?”
“Explain to me, cher, this splitting up.”
Of all the world’s people, her French priest friend stood alone as someone she didn’t hesitate to confide in. He was kind and loving and brave beyond measure—amply demonstrated during their two adventures. He was also bullheaded and prone to obfuscation. Or just being French. Hard to say. But at the end of the day, she loved him and vice versa, and he wouldn’t judge. And not judging is a biggie.
“We continued to date after the three of us returned from the Mexico deal.” The confrontation with the Mexican drug cartel and Francois’s battle with living evil made for a lot more than “the Mexico deal,” but as always they—the three of them—kept a forward focus. Too much collective reflection caused major discomfort, at least for her and Cole. Too many unanswerables.
“Then I, well…it wasn’t going to work,” she continued. “He wouldn’t get off the dime.”
The ensuing silence meant he either waited for elaboration or he hadn’t understood the dime expression. “He wouldn’t commit,” she added. “And we were constantly out of sync. He says ‘What?’ an awful lot.”
“Our Cole had been married,” Francois said.
“Yeah. I know.”
“And lost his wife in a terrible manner. Murder.”
“Yeah. Understood.”
“And yet he raised two wonderful daughters. And showed genuine love for you.”
“Is this supposed to be edifying, Francois? ’Cause it’s not working out that way.”
Francois explained time frames held different meanings for people. And perhaps—as a consideration—Cole needed more time before he made a full commitment. He also pointed out Cole’s love for her still resonated, hidden by a natural reticence. A character trait. And one she might possibly adjust to.
Her dear friend used a most gentle and caring manner to next broach the most obvious element. The eight-hundred-pound gorilla. Fair enough. For a fact—one she refused to yield to—Nadine May tended to drive most people crazy with her quirks and ricochet conversation and mile-a-minute mind.
“One might consider his clear ability to accept you as you are, cher,” Francois said. “An effort, an acceptance, poorly managed by most people, n’est-ce pas?”
Her OCD trait of movement in threes evidenced itself with rapid triplet taps of her foot on her couch arm. She lay flat and stared at the ceiling while she discussed Cole, character traits, and the elements of love with Francois. Mule the Cat moved to a higher perch on the couch, tail dropped and twitching.
“Yeah, well, but he’s not exactly Mr. Conversation himself,” she said.
“This is so.”
“And he wouldn’t sleep with me. Said it crossed a line and changed everything and he wasn’t ready for that.” She tickled Mule’s tail and caused it to twitch faster. “Seriously, do you hang with other demon chasers at the Vatican?”
“And you found his abstinence an annoyance?”
What am I doing talking about sex with a priest? “I found it very 1950s. This is the 2000s. N’est-ce pas, yourself.”
They chatted for another fifteen minutes. She said goodbye and became draped by blue, down and in a funk. “What do you think, Mule?” she asked the cat. “Does Cole still love me? Romance-wise?”
Mule flicked his tail and licked a paw. Did I blow it with Cole? He didn’t put up much of an argument when I suggested ending it. His style? To acquiesce so easily? No fuss, no muss? Man, I’m hungry. She padded into the kitchen and searched the freezer. She found a half-full gallon of Blue Bell Pralines ’n Cream, wrapped a dish towel around the bottom, grabbed a large spoon, and plopped back on the couch. But it takes two to tango. Can’t be all me.
***
The Rockport fish house seafood came fresh grilled and they ate with relish. Francois selected the wine and—rare for him—avoided any comment regarding the wine list. They shared entrées and assembled the fries on a center plate. The conversation mellowed and they tiptoed through their surreal world, framed by encounters with hellish beings from another realm.
“And so,” Francois said. “This counter force you speak of. Guided by God. An interesting concept.”
“With Aransas County as a magnet?” Cole asked. He paused to place a few drops of Tabasco on a french fry. “So we can come together. Mobilize. Uh-uh. I’m not buying it.”
“Good call on the redfish, Cole,” Nadine said, using her fingers to dab a piece with tartar sauce. “It wouldn’t hurt to examine the odds. The probabilities. I mean, here we are again. Didn’t confront the hideous creature this time. But we’re together, nonetheless.”
“Oui. And let us consider another aspect I have yet to reveal.”
Nadine went on high alert. Francois could be a pain in the butt as he danced around subjects and played the nuance card until it drove her nuts, but this sounded new. Something different. An anomaly.
“I believe you have previously asked, mon sheriff,” the priest continued. “Inquired, as it were.” He paused to select a bacon-wrapped grilled shrimp, popped it into his mouth, and smacked as he chewed before washing it down with a large swallow of Sauvignon Blanc. “Oui. Inquired. As to the possibility of others. Not demons. No. They are legion. No. Others who also pursue and battle. Others similar to us.”
Nadine’s crossed leg allowed her to air-slap her foot in tight series’ of threes. The whole Francois theatrics thing wore thin quickly. Cole didn’t appear to mind them and viewed the Frenchman’s affectations as a form of entertainment. Meanwhile, she had to wait for information, data. It got old fast.
“Yep. Can’t believe we’re it,” Cole said as he finished his beer and raised the empty bottle to a passing waiter. “Long odds from where I’m sitting. A French priest focused on evil? Someone who has made it his calling? Yeah. Okay. But Nadine? Bits and bytes and analysis and problem-solving. Not even a believer when we started this mess. And me? Sheriff of a backwater coastal county. A plain vanilla Protestant with more than a tote sack of doubt. And together we’re it? Alone? I don’t get it. At all.”
Nadine and Francois both paused, amazed. These may have been the most words Cole Garza had strung together since either of them had known him.
Holy moly. It speaks. Although I’m more than bits and bytes. I’m not a machine. A little weird—okay, I’ll grant that—but still a living breathing not-half-bad-looking woman.
“A most serious issue, oui.” Francois patted Cole’s arm. “And one perhaps discussed at a more opportune moment.”
“Francois,” Nadine said. “For God’s sake, spit it out. What are you referring to?”
The priest released Cole, sat back, and lit a smoke, silent. A beetle-sized june bug slapped the tabletop and skidded to a stop against Cole’s water glass. He flicked it from the table with his forefinger. His fresh beer arrived and he took a swallow, staring first at her, then Francois.
The priest glanced over both shoulders to ensure they sat beyond earshot and leaned across the table. Nadine and Cole joined him. “A refined sense. Not confirmed. No. But there, and real. This I know.”
The low rumble of a tugboat as it plied the waters of the Intercoastal Waterway drifted across the outdoor seating area. A table near them erupted with laughter at someone’s joke.
&nb
sp; “Others such as us. Oui. Teams. I feel this.”
“Where, Francois?” Nadine asked. “Where are they?”
“Not of importance, mon amour. No. What is important is a sense. An awareness. We are to gather. To join. Somehow. More has yet to be revealed.”
“Some kind of meeting?” Cole asked.
“No. Not a meeting. Un ensemble. A gathering. A gathering of seekers such as us.”
Chapter 6
St. Peter’s Lutheran Church stood sharp-steepled against the San Francisco night sky. Over one hundred years old, the church served a diverse congregation, exemplified by their leader, Pastor Jude Gill. This late at night, the building showed still and dark as a spring drizzle wetted the stone exterior.
Jean Murphy drove Jude to the tiny private back lot of the church. Quiet most of the drive, Jude appeared to be digesting the violence and death they had left inside the parking garage.
Banjo, Jean’s rescue mutt, put his paws on the front seat divider and nuzzled the two to ensure they remained aware of his presence. Banjo’s wet nose elicited rubs and scratches from both.
“What’s all this mean?” had been Jude’s recurring theme during the short drive. Jean had no definitive answers. Those men had been sent to kill them. She was sure of this. But the other stuff—some demonic mastermind, according to Jude—fell well outside Jean’s realm of expertise.
Fallen angels. Right. Still, Jude has that strange sense. I’ve seen it. It’s real, Jean thought. And I’ll give her a break with the human side of things. Can’t expect her to absorb killing right away. Me, on the other hand… She’d spent years as an Oakland cop, immersed in the depravity of a large city’s underbelly. The innumerable Oakland vignettes of death and destruction flipped through her mind.
“Here’s the deal,” Jean said as she parked behind the church. “The cops will find the two bodies, check their backgrounds, and surmise it a crime syndicate shootout. I know how it works.”