Laid out in boring federal reports was the details of the New Church of the Rising Son. An extremist group that was attempting to hold strong as a faith based group, but was doing a poor job of covering up their less than faithful criminal activity. They were a borderline home grown militia group. Responsible for a handful of attacks on genetic research facilities throughout the west coast and a handful of clinics specializing in harvesting stem cells. I scrolled through the case files of a few attacks the FBI were able to tie back to the church, looking over mug shots of men who went from true biker look to that of a clean cut Sunday mass attendee. Most of the men who were serving time for their crimes committed in the name of the church were ex-convicts just released from prison. I sifted through the booking file, trying to find any connection to the CIA or any other federal agency. There were none, just ex-convicts being paid extremely well to commit a crime and head back to prison.
The file near the end of the attachment peaked my interest, it was everything the FBI had on the leader of the church. Alistair Montgomery. There was no picture attached to his file, just the typical shadowed head shot graphic. There was very little identifying information about the leader of this very dangerous group other than snippets pulled from the interviews conducted on his thugs taken into custody. I read a paragraph that was more of an editorial comment about Alistair than hard facts.
"From most of the interviews, it seems that Alistair Montgomery is like all other eccentric evangelists. He has the gift of speech and has incredible manipulation skills. Able to sway the easily swayed into believing that his work and the church's mission is what the lord himself wants. From FDOC inmate #498223 last interview, he recalls Montgomery to be a very intelligent man, very unstable and very persuasive with his tactics of threatening extreme violence or promises of endless wealth and front seats in heaven. Referring to FDOC inmate #221988 last interview, he recalls no one ever really saw Montgomery's face.
Always receiving orders through cell phone and personal meetings were taken in a darkened room only lit by walls of candles. The inmate also states that there was never a second hand man. Just a rotating roster of thugs who were the lead on a given mission and then tossed away when the mission was complete. The inmate suspects they were either handed over to the authorities by Montgomery or expendable causalities when the mission went sideways. This has been confirmed by many reports in the research facilitate bombings of last year that at least one of the committing parties had perished in the explosion. (This is also an ongoing investigation led by SAC Siara)
Referring to FDOC inmate #139739 interview. He states that he had a suspicion that Montgomery was a government mole, possibly CIA or FBI that was trying to take down homeland terrorism from the inside out. When asked, the inmate states that he was an Army Ranger and worked alongside the CIA for many overseas missions during the Persian Gulf War. Inmate stated that the way Montgomery operates and some of his dialogue at times would "Reek of CIA horse shit lingo." Inmate also stated that he broke into Montgomery's office in Tennessee and found thick stacks of a CIA files referring to a secret weaponry project called Rising Son. Leading the inmate to believe the correlation between the name of the church and the CIA project.
Upon further investigation of the office address given, FBI Agents only found a burnt out office complex with no evidence to support the inmates claim. It is also noted that further investigation of inmates claims that Alistair Montgomery was former or current CIA have been stonewalled by the CIA. Stating that we do not have enough information for a formal investigation and they have no record of an Alistair Montgomery in their agent alias databases. At this time, FDOC inmate #139739 statement will be considered inaccurate until evidence proves otherwise.
At this time it has been determined that the Church of the New Rising Son is a red level threat and will continue to be monitored. Listed below is their current targets as gathered by the fifteen interviews conducted by agents in the last few months. See also case report on Senator Claire Avondale and the San Diego incident."
I stopped scrolling when I saw I was the number one target on a list of ten other politicians and research facilities. What really hit home was seeing the side note next to my name that read in a very casual way, I was the main focus of Montgomery. That he had recently rerouted most of his resources to me and was doing everything in his power to remove me from power, dead or alive.
I shut off the monitor, I didn't want to bother delving into the Beekeeper files. I knew it was just pure information on their projects and it would maybe help me understand what they wanted with me again. Yes, the CIA was trying to scare me, but they would not really follow through on hurting me.
Davidek had included a quick side note in his Beekeeper email that he had heard through back channels the CIA was trying to cover up the pipe bomb mess. Hearing through their own back channels that the local police department had positively identified the main suspect as a CIA agent.
I leaned forward on the desk, morbidly thinking the only thing keeping me alive with the CIA was that they were afraid of bad press just as much as the rest of the government. It would look bad that they were targeting a well-known Senator for reasons they didn't dare reveal. The church on the other hand, was a maniac with his eyes set on me.
I felt tears welling up, reading my life threatened in black and white like it was nothing other than a side note in a pile of paperwork, hit hard. I stood up, turning off all the computers and closing up the room, I walked out of my room to Kit's and set the bags on the floor so I could crawl into the bed, moving Norbert to sit next to me. I laid on my stomach and buried my head into the pillows, pushing the need to cry away with the pillows mashed against my face. For a reason I couldn't explain, I didn't want to be in my room, I didn't want to see or be reminded of all that I had to do now to keep myself alive. The security systems, the hidden guns, the stacks of government paperwork and stacks of files from Criterion.
In her room there was just a bed with her clothes in the closet, reminding me that at least in some part of my life I was normal and just a woman who wanted what the rest of the world wanted. To be loved and left alone to love and live.
I drifted off to sleep with Norbert standing guard over on the pillow next to me.
I closed the door to my room, leaving Claire asleep in the bed. I had found her curled up in my bed when I brought the two salads I had made upstairs. I didn't want to bother her, she looked peaceful as she slept buried in the pillows.
I suspected she would crash out soon, the encounter at the mall had taken a lot out of her. The adrenaline and the emotions were a little much on top of the disgusting food court food. I would let her sleep it all off.
I sat in the massive library, sinking into the soft cushions of the large couch she kept in the middle of the room. I took a few bits of the spinach salad I made and turned on the tablet I found in my small panic room.
I wanted to run that bastard Michael, find out who he really was. After typing all of his information into the search engine, two seconds later I was greeted with his blah DMV photo and his entire background. Michael was not a threat, just a jackass with a sense of self entitlement. Nothing else popped up on his background query or linked him to any government agency. He was a run of the mill construction contractor who made all of his money by selling exotic marble and granite tile to the wealthy. He lived in the suburbs of D.C., giving me the idea to send a little note over to Sheehnan suggesting he and his officers give Michael a little extra attention for the next few days so he would remember to keep his hands to himself and to make sure he wasn't a weirdo dressed in Brooks Brothers.
I then shifted to the emails forward to me by Davidek and Ivan, reading the FBI one first. It did nothing but kill my appetite and fire up my temper. I set the tablet down on the couch next to me. I felt nauseous and a building need to protect Claire more, not let her out of my sight even though I knew it would drive her insane and add to her eternal feeling of being under house ar
rest.
I ran hands over my hair, frustrated that the FBI and everyone else had no idea who this nut bag Montgomery was and how to find him. He was a ghost in the wind and the only thing that nagged at me was the tidbit about the CIA. That one of his thugs was certain the evangelist was CIA undercover or former CIA. I kept hearing Sheenhan’s strange quote about when things don't make sense, they make perfect sense.
I leaned against the back of the couch, thinking and going over all the little pieces I had collected over the last few weeks. The CIA was after Claire, the church was after Claire and the one standout connection between the two that made literally no sense, was the CIA. Even though the CIA was apparently a nemesis to the church and vice versa, they were the only constant in everything. They were the only one whose name kept popping up like a bad rash anytime something happened to her.
I took a breath, grabbed the tablet and opened up the Beekeeper email. It was massive and took me forever to sort through the same information Claire had told me in the car, who the group was and what they were doing. I took note of how long the group was active, almost fifteen years at this point. All the information in the file was basic who they are and what they were doing. There were personnel files of a few scientists who had left the program and mysteriously died a year or two later. I knew there was no mystery there, just a bit of janitorial work on the agency's behalf to keep their dirty laundry in the closet.
I scrolled and scanned, reading and getting more frustrated at the lack of clear answers. Just the typical bland and non-descriptive reports of keeping secrets. At the end was a file stamped with the classic red stamp of classified all over the front pages. It was obvious this was a file that Davidek was able to get his hands on when no hands should have ever touched it. I read around the bright red ink and saw that it was a series of patient files and lab results.
I recognized the lingo and the layout, it was similar to the work Claire had showed me when she revealed to me Dr. Avondale and the organ regrowth projects. I set the tablet down, looking across the room to stare at the huge bookshelf full of ancient medical books.
Beekeeper was doing the same research Claire was, but they were maybe five years behind her, only just now working on minor repair on a cellular level. They wanted her work because she had done all the work and they desperately wanted it to skip to the fourth phase of the project I had read in the introduction to this classified file. To be able to expedite the healing process for field agents and eventually begin genetic cloning of the perfect soldier. One that could go and go without needing to eat, drink or heal.
I sighed hard and continued to read. It was all laid out in black and white, the groups intentions to further genetic research to the point of perfect everlasting humanity as they saw fit, to use humans as weapons and gain more power in the world. Claire's goal was everlasting humanity for the sake of humanity and to use it sparingly to keep humans humble and respectful of the lives we all live.
I finished reading the classified file and felt even sicker than before. I went to exit out of the email when something caught my eye, the name of the project that was tucked in the corner in small handwriting of a hyper scientist. Project Rising Son, established in 2010.
I tossed the tablet back on the couch and stood up. I went to run back up the stairs to wake up Claire. The New Church of the Rising Son and Project Rising Son, there was too much of a pattern for it not to make sense, too much of a coincidence.
I left the library and hit the steps, three steps up the doorbell rang, halting my run up to my bedroom to wake up Claire. I turned and ran back to the door, looking on the monitor I saw a teenage girl, bundled up in a hat and a puffy pink coat, holding two long plastic bags with hangers poking out of the top.
I placed a palm on the gun at my waist and opened the door, standing at an angle to keep the door between me and the girl. The second the door opened, the girl smiled and I recognized her as Evette’s daughter, the face was the same just a few years younger.
The girl also shared her mother’s cheery voice, "Hi! I’m Candace and I'm dropping of Senator Avondale's dresses?"
I smiled, moving my hand off the butt of the gun, holding my hand out to take the dresses. "Thank you, I can take them." Taking the dresses from the girl, I was surprised at how heavy they were. "Is there anything I need to sign?" I set the dresses across the long table next to the door.
Candace shook her head, "No ma'am. Everything has been taken care, my Mom says that if there are any problems to call her right away and we will make a house call." The girl smiled wider, "Is there anything else you need?"
"Just the dresses. Thank you Candace." I went to close the door when the girl held up her hand.
"Wait, I have one more thing." She dug around in her bag, pulling out a small pink bakery box, "These are for Senator Avondale, cupcakes from my Aunts bakery down the street. Senator Avondale always has us pick them up for her if we make a delivery, they’re her favorite."
I looked at the box, suspicious for a moment. "Where is this bakery?"
Candace nodded over her shoulder, "Three blocks down. It's Sheehnan’s Capital Cakes." She held out the box, "It's okay, my Uncle Danny is a police Sergeant and he's friends with the Senator." The girl grinned, picking up on my suspicion about the random box of food this girl was trying to force upon me.
I smirked, shaking my head I grabbed the small pink box from the girl, "Thank you Candace, I will make sure the Senator gets these."
Candace nodded, waved at me and ran off to the street to disappear down the block. I closed the door, picking up the dresses I had set off on the side table right by the door. I couldn't help but smile at how intricate Claire was about keeping trusted people close and connected. She had quite a unique network of people who would keep eyes and ears out for her and keep her supplied in crap food.
I opened my bedroom door slowly, trying not to wake her up as she continued to sleep. I hung the dresses up in the closet before sitting in the chair across from the bed. I wanted to crawl in the bed and snuggle up with the blonde, but I would save that for tonight when we went to bed.
I sat, watching her sleep, trying to fight the urge to wake Claire up and tell her the final connection I had made that could open up more doors and lead to ending this nonsense with the church maniacs. But I didn't, I wanted to savor this moment of her at peace since it was rare from the moment I met her and every day after.
I wanted to memorize how her face looked when it wasn't riddled with worry, trying to hold firm to a mask of strength, or hinted with fear when some jerk tried to get at her. She was calm, peaceful, and beautiful as she slept and there was nothing I wouldn't do to have her have that every day.
I watched her for a handful of minutes before I opened the pink box and took a bite of the thick, gooey, red velvet cupcake I couldn’t resist picking up. I licked frosting off my finger, making a note to thank Sheehnan and maybe set up a secret weekly delivery of these treats.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, I watched Kit sleep in the chair. The pink bakery box on the floor next to her with the lid cocked open with a slight smudge of frosting on the corner of her mouth. Kit was sleeping heavy, bent up in the large chair at a weird angle. The combination of over tiredness and sugar overload of the two red velvet supreme cupcakes she ate, had pushed Kit into a mild sugar induced coma.
I looked over at Norbert, "Should I wake her?" He looked back with black glass eyes, Kit's reflection held gently in the stuffed penguin’s eyes.
Before he could answer, Kit shifted and yawned, smiling as groggy hazel eyes found me perched on the end of the bed, "Hey you." She stretched to sit up in the chair, running a hand through red hair that was down and around her shoulders.
"Hey back." I pointed at the pink box, "You ate my cupcakes."
Kit turned to the pink box, turning very a bashful shade of red, "I only ate two, they are really good, but I kind of feel like I ate three bags of sugar." She pushed the lid down on the box, re-securing
the last two cupcakes back into the safety of a paper box. "I think Sgt. Sheehnan would be happy to swing by with more." Kit looked up at me, "Is everyone you know connected in some strange way? You have this unique network of people who are interwoven into a small militia of Claire Avondale fans and protectors."
I laughed lightly, standing up from the bed to move closer to Kit, "I learned a long time ago that people will give you the best they have when you give them the best of yourself. That in turn leads to people wanting to point you in the direction of the best bakery run by a police officer’s wife whose sister runs a dress shop. A Chinese mother who never expected the lady down the street to help her son for nothing, turns into a former CIA agent who shares everything she hears. Paco is an old man who feels he is forever indebted to me for Emiliana, and took care of me when I was healing from the Malibu attack. He was a nurse in his homeland before he left for America during their many civil wars and is the reason I only have a thin scar and not more." I laid a hand on the arm of the chair, bending further down to look closer at Kit, "And my lifelong best friend finds me the one woman who could protect me better than anyone I have ever met and gave me my heart the breath of life it always searched for. Allowed me fall to in love without a second thought." I looked in her bright hazel eyes, "Life is full of choices, and every choice I have made in those I keep close has been a careful one. Ones that have lead me to finding a path to happiness and safety."
My hand grazed her chin, holding it steady as my thumb brushed over the corner of her mouth where the lump of frosting sat. I whispered, "You have frosting on your face." Kit went to pull back to try to wipe away the last bit of evidence.
I shook my head, holding her still I leaned forward, kissing the corner of her mouth before moving to the small dot of frosting. Kissing her there, letting my tongue lick away the frosting remnants.
Redemptio Animae Page 41