by C. R. Daems
"How does that work?" Darin asked.
"Mister Black notifies me he wants Angela to pick a color, and I set up an appointment with Angela. At the time arranged, I click on the slot machine icon, it rotates, and three colored coins appear. Within a minute or so, two blank out, and I send Mister Black an email with the color she selected."
"Clever, only this machine is in contact with Mister Black, and I assume you never see or hear him."
"True. When I click on his icon, the smiley face looks to be talking when I hear a voice speaking; however, I doubt it's his real voice. It just doesn't sound...natural."
"And I assume Angela never sees or hears you," the older man said, frowning.
"Right. We only communicate by email and the game."
"Give me a few minutes to copy things and set up a trace on your machine. I doubt I'll find anything or the trace will lead to Mister Black, but I might provide a few bread crumbs for us to point us in the right direction. Maybe get a bit closer."
Sheila agreed with Darin. Mister Black was very cautious and well connected, which meant he would have had these two laptops specially customized to prevent a trace back to him or his organization. But what choice did she have except to play along. They left about an hour later.
* * *
For the next two days, a flurry of emails went between Sheila, Angela, and Mister Black. Angela reported Mambo Renee had called her and would be returning to her shop. After she had been released from the hospital, she had panicked and decided to leave the state; however, the FBI had convinced her it was safe to stay. She and Renee had decided to reschedule the fortunetelling session until next week since Renee wasn't feeling well and didn't plan to reopen her shop until after the weekend. Sheila got the impression that Mister Black was aware of the incident, the FBI's involvement with MS666, and was all right with the delay.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The Hunt for Mister Black
I decided to keep the shop closed over the weekend and to stay at Jim's condo while I recovered. His place was better than a hospital—I had my own sexy doctor, and it had the added advantage of being able to keep in touch with Grace and hear the latest news.
"Well, my computer people have traced the emails to and from Mister Black to Sheila to a server in Washington D.C. Of course, it's unlikely the email user on that server will be a real person, and even if it is, it's unlikely to be the one we want. But it puts us one step closer." Grace paused for a bite of her cheese cracker and a sip of wine.
"I can continue to play the game with Angela. I don't believe it's helping him do anything. He's trying to establish how far I can see into the future," I said, hoping it would give them extra time to trace him.
"That would be good. One of the men suggested contacting the NSA and having them do a search on one of Sheila's emails. They think the emails are being rerouted from the receiving server to another."
"I thought they said our emails weren't being monitored," Jim said.
"Define monitored. If you mean a person sitting down and reading each one, then they aren't being monitored. If you mean scanned for a list of words and phrases of interest, then they are being monitored. Let's face it, why would they collect the information and then discard it? That would be like you buying every American newspaper but only reading one."
"What words?"
"Knowing the government, it's a large list and includes lots of common words you use every day."
* * *
"Are you feeling well enough to open the shop tomorrow?" Jim asked after
we had returned to his place. "I know I'm being paranoid, but I feel better when you're here, and I know you're safe. You have to admit I'm justified in being worried sick. The Locos are running loose in the French Quarter; you've been firebombed and kidnapped; and the MS666 are mad at you. Oh, I forgot Mister Black." He didn't smile.
I leaned over and kissed him tenderly. "Yes, you do have reasons to worry just as I worry about your safety since you insist on marrying me. Our only alternatives are either to hide in fear for the rest of our lives or to take reasonable precautions.” I held up my hand and wiggled my fingers to emphasize my rings. "Maybe I should have one made for you."
"No, I'd probably stick one of my patients by accident," he said with a sigh and pulled me close.
"Maybe it's the Loa, or intuition, or wishful thinking, but I believe staying and fighting is the right thing to do."
"Then we stay and fight."
* * *
I knocked on Sheila's room door just before seven a.m., and was just about to knock again when I heard the door being unlocked. Sheila had a short terry-cloth robe on, no makeup, hair jumbled, and looked like she hadn't slept.
"Renee, do you know what time it is? Sane people are just getting to bed at this hour," she said but waved me inside. "If it's bad news I don't want to hear it until I've had coffee." She made a straight line for the small bar and the coffee maker. "Do you want some?"
"No, thanks. I just stopped by to give you a fortunetelling. I promised you I'd support you if you helped."
"All right, but if you see something bad... What am I saying. Bad! It would be hard to get my future any worse. A hard place and a rock—Mister Black and the FBI." She sat close to me and held out her hands. I took them in mine. It was obvious from her actions she was worried; however, I saw nothing bad happening for the next month.
"You're good for the next several weeks. You've got plenty of money; relax and enjoy yourself, Sheila. Like you, I have a few things to worry about: Mister Black, MS666, the FBI, and others. But I've decided not to be a victim but rather to fight back. I’ll help you if you continue to help me."
"Why? I've done some..."
"Because you are going to retire and become a model citizen."
"You saw that in my future?"
"No. Right now you and I are worrying too much to think of the future. But I believe we have one."
"All right, Mambo Renee. You seem to have enough faith for both of us. I will help anyway I can."
* * *
I opened the shop at the usual time, and it was a pretty normal day. In the slow periods, I checked my website and found it had been working while I wasn't and showed a nice profit. The number of hits per day continued to increase. After I closed, I fixed dinner since I'd be staying here tonight as I had Mr. Bishop for a fortunetelling session. He appeared right on time and looked to be in a good mood.
"Evening, Mambo Renee. I heard you were attacked by some gang members. Locos?" he asked, frowning, and gave me the once over. Of course, he couldn't see anything as all the injuries were hidden beneath my clothes.
"No, MS666. They seemed to think I helped the Locos a while back."
"I don't like the Locos, but if you helped them keep those Salvadorians out of the French Quarter, we all owe you. I have a friend who has a business in their territory, and they are a nasty group. Far worse than the Locos, which is saying a lot." He sat, placing his large hands on the table.
I placed mine over his and closed my eyes. It was obvious Harry was enjoying life. He and his wife seemed to be spending more time together doing things. They looked very much in love. But about two weeks in the future a fire occurred and the flames spread throughout half of his business. The damage was significant, and he had to close for what looked like an extended period.
"Yes, your life does appear good. You and your wife seem very happy. But you need to be careful at your business. There is something not safe in your storage room. Whatever it is, it's a fire hazard," I said. I didn't know what it was but I could have told him within a few minutes when it would occur.
"Thank you, Mambo Renee. I'll check it out." He frowned and looked down in thought. While he did, I watched as he went back to his bar. He spent almost the entire night after the bar closed examining the storage room. Around five a.m., he moved some things around. I fast-forwarded ahead and didn't see the fire occurring over the next month. This was why I was determined to
fight Mr. Black. I wouldn’t save the world, but I wanted to help people find peace in their life through Vodou and smooth the bumps where I could, even if I could only help a few.
* * *
On Wednesday, Oatha was scheduled for a fortunetelling session, so I again planned to sleep at home. Customer traffic was moderate most of the day. I closed at the normal time, fixed myself a dinner, washed, and dressed. She was on time as usual.
"You look all right, Renee," she said as she entered. I heard you were attacked by some gang."
"The police showed in time and saved me from being seriously hurt."
"That was fortunate. You have been lucky, what with the firebombing, kidnapping, and now gang troubles—well, not lucky those things happened...you know what I mean," she said in frustration.
"I know what you mean, and yes, I have been lucky. What about you?" I said in an attempt to switch topics.
"Yes, my life is perfect. Good children, a good husband, and good friends." She sat back and smiled.
"Want to look at the future?"
"Yes." She placed her hands on the table, and I placed mine over hers. I was relieved to see nothing unusual happening. Her husband Virgil had a small accident on his boat judging from his wrapped forearm, but it didn't appear serious based on Oatha's reaction. "Life looks beautifully boring over the next couple of weeks. Maybe Virgil might have one of his usual minor accidents," I said. It wasn't unusual for fishermen to have accidents on their boats, so she wouldn't worry, but it maintained my image. These were the normal kinds of events we all encounter. I felt I shouldn't interfere even when I could. In this case, I couldn't, since I had no way of knowing how he hurt himself. I guess if it had been really serious, I might have suggested he come for a fortunetelling. It was back to a set of rules I keep thinking I need to develop but never seem to get around to making. Oatha left happy after a glass of tea and bringing me up to date on her children, husband, and neighbors.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
End Game
I locked up, turned off the lights, and made my way into the backroom, lost in thought. Midway into the room, I froze. Sheila and a man were in the room. Something had changed since the last time I looked at her future, because I hadn't seen this.
"Good evening, Mambo Renee," a tall, athletic looking man said. He stood holding one of the books he had removed from my bookshelf. Sheila stood leaning against the back door. "I've always known dealing with you was dangerous—your intelligence, ability to tell the future, and dedication to Vodou. Oh, and those rings of yours. Sheila, if you would collect Renee's rings. We wouldn't want anyone to get hurt, would we?" He smiled as Sheila walked over to me and held out her hand, looking alert and ready to move.
"After watching the tape of your fight with the MS666 gang members for hours, I concluded you hadn't caused the heart attacks using a Bagua technique, so I had a friend do a blood workup of your dead attackers. And guess what they found—poison. Poison meant a delivery system, so I spent another hour reviewing the fight. When you know what you are looking for, it's easy to see." He held out his hand and Sheila brought him the five rings she had collected from me. He moved to my table and sat examining each one. "Very clever. Whoever made these two rings is very talented." He pushed them to one side.
"Now as I was saying about you being dangerous. Your ability to see the future meant we had to be careful with whom you interfaced. For example, Ken was a mistake since it enabled you to identify Mr. Willis—the cigar man. Then there was your intelligence. We had to be careful not to let you go on the offensive—like you did. That was very clever the way you trapped Sheila, and inevitable once you stopped thinking of yourself as a victim. And then your determination not to let anyone abuse your...gift. We had to worry you might consider our objective...evil and decide suicide was your only choice—like your grandmother. The people who approached your grandmother weren't evil, just zealots who thought in terms of force because their task was in the service of God." He held up his hand before I could say anything. "They were wrong."
"Mr. Black, I presume?" I said and looked to Sheila who stood expressionless.
"Father...Black, Mambo Renee," he said and rose and walked to my stove, put water in my kettle, and turned on the gas under it. "If you wouldn't mind making us some tea, I will explain what I want, and why you may want to consider helping."
After seeing Sheila shake her head, I got two mugs from the cabinet and placed them on the table along with milk and sugar. By that time the water was boiling, and I poured it into my teapot along with two tablespoons of black tea and placed it on the table. As I stood waiting for the tea leaves to seep, my mind tried to come to grips with the situation. Mr...Father Black had changed my options by forcing the end game.
"And if I don't want to help?" I asked.
"I had hoped for a little more time, but you and your friends have forced me to close down communications with Sheila. Their NSA idea was very creative and would have moved them several steps closer to me if I hadn't had connections in the NSA. But on reflection, that may have worked out for the best. I think they have gone about this in all the wrong ways, beginning with Mambo Eshe. That was most regrettable. She was a good woman."
"Who you murdered!" I said through gritted teeth.
"We sinned against her and will be held accountable, yes. Murdered, no. They may have threatened to harm you, but they didn't. A threat isn't an action. People, even good people, threaten many things that they seldom carry through on." He poured the tea into the two cups, added milk and sugar in his cup, and leaned back sipping it. I picked up my cup and could barely restrain from throwing it at him.
I wondered if he dismissed the other deaths so readily. They may not have been good, as my granny had been, but he did not have the right to lead them into evil and then execute them. But I was not going to debate good and evil with this...zealot."
"What do you want me to do?" I finally asked.
"It's a simple arrangement which benefits us both. You help my friend; we pay you five million dollars; and you will never hear from us again." He smiled. The five million was a nice touch if I was greedy like...the cigar man or Sheila or... I doubted Father Black cared about money. It was only a means to an end.
"And what do I have to do for your friend?"
"If I understand correctly, Vodou is partly based on the Catholic religion," he said and waited until I nodded. "My friend is a cardinal and the head of a very devout chapter of the church, Opus Dei, of which I'm a member. We believe the church has strayed from its teaching over the years. He's a well-respected cardinal and will be a viable candidate for Pope when the next papal conclave convenes. We would ask you to merely help him convince a few American cardinals of his...ability to see into the future. There will be no murders, kidnapping, or threats against anyone. It might not even make a difference. He could get elected without any help. We are not asking you to help us elect Ayatollah Khomeini. He's a deeply religious man and will make a good pope. And why would you care who's pope?" he asked.
“So you want me to help place a murderer at the head of one of the world’s largest and most influential organizations.” I tilted my head and looked at him. “And he does have that blood on his hands, this devout man of yours.” I couldn't help but wonder if this was what they wanted Granny to do or had they changed strategies or goals "How can I trust you?" I asked. “You have a habit of murdering your associates.” My options still weren't clear. I could never trust Father Black, no matter how reasonable he sounded, and what about Sheila? She was probably having the same problem I was—how to survive. If so, that made her unpredictable, although I doubted she was big on trusting Father Black any more than I. But, if he were the only option, then what?
"I admit our recent interactions have made trust an issue, which is unfortunate. Two priests' oaths to God should be sufficient. What do you suggest?"
"Let me see your future," I said, trying not to smile at the stunned look on Black's face and the
twitch of Sheila's lips.
"How will that help? How far into the future can you see and with what clarity?"
"A few weeks with some clarity," I said. I had no intention of giving this man more information than necessary. “Sometimes further, but it requires more interpretation. And no, I can't see my own future or this discussion wouldn't be necessary. But I can make assumptions based on what you do as to how it will affect me." I sat back and took a couple sips of tea, while awaiting his decision. I wasn't sure what I would see or if it would help, but it might help me decide on my options. Eventually, he nodded.
"All right. If that will help you decide, I'm willing." He looked in Sheila's direction, and she nodded. He leaned forward and placed his hands on the table, and I placed mine over his. His hand tightened for a second then relaxed, and he smiled. I watched as he left the shop and went to a hotel, went through an hour or more of prayers, and went to bed. He didn't return to the shop until the next evening when he helped Sheila load my luggage into the trunk of his car. We--I had to assume I was along--left late that evening. I assumed the delay was for me to contact my friends, so I wouldn't be a missing person. He drove to the airport where we boarded a private plane. Several days later we flew to Atlanta were we met with a large man, in height and girth, who was dressed as a cardinal. I was mesmerized as the days melded into weeks, then weeks into months, and then months into a year. I felt a Loa was with me helping, and for the first time I heard what people said. Father Black's future revealed many things: he was a priest and the head of a special branch of the CIA. I was asked only to tell the cardinal what I saw in his future—more specifically what he would read in the newspapers each day.
With Father Black present, I witnessed his rage against the changes that had led to the Catholic Church’s loss of power in certain other nations. Saw his hatred of people who believed differently than he. Heard his plans to interfere in various nations’ laws, get priests under his influence elected to public office, and to influence world events. I did not know if he could do what he planned if he were elected Pope, but I knew he would try and would condone murder to achieve his goals.