He took a seat on the opposite couch. When the waitress approached he said, “Stoli chilled and a dish of pickles,” before turning his attention to the doctor.
“Hello, Vlad,” Aboud said. “It’s been a long time.”
The man nodded in agreement. “Many years.” His eyes flicked over his acquaintance, registering the custom-made suit and Rolex on the doctor’s wrist. “You’ve done well for yourself, I see.”
Aboud noted that despite a decade spent in America, Vlad’s accent was still heavily Slavic.
The waitress returned with the man’s order and carefully placed it on the table.
The Russian raised his glass. “Za vashe zdorovie.”
Aboud mirrored his action. “And to your health as well.” They both drank and set their glasses down.
Vlad cast a wary eye toward the bar but nobody seemed to be paying them any attention. He leaned forward. “I am told you have a very interesting product for sale.”
Aboud also sat forward and replied in a subdued voice. “It’s still in the development phase and not quite ready for market. I thought it was time I began to shop the idea around. Of course,” he hastened to add, “I immediately thought of you.”
“That’s good to hear,” Vlad replied approvingly. “I know very few of the details. A form of pneumonic plague?”
“The most lethal form imaginable,” Aboud concurred. “I have created a strain that is resistant to all known antibiotic treatments. In fact, I still haven’t developed an antidote for it. That will take additional time.”
“Impressive.” Vlad took another sip of vodka.
“It’s only a start,” Aboud retorted. “Thus far, I have only tested the effects on animal species. I have yet to learn how quickly human subjects succumb to the virus.”
The Russian raised skeptical eyebrows. “Collecting test subjects who won’t survive is not an easy task.”
“Not so difficult as all that,” the doctor demurred. “My benefactor has already made arrangements to supply me with as many live bodies as I require.”
“Ha!” the Russian gave a bark of a laugh. “Your benefactor must have a long list of people he doesn’t like!”
“Quite true, since practically everyone offends him in some way, including me.” Aboud peered sourly into his now-empty glass.
“Who are you working for, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“A lunatic.” The doctor rolled his eyes. “The leader of a group of religious fanatics.”
“Ah!” Vlad exclaimed in disgust. “It’s always the religious nuts who want to start trouble. Of course, I shouldn’t complain. They’re good for business. This leader of yours, is he Taliban? Al-Qaeda? ISIS?”
“Worse. He’s a fundamentalist Christian. I’m developing a lethal strain of airborne plague for him and I have no idea who his intended target is.”
“Like all religious crackpots, it’s somebody who doesn’t believe exactly what he does.” Vlad consumed a few slices of dill pickle before downing the rest of his vodka. He motioned for the waitress to bring him another.
Aboud also beckoned for a refill before continuing. “The real problem with religious types is that they have no capacity for strategic thinking. Their vendettas against a particular enemy blind them to the big picture. The global potential of this product I’m developing has clearly eluded my benefactor.”
The waitress set down their drinks and discretely retreated out of earshot.
“And that’s where I come in?” Vlad asked, reaching for another pickle.
“Precisely. You understand that nations, not demented individuals, should wield the power of this weapon.”
The Russian gave a sardonic smile. “I also understand which nations would be most eager to obtain such a valuable item.”
“And which among them would be willing to pay the highest price to get it,” Aboud completed the thought. “What I have to offer is really a bargain to the purchaser. No need to bear the cost of research and development. My benefactor has already assumed that burden. At some point in the not-too-distant future I will be able to deliver a fully-tested biological weapon.”
“In that case, I would be happy to broker this transaction for you.”
“For a significant fee, I assume?” Aboud asked pointedly.
“Of course,” Vlad agreed. “We all must make a little something.” He chuckled and raised his glass. “To a successful transaction.”
“To a successful transaction,” Aboud echoed as they clinked glasses. “I’ll keep you posted of my progress.”
***
Leroy Hunt sat hunched over the bar in the Peninsula Hotel trying to keep one ear turned in the direction of the conversation occurring by the fireplace. He was too far away to hear any of the details but judging by the clinking glasses he guessed that the two fellers had just struck some kind of deal.
His eyes slid around the room. He didn’t like this place. It was too high brow for his taste. He favored drinking establishments that spread sawdust on the floor. He also objected to being pulled away from tracking down little Miss Hannah to go traipsing after somebody else old Abe wanted to keep tabs on. Leroy thought peevishly back to the chain of events that had brought him to this bar stool.
Oddly enough, it had all started on another bar stool, right after he and the preacher’s boy Daniel had gotten back from their trip to Africa. They’d just retrieved another one of Abe’s doodads and Leroy had felt like blowing off a little steam at his neighborhood tavern. Considering the drubbing he’d taken at the tiny hands of Miss Cassie and the way the antique lady had given him the slip, he was looking for a little payback from somebody. It turned out Leroy ran into several other somebodies who were spoiling for a tussle even worse than he was. The result was a sprained wrist, a dislocated shoulder and two cracked ribs. Once he was released from the Emergency Room, Leroy thought it wise to hole up in his apartment to nurse his injuries as well as his grievances against the world in general.
His recuperation was plagued by daily phone calls from Metcalf demanding to know how soon he’d be back on his feet. That initial question was usually followed by a lengthy sermon about the evils of drink. The old man was steamed mainly because Leroy’s injuries delayed the search for his little runaway bride Hannah. Abe could fume all he wanted but Leroy knew he had job security so long as Abe needed somebody outside the Nephilim to do his dirty work. Whenever the old man called, Hunt just turned up the volume on his TV to drown out the fussing on the other end of the line.
About two months down the road, Leroy felt healed up enough to be ready for action. When he reported to the preacher, his marching orders weren’t at all what he expected. Instead of getting back on the trail of little Miss Hannah, Abe told him to tail a feller who lived in a hole in the ground some twenty miles away from the compound. His boss was pretty tight-lipped about what was going on in that place. Wouldn’t give Leroy the lowdown on why it was there, who built it and for what purpose.
“How come you can’t get my buddy Chopper to handle this?” Leroy had asked irritably. “I thought he was doin’ all kinds of surveillance work for y’all.”
“Mr. Bowdeen is out of the country at the moment,” Metcalf informed him frostily. “He will return soon and then I’ll have him take charge of the matter. However, I need help immediately. I’ve received intelligence that the doctor has arranged a meeting in the city sometime tomorrow. You are to follow him there and report back to me.”
The feller Leroy was supposed to follow was named Doctor Aboud. The name sounded Ayyy-rab which automatically made Hunt think the doc was up to no good. Bright and early the next morning, Leroy staked out the hole in the ground waiting for a whistle-pig to poke its head out. This particular whistle-pig was sporting a three thousand dollar suit. He climbed into a BMW and headed for the fancy side of town.
Leroy snapped to attention when the bartender at the Peninsula cut into his musings and asked him if he wanted a refill. He ordered another whiskey neat an
d darted a stealthy look at the two men by the fire. Every now and then a word of their conversation drifted in his direction. Leroy could tell that the big feller had a Russian accent. What business did an Ayyy-rab doctor who lived in a hole in the ground have with a shady Russian?
Leroy bent sideways on the pretext of straightening his pants leg. He made sure he took a good long look at the Russian so he could describe him to Abe. He leaned over further but couldn’t catch any of the rest of what they were saying. It didn’t matter much. Abe had told him to keep his distance. Leroy had a sneaking suspicion that while Abe wanted him to figure out who the little doc was meeting, the preacher wasn’t too keen on having Leroy know exactly what the little doc was doing.
That was fine by him. He didn’t want any part of this detour anyway. As far as Leroy was concerned, only two things mattered. The first was making sure Daniel snagged the rest of those pricey doodads so Hunt could nab them for himself later on. And the other important thing was finding Miss Hannah. She knew a few secrets that Leroy didn’t want getting back to Abe. The only way to make sure she wouldn’t spill the beans was to get to her before any of the preacher’s flunkies did.
Leroy noticed that the confab by the fireplace was winding down. The Russian and the Ayy-rab stood up and shook hands all friendly like. Leroy figured his report would satisfy old Abe until Chopper got back stateside. Leroy had no personal stake in what the little doc was up to. The mercenary had his own To Do list to complete. Step One: Find little Miss Hannah. Step Two: Kill her.
Chapter 4—Rare Collectibles
Joshua Metcalf turned his vehicle onto a blacktop county road. He was unfamiliar with the area and consulted the directions his father had given him. Ears of corn and stalks of wheat ripened in the late summer sun. Here and there a white farmhouse or red barn rose from the sea of yellow grain.
Joshua was in a self-congratulatory mood. The past several months had elevated him in the hierarchy of the Blessed Nephilim as well as in his father’s estimation. As head of the Order of Argus, he was his father’s eyes and ears among the faithful. He commanded an invisible army of agents deployed at all the North American compounds whose task it was to identify rebellious behavior and report these infractions to him. More recently, his influence had expanded to Europe where the Fallen mercenary, Mr. Bowdeen, was training hand-picked squads of marksmen to act as the Nephilim’s first line of defense against the incursions of the outside world. Several of these warriors had also been chosen to swell the ranks of the Order of Argus.
Although Joshua’s responsibilities were meant to be kept secret, gossip had a way of disseminating important news among the community. He fancied that people treated him with a newfound respect, if not outright fear. Their reactions pleased him—especially the fear.
He glanced down at the written instructions which were to guide him to his destination and turned at the next intersection. As the vehicle accelerated smoothly, Joshua reveled in the fact that he now possessed a car of his own. His role in the Nephilim required him to travel a great deal, both on land and by air. This car gave him the freedom to come and go—a privilege which few in the sacred brotherhood possessed.
Of course, taking commercial flights was tiresome. He had no great love for rubbing elbows with the Fallen. Their unseemly comportment and vain attire were a constant source of irritation but contact with them served to remind him of his own superiority. He belonged to God’s elect—a secret brotherhood descended from a race of angels, set apart from the common throng of sinful men. On Judgment Day, the Blessed Nephilim would ascend to heaven and take their rightful place among the hierarchy of angels. Joshua felt the glory of his destiny most fully when contrasted with the eternal debasement awaiting the Fallen. He was of purer eyes than to behold their iniquity.
Another intersection loomed just ahead. Joshua consulted his directions once more. Today’s rendezvous was a puzzle. The spymaster didn’t like puzzles. He liked knowing the answers. He especially liked being the only one knowing the answers but that was unlikely to happen until the day his father ascended into the celestial kingdoms. If all went as he planned, Joshua would supplant Daniel as Scion and succeed to the title of Diviner of the Nephilim. He prayed that the happy event might occur soon.
He braked at a four-way stop sign. There was no traffic from any direction. In fact, there was nothing here at all but grain fields protected by barbed wire fencing. Across the intersection, he saw a dusty patch of earth which must have been used as a turnabout for farm equipment. His father’s limousine was parked there, its engine idling. He drove across the intersection and pulled his car up next to the parked limo.
Abraham Metcalf, Diviner of the Blessed Nephilim, emerged to greet his son. “I see you didn’t get lost,” the old man said tartly.
Joshua gave a bland smile. “No, sir. Your instructions were very clear.” He noted that his father looked more frail every time he saw him though the old man attempted to compensate for the infirmities of age by exhibiting increasingly irascible displays of temperament. Joshua silently repeated his prayer for a speedy deliverance from the pleasure of his father’s company.
“Wait here,” his father instructed the limo driver who then closed his window so as not to overhear the Diviner’s conversation.
Taking Joshua by the elbow, Abraham steered him out of earshot just to be safe. They walked along the shoulder of the road for several yards before the old man came to a standstill. He fixed his son with an inquisitive stare. “How is your work progressing?”
“Very well, sir,” Joshua answered readily. “My men have been deployed at all the American compounds. I’ve also set up similar units at the European compounds and our lines of communication are operating smoothly on all fronts.”
Abraham gave a curt nod. “That’s acceptable. Now tell me, have you been able to identify any individuals who are particularly troublesome to the community at large? I mean men or women who openly criticize the brotherhood or my leadership. Also, I’m interested to learn of individuals who have strayed from the teachings of our founder by showing an undue interest in the ways of the Fallen—in such things as the internet or the lewd customs of the worldly folk.”
Joshua considered the question. “Yes, there are several troublesome cases. Not at the main compound, of course, because of the strength of your leadership. But the satellite compounds are more inclined to display conduct which doesn’t strictly conform to our tenets.”
“That’s very good,” Abraham said approvingly.
Joshua had to stifle a reaction of surprise. He was prepared for his father to launch into some bitter invective at the laxity of the archwardens at the satellite compounds. The last thing he expected was approval at the mention of godless behavior.
“Have you been able to pinpoint specific individuals who are the worst offenders?”
Warily Joshua replied, “Yes, sir. I have a list of their names.”
“Good. That’s very good. I want you to select the six most unrepentant sinners of the lot. After that, I want you to bring these people to the main compound.”
“Father, they are at far-flung locations around the country.”
“No matter. Instruct the agents you have deployed at those compounds to escort them here. Tell these selected miscreants that they are being summoned for an interview with the Diviner. Do not allow them to suspect they have been singled out for chastisement. We will prepare guest quarters for them.”
“Just as you wish, sir.”
Abraham continued, barely hearing him. “They are to be kept separate from one another. At the appropriate time I will single out one from among their number for you to transport. You will follow the same procedure for the other five when their turn arises.”
“And where am I to take them, sir?” The spymaster was becoming increasingly confused.
“You will drive each one here. Why else do you think I would bring you out to this forlorn spot?”
“I... uh... I had no idea. Wha
t am I to do with them once we arrive here?”
“You are to wait. There.” Abraham raised his arm and gestured to the spot where the two vehicles were parked. “Another vehicle will arrive. You will load each of your passengers into that car.”
“Do you want me to accompany these people to their destination?”
Abraham’s demeanor grew fierce. “Absolutely not! Your responsibility in the matter ends once they enter the second vehicle.”
Joshua hid his considerable curiosity. Never in his life, had he known his father to exhibit such odd behavior. He asked mildly, “What am I to tell them if they should ask about their ultimate destination? I believe they will be easier to control if we give them a reason to cooperate.”
The Diviner nodded in agreement. “You are right about that.” He paused to consider the question, then gave a grim smile. “Tell them they have been specially chosen to help fulfill God’s plan for the Blessed Nephilim.”
Joshua was burning to know what that plan might be but the set of his father’s jaw told him he was unlikely to receive any enlightenment. For the third time that day, he found himself praying for his father’s speedy demise.
Chapter 5—Toasted Breadcrumbs
Faye rested at the top of the steps to the old schoolhouse in the clearing. She needed to catch her breath. It was a lovely Indian Summer afternoon. She noted that there were a few cars parked in the glade rather than in the underground garage but nobody was stirring about outside. She advanced to the door and twisted the handle.
The portal swung open without warning, nearly pitching her headfirst into the room.
“She’s here!” Cassie called to someone behind her. “Oh Jeez!” I’m sorry, Faye. I didn’t mean to knock you off your feet.” She caught the old woman as she toppled forward.
Faye’s hand had involuntarily flown to her chest at the unexpected welcome. “Just a slight turn, my dear. That’s all.” Before she knew what was happening, the two other members of Cassie’s field team had flanked her. Griffin took her right elbow and Erik her left, propelling her into the main hall.
Into The Jaws Of The Lion (The Arkana Archaeology Mystery Series Book 5) Page 2