Soul Thief (Blue Light Series)

by Mark Edward Hall

  “Please, Annie, there’s something else, something Doug could never talk to you about.”

  She turned back to Jennings, her face drawn and white, her eyes dull with grief.

  “He told me that your father wants the baby.” Annie did not reply but Jennings saw the acquiescence in Annie’s eyes. “My God,” he said. “You know, don’t you?”

  Still Annie did not speak or move. Something she did not understand was trying to gain access to her thoughts, to control her emotions. It felt slippery, like cold oil, and it was causing her head to ache dully. Her legs weakened and for a moment she thought her knees might buckle. Greta was staring fixedly at her.

  “Listen,” Jennings said. “Will you at least think about what I’ve said and consider the ramifications?” He stared into Annie’s eyes. “Don’t let anybody keep you from making the right choices.”

  Annie nodded.

  “Annie, Doug’s death might not have been an accident.”

  Annie stared, her eyes dull with shock.

  “I can’t talk about it now,” Jennings said. “But I want you to call me just as soon as you can. And call me from a secure line.”

  “I’ll try,” Annie said.

  “It’s important, Annie. Your life and the life of your child may be in jeopardy.” Annie continued staring silently into Jennings’ eyes, her white face slack and lifeless. This isn’t Doug’s wife, Jennings thought. This isn’t the Annie I’ve known for a decade, so vital and alive. Something has happened to her. She’s no longer in control.

  Jennings saw that De Roché and his muscle had stopped and were talking to the woman. Earlier Annie had introduced her as Greta, but Jennings didn’t like her. She had hard, greedy eyes and she never took them off Annie.

  The woman approached Annie and took her by the arm. “Come now, child,” she said. “It’s time for us to leave.” Annie shook her free and did not reply; she was still staring at Jennings.

  That’s when De Roché’s muscle stepped forward, reached out and tried to take hold of Annie’s arm.

  In the blink of an eye Jennings grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it behind his back. In the next instant Jennings’s other arm was around Theo’s throat. The act was so swift and adroit that it was just a blur of motion. “I don’t know who you think you are,” Jennings whispered into Theo’s ear. “But if you know what’s good for you, you’ll step away until I’ve finished talking to my friend.” Jennings released his captive, giving him a shove as he did so. Theo staggered and came to a lurching halt glaring savagely back at Jennings.

  “You just made a big mistake.” Theo said.

  Jennings pulled his badge from the pocket of his overcoat and showed it to Theo. “How’d you like to spend the next twenty-four hours in lockup, asshole?”

  De Roché gestured for Theo to drop it and Theo reluctantly obeyed.

  “This isn’t over,” Theo said as he walked away.

  “You’re right, it isn’t,” Jennings said. He took Annie in his arms and fiercely hugged her. “Please, Annie,” he whispered. “Don’t let them win. Call me.” He released Annie, turned and made his way across the reception hall floor to the door and his car beyond.

  Chapter 46

  “Why didn’t you just grab him at the airport when you had the chance?” Jennings asked. They were in Jennings’s office and he was pacing the floor in front of a seated and relaxed looking Zach Spencer, his frustration palpable. “He’d be alive right now if you had.”

  It was the Monday following Doug’s memorial service and Spencer had shown up in Portland, explaining that he was in town on some sort of phony assignment. But Jennings knew exactly why he was here.

  “Because we didn’t realize then that the object had already been passed to him,” Spencer said. “We were afraid if we’d shown ourselves at the wrong time they’d have been onto us and the object might have disappeared for another five hundred years. We decided to let him go. See if he would lead us to it.”

  For the past half hour Spencer had stunned Jennings with a story about an object said to have supernatural properties that had been passed in secret through generations of keepers and that it was the government’s belief that the object would eventually be passed to McArthur for reasons that were still not entirely clear to Jennings. Jennings remembered what Doug had told him on the phone before boarding the plane in Tampa: “I have this thing . . . this artifact. It was given to me by the man who shot De Roché. I may be crazy but I think it has some kind of power.”

  Jennings thought for a minute about what he should do, and decided he was not going to mention the conversation to Spencer. He was not going to give Spencer anything. He’d just play dumb and see what Spencer had. Spencer was a slippery bastard and Jennings didn’t like him nor did he trust him. After that debacle last year on Apocalypse Island he would never trust him again.

  “So, he didn’t have the object?” Jennings said.

  “Damn right he had it. We just didn’t know it.”

  Jennings frowned. “I don’t get it,” he said.

  “Airport security took him off that first plane,” Spencer said. “They searched him and found the object. Took it directly to their boss. When I talked to the security guy he had McArthur sitting right in front of him and said the only thing McArthur had in his possession was a wallet.”

  “So why didn’t he mention it?” Jennings asked.

  Spencer shook his head. “I know this is difficult to swallow but that object somehow has the ability to . . . persuade minds. Why do you think the government wants to get its hands on it?”

  “How can an object persuade minds?”

  “We don’t know. But we’d certainly like to find out.”

  Jennings gave Spencer a hard stare.

  “Listen, Rick. In a later interview with the security team we found out that the guy was looking right at it when I asked him what McArthur had in his possession. He told me just a wallet. I asked him again and he said the same thing. Now he says he doesn’t know what happened. It was like his mind went blank or something.”

  “So you assholes let Doug get on that plane knowing that something was screwy,” Jennings said. “Hoping he would lead you to that object?”

  “That’s right. We figured he’d lead us to it eventually and we didn’t want to spook him. We didn’t put agents on the plane but we had them waiting in Boston. We were just as shocked about the crash as everyone else, and we thought we’d lost our chance. But then something interesting came to our attention.” Spencer paused. His eyes were gleaming and he had a small conspiratorial smile on his thin lips.

  Jennings stopped pacing, staring down at Spencer waiting for him to continue.

  “We’re not absolutely sure McArthur was on that plane,” Spencer said.

  “What?” A strange and absurd hope blossomed in Jennings. “You just said . . .”

  “Yes, his name was on the manifest, and someone with his name boarded that plane, but we have reason to believe it wasn’t him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as we can be.”

  “Well, if he wasn’t on that plane then where the hell is he?”

  “Good question. It’s possible he’s being helped by someone.”

  “Who?”

  “We don’t know yet but I promise you we’ll find out. The crash site is under heavy security,” Spencer continued. “Our best people are combing the wreckage looking for the artifact.”

  “Wouldn’t the crash have destroyed it? It destroyed everything else.”

  “We don’t think so. We think it has properties that defy logic. If it’s there we’ll find it. We don’t think it’s there. And that would mean McArthur isn’t there either.”

  “Christ,” Jennings muttered. “This is crazy.”

  Spencer smiled. “You bet it is.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Jennings said. “You know goddamn well that when it comes to Doug I’m your worst enemy.”

  “Yeah, we know. Y
ou were closer to McArthur than anybody, and you want to protect him. And that’s exactly why I’m talking to you.”

  Jennings stared.

  “Listen, Rick, McArthur is being hunted by much more dangerous factions than the U.S. Government. Lots of people would like to get their hands on that artifact. If he is still alive we’re his only hope of survival and I think you know it.”

  Jennings knew nothing of the kind but he wasn’t about to admit that to Spencer. He knew from experience that Spencer would not hesitate to sacrifice anyone for what his superiors considered to be the greater good. He nodded. “Tell me about these other variables. Tell me who’s hunting him and why.”

  Spencer sighed. “This is what we do know. The priest that made the attempt on De Roché’s life at his wife’s funeral, a Father Paul Redington, talked to McArthur just before he died. There are witnesses that saw them and it’s extremely likely that he’s the one who passed the object to him. He belonged to a cult known as the Brotherhood of the Order. Rumor is that they’re descended from the Knights Templar but we don’t know that for sure. They’re an ultra secret Jesuit organization with offices around the world. They’re big, they’re old and they’re well funded. The night before Redington shows up at the funeral, his rural Ohio church burns to the ground. People died in that fire. We don’t know how many yet or who they were. We’re all over it trying to find answers but the fire burned hot and completely destroyed the church and everyone in it. There were some limos in the vicinity and some other bodies. We’re tracing flights in and out of the country. It’s only a matter of time before we know something. It’s possible that someone within their own organization betrayed them. We’re still working on it.”

  “So you think they’re the ones protecting him? I mean the Brotherhood of the Order?”

  “It’s very likely.”

  “You say they’re Jesuits?” Jennings said. “Aren’t Jesuits traditionally more interested in science than religion?”

  “Fifty-fifty. They’ve always had a keen interest in science, astronomy, physics, stuff like that. This particular branch of Jesuits is heavily invested in the belief that the world is headed for some terrible cataclysm and that some sort of prophet is going to come along and save the world.”

  “Sounds like the same shit fanatics have been spewing for centuries,” Jennings said.

  “Exactly. We don’t take it too seriously.”

  “So, who brought that plane down, Spencer? Who wants Doug dead that bad?”

  “We don’t know but we have a theory. De Roché hated McArthur, that’s no secret, and it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that he wanted the object for himself.”

  “Jesus,” Jennings said. He went to his desk and fell into his chair.

  “There’s something weird and mysterious about that man,” Spencer went on. “Ever since he threw his hat into the presidential ring the press has had a field day trying to find information on him. Records show that he was born in Boston in 1945 to unknown parents and that he was raised in an orphanage. And although the records are there, and they appear to be totally authentic, no one from his childhood seems to remember him. Very strange if you ask me, especially when you consider that he’s perpetuating the story that he came from a line of French royalty. Now how would he know that if he was raised in an orphanage and no one knows who his parents are? His rise in financial and political circles was nothing short of astonishing. He’s made friends in some very high places, and those friends don’t seem to care that his background is shaky.” Spencer paused for effect before continuing in a quietly reverent voice. “But what’s really surprising is his interest in science.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve discovered that he’s been funneling huge amounts of money into various scientific research projects.”

  “Explain.”

  “His dealings are mostly out of the country, places where US law has no jurisdiction. He’s working with genetics and stem cell research and cloning, something he refers to as the ‘guided evolution of man’. He believes that for the race to survive we have to purify it.”

  “Sounds like a Hitler complex to me,” Jennings said.

  “Exactly, but that’s not all. He’s putting a lot of money into different kinds of rocket propulsion systems. He believes the earth is on some sort of collision course with disaster and supposedly he’s devising a system whereby the select few will be able to safely leave.”

  “So he’s bought into the same doomsday scenario as that brotherhood organization?”

  “They’re not the only ones. Religions and cults all over the world are becoming all hysterical about it. There’s talk about a new messiah. You know the drill. Like I said, we aren’t taking it very seriously.”

  “So why are you all over it then?”

  “The people I work for want the artifact.”

  Jennings thought of what Doug had told him about his fears that De Roché wanted him dead and that De Roché, for some strange reason, wanted Doug’s and Annie’s unborn child. And he thought about the way Annie had acted at Doug’s memorial service and about De Roché and his strange entourage, and how he’d seemed more like a gangster than a presidential candidate. “So, what do you know about this supposed prophet or messiah or whatever you want to call it?” Jennings asked.

  “Nothing,” Spencer said, and Jennings could tell by Spencer’s body language that he was lying. “We think it’s fiction.”

  “Spencer, I know when you’re bull shitting me. You want my help, level with me.”

  “Listen, the only thing I know is the cults believe it hasn’t been born yet.”

  Jennings stared long and hard at Spencer. “I have an idea,” he said. “Why don’t you just go to Florida and interview De Roché and Annie?”

  “A lot tougher than you might think,” Spencer said. “We’ve tried, believe me we have, but he refuses to be interviewed. He’s got a lot going for him, money, influence, rich and powerful friends. For one thing he’s protected because he’s a presidential candidate. For another, he just lost his wife to a brutal murder and now it seems he’s lost his son-in-law in that crash. And none of it points directly to him. When he travels he surrounds himself with muscle, he lives in a well-protected compound and there’s not a judge in the world who will issue a warrant for us to go there and look around. Unless we can find something substantial that points to him, our hands are tied.”

  Jennings sat in stunned silence, his mind trying to absorb it all.

  “There’s another variable we haven’t yet talked about, Rick,” Spencer said, breaking the silence.

  “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “McArthur’s connection to everything. His . . . sight.”

  Jennings stared. “I don’t know how that could possibly be connected.”

  Spencer held up his hand. “Hear me out, Rick. That supernatural creature McArthur sees in his visions. The creature that calls itself Collector. Whenever he murders he writes Lost, Forsaken, Forgotten somewhere nearby in Aramaic.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “You remember what else he left on the wall at the last crime scene in New Hampshire?”

  Jennings did remember, and ever since then he’d been trying to figure out what the hell it was, what the hell it meant. Now a light bulb came on in his head. “It’s the same thing, isn’t it?” he said. “It’s that . . . artifact you’re looking for?”

  Spencer smiled. “That’s right, Rick. It appears that McArthur has been connected to this . . . murdering creature, whatever the hell it is, since he was a child. And now we believe he is in possession of an artifact that’s somehow connected to the creature.”

  Jennings heaved a heavy sigh, as if he was a balloon expelling air. He was silent for a long moment glaring at Spencer. “We don’t even know if that ‘supposed supernatural creature’ is real,” Jennings said.

  “So you think an ordinary person sucked the life out of all those people and turned them to stone?”
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  Jennings knew where this was going.

  Spencer said, “It appears that an awful lot of people around the world, religious scholars, fanatics, even some members of the scientific community, know about this creature and they all believe it’s the real deal, and that its presence here on earth might not be a good thing for humanity.”

  “So you think that it’s somehow connected to these doomsday prophecies?”

  “Yeah, I do. And to McArthur, and De Roché, and his daughter. It’s all connected, Rick, and I think you know it.”

  “Jesus Christ, Spencer, you guys are federal agents. Tell me you don’t believe in all that hocus pocus crap.”

  “Doesn’t matter what I believe, Rick. A shit load of people in high places believe, and that’s what really counts. This thing is way above my pay grade. All the agencies are heavily engaged, and not just U.S. agencies. I’m talking worldwide. This . . . creature, whatever the hell it is, is being viewed as a credible threat.”

  “A threat to what?” Jennings exploded.

  “To everything, Rick. If McArthur is alive we need to find him fast, and we need to find that artifact before it falls into the wrong hands.”

  Jennings coughed out a laugh that seemed to fill the entire room with doubt. “And you guys are the right hands? What a joke.”

  “I can’t stress the seriousness of this situation strongly enough,” Spencer said. “If you know where he is you’d better tell me now.”

  Jennings bolted from his chair, his face red with rage. “He died in a plane crash, you asshole! I went to his funeral. I buried him in my heart, and now you’re telling me he might be alive?”

  “He just might be, Rick. Actually we’re assuming he is, and we’re also assuming he’s in cahoots with forces that wish to wage war on the human race.”

  “That is just plain bullshit, Spencer and you know it. No way is Doug McArthur in cahoots with something like that.”