In her delicate hands, Sedecla clutched the small basalt statue, the physical representation of her shedim, the demon who assisted her efforts. Normally dark black, with a fine, grainy texture, the statue was now smoother, shiny, and laced with veins of burgundy, as if it recalled the ancient lava from which it had emerged. The reddish streaks pulsed rhythmically, as if the inanimate statue now possessed a beating heart. The shedim’s eyes, once just small hollows of grey, now emerged blacker than the surrounding stone, with flecks of gold that swirled and twisted. Although the statue usually stayed on her altar, over the past two days, Sedecla had never let it out of her grasp and suffered no other to touch it.
At the sound of Zahava setting a tray on the table beside her, Sedecla opened her eyes. The acrid smell of hot coffee and the tang of fresh fruit made her sit up. Without comment, she took the steaming mug of strong, black coffee, gulped two scalding drinks in quick succession, and then wolfed down chunks of pineapple, mango, and pears. Dates, figs and cheese rested on the plate with the fruit, and after several moments of devouring much of the food on the plate, followed by more gulps of coffee, Sedecla felt less volatile, less like every fiber of her being was vibrating. She then took notice of the Hispanic man standing in attentive silence at the end of the couch. He was of average height and weight. From his stance, Sedecla could tell he was a cop, which made her think of her missing lieutenant, Timothy O’Neill. She pulled the man’s name from her mental database. “No word from O’Neill then, Gonzalez?”
Still at parade rest, Emilio Gonzalez shook his head. “No, Qedesh. He does not answer his phones nor the door at his home. My men cannot determine if he is home without breaking in, which I did not wish to order without your permission.”
Anger flashed across Sedecla’s face, echoing the rage she felt at O’Neill’s absence. First da Silva, now O’Neill? Sedecla did not believe that O’Neill would openly defy her, but she knew that he was not a traitor. O’Neill was too involved in her operations to make any sort of deal with Griffin. Nor, unless she was badly mistaken, was he the type of man to do so. He might have cut and run, however. Sedecla knew far more about Timothy O’Neill than he suspected—she knew of his fake identities, his emergency cash, and his preparations, but she did not believe he had run out on her, not yet.
“No,” she finally said, finishing her coffee and holding out her cup for Zahava to refill. “We have enough to do right now. Am I correct in assuming that you have taken command in his absence, Emilio?”
A brief spasm of fear and ambition lit Gonzalez’s eyes as he replied. “Yes, Qedesh. It seemed the correct thing to do until you were available to inform us of your wishes.”
Bold, but cautious. Sedecla took a moment to assess her situation. It would be at least a day before she could dare to attempt Thantifaxath, the final Qliphotic tunnel. Maintaining security until then was the only other activity that mattered. “You did well, Gonzalez. Are ibn Ezra and his men here? Are they performing the duties as O’Neill had detailed in his security plan?”
“Yes. We had a,” Gonzalez hesitated, “discussion about who was in charge in O’Neill’s absence.”
“What was decided in that ‘discussion’?” Sedecla asked with a small smile.
“I was able to persuade ibn Ezra that security was the purview of the Mazzimah and that, as O’Neill’s second in command, I would take charge in his absence.”
“Well done, Gonzalez,” Sedecla said, gazing at the man, not hiding the fact that she was appraising him. “Well done. Be careful not to overstep your authority, but I approve of your decisiveness. Maintaining security is currently the most important task for everyone here. Send in ibn Ezra. I will confirm your status as acting commander.”
Sedecla had just begun drinking her third cup of coffee when Gonzalez returned, accompanied by Achan ibn Ezra and Rufus Choate. ibn Ezra’s tunic was rumpled, and his black velvet kippa askew on his head. Clearly, he had been rousted from sleep. Choate moved liquidly and surprisingly nimble for such a large man. As always, he looked immaculate—if he had been sleeping, you could not tell it from his appearance.
ibn Ezra immediately began fawning. “Holy Qedesh. Our prayers for your continued success have been answered.” He knelt before her, bowing his head to the floor.
“Get up, Achan,” Sedecla replied, irritation evident. “I do not have time for your obsequience.”
“Qedesh?” the cleric asked, with fear and dismay as he quickly stood.
“I understand that you had a discussion with Mister Gonzalez here about who would be in charge of security in Timothy’s absence.”
Achan ibn Ezra had not been in charge of the Disciples of Endor for twenty years without being able to sense the direction of his mistress’ mood. “Just so, Qedesh. I thought that since O’Neill is missing, one of your lieutenants should be in charge of security.”
“That is definitely not one of my areas of expertise,” Choate rumbled. Rufus Choate couldn’t care less about power or Sedecla’s quest for power—unless it cost him money.
“Nor is it yours, ibn Ezra,” Sedecla said in a calm, even voice. This voice worried Sedecla’s followers much more than displays of anger. People often died when addressed in this tone of voice.
ibn Ezra’s black eyes glittered, but he bowed repeatedly, speaking quickly. “My apologies, Qedesh, my apologies. My primary concern is your safety and the success of your quest.”
“As it should be,” Sedecla purred. “Very good then—Emilio is in charge unless Timothy makes an appearance. Now leave me,” she said, waving a hand in dismissal. “You too, Zahava,” she added. Once she was alone again, Sedecla closed her eyes and lay back on the couch. At times like this, she felt every one of the hundreds of thousands of days she had lived. After a few moments of meditation and rest, Sedecla opened her eyes and looked at the small statue upon her lap. Not only had the appearance of the shedim changed, so had its weight, texture, and smell. It was much heavier—far too heavy for a simple basalt statue. Its texture was now smooth, as if polished marble. Previously odorless, an unpleasant odor now hung about it—a musky animal odor suffused with a whiff of decay.
Her fatigue easing, Sedecla sought the source of the sense of disquiet that had fallen over her. She felt as if there were something wrong, something threatening, something requiring her immediate attention. The shedim was throbbing as well, almost resonating in warning. Sedecla sat with her eyes closed and her other senses opened to their fullest. After several moments, she nodded slightly, then reached out and summoned Zahava. “Send Gonzalez back in,” she ordered.
Moments later, Emilio Gonzalez entered the room. “Qedesh?” While not a true believer as ibn Ezra, most of the Mazzimah addressed her using the same title as that used by the Disciples.
“I believe you shall soon have the opportunity to prove your value to me, Emilio,” Sedecla said.
A smile emerged on his unhandsome face. “Indeed? Do they come, Qedesh?” Gonzalez respected the woman’s uncanny abilities.
“I think so, yes. If not this moment, they will arrive sometime today. See to the troops, Emilio. Make certain they are ready.”
“It shall be so, Qedesh. You can count on me.” Gonzalez began to exit, and then paused for a moment when Sedecla spoke again.
“I hope so. For your sake, Emilio, I hope so.”
Gonzalez left without response.
* * * *
Jamie could barely see Louie’s hulking form in front of him. The snow, which had subsided earlier, had returned and an icy wind whipped it over and around them penetrating his winter parka. Hanrahan, taller and heavier than Lombardi, was easier to spot, since his coat was bright green. He had refused to change into something less noticeable. Darcelle was almost invisible—she had donned a white, wool coat over white ski pants and was wrapped in white outerwear.
They made their way across Copp’s Hill, moving in a drunken line from one stand of trees to another.
Although right now, I’m not sure an
yone could actually see us in this snow.
Jamie looked to his side and saw Lucy, who nodded at him. Then he looked behind and saw the dim forms of Ríordán and Daphné. Like Darcelle, Daphné was dressed all in white and difficult to spot. Lucy and Ríordán, unlike the druid, had agreed to camouflage themselves. Lucy was in pale colors, which blended into the winter landscape. Ríordán was in black, which at least hid him in the shadows.
They reached the trees on the north side of Hull Street. As far as Jamie could tell, they were undetected. He drew everyone close enough to hear over the wind. “Okay, let’s cross the street and pause under the trees there,” he said, pointing to Sedecla’s townhouse.
They did so, and then everyone looked to Jamie. He swung his duffel bag in front of him, looked up and down the street, then at the buildings in front of him. Again, Jamie pulled everyone close, but spoke softer this time, his voice barely audible above the wind. “Do you see or sense anyone watching us?”
Louie, Daphné, and Darcelle shook their heads, as did Lucy and Ríordán. Hanrahan gazed for a moment, and then he shrugged. “I sense watchfulness, but nothing indicating we have been detected.”
Jamie nodded. “Okay, then—wish me luck.” He walked forward, putting his right hand out behind him indicating that the others should remain. Pulling his cell phone from his coat pocket, Jamie paused halfway to the door. “Eileen?” he asked as loud as he dared.
“I hear you. The wind is making it hard, but I hear you,” Eileen replied.
“Don’t fret—once the gunfire starts, you’ll hear it. I’m going to open the outer door and then we’re going in.” Jamie looked at his watch. “It’s 4:35 by my watch—give us five minutes, then dial 911.”
“Even if I don’t hear anything? What if I hear all hell break loose sooner?”
“I think after five minutes inside, we’ll need backup, but use your best judgment,” Jamie replied. “I trust you as much as I love you—with all of my heart.”
Eileen choked back a sob. “You come back or I’m going to be seriously pissed off.”
“A swear word. I better make sure I come back. Love you.” Jamie put the phone in his pocket and crossed to the door. The external door lock was still a mechanical deadbolt. Jamie removed the LockAid from his bag and put it to the lock, carefully applying tension and dropping the pins in the lock. Once all of the pins dropped, he applied pressure, and the door opened with a soft click.
“Here goes nothing,” he said, gesturing for the others to join him.
* * * *
Sedecla bolted upright on her couch, dropping her coffee cup, which crashed on the floor, shattering into dozens of ceramic shards. She nearly dropped the statue, but clutched it to her breast before it could fall. The crash brought Zahava into the room. “Emilio,” Sedecla ordered curtly. “Now.”
Emilio Gonzalez entered the room a few seconds later. “Qedesh?”
“They are at the front door, Emilio.” Sedecla’s voice seethed with a mixture of anger, anticipation, and wonder. She had believed they would come to her, but it surprised her nonetheless. “Alert everyone—I want O’Neill’s plan executed just as we discussed.”
Gonzalez nodded curtly. “It shall be so, Qedesh,” he replied, dashing from the room, speaking into a wrist communicator as he left.
* * * *
Jamie crept into the foyer, which was unchanged since his previous visit. As the others joined him, Jamie winced—the tile and wood floor caused each step to echo off the brick walls. “Hssst,” he whispered, hoping to reduce the noise, and then he gestured for Daphné to shut the door behind her. In the ensuing darkness, Jamie held both hands out, and the others stopped one by one as they encountered his hands or the person in front of them.
No one spoke, and all they could hear was the sound of their breaths reverberating softly in the foyer. Jamie turned on a flashlight mounted to straps around his head. The bright beam flooded the room, revealing oak hardwood floors, inlaid red and black ceramic tile, and brick walls. Turning his head to the left, Jamie illuminated the archway and the room where Sedecla had received Cal, Ramirez, and him back in September.
A lifetime ago, Jamie thought. Cal and Ramirez are both dead now. Jamie pushed those thoughts out of his mind and gestured for the others to stay as he stepped forward to cast light throughout the office. It looked empty, and Jamie saw no one on the spiral staircase.
Turning back, he brought them close together so he could whisper. “Okay, Ríordán and Daphné, you stay here. Watch the staircase until I get the next door open—once I do, you’re the last ones through, closing the door behind you. Hanrahan, Louie, and Darcelle will take the lead, then Lucy and me. Same procedure for any other doors we encounter.”
“I don’t like this,” Louie rasped.
“Don’t like what?” Jamie asked.
“Don’t like that there’s no one here,” he replied, gesturing to the empty room.
“It’s called a trap, Aloysius. We knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Plus, we don’t know what’s beyond that door,” Jamie replied.
“Faccia di merda,” Louie muttered.
“So’s your mother,” Jamie replied hoarsely as he turned to face the door. Unlike the outer door, an electronic lock with a keypad secured the interior door. After examining it for a moment, Jamie nodded. “Looks like I can spike it,” he said, mostly to himself.
He took out the screwdrivers, and within seconds, had removed the keypad. “There we go,” he continued, pointing to the small hole that lay at the top of the lock’s guts. Taking one of the thin, hooked wires from the case, Jamie pulled out the internal wires and shorted the lock into opening moments later. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, pulling open the door inward an inch at a time.
They entered a tiled passageway, with restored bricks lining the walls. It was narrow, perhaps four feet across and seven feet in height, stretching away to their left. To their immediate right was another door. A series of overhead lights provided dim illumination down the length of the corridor.
Darcelle slowly opened the door to the right and shone her headlamp inside, then pulled back after a moment, closing the door quietly. She gave a thumbs-up, and then mimed driving a car to indicate it was the townhouse’s garage. Jamie nodded in response, and then pointed with his left hand, indicating that she should lead down the tunnel with Hanrahan and Louie.
They crept in silence down the tunnel for about a hundred feet, where another door and another electronic lock confronted them. The door was their only option for continuing. Jamie stepped forward with his duffel bag. He again removed the screws that held the keypad to the door. This time, however, there was no hole for Jamie to access the internal wires. Nodding, he pulled the magnet out of its protective box, and then held it up to the lock. After passing it back and forth several times, Jamie opened the door with a soft click. He replaced the magnet. Then, looking around to make sure everyone was ready, he opened the door and followed the lead trio into a much larger room.
* * * *
“Steady, now,” Emilio Gonzalez whispered into his wrist communicator. “Everyone maintain your positions.” His words came out of tiny ear buds into the heads of the nearly fifty heavily armed men positioned around the amphitheater. “We execute the plan exactly as O’Neill outlined. No one so much as twitches until I give the word.” He smiled, grim and nasty upon his scarred face. You screwed up big-time, Timmy. This is my show now, and I’m gonna be happy to take your place when it’s done.
* * * *
Louie and Darcelle stepped through the doorway first, with Hanrahan immediately behind them. The rest followed in order. As they entered the dark room, Jamie saw that the walls receded into a much larger space. Theater style chairs perched in two rows in front of them. As the room opened up, there were conference tables and chairs in the middle of the room, banks of electronics along the sidewalls, and a raised stage at the far end of the room.
Upon reaching the stage, Darcelle raised her right fist,
signaling a stop. Everyone looked around, wondering where to go next. Every nerve in Jamie’s body was jangling. I think we’re about to have their trap sprung on us. He gestured in response to everyone’s silent query about what to do next—wait and watch.
They didn’t wait long. The amphitheater went from pitch black to blazing light in a heartbeat. As they stood blinking to regain their sight, Jamie heard the sound of many feet stepping into the room at the same moment. “Hold your fire,” Jamie called out, worried that Louie or one of the twins might be startled into starting a firefight they couldn’t win. More often than not, a case of nerves started guns firing.
“A wise decision, Detective Griffin,” a man said as he stepped out from the far corner of the room. He was Hispanic, of average height and weight, but he somehow looked familiar to Jamie.
“I know you,” Jamie said, trying in vain to place the man who was the obvious leader of the dozens of men who now surrounded them.
Strolling to stand about five feet in from of Jamie, the man bowed mockingly. “I’m flattered you recall my face, Detective Griffin. Emilio Gonzalez, at your service.”
Looking around the room, Jamie could see that they were outnumbered at least five-to-one—ten-to-one if you only counted the armed members of Jamie’s group. “So what happens now, Gonzalez? Where’s your boss? Is she going to face us or is she hiding somewhere while you do her dirty work?”
“Tough talk for someone who’s outgunned.”
“Maybe,” Louie growled, “but I bet I can take you out before you knock me down.” The tension in the room, already high, mounted toward a breaking point.
“Unless you do something stupid, none of my men are going to start shooting, except at my command,” a female voice said from the other side of the room.
Everyone turned to look at Sedecla as she glided into view. She was dressed in comfortable tunics—red and black, bound by a gold woven belt. Her hair was tied back in a tight braid, and her hazel eyes focused on Jamie. “You have been quite the thorn in my side, Detective Griffin.”
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