Montanus reclined deeper into a genuine leather lounge chair. “Well, it was this madman’s preferred method of murder that was the first clue. To break someone’s bones, to hang them by the neck from a tree until after sunrise; those are ancient Jewish punishments. And the ancient Druids literally waged war against the ancient Jews. That was the primary logic behind our suspicion.”
Jodi asked, “But how does that automatically bring this suspect into relevance with a Celtic-based group?”
“Not just any Celtic-based group,” Montanus noted, finger uplifted. “I’m speaking specifically of the Druids.” He took a deep breath. “Stone engravings that have been unearthed in parts of ancient Gaul suggest that the Druids executed those of Hebrew linage in exactly this manner. You see, the Druids were very well educated. In truth, they were the leading artisans and scholars of their time. They were quite well versed in Latin as well as Hebrew. And they were very well acquainted with Israel’s god just as they were familiar with the Pentateuch and its various punishments. And they consequently used these Jewish punishments against captured Jews for the express purpose of cursing them in the eyes of their own god. But I don’t mean to digress. Aren’t you here to ask me if I know of any local Druid who might be capable of carrying on a one-man war against the Judeo-Christian god?”
“That’s close enough,” stated Joe Mac. “So what do you know?”
“I, myself, know nothing. But my late wife had some considered suspicions. And there are others in my group who have advanced opinions. They believe that the person you’re looking for is a Druid who follows … well, ‘an ancient path.’”
“I’m sorry about your wife,” said Joe Mac plainly.
Montanus nodded, “Thank you.” He paused. “Yes, she died only recently. I’m still … adjusting. As is … natural.”
Frowning, Joe Mac nodded.
“So,” Montanus continued, “as I was saying, I agree with what my wife thought. But not all Druids are the same. My group happens to be peaceful. But Cathren believed that there’s … uh … an underground Druidic group in this area that is very much prone to extreme violence. And there’s no way of knowing, of course, but one of those Druids might be crazy enough to carry on a military campaign against the god of Israel. He would have to be somewhat insane, of course, but it is possible.”
Jodi asked, “What else did your late wife think?”
Montanus turned a meditative gaze to the fireplace. “She believed that this hidden group of Druids is very dangerous – not only to nonbelievers but to fellow Druids. In fact, I’m not entirely convinced that my wife’s death was an accident. But the local police did an investigation and ruled it accidental.”
“If I might ask,” Jodi began, “what happened?”
“She died in a fall down the stairs.”
Jodi paused. “I see.”
“In any case,” Montanus continued, “if these people believe they are following the ways of the ancient Druids then they are very, very dangerous indeed. And I don’t think they’re going to fall down like a bunch of whipped dogs when you catch up to them. If I were to take a guess, I’d say you’re facing a very tightly knit group and they have some kind of enforcement arm. I don’t know what police would call it - a soldier, an assassin – but it’s somebody who knows what he’s doing and he’s probably been hurting or killing people for a long time to protect this group. Plus, I can guarantee you that he’s not afraid to die any more than he’s afraid to kill a rabbi, a rich man, or a police officer.” He glanced at Joe Mac. “Truth is, he’s probably already killed police officers. And he has backers – people who make sure he has weapons and cars and places to stay. Killing people is probably all he does. And I hate to repeat myself, but my guess is that he’s very good at it.”
Joe Mac said flatly, “If you don’t mind me saying it, this ancient Druid stuff sounds a little far-fetched.”
Montanus responded without any apparent offense, “When you discuss Gaelic belief systems, especially the Druids, you’ll hear about groups and cults of every size and color. Some of them are like the late sixties flower children and some are just downright Satanic. And they hold theories that run the gamut between a scholarly analysis of ancient literature to unbelievably ridiculous speculations and fantasies that range all the way from aliens to Moonbeams of the Larger Lunacy. It’s always been like that when people discuss the Druids because so little is known about them.”
Jodi commented, “I thought you were a believer.”
“I’m more of a scholar,” Montanus said, relaxing. “I trust that archeology has revealed enough information about Celtic beliefs to give us a rudimentary understanding of Druidism. But not everyone is as careful as I am. Some people call themselves Druids and literally just ‘make things up.’”
Joe Mac scowled, “If what you say is true, how do we find this guy?”
Montanus was clearly confused before he hesitantly said, “I don’t know. But there’s an old woman who might be able to help you. I haven’t talked to her in a long time, but she was a good friend of my wife. And I think she’s vaguely familiar with a group that believes they’re the direct descendants of the ancient Druids. And I do mean ‘the blood descendants.’ They believe that so-and-so of the old Druid Empire was their great, great granddaddy. They also believe that all that old, forbidden Druid knowledge has been passed down from generation to generation within their ‘circle’ and they’re the ‘wielders of the secret flame,’ so to speak. And I don’t mean to accuse anyone, but it might be the group you’re looking for.”
“You’ve never dealt with them yourself?” Jodi asked.
“No,” Montanus emphatically shook his head. “I’ve never been personally exposed to them at all, and I don’t care to be.”
“And your late wife?”
Montanus paused. “I don’t believe so. My late wife, Cathren, was Celtic ,and she believed in a kind of oneness we should all seek with Nature. And some would call that Druidism. But there was nothing violent about it. There’s no blood, no sacrifices or bones or amulets or graveyard ceremonies. It’s simply a philosophy of finding a oneness with …well … all living things. But it’s a philosophy of peace. I can’t see my wife ever associating with any of them. She would have considered them repulsive.”
Something – and Jodi didn’t know what it was until she looked at Joe Mac – had suddenly snatched her attention.
Joe Mac had moved to the edge of his lounge chair, both hands wrapped around his cane. And where his left ear had been aimed at Montanus, now he had turned his head a bit further so that he was listening to something else. With a glance, Jodi confirmed that Montanus didn’t notice Joe Mac’s shift of concentration.
With an effort, but unable to totally withdraw her attention from Joe Mac, she asked, “Where can we find this woman, Tony? I need to talk to her.”
Montanus stood and stepped toward a table that ran along the wall; “I believe her name and address were in Cathren’s organizer.” He lifted the book. “Cathren kept everything in this book – all her addresses and phone numbers and notes. And this old gal we’re talking about has an unusual name. so it shouldn’t be hard to find. It’s something like Critiani –”
Glass shattered and Montanus spun with a scream into the table. He was still on his feet as Jodi ripped out her duty issue Glock nine-millimeter searching instantly for the location of the shot, and then more glass in the rear door disintegrated in a fuselage of bullets that tore through the frame of the entrance – a weapon on fully automatic fire – and slammed into Montanus until he bellowed and fell face-forward to the floor.
Jodi only peripherally realized that Joe Mac had hit the floor as she fired into the dark outside the house.
“Joe! Are you hit!”
“No!” Joe Mac roared and surged to his feet. He turned to the shattered glass door and staggered forward until he found the wall. “What did you see?”
“Just trees!” Jodi changed clips. “This is not good! It
’s pitch black, and my flashlight’s in the car!”
“Call for help!” Joe Mac shouted as he hauled what Jodi saw instantly was a big Springfield 1911 out of his coat. She knew it wasn’t police issue and would never be police issue in New York City because a bullet from a .45 could blow a hole through two or three people and keep going to hit a few more – not a weapon you used in a densely-populated area no matter how good a shot you were.
“Is there a deck!” Joe Mac shouted.
“No!” Jodi managed as she snatched out her cell phone. “It’s a patio and then a flat backyard and nothing but trees!”
Another machine-gun blast smashed into the wall beside the door.
“Stay down, Joe! He’s trying to kill you!”
“Where’s the muzzle flare?” he shouted back.
“Inside the tree line!”
“How far are the trees?”
“A hundred feet!”
Joe Mac moved out the door, and Jodi barely glimpsed him at the edge of darkness and light. He stood for a moment, the .45 tight in his right fist.
Then he rushed forward …
And disappeared into night.
* * *
If the ground was flat, Joe Mac was confident he could cover fifty yards in seconds, so he moved as fast as he could before slowing at what he judged to be the final few yards, one arm stretched out, fingers alert to any touch. Then he felt freezing cold leaves and snow and ducked, moving closer to the trunk of a tree.
He put his chest to the trunk and turned his ear to the woods.
Nobody can walk on snow without crunching each step. It didn’t matter if you were a master assassin with an AK-47 or a half-blitzed wino with a bottle in each hand. So, if this guy was trying to retreat through these woods, he’d be making a racket with every step. And the faster he moved, the more noise he’d make.
Joe Mac heard quick crunches in the snow at his nine o’clock.
“… He’s inside the wood line, but he’s moving perpendicular … He’s heading straight for the road and that means he ain’t got no backup … It’s just him and me …”
Joe Mac knew that if Jodi couldn’t see past the tree line from the house, then the darkness was complete and you can’t shoot what you can’t see.
He moved perpendicular to the house, feeling his way from tree to tree. The ground was mostly level, but he picked his feet up high and set them down evenly so as not to twist an ankle or fall, which would be a crashing sound that this shooter couldn’t help but hear. He had made it a good hundred feet by his own reckoning when he heard a step almost shockingly close and Joe Mac spun and fired the .45.
A voice cried out.
“Ninety feet! … He’s on snow! … Still inside the tree line … He’s not using a flashlight because it’d give away his location … He can’t move much faster than I can in this mess, and he can’t move at all without making a sound …”
Joe Mac closed thirty feet then he took a solid one-hand hold on the pistol, feet shoulder length apart, his ear turned in the direction of the last sound, face down. He reached out with his free hand and found a thick tree trunk; he’d need it after he fired.
A moment …
A moment more …
Joe Mac stilled his breathing, listening close.
Crunch.
Joe Mac fired.
Instantly shots from a fully automatic weapon returned as Joe Mac spun behind the tree he’d already found. He heard bullets whiz by at twenty, ten, and five feet and some hit the tree. Then the firing ceased and Joe Mac didn’t wait; he was quickly out again and moving forward. He ignored the sound his own steps were making.
“… Listen close! … Concentrate on the snow … You know his direction … He’s trying to make it back to the road …”
The attacker seemed to be moving more quickly. His steps were no longer separated by an anxious pause. In fact, he seemed to be running as well as someone could run in the darkness and trees and ice.
Joe Mac was moving imprudently fast until he smashed his face into a tree that his sweeping left hand had missed and he staggered, reaching reflexively to his forehead to sweep away blood or sweat.
“… Forget it! … He’s getting too close to the road! … The trees are going to start thinning! … Take a shot while you can! …”
Stepping away from the tree, Joe Mac fell into a wide stance and held the .45 in a firm two-hand grip. He didn’t move at all. Didn’t breathe. He waited until he heard another step and fired six rounds from the .45; he laid down a figure eight pattern so that nothing within that field of fire could escape without being hit.
In the sulfur-thick air and with the smoke burning his throat and eyes, Joe Mac reached quickly into his left-hand pocket and found one of three spare magazines. He dropped the spent clip from the .45 and, after feeling that the magazine wasn’t backwards, slid it in the grip. Then he dropped the slide and waited, again unmoving, again holding his breath, again poised to hear the faintest sound.
He heard a moan and some staggering.
Joe pulled the trigger seven times at the sound of the staggering and speed-changed clips. Then the forest was ghostly silent but for the ringing in Joe Mac’s ears.
Moments stretched and Joe Mac tried to ignore the heat rising from his coat. He swept a hand over his face and didn’t bother to determine whether it was sweat or blood chilling him to the freezing wind. He’d know when he returned to the house.
Or he’d be shot dead out here, and it wouldn’t matter.
An engine roared to life.
Joe Mac turned to his left and moved as quickly as he dared. Within five steps he was aware of limbs lifting from his body and knew he was in a clearing. He also heard a car approaching fast and he raised aim at where he surmised the road would pass; he didn’t know what else was in front of him but he intended to shoot, anyway.
The roar grew loud and coarse and then it soared through a location about forty yards out and six feet about Joe Mac’s shoulders.
Joe Mac fired seven rounds until the slide locked but the roar continued down the road as more gunfire erupted in the night. Then that firing ceased as well and Joe Mac could hear the engine climbing away. It rose on this road and then through the gate of the subdivision where more shots were fired.
Within thirty seconds there was only rolling echoes.
Joe Mac realized that Jodi must have gone out the front of the house and fired every round she had as the car passed. And he wasn’t surprised that neither of them managed to kill the driver or disable the vehicle.
It was a lot harder than most people knew to disable a car with a pistol. Most bullets just bounced off the windshield, anyway, unless you were lucky enough to hit the same centimeter-size hole twice. That is, unless you were firing some buffalo-strength .50 caliber that could crack the engine block. And, last, any car equipped with no-flat tires would keep rolling no matter how many bullets you put into them.
Joe Mac heard a call …
“Joe! …. Joe! … Where are you!”
Joe Mac wiped his face. “Over here!”
He didn’t move after that because he had no idea where he was standing. For all he knew he was poised at the edge of a bluff. Then he heard a familiar sound and raised his face, waiting. Another second, and Poe landed on the ground before him.
The raven shrilled, flapping angrily.
Joe Mac nodded, “I know. He got away. I wish you could have followed him for me, buddy.”
Poe erupted into the air as Jodi came running up. She was panting as she reached Joe Mac, and he knew she was bent double with her hands on her knees. She made a series of gasps before she managed, “Did you hit him?”
“I don’t think so,” Joe Mac shook his head. “You?”
“I put …Whew! Give me a second!” She walked a few steps. Then she turned back and managed, “I think I put a few in his car! I don’t know! There’s no street lights in that section of the road. Oh, man! I’ve gotta get in shape! Anyway, I don’t
know. To be honest, I don’t know if I hit anything or not.”
“Let’s get back to the house.”
They took a few steps.
“You call for somebody?” he asked.
“The sheriff. They called an ambulance.”
“All right.”
When they reached the house Joe Mac heard a sheriff’s radio and knew a deputy was already in the driveway calling for backup.
“Wait,” Jodi said and Joe Mac knew she was removing her badge and holding it high. “Over here! Don’t fire! We’re police officers! We’re police officers! We’re coming to you!”
Joe Mac didn’t need to be told that the deputy was a rookie. As he and Jodi began talking excitedly about what had just happened, neither of them had the presence of mind to go inside the house and make sure the crime scene was secure.
“Hey,” Joe Mac finally said, “you two need to do this inside the house while you secure the scene.”
“But nobody’s in there,” said Jodi.
“He might have a cat,” Joe Mac said. “He might have a dog. And a dog or a cat will disqualify a crime scene for a prosecutor as fast as anything, so get in there. Both of you!”
As Jodi began to turn, Joe Mac snatched her arm.
She jumped. “What!”
“Grab his wife’s organizer and hide it in your bag before backup gets here,” Joe Mac said, low. “And don’t let that deputy see you do it.”
She was so close Joe Mac felt her breath.
“Done.”
FIVE
After standing over Montanus’ red form – the blood had completely transformed his white shirt into a bright scarlet sheet – FBI Special Agent Jack Rollins lifted his face with an incredulous gaze. “And you’re telling me this man didn’t have anything important to say?” he asked dully. “Are you kidding me?”
Neither Jodi nor Joe Mac replied.
“Well?” Rollins pressed. “What did he know? And why aren’t you telling me? Is this a police versus FBI thing? Because I’m not here to debate what belongs to who! I want to catch whoever did this!” He pointed toward the entrance to the subdivision. “You do know the guard at the gate is dead, don’t you? Your boy is on a killing spree!”
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