The Blood Eagle in the Big Easy

by K. A. Lange

  “As a matter of fact I am.” He covered the phone again as I heard him asked someone for the name of the place. “We’re at Popp Fountain. Do you know the place?”

  Grabbing my watch off the nightstand I was about to head for the bath when I stopped in my tracks. “I’m familiar with the place.” This could hardly be a coincidence. “Is there a body?”

  “What’s left of one anyway.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Sorry about that. I have some sinus issues today, and I’m not used to this damned weather. It’s Helena Summers. Well, like I mentioned, most of her anyway.”

  I swallowed hard. “She didn’t stay in Alabama I take it.”

  “Doesn’t appear she did. I am getting the details now.” He took a deep breath as he yawned into the phone. “How long do you think it will take you to get here?”

  “I should be able to get there within the hour.” Quickly making my way through the bedroom to the bath I looked at my watch which read 3:35. “Can you clear me?”

  “Consider it done. See you shortly.” Gregory said as he hung up the phone.

  Bracing myself against the bathroom counter I recalled the case. The Marshals service contracted my firm to assist in building a case against what they referred to as a group of radicals who were a perceived danger to the locals in Maine. Their original contact was a young woman who had supplied the federal government with the information they needed to shut the ‘cult’ down permanently. Several months prior to my involvement she had stopped communicating with them. While the Marshal’s believed she was still alive somewhere on the compound they had no idea where or for how much longer. I infiltrated the compound where I found Helena being held captive in a remote building. With her testimony secure Gregory and I were able to protect her and her young son from any reprisals her former constituents might try.

  Talk about bad omens! Every time that horrid dream returns to haunt me I am almost always in for a very bad day (or ten). Today certainly would not turn into the exception to the rule. The victim, Ms. Helena Summers, had originally contacted Gregory, who at the time was the low man on the totem pole, about some dangerous people she found herself involved with.

  According to Helena she’d joined the 'Church of Fenrir' back when it was all sunshine and poesies. She’d said that in her last few years as a member of the church a darker element had crept in and taken over. She first told us of tax evasion charges, which were the least of our problems. They were now practicing human sacrifices and blood magic. She had been a full fledge member of the church for nearly ten years. It was our understanding that during the final three years she was held against her will.

  With her help we were able to track down and jail or kill all but five ranking members of the church. She and her nine year old son were put in witness protection. Gregory and I were the only two individuals that knew she had been relocated to a small town just outside of Mobile, AL. I warned her then that she could not leave because the protection Warden Industries provided her only went as far as the Alabama state line. We established as many roadblocks between her and her former life in the state of Maine as possible, but it would seem however that they were not enough and that my warnings were for naught. The church, or what was left of it, found her just as I feared they would. People like that have a long memory, and let's just say they were not the forgiving type.

  Getting dressed on autopilot I let my thoughts drift over some of the more unseemly and unsolved details of the case. First and foremost was the fact that someone in the ‘church’ had found their way through the ‘veil’ between reality and what lay beyond. In doing so they were imparted with unusual abilities. If the church had not been able to part the veil back in ‘92, maybe they had contacted some sleeping spirit who imparted the knowledge upon them or just gotten lucky enough to find an artifact which gave them their supernatural gifts.

  Whatever the case may have been it was lethal. When the SOG (Special Operations Group) from the Marshals service in conjunction with Warden Industries and local law enforcement broke through the perimeter of the church’s property the cult fought back. At first nothing out of the ordinary happened, just a lot of gunfire from both sides. Then as we fought our way inside the main building shit went to hell fast.

  I had counted four hooded figures on the second floor balcony above the main hall when we entered. The tallest one had hurled a huge ball of fire at the men who were bottlenecked at the doors. They screamed when it exploded in their midst as it killed many of them while injuring several others. One of my men was in that group and lost his right leg at the knee. I gave cover fire catching the shortest and fattest of the four in the stomach with three rounds. His gun toting psycho cohorts carried him away quickly allowing our second wave access to the building.

  Gregory's partner was one of those who died that day. His body was nearly turned inside out by a single word of power muttered by one of the hooded figures. All toll forty people died that day, ten from the Marshal's service, five state police officers and the rest from my private security force. Those that walked away from that fight were scared to their souls. None of us spoke much about it afterwards; it wasn't exactly like anyone would believe what happened anyway. The official reports told of improvised explosive devises to explain what had happened to the fallen.

  I can assure you there weren’t any such device to be found. Of course I had zero proof that magic had been used, that they had parted the veil or contacted these spirits of old. I only knew in my heart that they had. I never found the source of their power or how they were able to wield it. This above all disturbed me.

  Shaking off these disturbing memories I blinked in shock as I caught my reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes told me I needed more rest and probably had needed it for sometime now. What was the old saying? Oh yeah, no peace for the wicked, and certainly no rest for those of us who secure the peace. After washing my face I leaned against the sink, closing my eyes once more. I would like to believe I’m average height but considering I am around five foot nine that was probably stretching it a bit. The gray/black hair atop my head was short enough to pass inspection at Parris Island though my neatly trimmed beard wouldn’t.

  For my age, or hell any age, I would be what most would consider fit. Considering that my life depended on being at the top of my game I hardly had a choice in the matter. I dressed in black tactical pants and a long sleeve gray running shirt before stopping to pull on a pair of combat boots. Strapping on my watch I walked out of the bedroom pausing long enough to shove my phone in my pocket along with my wallet before heading out the door to see what type of special hell the day would bring.

  Hurrying out of my house some twenty minutes after Gregory’s call I clicked the button on the keyring to unlock my Kia Sportage. Hey don’t knock it till you try it! They are actually quite nice. I flicked on the lights which bore into the darkness ahead of me. The sky was pitch black with dark low hanging clouds. Even though the moon was hidden from view I knew it would be full in a matter of hours. Contrary to popular belief the moon isn’t always full at night. Today that particular event would happen at 8:43 a.m. I could hear thunder rumble in from Lake Pontchartrain and lightning flashed through the angry clouds above. It didn’t feel like rain today but mother nature was angry and was letting me know of her displeasure.

  Pulling off Wisner Avenue onto the service road I was reminded why City Park was such a popular attraction. Large old oak trees ladened with Spanish Moss made grandiose appearances throughout the landscape. This particular area had been part of the golf course before Katrina’s devastation. Now the rolling greens were unkempt, overgrown and slightly brown. The wide paved path once used by golf carts was empty and buckling. Even so the place still had a majestic feel to it as if its former self couldn’t be lost to something even as powerful as Katrina. Passing Pan Am Field I admired the wooded area just before Diagonal Dr. (Can we guess why it’s called Diagonal Dr.?) Passing several cruisers I finally found a place
to pull off into the grass that was being used as a makeshift parking lot.

  Popp Fountain according to most sources was built in 1937. However that is wrong. It was designed in the twenties by the Olmsted brothers for John F. Popp who died a few years earlier. It was actually dedicated to Mr Popp in 1934 and finally ‘officially’ recognized by the state in 1936, so I have no idea how anyone ever came up with the year 1937. It is some sixty feet wide with twenty-six Corinthian style columns which nicely represented the art deco style of the day. Created by Mexican master sculptor Enrique Alferez, he sculpted a bronze base depicting dolphins leaping out of the water, spraying water some thirty feet in the air. The fountain itself contains secrets that few people knew about when it was built and still fewer know today. Needless to say the wisteria only adds to the entire sacred feel emanating from the area. Given the fact that to some people this area is basically a holy site I found it disturbing on many levels that this particular spot was chosen for a murder.

  A crowd of NOPD and state police officers were busy trying to secure the area with crime scene tape. Showing my ID to one of the officers at the edge of the tape, he nodded at me before lifting the tape allowing me to proceed. As I looked down at the red clay brick walkway that lead to the east entrance of the fountain I took a deep breath and steadied myself before continuing on. The columns around the fountain had a new addition of long strips of white cloth between each one shielding the scene from view. Maybe the park services wanted to ‘upscale’ the Roman columns? My foot no sooner hit the first step of Popp Fountain when I heard Gregory call my name.

  "Viktor, we’re over here." Gregory waved at me to join him center stage.

  It didn’t take long for me to pick him out of the crowd. At six foot four inches tall and two hundred and thirty pounds of solid muscle Gregory stood head and shoulders above most men. His dark brown skin stood out against the bright white perfectly pressed oxford while his black slacks we obviously tailor made. He always looked as if he had just stepped off the cover of GQ magazine. He was a cross between Omari Hardwick and his better looking older brother.

  I acknowledged him as I made my way through the opening created by the columns. Glancing to my left I caught my first sight of the horrific crime. Ms. Summers was suspended several feet off the ground by ropes on either wrist. They were tied off around the stone topper which encircled the fountain and her legs hung limply below. The smell of iron and blood hung thick in the air from the large pool staining the concrete floor below her. Her ribs had been broken and pulled out of the gaping wound in her back to make it appear as if she had gruesome bloody wings.

  Looking back at Gregory I shook my head as I let it all sink in. "It looks like whoever murdered her took their time.” The glare of the CSI’s artificial lights caused me to squint as I tried to see more of the scene. “Did the perpetrators put these sheets up or is this something to do with the park?"

  Gregory followed my line of sight. “According to our witness they don’t belong to the park.” He shrugged helplessly. “If I had to guess the perpetrators brought them here for effect.”

  Grimacing as I looked back at the long strips of pure white linen, I nodded. “It sure as hell worked!” As I made my way over to Gregory I tried to take it all in. It boggled my mind that they had picked this place out of all the other landmarks in the city. “You say you have a witness?”

  Gregory jerked his head back over his shoulder and I saw a man sitting on one of the golf carts used by maintenance workers for the park. He looked dazed and his eyes were red from crying or puking, or both. “He found the body this morning when he was making his rounds.” Gregory craned his neck trying to stretch out the tension. “According to what little we are able to get out of him, he saw the linens and came to investigate and found Hellena like this,” gesturing at the tortured body.

  "Hell of a thing to start your day with.” After the dream and now this I tried to keep myself centered. There was a part of me that was hoping I was still having a nightmare. “Think he will be alright?”

  “I doubt it.” He glanced over at the man sitting there with sadness in his eyes. “No one should ever have to see such things. The poor man may survive this but I doubt he will ever be the same again.”

  Gregory sent off his subordinates before motioning for me to follow him. Once we were on the other side of the fountain and hopefully out of earshot he leaned in to whisper. “What the hell is going on? I was hoping we put an end to this twenty years ago!” He shook his head in disgust. “You don’t really think those crazy bastards held a grudge for this long do you?”

  The fact was that we knew that five of the ranking members had escaped that day but it was hard to believe they would still be biding their time. “We warned her that if she didn't stay put something like this might happen.” I pointed at Helena's dangling corpse. “They waited twenty years for their revenge and if I hazard to guess this is only the beginning.” My heart beat faster as the adrenaline rushed through my veins. “Whoever did this was willing to take the time and energy to make a glorified broadway production of the murder scene.” I shivered slightly. “I can’t believe that this will be the only one. They have others that they are angry with. You and me for instance.”

  Gregory shuddered at the thought as he eyed Helena. "I was thinking along the same lines.” He reached in his pocket for his phone. “Before I make this call are you willing to work on this case? This is something you should be involved in, don't you think? You saw before what they were capable of then and now there’s this!” Gregory waved back at the body.

  “You can count me in.” I found myself pacing in a small orbit around Gregory as my mind raced with possibilities. “I was never satisfied with how things were left back then.” Anger welled up inside me as I stopped in front of Gregory. “It was the Marshals who shut down the investigation last time, citing everything had been done that could be done. Which was a shitty way of saying they just didn’t want to know what really happened.” I took a step closer to Gregory who stepped back instinctively. “Before I sign on officially there are a couple of conditions. First I want full access to everything pertaining to this case, past and present.”

  Gregory nodded. “I can do that. It will take some time to get all the old files out of storage but consider it done.” He stood up straight and grimaced. “You said a couple of conditions, that was one. What's the other?”

  “I want an unspecified favor sometime in the future.” Its always good to have a federal Marshal owe you a favor, especially one in Gregory’s position. “I’ll do my best not to get you in too much trouble.”

  Gregory thought for a moment before answering. “I suspect one day I will regret this but I think we have a deal.” He stuck out his beefy hand and we shook.

  “Time to earn my keep then. Can you get someone to bring me up to speed?” I rubbed my hands together as the crisp morning air chilled my fingers.

  “Unfortunately yes there is someone.” Gregory sighed. “The FBI was notified since the crime happened on federal property.” Gregory turned and whistled, catching the attention of one his men. “Can you get Smith for me?” The other Marshal looked displeased at the request but left to fulfill it anyway. “The guy is an ass so be ready to jump through hoops.”

  About a minute later the deputy that Gregory had sent to find Smith reappeared looking miserable. “Smith said he would be here shortly. In his words he has important things to do.” Gregory nodded and the Marshal vanished into the crowd of CSI’s working the scene.

  “You wanted to see me Deputy Marshal Aaron?” I heard a voice drawl as a figure emerged out of the darkness. Smith was a tall good looking man with blond curly hair, with an athletic build that said he had kept himself in shape since his college sporting days. He also exuded douchebag from every single pore of his body. “As I told your lackey I have important things to do.” He blew the steam off a fresh cup of Morning Call coffee.

  “I can see that.” Gregory glared at Smi
th. “Finding a fresh cup of coffee on the side of the park is so very important.” Gregory stiffened as he waved a hand in my direction. “Viktor Warden I would like you to meet David Smith, FBI.”

  Smith sneered at me, stepping back when I offered to shake his hand. “I’m sorry as you can see I have my hands full.” He didn’t even try to hide his contempt for me. As he turned back to Gregory he asked“Who the hell is he? And why is he here?”

  Gregory’s face contorted in anger but managed to keep his voice down. “Viktor was involved with the original case.” Smith’s face turned beet red as Gregory smiled. “He has agreed to consult on this case as well.”

  “What is it you want me to do then?” Smith rolled his eyes as he looked at Gregory. “Isn’t it enough that I had to call you in.” Smith sloshed his coffee cup in Gregory’s direction. “Now you're bringing in consultants on my case without asking me?” Smith growled. “You have a lot of nerve!”

  I watched in silence as Gregory stormed toward Smith who quickly retreated. “This isn’t your case anymore! You are only here as a courtesy to the director of the local field office.” Gregory’s voice dropped to a whisper as he seethed. “Given our personal history you’re lucky I’ve allowed even that.”

  Smith blanched white as he stammered. “Fine... fine. What is you want from me so I can get the hell out of here.”

  “You can fill Viktor in on what you have found out so far about the case and then you are welcome to go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.” Gregory seethed.

  “Whatever!” Smith snapped. “Look, the lady is dead and her son is most likely the culprit considering he is ‘missing’.” He asked as he gave me one of those I’m so innocent looks. “So did that clear it up for you, ‘Viktor’?”

  “I kind of got the fact that she was dead when I saw her strung up with her lungs ripped out.” I snarled. “Do you even have any idea what was done to her?” I stepped forward causing Smith to stumble back. “Let me explain! It’s called the Blood Eagle. The Vikings mastered this type of torture some two thousand years ago. They would string a person up much like they did here. They would slice through the skin and muscle tissue on either side of the spine. From time to time they would pour salt or vinegar in the open wounds for good measure. They would keep their victim alive for as long as possible while they peeled the ribs out one at a time, finally ripping their lungs out and using them to cover the broken bones, completing the image of bloody wings.” I stuck a finger in Smiths chest causing him to stumble again as he lost his balance. “So the lady isn’t just dead, she died hard. Good God man you’re an FBI agent?”