by Arno Joubert
He started dressing. “The Angels of Death were first appointed by the Pope in the early twelfth century to hunt down and eradicate the Knights Templar.” He glanced at Latorre. “The Knights had committed acts of blasphemy and heresy against Christ and his Cross, and we assassinated more than ninety-percent of them.”
Latorre snorted. “The story I heard was that they had become too powerful, that the Pope had become afraid of them.”
Casanellas sat on the chair and pulled on his socks, glimpsed up at Latorre. “That is true as well.” He slipped on his shoes and tied the laces. “Nevertheless, our mission has not altered. We are sworn to eliminate any clergymen who act contrary to the will of God Almighty.”
“You kill priests?”
Casanellas lifted a finger. “Who sin. An important distinction”
“Then why don’t you kill each other? You’re all a bunch of murderers!”
Casanellas bowed his head, shaking it slowly from side to side. He looked up, smiled. “This is different. We have been ordained to commit these foul acts. We have been born into the monkhood and have been trained since childhood in the various forms of martial arts and assassination techniques to get rid of these…,” his face distorted in a grimace, “vile serpents in a quiet and orderly manner.”
He loped to Latorre, pulling his collar straight. “It is our sworn duty.”
Latorre smiled, then chuckled. “You’re a goddamn fanatic.”
Casanellas frowned, his eyes hardening. He pursed his lips then turned on his heel. A metal door slammed as Casanellas shouted, “Enjoy your stay, Lieutenant.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Alexa took the cell phone from Sergeant Ian Roy, one of the big cops who had arrested her. “One call, one minute, make it quick.”
She punched a number into the phone and glanced around. She was in one of the offices of Vegas P.D’s finest. It was small and cramped and Roy’s table was piled high with case files. She could see a commotion through the policeman’s louvered windows. Two cops were struggling to keep a big guy wearing leathers and a punk hairstyle under control.
“Good day?” General Alain Laiveaux answered groggily. Only a handful of his closest acquaintances had his personal cell number. Alexa was glad that she had a direct line to one of the most influential law enforcers in the world.
“General, this is Alexa.”
“Alexa, my dear. How are you? Do you know what time it is?”
She spoke French. “General, I’m sitting in the office of a Sergeant Ian Roy in the Las Vegas Police Department.”
“Bien,” he said uncertainly.
“I was arrested earlier this evening.”
“Why?”
“They said I murdered ten people during our raid of Danny Gonzales’ facilities. They say they have eye witnesses.”
“But you were attacked during the course of performing your duties.”
Alexa sighed. “I tried to tell them that.”
She heard him fumble. “What is his name?” he asked, alert now.
She repeated the Sergeant’s name.
“Give me five minutes.”
Alexa disconnected the call and handed the phone back to Roy. “You’ll receive a call on this phone within five minutes.”
He nodded disinterestedly, observing the ruckus outside. “Damned punk red-necks,” he muttered. He turned around to face her, his hands in his pockets. “So you’re from Interpol?”
She nodded.
“Interpol always go around killing people in other countries?”
She shrugged but said nothing.
He strode towards her. “Okay, let’s get you locked up.”
She held up a hand. “Three more minutes.”
He shrugged and slouched onto the side of his metal desk, examining her face, chewing his gum.
Alexa sat impassively.
Two minutes later the man’s phone rang and he slipped it from his pocket, gave her a wink. “Hello?”
He stopped his chewing and jumped up. “Mr. Hoffman, sir. How are you?” He nodded. “Yes, we do, sir, she’s sitting in my office as we speak.”
Alexa leaned back in her chair.
He nodded ferociously a couple more times. “No, she’s fine, sir. No, I haven’t seen the case file, sir.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed a temple. “The order was issued by Lead Investigator Bradley Ortell, Vegas PD.” He nodded, then checked his watch. “Yes, sir, we can both be in your office in fifteen minutes, Mr. Hoffman, sir.”
He cursed as he disconnected the call, spat his gum in his hand and tossed it in the trash. He looked up at her. “That was the Mayor.”
Alexa nodded.
“You know the Mayor?”
“No, but I know people who do.”
“He says I could be fired.”
Alexa said nothing.
He pointed to the door. “Get the hell out of my office.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Neil wasn’t answering his phone. Alexa strode to the reception desk of the Vegas PD and waited impatiently in the queue. The cops had managed to subdue the punk, he sat, leaning uncomfortably on his side in his chair, his hands cuffed behind his back, muttering expletives.
“Next,” a bored looking female cop called.
Alexa approached her and showed the woman her badge. “Captain Guerra, Interpol.”
The woman nodded, scanning the badge, then looked up, arms crossed. “How may I help you, Captain?”
“One of my colleagues, Senior Superintendent Neil Allen, was wrongfully arrested and brought here. I need to speak to him.”
The woman tapped a couple of keys on her PC before looking up. “We have no record of a Neil Allen in our facility.”
Alexa studied the woman’s badge. “Ask Sergeant Roy, officer Hocking.”
The woman raised an eyebrow, but picked up the phone and dialed a short code. A disinterested conversation followed, and she firmly put the receiver back down. “He was released shortly after his arrival.”
Alexa frowned. “Released?”
The woman nodded and looked over Alexa’s shoulder. “Next.”
Alexa punched a number into her phone. “General, Neil’s not here, and he isn’t answering his phone.”
“Let me check his location.”
All Interpol agents were mandated to wear a tracking device, commonly referred to as a GLD, or Geolocation Device, and Neil followed the terms of his appointment to the letter of the law. Alexa not so much, she hated Big Brother keeping a watch on her.
Her phone beeped a couple of seconds later. “He’s somewhere out in the desert. I sent you the coordinates.”
She thanked the General and hung up, checked the message.
Neil was at the Illumenex Temple.
PART FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Bishop Daniel McGill caught the football that Jeremy tossed at him, then waved a hand, indicating that he should back up. He pulled back and flung the ball high over the boy’s head, but Jeremy caught it comfortably and jogged back to the Bishop.
Jeremy stood beside McGill for a second and panted before flopping down on the grass. “I’m bushed, you’re fit for an old man.”
McGill chuckled. “Let’s get a soda,” he said, holding out a hand and pulling him up.
McGill missed not having kids, though the parish had plenty of them to keep him busy. He tried to make up for his loss by pouring as much of his attention and energy into the young ones whom needed it. God only knew, there was never enough love to go around for all of them. Broken families, drugs, alcohol, abuse.
It seemed to be a vicious circle, these kids had grown up in less than ideal circumstances in front of his own eyes, then they got some girl pregnant, started drinking as a coping mechanism and the cycle continued. More drunks and abusers were born and all McGill could do was try and guide them, advise when an opinion was asked, try and keep a modicum of sanity in a demented world, teetering on the brink of collapse.
&
nbsp; He had seen good people move into the neighborhood, doctors, lawyers, educated people, folks determined to make a change for the people around them, uplift the community, so to speak. And then at fifteen or sixteen, the daughter would fall pregnant or the son get involved in drugs. And so the never-ending cycle of poverty end wasted opportunities would continue, the wheel of life incessantly grinding forth, pulverizing to a pulp those unfortunate enough to get in its way.
He waved the thought away. He always got like this when the anniversary of that godless day approached, like a sniveling dog that brought its own crap back to his doorstep. The 13th of June, 1986. He had tried to erase the recollection from his memory banks, but it would return to haunt him soon.
He tried to focus on something more positive. There were always exceptions to the rules. Sometimes a lucky kid would be taken into foster care by good people, and boy, how that would change a life.
Jeremy was a smart kid. He had been staying in the church’s orphanage since his mom had passed, and McGill had spent us much time as he could with the boy.
Mika had told him about Jeremy. About how Illumenex had recruited his mom into the organization, and how she had neglected the poor kid. Mika wanted McGill to intervene, to get Jeremy into the church’s foster program. He had prayed about it, spending hours on his knees, seeking the divine answer to the problem.
Funny how God played your hand sometimes. Now Mika was gone. The kid’s mom was dead. McGill was seriously considering adopting the young boy, even at his advanced age. He hoped the foster board would cut him some slack.
“Did you ever attend the Illumenex orientation program?” he asked Jeremy as they sauntered to the cafeteria.
The boy glanced at him, then nodded, still out of breath. “It went way over my head.”
McGill chuckled. “We have a name for the stuff that they preach up at their temple.”
“What?”
“Esoteric bullshit.”
The boy giggled.
“Did they force you to use drugs?”
The boy shook his head. “Mika warned me about that. They said the drugs would enhance our meditative abilities, make it easier to communicate with the Exalted One.”
“Did you use any?” McGill asked again, his voice concerned. He had seen how the drugs could ruin lives.
He had some of the narcotics analyzed that Mika managed to scrounge from a cult member. It looked like a wafer of offering bread, the kind the Roman Catholic church uses at communion. It contained a drug which was commonly referred to as CAT, or Methcathinone, a highly addictive drug which puts the users on a euphoric trip, similar to amphetamines.
After a couple of months, the addicts would start losing weight and wither to a ghost of their former selves. Nosebleeds, severe depression, hallucinations.
All his pleas to have the Temple grounds searched by the police were in vain.
The boy shook his head. “I’m not stupid. The stuff almost killed my mom.”
“Do you know where they get it?”
The boy shrugged. “No-one knows. They pass around plates containing what they call the Body of the Exalted Ones. Whoever wants some can take it.” He glanced up at the bishop. “But you must eat it at the ceremony. You’re not allowed to take any home.”
They arrived at the canteen and McGill pulled the door open, waving Jeremy through. “You hungry?”
The boy nodded. “Always.”
McGill smiled. Stupid question, he guessed. “Burger okay?”
The kid smiled. “More than okay.” He hesitated, then turned towards McGill. “Do you think they’ll come looking for me?” he asked, fear on his face.
McGill tousled his hair. “They may try, but they’ll need to get past me first.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Alexa pulled up into the parking lot to the side of the Illumenex temple. She was forced to park up on a curb as the lot was filled to capacity. She had been in luck, there was an orientation meeting and the church’s scouts had obviously done a brilliant job.
She sauntered towards the entrance and waited in a queue. The people were chattering excitedly, mostly teens and younger people. At the doorway, they were searched, their purses, phones and wallets placed into resealable plastic bags, then handed a white robe, like the one Alexa found in Eden Calloway’s apartment.
Alexa had left her badge and weapon locked in the glove compartment of the rental, but they still managed to find the hunting knife and Taser she had concealed in her leather jacket. The pretty blonde girl that had performed the search on her possessions placed the items into the plastic bag before casting Alexa a suspicious glance.
Alexa smiled sweetly. “I come from a rough neighborhood.”
The girl nodded uncertainly, smiled hesitantly. “Hopefully you’ll be able to find some peace at Illumenex, your new spiritual home.”
Alexa fluttered her eyelids and followed the throng of initiates into the building. They were led through the wide passageway and out a sliding glass door at the back, but Alexa excused herself and stepped out of the row and headed for the restrooms.
Two woman were already there, checking their make-up and cracking jokes. Alexa entered a cubicle and waited for them to leave. She whispered into the microphone that had been embedded into an ornamental leather strap on her wrist. “Any idea of where he could be?”
Her earpiece hissed. “Yes, he is roughly one hundred yards south east of your current potion,” Sal Frydman answered. “Let me pull up the blueprints to the compound.”
Alexa waited as she heard him type.
“Okay, leave the restroom and turn right.”
She exited the cubicle and followed Sal Frydman’s directions, heading past the reception area and stopping in front of a door that said, “NO ENTRY, STAFF ONLY”.
The micro-speaker in her ear crackled. “You’re almost on top of him, Captain. Another twenty yards or so.”
She pursed her lips. “Are you able to get any infrared readings?”
“No, I’m sorry, Captain. I can’t tell if someone else is in there with him.”
Alexa held her ear against the door but heard nothing. She removed a credit card from her wallet and slid it in-between the door and the frame, pushed it around and bent it back, trying to get the spring bolt to click back. After a minute of fruitless trying and one bent credit card later, she sighed and glanced around the room.
The place was deserted. A booming voice and a beating drumroll sounded from somewhere outside.
She skipped to a concrete statue of a naked David which stood in the reception area and picked it up, heading back toward the door. She lifted the statue and slammed the foot into the door and felt it budge, after two more tries the door cracked open.
Alexa peeked into the room to make sure it was empty, then shimmied inside, feeling exposed without her weapon.
She was in what looked like a standard break room, an urn and cups stood on a metal table. Sofas and chairs were placed around low coffee tables, a wall unit with a television set stood to the side of the room. Alexa strode to a window at the furthest end of the room. Through the window she noticed another space with a table and a couple of chairs. The door leading to the adjacent room was locked, a solid-looking steel affair. She shrugged, went back outside and fetched the statue of David, then tossed it through the window. She vaulted over the wall as she called out Neil’s name.
She noticed yet another open doorway. She peeked around the corner, saw Neil standing, clutching the bars of a cell door, a worried frown on his face. “Alexa, watch out, we’re not—“
Alexa spun around when she heard footsteps behind her. Ortell had a gun pointed at her chest, a grin on his face. “Let me see your hands, Captain.”
She lifted her hands. He approached her casually, a smile on his face. “How sweet, the Captain came looking for her partner,” he said and winked.
Alexa smiled, then lunged at the gun, catching it by the barrel and twisting it from his hand. He let go and Ale
xa fired the gun at Ortell. It made a sickening clicking sound, nothing more.
Ortell smiled and pulled another pistol from a shoulder holster. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you, that one is empty.” He lifted the gun, straightened his arm and pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Bis Latorre yanked at the manacles, trying to pull them from the wall.
“It’s no use, soldier,” one of the skinny men said. “They’ve kept the likes of us down here for centuries, nothing is going to change.”
Latorre groaned, yanked another couple of times, then uttered an anguished scream. “Aaaaaargh!”
He dry heaved a couple of times and drew in a deep breath, trying to still his frayed nerves.
He heard a key inserted into the door of their prison, the door creaking as it opened slowly. Footsteps approached, cautiously, and then a head popped around the corner.
It was the general.
Laiveaux stepped into the open, holstered his weapon and stood before Latorre with a grin on his face. “Now, now, Lieutenant, why so glum?”
“How…how did you find me?”
Laiveaux pulled a key from his pocket and marched over to Latorre. He placed the key in the lock and turned it, the manacle opening with an audible snap. “Your GLD led us here.”
“How long have I been stuck in this place.”
“Oh, less than a week, Lieutenant.”
“How long have you known?”
Latorre unlocked the second manacle before turning to the other men chained to the wall. “Since the beginning, my dear man.”
“And you left me to rot down here in this festering slime pit for all this time?”
Laiveaux turned around, frowned. “I must admit the accommodation was not of the highest caliber.” He cleared his throat. “But I did expect a modicum of gratitude at your release.”
Latorre rubbed his wrists, then stretched his arms. “I’m thankful, General. I simply thought that you would have freed me—“
“Sooner?”