Curt turned to Tolen and asked, “Do you think this cult killed them all?”
Tolen shook his head, no. “Fawn witnessed one of the Tinneys going into the creek and perishing.”
“I do know what Lawton Sawyer was doing there,” Fawn said.
Curt and Tolen both froze and waited for her to continue.
“First, can you tell me how you two became involved in all this?” Fawn looked from Tolen to Curt.
Curt spoke, “My ex-wife has disappeared. We believe she was on Bayard Point.”
Fawn looked to Tolen. “So if you’re CIA, you have no jurisdiction in the U.S., right?”
“I’m on a special assignment for the Smithsonian Institute. I’ve been given executive-level authority to operate inside and outside U.S. borders.”
“Executive-level authority?” Curt’s head swivelled toward Tolen. “You mean the head of the Smithsonian or the CIA?”
“No,” Tolen said nonchalantly, “the head of the United States. Now, can we get back to our situation here?”
Curt couldn’t help but stare at Tolen. The President?
“I found this in Sawyer’s house,” Fawn pulled the letter from her pocket. “I grabbed it when you two went upstairs to examine the body.” She passed it to Curt.
Curt read it aloud for Tolen’s benefit.
December 5, 1951
My Dear Cora,
I am returning the stone that I found in the cave as I am ill and do not have much time left on this earth. This stone has helped me realize my dream, even made me understand how the Egyptians built the pyramids, but I also know it must be returned to the staff from which I took it in order to achieve balance. I ask that you, or your son, Lawton, do this on my behalf as I am unable to.
Signed,
Edward L.
“Edward L.,” Curt repeated, looking to Tolen. “Edward Leedskalnin.”
“Leedskalnin died on December 7, 1951,” Tolen added. “He must have been on his deathbed when he sent this.”
“What are you, a walking encyclopedia?” Curt asked, looking at Tolen.
“Like many others, I have a certain fascination with the man’s accomplishments.”
“Who is Ed Leedskalnin?” Fawn asked.
“A Latvian immigrant who Lawton Sawyer and his mother met when Lawton was a child. He eventually ended up in Homestead, Florida, where he built an enigmatic structure known as Coral Castle between the mid-20s and mid-40s that still stands today,” Curt said.
“I’ve heard of Coral Castle,” Fawn remarked, somewhat amazed. “I figured that Cora must have been Lawton Sawyer’s mother. The term achieve balance jumped off the page at me. Lindsey McSweet used the phrase in her notes. So where was the stone she referenced? And what could this possibly have to do with all the mysterious deaths?”
It was the reference to the stone and a staff that had Curt particularly intrigued. He could tell the words had caught Tolen’s attention also. “Fawn, Ed took the stone from a stick, or staff, in some nearby caves in 1925. He thought it held value and, from what we learned, he was going to sell it. Yet according to this letter, he never did, and, in some manner, used it to build Coral Castle. Then, before he died, he mailed it to Cora Sawyer, asking her or Lawton to return it, for some reason.”
“But the letter never reached Cora or Lawton until Lawton dug it out of the dead-letter box on Friday,” Fawn remarked.
“Coincidentally, that’s when people started dying or going missing,” Tolen said.
“So where is the stone Ed returned?” Curt asked.
“Whoever murdered Lawton Sawyer, possibly members of the Cult of the End, surely have it in their possession now,” Tolen said.
“Let me get this straight,” Fawn said, tilting her head. “Are we to assume from Ed’s letter to Cora that he used a stone he found in a cave in this area to build Coral Castle? And it has some kind of otherworldly power?”
Tolen answered, “We still don’t know what we’re dealing with. We obviously can’t confirm anything about any stone at this time, but I have found evidence that suggests there was Egyptian occupation in this area in 1500 BCE and that they may have erected a pyramid. Is it just a coincidence, then, that Ed Leedskalnin mentions that he knows how the Egyptians built the pyramids?”
Fawn looked shellshocked. “An Egyptian pyramid? In Florida?”
Tolen quickly changed subjects. “Fawn, on your list of people in the sanctuary, do you have a Clarence Little?”
“No,” Fawn said eyeing the list, “should I?”
“He’s the man whose remains floated up through the springs on Friday.”
“The last two names of people in the sanctuary at the time the Turners fell through the floor are Sally Nordstrom, who is currently in Utah visiting her sister after the ordeal, and Barton Rifold. Rifold is an elderly gentleman who’s retired and spends most of his time as a volunteer at the Green Cove Springs Military Museum of Northeast Florida on State Road 16.”
****
Tolen walked into his backyard and out onto his dock, leaving Curt and Fawn in the house. He had been fascinated by Ed Leedskalnin’s Coral Castle ever since his dad had taken him to Homestead to see the structure when he was thirteen. To this day, Tolen occasionally referenced a strange 1936 pamphlet that he kept on his computer called A Book in Every Home, penned and published by Ed Leedskalnin. It was written from a personal point of view, where Ed gave some rather eccentric thoughts on three topics: Ed’s Sweet Sixteen, Domestic, and Political views.
He dialed Tiffany Bar.
“I was just about to call you. Thought you might be interested to know that an empty boat was found run aground in Palmo Cove not far from you. Equally interesting, it was a stolen boat, taken from a man in Valdosta, Georgia, just last week.”
“Any damage to the boat?”
“None, and no fingerprints. Someone appeared to have wiped it clean.” Tiffany paused. “Tolen, I’m going to put you on hold for a sec. I’m getting a call from the coroner down there.” There was a click, and the line went silent. Tolen paced the dock for several minutes before Tiffany Bar returned. “Tolen, remember when I said that the red fluid in the spring that accompanied Clarence Little’s organs wasn’t blood but a toxic fluid? The coroner has determined that it is, in fact, organic. And get this: his best guess is that it’s some sort of saliva. He wouldn’t come out and say it, but he suspects something devoured Clarence Little then spit him back up.”
Tolen considered the information. “Bar, I think we’re dealing with an organized group of people known as Cult of the End. See if you can track down anything about them and where they may be located.”
“Will do.”
“Lastly, I need you to utilize your decryption skills.”
“Oh, now this is something I can sink my teeth into. What do you have?”
“Are you familiar with Ed Leedskalnin?”
“Yes, somewhat. He single-handedly built a structure out of coral near Miami.”
“He published a pamphlet titled A Book in Every Home in 1936. Ed had stated publicly his reason for building Coral Castle was in dedication to his sweet 16 love, Agnes Scuffs, who left him at the altar in his home country of Latvia. Many people believe, though, that he had some ulterior motive, and that his reason may have been hidden in code in his writing, specifically in A Book in Every Home.”
“Do you believe it?”
“Hard to say,” Tolen said, “but the pamphlet is unusual in several respects. First, there are numerous typos. Second, Ed specifically left every other page in the book blank. He said it was so that the reader could document their own opinion to, and I quote, ‘see if you can do better.’ I’ve long held the belief that he embedded a code in his writing and was offering the reader space to make notes as they deciphered it. I’ve even tried a variety of algorithms, but I’ve never cracked i
t.”
“If a code exists, you mean,” Tiffany added.
“See what you can do, Bar.”
“Is that it? You have nothing more to go on?”
“Actually, I do have two words that may factor in. They are...”
CHAPTER 45
Fawn’s head was swimming with the information that Dr. Lohan and Samuel Tolen had shared. Whatever was going on, people were dying. Between the Cult of the End, the letter Lawton Sawyer obtained written by Ed Leedskalnin, Lindsey McSweet’s notes that appeared to align with what had occurred at the springs last Friday, the incredible—if not ludicrous— story that Dr. Lohan had conveyed about a Fish last summer, and an Egyptian pyramid that may have once stood on a rise on Bayard Point overlooking the St. Johns River, it was too much to comprehend. She felt like she needed to sit down with a notebook to gather her thoughts, but, at the moment, there was no time. Tolen had insisted on accompanying Fawn back to her motel room to pick up the single page of notes written by Lindsey McSweet. In the meantime, Dr. Curt Lohan would drive over to the military museum where Barton Rifold worked. Maybe the man could shed some light on what really happened last Friday in the sanctuary.
****
Curt drove his Mustang back through the center of town toward the southwest, turning left on State Road 16. He soon reached the area that had once been Lee Field during World War II. The largely vacant area was now a combination of widely dispersed businesses, including a golf course and barren office park complexes that had long since closed. He drove another half mile to what would have been the northern end of Lee Field until he saw a bright red sign on the right declaring Military Museum of Northeast Florida. He passed a grassy area with a large military amphibious landing craft, its huge steel door flipped open, and an assortment of mounted guns, boats, and jeeps. He turned right and parked at a fence before a large Quonset hut structure. A series of flags flew overhead, representing all branches of the military, soldiers wounded in action, and Old Glory. His was the only vehicle there.
He walked toward an open door, an entrance with sand bags stacked on either side. Curt had been here once before in the fall when the weather was mild. It never occurred to him that it might not be air conditioned. He stepped through onto the concrete floor. The warm air confirmed his suspicion. Thankfully, the churn of several large fans kept the air inside moving.
Curt was immediately greeted by a barrel-chested man with a full head of gray hair and a neatly trimmed mustache who appeared to be in his mid-sixties.
“Welcome to the museum,” the man greeted Curt with a broad smile as he patted his forehead with a handkerchief.
Curt suspected it had been a slow day, and the man welcomed the company. While the military museum, established only in the last decade, had an impressive display of artifacts from the various wars, from the American Revolution to the Gulf Wars, the space was limited. Its location on the outskirts of Green Cove Springs, a small town not known to draw tourists, meant the museum struggled to attract visitors, which is why everyone who worked there was a volunteer, usually ex-military.
“Have you ever been here before?” the man continued.
“Actually, I have,” Curt said as he looked about. He turned back to the man, “Mr. Barton Rifold?”
Rifold seemed surprised. “In the flesh. That is, unless you’re with the IRS.” Rifold let out a chortle that reverberated inside the building. “And who might you be, sir?”
“My name is Dr. Curt Lohan.”
“Doctor, huh?”
Curt nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions about last Friday in the church sanctuary.”
The gregarious laugh ceased, his smile vanished. “Terrible, terrible thing, what happened to the Turners. Jack was a fishing buddy of mine. I’d known him since he was a carpet crawler.”
“Can you tell me what you were doing right before the sinkhole appeared?”
“What’s your skin in this? Are you working with the church?”
“Actually,” Curt laughed, “I’m an archaeologist.” He felt foolish for not thinking of a cover story. He sure as hell couldn’t tell Rifold everything they’d uncovered.
“An archaeologist?”
“Yes,” a story came to him, “Reverend Reed asked me to talk to the folks in attendance. As tragic as the incident is, he wants to dedicate the sanctuary, when it’s restored, in the Turners’ name. The state requires archaeological examinations of every sinkhole to ensure nothing of historic value was lost inside. I’m questioning those in attendance to find out what else may have been lost.” The more he talked, the worse his cover story sounded. He wondered if Rifold would fall for it.
“You mean...other than the Turners?”
“Um...yes.”
“First off,” Rifold said, “that weren’t no sinkhole.”
Curt was perplexed. “How can you be sure?”
“Because sinkholes cave in. The ground drops. The tiles in that church floor bent upward, buckling in a straight line until each one finally broke, as if something was pushing through from underneath. I tried to tell those rescue workers it wasn’t no sinkhole, but they wouldn’t listen. Something evil was underneath the church, Dr. Lohan. I could feel it in my bones. I haven’t been back there since. I may never go back.”
“What were you doing right before the floor...came up?”
“I was in the back of the sanctuary killing time. My job was to deliver the food to the less fortunate once we got it all organized.”
“Did you see anything strange, anything unusual?”
Rifold gave a lopsided grin. “I was in a church, Doc, not a funhouse.”
“Do you know Lawton Sawyer?”
“Of course, he’s a long-time resident of Green Cove Springs, although not much of a church-going man, or much of a people-person either to be honest.” Rifold cocked his head. “It was surprising to see him in church that day.”
“Do you recall what he was doing?”
“Yeah, not helping us, that’s for sure,” he scoffed, running a finger over one side of his mustache. “He was sitting in a pew with a box going through some papers or something. I was killing time, like I said, so I went up to him to make casual conversation. He was holding a large, bulky envelope, and he got real defensive, like I was going to see whatever private thing he was doing. The man is on in years, and I think a bit unright in the head.”
“Do you remember him doing anything else?”
Rifold rubbed his chin in thought. “Let’s see. You know, I do remember one other thing. Just before the Turners fell into the earth, Sawyer held up something that caught the sunlight coming through the stained glass windows. It reflected a green light toward the back of the church like buckshot. I remember looking at my shirt and seeing a green spot on it from the reflection of whatever he was holding. Minutes later, all hell broke loose. I don’t remember seeing him again in the sanctuary.”
Curt heard a bizarre clicking sound that, at first, he thought was coming from one of the nearby oscillating fans. When Rifold cocked his head and his face screwed up, Curt knew the sound was foreign to the man.
Rifold looked around. “What in the world is that?”
The clicks continued, growing louder by the second. Curt looked around, searching for the source.
Curt suddenly realized it was coming from underneath their feet.
There was a tremendous surge, and the floor swelled beneath their feet. Curt was propelled into the air before he could react. His back slammed into the side wall, and he slid down it, landing hard on the floor. An ache ran the length of his body. He saw Rifold sprawled out on the ground on the other side of the splitting floor. A massive, black, cylindrical-shaped creature reared from the opening, spinning its head until its one, red, offset eye caught sight of Rifold. In a horrifying split second, the creature lunged at the portly man, its
maw snapping open then slamming shut. Rifold never had a chance. He didn’t even have a chance to scream. He was simply gone, swallowed whole. The creature tipped its head straight up, and Curt saw the ghastly form of Rifold slide down its throat.
Curt was stunned, his back pulsating in pain. Perspiration was streaming off his face. He was frozen in gut-wrenching horror.
The creature turned toward Curt and continued to look about the room. Curt remained still; his pulse screaming. He wanted to get up and run away, but his body refused, and, as the massive creature continued to survey the room, something told Curt remaining still was the best course of action. Shaking, he tried to temper his breathing and not make a sound. Slowly, he came under control. He was suddenly aware of how much hotter the air had become, and a rancid smell now engulfed the enclosure.
The black beast was huge. While somewhat snake-like, its head did not have the typical triangular shape of a snake. Instead, it was rounded, which made it no less menacing. The one red eye was off to the side of an elongated face. After swallowing Rifold, its mouth remained closed. A thin tongue periodically flicked, extending several feet, as though tasting the air.
The creature made one more complete revolution, eyeing the area, before it retracted into the large hole. The earth closed, and the ground filled in with a swishing sound. Pieces of the concrete floor remained scattered about.
Curt didn’t move for two minutes. He was so rattled by what he’d just experienced, he wasn’t even sure he was awake.
He slowly came to his senses, trying to deal with the reality of seeing Barton Rifold eaten by some sort of monster. Curt realized with chagrin that the clicking sound before the creature attacked was identical to the sound he had heard when his ex-wife, Lila Falls, had called him in a panic before she disappeared. Now he wondered if she met with the same fate.
Evil in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 2) Page 23