End in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 3)

by Gary Williams

“I’m been dealing with some bad men with tattooed script underneath their hair. He’s not one of them, which makes me wonder what the hell he wanted with me.”

  “May have been a simple robbery.”

  “Perhaps, although I doubt it.” Curt rose. “Thanks for saving my life.” Curt shook Special Agent Johnsten’s hand once more.

  “So, Dr. Lohan, are you related to—”

  “You’re the FBI. If anyone should know, it should be you,” Curt said.

  “I do,” Johnsten said. “Just curious to see if you’d answer. Oh, Agent Bar mentioned you may have interacted with a group called the Cult of the End. Are these the men with the tattoos?”

  Curt nodded.

  “The FBI has a file on the Cult of the End. We’re also aware of a scroll rumored to be called the Scroll of Edict. A black market antiquities dealer on the German/Austrian border was killed four years ago. INTERPOL now believes the COTE may have murdered the dealer, his men, and his girlfriend to obtain the scroll. The COTE is led by a former archaeologist, Carr Nash. Nash’s parents were Oklahoma oil tycoons. He was an only child and inherited their wealth. That old money has made life easy for Nash. He got into archaeology for the love of it. His right-hand man is a mountain of a bloke named Jed Rassle. They have numbers, but no one knows what they’re trying to accomplish. Some have referred to them as a doomsday cult, but they don’t seem to follow the normal pattern. The doomsdayers generally are very public about what they believe is going to destroy the world…and when. The COTE operates in silence and has stayed out of trouble. They haven’t violated any laws that we know of. If they have, they’ve done a good job of not getting caught, so they’ve never been high on our radar. If you’re tangling with the cult, however, watch yourself.”

  “Thanks again,” Curt said. “Oh, do you know anything about Tolen’s condition?”

  “The same. They have him heavily sedated for the pain.”

  Curt noticed the genuine concern apparent in Special Agent Johnsten’s voice. “Are you two friends?”

  “Tolen and I met a few years ago on a rather interesting case. We’ve remained in touch ever since. When I heard about his shooting, I volunteered to come down here.” Johnsten pulled out his phone. “I’ll call someone to take our guy, here, into custody so I can get inside and assist the local authorities. Josette Laval is a trained killer; a former counterterrorist with the Premier Regiment Parachutiste d’Infanterie de Marine of the French Army. If she learns Tolen has survived, she’ll surely come after him again.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Sitting in his Mustang, Curt pulled out the letter addressed to Fawn. He called Bar.

  “What can I do for you, Dr. Lohan?”

  “Ms. Bar, can you give me the home and cell phone of Fawn Cortez-Roberson? I’ve got her address in Fernandina Beach on Amelia Island.”

  “Easiest request I’ve had all month.”

  Curt read the address from the envelope, and she provided the numbers. He programmed them into the phone.

  “Have you seen FBI Special Agent Johnsten? He should have arrived by now.”

  “Yeah, we just met. Someone attacked me, and thankfully Johnsten stepped in.”

  “Are you okay? Was it Laval?” Bar asked.

  “Yes, I am and, no, it wasn’t. It was a man, and there was no tattoo on the head so I don’t think it was one of the cult members, but I’m not sure. That’s why I wanted Fawn’s numbers. I want to call her to make sure she’s okay and remains vigilant. If it was one of the cult members and they came after me for whatever reason, they may also be after Fawn.”

  “I’ll check with Agent Johnsten, get the ID of the man who attacked you, and let you know what I find out. Oh, and I found the name of the tattoo artist that inked the script: Cary Ogden in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I hoped to talk to Mr. Ogden to see if he kept a record of his work, but I hit a dead end. Literally. Cary Ogden died in a motorcycle accident in January. No witnesses and the other driver fled the scene, but it appears to have been premeditated. I’m still researching the man’s online information, but I’m not hopeful I’ll find anything of value.”

  “Any luck searching the date of July 7th?”

  “No, not yet, but I haven’t given up.”

  Curt hung up from Bar and tried Fawn’s home phone. When it went unanswered, he called her cell, which also went unanswered. Curt left a brief message to call him immediately, stating she might be in danger.

  He hung up and reviewed the address on the letter again. His concern was growing for Fawn’s safety. His actions had put so many lives in jeopardy that he couldn’t bear the thought of someone else getting hurt.

  He started the car and drove out of the hospital parking lot, heading toward Fernandina Beach.

  CHAPTER 13

  John Footman parked in front of the home of Fawn Cortez-Roberson. A car was in the driveway, and through the open curtains he saw a female figure moving around inside. His orders were to kill her as quickly as possible and return to the camp.

  Footman, a linebacker in high school, opened the glove compartment and donned a pair of latex gloves. He preferred to do things with his hands and didn’t want to risk leaving prints behind.

  The front door to the house opened, and a woman stepped over the threshold onto the porch. Footman abruptly slid down in his seat, hoping to go undetected. Peering over the steering wheel, he watched her with renewed interest. This wasn’t just any woman. She was exceedingly attractive. He had never killed another human being, but watching her now, the thought was wildly invigorating, especially given that this woman was sexy as hell. He was going to enjoy this. He now hoped she wasn’t going anywhere. He preferred more than ever to do her in her own home.

  He watched as Fawn Cortez-Roberson stood on the front porch, head down as if she were in a trance. Her dark skin, brown hair with faint blonde streaks, and tantalizing figure had him aroused, and he was anxious to find out how hard she would fight before he crushed her larynx with his hands.

  C’mon, c’mon, go back inside. I’ve got a special delivery for you. Footman jumped when his cell phone went off. He awkwardly fished it from his pocket and saw the name on the screen: Carr Nash. He was probably pissed he hadn’t heard confirmation from Footman that the woman was dead. While Nash was unquestionably their leader, the anointed one who received messages regarding the God Tools from a higher power, the man had a temper and could be extremely difficult.

  “I’m at her house now. It’ll be done soon,” Footman answered, hoping to circumvent Nash’s anger.

  “No, do not kill her. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” he responded begrudgingly.

  “You are to stay there and watch her. If she goes anywhere, follow her and call me. Do not lose track of her, but tail her discreetly. She can’t know that she is being followed.”

  While Nash spoke, Footman watched the woman. She strolled to one side of the porch, turned, and headed to the other, as if deep in thought. She was holding a tumbler with a dark fluid. She took a sip, brushing her hair back over her right ear. She had a femininity that was unrivaled. God, she’s hot.

  “Footman, are you listening?”

  “I understand your instructions.”

  CHAPTER 14

  It took Curt nearly an hour to make the drive north to the coastal town of Fernandina Beach on Amelia Island. He repeatedly called Fawn on both her home and cell phones without an answer. He drove faster, his concern for her wellbeing rising.

  As Curt crested the Thomas J. Shave Bridge that connected the Florida mainland to Amelia Island, his cell phone rang. The screen displayed a phone number he didn’t recognize.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Lohan, this is Special Agent Johnsten. I’ve had a chance to talk to the bloke who attacked you, and although he wouldn’t admit it, I do believe he’s part of the cult you’ve been dealing with. After some persuasion, he described a woman he had seen recently who fits the description of Josette Laval. Would you like for me to
call in some agents to tag along with you?”

  The idea of having support from the FBI was extremely appealing given that he had been targeted by the Cult of the End for whatever reason. On the other hand, they would never believe his story and would likely hinder his efforts. Samuel Tolen had been the exception to the normal government agents Curt had dealt with in the past. He had readily believed the bizarre accounts of what he and Scott had experienced without being offered much proof. He doubted the FBI would be so understanding of things that not only bordered on the paranormal but were full-scale supernatural. Hell, Curt was still having a hard time believing it himself. He couldn’t risk involving others who would slow him down. Twenty hours had already passed since Scott and Cody had entered Eden. He had to find the third Tool and get them out of there. “I appreciate the offer, Agent Johnsten, but I’ll be okay.”

  “What exactly are they after, mate?”

  “I wish I knew,” Curt said.

  He hung up. Good question. Why did they come after me? Do they think I have the third God Tool? If so, at least it meant they hadn’t found it yet.

  He reached Fawn’s street. The road was wide enough to accommodate a string of cars parked along the right side. Fawn lived in the historic district of Fernandina Beach where neighborhoods were filled with antebellum homes.

  Curt arrived at Fawn’s house. There was a single car parked in her driveway. He pulled in, exited the car, and knocked on the front door.

  It took some time for the door to be opened. Fawn rubbed her eyes, as if she had just awakened. She was no longer wearing the shoulder sling. Curt expected her to be surprised by his appearance at her door, but she seemed indifferent.

  “Fawn, how are you doing?”

  She acted annoyed and didn’t immediately answer. Her eyes were bloodshot. “I lost my husband, how do you think I feel?”

  “Can I come in?”

  There was a moment of hesitation before she took a slow step back and opened the door wider. It was not the warmest invitation, but then again, the woman was in mourning. Curt stepped inside. She closed the door and led them to a living room. Fawn took a seat on the couch; Curt sat in a chair nearby. A bottle of wine sat on the coffee table in front of Fawn, and next to it was a small, half-full glass of Merlot. As soon as she sat, she took a sip and stared down at the table. “Did you find out who shot at us? Who killed…” she swallowed hard, “who killed Mike?”

  On the drive over, he questioned if he should relay the information Bar had told him. He had decided that, if he were in Fawn’s situation, he would want to know who and why. Curt nodded. “Yes, a woman. Her name is Josette Laval.”

  “Why did she do it?”

  “She was after Agent Tolen. Something about a vendetta. I think you and Mike were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Did she kill Tolen, too?”

  “She tried. He survived, but he’s pretty banged up.”

  “How can I find this woman?” Fawn asked through gritted teeth.

  “I think she might have linked up with the Cult of the End, the COTE. If I can ever get a bead on the location of the third God Tool, I suspect I may cross paths with her.”

  “Then I’m going with you,” Fawn said.

  “Fawn, you’re pregnant. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Besides,” Curt said, running a hand over his stubble of brown hair, “I’m out of leads. I don’t have a clue where to look. The only thing that seems to be certain based on the proximity of the first two Tools, is that the third must be located somewhere in Northeast Florida. Tolen’s assistant and I also figured out that the first two God Tools—the Fish and the Staff—were both made accessible on July 7th of last year. She’s checking for any news stories from that day, but it’s the proverbial needle in a haystack.”

  Neither spoke. The room fell deathly quiet. Fawn’s anguish was palpable.

  Absently, she picked up a book of matches and studied the writing on the cover. “Andrew’s Capital Grill & Bar: first date Mike and I ever went on in Tallahassee.”

  Curt glanced to the side table where the answering machine light was pulsing.

  Fawn read his thoughts. “My father in Tallahassee. He’s called six or seven times. He must have heard of the accident. I can’t talk to him right now.”

  Curt nodded his understanding. Again, silence prevailed.

  As much as he hated to bring it up given her frail mental condition, he had no choice. “Fawn, as I was leaving the hospital a short while ago, I was attacked by a COTE member. He was there to kill me. I have no idea why.”

  She looked up at him as if to ask if he was okay, but then abandoned the effort.

  “I thought you should know in case they come after you for whatever reason.”

  Fawn was unfazed by what he told her. Instead, she took another sip of wine. “Let ‘em.”

  Curt was momentarily taken aback by her comment. He remembered the letter. “Oh, and this is for you.” Curt removed the crumpled, dirty envelope from his pocket. His voice softened, “It was found in the wreckage.”

  Fawn’s gaze turned inquisitive. “Mike must have been bringing it to me.” She placed the book of matches in her pants pocket and took the letter from Curt’s outstretched hand.

  Curt noticed a flash of familiarity as she focused on the face of the envelope.

  “This is…this is Lindsey McSweet’s handwriting. This could be another clue…another stanza from the Scroll of Edict.”

  Fawn tore open the letter and removed a single folded sheet of paper. Curt listened intently as she read it aloud:

  “Once beside the yellow orbs,

  The third Tool now rests inside a fortification.

  The long blade is locked by four black stones,

  Found within the torturing rock.”

  Curt’s optimism plummeted. While it did appear to be the stanza dealing with the third God Tool, the text was far too vague to draw any conclusions.

  “Sounds like the third Tool is a knife of some sort,” Fawn remarked.

  “Yes, but it does us no good. A fortification could refer to practically any structure. Is there more?”

  Fawn flipped the paper and then turned it back over. “No, that’s all. Just the one stanza.”

  Curt rose. “May I?”

  Fawn handed it to him.

  Curt read the handwritten stanza silently and began to pace back and forth. The good news was that the wording was so vague the COTE might also be struggling to interpret it. “Okay, let’s assume fortification means an existing military fortress of some kind, and let’s also assume it’s not referring to a present-day garrison that’s still in use but, instead, to a historical fort. In the vicinity, there’s Castillo de San Marcos and Fort Matanzas in St. Augustine, Fort Frederica on St. Simons Island in Georgia, and Fort Clinch right here on Amelia Island. We’ll rule out Fort Caroline, since it’s never been discovered, and what’s there now is a full-scale rendering of the original 1565 earthen fort.” Curt focused on Fawn. She was staring at him wide-eyed as if she had some revelation. “What is it, Fawn?”

  “Read the third line of text again.”

  “The long blade is locked by four black stones.”

  Fawn stared at the tumbler before her and pushed the glass away. She raised her eyes to Curt. “I know where it is. I know where the third God Tool is hidden.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Carr Nash asked Laval to join him for a drive. He told Rassle and the others they would be back soon. They loaded in, and Nash headed to the highway. A short time later, they traversed the Shands Bridge, leaving the Green Cove Springs area for the northeast side of the St. Johns River.

  “Where are we going?” Laval asked. She sensed he wanted to talk to her in private, away from the camp.

  “I want to show you something.”

  She licked her lips. “I may want to show you something, too. Killing Tolen still has my adrenaline pumping.”

  “Business first,” Nash said stoically.


  She nodded. “I agree.” Now she was on alert. Nash had been upfront with her when they’d first formed their alliance. He had wanted Tolen out of the way. In return, he would involve her in their endeavors. She had held up her end of the bargain, which had been easy. The other stuff Nash had spewed seemed like science fiction, yet she had gone along for the ride. Some weird shit had gone down in the Green Cove Springs area, and if even a shred of truth could be found in what Nash had told her, she would see it through to the end, although his behavior was a bit too secretive for her comfort. She had a small pistol tucked in the back of her jeans. If things got out of hand, she was prepared.

  Nash took State Road 13 south. Eventually he drove onto an obscure dirt path with a battered street sign that read Bison Road. The rural path curved through the woods until they reached a single-story, cinderblock structure cradled by tall grass and weeds. The building was windowless with a single metal door. Nash pulled up to it, and parked.

  “What is this place?” Laval remained on guard. It was the perfect spot for an ambush if Nash was trying to get rid of her. For his sake, he better not try anything stupid, or she would end him.

  “I told you. I want to show you something.”

  They exited the car together, and Laval checked to make sure her pistol was secured in the waistband of her pants.

  “Relax,” Nash said, leading her to the metal door. “There’s nothing to worry about here.”

  Trust was not in her nature, even if they had an agreement. Nash turned the handle to the metal door, and it popped open.

  Not a very secure building, she thought. She watched Nash enter and pulled her pistol, allowing it to hang by her side. Once Nash was inside, she pushed through quickly.

  The building was empty. Unfinished inside, it was nothing more than a cement floor and cinderblock walls. A bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling in the middle of the large room, which she judged to be forty-by-sixty feet. The trapped air was sweltering.