Body Count Rise - The Eye Of Providence

by G. O. Grason

  Body Count Rise - The Eye Of Providence

  A Christine Halloway Thriller Book 5

  G.O. Grason

  Contents

  About the Author

  Stay In Touch

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Also by G.O. Grason

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  Copyright © 2021 by G.O. Grason

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About the Author

  G.O. Grason was born on Nov 26 1964, the 3rd child of English immigrants.

  Growing up in Ontario Canada, and having traveled extensively around the world, G.O. Grason has developed many friendships worldwide, enjoying learning about our many different cultures from customs to food to history.

  G.O. Grason is an International Award Winning author, who has been writing since early childhood.

  As a lover of suspense, your support is my inspiration. I am delighted and honoured to have you read my books, so we can step away from the everyday and continue to go on thrilling adventures together.

  Stay In Touch

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  My Website:

  http://facebook.com/gograsonbooks

  Prologue

  Detective Christine Halloway, over a pint of Budweiser and shot of bourbon, sat alone at the end of the bar. It was a stuffy, humid afternoon in New York. Summertime was in full effect and she had already told three guys to piss off, but not until after they bought her a drink. One of them got a little too close, so Christine batted him in the lip, drawing blood.

  “Hey!” the man shouted. He was in a tight fitting black suit with the top button of his dress shirt popped. “You play a little rough, don’t you? I like that.”

  The bartender eyed Christine at the end of the bar. She nodded at him, gesturing to him that she was OK. The man hovered around her like a dumb animal.

  “That your boyfriend?” the man nodded referencing the bartender. “He’s a little old for you, isn’t he?”

  “That’s the guy who pours my drinks,” Halloway said flatly. “Nice and easy.”

  “Looks to me like you need a guy to love you,” the guy began a little too nicely. “Mean and hard.”

  Halloway popped the guy in the balls in a flash. He let out low groan and fell to his knees. In a second, she was on her feet with the butterfly knife she kept in her boot flipped and ready.

  “Somebody call the cops!” the man screamed. “I’m a fund manager! I know people! This bitch is crazy!”

  He continued to demand that the bartender call the police. Every local in the place belly laughed and threw beer at the man still on the ground. Halloway flashed her badge, her emblem of position in society and said, “cops got here fast, what did you want to report?” The pervert knowing better, high-tailed it out of there without saying another word.

  When things calmed down, the bartender treated Christine to another round and asked her if she was ok. Christine gave him a grunt, and a nod brushing it off like it was no big deal. The bartender gave her a wink and let her be, as he moved down the bar to serve another patron.

  She wondered where Thompson was. What the hell was he doing? Christine hadn’t seen much of him lately. She would never say she missed him, but she did, in her own way.

  As she stared at the head of her fresh beer and grasped the shot glass of bourbon, the stool creaked underneath her thin frame. She hadn’t been working out lately on account of an injury and, even worse, she wasn’t motivated enough to do it. She tipped back the shot of bourbon. The burning in her throat brought her back to the crime scene of the Wild Center. She could still hear the yelling of Thompson and Lieutenant Baggins telling her to stop, and her undying motivation to get to the truth of whatever horror was still down there.

  “I don’t think I’m allowed to let you past” an officer tried to tell Halloway. She blew past him, knowing that they wouldn’t even try.

  “What the hell do you want me to do?” Christine heard him question, shouting to Thompson and Baggins over her shoulder. “She outranks me by like a million!”

  Halloway couldn’t help but smirk.

  In the cave, the unforgettable stench of burnt flesh still lingered in the air. Bats flitted in the darkened shadows of the soot caked walls, distressed that their home was being invaded by humans. The taste of ash was forming on her tongue, but as she ran deeper and deeper, to where little Harry, Thompson and her had almost failed and lost their lives, it seemed to thicken even more. It felt like running through a dense cloud, a formation of hate, of fear, and of devastation. Halloway came upon two forensic investigators. They didn’t even look up as she approached them. They were too focused on processing the crime scene.

  Halloway observed that in front of them laid Erics preserved body. His face was white and his body was rigid. His trusted sniper rifle had presumably been removed from the scene as it wasn’t there. There was only him.

  Halloway suddenly found her mind wondering to questions about who Eric and his sister were before they became the ruthless savages they died as. What happened to them? Who made them that way? What had they left so far behind to become what they died for?

  Would the same be said of Christine when the day came when she was lowered into the ground?

  “What’s the status ?” whispered Halloway to the forensics officers.

  “Take a look for yourself,” one of them muttered.

  Halloway looked over their shoulders and stifled the urge to gasp. There wasn’t an ounce of life in his body, but that didn’t mean that it couldn’t carry a message. She could make out that carved into Eric’s chest, were what appeared to be letters and a symbol that still seemed legible. Both of Erics eyes were completely gouged out of his sockets. His feet were bound at the ankles with a zip tie. His wrists were also tied, but behind his back. Erics lips were sewn shut with crude, black twine. Whoever did this to that bastard, wanted to send a strong message

  “How…” Halloway tried to say.

  “We have no idea,” the other forensic officer said in a weary, muffled tone. “This is how we found him in the rubble, he must have still been alive after this place collapsed.”

  “Can you make out what’s carved in his chest?” asked Halloway, still shocked at what was in front of her.

  “Fortunately, yes” said one of the officers opening up Erics shirt more with gloved hands. THERE WILL BE MORE

  The words were written in all caps. Underneath the bloody words was a symbol. Halloway recognized it immediately. She was about to discuss it with the two forensics officers, when Thompson and Baggins came up from behind. Immediately, Thompson choked and backed up.

  “I’m going to throw up,” he groaned.

  “This is what we’re up against,” Lieutenant Baggins said clapping his hand on Halloway’s shoulder. “Pure evil.”

  “I believe you,” said Halloway.

  “I thought Eric and Lena were the leaders of all of this.” Christine knelt down and looked at the Eye of Providence carved into his chest. “Now I know they were just a pawn in a much bigger game.”

  “What the hell is that?” Thompson managed to say wiping spittle from his quivering lips.

  “The Eye of Providence
is a symbol used in various religions. Obviously, it depicts an eye enclosed by a triangle and surrounded by rays of light, or glory. They are meant to represent the concept of divine providence, whereby the eye of God watches over humanity.” Detective Halloway stood up and let out a deep sigh. “Obviously God didn’t do this.”

  “Then who the hell did?” snapped Baggins.

  “Someone who thinks they are” said Halloway

  Chapter 1

  They usually woke early to train because that’s when the predators were the most desperate. After a night of hunting, if they hadn’t found any prey, the wolves and coyotes would not bed down until they could feed. That is why Christine’s father Apollo, a military veteran of Vietnam and then the CIA, trained in the morning: there was no telling when, how, or what would attack them. At fourteen years old, Christine knew only to obey her father. There were no rules outside of his.

  “If you want to survive,” Apollo would tell her. “You make your own.”

  During summer break, Apollo and Christine would travel to the mountains outside of New York, leaving family and everything they loved behind. Christine’s mother never put up a fight or argue with Apollo. There was no point. Apollo would call Christine’s mother weak, a city girl, someone that would never survive if things got bad. Christine’s mother knew he was right, besides she had to watch Christine’s brother Bobby who was too young to go with them. Even if Apollo had shown any love at all towards a boy that idolized him.

  They drove deep into the woods where there were no roads, stores, or people for that matter. It was isolated and desolate just the way her father liked it. Apollo built a small cabin all on his own atop an eagle’s nest rock that overlooked the entire valley. They would park at the bottom and hike the three-miles with all the supplies they could carry for the next three months. It took a full day but Christine knew never to complain. This was part of her training, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t be resentful.

  “Why don’t we drive up?” Christine made the mistake of asking the summer that changed her for good.

  Before Christine took another breath, the back of Apollo’s hand struck her in the mouth. Blood poured in between her gums and teeth. She attempted to scream in pain, but Apollo’s hands were already clasped around her head.

  “Shut up girl,” Apollo silently barked. “Pain gets you killed out here. The predators hear it, they smell it. Listen.”

  They listened to the crunch of leaves and the chatter of teeth. A symphony of whelps echoed through the trees. Then, a series of howls.

  Apollo took out one of two pistols and quietly handed it to Christine.

  “Drop the gear,” Apollo told her. “And run.”

  They ran as fast as they could when the howling intensified. Shrieking howls and barks sounded as if they were right behind them. Apollo spilt off from Christine. She instinctually started to follow him.

  “No!” Apollo ordered.

  Christine zig zagged through the trees and paused to catch her breath. This was a mistake. A wolf pounced on her from behind. Christine twisted and dodged the wolfs bite as it went for her neck. Her arms were pinned to the ground by the uber dog’s strength. She tried to move the pistol to shoot but she hesitated seeing the raw determination in its eyes. Christine, in that moment, was no match for the animal and finally, her will began to fade as the wolf, with its pale yellow endless eyes, reared back and went for the death strike. Three shots rang out and the wolf blew off of Christine’s body. Apollo loomed over her. Christine feared Apollo was about to put three bullets inside of her. Instead, he put out his hand and helped her up.”

  “I saw your hesitation. It would have cost you your life if I wasn’t here.”

  “It was was too powerful. There was nothing I could do.”

  Apollo brought his fist into the pit of Christine’s stomach. She gasped and fell to her knees. As she lay there on her side, choking for air, tears welling up in her eyes, Apollo knelt down. He ran his rough fingers through her angelic hair.

  “If you survive your childhood, you will discover the world is full of people more powerful than you. You will meet people with money more powerful than you, people with networks beyond your wildest dreams. You will come across evil so great, so deep, you yourself will even be tempted to join them. A part of you will want to. You know why?”

  Apollo looked into Christine’s eyes which were now growing into a furious rage.

  “That’s good,” Apollo told her. “Anger. Confusion. Revenge. All those things you can use against your enemies. They will use them against you.”

  Apollo stood and began to walk to the cabin. Christine listened to the crunch of his heavy boots in the leaves. The coyotes would be back. She did not have much time. As she struggled to stand, Apollo yelled something over his shoulder Christine would never forget.

  “The one thing that never works are excuses!”

  In the morning, they ran ten miles through the forest down to the river. After swimming across the rushing water and the rapids, they rested by the shore. Apollo, catching his breath, his skin tight and muscular in the morning sun, looked up at the side of the mountain.

  “How deep is the water in this area father?” Christine asked. “I could barely see the bottom.”

  “Very deep,” said Apollo. “I’ve never even touched the bottom.”

  Christine whistled. “Not even you?”

  Apollo smiled. “You shouldn’t be looking down when you’re swimming anyway. Always look ahead. That’s the only direction that matters.”

  “Ok father.”

  “You did well though. The rapids here are very strong. They will sweep five miles south without you ever letting you get to the shore. A true warrior could survive it. Anybody else, no.”

  Christine observed the scars on her arms, stomach, and legs. She felt a weird sense of pride about them. Other girls didn’t have them. They would tell the world she was special; that she was a survivor. She noticed Apollo staring up at mountain side.”

  “By the end of this summer, you will climb this to the top,” Apollo informed her. “Or you won’t.”

  Christine craned her neck at the vertical wall. Spikes and sharp nettles lined the stones. Birds’ nests with rotting eggs spotted the cracks. Some areas were completely flat without a single foot or hand hold. A vulture silhouette circled above, overwhelmed by the beating hot sun.

  For the rest of the summer, Christine woke at dawn to the sound of clattering pans and gunfire. She dropped to the cold dirt floor of the cabin and belted out one-hundred push-ups. Her sweat soaked into the dust, rocks, and twigs. Usually, as Apollo ate his breakfast of beans and eggs which they got from the three chickens they brought in with them, Christine would be outside doing an hour of ab exercises in the dewy morning as the sun began to peak over the hills.

  “Creating core strength is like building a solid foundation to a house,” Apollo advised. “You want all those walls of the foundation to be as strong as possible so that the rest of the house doesn’t collapse. It’s the same with the core muscles of the belly, sides, and lower back. Focusing only on making the front, your abs, very strong will ultimately leave you with a very weak core.”

  “Are my abs going to be strong enough to catch a bullet?” Christine joked one morning.

  “Stand up,” shouted Apollo.

  Before Christine could pop up, Apollo gave her a quick side punch to her stomach. Before, the wind would have instantly been knocked out of her and sent her to her knees. Tears would have taken her eyes and every fiber of her would want to attack. Yet, over every pain staking hour, through every blood boiling moment, Christine hardened her body and controlled her temper. Never in a million years would she beat Apollo. That summer, he was her master but she understood that was the only way to get to his level of expertise.

  Over the grueling weeks, she felt her body and soul become stronger, tighter, and more resilient. They practiced breathing exercises in the deep rapids. Trained with archery and
worked on hand-to-hand combat, knife work, and stealth. Eventually, she was able to do fifty pull-ups from the branch of a tree without stopping. Apollo made sure of that by having an arrow pointed right for her leg. Not once did she let him take a shot.

  “You want me to do what?” Christine asked With only a few more weeks of camp left, Apollo said to her

  “Your next test will be to infiltrate that den” Apollo said pointing, “and kill the coyote that’s in there in its sleep. You bring me the carcass or I pick your bones up after they are all through with you. Your choice.”

  “You want me to do what?” Christine asked “I can’t…” Christine began to say when Apollo thrust down a bowie knife between her fingers.

  Christine did not flinch.

  “I wouldn’t send you in there if you weren’t ready,” Apollo told her.

  Late in the night, covered in head to toe in black, Christine snuck in, slit the coyote’s neck from ear to ear clutching its mouth so it wouldn’t make a sound, and then dragged it back to camp.

  “You’re the only one you have to believe in to succeed,” Apollo told Christine. He embraced her, something Apollo rarely did. “You did well. Now, just one more undertaking.”

  Christine caught a sigh of frustrated exhaustion in her throat, but she knew Apollo felt it. He knew everything. There was no escaping his awareness.

  “After this daughter,” Apollo said. “You will no longer need my help. You will be superior to any policemen, agent, or solider on the battlefield. You will be the alpha and the omega of evil.”