by D C Young
“That is why we need to call in Bjorn and Veronica,” Rennie said. He’d followed my train of thought and was already in the process of calling the two watchers to them. It took only a moment for the communication to reach them and for them to appear in Rennie’s office.
Sam had made use of Bjorn and Veronica on numerous occasions in her investigations, because they were able to allow her to accomplish certain things without giving away her cover. In the case before her, where she might have acted on her own in secrecy, the two were made use of because of the speed with which they could carry out the assignment given them.
They were tasked with trying to trail any connection associated with Stolas, as much to verify that the jinni had been summoned and was or had been in the area. If so, was he connected to humans who were involved in some sort of sinister child trafficking operation, which might have targeted Justine Edwards, given the status of her father?
The two hurried on their way to carry out the task given to them and I sat back in the leather bound chair in Rennie’s office wondering if I was about ready to try out a tumbler or two of Rennie’s teatime remedy.
Chapter Eight
“We can confirm that Justine was being stalked and targeted by Stolas,” Veronica told me. She and Bjorn had appeared in my small office at the back of the house in the early morning hours of Saturday morning. “What do you know about Stolas?”
“What little bit Rennie told me,” I responded, giving a quick summary of the role of Stolas among the jinn. “How is he connected to this? What would he want with Justine?”
Bjorn answered that question very directly. “She was marked for a sacrifice.”
“Why was she marked for a sacrifice?” I asked.
“We’re unclear about that,” he replied. “We know who did the sacrificing and we have a location as to where it took place, but that is about all we know.”
“You’ve heard of Bohemian Grove, right?” Veronica began.
“Yes,” I answered. I knew about Bohemian Grove. “They have an owl as their mascot. Though I have not witnessed it first hand, there are rumors that they have sacrificed children before the giant owl statue. Are you telling me that Justine was a Bohemian Grove sacrifice?”
“No,” Veronica replied. “I was just using that as a point of reference. Justine’s sacrifice, if that is what really happened, and we suspect it was, was for another cause and by a different group, though they might be connected in some way.”
“What other group?” I asked.
“The Knights Templar,” Bjorn jumped in.
“The Knights Templar? That’s just nuts. What would the Knights Templar have to do with this and why?”
“We don’t have those answers,” Bjorn responded. “We’ll keep digging.”
“My guess would be that Senator Edwards might be a member of the Knights Templar,” Veronica commented.
“So, why sacrifice his daughter? Did he break their rules or not follow orders or do something bad?”
“We don’t know the answer to that yet,” Veronica replied. “Should we keep digging?”
“Yes. Get me whatever you can,” I responded. “Before you go, where was she sacrificed?”
“You’ll need to go to Aspendell,” Veronica began. “On the way out of Aspendell toward Sabrina Lake, you will find a road leading off to your right. Follow that road until it comes to an end at a camp ground. Go south and a little west, deep into the woods and you will find a small clearing in an aspen grove.”
The two disappeared from my office and considered the information I had. The Knights Templar had originated out of the Knights of the Temple of Solomon, thus the connection to Solomon and to the jinni, Stolas. By taking on the form of the owl and stalking Justine, Stolas had played the role of a harbinger. Justine Edwards would have vanished entirely had the ATM camera not happened to pick up the dimmest of shadows and my vampire vision had not happened to see it. Did the Knights Templar kidnap children for sacrifices? That didn’t seem logical. From what I understood, the Knights Templar was made up of men who could not afford to get their hands dirty. So, they must have had someone else do the dirty work for them. The bigger question was why.
Was Edwards a member of the Knights Templar? Was that why the abduction was being kept secret? Did he know who had really taken her and did not want to be connected? Had he been ordered to remain silent and cover up the abduction of his own daughter? Was he being punished or promoted or something?
My best chance of finding some sort of clue that would connect all of it together was to take a trip to Aspendell and to the site where the sacrifice had taken place. I would kick around a little bit, talk to people around the area who might have seen something or who might know something about what goes on there. If I do that, then I need to drive out there and look as normal as possible in order to avoid suspicion. I pulled up a map on the computer in my office and studied the route. It was going to be about a 200 mile drive and a very long day. I sighed heavily, knowing that it would be best to get started right away and dreading making the drive. I glanced at the clock. Sledge and another of his biker friends were coming by to pick up the kids and take them to Elsinore at 6:00 a.m. That meant that I had to wait about two more hours before waking them up. I decided to spend that time making a much more careful examination of Senator Edwards. Maybe there were answers to my questions to be found somewhere in his history or recent actions.
The time passed quickly while I was becoming a great deal more familiar with Senator Edwards. Though nothing major had jumped out at me, I suspected that most of what was published or out in the open for public display was white washed clean. It was highly likely that someone on the senator’s staff, perhaps a whole team, kept a very close eye on social media and other outlets which might allow any dirt on the senator to rise to the surface. I was deep into reading an account of a particular project which the senator was involved in outside of Fresno, when I heard soft footsteps and turned to see Anthony standing in my office rubbing his eyes.
“Honey, what are you doing up?” I asked.
“It’s 5:30, Mom,” he replied. “You said you were going to wake us up at 5:00.”
“Oh, shit, I did say that,” I said, turning away from the computer in a panic. “I better wake up Tammy.”
“I already woke her up,” Anthony replied. “She’s in the shower.”
As he spoke, I realized that the shower was running. I had been so intent on what I was doing that I had completely blanked out everything else.
“Okay, well, I guess you’ll want some breakfast then?” I said, passing through the door and heading toward the kitchen.
“You don’t need to, Mom,” Anthony said. “Sledge promised us waffles at a truck stop somewhere on the five on our way out.”
“Well, then, do I need to help you get your stuff together?”
“No,” he replied. “I’m ready to go.”
My son was pretty efficient. I already knew that. He was something of a pro at getting ready to go camping and other outdoorsy stuff. I knew that Tammy would be different, so I started toward her room. “I’ll get Tammy’s stuff together then.”
“Already done,” Anthony reported. “I helped her get ready last night.”
“So, basically, there is nothing for me to do.”
“Basically.”
Anthony and Tammy were packed, ready and waiting when we heard the throaty rumble of two Harleys with their tuned pipes come up the street, turn into our driveway and cut off. My children were carrying their stuff out the front door before Sledge and his friend Spider had even thrown their legs over their bikes to dismount. I followed them out the door with a broad smile on my face. Their eagerness was catchy and I was considering taking on the same attitude about my own road trip, but that was about as far as it went. I had a difficult day ahead of me and it was likely to come to a very unpleasant end.
Chapter Nine
The drive to Aspendell wasn’t as bad as I thought it
would be. I would have preferred to arrive there in a different manner; like teleporting, but to do what I had to do, keeping a low profile was important. For me to just show up in a small town and start asking questions would freak people out and I’d get nowhere.
I arrived in Aspendell about noon and was pretty surprised at the wide selection of restaurants lining the highway leading through town. I wasn’t hungry for obvious reasons and wasn’t looking for a place to eat, but I knew that in order to talk to locals and appear normal, I needed to find a place where the locals gathered. In my mind, I had conjured up walking into a greasy spoon diner, finding a chatty waitress and hearing all sorts of gossip. I wasn’t seeing a diner on either side of the street. Welcome to the 21st century, Sam, I told myself, laughing out loud as I continued to drive and look for the next best thing to a diner. Basically, any sort of sit-down restaurant which looked like locals might hang out there. I found one, with a still functional drive-in motel of yesteryear attached to it, The Jawbone Inn. I parked next to a late 80s model Ford, which had to be a local vehicle, because the thing probably wouldn’t be able to travel very far outside the city limits without breaking down.
I was definitely in the right place. The décor, though modernized, was something like a local museum. It still had the old diner-style booths, but I could tell that the upholstery was much newer and gave something of a more modern look to the place. I spied a table toward the back which was meant for two or maybe three persons and made straight for it. As I passed through the restaurant, nearly every eye in the room scanned me and made mental notes that I was not a local, but there was no hostility in their looks. Several of them smiled and said hello. The friendliness of small towns hadn’t completely died out after all.
My waitress, Sylvia, was a regular girl, probably barely out of her teens and working for enough money to get out of town. I ordered a medium rare burger and the works. Thanks to a potion I had been taking, I could eat regular food and appear normal, but not with the same pleasure eating had always held before. Essentially, the food was mostly flavorless and hardly satisfying, but I had to keep up airs. As the waitress was clearing my table, I asked about the campground out of town, hoping to open up a conversation.
“It’s not too bad,” Sylvia replied. “Not a lot of people there during the week, since we’re sort of out of season right now. The weekends, especially three day weekends, it fills up pretty fast, but I haven’t seen a lot of people coming through this weekend. It was reserved last weekend and was completely full until about Wednesday or Thursday; some hi-brow group out of Orange County. There may still be a few of them hanging around, but I doubt it.”
“Great,” I smiled. I decided to see if I could get any more information. “Just out of curiosity, what was the group that reserved it?”
“I don’t really know,” she replied. “About all I got as far as what they were was that they were hi-brow folks from Orange County. The guy that tends to the campground, you know cleans up and empties the garbage and what not, he told me that. He’s sitting right over there in that first booth. He comes in and sits there twice a day, breakfast and lunch, and he’s been doing that since I was a little girl. He drives that old Ford out front.”
I smiled and nodded, soaking in the information and wondering how to approach the man. If something strange went on in the woods near that campground outside of town, he probably knew about it. Getting him to talk to a total stranger about it was probably a different prospect altogether.
“You can talk to him if you want,” Sylvia suggested. “He likes to talk. I’ll introduce you if you want me to.”
I certainly wasn’t going to pass up that opportunity, but I needed a minute to figure out how I was going to approach him and what I was going to say. I couldn’t just go up and ask him if the Knights Templar brought children up to their own miniature Bohemian grove in order to sacrifice them.
“Sure,” I replied. “Give me a minute to visit the ladies room and then you can introduce me on my way out.”
“I wouldn’t spend a whole lot of time in there,” she suggested. “He’ll probably leave in about 5 minutes unless someone else happens to stall him for a minute.”
“Do you know someone who might do me that favor?” I asked with a healthy grin while I slipped a twenty-dollar tip onto the table and turned toward the opening leading to the restrooms, which was very close to my table.
“I just might,” she replied with a wink.
The restroom was just a way to buy a little time and not appear to be too eager to Sylvia. Though I had laid out my plan almost as soon as I had closed the door behind me, I took my time and played the role like I was really using the facility. About all I did was wash my hands. I came out after what I considered to be the right amount of time, caught Sylvia’s eye and moved toward the exit where she joined me and drew me aside to Jack’s table.
“Jack,” she said. “The lady was asking about North Point. I figured you were the best person for her to talk to.”
“Sure,” he said. “Have a seat…”
“Samantha, but most people call me Sam.”
“Alright, Sam, I’m Jack. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” I was happy that he didn’t try to take my hand. He just waved me to sit down in the booth opposite him. “I’ve been cleaning up out at North Point and several of the other grounds since about 1981. I know it much too well I’m afraid. Bought that old Ford you parked next to out there.”
He was pretty observant. He’d seen me drive up and park. He was exactly the sort of man I wanted to talk to, but not in the restaurant. I needed to get him out of the restaurant. I tried the easy way first.
“I want a really good camping spot.” I smiled broadly and turned my charm up a notch. “A man like you probably knows exactly the right one.”
“There are a lot of good spots,” he began. He launched into giving me a list of numbers and attributes of each spot. That’s not what I wanted.
Plan B time, I told myself. I dropped a mental suggestion into his head.
“Hey, you know what? I was just about to head out there. I can take you right to the best spot, if you’re ready to head out that way.”
That’s more like it. It would be much better to interview him in private.
“Sure, I’m ready to go right now,” I replied.
Chapter Ten
I followed the old Ford out of town toward Lake Sabrina. It turned to the right a little over a mile out of town and we wound our way over a low ridge on a well-kept dirt road. We crossed over a small Creek and bypassed a road with a sign announcing the Mt. Emerson Trail Head. About a half hour further along, another sign appeared announcing our arrival at North Point Campground. I followed the old Ford around the circle, seeing that several campsites were already occupied, but that there were plenty of vacancies to choose from. The old Ford pulled up in front of one of them and stopped. I parked behind him and got out.
“This one, in my opinion, is the best one of the lot,” he said, coming toward me. “The tent and fire pit are set up about right. Given the prevailing wind direction, it keeps the smoke out of your eyes and out of your tent. You’re not far from the showers and toilets, but far enough so you don’t have to listen to the other campers coming and going all night. I can help you set up your tent if you like.”
I hadn’t brought a tent. I wasn’t planning on spending the night there, but I’d gotten Jack right where I wanted him so that I could ask him some questions in a more private setting.
“That’s okay,” I responded. “It’s pretty easy to set up, one of those dome types. I can set it up in about five minutes.”
“Suit yourself,” he replied. “I’ll fill out your registration and drop your fee in the box up front as I go out.”
“That would be great,” I beamed. “Could I ask you some questions before you go?”
“Sure,” he said. “I know plenty about what’s around here.”
“A friend of mine said that there is a cle
aring in an aspen grove to the south of here somewhere.” I intentionally pointed north as I spoke, hoping that he would see that I was somewhat ignorant and be more eager to help me out.
“Well, south is that direction,” he chuckled, pointing in the direction opposite of where I pointed. “There is a spot out that away. In fact, if you head out behind your camp site about twenty yards or so, you’ll come across the trail leading to it.”
“She said she and her family love to go there and spend a lot of time picnicking and hanging out in the shade of the aspens.” I lowered the tone of my voice and changed my expression to one that was a bit more serious. “She used to, anyway, but she told me something about that grove that scared her and her family has never gone back.”
I thought I saw a reaction in his eyes, but he covered it up quickly before he spoke. “What sort of something?”
“It’s silly, really.” I drug a toe in the dirt and looked down at it, avoiding his eyes. “Ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” he laughed. “Surely you don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Of course I don’t,” I responded with an uncomfortable laugh of my own. “My friend does, though.”
“Well, I have heard some rumors,” he replied. “Someone in my position hears a lot of rumors.”
“I suppose you do,” I replied. It was time to drop another mental suggestion so that he would tell me about those rumors.
“In fact,” he said, glancing left and right over each shoulder before he continued in a grave tone. “I suspect that the folks who were here last weekend and earlier in the week provided a new ghost to the collection.”
“What do you mean by that?” Interrogation was so simple whenever you could control the mind of the person you were interrogating. Well, mostly, anyway. It didn’t always work. It hadn’t worked all that well with William Forrester. I pushed the memory of what I had done to him out of my mind and maintained my focus.
