by R. D. Brady
The sign was exactly the same as the tattoo that Xavier Alejandro had seen on one of his attackers.
“Well, I’d say that’s a definite connection,” Henry said.
Laney stared at the photo. “Let’s set up a phone call. It’s time to see what they have to say.”
CHAPTER 45
It took Henry three days to arrange a phone conversation with Honu Keiki. Henry’s name tended to get doors opened, but getting in touch with Honu Keiki proved difficult even for him. He had to have over six individuals call the group and vouch for him. Laney knew he wasn’t used to that, but he took it in stride.
Laney, however, had begun debating whether it would be worth it to just drop in on the Honu Keiki and hope for the best, even with the long plane ride to get there. But finally, Henry called to say he’d arranged the call for the following morning.
Unfortunately, Laney woke to the news that there had been a new murder. They weren’t sure what the connection was yet, but the elements of the crime scene were familiar: altar, burned heart, lots of blood. This time the victim had been a man in his sixties. The body had been found in Ukrainian Pioneer Home, in the Astotin Lake Area of Elk Island National Park in Alberta, Canada. Jake immediately flew out to meet with Canadian officials and see what he could find out. The SIA were on the ground as well.
Jake said he’d call when he had something, but all morning, Laney’s phone was silent. She hoped the victim didn’t have any family; with the image of the Lachowskis still in her mind, she hated the idea of any other family going through that.
And she worried what it meant. This murder had come pretty fast on the heels of Sheila’s murder. Was the timetable speeding up? And if so, why? Laney had no answer for that. But she was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of everything.
She pushed those thoughts aside as she walked into Henry’s office. She needed to focus on the phone call with Honu Keiki. Because she had the impression one shot was all they were going to get.
“Any minute,” Henry said from his desk.
Laney nodded and made her way over to the couch near his desk. “Where do you want me?”
“I’ll set the call up at the conference table. Why don’t you sit next to me?”
“You sure it won’t be better if it’s just you?”
Henry shook his head. “No. If they’re matriarchal, as I believe they are, it would be beneficial if you were seen onscreen.”
“Matriarchal?” Laney asked. Interesting. And consistent with what Laney knew of Atlantis and Mu. Both were allegedly matriarchal societies.
“Yes. One thing I did manage to dig up on the group was that that they are followers of the Great Mother.”
“As in the cult of Magna Mater?” Laney took a seat.
Henry gave her a surprised look. “Yes. I’d never heard of it before this. What do you know of it?”
“The cult of Magna Mater, or the Great Mother, could be argued to be the world’s oldest religion,” Laney explained. “It predates Christianity. It’s even mentioned in the Old Testament by Ezekiel. Earliest mentions go back six thousand years. The cult flourished in ancient times although it eventually gave way to other religions. The Great Mother was adopted into Roman life as Cybele. In all, though, she is viewed as…” Laney paused.
Henry sat down next to her with a frown. “What?”
“Did you know the Great Mother was supposed to have helped develop medicines, and she healed both humans and supernatural beings? In fact, in the Western world, God is male, but in the ancient world she was female. She was the mother of all.”
Henry went pale. “You don’t think—”
“That the great mother was our actual mother? It does kind of fit, doesn’t it? And she was the one who led the fight against the Belial who resisted their influence.”
Laney thought back to the photos of the Honu Keiki. One had depicted a black cat sitting on a step. “The Great Mother was often depicted with her two guardians: a lion and a leopard.”
Henry paused for a moment. “Cats. That’s some coincidence.”
Is it? Laney thought about the rumors that the ancient civilizations had been ruled by women and not men. “Remember when we talked about the Iroquois?”
“You mean how Cayce said the noble class of the Iroquois were the pure Atlanteans?”
Laney nodded. “Exactly. I did some reading on Native American cultures after that.”
“Of course you did,” Henry muttered.
Laney shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep one night. And the power structure within Native American cultures actually inspired the women’s suffrage movement in the United States.”
“Seriously?”
Laney nodded. “Yes. In Native American cultures women had essentially equal status with men. In some ways, they were even elevated above men. For example, in the Mohawk clan, of which suffragette Matilda Gage was an adopted member, only women were able to nominate candidates for the position of chief. In fact, all the big names in the United States women’s suffrage movement—Gage, Stanton, Anthony—claimed Native American groups as their inspiration.”
And Mom may have ben the inspiration for all of it, Laney thought with a chill. Victoria had such a lasting influence, and no one even knew.
Henry reached for the screen to initiate the call. “It’s time. You ready?”
Laney nodded, trying to focus on the conversation ahead and not the weird connections her mother might or might not have to the world’s oldest religion and Native American culture.
“Okay, here we go.” Henry keyed in the number and hit send.
Laney was surprised at the nervousness that flowed through her. She reached up and wrapped her hand around the ring on the chain around her neck. It’s just a phone call. But she had the feeling this phone call was a lot more than that.
A few seconds later, a woman appeared on the screen. She looked to be in her early forties, with dark hair and eyes, and a Polynesian look. She inclined her head. “Mr. Rogan, I am Vanessa, head of security for Honu Keiki.” Laney didn’t expect a last name. She had learned that much of the group—they didn’t identify as families, and therefore no one had a last name.
Vanessa frowned as her eyes fell on Laney. “Who is this?”
“Dr. Laney McPhearson, my sister.”
Vanessa sized Laney up in a glance before nodding her head. “Dr. McPhearson. So what is this urgent phone call about?”
Laney leaned forward slightly. “We have reason to believe that a string of violent crimes may be connected in some way to Honu Keiki.”
Vanessa raised her eyebrows but showed no other interest. “Indeed. And what exactly is the basis of that belief?”
“One of the attackers had a tattoo on his arm. It was three lines encircled by vines behind a lotus flower,” Laney said.
Vanessa shrugged. “I don’t see what that has to do with us.”
“We know this is a symbol associated with your group,” Henry said.
“You are mistaken. We do not use symbols to identify ourselves.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “What exactly is the nature of the crimes these people have committed?”
Laney spoke carefully. “Murder.”
Vanessa’s eyes grew large. “Well, I’m sure you know we are a pacifist society. There has to my knowledge never been a murder in Honu.”
“There are aspects of the crime scene that refer back to ancient customs that we believe your group may be familiar with,” Laney said.
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of customs?”
“A purifying of the body with water and fire, and the removal of the heart of the victim.”
The woman was cool, but Laney caught a slight widening in her eyes. “I believe you are mistaken. The citizens of Honu Keiki, whether present or former, do not engage in such acts, as I have already said. It is an insult to even suggest it.”
“Could you at least provide us with a list of the people who have left your group?”
�
��No. We value their privacy even if they are no longer members of Honu Keiki.”
Henry nodded. “We understand. But if we could perhaps speak with the priestess, perhaps—”
“She does not speak with outsiders. But I will pass along your request.” The screen went black.
Laney sat back. “Well, she’s lovely.”
Henry gave a small laugh. “She won’t be winning any personality contests, but did you catch her reaction when she heard the description of the crime scenes?”
Laney nodded. “She tried very hard to make sure we didn’t see it.”
“So what do you think?”
Laney stared at the black screen for a moment. “I think Vanessa is not being entirely forthcoming. But I don’t think we can pin our hopes on them calling us back with information. We need to speak with one of the exiles.”
Henry nodded. “I’ll make it happen.”
CHAPTER 46
Malama Island, Hawaii
Aaliyah flipped through the papers in front of her. They were convened in the Council Room, the main room in the Temple of Mu. Large basalt blocks had been taken from the quarry and used to create the temple when her people had first arrived on Malama. Slits within the rock walls allowed light in. There were no adornments, and no electricity either—an homage to their ancestors’ ways of doing things.
Aaliyah looked around the high table. The Naacal—the seven priests that formed the ruling body of Honu Keiki—sat on either side of the table. They were composed of three women and three men, plus the priestess. All wore the white robes that marked them as Naacal. Gold bands were wrapped around their forearms, each ending with the face of a roaring cat, its teeth exposed.
The priestess sat at the head of the table, her guards behind her. The priestess had once been called Xia, but unlike some priestesses in the past, she would now answer only to her title. She had called this meeting because she had arranged to purchase another piece of land—this one in Australia. Ostensibly she needed the Naacal’s approval for such an action, but more and more, that approval seemed to be assumed.
Aaliyah observed the priestess. Her dark hair stood in a tall bun on top of her head, and her dark eyes were lined in heavy eyeliner. On anyone else, this would look cartoonish; but the priestess looked like Cleopatra come to life. The priestess was only two years younger than Aaliyah, but they had never been friends. The priestess initiated only those friendships that benefited her—though, Aaliyah thought, few seemed to be able to see that. She was good at getting people to believe they wanted to do what she wanted them to do.
The prior priestess, a woman named Adele, had been much respected. Under her tenure, the Naacal had adhered to the old ways: little governance, and much support for the people and their way of life. But then, fourteen years ago, she died unexpectedly, in an incident that still did not sit well with Aaliyah. According to a witness, Adele was last seen walking along the boardwalk. It was generally believed that she fell in, perhaps hitting her head and drowning. Her body washed up the next morning.
Xia was appointed as the new priestess a week later, and soon after, things had begun to change.
Aaliyah had been part of the Naacal since she turned twenty-three, eighteen years ago. There was only one member of the Naacal who had been there longer: Kai, Aaliyah’s closest friend. The rest of the Naacal had all been replaced within the last five years—an incredibly quick turnover. Two of the former members had been exiled and two had elected to step down. Aaliyah knew her days were numbered as well, although she wasn’t sure what form her exit would take.
Standing beside the priestess was Enzo. At twenty-two, he was the youngest member of the Naacal. His dark hair was neatly cut, his dark eyes focused on the priestess. “And that concludes my presentation,” he said. He took his seat, glancing at the priestess like a puppy looking for a treat.
Aaliyah tried to roll back her distaste. Enzo had been reporting on the additional lands he had arranged to purchase in Australia. How had they come to this? Buying land like it was board game? What would their ancestors think of this materialism?
The priestess smiled at Enzo like the prized pet he was. “Very good. Very good indeed.”
Enzo puffed up his rather small chest. Aaliyah kept her expression neutral, bowing her head to Enzo as if in accord. But inside, she seethed. The priestess had lined the Naacal with yes men who never questioned her, who took everything she said as if her words had been spoken by the Holy Mother herself.
At the head of the table, the sunlight glinted off the gold that draped the priestess’s arms. Jewelry had been passed down from generation to generation for as long as their history spanned. The bands on Aaliyah’s own arms were over five hundred years old, and each piece was lovingly crafted and bestowed with the affection of the people. But the bracelets on the priestess’s arms were not among these treasured gifts. These were new, shining in gold and diamonds. In private, the priestess had taken to flaunting her possessions—while at the same time, Aaliyah had seen some of their people going hungry, had seen the worn clothing they wore.
Aaliyah cast her eyes to the tabletop in case the anger and disgust in them gave her away.
A messenger slid up to the priestess and whispered in her ear. The priestess waved him away. “Send her in.”
The double doors at the back of the room were thrown open, and Vanessa strode across the room. Forty-nine years old, Vanessa had a body that been honed by years of training. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe bun and her dark eyes missed nothing.
Once again, Aaliyah tried to hide her loathing and her fear. Vanessa was head of the Guard. A Guard that had swelled to a size never seen in their history. They were often leaving the island for “missions” that no one knew the nature of. In the past, leaving the island was rare; now it was practically a weekly event.
And then there was the brutality. Guards would trip the poorest among them; would take fruit from merchants without a word; and all under the watchful and approving eye of Vanessa. And they had taken to wearing their weapons on their belt at all times. Another example of how far they had fallen.
Vanessa ignored the Naacal, her eyes only on the priestess. She bowed low. “Priestess.”
The priestess waved her hand at the Naacal without even looking at them. “Leave us.”
The priests stood and began to file out the door. Aaliyah took her time, being the last to leave.
Behind her, Vanessa began to speak. “The call was completed. They are worried about the murders.”
A chill ran through Aaliyah. Murders? She stopped outside the doors and stood to the side, out of view of the room. One of the other priests glanced back at her, so she opened her notebook as if checking for something.
“Will Chandler be a problem?” the priestess asked.
“No. They know nothing. They’re merely fishing,” Vanessa said.
“But the Chandler Group has a habit of being diligent in their projects.”
Vanessa nodded. “True. But they have been shut out. They have nothing that links us or any of our former members.”
“Very well. See to that other matter.”
“Yes, priestess.”
Aaliyah quickly hurried down the hall. Murders? And an outside group believed the Honu Keiki knew something about it? Aaliyah felt the weight of the knowledge on her. But she didn’t know what to do.
She stepped out of the temple and into the sunshine. She drank in the peace of her home. Her eyes strayed to the guards standing at attention on either side of the temple entrance.
But it’s not as peaceful as it once was.
CHAPTER 47
Addison, West Virginia
Laney walked down the hall of the SIA facility, accompanied only by Mustafa this time. After the call with the Honu Keiki, she had felt she was just spinning her wheels back at the estate. Henry had found an exile, but he wouldn’t be back in town until tomorrow. She hoped that maybe a visit with Cain might shake loose some additional inform
ation.
“How has he been?” she asked.
“Good. He’s much improved. He’s even been heard laughing. I think his new cell agrees with him.”
“Well, I suppose that’s good. And he’s been going outside?”
Mustafa nodded. “His cell adjoins a small courtyard which had been sealed off from the rest of the facility. It can only be entered from his cell, and the door is only opened to allow him entrance three times a day, depending on the weather.”
“And he will remain in this cell after the conversation today?”
“I believe that is the case, yes.”
“Good.” She paused. “If Matt tries to move him, will you contact me?”
Mustafa nodded slowly. “Yes.”
They turned a corner, and the same guard who had guarded the hallway to Cain’s last cell stood waiting.
Mustafa nodded at him. “Hanz.”
“Mustafa.” Hanz glanced at Laney. “The prisoner is in his courtyard.”
Laney hefted the bag she’d brought. “Great. Could you open the door?”
Hanz hesitated.
“Hanz,” Mustafa said quietly. “Dr. McPhearson asked you to open the door.”
Hanz nodded, his lips tight. Laney stepped through as soon as the door was open, and Hanz shut it quickly behind her.
The new cell was much brighter than the old one. It contained a bed and small divider to provide him privacy in the bathroom. A TV was embedded in one wall, covered in a clear plastic. On another wall a glass door stood open, and beyond it she could make out grass.
Laney stepped outside into a small courtyard, only about thirty square feet. A plastic table with two chairs stood in the middle. The furniture was made of a light plastic—she’d gotten Max a similar set when he was three. There were no metal parts—nothing, Laney noted, that Cain could use as a weapon.
Laney also noted the four snipers on the roof. Matt was taking no chances.
“Ah, Delaney. Lovely to see you again,” Cain said, stepping from the shade.
