“Won’t the point let you drive it in without all that?” She tried not to sound impatient, but she wanted to keep things moving.
“’S nearly five meters high. Hold your horses. We just need to go a little ways,” the man said. “The point’ll let me stick it a little deeper and we can get it stable.”
The Shepherd had given coordinates for the placement of the stakes to her, Jaager, Mike and a few other minions, charging them with the overseeing of the laborers who seemed to view this as a way to make a few bucks off eccentric tourists, even if it meant working in a brewing storm. It meant putting up with being under a woman’s direction in the case of this one, Freya observed.
Once he’d sunk the post into place, she held it as he used a separate spade to move displaced earth back into the hole. Before it was completely stable, she adjusted the post’s face, making sure the symbol burned there was aimed toward the bay at the correct angle. She realized it was one of the marks they’d found in the old keep. It was good to see the perilous effort come to fruition even though she supervised this post only as a luck of the draw.
After a few seconds, the post was sturdy and in position.
“What’s next?” the burly man asked.
“A little farther up the rise,” she said, checking coordinates on her phone.
It wouldn’t be much longer.
Thirty-Three
“A caretaker just reported someone sinking a post in the ground near the mountain,” Rees said.
“What the fuck does that mean?” O’Donnell asked. “Putting up a fence?”
“That’s all you’ve got?” Bullfinch asked.
“We have people hustling that way,” Rees said. “No eyes-on yet.”
“That won’t be the only one,” Bullfinch said. “If we get a look I think we’ll see the symbols they’ve been collecting are etched into the posts.”
“Druids and trees?” O’Donnell asked.
“Something like that. There’s a history of the Druids using staffs with Ogham markings. If this knowledge traces back to some secret order of Druids, it makes sense they’d mimic other rituals and practices. These cultists, or whoever they are, are probably looking to tap into the energy of the Ley lines and their tributaries. If they think the serpent is under the sea, they’ll aim toward the bay and try to unlock whatever barrier’s been put in place.”
“How do you know this?” O’Donnell asked.
“Supposedly Rottman, the pulp writer, died in the Thirties trying to perform a ritual based on the research he used in his stories.”
“True?”
“He had a bad heart,” Bullfinch said, raising his voice. “Most of it’s been dismissed as a rumor that grew out of a story by a Rottman acolyte named Samuel Motes. It was written a short time before Rottman’s death and had a fictionalized Rottman figure utilizing sticks and energy to try and awaken some earth elemental or something like that in the Rottman universe of Ancients. Supposedly Rottman gave his blessings to the tale even though it killed him off.”
“So Motes wasn’t just making it up?” O’Donnell asked.
“They were longtime correspondents. Motes would never tell more, but people have searched Motes’ archives and files since he died, trying to locate letters from Rottman indicating what he was attempting or other details.”
“So these people are on the side of Croag Patrick trying to re-create something out of Weird Tales.”
“Technically something older than that,” Bullfinch said. “But not that different from the fiction. Evacuating this area might not be a bad idea. Whatever people you can get there at the moment.”
“We’ll see if the Coast Guard boats and more air support are handy,” Rees said. “And worry about looking insane later.”
“And those posts need to come down, Mr. Rees. Or some of them at least. The power stream needs to be interrupted.”
“I’ll relay the message.”
“Why would someone want this? If it’s real?” O’Donnell asked.
“There may be some excitement just in seeing if it will work,” Bullfinch said. “Or there may be some other desire for chaos.”
“Some kids build things with their Lego sets just to knock them down,” Rees said.
“We’ll know more when we get there,” Bullfinch said. “Hopefully before the Legos start to fall.”
“We might need to think about an exit plan,” Mike said into his cell. “And you guys might want to stay a little more under wraps since there’s going to be a wide audience out here. Things don’t work out, you might need a little distance.”
He stood on a stony path, watching a man in a blue uniform with a bright yellow jacket making his way toward him. He put the phone away and slid his hand to the small of his back, gripping his weapon there.
His charge, one of the younger laborers with a ruddy face and swept-back hair, was just getting his post into place. In spite of the wind, he could pick up the sounds of his exertion.
“Hello,” the uniformed man said. “Getting a bit blustery isn’t it?”
“Getting used to it out here on the coast,” Mike said.
The uniform stopped a few paces away from him and looked past at the workman. His lips tightened just a little, conveying disapproval.
“American?”
“Is it my haircut or my fashion sense?” Mike asked, letting his lips peel back in a broad smile.
“More the accent.”
He gave a nod toward the workman.
“Is that some kind of propaganda you’re putting up there?”
“It’s a religious symbol,” Mike said. “We’re pilgrims.”
“I’ve never seen a marking like that in a Catholic church,” the man said. “Reek Sunday we see a few flags, but they usually have crosses or angels on them.”
“We’re from an order that goes back to the older trappings,” Mike said, trying to improvise something that sounded reasonable. Should’ve paid more attention in Sunday School. Would’ve helped if it had been Catholic and not Methodist.”
“Everybody’s got issues with one pope or another, but I can’t let you be digging here, religious reasons or not. Don’t suppose you’re going to surprise me with a permit. Have you got your identification with you?”
“Passport do?” Mike asked, glancing back toward the workman who’d hesitated with the officer’s approached. He gave a twitch of his cheek, not quite a wink, to keep the guy going. Then he slipped the small blue binder from a left coat pocket and passed it over with a smile.
The officer gave a polite nod of acknowledgement and flipped the binder open, cupping a hand over it against the rain and wind, trying to focus on the grim thumbnail photo that made Mike look like a corpse.
“So where are you from in the stat—”
The question didn’t get past his lips. The butt of Mike’s weapon froze his words as it connected with the man’s skull just between the line of his cap and his ear. His eyes widened with the stun and shock, and then he slumped sideways.
Mike lowered himself and hit again as the man crumpled, and he readied his weapon in case the blow wasn’t enough. But the officer went to the ground, his face sagging against the stones, and his eyes glazed.
“Keep going,” Mike said to the workman.
When that didn’t produce any action, he gave the guy a look that got him moving again.
Then he took the hat that had spilled off the man’s head and rolled him slightly to get a grip on the edge of his yellow jacket. Keeping things moving might actually have just gotten a little easier.
He pulled out his cell and thumbed a contact. “Can I my get my special package over here?” he asked.
Malphas climbed into the back of the Hummer they had brought to the visitor center parking lot. The brothers waited there. They had decided after Mike’s call to stay out of sight, not be visible until the moment arrived.
“The placement is moving forward,” he said. “It will take a little while. The authorities are here
but not in force yet.”
“Our security chief reported to us,” Edward said. “He has the situation in hand at the moment and will keep people from bothering you. When will we know?”
“If it works? Almost immediately. The symbols are almost in place. With those, and the earth, celestial alignment isn’t as important. It’ll probably be wise to…”
Edward nodded. “Much as it pains me, we’ll need to start back to Dublin. There’s work we can do there if you’re successful, things we can get rolling.”
“Perhaps it is time for you to move then. Moving will get difficult if things work as we expect,” The Shepherd said. “Roads could close. I know you wanted to be on hand for the beginning, but…” he paused and drew in a deep breath. “I might not survive.”
“Understood. We have statements ready for the press. We’ll have our plan ready to roll out. There’ll be no reason to hold back.”
“Go now, back to the air strip. We don’t know if planes will be taking off after, either.”
“We can order our pilot to defy any instructions.”
“I’m sure you can, but there may be disruptions in fields we don’t even understand.”
They looked at each other and nodded.
“We’ll get out of here and wait for word.”
Edward extended a hand. “Good luck.”
A rare smile curled onto The Shepherd’s features. “I could not do this without you. We’ve come this far. Here’s hoping all our goals are met.”
“How are we doing?” Mike asked, cell pressed tight to his ear. He picked his way along the stony path having donned the uniform hat and coat which he’d closed over his suit. He looked official enough with the weather distracting from scrutiny.
“Mine’s in place,” Freya reported.
He clicked to another connection.
“Done,” came Jaager’s raspy voice, barely audible.
He clicked again and collected a similar response then another. He responded with an order to send the laborers away.
After the last check, he thumbed a disconnect, then the contact number for Malphas. The answer was almost less of a word than Jaager’s.
“I’ll get hunkered down then,” Mike said, looking around for a stable spot.
“No, please meet me at the coordinates I’m sending you. Five minutes.”
Mike’s first impulse was to remind Malphas that he worked for the Groom brothers and him, but it was the brothers who’d told him to give the old man what he needed.
He’d been with them through other eccentric pursuits that stretched far outside their more traditional endeavors like running their company and funding think tanks. Their involvement with this Ning snake-chunking group had come out of some obscure paper on the nature of belief generated at one of those egghead enclaves.
It had been aimed at illustrating how the Groom’s political agenda and ideas could be furthered among the masses, but the notion of a grand experiment had arisen as a joke that had gained traction. Then the brothers had grown almost delusional, in Mike’s opinion, based on what he’d heard about closed door meetings. He’d been outside, guarding the doors, but things trickled out.
The idea was about to play itself out, probably with negative results the way their most outlandish moves did, though he had to give them credit for some of the professorships they’d endowed and things they’d funded that had fueled public debate. He just had to give this all a little more time and manage to get out without winding up in custody.
He’d managed that before. Just had to do it again.
Then it’d be time for a vacation in Tahiti.
Thirty-Four
“You seeing anything?”
O’Donnell stretched against her seat harness to look past Bullfinch out his side of the chopper.
“Not on the inland side,” Bullfinch said into his mic. “Can we get a little lower?”
“Wind’s building and being a real bitch,” Ahlstrom said, but the craft dipped as he spoke. As the altitude dropped a little more, blasts pitched them more, giving O’Donnell’s stomach a flip.
She choked down bile and tried to focus.
“OK, on the bay side, look.” Bullfinch tapped the glass. “Northeast.”
O’Donnell spotted them, posts, not huge but definitely out of the ordinary. They were not in a straight line but scattered across a small area beginning near the base of the mountain and dappling the rugged landscape. They weren’t particularly close to each other. On the ground each probably looked like an isolated stick some pilgrim had put up.
In an area always filled with pilgrims, one post would just look like some believer’s personal flourish. Above, things looked more strategic. They were a series of relays.
“Look like anything from the rumors you created?” Bullfinch asked, looking toward Kaity, who was holding tight to her seat’s arms.
“Maybe. In what I was aware of, we kept some things vague.”
“What’s going on in those ruins?” O’Donnell said. “Not far from the visitor’s center.”
“Take us that way,” Bullfinch said.
“Your wish is my suicide mission,” Ahlstrom said.
Rees gave him a grim look, but the craft curved slightly and dropped even lower, the rotor’s buzz almost seeming to protest against a new crack of thunder.
“Is that a Garda officer?” O’Donnell asked.
“Helping the old man? Looks it, but he’s helping him onto that wall, not evacuating him.”
Indeed, it did. The uniformed man held the older man’s elbow, and the old man braced against a gnarled staff that had to be better than a meter in length, maybe a meter and a half.
A new wave of rain splashed the chopper’s windshield, and more wind picked up, rocking the craft even as it slashed the men below and drew Gaelic curses from Ahlstrom, whipping the old man’s long jacket like a sail.
“Set us down,” Rees said. “That’s gotta be who we’re looking for.”
As Bullfinch leaned down for the wrapped sword at his feet, Rees slid a hand beneath his coat for his sidearm.
O’Donnell did the same without taking her eyes off the scene below. Despite the weather, the decrease in altitude improved the view. The old man was headed toward a peak on the wall, the highest point of what must have been a chapel once. Perhaps it was supposed to be a point of concentrated energy.
The uniform stayed with him, just a few paces behind, arms raised with the palms out, not touching the old man but ready to catch or steady him as he found his spot and his footing. A lightning bolt split the charcoal clouds then, looking like the sky above him was ripping open. He wasn’t fazed.
He didn’t hesitate as the rain intensified in the next few seconds. He adjusted his footing, rotating slightly, positioning himself facing toward the bay, almost parallel to the sticks.
O’Donnell held her seat arms as the chopper dropped lower and she was jostled again.
“You OK?” she asked Kaity.
“Little woozy.”
“Hold tight and try to keep your breakfast down.”
Kaity nodded and closed her eyes, lips moving. Silent prayer.
The seat seemed ready to tear loose from its connections to the floorboard. Even with the storm O’Donnell would be glad to get outside and moving. Whatever the old bastard down there had planned, they’d put a stop to it, and conveniently, she saw another pair of figures ducking into the wind and moving in the direction of the wall--a woman and a tall man. Had to be the two they’d been pursuing. Time to answer for killing the soccer mom and their other damage.
The chopper banked farther with more Gaelic curses spewing, then it dipped near an open patch of grass, dropping lower and lower. Even as the jostling continued, O’Donnell unhooked her harness, grabbing what she could find for stability until they’d dropped to a bumpy touch of the earth.
“Thank you for flying Jimmy’s Miracle Airlines,” Ahlstrom said. “Keep us in mind for your next hurricane or monsoon.”
> O’Donnell had to grip a chair arm to avoid being pitched against the door, but she managed to hold on as did Bullfinch. Then they were stable and Rees was grabbing the chopper’s hatch handle.
The hatch burst open, letting in the wind’s howl along with an onslaught of rain, but they squinted against it and started moving, stepping out onto the ground, ducking though the rotor couldn’t reach them.
“Kaity, stay with the pilot,” O’Donnell ordered. Then, she looked toward the ruins and realized that was a bad idea. The man in the Garda uniform had stepped away from the ruins. He had a weapon in his hands, something with a large cylinder at its center.
“Out! Now!” O’Donnell shouted, leaning back into the chopper and snatching at Kaity’s harness buckle. She failed to unlatch it on the first try, and Kaity clawed at it as well, desperate to get it open as she strained against the harness straps.
Something outside roared louder than the wind, and a tuft of ground several meters away exploded. The chopper rattled and thrashed for a second, threatening to tilt over.
“That’s a grenade launcher,” O’Donnell said. “He’ll adjust the next one. Even with the wind, if he’s got the worst fragmentation rounds, he just has to get a little closer.”
Rees moved to the pilot’s door and jerked it wide, grabbing Ahlstrom’s arm. He pulled him free and away from the chopper.
“Go!” O’Donnell shouted at a hesitating Bullfinch. After a heartbeat, he grabbed the sword and ran. She slapped Kaity’s hand aside and levered the buckle open, flinging straps back and grabbing Kaity’s coat lapel.
Dragging her from the seat, she took her arm and jogged with her, putting as much distance between them and the aircraft as possible. As the uniformed man’s weapon roared again, she pulled Kaity to the ground, throwing a protective arm over her.
A second later, something soared in an arc toward the chopper, almost defying the wind.
In another few seconds, that something exploded, and bits of debris were hurled in all directions. He’d corrected well for the wind. What felt like a heavy breath of hot air swept over them.
Disciples of the Serpent: A Novel of the O.C.L.T. Page 15
