by Vince Milam
“I’m sure it is, sir. On this end, all is going fine. The three of us are traveling.”
Johnson chewed on this for a moment. “You, the priest, and Nadine May?”
“Yessir. We’re heading to Wales. The possible suspect has been identified as recently landing there.”
“Wales? As in the UK?”
“Yessir.”
The speakerphone shut down and Johnson talked into the hand receiver. “It’s Nadine, ain’t it? She’s got you on a wild goose chase. At the expense of the citizens of Texas.”
“Would you like to talk to her?” asked Cole. “She’s here in the car.”
“Hell, no. Now listen. If this is legitimate, why travel with the priest? If it’s a desperado you’re after, why drag him along?”
Cole had wrestled with the response to this inevitable question, and had formulated a reply hours earlier. “Well, sir, the Vatican representative feels we should travel together.” This stretched things a bit, but the pact among them last night had solidified that morning and surely Francois now “felt” they should travel together. At Cole’s statement to Johnson, Francois turned in his seat and lifted an eyebrow. Cole gave his best shrug back.
He’d shown a potent hole card—the Vatican—and Johnson would have to accept it, although not without commentary, apparently. “You’re straddling the boundary of our obligation. You know it. Tossin’ Nadine on the pile ain’t helpful, either.”
“I agree, sir. It’s unusual. If it helps, the Vatican has a budget as well.”
At this, Francois wafted a dismissive hand from the front seat.
Johnson sighed into the phone. Cole knew that Johnson couldn’t prevent them from going, but it did now put the head Ranger in a tight spot. This legendary lawman deserved some ass-covering, and the right thing to do was provide it. “Odds are this will turn into a dead-end trip, and there’s no way this tracks back to the Rangers, the governor, or, God forbid, the State Department. Just the three of us helping out the Vatican. You have my word,” said Cole. A man giving his word wasn’t something to be taken lightly. The phone fell silent for a moment.
The Rangers pursued bad guys to the ends of the earth and, well, if this fellow proved bad, he knew Jeeter would support him. Johnson shifted gears. “This suspect y’all are chasing, is he dangerous?” Johnson asked. A lawman, he now wanted particulars.
Cole considered the best approach to this question. It could open a new can of worms.
“Yessir. Something bad wrong with this guy. My gut tells me he’s a nasty piece of work.”
Johnson clearly went with Cole’s gut.
“So this is real, son?” asked Johnson. “This whole thing. Just tell me that.”
“I can’t bet the farm, sir. But it’s clear something’s going on. Something bad.” Cole hesitated before continuing. He trusted Johnson, which made it time to open the kimono. “I wish I could be more specific. This guy reeks of evil. That’s about all I can point to right now.”
Cole’s hunch seemed to satisfy Johnson. Every lawman in the state knew Johnson’s past as a field Ranger had frequently touched on the horrors inflicted by fellow humans. The drug trade, in particular, contained indescribably violent people.
“Keep it tight,” said Johnson. “I’m backing you, but keep it tight. I do not want my ass in a wringer over this.”
Relief flooded over Cole at Johnson’s comment. This meant some third party support, if for no other reason than to justify this path. When the head Ranger said he’d back him, he would.
“Yessir. I appreciate it.”
“Why’s Nadine May with you and the priest?” asked Johnson.
“Leaving her behind wasn’t an option, sir. You know Nadine,” said Cole, eliciting a glance from Nadine in the rearview mirror.
“Boy howdy, do I know her. Alright. You armed?”
“No. I plan on working with the local authorities.”
Johnson explained that he felt torn on this one. On one hand, Cole not armed would keep this mission out of the press if it got ugly. Let the local law handle it and keep the governor off his rear end. On the other hand, if this guy proved dangerous a sidearm provided good insurance. It was blunt talk from Johnson, covering media, politics, and safety for this little foreign fandango.
“Are they armed?” asked Johnson, indicating his suspicion the UK did not allow their police to pack firearms. “Because if they aren’t—and I would bet that’s the case—you’ll need to keep more distance than usual from this suspect. So keep your distance.”
“Will do, sir. Again, I appreciate the support.”
Again, silence on the phone. “Comanche moon tonight. Good hunting, but watch your topknot, son.”
They signed off.
***
They sat three across in first class, Nadine taking the middle seat. By design, any conversations between Cole and Francois would have to pass through her. They flew KLM, the Dutch national airline. All three commented on the extra seat room. Francois read an esoteric book about God and the nature of man. Cole ordered a double scotch and chatted with Nadine. They talked of past cases, criminals, and dealing with bureaucracies. Eventually the talk got around to Moloch.
“So I assume we’ll utilize the local police to help pinpoint this guy. If they can’t, I can. Don’t ask how. So let’s assume we locate him. Then what?” she asked. So far, the answers to this point had done nothing to satisfy her. Moloch wasn’t charged with any crime. They had no hard evidence to connect him with the Rockport murders, other than him being seen at the nursing home by Cole. This wasn’t all bad news in her view. It made the puzzle more of a challenge.
“Let’s pretend he is the ultimate boogeyman,” she continued. That statement caused Francois to lower his book and clear his throat. “And he decides to lay the bad mojo on us. Do we leave our response to Francois?”
The priest turned to face the other two. “Oui.” He returned to his book.
“I want to talk with him,” said Cole. “Question him as best I can without a formal arrest. He should tell us something, even inadvertently. I just don’t know yet how I’m going to pull it off.”
Nadine waved off the flight attendant checking drink orders. Francois, without averting his eyes from the book, raised an empty wine glass. Cole ordered another whiskey. These two evidently didn’t care about keeping a clear head while discussing what anyone could see were gaping holes in what little strategy they had, one in which “muddling through” would not be a viable option. Her past work with field agents pointed to well-thought-out plans, backup plans, and alternatives, as well as what they called shit-hits-the-fan scenarios. Wine and whiskey were not ideal components of these strategy sessions.
“Fine. We confront him, talk with him,” said Nadine. “And what’s next? Hang around Cardiff and see what develops? Not your style, Cole, and it’s not mine either.”
Cole acknowledged that she had a solid point and explained that he, too, chafed under a weak plan, but it was all they had. They could make the case to the Cardiff cops that Moloch had fled the scene of a major crime, but there was no formal warrant, no Interpol lookout. They carried photos of Moloch from airport security cameras—which Francois had stared at for a long time—and could ask the local authorities to find and bring him in, but Cole seemed to think it unlikely.
“We follow him,” said Cole. “Track him. Be ready. Engage if needed. It’s the best I can come up with at the moment.”
That felt better to her. At least it had a proactive tack. Francois shook his head and continued to read.
Nadine knew this was the time to flesh out their strategy. In her experience with field operations, events got moving fast and everyone on the team needed to be on the same page. If Francois chose not to participate in this important discussion, then so be it, because she and Cole could both formulate plans and execute them. The Frenchman’s whole dismissive Buddha-of-the-inscrutable posturing was becoming a pain in the ass.
“So let’s extrap
olate a scenario,” she said. “We catch him doing something nefarious. Call it evil if you will, to satisfy the ecumenical member of this troika. You aren’t armed, so do we wrestle him to the ground? Kick his ass?” The time for particulars had arrived.
Nadine turned to Francois when he cleared his throat, shook his head, and closed his book, making quite the production of it. It wasn’t a challenge for her to see he was amply demonstrating that this would be the price he would have to pay and the burden he would have to bear for his travels with her and Cole. Francois shifted to address both of them and said, “Guns and physical force will not defeat this one. Such talk is a waste of time.” He rearranged his khakis and navy sports coat after the bodily shift, checked his fuchsia pocket-handkerchief, and smoothed back his hair. Nadine took in Francois’s dismissive assertion with a single raised eyebrow.
“The boogeyman doesn’t bleed?” she asked.
“Lighten up a little, Nadine,” said Cole. “This isn’t the Spanish Inquisition.”
Francois waved him off and stared at Nadine for an uncomfortable amount of time. She stared back, yielding nothing.
“He will be defeated through the power of God,” said Francois. He used a tone that implied great impatience. “You, Mademoiselle, do not believe such a thing. Fine. And yet I tell you the truth. This creature is not of this world. It is only through the power of God that this creature will be defeated. With this defeat, does he run? Disappear? Or, to satisfy your American sensibilities, explode into a fireball of body parts? Je ne sais pas. I do not know. But do not doubt the truth.”
Nadine could see that Francois’s vehemence could well have been hiding private fears and uncertainties. That was okay, since they all had some measure of the same, and admitting it wasn’t the end of the world. It was a very human thing to do, and she wished Cole would demonstrate more of his inner feelings. Francois turned to face forward, adjusted position, and used both hands to confirm his hair still behaved. She turned to Cole with both eyebrows raised high, waiting for his response to Francois’s statements.
“I just don’t know,” said Cole. “That’s the best answer I can give you. Would a pistol shot to the head bring him down? Probably. Let’s leave it for the time being.”
Like Francois, few things intimidated Nadine May, and she possessed her own unique doggedness. “No one talked about pistol shots to the head. Drop the Lone Ranger stuff, would you? Neither I nor Francois look forward to playing Tonto.” She turned to focus on Francois, then reversed course back to Cole. “Sorry. You’re right. I need to lighten up. I know you’re not like that. I’m just digging for answers.”
“Yeah, well, me too,” said Cole, and took a stiff drink. “No hard feelings.”
There sat a good man. He evidently did not take her minor—very minor—diatribes on a personal level. He apparently understood that she was missing a cog or two inside her social watch and that sometimes the hands flew around the clock face. Maybe sometimes it came across as endearing, sometimes not. Either way, he gave every sign of having already moved on.
“Okay, Francois. Let’s talk about your answer,” she said and turned toward the priest, satisfied she hadn’t angered Cole. “Unless you are too pissed at me to have a civil conversation. A conversation with someone who doubts, someone who questions. Because right now, what you’ve described sounds closer to a Disney movie. Wave a hand and the dishes get done. Say a prayer and a wooden doll comes to life.”
Francois waved both hands. “It is a question of belief. Belief and faith. You and I may well have this conversation for hours, but unless we have a common foundation of belief and faith, my answers will never appear rational to you. Comprenez-vous?”
“Yeah, I get it,” she said. “But let’s tackle some variables. Suppose God, for whatever reason, decides not to get engaged. Doesn’t act on your—on our—behalf. Then what? If this man, this creature, cannot be taken by conventional means, what do we do? And I can’t believe I just asked that.”
Francois shrugged and, without looking at Nadine, said, “It remains to be seen.”
Cole leaned over to participate. “If it helps, Moloch can show fear. The sumbitch dismissed me at the nursing home with a snarl. After, he showed fear. Real fear.”
She whipped around in her seat to face Cole, who drained his glass and addressed his companions. “I’ve told Francois a bit of this. There was another man. Old. At least his face, although he showed no old-man resignation. And he dang sure wasn’t old in his movements or intent. Moloch disappeared when this guy showed in the alley next to the nursing home. Old, with a long gray ponytail. Moved like lightning. Plain shirt and pants from an old black-and-white movie. Fifties style. He hunted. He hunted Moloch. I’m convinced of it now. And Moloch was aware of him. Might have seen him. And Moloch showed fear. Gut wrenching fear and hatred.”
They both stared hard while Cole wiped his mouth and looked down the plane’s aisle. This was new information for Nadine and triggered strong irritation deep inside her. Why in the world would he withhold this from her until now? They were supposed to be on the same team and this type of information could be critical for their endeavors. What did Cole think he would gain by keeping this jewel of a data point inside when they were all struggling with tactical approaches to their quarry? Moloch could be intimidated. That was a big deal.
“When did you plan to spring this little revelation?” asked Nadine. “Now? On the plane? This is data I had not figured on. Thanks, bud. Oh, and by the way, might there be any other little pearls of insight you’d like to drop on me?” What in the world was wrong with people when all she wanted was to have data dumps? People could tell her everything they knew, and she would sort through it. She never understood why people did what Cole had just done.
“This element of fear, this is of course new to me as well,” said Francois. “Although it is not a great surprise. This creature is not all-powerful. Non. Evil has weaknesses.”
Francois leaned back to ruminate on this. Nadine looked from one man to the other and remembered to close her mouth. This was unbelievable to her. End of discussion, no further digging, and no exploration of how to leverage this new information. What was wrong with these two?
Their in-flight dinner arrived and they remained silent while a flight attendant took drink orders. After several bites, she dove back in.
“So this other man. He knew some vulnerability of Moloch’s,” she said, looking back and forth at both men. “We need to exploit this vulnerability.”
Francois chewed his food with eyes closed and held his fork upright, forefinger extended the length of the handle and the tines pointed toward him. “And so. It is true,” he said.
“Any ideas on how best to do that?” she asked him.
“Do what?” replied Francois, taking another bite.
Nadine wiped her mouth, crossed her arms, and addressed Francois. “You’re talking about food, aren’t you?”
Francois finished chewing. “Oui. A rumor exists the Dutch hired French culinary experts for their airline. Clearly true.”
Nadine crossed her legs, the suspended foot tapping in threes against the forward seat.
Francois pointed the fork at her foot and said, “You perhaps send a message in the Morse code to the unfortunate person seated in front of you?”
Nadine uncrossed her legs, straightened herself, and looked at Cole. He responded by focusing on the plate of food and acting as if he’d never heard a word of the immediate conversation. She did not relent and lowered her head in gradations until she was eventually looking upward at Cole eating, forcing him to smile.
Cole wiped his mouth and reached over to give her a quick squeeze on the knee. “Okay, the bottom line. I had little to give you on the other man. One of my deputies also saw him for a moment during that hellish scene. That’s it. No one else has any recollection of him.” Cole explained that he had continued to ask witnesses at the nursing home if they had seen someone fitting the old man, long ponytail des
criptive. To a person, they’d all shaken their heads.
“Fine,” said Nadine. “What are the possible motives for his pursuit of Moloch? A relative, father, grandfather of another crime Moloch was involved with?” This ponytailed stranger added several new pieces to her puzzle. She relished the as-yet-unknown aspects of this new player and his relationship to Moloch.
“I’ve got nada,” repeated Cole. “It happened so fast. A body lying on the parking lot next to the back door, the building on fire, and I had to enter to see what I could do. The whole timeframe after I saw Moloch leave and the other stranger looking for him lasted only a second or two.”
“Tell me more about his appearance. I got the clothing, the old man face, the ponytail. What else?” she asked.
Cole stared at the floor and gave her a stream of consciousness. “Sorta like he was old, but wasn’t. He moved with such force. Such intensity. He hunted. His quarry had disappeared. He had no fear. Almost … almost illuminated. He stood in the deep shade of the alley, but I could see him well. His body language was aggressive. But an aura of something good, something righteous, had come from him. He paid me no mind. None whatsoever.”
Nadine digested this, and took the opportunity to pat Cole on the back of the hand as a combined gesture of “thanks” and “sorry about my outburst.” Her mind tumbled with possibilities. Could he have been some other law enforcement personnel? FBI? CIA? Secret Service from another country? Interesting. Moloch fled. Very interesting.
Francois had finished dinner, and placed his coffee and cognac order with the flight attendant. He cast a comment to the other two. “A force for good.”
“Alright, Francois. I suppose so,” said Cole. “It doesn’t help a heckuva lot. Sometimes I think I’m a force for good. Batman is a force for good. This guy dang sure wasn’t a county sheriff or a superhero.”
