by Alex Siegel
"Mr. McGahern?" Tonya said. "It's an urgent matter, and we can't come back later. We need information about a book."
"Are you buying or selling?"
"Neither. This is a criminal investigation, and the book might be evidence. It may have come into your possession five years ago. It's a journal. It was found by a soldier during World War I in Cologne."
McGahern frowned. He pulled off his gloves and stood up with some difficulty. He shuffled over to a card catalogue and opened one of the long drawers.
"A man came by a few weeks ago and asked about the same journal," he said as he thumbed through the cards in the drawer.
"A young man with a shaved head?" Tonya said. "He had a pretty girl with him?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm interested in the same book. Do you still have it?"
McGahern pulled a card out of the drawer. "I found the catalogue entry. Eighty-five pages, all hand-written. No author. The title is simply Journal 1909. It was sold."
"To who?"
He continued to examine the card, and his frown deepened.
Tonya abruptly walked across the room and yanked the card out of McGahern's hand. His feeble grip offered little resistance.
She looked at the card. "Who is John Crawford?"
"A specialty collector," McGahern said.
"What is his specialty?"
He gnawed his lip.
"Mr. McGahern," Tonya said in an angry voice, "I've had a long day, and yesterday was no picnic either. I'm impatient to move on. There are three federal agents in front of this building right now. If you don't answer to me, you'll answer to them."
He walked over to the window and looked out. "What's going on?"
"That's none of your business! Answer my damn question!"
After a moment, he said, "Mr. Crawford collects items of an occult nature. He is obsessed with mysteries and magic. He was convinced Journal 1909 described real sorcery."
"Crawford believes in magic?" Tonya said.
McGahern lowered his voice. "He told me several times sorcerers are among us, hiding in plain sight. He collects evidence they exist. I think he's crazy, of course, but he pays very well."
Tonya exchanged glances with Andrew and Charley.
"Where can I find him?" Tonya said.
McGahern grimaced. "I'm not in the habit of revealing the home addresses of my valued clients."
"And I'm not in the habit of beating the snot out of old men, but we can all try new things, right?"
He still hesitated.
"Listen," she said in a softer tone, "people may have died because of Journal 1909. A very good friend of mine is in deep trouble. I don't want to be nasty about this, but I can't leave here without knowing where to go next."
McGahern lowered his eyes. "Mr. Crawford lives in the woods in a secret location which I've never seen. He has no phone. When we meet in person, he comes here. All I have is his post office box."
Tonya snarled. "That doesn't help me much."
"We can deal with it," Blake said. "We'll just stakeout the post office and wait for him to get his mail."
"That sounds very time consuming."
"What choice do we have? I bet he checks his mail every day."
"That's not a good idea," McGahern said. "Crawford will think you're stalking him. He told me he lives with a bunch of heavily armed survivalists, and they don't trust strangers."
"Thanks for the warning," Tonya said, "but I must proceed regardless. Give me the address."
He provided the information, and she wrote it down. She, Andrew, Charley, and Blake left the office building.
When they were outside and could speak freely, Andrew said, "There are people who collect evidence about us?"
"Our existence isn't a perfect secret." Tonya shrugged. "The BPI just keeps the word from spreading."
"But if the public knew about sorcery..."
"The public does know, but there is so much crap out there, so much religious mumbo-jumbo, so much misinformation, that they can't tell fact from fiction. If you heard a story about a woman who can bend reality with her mind, and you didn't know me, you'd assume it was nonsense."
"I guess that's true," he said. "As long as we don't get caught on camera, we're OK."
"Or write anything down," she added. "Please, whatever you do, don't keep a damned journal. They are nothing but trouble."
They rejoined the BPI agents and explained the situation.
"There is a standard approach for dealing with PO boxes," Dan said. "We put a tracking device in a package and put that in the box. Then we just wait for Crawford to collect his mail. We follow him back to his house."
"But we don't have a tracking device," Tonya said.
"The Atlanta office has them. A courier can bring one to us."
"Make the call. I want to do this today."
* * *
Andrew had never seen a lonelier post office. It was just a small wooden building surrounded by native forest. The parking lot was big enough for just ten cars, and it connected to a little-used county highway. A single mailbox stood next to the post office as if to give it some company.
Finding a good spot for a stakeout had proven to be a challenge. There wasn't any obvious place to hide the cars, so they had been parked on a side-road a hundred feet down the highway. The four sorcerers and three BPI agents were hiding in the woods in a spot where they had a clear view of the post office but were screened by brush.
Dan was manning the tracking device. It was a blue box the size of a paperback novel with a display on the front. The transmitter was hidden inside a toy car in a package in the PO Box.
The sorcerers were playing poker in the grass. Andrew had thought he was a pretty sharp player, but Tonya and Blake were at a different level. Both were masters of deception and manipulation, and whenever Andrew thought he had a read on either of them, the sucker turned out to be Andrew. Even Charley seemed to have an uncanny ability to make him bluff at the worst possible times.
"Your bet, Andrew," Charley said with the slightest of smiles.
He stared at his cards. His two queens looked good, so he raised five.
The cards and chips had come from the trunk of the limousine. Apparently, they were standard mission supplies for a BPI assignment. Ironically, the BPI agents were just watching the game. Perhaps they knew playing against sorcerers was a bad idea.
Blake hesitantly called the bet, but Andrew ignored the hesitation. There was an equal chance it was fake or real. Andrew had been burned both ways. Tonya folded which came as a relief to him. At least that move was unambiguous.
He noticed the sun was hanging low in the sky. He checked his watch. "When does the post office close?"
"Pretty soon, I expect," Tonya said.
"Crawford better hurry up."
"If he doesn't pick up his mail today, we'll be back at sunrise tomorrow."
Andrew sighed.
The betting finished, and the players showed their hands. Charley had three threes, and as usual, Andrew lost. The pain would end soon though. He was almost out of chips.
A green Humvee drove into the parking lot. It was the original military model with an extra-wide body, oversized tires, and a snorkel intake. Steel bars protected the front grill.
Everybody looked over from the poker game.
The Humvee parked, and a man wearing a green hunting outfit got out. He glanced over his shoulder anxiously before hurrying into the post office.
"Nervous guy," Dan said. "Let's get ready to move."
Everybody stood up and brushed dirt off their pants. Dan watched the tracking system display.
The hunter came out of the post office. He was holding a package wrapped in brown paper which Andrew recognized as the one they had planted. The tracking transmitter was inside. The hunter looked around again, climbed into the Humvee, and drove off.
"Go!" Dan said.
The group sprinted through the woods. The tracking system had a range of a mile, so
they had enough time provided they didn't waste it.
They arrived at the cars. Andrew took the driver's seat of the limousine, and Dan rode shotgun. Charley and Tonya got into the rear compartment. Blake was still banished to the blue sedan with his two guards.
As soon as the doors were closed, Andrew drove off. He shot down the highway in pursuit of the Humvee.
After a minute, Dan said, "Take a right!"
"Where?" Andrew said.
"There!" Dan pointed at an unmarked side road.
Andrew squealed the tires as he made the hard turn. The road was paved, but there were potholes everywhere, and he swerved back and forth to avoid the worst of them. Low hanging branches scraped the roof.
"Slow down a little," Dan said. "This isn't a rally race."
Andrew eased up on the gas.
After driving half a mile, the road seemed to reach a dead end. He slammed on the brakes.
"Now which way?" he said.
Dan peered at the tracking device. "Right, I think."
"You think?"
"It would help if we weren't in a blank spot on the map."
Andrew turned right onto a path which was more suitable for hiking than driving. Threading the limousine between the trees took every bit of his skill. He had to stop, back up, and try again a couple of times. He knocked some bark off a few trees along the way.
A gate across the trail forced him to stop. The gate was made of welded iron bars and barbed wire. A sign read, "All trespassers will be considered a hostile invading force. There are more of us than you, and we have lots of bullets. WE WILL SHOOT YOU."
"Friendly," Andrew said.
"I think we need backup," Dan said.
"Where is your courage?" Tonya said from the back seat. "Let's at least scout around while we still have light."
"But then we'll have to drive home in the dark," Andrew said.
"Your powers of observation are remarkable, young man."
Everybody got out of the limousine as the blue sedan pulled up behind them. Blake and the other two BPI agents joined the group.
The forest around them was foreboding. The crowns of trees created a continuous canopy which blocked much of the fading sunlight. Bushes and weeds made travelling in a straight line impossible. Undulating hills and valleys limited visibility in all directions.
"I'm starting to think Dan was right," Andrew said. "Maybe we should come back in the morning with a combat team."
"And proper clothing for a hike," Charley added.
"And Kevlar vests in case that sign isn't a joke."
Tonya looked back and forth between them. "I just want to get this done," she said. "We've been driving around for two days. It's enough."
Blake stepped forward. "Your enthusiasm is commendable, but the apprentices are right. We're not prepared for a violent confrontation. At a minimum, we should look at some satellite photos before going in."
Dan and the other two BPI agents nodded in agreement.
Tonya gritted her teeth. "Fine, but we're coming back at dawn prepared to deal with any contingency. I don't care if there is a whole army of crazy survivalists in there. We're going in."
Chapter Seventeen
The phone in Andrew's hotel room rang.
He answered the call. "Hello?"
"Williams is here," Tonya said. "We're having our meeting."
"Be right there."
Andrew left his hotel room, walked down the hall, and knocked on the next door. Charley opened the door and let him in.
The room was crowded. In addition to Tonya, Dan, Blake, and his two guards, Agent Williams had come with several more BPI agents. Men in blue were packed into the room until there was hardly space for Andrew.
Williams was wearing a white shirt and blue slacks without his normal business jacket. A big gun in a holster on his hip struck Andrew as overtly threatening. The head of the Atlanta office was squinting and scowling as usual.
Satellite photos were spread out on the hotel bed. Andrew leaned over, but it was hard to tell what he was looking at. A big, grassy clearing formed a perfectly square hole in the middle of dense forest. He saw no buildings, and a chain-link fence marked the border. He looked closer and saw subtle lines in the clearing. It appeared something large and angular was buried beneath the grass.
"It turns out John Crawford is an interesting man," Williams reported to the entire group. "I wish he had come to our attention earlier. For the last seven years, he and a number of other survivalists have been living in a secret encampment in the woods. It's a cult of sorts, well-armed and extremely paranoid."
"How many?" Tonya said.
"Unknown. Children might be involved."
"I don't see any encampment," Andrew said as he glanced at the satellite photos again. "There is nothing but dirt."
"It's underground," Williams said. "Buried buses and shipping containers were used to create rooms and connecting tunnels. The facility is air-tight and secure. The cult is preparing for the end of the world. Crawford is a millionaire and paid for everything."
"Why?"
"We found his old posts on the internet. He's convinced there will be a devastating war between sorcerers and normal people."
"That would explain his interest in sorcery," Tonya said.
"Yes," Williams said. "It's safe to assume we'll encounter armed resistance when we enter the camp, but we can't walk away. We know he has Journal 1909, and he might possess other dangerous artifacts. He's been collecting for a while. We have no choice but to enter forcefully, subdue any opposition, and search the place thoroughly. My plan is to send four squads in full combat gear for the initial assault. When the area is secure, the sorcerers can come in and help with the search."
Andrew and Charley exchanged worried glances.
"I'd also like to have a portable seam on hand," Tonya said, "just in case."
Williams looked at her. "In case of what?"
"Unexpected difficulties. Guns can't solve every problem."
He gave her a dubious look.
"Without a seam," she said, "your most powerful asset in this operation will be nearly impotent. That's me. Considering how messy this investigation has become, it makes sense to over-prepare."
Williams made a sour face. "I suppose so. I'll call headquarters and make the arrangements. I want the assault to commence tomorrow at first light. That means our wake-up call is at 4 AM. Good night."
Andrew groaned.
* * *
Blake left the hotel room. He kept a straight face, but it was hard not to smile. His grand plan was coming to fruition exactly as he had hoped. Even the great and mighty Tonya was playing her unwitting part in the scheme. One day, she would look back and realize how foolish and trusting she had been, but of course, the best magic tricks always seemed obvious in retrospect.
Two oversized BPI agents followed Blake down the hallway. The Bureau's habit of assigning intimidating guards to Blake amused him. Highly intelligent, educated men would've done a much better job of watching him, but the federal government was too stupid to understand that fact. The official solution to every problem was big guns and big muscles. He looked forward to teaching the BPI the shortcomings of that approach.
After walking to the far end of the hotel, Blake used his keycard to enter his room. It contained two beds, a desk, a dresser, and a television. The accommodations were hardly adequate for a man of his stature, but the room was better than a prison cell. He had wasted five years of his life surrounded by blank concrete walls. He would never go back no matter what the cost.
One of the guards entered the hotel room with Blake, and the other went to the room next door. Blake ducked into the small, windowless bathroom and closed the door. It was the one place where he could have privacy for a few minutes.
He took a cell phone out of a secret pocket in his pants. It wasn't his normal phone which the BPI monitored. Only a handful of people knew this phone existed. Acquiring it had been quite a trick.
Blake sent a text message which said, "Green light. 7 AM tomorrow. Be very careful. Many federal agents will be in vicinity."
After a couple of minutes, the response arrived. "Roger. All set on our end."
"I will create a distraction."
"We'll be watching and ready."
Blake put away his secret phone. He used the toilet, flushed it, and left the bathroom.
* * *
Andrew had never worn body armor before, and he didn't like it. The heavy Kevlar vest hung from his shoulders like lead weights. Flaps bounced against his hips and groin whenever he walked. He felt ridiculous.
He looked at Charley and had one more reason for not liking body armor. It hid her beautiful body from view. She might as well have been a boy.
"This is quite a thing," he said.
She nodded. "I don't remember seeing armed assaults in the Theosophical University course catalog."
"It was in the fine print, along with investigating mass murders."
Tonya and Blake also looked like soldiers. All the sorcerers wore green camouflage armor over green fatigues. Radio headsets allowed them to stay in touch with the BPI during the operation. The sorcerers weren't armed though, and Andrew wished he had a gun. If somebody shot at him, he wanted to shoot back.
The sound of a distant gunshot brought the point home. The BPI agents had begun their assault a few minutes ago. The sorcerers were waiting in the woods for the signal to advance. Andrew needed to pee, but he knew it was just nerves. He had gone behind a bush a few minutes ago.
He looked at the peaceful green forest in an attempt to calm himself. A slight breeze rustled the leaves. Birds twittered high in the branches, and he heard a clicking noise closer to the ground. It was dead of winter in Chicago and spring-like in Georgia, but for the first time, he wished he were there instead.
Andrew sensed a flicker of energy nearby. He tried to see the source, but trees blocked his view.
"The portable seam has arrived," he murmured.
Tonya nodded. "I felt it. It probably came in an armored truck. Driving a truck up that goat path must've been a pain in the ass."
"Are we going to get the seam?"
