by Alex Siegel
"Now!" she gasped. "Pull!"
Andrew pulled on the handle of the safe with all his strength. Unbelievably, the door moved. It bent like a giant block of clay instead of steel. As he opened the door, sheared bolts dropped to the floor with loud thuds. He felt like Superman.
Tonya backed off. She leaned on her knees and took deep, fast breaths. Her face was almost purple.
Andrew clapped loudly, and Charley tried to do the same while holding the doll.
"That was master level sorcery," Tonya said between breaths. "I almost had a stroke."
Andrew knocked on the open door of the safe. The steel had reverted to its normal hardness.
He looked inside the safe, expecting to find just books, but a great variety of items were placed on shelves. He saw supplies for magicians such as wands, a wooden cage, a top hat, and a deck of cards. There were occult items like talismans, jars of powder, dry bones, oils, ceremonial knives, and gemstones. Some things appeared quite ordinary. Andrew saw a spoon, a set of spectacles, and some worn-out underwear.
"What is this stuff?" he said.
"I imagine it all belonged to sorcerers at some point," Tonya said as she straightened up. "Useless memorabilia. Ah! Our prize."
She reached to the back of the safe and pulled out a notebook. It had a green cardboard cover which was scuffed and stained. Some of the papers were loose inside. A "1909" was drawn on the cover in black ink, and the handwriting was elegant.
"Can I see?" Charley said.
"No," Tonya said. "My eyes only."
She examined the contents of the notebook without letting the apprentices get a good look. Andrew only caught glimpses of handwritten notes, and each page had a date at the top.
He sighed unhappily. After everything he had been through, it didn't seem fair that she was keeping the journal from him.
"Well?" Charley said. "What's your opinion?"
"It was written by a real sorcerer," Tonya said, "and it describes the kind of spell Serkan was attempting. It can't be a coincidence. Somehow, he got his hands on this exact journal. Unfortunately, the evidence in this case is conclusive. Serkan is guilty, and Keene will pay the price." She closed the journal with a sad expression and looked into the safe. "We need to sort through this evidence and decide what is too dangerous to leave behind. Find a box or something we can carry things in."
Andrew wandered around the underground facility until he found an empty wooden crate which was a convenient size. When he returned, Tonya was examining another notebook. It was blue instead of green but looked just as beaten up as the first.
"What's that?" he said.
"A companion piece, apparently," she said.
She held up the notebook so he could see the cover. "1910" was written on it.
"Same author?"
"Same handwriting certainly," she said. "It's remarkable that John Crawford got his hands on two journals from one sorcerer. That's one more thing we have to ask him about."
Tonya picked through the safe and dropped some items into the wooden crate. She seemed most interested in books or anything with writing on it, and she even grabbed a bundle of newspaper clippings.
She tossed an unmarked plastic bottle of pills into the crate.
"What are those?" Andrew said.
"I don't know, but they can't be healthy."
The three sorcerers left the underground shelter. Andrew carried the crate, and the treasures it contained tempted him. He desperately wanted to peek into the books. One book entitled True History of Sorcery was particularly inviting, and he kept glancing at the intriguing black binding.
They emerged cautiously into the open air.
"Is it safe?" Charley said, ducking her head.
"Looks OK to me," Tonya said.
BPI agents were escorting groups of captives towards the middle of the property. They were being herded together into a single mass. Andrew counted fourteen men, eight women, and eight children. A few were in handcuffs, and all of them had frightened expressions. Dirt marked their faces and clothes.
Agent Williams hurried over to Tonya. "What's in the crate?"
"Stuff that needs to go into the vault," she said.
He leaned over the crate and looked at its contents.
"I don't think anything else of interest is down there," Tonya added, "but you're welcome to search later. Right now I want to talk to the young boy I detected earlier, the one with talent."
She walked over to the captives who looked at her with open suspicion. After contemplating the group for a moment, she pointed at a boy with brown hair. Andrew guessed he was eight or nine years old. The boy had brown eyes, and a few of his teeth were missing. Very pale skin indicated he didn't see the sun often. He was wearing a green camouflage jumpsuit with a Kevlar vest made for a child.
"I need to talk to you," Tonya said. "Come here."
The boy cowered behind a woman.
"I won't hurt you," Tonya said. "I promise."
Some of the men moved to protect the boy with their bodies. He seemed important to them.
Maybe they know he has talent, Andrew thought.
The BPI agents got involved and forcefully separated the boy from the others. He was escorted over to Tonya.
"What's your name?" she said in a gentle voice.
"Phillip," the boy replied softly.
"Did you know you're a very special young man?"
"I'm a sorcerer," Phillip said.
The flat statement startled Andrew. Who told him?
Tonya hesitated. "That's right," she said. "These nice men will take you to a new home where you'll live with other kids just like you. It's a wonderful place, much nicer than here. Certainly cleaner. It will feel a little strange at first, but eventually, you'll be happy. I promise. Someday, I may visit you there." She nodded to Agent Williams.
He dispatched two of his men to escort Phillip to the cars. The boy looked over his shoulder fearfully as he left.
"What kind of home?" Andrew asked quietly.
"A foster home for sorcerers who are too young to train," Tonya said. "The minimum age for an apprentice is sixteen or seventeen. You need a certain amount of intellectual and emotional maturity. Obviously, Phillip isn't ready now, but one day, he will be. Until then, the BPI will look after him."
He nodded.
She turned to Agent Williams. "Which one is John Crawford?"
Chapter Eighteen
Blake was sitting in a car and relaxing. A feeling of deep satisfaction made him smile.
He sensed another sorcerer approaching. The energy was weak and disorganized, not even at the level of an apprentice. Blake looked out the window and saw two BPI agents escorting a boy.
Interesting, Blake thought.
The child had plenty of talent, but it was very raw. He wouldn't be a competent sorcerer for many years unless radical training techniques were used. Blake knew some of those techniques.
He had done his homework on Crawford's little clan of survivalists. Blake knew what they were about, but he hadn't known they had a child with talent in their midst. It had to be intentional.
Blake got out of the car. The pleasantly cool air was fresh and clean. He didn't normally enjoy the outdoors, but the forest was nicely lush.
He walked over to the boy. "What's your name?"
"Phillip."
Blake didn't need to ask where the BPI was taking Phillip. The boy would be placed in a foster home in a remote location, far from any seam. Professionals would raise him. By the time the kid started his official training as a sorcerer, he would have the proper moral values permanently ingrained in him.
It was a typical response from an organization renowned for paranoia. The BPI solved every problem using heavy-handed methods, and in this case, it was a terrible shame. Phillip was doomed to becoming another rule-following, boot-licking, narrow-minded sorcerer. He had special potential, but he would never realize it.
Unless Blake intervened.
"You seem like
a nice young man," he said. "Maybe we'll meet again someday."
Phillip just looked up at him with a fearful expression.
Blake sat in the car again.
* * *
John Crawford was the oldest man in the group of prisoners. His long gray hair went well down his back. He was wearing a green tank top shirt which showed off surprisingly muscular arms for a man his age. His leather boots had steel caps over the toes. Two black leather holsters were hung on his hips, but his guns had been taken away.
Andrew could tell from Crawford's expression that he didn't intend to cooperate. His mouth was set in a slight snarl. He glared defiantly at the BPI agents. Andrew wondered how Tonya would handle him.
A half-dozen agents separated Crawford from his friends and escorted him to a safe distance for a private conversation. Tonya, Charley, Andrew, and Agent Williams walked over.
"I have a number of questions for you," Tonya said.
Crawford crossed his arms. "I don't talk to feds." He looked into the crate Andrew was carrying, and Crawford's eyes widened. "You got into my safe!"
"Yes," Tonya said, "and we found some interesting things. How did you become so well informed about sorcerers? Who have you been talking to?"
He maintained a stubborn silence.
Charley was still holding the porcelain doll with the portable seam inside. Andrew knew Tonya could easily use its power to force Crawford to talk, or she could just read his mind. Andrew didn't sense any extra energy coming from her though. Perhaps, she was waiting to see if he would cooperate willingly.
Agent Williams grabbed Crawford by the shirt. "Listen, buddy, if you're smart, you'll tell us everything. You're in a lot of trouble. A confession might save you some prison time."
"Am I charged with a crime?" Crawford said.
"Shooting at federal agents, illegal weapons, and intentionally purchasing and possessing sorcerous materials."
Andrew raised his eyebrows. He didn't know about the last law, but it didn't surprise him.
"I'm screwed anyway," Crawford said. "You're with the Bureau of Physical Investigation, right? You don't have a track record of fair and honest dealing."
Another BPI agent came up to Williams and whispered in his ear. Williams looked over at the motley group of survivalists and frowned.
"I know how you got some of your information at least," Williams told Crawford. "One of your men was a BPI agent before he quit. Now he'll stand trial for revealing government secrets."
The pained reaction on Crawford's face indicated Williams was correct.
"This is all very interesting," Tonya said, "but I really want to know about a man who came here a week or two ago. Shaved head. Likes scarves. Somehow, he got into your safe and read 1909."
Crawford just glared at her.
She clenched her jaw, and Andrew sensed her energy level rising. The seam inside the doll responded by pulsing rapidly. The porcelain eyes began to glow red like smoldering embers.
Crawford looked at the doll and then stepped back. "You're a sorcerer!"
"Not just any sorcerer," Tonya said angrily. "A master, and one who has run out of patience. I opened your safe, and I can open your mind just as easily. This is your last chance to talk of your own free will."
"You sold out."
"What do you mean?"
"The government owns you." He nodded towards Williams. "Instead of standing up for your rights, you bowed down to Uncle Sam."
Tonya snarled. "The choices I've made are none of your business. For your information, the guy with the shaved head was another sorcerer named Serkan."
Crawford's eyes widened. "But he said..."
"What?"
"The book dealer sent him to sell me 1910."
"I don't understand," Tonya said.
"I bought 1909 from the dealer and 1910 from Serkan. He compared them to verify their authenticity. That's why I let him into the camp."
"I'm sure Serkan forged 1910 to fool you. It was his ticket to read 1909, and obviously, the trick worked."
Crawford had a confused expression. "Oh. But..." His voice tailed off.
Andrew looked into his crate and saw both journals. We should've done something like that instead of using armed troops, he thought.
"I heard you're worried about a war with sorcerers," Tonya said. "I'm curious, whose side are you on?"
"Neither. I just want to survive."
"Then what's the story with Phillip? Why have your own sorcerer?"
"He was my ace in the hole," Crawford said. "My secret weapon."
"How did you find out about his talent?"
"Um."
"Don't test me," Tonya said. "You'll tell the truth willingly or unwillingly."
He hesitated. "The BPI agent told me about a baby boy the Bureau was monitoring."
"So you kidnapped the baby just to have a secret weapon?"
He blushed.
"And you dare question my ethics. What was this stuff for?" Tonya tapped the wooden crate.
"So Phillip could learn sorcery," Crawford said.
"This is educational material?" She raised her voice. "You were planning to give dangerous journals to an unsupervised novice?"
"Well..."
"Idiot! You would've killed him! I've heard enough. Andrew, Charley, let's go before I do something I'll regret."
Tonya stomped off towards the cars, and Andrew and Charley followed. They soon reached the gate in the fence.
"What's next?" Andrew said.
"We'll put the seam back in the armored truck," Tonya said, "along with the evidence. Then I'll send the truck on its way."
He realized he was about to lose his chance to read any of the books in the crate. He just wanted a peek. The one entitled True History of Sorcery was particularly tantalizing. Tonya almost never talked about the past, not even her own past. He hated to break the rules or risk her wrath, but he needed answers that she wasn't giving him. He was responsible enough to handle the truth.
The BPI had parked its many vehicles along the dirt path leading up to the gate. They were a mix of sedans and vans in dark colors. The path was barely wide enough to accommodate the largest vehicles. There were ruts in the dirt, and tree roots poked up in places.
Andrew intentionally tripped on a root and fell. The contents of the crate were scattered under a car.
"Sorry!" he said. "I'll get it."
He crawled under the car to fetch the evidence. He found History of Sorcery on the dirt, and he slipped the book under his Kevlar vest. He passed the rest of the stuff to Charley, and she put it back into the crate.
Andrew stood up. "Sorry, again." He brushed himself off.
The group continued onwards to the armored truck at the end of the line. He made sure to keep a straight face.
He sensed Blake inside one of the sedans, and Phillip was in another. Andrew felt a little sorry for the kid who hadn't asked to lead such a crazy life. Andrew was grateful his childhood had been fairly normal.
Blake got out of his car. "What happened?"
"We found the journal," Tonya said, "and unfortunately, it's incriminating. Now I have to preside over Keene's trial."
"Oh." He looked down.
"Don't play sad. You're no friend of his."
"We've had our differences."
"At your trial, you cursed him in rather colorful terms," Tonya said. "You cursed me, too, as I recall. You even swore vengeance."
Blake shrugged. "I was upset. I'm over it."
"Sure. Just stay back from the seam."
Charley was still carrying the porcelain doll. She gave it to the Army soldiers guarding the armored truck. They locked it in the safe in the cargo area. Andrew handed over the wooden crate which was placed next to the safe. Two soldiers climbed into the back, and the doors closed with a metallic clang. The other two soldiers sat in the front.
"Take it all back to the vault." Tonya slapped the side of the truck.
A big diesel engine started under the hood. Th
e truck carefully turned around, threading between trees in the process. It rumbled down the path and was soon out of sight.
Andrew felt colder and weaker with the seam gone. He still had the book though, and it was safely hidden under his vest against his stomach.
"Is that the end of the investigation?" Blake said. "Should I go home now?"
"I think so," Tonya said. "I don't know what else there is to check. By the way, your help is noted and appreciated."
He smiled. "Great. That's all I wanted."
"And I'm headed to Washington for a meeting of the Tribunal. Andrew and Charley, you'll go back to searching for seams with Dan."
Andrew nodded without enthusiasm. He wasn't looking forward to spending another week or two on the road even with Charley at his side. He was ready to return to Chicago.
"Now we just need the BPI to give us rides out of here," Tonya added.
* * *
"I'm going outside," Andrew said. "I could use some fresh air."
"Don't stay out for more than twenty minutes," Dan said, "or I'll come looking for you."
"OK."
They were in a motel in Gilmer, Georgia. Andrew smiled innocently, left the room, and walked directly into the parking lot outside. The tiny motel had just six small rooms. The only things separating the guests from the outdoors were cheap wooden doors painted white. The motel was made of gray bricks and had a gray metal roof.
Andrew glanced at the setting sun. It had been a long day spent mostly in the wilderness. The BPI had needed hours to process John Crawford and the members of his cult. Securing and searching the underground bunker had also taken plenty of time. Andrew had been forced to watch and wait until the BPI was done.
He quickly walked around to the back of the motel. Charley was in the next room, and if Andrew wandered too far, she would detect his absence. That would lead to awkward questions.
When it seemed safe, he took out History of Sorcery from under his shirt. The hardcover book was black with gold lettering. It was disappointingly thin but probably still contained lots of interesting information. He opened the cover.
The first page read, "It is widely accepted that the pharaohs of Ancient Egypt were the first notable sorcerers. At least, we have no clear records of sorcery going further back than that. The pharaohs were worshiped as living gods because of their power. At the time, there was no concept of science, and every natural phenomenon had a divine origin. The people accepted sorcery as just one more inexplicable thing, no stranger than the movements of the stars and the moon.
