Midnight At The Oasis

by Justin Gustainis

  Then Pearson appeared in the doorway and said, “Mister Morris, Miss Chastain – if you’d come with me, please.” They followed him back to Father-General Reinhart’s office, although Pearson did not accompany them inside this time.

  Reinhart was behind his desk, and after Morris and Libby were seated, he said, “I won’t waste your time, or my own, with a lot of social pleasantries designed to lessen the sting of rejection. The fact is, I have decided not to allow you the use of, or access to, the fragment of the Seal of Solomon that the Order has in its care.”

  After a few seconds of silence, Libby said, “I see. May we know why?”

  “No, you may not. The reasons are several, and they involve information that cannot be disclosed to those who are not members of the Order. In any case, the reasons don’t matter – since I have no intention of debating the matter with you.”

  Morris stood up, and Libby followed suit. “Well, it is what it is, I reckon,” he said, keeping what he felt mostly out of his voice. “I assume you’ll have us driven back to wherever our car is parked.”

  “Of course,” Reinhart said. “Unless you’d care to stay and discuss the possibility of a quid pro quo.”

  Morris and Libby just stared at him. After a moment, Reinhart said, “Quid pro quo means –”

  “We know what it means,” Morris said. “It means you want to play ‘Let’s make a deal.’”

  “I never play, Mister Morris. My work is far too serious for games. But as to the deal aspect – you may have that right. I would suggest you both resume your seats.”

  They did.

  “The Order – or, at least, the branch of it which I have the honor to command – has a problem,” Reinhart said. “And it is one that you, Miss Chastain, may be uniquely equipped to help us address.”

  Libby nodded warily.

  “It is my understanding,” Reinhart went on, “that you are proficient in what is called ‘psychic dowsing’ – the ability to locate something, or someone, using only a map and pendulum.”

  “We call it ‘remote location,’” Libby said. “But you’re essentially correct. However, if I’m searching for a person, I need an object that is closely associated with him – or her. Something that has been touched, or worn, many times.”

  “I don’t believe that would be a problem,” Reinhart said. “Have you been successful with this technique in the past?”

  “Yes, I have,” Libby said.

  “May I ask how many times?”

  “I’ve employed it five times for real,” Libby said. “As opposed to exercises while in training. I was successful four times out of five.”

  “What was responsible for the single failure? Do you know?”

  She shook her head. “I was never able to determine that. It could have been that the person I searched for was not in the area covered by the map. Or maybe the object I was using to make a psychic connection wasn’t personal enough. There’s no way to tell for sure.”

  Reinhart nodded, then wiped a hand along the length of his rough-hewn face. He looked from Libby to Morris, and back to Libby.

  “You may have noticed,” he said, “that we are very careful about security here. We have to be – our very survival depends on it. That’s why you were brought here in a closed car, and your movements have been restricted since your arrival.”

  Reinhart learned forward. “Miss Chastain, I am about to violate the essence of our security policy, and I do so only because we need your help. I won’t ask Mister Morris to leave the room for this discussion, since I have no doubt that you would tell him about it later. I would expect no less – I understand that the two of you have worked together closely for quite some time.”

  “Yes, we have,” Morris said. “Libby has saved my life several times, and I may have done so once or twice for her, as well. We don’t have secrets from each other – professional ones, anyway.”

  “I accept that,” Reinhart said. “But what you are about to learn must go no further than this room. I cannot stress that strongly enough. If one of you were to reveal our secrets to anyone – anyone – we would hear of it, eventually. And then –” Reinhart sat back in his chair, suddenly looking very tired. “I would have the regretful necessity of ordering your deaths.”

  “I thought you were a priest, Father,” Morris said. “Doesn’t the Fifth Commandment say, ‘Thou shalt not kill’?”

  “In fact, it doesn’t, Mister Morris. The commandment reads, ‘Thou shalt not do murder.’ And keep in mind that I am also a soldier. Centuries ago, the founders of our Order were told by His Holiness the Pope that taking a life in the service of Christ, regrettable though it may be, is not murder.”

  “Some Christian ethicists might well argue that point,” Morris said.

  “Let them. That interests me not at all. What does interest me is that you and Miss Chastain understand the inevitable consequences of breaching our security.”

  “You make yourself very clear,” Libby said. “But something that isn’t clear, not yet, anyway, is the terms of the deal you’re offering us.”

  Reinhart studied his big, rough hands. “If you agree to help us find this... missing person, and your efforts prove successful, you may have our relic of Solomon’s Seal, to use as you wish. We would prefer to have it returned to us, but we recognize that may not be possible. Your chances of surviving an encounter with this afreet, even with the piece of Solomon’s Seal, are, frankly, unpromising.”

  Libby gave him a razor-thin smile. “Your confidence is inspiring.”

  “I am merely being realistic.”

  “What if I agree to help you, but the procedure doesn’t work?”

  “Then we will bid you and Mister Morris farewell, with our thanks for trying. Is that agreeable to you?”

  Libby glanced toward Morris, who nodded his agreement with what he knew she was about to say. “Yes,” she said, “it is.”

  Twenty-Six

  “INDIANA?” JAWAD TAMWAR’S voice, although surprised, remained respectful. “Must we travel such a distance, brother? There must be closer places where we can find another captive lion to butcher.”

  “There are,” Nasiri told him. “The state of Michigan contains several other zoos with lion exhibits. And that is the problem.”

  Mujab Rahim frowned in perplexity. “I am sorry, my brother, but I do not understand this riddle.”

  Nasiri forced his voice and manner to patience. Rahim might not be among the smartest of Allah’s creations, but his courage, obedience, and knife skills made him invaluable to the group.

  “If we choose a second zoo within Michigan,” Nasiri said, “the authorities may notice a pattern. If we were committing murders, let us say, they would be lost among the many killings that occur in this misbegotten country every day. But removing the hearts of captive lions...”

  “Unusual enough to stand out,” said Uthman, the wizard. He and Nasiri had already discussed this between themselves. “It is quite possible.”

  “I mean no disrespect, brother,” Tamwar said, “but what does it matter? If the stupid police notice that someone in Michigan is killing lions for their hearts, how could it be traced to us? And who among them would possibly understand the significance of what we are doing?”

  “As to the first question,” Nasiri said, “it is basic operational security. The knowledge that we who are killing lions – although I hope it is Allah’s will that this one will be the last – can be found in Michigan is more information than I wish the police to possess. As their idiotic detective stories say, it would be ‘a piece of the puzzle.’ And this piece I would deny them. At present, they know nothing of us. For the sake of our holy mission, I would keep it that way.”

  “And when you say that none of them would understand the significance of our actions,” Uthman said to Tamwar, “you are almost correct, my brother. Almost, but not quite. There are some individuals in the United States who may have enough knowledge to make the connection. Their FBI is said to hav
e some agents with occult knowledge – not many, but a few. And even one is too many.”

  “There are also some people not directly connected with the authorities whose knowledge is a danger to us,” Nasiri said. “There is a magician in Chicago named Dresden, I understand.”

  “And the woman Blake in St. Louis,” Uthman said. “She also might recognize the signs.”

  “A woman,” Rahim said. He did not bother to keep the disdain from his voice.

  “She is dangerous, nonetheless,” Uthman said. “I have no doubt that we could destroy her if she became a nuisance, but it would pose a distraction. We do not need distractions at this stage of the operation.”

  “And that is why we will venture outside Michigan to find our afreet’s next meal,” Nasiri said. “That is my decision.”

  The others knew better than to raise further objections.

  “Where must we go, then, brother?” Tamwar asked. “Has that been determined yet?”

  “It has,” Nasiri told him. “In Center Point, Indiana there is a place calling itself the ‘Exotic Feline Rescue Center.’ It seems perfect for us.”

  “They take in big cats from other zoos that have closed, circuses that go out of business, that sort of thing,” Uthman said. “According to their website, they have a dozen male lions, and almost twice as many females. It is an embarrassment of riches, my brothers. And no high walls to climb.”

  “When do we leave?” Rahim asked glumly.

  “Soon,” Nasiri said. “There are some details to be worked out, but – soon.” He glanced toward Uthman. “We must not let our afreet go hungry much longer.”

  Twenty-Seven

  “THE MAN I want you to find is a member of our Order,” Reinhart said. “Father-Captain Andrew Dalton.”

  “How did he end up among the missing?” Libby asked. “Do you know?”

  “Indeed I do,” Reinhart said grimly. “Father-Captain Dalton was almost certainly abducted.”

  Morris looked at him. “You mean he’s being held for ransom?”

  “I wish it were that simple,” Reinhart said. “If someone was demanding ransom, we would pay it. We would do so grudgingly, of course, and with the expectation that one day we would have a settling of accounts with the kidnappers. But no ransom has been demanded.”

  “Do you know why he was taken, then?” Libby asked.

  “We not only know why, Miss Chastain – we also know by whom.”

  Libby blinked a couple of times. “I assume you’re going to explain all of this, using small words that even Quincey and I can understand.”

  Reinhart gave her a smile lacking in either charm or humor. “Of course,” he said. “For starters, you should understand that Father-Captain Dalton is a Sensitive. Do you know what that means?”

  Libby nodded slowly. “As I understand it, a Sensitive can sense human emotions, even if there’s no outward sign of them. Some people say they can read minds, but I’ve never encountered that particular talent, and I’m not sure it’s even possible. I have met a few Sensitives, though.”

  “That’s essentially correct,” Reinhart said. “Thanks to his ability, Father-Captain Dalton is expert in detecting deception – better than any machine ever invented by man. He is also adept at identifying demonic influence – a talent that was known in the old days as ‘witch smelling,’ I believe. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Libby said. “As I said earlier, the Infernal has nothing to do with me, or the kind of magic I practice.”

  “Yes, quite,” Reinhart said.

  “Is that why your man was taken?” Morris asked him. “Somebody needs some witch-smelling done, or thinks he does?”

  “No, I’m quite certain that Father-Captain Dalton’s ability as a sort of human lie detector is the reason he was abducted.”

  “Abducted how?” Morris asked. “I’m pretty sure that somebody, or even several somebodies, didn’t just walk in here and grab the good Father. Not with the kind of security you fellas have – not to mention the armament.”

  “No, that’s not how it happened,” Reinhart said. “Perhaps I should back up a bit. A couple of months ago, we – the Knights Templar – were approached through an intermediary by a member of a rogue CIA unit called the Clandestine Operations Group.”

  “Wait,” Morris said. “The terms ‘rogue’ and ‘CIA’ don’t really belong together. I mean, something is either part of the CIA, or it isn’t.”

  Reinhart gave him the humorless smile again. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But this group’s activities are so secret, the CIA doesn’t even acknowledge them officially. Most of the CIA doesn’t even know they exist.”

  “I don’t get it,” Libby said. “I’m no expert on intelligence operations, but the CIA is already ultra-secret in practically everything it does. Are you saying there’s a unit that’s ultra-ultra-secret?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Miss Chastain. Nice turn of phrase.”

  “But” – Libby made a helpless gesture – “what’s the point? Why would one group need to be more secret than everybody else?”

  “Because they violate U.S. law on a regular basis,” Reinhart said. “The CIA is forbidden to engage in assassinations, but these people do. The agency is, by charter, not allowed to operate within the United States – but this group does. No government agency is allowed to take U.S. citizens into custody and hold them indefinitely, without either charge or trial. But – guess what? And no organ of the U.S. government, either civilian or military, is permitted to engage in torture for interrogation purposes – not since the last Bush administration, anyway.”

  “Torture?” Morris said. “Are we talking about waterboarding here?”

  “For these people, waterboarding is just a warm-up,” Reinhart said. “Drugs, sleep deprivation, hooding – not to mention plain old agony. Fire, electricity, joint dislocation, rape – the whole Gestapo repertoire is theirs, and more.”

  “My Goddess,” Libby said softly.

  “If this group is supposed to be so ultra-secret,” Morris said, “how come you know so much about them?”

  “We have contacts among many of the world’s intelligence, military, and law enforcement organizations,” Reinhart said. “None of whom would ever acknowledge our existence, of course. We receive a good deal of information from them.”

  “So you think that this bunch of super-spooks has kidnapped your man?” Morris asked.

  “I am certain of it. As I said, they made contact with us. They had heard about Father-Captain Dalton, and wished to ‘borrow’ him for an unspecified period of time.”

  “What for?” Libby asked him.

  “They didn’t say, but I expect they have come to the realization that all torturers do, eventually – the information they’re getting is unreliable. Most people will say whatever they think the interrogator wants to hear, just to make the pain stop. Sometimes they speak the truth, sometimes they tell half-truths, and often they just lie.”

  “And they just wanted you to give Father Dalton to them,” Libby said.

  “Oh, they offered their usual incentive – money.”

  Morris did not think he had ever heard the word said with so much contempt before.

  “The Order has no shortage of funds,” Reinhart went on. “But even if we were destitute – to do business with those kinds of people? Unthinkable.”

  “So, you turned them down,” Morris said. “Then what?”

  “Then nothing – for about six weeks. At which time Father-Captain Dalton received word that his mother had suffered a massive stroke, and was dying. He asked permission to go to her, and was given leave. All routine.”

  “Did he travel with a security detail?” Libby asked.

  “No, he went alone. The members of our Order do not normally travel with bodyguards when on personal business. Their anonymity is their protection.”

  “But not this time,” Morris said.

  “Quite so,” Reinhart said, sounding tired. “Not this
time. Father-Captain Dalton was headed for Nashville, Tennessee, where his mother lived – and died. He never made it. Nor has he been seen, or heard from, since.”

  “Makes you wonder if his mother’s stroke was due to natural causes, after all,” Morris said.

  “It does now, yes. But as the old Yiddish saying goes, ‘It’s easy to be smart, after.’”

  “So you want me to use one of Father Dalton’s personal items, a map, and a pendulum, to locate where he’s being held by these CIA creeps,” Libby said. “Then what?”

  “Then we’ll go and get him,” Reinhart said.

  “In a military operation,” Libby said.

  “Of course. I think it’s extremely unlikely that if I showed up at their front door, hat in hand, and asked for Father-Captain Dalton back, that I would receive anything but a bullet for my trouble.”

  “You’re probably right about that,” Morris said.

  “I’m well aware that what I’m asking poses potential conflicts of interest for you two. Before we proceed further, I need to know whether you’ll be able to resolve them.”

  “What conflicts of interest are you referring to?” Libby asked.

  “One has to do with the nature of white magic, Miss Chastain. My understanding is that, as a practitioner, you are not permitted to use magic to hurt anyone. Not to belabor the obvious, but if we carry out a raid on wherever the Clandestine Operations people are holding Father-Captain Dalton, a number of people are likely to be hurt, probably fatally.”

  “Yes,” Libby said. “I had assumed as much.”

  “Does that pose a problem for you?’

  “No, it doesn’t. If I had to consider the possible long-term consequences of my magic, I’d never be able to cast anything. I can’t lay a curse on anyone, okay? I can’t call down lightning on somebody’s head, no matter how much I might want to. But as for what you’re asking – I don’t see any impediment. Heck, from what you’ve told me, I’d be acting on the side of the angels, anyway.”