The Suicide Society

by William Brennan Knight

  A little less than an hour later, Munoz walked through the sliding glass doors of the Portland International Airport. He picked up his last untapped phone and called O’Malley’s number in Chicago.

  “O’Malley, it’s Munoz. Have you got anything for me?”

  “Yes, in fact I do. Murkell just got back to me. He was able to persuade an Air Marshal friend to give up his seat on a cargo plane. You’re booked on a UPS transport flight that leaves for Chicago at 1:45 a.m. your time. That’ll put you into Chicago at about 7:45 a.m. my time. Check in at the cargo terminal 10 minutes before the plane departs”

  “Excellent. I’ll be on it.”

  “You better be. Captain Murkell and I are in so deep that our careers are over if we’re wrong about all of this. Probably means jail time.”

  “Believe me O’Malley, no one understands better than I do. But what are we supposed to do, let Chicago get nuked?”

  Munoz ended the call and worked hard to stifle his emotions. He turned toward the directory and located the cargo terminal and then walked down the wide concourse while forcing himself to look outwardly calm. Law enforcement officers, and even security guards, were trained to identify people who looked nervous or agitated.

  The escalator was just off the east side of a departure gate, and the area was eerily quiet except for pockets of stranded passengers. Munoz rode down to the basement and moved toward the cargo terminal. A balding clerk with a soiled uniform stood at the service desk, and a security guard sat off to the side of the counter reading a magazine. Munoz turned and began walking back to the escalator.

  “Sir... Sir! Can I help you?”

  The detective turned around and plastered a forced smile on his lips. “No, sorry. My flight is delayed and doesn’t leave for another hour—go figure, huh? I was bored and wandering around, so I wanted to check out the gate I’ll be departing from. My apologies.”

  The guard rose to his feet and cocked his head slightly. “These aren’t good times to be stumbling around an airport. There aren’t many flights out of here tonight, sir. You’re leaving on a cargo plane? Where are you flying to?”

  “I’m in law enforcement, and I’m on official business.” Munoz hardened his gaze as he flashed his badge. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the nature of my travel.”

  They stood apart for some moments as the security guard weighed his options. Finally, the rent-a-cop backed down, and he walked over to his stool while glancing back at Munoz. “Ok, but I’m going to want to see identification when you check in.”

  Munoz smiled briefly, waved, and walked away from the freight terminal counter. He rode the escalator back up to the concourse and found a deserted coffee shop that was still open. After purchasing a stale latte, he took a position in a booth that put his back against the wall and gave him a clear view of the restaurant’s entry and exit doors.

  A maintenance man sat at the counter sipping a cola while a waitress smoked a cigarette just inside the kitchen. After a few moments, a man in a brown sports coat walked in and sat in a booth toward the rear of the shop. Cops instinctively recognize other cops, and this guy was undoubtedly law enforcement. The walk, the suspicious shifting eyes, and the slight bulge in the jacket all served to expose his real identity. Out of the corner of his eye, Munoz saw the man glance in his direction.

  The detective sighed. He hoped they wouldn’t be checking the airports, but it wasn’t really surprising they had anticipated this move. He looked back at the plain clothes detective. The cop didn’t appear to immediately recognize Munoz, but he was scrolling quickly through his phone while glancing around the diner frequently.

  Chapter Thirty

  Zach woke from a disturbing dream in time to see the sign welcoming him to Arizona. The tension in the vehicle mounted as they moved from I-10 onto U.S-60, finally merging onto Route-97. When they made the last turn on Lindal Road, Sarah started to shake violently, her eyes bulging wide as she mumbled unintelligible words and phrases to herself. Thrashing around and moaning, she grabbed at Anston from behind, causing the car to weave dangerously as he tried to evade her grasp.

  “Zach, do something,” Anston cried as she gouged a chunk of skin from above his eye.

  Zach did his best to calm her, entering her mind subtly and soothing certain portions of her disturbed psyche. Yet, the confusion and desperation grew as they approached Desolation, and it appeared as though she had descended into an almost psychotic state. The chaos that enveloped her mind was difficult for Zach to endure, especially while keeping the telekinetic shield around the vehicle.

  He waited a few more seconds as her thrashing became increasingly violent before plunging deeply into her psyche. Moving effortlessly through the many layers of her consciousness, he observed the grotesque and disturbing images buried deep inside her mind. Horrible memories of the Benefactor; his bulbous red lips peeled back in the familiar sneer as he lay on top of Sarah, muttering vulgarities while he violated her.

  This was the essence of Sarah Johansen and the terrible recollections that formed the foundation of her being. Zach recoiled in disgust as he experienced the hopeless despair and anguish she felt for so many years. Finally, he reached her cerebral cortex and the epicenter of her grief. The thoughts were disjointed but also dark and disturbing, and the residual negative energy shot back through the connection into Zach’s brain. It triggered memories of his own personal blackness and the arrogance and selfishness that led to his own suicide attempt. In that moment, he recalled the shame and sorrow he inflicted on Carol and Mandy. The act was selfish in an almost unimaginable way, and he had irreparably harmed the ones he loved the most.

  Zach realized how easy it was to submit to the pull of another’s dark expressions. He focused and reached out into the deepest recesses of her mind and applied soothing spiritual balm to her inflamed consciousness. Essentially, he turned off the switch that controlled Sarah’s emotions and memories. She would be able to function and respond to questions, but her ability to react, remember and process information would be severely hampered. In essence, Sarah Johansen was in a semi-catatonic state.

  ***

  The private 45XR Learjet touched down at the secluded airstrip near Desolation proper. As the hydraulic door swing open, the airstairs connected to the aircraft hatchway. Xavier Watts felt the familiar blast of dry, scorching Arizona heat as he grabbed his satchel and prepared to depart. Watts despised Arizona, especially in the summer. He spent his youth wandering through the Southwest desert, crushing and maiming small rodents and longing for the day he could leave the godforsaken wasteland and join the real world.

  Watts turned and nudged Alan, who was still sleeping, headphones placed over his ears while some thrash metal noise leaked through the buds. Ziminski connected with Watts in Denver and spent the majority of the trip digging at boogers and popping his bulbous acne. For Watts, the flight couldn’t have ended soon enough.

  “Whaaa? Where are we?”

  “We’re here. C’mon Alan, let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”

  They descended down the stairs and walked quickly across the tarmac to a waiting electric transport vehicle. Watts recognized the driver from previous visits with the Benefactor. The man’s face was eaten away by an acid-related “accident,” and his skin was saturated with burn marks and punctures from the sharp objects Mr. Cox routinely thrust into him. For all the pain he endured, no one remained more loyal to the Benefactor.

  “Hefe, how have you been?”

  The small man smiled, revealing a mouth void of teeth except for several broken and yellowed slivers near the front of his gum line. “Good, Mr. Watts, very good. Hefe is excited about the new happiness. It’s coming real soon, Mr. Watts.”

  “Yes, it is, Hefe. Very soon.”

  “What a freakin’ moron,” mumbled Alan loud enough for Hefe to hear.

  Hefe turned and scowled at him. “He’s not your father, Alan.”

  Ziminski leaned forward and slapped Hefe across the bac
k of the head. “Shut up and drive, retard.”

  “Alan,” said Watts. “We don’t need this right now.”

  As if to avoid further confrontation, the electric transport reached the end of the pavement, and Hefe came to a jerking stop. Watts recalled that the Benefactor’s servant never mastered the art of braking.

  They exited the vehicle and walked slowly up a small embankment toward the entrance of a nondescript building in serious disrepair. Nothing differentiated the exterior from the other drab, lifeless wooden structures immediately surrounding it. Once inside, Watts walked through what appeared to be an abandoned lobby over to unremarkable door with an elevator button positioned next to it. After pushing it, the door slid open to reveal a modern deluxe carrier. In seconds, they were transported to a lower floor deep in the interior of an underground complex of mammoth proportions. Although there were always rumors, Mr. Cox paid exceptional sums to build the facility without raising the attention of outsiders. With only anecdotal evidence, interest eventually faded, and the massive bunker became a nebulous Arizona urban legend.

  Once inside, a man in a white suit approached them slowly, using an exaggerated gesture to signal a greeting. “Ah, Xavier, it is good to see you.”

  “Delgado.” Watts nodded politely at the Benefactor’s chief aide within the staff. Delgado was second only to Watts in authority and maintained strict control over the organization’s security apparatus. Many believed he regularly manipulated the Network structure, and if Delgado recommended a promotion, the Benefactor usually gave tacit approval.

  Delgado returned the salutation and then raised his eyebrow at Alan in a look that conveyed his contempt. He motioned for everyone to follow, and they walked down a long corridor, stopping when they reached a set of thick steel doors at the end of the hallway. Delgado opened one and gestured for Watts and Alan to enter, the insincere smile still plastered on his face.

  Watts located his name placard and took his seat on the right hand side of the long conference table as Delgado sat directly across from him. Twelve chairs were arranged on either side, and each one was occupied by a major figure in the Benefactor’s international network. Men and women of considerable power and prestige shared a single commonality. Every person in attendance had attempted suicide and ultimately accepted the Benefactor’s offer of excessive worldly pleasures in exchange for enduring loyalty.

  Watts looked at the drawn faces, the pale complexions and the eyes that appeared dull and lifeless. The rewards of debauchery and riches had faded long ago, and all that remained was the sullen reality that they existed only to serve and defile. Instead of a merciful end, they devolved into breathing corpses, forced to watch as Mr. Cox spread his insidious brand of horror among humanity. The chronic ache of their crimes against the Almighty hovered just below the surface of their involuntary obedience.

  All except Delgado, who seemed to relish each massacre with the same delight as Mr. Cox. He could never be trusted. To think the sadistic butcher once taught school children in Venice. The irony…

  The doors to the conference room swung open, and the Benefactor made the grand entrance as was his custom. He greeted both Watts and Delgado and waved to the other attendees. His smile was broad and contemptuous. They applauded politely, but he detested their weakness all the same.

  “My friends, our time is at hand. We must take our rightful place as the caretakers of the planet. Mankind will soon receive all the suffering it so craves. We will boil the flesh from their bodies as they beg for a merciful end, which of course never will be forthcoming.

  “They have proven useless at governing themselves. They indulged in the most heinous immoralities and reveled in it. They have turned their back on their God, and they continue to cry out for us. Well, my friends, we have finally obliged them.”

  Mr. Cox stroked his chin as he rose from his chair and began to pace with purpose. “They will shudder when the third bomb detonates at noon, and they will beg for leadership and an end to the destruction. It is then that we will emerge and present our terms. Since we have brethren positioned strategically throughout the world’s prominent governments, capitulation will be swift.

  “Yet, their suffering will not end with surrender. As we assume power, we will continue to reign down terror and the cleansing fire. We will repeatedly remind them of their vulnerabilities and need for submission.”

  There was stillness around the table, except for Alan who had a tablet PC linked to the data center located in another part of the compound. He simultaneously monitored the coordinated collapse of the International Monetary Fund and the movement of Sarah Johansen, who continued to evade apprehension.

  “Ah, father?” he said weakly. “That Johansen girl and two others have turned east and seem to be headed in our direction. Do you know about this?”

  Mr. Cox’ corneas deepened in color until they glowed an iridescent red. He turned to Alan slowly. “As I have told you on many occasions, I am not your father. You are a bastard child whose whorish mother couldn’t possibly know which customer supplied the seed.”

  Alan bowed his head, tears welling up in his eyes.

  “As to the girl and the others,” continued Cox, “I have purposely drawn them to me. They shall meet their demise here. No one shall interrupt my plans, especially now.”

  The Benefactor picked up a remote and turned on a projector. A PowerPoint presentation flashed on to the screen with the title, After the Destruction: First Steps to the New Reality.

  ***

  Kathy sat in the one of the plastic chairs in Terminal 2 of Chicago’s O’Hare airport. The explosion in India nearly brought air traffic to a stop as Homeland Security swept the nation’s airports and grounded most flights. Passengers we reprocessed and rerouted at an excruciatingly slow pace, and she glanced again at her watch.

  The visit from the stranger in the hotel room was an epiphany for Kathy on a variety of levels. Ryan had smiled as he pointed to the apparition, and in that moment, Kathy knew that she must seek him out and distance herself from her perverted and decadent lifestyle.

  His instructions were specific. She was to go to Desolation, which served as the seat of the Benefactor’s power. Kathy reached into her jacket and pulled out a cigarette before she realized there was no smoking in the terminal.

  With the airport virtually shut down, she grew increasingly anxious as numerous security personnel continually patrolled the concourse looking for anything suspicious.

  She stood up and walked down the retail aisle, searching for a restaurant where she might buy a coffee, but they all were closed, even the fast food outlets. She glanced back up at the departure screen, but the flight data continued to flash, which indicated that most flights were still indefinitely delayed. Kathy felt a rising sense of panic. The urgency in the apparition’s plea was unsettling, almost as though he knew or possessed knowledge of something important. He obviously planned on confronting the Benefactor and would need every advantage.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Kathy sensed an approaching shadow. She turned sharply to face a tall, slim man wearing a long black trench coat, wide-brimmed Fedora and carrying an Afromosia cane.

  “Mrs. Rodgers?” he asked.

  “What—what do you want?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose we want to know what you’re doing here and why you have stopped communicating with the Network.”

  “How did you find me?” A cold, clammy sweat broke out on her back and the palms of her hands.

  “Oh, we have our ways. But that’s not what matters. We would like to know why you arranged a trip to Phoenix on such short notice. It’s especially odd considering you were due in Miami tomorrow. You are important to the Benefactor. He is… distressed by your absence.”

  “I was flying to Phoenix with the intent of driving to Desolation. I have important information that must be given directly to the Benefactor.”

  “And what is this information? Give it to me, and I will communicate it to him.�
�

  “No, that’s not possible. I need to tell it to him in person.”

  They stood quietly for a moment as the man regarded her carefully. “I’m sorry, how incredibly rude. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Dobbins, an aide to Mr. Watts. I think we can work this out, Mrs. Rodgers. I’ll simply get myself a seat on your flight, and we can make the trip together. With all the craziness in the world right now, I know the Benefactor would insist on making sure you were properly protected.”

  “I don’t need a chaperon. Besides, who knows when the flight will actually depart?”

  He smiled curtly. “It’s no problem, and I insist. Let me make my way over to the ticket counter. I know that somehow I’ll be able to get a ticket.”

  Kathy turned and looked over at the vacant counter, but when she looked back, Dobbins was gone. The odd stares of the waiting passengers around her made Kathy uncomfortable, and she walked quickly to another set of departure gates. As she sat alone in near darkness, the terrifying thought occurred to her that Dobbins might not have been real at all.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Munoz glanced at his watch. The time was almost 1:30 a.m., and he had 15 minutes to make his flight or there would be no way to get to Chicago. He rose from his seat, careful to avoid looking directly at the man observing him. After paying the bill and leaving a generous tip, he left the shop. The unmistakable footsteps of Cole Haan loafers on the tile floor told him the stranger was following.

  Turning and moving through the concourse, Munoz found a set of double doors with a placard above that read Mechanical Room. Heating boilers and the associated piping systems were typically located in the basement of large facilities. Local building codes dictated there would be several different entrances and exits. If Munoz could lose the tail in the maze of the equipment, he might emerge on the other side in the cargo terminal.