The Suicide Society

by William Brennan Knight

  Riggs laughed heartily. “The Benefactor is everywhere. He knows all things and is in all places. You are not worthy to be in his presence. Through his surrogates, he will rule the world when the last of the cleansing fire smites the nonbelievers.”

  Munoz struggled to comprehend the meaning. He looked toward Captain Murkell who was rolling his eyes while O’Malley looked down at his shoes. Was this the ravings of a madman? Ordinarily he would have been quite certain Riggs was pathologically insane, but with everything he recently experienced, Munoz had come to realize almost anything was possible.

  “Putting the Benefactor aside for a moment, we need to know where the bomb is located, Cardinal Riggs. In fact, we’re prepared to search the church grounds for any evidence of its whereabouts.”

  Riggs cast an icy stare towards the detective. “You will not defile this holy place of worship.”

  Captain Murkell finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Cardinal Riggs. I am a Catholic, and it pains me to do this. But you are under arrest.”

  Riggs’ upper lip curled back even farther and he let out an amused chortle. “You have no authority here, Captain. This house is the property of God and the Benefactor. We answer only to him.”

  Father Halstead stepped in front of the three lawmen with his arms raised and palms extended. “Cardinal Riggs, I must protest. Do you forget that we are men of God? He is the one true God who sacrificed his only Son to atone for our sins. What you say is blasphemy.”

  “You worship a false God, Halstead. The Benefactor has enlightened us all and introduced the New World Order. It is dripping with the delicious taste of chaos and pain.”

  Halstead gasped and sunk to his knees while clasping his hands in prayer. Murkell took a step forward; his hand moved inside his jacket and came to rest on the butt of his revolver. Munoz began to look around suspiciously while O’Malley assumed a defensive posture. The seasoned lawmen instinctively knew that hostility was imminent and their senses heightened to impending danger.

  Riggs looked at Murkell, and spit flew as he spoke; his rage was palpable. “You bring a gun into this most holy house of God? How dare you!”

  The first priest emerged from behind a silk curtain, racing toward the group with crazed eyes and a grim smile on his face. The whoosh of a flying object grazed Munoz’ ear as he ducked his head at the last second. He twisted back around in time to see the blur of a polished Falchion sword whose edges were honed to razor sharpness. His brush with death had been close, and fresh blood trickled down his cheek as the weapon removed several layers of skin from his right temple.

  Father Halstead hadn’t been so lucky. As the lethal cutlass completed its downward arc, the blade pierced his back just above the lumbar area. After puncturing several vital organs, it exited through his chest wall below the rib cage. The good Father looked down at his body in shock, glanced up at Munoz, and then collapsed to the floor with a thud.

  Munoz reached down and tried to balance himself, but the effort was futile. He fell awkwardly to the cultured marble floor and lay sprawled while trying to regain his senses. His vision blurred, and he was unsure if his eyes had been affected. O’Malley stepped in front of Munoz, raising his weapon as a throng of sword and dagger-wielding priests came streaming from the side vestibules.

  Murkell pointed his revolver directly at Cardinal Riggs. “Call them off, Riggs! You’ll die if you don’t tell them to stand down!”

  Riggs shook his fist at Murkell by way of reply. The captain raised his gun, looked down the sight and pulled the trigger, but the bullet ricocheted off a thin transparent plate of bulletproof glass that surrounded the altar.

  Stunned by the failure to wound Riggs, Murkell hesitated before turning the gun toward the sprinting priests. He was able to squeeze off two rounds and heard the explosion of fire launched by O’Malley from behind. A half-dozen priests went down hard as the lead pierced their bodies and plumes of red gushed across their formerly pristine white smocks. Several more shots fired into the mob felled more of the attackers, but they continued to rush forward, their overwhelming numbers proving too great for the weapons to overcome.

  Munoz scrambled to his feet and recognized the hopelessness of the situation. He grabbed O’Malley by the arm and yelled, “We have to get out of here!”

  O’Malley turned back to Munoz, his eyes wide and terror stricken. “Murkell, I can’t leave him.”

  Munoz shook his head. “It’s too late. Look!”

  O’Malley swung his head around just as the horrifying scream of Chad Murkell reached his ears. O’Malley watched as two priests swung their weapons with extreme ill intent. Murkell jumped to dodge the arc of the sweeping tools of death and watched as a razor sharp edge passed mere inches from his stomach. His movement backward brought him into the path of the second swinging saber that impacted his lower thoracic spine with a meaty thwack. The captain grabbed at the wound and dropped his gun just as a jewel encrusted dagger struck his abdomen. A final blow was delivered to his neck, severing his carotid artery as jets of blood sprayed a red mosaic across a priceless 19th century Pugin painting of the Reunification.

  Munoz grabbed at O’Malley’s arm again, this time with more urgency. “O’Malley, we’ve got to get out of here. Riggs is escaping.” He pointed in the direction of the altar where a crouching Cardinal Riggs beat a hasty retreat from the safety of the granite pedestal and bulletproof glass toward his sanctuary in the rear of the church. His hands were covering his head, and he shuttled like a crab.

  O’Malley looked back in horror as the priests unleashed their blood lust on the dead body of Captain Murkell. Swords and knives rained down on his bludgeoned corpse, slicing and tearing at exposed flesh until his bowels spilled out, and his face became a bruised and swollen mask of death.

  The sergeant turned back to Munoz and motioned to a side exit just as a smaller group of holy conscripts abandoned Murkell’s body and began to stalk the pair. Both men replaced their spent clips with new ammunition and backed away cautiously before turning and running at a full sprint to the back of the church. While thinned by the projectiles, the swarm of priests was still formidable, and they pursued the duo down the aisle toward the pulpit.

  From a side antechamber, a dozen collared deacons appeared wielding lethal medieval weapons including axes, spears and lances. They rushed at the retreating lawmen while shouting inspirational psalms and other passages from the Old Testament. Munoz raised his 9 mm Glock and squeezed the trigger, felling three of the charging deacons in one burst. Meanwhile, O’Malley turned and fired into the middle of the pack of rabid zealots while trying to maintain his forward motion.

  As Munoz and O’Malley reached the pulpit and moved past the altar, the priests and deacons converged at the bottom of the predella. They snarled and frothed while swinging their sharp weapons at the pair. The crowd hurled vile insults and inched closer, aware of the guns and their power of destruction.

  With their weapons trained on the approaching mob of corrupted ecclesiastical vermin, O’Malley glanced at Munoz; his eyes were both sad and desperate.

  “You know far more about this conspiracy than I do, Munoz. We gave you everything we have. You’ve got to catch Riggs and make him talk. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”

  “No,” said Munoz. “There has to be another way.”

  “There isn’t. You’re a cop; you understand. Stop wasting time and go.” He reached into his pocket and extracted the keys to the squad car and pressed them into the detective’s palm.

  Munoz hesitated a moment as he looked at O’Malley with deep frustration and chagrin. “Here, take this,” he said as he passed his weapon to the sergeant. Munoz knew the futility of the coming battle but wanted to give O’Malley every advantage. He grasped the sergeant’s shoulder in a final farewell and jumped from behind the safety of the altar and ran toward the exit that Riggs used moments before.

  As he approached the double doors, the detective heard the sound of gunfire erupting behind him. O�
�Malley’s last stand against the corrupted clergy had begun. Munoz burst through the doors and ran down a hallway connecting the church to the rectory. Moving from room to room, he realized the small size and Spartan furnishings were not befitting a high-ranking official like a Cardinal.

  He found an exit at the end of the rectory hallway that led through a lush garden filled with an endless variety of meticulously managed summer flowers. Munoz followed the path of a polished brick walkway that wound through the garden, terminating at the threshold of another huge structure. An inlaid bronze plaque identified the building as the residence of His Eminence Cardinal Augustoff Riggs.

  Pushing the heavy Myanmar oak wood doors open, Munoz cautiously entered the massive building. His footsteps echoed off the tile floor through the volume of space created by the 30-foot ceilings. He moved from the foyer into a great room, which was tastefully decorated in a 19th century Neoclassic motif. Munoz noted a large number of statues with pronounced phallus attributes engaged in a variety of debased activities.

  The rustling and shutting of desk drawers from a room off the main hallway drew his attention. Munoz approached warily, cognizant of shadows cast into the hallway from the light of the room. When he reached the threshold, he peered inside, careful to remain undetected. Cardinal Riggs was bent over an ornate desk, hurriedly stuffing papers into a briefcase while the low hum of a shredder obliterated the most damning evidence.

  Tired, frustrated and exhausted, Munoz abandoned his training protocols and moved from behind the open door into full view. He closed the distance quickly and tackled Riggs from behind. The unexpected assault startled the Cardinal, and he let out a guttural grunt as the pair toppled to the floor. Munoz brought his fists down repeatedly, reigning blows on Riggs face and body. The Cardinal swung wildly with his withered arms, but he was no match for the seasoned detective.

  With Riggs subdued and pinned to the floor beneath his weight, Munoz grabbed the Cardinal’s neck with both hands and began to squeeze. “Now,” he said, “I need to know where that bomb is. Tell me or I will snap your neck.”

  Riggs gasped for air as his face reddened and swelled while Munoz continued to apply increasing pressure. Unable to withstand the choking reflex, the Cardinal shook his head and frantically clawed at the floor in desperation. Munoz relaxed his grip just enough to give the gasping him the opportunity to talk. “Don’t kill me. I can make you very rich—hack hack—I can save your life. There is an underground shelter below us capable of withstanding a 40 megaton blast. You can live and serve the Benefactor—hack hack. Come and be a part of the New World Order with us. It will be magnificent.”

  “The only thing I want from you is the exact location of that bomb. Tell me now.”

  Riggs scowled and expelled a wad of foul smelling mucous into Munoz’ face by way of reply. From the depths of his soul, the detective felt a rage on a guttural level he never experienced before. A desperate shriek embodied a deep hatred towards whomever or whatever caused the despair and destruction consuming the world. He clenched down hard on Riggs’ throat and watched as the Cardinal flailed in vain while his face again grew red and swelled from the lack of blood. His eyes bulged as vessels burst and poured into the sclera surrounding his cornea. With his mouth gaping open like a fish, he emitted a series of gurgles before his struggles became muted and finally ended. The lifeless eyes stared into nothingness. After some moments, Munoz loosened his grip from the defrocked Cardinal’s neck.

  He looked at his hands in disgust, never having killed a man in such a cold-blooded manner. Twice in his career he found it necessary to shoot in self-defense, but he knew that what he had just done was much different. Perhaps worse, he lost any chance to find the location of the bomb. Munoz looked at his wristwatch—43 minutes before the detonation.

  The detective stumbled around the room while smoothing his clothing out of habit. His face was flushed with the angst that reflected his confusion and uncertainty. There was much yelling and pounding of footsteps as the doors to the residence opened violently. Munoz instinctively knew that O’Malley was overrun, and the mob of bloodthirsty priests and deacons would be infuriated to find Riggs’ dead body.

  In circumstances of extreme stress, those in law enforcement are taught to process events methodically and rely on their training. If he was to survive, Munoz knew he must calm himself and regain his wits. Two walls were lined with bookshelves and a third displayed numerous awards, plaques and certificates. Window coverings on a rear wall gave the detective hope there might be a means of escape. He ran towards the drapes and pulled the material aside. A large fixed-pane window provided a stunning view of the courtyard, but unfortunately, it had no locks or handles. Munoz grabbed a nearby brass coat rack and ran back toward the window.

  “Get him!” yelled the gang leader as the wild mob struggled to fit through the standard sized door opening. Munoz turned to look back just as the bottom of the coat rack impacted the window. In a moment where time slowed and senses were heightened, Munoz could see the blood droplets on the priest’s cassock, a bound book by George Perkins Marsh, and several degrees Riggs earned in fine wooden frames. He paused as he looked toward the Bachelor’s degree in Catholic philosophy at the center of the cluster. As he starred at the document, the answer to the mystery became self-evident. In that suspended moment, Munoz knew exactly where the bomb was located.

  The sound of shattering glass and the discovery of the body of Cardinal Riggs momentarily stunned the priests. They gathered around the corpse while one of their brethren reached down and checked for a pulse. When he shook his head in sorrow, the group began to wail in unison.

  Munoz watched the gnashing teeth and painful grimaces, as they collectively turned the focus of their hatred and violent anger in his direction. The first priest swung his gleaming Templar sword menacingly, and the detective wasted no time climbing through the gaping hole in the window. He turned toward the chapel, unaware of the gash in his forearm from a jagged shard of glass. Running as fast as his middle-aged legs would allow, Munoz burst through the doors of the rectory and moved past the priest’s living quarters back into the nave.

  An unnerving number of clergymen were dead, injured and bleeding, their mangled bodies scattered around the dismembered corpse of Kevin O’Malley. Although detached from his torso, O’Malley still held Munoz’ weapon in one severed hand and his own service revolver in the other.

  Munoz heard shuffling and moaning, and he turned quickly just as a gut-shot priest moved toward him. The man clutched his bloody abdomen and reached out with his other hand while screaming in a tone and pitch that conveyed his savagery. The detective brushed aside the outstretched arm and shoved the dying man to the side. He dodged the dead bodies and stepped over the lifeless corpse of Captain Murkell, who somehow managed to crawl to the exit before he died.

  The remaining priests entered the chapel, stopping for a moment to locate Munoz. The detective pulled futility at the huge double doors, but they were secured tightly by a pressure lock. Believing they had him trapped, the priests began another charge as Munoz searched for a different means of escape.

  Scanning the interior of the cathedral, he recognized his only hope was to reach a stained glass window cut into a lower wall adjacent to the doorway. Munoz briefly made eye contact with the leader of the mob. They both looked at each other, turned, and then their eyes locked once again.

  Munoz sprinted toward the window while the young, nimble priest broke from the pack to try and intercept him. As they approached the stained plate glass, Munoz recognized their arrival would be nearly simultaneous. He dove directly into the window just as the priest swung his weapon. The detective felt the whoosh of disturbed air as the axe passed within inches of the back of his head. The window exploded as the skin on Munoz’ knuckles peeled away from the rough edges of the glass. He ducked his head and rolled on the ground outside the building while grabbing at the keys in his pocket.

  As he recovered his balance, a priest
jumped through the window and scanned the yard until he located Munoz, who had unsteadily regained his footing. He closed the ground between them, and the priest swung the axe twice in succession, forcing Munoz to jump back to protect his abdomen. As the blade passed a second time, Munoz used the momentum of the heavy implement to his advantage.

  He jumped forward and plowed hard into the priest, who dropped the axe and fell to the ground with a muffled grunt. Wasting no time and using the element of surprise, Munoz grabbed the man’s head and twisted it sharply. The tearing and cracking sound of his broken spinal cord confirmed the kill.

  Rising to his feet, Munoz ran toward the unmarked squad, keenly aware of the enraged group of trailing priests as they climbed over each other to get to the gaping hole in the window. Listening to their vulgar epithets as he ran, Munoz extracted the keys and punched the fob that disengaged the door locks. He jumped in the car just seconds ahead of the clergymen who banged on the hood and swung their swords at the windshield. Safety glass burst and shattered with explosive force, spraying Munoz with small shards as he turned the key and the engine roared to life.

  He slammed the car into drive and floored the accelerator, plowing through the assembled crowd directly in front of the squad. He watched in horror as the bodies impacted with the grille with a sickening thud. Munoz breathed deeply in relief when the path finally cleared. There was no time for hesitation. After punching a building name into the squad car’s GPS, he sped toward the address where he prayed the bomb was located. It was an all-in bet, and the fate of humanity would rest on the detective's hunch.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Kathy walked aimlessly down the O’Hare concourse, stopping periodically in front of the numerous gated and locked store fronts, all displaying closed signs. She didn’t feel particularly upset that her plane was delayed indefinitely. In fact, she was fairly certain the Benefactor intervened and purposely disrupted her flight schedule. He probably used that slimy computer punk Ziminiski to do his dirty work. Yet, to Kathy, everything was as it should be, and she flowed with the energy that enveloped her.