Agents of Shadow (The Keepers of White Book 1)

by Richard Crofton

  “I was so sure, Sonny. I was so sure that he was a good person.”

  “I know.”

  “Really. I seriously felt in my heart that he was truly good. I don’t know why or how, but my gut told me that I had nothing to fear from him. I thought my instincts were better than this. I’ve always been told I was a good judge of character; I just get a good feel for a person. After tonight, I just don’t know anymore. And I think that’s what’s eating at me the most; not that a gun was held to my head, or that he stole something so precious to me… none of that. It’s the shock and surprise I felt from being so wrong about him. Now I have so much doubt in myself, and in everything. I mean, I walked right into his trap, and all that tells me is that I have no gut, no idea who people really are on the inside.”

  “Boy, you said a mouthful.”

  Megan almost turned from the window to look at him in disbelief. This was not the response she was expecting from her support, from the love of her life. But shame kept her gaze out the window. So he really is angry at me, she thought.

  “Can’t really say I blame you though Megan,” he added after an awkward pause. “All the world’s a stage. Its men and women, merely players. It’s supposed to mean we all have a part to play in life, but you know, it can also mean that some people are just really good actors. They spend so much time learning to act a certain way around others. They learn to hide parts of themselves they want no one to see… in order to get what they want from people. When this is their motive, they start to excel. They can learn to be anyone they want to in the eyes of others, and they become so skilled at it that they can fool even the sharpest minds. I’m sure it happens more than you realize… you think you know a person inside and out, and then when you least expect it, out of the blue, they show their true colors when it benefits them to do so, and you’re caught completely off guard… almost like having the wind knocked out of you.”

  “A wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Megan thought aloud. “I suppose that’s the worst kind of person.”

  “Sure is,” Sonny agreed. “Take me for instance.”

  Before Megan could turn, before she could even ask him to explain what he had meant, she felt the sting of something small and sharp quickly stab into the side of her neck. Instinctively, she smacked at her neck the way one would attempt to kill a biting mosquito, but the thing that attacked her was gone. She turned toward Sonny to see him holding a syringe, a droplet of some liquid falling from the needlepoint, and slipping it into the pocket of his jacket. “Guess it’s just not your night babe,” he said with a sly smile.

  Immediately, Megan felt a wave of nausea and dizziness overcome her. “What… what did you juss doe to may?” she slurred.

  “I’m ensuring your safety, Megan. Well, at least for a while.”

  Megan fought to comprehend the unreality of what was happening, and more so why. But concentrating on the matter became more challenging by the second… within ten she lost consciousness altogether.

  When her body lay still, Sonny turned from her and fixed his eyes back on the road ahead. First, he let out a gentle sigh, then, with a lively tone, began humming Tom Petty’s “Free Falling” to himself.

  ****

  “Let me make sure I’ve got this straight Father,” Chief Biddle had said, sitting opposite the priest at his desk in his office. “You plan to have the girl abducted tonight, and make it look like she was kidnapped by this homeless guy when she offered him a ride… after she came in here, reported the mugging, then gave her statement to Harrison?”

  Father Paul handed the sheet of paper on which he had written the list of names. “It shouldn’t be too hard to change the reports, should it Chief?”

  “No sir, but…”

  “And with Stephen’s expertise, we can make sure that Detective Harrison completely forgets even seeing or speaking with Miss Panco or myself this evening. Instead he will be looking at a missing person’s report in a couple days, without having any doubts about its legitimacy.”

  “Stephen?” Biddle asked.

  “He was one of the attendants at tonight’s Bible Study. He’s a witness. He’ll be in the station on Friday to give his statement to Harrison. When the meeting is over, the detective will believe and remember everything we want him to. I, on the other hand, will take care of any other officer who Megan may have had contact with since she arrived here tonight.”

  Chief Biddle scanned the list of witnesses. “And the others on here? The ones who aren’t a part of the Agency?”

  “Not a concern,” Father Paul answered. “Once Stephen talks to Harrison, Harrison will then question the others in turn. They have not seen Megan since the Bible Study, so when he tells them that she’s gone missing since then, they would have to assume it’s true. He will explain to them that she was last seen picking up a vagabond that fits Cliff’s description near the church, on the night of the Bible Study. They will all gasp with terrible concern for poor Megan, whom is such a dear young lady, and they will be more than willing to cooperate by giving an explicit description of our homeless friend.

  “Conveniently, Miss Panco left her car where she was mugged this evening. She’ll never make it back there tonight, so the police will find it there tomorrow and they will conduct their search from there. In two weeks, the search will become a manhunt when they tragically find Megan’s remains in a dumpster in some random alley not too far from where her car was found. Our dear Cliff will soon make headlines. He’ll be Lancaster County’s most wanted in a fortnight.”

  “And if we catch him before then, while Panco’s status is… missing? He’ll admit to robbing her, but not murder. And then there’s the issue of time of death when her body surfaces in two weeks. If the coroner discovers her approximate time of death to have occurred while he’s in custody…”

  “As you know Chief, we have ways of altering such things. Besides, if he’s in custody, we’ll have access to his DNA. And you can arrange one of us, Stephen most likely, to have a private meeting with him. It won’t be hard to make him believe he murdered her.”

  Chief Biddle looked up from the list at his secret superior. “I wouldn’t use Madsen if I were you sir,” he mentioned.

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Harrison’s a good cop. Even if you falsify his memory, with Madsen’s name on the list of witnesses… well… working as a professor at Gettysburg, anyone would just need to do a little digging to see that the Partell girl was his student. If I did a background on my witnesses, which Harrison is sure to do, I’d see that we’d have a guy who knew two different girls gone missing in the state of Pennsylvania. And cops don’t believe in coincidences Father.”

  Father Paul pondered for a moment, stroking his chin. “Well done Chief,” he smiled. “I’m rather embarrassed I didn’t consider that myself. It’s been decades since I’ve had an assignment in which I had to think like a cop.”

  “No worries Father. That’s why we’re a team.”

  “Yes, quite so. Very well then; we’ll use Diana.” The priest extended his hand to retrieve the list, then made the corrections needed. “There we go. I’ve removed Stephen from the list of attendees tonight and added her.”

  “In the meantime,” Biddle continued, “I’ll assign Harrison a partner, since we’re upping the case to a missing person instead of a robbery. We’ll also be able to keep eyes on him, in case his memory switch doesn’t hold completely.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Father Paul remarked, waving his hand dismissively. “Dr. Palmer is quite thorough in her work; as powerful as Stephen, if not more.”

  “She’s certainly more ruthless, I’ll give her that. But in my experience, the more ruthless a person is, the less meticulous.”

  “Trust me, she’s both,” Father Paul assured. “But follow procedure regardless.”

  “Yes sir. Speaking of ruthless, do you think our young agent will come through? You know, without letting his impulsive nature get in the way?”


  “Sonny? Don’t worry Bill, we’ve had a nice chat with him. He’ll do as he’s told. He performed admirably when helping me acquire the ashes we needed, and he’ll perform admirably again. Tell him to make his move tonight when Miss Panco is in his car. Tell him that she is to be kept secured in the room beside the ceremonial facility, and that he’s not to do anything to her that would… complicate our agenda.”

  “Yes sir,” Biddle acknowledged. “Will there be anything else?”

  Father Paul shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ll get in touch with the others and make all the arrangements. You, I’ve no doubt, have a lot of paperwork to alter here at the station.”

  Shortly after the priest had taken his leave of Chief Biddle at the precinct, he drove away in his inconspicuous vehicle, a quaint, older model of simplicity that appeared fitting for the pastor of a Catholic church. As he made his way back towards the premises of St. Elizabeth’s, he turned on the car’s stereo system and inserted a CD that offered soothing classical music. Though the downfall of the rain had relentlessly continued, he was not troubled in the slightest. His spirits thrived as he reflected on the perfection of progress made by him and his associates, and ignited with relishing excitement as he pondered on the near future.

  Everything was going according to their plan, and after the events of the night, the idea of inching one step closer to their ultimate goal had brought upon him a rejuvenation. With each successful completion of a Cycle of the Dark Year, his power would grow. He could taste its coming, and he hummed along to the music with a merriment that grew as a paradox to the dismal weather. Soon, the end would come. Soon, he and his fellow agents in the Primary Circle would rejoice in their domination over humanity. Soon, they would have all they desired.

  And there would be no one to stop them.

  ****

  Many miles east, in a rundown motel room off of Route 30, a young man stepped out of the shower, having washed the filth and unappealing body odor that he had accumulated intentionally. He had already discarded in a nearby dumpster the tattered clothes, camouflage jacket, and the wig that had disguised him, and now, wrapped only in the motel room’s complementary towel, proceeded to shave the thick scruff upon his face that he had grown.

  Though he was pleased to finally return his appearance to its natural form, with much shorter, and softer, brown hair than the wig suggested, and with fewer wrinkles than the makeup created, he did not feel refreshed as one usually would after a hot shower. As he finished with his razor and washed his face in the sink, he gazed with both weariness and discontent at his own bright, blue eyes in the mirror of the bathroom. His plans for the evening had worked out accordingly, but he took no personal victory for it. Instead, his eyes in the mirror resembled that of disgust.

  For a brief moment, he diverted his gaze to the bathroom counter on his right, where he had placed his keys, wallet, and phone, but his attention focused on the other item that accompanied them. It was just a simple necklace, with a simple cross at the end, but it seemed to stare back at him in judgement. Instantly he pulled his eyes away from the relic and returned them to his own reflection, where he saw himself gently rubbing the mysterious symbol embedded in the medallion of his own necklace upon his bare chest, almost involuntarily.

  “It was necessary,” he said aloud to himself in a low, unconvincing voice. “Yeah,” he sarcastically answered himself after a moment longer, “who you kidding, Michael?”

  The man quietly gathered the items and carried them out to the main area of the motel room, placing them on the nightstand near his bed and leaving them there as he dressed himself in gray sweatpants and a plain, navy blue tee shirt. As he busied himself, he began to speak softly:

  “My God, I’m sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend… with Your help…”

  His voice choked with strain as he clenched his fists, and could not finish the prayer he had learned long ago. Instead, he took deep breaths to help his sudden quivering to subside, then moved toward the contents upon the nightstand.

  Slowly, he retrieved his wallet and opened it to look at a small picture that was set snugly within a group of thin, transparent, plastic protectors. The beautiful woman with fair skin and long, red hair stared back at him with a smile that would melt the coldest ice. He traced his fingers across the face of the woman in the photo with tenderness, and he tried to give a smile back, but none came.

  “I know,” he said to her as if she could hear him. “You wouldn’t approve of what I’ve done. I’m sorry. But it was the only way to save her.”

  The woman stared back, her loving smile in its frozen frame gave him no relief.

  “No,” he said as if in reply, placing the wallet back down, leaving it open to where the photo was placed. “You’re right. You’re always right. It wasn’t the only way. I know.”

  He sighed as he retreated away from the wallet, leaving the woman in the photo to stare back, voiceless in physical form, but thunderously loud in his mind.

  “Because!” he argued with raised volume and tone with the voiceless picture from where he now stood at the foot of the bed, where a bulky black suitcase lay, “By doing things the honorable way, I’m failing to do good! In the long run!” His clenched fists began to quiver with a growing anger from within, but also with uncertainty.

  The man stopped himself, lest he lose control of his teetering emotions, and let out a long breath of exasperated air. Then he spoke again in a softer voice, “Yeah. I know the risks I’m taking. But I have to make them pay… for everything. Everything they’ve done.” His shining eyes of blue, which had begun to water, suddenly hardened and narrowed.

  From within the open suitcase he pulled out a small, locked, hardwood box. Drawing a set of keys from his pocket, he fumbled through them until he found the one he sought and used it to open the box. He lifted two brass latches close to the corners and raised the lid. Slowly, he drew from the wooden miniature case two steel, black pistols. He studied them, one Beretta 92FS Compact in each hand. The cold, hard, aluminum alloy frames felt natural in his grip, and his quivering ceased completely, as if now comforted by reuniting with two, long-time friends.

  After several moments of silence, the man carefully replaced the concealable weapons back into the wooden box. “I hope you can understand,” he said aloud, still addressing the woman in the picture left on the nightstand, but keeping his hardened gaze upon the Berettas before him. “Hope that maybe one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” He gently closed the lid, reset the latches, reapplied the locking mechanism with his key.

  The man drew in another deep breath as he made his way back to the wallet and picked it up, once again looking longingly at the woman. “Either way,” he declared, “I’m going to stop them. Because no one else can.”

  He placed the leather wallet back upon the night stand, kissed the index and middle fingers of his right hand, and then pressed them against the picture where the redheaded woman’s fair-skinned face was displayed. “And they will pay,” he added as he folded the wallet closed. “Every last one of them. I owe you that much.”

  Author’s Note

  First, a special thank you to those who have ventured through the horrors of this story to the end. And it’s that particular end that I felt compelled to explain to my readers for their efforts, as the story provides very little relief from the dark content.

  It has taken me over four years to complete the entire story. I had only so much time to work on the manuscript off and on throughout that period. When I had finished, the word count was far beyond that which would be considered appropriate for a first-time author. Those with experience had advised me to keep it under 100,000. This counsel kept me up many a night because it meant I would either have to cut about two-thirds of the story, or I would have to break it up into parts: three to be exact. The issue I had with this, however, was th
e fact that the first of the three would leave the reader with that mentioned lack of relief, the moment when light would have its chance to defy darkness. The last thing I wanted was for a reader to finish this book and think, “What the hell?”

  Originally, the second part (“The Dark Plan”) ended with the conversation between Father Paul and Chief Biddle, immediately transitioning into the third, with the story continuing on, and then a fourth part. As I mentioned, the full story is too long to compile into one single book. That said, though it pained me to reveal too much too soon of who is to eventually become the main character of this series, I’d decided to add the final portion with the mysterious man in the motel room, revealing, while gritting my teeth, a mini-spoiler (I hate spoilers) that the vagabond in the story had actually been operating incognito, and that he will be playing a much larger role in the novels to follow.

  So (sigh), I’ve thrown you a bone. A bit of foreshadowing that wasn’t at first meant to be. Without it however, I feared that you might bolt out the door of my world with no desire to return, lest I leak out the mind-easing concept that, even though this first novel mainly consists of nothing but the evil and corrupt preying upon the defenseless innocent, there are forces of good at play; they’ve just been mostly dormant so far. I only ask that, if I’ve at least peaked your interest after turning to the last page of this book, then please have a little faith, and a lot of patience, as there’s much more to this.

  Some of my beta readers suggested that separating the entire story would cause the first of the three to appear disjointed and confusing, as some characters are introduced and then not seen again (not until the second or third books). They advised that I do condense the three books into one. I don’t doubt their wisdom, and I began doing so. But I soon stopped myself as it just didn’t feel right. Furthermore, there were some who had the opportunity to read the story in its entirety before I broke it into three books. Those readers informed me that they had enjoyed this story thoroughly. So I’m sticking with my gut and foregoing the option to condense, out of good faith that most who take a chance on this book will understand that Agents of Shadow is only part of the whole.