Under Cover of Darkness

by James Grippando

  Her steps grew heavier as she crossed the yard, knowing what to expect when she returned to her room. The photographs. The innocent victims. More mind games to play on her conscience. Those women had been strangers to her at one time. By now, however, she knew their names, their faces, and every detail of their horrible deaths. Most disturbing of all, she knew there would be more. That much was clear from what he’d told her all along. “Only you have the power to stop it, Flora. It’s in your hands.”

  With her head down she climbed the back steps and entered the house, feeling anything but power. Feeling like anyone but “Flora.”

  Andie was exhausted. They had spent the morning digging for camas roots to make cakes. At this higher elevation, the ground was frozen in spots, half-frozen in others, which made it a chore. Still, they had managed to pull out more than the eight bushels with their long, hooked knives. They were quite an efficient tool. Andie couldn’t help but wonder how efficient they might be as a weapon.

  By late afternoon her knuckles ached from pounding the roots into meal with large stones. She and her roommates had shaped the meal into cakes until it became almost mechanical. By mid-afternoon the cakes were drying in the sun. Felicia came by and gave her approval. Ingrid and Andie’s two younger roommates went back to the cabin to clean up. She held Andie back to talk.

  “You’re a good worker,” said Felicia.

  “All four of us worked hard.”

  “Not really. The girls think this is just fun. Ingrid—I’m surprised she lasted all day. But you have the seriousness of purpose that we like.”

  “Thank you.”

  She invited Andie to sit on the ground atop a blanket of dried leaves. Facing one another, Felicia asked, “Why are you here?”

  “You mean, on this earth, or at this retreat?”

  Felicia smiled. “I like the way you think. At this retreat.”

  Andie sensed she was being quizzed. She wanted to give the right answers. “I’m here to learn more about your group.”

  “What have you found out so far?”

  She checked her battered hands. “That getting back to the source can cause blisters.”

  “What else?”

  Andie turned more serious. “That whatever it takes, it’s worth it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I have good instincts.”

  “Congratulations, Kira. You’ve taken the first step: learning to trust your instincts.”

  “What’s the next step?”

  “That is something that will come to you in the normal course. After you have focused your energy.”

  “How do I focus?”

  “Through meditation and reflection.”

  “What do I reflect on?”

  She was staring into Andie’s eyes, but it was more of a warm gaze than a cold glare. “Let me tell you something about us. We are not about comets or the passing of the millennium or other such things that have driven the hundreds of ufology groups that have come and gone in recent times. We don’t believe that a spaceship is going to come down to earth and take us all to the next level beyond human. By changing our own level of vibration, we strive for a connection with a higher source, which requires an emotional disconnection from the negative energy that keeps us on the wrong life paths.”

  “Where does that negative energy come from?”

  “Frankly, the usual source is the traditional family. A controlling parent, a manipulative spouse. But for each individual it’s different. You must analyze and reflect on the sources of negative energy in your own life.”

  It sounded as though Felicia were fishing for something about Andie’s past. She had her phony background memorized, but the more she talked, the higher the risk of eventually being caught in inconsistencies. Andie answered vaguely, “That sounds like a very insightful way of thinking.”

  “Yes. But I assure you, it is utterly impossible to identify the true source of negative energy in your life if you return to your same old environment.”

  “That’s logical. One has to step back in order to be objective.”

  “That’s exactly the opportunity I’m offering you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The retreat ends tomorrow morning. Most of the newcomers will return home. They will never evolve beyond their present selves. But you are different, Kira.”

  “How so?”

  “We’d like you stay with us. Come back to the farm and continue your journey.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Don’t worry about the others. You have been chosen, not them.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  She squeezed her hand. “Say yes.”

  Andie hesitated, not wanting to appear overeager. “Okay. I accept.”

  “Of course you do.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if yes were the only acceptable answer.

  “Thank you, Felicia.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank Steve.”

  “I’m not sure I know how.”

  “You will learn,” she said in the same flat tone. “That I can promise you.”

  Fifty-two

  The bus returned to Yakima early Sunday morning. Of the six newcomers, Andie and one of the men, the aspiring lounge musician, were the only ones invited back to the farm. The others were dropped at the parking lot where they had left their cars on Friday.

  The bus would leave for the farm in fifteen minutes, just a short break to give everyone time to use the bathroom after the three-hour ride back to the city. Andie knew she had to make a phone call before they reached the farm. Her supervisors hadn’t authorized an undercover assignment beyond the weekend. She considered just going to the pay phone and calling, but she didn’t want the others to get suspicious. She pulled Felicia aside to be up-front with her in an undercover way.

  “I have to call my mother,” said Andie. “I told her I was going away just for the weekend. If she doesn’t hear from me, she’ll worry.”

  “Why call her?”

  “Like I said, she’ll be worried. Heck, who knows? She might even call the police and report me missing.”

  “I understand. Whenever we invite a newcomer back to the farm, we encourage them to notify their family of their decision for precisely that reason. But phone calls can be problematic. We prefer that you simply write a letter.”

  “You don’t know my mother,” said Andie. “She will never believe this was my decision if she just gets a letter in the mail. She’ll want to hear it straight from my own mouth.”

  Felicia shot a judgmental look, as if to say that Andie’s mother was one of those controlling family members with negative energy who needed to be eliminated. “All right. Call her if you must. But be strong. Do not let her talk you out of something that you know is right.”

  “Thank you.” Andie started for the pay phone across the street.

  “Kira?” she called, stopping her. “Tell her you won’t be calling home again. Tell her that if she hears from you again, it will be by letter.”

  “I will,” she said, then continued toward the phone.

  The phone rang at the Underwood residence. Isaac was in the kitchen with his daughter cooking breakfast and watching Sesame Street. It was one of his two weekends a month, one of just two dozen annual opportunities to prove that divorced men can do Sunday morning pancakes. He lowered the volume on the TV and took the call while tending to the griddle.

  It was Andie, which relieved him. The word from his technical agents—that the transmitter in Andie’s ring had been stationary all weekend—had worried him. Andie explained the ceremonial burning and more, glancing every now and then toward the bus to make sure no one could overhear.

  Isaac said, “What you’re saying blends with the updated profile from Quantico.”

  “What does Santos think now?”

  “She’s getting back to the fact that all of the victims display wounds consistent with personal-cause homicides. The killer is acting out of pers
onal anger against the victim. The killings may not be random, as Santos had originally thought. The killer—or killers—may have a very specific agenda. That’s especially interesting when you’re talking about a cult.”

  “Which is why I need to stay on this assignment.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry not to run this through the usual channels, but the fact is, I have just one phone call, my contact agent doesn’t have the authority to extend my assignment, and Lundquist’s balls are barely big enough to get him into the men’s room. So what do you say?”

  “How long?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  The pancakes were burning. Isaac snatched up the griddle and dumped the smoldering mess into the sink. “Andie, as long as there’s the threat of a serial killer making another hit, you’re going to have to move fast. Normally, I’d say take some time to build contacts. In this case you’re going to have to be aggressive, which means you could blow your own cover.”

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t think you do. Not fully. You know that videotape you bought at Blechman’s orientation meeting? I sent it out for analysis by an audio expert. Specifically, a psychological stress evaluator.”

  “I was under the impression the bureau didn’t use PSEs.”

  “I had a few of them done when I was with Seattle P.D., and I thought it might be right in this circumstance. You’re familiar with the test, then?”

  “Yeah. It measures variations and tremors in voice patterns that are inaudible to the human ear.”

  “Right. In fact, the machine actually charts the variations and creates a kind of voice print. Which is what I did with your tape. We had a voice print created for Blechman, and also for Felicia and Tom, the two lieutenants who spoke at the meeting.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Blechman is off by himself, which is normal. He’s the leader. It’s Tom and Felicia who are interesting. They have almost an identical voice print. The expert could barely tell them apart.”

  “What does the expert make of that?”

  “Two possibilities,” said Isaac. “One, these characters are skilled actors who are delivering a very well-rehearsed pitch in a very controlled and identical manner.”

  “Or…?”

  “Or they are programmed exactly alike. I mean exactly. Someone has done a real mind-control number on them.”

  “Someone named Blechman.”

  “I’m not trying to scare you, Andie. I say this only because…well, you know why.”

  “Do I?”

  “I think you do.”

  She smiled, but it was strained. Boy, is this not the time. “I’ll watch my back. Don’t worry.”

  “Well, since you don’t have eyes in the back of your head, I’m going to set up spot surveillance around the farm. It won’t be twenty-four hours, but it’s still too expensive to run this forever. I want you to check with me no later than Wednesday. Just somehow get yourself to a phone. If I don’t hear from you, I’m pulling the plug.”

  Isaac sensed her hesitation, as if she were suddenly distracted, perhaps being watched.

  “It won’t be easy,” she said finally. “But I promise I’ll stay in touch.”

  It was one of those mornings that Gus felt like going straight back to bed and staying there. Not the typical lazy Sunday morning with a cup of coffee and the Post-Intelligencer. More like Sunday, the two-week anniversary of Beth’s disappearance.

  Martha Goldstein’s timing was a piece of work. A letter hand-delivered to his house on the very day she knew he would be at an emotional low. “Dear Gus,” it read. “I know you’re busy with other things, but could you please make time to come into the office this week to assist in the orderly transfer of your files?”

  What a manipulator. The message was handwritten on her personal stationery rather than typed on the firm’s letterhead, as if that would disguise the fact that it was purely a “cover your ass” letter designed to put Gus on legal notice that if anything slipped through the cracks while he was out searching for his wife, his professional neck was on the line, not hers. Nice touch, Martha. You forgot to draw in the smiley face under your signature.

  In the big picture, he knew that the “orderly transfer of files” was one more step toward his permanent removal as managing partner and eventual break with Preston & Coolidge. The same thing had happened five years ago when he had taken the helm and sent his successor packing. It would be best if he just resigned, less embarrassment for the old manager and fewer hassles for the new. The thought of dragging things out sickened him, knowing he’d have to endure the slow parade of partners who would stop by his office, tell him he’d gotten screwed, tell him they admired his fight, and then ask for dibs on his office. The distastefulness of it all had Gus yearning for a clean break. This was his chance to realize one of his oldest dreams, something he would never have found the nerve to try unless forced to do it. Starting his own law firm. Now, that was a professional dream worth his sweat.

  Just as soon as he found Beth.

  The phone rang. It was his investigator, Dex. “I found Shirley’s mother.”

  Gus was suddenly over the law firm. “Dead or alive?”

  “Most definitely alive, about an hour’s drive from here. More the sticks than the suburbs. If you want, I can pay her a visit today, see if she’ll talk.”

  “No,” said Gus. “I’ll do it myself.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” he said as he hopped out of bed. “I’m sure.”

  Fifty-three

  The farm was on twelve acres that looked like a hundred. It was surrounded by open prairie, and had it not been for the barbed-wire fencing, its boundaries would have been indiscernible. A long and dusty driveway led to a barn large enough to hold the old school bus, a tractor, two cars, and nine horses. Adjacent to it was a white two-story frame house. It was old but freshly painted and well maintained, its original Victorian-style details still intact. On the other side of the barn were a dozen small, boxy-looking units with aluminum siding. They reminded Andie of a minimum-security prison.

  The bus pulled straight into the barn. The group filed off and walked toward the smaller living quarters. None went to the main farmhouse.

  “Come on,” said Felicia. “Let me show you around.”

  Andie followed her on a brief walking tour. To the east was a five-acre orchard, apples and apricots. The trees had been pruned in hat-rack fashion, but spring buds were emerging. A vegetable garden covered another two acres. Felicia mentioned a variety of spring vegetables, but it was too early to tell what had been planted where. The animals were around back. A chicken coop was all the way against the back fence, its odor well away from the main house. A half dozen horses and cows were munching grass along the fence line. They kept a healthy distance from the wire. Andie noted the electrodes. It was electrified.

  They continued down past the chickens to a pond and a stand of trees. Behind the trees Andie noticed a small rectangular building.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “We can’t go there,” said Felicia.

  “Why not?”

  “We’re not ready. It’s a special place for meetings and ceremonies. Only the members who have reached the highest level can go there.”

  “Even you can’t go there?” asked Andie.

  “You think I’m the highest level?” she asked, amused. “Far from it, girl. I have a long way to go.”

  “How many levels are there?”

  “You pass through as many levels as are necessary to purge yourself of the human irritations, frustrations, and anxieties that must be overcome to reach beyond the human realm.”

  “So it’s different for each person?”

  “Yes, because we all come here with different baggage. Remember, the ultimate goal is to physically change your level of vibration so that you can receive the flow of energy directly from the source. Everyone has different circumstances that keep th
em vibrating at a human level. Some people are married. Some have children. Some just live in the past, thinking about what they used to be like when they were eighteen or twenty or thirty-five. Your attachment to other people or even to your own past will keep you from evolving.”

  “You mean, I have to forget who I was?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Andie took a breath. “That’s quite a commitment.”

  “Yes. And each level you attain brings additional commitments.”

  “What kind of commitments?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “How long does it take?”

  “No set time frame. When you’re ready to move up, he will know. And he will tell you.”

  “He?”

  “Steven Blechman, of course.”

  “Oh, of course.”

  “Come on, Kira. Let me show you to your room.”

  Felicia led her back to the plain barracks on the far side of the barn. Each of the twelve units looked exactly alike. Felicia took her to the last unit, farthest from the barn. The door had no lock, but it was stuffy inside, as if it hadn’t been lived in for some time. Four bunks lined the wall. Clothes and other essentials were laid out on the bed, just as they had been at the cabin on the retreat. There was a bathroom, though it wasn’t much bigger than the closet beside it. The thought of sharing this space with three other women didn’t thrill Andie.

  “It will be just the two of us for a week or so,” said Felicia.

  “We’re living together?”

  “Everyone gets a partner when they first arrive. It’s my job to help you through.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She gestured toward the bathroom. “Maybe you’d like to clean up a little?”

  “I’d love a shower.”

  “There’s a towel in the bathroom. Feel free.”

  The shower stall was small, but Andie didn’t care. A hot shower was the closest thing to normal she’d experienced in three days. She ran it until the hot water was gone, which wasn’t long. Less than two minutes. It was on a timer to keep her from overindulging.