Morris and Chastain Investigations: Play With Fire & Midnight at the Oasis

by Justin Gustainis

  The corridor they entered was painted institutional green, its monotony relieved only by a couple of bulletin boards, a fire extinguisher – and a large crucifix. At the fourth door on the right, Pearson stopped, bringing the rest of the little procession to an abrupt halt. He knocked twice, and a man’s voice on the other side of the door called, “Come in.” Pearson opened the door wide, and gestured for Morris and Libby to precede him. He followed them into a windowless room whose walls were covered with maps, exploded diagrams of several weapons, and another large crucifix. Pearson said to the man behind the desk, “These are the two people you wanted to see, sir.”

  The man looked at Morris and Libby, put down the pen he’d been writing with, and said, “Thank you, Father-Major. Dismissed.”

  “Yes, sir.” Pearson did another about face, marched out through the door, and closed it behind him.

  The man who, according to David Kabov, was the commander of the Knights Templar in North America stood up from behind his plain metal desk, his shaved skull glistening in the fluorescent light. Father-General Thomas Reinhart looked to be in his early fifties. He wore the standard black fatigue pants, but above these was a gray t-shirt with RANGER printed on the front. The shirt was a little tight, displaying arm and chest muscles that appeared to have been set in concrete. Reinhart didn’t have the physique of a bodybuilder – for one thing, he only stood about 5’9”. His musculature was functional, rather than impressive. He looked like someone who could do five hundred pushups and then get up and punch your lights out, all without breaking a sweat.

  “Mister Morris, Miss Chastain,” he said. “I am Thomas Reinhart, but then I gather you knew that.” He did not offer to shake hands, but did gesture courteously toward a pair of armchairs. “Please sit down.”

  Morris had expected that Reinhart would speak to them from behind his desk, using the furniture to reinforce his authority. Instead, the warrior-priest perched on the edge of his desk, facing them. “The man you know as David Kabov has earned the Order’s trust,” Reinhart said, “and he writes asking that we accord the same to you two. But I never trust strangers based on a single recommendation, so I had to keep you waiting while I made a couple of phone calls and did some research of my own.”

  “I assume the fact that we’re sitting here means that you were able to confirm Kabov’s recommendation,” Morris said.

  “You assume correctly. Some people whose opinions I value speak highly of you” – he turned his head and nodded at Libby – “and Miss Chastain here, who, I understand, is a practitioner of witchcraft.”

  “Only of the white variety,” Libby said. “I have no truck with Satan, or his works. Quite the contrary, in fact.”

  “So I understand. I have heard some accounts of that business you two were involved in a couple of years ago, in Iowa.”

  “Idaho,” Morris said. “People always get those two confused.”

  “Apologies.” Reinhart looked at Libby again. “There was a time when Mother Church made no distinction between forms of witchcraft – any witch was seen as a servant of the devil, and hence deserving of death.”

  “I know,” Libby said tightly.

  Reinhart produced a smile that seemed genuine, and possessed no small amount of charm. “Fortunately, we are more enlightened about such matters these days – at least this Order is. So I agreed to have this conversation even though you, Miss Chastain, are a witch, and Mister Morris here appears to be a convicted felon.”

  Morris shook his head. “Arrested, but not convicted. In fact, all the charges were later dropped.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Reinhart said. “Sometime, I would be interested to hear from you what that business at the Republican convention was all about. We heard some rumors that were really quite intriguing.” He gave them an expressive shrug. “But I’m sure you’ve not come here to swap war stories. So tell me, what do you want with the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon?”

  “Strangely enough,” Morris said, “or maybe not so strangely, our business has to do with King Solomon himself.”

  Reinhart raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? Please continue.”

  “We’ve been told that your Order possesses a portion of Solomon’s Great Seal,” Libby said.

  Reinhart said nothing, but in the bright light Morris thought he saw the man’s pupils dilate.

  “If that’s the case,” Libby went on, “we... well, we’d like to borrow it.”

  Reinhart stared at her for perhaps five seconds. Then he scratched his jaw and said, “There are several ways I could respond to this. One option is simply to tell you that we do not possess, nor does anyone in the Order possess, anything to do with the Seal of Solomon.”

  “No disrespect, sir, but you’ve pretty much closed the door on that one,” Morris said. “If you’re considering multiple responses to our request, then it means you have the Seal. If you didn’t, then only one response would be necessary – or possible.”

  Reinhart produced that hundred-watt smile again, and actually made it look genuine. He’s got no business having a smile like that, Morris thought. Not a guy who probably knows twelve different ways to kill me with his bare hands.

  “You make a good point, Mister Morris,” Reinhart said. “Although there’s the possibility that I am falsely implying that we do have the Seal, as a ruse to gain more information from you.”

  “I thought priests weren’t supposed to lie,” Libby said.

  “Incorrect, Miss Chastain. We’re not supposed to lie without a good reason.”

  “True or not, you seem to have abandoned direct denial as a response,” Morris said. “What else have you got?”

  “Well, there’s always indignation,” Reinhart said. “That’s the one where I say ‘How dare you come in here and ask for one of the most sacred relics there is, over which generations of men have spilled their blood?’” Reinhart made a dismissive gesture. “And so forth.”

  “Sounds like you’ve decided not to go with that one, either,” Morris said.

  Reinhart nodded slowly. “Quite right – although it’s the one I would normally use.” He took in a long breath and let it out slowly. “You two appear to be serious people, and what I’ve heard and read about you in the last hour confirms that assessment.”

  He went around behind his desk, sat down, and pulled a pad of paper toward him. “I make no promises,” he said. “But if you will tell me, in detail, why you want our fragment of the Great Seal, I will give your request serious consideration. Fair enough?”

  Morris and Libby nodded. Then, as they had with David Kabov, they took turns relaying what they knew, suspected, and feared about a certain djinn and those who controlled it.

  When they had finished, Reinhart sat staring at the page of closely-written notes he’d made. Looking up, he said, “So if our fragment of the Seal is bigger than the one being used by these alleged terrorists, that makes it more powerful – and will allow you to take control of the djinn away from them.”

  “That’s what Kabov told us, yes,” Morris said.

  “You are said to be a witch of considerable ability, Miss Chastain. Why can’t you use your magic against the creature?”

  “For a couple of reasons,” Libby told him. “One is, I can’t use my magic to directly bring harm to anybody, and that includes djinn – at least, I think it does. It’s not the sort of question that comes up very often.”

  “No, I imagine not,” Reinhart said. “And the other reason?”

  “Djinn are a unique species,” Libby said. “Neither human, nor angel, nor demon. I have it on good authority that such a creature is probably immune to any magic that I might be able to employ, even if I wasn’t using it for destructive purposes.”

  Reinhart’s eyes narrowed. “What authority are you referring to?”

  “I... I’d rather not say. It came from a confidential source, but one whose expertise I’ve relied on in the past.” Besides, if I tell you I’ve been fucking a dem
on, you’d probably throw my ass out – if not burn it at the stake.

  “As you wish,” Reinhart said. “So, if you go into battle with this djinn, the only weapon in your arsenal right now is a mechanically-fired peach pit?”

  “Avocado,” Libby said. “They’re bigger. Greater mass equals greater impact – I hope.”

  “How do you plan to find the people who control this creature, assuming they actually exist?”

  “We’re still working on that,” Morris said. “No point in going after them until we have a reasonable chance of surviving the encounter.”

  Reinhart added something to the notes he’d been making. Then he put down his pen and said, “I need to give this some serious thought, and prayer. I also want to consult with a couple of my senior commanders, whose opinions I value.”

  “How long do you figure this will all take?” Morris asked.

  “Probably several hours. During that time, I invite you to be my guests.”

  Morris looked at Libby, then turned back to Reinhart. “Well, having come this far...”

  “Yes, quite.” Reinhart stood, walked to the door, and opened it. “Father-Major Pearson!”

  Within seconds, Pearson was standing in the doorway. “Yes, sir?”

  “Escort our guests to the Officers’ Day Room. Make sure they have whatever they need.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And let our brother officers know that the Day Room is off-limits to them for the next six hours.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pearson turned to Morris and Libby. “If you will follow me, please?”

  And so they did. They even acted as if they had a choice.

  Twenty-Four

  AT ONE O’CLOCK, Nasiri was standing before an exhibit of medieval Arabic art when Uthman appeared at his elbow.

  “Peace be upon you, my brother,” the wizard said quietly.

  “And upon you, too.” Nasiri also kept his voice down, even speaking Arabic. In this building, in this city, Arabic was more likely to be used than English. There were perhaps a dozen other people in the large, open room, but none of them stood nearby. If someone did approach the art exhibit, Nasiri and Uthman would casually move on to another area, far enough away from other people to keep them safe from prying ears, regardless of the language they used.

  “What did you wish to discuss with me so urgently, my brother?” Nasiri asked.

  Uthman took a moment before answering. “It concerns... Rashid,” he said.

  “I surmised as much,” Nasiri said, and waited.

  “I allowed him egress from the lamp, last night – after first surrounding it with an unbreachable barrier of magic, of course.”

  “Again? Why must you continue to do such things?”

  “For the same reason that a lion tamer works with his big cats on a regular basis, brother – to remind them who is dominant. Otherwise, he may face an unpleasant surprise on the day he performs before the crowd.”

  “I am not certain that I find such an analogy convincing,” Nasiri said.

  “I believe it is very appropriate,” Uthman told him. “The fragment of Great Suleiman’s Seal that we have is not very large. As I have explained to you, the size is directly related to its power.”

  “I hope you are not about to suggest that we secure a larger relic for you – even assuming that one could be located somewhere.”

  “No, brother – I am aware that that would be all but impossible. My own resources – which are considerable, I may say – have been unable to uncover any other verified fragment anywhere.”

  “Very well, then. So you let our friend out of his container, to re-establish your dominance over him. What is the problem that caused you to get in touch with me?”

  Uthman hesitated again, and Nasiri felt a worm of unease begin crawling through his guts.

  “The comparison of my work to that of a lion tamer was perhaps more apt than you realize, brother,” Uthman said. “In both cases, a degree of caution, or restraint, is called for. The man in the cage has his whip and chair, perhaps even a revolver. However, the power these accord him is limited. One can push a lion or leopard only so far without risk of bloody rebellion. The same is true of our friend in the lamp, despite my possessing a piece of Great Suleiman’s Seal.”

  Nasiri kept the irritation off his face, but allowed it to show in his voice. “Brother, if there is something you wish to tell me, I think it would be a very good thing for you to say it outright.”

  Uthman nodded nervously. “You recall, I am sure, that... expedition that three of us – led by myself, of course – undertook some six weeks ago, in order to provide what Rashid said was essential nourishment.”

  “I am hardly likely to forget it, and the risks involved in securing the... organ that Rashid required.”

  “Then we must prepare ourselves to endure more risks, brother,” Uthman said. “Because he wants another one.”

  Twenty-Five

  MORRIS WAS READING an article in the current issue of Military Strategy about how Napoleon could have won at Waterloo when Father-Major Pearson returned for them.

  The Officers’ Day Room at Knights Templar headquarters was the size of a living room in a large house, and was furnished with a number of couches and easy chairs – all a bit worn, but undeniably comfortable. The room also contained some low tables, a widescreen TV, a cooler containing soda and bottled water, and a coffee maker whose product was far better than Morris would have expected. Libby favored tea, and that was available, too. They had been brought surprisingly good food from the Officers’ Mess, and allowed use of a nearby restroom – with an escort to and from, of course.

  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 s
aid. “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’?”