by L. Todd Wood
It was 7:00 p.m. when they arrived at the bistro overlooking the Sausalito section of the San Francisco Bay Area. They had crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and the weather was clear enough to get a good view of Alcatraz in the middle of the bay to the east. Hundreds of yachts were moored off the coast, along with a large number of houseboats. Painters and other craftsmen were spread out along the plaza next to the water, hawking their wares. A small orchestra was playing chamber music on the waterfront as well. Sausalito was an industrial center during World War II, but had morphed into an artistic, cultural oasis. It was quite bohemian with art and creativity everywhere. The warm evening was quite pleasant. “This is beautiful!” remarked Neal.
“Yes, isn’t it? You’ve never been to the Bay Area before?”
“Never. I didn’t know what I was missing. And what a great little spot to eat!"
“Yeah, I like this place. They say the word bistro comes from the Russian occupation of Paris in 1814 after Napoleon was defeated and put into exile on the island of Elba. The Russian word for quickly is bystro. It is thought the Russian occupying officers would force the Parisians to feed them and would say quickly in Russian. Hence, the term bistro was applied to small French restaurants that served food rather quickly. That’s your trivia for the day.”
“Interesting,” added Neal, not really listening to Rafe as he gazed out over the water, lost in thought.
“So tell me more about the visitor activity around the fort,” said Rafe, as he noticed he had lost Neal's attention and therefore changed the direction of the conversation.
Neal was jerked back to reality and replied a few seconds later after thinking about Rafe's question. “We’ve only got circumstantial evidence, you understand. Several of the residents along the coast near the fort have reported to police that they have seen frequent fires burning around the fort itself, multiple fires at once in fact, usually late in the evening. It could be torches from one of the rituals you have spoken of. Some of the locals have been quite upset and vocal about it and want it to stop.”
“How often have you had these reports? And have the police found anything?”
“We’ve located a handful of eyewitness complaints thanks to the cooperation of your local police. And no, the police have found nothing when they checked them out. To them, it was just a false alarm. But to the trained eye, well it could be something else, couldn't it?"
"And this was enough for you to fly all the way over here?"
"Yes, it was. We don't have that much to go on. However, there is more. Your government has picked up signal traffic. You're very good at that you know. They've collected several conversations about events at the fort. It seems they've been monitoring some of the same people we have and passed on the information to us recently. It seems your NSA has been quite productive."
"Yes, we've become quite accomplished at spying on our own people. So some of the visitors mentioned these so-called events? In what manner?"
"They've been caught discussing going to the fort in San Francisco. It doesn't take too much to put two and two together now, does it? It's probably the visitors."
"Well that is interesting."
"And here's the mother lode. They've discussed tonight as a possible time frame for an event."
"Really? Do you have a time? That is something to fly all the way over here for!"
"Yes, I thought you might see the light."
"So where do we go from here?"
"Once it gets dark," added Neal, "We go to Fort Ross."
An hour and a half later, the sun was approaching the horizon, and Neal motioned for the waitress to bring the check. She returned shortly with the bill. Rafe nonchalantly threw some cash on the table to cover the dinner and drinks. After standing, he reached down to add a few one-dollar bills for the tip. Neal followed his movements and saw the dollars lying on the table with the back of the bills facing up. He became transfixed on the image presented to him on the back of the one-dollar bill. It was a pyramid adorned at the top, with the Eye of Providence, or the all-seeing eye. Neal stared at the image for several uncomfortably long seconds.
"You okay?" asked Rafe, noticing Neal's trance on the image.
"Yeah, I guess so," responded Neal as he forcibly broke his gaze away from the dollar.
"You've never seen the back of a U.S. dollar before?"
"I'm sure I have, but no, can't say that I've ever noticed. Interesting design." said Neal squeamishly. His face had turned white as a ghost.
"First time for everything," added Rafe suspiciously. What was that all about? he wondered to himself. Something stirred in the back of his mind and he became suspicious of Neal and his interest in the all-seeing eye.
Rafe and Neal drove the hour-plus route up to the area on the coast where Fort Ross was located. The fort was perched on a flat cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The view was quite stunning during the daytime. The site had attracted the early Russian explorers for its beauty as well as its natural security features. The fort sat in the middle of a large grassy area, no trees or any other obstacles around it. No one would be able to approach the citadel unseen from any direction, providing an extra modicum of safety.
It was a square, wooden structure surrounded by walls built with sharp pointed poles, as forts were constructed in that era. Multiple wooden buildings were located inside. Guard towers were placed on the four corners of the fortress. There were several modern buildings outside the structure that housed tourist facilities and other commercial ventures, but the majority of the grounds were made to resemble the early nineteenth century Russian stronghold.
Fort Ross had been a Russian outpost at the farthest reaches of imperial Russia as the tsar searched for lucrative fur pelts to line his pockets and finance the wars in Europe. The Spanish had claimed the land of California to the south but the north was wide open to Russian explorers. The fort also helped supply the Russian Alaskan community as well with raw materials.
Relations between the Russian colonial rulers and the native peoples of Alaska were adversarial at best. Many of the groups were conquered by Moscow but a few of the native Indians tribes held out against Russian rule. However, most were negatively affected by disease and outright brutality at the hands of the Russian occupiers. Moscow sold the fort in the mid eighteen hundreds as they pulled back to preserve their Siberian empire as war spread in Europe and Asia. The sale of Alaska took place a few decades later as the furs were over trapped and the supply was dwindling. Russia never again ventured into North America.
As they arrived, night was setting in and the entire compound was dark. They parked in the tourist parking area, away from the walls of the fort, and began walking towards the ocean. The moon highlighted the way as they progressed slowly, not knowing what to expect. They both were apprehensive.
The two men quickly passed the compound itself and, not noticing any activity, continued towards the ocean and soon were standing before a guard rail, which prevented any further advance. They were completely alone.
"I guess we wait?" asked Rafe.
"Sounds good to me. I'm glad it's warm. It could be a while. Who knows what we are likely to see tonight. Let's stay alert. We should see anyone coming."
Rafe pulled a cigar out of his sport coat and lit it. He held out one for Neal. "Care for one?"
"Sure, thank you. I love surprises." The moon was high in the sky now and bright as a beacon. They were highlighted against the ocean. "Tell me about San Francisco," added Neal after lighting the cigar and puffing to ensure the tobacco was well lit all the way around the far end.
"What do you want to know?" asked Rafe as lit his cigar as well and drew the smooth tobacco smoke into his mouth.
"I want to know about the soul of the city."
"The soul of the city is dying," responded Rafe.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I drove through it today. There are homeless everywhere. There is no work ethic. It's just anything goes it seems and some
one else will pay for it."
"That's what happens when you promise a society everything they want," responded Neal.
Rafe looked at him for a few seconds, trying to understand his meaning. "Do you know something I don't, Neal?"
"Yes, I think I do, Rafe. And it's time you knew as well."
"What do you mean by that?" Rafe asked suspiciously, his spine stiffening, a sense of dread washing over him. His new suspicions about Neal seeming to be confirmed, his anxiety level for Clare increased as well.
Neal said nothing for several moments, then finally spoke. "Why don't you follow me?" Neal hopped over the railing and started walking to the edge of the cliff. Rafe followed cautiously, his guard highly aroused. They approached the point of no return on the cliff, and Neal turned to Rafe. "What do you see below?"
Rafe walked to the edge and stood beside Neal. Far below, there was a small beach where the waves crashed into the land from the ocean, having whittled away the dirt from below the cliff over the centuries. Rafe leaned over the edge and looked down. A hundred feet below, he saw a large group of torches arranged in a circle on the sand. He could vaguely make out dark shapes around the fires. The people started chanting in some kind of dialect that Rafe couldn't understand. Neal spoke. "I think it's time we go down, don't you, Rafe?"
"I'll follow you from a distance," Rafe responded, being very cautious.
"Your call," replied Neal. The two started walking along the edge of the cliff. Soon Neal turned and spoke to Rafe, who was walking a few meters behind. "Follow me down these stairs; they've been carved into the rock. They are solid, but the lighting is not great as you can see, so be careful."
"I appreciate your concern," responded Rafe sarcastically.
"I thought you might," Neal said as he smiled politely. He started down the stairs and Rafe followed, slowly negotiating the rough, stone steps. Ten minutes later, they emerged on the beach; the waves crashed against the outlying rocks, creating a deafening sound. Rafe stayed a ways behind Neal as he walked towards the torches. Rafe could make out the altar in the center of the ring of fire, the hooded figures silently surrounding the area in a familiar arc. When he had reached the group of people, suddenly Neal turned towards Rafe and spoke. "Rafe, we've been waiting for your arrival here. We are glad you are finally among us, so we can talk."
"So you knew I would come here? Or better yet, you led me here?"
"Yes, you could say both statements are true!"
"So I guess the question is, why?"
"Because we want you to join us, Rafe!"
"Join you in what?"
"We want you to join our little group here. We have a lot of fun at our recurring gatherings! Haven't you seen?" Neal said with a laugh.
"You forget the small issue of my daughter's disappearance."
"Well, I'm sure our leader can help with that. The real question is whether or not you will become one of us."
"Where is your leader?” asked Rafe.
"You will see him again soon enough."
"What are you trying to accomplish? What are your goals? Tell me what you are trying to do!" demanded Rafe.
"I think that is painfully obvious, and you know very well what we are trying to do! Just look at all of the poverty, joblessness, and corruption all around you in this city! Isn't it wonderful! It gives me a hard-on!"
Rafe looked into the eyes of the hooded figures standing around him in a circle. The torches flashed an orange glow into their faces. He recognized many of them, as they were frequent figures in government, academia, and in the media. He was among a group of very powerful people indeed. Rafe said nothing for a while.
"Let it go, Rafe! Join us! It's no use trying to resist. Everything has been planned! You are supposed to be one of us!"
"I guess I didn't get the memo. And besides, murdering families in the middle of the night just doesn't appeal to me!"
"That matter couldn't be helped! Sometimes things must be done for the good of the society!"
"Yeah, I remember Stalin said something like that."
"He was a wise man!"
"Whatever you say, Neal. So let's cut to the chase. There is no way I'm going to join your little band of marauders. It's just not my bag, baby. So why don't you give me back my daughter, and let's call it a day, huh? That way you can go back to England and continue whatever evil journey you are on, and I can get back to writing. How does that sound?"
"I'm afraid it's not so easy, my friend. And besides, I can't give you your daughter back. That will come from the leader, if he decides to do so. I was merely asked to invite you to join our group."
"Well, as I said, that's not going to happen."
"Suit yourself. But I must tell you, there will be consequences. It would be much easier if you just submit now and avoid all the unpleasantness! Speaking as your friend of course!"
"You are not my friend!" responded Rafe.
"That's where you are wrong. You see, I was given an offer I couldn't refuse as well. Now, I'm happy I made the right choice. It's not that difficult once you get the hang of it! Trust me!"
"I used to trust you. No longer."
"I had no choice, Rafe, and neither do you."
"We'll see about that."
"Yes, you are right about that one! The problem is, I'm not sure you'll get another chance."
"Well, your leader asked me to find something. Is this it?"
"Aaah, yes. You are correct. I'm not sure how to answer that. You will have to figure that out on your own, as he said. All I know is he will be disappointed in your answer tonight."
"I guess I'll deal with him some other time. So what do we do now that I have refused your offer? Are you going to kill me here on the beach?"
"Oh no! Nothing rude like that, I assure you. We are simply going to blindfold you and tie you up. That way you can't see us leave. We'll leave enough slack so that eventually you can get free, but, it will take you a while. Good night, Rafe!" With Neal's comment, someone from behind Rafe put a hood over his head, and whatever light there was went out. Rafe was hog-tied and left on the beach. The crashing of the waves drowned out any sound of the visitors leaving and heading back into society.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The problem is, I'm not sure you'll get another chance. The words kept ringing in Rafe's mind as he struggled to climb the stone stairs back to the top of the cliff and to the car, if it was still there. His knees were bloodied as he had fallen several times. It was much harder to climb up than it had been to walk down. Rafe's thighs burned as he pushed himself to put one foot in front of the other and inch his way towards to the top of the cliff. His legs were weak from low circulation as the ropes had cut into him; Rafe kept moving. Soon he could at least see the top and it gave him increased motivation to move faster.
He felt a giant loss. Although he had been betrayed, he felt a loss just the same. Neal had been a close confidant for years. Now Rafe was truly alone. He was truly alone in his fight for Clare. He was the only one who could save her. And I will die if I have to in order to do so! he thought to himself. I will do anything to save her. The panic returned with a vengeance. Where is she?
Rafe finally arrived at the top of the cliff and sat down facing the ocean. He had to rest as he was breathing heavily and felt light-headed. It had taken several hours to free himself from the ropes, and he was quite tired. For the first time, he felt almost hopeless. The events of the recent past had taken a toll on his body and especially his mind. I have to find the strength to go on. I am her only chance. The light was beginning to peek over the horizon behind him to the east. The ocean lay undisturbed by human hands before him, violently crashing into the shoreline below, creating a crescendo of noise. It was a beautiful sight; he tried to allow the rhythm of the waves to soothe him. He lay back in the grass and tried to take a quick nap as he was exhausted. It was no use. Too bad I can't enjoy it! After thirty minutes of contemplating his situation, his energy had returned. Rafe stood and made his way
back to where they had left the vehicle. He felt slightly stronger now. He was overjoyed when he saw it was still there. Thank you for small miracles. Rafe took one last look at Fort Ross as the sun broke over the horizon then got in the car and drove back towards San Francisco.
Rafe didn't know what to do next. He stared out over the water at the yachts moored off the coast of Sausalito. The vessels drifted in the wind that had picked up as the day grew older. He had returned to the same bistro for something to eat after catching some sleep at the hotel. He had even managed to bandage his knees. Rafe had rapidly experienced all the different stages of grief for the loss of his good friend, Neal. Now he was just feeling anger, again. He was enraged at the betrayal but powerless to do anything about it. He drank quickly the cup of coffee the waitress had brought him and then asked her for another. The young girl returned shortly to refill his cup. She dropped a newspaper on the table for his perusal. "You look bored," she added. "Maybe this will help." She smiled and walked away.
Searching for inspiration, he spread out the paper on the table to take in the headlines. There were the usual school massacres and drive-by shootings but immediately his eyes were glued to an article from New York City. It seemed that as the construction crews were digging the underground sites for the new Second Avenue Subway line, they had found an archeological discovery that no one could explain. Experts were trying to determine how a two-thousand-year-old Roman Mythraic temple could have been built underneath New York. This just keeps getting stranger. I guess I'm going back to New York immediately. I'm going home.
The flight to New York City was a long one. Since he bought a ticket at the last minute, he couldn't get a direct flight and had to switch planes in Denver. The layover was maddening. He paced the carpeted concourse of the modern airport and waited for his connection. The plane for the flight was late arriving due to maintenance reasons and his departure was moved back two hours, so he amused himself in the bar. Rafe didn't arrive at JFK until almost midnight. The familiar airport was empty as he walked through the terminal to the exit. After being in Europe, he was always shocked at the third world nature of the New York City airports. The infrastructure was old and lacking in any aesthetic appearance. One of the escalators was not working. There seemed to be no sense of urgency to fix it. There was no style, no class, just barely functioning steel and concrete. He hadn't checked a bag, so he immediately took a cab into the city. The traffic was negligible at this hour and Rafe was in Manhattan within twenty minutes after crossing via the tunnel.
