“Dessert, anyone?” she asked sweetly.
The nefarious schemes of the Blessed Nephilim and the unsolved riddle of the Bones of the Mother flew out of everyone’s heads at the mention of pie.
Chapter 3 – The Wait Staff
Dr. Rafi Aboud, impeccably dressed in a twelve-hundred-dollar suit, stood in the middle of what had once been a cornfield. Beside him lay a large mound of dirt, an idle backhoe, and a gaping hole in the ground. He regarded his surroundings with deep exasperation. Glancing at his Rolex, the exasperation turned to impatience. He was waiting to meet his benefactor and had been waiting for twenty minutes in this desolate spot. He was on the point of storming off to confront the man at his compound when the doctor saw a dust cloud rising on the dirt road that bordered the field.
A vehicle emerged from the dust—a late model limousine that pulled over to the shoulder of the road and parked. The driver scurried out to assist his passenger—an old man dressed all in black with a mane of silver hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His name was Abraham Metcalf. Aboud recalled that the old man’s followers referred to him as “The diviner.” In addition to being the head of a strange cult called the Blessed Nephilim, the old man was also a prophet of sorts. It was said that he spoke directly to God—like Mohammed had done.
Aboud allowed himself a brief smile at the fanciful notion. God, if he existed at all, spoke only through science. That was the sort of religion which Aboud could respect. Facts could be proved or disproved. Nothing was left to chance or the sloppy sentimentality of belief.
The diviner picked his way carefully through the furrows and ruts left by the backhoe. It was surprising that for a man in his seventies his gait still resembled a military march.
Aboud made no move to greet his visitor.
Metcalf held out his hand. “Doctor Aboud.”
Aboud did not take it. He merely gave a stiff little bow in return. “Mr. Metcalf.”
The diviner looked around the field with an unaccountable expression of satisfaction. “Our work is progressing well,” he observed.
Aboud stared at him is disbelief. “You consider this progress? A hole in the ground?”
Metcalf drew himself up in wounded dignity. “I do indeed. You have no idea how difficult it was to arrange the manpower for this project without attracting attention.”
“Two months have gone by and all I see here is a hole.”
“You need to have faith,” the old man countered.
“I need to see results,” Aboud shot back. “You promised me a staff of laboratory assistants. Of course, it is no matter that you have not produced them since there is no laboratory in which they can work.”
Metcalf’s face turned purple. Clearly, he was not used to being challenged. “You seem to forget your place, sir.”
Aboud was not going to be intimidated. “I do not forget the promises you made that brought me to this country.”
“Those promises are being fulfilled even as we speak.” The diviner stepped in closer. He was several inches taller than the doctor and apparently thought that this action would intimidate him.
Aboud merely raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I respect only facts, Mr. Metcalf. All else is illusion.”
Metcalf seemed taken aback when his bluster had no effect on the foreign man. He moderated his approach. “The construction crew will be out here tomorrow to continue excavation. Is that fact enough for you, doctor?”
Aboud gave a slight nod. “Yes, that is a sign of progress.” He paused to consider his next words. “Mr. Metcalf, you should be aware I have had other offers for my expertise.”
“What!” the diviner stormed. “You would dare to shop your wares in the public marketplace when we already have an agreement?”
“I have not shopped my wares like a common street merchant,” Aboud countered. “A man with my skills does not go unnoticed wherever he travels. Some very powerful organizations found me.”
“And what did you tell them?” There was no mistaking the menace in the old man’s tone.
The doctor shrugged. “Nothing. I said that I was unavailable.”
Metcalf relaxed slightly. “Then no harm has been done.”
“However, the status of my availability could change if my laboratory continues to be no more than a hole in the ground.”
Metcalf gave a cold smile. “Holes in the ground have many uses. Sometimes they turn into laboratories.” He paused and leaned in again. “And sometimes they turn into graves.”
The doctor felt his own temper flare. “Is that a threat?”
“Oh, yes. And a promise should you fail to keep your end of the bargain.” The diviner glanced briefly at the pit in the earth and then back at Aboud. “Excavation will continue tomorrow, doctor. The use to which the cavity will be put remains entirely up to you.”
***
Chopper Bowdeen wasn’t given to fits of the jitters. He prided himself on projecting a stoical calm in the face of life’s many storms. That said, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from pacing back and forth like a carnival duck in his now empty shooting range. He had dismissed his pack of trainees early and was waiting tensely for one final interview with the man who had hired him—the man who had built a state of the art weapons training facility out in the middle of nowhere for a purpose Bowdeen could only guess at. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Metcalf should have been here by now.
Whipping these guppies into shape had been an aggravating ordeal. At least in the military, you were dealing with kids who had grown up around guns. These bible thumpers didn’t seem to know which end to load and which end to shoot. But you couldn’t fault their enthusiasm. They were on a mission—their mission being to do whatever crazy ass thing their diviner told them to do. That thought gave Bowdeen the willies. The whole reason he’d quit taking assignments in the Middle East was to get away from religious zealots. From what he’d seen in the past couple of months, these Nephilim boys could give Al-Qaeda a run for its money in the Suicide for God game.
Chopper wanted out. He was just here to collect his pay and get as far away from the compound as possible. After that, he’d look up his old army buddy, Leroy Hunt, and punch him in the nose for recommending him for this gig. How that jackass ever got mixed up with this bunch of weirdos was beyond his comprehension. He just hoped that Hunt had gotten shed of them by now as he hoped to do shortly himself.
“Mr. Bowdeen.” A commanding voice addressed him.
The hair on the back of Chopper’s neck stood on end. He hadn’t realized somebody just walked up behind him. That’s how jangled he was. Pausing to arrange his facial muscles, as much as the scar across his lip would allow, he turned to greet his visitor. “Mr. Metcalf, how are you, sir?”
The old man seemed disgruntled about something. “I’ve had better mornings but nothing that need concern you. You wished to speak to me?”
Bowdeen clasped his hands behind his back to keep them from twitching. “That I did, sir. Your boys have been trained per your instructions, and I wanted to clear accounts and be on my way.”
The old man looked perplexed. “Be on your way?” he repeated.
“Yes, sir. The job’s done.”
The puzzled look didn’t change. “To be sure part of the job is done, Mr. Bowdeen, but not the entire job.”
“Sir?”
“Don’t mistake me. You’ve succeeded admirably in training my chosen security force in the compound, and you will be compensated immediately for services rendered. But there’s much more to do.”
“I... I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.” Bowdeen could feel a cold chill running up his spine.
The old man scowled in perplexity. “Surely, Mr. Hunt must have told you what the job entailed?”
“No sir, he didn’t though I would like to thank him personally for the opportunity you all have given me.”
“Well, we must set the record straight immediately then, mustn’t we?”
Chopper could only offer a mute nod of assent.
“Please have a seat.” Metcalf claimed one of the folding chairs at the back of the range and indicated that Bowdeen should take the other.
Once again, the mercenary mutely obliged.
“When I engaged you for this assignment, it was to provide weapons training for my entire organization.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve done exactly that.”
Metcalf gave a thin smile. “I’m afraid you’ve only scratched the surface. You must be aware that the Blessed Nephilim is a global brotherhood with compounds stretching around the world.”
Bowdeen could feel the color draining from his face. “G... global?” he managed to stammer.
“Yes, that’s right.” The old man regarded him with the pitying look of a man trying to explain algebra to a cretin. “Global.”
Chopper was grasping at straws now. “But, sir, that’s a mighty big order.”
Metcalf sighed expressively. “You agreed to provide training for my entire concern. Considering the enormous sum of money that I will be paying for your services, I’m at a loss to understand your objection. Are you disturbed at the thought of becoming a very rich man?”
Bowdeen racked his brain for a good pretext to quit, but there wasn’t any easy way out of this. He’d made a deal. An incredibly lucrative deal that he’d be a fool to back out of. More than that, he couldn’t point to a single logical reason for not upholding his end of the bargain—just a gnawing sensation in the pit of his gut. That was all. He commanded his gut to keep still. He was a professional, and he had a reputation to maintain. He couldn’t have word getting around that he was a quitter. “Sir, can I ask why you need all these boys to receive such extensive military training?”
Metcalf hesitated a second in framing a response. “For our peace of mind, Mr. Bowdeen. Why else? As you may have noticed, the world isn’t a very safe place these days.”
Chopper’s conscience whispered that he had just done his part to make it a little less safe. He ignored the inner voice. “What do you want me to do next, sir?”
The diviner rose to go. “Wait for further orders. I’ll be in touch shortly with your next assignment.”
***
Leroy Hunt pulled up to the entrance to the Nephilim compound out in the sticks where Jesus would’ve lost his sandals if he’d ever had a mind to visit these nut jobs in the first place. Abraham Metcalf’s gun-for-hire had come out here often enough that the sentry in the guard shack waved him through on sight. Hunt waited for the ten-foot iron gates to part. He never could figure out why they had a P with an X through it set right into the middle of each gate. Why not a BN for “Blessed Nephilim” or maybe CA for “Crazy Abe lives here?” There was no accounting for why these loonies did anything. He shrugged off the question and proceeded up the winding gravel road to the cinder block stronghold at the far end. Bracing himself for the sight of one of Abe’s gloomy sons in their funeral suits, he was greeted instead by a pleasant surprise—a pretty little girl barely in her teens.
“Well, darlin’,” he smiled. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
The girl glanced sideways and blushed.
“What’s your name, sugar?”
“V... Violet,” she stammered.
Hunt removed his Stetson. He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you little Miss Violet, though I’m a mite surprised you got such a flowery name. Ain’t all you gals supposed to be called after somebody in the Bible? Like Eunice or Maude or some such?”
Violet gave him a perplexed look and a limp handshake. “This way, sir,” she gestured down one of the long corridors that branched off the front hall.
Hunt followed her. As always, the stillness of the place unnerved him. Their footsteps clacking on the polished stone floor made the only sound. He couldn’t believe anybody still breathing above ground could survive in a place like this. Churchy folk might’ve said it had the odor of sanctity about it. Leroy thought it had more of an antiseptic holier-than-thou stench. The compound would have made a great mausoleum. He decided to wrap up his business and get the hell out of there pronto. Since the hallway was about a mile long, he figured to break up the journey with some chit chat. “They don’t usually send a tiny little gal out to meet one of us outlanders,” he began.
“I’m not a little girl, sir,” Violet corrected him primly. “I’m a married woman with a daughter of my own.”
“The dickens you say!” Leroy exclaimed. “You can’t be more’n twelve or thirteen.”
“I am fourteen.” She gestured for him to follow her down a hallway that branched off to the right.
“Lord Almighty,” the mercenary muttered under his breath. “The fellers in these parts sure got a taste for green fruit. Seems like an apple don’t hardly get a chance to turn red and hit the ground ‘fore somebody snatches it right off the tree!”
The girl stopped dead in her tracks and gawked at him. “I have heard that the Fallen often speak in strange tongues. Is that what you’re doing? Speaking in strange tongues?”
Leroy laughed outright at the question. “With all the old geezers in this place marryin’ a whole stable of gals young enough to be their great grandkids, you think I’m the strange one?”
Violet made no reply. She seemed even more confused.
Hunt thought it a waste of time to pursue the question, so he changed the subject. “Given that you’re a grown up married lady and all, ain’t that even more reason to keep the likes of you away from the likes of me?”
They resumed walking.
The girl shook her head. “Oh no. Father Abraham says that although you are one of the Fallen, you can be trusted.”
“Now see, that’s another thing. Maybe you Nephilim ought to quit referrin’ to anybody who ain’t you as Fallen. It don’t set right with us normal folks.”
“It doesn’t?” the girl sounded shocked.
“Shoot, it’s kind of like callin’ somebody a leper. That ain’t no way to make friends and influence people. You know what I’m sayin’?”
“No,” Violet replied simply. “I’m having trouble understanding most of what you’re saying.”
Thankfully, their awkward conversation was brought to an abrupt end when Violet stopped in front of a closed door. “Here we are.”
For once, Leroy felt relieved to be in the presence of sour old Abe.
Violet escorted him into the diviner’s office and vanished soundlessly.
The old man was already hunched over his desk scowling at a piece of paper under his nose. “Hello, Mr. Hunt,” he said, never taking his eyes off the paper.
“Howdy, boss.” The mercenary leaned against the door jamb and twirled his hat brim idly, waiting to get his employer’s full attention. He let his eyes wander over the bound volumes of sermons crammed into every available inch of bookcase on the walls. The old geezer sure loved to hear himself talk. He even made somebody write it all down later to remind himself.
Metcalf finally looked up from his paperwork. “I’ve had a very busy day thus far, Mr. Hunt, so I would appreciate it if we can keep this interview brief.”
“Suits me just fine,” Leroy agreed.
“Take a seat,” Metcalf instructed.
Leroy was having none of it. He wasn’t about to crouch down in one of those low-slung visitor chairs where you had to crane your neck to look up at the old preacher like he was sermonizing in a pulpit. “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’ll stand.”
“Very well,” Abraham looked up at him for a change. “Please state your business then.”
Leroy chuckled appreciatively. “Cut to the chase, huh? I like that in a feller. Happy to oblige. I come here today to find out when we gonna be movin’ out.”
The diviner raised a quizzical eyebrow.
Hunt elaborated. “When you gonna send me and your boy Daniel out to find that next doodad? Since I been coolin’ my heels for a couple of months now, I t
hought I’d pay a personal call to find out what’s what.”
Metcalf sighed, apparently vexed to be reminded of the delay. “My son Daniel is having some difficulty translating the clue to the location of the next relic.”
“Why, shoot,” Leroy dismissed the objection. “That never stopped him before. He usually just stumbles around whinin’ how he don’t know where to find the thing til he practically trips over it.”
“That hardly strikes me as a sound strategy, Mr. Hunt.”
“It don’t strike me that way neither, sir, but I have found through sad experience that it’s the way your young ‘un operates and he gets the job done just the same.” He tried to keep a tone of urgency out of his voice when he asked, “So how’s about we saddle up and ride anyhow? Maybe tomorrow or the next day?”
Metcalf’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I never recall you being quite so keen to escort my son on these quests before, Mr. Hunt. Usually, I can convince you to accompany him only after a series of pointless objections on your part.”
Leroy didn’t feel inclined to share the reason for his newfound eagerness with his employer. His private plan for the relics meant that he needed to stick close to Daniel until the kid had brought them all home to his daddy. Then Hunt would cash in his chips and take the lot. Maybe leave a few corpses behind too for good measure. But that was for him to know and for them never to find out. Instead, he laughed lightly. “Well, sir, what can I say? The Lord has shown me the error of my ways. I see now that you all are doin’ God’s work, and I aim to help in that noble enterprise.”
Metcalf seemed to buy the flimsy excuse. Religious types were suckers for the reformed sinner routine. “All in good time, Mr. Hunt. All in good time. My son is spending every waking moment trying to make sense of the heathen gibberish that will point the way to the next relic. As soon as the Lord blesses him with a revelation, I will summon you again.”
“What you all expect me to do in the meantime?” Leroy asked in a slightly peevish tone.
“I expect you to wait, Mr. Hunt. Wait and pray.”
Leroy felt a keen loathing to do either one, but he suppressed the urge to gag. Instead, he tipped his hat and said, “You got it, boss. Wait and pray.”
The Arkana Mysteries Boxed Set Page 54
