Blood Web: Caitlin Diggs Series #1

by Gary Starta

  The man fought to regain his breath, wearing a grimace on his face. His expression reminded Jake of a bobcat. He was dressed in a steel blue colored jacket with green pants. He finally managed to blurt out a sentence: “I’m only here to talk to you.”

  Jake Campbell did not believe the man’s lie, not for one New York minute.

  “Then why did you jump from the sky at me if you just wanted to talk?”

  Major Schumacher knew the colonel’s plan would never work. The whistle-blower was already suspicious. Jake was not about to listen to his version of reason. There was only way to remedy this situation.

  Schumacher withdrew a switchblade from his pocket. It whipped the air, missing its target by a mere inch. Jake had been ready for it. Angling his body to an extreme right angle, Jake resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The old man maintained his balance to the chagrin of Schumacher. Still bent at his knees, Jake lifted his body off the ground and jumped a pace backwards.

  Schumacher prepared for another assault. The pressure was on to make contact. The major heard a child’s voice from above. Witnesses would be on the scene any minute now. He swung back his attacking arm. But could do nothing more.

  Schumacher’s arm was frozen stiff. He could neither move nor release his grip on the weapon. His hate-filled eyes glared at Jake in defiance. The rest of his body hung in suspended animation. He was a fly trapped in a spider’s web.

  “What the hell did you do to me?” Schumacher found he could only move his lips.

  Jake did not answer. He simply kept his eyes fixated on the man who was now suddenly his prey. Jake smelled military all over the scowling man.

  Jake maintained his paranormal hold over Schumacher while a family descended the stairway three levels up. He wouldn’t be able to maintain his grip much longer. And right now, it didn’t really matter, because if this man were indeed from the military, he would never talk anyway.

  Assessing the aura of pain engulfing Schumacher’s body, Jake Campbell redirected the energy flow to the major’s brain. There he used it to spike the portion of gray matter that controlled the man’s motor reflexes. The major was now unable to recall how to move his hand or even take a small baby step. Jake had effectively knocked the man’s sensory integration skills off line. He now was no more threatening than a drooling infant.

  But this ebb of energy was weakening. Soon the major would be able to recall how to command his arm to stab or order his feet to run. Jake approached his frozen nemesis slowly. Still maintaining eye contact, he placed both his hands over Schumacher’s temples. He rubbed them until Schumacher’s eyes rolled backwards in their sockets. He fell limp from oxygen deficiency. He would regain consciousness later, unharmed except for wounded pride.

  Jake raced to his car, debating whether to catch his flight to Tulsa. On his drive, he recalled images of his father teaching him this telepathic technique as a child. It had saved his life twice. Thirty years ago it saved him from a wild bear. Today it saved him from a wild man.

  ***

  The strange black device beeped three times. It was the middle of the night—3 a.m. to be exact. Fisher rolled out of his covers, startled. Extending his hand in the direction of the night table, he fumbled in dark desperation to shut off whatever was ringing. His hand hit the top of the object. He hoped it was his alarm and that he had just punched the snooze button. But the invasion continued. He lifted whatever he had grabbed off the nightstand and held it toward his face. It was that “thing” the military man had given him. He didn’t even know how to answer it. He perused the dial face for directions. It suddenly illuminated. A wave of neon green flashed over him, blinding him like a flash bulb. When his vision cleared, he found three buttons at the top of the dial. Each depicted a symbol: a weather vane, a red bull, and a quill pen. Guessing the pen stood for communication, Fisher punched it.

  A reading giving longitude and latitude suddenly pranced over a small view screen. It was gone before Ross could make out the coordinates. He heard the faint sound of static, reminding him of a squelch button on a CB radio. When the transmission cleared, a large voice boomed from tiny speakers.

  “Up and at ’em! Don’t you reporters get up before dawn anymore?”

  Fisher would never forget the voice. It belonged to the military man.

  “I’m just checking in with your Mr. Fisher. I hope everything we talked about is still a go. I see I’ve gained some of your trust. I didn’t read one story about me in the papers.”

  “It’s kind of hard to write a story about someone who doesn’t give their name or profession.” He listened to silence in high definition. The man was not going to respond.

  Fisher was a tad upset about being woken up. Although he wanted to believe this man’s intentions were good, it never hurt to play devil’s advocate. He decided to fire another volley.

  “What would you say if I took this device to the police?”

  “I wouldn’t say much. Law enforcement wouldn’t know what to make of it. This type of technology will not be marketed for another five years. You could call it a prototype. It’s what you’ll be using to relay your position to my man in the field.”

  “Ah, another man without a name?”

  Again Fisher listened to the sounds of silence.

  Finally Col. Wolvington spoke, changing the subject.

  “I’m sure by now, you’ve heard of Mr. Jake Campbell—a.k.a. Lone Coyote. I hope you aren’t alarmed by his concerns. He just doesn’t see the big picture. Now, you can choose to be like him and go running off into the night, screaming wild accusations. Or you can be smarter. You can side with Nietzsche who believed men should aspire to be more like a god, than follow one. Mr. Campbell is afraid of this change because his God never announced its coming.

  Now if you follow this logic, I think you’ll see why I chose you for this mission. But please don’t flatter yourself into believing my plan won’t work without you. I can just as easily employ the services of another man: A person who doesn’t see a reflection of their own cynicism when he looks into the eyes of an idealist. A person who doesn’t question my every motive for wanting to make this country great again. You can either choose to go about your business, writing your mundane stories for people with attention deficit spans—or you can choose greatness.”

  “And you’re saying I have been chosen for greatness?”

  “Of course. Hand picked. I know a lot about people, Mr. Fisher. I know you wrote a few controversial stories for your high school paper. You apparently had this desire to become a serious journalist at a young age. Maybe it was in your DNA, because everything that followed made perfect sense. I know you broke off your engagement with a girl named Ellen, putting your personal life on hold in hopes of becoming a big city reporter. The plan I talk about is very connected to what makes us who we are. I think you know exactly who you are and what you want. That’s why I want you on my team.”

  “What right do you have to know these things about me, or any other American citizen?”

  “I knew you’d ask that, like the good reporter that you are. I believe in maintaining our constitutional rights to a point. But I also subscribe to the theory of survival of the fittest. You cannot expect to progress to a higher plane of existence if you worry about infringing upon the rights of every single man. We have to do background checks. We have to know who is worthy to take this next evolutionary step. We will all continue to live unfulfilled lives as long as we believe we are all equal. The fact is, biology proves this just isn’t the case. The stronger people need to elevate to the higher plane. If you want to see war, poverty, and jealousy disappear in your lifetime, you will help me to succeed. Now will I still hear a tone of doubt in your voice, Mr. Fisher?”

  “I have no doubts about your intentions. It’s other people I’m afraid for. For starters, you don’t seem to trust FBI agents. Do I have to remind you they work for our government? I don’t see why they can’t secure the crystal for you. Are you afraid they won’t tru
st you?”

  “FBI agents are trained to follow protocol, to go by the book. What I’m proposing is not in any book they’ve ever read. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is. My plan, which is also your plan, will only protect them. Do not attempt to contact anyone with this device. Have a good day, sir.”

  The lights blinked out. Fisher was engulfed in darkness. He wondered why the military man chose now to give a pep talk. He would consider this in a few hours. Right now, he would retreat underneath his covers.

  The colonel could not sleep. The painkillers gave him insomnia. But this was not the sole reason he decided to wake Ross Fisher up in the middle of the night. Tom had not heard back from Major Schumacher, and he wondered how the talk went. The colonel suspected it might have gotten physical. Especially if Jake Campbell didn’t volunteer the answers Schumacher wanted to hear. This was all part of being in command. Sometimes you had to oversee damage control. If Campbell were to suffer injury or worse, Col. Tom Wolvington wanted Ross Fisher to know it was in the best interests of his country. The colonel was sure his reasoning got through to Fisher. Only a malfunction of the device could have prevented it. In addition to acting as a global communications/navigation system, the device also worked wonders in the area of mind control.

  ***

  Shenk....Schenker...Shanks...

  Agent Diggs mulled over some name variations, hoping her informant at the Houston Astrodome had provided a legitimate clue to identify the Arrowhead Killer. Caitlin soured at the thought of her first option—to sort through the National System of Records. There would be mounds of paperwork to sort through, most of it probably on microfiche. Could there be a faster and easier way? One,that doesn’t involve eyestrain and a blinding headache?

  The agent recalled the description of Shenk. He was susceptible to mood swings. Diggs was not a clinical psychologist, but she thought it was a safe bet to diagnose Shenk as manic-depressive. And if he suffered from bipolar disorder, there was a good chance this teen required not only medication but also counseling services. Diggs decided to try the National Association of Social Workers before resorting to a hunting expedition through a database. Hopefully, the NASW would have a record of who worked cases at the Corpus Christi Center for Wayward Teens.

  The bet paid off in spades. The association put her in contact with an Alice Tompkins. Alice had counseled an orphaned boy named Lukas Schenker for many years. Paid via a trust fund set up in Schenker’s name, Alice seemed truly saddened at the boy’s disappearance. Diggs relayed the news to Alice that the boy was now a prime suspect in multiple homicide cases. Alice had believed Lukas simply died in the flood.

  “Excuse me Agent Diggs, I’m trying to fathom how this scrawny young boy could survive the devastating flood here and also possess the power to slay two adult males.” Tompkins stood frozen in silence with her hands clasped and held out before her as if she were engaged in silent prayer. Diggs could easily see this woman was devoted to religion. She wore her long red hair tied back in a ponytail. A shawl draped over her small shoulders. The rest of her clothing was quite plain and modest except for a beautiful gold cross that hung from her neck. Caitlin marveled at the symbolism of the pendant as it swung from Alice’s neck, reflecting a cascade of brilliant light. Could it truly provide this woman with the strength she needed to deal with troubled teens? Did it channel some kind of inner energy to help her cope with the myriad of problems she must face on a day-to-day basis? Does the arrowhead pendant work in the same fashion—invisibly empowering whoever wears it?

  The agent’s next question was shaped more from personal interest than an investigative standpoint.

  “How do you do it, Ms. Tompkins?”

  Diggs did not need to clarify her cryptic inquiry.

  “Taking each day, one by one. Not looking too far in the future, because odds are a mental disorder will never heal. In order to face the next day, I call upon my faith. Are you a religious woman, Agent Diggs?”

  “I can’t say I am.”

  “Then how do you get through your job?”

  Diggs could not respond. She realized she could not answer this question, at least not in a conventional manner. Diggs did rely on faith, but it was not the kind found in the confines of a church. The agent wished she could have withdrawn her question. Caitlin knew she had no right to pry into Tompkins’ personal life, especially when she was less than forthcoming about her own. She switched gears by inquiring about Lukas Schenker. The agent needed to get into his head.

  “Our conversations are confidential. But I can tell you what I see in almost all of these children’s eyes—vacancy. It’s like they’re looking right through me. I think it’s the drugs; almost all of the children are on one kind of medication or another. And I’ll tell you another thing. I really don’t like the way our so-called health professionals are dispensing quick fixes. These pills are only ensuring these kids will never grow up to become independent adults.”

  Diggs asked for a record of Shenk’s prescriptions. When Alice hesitated, she reminded her that the information could be subpoenaed with a warrant.

  According to Alice, Lukas had been fed a steady diet of an antidepressant known as Lifetrex. Caitlin wondered about withdrawal effects.

  “Ms. Tompkins, what might happen to Lukas now that he’s off the meds?”

  “You would be better off asking a doctor for an objective opinion. I can only say it’s probably a godsend. He would most likely emerge from the fog he’s been living in.”

  Diggs wondered to herself: Was the teen was now relying on the powers of the crystal to cope with his mental disorder? What consequences might arise from this union? She decided not to disturb Alice with such a wild supposition. Agent Rivers hoped she could answer this query herself. The notion reminded Caitlin of Rivers’ absence, which added to her discomfort. Just when the hell is Dudek going to give her the green light to join me? Maybe he’s just gun shy and he fears for her safety. Perhaps this feeling stems from McAllister’s assignment? Or is there something more to this?

  Caitlin recalled with anger how Dudek backpedaled about his stance on Eugene Campbell. If there was some kind of sinister ulterior motive, Caitlin was sure Director Hainsworth was behind it. She was as sure of this as rising fuel prices.

  Alice called out Diggs’ name twice before the agent responded.

  Tompkins waved her hand with urgency as if she suddenly recalled where she mislaid a winning lottery ticket.

  “I have a bit of information you might find interesting. In addition to a trust fund, it seems Lukas was just about to come into a five-million-dollar inheritance. A lawyer contacted me a week ago, asking me if I knew where the boy was. He explained the death benefit was to be paid to the boy upon his eighteenth birthday. Now how ironic is that, Agent Diggs? If it weren’t for the hurricane, the boy would now be a millionaire. He would have access to more help than I could ever have provided him.”

  “Don’t judge yourself so harshly, Ms. Tompkins. I’m sure you helped the boy immeasurably. I think he succumbed to something evil because of your absence. He needed your counseling.”

  Alice smiled and shook the agent’s hand. She provided the agent with a file photograph to help aid in her manhunt.

  As Diggs left Tompkins’ office, she hoped the woman did not see the doubt and confusion that enveloped her mind. She now knew exactly who her suspect was, but it was what she didn’t know that troubled the agent. Why would the boy’s parents leave him in the hands of the state upon their deaths? If they had that kind of money, why would they leave the boy to live out his childhood like a welfare recipient?

  Were they hiding him from something or someone? Caitlin would ponder this latest mystery during her drive to the airport, as well as her next move. Before she made the media very happy with her discovery, Diggs needed to conduct a few background checks. She wanted to get her hands on the parents’ death certificate.

  How did they die? The manner of their deaths would have had to be ruled
accidental to pay such a large death benefit. And how did they become so wealthy in the first place? Did it somehow factor into their deaths? These were just a few of the nagging questions Special Agent Caitlin Diggs had to deal with as a steady rain began to pelt her windshield. The windshield wipers desperately tried to keep up with the flood of precipitation, but it was just too much too soon.

  Chapter 22

  Suzie Cheng had successfully allayed her producer’s fears by replacing the sponsors who had bailed out on her. The flamboyant talk show host easily managed to ink agreements with several large firms from the communications industry. The Internet telecommunication company SpeakFree was one such new franchise, eager and ready to cash in on Suzie’s enhanced ratings.

  Companies like these were not afraid to hop on Cheng’s irresponsible bandwagon. The reason: deregulation. They did not live in fear of retribution from big brother like car companies who could not live so precariously. Automobile manufacturers lived under a vigil watch by government agencies. A big pair of federal hands could easily swoop down from above and screw with their profit margin. All they had to do was order the manufacturer to make their automobiles safer. Suffice it to say, Suzie Cheng would not be moving any Chevys, Subarus, or Volkswagens off the sales lots during today’s telecast.

  As promised, Cheng enlisted aid from the scientific community to explain how one could manipulate the earth’s natural electromagnetic energy for the purpose of mind control. Geologist and physicist Arthur Tewksbury revelled in his first TV appearance.

  “The plan has been in the works for years. In fact, it all began in 1864. That’s the year, Scottish physicist James Clerk Maxwell proposed some ingenious new ways to understand the invisible forces of the magnetic field.”