Blood Web: Caitlin Diggs Series #1

by Gary Starta

  “Can I see those sites?” Diggs asked.

  “Sure thing,” Gayle responded defiantly. “We have nothing to hide.”

  Rivers wondered if Swenson was referring to Schenker or to her unborn child. She abruptly cut in.

  “If you have nothing to hide, you wouldn’t be opposed to some biochemical analysis. We just want to make sure you and your baby are in good health.”

  Diggs reached underneath the kitchen table to reconnect the computer wiring. She noticed it had been yanked out of the wall socket as if someone didn’t like what the computer found.

  Diggs surmised this woman had been completely brainwashed by Schenker or whatever now controlled his body. She would have to be treated as a victim, as if she had been subjected to the darkest desires of a satanic cult. But before Caitlin could devise her next tact, a loud pounding shook the antique Formica table from above.

  Gayle had slammed both fists down. “I can’t stand the hypocrisy. Just ask for what you want. You don’t want to help me. You just want to convict my fiancé!”

  Rivers shot back. “I suggest you cooperate, or you’ll have your child in a penitentiary.”

  Diggs scurried to her feet. “You’re wrong, Gayle. I’m here to help you. You’re a victim. You’re identifying with your attacker because you have no choice right now. I think Lukas has chemically altered your thinking, possibly your entire body, for his bidding. He’s no better than Satan, Gayle.”

  Dudek and Rivers stared in silence. They could not believe Caitlin had taken such a leap.

  “It is vital that we find Lukas before he hurts more people. Do you have any of his belongings? We can examine them to help find him. I promise we will do our best to bring him in unharmed.”

  The emotion drained from Swenson’s face. She nodded and used her finger to point to a jar located on top of the television set.

  “This is it!” Diggs exclaimed to herself. In the jar was a lock of hair. Caitlin retrieved the container, flashing its contents to Dudek and Rivers.

  “We’ll need to get that hair to Hoyt so he can make a positive match to Schenker’s DNA.”

  “Yes we do, Agent Rivers. But I also need a few strands for our immediate investigation.”

  Rivers stared at Diggs, then at Dudek, not comprehending the veteran agent’s line of thinking.

  “I’ll fill you in outside, Agent Rivers.” Caitlin turned away from Rivers, extending her right arm around Gayle’s shoulder. Dudek and Rivers could not hear what she had whispered to Swenson, but she gained permission to take the laptop with her.

  Rivers commended Diggs for her diplomacy skills. “I hope we can get a good set of Schenker’s prints off it.”

  “First of all, call me Caitlin. Second of all, I’m not taking the laptop for prints, Deondra. I’m taking it to find where our suspect is going. And the hair will act as our map. Now let’s follow that trail.”

  Diggs exited the house, leaving both Dudek and Rivers speechless.

  Dudek fought to regain enough composure to remind Gayle the medical testing was entirely voluntary. He left his card in case Gayle agreed to the tests.

  Minutes later, the threesome convened outside. They stood leaning against Dudek’s rental, desperately attempting to digest what they had just heard. Diggs eventually offered to reveal her shroud of secrecy on one condition: that Dudek spring for coffee.

  Dudek drove the agents back to Plates on the Move. Sipping a double mocha cappuccino, Diggs was finally ready to spill the beans.

  “We will track Schenker with the help of this hair and with Eugene Campbell.”

  Dudek and Rivers rattled off questions in rapid fire. Diggs did her best to defend her tactics. “This whole case has been about the unexplained and the impossible. I think we should treat it in the same regard. If Eugene can call upon his visions to find our man, I say we can’t afford not to try it.”

  “So when you say try it, that means you don’t believe it,” Rivers charged, shifting her gaze between Dudek and her cup of coffee.

  “I didn’t say that either, Agent Rivers. I am merely suggesting we remain open to different channels of investigation. I would be happy to hear your suggestions.”

  Rivers realized Diggs was at least partially correct. She could not think of any other leads except the analysis of Gayle Swenson’s blood, but right now that wasn’t going to happen without consent. “So what about the computer?” Rivers asked, “How is it going to lead us?”

  “It might not only lead us, but it could give us a better understanding of what Schenker is after. Swenson mentioned something about the Sand Creek Massacre. If my memory serves me, a whole camp of Indians were slaughtered without mercy or cause. Maybe this is about some kind of revenge.”

  “That does make some sense,” Dudek noted. “The Campbells maintain the crystal saved one of those Indians. So to go further out on a limb, maybe whatever controls the crystal ultimately dictates Schenker’s actions. Maybe the Internet will tell us who Lukas Schenker is after.”

  Rivers intervened. “But how does either of our victims tie into this theory? How could they be connected to an event that occurred nearly 150 ago?”

  Dudek realized he could not answer Rivers’ question without supposition. “We don’t know that right now, Agent Rivers. I think you’ll find this investigation requires us to go beyond bureau protocol, to access tools beyond the scope of a conventional investigation.”

  Rivers laughed sarcastically. “So you mean to tell me I wasted my time at Quantico?”

  “Well, there is no substitute for hands-on experience.” Diggs concealed a smile with the aid of her coffee mug.

  “Do you have any more proverbs, schoolmarm?” Rivers teased.

  The two agents realized they had created an unspoken bond, or perhaps even a sisterhood, all in a span of minutes. The ice had been broken. Dudek felt a little more secure about going back to DC. He felt comfortable that his agents would be able to take care of themselves. Hopefully, neither would come home in a body bag. But first he had to tell the agents about his conspiracy theories.

  The agents listened tentatively, trying to add scientific credibility to their supervisor’s story. There was logic in Dudek’s words. It was as if they had been set up. Neither of them could hope to file a report that wouldn’t beg for their psychiatric examination. And they knew that that was the best-case scenario because the threat of Schenker’s paranormal powers had finally sunk home with them as well.

  Diggs and Rivers made a vow to Dudek. They would approach Schenker with extreme caution, keeping as much physical distance between themselves and the killer as possible.

  Dudek nodded as if he were miles away, then spoke abruptly. “I think Jake Campbell is right that the military is involved. They want us to apprehend Schenker because they know that he, the crystal he’s wearing, or perhaps both are lethal weapons.”

  “Sir, I believe there’s a military connection as well,” Diggs concurred. “I did a background check on Schenker’s parents. They worked for the military on a secretly funded project. I would bet dollars to donuts that their work resulted in their deaths and quite possibly ties into Jake Campbell’s theories about the crystal. How the Schenkers’ son came to be involved in this mythology I’ve yet to explain.”

  Since when did the FBI work on mythologies? Rivers complained in silence.

  .

  Chapter 27

  Shenk, the crystal, and the Neon left Arkansas without further incident. Crossing the Mississippi River via the Hernando De Soto Bridge, the threesome entered Tennessee on a windy and brisk October morning. Would they venture to Nashville, the Music City? Or perhaps travel straight on through to North Carolina? The crystal would continue to choose the path. It had surreptitiously linked itself with GWEN towers, satellites, and GPS systems to hunt down its prey—the descendants of the soldiers responsible for murdering innocent Cheyenne.

  Decades earlier the roadway they navigated was known as Route 66. But it had been later renamed I-4
0. The numbers flittered across Shenk’s mind like a roulette wheel, finally signifying the combination “64.” It reminded him of Sand Creek. The massacre. The reminder was intentional. Soon, someone involved with this heinous crime would be made to pay, but not with money or credit cards. They would pay in blood, the same way the Cheyenne Indians did. The killer’s ancestors would learn the value of family—that fucking with another man’s lineage would result in serious consequences.

  From the corner of his eyes, Shenk saw a shimmering, slithering ray of light bounce on the hood of another car. Panic. Shenk’s heart raced. Thud. Thud. Thud. The soft-white glow of the crystal dissipated into darkness, leaving Shenk feeling alone and vulnerable, just like his life at the teen center.

  He allowed himself a quick glance. The sedan riding in the parallel lane was white, just like all the police cars he had seen since leaving Oklahoma. Light cascaded through barren roadside trees, pouncing upon the car hood like a signal, or more specifically, a siren!

  Shenk feared the worst, that his luck had finally run dry. The driver would order him off the road. To pull over, assume the position, and put his hands over his head. In a matter of mere seconds, the quest would be over. All descendants of the Sand Creek murderers would continue to go about their merry little lives never realizing the crimes of their great-great-grandfathers.

  The crystal told Shenk that Colorado politicians wanted the Cheyenne land to construct a railroad. False accusations were leveled at the Cheyenne, paving the way for their slaughter. The descendants of these butchers must pay, but they never would if he were to be apprehended.

  Besides, the crystal was his and only his. What good could a hick sheriff do with the crystal? Give it to some museum? It was not a relic. It was alive and kicking, and it would usher in a new era for all those who revered it. The minute of reflection came and went. The nearby car picked up speed. Away from the blinding light, Shenk could see it wasn’t the police; it was just another white car. A boy in the backseat waved at Shenk through the rear view window.

  The close call had just segued into a pleasant fantasy. Shenk imagined the boy was his son: the fruit of his union with Gayle. When the car shrank to the size of a pea, paranoia returned. It was time to get the hell out of the Dodge. The leopard needed to change its spots.

  Shenk waited patiently for instructions, content to drive the Neon for another fifty miles or five hundred miles, ultimately the crystal knew best. It had helped him cheat death, twice. Besides he still had plenty of pocket money for gasoline. Shenk flicked on the radio and hummed along with a country record. He surmised the crystal would eventually provide more instructions. A voice suddenly emanated from behind Shenk’s head. It wasn’t the deejay, because the music was still playing.

  Startled, Lukas braked the car too hard, and the Neon careened into the next lane. Horns blared. Rubber squealed. It took a few seconds for Lukas to right the vehicle. When he did, he realized the crystal was capable of human speech. For the first time, it spoke to him. But whose voice was it? It sounded an awful lot like his. It spoke with a Texas drawl. He wondered if the inflection was contrived, possibly manufactured to comfort him.

  Shenk’s rationalization caused him to miss the crystal’s entire message. The crystal angrily repeated it and commanded him to yield to the next car entering the highway.

  Shenk obeyed. He felt a chill run through his body. Had somebody opened up all the car windows, exposing him to the chill of autumn? No. The windows were all closed. They mirrored a reflection. It was a beautiful rainbow. How could this be? There had been no rainstorms today. The voice shook Shenk again. “Look!” it shouted.

  He was now following a blue sedan. Its license plate read: EVANS 1. Could it be? Was this really Governor Evan’s lineage. The same governor that was responsible for condoning the raid on Sand Creek over 150 years ago? A living relation to the man he read about on the web? If so, Shenk had blindly tracked it, never consciously realizing the crystal was scanning the driver’s DNA like a snooping bloodhound.

  The first biologically driven worldwide information search had been launched successfully. Shenk would be privy to all of the world’s knowledge. Shenk shivered with excitement. His adrenaline seemed to rise in proportion to the car’s increased velocity. He wished he could tell Gayle, but possessed no telepathic link to her. He wondered why this was so. Why he should be disconnected from his sweetheart when the crystal was able to converse with anyone in the universe? The crystal spoke again. “It is your purpose...now attend to the business at hand...”

  The business at hand would be ruthless, mirroring all the hostile takeovers and corporate outsourcing ever conceived. The driver, Laurence Evans, needed to be eliminated. Shenk did not need the aid of a god-like voice or telepathic wake up call to realize this. The rainbow reflection in the Neon’s windows began to intensify. Worlds were colliding. Shenk could no longer see the car ahead, or the road for that matter. He felt as weightless as an astronaut taking the first steps for human kind. But he was not traveling vertically, he was traveling horizontally.

  In the next instant, Shenk’s body materialized in the blue sedan. His foot came down hard on the brake pedal. The driver desperately tried to offset the phantom influence, flooring the gas until his foot could not push the accelerator any further into the vehicle’s upholstered carpet. The sedan’s motor coughed and sputtered in response to the mixed signals. It lurched until a rattling sound signaled the car had stalled.

  The man in the car did not see the flesh and bones version of Shenk that had quietly pulled up behind the blue Mazda sports sedan. Instead he saw a little old lady behind the wheel. Laurence Evans wondered why she would sit so pacified, so content to watch him, to relive the nightmare of Rodney King. He gasped, “Please help me!” But a sick feeling washed over him.

  He realized Grandma and this uninvited apparition were one and the same. Shenk was aloof to this trickery. The crystal had created an adequate illusion for him to evade police surveillance. Every time a patrolman watched the Neon pass by, he watched a loop of the past when Grandma was still behind the wheel, bravely venturing into the world alone and vulnerable because of a selfish son. The crystal hated how this woman’s son spat in the face of family values. It itched to take vengeance upon him as well. But it would have to wait. Justice for the Sand Creek killings was nearly a century and a half overdue.

  The man’s voice squeaked. Laurence was dazed and nearly unconscious from the trauma he sustained during the struggle. But no one would come to his aid. The tangible, earth-bound version of Shenk had put his hazard lights on. No one would suspect anything more than simple car failure. Evans’ head hit the dash fairly hard. He called out, trying to appeal to the humanity of the bald, blue-eyed man and tried to fathom why this wild-eyed youth was so intent on extinguishing his life.

  “Why? What have I done?”

  Shenk answered. The voice of the crystal spoke through him.

  “You dare question your penance when your ancestor in Colorado knowingly ordered the savage execution of innocent men, women, and children? The only thing you have to understand now is that you will pay dearly for those war crimes.”

  “War crimes?” The man whispered incoherently. Several visions flashed through his head. One depicted Nazi Germany. Jews were being led into an oven. Another scene portrayed the devastation of 9/11. Women were jumping to their deaths from a burning skyscraper. Evans could not be sure which crime its attacker meant. Mankind had shamefully lowered itself to barbarianism many times.

  The crystal was neither amused nor pleased. It took over the reigns from Shenk, providing Evans’ occipital lobe with the horrific evidence, all in glorious surround sound and high definition. Lawrence Evans was now well aware of the massacre in question. The Cheyenne bodies were all but unrecognizable. Limbs and heads were no longer attached to torsos. Evans now knew his fate. Whether he realized Gov. John Evans was his relation was an entirely different matter. There would be no more time for him to vie
w this twisted family photo album.

  Hands gripped about his neck. A twisting, ripping sound followed. Whatever portion of consciousness Evans now clung to, honed in on the sound in an attempt to identify its likeness. That’s what the human brain always instinctively did. It tried to match a face or a voice with earlier experiences. In this case, Evans’ limited brain incorrectly correlated the sound with camping. He associated the snapping and breaking sounds with fire preparation. He recalled how his father broke stray pieces of branches over his knees for the fire. But now his neck was the branch (the part of the family tree that connected him to a Sand Creek killer). Snap! Pop!

  Shenk’s hands began the dissection at the deltoid muscle. Working his way upward, Shenk shredded the man’s scalene muscles with the greatest of ease. Cartilage instantaneously turned to dust. Blood spattered. Shenk was on his way to the trachea. A second elapsed. The man’s face was blue. The kill was complete.

  But the crystal was not completely satisfied. It wanted vengeance. How dare this man question his fate? The insolent bastard! His voice needed to be silenced forever! In a final act of violence, Shenk twisted the man’s larynx until he decimated the voice box.

  The manic destruction of the man’s neck and throat could only lead to one outcome. The man’s head slid away from its body like tender meat off a bone. Lukas held it in his hand, raising it upward to the sunlight. Its facial expression frozen, continuing to ask “Why?” even after the lights of its soul had long been extinguished.

  A waft of thick black smoke would follow. A vestige of crystal light cast itself upon the dead man’s forehead, forging the arrowhead brand mark. Shenk tossed the dead head like yesterday’s garbage. It came to rest along the shoulder of the road, just beneath a sign that warned motorists of littering. Lukas had earned his reward for the day. The crystal advised him to drink. There was no need to access the man’s brain for his nourishment. Not when blood flowed freely from the man’s torso.