by Gary Starta
Shenk drank deeply. The voice told him things were going to get a lot more difficult in the coming days. Others would dare to share their exclusive network. He would have to change gears and soon. The transition would involve driving the Neon to Nashville. Graceland and the Grand Ole Opry would have to wait for another day. He would only be securing bus fare in the Music City. He would then journey to the next link in the Sand Creek Massacre.
Shenk sat in the Neon, waiting for his other self—the astral self—to rejoin him. First, the astral Shenk would continue to absorb the much-needed chemicals from the dead man’s bloodstream. Thanks to the crystal, bloodletting would no longer be confined to ancient civilizations. Not when you had the ability to rid the infected body of its greatest disease—a wasted life. Shenk knew this man had squandered his last days. He probably spent them doing nothing more noteworthy than drinking a can of beer while hypnotized in front a TV set.
Shenk regretted that he himself used to live his life in this fashion. But he was transforming. Paintings, literary masterpieces, and famous sculptures would soon be appreciated because his intellect was sharpening and growing with every swallow. Increased awareness was part of the equation! The fortification would maintain his waking dream state—the ability to walk between two worlds. Seratonin and melatonin never tasted so good. Shenk continued to drink his fill, relishing each and every single drop of the red liquid refreshment.
***
Agent Diggs sipped on tomato juice, knowing full well it would never curb her hunger. She rode shotgun, stomach rumbling, fingers tapping on the can. Rivers stared straight at the roadway, ignoring Diggs’ not so subtle hints, and followed a course to Oklahoma. Both agents had said their good-byes to Dudek hours earlier.
In Tulsa, Diggs would rendezvous with Ross Fisher, and more importantly, Eugene Campbell. But first, Diggs would fantasize—about meat. She required sustenance. Her stomach continued to rumble without mercy, finally convincing Rivers now would be as good time as any to refuel at one of Arkansas’ many fine diners.
Rivers felt compelled to take the next exit. Diggs eyes were boring holes through her. A sign promised an eatery a mile ahead. Rivers equated eatery with a truck stop. The agents entered the diner in silence. The noise of ceiling fans and a deep fryer competed for attention. Rivers prayed the pit stop would be quick and that Diggs’ rumbling stomach would silence.
A fly buzzed around the head of the fifty-something waitress who took their order. She reminded Diggs of her Aunt Rose, because she wore a brooch resembling a shamrock. Aunt Rose was quite lackadaisical at times. It was the waitresses’ actions (or inactions) that reminded Diggs of Aunt Rose more than the brooch itself. However, Diggs did not realize this. Like every other human being, she fixated on visuals. True to form, the Aunt Rose look-a-like took her oh so sweet time coming back to take their orders, inviting Caitlin’s stomach to loudly rebel in regular intervals.
Rivers hoped the other patrons did not hear her partner’s internal ranting. She hoped one day this would all seem funny to her. For now, all she could do was pretend to be absorbed in her water glass. She eyed the water warily, fearing the waitress had switched her Evian for tap water. Webs of deceit grow well even in America’s Heartland!
Something other than Caitlin’s stomach soon commanded Rivers’ attention. She thought about the hair sample. Dudek would transport it to Hoyt personally. She fought the images of kissing Ed at the doorway. She could have been easily swept away by such pleasantries. But she also realized all Hoyt’s hard work would amount to nothing if she didn’t hold up her half of the bargain—to successfully apprehend the Arrowhead Killer without becoming his next victim.
Retraining her focus, she asked Diggs a question.
“The assistant director…is he always so vigilant, personally making sure crime evidence gets back to the lab?”
“I think I would describe his approach as unorthodox.” Diggs recalled how Dudek failed to intervene when it counted most. She had needed the assistant director’s intervention a few months back, when Geoffrey McAllister was in his dying moments. Yet, as Diggs continued to reflect, she also recalled Dudek’s support. He backed her and Geoffrey up numerous times when Hainsworth questioned their investigative methods.
“Dudek is a good man,” Diggs added. Her eyes dropped away, fixating on a glass of water.
“I just hope he utilizes the lab to its full extent so we can determine just how our murderer is managing to create brain hemorrhages in his victims.”
Diggs mind wandered concerning her partner’s wish. She surmised Deondra had had a lot of time to get acquainted with Quantico lab personnel. Her instinct told her Rivers had a thing for one of the lab rats.
“So do you think you can handle this?” Diggs asked. “Life on the road?”
“Sure,” Rivers responded. She recognized her tone was not even convincing to herself. A week ago she would have eagerly answered Diggs with a resounding yes. But that was before she had met Hoyt. She also realized science and following protocol wouldn’t guarantee results. The startling discovery that the killer’s blood may be lethal shook Rivers to the core. She had never questioned the outcomes of her field office assignments. But the dangerous nature of the current investigation coupled with rumors of conspiracy had rocked Rivers’ world. Maybe if she could reason one of the variables away, her confidence would rise again. Rivers decided to test her gut instinct.
“Caitlin, I’m having a hard time pinning Hainsworth as a conspirator. My experience tells me the military and the bureau very rarely work in tandem. I don’t really see why Hainsworth would put his career on the line for them, all because of some fairytale about a crystal.”
“Connah Hainsworth is not putting anything on the line. He keeps his tracks well covered. You know that old adage: keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer. That’s Hainsworth’s philosophy.”
“So you believe Hainsworth is nobody’s friend?”
“Bingo,” Diggs answered. “He answers only to himself. However, I do believe the crystal will lure whoever murdered Angelika and Karsten Schenker into the light.”
“You’re leaping again, Caitlin. I read the report. The Schenkers died in a car wreck: plain and simple. Tires do blow out.”
“Then why would this couple take out a five-million-dollar life insurance policy out for Lukas?”
Rivers’ jaw dropped. She reevaluated Caitlin’s theory while Diggs continued.
“I think the Schenkers realized some people at the Department of Defense weren’t so nice after all. This couple was in fear for their life because they had made a decision to follow their conscience and not the money. They did altruistic work in Germany. They designed a chip that could cure thyroid disease and mental ailments like Alzheimer’s. They didn’t want to become murderers. Maybe the military was close to making Jake Campbell’s fear a reality. The Schenkers refused to cooperate further, necessitating their murder.”
“It’s a good theory, but you still lack evidence.”
“Well you have come up with some pretty unconventional theories of late.”
“Yes, I have Caitlin. But only after studying physical evidence. The scientific anomalies we discovered in the lab warranted unconventional rationalization. You, on the other hand, have let your imagination run wild giving it carte blanche to come up with answers you have no other explanation for. You don’t have one shred of hard evidence to prove Eugene Campbell is a seer or that the Schenkers were part of a highly classified military project involving a crystal. And speaking of the crystal, no history books mention its involvement in the Sand Creek Massacre.”
“We have to take some leaps to solve our more unusual cases. We have to think outside the box.”
“I’m all for thinking outside the box, but as the assistant director alluded to, we’re all going to look pretty silly when we file our field reports.”
“Don’t worry about what bureau heads think of you, Deondra. Just expend all your energies on on
e goal only—the apprehension of our killer. It’s the only way you’ll survive long term at this job.”
Rivers stewed in her juices, interrupted by the reappearance of the Aunt Rose look-a-like.
Diggs ordered a double cheeseburger with fries and gravy. Rivers opted for the diet special—cottage cheese on salad with half a grapefruit.
“I guess our food choices mirror our different thought processes,” Diggs laughed to cut some tension. “I believe both conventional and non-conventional methods can be used to track our killer. But in the meantime, Deondra, please feel free to keep reminding me.”
“Reminding you of what?” Rivers asked, bewildered.
“To follow the evidence. When we get that crystal, we’ll have all the proof we need to test our theories.”
Rivers tensed, silently wondering if securing the crystal would be such a good idea.
“I think we should run a DNA test on Eugene Campbell. I know you think we can use this hair sample to find the killer. But I also know the lab found a second DNA sample contained within the killer’s blood. We have to make absolutely sure he’s not working with Schenker.”
“Done. I’m sure Eugene will cooperate and give us a sample of his saliva. Then you can send it to your boyfriend back at Quantico to analyze it.”
A voice boomed in Rivers’ head. How did Caitlin know about Hoyt? She pretended as if she never heard Diggs’ inference.
“Deondra, I may be appearing to take leaps. But I also have my reasons. I may have other sources I haven’t fully explored.”
“Do these sources tell you humankind will benefit from this crystal? It would sure be nice to know it’s not going to be used exclusively for serial killings.”
Diggs acknowledged her partner’s sarcasm. But it didn’t stop her from theorizing.
“The devil and God are only two options as to who is directing Schenker. He was a loner, an outcast of society. Where did he get such resolve to go on such a quest? And it is a quest, because he believes the murders are parts of an agenda. He thinks he’s doing the right thing. How did he whisk such a beautiful girl off her feet, convince her to get her pregnant mere minutes after meeting her, and have her totally believe in his cause when she never had any of her own?”
“And the answer is...?” Rivers asked facetiously.
“Consciousness. Schenker erroneously hears the Creator talking to him through the crystal. Yet, in reality, it may be his own dark humanity speaking. He becomes so convinced he is connected to a higher power, he willingly obeys the voice’s commands, encouraging Gayle to do so as well.”
“I do pray for Gayle’s child. What voice will it hear?” Rivers asked rhetorically.
“Unfortunately, we have no jurisdiction to intervene in that matter. But personally, I hope the child is tuned into the voice of God.” Diggs shocked herself. She had proudly lived nearly thirty-seven years as an agnostic. But if there was a God, she hoped he or she would help this child.
The waitress finally brought their orders. Diggs dug into her hamburger heartily. Rivers kept a wary eye on her partner, folding her napkin into her lap.
She wondered what effect Caitlin’s food choices had on her disposition. Rivers avoided high doses of protein, caffeine, and sugar to avoid undesirable mood swings. Maybe she should have a talk with her partner. Guide her to the great wisdom of the USDA’s food pyramid.
“Do you take a multivitamin Caitlin? I believe woman your age should take one daily. But take it with water, because any other drink may cause adverse chemical reactions.”
Diggs could not believe her ears: a woman of her age? She was about to protest—to bring on her own chemical reaction—when something squirted directly into her right eye.
“I’m sorry,” Rivers apologized. Her zeal to dig into her grapefruit had resulted in a direct hit to her partner’s eyeball.
“Speaking of health foods,” Diggs charged, “that’s why I never order those things. They’re lethal.” Satisfied with her comeback, Diggs bit into her burger viciously.
Chapter 28
Drugged and asleep, Jake Campbell spent the last few hours oblivious to the fact he was being held in a cell. The last thing he remembered was riding in a black stretch limousine. Its windows matched its exterior. A man in a very expensive tailored suit had driven him to a facility known as Fort Belvoir. He spotted the sign as the car stopped for clearance at the Virginia military base.
Jake joked to himself during the ride in an aid to alleviate his fear. The price of this driver’s suit must far exceed his IQ score. The fact that he was right provided little consolation. He proceeded to kid himself, convincing his skeptical side to accept that Dudek had requested this security measure. But Jake knew Dudek would never have chosen a military base for his protection. An army-like man had attacked him.
Jake finally succumbed to doubt and fear. In minutes, he would be brought into some facility and God knows what would transpire next. He demanded to be put in touch with Assistant Director Dudek immediately. The well-groomed muscle head responded by sticking a rag into his face. It was soaked with chloroform.
Jake was still out cold while men in black suits helped board him on a plane headed for Fort Worth, Texas, the home of a DARPA secret testing facility. Wolvington had caught a flight to meet them. The colonel was as groggy and irritable from the jet lag as Jake was from his abduction.
Several hours after landing, Wolvington went to work monitoring Jake’s drug-induced slumber in a room that resembled a recording studio. DARPA cameras not only watched Jake’s cell but every available egress and access. And if that did not provide enough peace of mind for the colonel, a radar screen blipped each time a plane flew overhead.
Downing consecutive cups of coffee, Wolvington remained seated in front of a console board and manned his post like a diligent war general. He refused offers of relief several times. The colonel was not about to trust rookie security personnel with this detail, even if his bladder overflowed in the process. Fortunately, Jake finally stirred just when Wolvington felt he couldn’t hold his liquid any longer. He nodded to a nameless, faceless security thug to lower the field. Waving a newspaper like a banner, Wolvington marched into the cell and confronted his very disoriented and disheveled prisoner. But Jake surprised Wolvington by speaking first.
“I must say the U.S. government does provide the best protection.” Jake’s voice dripped with sarcasm. He believed joking about his plight might tell his captor’s he was not afraid. But things could not be farther from the truth. Rising to his feet, Jake could feel his legs tremble.
Wolvington held a newspaper in his right hand. He swatted at Jake like a fly. “On your knees prisoner. You are bowing to your new god now.”
“Where are we?” Jake asked.
“Fort Belvoir, Virginia,” Wolvington lied.
Jake could sense a false register in the man’s gravelly voice. He knew further questioning would be futile.
Wolvington sauntered over to Jake who now knelt before him like a churchgoer. Baiting Jake to look at the newspaper in his right hand, the colonel seized the moment. He backhanded his prisoner across the face with his left hand to show he meant business.
“There will no be more insubordination, drone. You will now serve the elite. Your first order of business will be to cleanse the crystal of all its impurities. Now, I know you are quite capable of doing this so don’t try to insult me by pretending you can’t. I’ve read all the background about the arrowhead and how it was used to preserve your race.”
Jake bounced to his feet in defiance. “What you’re asking is impossible. The crystal is no longer under the control of a divine presence. It has been poisoned by humanity’s decadence. If you try to utilize its power, your ignorance will rival your arrogance.”
“If you don’t help me, this jaded instrument will kill many more of your brothers and sisters. Would you deny helping them?”
“I can no more cleanse the crystal of its twisted motives than I can rid humanit
y of murder, rape, and torture.” Jake’s face was now a mere hand’s length away from the colonel’s.
“Keep resisting and I’ll see to it you experience all three of those evils.”
Wolvington wanted to take another cheap shot at Jake, but instead he turned his eyes toward the newspaper’s front page. Its headline screamed: Arrowhead Killer Beheads Motorist.”
“If you know so much about the crystal,” Wolvington charged while shaking the publication, “then you’ll tell me what it wants. Now this boy is no serial killer or deranged lunatic. Why is he violently massacring his victims? Drinking their blood like a vampire?”
Wolvington paused, enjoying Jake’s nauseous reaction to his news. “Yes, that’s what this story says Jake. Prints of a man’s mouth were found on the victim’s neck. And don’t tell me it’s a reflection of Sand Creek—an eye for an eye crap. I think this crystal needs to extract something from humans. Now I demand you use your telepathy and tell me what’s going on before people, like your son Eugene, needlessly die in the transformation.”
Jake railed. “And what’s our option? To serve the elite, as you call them. You and your elite will fare no better than this boy. You will ravage each other just like he’s doing. Jake paused to add emphasis. “You say he’s not savage. So imagine what you’ll become under the crystal’s influence?”
Wolvington digested Jake’s insult, fighting the urge to engage in hand-to-hand combat. Instead, he took a deep breath and allowed a smile to take shape on his weathered and unshaven face. “You’ll give in sooner or later. I’ve heard all about your telepathic powers.” He paused to wag a trembling finger at Jake. “You’ll use them to help your son, just like any good parent would.”
“I can’t use these powers locked in a cell with force fields,” Jake protested in desperation. “It blocks me.”
The colonel turned his back and stepped beyond the confines of the jail. With the field back in place, Wolvington felt empowered again. He offered one final insult, before turning to leave. “Weigh your limited options. I’ll be back at feeding time.”
