Blood Web: Caitlin Diggs Series #1

by Gary Starta

  “What are you doing here?” she asked him. “Are you spying on me?”

  Fisher produced a nervous laugh. “No. Well, you know the newspaper business. Just trying to stay on top of things.”

  Just when things couldn’t get any more surreal for the veteran FBI agent, Fisher asked, “So did you get the crystal?”

  Diggs was floored. What a strange question to ask. Had he even asked her if she was all right?

  “No,” Diggs responded flatly. “And there’s to be no more talk of this or I’ll have you incarcerated.”

  The neighbor flinched. Suddenly Agent Diggs didn’t seem to be the fragile woman she had appeared to be just moments earlier.

  Outside in his car, just fifty yards away from the Carlson residence, Major Jonas Schumacher had heard Diggs’ answer. It came to him via the little black box. He angrily shifted his Hummer into gear and floored the gas pedal. He had come up empty. He would have to tell Wolvington the bad news: evolution was on standby.

  ***

  The human part of Lukas Schenker wanted to stand his ground and fight, but the crystal won the argument, opting for retreat. Diggs had caught Schenker completely off guard. If this could happen, how would he ever complete his mission? How could one helpless woman, flailing her arms in the stagnant waters of ordinary human existence, almost end his reign?

  The entity, which now controlled the crystal, was not happy with its human host. It apparently had an Achilles heel, no matter how evolved it became. For that reason, it used the drug injected into it as a stimulant. It raved. It danced. It almost puked like an overindulgent teenager at an open bar for Christ’s sake! But it got Lukas Schenker away. He would be alive to fight another day.

  As Schenker spun into glorious waves of brilliant light before Caitlin, he began the process of time travel. He was not entering other dimensions; he was escaping the present to hide in the past. His feet set down on a grassy meadow. The charge of hoof beats ensued. Men wielding howitzers rode atop Arabian horses. Lukas Schenker was observing the Sand Creek Massacre live and in color. With each beheading, Shenk’s stomach churned. With each shot to the heart, he gagged. He stood and watched the Cheyenne Indians fall like bowling pins. He wasn’t able to intervene. He was only there to watch, as if it was all just playing on his DVD player. And then a narrator spoke:

  “Now do you feel their pain? Now do you feel mad enough to make their killer’s pay without screwing the whole thing up like you almost did at the Carlson’s?”

  The crystal used the ketamine to reinforce its point. To make Schenk a tad more deranged than he already was. It was now time for more travel. This time: Hiroshima. The A-bomb just made impact. Flesh and the bones departed ways. The stench of burning skin pervaded Schenker’s nasal lining.

  Again the narrator spoke:

  “You see, time and time again. These barbarians claim civility. But they’re sheep in wolves’ clothing. Their true nature always surfaces. This is why we fight back.”

  But Shenk was not becoming more and more outraged at humanity as much as he was becoming with the crystal. Why wasn’t the crystal aiding the humans to become more evolved and less barbaric? Shenk’s mind wrestled with this. He could not comprehend the logic. It really wasn’t so righteous after all. It needed to feed on humans—to take their seratonin to preserve its own existence.

  Schenker would never become privy to Circling Hawk’s peaceful coexistence with the crystal. Schenker had worn the arrowhead far too long, and now side effects were emerging. The crystal had concealed its true nature from Schenker in the guise of revenge: he was killing for the Cheyenne, not for the crystal. And now, even as Schenker’s faith in the Sand Creek vendetta was wavering, he was powerless to refuse the crystal’s demands. The crystal could take away his life. All it needed was another host to jump into. The crystal continued to rattle Shenk’s cage. This time it was the horror of the 9/11.

  If the collective human consciousness was indeed the entity controlling the crystal now, it could only choose to reflect upon its negative accomplishments. The crystal was well taught by humankind’s penchant for greed and power. If you wanted something, you just needed to take it away from someone else. To obtain power, you must make others powerless. Any spiritual connection the crystal once held with nature had vanished just as Lukas Schenker did before Caitlin Diggs’ eyes. The crystal had the ability to correct and remove the human penchant for aggressive behavior and violence, all it had to do was perform a little gene therapy. But the crystal needed humankind to sustain itself.

  Like Nietzsche said in Thus Spoke Zarathustra: “What is the ape man? A laughing stock, a thing of shame. And just the same shall man be to the Superman: a laughing stock, a thing of shame.”

  The crystal would continue using and abusing all those who walked on this troubled planet to achieve its goals. The colonel’s plan to put heaven on earth would ultimately end in a death struggle unbeknownst to him. The crystal could not be cleansed of man’s sins because it didn’t want to be. It liked man’s genetic makeup just the way it was.

  Oh, Tom Wolvington and his elite circle of friends might initially walk like a scholar and talk like a scholar, but the caveman within would always beat his chest. At the end of the day, might make right. So after the crystal deemed it was safe for Schenker to return to his own time, it began gnawing at its host once again to exact revenge in the name of sustenance.

  The crystal spoke, “You now have a bargaining chip to settle the score with Agent Diggs. I suggest you begin using it.”

  Lukas Schenker had been commanded and he was powerless to disobey.

  Chapter 35

  Tom Wolvington cleared the papers from the desk in his tiny office at Fort Belvoir, Virginia. They were jettisoned from the tabletop in one felt swoop. He had taken a break from training simulations to find solitude in his eight by six, four-walled hellhole.

  His job was to prepare the next battalion of troops for ground combat in the Middle East. The task always left him in a foul mood. If the army didn’t think he was fit to lead a troop into action, why should he waste his efforts in simulation? It was highly unlikely hand-to-hand combat would be required anywhere other than Iraq. Or would it?

  Wolvington still hadn’t found a solution to the seratonin problem. He was running out of time. He didn’t have the luxury of allowing Ed Hoyt to volunteer for the project much longer. Force had already worked wonders with Ross Fisher. It snapped him right back into line. Well, another black box could be fashioned quickly enough for Ed Hoyt, so he too could see the light.

  The straw that broke the colonel’s back came in the form of a report on CNN that alleged the Arrowhead Killer had disappeared into thin air. Papers now littered the office floor, representing the monkey wrench that had been thrown at Project Right Hand. If Schenker had indeed disappeared, where in the hell did the crystal go?

  Ross Fisher had leaked the information about Schenker’s disappearance. He had to if he was to adhere to Wolvington’s plans. His editor had threatened his job. And if he lost his job, how could he help find the crystal? He needed to tag along, playing the part of the ambitious reporter to dupe the FBI—and specifically, a woman, who appeared more and more in his fantasies, Caitlin Diggs.

  But memories of excruciating head pain lingered. He remembered his experience in the Tennessee hotel room quite vividly. It was now very clear that he was part of a sinister plan. Still, he would rather dupe his editor and the American people than face the pain again. So Fisher printed a scoop. He alleged the FBI had used a secret chemical weapon to render one of the nation’s biggest threats harmless.

  As he was unceremoniously finding himself being booted out of the Carlson house by Agent Diggs, Ross spied a strange type of gun leaning against the couch. He put two and two together. Unfortunately, both bits of Fisher’s equations were thoroughly unfounded. No research or hard evidence could support his allegation that the government possessed a chemical weapon that could make people disappear, but right now,
his mission was clear. He had to lie to retain employment, to follow Agent Diggs as a roving reporter, and to somehow alert Jonas Schumacher when to confiscate the crystal.

  Fisher didn’t even believe his own story. He felt Lukas Schenker would be back. His story was really a smokescreen, anyway. The very kind of thing he railed about. The quest of an investigative reporter was simple: to uncover the truth. Now he assisted in the cultivation of lies.

  Fisher’s story had calmed the fears of much of the populace and, most importantly, law enforcement. That was a good thing. Fisher, Wolvington, and Schumacher didn’t need any local yokel sheriff getting in their way of finding the crystal. And right now, the coast was clear.

  However, it was way too clear for Tom Wolvington. He feared the crystal might never come back. So fear led him to act like any wannabe divinity. He would unleash his wrath upon Jake Campbell. He ordered men to beat Campbell in his Texas holding cell around the clock if necessary to get “the seer” to see where the crystal had went. The pounding Jake Campbell took was as futile as Tom Wolvington’s training simulations. He couldn’t tell where the crystal had gone because he didn’t know.

  Fortunately, Wolvington and Co. didn’t know that Jake’s son, Eugene, was more equipped to give that answer or they would have pounded him into submission as well. Jake Campbell used all his telepathic will to deflect both the negative emotion and pain inflicted on him.

  In the end, Wolvington’s thugs were more the worse for wear than Jake. He enveloped himself in prayer and meditation in his best attempt to leave his body intact during the attack. Wolvington’s guards didn’t know the how to channel the dark energy away from them. They only became more and more poisoned from their acts of aggression. Their hands bled, their joints ached and their backs protested. Wolvington’s anger at Campbell segued into sheer disgust for his hapless minions. They had met their match in a seventy-something-year-old man. Their incompetence justly secured their fate. These muscle heads would not be a part of the elite that sat at Wolvington’s right hand. It was the colonel’s only consolation.

  Even his nightly sexual romps with Alyssa were no longer therapeutic. When he got home, he eyed his medicine cabinet with an intensity matching a Melissa Etheridge song. The cabinet was filled with prescription drugs. Tom Wolvington needed a backup plan—another way out.

  ***

  It felt funny to stroll through the festival marketplace. Only one day ago, she narrowly escaped her death, standing toe-to-toe and face-to-face before an enemy that simply vanished at will. The FBI never trained her for this type of showdown at Quantico. She hoped her partner would learn well from this experience. You don’t always win the game by following protocol. Sometimes unconventional methodology is acceptable. She had many discussions with Dudek and McAllister about this. They all concurred. Handbooks can never prepare you for the split second decision, when it all comes down to who wins and who loses. Draw your weapon and hope for the best.

  But had she really won the draw? Was it really all over? Did Schenker and his crystal just wink out of existence on their own accord? Troubling thoughts flitted through Caitlin Diggs’ mind as she took in the sights and aromas of the outdoor eatery at famous Fanueil Hall. The granite building erected along the waterfront in Boston’s south end majestically stood before her. Resting atop the building, lay a beautiful cupola. The small white dome capped in gold somehow reminded Diggs of law and order. That no one—or no thing—could ever threaten its foundation. It was all an illusion of course. No matter how stately or grandly the building sat there, it offered little or no protection against the demons of the world.

  Diggs knew this from experience. She hoped all those scurrying about the marketplace would not become privy to her world. That they could still believe some type of protection existed, no matter how ethereal.

  Diggs came to Boston to meet her detective friend, crime lab lieutenant detective Stanford Carter. As she waited for him, Diggs did her best to bury her dark thoughts, at least for the morning. She did everything she could physically do to comfort her conscience. She convinced the Carlsons to remain away from their home. She alerted the Middletown police to remain on guard for Schenker. She requested Eugene Campbell and Agent Rivers occupy their hotel suites for a few more days, just in case Lukas shows again. But what type of tangible protection did this offer anyone? And to make matters worse, an unexpected visitor would soon be arriving. Carter suddenly interrupted her.

  “Good day, Agent Diggs,” Carter beamed. The thirty-eight-year-old detective strode toward her, wearing a brown sports jacket over a collarless white shirt to accommodate the sudden fluctuations of temperature Boston was known for.

  “So this is Southie!” Diggs exclaimed. Southie was a fond reference to the south end of Boston. Carter laughed, impressed that the California native knew this fact.

  “Did you find paaaahhking alright?” Carter teased, accentuating an exaggerated Bean Town accent for her amusement.

  Diggs nodded. Small talk ensued about the weather, their current assignments. Finally, it came out. Geoffrey McAllister.

  “I can’t say how sorry I am.”

  “Geoffrey liked you a lot. He had hoped to work another case with you. He admired your methodology.”

  Diggs was referring to how frequent Carter relied on his own instinct to track down his suspect. He was nearly becoming famous for it.

  Carter pointed Diggs in the direction of the eatery. The pair made their way around the corner of the majestic building.

  “Today, it’s my turn to buy.”

  The pair dug into the wide array of foods found in the marketplace. They both polished off plates piled high with Atlantic Ocean delicacies including shrimp and oysters. Then it was time for dessert. Carter could only make room for a small scoop of chocolate ice cream. But Diggs had dreams of grandeur. She packed a dish with fudge, apple pastries, and chocolate chip cookies. Carter watched in amazement, daring only to raise an eyebrow in reaction.

  The pair were then off to see Carter’s new Quincy apartment. The detective explained his old digs were just too confining. Caitlin wondered what this meant. Was the workaholic finally making an attempt at romance?

  Diggs was floored. Carter drove her to his new complex known as Archstone Quincy. The gated community offered an outstanding view of Quincy Bay and the Boston skyline. He shared her enthusiasm, noting the apartment came equipped with both a business center and a gym. “But most importantly,” Carter mused, “they allow cats.”

  “I didn’t know you were a cat fancier?” Diggs asked once the pair had stepped off the elevator. Carter waited to respond. He would let Diggs see for herself. He unlocked the door and they entered a spacious cream-colored living room. A white cat with striking blue eyes and a gray-colored muzzle approached them. Just as the cat looked like it was about to leap into Agent Diggs’ arms, it detoured. Trotting this way and that, it finally toppled onto its back. The feline rolled its head against plush lilac carpeting, settling for nothing less than the finer comforts of life. “I think that means Celeste likes you. She’s a Tonkinese. That’s a breed closely related to the Siamese and Burmese. She’s playful, loving, and has a good sense of humor—oh, and one more thing, she makes a helluva detective,” Carter explained.

  Diggs remained speechless.

  “Let’s just say I inherited Celeste as a gift from a very thankful couple. Celeste saved their lives.”

  Caitlin was intrigued, more curious than a cat. So Carter continued.

  “To make a long story short, Celeste psychically perceived the contractor working in the couple’s home had intentions of killing them. When the killer made his move, good ’ol Celeste somehow managed to ring my cell phone number, which was on the couple’s speed dial. I, too, had suspicions this man had committed several murders in the area, but I lacked evidence to arrest him.”

  “Stanford, do you think some people are naturally psychic?” Diggs just had to ask. Her dreams of McAllister’s death were too realisti
c. She hoped Carter would concur so she would have the courage to pursue the leads the dreams were giving her.

  Carter answered affirmatively without hesitation. “I act on my gut instinct, almost every day. Celeste seems to have a connection or tether to what is sometimes referred to as a hidden sense. Maybe we all have a third eye. But just some of us can see through it—if only for a few moments at a time.”

  Diggs felt like she did when her mother hugged her as a child. Finally, someone supported her notions. It all made sense. The crystal could somehow turn this third eye on, so it was “open” all the time. She wondered what other type of information it might give her about McAllister’s death.

  Carter already sensed what Diggs was thinking. “I hope you won’t feel tempted to use this crystal as a weapon of revenge, Caitlin. I’ve read all the wild theories about this magic quartz. All kinds of stories have been conjured up on web sites and in the supermarket tabloids. And if it can exact revenge, I believe it would best serve humankind as a museum piece.”

  Diggs reflected for a moment. She spoke in a small, child like voice. “I don’t really want revenge, Stanford. I certainly want Geoffrey’s killers to be apprehended. But I don’t want to exact physical harm. If I did, my job would become pointless. I would become those I seek to apprehend.” Carter smiled at Diggs’ resolve and continued to listen attentively, while stroking Celeste’s back.

  “If the crystal could help me, I would only ask for a second chance.”

  Diggs did not have to elaborate. Carter knew she was hoping for the impossible—an idealistic situation where she could go back to prevent McAllister’s death from ever happening.