The music was full and round and symphonic. I closed my eyes as I imagined her on the stage of The Filmore. I’d see if we could help her out. She deserved to be there. The public needed to hear the beauty of her voice. She’d played to too many rooms like this one. Not that her talent was a waste, but she should be applauded by so many more people than the sad lot of Special Unit 77.
I began to detect a sharpening to her sound. Something a little off, as if a note just wasn’t able to be reached anymore. I’m sure if I knew music I could say it was a bad B or A or C, but all I knew was my ear said it was wrong. I opened my eyes and noted that everyone was entranced by Donka.
She stared at an item on the mantel and sung toward it. Her once beautiful music slid sideways into something bordering on painful as she walked toward it. By the time she was next to it, I wanted to clasp my hands over my ears and make the noise stop. The very sound of it made it feel like maggots on razor blade roller skates were doing figure-eights in my head.
When she stopped it was as if the silence were a salve on my psyche. I glanced at the others. Burgess had gone to one knee. Patterson had the glassy-eyed look of someone in terrible pain. Gomer had his fist in the center of his forehead as if he could pull the pain away. But now it was gone.
She turned to me. “Looks like this little trinket is the culprit. Terrible thing. Did it sound as bad as I thought it did?”
I smiled. “It was lovely right up until it wasn’t.” I approached the mantel. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
The trinket looked nothing more than a wooden box the size and shape of a donut. It stood about four inches high and had a lapis lazuli-engraved lid. I’d noted the stone before, but couldn’t tell what it had been. But now as I examined it I could clearly see the triangle above an arrow pointing down. I recognized it as a Zorastrian alchemical symbol for sulfur. Interesting. The smell of sulfur had long been associated with the presence of demons. I sniffed and could just detect the hint of the foul smell.
“Is that it?” Gomer Pyle asked, pulling on a pair of white gloves.
He gently picked up the trinket. The moment he touched it, the gloves began to give off a tinge of smoke. Made from one of the habits of Mother Theresa, the gloves were one of the only things in our inventory that allowed us to touch evil without being burned by it. He pulled the lid free. Beneath it was a pentagram of summoning, similar to the one I’d used, but this one had been adapted and changed by Aleister Crowley, which told me that the user probably had a background in Golden Dawn occultism. The inside was empty but the wood looked as though it was lined with bone.
“Bone demon?” Gomer asked.
I nodded. “I think so. It’s probably why the Cerberus is having such a hard time. I’ve only come across one once before and there was a lot of blood before we were able to rid ourselves of it.” To Burgess I said, “Get the salt.”
When he returned with the salt, I poured a little on everyone’s head. Then I approached Everett, who sat in the middle of the heptagram on the floor. When I poured salt on his head, it immediately began to smoke.
I then had Gomer and Burgess move a stepladder so it was directly above Everett. Burgess held it steady, while Gomer climbed to the top. Using a hammer and a nail he affixed the box upside down to the center of the heptagram on the ceiling.
Burgess removed the ladder and Gomer placed the box cover with the symbol of summoning on Everett’s head. I added salt to it and immediately an intense, foot-high flame shot from the box top.
A growling sound began to emanate from the Cerberus. This was joined by the sound of teeth grinding together.
I motioned for Donka to stand back, but she was an old champ at this. She found a spot behind Patterson and stayed there. If any havoc was going to occur in the room as a result of her singing, it would have to get through him to her. Mark, for all of his previous misery, didn’t seem to mind at all.
I turned to the Cerberus and raised my hands. I’d drawn the Eye of Horus on my right palm. On my left I’d drawn the Norse rune of bondage. I began to chant in German, casting a summoning spell that would be difficult for any demon to ignore.
The growling became louder and louder, until it was a scream. Everett opened his mouth and smoke began to pour out in the shape of a being. Hands gripped the insides of his mouth and pulled the rest of the body out, only to have it caught in an invisible whirlwind that drew it into the flame atop the box top. The color of scorched bone, the figure swirled in the air for a brief moment before it was snatched into the box. Once inside, the top flew from Everett’s head and snapped into place on the box on the ceiling and remained there.
I ceased my chanting in the same moment that Everett opened his eyes.
He looked at me for a long moment. “You from Seventy-Seven?” he asked with a gravelly voice.
I nodded.
“Thanks for the help.”
“Is that all there was or should we be worried about something more.”
“Isn’t that enough?” he said, then fell over, his eyes rolling up into his head.
MONTE RIO
July 9, 1970
Morning
Mr. Everett Duncan sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee and eating his sixth piece of toast. His eyes were bleary, but the color had returned to his skin and he was as hale and healthy as a man recently possessed by a bone demon could be.
I’d had Patterson take Donka back last night with my promise to her that we’d help her get another gig at The Filmore. Gomer Pyle hadn’t approved. He tended to see only black and white and she’d been arrested for her involvement with the Russian mob a year ago. Gomer didn’t care that the mob had been holding the lives of her family back in Romania over her head. He didn’t care that she was of great use to us. He felt that she’d committed the crime of espionage and should be treated like a criminal. Only it wasn’t really espionage. We just told her that to keep her in line. In fact, going into antique stores to sing and find magical artifacts wasn’t against the law. We just didn’t want her doing it for the Russians. We wanted her to do it for us. We allowed her to keep her links to the mob because of the safety of her family, and she consistently reported her contacts to 77. It was a win-win situation, regardless of what Gomer thought.
I poured Everett a second cup of coffee.
He was halfway through it before he finally spoke. “I first noticed something wrong when I came home and my wards were gone.”
“Gone you say? When was this?”
He turned to me. “What day is it?”
“Thursday.”
“Gods. It was Monday.” He pulled out a pocket knife and began to cut an apple into slices. He offered me one, but I declined. He ate a slice, then continued. “I was ready to confront whoever did it, or at least I thought I was.”
“Who could have shattered your wards? I didn’t even detect any when I arrived. There was certainly nothing to stop us from entering.”
“Someone... something strong and powerful.” He shook his head. “I should have anticipated this.” He ate another piece of apple, then asked, “How is it you came to be here?”
“Enrique.”
“The old man? He retired two months ago.” He paused, his eyes widening. “Is he all right?”
“Afraid not. Enrique is dead.”
“What happened?”
“My guess is that he had a bone demon inside him as well.”
Everett straightened. His long face looked even longer. “And we thought he was just getting old... maybe a little dementia. You say he was possessed?”
I nodded.
He brought his hand down hard on the table. “How could this happen? We’re trained to protect against such things.”
“We’re here to get to the bottom of it. But tell me, how did the demon get inside you? Did you touch the box?”
“What box? No, I never touched it, I...” He stared out the window for a moment. “I remember I couldn’t breathe. I fell. I saw someone’s feet. I tried
to move but I couldn’t and--” He turned to me. “I was drugged – gassed!”
I glanced at Gomer, who stood at the back door, smoking. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“That would explain why you weren’t able to defend yourself. When the demon was inside you, did you – were you able to see anything?”
He turned to stare at me. “You’ve been possessed before, haven’t you?”
I frowned at the memories. “Once or twice.”
He looked long and hard at me, then shook his head. “This was my first time. I was surprised at how... how...”
“Seductive. Seductive is the word you’re looking for.”
He snapped his fingers. “Yes. How seductive. It got so close to me that I didn’t know where I ended and it began. I saw some of its memories, which meant it saw some of mine as well.” He stood, went to the sink, made a V with two fingers and spit through them. “I’m not looking forward to the report I’m going to have to file.”
“I think we can wait on that until we conclude the investigation, don’t you think, Major?”
He nodded grudgingly. “I remember a figure. Tall, wearing a suit, very distinguished. It had boots like something from the Victorian era. Something about the face, though. It’s a blur. It wouldn’t stop moving.”
“Obfuscation is a very powerful ability. It might explain how it got past your defenses. You’re what, a Level III Cerberus?”
“Two,” he said.
“I thought The Bohemian Grove was a Level III position.”
“It is. I was frocked to Level III, but I haven’t been through any of the training or certifications.”
I tried hard not to roll my eyes. “Government,” I muttered, which said it all, and to which he nodded sadly. No use getting angry at Everett. He was just doing what he was told.
I told him what I knew of the Stasi connection to the local caterer.
“Do you know which caterer?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Our information came from a decoded Soviet cable. It only indicated that the Stasi had someone inside a catering company that works with The Grove.”
“I might be able to assist. We keep records of all the caterers and vendors and such.” He paused as he seemed to consider something. “Do you think it might be connected with my possession?” He asked.
“I’m going to have to plan that it is.” I turned to Gomer. “Call Doris and see if there’s been any contact with Major Pretty Boy Floyd.”
Gomer gave me a look like he had no idea what I was talking about, then I could see the lights go on. He chuckled and headed for the phone.
“Who do you normally report to at The Grove?”
“Frank Montesonti,” he said. “He’s an ex-San L.A. cop. He runs a tight ship.”
“I bet he’s going to wonder where you’ve been.”
His eyes went wide as he sat up, then he sagged back into the chair. “I’m really going to have to report this, aren’t I?”
“Afraid so. But let’s keep big NSA out of it for now and report it only to Montesonti. In fact, I think it’s best if we did it in person.”
BOHEMIAN GROVE
July 9, 1970
Afternoon
Security was already beginning to tighten as we approached. Bohemian Highway and Highway 116 had checkpoints. Local police and highway patrol were only allowing people through who either lived in the town of Monte Rio or had official business with The Grove. Everett got us through them all. Burgess parked our sedan in front of an already crowded welcome lodge right before the main gate on Bohemian Avenue.
Inside was a madhouse of vendors, contractors, caterers, and newly-hired Bohemian staff requiring badges. At the center of the madness was a bear of a man with close-cut white hair and a cigar permanently affixed to the corner of his mouth – Frank Montesonti. We pushed our way through using our badges, briefly explained the situation, then he waved us on with the stern warning that we had better do our jobs.
On the way out I spied three men seated on a bench, handcuffed. All of them had press badges hanging from their necks. I guess this was the one place that the rich and famous didn’t want to be seen in the newspapers.
Outside, we got back in the sedan and Everett gave us a tour of The Grove. As we passed an immense forty-foot tall statue vaguely resembling an owl he said, “This is where the Cremation of Care Ceremony is going to take place tomorrow night. Once everyone gets settled into their own camps, they’ll gather here for a welcome dinner and then the ceremony.”
“What sort of camps do they have?” Gomer Pyle asked. “I was sort of expecting a hotel.”
Everett shook his head. “I get the feeling that these folks spend enough nights in hotels. They have more than forty different camps situated around The Grove. Turn here and I’ll show you.”
We stopped several times on our circuit of The Grove as Everett inspected new deliveries and briefly spoke to new hires, during when he was able to show us several of the camps.
The Abby was nothing more than a place with pitched tents and a fire pit, but according to Enrique’s records, ‘unspeakable acts’ were frequently performed there.
The Derelicts Camp was a simple long house where members who wanted to keep a low profile stayed.
Hideaway, Highlanders, and Hill Billies were three large camps where politicians, presidents, and the rich CEOs of corporations stayed.
The Land of Happiness was a camp exclusively for lawyers.
The Isle of Aves was a collection of cottages where members of the Justice and Defense Departments stayed along with a select group of defense contractors.
We didn’t actually see Camp Mandalay, but we did note the cable car that granted access to it. Only the very privileged were allowed to stay and attend functions at Mandalay. Neither Enrique nor his predecessor had ever been inside that camp. Everett held out little hope that his tenure at The Grove would be any different.
All this in a gorgeous landscape of rolling, tree-covered hills dotted with glens. On the surface it seemed more like a park than anything else. I reminded myself that everything wasn’t as it seemed. I was especially interested in the mock child sacrifice.
Back at Everett’s Spartan, one-room office in the welcome center, we drank coffee while he searched his files. He pulled out a stack of folders and brought them to me.
There were eleven caterers in all. Four were local businesses and the other seven came out of San Francisco and Santa Rosa. Of these remaining seven, there was nothing that stood out. We spent a good two hours examining every file, but all we had in front of us were forms with names of personnel and their background checks. Everything seemed to be legitimate.
I tossed the folders in a pile. “These aren’t doing us much good, I’m afraid. We’re going to need to see the caterers.”
“They’re already setting things up for tomorrow night. Between now and then you’ll see them all if you have the patience.”
I glanced at Gomer and Burgess. “I might not have the patience, but these two do.”
Burgess looked at Gomer as if to say, We do?
Gomer solemnly shook his head but wouldn’t meet my gaze.
Suddenly the door pushed open.
We all turned to see Major Skip Harold, aka Pretty Boy Floyd, standing there with fury in his eyes. Behind him were two Air Force MPs in white combat helmets, fatigues, and pistols at their sides.
“Major Harold, we didn’t expect to see you here.” I nodded toward the coffee pot. “Come on in and have a cup.”
He glanced at the coffee pot, then back to me. He’d clearly thought his entrance would be a little more dramatic.
“Major Harold?” I asked.
“Colonel Madsen, I thought I told you not to come here.”
I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.
Gomer did a double take.
“Major Harold.” I stood slowly. “I wasn’t aware that an O-6 had to obey an O-4.”
“When it comes
to the security of this compound it does, as you were informed, sir, when we discussed your previous intentions to come to The Grove.”
I glanced at the MPs behind him. They’d probably been told I was some high and mighty army colonel with a too-high opinion of myself. I might not do anything to dissuade that notion, but I was going to make myself clear.
“Then you need to put yourself on report.”
Now it was his turn to do a double take. “What are you talking about?”
“United States Code Title 10,892.” I glanced at one of the MPs – a young black kid who looked like he’d been an all-American linebacker. “Know what that is, kid?”
“Dereliction of Duty, sir,” he said, snapping out the answer.
Pretty Boy Floyd sputtered, “Dereliction—”
“Of Duty, punished under Article 92 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. You’ve stated that you are in charge of security, yet not one but two Cerberus agents assigned to your compound were attacked and possessed by bone demons.”
He shook his head. “What?” He tried to say something else, but all he could manage was “What?” again.
“You heard me.” To the MPs I said, “Are you prepared to take Major Harold into custody?”
They glanced at each other. This had definitely not been in the game plan.
Pretty Boy Floyd was completely confused.
“Then again, if you want to assist me in my investigation, I could surely use your help. After all, if your desire is truly to see to the safety of the camp, then we can work better together than I can alone. Because as sure as I am a colonel in my country’s army, I know that if we care more about the way we do things rather than what it is we have to do, more people are going to suffer.”
I could see the information processing by the shifting features of his face. Finally he clenched his teeth and locked his jaw. It was then I knew I’d won. I not only had him on my side, but I had three other people to assist in the search.
Meanwhile, I had my own research to perform and needed the Cerberus to help.
BOHEMIAN GROVE
July 9, 1970
Evening
It took some convincing, but Everett eventually agreed to allow me to hypnotize him. We’d gone back to his house to spend the night and I’d decided that I wanted to try and retrieve some memory of his possession if possible. We’d put all the furniture back in place and we’d wiped away the heptagrams. He sat on the couch in the same position we’d originally found him. I used voice modulation to lull him into the state I needed and within moments he was under.
SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest Page 22
