“I’m going upstairs,” he said over his shoulder.
Thaddeus sat on his daughter’s bed and glanced across the pictures on Casey’s dresser. A story of a life could be seen there. Casey a few hours after being brought home from the hospital, in her mother’s arms. Tracy looked happy. They’d had their whole lives in front of them. Thaddeus fresh out of the service academy, in stiff pose, practically daring the camera to capture his image. Their first house, so small and cramped, but they were happy. His gaze fast forwarded to pictures taken in this very room—Casey at probably six or seven.
Just then, something caught Thaddeus’ eye. He got up from the bed and pulled the dresser drawer fully open. A baggie with some kind of white substance. He sucked in a breath as he realized what it was.
“Oh god.” He moaned.
Tracy was one thing, but his daughter following in her footsteps was something he resisted contemplating with all of his being. A piece of paper was wrapped around the bottom of the baggie. He pulled it off and carefully smoothed it out on the dresser.
If you ever want to see your daughter again, you will answer her cell at precisely six a.m.
Below the typed lines, some type of symbol was stamped in what appeared to be wax. Thaddeus brought the note to his nose and sniffed. Yes, it was wax. He wasn’t sure what the symbol was, but it filled him with an irrational dread. It looked like a goat’s head. What the hell had Casey stumbled into? He saw her phone and grabbed it, powered it up, and raced downstairs.
“Cavalari! Start a tap on this phone now,” he shouted.
“Whose?”
“It’s Casey’s. And I have a note from the kidnappers…”
Chapter Ten
Ten Months Ago
Arlington, VA
Two months later, Archer was still waiting for his daughter’s phone to ring. Someday it would. It just had to.
“Is she in there?” Thaddeus shouted as he tried to push past the police barricade.
“Easy now,” Detective James Catz urged. He placed a hand on Archer’s chest and refused to budge until Thaddeus looked him in the eye.
Thaddeus realized Detective Catz had worked tirelessly on the case, and all their man hours might have just paid off. Catz wasn’t about to let a hysterical father muck it all up at the last second. Thaddeus calmed himself and squared his shoulders. It’d been a grueling two months.
He’d given up his position as lead agent, relinquishing it to Cavalari, who’d been quite happy to take the position. Technically, Thaddeus was still in the employ of the Secret Service, but all his time was consumed with finding Casey. President Wendell had given Thaddeus all the help he could, and his blessing. Thaddeus discovered a new found respect for the man in the following months. Thaddeus tracked down every lead, no matter how innocuous it seemed, a driven man, with one sole mission.
He’d dug into Steve Booth’s past and discovered the kid had been into some pretty weird stuff. He’d been a member of a cult, and Thaddeus soon came to realize Casey had been targeted. After protecting the president from so many threats over the years, to be targeted himself sobered Thaddeus. He’d always been so paranoid about his family paying for his job, but he hadn’t been paranoid enough. The ordeal with Tracy had distracted him, dulled his edge. He’d talked with Booth’s parents, but hadn’t gotten anywhere. They’d been as unaware of their son’s obsession as he’d been about Casey’s secret life with Steve.
After turning Steve’s life inside out, Thaddeus discovered Hediam McBain. At first glance, it’d appeared the man was a nut with a religious obsession, but the more Thaddeus delved, the more it became apparent the man was someone to take seriously. Thaddeus did what he knew—treated the cult like a terrorist cell, and tracked all the threads until he found the epicenter of the cult and its leader.
“Look, Thad, I know how you feel. Some of the cult may be holed up inside that warehouse, but we’re not sure how many, or even if Casey is in there.”
Taking a deep breath, Thaddeus backed up a few paces. He attempted to smooth his rumpled suit, but it was a useless effort. He realized it was more an excuse to keep his hands busy than anything else.
“I’m fine,” Thaddeus mumbled as he eyed the warehouse just down the lot. “They’re not going anywhere?”
Catz caught the meaning loud and clear. “No, it’s locked down. Only way they’re coming out is in cuffs…or body bags—”
“It’s really them?”
“Yes, we’re almost certain Hediam McBain is in there. Listen, the next few hours are going to be tense. Maybe you should…” Thaddeus could tell Catz was considering asking him to stand down, but his next words proved he chose a different track. He glanced around to ensure he wouldn’t be overheard, then leaned into Thaddeus. “If this goes sideways, you’re on the entry team.”
Thaddeus nodded and walked back behind the barricade, leaned against a police car, and lit a cigarette. Mentally, he went over the past two months, and all he and Catz had managed to assemble about the weird cult who’d kidnapped his daughter. What frustrated him the most was the promised call had never come. Sure, they knew a lot about this group of religious psychos, but nothing as to why he’d been targeted. It would’ve been one thing if they’d tried to blackmail him in order to get close to the president, but they hadn’t asked for anything.
A print had been lifted from the note in Casey’s drawer, and that print had led them to a Hediam McBain in North Dakota. He’d admitted to knowing what the sigil on the note stood for, even admitted to having been the one who created it, but his story was so far out there Thaddeus and Catz had really started to doubt the guy’s involvement. He was a three-time loser—a former priest, who fell from grace after he started spouting about Old Ones and Lovecraft from the pulpit. When the Church removed him from his parish, Hediam moved to a desolate section of North Dakota—a place called Rugby Rock. His reasoning? Rugby Rock was the geographical center of North America.
“There’s movement inside!” a voice rang out.
“Report!” Catz ordered into his hand mike.
“This is tactical one leader. We have visual of the occupants inside. There’s a young girl. She’s tied up and McBain is armed…oh Jesus…he’s going to stab her!”
“Move, move, move,” Catz shouted.
Thaddeus was already in motion, racing towards the warehouse. He pulled his weapon and crashed through the door. Everything slowed to a crawl as he entered the cavernous warehouse. It was the size of a small aircraft hanger, devoid of anything but the altar at the center.
A group, clad in blood-red robes and numbering close to twenty, stood in a circle, their attention focused inward on the girl strapped to the altar. None of them turned as doors all around the warehouse were breached by the tactical teams. Shouting echoed about the space, but the group acted as if they were in a trance.
Thaddeus raced towards McBain as the gleaming knife in the leader’s hand began its deadly descent.
“Drop the knife! Drop the knife!”
The deranged cult leader ignored him.
Thaddeus was on his third shot before he realized he’d started firing. The bullets ripped into McBain, causing him to jolt about like a puppet on a string. Thaddeus found himself flung off his feet, as a deep coldness settled into his shoulder. The group turned as one and produced machine guns from beneath their robes, firing in all directions. When the smoke cleared, five agents were dead and another fifteen were injured, including Thaddeus, who’d taken two rounds to the vest.
Casey hadn’t been the girl on the altar.
Chapter Eleven
Nine Months Ago
Archer Household, Washington, D.C.
With empty whiskey bottles cluttered at his sides, Thaddeus sat on the living room floor. The phone cord was torn from the wall, and empty pizza boxes were stacked on the sofa. The sofa where Casey had fallen asleep so many times, waiting for him to come home from work. The shades were drawn, and the TV appropriately smashed. There would b
e no distraction, no disruptions.
Thaddeus Archer shoved his service pistol into his mouth and closed his eyes. The sharp taste of gun oil and metal filled his mouth. It was oddly comforting, rather than distasteful. His finger caressed the trigger, while he envisioned the bullet exiting the barrel in an explosion of gas and cordite, entering the roof of his mouth, then tearing a tunnel of relief through the top of his skull.
The cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He’d forgotten to turn the freaking thing off. Gasping, he realized it was Casey’s phone.
He jerked the gun from his mouth and took the cell from his pocket.
A feminine voice greeted him on the other end. “Giving up so soon? Now, now, what would Casey think of that?” The woman made only the slightest attempt to disguise herself.
“Damn you! If I ever get my hands on…”
“Patience, Thaddeus. All in good time. She is safe in our hands. It’s the safest place in the world, in fact.”
“What in Christ’s name do you want?”
“Hell, Thaddeus. We want Hell. Hell’s coming. Thank the Gods Casey will be with us when it comes.”
In the background, he heard a faint voice call out. It was Casey—she was alive!
“Do you hear that? See, she’s still safe and sound.”
“Casey!”
“That’s right. Casey. We’re counting on you. When the time comes, we know you won’t let us down.”
“What do you want? Give her back to me. Give her back or—”
“We should make you pay for McBain…”
“He had it coming, bitch! You’re next!”
The caller hung up. Archer threw his pistol across the room and stood up in angry defiance. He went to the bathroom, relieved himself, and splashed water on his face. “Get yourself together,” he snapped at his reflection. “You can’t help anyone like this. She needs you. She needs you now.”
He made a vow to himself, and to Casey, right then and there to never give up.
Chapter Twelve
Present Day
0600 - New Orleans, Louisiana
“Hey, Archer! Fancy seeing you here.” The voice was familiar, but Thaddeus couldn’t quite place it. He turned to see who called to him.
“Bill.” His tone remained neutral, with no indication the intrusion was welcome.
“So, you’re Park Pooolice, now?” Bill Cavalari gave his signature smirk.
Thaddeus couldn’t read if the man was being condescending or genuinely interested. Even though it was still dark out, sleek, black sunglasses covered Cavalari’s eyes. Archer bit back a retort eager to leap from his lips, and merely smiled. “Bill.” This time, a slight uplift in his tone. “Figured we’d run into each other eventually.”
“Hey, I’m really sorry about…you know… What happened?” Cavalari seemed to wait for Archer to step in, finish the thought, but when he didn’t, the man faltered. “Good to see you landed on your feet…”
Thaddeus flashed a cold smile and held up a clipboard. “Wish I could chat, but got a job to do, you know? Shouldn’t you be doing something?” With that, Archer turned and stalked off.
The headache that’d been building blossomed behind his left eye. The headaches weren’t new, but the chattering in his ears was. Archer had never been the type to run to a doctor at every ache or pain, but this seemed different, and the beginnings of concern flittered about his mind. That chattering was going to drive him crazy if it didn’t let up soon.
Once around the corner and out of sight, Archer paused and leaned against the wall. He struggled to keep his breathing in check as he shook with barely repressed anger. The bastard actually had the nerve to try and talk to me? He straightened up, smoothed his jacket with a shaky hand, and took a deep breath. “Let it pass, buddy. Nothing you can do about it.”
All he wanted to do was get this function behind him and get out of there. There were too many memories. Casey’s face flashed through his mind and brought all the pain back. It felt like he was being shot all over again, and the old wound in his shoulder started to throb once more. Thaddeus knew the wound wasn’t actually throbbing; it was a phantom sensation the doctors couldn’t figure out. The bullet hadn’t penetrated his shoulder, for his vest stopped it, but his mind still thought the bullet pierced his flesh. Guilt was tricky.
“Archer? You all right?” Roger Rios asked.
“Uh, yeah, yeah, I’m OK,” Archer replied in a rush of breath. “Just…nothing. It’s nothing. How are we on the arrival protocols?” His voice resumed its strength. A warning look told Rios to keep his mouth shut.
Rios wisely changed subjects. He still wasn’t sure what to make of his new boss yet, Archer could tell, probably thanks to the rumors that followed him from his prior job. Rios knew Archer had once been Secret Service, and he knew something forced him to leave the service. The kid, he suspected, knew he was carrying some pretty bad juju.
Despite the past, Archer knew his business, and was very good at what he did. This was the reason he wasn’t completely booted from federal service. There’d been strings pulled and people in high places cajoled. A lesser agent wouldn’t have bounced back from what Archer had been through. He knew Rios knew next to nothing about his ordeal, and the little that leaked to the press a year ago left much to speculation.
“Secretary Carling will arrive at 0910 and will enter through the south entrance of the hotel,” Rios said. “No problems there, as SS is using that entrance as well for RAVEN’s approach. So, that’s pretty much locked down.”
Archer cringed as he heard his officer use the president’s identifier. Now, that was one encounter he most assuredly hoped to avoid. True, President Wendell had saved his hide and his career, but Archer didn’t feel like having to face the man he’d failed a year before.
“This heat is killer.” Archer shifted uncomfortably in his suit.
“Yeah, can’t wait to get back to D.C. We’re not too popular down here as it is.”
Archer walked over to a window and peered down onto the promenade, where the protesters were already gathering to greet the president.
“This is going to be interesting.” He sighed. “Freedom of speech sucks.”
0900 – Prep Area
“Sharpshooters in place?” Agent Bill Cavalari spoke into his hand mike. He glanced over at Archer and grinned. At that moment, Archer wanted more than anything to smash that smug idiot in the face with the butt of his Glock. Instead, he nodded stiffly and ignored his former underling. After he left the service, Cavalari stepped into the vacated position as easily as changing socks. Was he the most qualified for the job? No, but he was an expert ass kisser. Archer suspected it was Cavalari who’d turned him in, but now he wasn’t so sure. Cavalari was a lap dog, subservient, not aggressive on his own. He would’ve been pushed into the betrayal.
Thaddeus made a lot of enemies during his time in the service. In Washington, it was easy to cross someone and not realize it until it came ‘favor’ time. Even now, he still watched himself, as some were none to happy he landed on his feet after what happened a year previous. From the outside, sure, dead to rights, Archer should’ve been rotting at some retirement villa in Florida. That much was true, but somehow, despite the incident, the president had his back, and he made sure Archer was punished, but not too severely.
There were only four people who knew the truth about what happened—not the cover story crafted by the best spin masters in Washington. The truth probably wouldn’t have been believed anyway. Archer was thankful for the help, but he’d never worked up the nerve to ask why he’d been spared. Maybe he didn’t want to hear the answer. Even if he’d gotten off relatively easy, he made up for it by not forgiving himself. He’d come to realize that his own loathing was worse than anything anyone else thought of him.
“You still carrying that cell phone,” Cavalari said.
Thaddeus self-consciously adjusted Casey’s punk-pink compact phone on his belt. He gave the man a look and chose to ignore him. I
t probably was crazy to keep the phone, but he did it anyway. He faithfully kept it charged and checked to ensure service. One day it would ring again. He had to keep telling himself that.
Archer brought his radio to his lips, keyed the mike and said, “Look alive, people. Package is inbound, minus two minutes.”
He cringed as the cheap radio squelched feedback. Cavalari shot a disgusted look in his direction and Archer flipped him off. He walked away from the agent before he could retort, rushing down the hotel’s grand staircase to personally meet Secretary of the Interior, Patricia Carling. Carling was an interesting woman. Once you got past the frosty exterior and figured out how the woman operated, she wasn’t too bad of a boss. Not to say she wasn’t personable, but in Washington, one had to be aloof to a certain extent. The running joke around the Mall was the walls had eyes, and if they didn’t, they sure had ears. One unguarded moment could haunt a person for years when it came to a career.
“What? Say again?”
Archer paused on the staircase and glanced up at Cavalari. The tone in the agent’s voice was what stopped him in his tracks. Cavalari rushed away from the window and past the stunned Archer. “Code Black, Code Black,” Cavalari screamed into his mike.
Archer’s radio chattered, “Lead One, Lead One! We are under attack. I repeat, the motorcade is under attack!”
Archer returned, “Evade, Evade. Use alternate route 207.” He raced after Calavari.
0904 – Presidential Motorcade
“This will be a quick meet and greet, Mr. President,” the aide rattled off, as she read from the clipboard-sized PDA resting on her lap. “SS have indicated there are protestors present, so we want to keep it short and sweet.”
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