Treasures of Darkness Box Set

by Christina Kirsch

  "Institutions like religion you mean," said Jim.

  "Yes!" replied McCann. "The power of man unleashed can accomplish truly great things."

  Jim thought, He's speaking these lofty thoughts again that don't make sense.

  "Our country was founded on freedom. Freedom to create the best. Those who have the gift to tower above the masses. They're the ones who become masters."

  Jim decided to play along. "What you say makes sense. The Age of Enlightenment and the Renaissance championed the importance of man over god. Would you say that's true?"

  McCann chuckled, "That is, if there is a god?"

  "So, your position is that there is no higher power?" asked Jim.

  "Not in the form of a being. But perhaps in a spirit." He looked around at the others. "We have noticed a strength, a power in our gatherings at times. There is an oral tradition that claims that our founder's words as they were originally recorded, have the true power of that spirit. This is why we seek that document. This is why we've sought you out."

  "Why me?" asked Jim.

  "It has been said that your ancestor was part of the Quants in the 1930s. It is said that he had the Treasure of Darkness, but he hid it. Legend says that the jewelry stolen from General Stoughton was in that box. However, the jewels are trivial, unimportant to our organization. Your grandfather hid the treasure from the boss. And it became known to us that he left some clues as to the whereabouts of that treasure. It took some searching, but we found the connection. You are the connection."

  McCann stared at Jim. "I admire your talents, Mr. O'Neill. I propose that we might turn this fiasco to our benefit. I'd like to offer you a chance to join our cause."

  Jim couldn't believe that this was real. It was like a movie, but here he was in a room that smelled of old machine parts with a wooden table that had given him splinters. His senses were awake. This was no dream.

  How do I get out of this?, he asked himself. They had the guns and it was four to one. He still had his phone. Couldn't he call Trey somehow? He could say he had to go to the bathroom. He could escape if he could get to another room with a window.

  "Hey, I have to use the facilities," Jim said.

  "No problem," said one of the bikers. "We got your own little room set up, bathroom and everything."

  Mr. Slipp said, "We'll give you some time to think about what we do, Mr. O'Neill. Perhaps you'll come around to our way of thinking."

  The biker shoved Jim toward another door and pushed him in. Jim saw the biker shut the door and heard the click of the lock. There was a bathroom in here. But there were no windows in either room. He listened at the door. It didn't sound like anyone was talking nearby. Maybe they'd left him to himself. He got his phone out. He texted Trey - I am being held captive by the Quants, and yes, it's true that it's a Q symbol - not a golf ball and tee!...at a huge warehouse complex on the south side of the city, just south of the canal. Can you find me somehow? Can you have someone you trust find me and get me out of here?

  He pushed send but it didn't go. No service. Great, thought Jim. He pulled himself back to calm. He joked to himself, "Ok, send out another signal, but this time to the Man upstairs, the God that McCann says probably doesn't exist."

  After a couple of hours alone, the door was opened by the new guy. He was carrying a very large box. He set it down. He looked over at Jim who was sitting on an old cushioned chair, one of two pieces of furniture in the room.

  "Why don't you join us?" asked Steve.

  "Is that what they want?" answered Jim.

  "Yeah, man. If you become one of us, you're in. You got no more troubles. They'll let you outta here. They give you a job. They take care of ya. You work for them."

  "Sounds perfect," said Jim.

  "I'm one o' them now. You're brothers with these guys. They take care o' their own."

  "Yeah, and what about the people who aren't part of the ...group? Are they treated well?"

  "Maybe. The Quants help people in need sometimes. Somebody can't pay the rent. We take care of 'em. It works like that."

  "Sounds simple enough." replied Jim.

  "Hey, I'll tell 'em you're thinkin' about it." He turned as he was shutting the door. "This room is workin' on yer brain!"

  "Oh, great!" said Jim to himself. The room is working on me. Maybe they're pumping a magic brain gas through the vent to change my mind. He made a mock bow toward the door. "Yes, senator. Whatever you say, senator. Oh most powerful..." Jim sat down. It finally hit him. What if this guy becomes the next president of the United States? he thought. I have to stop him. But how?

  An hour later, Steve came back in with a bag of fast food. "Here ya go," he said. I picked up my favorite...used your car. Why do you drive an SUV, man? That's a mom car."

  "Well, my family had a mom." Jim thought about Anne. There was that same gnawing sensation in his gut.

  Just then McCann walked in. "I'll be leaving soon. I'd like to do this the easy way. You get your family out of the apartment on some excuse. We go with you and get the document. As a bonus, you swear allegiance to the cause. And of course, you go free."

  "Right now, I'd say, I'll pass. But senator, I am wondering how you plan on keeping your associations quiet. Do you think that the American people would vote for you if they knew of this liaison with the Quants? At the least, they'd think you were crazy."

  "Your offenses are piling up, Mr. O'Neill. Don't push your luck. As for the people, I have no concerns. The press is in my pocket. And don't forget what Machiavelli said, 'Everyone sees who you appear to be, few really know who you are.'" With that, he left the room.

  Machiavelli? Is that who he gets his lofty thoughts from? I'm more interested in the practical, like how can I get out of here? Jim thought. I think the only way to do it is to cooperate so that I can at least get out of this room. He walked over to the door and pounded loudly. "Get me out of here. I want to talk."

  The door was opened by Slipp. "What is this Jim? Are you ready to show us the document?"

  "Yes."

  On the way over to the apartment building, Jim, who was driving, tried to think of a plan. It was just he and Slipp in the car. McCann had left by himself and the other three were still at the warehouse for all Jim knew. Slipp still held the gun on him.

  "McCann said I could get the family out of the apartment before I would go in but it's late. It must be two in the morning."

  "One thirty-five am to be exact," replied Slipp.

  "You know that they'll hear me and want to talk to me. How about I go up and tell them that I'll deliver the doc and come back in a few minutes."

  "All right, but I will stay outside in the hall. We wouldn't want any change of plans."

  Change of plans, thought Jim. There has to be a change of plans, but what?

  Slipp and Jim got up on the elevator and Jim went to Trey's door. He knocked gently. Almost immediately, Trey answered. "Where have you been?!" he cried. "We have been waiting up. We've called the police."

  "I was waylaid. I tried to call but there was no service," Jim said after he had shut the door.

  The kids came running. "Dad! Daddy!" they cried. "We thought you were..."

  "I'm ok. But Jay, Slipp is outside waiting for the document."

  "Yeah, dad. You said that you'd give it to him last time we talked. You said your family was more important, remember? So, just give it to him and he'll go away."

  Jim looked at Trey and the kids. "Since then I've found out more information. I've talked with McCann. He's dangerous and I don't want him to get his hands on that document."

  "What difference does it make, dad?" asked Jay. "It's just a weird, old paper that somebody put together. It doesn't matter. They have been initiating new Quants without it for 150 years. Give it to them."

  Trey said, "Jim, you were right. It's not worth falling on your sword."

  "I know what you're saying. This may sound very strange, but they want it because the original words, they think, hold power."
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br />   Adrianna looked at Jim. "Daddy, you don't really believe that do you?"

  "I don't know what I believe. I'm telling you their world is the twilight zone. I was there...at their initiation...there was something...I could feel it when they swore the guy in. And McCann said there is power in this thing. They believe it. They believe it so much that they are willing to kill for it. The original words...they're like a spell. That's what they believe."

  "But Jim, that's crazy. Just because they believe in some sort of evil power, that doesn't mean you should. It's not rational."

  "I know. You're right," Jim replied. "Jay, go get the document,"

  Jay left for the bedroom.

  Trey said, "Good, that's better. You have to end this nightmare."

  Jay came back with the papers. Jim took the booklet and shoved it into his jacket pocket. "I do have to end this nightmare," he said. He walked to the back windows of the apartment. He found the back door. "There is a fire escape here, right?" And he disappeared into the darkness.

  After walking, no, running into the garage and getting his car, Jim drove off to a secluded park. He turned off the engine. He dialed Slipp's number. He left a voicemail, "The deal is off, Slipp. I am going to do the right thing."

  By now, Slipp would be frantic and probably in deep trouble with his boss. Trey and the kids would be frantic and praying for Jim's welfare, or sanity. He searched his phone for Illinois state senate leader. He found a contact number for the president of the senate and dialed. He wasn't sure of the police after his experience in Sterling. He had heard of this senator. From what he'd seen of her, she had seemed honest, levelheaded. Who else could he trust? Maybe a woman would understand the spiritual part of this. He would leave a message and ask her to meet him in the morning. He'd have to..."Hello, this is senator Dubois," came a voice on the other end.

  Jim was startled. She was answering the phone at three am? "Hello, senator Dubois. I am sorry to disturb you so early, but I have a very urgent matter to discuss with you. My name is Professor O'Neill of the University of Kansas."

  "I begin my very hectic day early Professor O'Neill. What can I do for you?"

  "Actually, I was wondering if I could meet you at a coffee shop about eight this morning."

  "My schedule is completely full today. However, if you wanted to come over to my office now, I might be able to spare some time," she said.

  Jim felt a qualm. This seemed too good to be true. "If I can verify the address with you, I'll be right over."

  He arrived at the offices of Senator DuBois at 3:45 am. He followed her directions and found himself at a nicer venue than McCann's. She was there at the glass doors to let him in. A middle-aged woman with a brusque manner and clicking heels, she led him up some marble stairs to a freshly carpeted hallway. Her office was on the left. They sat down, DuBois, behind her mahogany desk and Jim on a leather chair facing the illustrious president of the senate.

  "Now, what is this all about, Professor O'Neill?" she asked, lighting a cigarette. She offered Jim one, but he declined.

  "I'll get right to the point. I recently became privy to information regarding Gerald McCann." He looked at her.

  Ms. DuBois showed no sign of emotion as she said, "Go on."

  "I am aware of an organization of which my ancestor was a part. This organization has all the earmarks of an underworld crime syndicate. I have evidence that Senator McCann is a part, an integral part, of this group."

  "And what is your evidence Mr. O'Neill?"

  "I have heard him admit as much. And I saw a signed document in which he swore allegiance to this group."

  "Do you have this document?"

  "No, I no longer have it in my possession."

  "And any testimony that McCann told this to you...do you have any corroborating witnesses?

  I could investigate this matter further if I had the evidence," she said. "Do you know of any criminal activity that the group has participated in?"

  "Yes, I believe the group is responsible for my wife's death. You see, McCann seems to be their leader. And of course, given his being a presidential candidate, I feel a sense of urgency to let someone with some power know that he could be extremely dangerous if he were to be elected. Something must be done about ...him."

  Senator DuBois snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray. "You just used the word power, Mr. O'Neill. Has the significance been lost on you?"

  "I don't understand your meaning," replied Jim.

  "You obviously appreciate the need for power in this situation. You feel helpless. Nowhere to turn. Who can you trust? Is my assessment correct?"

  "Yes, I would say that is correct." Jim was starting to squirm. There was something too judicial about this situation. She must be a lawyer, Jim thought.

  "Yes, but can you do something? Can you look into this?"

  Senator DuBois stared. "I don't need to look into this, Jim. I already know all about it. You can come in now." She spoke toward the door of the adjacent room. In walked McCann and Slipp, the one looking irritated, the other with a smirk.

  "You see Mr. O’Neill; I was aware of the problem before you called me. When Mr. Slipp realized you weren't coming out of the apartment, he contacted the senator. The senator thought that I should understand the situation since I am the president of the Illinois senate. Then I was fortunate enough to get a call from you. I couldn't believe our luck. I probably top the list of all the people you should not have called."

  "Do you have the document in your possession?" asked Slipp.

  Jim pulled it out of his pocket.

  McCann said, "No, Jim. I want you to keep that for a little while. I believe that should you truly see the value in what we do, that you wouldn't condemn us."

  "So, Senator DuBois is in on this too?" asked Jim.

  "Yes, and many others," replied McCann. "Join us, Jim. There are reasons that I think, if they were known to you, you would jump at the chance to be a part of this organization which is, in spite of its history, very progressive."

  "So, now you want me to keep it after all the threats, kidnapping, and violence used to get me to give it to you?"

  "I'd like to take you somewhere that would make you see the light. Slipp can navigate while you drive your car. Are you ready?" McCann asked with a smile.

  "I don't have any choice," said Jim.

  The three men left Senator DuBois to begin her hectic day, at dawn. The sun was just shedding first light as they approached the two cars. "Follow the senator," commanded Slipp, holding the gun on Jim.

  They arrived thirty minutes later at an upscale home in a well to do suburb. "That was record time. Rush hour hasn't started yet," said McCann as he opened the door to a spacious Italian Renaissance style property.

  "Have a seat," he urged. "For security reasons, we need to take your phone." Jim had no choice but to hand it over. After a nod from McCann, Slipp took Jim's phone and went to another room.

  "Drink?" asked McCann.

  "No, no thanks. But frankly I am starved."

  "I'll ask the staff to whip something up. They should be around by now."

  McCann went looking for someone. Jim scanned the room - a lot of marble, a pool could be seen through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. What does he have cooked up now?, Jim thought. Something here was going to change my mind. What could possibly change my mind? Was it the grandeur of this home? The tantalizing smell of money? And why did McCann care so much all of a sudden whether I was on his side? He could just take his papers and get rid of me.

  The senator came back in. "Food will be here shortly...Jim, the more I see you, the more impressed I am. I'll get right to the point. I see potential in you. You've stood up to us. You've been resourceful."

  "C'mon McCann. What do you really want from me?"

  "I want you to see who you really are." The senator got up and went to a bookshelf against the stucco wall. He chose a book with a green leather cover and brought it over. He set it down on the coffee table in front o
f Jim. "Take a look at that," he suggested.

  Jim opened the large volume. The inside cover read "The Genealogy of the Descendants of William Clarke Quantrill." He began turning pages of genealogy charts.

  "Ok, why is this significant? Are you a descendant then of your fearless leader?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact I am...and so are you."

  Jim could hardly believe his ears. "You are telling me that the information in this book links me to Quantrill?"

  "Not only to Quantrill."

  "To you. You're saying that we are related somehow. We have common ancestors and this book proves it."

  "Take a look for yourself. I'll check on the food."

  Jim began paging through the book. Supposedly Quantrill had a son named John born in 1860...Quantrill had a wife who was only seventeen when Quantrill died...This child, John, moved to Missouri in the 1880s. His son was Thomas born in Missouri, 1884...He paged ahead. Here it said that the name Quantrill was changed to Cantrell because Quantrill had a bad name, literally. Jack Cantrell was born in 1895...He moved ahead... Here was a page that listed the family members who were branches of the main line. George Cantrell was joined in marriage to Lucy Dunleavy...They had a son named John Cantrell, born 1885...John had a daughter, Moira....who married Ethan O'Neill.1905...Ethan married Stella Ferguson...son Michael O'Neill born 1912. This was Grandpa Mike. He knew his great grandparents’ names and they were the same names recorded here. So, it was true. Grandpa Mike was descended from Quantrill. And therefore, so was Jim. Despite an initial revulsion, Jim was fascinated by this fact. He looked further in the book and there he found Gerald McCann. So they were distant cousins. How nice, Jim thought.

  McCann came in with some hash browns and eggs.

  "So, I see you made it into the book," said Jim.

  "Yeah, you too!"

  "How long have you known you were descended from Quantrill?"