Treasures of Darkness Box Set

by Christina Kirsch

  "All my life. The stories have been handed down. It's one thing to be a Quant, but it's another thing to actually be part of the family."

  "So, what are the advantages?" asked Jim.

  "The rights of the raider and the luck of the Irish," answered McCann.

  "So, you still say being a part of the Quants is a privilege," said Jim.

  "Yes, and that is what I'm trying to tell you. You know there's not a better combination than the clout of the Quants and the influence of the Irish. I have a proposal for you," McCann said.

  He brought in a small gym bag. "This could be yours."

  Jim unzipped the bag. He was taken off guard. "There must be a hundred thousand dollars in here," he said as he flipped through the banded piles of cash.

  "That's about right."

  "So, if I took this what would I have to do?"

  "You are a professor of Business?"

  "That's right."

  "So, you can keep books?"

  "I would hope so."

  "This is something I need right now, a bookkeeper, for the business. It pays well. And if we can keep it all in the family..."

  Jim looked at the bag full of money. What he couldn't do with this kind of cash. After all McCann was offering him a job, a legitimate job.

  "I can offer you the world Jim. I think you are a man of faith. There's something very special about all of this that I think you'll appreciate. In the good book the prophet Isaiah says, 'And I will give you treasures hidden in the darkness— secret riches. I will do this so you may know that I am the LORD, the one who calls you by name.' Don't you see, Jim? We are called to this work. It's bigger than us."

  Jim was taken by McCann's words. He'd been so anxious lately. And this idea seemed to settle him. He felt a peace. Here was this influential figure, this powerful personality, offering Jim...what did he say? secret riches? Maybe this is a good deal after all, thought Jim. McCann felt called. Now that he'd seen the connection with Quantrill and even McCann, he was beginning to think about it in a different light. Maybe Jim was called too. His life had been so lacking in purpose. Here was something bigger than his own little world. Yes, this was right. He was part of something greater. He looked at McCann. The senator was looking into Jim's eyes, into his soul.

  "Come with us, Jim. Come with us on paths of peace."

  Jim couldn't shake McCann's gaze. There was something in his eyes. Jim felt like he was being drawn in. His head was swimming. He found himself saying, "Yes, I see it. I'm with you. And I think, I think I'm willing to swear allegiance."

  That evening, still at McCann's home, Jim was getting ready for the initiation. There had been something so deep, so comforting in McCann's, no Gerald's, eyes. He truly was the leader that this country needed. Slipp came to get Jim to take him downstairs. There was a room in the lowest level of the home. They went down some stairs into the room. It was warm there. Just a hint of mist hung in the air. Jim didn't know where it came from, but a soothing orange colored glow permeated the space. He felt whole and at rest.

  A large table, with a damask tablecloth, filled the center of the room. There were the chairs set around it just as they had been at the warehouse. Several people were gathered. Some of them wore white robes. Gerald was wearing a white robe. Just like angels, Jim thought.

  The booklet that they had found in the secret compartment lay on the table. Its gold leaf design reflected the dim light.

  Gerald's voice began, "We are gathered together here on this solemn occasion for the initiation of a new soul. James O'Neill has decided to join us." Quiet applause. We have the original words with which to swear allegiance to our leader. Slipp, would you do the honors?"

  Slipp made his way to the table and picked up the book. He handed it to Jim.

  Jim held the booklet this time, not with derision, but with respect. He felt the crispness of the antique pages. He felt the same exquisite coolness that had seemed to creep through the wall in Solly's Bar. With pleasure, he began to read.

  "1. Always respect your superiors. 2. Finish an assigned task. 3. Teach Others. 4. Give necessary warnings before engagement. 5. Once engagement has begun, show no mercy."

  "Go on," urged McCann.

  " I, James O'Neill, hereby acknowledge that the following mandates are necessary for becoming a member of the organization of the Quants:

  The purpose of life is to establish a lifestyle where power can be attained.

  The attainment of power must become of primary importance.

  The attainment of power supersedes all other interests and pastimes.

  The use of power is to further the goals of the leader.

  Attaining power when presented with such, must be done without reservation, by any means necessary, spanning the gamut from harassment to murder, with no compunction."

  There was a slight rustling sound in the room. The observers whispered of how lucky this man was to speak the original words. They felt the power, they said.

  Gerald McCann said the word. "Swear."

  Jim began, "I, James O'Neill, solemnly swear to ..."

  "Cowboy boots", who was leaning against the wall, strode toward Jim. He pulled his knife from his boot and flashed it in Jim's face. The orange glow in the room reflected off the blade. He placed it on the table in front of Jim and smiled.

  "...uphold these... mandates...beliefs..." Jim picked up the knife and remembered. He remembered the glint of the orange sunset on the knife in the parking lot of the diner. He remembered the knife at the motel just before they kidnapped Adrianna.

  He screamed out, "No!!" He searched out McCann's face. His eyes were burning through Jim now with utter rage. Jim had to get out of there. he bolted toward the stairs and ran up two steps at a time. He was out the front door in a flash with his keys out of his pocket and into his hand. But where was his car? What did they do with his car? He felt a grip like a vice on his shoulder. A heavy weight biker was glaring at him. McCann, devoid now of his white robe, walked up.

  "You fool! Not only did you shame yourself, but you have embarrassed me for the last time." McCann ordered the biker to take Jim back into the house. Just as he began to shove Jim, a police car pulled into the driveway. Everyone froze. The Quants who had started out the front door froze. Two officers approached the group of McCann, Jim and the biker.

  "Is there a problem here, senator?" asked one of the officers.

  McCann brushed himself off. "Not at all, officer. This gentleman was causing a disturbance at our gathering here."

  Jim said, "I am being held here against my will. They've taken my car. I won't press charges. I just want to be able to leave."

  "We got a call, senator, from a Trey Wilson. He reported his cousin, James O'Neill, missing since last night. He seemed to think he might be with you."

  "Mr. O'Neill came to my house early this morning. We had a pleasant breakfast and discussed a job offer. Nothing more."

  "I assume you will not be pressing charges either. Is that right, Senator McCann?" asked the officer.

  McCann nodded to the biker and he loosened his hold on Jim. "Yes, we will part company here. And as I said, don't let it happen again," he said to Jim.

  "And his car?" asked the other officer.

  "Yes, Mr. Clark," he said to the biker, "Please bring Mr. O'Neill's car around, right away." Jim gave the biker his keys. The car was driven to the center of the circular driveway. Jim got in the driver's seat.

  The other cop said to Jim, "Would you like us to follow you home?"

  "As a matter of fact, I would like that," Jim said. He got in the car. As he waited for the cops to circle around behind him, he got a glance at McCann and the rest of the crew. They looked deflated. And I'm not sorry I burst their bubble, thought Jim.

  On the drive back to Trey's apartment, Jim thought about his bizarre behavior. He was this close to spilling his blood and signing a document that he had been fighting to expose. What happened? It was McCann. The man had virtually hypnotized him. Boy
, talk about power. When the cops pulled up behind him in the parking garage, Jim got out and spoke to them.

  "I said I didn't want to make a complaint against McCann, but truth be told, this guy is off his rocker. He's a power-hungry politician with a deranged group of friends."

  "If you want to make a complaint you need to come down to headquarters. Would you like to go back with us?" asked the other officer.

  "So, you would actually do something about it? I thought because of his standing in the political world you wouldn't touch him."

  "Mr. O'Neill, you watch too many movies," said the first cop.

  "Good to hear. I'll touch base with my family and then I'll be right over. The precinct is within walking distance, right?"

  "That's right. Just up on State."

  "All right. Thank you," Jim said as he left the watchful eye of the law.

  Jim walked over to the garage elevator. The door opened. There was Slipp holding a gun and McCann standing right behind him.

  "You can't get away that easily, Jim," said McCann as he walked past Slipp.

  "Your tenacity is admirable," replied Jim.

  "Your obstinacy is not," said McCann. "I'm not willing to give up on you yet. Let's go."

  Slipp pushed Jim out of the elevator with the gun in his back. They walked to the Mercedes parked in the corner of the lot. Jim went in the back seat, automatic door locks engaged. McCann sat next to him. Slipp took the part of chauffeur.

  "This will be your last rodeo, as they say," said McCann. "You're too dangerous to leave alone. You've proven that. We are going to a place of no return. Either you swear your allegiance or it's the end."

  "Senator McCann, shall I say, 'you put a spell on me.' I certainly wasn't in my right mind when I was in your meeting."

  "I have been told that I can be very persuasive."

  "Oh, I fear that it's more than your personal ability to persuade."

  "Perhaps," said McCann with a faint smile. "What changed your mind? You were so close."

  "It was "cowboy boots," replied Jim.

  "Cowboy boots?" asked a baffled McCann.

  "Your biker friend. The one who brought the knife. This wasn't my first encounter with him. He'd pulled a knife on me and my family twice before. You see, what you are proposing to me, to the masses, is not peace. "Cowboy boots..."

  "Glen."

  "Oh, good, he has a name...Glen, is a product of your philosophy. If it were expedient, he would have killed me or my family members...without compunction."

  "To paraphrase Machiavelli, 'The ends justify the means.'"

  "Your ends. Who gave you the right to get what you want regardless of other people's needs?"

  "That is the beauty of the Quants, Jim. When you are a chosen one, you have the authority to choose what is best for the masses. The uneducated, the uninformed, they can't be trusted to decide what's best, not only for themselves, but for the country. We seek the good of the country."

  "What are you going to do with me?"

  "We're going to experience an object lesson. Call it, interactive theater, if you will."

  They had been driving along a winding road bordered by tall pines. The sky was clear with a sun longing to set in the west. McCann's Mercedes handled beautifully on the turns. They were well out of town now, having driven west for an hour. The air was cooler here. Was it the pine trees, Jim asked himself, or something else?

  Slipp was quiet. Jim felt surprisingly courageous with Slipp. He thought it must be because he reminded Jim of a weak politician, he had disliked on tv.

  "Mr. Slipp, are you enjoying the drive?" Jim asked impertinently.

  "Well, if you must know, I can think of better ways to spend my time. Some people just aren't worth the trouble," replied Slipp looking in the rearview mirror.

  "Do you hear that, McCann? Slipp thinks I'm not worth the trouble. Maybe he knows something you don't know. If I were you, I'd just give up on me ever doing your bidding. Just drop me off here and I'll sail away into the sunset. Never bother you again."

  This proposal was met with silence. Some minutes more, the terrain leveled off and the trees thickened. A sign had read some time back, "Illinois State Forest." That's a nice place for a murder, Jim thought. Secluded, no one would hear the gun shot.

  They came to a side road and veered off onto it. The woods were denser here. There was a parking lane off to the right and Slipp took it. On the opposite side of the road and further up ahead was a bridge. As they walked toward it, Jim took in the scene. Like an Early American painting, it was idyllic. Birds were singing; the trees were rustling. Coming up to it, they could see there was a country bridge with wooden slats stained red. Cross pieces reinforced the slats for support. The floor of the bridge was wooden boards warped and graying. All in all, it was a fine bridge, Jim thought. This he took in as they walked on the road leading to the spot. For this is surely the spot, Jim thought. It was the only landmark around. The point of "no return". An iconic place to make a decision. Up or down. Life or death.

  The three men walked onto the bridge. Slipp had the gun out while McCann began to walk up and down, up and down. Jim stood in the middle, not moving.

  "You know, Jim," McCann said as he paced. "We have the same bloodline you and me. But you can't see it, even now, you can't see it. I've offered you money, a job, power. What more could you want?"

  "I want this," he said as he gazed at the landscape. "I want beauty. I want peace, freedom. Do you have those things McCann?"

  "I have the presidency of the United States of America almost within my grasp."

  "Yes, you do."

  "Are you going to yield, Jim?"

  Jim gazed down into the ravine below the bridge.

  "Because you know I can't let you go. I know you'd talk."

  "Get it over with, McCann," said Jim.

  Slipp moved closer to him. He raised the gun.

  "Call Bear," McCann commanded Slipp.

  Slipp looked at McCann. "Sir?" he questioned.

  "Yeah, call Bear."

  Slipp walked a little distance away from the two of them and took out his phone. Jim stared at McCann.

  "Bear is my...independent contractor."

  "I see."

  "He's been on call, following us."

  "The right man for the job?"

  "Something like that."

  Just then, the sound of a Harley rumbled within earshot. Down the side road came the leader, with graying ponytail and fur cape.

  He parked the Harley and strolled over. Slipp walked to the Mercedes and got in. McCann's eyes met Jim's. McCann gave a nod and turned to go. The car exited the area and was gone.

  "So, we meet again," said the leader.

  "So, we do." Jim shuffled in the middle of the bridge. He had forgotten how tall the biker was. "I can see why he hires you for this sort of thing. You, uh, are pretty intimidating."

  "It's business," said the leader.

  "So, your name is Bear?" asked Jim.

  "That's one of them. My real name is David."

  "I see. Ok...This is, is, difficult," said Jim. "My wife died at a bridge."

  "Oh, yeah?" said David.

  "Her name was Anne." The tears were coming now. "Her car drove off a bridge into a ravine like this one. The cops said that her car may have been pushed off."

  "It was," said David.

  "You knew about it?"

  "I did it," he said. "It was a hit job. The boss thought she knew too much but wouldn't cooperate. Wouldn't tell us where to find the treasure."

  Oh God!, thought Jim. It was true.

  Jim wanted to grab him and strangle the life out of him. But instead he fell to his knees sobbing over his sweet Anne, his murdered wife.

  There was silence for a few minutes. Then David said, "I'm sorry, Jim."

  "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry I stole your little girl. They were desperate to get all the pieces for that treasure. I didn't even know why it was important. I didn't touch her, I swear.
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  She dropped the key on the floor of your car. I picked it up and hid it in the compartment under the seat so no one would find it. I didn't know what the key was for. But the whole thing was bogus. I wanted out. I didn't want any part of it anymore. And I didn't want him to get the treasure, any of it, anything."

  Jim looked up at David. Resistance. Just like Grandpa Mike.

  The biker said, "So, it's time. Get up on the bridge railing."

  "That's how it's going to happen? No gun? No knife?"

  The biker looked away. "Just a trip over the edge. The bottom of the ravine is about a hundred feet below."

  He turned back to Jim. "Get yourself up there. Go on," he snarled.

  Jim climbed up onto the red stained railing and sat down on the edge. He would go as Anne had. It wouldn't take long. He braced himself and shut his eyes.

  Suddenly he heard the roar of the Harley. He looked. David was speeding away down the road.

  He was gone. David had backed out of the deal. He wouldn't make his money. And Jim wouldn't die. Jim swung over the rail onto the bridge floor. He got down on his knees again and gave thanks for his life.

  Now to get home. Since he didn't have his cell, he couldn't call anyone for a ride. He had a few dollars in his wallet which wouldn't get him anywhere. After walking down the winding road for about half an hour, he heard a car coming behind him. He knew that he'd have to hitchhike. He stuck out his thumb and surprisingly the car stopped. The passenger window was down. Jim cautiously peered in to make sure it wasn't Slipp or McCann or any of their gang. Actually, sitting on the driver's side was an older woman with gray hair and glasses and a brilliant smile.

  "Having car trouble?" she asked.

  "Well you might say that. Someone took my car," Jim replied.

  "Oh, that's terrible!" she said. "You look harmless. Get in."

  Jim sat back and breathed a sigh of relief. "I really appreciate this. My name is Jim O'Neill."

  "Nice to meet you Jim. Not too many people ever walk this road so I knew you must be having difficulties. My name is Susan."

  Susan as it turned out was headed for Chicago. She didn't own a cell phone, but they stopped at a gas station to ask if there was a phone that Jim could use. He couldn't get through to Trey, but he left a message that he'd be back to the apartment within an hour. As they approached the city, Jim wondered how he was going to avoid McCann once they found out that Jim was not dead after all. And should he notify the police? The officers who followed him from McCann's were helpful and seemed like they weren't in McCann's "pocket."