Purgatory

by Guido Eekhaut

  Prinsen found it in his inner pocket. “You’re looking for what?”

  “Things they have in common. Patterns again.”

  Prinsen glanced at the list. “Not much by way of a pattern, except two of them, beside Basten, working for the same company.”

  “InfoDuct?”

  “No. An outfit called TransCom.”

  “Oh,” Eekhaut said. “There’s a pattern for you. That’s InfoDuct’s parent company.”

  “These two disappeared a week apart.” Prinsen looked intensely at Eekhaut.

  “Three people working for the same corporate group, and all of them gone missing within the same time frame. You’re telling me that’s a coincidence?”

  “We need to talk to some people,” Prinsen said.

  “We sure do. One can’t have enough interrogations. Stalin said so.”

  “He did?”

  Eekhaut grinned and finished his beer. “At some point, yes. And you can never be too paranoid either.”

  23

  JAN PIETER MAXWELL ALLOWED himself to be driven back to Amsterdam. He hated public transportation, even taxis. There was always a private car and driver waiting for him. The companies he managed could well afford such a luxury. It wasn’t really a luxury. Fast transportation between meetings meant he saved time, and not having to drive himself allowed him to work in the car as well.

  Another advantage was privacy. Nobody noticed him, nobody interfered with him. He could use his phone undisturbed. Not even the driver could hear him. He was talking to Courier right now, who had been doing research on the detectives investigating the Ardennes case.

  “Do we have any leverage?” Maxwell asked. “Something to slow them down or incapacitate them?”

  “One of them is a Belgian on loan to the AIVD. We know little about him. He lives in Utrechtsestraat, in an apartment rented for him by the AIVD. I can send someone along if you need him followed.”

  “That might not be productive. And the other one?”

  “A young detective, Nick Prinsen. He’s from the north. And he is Chief Dewaal’s nephew, which might be interesting. He has a girlfriend, here in Amsterdam, a young girl he met during a previous investigation. I heard she’s a bit . . . unstable. She witnessed a murder in her apartment.”

  “That sounds promising. Concentrate on the young detective then. He’s probably most vulnerable. What else?”

  “That’s pretty much it. The other members of the team are only partially involved in this investigation, so I was focusing on these two.”

  “You have carte blanche, Courier,” Maxwell said. “You know what to do. Disrupt the investigation. Our enemies might have unlimited resources at their disposal. They’re dangerous. They can prevent us from attaining our goal. This can’t be allowed.”

  “Of course not, Baphomet,” Courier said.

  “That’s why your mission is extremely important. Prevent any further progress in this matter, Courier.”

  “Yes, Baphomet.”

  “You know you will not fail, don’t you?”

  “I won’t fail,” Courier said.

  “Do not doubt for a moment I am the one who will lead all of you into salvation, Courier. If you have any doubts, however, I will replace you instantly.”

  “I have no doubts, Baphomet,” Courier said. “I have none.”

  After disconnecting, Maxwell remained thoughtful for a long time. He stared in front of him. It continued to amaze him how easily he could get useful idiots like Courier to do exactly what he wanted. This was his gift. This was what he was good at—persuading people. The same way he had persuaded Serena to join the society. Serena, who seemed fascinated by the idea of people like himself sacrificing human beings for a higher cause. She was thrilled she would soon be part of his grand schemes.

  People like Serena didn’t belong in any category of ordinary citizens. He himself didn’t belong in any ordinary category either. We are different, he told her, because we realize how far passion can lead us. Actually, passion can lead us anywhere we want. And we are different because of our bond with the ultimate Creator. We are different because we are true believers, in a world of heretics and of cold cynicism.

  We are different.

  And in this case, it simply meant they were better. Because they were prepared to sacrifice everything, even their own lives, for a glimpse of divine infinity.

  That’s what he told her.

  These were also the exact words he used for other followers. With these words, he had broken from the regular church two decades ago. From that lukewarm pseudo-religion.

  Serena had that same dedication. She truly was a celestial being, and she had rapidly become one of his most loyal supporters. Maybe she was some sort of gift. A divine gift to them all. A good omen that meant everything would work out well for them. She would be with them, and with him, in the final days of humanity. Yes, her arrival in their midst had been a good omen.

  The Society of Fire was ready for the last days and would soon bring on its final, all-engulfing offering. He was ready. He had done everything humanly possible to prepare for the final days.

  24

  JOHANNA SIMSON SAT AT the end of the rosewood table. All around her, in the old leather chairs, eight members of the church watched her. She had known these people for a long time. Some of them as kids. She had helped raise some of them, too. She had explained the Purification Doctrine to them but had prevented them from executing it. She had been a young woman then, unable to have children of her own. She had found relief in working with the children of other people. She knew the church would never disappear as long as there were children. Her own parents had raised her with that same doctrine but had avoided telling her about the actual sacrifices. She had, as a child, never heard about the death by fire ritual.

  By the time she became an adult, she knew for certain this was the only true faith. There was no going back. Not even after the terrible truth of the church’s inhuman activities had become clear to her. There was only one way forward. The end would arrive soon.

  Johanna was one of those who, twenty years ago, took the initiative to break with the tradition. Her parents had strong objections to the rituals, although they couldn’t stop them from happening. But killing tens if not hundreds of random people, including children, was no longer a viable option in the minds of the younger generation. When she was nearly forty, she led the church in the Netherlands and heavily influenced decisions abroad as well. No more burning. No more death by fire. She hadn’t made the decision lightly and had reached this point only after years of contemplation and soul-searching. She could no longer raise children to become multiple murderers. She knew the doctrine necessitated it, but she didn’t want these children to be accomplices to the worst of crimes.

  She had discussed this with other members of the church. Many appreciated her point of view. Many shared it. The world had seen two devastating wars, a century of upheavals. They were faced with a world that wanted to move on, away from vulgar violence and avoidable suffering.

  The older generation was pushed aside while the newcomers renounced all violence. Every chapter of the church abandoned the old doctrine. That had been twenty years ago. Years in which the new doctrine had become an intellectual challenge.

  However, some small parts of the church opposed the change. Former members, unhappy with what they saw as the all too lax religious view, formed an underground movement: the Society of Fire. It went unnoticed at first, but then suddenly became violent and returned to the practice of the ritual. Small events at first, a few people dying here, a few people there. Things happened. Accidents, mostly. Or that was how the external world saw them.

  But somehow, the members of the church began noticing a pattern. They recognized the pattern. Someone outside the church had been reviving the old ways. All this took several years. But in the end, it could no longer be ignored.

  The people around the table were those most concerned. They knew they were being targ
eted by the society.

  “They’re hiding successfully,” a blond woman in her forties said. “And once again they found some of our brothers and sisters and killed them. We should remember.”

  “We do remember them,” a young man said.

  “The situation,” Johanna said, intervening, “is very serious. Even some of us who usually sit at this table are missing. Maybe they’re simply in hiding. Maybe they’re already the victims of this terrible sect.”

  “Seven bodies have been found by the police,” the young man reminded her. His hair was thinning on top, and what was left was a pale ginger.

  “We should inform the police. Work with them,” another man said. He was older than the others, about the same age as Johanna. “Why did you not inform them of our concerns, Johanna?”

  “There’s the issue of secrecy,” she said.

  “We will soon all be dead for your secrecy.”

  “Not if we take matters more firmly into our own hands.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  “As we did long ago. We hunt our enemies down.”

  The young man laughed, without pleasure. “And what resources do we have? Look at us. We are a poor remainder of what we once were. There’s less than a few thousand of us in this country, hardly ten times that much in Europe. We can run and hide, but not forever.”

  “We don’t need to hide,” Johanna repeated. “We need to hunt.”

  “And who will do the hunting?”

  Johanna Simson smiled benevolently. “Help is on the way, my brothers and sisters.”

  25

  “ISN’T THERE ANYBODY FROM public relations to deal with this?” Maxwell said. “Or human resources?”

  “They’re asking for you, sir,” Serena insisted. It seemed to trouble her too, having to bother him with police matters, but she said these gentlemen insisted. They seemed to know Maxwell was in the building. “They’re in the room next to reception. I could tell them you’re in a meeting and have them wait. That would give you time to—”

  “I’m not into procrastination, Serena,” he said. “Bad habit. Let them in at once. And change my other appointments. I’ll be late by, oh, twenty minutes at the most. This can’t take any longer than twenty minutes. What is it about?”

  “They didn’t say, Mr. Maxwell. I inquired, but they refused to comment.”

  “Well, let them in.”

  Moments later, Serena opened the door to Maxwell’s office and introduced the two detectives. Maxwell noticed the off-the-rack suits, the plain ties, the shirts too often washed and carelessly ironed. He recognized the lack of taste in clothing from a mile away, as much as a lack of imagination. These were plain cops, as ordinary as their clothes.

  But another part of his brain warned him. An older and less forthcoming part of his brain. They were potentially dangerous. Don’t get fooled by the look. They wouldn’t be here merely on account of some minor criminal case. These were cops from AIVD, and they were after him.

  “Thank you for seeing us and taking the time, Mr. Maxwell,” the elder of the officers said, without really trying to seem accommodating. He identified himself as Chief Inspector Eekhaut, and he clearly was not Dutch. Flemish, Maxwell noticed. The odd man out. Courier’s information had been correct. The other, Prinsen, said nothing.

  Here they are, Maxwell mused.

  “Gentlemen,” he said cheerfully, as if he expected no real problems from these two cops. “What can I do for you? Let’s hear your questions. Coffee, something stronger?”

  “Thank you, we’ll keep this as short as possible,” Eekhaut said. Maxwell noticed impatience and displeasure in the man’s attitude. Which was fine by him. Let him be uncomfortable, he thought. “We need some information about two of your staff.” He glanced in a little black notebook. “Karl Desmedt and Daniel Brecht. They both work for you, don’t they?”

  “I should think so, gentlemen. They work for this company. Is this about their disappearance? Your colleagues have already been over. Local police, I assume. Did they find anything? We are very much concerned about both men.”

  “You are, in general, always concerned about the fate of your employees, are you?”

  “Of course,” Maxwell said. He didn’t like the way this interview was going. This Eekhaut fellow was rather insolent.

  “Concerned,” Eekhaut repeated. “Like a father would be concerned about his children. When one—or in this case two—of his children go missing. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do, Mr. Maxwell, look after the well-being of those who are in your employ?”

  “They are staff,” Maxwell said stiffly. “They work for a company I manage. I am not directly their employer, not in the strictest sense. I manage. As such, of course, I have responsibilities. Toward all who work here. And of course, I am responsible to the shareholders of this company.”

  “Shareholders,” Eekhaut repeated. “You don’t get involved with the private lives of those employed by . . . by this company, I assume.”

  “I manage several companies the size of this one, gentlemen,” Maxwell said. “I have several offices and divide my time among them. Here today, in Rotterdam tomorrow. I have hundreds of employees. I do not, evidently, occupy myself with their private lives. I remember the names of these two men because we are all concerned about them. There is gossip, of course. I don’t listen to gossip. And of course, I don’t interfere with police work either.”

  That, Eekhaut thought, was a strange reply. “Have you seen their relatives? Wives, children, parents? Comforted them?”

  “I . . . That is not part of my . . . obligations toward them, Chief Inspector. We have people in our HR department.”

  This time it was Prinsen who intervened. “And how did you feel about them, these men, I mean? Professionally. Since when did they work here?”

  Maxwell glanced at the young man. “Both men have been with us many years, but I really can’t remember the details, I’m afraid. As far as I know, they both were very satisfactory. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been with us for long. The HR department can provide you with details. Although that might be a matter of privacy. I should consult with them.”

  “We’re a bit surprised by that,” Eekhaut said. “Two of your employees disappear, and you seem rather unconcerned about their fate. Bright young men, both. Gone from the face of the earth. You inform the law, and that’s it. I assume they’ve already been replaced?”

  “This company needs . . .” Maxwell started, and then fell silent. He was not going to fall into that trap.

  “No note, no message, nothing.”

  “We leave these things to the police. They seem even less concerned than we,” Maxwell said poisonously, “judging from the lack of results. We have never been informed about any results of their inquiries.”

  “They simply walked away, and you don’t want to know why?”

  Maxwell avoided Eekhaut’s stare by looking at his hands. He is furious, Eekhaut thought. But he doesn’t want us to know.

  “Where can I find your HR department?” Eekhaut asked.

  “They have nothing to add to what I told you,” Maxwell replied.

  “We’ll speak with them anyway.” Eekhaut got up. “I ask politely but only once.”

  “My secretary will get you on your way, Chief Inspector,” Maxwell said. “And she will inform them they must fully cooperate with you.”

  “I expect nothing less, Mr. Maxwell. Have a good day.” Eekhaut left the office in a hurry.

  Maxwell glanced at his watch. Damned cops. Twenty minutes? The conversation had taken less time, but it had been long enough. Desmedt and Brecht? Had they identified the other bodies as well? Damn it to hell, he thought. He would have to call Courier, who had assured him no traces had been left. And now, the cops had turned up. With two names.

  It was time to make sure the whole affair didn’t spiral out of control.

  Prinsen shook his head. “Why did you get riled up in there?” They were waiting in the lobby,
and he was whispering. He assumed the place was equipped with cameras and microphones.

  “Riled up? I simply didn’t like the man, Nick. Was that obvious?”

  “You have a problem with authority,” Prinsen said.

  “With certain forms of authority. I dislike this kind of manager. Always have. The sort who see people as commodities. And something else bothered me. He lied. He lied through his teeth. Wanted us out of there from the outset.”

  “What do you intend to ask his HR department?”

  “Nothing. I don’t care what his HR department would want to tell us, which would be precisely nothing.”

  The secretary approached them. “Gentlemen? Is there anything I can do for you? Mr. Maxwell phoned to tell you—”

  “We won’t need anything further, on second thought, miss,” Eekhaut said smoothly. “Thank you for your help.”

  She looked surprised. “As you wish,” she said and walked back.

  “You, my young friend,” Eekhaut told Prinsen, “are coming with me. We’re leaving this building. I’m going to find a pub and have a beer.”

  “And me?”

  “You’ll be returning here after a few minutes—without me. And you’ll approach the nice young receptionist over there. The one that’s been staring at you for a while. She clearly likes you.”

  “Very nice,” Prinsen said, annoyed. “But I don’t have time for her. Anyway—”

  “You’ll make time for her, Nick. You’re going to ask her some innocent questions about the people who work here. Absolutely innocent questions. Maybe you mention the names of Desmedt and Brecht. Receptionists know a lot of things, all the more when they’re young and pretty like her. Everybody talks to her. Everybody likes to impress a beautiful woman. Well, the men, anyway. And if necessary, you ask her out. Tonight. Drinks, something to eat, maybe a movie. I don’t have to teach you the tricks.”

  “But I’ll have to—”

  “Oh, I’m sure Eileen will understand you have to do your job, Nick,” Eekhaut said. “The sacrifices you have to make. You’re a police officer, aren’t you? And she’s proud of you, of all you do. I’m sure she is.”