by Allen Kent
I swung my other leg off the bed, wincing at the pull on the burn, and ran the fingers of my free hand through my smoky hair. I had to let her reasoning percolate for a few minutes.
It was true that when I thought about the two of us together, it was for a couple of days, hitting the international restaurants on the Delmar Loop in her beloved St. Louis or kicking back and listening to whippoorwills in the evening in the solitude of my woods. I hadn’t ever thought in terms of months. About how little I would like a life in the craziness of the city. Or how distressed someone like Mara Joseph would be spending week after week living the life of solitude I loved so much. I tilted my head slightly to let her know it made some sense, even if I didn’t like what it meant.
“And there’s another thing,” she added. “You haven’t been yourself since Grace went off to Scotland. You spend more time worrying about her than Marti does—and that’s a lot.”
I started to object, but realized she was just saying aloud what I already knew.
“That woman’s got a pretty tight grip on your heart, Tate,” she continued softly. “And I think you’ve started feeling it more intensely since she’s been away. She’s right for you—and you for her.”
More unspoken truth, forced into the open.
She smiled wistfully. “Please don’t take this wrong, my dear friend, because I know we have enjoyed each other. But I’ve been a diversion since you can’t figure out how you can completely love Grace Torres.” She leaned over and gave me a sisterly kiss on the forehead. “I need to be getting out of town—and out of the way.”
I sniffed cynically. “The guy she’s working with over there is trying to get her to apply for a job with the local police, if you can believe that.”
“And how do you feel about that?” she asked with a faint smile.
It was my turn to stare down at our clutched hands. “It’s driving me crazy,” I finally confessed. “I can’t believe she would really want to do something like that, long term.”
“Have you told her that?”
I shook my head. “She has all kinds of other things to worry about right now. This is about finding our kids. It’s really not my place to throw something like this into the mix.”
“The hell it’s not,” she said sharply. “For one thing, you need her back here. For another, you want her here.”
I looked up at her with a grim smile of surrender. “You seem to know me better than I know myself.”
“No,” she muttered. “This transfer has finally forced me to do a little reality check. It’s probably long overdue.” She glanced down at the Apple watch she wore. “I’d better go. I need to start getting some things together. And you need to be getting checked out of here before your afternoon call. I’ll call you tomorrow. But I have a bit of advice for you.”
I offered a resigned chuckle. “Even more?”
“Yes. I’m sure you have some vacation coming. Call Dave and get this thing with Darnell and the Covenant people cleared up. Ask if you can be absent from the Greaves lawsuit for a few weeks, and see how quickly you can get to Scotland.”
26
As much as Joseph’s suggestion appealed to me, I had brushed it aside. We were short-handed without Grace as it was, and I was now among the walking wounded. Plus, our procedures manual prohibited the sheriff and chief deputy from taking leave at the same time. But after I got my marching orders from the doctor, checked out of the hospital, and called Dave Johansson to confirm that he and the patrol were managing the People of the Covenant case, I spent the rest of Sunday afternoon with my leg propped on the deck railing playing the idea over and over in a brain that still wasn’t completely free of painkiller.
Grace and Erin had spent the day sightseeing—at least, I hoped she was with Erin. After the mild bruising my ego had just taken with Joseph, I wasn’t sure I was ready to find that the other object of my unexpressed affection was getting attention from someone else.
On Monday morning, I turned to my therapist, getting to the office early and inviting Marti into the fishbowl as soon as she came through the door.
“Looks like Mara Joseph is going to be transferred back to Saint Louis,” I said as soon as she was seated.
She raised an inquisitive brow and asked in her best Carl Rogers manner, “And how are you feeling about that?”
“Probably for the best. Verl has threatened to get back at her if he ever sees her around here again. And she’s a big-city girl at heart. It will be a good move for her.”
“And for you?”
I smiled uncertainly. “Probably best for me too—aside from losing her expertise.”
“How soon is she leaving?”
“Immediately. I talked to her yesterday. She expects to be transferred this week. Possibly today.”
Marti sat silently, waiting to see if I had more to say about Joseph’s move. Deciding I didn’t, she looked me over critically as if she had expected to see a charred face when I arrived this morning, then said hesitantly, “I hear you had quite an eventful weekend.”
“Very,” I agreed. “What have you heard?”
“I was at church yesterday, so almost everything.”
“So you know that Zack Kinnaman and Lucy’s nephew Roy and his preacher friend were all killed?”
“Common knowledge by now. And very sad. Zack was a troubled young man.”
“How are his parents taking it?”
“That, I don’t know. They come out even less than he did.”
“How about Lucy’s sister, Alice?”
“Lucy insists that her nephew’s wife and the others in the little church group didn’t know anything about the fires.”
“I hope that’s right. But this should take care of our arson spree around town.”
“Yes. Also common knowledge. People are very relieved.”
“Dave Johansson and the patrol are taking over the case. So that lifts the rest of the investigation off our shoulders.”
“I did not know that, either. So much for the church grapevine. But I’m pleased to hear it.”
I paused, then said, “Joseph suggested I might want to go to Scotland to see if I can help find Danny and Miriam.”
Marti’s brow arched a notch higher. “Did she now? I heard you were injured pulling Darnell Budgeon out of the fire. Should you even be in here this morning, let alone thinking about going to Scotland?”
“A minor leg burn.”
“That’s not what I heard from Chase. He said a sizable burn, deep in places, and that you were in the hospital overnight.”
I chuckled. “The grapevine hasn’t completely failed. You must have had quite a sermon yesterday.”
“To be honest, Reverend Latimer had a little trouble talking over all of the whispering that was going on,” she admitted, then turned back to the subject of our session. “When Officer Joseph suggested a trip to Scotland, what was your reaction?”
I leaned back in my chair, happy to be away from arson, unintended deaths, and community gossip. “Well, I have an idea that I think could help. But we’re already a person short, and I’ve got this lawsuit going on.”
“How long has it been since you took vacation time, Tate?”
The question had been part of my overnight musing. “I took a couple of days last year.”
“You went fishing over on the White River. Overnight. Back the next afternoon. That’s not exactly a vacation.”
“We’re still shorthanded.”
“We could ask Larry Newby to come off nights for a couple of weeks and cover your duties. Darren Sykes retires this week from the police department and has been on night patrol for the past ten years. My guess is that he’d be willing to cover for Newby at night until you get back.”
I gave her a quizzical frown. “You sound like you’ve been thinking about this.”
She replied with a decisive nod. “I think you should go.”
“Our procedures say Grace and I can’t both be on leave at the same time.”<
br />
Marti leaned toward me. “I didn’t think Grace was on leave. My impression was that she is on assignment.”
“I’ll have to give it some thought,” I said.
She stood and headed for her desk phone. “Don’t think about it too long. And just in case, I’ll check with Newby and Sykes.”
With the door closed and the blinds down, I placed a call to Special Agent Rosario.
“Well, Tate! Any news about your lost kids? I have to admit, since talking to the police over there, I haven’t been keeping track of that situation.”
“Nothing too promising,” I told him. “And nothing that seems to support a Syrian kidnapping.”
“Well, at least that’s good news.”
“Yes, but there is a possibility some other group could be involved—one I hope you might be keeping an eye on. It’s a secret society connected to the TV series Outlander. They call themselves Gleidhidh Doras. In old Scotch Gaelic, it means something like Keepers of the Door.”
“Connected to Outlander?” Rosario said with a laugh. “I’ll have to check with my wife. She’s the Outlander expert in our family.”
“Have you heard of the group? Gleidhidh Doras?”
“It doesn’t ring a bell, Tate. But we track so many groups this could easily be one I don’t know about. Why do you think the Bureau might have an interest?”
“People who know something about them say they operate on the dark web and change their site address pretty regularly.”
Rosario grunted. “I can ask. What do you want to know?”
“How to join the group.”
The agent gave me a long pause, then said, “That’s a pretty drastic step when there’s no evidence of a connection.”
“It’s a hunch, Warren. Nothing else has made any sense up to this point.”
“Have you ever operated on the dark web, Tate?”
I told him I hadn’t.
“Not a place you want to go unless you know exactly what you’re doing. You’re basically inviting all kinds of bad people onto your computer and potentially into your life.”
“How do I avoid that?”
“This is a little out of my area,” he admitted. “Let me check with our people who monitor that kind of thing and, if these so-called door keepers are on the radar, I’ll have someone call you who knows what they’re talking about. But I’m serious, Sheriff. This is no children’s playground and can put you on some surveillance lists you don’t want to be on.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” I promised.
“Hope you find your kids in good shape,” he said. “You’ll hear from us about the site, one way or the other.”
The return call came from a Julia Blair whose voice sounded young and engaging, but was all business. “I’m calling at the request of Special Agent Warren Rosario,” she said after the introduction. “You want to know about Gleidhidh Doras. We do follow them, and I’m the assigned agent. What can I help you with?”
“First, can you tell me why you watch them? I’m told they’re groupies of some TV series.”
“Not some series,” she corrected, echoing Grace. “Outlander. It’s hugely popular. I take it you aren’t one of its devotees.”
I admitted that I’d never seen an episode.
“Well, different fan groups latch on to different elements of the series,” she explained. “Some follow one of the lead characters. Some are into the history. This particular one is fixated on the sexual content. It gets pretty explicit sometimes.”
“So I’ve heard. But I wouldn’t think that in itself would force them onto the dark web. Even if they stage reenactments, there’s plenty of porn available on the regular web.”
Her answer fired a charge of electricity down my spine. “Not if it involves kids and drugs,” she said. “This bunch likes to get out and dance around in the buff and tape their ceremonies. There are almost always drugs and sex and, even though we can’t confirm that minors are involved in either, they do show up in the dancing sometimes.”
“Who’s their leader?”
“Well, actually, that’s another reason we follow them. They have all the trimmings of a cult. Although they are American, the couple that lead them call themselves Jamie and Claire after the lead characters in the series. The man claims to actually be the real Jamie Fraser, transported to our time from eighteenth century Scotland.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“I’m afraid not. He says he has an ancient Druid rite that under the right conditions can move people back and forth through time.”
“And his followers believe that?”
“The world is full of people who are desperate for someone to come along and tell them he’s the new messiah, Sheriff. Yes, they believe him.”
I thought of Delmer Towan.
“Do you know about anything they have going on in Inverness right now? One of these ceremonies or something?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I do. There’s a group of them over there now. He’s billing it as something that will be life-changing for his people.”
“In what way?”
“From the postings on their site, it isn’t exactly clear. But he is hinting that he may send someone through the portal.”
“Someone? You mean himself?”
“That’s not what it sounds like. Another person.”
“To another time?”
“That’s what he implies.”
“I’d like to join them.”
Julia paused, then said, “That isn’t easy. For one thing, it costs quite a bit—what Jamie calls a ‘pledge of loyalty.’”
“I can’t say that’s a surprise. How much?”
“A year ago, it was a thousand dollars. And they ask for an annual affirmation of that pledge that’s now five thousand. Plus, you have to be recommended by a member. Everyone uses an alias taken from the series, but one of the known members has to submit you for approval.”
I swore under my breath. “If I go over there, I may be able to find them. But the Scottish police haven’t been able to yet, and it would be a lot easier if I could operate from inside.”
“You’re in luck,” Julia said with a light chuckle. “I’m a member.”
I couldn’t stifle a chuckle. “Of course you are.”
She chuckled back. “But it’s not as simple as that. I’d have to have some pretty good reason to risk my cover by putting another mole in the group. What’s this all about?”
I explained about the missing teens and reports I was getting from the Scottish police that the name Gleidhidh Doras kept coming up.
“That’s a good enough reason. They’ve been planning this gathering for months and trying to get members to go by promising this big event. I don’t know what it is, but there’s a chance it could involve your missing kids.”
I swallowed back the choke in my throat. “When is it supposed to be?”
I could hear her fingering computer keys. “The next full moon. That would be the fourteenth. Only seven days from now.”
“Damn,” I muttered. “That’s not much time to get accepted and fly to Scotland—assuming they’ll take me.”
“I think they’ll take you if you can come up with the money,” she said. “We all get to recommend someone for membership, and I never have. As far as I know, I’m in pretty good standing. You’ll need a character name. Just first names. No last. And you’ll need to pay their initiation fee.”
“I can do that. Any suggestions for a name?”
“What do you look like?”
“Tall. Kind of lean. Brown hair.”
“How about Josiah? After Josiah Beardsley.”
“Tell me about him.”
Julia chuckled. “If you’re going to do this, you’d better start binge-watching Outlander. You can get it on Netflix. I’d suggest you find out who Josiah is and get enough background to be able to talk to the other members about their own characters. They call themselves Clansmen. And I promise you, they kn
ow their Outlander.”
“Josiah it is. Where do we go from here?”
“I’ll recommend you today. If they accept, you’ll have to access their site and chats and pay the pledge fee. Special Agent Rosario said you don’t have any experience on the dark web. Is that true?”
“None,” I confessed.
“Then I suggest you get a cheap laptop and a pretty good-sized remote drive. Use them only for this.”
“Gotcha. Then what?”
“Once you have the machine, set up a gmail account as ‘Josiah dot something.’ Whatever add-on floats your boat. Let me know what it is. Then download Tor, which is an encryption browser. In fact, download the version of Tails that has Tor as part of the package. Tails—that’s T-A-I-L-S.”
“I have it down. What is it?”
“It’s a security program that protects your IP address. The combined package is a big program, so you’ll need the extra storage drive. Then go onto the regular web and see what racy scenes from Outlander you can download into some folder on this new computer.”
“If I have all this software security, why the new folder?”
“To be safe. If someone decides to check you out and can penetrate the security you have—and I’m sure they will try—we want them to find the right stuff.”
“If I get admitted,” I interrupted, “how do I get invited to join them in Scotland?”
“You’ll see announcements on the site. I think they’re looking for more people. It’s kind of an expensive trip, so not a lot have been able to go. And it’s hard to have a good orgy with only a dozen clansmen.”
It was my turn to pause, then ask, “Have you been to one of these ceremonies?”
She laughed. “I have. Yes. It was held out here in the Virginia mountains. It gave me legitimacy. I’m Marsali, by the way. Mars1751@gmail, if you happen to get a note from me.”
