Apocalypse Cult (Gray Spear Society) (18 page)

Victor searched for his third target. As expected, the survivors were running for their lives. He shot one man in the back.

The fourth target knelt behind a log and tried to return fire with a pistol. The rotting wood offered little protection against a high-power rifle bullet. Victor scored another easy head shot.

He discovered the fifth and final target was already dead, shot in the chest by Aaron.
Good man
, Victor thought. Aaron now had his gun aimed at Simon.

Victor stood and approached the two of them. He slung his rifle over his shoulder.

"Take off your clothes," Victor ordered.

"Who are you?" Simon said.

"The man telling you to strip. I need to make sure you're unarmed."

Simon was taller than Victor, but Victor had much greater mass and strength. Still, Simon showed no sign of being intimidated. He actually seemed amused by the situation.

"No," he said calmly.

Victor punched him in the chest hard enough to crack a few ribs. Simon collapsed backwards like a marionette with its strings cut. He lay gasping on the ground with his eyes bulging.

"Excuse me? I don't think I heard you correctly."

"My people will..." Simon coughed.

"Your people are busy fighting a losing battle. It's just you, me, and God here." Victor smiled. "And I know which side God is on."

Simon looked at Aaron.

Aaron shook his head. "Don't look to me for help. I hate your guts."

Victor ripped Simon's clothes from his body as he lay on the ground. Simon did have a gun, but when he reached for it, Victor kicked him in the face. Simon clenched his jaw as blood oozed from his nose.

Victor tossed the gun into the woods. "You're a slow learner, but that's OK. I'm a persistent teacher."

Simon had green tattoos over his entire body. Each tattoo was framed by a rectangular scar, turning his skin into a gruesome art gallery.

Victor handcuffed Simon's hands behind his back. Then, Victor picked him up by the arms and set him on his feet.

"Go!" Victor ordered.

They walked down to the lake where there really was a speedboat with the keys in the ignition. Marina had docked it there that morning. It had a blue hull and a single outboard motor. Aaron took the driver's seat in front, Simon sat in the middle, and Victor sat directly behind Simon.

Victor placed his huge hand on Simon's neck. "If you move," Victor said, "I'll crush your throat."

Aaron fired up the engines. The roar was impressive and so was the teeth-rattling vibration. He pushed the throttle to maximum and blasted off.

"Are you with the government?" Simon said.

"No," Victor said.

"Are you taking me hostage? Are you trying to collect ransom? I can pay you."

"Shut up!"

The lake was long and narrow, but it took only a couple of minutes for the boat to traverse the entire length. Aaron drove it up onto a rocky shore below a bridge, where a highway crossed the lake. He cut the engines.

"Get out," Victor ordered.

Simon went in front as the three of them climbed a steep embankment. Sweaty and dirty, they reached the highway. Marina was waiting with an armored truck parked on the shoulder.

The rear door was open. Victor shoved Simon inside, and Victor and Marina climbed in after him. The thick walls would prevent any sounds from escaping, such as screams for help or cries of agony.

Aaron closed the door.

* * *

Aaron had never seen a real torture session. He was already nauseous in anticipation.

He stood in an aircraft hanger for an airport that had seen only bird traffic for decades. Crop dusters had once flown from here, but the runway was too short for modern planes. Now weeds grew through cracks in the crumbling pavement. There were huge holes in the roof of the hanger, but the walls still stood and the main door could be closed for privacy.

That privacy was important now. Simon sat in a heavy steel chair in the middle of the hanger, his arms and legs bound tightly with bailing wire. His nose was badly broken, and six of his front teeth were gone. One eye was bloodshot and puffy.

He could still talk though, and that was the important thing.

Ethel had come dressed for the occasion. She stood before him wearing a butcher's apron, heavy rubber gloves, and a surgeon's mask. Her two machetes were strapped across her back in sheathes. A tray of hand tools was within easy reach. Victor, Marina, and Aaron stood off to one side. There was nobody else around to witness this horror.

"I'm sure you know how this works," Ethel said in a voice that lacked any hint of emotion. "I ask questions and you provide answers. If I don't like your answers, I hurt you. You should know I'm an expert on human anatomy and a master torturer. It's just a matter of time before you break."

Simon spat at her. She moved her head and the saliva missed.

"I'm most curious about what this so-called angel told you. Let's start there."

"Sraosha," Simon said with a lisp because of his missing teeth.

"Yes."

"All the conversations are described in my writings."

"I saw your booklet," Ethel said. "My problem is that you describe Sraosha as speaking in poetic speeches full of dramatic flourishes. That isn't the truth. External entities don't talk that way. In fact, they hardly talk at all. How did that thing actually communicate with you?"

"There was some... minor interpretation."

She examined the tray of tools. Her hand passed over clamps, sandpaper, knives, and other items until she chose a ball peen hammer.

"How minor?" she said.

Simon stared at the hammer in her hand. "I did elaborate on a few points."

She brought the hammer down on his kneecap with a loud crack. To his credit, he didn't scream, but the way he grunted and writhed indicated that Ethel had hit her mark.

When Simon could speak again, he said, "You'll be sorry, bitch. Very sorry."

"Why?" Ethel said.

"Soon fire will touch the clouds, and the waters will be dark with blood! Cries of anguish will be heard around the world, and all will see the truth! You'll become known as the woman who tormented the savior of mankind. The people will drag you through the streets until the flesh is stripped from your bones."

"What are you talking about?"

"My Great Project," Simon said. "The culmination of years of planning, recruiting, and training. My men have already received their final orders. The work will be completed on schedule. Sraosha's prophesy
will
be fulfilled. There is nothing you can do to stop it."

"Where are your men?"

"Secret places. You'll never find them," he sneered.

"That was an example of an answer I don't like."

She put the hammer down and picked up a clamp. She held it to his face so he could get a good look at his next instrument of torture.

A sudden light made Aaron look up. There was a glowing ball of mist about ten feet above Simon's head. The light was pinkish, and it seemed to come from the center of the ball. Interior flashes reminded Aaron of a lightning storm inside a cloud formation at night. It was incredibly beautiful.

"Run!" Ethel yelled.

Aaron turned and saw Ethel, Victor, and Marina scrambling as if a bomb were about to explode. Aaron followed their example.

"Sraosha has come!" Simon cried out. "Now she will smite my enemies! Glory to the faithful..."

A burst of intense light and heat cut off Simon. Even though Aaron was facing away, the flash blinded him. A blast of scorching hot air knocked him down. There was an odor of burnt flesh, and he hoped it wasn't his own.

He lay on the ground for a moment. The skin on the back of his shaved head hurt, but at least he wasn't dead. He wasn't happy though.

"Is everybody alive?" Ethel called out.

Victor and Marina replied they were also alive and also unhappy.

"What just happened?" Aaron said. His eyesight was slowly returning.

"It was a messenger," Ethel said. "That's what we call those things. They come from outside the universe."

"From God?"

"One of His enemies sent that one."

Aaron got to his feet, and finally, he could see a little. There wasn't much left of Simon or the chair. Some white ash floated on a pool of molten steel. The concrete beneath glowed dull red. It had cracked in a radial pattern, as if hit by a giant sledge hammer. A cloud of hazy smoke expanded and rose towards the holes in the roof.

"Simon got it half-right," Victor said. "The messenger came from Sraosha, but not to save him. I guess Sraosha was worried Simon would crack under torture."

The stench of burnt flesh forced Aaron to move back. He still couldn't believe what had just happened, even though he had seen it with his own eyes. He gingerly touched the back of his sore head.

"Our job just got a lot harder," Ethel said. "We have to assume that Simon's plan, his Great Project, is real. We have to find his men before they finish it, and they could be anywhere."

"What do you think the plan is, ma'am?" Aaron asked.

"God's enemies always seek to ruin the world. Suggestions, anyone?"

"We're running out of leads," Victor said. "Simon is cremated, and we killed his lieutenants."

Another glowing ball began to form in the air. This one was larger than the last, and the color was more blue. The surface boiled like bubbling water. Aaron ran as hard as he could towards an office in the corner of the hanger.

"Calm down," Ethel said. "This one is friendly."

Aaron glanced over his shoulder. The rest of the team hadn't moved, so he stopped and looked back at the ball. There was something unreal about the light it emitted. He remembered seeing a similar glowing ball not too long ago. It had happened at night, but the details eluded him.

"How can you tell which messengers are friendly?" he said.

"You can feel the difference," Ethel said. "This one came from God."

Aaron actually did feel something. There was a burning sensation in his guts, and his skin was very warm. He felt strong enough to walk through a brick wall. He instinctively knew what it meant. The Lord was enraged about the situation, and it was Aaron's job to fix it. He was a living weapon held by God's hand. The power of the Almighty coursed through him.

The revelation was so overwhelming, Aaron dropped to his knees. The Gray Spear Society really did work for God. All the crazy claims Ethel had made were true. Aaron couldn't doubt what he was seeing or feeling.

The light faded and the ball disappeared. He still had a burning sensation though.

"Well," Ethel said, "that message couldn't have been clearer. What are we going to do? I'm still waiting for suggestions."

Aaron was having trouble wrapping his mind around the bizarre situation. An impossible thing had just happened. He had to reexamine all of his assumptions.

"Aaron!" Ethel said. "Pay attention. I'm sure you just had a powerful experience, but you can reflect on it later. We have a job to do."

He got to his feet and faced her. She was right. He tried to shake off the fog in his mind.

"Hopefully, some of the cult members from the campgrounds have useful information, ma'am," Marina said. "They're the only leads we have left. Unfortunately, the DEA probably put all the survivors in jail. If we want to interview them, we'll need official approval."

"Agent Hoskins is the lead investigator," Aaron said. "You need his approval most of all. Can't we just tell him the truth, ma'am? A group of religious nuts is planning a major attack. Once he understands, he'll give us all the help we need."

Ethel shook her head. "He isn't one of us. We have to lie to him."

"Then let's tell him the Church of One Soul are a bunch of terrorists, and we're a secret anti-terrorism group. Tensions are high in the Middle East, and the Fourth of July is just a few days away, so everybody is feeling patriotic. It could work."

"Yes." Her dark eyes studied him. "That's acceptable. You and Marina will have another meeting with Hoskins. He already knows your faces."

Victor smiled. "That will be a fun conversation. He might shoot them on sight after the way Marina played him."

Chapter Thirteen

Aaron sat with Marina in a car near Cook County Jail, Division 11. The impressively large building was really four separate buildings connected to a central core. The white walls stood four stories tall, and a grid of small, square windows provided the only exterior decoration. Division 11 was the largest, most modern, and most secure of all the facilities run by the Cook County Department of Corrections. Aaron didn't know how many prisoners it could hold, but he guessed it had to be more than a thousand.

He checked his watch. They had been waiting for over an hour.

Marina wore a dark blue business suit with her red hair pulled up in a bun. She had used the bare minimum of makeup, giving her the appearance of a serious business woman.

"I'm curious," Aaron said. "How did you get mixed up with the CIA?"

"It wasn't the original plan," she said. "I worked my way through college and graduated with a degree in civil engineering."

"Then what happened?"

"Opportunities for civil engineers were scarce, so I decided to work as a translator for a while to pay the bills. The CIA was hiring."

"What languages do you know?"

"My parents spoke Russian," she said, "so that's what I learned growing up. Working for the CIA was pretty boring for the first two months. They had me translating newspapers and magazines. Then the brass decided an attractive, young woman with foreign language skills shouldn't be chained to a desk. I was sent to spy school."

"Sounds interesting."

"Not as much as you'd expect," she said. "My instructors taught me how to lie, cheat, and steal."

"Did you do well?"

"I was a top student. I have a natural talent for unscrupulous behavior."

"I've noticed," he said quietly.

She looked down. "It's not something I'm proud of, but a girl has to use the talents God gave her. At least I found a profession where I can put those talents to good use."