Devil's Eye (34 page)

He was certain it was the van he marked with a well
‐
placed shot the night of the attack outside the museum.

A groom came out of the stable and approached him.

“
Are you one of the new initiates?”

“
Uhh, yes, I am,” the Colonel replied. “What is that neighing in the barn? Aren’t all the horses outside grazing?”

Caine looked past the groom’s shoulder and saw a man hurrying towards them from the mansion.

“
Oh, that’s Blaze. Mr. Sherwyck’s favorite. He’s different. Only Mr. Sherwyck can handle him.”

“
I appreciate good horseflesh. Can I see him?”

Before the groom could answer, the man from the mansion—who appeared to Caine like a butler—was upon them and confronted the Colonel.

“
Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The groom seemed puzzled and backed away into the stable upon the butler’s commanding stare.

“
I’m Colonel Christopher Caine,” he replied casually. “I’m here to see Mr. Sherwyck.”

The man looked at the Colonel curiously, knowingly.

Caine misread the look. “I know. I’m not in uniform.”

“
You won’t find him in the barn!” the man said reproachfully.

Something about the man was evocatively familiar, but Caine could not place him. Given the setting and the contrasting situations, the Colonel did not recognize him as the derelict he had seen under the tree in the Mall that rainy evening on his way to the Smithsonian reception.

“
Well, if he’s not in the barn, where can I find him?” Caine rejoined with growing irritation at the man’s continued challenging stare.

“
Mr. Sherwyck is not present,” the butler finally said. “He has not returned.” The butler avoided saying ‘cathedral’. “There was an accident, you know,” he said coldly.

“
I know. When do you expect him?”

“
Mr. Sherwyck is an extremely busy man. He has strict rules. No visitors, unless invited,” he said ignoring the question.

“
Oh, I’m not a visitor,” Caine replied, and relished the uncertainty that flashed across the man’s face.

“
You have to leave! I’ll inform him you were here,” the butler said, as if to mollify the Colonel.

Caine studied the butler’s face, then purposely walked to the stable door and peered inside.

“
Leave here, before I call the authorities!”

“
I
am
the authorities, my friend,” Caine said with self satisfaction while observing a paddock midway in the stable. Visible to him was the head and neck of a shiny black stallion snorting inside his enclosure with the groom standing a respectable distance away.

Caine turned and slowly walked back toward his Viper. “That horse wouldn’t have split hooves, would it?” he asked as he climbed in. He turned the ignition, looked penetratingly at the butler, gunned the engine and fish tailed the roadster towards the entrance of the estate, leaving a circle of tire marks in front of the scowling man.

***

Victor Sherwyck opened the front door of his mansion and stepped onto the veranda just as Caine’s car was turning into the highway. He was still dressed in the dark suit he wore earlier in the day at the funeral for the Secretary of Defense. He stared at the front entrance where fumes from the Viper’s exhaust were dissipating into the air. He could still hear the changing pitch of the engine. Sherwyck knew that Caine was on to something. He could tell by the determined shift of each gear.

His attendant returned from the stables.

“
Did he see Blaze?”

“
Only from a distance, sire.”

Sherwyck’s face turned sullen. He descended the stairs and walked towards a wooded area behind the mansion. A sudden rush of wind stirred the trees from the usual stillness of the hour that quietly transforms late afternoon into evening. He looked up at the rustling leaves and the sky beyond. Approaching night was the favorite time for Victor Sherwyck—especially with the promise of a full moon.

His eyes narrowed. “With the death of the Vice President, we are close to success. Colonel Caine and his ilk will not get in our way.”

***

In a remote park near a small town in northern Arkansas eight teenagers gathered around an evening fire, recounting horror movies they had seen and thinking up scary ghost stories. Several of the young men produced cans of beer and two bottles of cheap whiskey. They passed around the pilfered treasure, laughing, joking and leering at one another with each swallow of the intoxicants.

“
Hey!” said Jimmy Gruber as the stories began to evaporate. “We covered the witchcraft trials in Salem in our social studies class. Weird!”

“
Salem—just like here!” Jessica Smith chimed in.

“
Yeah! We’re in Salem too. Are you a witch, Jessica?”

Everyone guffawed.

“
No, but I can bewitch you pretty quick!”

Hearty laughter resounded around the fire, followed by chants of “Bewitch! Bewitch! Bewitch!”

Jessica stood up and postured in front of Jimmy. She swiveled her hips in her tight jeans and slowly pulled up her University of Arkansas sweat shirt to reveal ample unbridled breasts.

Jimmy gaped while the others laughed or smirked. Several girls were tempted to impress by doing the same, but hesitated.

Jessica quickly pulled down her sweat shirt and sat back cross
‐
legged in front of the fire with her friend Gerri Lindquist giggling beside her.

“
Hey! Did she bewitch you?” another of the young men asked to the accompaniment of more laughter.

Jimmy saw further opportunity.

“
The Puritans were anal, man. They couldn’t have fun so they faked it.”

“
How did they fake it?” someone asked while Jimmy took a swig of whiskey from the circulating bottle.

“
They made groping official,” Jimmy said tipsily to the amusement of his friends. “Sex was taboo, so they made it official.”

“
What do you mean, ‘made it official’?” Tiffany Hauser asked after a gulp of beer.

“
They felt up young girls who said they were possessed by demons. It was part of the exorcism.”

“
Come, on!”

“
They told us in class,” Jimmy announced.

“
Pervert teacher!” Frank Wallace declared while throwing a new log on the fire.

The friends laughed heartily.

“
Sure,” Jimmy continued. “What a setup. The young ministers felt up the girls to chase away demons and the girls loved it. That’s why they were so hot to say they were possessed. They accused a bunch of people of being witches.”

“
So the Puritans kept feeling up the girls to chase away the demons?” Ted Schwartz said suggestively.

“
Yup.”

“
And the girls kept accusing people?” Stephanie Wilson asked.

“
Yup.”

“
And you said you didn’t like social studies,” Tiffany exclaimed.

The resultant laughter fueled by their drink was infectious.

“
Hey, I’m possessed,” declared Susie Jackson in a sultry voice.

“
Oh, yeah?” the young men chimed.

“
Yeah! What about it?” she said and leaned backwards from a sitting position onto the ground.

Encouraging whoops, yelps and laughter arose from the group.

Frank Wallace, who was hoping to get better acquainted with Susie, crawled up to her on hands and knees. He leaned back on his haunches, placed his hands on Susie’s stomach and began to massage, working his way upward toward her breasts. As he did so, her sweat shirt rose above her midriff.

“
Oh, oh!” two girls on either side of the pair chimed, as others took swigs of their drinks.

Frank looked lustily at Susie, who returned his gaze.

“
If you’re going higher, you better chant something,” Jessica Smith urged to more laughter from their friends.

Everyone looked with desirous interest as Frank stroked Susie’s torso, fondling her breasts with his hands under her sweat shirt then roaming down between her slightly spreading legs.

Soon the crackling fire was the only sound as the high school classmates sipped their drinks and watched the suggestive mock ritual.

Jimmy Gruber hovered above Susie and Frank. He dangled a whiskey bottle loosely in his hand and grandly recited: “Come forth, you spirit from the dark—
abracadabra
—
hocus pocus
—I call you Satan from the fire! Come and fulfill our desire—
Elohim, Elohim!
I conjure him!
”

“
Hey, stupid!” Stephanie chided. “You’re supposed to chase out a demon! Not call one!”

Abruptly, Susie rolled away from Frank and stood up adjusting her sweatshirt and dusting off her jeans. Frank looked around, startled.

No one laughed. They huddled in the wooded darkness around the light of the dwindling fire, listening for unfamiliar sounds around them.

“
Should we put another log on the fire?” Jimmy asked.

“
Why don’t we just get outta’ here!” someone answered.

***

At his estate not far from Mount Vernon, Victor Sherwyck felt a subtle tingling of energy course through his body. He smirked in self satisfaction.

***

Sarah Maddington, an attractive red head, closed her antique shop at nine in the evening and hurried out of the tourist mall off scenic highway 50 in West Virginia not far from Parkersburg on the Ohio border.

She was the High Priestess of a witches’ coven that met every month by the light of the full moon in a secluded mountain glen outside of town. She was quivering with anticipation, because one of her “sisters”, a beautiful co
‐
ed at a nearby college, had found an initiate—a handsome young man who had become infatuated with her. Maddington gathered the necessary paraphernalia from her home and hurried to the gathering spot.

The co
‐
ed, Rebecca Shaw, was already there with Rick Masters, the young man studying the occult as part of a theology curriculum. Others of the coven soon arrived in several cars and a pickup truck with a camper top. Seven comely young women dressed in flowery long skirts and colorfully printed blouses eventually gathered around a flat, worn granite outcrop in the glen.

Next to it was a fire pit readied for use with a pyramid of wood. They chatted amiably, introducing themselves to Rick. He noticed that some had local accents and several did not. They were presumably students or residents from elsewhere, maybe assigned to the Social Security Administration, which had an extensive, but unheralded fiscal operation in nearby Parkersburg.

Thirteen members would be an ideal number for the circle, but the practitioners were cautious and extremely careful in their screening of new believers. Meanwhile, they were thrilled to have this handsome, dark
‐
haired specimen of a man as their ceremonial Priest. Trusting and enamored as he was with the attractive and smart Rebecca, he had, nevertheless, earlier had some boilermakers to calm his anxiety.

“
Wait by this stone, now,” Rebecca said with a sweet Appalachian drawl as she and the other women went to the vehicles parked nearby.

Soon they returned, each wearing a long, gray, silk robe. Several of them carried woven baskets , and one was holding a black velvet robe draped over her extended arm. From the split at the front, it was obvious from an occasional flash of thigh and curve of a breast, that they wore nothing underneath. A warm anticipatory glow came over Masters.

The women formed a circle around the stone and fire pit when Rick noticed that Rebecca was leading a black Billy Goat on a leash. She led the goat onto the broad stone and indicated that Rick should hold the leash. The young witches then strode in formation around the stone and began to hum. One stepped out and lit the fire. Another produced a long pipe, lit it from glowing kindle and took a deep drag before approaching Rick. She offered it to him with outstretched hands that widened the opening of her robe. He took a deep drag while staring at her voluptuous upper body and immediately felt lightheaded. She indicated he take another drag and then returned to the circle.