Soul Thief (Blue Light Series) (32 page)

Jennings
heaved a heavy sigh, as if he was a balloon expelling air. He was silent for a long moment glaring at Spencer. “We don’t even know if that ‘supposed supernatural creature’ is real,” Jennings said.

“So you think an ordinary person
sucked the life out of all those people and turned them to stone?”

Jennings
knew where this was going.

Spencer said,
“It appears that an awful lot of people around the world, religious scholars, fanatics, even some members of the scientific community, know about this creature and they all believe it’s the real deal, and that its presence here on earth might not be a good thing for humanity.”

“So you think
that it’s somehow connected to these doomsday prophecies?”

“
Yeah, I do. And to McArthur, and De Roché, and his daughter. It’s
all
connected, Rick, and I think you know it.”

“Jesus Christ, Spencer, you guys are
federal agents. Tell me you don’t believe in all that hocus pocus crap.”

“
Doesn’t matter what I believe, Rick. A shit load of people in high places believe, and that’s what really counts. This thing is way above my pay grade. All the agencies are heavily engaged, and not just U.S. agencies. I’m talking worldwide. This . . . creature, whatever the hell it is, is being viewed as a credible threat.”

“A threat to what?”
Jennings exploded.

“To everything, Rick
. If McArthur is alive we need to find him fast, and we need to find that artifact before it falls into the wrong hands.”

Jennings
coughed out a laugh that seemed to fill the entire room with doubt. “And you guys are the
right
hands? What a joke.”

“
I can’t stress the seriousness of this situation strongly enough,” Spencer said. “If you know where he is you’d better tell me now.”

Jennings
bolted from his chair, his face red with rage. “He died in a plane crash, you asshole! I went to his funeral. I buried him in my heart, and now you’re telling me he might be alive?”

“He
just might be, Rick. Actually we’re assuming he is, and we’re also assuming he’s in cahoots with forces that wish to wage war on the human race.”

“That is
just plain bullshit, Spencer and you know it. No way is Doug McArthur in cahoots with something like that.”

“
Doesn’t matter what you believe,” Spencer said, his voice a solemn whisper. “My orders are to find that artifact, and to find McArthur. Listen to me, your buddy just might have brought down an airplane full of people, and in my book that would make him guilty of a mass murder.”

“Oh, you bastard
,” Jennings said. “You’re going to use that, aren’t you? You’re going to use that to grab him and then he’s going to disappear into a black hole that he might never escape from.”

“
This is the reality, Rick. McArthur just happens to be one of the most wanted men on the planet and I aim to grab him before someone else does.”

“Get out of my office, Spencer.
I don’t want to see your face around here again.”

“You know you’re not immune, Rick.”

“Don’t threaten me, Spencer. Get out of my office, now!”

When Doug
awoke he felt nothing. He lay on his back with his numb arms resting like lumps of cordwood beside him. He could not lift them. It took him a very long time to open his eyes. When he did finally manage to get them open he saw nothing but white. In a short moment of panic he believed he’d somehow been blinded. Then his eyes began to focus and he could see the ceiling above him, the room around him and the bed sheets that covered him. Everything was white, brilliantly so and nearly blinding. As his weary and watering eyes further focused he saw tubes running liquids into his arms, a panel with red and green lights winking on and off.

A bespectacled young man in a white lab coat appeared above him, his face solemn but hopeful. There was a name tag pinned to his lapel and Doug could read it quite clearly: Dr.
Parsons.

“So our patient is back from the dead,” Doctor
Parsons nodded with approval.

Doug tried to reply but could not make his mouth work.

“No, don’t try,” the doctor said. “There’ll be plenty of time for talking. We’ve been waiting for you to come around. Doctor Ferguson will be pleased.” 

Doug tried again to talk but it was no use. Nothing worked. His throat felt like it had been burned closed. Doctor
Parsons, sensing his distress, lowered a container with a straw sticking out of it at a right angle. Doug took a few small sips—not nearly enough—before the container was cruelly snatched away. “Not too much at first,” said the doctor. “It’s been quite some time since you’ve had anything in your stomach. We wouldn’t want it to betray you.”

Doug was starting to remember some things now; in fact they were coming back with relative ease. He remembered a woman named
Ferguson, Lucy Ferguson, in fact. He wondered if she was Doctor Ferguson. She’d seemed so familiar to him when he’d first met her, and he’d felt so comfortable in her presence. She hadn’t mentioned being a doctor. He remembered having coffee with her in the airport cafe, the shapely curve of her thigh as she’d crossed her legs, his embarrassment at thinking the thoughts he was thinking so soon after leaving Annie, and then . . . things got a little fuzzy. He was in the men’s toilet and someone had come out of a stall holding a gun. He remembered the gun coughing and a feeling like he’d been kicked in the chest. Then he was back in his childhood reliving parts of his life he would rather have forgotten. Then he was on an airplane and something had happened. There had been a bomb or something worse on board. People were screaming and being sucked out through an opening in the broken fuselage. He was having a hard time articulating what was real, separating it from what had been dreams or illusion. He remembered thinking that he was dead or dreaming and that none of it could be real.  

He realized that Dr.
Parsons was no longer hovering above him. Instead the doctor’s attentive visage had been replaced by a middle-aged woman with wavy black hair wearing a white uniform. “I’m your nurse, Donna Sanchez,” the woman said giving Doug a compassionate smile. “Doctor Parsons has gone to notify Doctor Ferguson of your reemergence into the world of the living.”

“Where am I?” Doug said and it came out a rasp. He was surprised that he’d had the capacity to speak at all, even more surprised that he’d been understood.

The nurse seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying, “You’re at University Hospital in Whitehall Virginia. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. Now you mustn’t try to talk. You’re in no condition—”

“
Where’s my wife?” Doug said around a tongue that felt like a beached whale in his mouth.

A perplexed expression crossed the nurse’s face. “I’m a private contractor, sir,” she said. “I’m not aware of our
patient’s personal circumstances.”

Doug tried to move. The nurse placed a hand on each of his shoulders to hold him down. “Please, sir,” she said. “You’re in no condition—”

“But I need some answers.”

“And you will have them, just as soon as D
octor Ferguson arrives. She brought you here, you know. She saved your life. She cares very much about your recovery.”

Doug relaxed. “How long have I been here?”

“Six weeks, sir.”

“
Six weeks?” Doug said, “And you’ve never heard of Annie, my wife?”

The nurse shook her head. “I told you, Mr. McArthur, I know nothing about your personal circumstances.”

“Who’s Doctor Ferguson?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss staff members. D
octor Ferguson will be here shortly and I’m sure she will be able to address all your concerns.”

Later—Doug was not sure how much later because he had dozed—he opened his eyes and realized he was staring directly into the eyes of Lucy Ferguson.

“How do you feel, Doug?”

“I don’t know. What happened?”

“You were shot.”

“So I wasn’t in a plane crash?”

Lucy gave a curious frown. “How did you know about that?”

“I had a dream. It’s true, isn’t it?”

Lucy nodded sadly. “Not only did you dream it, you predicted it.”

“Damn,” Doug said. “I warned them, but they wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t the first plane, was it?”

Lucy shook her head. “No. It was the second. The one they rescheduled you on.”

“Jesus. Why?”

“Someone wanted you dead.”

“Was it De Roché?”

Lucy did not reply.

“I’ll kill the bastard,” Doug said.

“Dead men don’t kill.”

“What?”

“Doug, there’s something you need to know.”

Doug searched Lucy’s eyes.

“You and I were both on that plane.”

Doug stared at Lucy in confusion. “You’re not making sense.”

“After you were shot two of my colleagues took our seats. They used our identities.”

“My God,” Doug said. “Why?”

“It was a diversion. We were there immediately after the attempt on your life.”

“I saw you,” Doug said. “I heard you. I knew you were there.”

“We took care of the assassin,” Lucy said.
“We’re not totally sure who ordered the hit but it’s entirely possible that it was De Roché. Nice and clean in an airport restroom. The killer would have taken your wallet and any other valuables you might have had. Made it look like a robbery. No one would have ever suspected De Roché. But there was no evidence of a crime. We cleaned everything up. When records showed that you’d boarded the second aircraft it was obvious that the assassination attempt had failed.”

“But how . . .”

“We have no idea how that jetliner was brought down. We’re working on it. But it seems someone wanted you out of the way big time. In a way it was partly our fault. We
wanted
them to believe you got on that airplane. We knew they’d keep hunting you and eventually we might have been able to implicate De Roché without you even being harmed. That’s assuming it
was
De Roché.”

“Oh, Christ,” Doug said. “All those lives. And it was because of me?”

“No,” Lucy said, her eyes turning hard. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“Everyone thinks I’m dead? Is that right?”

Lucy nodded. “The important thing is whoever tried to kill you thinks you’re dead.”

“And Annie?”

“Doug, there’s been a memorial service.”

“And you didn’t tell Annie?”

“We couldn’t.”

“Who the hell are you people?” Doug
tried to sit up but he was weak and he could not move. He felt his eyes swirling in his head. They felt hot and wet as rage boiled in him.

“Whoa, Doug, you’ve got to stay calm.”

“Calm? How can I stay calm when Annie thinks I’m dead? Who the hell are you?”

“I work for an organization
known as the Brotherhood of the Order. We’ve been watching you for a long time.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“It’s not like that.”

“How is it then?”

“We’ve been protecting you.”

“Protecting me
from what?”

“You have a gift that needs protecting. If we hadn’t been there you’d be dead.”

For a long moment Doug stared at Lucy, speechless.

“The Brotherhood of the Order has a big stake in keeping you alive,” Lucy said.

“Who are you people?”

“
We’re a religious organization.”

“Oh, shit, that’s just what I need—”

“Wait a minute, Doug. Let me explain. We’re not holy rollers. We’re not fanatics. We’re scholars. The Order was founded in the twelfth century by a group of Jesuit priests. But they were more than priests. They were soldiers, scientists and scholars. Part of our mission is the study of paranormal phenomena.”

“You’re one of those nut job organizations I had to hide from when I was
a kid.”

“No, Doug, we’ve never contacted you before. We’ve watched you, but always from a distance.”

The Brotherhood of the Order?
Doug thought. A small memory fragment pierced a corner of his mind, but before he could grasp hold of it, it quickly receded back into a gray and foggy area. He tried to concentrate, but it was no use. Part of his mind did not seem to be working.

Lucy saw his confusion. “We are multi-faceted,” she said. “It would be useless to try and explain now. You’re just not ready. You need to heal.”

Jesuit Priests?
Doug thought.
Paranormal phenomena?
His mind kept trying to grasp some significance there, but it was no use, and he almost screamed in frustration. “I want to know about De Roché,” he said. “I want to know what he has to do with all this.”

“There will be time enough for that when you’re better,” the woman told him. “Right now you need to heal.”

“Wait,” Doug said, before Lucy could turn away. He was aching inside with the need for reassurance. His thoughts seemed frustratingly fragmented, and he didn’t even know which questions to ask of this woman. “Annie’s in danger,” he said suddenly, not understanding where the thought had come from. “I can feel it. I need to warn her.”

Lucy leaned in close and tenderly
brushed a strand of hair back off his forehead. Doug could smell the cleanness of her skin as her warm breath caressed his cheek.

“Doug, listen very carefully. I can assure you that
Annie is in no immediate danger. You must not let them know you’re alive; not under any circumstances. Your survival depends on it. If you are going to heal, if you truly intend to make a difference in Annie’s life and the life of your unborn child, then you must stay in the shadows. Trust me, it is the only way. My organization lives and works in the shadows. It is the only reason we continue to exist. In a sense you are lucky. The ones who wanted you dead are some of the most ruthless people on earth. They believe you died on that airplane. My best advice is to keep it that way, at least for now. I guarantee no harm will come to Annie until after the baby is born.”

“Am I a prisoner?”

Lucy shook her head. “No,” she said. “You’re free to go whenever you wish.” With that said, she turned and left the room, leaving only a lingering scent of clean, sweet skin.