Apocalypse Cult

Alex Siegel

Apocalypse Cult

All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2011-2012 Alex Siegel

ISBN: 978-0-557-65761-2

Revision 6/22/2013

For information about this book and others in the same series, please visit:

http://www.grayspearsociety.com/

The Gray Spear Society series is a long-running saga. It is recommended that the books be read in a specific order. The current list is:

1. Apocalypse Cult

2. Carnival of Mayhem

3. Psychological Damage

4. Involuntary Control

5. Deadly Weakness

6. The Price of Disrespect

7. Tricks and Traps

8. Politics of Blood

9. Grim Reflections

10. Eyes of the World (COMING SOON!)

11. Antisocial Media (COMING SOON!)

Chapter One

Aaron Glade looked across the kitchen table at Caroline Waters. Her husband, Frank, sat beside her with a tense expression on his face.

"You have to find our daughter," she cried. "The last two months have been a nightmare. We've tried everything. We talked to the police, the FBI. They barely lifted a finger. If you don't find her, I don't know what we'll do! We could lose her forever."

"I'll give it my best shot," Aaron said in a firm tone. "I promise. I never give up on a case, especially one like this."

He stood up and slowly looked around the small kitchen. Sometimes everyday objects held important clues, and he would need every possible advantage in this case. He gave himself no better than a thirty percent chance of success based on what he had heard so far. When teenagers ran away from home, they rarely came back.

His gaze settled on a speckled linoleum floor that needed a good sweeping. The odor of sour milk was slight but unmistakable. Mrs. Waters had not paid much attention to housekeeping lately, but that was understandable. A black and white tile counter ran along two walls with a small sink in the corner. Magnets held dozens of pictures of the missing girl on the fridge.

Aaron walked over for a closer look. Brittany Waters was short and blonde with a boyish figure. She had mature features, more like a young woman than a girl. Her plain face had a vacant smile in every picture, as if she were slightly stoned. He took the most recent photo and slipped it into his pocket.

"Is there any way we can help?" Frank Waters asked.

Aaron turned and looked at the worried couple. He had been a private investigator for a year and had seen that expression on the faces of many other clients. It always tugged at his heart.

Mr. Waters had short, black hair shot with strands of gray. His crisply trimmed beard didn't match his rounded face. He was a short man, even shorter than his wife, who could hardly be considered tall. Mrs. Waters had long blonde hair that needed to be trimmed at the ends. Her face was narrow, and perhaps it had been beautiful once, but now she looked drained of life. A cheap dress with a dandelion pattern hung from her bony shoulders.

"Let's go over all the facts one last time," Aaron said, "just in case you remember something new."

"She's with the Church of One Soul!" Mr. Waters said angrily. "I wouldn't look anywhere else."

"How can you be so sure?"

"That damned cult recruited some of her friends and other kids at her high school. She brought home pamphlets for weeks before she disappeared. She never stopped talking about her 'church.' We tried to be patient, but I could listen to only so much of that bullshit. The poor girl was so messed up it sounded like she was taking drugs."

Mrs. Waters wiped her eyes. "We saw the signs. We should've done something sooner. We should've intervened." She sniffled loudly.

"Not your fault," Aaron said softly. "Lots of teenagers get mixed up with cults. It's a vulnerable age."

"Brittany kept talking about angels, fire, death, and a lunatic named Simon. Crazy stuff."

"Simon?"

"The head honcho," Mr. Waters said. "They believe he's the Savior."

Aaron nodded. "What did the police say?"

"There was no ransom demand. No phone call. No evidence of a crime. According to them, they don't have time to chase down every teenage girl who runs away from home. That's why we hired you."

"You hired the right guy." Aaron stood tall and put on a confident expression. "I love tackling tough cases. You mentioned you went to the cult's compound?"

"Yes, in southern Wisconsin, a couple of miles south of Twostone. It's in a forest. I'll draw you a map."

"What happened when you went there?"

"I couldn't get in! The place is like a prison camp. Fences and barbed wire everywhere, a big steel gate, and guards all around. They really don't like visitors."

"Were they armed?" Aaron said.

Mr. Waters shook his head. "Not that I could see, but maybe they were hiding guns under their robes. As soon as the guards saw me, they chased me away. They didn't even ask who I was."

Mrs. Waters sniffled.

"Anything else?" Aaron said. "No? Then I'll go first thing in the morning, but to be honest, the situation is not good. Sneaking into the compound and finding her won't be easy, assuming she is there, and getting her home will be even harder. I doubt she'll cooperate. I may have to physically abduct her."

"But it's not hopeless?" Mrs. Waters said.

"Not hopeless." But close.

* * *

Aaron rubbed his eyes and yawned. He hated mornings and preferred working at night. Today's workday had started well before dawn. He had wanted as much daylight as possible for careful observation and note taking. He intended to spend the day just performing reconnaissance. There was no need to rush into a difficult and risky situation. Brittany had been missing for months, and one more day wouldn't make a critical difference.

He was squatting between thick bushes under a huge oak tree. He had to move every few minutes to stay in the shadows, while at the same time watching for poison ivy. He expected that his knees would be wrecked by the end of the day.

The Church of One Soul compound lay before him, and it did indeed look like an old prison camp. A tall chain-link fence with thick rolls of barbed wire surrounded the complex, which had guard towers at every corner. The ground inside was just bare dirt, graded flat and swept clean. Aaron saw no sign of agriculture and wondered how the cult managed to feed itself. Wooden planks painted dull green formed plain rectangular buildings. Narrow windows were made of translucent plastic or frosted glass. The compound covered twenty or thirty acres. He estimated a few hundred people could live here.

Even though the sun had just risen, many members of the cult were already awake. They wore green robes, which were generally dirty and frayed. They flapped around loosely in the light breeze. The robes that were in better condition had blue bands sewn on the sleeves, perhaps a sign of rank. Aaron looked through a pair of binoculars as he searched for Brittany Waters. It didn't help that all the members of the cult had shaved their heads, and most had elaborate green tattoos on their faces. Even if he saw Brittany, he might not recognize her.

He shifted his legs to a position he hoped would be more comfortable.

The rustling leaves in the oak trees provided a soothing background noise. The air was very warm, but as long as he stayed in the shade, it was tolerable. Insects buzzed continuously.

A twig snapped in the distance.

Slowly and silently, Aaron looked back. It wouldn't surprise him if the cult had patrols in the woods searching for intruders like him. The freaks were obviously obsessed with security. He had carefully chosen a spot with thick cover on all sides. As long as he stayed down, his plain dark clothing would conceal him.

After watching carefully for a few minutes, he located the source of the sound. Two people were sneaking from tree to tree about fifty yards away. Like Aaron, they were staying low and in the shadows. Their graceful movements told him they were professionals. One person was as big and wide as a football player, and the other was medium height and slender. No green robes. Not a patrol, Aaron thought. Who are they?

On his elbows and knees, he crept towards the mysterious pair. His progress could be measured in inches, but he knew that patience was key. He had to approach undetected.

Dry leaves and twigs covered the forest floor. Aaron stepped over the piles of litter as best he could. He couldn't risk raising his head above the bushes, and soon his lower back ached from bending over. Every shadow was an island of safety amid dangerous shafts of sunlight. He headed away from the compound and deeper into the thick woods.

After about twenty minutes of this slow pursuit, he realized he had lost one of his targets. The large man was still directly ahead, easily visible, but the slender one had vanished from sight. Aaron looked in all directions, afraid that the missing person was hanging back to ambush him. Aaron wasn't carrying a gun, so if it came to a fight, he would have to defend himself with his fists or perhaps a large stick. He rolled his shoulders to loosen them.

The large man was still moving, and if Aaron didn't follow, he would lose him, too. Aaron clenched his jaw as he considered what to do. He really had no choice. He started forward but glanced over his shoulder every few seconds, listening carefully for the smallest unnatural noise. He kept his hands in a defensive position.

He heard the sound of a gun being cocked above his head. Slowly, he looked up. A woman was sitting on a tree branch and holding a 9mm semiautomatic. The barrel was pointed at his forehead.

"Who are you?" she said. "You're obviously not with the Church of One Soul."

She was so stunningly beautiful he almost forgot the gun in her hand. He stared at her as if hypnotized. Light freckles decorated her pale, smooth skin. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, tied with a black ribbon. Her eyes were a remarkable green color that reminded him of jade. Mottled gray and black camouflage clothing fit snugly enough to show off a trim physique and muscular legs. She hopped off the branch and landed with the softest of thumps.

She wore a gun belt around her waist with a second gun in a holster on her left hip. Knives strapped to her wrists and ankles had blades long enough to be illegal.

"Tell me who you are first," Aaron said.

Her partner tromped through the dry leaves, making plenty of noise now that the game of hunter and prey was over. From a distance, the man had looked big, but up close, he was a beast. Muscles bulged aggressively on every part of his massive body. He had dark brown hair, cut short, cinnamon-colored skin, and a distinctly Roman nose. Small scars marked his knuckles and face in many places. Clearly, the man had lived a rough life and knew how to fight. Aaron guessed his age at late thirties.

The man was also heavily armed. He carried two guns in holsters and a shotgun strapped across his back.

"No," he said in a voice that rumbled like a locomotive. "You first."

Aaron was smart enough to know when to back down, and besides, he had nothing to hide. "My name is Aaron Glade. I'm a private investigator searching for a missing girl. The parents think she might be here."

"You're in great shape for a private eye," the woman said. "I thought all you guys were fat."

"It's a relatively recent career choice. Maybe I'll fit the classic profile in a few years."

"Give me your wallet," the big man demanded.

Aaron turned to him. "You're mugging me?"

"I don't want your fucking money. I need to see your identification."

Aaron gave the man his wallet. He took out a gray metal phone that was so bulky and thick it looked like a model from twenty years ago. Aaron wondered if the oversized phone had special features that justified its size. The man walked away and made a call while he studied Aaron's wallet.

Aaron turned his attention back to the woman. She was gorgeous, but she didn't have the fragile features or undernourished body of a fashion model. No, this woman was all business. Even her arms looked taut and muscular. She watched him with a piercing gaze. She still had a gun aimed steadily at his head. He found her mesmerizing and wanted to know a lot more about her.

He noticed she had long black fingernails with pointed tips. It was an odd choice in style, although it matched all the knives she wore. He counted six edged weapons, and those were just the ones he could see.

The man waved for her to come over.

"Excuse me," she said.

She walked over to her partner. They conversed in hushed tones, facing away from Aaron, and he had time to wonder about the odd pair. Were they romantically involved? Who was in charge? The discussion dragged on for a few minutes and gradually became an argument. The woman didn't back down an inch despite the fact that the man's biceps were as big as her thighs, and he spoke directly into her face like a drill sergeant. Aaron leaned forward, hoping to pick out a few words, but they were too far away.

Finally, they returned. The man gave Aaron's wallet back to him.

"I'm Galina Vaganova," the woman said, "and my partner is Joseph Biondo. We're special agents in the United States Secret Service."

"Oh?"

"We suspect the Church of One Soul is printing counterfeit currency."

Aaron scratched the stubble on his chin. "Really?"

"We're working undercover," Galina said.

"And that's the story you're going to stick with?"

"You don't believe me?"

He shook his head. "Not even a little. Feds don't wear that kind of camouflage or carry those kinds of weapons."

"Then who are we?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. You're not cops. You could be special forces, but why would the military check out a cult? I don't know why crooks would either. But I'm sure those aren't your real names."

She smiled and holstered her gun. "Those names will do for now. Let's just say we're special forces, very special, and leave it at that. Who is this girl you're looking for?"

"Brittany Waters," he said. "Age 15, Caucasian. Have you seen her?"

"There are plenty of white teenage girls living in that compound. I think Simon has a particular fondness for them." She curled her lips with disgust.

"The leader of the cult?"

"Yes, a man famous for his oversized ego and libido. Listen, I think we can work together. It sounds like we have compatible objectives."

He raised his eyebrows. "How is that?"

"We're also investigating the Church of One Soul," Galina said. "Having another man on the team would be useful. We'll share crucial information, the necessary intelligence you won't get on your own. We'll even let you borrow some of our equipment. Everybody wins."

"But I don't trust you."

"We're not criminals."

"I don't know that." Aaron crossed his arms. "I don't know anything about you, except you're obviously dangerous. Do you have permits for those guns?"

She leaned towards him slightly. "You do know one thing. You won't be able to rescue that girl by yourself. There is too much security. You need our assistance, and we're offering it to you. All we ask is you help us, too."

"What sort of help?"

"Nothing illegal. We just want you to check out a few other things for us while you're in the compound looking for the girl."

The offer tempted Aaron. He had to admit this case was too tough for him to tackle on his own. The security around the compound was crazy. Locating, abducting, and extracting Brittany seemed like a nearly impossible job. However, he had made a promise to the parents and intended to keep it.

Galina's attractive face didn't make the decision easier. She was a strong, brave woman, attributes he greatly admired. She certainly didn't look like a criminal despite all the weapons she carried. In fact, he had a very good feeling about her, although he couldn't explain why. She had done nothing to put him at ease.

He couldn't make a rational choice, so he decided to err on the side of aggression instead of cowardice. "Sure. Let's do this together." I can always bail out if the situation gets bad.

"Wise decision," Joseph said. "According to the background check I just did, you were a Chicago police officer for several years. Gang Enforcement Unit at first, then the SWAT team, then a detective. Not bad. You left the police force a year ago. Why?"

Aaron stared at him. "For reasons that are none of your damn business. How did you get that information so fast?"

"We're good at getting information. Do you know how to fight?"

"I'm a Tae Kwon Do instructor, and I can handle a gun like a pro. I'm comfortable with most weapons."

"I was also told you don't have a wife or kids," Joseph said.

"Does that matter?" Aaron cocked his head.

"It might. A family man is less willing to risk his life in battle. He has children to live for."

"You're expecting a battle?"

"This cult is extremely paranoid and aggressive," Joseph said. "There could be violence. Is that a problem? Are you afraid?"

"No. Are we done prying into my personal life? Let me see some of the intelligence you promised."

Joseph wore a large backpack. He shrugged it off, took out a sheaf of papers, and handed them to Aaron. He flipped through the stack and saw they were aerial photographs of the cult compound with enough resolution to show fine details. There were about forty buildings of various sizes grouped into distinct clusters. The largest stood in the exact center, separated from all the others.

"What is this place?" Aaron pointed at the central building.

Galina leaned over to look. "The temple where the cult performs its ceremonies, but we're more interested in this building." She touched a square structure.

"You want me to check it out?"

"Exactly. Get inside and look around. Take some pictures. That's all we need from you."

"What about Brittany Waters?"

"The women's dormitory section is over here." She circled a cluster of buildings with her finger.

"How do I find her?" Aaron said.

"I'm trying to explain. We have some very small cameras with radio transmitters. If you hide them near the dormitories, we can observe from the safety of our surveillance van. Within a day we'll know if your girl is there."

"Are you coming in with me?"

"No." Joseph shook his head. "We'll create a distraction on the other side of the compound so the guards will be elsewhere."

"I see. In other words, I'm taking all the risks."

"It's less of a risk than going in without a distraction. We're doing you a favor. You want to rescue the girl, don't you?"

Aaron took a deep breath. The argument was sound even if he didn't like the conclusions. "I assume this operation will happen at night."

"That's right." Joseph nodded. "We'll loan you some top grade night vision gear. Meet us at this spot at 11 PM sharp. Take the aerial photos with you. Memorize the location of every building, so you can move in the darkness without getting lost. We'll see you tonight."

He and Galina turned and walked off into the thick woods. Aaron was left to wonder how soon he would regret his decision to ally with them. He wasn't even sure why he had agreed to do it at all. The only obvious answer was a woman with fiery red hair who fascinated him.

Chapter Two

The night was perfect for covert operations. A blanket of clouds covered the moon. The air was warm and humid, but a steady breeze cooled Aaron's sweaty skin. Despite the darkness, he could see clearly with the night vision goggles Joseph had given him. The cult compound appeared bright green to Aaron's eyes, every detail in crisp focus.

In fact, the goggles produced such a brilliant image that Aaron was suspicious. Only elite military forces were entitled to such sophisticated gear. Joseph had handed over the goggles with seeming indifference to the fact they probably had cost thousands of dollars, if one could purchase them at all.

Aaron crept forward to the fence and snipped it with a pair of wire cutters. He made a hole just big enough to crawl through. He dashed to the nearest building and hid behind a dumpster. The stench of rotting garbage made him wince. Several guards waving around flashlights patrolled the grounds, and the beams looked like green lasers to Aaron. None were close to his hiding spot.

He took a walkie-talkie from his pocket and whispered, "I'm inside."

Galina's voice answered, "We're ready to set off the fireworks."

"Not yet. Hold for my signal."

He waited for a gap in the patrols, then jogged across open ground to a group of three long buildings arranged side-by-side. Supposedly, this section was the women's dormitory, but all of the windows were frosted and dark, so he had no way to confirm that fact. The walls of the buildings were made of heavy wooden planks nailed together and slathered with green paint. He imagined that the interiors were drafty and freezing in the winter.

His heart was beating fast, but from excitement instead of fear. Since leaving the police force a year ago, his life had been a perpetual slog from one dull job to the next. This operation was the first intense action he had seen in several months. The thrill made him feel alive.

Now came the first real challenge. Galina had provided six tiny surveillance cameras that could transmit video over half a mile. The problem was that they needed a power source, such as an electrical wire or socket. Batteries wouldn't last long enough.

There was nothing suitable at ground level that Aaron could find. Overhead wires ran from rooftop to rooftop, but climbing might make noise and wake the sleeping occupants of the buildings. He had to be very careful.

He used a windowsill to get half-way to the roof and pulled himself the rest of the way with just his arms. Wood creaked under his weight. He hoped the sound would be mistaken for the wind if anybody had heard it.

The wires on the roof were exactly what he needed. He slid forward on his belly to distribute his weight as evenly as possible until he reached the nearest one. He took a small kit of electrical tools from his pocket, put on rubber gloves, and carefully spliced into the live wire.

His walkie-talkie made a soft clicking noise.

He whispered into it, "I'm working. No fireworks yet."

"Standing by," Galina replied in a puzzled tone.

It took a while, but Aaron planted all six surveillance cameras on the roof and wired them properly. He covered every direction and would get good pictures of anybody coming or going. Best of all, he had performed the job in almost perfect silence, which made him smile with pride. Even though he was a little out of practice, he still had a talent for this kind of work.

After dropping off the roof with a soft thud, he whispered into the walkie-talkie, "The cameras are in place."

"All of them?" Galina said.

"Powered and transmitting."

"Good job." She sounded surprised.

"Thanks. There are too many patrols between here and that building you want me to investigate. I'll need that distraction now. Let's see those fireworks."

After a few seconds he saw bright flashes of light and heard many small explosions, as if a war were taking place just outside the fence. The racket was almost continuous. All of the guards immediately converged in that direction. Their robes were cut short and belted snuggly to allow complete freedom of movement. Extra girth around the chest suggested they wore a vest underneath.

Aaron waited patiently until the path to his next objective was clear. He began to jog in that direction. This job is going great, he thought. I just have to take some pictures, and then I'm out of here.

A surprising source of light in the forest caught his attention. A glowing ball hovered above the tree tops with no obvious means of support. It rippled like moonlight reflected from a lake even though the moon was hidden. Bursts in the center of the ball looked like miniature lightning strikes. The effect faded away to nothing.

Strange.

Aaron's night vision goggles flashed intense green, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut. He took off the goggles and discovered huge floodlights were turning on across the entire compound. People were screaming orders in all directions. The darkness that had protected him was gone. He was standing in the open, completely exposed.

He immediately began looking for any kind of cover. About thirty yards away there was a rusty, dented pickup truck, which had dark shadows underneath. He sprinted towards it. He hadn't even gone half-way before somebody yelled at him. He glanced back and saw guards pointing in his direction, which meant hiding was no longer possible. Fortunately, the pickup truck offered another option.

The door was unlocked, a lucky break. He leapt into the cab, locked himself inside, and stuck his head under the dashboard. Now I just have to hotwire this thing fast. The truck had very simple wiring—another lucky break—and he still had his electrical toolkit. Even so, he needed thirty long, sweaty seconds to short-circuit the ignition. The guards were pounding on the windows by the time he started the engine. He stomped on the pedal, spun the tires, and shot off, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

Aaron needed an escape route. The front gate at the northern end of the compound was built from thick bars of steel, welded together, so busting through it wasn't an option. If he tried ramming the perimeter fence, he might get stuck or crash into a tree. His best chance was a small gate at the southern end, which he had noticed while memorizing the aerial photos of the compound. Beyond that gate was a narrow dirt road. He hoped it would take him back to civilization.

He turned hard and drove south at full speed, confident in his plan. The bright floodlights helped him navigate.

There was some kind of violent commotion in the center of the compound. He glanced in that direction.

A huge man dressed in black and gray was battling several guards at once. Three opponents were on the ground, but at least a dozen more surrounded him and reinforcements were on the way. The guy had no chance of escape. He was like a lone moose caught by a pack of hungry wolves.

That's Joseph! Aaron realized. What the hell? He's supposed to be with Galina!

Aaron aimed the pickup truck straight at the fight and stomped the accelerator to the floor. He leaned on the horn to make sure his intentions were absolutely clear. Cult members scattered out of the way, their bare calves moving quickly under the lights.

Aaron waved his arm, and Joseph nodded in acknowledgement, obviously recognizing him. Joseph bravely stood his ground as Aaron approached at full speed. Aaron hit the brakes at the last second, causing the truck to spin on the loose dirt. Joseph vaulted into the bed of the truck even before the wheels stopped turning. Aaron drove off.

He visualized the layout of the compound as he weaved between buildings. He couldn't afford a single wrong turn. People were rushing back and forth, sometimes right in his path.

At last, he reached the southern gate. Two guards tried to bar his way, but when it became clear he wouldn't stop, their courage broke and they jumped aside. The pickup truck barreled through the gate with a satisfying crash.

"Yes!" he yelled.

He was on a rough dirt road that led into a forest as dark as ink. Instead of turning on the headlights, he flipped down his night vision goggles, and night became monochromatic green day. Rocks and fallen branches on the road forced him to slow from suicidal speed to merely reckless.

Somebody knocked on the back window. He stole a quick glance and saw Joseph sitting there. Almost forgot about him, Aaron thought.

He stopped the truck just long enough for Joseph to enter the cab.

"I guess I owe you. Thanks."

"I can't leave a teammate behind," Aaron said as he drove off, "not even one who lied to me. You told me you would stay with Galina."

"Change of plans."

Aaron waited for a more elaborate answer, but Joseph kept quiet.

"I bet the plans never changed," Aaron said. "You always intended to go into the compound."

"Oh?" Joseph said.

"Yeah. I was a decoy. A distraction. I was supposed to get caught instead of you. I bet there was nothing in that building you told me to investigate."

Joseph looked at Aaron for a moment. "You're a real smart guy. We figured as long as you were going in, we might as well use it to our advantage. We didn't cheat you. We gave you the intelligence and night vision goggles we promised."

"Who are you?" Aaron said. "Who do you work for?"

"Don't ask that question. Trust me. You don't want to hear the answer. It would change your entire life, or end it."

Aaron clenched his jaw in anger. Under the circumstances, he felt Joseph owed him some kind of explanation, at least a partial one.

Joseph took out his oversized gray phone and made a call. The device looked armor plated. Aaron was surprised he could get a signal so far from any town.

"It's me," Joseph said into the phone. "Aaron rescued me. Yes, I know. I know! Don't rub it in. I'll meet you at the secondary rendezvous point.... Huh? You really think that's a good idea? OK, but it's your call, not mine." He closed the phone.

"That was Galina?" Aaron said.

Joseph nodded.

Bright lights illuminated the forest behind them, indicating the cult was in hot pursuit. Maybe Aaron could outrun them. He did have a good head start, but the truck's engine was making an odd rattling noise.

"Pull off the road," Joseph said. "Hide in the forest, and let them go past."

"I don't take orders from you."

Joseph shrugged.

Pride and resentment made Aaron keep driving, even though he knew Joseph's suggestion was a good one. It took a few minutes for Aaron's emotions to cool enough for him to accept that fact. He turned off and parked behind a thick stand of bushes. Mere seconds later, a group of six cars roared along the road without slowing down.

"Now we walk." Joseph stepped out of the truck.

"From here?" Aaron said. "We're miles from civilization."

"The woods are safer than the road right now. What's the problem? We both have night vision gear. My phone has a navigation system so we can't get lost. Let's go."

Joseph marched into the forest, and Aaron jogged to catch up. For such a big man, Joseph moved with surprising grace.

"You don't seem bothered by all this," Aaron said.

"I've been in plenty of tight spots before. This is no big deal."

Joseph picked up his pace, and staying with him demanded all of Aaron's attention and energy. Travelling through a dense forest in the dark was tough, even with night vision goggles.

When they finally stepped out of the forest, Aaron was so physically exhausted he could barely lift his legs. Joseph had also slowed down noticeably during the long hike, which had lasted a couple of hours.

They arrived at a huge lot behind a truck stop. A row of 18-wheelers had parked for the night, and the place was very quiet. Aaron checked his watch and saw 3:16 AM. Too damn late, or too early, he thought. Either way, I need sleep.

Joseph waved his arms several times. A blue sedan turned on its headlights and glided over to him. Galina was driving, and Aaron thought she looked like an angel arriving in a chariot.

"Stow your gear in the trunk," she said. "All of it."

Aaron stripped off everything except his clothes and shoes, then took the back seat. It felt wonderful to sit down. Joseph sat in front.

Galina drove out of the truck stop and onto a country road. "Hungry?" she asked. "We're going to an all-night diner."

"No, thanks," Aaron said. "Could you take me back to my car instead?"

"Sorry, but the free meal is mandatory. So is the appointment."

"Appointment with who?"

"Our boss. She wants to talk to you. I strongly recommend that you be polite and respectful. She dislikes bad manners."

Aaron perked up a little. He might finally get some answers.

Galina turned to Joseph and said, "What the hell happened to you?"

"When the lights came on, I was caught in a bad spot," he said. "Too many guys, coming at me too fast. They were everywhere."

"Knowing you, I bet you decided to fight when you should've run instead. And Aaron, a civilian, had to save you from your own pride." She shook her head.

Joseph's face reddened. He looked out the window.

"You always have to be the tough guy," she said in a sharp tone. "Are you so afraid of appearing weak?"

He snarled. "I could've fought my way out, eventually. I just needed a little more time."

"What if they had started shooting?"

"Then I would've started shooting too."

"You know the rules of engagement. No deadly force until..." She glanced back at Aaron. "...until it's authorized. You fucked up."

Joseph pounded the door with his fist hard enough to shake the whole car. His knuckles left a deep imprint on the upholstery.

"Did you at least get the evidence we need?" Galina said.

"I left it behind," he said in a low voice. "I was too busy fighting."

She rolled her eyes. "Icing on tonight's shit cake. Our commander is going to have some choice words when she hears our report. The operation wasn't that hard. There is no excuse for screwing it up so badly."

He slouched down and sulked in silence.

Aaron smiled. From his point of view, the operation had gone very well. He had planted the cameras and had made a clean getaway. In fact, he was the hero of the night.

Galina drove to a restaurant called the "Better than Home Diner," which had a brick exterior and a green, shingled roof. Everybody went inside. There was a long, white counter with padded stools, and booths ran along the wall on the right. Too many white fluorescent lights made Aaron squint. Framed posters of advertising slogans from the 1950's and 60's hung on the walls. The odor of burnt grease and cigarettes was everywhere.

There was only one customer, a middle-aged black woman sitting in the booth in the corner. She wore a sharp gray business suit. Her dark skin created the impression she was sheathed in shadows. Galina and Joseph went directly to her.

"This is Aaron," Galina said. "Aaron, our boss."

Aaron shook the black woman's hand, and her strong grip surprised him. Her graying hair was tightly curled and cut short. Even though she was sitting down, he could tell she was very lean and fit, like a marathon runner.

She studied him intently with a pair of very strange eyes. The color was so dark it was hard to tell they were brown. Her enlarged pupils weren't just black, they were like black holes with infinite depth. He felt like he could see all the way to the far side of the universe, the cold, dead side.

"Glad to meet you," she said in a warm voice. "If you don't mind, I'd like a few minutes alone with my people. I need to debrief them."

"Of course," Aaron said.

He walked to the far side of the diner. He couldn't hear any words, but body language told a story by itself. Joseph sat beside his boss with his face down and his hands at his side, not moving an inch. He didn't look up even when he answered her questions, which appeared odd because compared to his great bulk, she seemed as small as a child. Galina was a little more animated, but still deferential with every gesture. When the boss opened her mouth to speak, the other two immediately closed theirs and listened. There was no doubt about who was in command, and Aaron even detected a hint of fear.

The boss waved him over. "Please join us," she called out.

Aaron took the last available spot in the booth next to Galina, which he didn't mind at all. "You wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes." The boss had a manila folder full of papers in front of her, but she didn't open it yet. "I'd like to hear your report. What happened tonight, exactly, from your perspective?"

He didn't know why he should report to her, but her tone made it clear she expected compliance. He was swimming in unknown and treacherous waters now. He decided to go with the tide instead of fighting it. There was no reason to hold back information.

As a cop, he had learned how to make a proper report, and he delivered his in a professional manner. The trick was to include all the important details and none of the unimportant ones. His audience listened attentively.

After he finished, the boss said, "You're a resourceful man. I like the part where you hot-wired the truck."

"Thanks."

"Give me a postmortem. What mistakes were made tonight?"

Aaron looked at Galina and Joseph. To Aaron's expert eye they seemed nervous, but they were hiding it well.

"Don't worry about them," the boss said. "Just give me your honest opinion. Don't sugarcoat it. I hate that."

"I've been doing all the talking," Aaron said. "When do I get to start listening?"

"When I say so."

Increased tightness in Galina's face and a slight loss of color suggested she was afraid. Aaron took it as a sign of danger, and he decided continued cooperation was probably wise.

"Obviously," he said, "the big problem was the floodlights, but now that I think about it, I don't know why they were such a surprise. The lights were on big poles all over the compound. Steps should've been taken."

"Steps?"

"Like cutting the power before I went in."

The boss looked at Galina and said, "Do you agree?"

"We..." Galina cleared her throat. "We actually discussed that idea, ma'am. We decided cutting the power would warn the enemy we were coming. It seemed better to let Aaron draw attention away from the focus of the operation. The plan almost worked." She shot a hostile glare at Joseph.

"I see." The boss nodded.

Aaron couldn't tell whether she approved or disapproved.

"On to other business." She flipped open her manila folder, and Aaron saw his own picture inside. "Let's see. You were a Chicago police officer for nine years. Correct?"

"Yeah. What do you have there?"

"Just some notes my staff prepared."

"You ran a full background check on me?" he said in astonishment. "What's going on here?"

"Standard procedure." The boss smiled disarmingly at him. "You had a distinguished career: high test scores, awards, and rapid promotions."

"So?" He sat back with his arms crossed. He didn't like this situation at all. The time had come for them to answer his questions.

"A year ago, you were fired. Tell me about that. My notes are intriguingly vague."

"Is this a job interview?"

She leaned towards him. "Please, answer. It's very important that I know more about you." Her strange dark eyes rattled his composure.

Remembering those last days as a cop caused old rage to rise within Aaron. He would never forget what had happened or forgive the people who had done it to him.

"Officially," he said, "I was terminated for falsifying evidence and intimidating witnesses, but that was just a load of made-up shit. The truth is that I blew the whistle on a sergeant for taking bribes. He went to jail, but my career was dead. Nobody trusted me anymore."

"That's unfortunate. What jobs have you held since then?"

"Part-time bouncer, part-time private eye, part-time whatever pays the rent. I hope all these questions have a point." Aaron's patience was wearing thin.

The boss flipped through her notes. "You got into some trouble as a teenager."

"You have my juvenile records, too? Those are sealed!" He slapped the table, causing glasses of water to slosh. "Who the hell are you?"

"You were arrested a couple of times for stealing cars. I guess that's where you learned how to hot-wire them."

"Never convicted."

"Because your rich parents paid good lawyers to defend you. Why did you do it?"

"I was a teenage rebel," he said, "and my friends thought it was cool. Nobody got hurt."

"Indeed. What else..." She studied her notes. "Divorced. No children. Do you have a steady girlfriend?"

"That's none of your business! This is crazy. I'm going home." He stood up.

"What about Brittany Waters?"

He hesitated.

The boss continued, "The surveillance cameras may be in place, but you can't use them without our receiver. Even if you locate Brittany on your own, you won't be able to get her out. The cult is on high alert now. You need us a lot more than we need you."

Aaron took another step towards the door just to spite her. Then he reached into his pocket and took out the picture of Brittany that he had borrowed from her parents. The girl's innocent face cooled his anger and reminded him that this assignment was about her, not his ego. He sat down again in the booth.

"I asked about your girlfriend."

He shook his head. "None right now."

"That's surprising. You're a virile, young man with a handsome face. You look like you're in great shape."

"I've had plenty of women, but the relationships didn't last. I guess I haven't found what I'm looking for."

He glanced at Galina for an instant, hoping she wouldn't notice his attention. She was so close to him, just inches away. Was it possible she was the one? Would he ever have a chance to find out? I need to calm down and think straight, he thought. I'm a grown man, not a horny teenager. I don't know anything about this woman.

"But you did marry once," the boss said.

"I was a clean-cut, decorated police officer then." Aaron sighed. "When that part of my life ended, so did my marriage."

"Tragic." She closed her manila folder.

"Are you done prying into my personal life? Is the interview over?"

"For now."

She stared at him even more intently than before. She seemed fascinated by him.

"What are you looking at?" he said.

"I have a very powerful intuition. Actually, it's more than just intuition. Call it spiritual guidance. Right now that guidance is being very chatty."

"You hear voices? What are they telling you?"

"Just one voice," the boss said. "It's telling me you're an extraordinary man. You'll accomplish incredible things and rise to great prominence in my organization. The eyes of the world will look to you for guidance. You'll become more powerful and dangerous than you can possibly imagine. Most interesting of all, you and I will become the closest friends and the strongest allies."

Galina and Joseph gave Aaron incredulous looks.

Aaron smiled a little. "Do you get this kind of guidance often?"

"I've never received guidance quite like this," the boss said. "It's... highly noteworthy. My name is Ethel. That's my real name, and it's one that very few people know. This woman is Marina, and the large man beside me is Victor. Those are also their real names and closely guarded secrets. Never use those names in public."

Aaron looked at Marina's beautiful face. Now I know something about you.

"Do you have a picture of Brittany?" Ethel said. "May I see it?"

He took his photo of Brittany from his pocket and handed it over.

Ethel stared at it for a moment, then tucked it into her own pocket. "I'll have my team monitor the surveillance video. If the girl is living in the compound, they'll find her. I'll notify you immediately. You can count on my help, and you won't be betrayed next time."

"OK." Aaron sipped from a glass of ice water. He still didn't trust her.

"Which brings us to the larger problem. We have to go in there again tomorrow night to gather the evidence that we were supposed to gather tonight. We still have a job to do, even if we botched it on the first try." She stared at Victor. "Any ideas?"

He drank his water.

"What kind of evidence?" Aaron said.

Ethel gave him a long look. "I can't tell you. You've been a very good sport so far, and I see your frustration. However, there are lines that cannot be crossed at this point. There is a process we must go through. After we overcome the immediate challenges, we'll have a more informative conversation under better circumstances. I promise."

He grunted.

"I have an idea," Victor said, "but it's radical. If we could somehow smoke the cult out of the compound, then Marina and I could just walk in and do our job. Meanwhile, Aaron could watch the crowd until he spots the girl."

She nodded. "Interesting, but not smoke. Tear gas." She smiled. "Lots of tear gas. We'll drive them out and scatter them like a flock of frightened geese."

Aaron understood the plan, and he didn't like it much. Tear gas wasn't a toy. "I may need some help with rescuing the girl," he said. "She probably won't be alone."

"I'll stay with you," Ethel said. "I have to supervise the operation in person this time, anyway."

"You?" He raised his eyebrows. "What if we get into a fight?"

Everybody at the table grinned as if he had told a joke.

"Don't worry about me," she said. "I'm very capable of defending myself. If anybody gets into trouble, it will probably be you."

Marina and Victor nodded in agreement.

Chapter Three

Aaron crouched behind a bush and watched the heavy front gate of the cult encampment. It was made of welded steel girders and probably weighed a ton. Four guards stood at attention in front of the gate, all facing the same direction. They hadn't moved since Aaron had arrived. These freaks run a tight ship, he thought.

"Sixty seconds," Ethel whispered, her voice muffled by a gas mask.

He also wore a gas mask, and he detested it. It felt like a heavy rubber bag wrapped tightly around his head. The late afternoon sun was beating down on him. Sweat stung his eyes, but he couldn't wipe his face without breaking the air-tight seal, so he just had to suffer instead.

Ethel had decided on a daytime attack because of the need to rescue Brittany Waters. Locating her at night would be nearly impossible. The sunlight also reduced the chance that an innocent person would get trampled when the tear gas hit. Even so, Aaron was certain somebody would get hurt during the chaos.

Both he and Ethel wore black and gray camouflage tights. She had given him the tights and had insisted he put them on. For some reason she had felt it was very important for him to wear "the right colors."

The tights showed off her body, which was shockingly athletic for a middle-aged woman. She wasn't bulky, but her muscles were exceptionally lean and toned. She was in fabulous condition for a woman of any age. She wore a gun belt with a single light pistol. A pair of machetes was strapped across her back in leather sheaths. It was a strange choice in weapons.

"Are you good with those machetes?" Aaron asked.

She turned to him. "Very." Even with the gas mask, her eyes were disturbing to look at.

He believed her.

She had returned the photo of Brittany to Aaron. He glanced at the picture for the hundredth time to fix the image in his mind, and he paid extra attention to the bone structure of the girl's face. Two months of living in a cult had probably altered her in a lot of ways, but her bones would always stay the same shape.

"Thirty seconds," Ethel said.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," Aaron said. "It's crazy."

"It will work."

"Where do you get the authorization for an operation like this?"

"From the highest authority. Now hush."

He still had his doubts about her ability to protect herself in a fight. A woman of her maturity and light build just didn't have enough raw strength to deliver a knock-out blow. All the skill in the world couldn't overcome the natural limitations of her ageing body. She had ordered him not to worry, but it was hard to follow those orders.

"Zero," she said.

Aaron heard distant screaming. Victor and Marina were lobbing tear gas canisters over the fence at the south end of the compound. If the breeze held, it would sweep a cloud of gas north, towards the front gate. The plan was to drive the entire cult past Aaron's position into the forest so he could get a good look at everybody.

Soon hundreds of people in green robes were stampeding towards the gate, coughing and gagging as they ran. Tendrils of smoke gave chase like a giant monster with a thousand wispy arms. Children struggled to keep up with their mothers, and the old were pushed aside. This was the chaos that Aaron had feared.

He focused his attention on the many faces. He would get only one chance to locate Brittany before she disappeared into the forest. There were a lot of young women in the crowd.

"There!" He pointed at a short girl. "That's her!"

She had lost a lot of weight, and her hair was cut so short that he could barely tell it was blonde. Complicated green tattoos surrounded her eyes, which made her look like a mutant raccoon. Aaron hated the effect.

"Great!" Ethel said. "Don't lose sight of her."

The mob streamed through the front gate and into the forest. Closely spaced trees forced the crowd to split into small, ragged groups, fleeing in different directions. Aaron could smell the tear gas now, even with his mask, and the pungent odor made his nose itch.

When the moment seemed right, he followed Brittany, and Ethel stayed close behind him. Brittany was with a group of men and women who seemed intent on staying together. Separating her from the others was going to be a challenge.

"Do you have a plan?" Ethel said.

"Hang back and be patient," Aaron said.

As the group penetrated deep into the forest, the air cleared, and they slowed down. A man with blue stripes on his robes led the way, and when he stopped, so did everybody else. The cult members huddled together under the dense canopy of green leaves, their voices timid and quiet. Brittany stood in the center of the group, and her eyes were wide with fear.

Aaron and Ethel took cover behind some trees and removed their gas masks.

"I count six men, eight women, and two children," she whispered. "I don't see any weapons."

"If we could just scatter them, I could get to Brittany."

He studied the group, which was surprisingly subdued. Most of them seemed content just to stand in place and wait for orders, even the young ones. Their long green robes and green tattoos acted like camouflage against the forest background. Aaron was glad to see that nobody appeared injured.

"I'll draw some of them off," Ethel said.

"What if you get caught?"

"Ha! Not a chance."

"You have a lot of spunk for a woman as old as my mother," Aaron said.

"Ouch. Watch this."

She sprinted towards the group, and he couldn't believe his eyes. She was impossibly fast! She leapt at one of the men, landed both feet squarely on his chest, kicked off, and continued in a different direction like a rubber ball bouncing off a wall. The man fell backwards with an expression of pain and astonishment.

"Holy shit!" Aaron muttered.

All the other men chased Ethel, while the women and children remained behind, as docile as sheep.

As soon as Ethel and her pursuers were out of sight, Aaron stepped out and bellowed like an enraged bear. He charged the women with his arms outstretched, trying to be as big and scary as possible. The group scattered in all directions, just as he had hoped. When the man on the ground tried to stand up, Aaron put him back down with a punch to the face.

Brittany ran off alone, and Aaron went after her, determined that she wouldn't get away. They went deeper into the forest and quickly left everybody else behind. The chase became a simple contest between pursuer and pursued. The only sounds were their feet pounding on dirt and crashing through leaves.

He imagined what an outsider might think of this scene. He was running down a young woman who was alone in the woods and desperate to escape. Attempted rape or murder would be the obvious conclusion. No jury would ever believe he was actually doing his best to rescue her from a life of virtual slavery.

The chase ended suddenly when Brittany tripped over a root, and he was on her at once. He grabbed both her wrists roughly.

"Who are you?" she cried.

"Your parents sent me," he said. "You're going home."

"No!"

He ignored her loud complaints and insults as he pulled her through the woods. Then she babbled for a while about Simon and his teachings, perhaps hoping to convert him, but her breath was wasted. Finally, she just sobbed pitifully.

Aaron had brought a portable GPS system, and it guided him to a pre-determined rendezvous point. He entered a small clearing that had a blue van with heavily tinted windows parked in the middle. Ethel stood beside it, calm and rested.

"You got her," she said. "Nice work."

"And they didn't get you," he said.

"Of course not."

"You moved so fast. Was it some kind of trick? Stimulants?"

She winked. "Trade secret. Put the girl in the van."

Aaron opened the door and pushed Brittany into one of the middle seats. Using coils of rope that he found in the van, he tied her arms and legs to the chair and pulled her seatbelt tight. Satisfied she was secure, he closed the door. Perhaps the precautions were excessive, but he had to make sure she couldn't escape or injure herself.

"The poor kid is brainwashed," he said.

Ethel nodded. "She'll need lots of counseling. It will be a long road to recovery."

"Any word from Marina or Victor?"

"They'll be here shortly."

Aaron was still amazed at her performance earlier, and curiosity consumed him. Could she actually move that fast? He decided to perform a little experiment. Without warning, he tried to slap her face. She dodged aside easily, and his hand passed through empty air.

"You like to play games?" she asked.

"Well, I was just..."

"Testing me? Of course. Let's make it fun! I'll stand here and let you punch me in the face."

"I don't know." He furrowed his brow.

"Go on. I want you to." She clenched her hands into fists and waved them around in an annoying manner. "Let's see those black-belt skills. Hit me now, wimp! Come on!"

He had a rule against striking women, but she was literally begging for it. He used about a quarter of his strength to throw an uppercut at her jaw. She grabbed his arm in mid-flight, twisted it around, and shoved him hard into the side of the van. The move was so quick and efficient he never had a chance to protect himself.

"By the way," she said, "I don't like games."

He rubbed a sore spot on his forehead. "That was a slick move. What martial arts style is your specialty? Kung fu? Aikido?"

"The Ethel-style."

Marina and Victor arrived at the clearing. Both carried large, clear plastic bags containing many smaller plastic bags. The little bags held a variety of odd items including small rocks, metal screws, jewelry, a light bulb, a candelabrum, broken glass, a kitchen knife, sand, a book, and many other things. Aaron couldn't make any sense of the collection. It seemed as if Marina and Victor had taken anything and everything that would fit into a bag, like a couple of pack rats, but both were smiling with their heads held high as if they had discovered a chest full of gold.

"What is that stuff?" Aaron said.

"Evidence," Marina said.

"Of a crime?"

She didn't answer. She and Victor just put the bags into the back of the van.

"Let's go," Ethel said. "Victor, would you drive?"

Everybody climbed into the van. Aaron sat in the middle beside Brittany. Marina and Victor were in front, and Ethel sat in the far back.

Victor drove along a dirt path that barely qualified as a road, but his skillful handling kept the van from getting stuck. Eventually, they reached a real highway and headed towards Chicago.

When he grew restless, Aaron looked at Marina and said, "Hi."

She ignored him.

"I noticed your black fingernails," he said. "I think a different color might look better on you. Red would match your hair and green would match your eyes. Is there a reason you make them so pointed?"

She turned and glared at him. "Shh. We're not allowed to talk about anything."

"Everything about you is a secret?"

"Absolutely."

Nobody else seemed in the mood for conversation either, so Aaron sat back. The only sounds were road noise and the air conditioner.

It was a long journey home, but he was getting paid for his time, so it didn't bother him. He kept looking at Marina because her beauty made it impossible for him to ignore her. He really wanted to talk to her, and the unbroken silence between them was frustrating. Her expression was unreadable.

The van stopped in front of Brittany's home. After he and Brittany were let out, Aaron turned to say goodbye to his new acquaintances. Victor drove off before Aaron had a chance to speak.

That was rude, Aaron thought. He wondered if he would ever see them again. Of course, the person he was really interested in seeing was Marina. Unfortunately, he had no way of finding her. He would have to hope she found him instead.

He held Brittany firmly by the shoulders and marched her to the house. Weeds sprouted between cracks in the narrow sidewalk. Even before he reached the door, Caroline Waters came running out, squealing with joy. She wore a dirty apron over a dress printed with yellow petunias.

Caroline grabbed her daughter and hugged her very tightly for a full minute. Brittany did not return the affection and just stood stiffly with her lips curled in disgust.

Frank Waters walked out of the house wearing shorts and a white T-shirt. "Mr. Glade! You're back so soon! You're a real hero." Frank shook Aaron's hand vigorously. "How did you do it?"

For several good reasons Aaron didn't want to answer that question, so he said, "Trade secret, but your daughter is safe now, so the 'how' doesn't matter."

"You're right."

Caroline finally released Brittany, and Frank took his turn with her. He frowned as he ran his finger along the tattoos around her eyes and touched her bony cheeks.

"There are some things you need to know," Aaron said. "Brittany is not the daughter you knew. The cult changed her. I've seen cases like this before, and you'll need to watch her all the time. She may try to hurt herself or you. She will try to run away and return to the cult. I hate to suggest tying her up, but you'll have to figure out some way to confine her."

"Will she get better?" Frank said.

"With professional help. Find a therapist who specializes in de-programming teenagers, and do it quick."

"Yes, we'll do that. Thank you."

Caroline took Brittany into the house.

"Be careful!" Aaron said. "Watch her!"

Frank stayed with him. "About your fee..."

Here it comes, Aaron thought.

"Two days of your time..."

"Closer to three. We'll split the difference and call it 20 hours. With expenses, the total is 1,500 dollars."

Frank grimaced. "We don't have that much in our checking account."

Aaron clenched his jaw. Apparently, being a real hero did not imply he would get paid. "I'll send you a bill. It's not so much money compared to how much your daughter's life is worth. Can you just pay it, please?"

"Sure, somehow."

"And pay for a cab, too, so I can go home. That is non-negotiable."

Chapter Four

The smell of fresh brewed coffee woke Aaron in the morning, which was very surprising because he lived alone in his downtown Chicago loft. The last person to make him coffee had been his wife, now ex-wife, when he had led a very different life.

Instead of jumping out of bed, he kept his eyes closed and listened. He heard the squeak of a drawer sliding on metal rails. There was a soft slurping noise, suggesting the intruder was drinking the coffee. Papers rustled. My files, Aaron thought. His home also served as the office for his private detective agency, and he kept his case files here.

Aaron rolled over silently, opened the drawer of his night-stand, and took out a snub-nosed revolver. He confirmed it was loaded.

He slept in the nude, but there was nothing he could do about that right now. Putting on clothes would make noise. The loft was a single large room separated by wooden partitions into functional areas. The intruder would hear even the smallest sound.

Aaron peeked around a partition with his gun ready.

"Ethel!" he said. "What the hell?"

The mysterious woman was sitting at his desk, leaning back with her feet up as if she owned the place. She smiled at him. "Get dressed. I brought Danishes and fresh brewed coffee."

"You broke into my home! I'm calling the cops."

"Relax. I just want to talk."

He pointed the revolver at a pile of folders in front of her, his case files. "Those are confidential."

"I'm very good at keeping secrets."

"That's not my point," he said with a snarl. "I have an obligation to my clients."

"I need to know how skilled a detective you are." She held up one of the files. "These are more informative than any resumé you could give me."

He fumed, indecisive about what to do. He couldn't just shoot her, and physically confronting her didn't seem wise. His head still hurt from being rammed into the van yesterday. He decided to let her talk to him. He got dressed but kept his revolver under his shirt.

A little calmer now, he walked through his loft and stood behind her. "Well? What's your verdict?"

"You're a perceptive and thorough investigator," she said, "but far too cynical."

He grunted.

She wore a tailored gray business suit that made her appear sophisticated. He couldn't tell if she carried any concealed weapons. Her soft flat shoes didn't match the formality of the rest of her outfit.

The coffee smelled wonderful, and its aroma drew him to the small area that served as his kitchen. He had a single counter with a steel sink. There were cabinets beneath, but they only held four plates and two pots. When at home, his diet could be summarized as "packaged, frozen, and microwavable."

A full cup was waiting for him, and when he took a sip, the flavor made him sigh with pleasure. The coffee was the best he had tasted in a long while. He grabbed a strawberry Danish and took a big bite.

"Great Danish," he said around a delicious mouthful. He had to admit that for an intruder, she was very gracious.

She stood up and walked over to a wall where pictures were hung. "Your parents?" She pointed at one photo in particular.

"That's right. They live in the suburbs, but I bet you know that."

"Yes." She turned her attention to a picture of Aaron in a police uniform with several other officers.

"That was taken when I graduated from the police academy," he said.

"Do you still keep in touch with your old buddies?"

"We drink beers. Not often. Is that really what you came to talk about?"

Ethel studied the pictures without responding.

Aaron went over to his front door and checked for signs of forced entry. He was sure he had locked it last night, but he found no scratches or other marks.

"Why didn't you just knock instead of picking the lock?" he said. "I would've invited you in."

"You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you. I was being polite."

"Breaking into a man's home while he is asleep is not my idea of polite."

She shrugged.

"What do you want?" he said.

"I want to add you to my team. We have an opening. But first I need to know a little more about you."

He raised his eyebrows. "This is a job interview?"

"I guess you could call it that."

"I don't need a new job. I'm doing fine. I have plenty of money." The lie sounded weak even to himself.

"Let's just skip the posturing and get to the interview. Sit, please."

He hesitated.

"I asked you nicely to sit down," she said. Her tone implied the next time she made the request, she would be less kind about it.

They sat across from each other at the small round table where Aaron ate his lonely meals. He wished he had wiped it off. The plastic surface had grease splatters, sticky spots, and crumbs on it.

"What are your views on religion?" Ethel said. "Do you believe in God?"

"Huh?" The odd question startled Aaron. "My parents were Catholic, but they almost never attended church. I didn't get much religion as a child. I'm agnostic, if anything. What about you?"

"I'm asking the questions here."

"Does this mystery job have something to do with religion?"

She sipped her coffee. "In a way. How do you define 'miracle?'"

"I don't know." He shook his head.

"The dictionary defines miracle as 'an extraordinary event that surpasses all known natural powers and is ascribed to a supernatural cause.' Do you believe in them?"

"Miracles? I believe a lot of people use the word 'miracle' when they just don't understand what's going on."

"You're correct." She nodded. "But that doesn't mean they're always wrong."

She drew a dagger from a scabbard hidden up her sleeve. The hilt was wrapped with gray cords and the blade was painted black. It was about eight inches long.

She gave the dagger to him, stood, and moved back a few feet. "Throw it at my face. Hard."

He stared at her. "Are you crazy?"

"Throw. I'll be perfectly safe."

He couldn't throw a knife at a woman, even if she asked for it, so he just tossed it back to her. She easily grabbed the knife out of the air and gave it back.

"I'm serious," she said.

He stood up and tossed it harder. She caught it by the handle and returned it.

"That was pathetic! Try again."

He really threw the knife this time, straight at her face, but the result was the same. She seemed to have phenomenal reflexes.

"Challenge me," she ordered.

He reared back and used all the strength in his arm. She snatched the knife out of the air with an impossibly quick reaction. Her hand moved faster than his eyes could follow.

"That was a miracle," she said. "To me, that knife moved quite slowly and was easy to catch."

"How?" he whispered.

"Join my team and you'll find out. Sit."

She sat at the table. She spun the dagger between her fingers with such speed it looked like a black disk. It made a whirring sound which was unsettling. The absolute darkness in her eyes was even more unsettling.

He joined her at the table. "That's a magic trick."

"No."

"Then I'm on drugs or asleep."

She shook her head. The blade continued to spin at an insane speed. "For the first time in your life, you're getting a glimpse behind the curtain that surrounds the natural world. You're seeing things God doesn't permit ordinary people to see. I could show you more, a lot more. Are you interested in joining?"

"Joining who?" He raised his hands. "I don't know who you are!"

"We're a secret society, and unfortunately, I can't tell you anything else until you commit. You stand at a precipice with your toes hanging over the edge. Step forward, and you're one of us forever. Step back, and you'll never see me or my people again."

"That's ridiculous. You're asking me to make a choice in a vacuum."

She shrugged. "Those are the rules. You have to walk through the curtain blind."

She abruptly threw the dagger at the wall just above the kitchen counter. The sharp tip sunk two inches into the wall, and the dagger quivered.

He swallowed. "What will I get paid?"

"As much as you need. Money won't be one of your concerns."

"Sure." He snorted.

She took a white envelope out of her jacket pocket and handed it to him. He opened the envelope and discovered it was stuffed with hundred dollar bills, at least five thousand dollars worth.

"What's this for?" he asked.

She snatched the envelope back, walked over to the window, opened it, and threw the cash outside. It fell three stories to the city street below. Aaron heard the sound of cars screeching to a stop.

He tried to appear unimpressed, but five grand was a substantial amount of money. He had heard of people getting killed over less.

"Money isn't important," Ethel said. "It's an illusion. The rewards we seek are more eternal in nature."

"I've heard priests use that line. I didn't buy it then, either."

She strolled around the room aimlessly for a moment. She eventually stopped in front of an electric piano in the corner. Aaron was a good pianist thanks to a childhood spent practicing every day for at least an hour. His mother had demanded he become a competent musician despite a lack of enthusiasm or real talent. He still owned a piano because he felt obligated to have one.

"Do you have a plan?" Ethel asked.

"For what?"

"Your life. What do you want to do with it?"

"I planned to be a police officer," he said. "I planned to marry my high school sweetheart and maybe have kids someday."

"That was before." She turned to look at him. "What are your new plans?"

"Pay the rent and keep the fridge stocked with frozen dinners."

"That's sad."

He shrugged. "It's my life."

"I'm offering you an opportunity to help a lot of people. You'll never be famous, and only a select few will even know you exist, but the work we do is extremely important. Our responsibilities are enormous."

"That's easy to say, since I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Aaron," Ethel said, "I'm giving you twenty-four hours to think about this. It's unfair for me to force you to make such an important decision on the spot. Keep one thing in mind though. Once you join, there is no backing out."

"What happens if I try to quit?"

"We have a retirement package. It's called a pine box, six feet under. Good bye." She quickly left the apartment.

He frowned.

He walked over to where the dagger was embedded in the wall. On the counter below, a fly was cut cleanly in half. He stared at the bisected insect in disbelief.

* * *

Aaron walked into the Green Clover Tavern, and the familiar aromas of beer and corned beef brought a smile to his face. This place was exactly what the doctor ordered.

He threaded his way through the thick lunchtime crowd. Professional men and women of all stripes occupied every seat in the tavern, which was located in downtown Chicago. Aaron spotted a police officer in uniform sitting at the bar with an empty stool beside him. There's my buddy, Aaron thought. He quickly took the stool.

"Pete!" Aaron pounded his friend on the back. "It's great to see you. Sorry about the short notice."

"You sounded so weird on the phone," Pete said. "I had to come. What's wrong?"

He had the rounded, stocky build that was practically a tradition among Chicago cops. Even though Pete was only thirty-five years old, strands of gray could be found in his short, brown hair. White powder speckled his thick mustache, and Aaron knew it was from the sugared donuts that Pete loved to nibble while on duty.

"Nothing," Aaron said. "Nothing important."

Pete gave him a hard look. "Hey, it's been a long time. Six months? Still working as a bouncer?"

"When they need extra help. I'm also a private eye."

"You?" Pete chuckled. "I just can't imagine you sneaking through back alleys and taking pictures of cheating husbands. Not your style."

The bartender took their order. Aaron asked for two beers and the corned beef special, which included a big pile of cabbage boiled to perfection. Pete was still on duty, so he ordered a burger and a Coke.

"What was my style?" Aaron asked.

"Kicking down doors with a gun in each hand," Pete said with a grin. "You loved that wild west cowboy shit. Always right in the middle of the action."

"I'm not like that anymore."

"Yeah, sure. I bet you still have a closet full of big, fancy guns."

In fact, Aaron had sold most of his guns for cash. Keeping them in his home was too dangerous. Getting caught with that kind of extreme firepower as a civilian would result in felony charges.

"A man needs to protect himself in this city."

"Of course." Pete furrowed his brow. "How is life as a private eye? Earning good coin?"

"No, but I'm building up my reputation. One day I'll have quality clients who pay their bills."

Pete nodded. "I knew you'd land on your feet after... the mess."

"It hasn't been easy."

There were televisions all over the tavern, and Aaron saw that the Cubs were playing baseball. He had forgotten the team had a game today even though he considered himself a fan.

"What about Amy?" Pete said. "Are you still in touch with her?"

The name of Aaron's ex-wife brought back old pain. "No. I don't know what she's doing these days."

"She was a great girl. You two were great together."

"Yeah." Aaron sighed. The memory of Marina's beautiful face flashed into his mind, and his pain eased.

"Will you tell me what's wrong now?"

Aaron leaned very close to Pete. "Something strange happened," Aaron whispered. "I want your opinion, but it will sound a little crazy when I tell you."

"Just tell me. I'll decide if it's crazy."

"Do you believe in miracles?"

"I think God helps us," Pete said. "It's in the Bible."

"No, this is different..."

A hand on his shoulder made Aaron stop in mid-sentence. He turned to find that Marina was standing just inches away.

"May I join you gentlemen?" she asked. "Your conversation sounds fascinating."

Aaron hopped off his stool in surprise. He had never seen her in street clothes, and she was stunning. A silky red dress clung to every part of her fine body. Matching red pumps made her long legs seem even longer and more shapely. Ruby earrings were the perfect finishing touch.

His delight at seeing her again was tempered with suspicion. Why was she here?

"Sure!" Pete said in an overly enthusiastic tone. "Take my seat, honey. I'll stand."

"What are you doing here?" Aaron asked.

"Just keeping an eye on you," Marina said.

"That's not necessary."

"Really?" She raised her eyebrows. "It seems I barely got here in time."

Pete looked back and forth between them. "Aaron, you know this woman?" He sounded impressed.

Aaron took a deep breath as he tried to figure out what to do. He couldn't openly talk to Pete with Marina hanging over his shoulder, and it was obvious she wouldn't leave.

"Sorry, Pete," Aaron said. "I just remembered I have to be somewhere else. It's great to see you. We'll get together again soon." He threw twenty dollars onto the bar and left.

He was angry as he stepped into bright sunlight outside the tavern. He hated being followed or spied upon, even by a woman as gorgeous as Marina. Not only were these mystery people invading his life, but they were being obnoxious about it. He stomped off.

Rapid footsteps made him glance backwards.

Marina caught up to him. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was awkward."

"I was having a private conversation with my friend."

"About us."

"I have to talk to somebody!" he said.

"You're lucky I stopped you. Any more, and I would've had to kill him."

"Come on." He looked at her. "I know you're a tough broad, but you wouldn't...."

There was no amusement in her eyes. "Secrecy is the highest priority of my organization," she said. "We protect it by any means necessary. If you have to talk to somebody, talk to me."

"You?"

"You can trust me."

"Ha!" He stopped walking and stared at her. "You lied to me from the beginning. You used me. I don't even know your last name. Trust you? That's hilarious."

He started walking again. A homeless man asked for money, and Aaron pushed him out of the way.

Marina followed Aaron closely.

"What are you doing?" he said.

"Ethel doesn't trust you. She ordered me to stay with you."

"For how long?"

"Until she tells me to stop."

He picked up his pace, and so did she.

He couldn't avoid the irony of the situation. He was stuck with the woman of his fantasies, but he wished she would go away instead.

"Why did Ethel send you instead of Victor?" Aaron said. "He would be more intimidating."

"Ethel was being kind. She knows you're attracted to me."

"It's that obvious?"

Marina nodded. "You kept staring at me, like a hungry dog staring at a meaty bone."

"Hmm. Sorry."

They were walking east towards Lake Michigan. Soon he would run into the crowds shopping on Michigan Avenue. The height of tourist season had arrived, and parts of downtown were awash in sweaty families wearing brightly colored clothing. He turned south towards the financial district to avoid the crowds.

Aaron couldn't let Marina follow behind all day like a lost puppy. He let her catch up and join him.

"I don't like the secrecy," she said. "If it were my choice, I'd tell you everything." There was a long pause. "My full name is Marina Pavlova. That's the truth."

He noticed for the first time that she had a slight Russian accent. Perhaps she was revealing a little bit of the real Marina at last.

"Why do you have to be so secretive?" he said. "Do you have something to hide?"

"Secrecy is intrinsic to our overall mission, and yes, we have plenty to hide."

"You sound like criminals, or a cult, like the Church of One Soul."

She pressed her lips together, then said, "We're neither, but the comparison is not unfair."

"Great. I really want to join your crew now." He shook his head.

"How can I explain?" She looked up at the sky. "Do you remember what it was like your first day as a police officer? You had trouble sleeping the night before because you were so excited. Putting on that uniform was like dressing in ceremonial robes. You felt important, part of something bigger than yourself. You were ready to make a difference. You wanted to be the best cop ever because it mattered."

"I remember." Those days seemed like part of a previous life.

"I have that feeling every day, all the time." She spread her arms wide. "What we do matters to millions of people, even though they don't know it. Sometimes the assignments are difficult and even painful, but they are always worth it. Can you imagine what that is like? The intense satisfaction? I know what I'm going to do with the rest of my life."

Her enthusiasm made his own life seem completely empty and pointless. It was an ugly emotion that he couldn't shake off.

"So," he said, "you're like secret police with some kind of connection to God."

She remained silent.

"Hello?"

"I'm sorry." She grimaced. "Me and my big mouth. You'd think I'd learn after all these years. Now we both have a problem because you know too much. I really do apologize."

"Why? Because you'll have to kill me if I don't join your organization?"

She looked down. "Ethel will make that decision."

They were passing through the district where the wealthy came to decorate their homes. Boutique furniture stores, art galleries, and design studios lined both sides of the street. Aaron glimpsed a few price tags, and the numbers were startling. He couldn't believe people paid so much for weird furniture and art that looked like the scribbles of a three year-old kid. The rich were idiots.

"Ethel asked me questions about my religion," he said. "About God and miracles."

Marina nodded.

"Do you believe in God?"

"Of course," she said.

"Why?" He looked at her freckled face.

"He gave me this."

She held up her right hand to show off her black fingernails. They were sharpened to a needle point. There was a dull shininess at the tip, like they were slightly wet.

"I don't understand," he said.

"Do you really want me to explain? You may already know too much. This is very risky territory."

He looked into her green eyes. He wanted to know everything about her, no matter the risks. "Sure. Tell me."

She smiled a little. "God gave me these fingernails as a reward two years ago. The color is natural, not nail polish."

"How is that a reward?" He furrowed his brow.

"I'll show you. We need to sit down someplace where nobody will bother us."

It took a while, but they found a bench in a small park by the river. A single tree provided welcome shade from the summer sun. A barge filled with sand and gravel floated past on the green-brown water.

"Now lean against me," she said. "Relax. You'll feel a little prick."

He slouched down and rested his head on her narrow shoulder. He was anxious about what she would do to him, but curiosity compelled him to cooperate.

She touched her needle-sharp fingernail to his neck, and he felt a painful tickle. Seconds later a wave of tiredness passed through his body, and he fought to keep his eyelids open. His arms and legs became dead weights. He tried to speak but managed only an incoherent mumble.

"Shh," she said softly. "I gave you just a tiny dose of venom. It will pass quickly and harmlessly."

Venom? he thought.

He couldn't move, but there were worse predicaments than a beautiful woman holding him close on a clear summer day by the river. The venom didn't seem to have unpleasant side-effects aside from paralysis and sleepiness. It wasn't so bad.

"A bigger dose will cause unconsciousness," Marina said. "I can also kill. This is the gift God gave me."

The venom's effect was already fading, and Aaron managed to sit up straight. Carefully pronouncing each word, he said, "What happens if you prick yourself?"

"I'm immune."

He was very bewildered, and not just from the venom. He had seen two impossible things today, first Ethel's reflexes and now Marina's fingernails. Was he going insane?

A tourist boat floated past on the river. Two geese that were fishing in the water honked at the boat, and then they flew off.

"You keep talking," Aaron said, "and showing me things. For a secret agent or whatever you are, you're doing a bad job of keeping your mouth shut."

"You're right." She frowned.

"And your little, red dress is something special. It's too sexy by far. Do you know what I'm starting to think? You really like me. You're trying to force me to join your organization by spilling too many secrets."

She walked down to the edge of the water and leaned on an iron fence.

His legs were still wobbly, but he managed to stand up without falling over. Slowly, he went over and stood beside her.

"This is bad," she said softly. "I'm acting like a teenage girl instead of a professional."

"We're both adults, and we're allowed to be attracted to each other. What's the problem?"

She grabbed his wrist and squeezed hard. "You don't have any idea. This situation just got dangerously complicated. I'm not allowed to like you in that way." She rubbed her temples.

"Why? You have a boyfriend? Is it Victor?"

"Him?" Her eyes widened. "No! God, no. He's a creep. It's just that romantic relationships are a problem in my business. They make it hard to be objective. Be quiet while I think about this."

He enjoyed her presence in silence for a few minutes. Despite the heat, it was a nice day to be out for a walk in the city. A steady breeze kept the air fresh and clean.

Marina's cell phone rang, and she answered it immediately. Like the rest of her team, her phone was big, thick, and gray. "I'm here... I understand... I'll talk to him." She closed the phone.

"What's up?" Aaron said.

"The evidence we collected was tested, and the results were conclusively positive."

"What does that mean?"

"We need a lot more information about the Church of One Soul," she said, "and the most convenient source is Brittany Waters. Where is she?"

"At her parent's house, but the poor girl is traumatized. She's been home for less than a day. I can't imagine her parents would let you talk to her."

"They might let you see her. They trust you."

"But I'm not part of your secret society," he said.

"Aaron, we need your help." She looked at him intently. "I know this is coming at you fast, but it's extremely important."

"What is the real threat? What can this cult do?"

"They are an abomination unto God, unfit for His world."

He gave her a skeptical look. "Huh?"

"Remember Sodom and Gomorrah? Destroyed by brimstone and fire. Chicago could get the same treatment if we don't fix this problem quickly."

Chapter Five

Aaron and Marina stood at the front door of the Waters residence.

Marina had insisted they change clothes on the way. They had stopped at a department store where she had purchased new outfits for both of them. Aaron now wore a blue business suit made of polyester, which trapped his sweat and made him itch. She wore a long blue skirt and blouse with a deliberate coffee stain. A steel pin held her hair in a tight knot.

"What's my name?" Marina asked.

"Gretchen Stableford," Aaron said.

"And who do I work for?"

"FBI."

She nodded. "Don't slip and use my real name, ever. Go ahead and knock."

He knocked on the door.

A short while later Frank Waters answered. "Mr. Glade? What are you doing here? We're eating dinner."

"Sorry to interrupt your meal," Aaron said. "This is Ms. Stableford from the FBI. We would like a few minutes with Brittany, please."

Frank looked at Marina curiously. "Why?"

"The Church of One Soul might be violating federal laws," she said in a crisp, professional tone without any hint of her Russian accent. "We're hoping your daughter might have information about the church's activities."

"I don't know. Brittany... isn't well." He shook his head. "Come back later." He began to close the door.

She quickly blocked the door with her foot. "I understand your concern, Mr. Waters. I'm sure her experience was horrific. We'll try to be as quick and gentle as possible."

He frowned.

"If you make me get a subpoena, I'll have to take her downtown for a real interrogation," she said. "I might have a few questions for you, too, while I'm at it. None of us wants that, right?"

He reluctantly led them inside the house. The interior was small, and hundreds of knick-knacks on shelves made the space even tighter. The yellow walls had odd stains in places, perhaps the result of water damage or smoke. The group went down a hall to a door with a padlock on the outside.

"She keeps trying to run away," Frank explained apologetically. "We had no choice." He opened the lock with a key.

When he pushed open the door, the odor of urine made Aaron wrinkle his nose in disgust. Brittany sat on a bed in the center of an otherwise barren room. The windows were broken, and there were security bars on the outside like a prison cell. Brittany wore only a white, sleeveless nightgown.

"We're still trying to get a doctor to come help us," Frank said. "She wrecked her own furniture. When you rescued her, did you notice her arms?"

Aaron walked into the room. Many scars marked both of Brittany's forearms, some old and pink, and some so fresh they were still red. The scars were perfectly parallel, like the ties on railroad tracks.

"She was wearing long sleeves before," Aaron said. "Brittany, who cut you?"

"I did it for Simon," she said proudly. "These scars are badges of love."

He sighed. Poor girl.

Marina knelt in front of Brittany and said in soothing tones, "Hi, Brittany. My name is Gretchen. May I ask you a few questions?"

"May you go fuck yourself?" Brittany said.

"A pretty girl like you shouldn't use language like that. I just want to know more about Simon. He sounds like a wonderful man."

"He's not just a man. He's the Messiah!"

"Why do you say that?"

Brittany switched into a sing-song pattern of speech. "On five occasions Simon was visited by the angel Sraosha. The first time he learned the true nature of the Earth. The second time he learned the true nature of the heavens. The third time he learned the true nature of plants and animals. The fourth time he learned the true nature of love. The fifth time he learned the true nature of man. He created the Church of One Soul so that we may partake of his wisdom and deliver it to the world."

"Please, tell me more," Marina said.

"Simon's great lesson is that individuality leads to weakness, discord, and decay. Unity is strength. All of us must have the same goals, like the fingers on my hand." She raised her hand and closed it into a tight fist. "We will achieve nirvana only when all selfish thinking is eliminated."

"Who is we?"

"All of humanity. Every man, woman, and child on Earth. We must become a perfect social organism, like the ants or the bees."

Marina leaned forward slightly. "You want to be an ant?"

"They never question or complain," Brittany said. "They do not need money. They have no politics. To an ant, the purest joy is serving the colony." She looked up as if experiencing bliss.

"But a colony needs a queen."

Brittany nodded. "It is fortunate that Simon is the greatest leader the world has ever seen. He will guide all of us, including you."

"Why would we follow him?"

"He has devised a glorious plan to prove that he is the wisest man on Earth. This plan is proceeding as we speak, and even if corrupt governments conspire to thwart him, he will triumph."

"Interesting." Marina furrowed her brow. "What is this plan?"

"I'm too young to receive such profound wisdom. Only the innermost circle of his most loyal disciples is permitted that honor."

"Hmm. You mentioned an angel."

"Sraosha," Brittany said excitedly. "May she light my path with her divine flame of justice!"

"Have you actually met this angel?"

"Only Simon has the strength to stand before Sraosha. My eyes would burn, and my weak, feminine flesh would melt."

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true," Marina said.

The certainty in her voice caught Aaron's attention. Did she know something?

"It's true!" Brittany said. "Simon told us. He would not deceive us."

"Of course. When, exactly, did he meet Sraosha?"

Brittany smiled a little. "The angel comes on the summer solstice every two years. The last visitation was a year ago. These facts are in the writings of Simon." She looked at Marina eagerly. "Do you believe me?"

"I have a very open mind," Marina said.

"My parents don't. They never listen to me."

"Don't be too hard on them. I'm sure they're nice people."

Brittany sneered. "They're stupid, fucking assholes."

Frank grunted angrily and left the room. Marina closed the door behind him.

"Where is Simon now?" she asked.

"He might be at the sanctuary," Brittany said.

"Is that what you call the large compound in the woods?"

"Yes, where this evil man kidnapped me." Brittany pointed at Aaron.

"Do you think I might be able to talk to Simon?" Marina said. "I really want to meet him."

Brittany shook her head. "He sees only those who have proven themselves worthy. Others may seek him, but they never find him."

"That's a shame," Marina pouted.

"If you study his writings diligently and purge all selfish thinking from your mind, maybe you will some day."

"Do I have to cut myself, too?"

Brittany held up her arms. "These scars prove my courage and discipline. The markings on my face are signs of my true devotion."

"Impressive."

"When Simon's plan is complete, the Earth itself shall bear such scars." Brittany stood up. "He will mark the entire world as his own so that none can doubt that he is the leader of all mankind! He will create lakes of fire and blood, and those who have not learned to swim shall drown! Waves of terror shall wash across civilization. You have been forewarned. Join him now while you still have time."

"I'll think about it," Marina replied with a lack of conviction.

"And I will be his queen!" Brittany announced proudly.

"But you're just fifteen."

"He made me his woman several times. Age doesn't matter when there is true love."

Marina made a sour face. "You actually slept with him?"

"Our lovemaking was the perfect union of body and soul. He took me to a special place nearer the Heavens."

"Sounds great. I'm ready to go. Aaron, do you have any questions?"

Aaron shook his head.

They left the bedroom, and he closed the padlock. After saying goodbye to Frank and Caroline Waters, Aaron and Marina went outside together. The sun was setting, but the muggy air still felt like a warm towel hitting him in the face.

They walked on the sidewalk towards his car, a classic Ford mustang with a blue metallic paint job. The car was dented and rusted in spots, and the engine misfired sometimes, but it still ran well enough. One day, when Aaron had more money, he would get it fixed up properly.

"Poor kid," he said. "She is so messed up she doesn't even realize she was raped."

Marina stared straight ahead. "I'm sure she was one of many. Guys like Simon usually keep a harem."

"Should we report him to the cops?"

"No need. My team will deal with him." She smiled a little, but the expression was more cruel than happy.

"Oh." Aaron paused. "What did you think about that angel stuff?"

"Worrisome," she whispered.

"Why? It was just a story."

She grabbed his arm. "I have to go back to our headquarters right now. You can come with me if you want. Ethel already gave her permission."

"Sure," he said. "I want to see the place."

"Not so quick. You can go back to your apartment instead and return to your normal life. You'll never see us again, and if you tell anybody about us, we'll kill you. But as long as you keep your mouth shut, you'll be safe and free. You can get a real job, marry, have kids, and do all the usual stuff that people do. You'll be ordinary."

"Or?"

"Or..." She plucked a dandelion and examined its bright yellow flower. "You can join us forever. No trial period. No quitting. We expect absolute obedience and commitment. Only members are allowed to set foot in headquarters and live."

"I have to decide right now?" he said. "I thought I had 24 hours."

"Circumstances have changed."

"This whole thing is insane."

"It is what it is." She shrugged.

"You have to give me more information," he pleaded.

She furrowed her brow. "I'm sorry. I can't. All I'll tell you is that it's the best job in the universe, and maybe the most dangerous."

Aaron paced back and forth on the sidewalk. The cynic in him kept insisting he should just walk away and be glad he had escaped with his life intact.

On the other hand, his current life was no picnic. Unpaid bills and desperate loneliness waited for him back at his apartment, and his long term prospects were not great, either. The Chicago Police Department had stained his record with enough black marks that he could never work in law enforcement again, at least not officially. He wasn't interested in doing much else. He certainly didn't have the temperament or skills for an office job.

When he looked at Marina's beautiful face, the decision became easier. He wanted to be with her, even if that meant making insane, uninformed, illogical choices.

"I'm in," he said, "all the way."

"Congratulations." She shook his hand. "Welcome to the Chicago cell of the Gray Spear Society. Never speak our name to outsiders. Now, let's hurry. You drive, and I'll give directions."

They climbed into his car, which was parked on the street.

As he started the engine, he asked, "Where to?"

"Downtown, intersection of Lower Wacker Drive and Wabash."

Aaron drove off, excited that he would finally get some answers. Now that he had made his big decision, he felt more relaxed. Adventure lay ahead, and there was no turning back, so he might as well just enjoy the ride. I'm in the Gray Spear Society, whatever that is.

"Can I ask questions now?"

"Not quite yet," Marina said. "Ethel likes to do the big introduction speeches, and she'll be mad if I steal her thunder. I'll tell you a few things though. As you already know, Ethel is your commander, and she runs the cell. Her title is decurion. Follow her orders and don't talk back. She hates insubordination. Victor, you, and I are called legionnaires. We do all the field work. We're like the secret agents."

"Are those words Roman?"

"Yes. We're an ancient society. Our cell also has some caculas or assistants, who you will meet at headquarters. Technically, they work for you, but I strongly recommend you treat them with respect. Some day you might need them to go the extra mile and a half to save your ass."

"Got it." He nodded.

"That's our entire cell. Don't talk about our business with anybody else, under any circumstances, period. Not your mother, your drinking buddy, or your ex-wife. If you break that rule, the consequences will be worse than you can imagine, and not just for you."

"Are there other cells?"

"The Gray Spear Society protects the entire planet. There are seven divisions, each commanded by a legatus legionis. We're in the North American division, which encompasses the entire continent. There are twenty-two cells in our division, and each cell is responsible for a specific territory. The Chicago territory goes from the top of Minnesota to the bottom of Illinois, including Wisconsin. We're responsible for roughly ten million people. Our tiny team has to protect them all."

This is huge. Aaron thought. "Protect them from what?"

"No more questions!" Marina said. "Ethel will tell you the rest."

Wacker Drive formed the northern and western boundary of downtown Chicago. A road built on pillars, it offered a dramatic view of the Chicago River on one side, and a line of soaring skyscrapers on the other. Nearly every tourist bus made sure to include a trip down Wacker at some point.

Lower Wacker was not so fortunate. It ran directly beneath Wacker for most of its length, and the scenery consisted of concrete supports, steel beams, and historic grime. The river was visible on one side, but not enough to relieve the impression of driving through an endless, gloomy tunnel with too many dark shadows. Local traffic used Lower Wacker as a quick shortcut through a crowded city. It provided access to the basements of many buildings, and there were always delivery trucks parked in odd locations.

Aaron drove down the ramp at Wabash and entered Lower Wacker. The close walls and narrow spaces made him grip the steering wheel tightly. Marina directed him to take an awkward left turn onto a small parking area protected by a chain-link fence. Large signs warned that unauthorized vehicles would be towed immediately. A hand-written note added that they would be dropped into the lake.

Marina got out of the car and opened a sliding garage door. Aaron drove into a concrete room, which contained nothing but oil stains, cobwebs, and dust. She followed him in, closed the door, and checked that it was latched.

"Now what?" he called out. The small room didn't have another door.

The floor silently descended into an underground parking area. As his view opened up, he saw twenty vehicles including cars, vans, light trucks, and a motorcycle. A secret garage, he thought.

He moved his car to an available parking spot. A giant hydraulic cylinder raised the elevator platform until it was flush with the ceiling. He got out of his car and looked around.

Some of the trucks had the names of local delivery companies painted on the sides, and they were clearly meant for undercover work. In the corner, there were tool boxes and paint cans around a service lift. The air was fresh and cool.

"Nice." He nodded. "Private parking, and I mean private." He was already feeling a little better about his decision to join, given what he had seen so far. "But what prevents just anybody from coming down?"

"Our head of security was watching with a hidden camera. He lowered the elevator. This place is an underground fortress, and it's impossible to enter without inside help. We take our security very seriously. Leave your car keys in the ignition in case somebody needs to move your car." There was only one door in the garage, and Marina heaved it open with both hands. "Watertight. We're below the river, so flooding is always a concern."

They walked down a short corridor, through another door, and entered a small, white room with a small, white couch. Directly ahead was a thick window, obviously bulletproof, and a man was sitting behind it. He was medium height with pale skin and blue eyes. Either he was naturally bald, or he had shaved his head until it shone in the fluorescent lights.

"Aaron, meet Jack," Marina said. "Head of security and a very talented gunsmith. If you need a weapon, any weapon at all, he's your man. He's also our cashier."

"Hello, Aaron." Jack's voice came through speakers in the ceiling. "I'm very glad to see you. I've heard all about you. I was hoping you'd join. Go on back. Everybody is waiting in the conference room to greet you."

Jack pressed a button, and a security door buzzed on the right side of the room. Aaron pulled it open.

He stepped into a hallway with a white tiled floor. Exposed pipes and conduits ran overhead. Some cracks in the bare concrete ceiling had been patched with tar. The walls were plain and gray.

They came to another door, a wooden one this time, and Marina ushered him in. The conference room had a single, large oak table and antique chairs upholstered with purple velvet. A bookshelf covered one wall from floor to ceiling, and it was packed with thick books bound in leather. Aaron couldn't read the titles, but they looked old and important.

Six people sat in the chairs. He recognized Ethel and Victor, but the other four were unfamiliar.

"Aaron!" Ethel said in a warm and enthusiastic tone. "I'm really excited you decided to join us. Let me introduce you to the rest of the team. First is Yvonne. She keeps this place clean, and she prepares excellent meals. She's also our emergency nurse. Edward is our technology specialist: computers, communications, that sort of thing. Make sure to get a new phone from him before you leave. Kamal is our lab technician and general expert on scientific matters. He does our forensics. Finally, Nancy handles all of the plumbing, electrical, and carpentry work here. She's never met a tool she doesn't like. You already met Jack in the security booth. Now, empty your pockets onto the table. Let's see everything you have."

Aaron resisted the urge to disobey the strange order. He took out his wallet, cash, and cell phone. After a brief hesitation, he also gave up a knife that was strapped to his ankle.

Edward grabbed the wallet and cell phone.

"Hey!" Aaron said.

"Calm down," Ethel ordered. "Marina, let's hear your report. What did the girl tell you?"

Marina described the conversation with Brittany Waters. Her professional tone and memory for detail impressed Aaron.

Ethel nodded. "Thank you. I'd like to speak with Aaron alone now. Everybody else is dismissed."

The team filed out of the room. Aaron found a chair across the table from her, and while he sat, he took his cash and knife back.

"You have questions?" Ethel said when they were alone.

"Only about a million of them," he said.

She laughed. "We don't have that much time, but I'll try to answer a few. Let's start at the very beginning. God created the universe. He owns the place. Do you accept that?"

"Sure," he said. Where is she going with this?

"Creation wasn't a superfluous action. God has a master plan, and he made the universe for specific reasons. Our existence serves a purpose."

"Which is what?" he said.

"I have absolutely no idea."

He raised his eyebrows.

"I do know there are a lot of rules," she said. "The laws of physics, for example, but it goes beyond that. There are rules governing life and death. Rules about souls. The plan requires that everybody follow the rules. In fact, the rules are so strictly enforced that most people believe it's impossible not to follow them. There is only one game in town, and the only way to leave the table is to die. We call this the natural world. More than 99.9999 percent of the population lives there."

"But not everybody?"

She shook her head. "God has enemies that exist outside the universe. The scientific term is 'external entities.' They attack at the periphery and try to disrupt the plan. The purpose of the Gray Spear Society is to protect Earth from those intrusions. We're God's secret police. It's a deadly war that has been fought since mankind first emerged. I won't sugarcoat it. Members of the Society tend to have short, brutal lives. You probably won't live long enough to get old."

"Why is secrecy so important?" he said.

"Ordinary people have to believe the world is rational and predictable, when that's just an elaborate illusion. God demands it be this way, or the universe won't serve its purpose. We're not part of that illusion. We're unnatural. We operate in the battleground outside the natural world. The Lord needs us to remain hidden so we don't mess up the plan."

Her argument made a crazy kind of sense, but he still had a hard time believing it.

"How did you get all this information?"

"The Society receives communication as necessary," she said. "My spiritual guidance is an example. God sometimes allows me to know His will."

"Are you actually claiming God talks to you?"

"Not in words." Her impossibly dark eyes stared at him.

"Interesting." She must be nuts. He furrowed his brow. "But wait, God is supposed to be omnipotent. How can He have enemies?"

She sighed impatiently. "We've spent enough time on metaphysics. What matters to you are the practical aspects of your job. You're a legionnaire. Your task is to identify and eliminate cases of supernatural interference. We fight God's enemies, and that's all. We don't battle ordinary evil. We don't enforce human laws. Our jurisdiction is very specific. Do you understand?"

"I think so." He nodded.

"And before we act, we collect evidence. We demand proof. This isn't a witch hunt."

"What kind of proof?"

"Let's move to the laboratory where Kamal will explain the science behind our work." She stood up.

They left the conference room through a different door and entered a larger space. Racks of free weights stood in the corner across from a stair climbing machine. There were also pads on the floor for wrestling or martial arts.

They went down a short hallway, turned right, and entered a scientific laboratory. Complex equipment crowded together along the walls, and even more covered a big table in the center. There were a dozen computer screens, many of them turned on. Fans inside the machines produced a constant background hiss.

These guys must have a lot of money if they can afford all this stuff, Aaron thought.

Kamal was a tall, thin man with dark skin. From his features, Aaron guessed he was from southern India. He wore a button-up pinstripe shirt and crisply pressed, brown slacks.

"Kamal," Ethel said, "please explain to Aaron what you do here."

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am. It's simple, really. Every intrusion into the space-time fabric is a high-energy event. There is a characteristic burst of spontaneous positron emission, which is detectable at less than 100 meters, but absorbed by the atmosphere over longer distances. The positrons create a specific type of defect in exposed crystalline materials. We have adapted X-ray diffraction techniques to detect these defect patterns conclusively."

Aaron stared at him. "I have no idea what that means."

"It's like this," Ethel said. "If there is a suspicious incident, we go out and gather physical evidence near where it happened. Kamal analyzes the evidence and tells us whether we need to take action. In the case of the Church of One Soul, the results were positive."

"I'm still confused," Aaron said. "What qualifies as a suspicious incident?"

"Remember how Simon claimed he talked to an angel? We believe that was an external entity."

"The angel was real?"

"He talked to something that wasn't made by God. It was an abomination. You can call it an angel if you want, or a demon. It doesn't matter. Our job is to stop that thing and destroy all evidence of its activities. We will accomplish that objective by any means necessary. Do you understand?"

"Maybe," Aaron said.

"Good enough." Ethel nodded. "Let's meet with Victor and Marina, so we can plan for tomorrow."

"That's it? That's my entire orientation?"

"You'll figure out the rest as you go along."

They left the laboratory and walked through a few more hallways. The décor was the same throughout: white tile floor, concrete roof, and gray walls. Aaron got the sense that headquarters was pretty big, maybe equivalent to an entire floor of a medium size building. He was becoming impressed by the scale of the operation.

"Does anybody live here?" he asked.

"I'm the only permanent resident," Ethel said. "Commanders always live in their own headquarters. Everybody else has apartments nearby. We do have two rooms for guests, though."

They entered a large kitchen with granite counters and an oversized, stainless steel refrigerator. Copper pots hung from the ceiling on racks. For a secret underground lair, the place certainly had all the amenities. Victor and Marina had prepared meat and cheese sandwiches for themselves. They were sitting at an island in the center of the kitchen.

"Here are your orders," Ethel said. "Meet here tomorrow at 0400 hours. Pack body armor and weapons for a heavy assault. Go to the cult compound and capture Simon. We'll need to interrogate him, so take him alive."

"We'll have to fight our way in and out, ma'am," Marina said. "His followers will protect him tenaciously."

"That is understood. Bring as much ammo as you can carry."

"Hey!" Aaron said. "Women and children live there. This battle could turn into a massacre! We have to be surgical."

Ethel gave him a cold stare. "Simon is an enemy of God. Extreme force is authorized."

"But..."

Marina touched his shoulder. "This is your first mission," she said, "so you don't understand. Trust us. We have to hit hard, snatch Simon, and run like hell. If somebody gets in your way, shoot him."

Victor nodded.

"No," Aaron said. "I can't...."

"Aaron!" Ethel said. "This is our way, and centuries of experience tell us it's the best way. The faster we complete the mission, the more lives will be saved in the end. But if you still need to be convinced, I'll make it simpler. Follow my orders, or suffer the consequences of insubordination."

Aaron could tell he wouldn't win the argument. Maybe if he came up with a better plan before tomorrow, Ethel would listen.

"That's all," Ethel said. "Aaron, stay with me. You still need a new phone."

She led Aaron through more gray hallways.

"Hang on," he said, "shouldn't I have an initiation ceremony or something? I thought secret societies always had those."

"We'll do it after the mission is over. Hopefully, tomorrow night. If this drags on...." She grimaced.

They entered a room containing shelves packed with computers, electronic gadgets, and spools of wire. Edward held a screwdriver as he leaned over a complex piece of equipment on a table under a bright light. Small, oddly shaped components lay all around.

He was a black man with short wiry hair and wire-rim glasses. His blue jeans had patches on the knees and tiny burn marks on one thigh, perhaps from bits of hot metal. His green T-shirt had the words "technology: not for wimps" printed on the front.

"Edward," Ethel said, "do you have a spare phone?"

He grabbed a cell phone off of a shelf and handed it to Aaron.

"Hefty," Aaron said.

The phone was about twice as thick as the one he normally carried, and it felt as solid as a brick. The gray metal surface had the rainbow sheen of brushed titanium.

"Shockproof and waterproof," Edward said, "with a super long battery life. The special high gain antenna will pick up a signal almost anywhere, and you can use it all over the world."

"Who pays for the service?"

Edward gave Aaron a funny look. "Don't worry about that, sir. There are lots of special features. The most important is the panic button. If you get into trouble, hold the five down for a few seconds. We'll immediately send a rescue team."

"How will they find me?" Aaron said.

"The phone has three kinds of position tracking, including GPS. Another important feature is encryption. If you call another member of the Society, the connection will be secure. There is no way anybody can tap into your conversation." Edward gave Aaron a paper pamphlet. "Read these instructions and then burn them."

"That phone is your lifeline," Ethel said. "Always keep it with you. Eat with it, sleep with it, and take it into the shower. A legionnaire wouldn't be caught dead without his phone. Let's go."

"Wait," Aaron said. "What about my wallet? My credit cards?"

"Paid off and cancelled," Edward said. "I'm already in the process of destroying your real identity. Nothing in that wallet is useful to you now. Your old life is gone."

"But how am I going to live?" They had no right to erase his life without even bothering to tell him first.

"You'll get a new identity with new credit cards tomorrow, sir. If you want some cash in the meantime, Jack will give you as much as you need."

"What about my apartment?" Aaron said.

"We'll make new living arrangements for you under a fake name. Use your existing apartment for a few more days."

"I have friends, parents."

"You'll never see them again," Ethel said. "It's safer for everybody that way. Trust me."

"But you can't...."

"We can and we did. Deal with it."

Aaron was speechless. Ethel nudged him, and they left the room. She took him back to the garage.

As he entered, he discovered his car was gone. Then he saw it on the service lift, and Nancy was working underneath.

"What are you doing to my car?"

"It desperately needed a complete tune-up, sir," she said. "I'll lube the chassis while I'm at it. This is a classic car, and you should take better care of it."

Nancy had a thick body but she didn't look fat. Frizzy brown hair stuck out from her head in odd ways. She wore blue jean coveralls with grease stains on the front. Her big lips were curved in a pleasant smile.

Aaron couldn't complain about getting his car fixed for free, even though he wished she had asked him first. It seemed that everybody around here assumed his opinion didn't matter.

He turned to Ethel. "How am I getting home?"

"All the cars in this garage are available to you now," she said. "Take any one you want, any time you need it."

"Do I have to fill out a form?"

"No. The keys are in the ignition. Insurance and registration is in the glove compartment."

"Nice." His gaze settled on a black Corvette.

"Before you go, one last thing," she said. "You've already heard it, but it needs to be repeated. Secrecy is essential to us. All our operations are covert. When we leave this headquarters, we become anonymous. I can forgive a few honest mistakes and lapses in judgment. However, at some point..." Suddenly, her hand was on his throat, and her face was very close to his. "...there will be no forgiveness."

He jerked backwards in surprise. She had moved faster than his eyes could follow.

She stepped back. "Get a good night's sleep and be ready for a tough day tomorrow. I'm really glad you're with us."

He didn't know how to respond. He felt anxious, excited, afraid, and intimidated, all at the same time. Either, this was the luckiest day of his life or the worst. He just nodded dumbly.

Chapter Six

Aaron opened the door of his apartment. He was already thinking about the quick dinner he would prepare for himself before going to bed. He had jars of peanut butter and jelly and a loaf of fresh sourdough bread. He might also make a fruit smoothie from some overripe apples and bananas if he felt ambitious.

An unexpected breeze caught his attention before he turned on the light. A window was broken, the one leading to the fire escape. Somebody had entered his apartment.

Old habits made Aaron reach for his holster. Then he remembered he wasn't a cop anymore, and he wasn't carrying a gun. He realized he should've armed himself before leaving headquarters.

He did have his fancy new phone though. Quietly, he held the five key down, hoping that the "panic" button would work as advertised. It was hard to see in the dark, but the layout was standard, so he was confident he had chosen the right button. After a few seconds there was a beep.

Suddenly, the lights came on. Strong hands grabbed him before his eyes had time to adjust, and a cloth gag was stuffed into his mouth. He struggled, but there were at least four attackers and they were big. Very quickly, he was bound to a chair, unable to move his arms or legs.

The intruders wore green sweat suits, had shaved heads, and had green tattoos on their faces. The cult, Aaron thought. He counted six men, but perhaps more were hiding out of sight.

The biggest man punched Aaron hard in the face. Two more stunning blows followed soon after.

The cult member opened his mouth and revealed yellow teeth with a few prominent gaps. "I'm going to take the gag out," he said with a snarl. "Make a sound, and I'll hit you so hard you'll have to eat through a straw. Got it?"

Aaron nodded. The gag came out, and he worked his sore jaw.

"We know you were at the sanctuary during the tear gas attack," the cult member said. "Don't try to lie about that. Brittany told us all about you. Who attacked us?"

Aaron grasped the bleak implications of the last sentence. Brittany had escaped from her parents and had returned to the cult.

He needed a story fast. "The sheriff's department," he said in a confident voice.

"Nobody saw any cops," the cult member said.

"There were plenty hiding in the woods." Aaron nodded to emphasize the point.

He was punched in the gut, driving air from his lungs. He coughed and tasted stomach acid. Fear and anger made him pull against the ropes, but they were wrapped too tightly around his wrists.

"I want the truth."

"OK," Aaron gasped. "Just let me breathe."

He needed time. Hopefully, rescue was on the way, but it would take several minutes at best, if the signal had been received at all. Stay positive, he thought.

"There is a folder in my files," Aaron said. "It will explain everything."

"Where?" The cult member looked towards the corner of the loft containing the desk and file cabinets.

"Let me get it for you."

"No way."

"There are six of you and one of me," Aaron said. "What are you worried about?"

The thug shook his head.

"Do you want to spend hours picking through my files trying to find the right one? I have thousands. If you untie me, we can get this done in a few minutes. Nice and quiet. You can just take the folder and go. It will answer all your questions."

He appeared to think about it.

"I'm just a private eye, not a hero," Aaron said. "I won't sacrifice my life for a client. Come on. I'll do whatever you want. Just don't hurt me again."

Finally, the thug nodded, and his friends untied Aaron. Aaron stood up and rubbed his sore wrists.

"Get moving!"

"Sure," Aaron said. "No problem."

He walked over to his office area. He had purchased several large cabinets with the expectation of filling them with important case files. The sad reality was that he had barely filled two drawers so far. Nonetheless, he made a show of opening those drawers and searching through folders. He started at the front and worked his way to the back, taking time to read the label of each one.

"Hurry up!" the thug said.

"I'm looking. It's in here. I'll find it."

Aaron reached the end of the files. He frowned, sighed, and started over at the beginning.

"You have one minute," the thug growled.

"Oh, I know where it is! On my nightstand."

Aaron kept a snub-nosed revolver in his nightstand. He walked quickly in that direction while trying to appear calm. The cult members just watched. He leapt the last few paces, opened the drawer, and reached inside, but the gun was gone. Where is it? he thought.

"Looking for this?" The thug took the revolver out of the pocket of his green sweatshirt.

Aaron's shoulders sagged. "You can't blame a guy for trying."

The cult members approached Aaron menacingly.

He noticed his front door was slowly and silently opening. He threw a lamp at a wall to create a momentary distraction, and it hit with a satisfying crash.

Victor and Marina walked into the apartment. Both carried semi-automatic pistols with suppressors, and they started shooting at once. The distinctive click and hiss of silenced weapons spurred Aaron into motion. He dove behind his bed, the nearest available cover.

"It's over," Victor said just seconds later. "You can come out."

Aaron cautiously stood up. Six bodies lay on the floor with wounds in their heads, and blood was leaking into his fairly new carpet. As far as he could tell, not one bullet had missed its target. Very nice shooting, he thought.

"Are you injured?" Marina said.

He shook his head. "Just roughed up."

"What were they doing here?"

"Brittany told them I was at the compound during the tear gas attack. They wanted information."

She nodded. "So Brittany escaped back to the cult."

"I appreciate being rescued," he said, "and you certainly did an effective job, but did you have to kill all of them?"

"What else would we do?" She tilted her head and seemed confused.

"Arrest them?" He shrugged.

Victor laughed out loud. "That's funny. You should be packing a suitcase."

"Why?" Aaron said.

"You're leaving in five minutes and never coming back. This location is unsafe."

"What about my stuff? My whole life is here. What about the dead bodies?"

"You have four minutes and forty-five seconds left. Move!"

Aaron wasn't about to argue with a man who had just committed multiple murders in cold blood. Aaron grabbed a suitcase from under his bed and began to fill it up.

Meanwhile, Marina stood guard by the door. Victor used his phone to report their status to Ethel.

"Ethel has a question," he called out. "How did the cult know where you live? Did you tell Brittany?"

"No," Aaron said. "I didn't even give her my last name. Only her parents knew..." He had a sick feeling. "We need to get over to their house right away!"

He tried to hurry his packing, but it was hard to know what to bring. Would he ever have a chance to get more of his stuff? He froze for a moment, indecisive about what to grab next.

"Don't worry about what to pack," Marina said. "You'll get the money to buy new clothes and anything else you need. Just bring enough for the next few days."

He focused on personal mementos that could never be replaced. He took a box of medals and awards that he had earned as a police officer, even though the memories were bittersweet. There was also the first black belt he had ever worn. He wanted some of his family photos, but the frames were bulky, so he was forced to settle for just the three most important. He desperately wished he had more time.

A couple of minutes later, Victor announced it was time to leave. On the way out of the apartment, Aaron gave it one last look. He liked the place and was very sorry to lose it.

Aaron immediately drove his car to the Waters' house, fearing what he might find there. Marina accompanied him, but Victor went back to his own home to get some sleep. They still had a meeting scheduled for very early in the morning.

Aaron and Marina arrived at the Waters' house. Police cars with flashing lights were parked on the street in front, and there was police tape across the front door.

"I'll check it out," Marina said as she stepped out of the car.

"I'll go with you," Aaron said.

"Information gathering is my specialty, and your face looks like raw beef. Stay out of sight."

She approached the nearest police officer and started chatting with him. Aaron was amazed at the transformation in her body language. Suddenly, she was a sweet young woman with a coy smile. She kept averting her eyes and covering her mouth as if intimidated by the cop's potent manliness. He puffed out his chest proudly as he explained the situation to her in serious tones. She gasped with an expression of horror, and he put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her. Aaron shook his head. Just a little while ago, the same woman had laid waste to a room full of thugs.

She returned and sat in the car. "Brittany's parents are gone. There is evidence of forced entry. The police believe they were kidnapped."

"Do they know the cult is responsible?" Aaron said.

"No, and we won't tell them."

"Are you kidding? The police need that information!"

She grabbed his arm, and her black fingernails scratched his skin. "This is a Spears investigation. We will keep the authorities out of it."

"Why?" he said. "Is that official policy?"

"We're already racking up a body count, and it will get worse. Our missions always get very messy towards the end. If the cops are involved, they'll just get butchered in the cross-fire."

"What about Frank and Caroline Waters? If we don't tell the police about the cult, then it's our responsibility to rescue them."

"Fine, but they're a secondary objective. Simon is our top priority. Once we take him out, the rest should fall into place."

He shook his head. "I don't like this. When I was a cop, we used to fight over jurisdiction with the state police, county, and the feds. Politics and bragging rights always got in the way of good police work. Sounds like you're the same way."

"No, you don't understand." She gave him a serious look. "I'm trying to limit casualties. We are creatures of death, and anybody who crosses our path gets killed. Talk to Ethel. Maybe she can explain it to you. Just take me back to your apartment building so I can get my car. I want to go home and sleep while I still have a few hours left. You'll stay in a guest room in headquarters until we find a safe place for you to live."

* * *

Aaron walked into the same small, white room that he had entered earlier that day. Jack still sat behind the bulletproof glass, light shining from his bald head. Does he ever sleep? Aaron wondered.

"Back so soon, sir?" Jack said with a smile. "You just can't stay away. You should ask Yvonne to put some ice on that face before the swelling gets any worse. Maybe some ointment, too."

"I'll do that," Aaron said.

Jack pressed a button and the door buzzed. Aaron went through.

Ethel met him in the hallway beyond. "Did you get any dinner?"

"No," Aaron said.

"I already asked Yvonne to reheat some leftovers for you."

They walked through the facility and arrived at the kitchen. Yvonne was scooping lasagna into a bowl, and she acknowledged Aaron with a nod. She was a small, thin woman with curly blond hair. She wore a gray dress, almost the same color as the walls, and white tennis shoes. Her small nose was slightly bent, as if it had been broken at some point. She had a timid posture, a stark contrast to Ethel, who projected confidence at all times.

While the lasagna was heating in a microwave oven, Yvonne put ice in a towel and held it against Aaron's face. She had a very gentle touch.

"That feels great," he said. "Thanks."

She flashed a hesitant smile.

He turned to Ethel. "Frank and Caroline Waters were kidnapped by the cult. We need to rescue them."

"When there is a convenient opportunity to do so," Ethel said, "we will. Don't get distracted from the mission."

"Marina gave me the same answer."

"Good. And you need to start addressing me as ma'am. I'm your superior officer."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

Yvonne served him the lasagna, and the aroma suggested he was in for a treat. The rich, cheesy flavor of the first bite confirmed his expectation. The noodles were tender without being soft, and there was just the right amount of tomato sauce.

"Delicious," he said. "Yvonne, did you make this?"

Yvonne nodded. "Thank you." She smiled a bit longer this time.

Ethel just stood and watched Aaron.

"Why can't we tell the police that the cult kidnapped the Waters, ma'am?" he said.

"Because God doesn't like outsiders handling His dirty laundry."

"I don't understand."

Ethel leaned forward. "You will."

"Marina said we're creatures of death."

"We're unnatural. Toxic. When normal people come into our world, they die."

He didn't believe her, but he wasn't going to argue with those dark eyes. He took another bite of lasagna.

"As long as you're going to watch me eat," he said, "it would be nice if you told me a little about yourself. I don't even know your last name, ma'am."

She furrowed her brow. "I've been a member of the Society for twenty-eight years."

"What were you before?"

"Before the Gray Spear Society? That was a long time ago." She sighed. "The Army trained me to be a combat medic. After I left the military, I spent several years in the Peace Corps. They sent me to Africa to work in medical clinics. I almost died of malaria a couple of times, so I decided to come home to Chicago, where mosquitoes die in the winter. I became a nurse in an emergency room."

"How did the Spears find you?" he asked.

"One day a man with gunshot wounds came in, and I saved his life. We talked. After he recovered, he offered me the best job ever."

"I bet you've seen some things."

"Finish your dinner," she said. "You have a long day tomorrow with an early start."

He finished the delicious pasta.

She showed him to the guest quarters. The large room had a full-sized bed, a dresser, and a free-standing wardrobe. There was a bathroom in the back, which already had clean towels. He dropped his heavy suitcase on the tile floor.

"Good night." She closed the door.

Chapter Seven

"Is everybody ready?" Victor whispered.

Aaron and Marina nodded, although in Aaron's case, it was grudgingly. He still disagreed strongly with the plan.

Like his colleagues, he wore full combat gear, including a Kevlar helmet and high grade body armor. He held a Heckler & Koch G36 assault rifle with a suppressor and an oversized magazine. Eight extra magazines were on a belt strapped across his chest. Holsters on each hip held matching Beretta 9mm pistols. Smoke and tear gas canisters were stuffed into pockets on his vest. The gray and black camouflage scheme was the same as the other night though.

Victor had wanted even more firepower, so he had a combat shotgun on his back. With his huge frame and freakish muscles, he looked like a comic book character. Aaron couldn't help but feel a little intimidated.

"Are we really sure this is the best way?" he whispered.

"Just follow the plan," Victor replied. "Hit them hard, grab Simon, and get out."

Aaron, Victor, and Marina were quietly approaching the front gate of the cult compound. They wore night vision goggles. The sun would rise in a half-hour, and it was still dark.

They crept forward a few more yards and stopped behind some bushes.

Aaron peered between the leaves. He expected to see guards in front of the impressive steel gate, but there was nobody in sight. Stranger still, the gate hung open.

Cautiously, he stood up. "Where are they?"

"I don't know," Marina said, "but don't relax. Let's go in."

The three of them stayed low and quiet as they entered the compound. The lights were off everywhere and no guards patrolled the grounds. The only sound was the soft buzz of insects in the forest.

"We have to search the place," Victor said.

They went through the wooden buildings one at a time. They found just a few pieces of old furniture and some loose trash. The cult had moved out entirely. Finally, the team stopped near the temple in the center. Morning had come, and they didn't need their goggles anymore.

Aaron couldn't contain his relief. "I guess we won't commit mass murder today," he said. "Darn it."

"Don't be so pleased," Marina said coldly. "This mission just got harder, and the longer it takes, the more people will die."

"Why is that?"

"God's enemies always play dirty. We have to find these jokers fast."

Aaron didn't really believe "God's enemies" had any part in this, but he kept his doubts to himself. Perhaps he would change his mind when he had more evidence.

"Then we need to do some investigating," he said. "I have reliable sources in the city."

"I have contacts, too," Marina said. "We'll stick together since this is your first mission, and you need supervision. Victor?"

"I prefer to work alone," Victor said. "I know some places in town where I can get answers if I ask questions the right away." He cracked his scarred knuckles.

* * *

On the way back to the city, they stopped by a department store, where Marina bought Aaron more clothing. She wanted to make sure he had everything he might need for undercover work. By the time she was done piling up pants, shirts, and shoes, the bill totaled two thousand dollars, but she didn't blink. She paid for everything with a gold credit card that didn't have her real name on it.

"Is that card stolen?" he asked as they left the store together.

"No," she said. Both of them carried a shopping bag in each hand, and she was struggling with her share of the heavy load. "It's attached to one of my cover identities."

"Who pays it off?"

"The Society, of course. Business expenses."

"Do you have a limit?"

She shook her head. "No hard limit. We just have to keep a low profile. No extravagant purchases that might attract attention."

"What about expense reports?" he said. "Approval forms?"

"Ethel checks the bank statements. She'll tell you if she doesn't like what she sees."

He smiled. This was sounding like a good deal.

"Don't worry about money," she said. "Just spend what you need to spend. As long as you can justify it, you'll never have a problem."

"But where does the money come from?"

"That part is a bit mysterious. Maybe Ethel can tell you."

They were using a brown van as transportation for this mission. Aaron made sure nobody was looking when he opened the rear doors. Inside were all the illegal weapons they had taken to the cult encampment. He and Marina added the bags of new clothes to the pile.

"We should get this gear back to headquarters," he said. "What if a cop gets curious about what's in the van?"

"Let's do some legwork first. I want to have good news to report before I see Ethel again. You pick the first destination. Where are we going? What should we wear?"

"Lincoln Park, just north of downtown. Very casual."

She climbed into the van.

"You're changing here?"

She pointed to a gray suitcase. "I always bring plenty of undercover outfits, just in case." She closed the doors.

He waited outside the van, smiling at shoppers as they walked past. The sun was brutal, and the air was thick with humidity. He hated summers in Chicago much more than the winters. When it was cold, he could wear more or less clothing as needed to make himself comfortable, but heat like today was just miserable.

Marina came out of the van wearing blue jeans and a plain white shirt with short sleeves. The jeans did very nice things to her already shapely backside, and a snug belt enhanced the effect.

A few odd bulges showed where weapons were hidden. He was learning that legionnaires were always well armed, especially when on a mission. It was a policy he liked a lot. He had two guns concealed under his own clothes, and Marina had told him even that was insufficient.

He took his turn inside the van. Moving within the cramped and crowded space tested his flexibility. He put on a pair of blue slacks that he found among his new clothes. He was already wearing a green polo shirt, and he decided to keep it. He emerged back into the sunlight.

"What sort of place are we going to?" Marina said.

"A bookstore."

"To buy a book?"

"Not exactly." He shook his head.

* * *

Big John's Adult Books and Novelties was tucked away in an alley off of Lincoln Avenue. The sign was just visible from the sidewalk, easily missed if one didn't look in the right direction. Black paint covered all the windows.

"A sex shop?" Marina said.

Aaron's face grew warm. "No better place to find dirt."

They went inside the store. Most of the shelf space was given over to videos, not books, and they were categorized by topic. Chicago was a sophisticated city. The topics covered the whole spectrum of human sexuality and included a few that even he found disturbing. There were also plenty of "novelties," which generally required batteries, ample lubrication, or both. The air smelled faintly of bleach.

Aaron ignored the items on display, and he walked past the coin operated video booths. He led Marina through a door marked "EMPLOYEES ONLY" in the back. They climbed a flight of stairs.

There was an office on the second floor, and across from it, a tiny apartment. The door to the apartment was wide open. I'm lucky, Aaron thought. She's available right now. He entered the apartment without knocking. Inside he found a skinny woman in pink lingerie sitting on a king sized bed. Her long red hair was obviously a cheap wig. She immediately stood and closed the door behind him and Marina.

"Aaron!" the woman said with a smile. "It's been months! I thought maybe you forgot about Candy."

"I could never forget you."

"Who's the chick?" Candy looked at Marina. "Will this be a threesome? I'll have to charge extra."

"We're here on business," Aaron said quickly.

"So am I," Candy replied.

"Not that kind of business. I'm looking for information."

"You still a private dick?"

"That's right." He nodded.

"Well, questions cost money, too. I don't do nothin' for free."

Marina took a wad of cash from her pocket and peeled off two twenties. Candy used her finger to signal for more, so Marina doubled the payment, and this sum seemed to satisfy the prostitute.

"The Church of One Soul," Aaron said. "Ever hear of them?"

"No." Candy shook her head.

"Freaky guys in green robes with green tattoos on their faces."

"Oh, yeah! They give out pamphlets on street corners. I seen them around. Always talking about a guy named Simon."

"That's right." He smiled. "What else can you tell me?"

"Hmm." She squeezed her eyes shut, revealing an abundance of purple eye shadow. "They deal on the side. Better than begging for money, I guess." She winked.

"Drugs? What kind?"

"Horse."

Heroin, Aaron thought.

"Problem is," Candy added, "the local businessmen don't like no competition. Street corners are private property. But them green freaks are hard to push out."

"They fight back?"

"Old school. They come at night and take people away, nice and quiet. No dead bodies for the cops to find."

He glanced at Marina to see how she was reacting. Her expression was entirely calm and detached, as if this kind of thing was just another day at the office for her.

"Do you remember anything else?" he said to Candy. "It's important."

"Why?"

"If you want to take a turn asking questions, then give some money back."

She shook her head. "I don't remember nothin' else."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Come back any time." She thrust her large breasts at him. "The candy store is always open."

"I'll keep that in mind," Aaron said.

He and Marina walked out.

After they left the store, she said, "I have a problem with your behavior in there."

"What?" he said. "You don't like prostitutes?"

They were walking down the street in the oppressive heat of the day. Parking spaces were very hard to find around here, so getting back to the van would take a few minutes. Aaron thought about stopping for a cold drink at one of the many little stores on Lincoln Avenue.

"The whore was not the issue," Marina said, "and she was helpful. Now we know the cult uses drug sales to finance its operations. The problem is she knows your real name and has a personal relationship with you. You can't involve somebody like that in an investigation."

"I just asked a few questions."

"That's fine, as long as you use a false identity. Aaron Glade doesn't exist anymore. Your past life is gone."

"But I don't have a false identity," he said.

"Which is why I'll ignore this one infraction, but next time you won't have an excuse."

"That seems like a ridiculous position. My past life can't just go away. A man should be able to talk to his own parents."

"If you want to put their lives at risk," she said, "go ahead. Otherwise, stay the hell away from them."

They came to an ice cream shop that was too tempting to pass up. Aaron quickly went inside and ordered chocolate for himself, and Marina asked for strawberry sherbet. With ice cream cones in hand, they continued the long trek back to the van.

"I don't get why secrecy is so damn important," he said. "This paranoia is out of control."

"Didn't Ethel explain our mission to you?"

"Protect the Earth. Fight God's enemies."

"Yes," she said, "but God supports us out of necessity, not because we're part of His original design. We're actually an embarrassment to Him." She held up her hand. "Do you see these fingernails? I'm a monster."

"Oh." He furrowed his brow.

"We stay out of the light, like cockroaches. We disguise our activities. And after the mission ends, we hide in our secret lairs. 'Paranoia' is what God demands of us. When we're not working, we must not mingle with His beautiful children. We must not disrupt His elegant plan."

He nodded slowly. The Spears philosophy was extreme, but at least it was consistent.

"By the way," he said, "I don't think you're a monster."

"Thanks, but you just met me. Give it time."

Aaron took a deep breath. "Ethel thinks she receives messages from God."

"She does," Marina said flatly.

He stared at her. "You actually believe that? Is she some kind of prophet?"

"No, she's just a soldier with a lot of seniority. I've had more than a dozen encounters with the Big Guy. One of the perks of being a Spear is you occasionally meet your Boss. We're outside the natural world, so the usual rules don't apply. He can talk to us directly without it being such a big deal."

"Are you telling me I'll meet God?"

She nodded. "If Ethel is right about you, you'll meet Him many times."

They finally reached the brown van.

Marina climbed into the driver's seat. "My turn to pick a destination."

He sat in the passenger seat. "Where?"

"A church. We'll need nicer clothes."

* * *

Aaron and Marina stood before the Church of the Healing Trinity. It occupied a retail space next to a karate studio in a strip mall. Inspirational sayings, such as "God Heals" and "Jesus Can Cure You," were painted in bold script on the plate glass windows. Given the context, they were less than convincing.

"They know me as a police detective named Withers," Marina said. "You'll be a cop, too. Pick a name."

"Uh, Stan Stone," Aaron said.

"Sounds like a trashy detective novel, but it will do."

She led him inside. Five closely spaced pews faced a small altar on a pedestal. No sermon was in progress, and some men were sleeping on the pews. Their sharp body odor made Aaron breathe through his mouth instead of his nose.

Marina knocked on the back wall near the altar. A moment later, a black man in purple religious vestments came through a door. He had sparse gray hair and glasses with thick black rims.

"Detective Withers," the preacher said, "even though you never bring me good news, your lovely face is always welcome. It's been a long while."

She smiled. "I missed your silver tongue. This is Sergeant Stone."

"Glad to meet you." The preacher shook Aaron's hand. "I'm Reverend Anthony. How can I help you?"

"We're investigating the Church of One Soul."

The reverend's cheery smile vanished. "I know about them."

"There are allegations they are distributing narcotics."

"I heard those rumors, too." He nodded. "Makes sense."

"What do you mean?" Marina said.

"Zealots always believe the ends justify the means. They commit heinous acts, even murder, and then argue it's all for the good. Makes me sick."

Aaron looked at her to check her reaction. The reverend's complaint might as easily apply to the Gray Spear Society.

She just nodded in a professional manner. "That may be true," she said, "but I'm here to investigate a crime. What can you tell me about the narcotics?"

"This 'church' has people all over the city wearing those ugly green robes. They never stop talking about Simon, as if he were the true Savior." The reverend pretended to spit at the floor. "It's the perfect cover for drug dealers. If you make a big enough donation, you get a special bonus with your pamphlet."

"Slick. Deals can go down in broad daylight. Have you actually seen a suspicious transaction?"

"No," he said, "but I hear things."

"Can you give us an address where they do a lot of business?" Marina asked.

"Sorry, no. I'm not a customer."

She sighed, obviously frustrated.

"Then maybe you can give us the name of somebody who can help us," Aaron said.

The reverend rubbed his chin slowly. "There is a dealer who got out of county jail a month ago. Craig Parker. He's trying real hard to get his life straight, but he still knows the business. If you tell him I sent you, he might cooperate. He trusts me."

"We'll do that. Thank you. The department appreciates good citizens like you."

"Just bust those a-holes. That's all the thanks I want."

"Don't worry," Marina said. "We'll get them off the streets. All of them."

She and Aaron left the church and walked back to the van. He was glad to breathe fresh air, even if it was hot and humid.

"Call Ethel," Marina ordered. "Update her on the situation, and ask her to locate Craig Parker."

He took his bulky phone out of his pocket and stared at it. "What's her number?"

"All our important numbers are on speed dial, and you have to unlock the phone first. Did you read the instructions?"

"Well, I was planning to do it after..."

She rolled her eyes and showed him how to call Ethel. A little embarrassed, he put the phone against his ear.

"Hello?" Ethel answered.

"Aaron here. We have new information, ma'am. The Church of One Soul is selling heroin. The people on the street corners hand out more than just pamphlets."

"That's useful to know."

"We need to find a guy named Craig Parker. He recently spent some time in Cook County Jail."

"Hang on," she said. "I'll give the name to Edward."

Aaron heard her walking and talking in the background.

"He's working on it," she said after a minute. "By the way, I sent a cleanup crew to your apartment."

"To get rid of the bodies?"

"To get rid of everything. Every speck of blood, every hair follicle, and every fingerprint will be removed. The crew will also pack and store your belongings."

"Do I still have to pay rent?" Aaron said. "I signed a lease, ma'am."

"Don't worry about it. We also took care of your many parking tickets and delinquent bills. You were in some financial difficulty."

These people are cleaning up my entire life, he thought. "Thanks."

"Edward just gave me a printout," Ethel said. "Craig Parker is working as a salesman at Top Sports Shoe Emporium on Michigan Avenue."

"We're on our way. Bye."

* * *

Top Sports Shoe Emporium was a monument to overpriced athletic footwear. Aaron looked up at three stories of almost seamless glass façade. Through the windows he saw hundreds of customers browsing countless shoes. So many tourists were coming and going that there was a traffic jam at the front door.

"We'll stick with the same covers," Marina said. "My name is?"

"Uh... Detective Withers," Aaron said.

"Right, and you're Sergeant Stone."

"What if he asks to see a badge?"

She took a wallet from her pocket and flipped it open. There was a badge and a Chicago Police Department identification card. They looked completely authentic.

"Deception is our business," she said. "Let's go in."

Finding Craig Parker among the dozens of salespeople took a few minutes, but eventually, Aaron and Marina located him on the third floor. His black skin was pockmarked with acne scars. He wore a blue football jersey with the number 22 on it.

"Mr. Parker?" Marina said. "We need a few minutes of your time."

Parker was busy helping a kid put on a pair of shoes. "Please wait your turn, miss," he said.

"We're the police."

He stood up so suddenly he almost fell backwards. "This is a bad time. I'm working."

"Is there a quiet place where we can talk?" she said.

He quickly led them to a storage room in back. Shelves held thousands of boxes of shoes. Aaron could smell the rubber and glue, and he wrinkled his nose.

"What do you want from me?" Parker said. "I don't need this harassment. I had a hard enough time getting this job."

"The Church of One Soul," Marina said. "Ever heard of them?"

He shook his head.

"Green robes and facial tattoos."

"Oh, yeah. We call them the Ones."

"They're selling narcotics," she said. "We want to know where."

"I don't know nothin'." He shrugged.

"Reverend Anthony sent us to you. He told us you still have connections in the business."

"I'm out of that life."

"Listen, Parker." Aaron poked the young man in the chest. "If we have to come back tomorrow, we will. But next time, we'll ask questions in front of all the customers."

Parker cowered. "I really need this job."

"And we need information."

"I could make a few calls after I leave work."

Marina handed a business card to him. "Call me tonight. Understand? Not tomorrow. Not next week. Tonight!"

With his eyes downcast, he shoved the card into his pocket.

Aaron and Marina left the store. Even though the sun was half-way down, the heat was still oppressive. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

"We have a few hours to kill," she said. "Let's head back to headquarters and empty out the van. Those weapons really should be put away. Then we'll ask Ethel to give you another orientation lecture."

"I need one?" he said.

"Desperately."

Chapter Eight

Aaron stood with Ethel in the main conference room, which also served as the library for the Chicago cell.

"Do you see these books?" She pointed at the many leather-bound volumes on the shelves. "They are our tabelli. Our secret history."

He moved in for a closer look. Every book had a date in Latin written on the side. He took one at random and flipped it open. The contents were also in Latin, printed in very dark ink on thick paper that felt like fine leather. He guessed the book was made to last hundreds of years.

"Who wrote these, ma'am?" he said.

"I report to a legatus legionis, who is responsible for all of North America. Twice a year all the legati in the world meet to discuss the latest news and make policy decisions. The tabella are the transcripts of those meetings, plus anything else they want to publish. Important missions are usually described in detail. Every cell in the entire Society keeps a complete set."

He put the book back. "There are a lot of books."

"Three hundred," she said. "Our greatest triumphs and worst failures are here. According to legend, if you read every book and understand every word, you will gain divine wisdom."

"I don't know Latin."

"You could learn."

"But I'm confused," he said. "You told me you work for God. Doesn't He make all the policy decisions?"

"He provides guidance, but we must work out the details. That is His way. Let's go to my office."

Aaron had never seen Ethel's office, and he was intensely curious. She led him through the gray halls to a door made of beautifully carved oak. She used an antique iron key to unlock the door.

Inside the office were several glass display cases containing artifacts. A large painting of a man or a woman in formal gray robes hung above each case. A granite desk with a polished top surface occupied the center of the spacious room.

Ethel pointed at the paintings. "My predecessors. All of them suffered a violent death. Their stern faces remind me to cherish my fragile life and always watch my back."

Aaron walked over to one of the display cases. It contained a rusty sword with a jeweled hilt, a matched pair of antique muskets, a human skull with almond shaped eye sockets, and many other peculiar items.

"Trophies," she said. "Most are very old, but there are a few recent additions." She opened a case and took out a large pair of wire cutters with highly polished blades. "Do you remember the serial killer who called himself the 'Devil's Shepherd?'"

"Sure. He cut off the fingers of little children. I was a rookie cop at the time. The police never caught him."

"We did." She smiled. "These nippers were his favorite toy."

"Did you kill him?"

"We interrogated him first, one finger, toe, and testicle at a time." Her smile became cruel, and she snapped the cutters closed. "And we had many, many questions. We like to understand our enemies before we kill them."

He shuddered. "Sometimes I wonder if you really are the good guys."

"Don't be confused. We are not the good guys at all. We're the sharp end of divine retribution, the bloody sword the Lord wields in anger. Being nice is not our mission. If you don't know what I mean, read the Old Testament."

"Marina mentioned Sodom and Gomorrah."

"I've seen events like that with my own eyes. Horrors that would keep you awake for a week. But enough of that. Do you want to have a little fun? Let's spar." Ethel raised her eyebrows. "I need exercise."

"Martial arts? Sure." I guess the orientation lecture is over.

* * *

Aaron and Ethel stood at opposite corners of a blue mat in the workout area. She wore a white karate uniform with a gray belt while he had only a blue sweat suit. His own uniform was packed with his belongings. Jack, Yvonne, and Edward had taken a break from their duties to watch the match. Aaron felt pressure to look good in front of them. Technically, he was their boss and wanted to earn their respect.

"If you hold back, I'll feel insulted," Ethel said. "That's fair warning. Come at me with everything you got."

Aaron cautiously approached in a defensive stance. He had seen enough of her skills to take her seriously as an opponent, but he still felt uncomfortable attacking her. She was more than twenty years older and much lighter than he was. Even with her supernatural speed and reflexes, it didn't seem like a fair fight.

He feinted with his right hand and followed with a kick to her midsection. Not his most powerful attack, but it was usually effective. He glimpsed a small black foot coming straight at his forehead. The next instant he was sitting on the ground, his head spinning.

"I warned you not to insult me," she said.

He climbed slowly to his feet. The fairness of the fight was no longer in doubt.

She had phenomenal speed but lacked brute strength. If he could force her into grappling with him, he would have the advantage.

He launched a flurry of punches and kicks that he hoped would soften her up, or at least knock her off balance. It was like hitting fog. She always dodged or twisted out of the way at the last instant. When her counter-attack came, it was lightning fast, but this time he was ready. He grabbed her wrist when her fist was only inches from his face. His feeling of satisfaction didn't last long though, because her foot exploded into his gut. He dropped to his knees and tried not to throw up.

"Move aside, junior," Victor said. "I'll show you how it's done."

Victor stood behind Aaron, and the big man was shirtless. He wore only white pants. Swollen muscles were stretched across his enormous chest. He was the most physically intimidating man Aaron had ever met.

Aaron crawled off the mat and onto the cold concrete floor.

"Obviously, you can't beat her with finesse," Victor said. "Tricks won't work since she knows them all. That leaves one option."

"What?" Aaron said.

Victor spread his arms wide and threw himself at Ethel. He was like an avalanche of muscle falling on her head. The attack was utterly reckless, and she made him pay for it with rapid-fire blows to his body. The hits sounded like a jackhammer. Despite the intense pain he was certainly feeling, he chased her around the room. Eventually, he trapped her in a corner, but she just slipped between his legs like a little girl.

"That's enough," she declared. "Let's hear your report."

There were red marks all over his chest and legs, which would probably turn into purple bruises tomorrow. He had taken a real beating. Aaron was stunned at the outcome of the fight.

"A lot of dead ends so far, ma'am," Victor said. "The cult has gone into hiding. The tear gas must've really scared them, or maybe Simon's 'angel' told him we're on his trail. I did learn they sell a lot of heroin."

"Aaron and Marina made the same discovery. We just have to follow the drug trail back to Simon."

"It could work."

"It needs to," she said, "because we don't have a plan B. Aaron and Marina will find the heroin, while you keep looking for other leads. Eat something, and get back out there."

Victor nodded. "Yes, ma'am." He left.

"Edward," Ethel said, "is Aaron's new identity ready?"

Edward nodded. "All set, ma'am."

"Then please give it to him."

Aaron followed Edward back to the computer and communications room. The shelves were so full of stuff that Aaron wondered how Edward kept track of it all. He probably had enough random parts to build twenty computers. There were also satellite dishes, radios, power converters, batteries, and even stereo components.

Edward searched his workbench until he found a leather wallet. He checked it. "Oh, wait, this is mine. Where did I put yours?" He searched some more until he found a second wallet under a manual. He gave it to Aaron.

"You have trouble with wallets?" Aaron said.

"I'm here all the time. I never need to carry one," Edward said. "This is your first new identity, so we made it easy for you, sir. You're a private eye named Alex Dempster."

Aaron opened the wallet and found a driver's license, a social security card, business cards, credit cards, insurance cards, a health club membership, and so on. He inspected the identification carefully and couldn't find a flaw.

"These forgeries are top quality," Aaron said. "Who made them?"

"Thanks. I did. There is more." Edward gave a manila envelope to Aaron.

He opened it and found a birth certificate, diplomas, insurance papers, bank statements, and a check book.

"The checking account has about three thousand dollars," Edward said, "and the savings has about eight thousand. It's your money to spend."

"Wow," Aaron said. "And the credit cards?"

"The Society pays all the bills."

"Do I have a budget?"

"No. Just don't be stupid, sir. That means no sports cars, jewelry, gambling, or anything like that. Keep a low profile."

"A very low profile," Ethel said as she entered the room. She had changed into a gray dress and flat shoes. "Spend exactly what you need to spend and no more. Be discrete at all times."

"What about the bank accounts I already have?" Aaron said.

"Forget about them. If you need to buy something, do it as Dempster. Food, clothes, entertainment, whatever. Aaron Glade cannot spend another penny in public for the rest of his life. Understand?"

He nodded. "But where does all the money come from, ma'am?"

"The cell in Manhattan has a team of bankers. They manage the accounts for all the other cells in North America. The money comes from them."

"And where do they get it?"

"From God, I suppose," she said. "The details of that process have never been disclosed to me."

"You're not curious?" he said.

"I'm the commander of Chicago. It's my job to worry about what happens in my territory and nothing else. As long as my colleagues in Manhattan continue to supply the money I need when I need it, I don't care how they do it. It's probably safer if I don't know. There are layers of secrets even within the Society."

Marina rushed into the room. "There you are! I've been looking for you, Aaron."

"What's up?" Aaron said.

"I got information from Craig Parker. We need to stake out a bus station on the south-side. Have you eaten?"

"Not yet."

"There's food in the kitchen. We leave in fifteen minutes. Eat quickly."

* * *

Aaron and Marina sat in a brown sedan across the street from a bus station. The station was a long, narrow building with a wide parking area. Tall steel poles and cables supported the curved roof, giving it an interesting architecture. Passengers entered the building from one end and waited inside for the buses which could park in many spots along the sides of the building.

Aaron's attention was not focused on the bus station itself but rather on two men standing on the corner. They wore the characteristic forest green robes and green facial tattoos of the Church of One Soul. They were giving away single roses, white or red, in exchange for donations.

"Seems innocent enough," Aaron said.

"Parker told me the cult sells more drugs here than anywhere else in the city," Marina said.

He watched the men closely.

"How did the orientation lecture with Ethel go?"

"It was short," he said. "Afterwards, we sparred, and she kicked my ass."

"Ethel isn't much of a communicator. To be honest, she isn't really a good manager at all. Too impatient and insensitive."

"What is she good at?"

"Killing." Marina furrowed her brow.

Aaron nodded. "I believe it. Even Victor couldn't beat her. It was the craziest thing. His thighs are bigger than her chest, but he got all the fight he could deal with. He'll be bruised for a week."

"Bruises?" She glanced at him. "That's like a tender kiss for her. Just wait until you see her fight with her machetes. She's a walking food processor."

He grunted. "Are you good at killing? How many people have you killed?"

"Lots."

"How do you feel about that?"

"It's not something I brag about," she said. "Can we change the subject?"

He took out his new wallet, the one for "Alex Dempster." Aaron's old wallet was gone. He carried nothing now that might give away his true identity. He examined his new driver's license carefully, memorizing details. Alex Dempster is 32 years old. His birthday is January 7...

After a few minutes of silently repeating the information, he grew bored and asked, "How many identities do you have?"

"Three that I use regularly," Marina said. "You met Gretchen Stableford, FBI agent. You also met police detective Carol Withers. The last is an exotic dancer named Sparkle."

He leered. "I'd like to meet Sparkle."

"I'm sure you will some day." She winked seductively. "But right now I'm Withers. Don't forget. What's your name, again?"

"Alex Dempster, private eye. Why am I sitting in a car with a police detective?"

"Hmm." She clucked her tongue. "You're going to identify a suspect for me. Somebody you saw during one of your investigations?"

"Yeah. I'm helping you with a big narcotics case."

She nodded.

He watched the two cult members on the corner. A surprising number of people were buying roses even though the neighborhood was somewhat rough and inhospitable. The stem of each rose was wrapped in green foil.

A boy bought a rose for a girl and presented it ceremonially. She blushed and smiled at the romantic gesture.

"I'm curious," Aaron said. "Have you and Victor ever...?"

"Slept together?" Marina glanced at him knowingly. "There have been moments of loneliness and weakness, but they were just moments. We're not great friends. Why?"

"It's just that..."

"You're still interested in me?"

"You're a beautiful woman," he said, "with an amazing body and a bright mind. I'm very interested and getting even more interested all the time."

"But I could be a total lunatic." She scratched the air with her black fingernails like a cat. "You don't know anything about me."

"Then tell me."

Her smile vanished, and she looked out the window at the cult members.

"Marina..."

"My name is Withers," she said sharply.

"I promise I won't judge you. Please."

She snarled. "I'll tell you about one of my missions. We were chasing a guy who liked to kill immigrants with trained dogs. He was a racial purity fanatic. I was the one who finally caught him. I put him to sleep with my venom and stuffed him in a cage. I forced his arms and legs to stick out, so the cage only protected his body. Then I set the dogs loose. When he woke up, his arms and legs were partially chewed off. It took him a while to bleed to death while his dogs knocked the cage around. I watched the whole time."

Aaron swallowed.

"That's the woman you're interested in," she said. "A dangerously unstable bitch that enjoys killing people in very unpleasant ways."

He wasn't sure whether he could count this conversation as a success or not. At least she had finally let him peek inside her hard shell.

He went back to memorizing his new identity. The health club membership looked real, and he recognized the name of the club as one of the larger ones downtown. I'll have to try it out.

"White roses," Marina said.

"What?"

"Watch the money."

Aaron studied the cult members carefully. There were definitely two classes of buyers, and the younger, hipper ones always got a white rose. She handed him a pair of binoculars, and he took a closer look. It seemed red roses cost a dollar each, but white roses cost a hundred. The transactions were handled crisply and without words.

"Smooth," he said.

"I estimate they've taken in two grand since we got here."

He settled back in his seat. There were plenty of white roses left to sell, so he and Marina would be here for a while.

An 18-wheeler stopped on the street directly in front of Aaron, blocking his view.

"Crap," he said. "Get out of the way!"

There was a knock on his window. He turned to see a pistol aimed directly at his face from just inches away.

A big man in a cheap blue suit said, "We're federal agents. Get out and come with us."

Another man stood on the other side of the car, and his gun was aimed at Marina. "Now."

Chapter Nine

Aaron looked to Marina for guidance.

"Cooperate," she whispered, "and stick to your cover story. If you tell them your real name, I will kill you myself." There was no hint of humor in her voice.

Aaron and Marina got out of the car and were hustled through an alley by the federal agents. They walked into a small, private parking lot behind a brick apartment building. Two additional men were already standing there, and they carried guns in visible holsters.

One of them stepped forward and examined Aaron and Marina closely. He had a neatly trimmed mustache and thick brown hair. He wore a white shirt with sweat stains under the arms, and blue slacks that were a size too small. His body had some softness around the middle, but he could hardly be called fat. Aaron judged him to be around forty years old.

"Who are you?" the man demanded.

"Who is asking?" Marina said.

"Daniel Hoskins, Drug Enforcement Administration."

"I'm Carol Withers, Chicago police."

Hoskins glared at her. "Really?"

"Really." She showed him her badge and identification. "I'm with the Narcotics and Gang Section. We're investigating the Church of One Soul. You must be here for the same reason. Is this a DEA stakeout?"

"Yeah. And you are?" Hoskins looked at Aaron.

"Alex Dempster," Aaron said. "I'm a private eye. Detective Withers asked me to help her identify a suspect." He handed over one of his new business cards.

Hoskins examined the card critically.

Aaron's heart was pounding but he maintained a calm exterior. The cover story only had to survive long enough for them to get away. Marina was so composed she appeared bored.

"It's strange," Hoskins said to her. "We're working with the Chicago police on this case. In fact, I talked to your entire unit this morning, and I don't remember seeing you."

She didn't blink. "I missed the meeting."

"I ordered your sergeant to keep his people away from here unless I called for backup, and I didn't."

"Sorry. I didn't get the word." She shrugged. "We'll leave if you want."

"No. You stay right here. I'm calling your sergeant now. This is unacceptable."

He took out his phone and walked a few paces away.

Aaron glanced in all directions. The two federal agents behind him still had their guns drawn, and there was another man in front of Aaron, not counting Hoskins. If Aaron tried to run, he would certainly get shot, and he wasn't wearing a vest.

Marina stood as still as a statue. He couldn't detect the smallest sign of nervousness in her expression. She's good at this, he thought. Better than me.

Hoskins returned. "The sergeant never heard of a Carol Withers. Tell me who you really are."

"I am who I am," Marina said, "and you have to let us go. We didn't commit a crime."

"I have enough probable cause to arrest you."

"For sitting in my own car on a public street?"

She wore a gray business jacket over a white button-up shirt. He pulled open her jacket, exposing a revolver in a holster, and quickly snatched the gun away.

"For carrying a concealed firearm." He held the gun near her face. "And for impersonating a cop."

"I'm a real cop," she said, "and that's my service weapon. You're making a mistake."

"I'll check out your story. In the meantime, both of you can cool your heels in jail. Tomorrow morning, we'll talk again. Unless you want to tell me the truth now."

She kept her mouth shut. Aaron followed her lead and also remained quiet.

"Take them away!" Hoskins ordered.

* * *

Victor parked his car in front of the White Rabbit Gentleman's Club. A neon sign showing a white rabbit in a tuxedo stood above the front door. It was a Wednesday night and still relatively early in the evening, so there were only a handful of cars in the parking lot.

He stepped out of his air-conditioned car and into the muggy night air. Instead of going into the club, he walked around, examining the other cars. He quickly found the one he was looking for: a black Cadillac with blue tinted windows.

He checked to make sure there were no witnesses. Then he drew his gun, a Glock 19 with an oversized suppressor. He shot the nearest lights, throwing long dark shadows over the Cadillac. The gun made a popping noise, no louder than hands clapping.

He smashed a side window on the Cadillac using his elbow, reached inside, and unlocked the doors. A car alarm wailed. He quickly moved away and ducked down behind another car.

A few minutes later, a man came out of the club, cursing softly to himself. He wore a red silk shirt, black slacks, and expensive Italian shoes. He turned off the alarm with a key fob. When he saw the damage to the window, his cursing grew louder.

Victor revealed himself. "You're Joey 'the Ham' Setola, right?" He aimed his gun at Joey's head.

Joey looked at Victor with wide eyes. "Who da fuck are you?"

"Nobody important. Get in the front seat."

"But the broken glass..." Joey said.

Victor pulled the trigger of his gun, and a bullet clipped a lock of dark, Italian hair. Joey scrambled to get into his car.

Victor sat in the back seat, taking care to keep his gun aimed at the back of Joey's head. "Face forward. Don't look at me. Keep your hands on the steering wheel where I can see them. Do anything funny, and I'll blow your brains all over the windshield."

"Are you a cop or just a stupid shit head?"

"You got a mouth for a guy who is an inch away from death," Victor said. "I want information."

"Hey, I'm a made man. I know people..."

"That's exactly why we're talking. Tell me about the Church of One Soul."

"The who?" Joey said.

"Freaky cult assholes with green tattoos on their faces."

"Oh." Joey turned his head slightly. "What about them?"

"Tell me everything."

"Do I look like the fucking internet?"

Victor pressed his gun against the back of Joey's skull.

"Hey! Take it easy," Joey said. "Maybe I do know something. They sell a lot of smack."

"Keep talking."

"That's all I know!"

"This is Chicago," Victor said, "and in this city, people who do business pay taxes. The Church of One Soul is doing a lot of business. They must be buying protection, and if it isn't from your crew, then you know who it is."

Joey shook his head slowly. "They don't pay nobody."

"I don't believe it."

"We sent some guys over, but they came back in garbage bags: a bag of legs, a bag of arms, a bag of heads. Lots of bags."

"But you're the Chicago mafia," Victor said.

"Right. We sent bigger guys with bigger guns. The police found the bodies in the lake a couple of days later. All the bones were broken. All the bones."

Victor frowned. "Then you just gave up?"

"The boss didn't want to go to war with a bunch of crazies."

"Coward."

"Times are tough," Joey said, "even for us. We got to pick our fights."

"Tell me something useful. I need dirt on these freaks."

"Is that why you busted my car?"

"Yeah."

Joey's face turned pink. "I'm not a snitch, and I'm not some piece of garbage you can kick around. I got all kinds of connections."

"You're just a cockroach to me."

"Fuck you."

"Are you sure you can't tell me anything else?" Victor said. "We're done talking?"

Joey nodded.

Victor holstered his gun. He reached over the seat, grabbed Joey's head, and snapped it around, breaking his neck. Who is the stupid shit head now? Victor thought.

* * *

Aaron sat in a holding cell with fourteen other men. There were a couple of loud drunks in the mix, but most were quiet. Like Aaron, they just wanted to get through the long night without any trouble.

He checked the clock on the wall, which showed the time as just after 1 AM. He sighed deeply. There was no television or radio, and the only entertainment was listening to people yell at the guards or each other. Sleeping was out of the question. The cell had a single bench, large enough for three men, and Aaron was not one of the lucky few. So, he paced or stood in the corner.

Memories of being arrested didn't lighten his foul mood. As a cop, he had witnessed the procedure many times, but this had been his first experience as a suspect. First, they had searched him for weapons with particular attention paid to his bodily cavities. All his possessions were taken away and "safely" stored, including his all-important phone. Then came the photographs and fingerprints. Finally, the booking officer had asked him questions, which Aaron had mostly refused to answer. The entire process had taken three long, tedious hours.

He rapped his knuckles on a concrete wall, which sounded solid. I'm not digging my way out.

"Dempster!" a guard yelled.

It took a moment for Aaron to recognize his own false name. "Here!"

The guard opened the door of the cell. "You're free to go."

Aaron didn't need to be told twice. He retrieved his belongings from storage, but the police refused to return his guns. He hustled out of the police station.

He walked out onto Grand Avenue in downtown Chicago. The cool night air felt like heaven on his face, which was sticky with dried sweat. Only a few scattered windows were lit in the tall office buildings around him. A siren wailed in the distance.

Marina stood on the sidewalk with two men that he had never seen before. The strangers wore silk shirts, very dark pants, and expensive leather shoes polished to a high gloss. She waved for Aaron to come over.

"You can thank these gentlemen for getting us out of jail," she said. She spoke the word "gentlemen" with obvious sarcasm.

"Thank you," Aaron said. "Why?"

"Interesting story. Agent Hoskins sent our fingerprints and photos to Washington for identification. There was a match in the CIA database. It turns out the agency has been trying very hard to locate me. These two men are spies."

"You must be Aaron Glade," one of the men said.

Hearing his real name made Aaron nervous. "Who are you?"

"Call me Mr. Green, and my associate is Mr. Blue."

Marina shook her head. "Dumb names."

"Why is the CIA looking for you?" Aaron said.

"I was a spy years ago."

"Marina," Green said, "your background is classified information."

Hearing Marina's real name spoken out loud made Aaron even more anxious.

"Aaron is my partner," she said.

Green glowered. "We got him out of jail for you, as you demanded. Now send him away. We have important, confidential business to discuss."

"He stays with me. He hears what I hear."

Green and Blue exchanged glances.

"This won't work," Green said.

"Fine." Marina shrugged. "Go home. I'm sure your superiors won't blame you for failing."

"Be reasonable."

"Which reminds me. We're very hungry. If you want to talk, you'll have to feed us."

Green and Blue walked off to have a private conference.

Aaron leaned towards Marina and whispered, "What's going on here?"

"I'm not sure," she said, "but I don't like it at all."

The CIA agents returned.

"We've decided Mr. Glade will be permitted to accompany us," Green said, "but I hope you know what you're doing. Let's go."

They walked down the street until they found an open sushi bar. Aaron felt underdressed and skuzzy compared to the other customers, but Green asked for a private room, so it didn't matter. Japanese paintings hung on walls made of straw and bamboo.

As soon as a waitress appeared, Marina ordered two servings of every kind of sushi on the menu. Aaron wondered what the bill would look like.

"You're paying," Marina told Green.

Through clenched teeth, he said, "Of course. Can we talk now, finally?"

"When the food is in front of me."

Everybody waited in silence. Aaron was dying of curiosity to hear what these CIA guys wanted. They were a part of Marina's past that he had never even imagined.

Twenty minutes later, the sushi was finally served.

"Now, we can talk," Marina announced.

"Let me go first," Aaron said. "What did Marina do for the CIA exactly?" He took a bite of delicious salmon.

"He doesn't know?" Green asked.

"No," Marina said. "Go ahead and tell him everything. If you don't, I will." She stuffed a tuna roll in her mouth.

Green sighed and turned to Aaron. "She was born with the name Marina Pavlova, but when she worked for the agency, she was known by another name: the Princess of Arms."

"Why?" Aaron said.

"She was one of our best deep cover operatives in Eastern Europe. She gathered intelligence on the black market for weapons."

"In other words," Marina said, "I slept with a lot of greasy, old men who had an insatiable gun fetish. The CIA pimped me like I was a whore."

"Not quite." Green shook his head. "You acquired information that nobody else could get. You hit targets that nobody else could touch. You served your country very well. Yes, sex was involved, but that's the nature of the business."

Aaron looked at Marina with greater respect. Instead of acknowledging his stare, she stuffed more sushi in her mouth and washed it down with tea.

"But then you quit," Green added.

"I had no choice," Marina said with such anger it came out like a hiss. "I realized the idiots in Washington were just filing away my reports. I risked my life to deliver jewels, and the bureaucrats treated them like dog food." Her hand shaking, she took a sip of tea. "I was trying to make a difference in the world. Instead, I only made 'case studies' and a lot of unmarked graves."

"Mistakes were made, but the CIA has a new administration now. Better management procedures and technology. Streamlined operations."

"Good for you."

"Marina," he said, "the agency would like you to come back. You were a star performer once, and you could easily be one again."

She snorted. "You actually want me back? Did anybody tell you how I quit?"

"I heard the story. The new administration is willing to ignore that... unpleasant episode."

"I'm not." She raised her middle finger. "As I recall, the CIA tried to kill me afterwards."

He ate a piece of sushi. Then he said slowly, "After you came to Chicago, you fell off the grid. It's like you stopped existing until tonight. What have you been doing?"

"Making a difference with people who are actually competent," she said in a quiet, tense voice.

"The CIA likes to keep an eye on its ex-agents, especially dangerous ones like you. I need to know you aren't working for the wrong kind of people."

She sneered. "As if you were the right kind of people?"

"Mr. Glade." Green turned to Aaron. "You're the odd man out here. Disavowed cop. Private dick. What's your story?"

Aaron ate sushi as he contemplated how he should respond. The fish was excellent, so fresh it hardly tasted like fish at all. His favorite was the soft-shelled crab.

"I'm helping Marina make a difference," he said at last.

"Wonderful," Green said. "You understand we could put both of you back in jail for a long time. We represent the government of the United States of America. When we ask questions, we expect answers."

"Listen carefully," Marina said in a voice as cold as ice. "I know you're just doing your patriotic duty, so I'm going to give you fair warning. Get away from me now. Forget I exist. Go straight back to Washington, and tell those arrogant fuckers this fish got away. If you come after me...." She shook her head. "You've been warned. Good bye."

She bumped into Aaron on the way out, almost knocking him out of his chair. She jogged out the front door, and he ran to keep up with her. He caught her in a parking lot around the side of the restaurant.

Her body shook and tears ran from her eyes, but she made no noise as she stood there. He cautiously put his arms around her. She pushed him away at first, but eventually, she allowed him to hold her. Her face was warm and wet against his chest.

Mr. Green and Mr. Blue came around the corner.

"We can't let you go," Green said.

Marina growled and launched herself at them. A knife taken from the restaurant dropped out of her sleeve and into her hand. The fight was on.

The elegance of her movements mesmerized Aaron. He recognized Ethel's efficient technique, even though Marina lacked Ethel's supernatural speed. Marina didn't slash haphazardly like a lunatic. Every action flowed perfectly into the next as she savagely mutilated her opponents. They attempted to block her, but her attacks always found an opening. She was more than just good. She was a master knife fighter who had spent countless hours practicing.

The fight ended seconds later with both men on the ground, blood gushing from their wounds. Marina finished them off by stabbing their throats.

She ran off at a full sprint. Aaron worked hard to keep up with her, and it didn't take long before he was struggling to breathe. He realized he would have to spend a lot more time on the treadmill if he wanted to keep pace with his new partner.

They finally came to a stop inside a parking structure. They crouched down behind a car so nobody could see them from the street.

Marina immediately made a phone call. "We need a ride and clean clothes now." She closed her phone.

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, and Aaron was glad for that. He needed to catch his breath and think about all that had happened.

After he settled down, he said, "Why did you kill those men?"

"They knew our real names," she said. "It was a security breech. There was only one solution."

"It wasn't personal?"

"Well, maybe, but I did warn them. I tried to be fair."

He shook his head. "You can't just go around killing people."

"What do you think we do for a living?"

Blood splatters marked her clothes, and there were a few drops on her face. Instead of exciting her, the fighting and running had actually calmed her down. Her expression showed contentment, if anything.

"I recognize that look," she said. "You think I'm a maniac. But it's OK, really. I'm used to it."

Her presence was like an exciting drug, one that he wanted to enjoy forever. Her killing the CIA agents had shocked him, but he could accept the possibility she had acted properly. He was still new to this game after all and didn't know the stakes. Or he might be giving her the benefit of the doubt simply because he was falling hopelessly in love with her.

"I'll show you what I really think," he said. "Kiss me."

"What?" she said.

"Then I'll do it."

He wrapped his arms around her and planted a kiss on her lips. At first she was tense, but then she melted into him and returned the kiss with passion. They held each other for a long time.

Finally, she pulled away and smiled. "You smoothy," she said. "You just want to get into my pants."

"They're very nice pants...."

She gave him a playful punch on the chin.

"Seriously," he said, "you're not a maniac. I admire you greatly."

"Sure."

"Really. You're amazing. I've never seen anybody fight like that with a knife."

"Thanks." She showed him a hesitant smile.

Edward arrived a few minutes later in a generic white delivery van with no windows on the sides or back. He parked in a dark corner of the parking structure.

"What's up?" He looked at the blood on Marina's clothes.

"The CIA just talked to us," she said. "It didn't go well. We may be bugged."

"Oh." He took fresh clothes out of the van and gave one set to each of them. "Strip down to your birthday suits and change into these."

She walked around to the back of the van so she could have some privacy.

"We heard you were in jail, sir," Edward said. "Ethel was planning to get you out first thing in the morning."

Aaron nodded. "The CIA beat her to it. They told me all about Marina."

"Not all about her. That woman has more stories than the Bible."

"I can imagine."

Edward glanced at the van and lowered his voice. "How is it going between you two?"

"Fine," Aaron said. "Why?"

"Just be careful with Marina, sir. Don't push her buttons. When she loses her temper, you really don't want to be around her."

"How bad is her temper?"

"Rip your nuts off and stuff them down your throat while she screams like a banshee bad."

Aaron furrowed his brow. "Got it."

Marina came back. Now she wore a drab gray jumpsuit and sandals.

Aaron took his turn behind the van and changed into a similar jumpsuit. When he came out, Edward threw all the old clothes into a garbage can.

"What about my wallet?" Aaron said. "My new credit cards? My fancy health club membership?"

"Those belong to Dempster, and he's dead now," Marina said. "My Withers identity is also finished. A shame. I liked her."

Everybody got into the van. Aaron had to sit on the floor in back because there was no third seat.

"Take us home," Marina ordered.

* * *

Aaron sat at the kitchen table in headquarters as Yvonne served him breakfast. She had prepared a perfect omelet with cheese, onions, and green peppers. The dish reminded him of the early days of his failed marriage when his wife had still cared enough to cook for him.

He yawned. He had slept in, but he still felt like he could use another few hours in bed.

"Enjoy," Yvonne said.

He took a bite of the omelet, and it tasted as good as it looked. "Excellent."

"Thank you, sir."

Ethel and Marina entered the kitchen and sat across from Aaron. Marina had circles under her eyes, and she had done a poor job of brushing her hair this morning.

"Anybody else want breakfast?" Yvonne asked.

"Sure." Marina nodded. "A full plate, please."

"Just coffee for me," Ethel said.

"Yes, ma'am," Yvonne said.

Aaron ate his omelet quietly. He considered waiting until Marina also had her breakfast, but he didn't want to eat cold eggs. She didn't appear to mind.

"Well," Ethel said, "I wouldn't call last night a complete catastrophe, but it was close."

Aaron kept his eyes down. He hadn't made any mistakes that he knew about, so he didn't feel bad. The encounter with the DEA and then the CIA had been bad luck, not incompetence.

"The CIA will be pissed when they hear about the dead agents," he said.

"I already talked to our cell in Washington. They'll do what they can to throw the CIA off the scent. They have plenty of reliable contacts in the agency. We shouldn't have a problem like this again."

"That's good. Would you have killed those men, ma'am?"

"Certainly," Ethel said. "We're in the middle of a top priority mission, and any distractions are intolerable. Besides, they knew too much. Marina made the right decisions. Actually, both of you performed well, and I think you might make a great team. I can already tell she prefers you to Victor."

Marina smiled.

"Where is Victor?" Aaron said.

"Asleep," Ethel said. "He was out very late trying to dig up fresh leads by terrorizing the Chicago underworld. Without much success, I must add. But I do have some good news. The Washington cell also gave me the number of the phone Agent Hoskins carries. Edward can triangulate his position using the signal."

Aaron grinned. "That's brilliant! We'll let Hoskins find the cult for us, and then we'll find him."

"That's the general idea. Hoskins already left Chicago, so you'll have to catch up to him today. Edward and Victor will accompany you."

"Edward?" Marina said. "But he's not qualified for field operations, ma'am."

"You'll need his expertise to pinpoint Hoskins."

Marina frowned.

"Finish breakfast and get moving," Ethel said. "Pack a large van for an extended road trip. It might be days before you come back, so prepare for every contingency. Make sure you bring plenty of guns."

Chapter Ten

Aaron was riding shotgun literally. He sat in the passenger seat of a large delivery truck with a shotgun under the seat within easy reach.

Victor was driving and had dressed the part of a delivery guy. He wore a blue jean jacket with artistically placed tobacco juice stains even though he didn't chew tobacco. His Chicago White Sox baseball cap was pulled down until it almost touched his mirrored sunglasses. A toothpick stuck out the side of his mouth. Except for his huge muscles, he looked completely authentic.

They were cruising along a county highway that cut through central Illinois. Patches of woodland alternated with vast farms, which sometimes stretched from horizon to horizon. Minutes would pass when Aaron saw nothing but corn plants in all directions. Dead bug splatters decorated the windshield.

"I've been meaning to ask," he said. "How often do you work out? It must be a lot."

"Every day for a couple of hours at least," Victor said. "We train hard between missions. Very hard. You will, too. And just being in the Society makes you stronger over time."

"How?"

Victor moved his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. "It's called God's breath. Sometimes it feels like a tingle in your guts or a burning in your veins. That's the Lord super-charging our bodies for battle. It's why Ethel is still so damn tough even though she's getting old. You could be as strong as me in a few years... if you live that long."

Aaron felt something in his guts, but maybe it was just the truck vibrating.

"Do you mind telling me your story?"

"I'm not a storyteller," Victor said.

"We're going to work together for a long time. I should know what kind of man you are. You already know all about me."

"That's fair, I guess." Victor took a deep breath. "I come from a very traditional Italian family."

"Mafia?"

"That's a shocking and offensive stereotype. But you're right. For three generations my family ran the 'family' business. I was going to replace my father as the boss some day. I had money, women, fast cars, all of it."

"Did you do anything besides partying?" Aaron said.

"I enforced obedience. I made sure the soldiers followed my father's orders."

"How?"

"Mostly with my fists," Victor said. "Sometimes I'd use a baseball bat or a gun. I had to deal with some real tough guys."

Aaron could easily imagine Victor as a thug among thugs. His physical presence alone was intimidating, and his permanent scowl completed the persona.

"Then what happened?"

"I fell in love with a beautiful, amazing woman," Victor said. "She became pregnant with my son."

Aaron had a cold feeling. He knew already this story would not end well.

Victor looked at Aaron. "Do you believe God has a plan for all of us? Ethel always talks about a plan, but I'm not so sure."

"I don't know," Aaron said. "Sometimes I think life is just a meat grinder. There's no good reason for anything."

"Meat grinder... yeah, that's about right."

Victor drove for a few minutes without talking. Aaron waited patiently for him to finish the story at his own pace.

"After my wife was murdered along with my unborn child, I had a crisis of faith," Victor said. "I was so angry and confused, I betrayed my own father. I actually testified against him. I blamed him for her death, even though his enemies pulled the trigger. They were trying to hurt him by killing his daughter-in-law. Can you imagine? It was like being trapped in a nightmare, and I didn't know how to wake up."

"I've never dealt with anything like that."

"I was hiding in a cheap motel room when Ethel knocked on the door. I still don't know how she found me or even why. We talked all night, and when morning came, I was a Spear."

"Quite a story," Aaron said. "I thought I had an interesting life, but compared to the rest of this team, I'm boring."

"We don't recruit kids. New legionnaires like you must already have the essential skills needed for a real mission. And by the way, you're not boring. You were a Chicago cop long enough to get pretty dirty."

"What are you talking about?"

"We did our homework," Victor said. "You had a reputation as a guy with a very quick trigger finger and an aggressive approach to justice. Your nickname was Mr. Bodycount."

Aaron cleared his throat anxiously. He could recall many bad choices that still made him hurt inside. The dead eyes of innocents he had accidently shot still haunted him late at night.

"But I don't care about that," Victor said, "and neither does Ethel. Too quick is better than too slow."

Aaron nodded. "That was quite a fight between you and her."

"The bruises still hurt. Do you know the main reason why Ethel is our boss? Because she is so fucking scary, and that's coming from me. Just wait until you see her use those machetes. Then you'll understand what it really means to be a Spear, but enough chatter. We must be close to the target by now. Focus on the mission."

Aaron took out his phone and called Marina. She was riding in the back of the truck with Edward, along with a ton of supplies and equipment. Even though she was just ten feet away, the phone was the only way to contact her.

"How much longer?" Aaron said.

"Five more miles," Marina said. "Stay alert. Hoskins is located very near the Smilin' Fish Campgrounds. According to the website, the campground is next to a lake with cabins and spaces for RVs. I called the manager, and he expects cash payments in advance."

"Sounds like the perfect place for the cult to lay low."

"Yes. Bye."

He closed his phone and informed Victor of the situation.

"I hate camping," Victor said. "Mosquitoes, bad water, and broken toilets that stink like shit. We'll also be caught between the cult and the DEA, not a comfortable place to be. On top of that, we're so far from headquarters that we're pretty much on our own."

Aaron smiled to try to lighten the mood. "Between the four of us, I'm sure we'll be fine."

Victor scowled.

Aaron's phone rang, and he opened it. "Hello?"

"This is Marina. Edward has an exact fix on Hoskins. His location is coming up on the right... now! What did you see?"

"An old farmhouse. Painted red, but a lot of the paint has peeled off. All the windows are shuttered. No cars are visible."

"That must be where the DEA is hiding."

"Good spot for a stake-out," Aaron said. "The entrance to the campgrounds is right across the highway. Hoskins can see everybody coming and going."

Victor kept driving at a constant speed. After a few more miles, he pulled into a rest stop.

He and Aaron got out and went around to the back of the truck. Marina and Edward were already standing on the parking lot, their clothes soaked with sweat. The cargo area of the truck must've been miserably hot. Aaron felt guilty since the cab was nicely air-conditioned.

"We need a plan," Aaron said.

"Here are the priorities," Victor said. "First and foremost, capture Simon for interrogation. Second, gather intelligence about the cult. Determine what covert activities they're engaged in. If we kill a few while we're here, that's a bonus. Third, rescue Frank and Caroline Waters."

To Aaron, the last objective was as mandatory as the others. "And do it while the DEA is watching," he added.

"Yes. We'll start with some reconnaissance. I want to know what we're up against."

"Hoskins knows my face and Marina's," Aaron said. "We can't let him see us."

"We'll wear a disguise," Marina said.

"What about me?" Edward said.

"You can't go in with us." She shook her head. "Too dangerous. Find a hotel and stay there with the truck. If we need your help, we'll call."

He nodded. "I'll be ready."

"We'll enter the campgrounds in another vehicle, one we can abandon if necessary. An RV should do."

* * *

Aaron and Marina sat in the back of the recreational vehicle. The interior appeared to be made of wood and leather, but the wood laminate had broken off in spots, revealing decaying particle board underneath. The "leather" was just textured vinyl, and it had cracked in many places. Odd stains on the walls made Aaron wonder what sins the previous owners had committed in here. The air smelled of bleach, and the tiny toilet in back looked recently replaced.

Marina was putting the final touches on her make-up. She wore a dark brown wig, and she had colored her eyebrows until they were almost black. An ugly, yellow dress covered padding that seemed to add forty pounds to her body. He felt bad for her since she would bake under all the foam in the summer heat. On the other hand, the dress offered plenty of room for weapons.

His own make-up was already complete. He wore a cowboy hat and a mustache that made his lip itch. Marina had helped him bleach his hair until it was almost blonde. He also wore cowboy boots. A few pebbles in the left one would force him to walk with a pronounced limp.

Even with the disguises, they would spend as little time as possible in the open. With the DEA staking out the campgrounds, Marina and Aaron had to assume a federal agent was lurking behind every tree.

Victor called out from the driver's seat, "I'm turning into the campgrounds now."

Aaron's heart beat a little faster. From now on, even the smallest mistake could prove costly.

"You remember our cover story?" Marina said.

"We've been married for four years," he said. "Victor is your brother."

"Names."

"Uh, I'm John Roosevelt and you're Sandra. Your brother is Steve Smith. How do you keep the names straight when they change all the time?"

"You get used to it," she said. "They're like clothes you put on and take off."

Victor stopped the RV. "Stay here. I'm going to pay the manager."

He left the motor running, which meant the air conditioner was still working. Aaron appreciated that greatly. He could feel warmth coming through the wall facing the sun.

"Since we're supposed to be married," he said, "people will expect some affection when we're together. How do you want to play that?"

"I don't mind holding hands and kissing." Marina smiled. "Sounds nice, actually."

"I won't complain."

"But when we do it, we have to be comfortable, like we've been together for years. Any kind of awkwardness will look suspicious."

"Good point." He nodded.

She sat next to him, and before he could guess her intentions, she was all over him. She shoved him onto his back and pressed her warm lips onto his. Their thighs rubbed together. He could smell her heavy make-up and sweat, but it was like an exotic perfume to him. Just when he was starting to relax and enjoy the intimacy, she pushed off.

"That should take care of the awkwardness," she said.

He made sure his mustache was straight. "I have a little awkwardness left. We should do it again just to be safe."

"Not now. This costume is too uncomfortable."

"Later?" he asked.

She gave him a hard stare. "Aaron, I've been thinking. A little fooling around is fine, but we can't have a relationship."

"Why not?"

"I sometimes have to sleep with other men to get information. You can't turn into a jealous lunatic whenever that happens. In general, romance and business don't mix well. Especially, our business."

He grunted. It was a valid point, and he had no good answer for it.

"And I'm trying to protect you," she added. "What if I die? Legionnaires usually don't live to a ripe old age. It's much easier to lose a co-worker than a lover."

"That's true," he said, "but if you're afraid to love, then you're afraid to live."

"Did you read that in a fortune cookie?"

"That's not fair. I was attracted to you when we first met, and those emotions have just become stronger. I know you feel something, too. It's like we were always meant to be together. We'll just have to deal with the consequences."

"Aaron, please, try to be professional...."

Victor returned to the RV and sat in the driver's seat. "Look at these." He tossed a couple of brochures back.

Aaron took one and saw it was a map of the area. There was a large lake with a thin strip of forest along the west side. The campgrounds were just west of the forest, away from the lake. The southern half was reserved for RVs and campers, and the northern half had cabins for rent. The property included most of the lake, and fishing boats were available, according to the brochure.

"I asked the manager about the Church of One Soul," Victor said. "He confirmed they're here. They rented most of the cabins for an entire month, cash in advance. He seemed pretty happy about the situation."

He drove to an RV parking spot. It was just a painted rectangular area in the middle of a large, almost empty parking lot. The lack of cover concerned Aaron. It would be impossible to come and go without being seen.

"We're here," Victor said. "Let's introduce ourselves."

The three of them gathered outside the RV. The pebbles in Aaron's left boot were already causing him pain, but he would suffer in silence. He casually held Marina's hand, which was damp with sweat from the heat. The razor sharp tips of her fingernails tickled his wrist.

They walked north. The rental cabins were made to look like log cabins, but the walls had the sheen of plastic instead of real wood. Each cabin had a small air-conditioning unit sticking out of a window. Broken concrete walkways wove between dense clumps of weeds. Heat rising from the parking lot made the entire scene shimmer.

"Five star accommodations," Aaron said.

Marina and Victor glanced at each other.

"What?" Aaron said.

"We're walking into enemy territory," Marina said softly. "Instead of making jokes, focus on learning the terrain. Memorize escape routes. Plan your cover for when the shooting starts."

"You're sure we'll have to fight them?"

She nodded. "Every mission ends in violence."

Just a few cult members were visible in their green robes. They walked quickly from cabin to cabin, perhaps to escape the heat.

The rows of cabins went right to the edge of the forest, where cover was plentiful. If he had to run for his life, that was the direction to go. There were a few dumpsters with clouds of flies buzzing around them. The metal walls of the dumpsters would stop a bullet, but if he hid behind one, he would risk getting flanked.

"I've been watching the woods," Victor said, "and I haven't seen any sign of the DEA."

"I'm sure they're being very careful," Marina said. "Maybe they set up hidden cameras."

Aaron let go of her hand. Sweat was making the experience unpleasant.

They stopped a female cult member with a shaved head as she hurried along one of the walkways. She looked up with a surprised expression. She was young, certainly just a teenager. Green stars were tattooed on her forehead and cheeks. There were dark circles under her eyes.

Victor stuck out his hand. "Hi there! I'm Steve! What's your name?"

The girl shook Victor's hand. "They call me Pestilence."

"That's an odd name!"

"It's one of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse."

"Oh." Victor nodded and furrowed his brow. "I've seen a lot of guys and gals dressed like you around here."

"We're the Church of One Soul." Pestilence fumbled with her robes for a moment and fished out three pamphlets. She gave them to Victor, Aaron, and Marina.

"Is that one of them crazy cults you hear about?" Victor said.

"No, not at all!" Pestilence answered urgently. "We follow the true gospel. The angel Sraosha delivered the Word unto Simon, and he delivered the Word unto us."

"What is this gospel?"

"That the destiny of man is perfect unity. To achieve true power and enlightenment, we must have one mind, one voice, and one soul. Individual desire is the root cause of all our failures, and it must be eliminated."

Aaron remembered Brittany Waters making similar statements.

"That sounds reasonable enough," Victor said.

Pestilence cracked a slight smile. "It becomes self-evident when Simon talks. He is such a great teacher, a worthy vessel of divine truth. His words seem to fall straight from Heaven. Being here, so close to him, is a perpetually joyous and humbling experience."

"What do you think, Sis?" Victor asked Marina.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Don't people have the right to do what they want with their lives?"

"No!" Pestilence declared. "Do people have the right to be lazy, greedy, and corrupt? Do people have the right to drain Mother Earth of all her natural resources? Do people have the right to rape and kill children for their personal pleasure?"

"I guess I never considered the child rape aspect."

"See that?" Pestilence pointed at an ant crawling across the dirt. "No questions, no rebellion. An ant knows only selfless service for its entire life. That's our ideal."

"But an ant isn't intelligent."

"Intelligence is a curse! Simon teaches us to put aside our own thoughts. We must open our minds and receive wisdom unconditionally. It has been difficult, but I've learned to follow without hesitation, and now my life is bliss. Doubt and critical thinking no longer cloud my thoughts..."

Pestilence stopped talking suddenly when another cult member approached. He was an older man. Blue stripes decorated the sleeves of his green robes, and the material shimmered in the sunlight like silk. The vivid tattoos on his face were green flames wrapped around his eyes.

"What's going on?" he said in a tone of suspicion.

"I was just delivering the true gospel to these good people," Pestilence said nervously.

"Oh?"

Victor put out his hand. "Hi there! I'm Steve! Glad to meet you! What's your name?"

"Salt. What are you doing here?"

"We're on vacation."

"No," Salt said. "What are you doing here? Talking to her?"

"Just being friendly," Victor replied with a vacant smile.

"Hmm."

"How is the fishing? That lake looks great!"

"I don't fish." Salt narrowed his eyes.

"Too bad." Victor shook his head sadly.

"How long are you staying here?"

"A week. I love camping! But now I'm also interested in your little church, and I can't wait to hear more."

Aaron and Marina nodded enthusiastically.

"Well..." Salt said.

"Please?" Victor put his hands together. "You can't just show us the horse without letting us ride it."

Salt scratched the stubble on his scalp. "Simon is giving a service tonight. You may listen to his opening remarks, but then you must leave. You are not permitted to observe our sacred rituals until you prove yourselves worthy."

"That would be fantastic? Where?"

"The shore of the lake at sunset."

Chapter Eleven

"I didn't know there were so many of them," Aaron said softly to Marina.

Hundreds of people in green robes stood on the shore of a pristine natural lake near a forest. Shafts of orange sunlight streamed through the trees and made the surface of the lake glitter in spots. Nobody spoke, not even a whisper, and the only sound was the constant buzz of insects.

Simon stood on a boat in the lake at a safe distance from his people. He was a very tall man. His multi-layered robes seemed to flow like a waterfall of green silk from his shoulders. Instead of tattoos like his followers, Simon had a grid of fine copper wires woven into the flesh of his face. The wires were green from corrosion. His scalp was shaved perfectly clean.

His audience consisted almost entirely of women and children with particular emphasis on young women.

It's a giant harem, Aaron thought.

The relatively small number of men were all guards. Six stood at the edge of the water and carried 12 gauge shotguns. Five more guards with high power rifles were either in the boat with Simon or in nearby boats. Another four guards were widely spaced along the far shore of the lake, and they had rifles with sniper scopes. Even more were patrolling the woods. All the weapons were legal as far as Aaron knew, but just barely. The guards were watching the audience rather than Simon.

"Welcome, my beloved flock!" Simon's voice boomed across the water without amplification. "It is another glorious evening. Before I begin, I must mention we have three guests." He pointed at Marina, Victor, and Aaron, who stood apart from everybody else. "They will enjoy the first part of tonight's sermon. If you happen to meet our visitors tomorrow, remind them of my words. Help them understand our ways."

Aaron kept the brim of his cowboy hat down over his eyes. Brittany Waters was probably in the group, and he couldn't let her recognize him.

"As I begin," Simon said, "I must state that I am not blind to the suffering of my people. I know food is in short supply. Many of you sleep on the floor instead of a bed. These are hard times, indeed, for all of us, but I'm very gratified to report that I have not heard any complaints. You have shown me courage and discipline, and I could not be prouder.

"These challenges are an opportunity to grow stronger. The angel Sraosha told me the road to salvation goes across a lake of pain and blood. Those were her words. The small inconveniences that we endure now are like ripples on the water. We must not let them slow us in our journey to our ultimate goal, the unification of all mankind."

Aaron looked at the faces in the crowd. The sun was setting, but he managed to spot Brittany near the trees. He didn't see her parents anywhere.

Simon continued, "That goal grows closer every day. All of our men are now fully engaged in the Great Project, and we are in the final stages of preparation. They are working day and night in the secret places. Armageddon is nigh, at last! A new world will rise from the ashes of the old, and we will rule supreme! We will live in golden palaces with servants at our beck and call. We will dine on the finest delicacies like royalty!"

The audience remained silent and still, as if they were half-asleep.

"But beware!" Simon said. "Our enemies press us on all sides, as we witnessed the other day when we were savagely attacked. There may be spies and traitors in our midst as I stand here. Never speak to strangers. Trust not the outstretched hand nor the friendly smile, for it may conceal evil intent."

He looked directly at Aaron, Victor, and Marina. Aaron pretended not to notice.

"That is why we must be so careful with information," Simon said. "Follow my orders without question, and do not try to understand my intentions, for they are subtle and sublime. Have faith that my goals are the same as your goals.

"So I command you. Do not dwell on the difficulties of today. Do not allow them to darken your thoughts, for that way leads to doubt and critical thinking. If you must contemplate pain, instead consider the suffering that our enemies will soon endure. For, as Sraosha told me, the blood of man will turn the oceans red. The cities of man will burn like erupting volcanoes. The heart of man will be crushed by despair until the new age dawns."

Marina sighed. Aaron glanced at her and saw her jaw was tight and her eyes were smoldering.

Simon continued in a voice that thundered, "You, my chosen few, will carry the true gospel to the four corners of the Earth. I will be the savior and king of humanity!"

His voice flowed like pure honey, and it had a hypnotic cadence. With his unusual height and striking features, he seemed larger than life. Aaron could understand how people might fall under Simon's spell.

But Aaron was not one of those people. He already hated Simon with a passion. This sermon was cruel and manipulative, the product of a sociopathic mind. Clearly, Simon didn't give a damn about anything except his personal ambitions, and he would cause any amount of suffering to achieve them.

Aaron couldn't listen anymore, so he studied the cult members instead. They hadn't moved or spoken since Simon began his speech. With their blank expressions and sagging postures, they seemed ready to collapse from exhaustion at any moment. Even the children lacked energy.

A few minutes later, the sermon ended. Aaron, Marina, and Victor were told to leave, and they did so gladly.

As soon as they were safely in the woods, Victor whispered, "Can we just kill this fucking bastard now? It's always the same shitty philosophy with these assholes. I packed a sniper rifle. A bullet between his eyes will do the world a lot of good."

"No," Marina said. "Our mission is to capture and interrogate. We need to know Simon's secret plan, his so called 'Great Project.' We also need to find where all his men are hiding because they're not here, and that really worries me. The enemy's army is missing." She rubbed her fingernails.

"What about the Waters?" Aaron said.

Victor snarled. "You go find them tonight, when it's dark. Marina and I will reconnoiter the security around Simon."

"That's fine. I don't mind working alone."

"Aaron," Marina said, "if you're caught...."

"Hey!" Aaron said. "You recruited me because I'm good at this stuff. I won't get caught."

"Just locate the hostages, and don't let the DEA see you. Don't try to rescue anybody, either. We'll get together and work out a complete plan of attack after we finish our recon. We'll do this properly."

"Agreed."

* * *

Aaron walked along the southern boundary of the campgrounds, where it met a corn field. To his left, the parking lot was a vast field of black asphalt, and to his right there was a sea of corn stalks. His cowboy boots crunched on the dirt margin in between.

The pebbles in his left boot hurt so much they felt like golf balls. He was forced to walk on his toes to avoid aggravating the pain. It didn't help that a crescent moon provided inadequate light, and he kept stepping into unseen holes. Anybody who saw him, either the cult or the DEA, would think he was crippled or drunk.

He swung a whiskey bottle back and forth in his right hand. Every few seconds he stopped to take a long drink. The bottle contained water, but he grunted and coughed as if it were hard liquor.

He wandered into the corn field and fell sideways, pretending he had passed out. He lay still for several minutes as he listened to the breeze.

He slowly and silently peeled off his outer clothes. Underneath he wore skintight elastic printed with the standard Society camouflage pattern. It was the perfect color scheme for night operations. Night vision goggles were hidden under his cowboy hat, and he flipped them down over his eyes. Now the moon seemed to produce as much light as the sun. He kicked off his hated cowboy boots, revealing black cloth ninja shoes.

He crawled through the field on his elbows and knees. He had to reach the forest before he could raise his head above the level of the corn stalks. It was a grueling trip, made worse by the fact he had neglected to bring knee pads, but he made it.

Once in the forest, he was able to travel faster, although he still used as much cover as possible. His caution proved worthwhile when he spotted another man sitting on a high tree branch. Aaron carefully worked his way around the sentry.

He felt excited and very much alive. He was already enjoying his new life as a member of the Gray Spear Society. He didn't care much for the strange religious stuff, but it looked like he would get his fill of intense action.

He picked his way north until he had a good view of the rental cabins. He found a particularly dark shadow and knelt down. He didn't want to stumble into a guard on patrol, so he would observe for an hour or so to learn the security scheme. There was no reason to hurry and every reason to be cautious.

Perhaps half an hour had passed when he saw a person sneaking out through a door. Judging by her stature, it was a girl. She carried a pen light, which looked as bright as a blow torch in Aaron's night vision goggles. Crouching, she crept into the forest. She passed close enough that he could see her face clearly, and he was surprised to discover the girl was none other than Brittany Waters.

Where are you going? Aaron wondered.

Following her through the forest was simply a matter of chasing the bouncing light. She approached a lean-to made of natural sticks and leaves. The embers from a dying campfire illuminated two guards, and two other people were in sleeping bags under the lean-to.

Brittany approached the guards and had a quiet but lengthy conversation with them. Eventually, one of the guards nodded. She leaned down and spoke a few soft words to the people in the sleeping bags.

Aaron angled in for a closer look. The people under the lean-to had cloth gags in their mouths.

Bingo! Finding the hostages so easily had been an unexpected gift, and he wondered whether God had intervened in some small way. On the other hand, plain good luck was an equally valid explanation.

The trip back to the cornfield took a while, but he had a smile on his face the whole way. He put his original clothes back on, including the hateful boot with the pebbles in it. He staggered and shuffled back to the RV.

* * *

A tap on the shoulder startled Aaron from a deep sleep. He opened his eyes to find Marina leaning over him. Victor stood behind her.

"Hi," she said.

Aaron blinked. "What time is it?"

"Three in the morning."

"You guys work late. I went to sleep hours ago." Aaron was lying on one of the very narrow beds in the RV. He swung his legs over and sat up.

Marina still wore black and gray camouflage. The tights looked incredibly sexy on her athletic body.

Victor was stripping off his outfit in the confined space, apparently unconcerned she would see him naked.

"Did you find the hostages?" she asked.

Aaron nodded. "They're in the woods. Two guards."

"Good work, but you have to be careful when you rescue them. Don't let them see your face. They can't know you're here."

"I understand. What about Simon?"

"We found his cabin," Victor said. "It wasn't hard. It's the largest one in the camp, and it's surrounded by guards. We spent a long time looking for gaps in the security, but we didn't see any that looked useful. Simon knows how to protect himself."

"So, what's the plan?" Aaron said.

"The obvious one. Heavy weapons and full armor. We'll hit Simon's cabin tomorrow night, shoot anybody who gets in our way, and snatch him. You can come with us or go rescue the captives. It's up to you."

Marina frowned and looked down. She clearly wasn't happy with this proposal, but she kept quiet.

Aaron stared at Victor. "That's your plan? You don't see a problem with it?"

"Not really," Victor said.

"I may just be a rookie here, but I see plenty of problems. First, you'll have to kill a bunch of people and not just guards. I'm sure Simon has some women with him, maybe even kids. They'll try to protect him."

Victor shrugged.

"And the battle will be chaotic," Aaron added. "Bullets will be flying everywhere. You'll be tripping over dead bodies left and right. At some point, the DEA will join the party. While that's going on, you'll have to chase down Simon, knock him out, and carry him away. Without you or him getting killed." He shook his head.

"We'll be quick and quiet. Most of the enemy will die before they even know we're there."

"I thought the Gray Spear Society is supposed to keep a low profile. This kind of massacre will make the news. Are all your operations this inept?"

Victor glared at Aaron.

"Do you have a better idea?" Marina said.

Aaron faced her. "I might. We need a distraction. Fortunately, we have a perfect one right outside the camp. The DEA."

"Go on."

"We'll get the DEA to enter the camp and arrest the cult. That should smoke out Simon. He'll run into the woods, and we can ambush him there. We don't even have to wait until nightfall."

"Interesting." She furrowed her brow.

"Sounds complicated to me," Victor said. "How are you going to make Simon walk into our ambush?"

"I'll show him the way," Aaron said, "and manipulating the DEA will be easy. They're looking for drugs. We just need to convince them drugs are here."

Marina nodded. "OK."

"What?" Victor yelled. "You're letting a fresh recruit call the shots?"

"It's a good plan. Relatively few risks, and any deaths will be blamed on the DEA. They'll do the cover up for us."

"And," Aaron said, "the DEA can rescue the captives for me. I won't have to show my face at all."

Victor snarled at Marina. "You're taking his side because you like him."

"I'm taking his side because he's smart," she replied. "Smarter than you. For once, stop thinking with your fists."

They stared at each other. Even though the muscles on his bare chest were as big as her head, she didn't back down an inch. Aaron was proud of her.

"Fine," Victor said at last. "You're the senior member of the team, so it's your decision. And if this blows up in our faces, it will be your fault. For the record, I think Aaron's plan is dumb."

"Just do your job properly."

"I always do. I'm a professional."

* * *

Marina walked slowly towards the farmhouse where the DEA agents were hiding. She wore a pink bikini, sandals, and nothing else. A fresh breeze felt good on her skin, which was damp with sweat from walking in the hot sun.

The skimpy outfit served two purposes. First, it proved she carried no weapons. There was hardly enough room to hide a nickel under the tight spandex. The DEA agents would assume, wrongly, that she was not a significant threat.

The second purpose was that her nearly naked body would greatly distract the male agents. In her experience, men were incapable of making rational decisions when she dressed this way. Blood rushed from their brains to their genitals. She had met only one man who was immune: Victor. He had a legendary ability to suppress his emotions.

Peeling strips of red paint hung from the walls of the farmhouse. There was no sign it was inhabited by anything other than mice and spiders. She went to the front door and knocked loudly. She heard the creak of footsteps on an old wooden floor. Somebody is home.

She tried the handle and found it was locked. She knocked again. Finally, the door opened.

Agent Hoskins stuck his head out. "Get in!" He grabbed her wrist and jerked her inside.

The door slammed behind her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he said.

The heat inside the farmhouse was stifling. There were five men, including Hoskins. They wore white shirts, badly stained by sweat and dust, and blue slacks. All the men were well armed, but the guns were still in holsters. They stared at Marina with wide eyes. The bikini was already doing its job.

The only furniture in the large room was folding chairs and tables. A rack of television monitors stood against a wall, and it showed twenty-five different views of the campgrounds. The angles indicated the cameras were either buried in the ground or on high tree branches. Body armor and large caliber weapons were stacked in neat piles on the tables.

"I'm talking to you," Hoskins said.

She smiled at him. "I'm not here to answer questions. I just came to deliver information."

"Tell me your real name, first. There is no such person as Carol Withers."

All the other men were still staring at her body. She thrust out her breasts slightly to keep their attention from wandering and their brains from engaging.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but my name is not included in the information."

"How did you get out of jail? I never ordered your release."

"Sorry, again."

He clenched his fists, but she knew he wouldn't actually hit an unarmed and apparently defenseless woman. And if he did, she would teach him some manners. She knew a lot of very effective ways to hurt a man.

"I'm not letting you get away again," he said. "I'll put you in a federal facility this time and let you rot there. You might as well answer my questions now."

"A prison for women? Sounds exciting." She winked seductively.

His face turned red. "What did you come to tell me?"

"The Church of One Soul is receiving a large shipment of raw heroin a few hours from now. It will arrive in a white delivery truck."

"How do you know that?"

"I was just there. I overheard them talking."

He glanced at the rack of monitors. "We didn't see you."

"I was wearing a disguise, of course." She rolled her eyes. "How big is your team?"

"Just us."

"Five agents?" She shook her head. "If you want the heroin, you'll need a lot more manpower. The cult has hundreds of members. Some have rifles and shotguns. You'll need twenty or thirty guys just for crowd control."

"We could call the local sheriff..."

"Ask him to bring all his deputies. Simon is a certifiable nutcase, and his men will fight you with everything they have. If you let them get organized, you'll have a full-blown siege on your hands with women and children in the middle of it. Do you remember the Waco Massacre in 1993?"

"What if your information is bad?" he said. "You're asking me to take a huge risk, and I have no reason to trust you."

"I don't have to tell you this cult moves a lot of heroin. They're one of the biggest distributors in Chicago. You certainly have enough probable cause for a search warrant regardless of my information."

His eyes lit up. Got him, Marina thought.

"Just call the sheriff," she said, "and the state police, too. Be ready to move fast when the delivery truck gets here. If you execute the search properly, the risks will be minimal. Or you can just sit here and sweat."

"I'll think about it."

"That's all I came to say. I'll leave now."

"No, you won't!" Hoskins turned to one of his subordinates. "Take her upstairs and handcuff her to something heavy. Watch her. If she escapes, I'm holding you responsible."

"Yes, sir!" the man said.

He was relatively young, no older than twenty-five. His thick, black hair was perfectly combed despite the heat.

He put a hand on Marina's bare shoulder and gave her a gentle push towards the stairs. She made sure he had a nice, close view of her backside as she led him up to the second floor. She glanced back to confirm he was looking at her butt. Too easy, she thought.

On the second floor, there was a bedroom with some exposed iron pipes along the wall.

The man took out a set of handcuffs and pointed at a pipe. "Go there, please."

"Do I have to?" She pouted and dragged her feet. "I won't try to escape. I promise. I wouldn't have a chance against a big, strong man like you."

"You heard the orders," he said weakly.

"OK." She held out her hands. "If you think it's best."

He gently grabbed her left wrist. She lashed out with her right hand and stabbed her black fingernails deep into his arm. She felt a tingle in her fingers as the venom flowed. Drops of blood leaked from five small wounds.

"What the fuck..." he began to say.

She clamped her hand over his mouth before he could cry for help. He tried to hit her, so she kneed him in the groin. After a few seconds of struggle, his eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the floor. He would sleep for hours.

The bedroom had a window. She pushed it open, jumped down to the grass, and ran off.

Chapter Twelve

Aaron drove the white delivery truck down the county road leading to the Smilin' Fish Campgrounds. Anxiety made him grip the steering wheel tightly.

He checked his disguise in the rearview mirror. He wore temporary green tattoos: crossed swords on his cheeks and a medieval shield on his forehead. The design was reminiscent of some he had seen the cult members wear. His scalp was shaved clean, which made his head feel light and cool. It would take months to re-grow his hair, but there was no helping it. Green cotton robes covered his body from his neck to his ankles, and he wore traditional leather sandals. Underneath his robes, there was the comforting weight of three guns.

He passed the farmhouse on the right where the DEA was hiding. For a brief moment, he glimpsed several police cars packed close together in the shadows behind the farmhouse. Sloppy, he thought. They should've parked farther down the road.

Aaron turned left into the campgrounds, going a little too fast on purpose. Instead of parking, he continued left towards the cabins where the cult was staying. He drove off the pavement and onto dirt and weeds. The ride grew so rough he was forced to slow down. A few cult members stared at him with startled expressions as he rumbled by them.

He continued into the forest and had to slow down even more to avoid holes. The closely spaced trees were like a maze. Rocks kept smashing into the underside of the truck, and he was sure the oil pan was wrecked by now.

"Come on," he coaxed the truck. "Just a little farther."

He finally stopped near the lean-to where the captives were bound. Two guards in green robes looked at him curiously.

Aaron stepped out of the truck. He whipped out a gun and shot both guards in the chest. The pistol had a suppressor, so the noise was no more than a loud pop. He sprinted away, abandoning the truck.

Aaron had never killed so casually before, and doubts nagged him as he ran through the woods, but eliminating the guards was unavoidable. He had to make sure Frank and Caroline Waters would be safe until they were discovered by the DEA. The guards were probably under orders to kill the captives at the first sign of trouble.

Aaron worked his way south towards the lake. After a few minutes he came to a dirt path that wound through the trees. There was nobody in sight.

"Hello?" he said quietly.

A huge man in green and brown camouflage emerged from behind a bush. It was Victor. He carried an assault rifle and a sniper rifle, both with suppressors.

"I'm here," he said. "Were you successful?"

"Two kills. No trouble."

Victor nodded. "I was afraid you would hesitate."

"I didn't," Aaron said.

"Sometimes, when you talk, you sound a little soft."

"Are you done insulting me? How do you want this ambush to go down?"

Victor pointed at a red ribbon tied to a bush about a hundred yards away. "I'll be sighting on that. Lead Simon and his gang there."

"Got it. Just don't kill me by accident, OK?"

"I never miss with this." Victor tapped the long barrel of his sniper rifle. "You'll be safe."

The popping noise of distant gunshots made them look towards the campgrounds.

"Sounds like the DEA has arrived," Victor said. "Get moving."

"I'll be back soon." Aaron ran west.

As he jogged through the forest, the volume of gunfire increased. A real battle was being fought. He had expected the cult to put up a fight but not such a fierce one.

He emerged from the forest and paused to assess the tactical situation. The cult had taken up defensive positions on rooftops and behind walls, creating a ragged but effective perimeter. The men had guns, but the women and children just carried knives and rocks. All of them seemed ready to fight to the end. Simon stood in the center of the formation surrounded by his lieutenants in their decorated robes.

The DEA agents and a large number of police had formed a line along the edge of the parking lot. They were using their cars as shields. Bullets flew back and forth, but Aaron didn't see a lot of casualties. The fight had just begun though. Both sides were still testing each other's resolve.

Aaron put his head down and assumed a humble posture. He approached one of Simon's lieutenants, a pudgy man with flushed cheeks.

"Sir," Aaron said while looking at the ground, "may I speak to you?"

The man turned. "What are you doing here? Go defend our church with the others! Simon ordered every man, woman, and child to protect him."

"Yes, sir. In just a moment, sir. But I thought you should know, there is a speedboat docked on the lake. It's big enough to carry six people, and the keys are in the ignition. I noticed it this morning."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"If Simon wished to, uh, escape..."

"Simon is not a coward!" the lieutenant said.

"Obviously," Aaron said, "but he is the heart and soul of our cause. He must survive, even if we do not. Of course, a few essential individuals like you should accompany him."

"That's an interesting point."

"Sir, our enemies are numerous and very well armed. We may lose the battle today. May I humbly suggest we consider the best interests of the church in the long term."

The gunfire was getting louder. Chunks of stucco flew as bullets struck buildings.

"Wait here."

Aaron stood quietly while the lieutenant had a conversation with Simon. It took less than a minute for Simon to reach a decision.

"Take us to this boat," he ordered Aaron.

Aaron nodded and headed back into the woods. Simon, along with five of his lieutenants, followed without even a backward glance at his "beloved flock."

* * *

Victor looked through the telescopic sight of his favorite rifle, a M110 Semi-Automatic Sniper System. The weapon combined the tremendous accuracy and lethality of a bolt-action rifle with the speed of a semi-automatic pistol. With it, he could reliably make kill shots at 500 yards, taking less than a second between each shot. The .308 caliber bullets carried enough energy to penetrate light body armor. It was more than enough gun for the task at hand.

Where are you, Aaron? Victor thought.

He still heard the sounds of gunfire to the west. The battle had raged for a solid twenty minutes, and the tenacity of the cult impressed him. Simon had done a good job of brainwashing his followers. It was a shame they were playing for the wrong team.

Victor heard crunching dry leaves and twigs, and he looked to his left. Aaron was leading a small group that included Simon towards the lake. Victor began to plan his fire pattern.

He had to kill five men while avoiding Aaron and Simon. The first shot would be free, and Victor might get a second easy hit if he were quick enough. The last three targets would be moving fast or hiding, so he would have to work for those kills. He had scouted the terrain, so he knew the most likely directions the enemy would run. In his mind he imagined how the battle would proceed.

Aaron reached the red ribbon. It was only 107 yards away, effectively point-blank range for the M110. Victor pulled the rifle against his shoulder, looked through the scope, aimed at the man walking behind Simon, and squeezed the trigger.

The target's head burst like a balloon filled with blood. The symmetric spray pattern told Victor that he had delivered the bullet to dead center.

He immediately reset his aim to the next man in line. The target froze in fear, making Victor's job easier, but despite that advantage, his second shot was not as perfect as the first. The man died but more than half the skull remained intact.

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."

Aaron nodded.

He spotted Agent Hoskins walking towards the entrance to the jail.

"There!" Aaron pointed.

He and Marina got out of the car and walked quietly but quickly over. They came up behind Hoskins and took up positions on both sides.

He looked back and forth at both of them with a surprised expression. "You two again? What horrible crime did I commit to deserve this?"

He reached into his jacket. Marina grabbed his arm.

"No guns," she said. "We just want to talk."

"Talk?" He raised his eyebrows. "Like at the campgrounds? You outright lied to me. There was no heroin in the delivery truck."

"I'm sorry about that."

"And the truck was clean, not a single fingerprint on it. The whole thing was a setup and you knew it."

She grimaced. "The deception was an unfortunate necessity."

"Do you understand people died because of you? Five cult members and a sheriff's deputy lost their lives in the gun battle. One of my own men is in the hospital in critical condition. This will stick with me for the rest of my career."

"I'm sorry, truly," she said.

"Did you rescue the hostages?" Aaron asked.

Hoskins glared at Aaron. "How did you know about that?"

Aaron realized he had made a mistake, but there was no helping it now. "We were there."

"Then maybe you can explain the dead bodies we found in the woods. Did you kill them?"

Aaron looked at Marina, and she shook her head.

"I admit they were killed," he said.

Hoskins clenched his fists. "What happened to Simon? We never found him."

"He's dead."

"You killed him, too?"

"Not me," Aaron said.

He felt sorry for the guy. Hoskins was standing on the battlefield of a war that he didn't know was being fought, and nobody would tell him the truth. He was struggling to accomplish goals that were increasingly irrelevant.

"Just tell me why," Hoskins said. "Why did you lie to me?"

"We needed you to distract the cult," Marina said.

"While you captured Simon and killed his men?"

She tilted her head and looked at him for a moment. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure." He rolled his eyes.

"Have you ever heard of the Federal Office of Domestic Terrorism?"

"No."

"It was created after the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995," she said. "Our mission is to infiltrate and dismantle domestic terrorist organizations. Everything we do is classified, of course. Recently, we identified the Church of One Soul as a major threat."

"Why?"

"Simon wasn't just waiting for the Apocalypse. He was going to make it happen."

"But Simon is dead," Hoskins said, "according to you."

"That's not good enough," Marina said. "Most of his men are still out there, and we believe they'll carry out his plan. They were selling heroin to finance this scheme. We need to interrogate some of the people you arrested at the campgrounds. That's why we met you here at the jail."

"But I came because..."

"Because you received a message that one of your prisoners wants to confess. We sent that message."

He looked at her with wide open eyes. "Unbelievable. If you were a man, I'd say you had ten-pound balls. You actually want me to help you, when I should be arresting you instead? If not shooting you?"

"Hundreds, maybe thousands of innocent lives are at risk."

"I refuse to cooperate."

She furrowed her brow. "What would change your mind?"

"You could write out a full confession, signed with your real name." He nodded. "That would be a good start."

"I don't think so. You're worried about your career, right? We could find the drugs you need as evidence for your case. We'll help you be a hero instead of a goat."

He snorted. "I'll find my own evidence, thank you, and I'll do it legally."

Marina turned to Aaron. "Maybe you can get through to him."

Aaron looked at Hoskins, who just stared back with an openly hostile expression. Aaron didn't know what to say. He couldn't speak the truth, and Hoskins was too suspicious to believe a lie.

"Listen," Aaron said, "our interest is simple: stopping the terrorist attack. If you become an obstacle, we'll push you out of the way. On the other hand, if you cooperate, we can finish our business quickly and get out of your life forever. That would be the best outcome for you. All we want is to interview your prisoners. You can be in the room. Hell, you can even ask your own questions. Now, the sun is hot and I'm sweating my ass off, so can we please go inside?"

Hoskins remained silent.

Aaron glanced at Marina. She was rubbing her venomous fingernails. He wondered what she would do to Hoskins if he absolutely refused to cooperate.

"We're asking you to escort us into jail," Aaron said. "Do you really have a problem with that?"

Hoskins raised his eyebrows. "If you put it that way, I guess I don't. I'll take you inside right now. Of course, I can't promise you'll get back out." He smiled.

* * *

Aaron looked through a one-way window into a small interview room. Marina sat across a table from a man in a blue prison uniform, which looked like the scrubs a surgeon might wear. The green tattoos around his eyes and his shaved head marked him as a member of the Church of One Soul. He insisted everybody call him Brimstone, but his real name was Ron Phillips.

Aaron turned to Agent Hoskins. "Why him?"

"He seemed to be the closest thing to a leader of the ones we arrested," Hoskins said.

They were in a darkened room in the core section of Division 11. Two beefy prison guards stood directly behind Aaron with batons in their hands. The message was clear. If Hoskins gave the word, Aaron would also wear a blue prison uniform. The guards were superfluous. He couldn't escape anyway because there were too many locked doors between him and freedom.

"Tell me about Simon's 'Great Project,'" Marina said in the other room. Her voice came through a speaker.

Brimstone smiled. "All the people of the world will pass through a gateway of fire and blood. The corrupt and inefficient governments that currently rule over us will be razed. The wisdom of Simon will spread like a wind across the Earth, banishing all selfishness and critical thinking. Then, a new day for mankind will dawn. Like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly, we will be transformed!"

"What do you mean? Be more specific."

"There will be great destruction at first, but the old must be swept away to make room for the new. Of course, some people will be too weak or too dissolute to endure the trial. Not everybody will survive to see the glorious rebirth of man. Such is the unkind nature of violent transformation."

"But where will it start?" she said. "I need times and locations."

"That's a secret. You're not one of us."

She crossed her arms. "Why should I believe you?"

"The truth will be apparent soon enough."

"I think you're a lying sack of shit."

He slapped the steel table with the palms of his hands. "Don't test my patience, harlot. Beware."

"Beware of what?"

"You will be my servant when the new age comes." He pointed a finger at her face. "I will teach you hard lessons in respect until you eagerly satisfy my needs."

"When, exactly, will that happen?" She raised one eyebrow.

"Soon!"

"Next week? Next year? Next epoch? You're just babbling nonsense."

"Simon..." he began.

She cut him off. "Simon is a megalomaniac who wouldn't know a 'new day for mankind' even if it climbed up his ass."

He snarled.

Hoskins tapped Aaron on the shoulder and said, "Your girl better be careful. That guy might attack her."

Aaron shrugged. "She can protect herself."

"Maybe you should go in there."

"She'll be fine."

Hoskins frowned.

"And Simon is dead," Marina added.

Brimstone sneered. "That's a lie."

"You don't believe me?"

"He is destined to be supreme ruler of mankind for a hundred years."

"Supreme ruler of maggots, maybe." She chuckled.

He jumped forward with both hands reaching for her throat. She nimbly dodged his attack, grabbed his shoulder, and slammed his face into the steel table. Blood trickled from his nose.

"I told you she can protect herself," Aaron said calmly.

"Not bad," Hoskins muttered.

Brimstone held his injured nose. "Bitch."

"This is boring," Marina said. "If I wanted worthless doomsday prophesies, I could find a thousand on the internet."

"It's not a prophesy! It's a promise. Our men are at work right now."

"Whatever." She turned towards the one-way glass. "I'd be more convinced if you had one speck of evidence. Besides, as far as I can tell, nobody is working on anything. The entire cult was arrested at the campgrounds."

"Women and children. Useless baggage. Not the men. Not the soldiers."

"You were there."

"Simon needed a few shepherds to help manage his flock. Females can be so undisciplined."

She rubbed her black fingernails.

Aaron glanced at Hoskins. The government agent was pressing his lips together, and he appeared anxious.

"Your men were doing one kind of work," Marina said. "Dealing drugs."

"We live in a world of sin," Brimstone said. "To carry out the Great Work, Simon was forced to adopt some distasteful methods. He needed money for supplies and equipment."

"I think he pocketed all the money. Speaking of sin, I noticed he had a lot of young women at the campgrounds. I expect entertaining all those undisciplined females was expensive."

He clenched his jaw, and his face became flushed.

She turned back towards him. "The ancient kings had eunuchs to help manage their large harems. Was that your job? Did Simon cut off your balls so you wouldn't fuck his sluts? Did you pimp for him?"

He jumped out of his chair. She executed a beautiful spinning kick that caught him squarely on the cheek. Her technique was perfect. He stumbled backwards and fell to the concrete floor.

Two guards rushed into the room. She tried to make them back off by waving her hands.

"This is what I don't get," she said calmly. "For years Simon fed you bullshit, and you slurped it up. You gave him your life and got nothing in return. Now you're in jail, facing serious charges, and you're still on his team. Is that loyalty or plain stupidity?"

Brimstone stood up. "I will be strong, as Simon taught me. I know in my heart you will pay. Simon takes care of me as his sheep. I will not be without any good thing. He makes a place for me in the green fields. He gives new life to my soul. He is my guide in the ways of righteousness. Though I go through the valley of death, I will have no fear of evil, for his rod and his support are my comfort. But blasphemy shall not be forgiven. The land of his enemies will be made desolate, so that they who settle in it will be appalled..."

The guards escorted Marina out of the interview room. A moment later, she entered the darkened room with Aaron and Hoskins.

"That was a waste of time," she said.

"At least he confirmed there is a threat," Aaron said. "Agent Hoskins, can we interview somebody else?"

Hoskins shook his head. "I've broken enough rules for one day, and I don't like your methods. We don't beat up prisoners here."

"Then may we examine Brimstone's possessions?" Marina asked.

"He didn't have much."

"I'd still like to see."

Hoskins shrugged. "Follow me."

Aaron noticed he now lacked the stubborn confidence he had shown outside the jail. Perhaps Hoskins was accepting the possibility that this case was much more than a drug bust.

They walked through the core of the jail which was a maze of concrete hallways. They arrived at the large section where prisoners went through the intake process. Guards watched attentively as new prisoners were stripped and searched.

Hoskins led the way into a huge room where personal possessions of prisoners were kept. Thousands of small boxes were stacked on seemingly endless shelves. A guard retrieved the box for Ron Phillips, a.k.a. Brimstone.

Marina opened the box, and Aaron looked over her shoulder. The box contained just two items: a wooden spoon and a book. The book was dark green, and it was entitled The Sacred Writings of Simon.

Aaron took the book, which was held together with staples and tape instead of glue. When he flipped it open, he found the print quality so poor some of the words were hard to read. Obviously, the book had been produced with a cheap photocopy machine.

"I'll have my technicians hide a tracking device in that book," Marina said.

"What good would that do?" Hoskins said.

"Then you can let Brimstone go. He'll go straight to his buddies, wherever they're hiding. He would never leave his 'Sacred Writings' behind. We can follow him and arrest the whole bunch."

"Seems like a bad idea."

Aaron sighed. He knew Marina had no intention of arresting anyone. In the war between God and His enemies, no prisoners would be taken.

"You have a better one?" Marina said. "This is your best chance to find the evidence you need to be a hero. You have nothing right now."

"Brimstone shot at us," Hoskins said. "He'll be convicted of attempted murder at least. I can't just let him go."

She crossed her arms. "His freedom will be temporary, I assure you. Let's hear your plan."

He glared at her.

"That's what I thought," she said. "Brimstone is just one fish. Let's use him as bait to catch a whole net full, and you might find some heroin in that net, too."

"Of course you're assuming I'll let you go. I should just keep both of you in this jail."

"Our office knows where we are. If we don't come back, they'll start making calls. We won't stay here for long."

He clenched his jaw.

"I've already escaped from you twice," she added. "You don't think I can do it a third time?"

"OK." He growled. "Maybe I'm the stupidest guy in the world, but I'll go along this one time. Take the book, but be back here tomorrow morning. I want to see both of you at 8 AM sharp."

"That won't be a problem."

Chapter Fourteen

Aaron and Marina arrived back at headquarters an hour later. They went straight to Ethel's office. She had a tall stack of newspapers on her granite desk, and she was reading one as Aaron walked in.

"Catching up on the news, ma'am?" he asked.

Ethel put down her paper. "Just looking for stories that might interest us. How did it go?"

"Not great," Marina said. "We caught Hoskins off guard, so he was moderately cooperative this time. We interrogated one prisoner but only confirmed what we already knew. We did get this, though." She held up the green book entitled Sacred Writings of Simon. "The plan is to plant a transmitter inside and return it to the prisoner. Hoskins will let him go, and we'll follow."

"You're going to meet Hoskins again?"

"Tomorrow morning, ma'am."

Ethel frowned. "His ongoing involvement is getting dangerous for him and us."

"I agree," Marina said. "He's a good man. I hope we can avoid the usual outcome in these situations. He may attempt to arrest us tomorrow, so we'll need an escape plan."

"I'll work on it. Take the book to Edward, and have him plant the transmitter. Aaron, please stay here."

Marina nodded and left the office.

Aaron sat on an antique wooden chair which was upholstered with padded leather. The seat was a little narrower than he preferred, made for a generation of smaller people.

"I thought you might have more questions for me," she said. "About the history of the Spears? Our purpose?"

"Yes, ma'am. Simon was communicating with an 'angel' called Sraosha, the thing that killed him in the hanger. What was it, really?"

She took a deep breath. "Let me ask you a question. If God created the universe, then clearly He isn't part of the universe. He exists outside our reality, so where is He?"

"What do you mean?"

"He must be somewhere, right?"

"I guess so." Aaron shrugged.

"We have different names for the place where God lives. Kamal calls it the 'pre-physical potential field.' Victor calls it the 'Land of Boogie-men.'"

"Is it Heaven, ma'am?"

"There aren't angels walking on white fluffy clouds," she said, "if that's what you mean. The laws of physics don't apply there. There is no time or space. Existence is a poorly defined concept. It's impossible for our tiny human brains to imagine such a place."

"Sraosha is out there with God?"

"Apparently."

"But why would Sraosha want to kill humans?" he asked. "That's like an elephant stepping on plankton. In the big universe, we're just a tiny blip."

"God has a great interest in humans. We're extremely significant for reasons I can only guess at. His enemies have been trying to destroy us for a long, long time."

"How long have the Spears been around?"

"What we call the Gray Spear Society was founded during the last gasps of the Roman Empire," Ethel said, "but there were previous organizations. Since the dawn of human civilization, there have been special people with a divine mandate to protect the Earth. Any more questions?"

"Yes, ma'am. How did you become so fast?" He leaned forward with curiosity.

"It was a gift from God. When a member of the Society serves the Lord very well, he or she sometimes receives a supernatural ability. That's how Marina got her fingernails."

"Will that happen to me?"

She sprang vertically out of her chair, flipped over her desk, and landed behind him.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps. Be patient. I had to wait six years, and Marina had to wait seven."

"How does it happen?" He looked up at her. "God comes down from wherever and blesses you?"

"It's not that cinematic. It usually happens at times of great need, when a mission is in jeopardy."

"What about your eyes? Are those a gift too?"

She shook her head. "My eyes are a side effect of my very long career. Being a Spear eats away at your humanity like a mouse gnawing at cheese. Eventually, the holes become physically obvious."

He swallowed. He looked around the office for a way to change the subject. The display cases were full of fascinating artifacts, and no doubt each had a story attached to it. He noticed an old golf club made with a real wooden shaft and a cast iron head. The wood was scorched along its entire length.

"What happened to that golf club, ma'am?"

She stood and walked over to the display case. She gently took out the club with both hands. With a smile, she pretended to strike an invisible golf ball.

"One of my predecessors owned this," she said. "He was the decurion of the Chicago cell in the mid-nineteenth century. He had the bright idea to run for mayor of Chicago. His political campaign was going very well until a certain golf game."

"What happened?" Aaron said.

"Struck by lightning four times under a clear, blue sky. According to witnesses, his eyeballs actually burst out of his skull."

"Yikes."

"The Spears are God's dirty secret. We aren't part of the plan. We must remain in the dark shadows and keep to ourselves, or He will punish us. Don't ever forget that."

"Yes, ma'am."

She put the golf club away. "Let's go check on Marina and Edward."

Aaron followed her to Edward's work room. He and Marina were leaning over a steel table under an array of bright lights. He had a large magnifying glass positioned over the green book, and small clamps held open the pages.

"Are you done?" Ethel asked.

He remained focused on his work. "Just about, ma'am."

Edward gently reassembled the book. He carefully inserted staples into their original holes and bent the ends into position. He sprayed small puffs of adhesive onto yellowed pieces of tape and put them back.

"You've done this before," Aaron stated.

"Yes, sir," Edward said.

He finished his work and handed the book to Ethel. She gently flipped through the pages.

"Excellent," she said. "No sign of tampering."

"The maximum range is only a kilometer, so we have to stay close."

She gave the book back to him, and he put it into a clear plastic bag.

"What are our orders, ma'am?" Marina asked Ethel. "We don't meet Hoskins until tomorrow."

"You and Aaron can take the rest of the day off," Ethel said. "Relax, and get a good night's sleep."

"Where is Victor?" Aaron said.

"Still working the mean streets of Chicago looking for leads."

"Should we go help him?"

"I gave you an order," Ethel said sternly. "Take a break. You earned it."

"Yes, ma'am!" Marina said. "Come on, Aaron. Let's go get a beer."

He followed her out of the room.

Instead of going to the main entrance, she took him to another exit near the exercise equipment. There were two doors made of steel and thick glass with a small enclosure in between, like an airlock.

Marina talked to the ceiling. "Jack, please let us out."

There was a buzzing noise. She pulled open the first door, and Aaron went into the enclosure with her. After the first door closed, she opened the second. They proceeded into a narrow passage with concrete walls.

"What is this?" he said.

"The rear exit," she said, "in case the front door isn't an option."

"It's good to have one of those."

"And there is a third exit near your quarters at the end of the hallway."

"I thought that was a closet."

"No," she said. "It's for emergencies only. It leads to a lock-out chamber on the bottom of the Chicago River. We can escape underwater."

"Dirty, cold water," he said, "especially in the winter."

"Which is why our enemies would never expect it."

The concrete walls of the passage were cracked and patched with tar. Darkened areas indicated water damage. Apparently, they were still below the water table.

The tunnel ended at a steel ladder that was bolted to the wall. Aaron and Marina climbed up a long vertical shaft, pushed up through a trap door, and arrived in an empty closet. She closed the trap door, and it blended perfectly with the wooden floor.

"Where are we?" he said.

"An apartment," she replied softly. "Keep your voice down."

She peered through a peephole and then opened the closet door. They walked into a studio apartment, lightly furnished in a contemporary style. The walls were eggshell white.

"Does anybody live here?"

"No," she said. "Sometimes we use it as a safe house, but it's usually empty."

They left the apartment, went down a flight of stairs, and emerged onto a busy street. Aaron recognized North Wabash Avenue. Tall buildings, all at least ten stories high, rose up on both sides. The architectural styles ran the gamut from traditional brick façades with concrete moldings to sterile towers of glass and steel. Nearby, a homeless man begged for spare change from pedestrians. Further away, a train rattled along a track supported by rusty steel pillars and beams. The warm, humid air smelled of car exhaust.

"Where are we headed?" Aaron said.

Marina pointed to a restaurant named Topaz across the street. The large windows were tinted a dark yellow, and strips of pink glass framed the door. He followed her inside. She immediately went to a well stocked bar on the right side of the restaurant. The interior glittered with yellow, pink, and brown crystals lit from all angles by concealed lights. It was still early in the evening, so the place was quiet. The patrons who were present wore nice suits and dresses. Lawyers, bankers, and their girlfriends, Aaron thought.

He patted his pants pockets. "Uh, I just realized. I don't have any money or credit cards. I lost it all when Alex Dempster got stuffed into a garbage can."

"That's OK," Marina said. "I got it covered."

They sat at the bar. She laid down a credit card with the name Gretchen Stableford.

"Good old Gretchen," he said. "Always ready to buy a round or two for her friends."

She nodded. "She's very generous. What's your pleasure?"

He looked at the shelves full of expensive liquor. "Let's have some fun."

"Not too much fun." She gave him a look. "Ethel doesn't like it when her people get drunk. We're never really off duty."

"Then we'll sip, not gulp. Let's see... that Highland Park Scotch looks very sip-able."

They called the bartender over. He told them a shot from that particular bottle cost eighty dollars. Aaron gasped in horror, but Marina didn't hesitate when she ordered two shots.

He took a small sip of his drink. The flavor was a mix of honey and wood smoke, but not too sweet. It stayed on his tongue for a long time. He drank the rest eagerly.

"Smooth," he said.

"Yes, it's very nice," she said, "but I'm more of a traditional vodka girl. Bartender, let's try a little of that Stolichnaya Elit."

Two more shots were poured, this time for a mere twenty dollars each. Still, it was a lot more than Aaron was accustomed to paying for his liquor.

The vodka had a delicate flavor with hints of vanilla, sugar, cream, and a touch of spice. It was so easy to drink he finished his shot in a single pull.

"One more," Marina said, "then we quit."

"Oh, come on. The party just got started."

"We have to stay sharp. We're in the middle of a mission. You get the last pick."

He furrowed his brow. "In that case, I see a dusty bottle of Courvoisier Cognac that looks like it needs some love. The blue and red label is certainly unusual. Bartender, two shots, please."

The bartender, a middle-aged man in a tuxedo, raised his eyebrows. "That Cognac is a hundred dollars a shot, sir."

Aaron cleared his throat.

"Go ahead," Marina said.

The bartender poured.

Aaron took tiny sips of his drink to make it last as long as possible. The dominant flavor was fine champagne, but there were delicious hints of fruit. As it went down, he also detected vanilla, more in his nose than on his tongue.

"Wow," he said. "That's good, but I'm not sure if it's a hundred dollars worth of good. I'm glad Gretchen was buying."

Marina paid the bill, and they left the restaurant. The sun was setting, but the air was still warm and humid.

A series of loud popping noises made Aaron jump. Several teenagers ran past with smiles on their faces.

"Firecrackers," Marina said. "The Fourth of July."

"Oh, right." He nodded. "This weekend."

"Hmm. Large crowds and families with children. A perfect target for a terrorist attack?"

"If you're right, we're running out of time."

She grimaced. "We'll worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, we're under orders to relax, and I intend to follow those orders."

"How about a movie?" he said.

"Sure. I have a few rentals back at my apartment that I need to watch."

"You don't want to go to a movie theater?"

"Sitting in a dark room with hundreds of strangers is not my idea of relaxation. I get antsy in crowds. Let's go to my place where we can be ourselves and speak freely. I'll even cook you dinner."

"Really?" He smiled. "Are you a good cook?"

"I'm terrible," she said, "but the food will be full of good intentions."

"Sounds delicious."

They walked several blocks south and came to a twenty-story building with a classic limestone and cement façade. It had a certain charm, even though pollution had made the exterior dingy. It was surrounded by clean, modern architecture.

A doorman nodded to Marina, obviously recognizing her, and she rewarded him with a cheerful smile. She and Aaron entered an elevator which needed to be unlocked with a key card. They went up to the eleventh floor. Her apartment was at the end of a pale green hallway. Her door had three deadbolt locks that required three different keys. After they went inside, she carefully relocked all three bolts. The door was made of painted metal instead of wood.

"You're serious about security," Aaron said.

"When I'm home, I like to feel safe. There are also a few booby-traps, so don't wander off and peek in my drawers. Just stay with me."

He looked around the large apartment. There were two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room. The walls were painted a uniform pale yellow. Tan carpet was everywhere except in the kitchen, which had speckled yellow tile. All the furniture was cheap, plain, and dull, the kind usually found at discount furniture outlets. Even the few prints hung on the walls seemed entirely generic.

"You look disappointed," Marina said.

"I was expecting something more... exotic."

"The blandness is intentional. There are no documents here, no family photos, no heirlooms, no mementos. Even the furniture is uninteresting. This is just a place where I eat, sleep, and get dressed. I can abandon it without a second thought."

"I get it," Aaron said, "but it's a shame. I wanted to learn more about you."

"You already know too much about me. I can show you my special closet. You might find that interesting."

"A 'special' closet?"

He followed her into the living room. Huge mirrors covered one wall, creating the illusion of a space twice as large as it actually was. She used her keys to tap on one of the mirrors in a complex, irregular beat.

"What are you doing?"

"Sonic lock," Marina said. "Edward built it for me. The man is a genius."

Aaron heard something go thunk behind the mirror. She pulled on the edge, and it swung out silently, revealing a huge, secret closet.

It contained several long racks of clothes. There were hundreds of outfits, ranging from formal dresses to skimpy bikinis and everything in between. A wall of cubby holes held at least fifty pairs of shoes and other accessories. A make-up table with a lighted mirror and several wigs stood against the opposite wall.

"What happened to intentional blandness?" Aaron asked.

"This is for work, not pleasure. I change my identity all the time, which means I change my clothes all the time."

"For work? Right." He winked at her. "Most women I know would kill for a closet like this."

He noticed guns hanging on the back wall, and he approached for a closer look. Marina possessed a nice collection of weapons. The smallest was a derringer that could fit in the palm of a woman's hand, and the largest was a .308 caliber sniper rifle. She also had a great variety of edged weapons which included a real Japanese katana. Some of the daggers looked like antiques.

"Don't we have enough guns back at headquarters?" he said.

"Sure, but sometimes I need a weapon right now. Besides, these are my personal favorites." She stroked the very short barrel of a revolver that had a shockingly huge muzzle bore. It looked capable of killing big game, although it probably had a hellacious kick.

One of the clothes racks had an entire section dedicated to lingerie. He brushed the tips of his fingers across sheer black material that was almost transparent.

"Sparkle wears that item," Marina said.

"Your exotic dancer identity?" He smiled. "Nice."

She contemplated the lingerie for a long moment. "I could put it on for you."

"Really?" He stared at her.

She nodded.

"Um." He swallowed. "Is that a good idea?"

"What's wrong? My body is unattractive?"

"You're beautiful. Perfect. That's the problem. If you wear this outfit, I'll get very excited." His pants were already getting tight from the thought.

"I'm sure a responsible gentleman like you wouldn't lose control."

"I just don't like to be frustrated. I mean, we're alone in your apartment. A man gets ideas."

She moved closer to him. In a sultry voice she said, "What ideas, exactly?"

"You told me you don't want a relationship. I'm trying to respect that."

"Who mentioned a relationship? We're just talking about lingerie. Don't make it so complicated."

"It's already complicated." He looked into her lustrous green eyes. "Very."

"Actually, I'm warming up to the idea of being with you. You've seen what kind of woman I really am, what kind of life I lead, what risks I take, and you still want me. That means something."

"You changed your mind about us?"

"In my world, love is a dangerous luxury, but in your case I might be willing to gamble on it. Either way, I need you to hold me now. I'm feeling... lonely."

She put her arms around his waist and her head against his chest. Her hair had a faint aroma of apples. He hugged her, and her body felt right pressed against his.

"This is crazy," she said softly. "We can't do this. You were right to be reluctant. A relationship between legionnaires always creates a mess."

She didn't let go of him, and he didn't let go of her. For a minute they just stood in that intimate position. Then he felt tears on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" he whispered.

"I can't remember the last time I felt like this. It's scary."

He squeezed her gently. "It's OK."

"No, it's not." She pushed him away. "Go back to headquarters and let me wallow in self-pity. By morning I'll be fresh and ready to work like a professional. I'm no good for you anyway. I'm a horrible person."

"What are you talking about? You're the strongest, bravest, most talented woman I've ever met."

She looked down. "I'm the cruelest, most vicious woman you've ever met. I've done things that would make you throw up. Even my own teammates are afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid." He put a hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged off his hand. "Just go, please, before I make a fool of myself."

With great regret, he turned and walked towards the door of the apartment.

"Wait!" she said. "Just, wait. But don't look at me."

He heard her moving around behind him. It sounded like she was changing her clothes.

"What are you doing?" he said.

"I don't know anymore." After a moment she added, "Now you can look."

He turned to discover she had put on the black lingerie. The sheer material concealed very little of her slim, athletic figure, and it didn't cover her breasts at all. Instead, the outfit emphasized her feminine curves, making her even sexier than if she had worn nothing at all.

The only response he could utter was an incoherent grunt.

She took his hand and pulled him towards her bedroom. "Come on. Show me the ideas a man gets."

Chapter Fifteen

A loud knock on a door woke Aaron from a deep sleep. He found himself in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar bedroom, but then he remembered his night of passion. Marina. She was already getting out of bed.

"Shit," she muttered. "We overslept. Move!"

A clock on a nightstand showed 7:00 AM. They were supposed to meet Agent Hoskins at 8:00, and preparations for that meeting were still incomplete.

Marina threw on a bathrobe and rushed out of the bedroom. Aaron's clothes were scattered across the floor where they had fallen last night. He got out of bed to collect them.

Soreness in his back made him stiffen. The night had turned into an adventurous exploration of unusual sexual positions and techniques with Marina as his enthusiastic tour guide. The strength and flexibility of Aaron's body had been tested to its limits. He couldn't say he had completely enjoyed every part of the experience, but he had certainly learned some new tricks.

He heard the front door of the apartment open. Ethel barked a few sharp words at Marina. A moment later, Ethel entered the bedroom with a paper grocery bag in hand. Still naked, Aaron froze.

She tossed the bag to him. "Put these on." She didn't sound happy.

The bag contained fresh clothes. "Yes, ma'am," he said. "Can I have a little privacy?"

"No." She closed the bedroom door but remained with him. Her dark eyes glared at him. "We'll talk while you get dressed."

With as much dignity as he could muster, he dressed himself in a blue business suit made of cheap, thin cotton. The black shoes were already scuffed and worn, a nice touch of authenticity. He would look just like an underpaid, overworked government agent.

"The Gray Spear Society has many rules," Ethel said, "and they include restrictions on personal relationships. Now seems like an excellent time to review the main points."

"I'm not allowed to love Marina?"

"Love is tolerated, barely, and only on the condition that it doesn't interfere with a mission. However, you may not marry or have children. The Lord demands total obedience and commitment from us. There is no accommodation for a family."

Aaron raised his eyebrows. "I understand that children would be a problem. Marina and I can't be good parents if we're always risking our lives. I don't want to be a father, anyway. But what's wrong with marriage?"

"What if I order her to sleep with another man as part of a mission? Or you to sleep with another woman? You'll violate your marriage vows."

"Technically," he said, "but..."

"What if Marina becomes a liability? It may become your duty to kill her."

"That's not a good example, ma'am." He shook his head. "It would never happen."

"Oh? Life in the Society can be very stressful, particularly for legionnaires like you and her. Breakdowns happen."

"Marina is too strong."

"Not really," Ethel said. "In fact, her mental stability is doubtful. She has a long history of psychopathic behavior. If you want an even better example, look at Yvonne. She used to be as tough as anybody, one of the Society's most elite operatives. Now she's afraid to leave headquarters alone."

"The cook?"

"She's an ongoing reclamation project. But sometimes the case is hopeless, and a life must be taken."

"That's cold."

"We can't have crazy people telling our secrets to the world. Either you're a trustworthy member in good standing who follows the rules or you're dead. That is our law. I hope my message is clear."

"It is, ma'am." He nodded sadly.

She walked up to him. "You and Marina are walking down a dangerous road together. It's all kisses and hugs now, but I expect it to end in tears. Situations like this always do. That's all I have to say." She opened the bedroom door and called out, "Marina? Come in here. We need to go over some mission details, and we don't have much time."

* * *

Aaron and Marina stood on the sidewalk in front of Cook County Jail, Division 11. Even though it was still morning, the sun felt very warm on his face. He was glad his suit was made of thin cloth that let his skin breathe.

She wore a gray vest over a pleated, white shirt that had too much starch in it. A gray skirt went down to her calves. Pins held her hair back in a tight bun.

He checked his watch. "8:20. He's late."

"I doubt it," she said. "I'm sure Hoskins has been watching us since we got here."

He surreptitiously glanced in all directions. Tall, white walls and impressive fences surrounded the jail. To get inside, visitors had to walk a long path that led to the central structure. The path narrowed as it went so that the angled walls closed in on incoming visitors. The effect was intimidating, but it didn't stop a steady stream of foot traffic in both directions.

"I don't see him," he said, "but there is so much activity, it would be easy for him to hide."

"Speaking of activity," she said, "did you notice the cops setting up a perimeter?"

They were near the Cook County Criminal Courts Building, so Aaron expected police in the area and wasn't paying enough attention. However, now that Marina had made him aware, he could see the pattern clearly. Two officers on bicycles had taken a position about a hundred yards to the north, and a couple more were blocking the southern escape route. A cruiser was idling on the far side of California Avenue to the west. Finally, to the east lay the huge jail.

"We're boxed in," he said. "Good thing we have a plan."

"Now we just have to hope the plan works. I hate going to jail."

"How many times have you been arrested?"

"Dozens," she said. "It's just an annoyance. Ethel always gets us out and makes sure the records are destroyed."

Agent Hoskins approached, and he wore body armor over his blue suit. He was armed with a large handgun that hung from his belt in a holster.

"He looks ready for a fight," Aaron whispered.

"Just let me do the talking," Marina said.

Hoskins smiled. "I'm sorry I'm late. I was held up at the office. I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"No harm done," Marina said. She held a metal briefcase in one hand and the cult book in the other. She gave the book to Hoskins. "The transmitter is activated. We just have to follow the signal and see where Brimstone leads us."

"How?"

She gave him the briefcase. "All the tracking equipment is in there, already calibrated and ready to go. Just turn it on."

"Good, good. Are you coming into the jail with me?"

"No, thanks." She shook her head. "We'll wait here."

"Oh, I have some new information." With a tight smile he took several sheets of paper out of his pocket. "Your name is Aaron Glade."

Aaron was shocked at hearing his real name. He was already growing accustomed to living a secret life. This is bad, he thought.

"A police officer recognized your face from a photo," Hoskins said, "and the rest was easy. I discovered the Chicago PD threw you out a year ago. Conduct unbecoming an officer. Falsifying evidence. Shameful." He shook his head.

Aaron crossed his arms and remained silent.

"Funny thing about it," Hoskins said, "the department lost your file. There are no official records of you anywhere. Somebody erased your identity, but you can't erase people's memories, can you?"

"I guess not," Aaron said.

Hoskins turned to Marina. "You were a much tougher case to crack. I kept hitting dead ends until a little birdie at the CIA sent me a very interesting e-mail. Marina Pavlova. It's a pretty name. You should use it more often."

"The CIA gave me up?" she said without emotion.

"Yes. You must have enemies in Washington."

"Not for long." She narrowed her eyes and rubbed her fingernails.

"And finally," he said, "there is no Federal Office of Domestic Terrorism. I asked friends who would know about it, and they've never heard of it. You lied to me, again."

An elderly black woman in a shabby coat shuffled towards them, barely bending her knees with each small step. Aaron couldn't recognize Ethel under all the makeup, but it was her. He signaled her with a slight nod.

A battered green van with tinted windows parked about twenty yards away, and the driver kept the engine idling. It was hard to see him through the windshield, but Victor was behind the wheel.

"So," Hoskins said, "we have a mystery. Why would a disgraced cop and a spook work together? What is their interest in the Church of One Soul?"

"You expect me to answer?" Marina said.

"My theory is you want the drugs and money that the cult has stashed somewhere. You're looking for a big score, and you're hoping Brimstone will lead you to it. The terrorist threat is a smoke screen."

"Not true."

"You were at the campgrounds because you thought the drugs might be there."

She shook her head. "Listen, I'm going to give you some very good advice: go away."

"No."

"You seem like a fine man, and I admire your dedication. That's why I don't want to see you get killed."

He drew his gun and aimed it at her chest. "Is that a threat?"

"I'm just trying to help."

Hoskins turned to Aaron and said, "Do you have anything to say?"

"Just that my partner isn't kidding," Aaron said. "You're in some really deep shit now."

"You're the ones who should worry. Both of you are under arrest. You may have noticed the police all around us. You can't escape, so come quietly. Actually, don't come quietly, so I can shoot you in self-defense."

Ethel walked up behind him. She struck so fast and so hard that Aaron's eyes couldn't follow the action. Hoskins' gun flew harmlessly into the street. He fell to the ground, grunting and clutching his ribs.

The green van pulled up in the same instant. Marina threw open the side door and climbed inside, quickly followed by Aaron and Ethel. The van sped off while Ethel was still closing the door.

Victor wore a cowboy hat and dark sunglasses. With the heavily tinted windows, it would be impossible to get a good look at his face from outside the van.

"Hold onto something!" he yelled. "This is going to get rough!"

There were no seats in the back of the van, but cross braces had been welded to the bare metal walls as internal reinforcement. Aaron grabbed one of the steel bars with both hands.

Police sirens blared from multiple directions.

"Do you know where you're going?" Aaron yelled.

Victor nodded. "Of course!"

He drove fast but with finesse, rarely squealing the tires. The engine roar included the high-pitched whine of a turbocharger. Aaron wished he could look out the window, but he was too busy holding tight so his skull wouldn't smash against the wall.

"Here comes a bump!" Victor said.

The van crashed down on its suspension and then leapt into the air. It flew for only a second or two, but the duration seemed like forever to Aaron. The van slammed into the ground again, jarring every part of his body.

The sirens were receding, a good sign. But then he heard a metallic crunch as some other car on the road had an accident. It reminded him of why he hated car chases. Innocent people tended to get killed. He had pursued many criminals in his life, but this was his first experience as a fleeing suspect, and he hoped it would be his last.

He looked at Marina and Ethel, who had stoic expressions on their faces. If they were anxious, they refused to show it.

Aaron forced himself to calm down. Victor seemed to know what he was doing.

"Where did this van come from, ma'am?" Aaron asked Ethel. "It handles like a race car."

"Nancy spent half the night upgrading it," she said. "New wheels, new suspension, new engine, remote control."

The van began to lurch and rattle violently. It seemed Victor was driving on a dirt road.

"Did you say remote control?" Aaron said.

Ethel nodded.

"Get ready to bail out!" Victor said.

Everybody moved towards the door. He slammed on the brakes, and the van skidded to a stop. Without hesitation Ethel threw open the door and leapt out. The sound of splashing water surprised Aaron. He looked outside and found that the van was adjacent to a canal full of dirty, green water.

"Get out!" Victor shoved Aaron out the door.

Aaron fell awkwardly into the canal, forcing cold water up his nose. He came to the surface gasping for air. All four of them were in the canal now, including Marina. The van's engine roared and it sped off in a cloud of dust.

"Who's driving the van?" Aaron said.

"Edward," Ethel said, "from back in headquarters. Get down!"

Sirens and flashing lights were approaching fast. Aaron went under for as long as he could endure it. He gently broke the surface and looked around. The police seemed to be gone.

"That was exciting," he said, "but can we please get out of this cesspool now?"

"Stop whining," Victor said. "We got away clean, didn't we?"

"If this is what you call clean." Aaron splashed the filthy water. "What is Edward doing with the van?"

"Driving it until it runs out of gas. A shame. It was a nice set of wheels."

There was a rusty iron ladder attached to the wall of the canal some distance away. Everybody swam over and climbed onto dry land. The hot sun immediately began to bake Aaron's wet skin, making it sticky instead.

"Keep moving," Ethel ordered.

They were walking on a dirt road adjacent to a factory. Cement trucks came and went through the factory gates, and giant machinery made a constant clattering noise.

"Let's hear your report," Ethel said.

Marina spoke in a formal tone. "We left the tracking device with Agent Hoskins, ma'am. He has no choice but to use it, so that part of the mission was a success. He'll follow Brimstone, and we'll follow him. There is some bad news. He knows our true identities, Aaron's and mine."

"How?"

"Some cop recognized Aaron from his photo, and the CIA gave me up."

"Bad news, indeed." Ethel frowned. "When we have time, we'll tie up the loose ends."

"What does that mean, ma'am?" Aaron asked. "Hoskins doesn't deserve to die."

"The secrecy of the Society must be protected."

"With murder?"

"We'll see how it goes. In my experience those who know too much about us always meet their fate even without our help. Hoskins has put himself into that category, unfortunately."

"In other words," he said, "you're hoping he gets killed, so you don't have to bother."

"That's not what I meant at all, and I don't appreciate your tone. Hoskins' situation is tragic. When a normal person crosses into our world, he dies. It's inevitable. The Lord allows no spectators in this war."

Aaron kicked a rock. Marina held his hand, which wasn't the nicest experience because their palms were damp and sticky.

They reached the main road. He didn't recognize this part of the city, but it seemed to be a mix of industrial blocks and small, single-family homes.

A black Cadillac was parked on the side of the road, and Nancy stood beside it. Aaron had met her at headquarters just a couple of times and only briefly because she always seemed to be busy. As usual, there were smears of grease on her blue jean coveralls. Her brown frizzy hair was cut very short in a style that was more practical than attractive. Her thick lips curved up to form a big grin.

"Need a ride?" she called out.

* * *

Aaron yawned. He was sitting in the cargo section of a delivery truck with Marina and Edward. Marina was asleep on a foam pad, and Aaron wondered how she could manage to stay that way. The truck kept bumping and swaying, and the road noise was a constant annoyance. Her hair was actually vibrating. The sun had set hours ago so at least the air was pleasantly cool. Earlier in the day, the back of the truck had been so miserably hot dried sweat had formed patches on his skin.

Edward was crouched over a pile of surveillance equipment, his eyes focused on a laptop computer display. A transmitter was hidden in the briefcase that Marina had left with Agent Hoskins. The Spears team could follow both Hoskins and Brimstone on this long, slow chase because Brimstone was carrying his book with its own transmitter. Edward had both locations on his display, updated in real-time over a scrolling road map.

"Where are we now?" Aaron asked.

"Well north of Chicago," Edward said. "Near a tiny town called Winthrop Harbor."

Aaron wished he could look out a window, but his only view was of corrugated steel walls.

He looked at Marina instead, a far more pleasant sight. She wore a skin-tight, black and gray outfit suitable for covert operations at night. Her body had many very attractive features, but if he had to pick one in particular, it would be her legs. Sleek and muscular without being chunky, she had the legs of a professional dancer, or more accurately, a professional martial artist. She trained hard every day. Ethel had made it clear that Aaron would follow the same strict regimen as soon as this mission was done.

"I hear you and Marina have a thing going," Edward said in a low voice. He glanced at Marina.

"It's more than a 'thing,'" Aaron said.

"Good luck with that, sir."

"Why?"

Edward grimaced. "Of all the people on our team, she's the scariest."

"What about Victor?" Aaron said. "He was an enforcer for the mob."

"But at least he's predictable. When he snaps your neck like a dry twig, you'll know why, and it will be a quick death. Ethel is the same. Marina is like a performing bear in a circus. She's a good friend until the one day she decides to rip your face off with her claws."

"Why is she that way?"

"I wish I could tell you, sir." Edward shrugged. "All I know is you better not press her buttons. She has a habit of exploding. I hope she'll be different with you."

Aaron leaned back, stretched, and accidently bumped into a cardboard box. The delivery truck was packed with supplies and gear, enough for an extended mission. They didn't know how long they would be away from headquarters, so they had prepared for every contingency.

"What's your story?" Aaron said. "Everybody in this crowd seems to have one."

"Me?" Edward raised his eyebrows. "I guess you could say I was a computer genius as a kid. I spent all day in my mother's basement taking things apart and putting them back together. My best friends were circuit boards and technical manuals."

"No harm in being a geek."

"Except that my family didn't have any money, certainly not enough to buy the top-end computers and instruments I wanted, so I stole them."

"Your mother didn't notice?" Aaron said.

"She was just happy I wasn't in a gang or taking drugs, sir. She didn't care what I did in the basement. I was a very good thief, but nobody is perfect. Eventually, I got caught and put in juvenile hall."

"That's rough."

"It turned out getting caught was the best thing for my criminal career," Edward said. "Word got around that I was a hot, young talent. After I got out, the professional thieves started inviting me to help with serious heists. Success led to success, and I built up a solid reputation on the street. I became an expert in hacking security systems. The scores got bigger, and eventually, a gang asked for my help with tackling a riverboat casino."

Aaron opened his eyes wide. "Ambitious."

"Extremely, and we pulled it off, too. Five of us got away with two million dollars in cash. Then the killing started."

"Killing?"

"Simple arithmetic," Edward said. "Two million divided by five is 400 grand. Subtract one thief, and you get 500. That's a nice bonus. Subtract two thieves, and you get 666. You see how that goes?"

"Yeah. It goes until there is only one thief left."

"Yes, sir, and I wasn't the one. I woke up in a hospital with two bullets in my chest and several quarts of blood missing. The cops had enough evidence to put me away for life, assuming I survived to stand trial. My injuries were bad. At times like that, an intelligent man starts to think about what's important. About the questionable choices he made. He has regrets."

"I can imagine." Aaron nodded.

"A black nurse named Ethel came to me, and we had a conversation that lasted all night. When the sun came up, I was a new man with a new plan."

"You never went to jail?"

"The Spears paid my bail, which was set at a million dollars, and that was the last time I appeared in court. They bought my life with cash."

"Sounds like a movie script," Aaron said.

Edward chuckled. "It wasn't that glamorous, sir. Nobody looked like George Clooney. Really, it was a lot of seedy motels, bad body odor, and cheap whores. I don't miss that life at all. Uh-oh." He stared at his computer display for a moment. Then he flipped his phone open and said, "Hoskins stopped moving, sir. We should pull over and talk about it."

"Roger," Victor answered through the phone. The van immediately slowed.

Aaron tapped Marina on the arm. "Time to wake up."

Her eyes opened immediately. "I was already awake," she said. "You blabbermouths won't let a girl have her beauty sleep."

"How much did you hear?" Edward said nervously.

"Starting from the part where you called me a performing circus bear."

"Oh." Edward swallowed.

"Don't worry. I've been called worse. Just don't do it again." She curled her fingers, exposing her black fingernails. "Unless you want to see how this bear uses her claws."

"No, ma'am!"

Chapter Sixteen

Aaron lay in grass that had recently been mowed. There was little cover, barely enough to conceal two people, so Marina's body was pressed against his. They were hiding in the side yard of a small house, and just a single row of bushes separated them from a busy street.

Aaron looked through a pair of binoculars at a large hotel with an attached conference center. The walls were made of pale red brick. Three identical brown sedans were parked in a row. Aaron knew that Agent Hoskins and his team had driven those cars to this location.

"Do you see Hoskins?" Aaron whispered.

Marina stared through her own binoculars. "No." Her voice was almost lost in the traffic noise. "He's probably in the hotel."

"What should we do?"

Both of them wore dark camouflage, black booties, and black ski masks. There was little moonlight, so as long as they stayed in the shadows, they were practically invisible.

"We wait here," Marina said.

"Wait for what? I'm sure Hoskins and his men are asleep by now. We should be, too."

"Ethel ordered us to perform reconnaissance."

"I'll call her," Aaron said. "This is pointless."

"Go ahead."

He called Ethel on his phone. Very quietly he said, "This is Aaron, ma'am."

"What's your status?" she replied in a whisper. She and Victor were tailing Brimstone.

"We're watching the hotel. Hoskins' cars are here, but we don't see him. What about you?"

"We're at a small house very near the harbor. We believe Brimstone is inside with several cult members. We spotted four other people performing covert surveillance of the house, like us."

"Hoskins' men?"

"That's our assumption," Ethel said. "His team is following the same signal as we are."

"Not much is happening here. Should Marina and I come help you?"

"No, I have a better idea. It's interesting this house is so close to the harbor."

"Now that you mention it," Aaron said, "I remember Simon making several references to water. Do you think his grand plan involves a ship, ma'am?"

"It's a possibility. I want you and Marina to break into the harbor master's office. Make photographic copies of logs, reports, anything that might tell us what boats have come and gone lately. I'll have Edward drive you over."

"Yes, ma'am. We'll stay put until he gets here." He closed his phone.

"What's the plan?" Marina said.

He smiled. "Breaking and entering. Does that sound fun?"

"Sure."

* * *

Edward drove the truck while Aaron sat in the passenger seat. There were only two seats, but Marina had wanted to see out the front, so she sat on Aaron's lap. He had no complaints about this arrangement. It gave him a chance to hold her tight, but she was big enough that he was glad it was a short drive.

They arrived at the harbor in Kenosha, Wisconsin, on the shore of Lake Michigan. Guarded by a breakwater made of rocks, the harbor was big enough for a few hundred boats. Aaron suspected many of the boats were owned by wealthy Chicagoans who came up on weekends.

The harbor office was a small, single-story building made of brown brick. The area was well lit and open, so they would have to get inside quickly to avoid being seen by a passing car.

"I see sensors on the windows and doors," Edward said. "You'll have to disable the burglar alarm before going in."

"Not my specialty," Aaron said. "Marina?"

Marina shook her head. "I'm not good with electronics. We'll have to use an expert. Edward, can you get us inside?"

"Me, ma'am?" Edward said in a tone of surprise. "I'm just your driver tonight."

"But you were a professional burglar. You know exactly what to do."

"It's been a long time, and what if I get into trouble? I don't know how to fight. I'm not authorized for field operations."

"Then I'm authorizing you."

He clenched his jaw.

"Aaron and I will be right here," she said. "I'm giving you an order."

His shoulders sagged. "Yes, ma'am."

He parked the truck in the shadow of a tree. They went around to the back and climbed into the cargo area. Edward dug into piles of equipment and supplies until he found a couple of nice cameras, which he gave to Aaron and Marina. Edward also produced pen-sized flashlights for all of them. Finally, he grabbed a red tool box for himself.

"Give me ten minutes to open the front door," he said. "Then come after me."

Marina nodded. "If you have a serious problem, run."

"I already had that plan."

Edward slipped out of the back of the truck and jogged towards the harbor.

"Now we wait," Aaron said. "I have to say that you look fantastic in that tight outfit. It really shows off your sexy body."

Marina stroked his chest. "You look yummy, too." She gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

"I wonder how Ethel and Victor are doing. I'm surprised she came with us on this road trip. She seems like the type who likes to pull strings from headquarters."

"No." She shook her head. "She hates being cooped up. She goes out every chance she gets, and it's a good thing this time. We'll need extra help."

"She and Victor make a strange team. A huge, beefy Italian guy with a small, middle-aged black woman."

"They're like mother and son."

"Talk about a dysfunctional family."

"Yeah." She looked down. "That was another reason she came along. She wants to supervise Victor."

"Why?" he said.

"His behavior has become more extreme and erratic lately. Did you read the report Victor wrote last night?"

"Am I allowed to do that?"

"Sure," she said. "We don't keep secrets from ourselves. Anyway, he tracked down a drug addict who buys heroin from the cult, one of their steady customers."

"Sounds like a good source of information." He nodded.

"Victor caught him in a nightclub restroom. The interrogation was unsuccessful. The guy knew nothing. By the time Victor was done, there was so much blood on his clothes that he couldn't go back into the nightclub. He escaped into an alley by kicking a hole in a back wall."

"Jeez."

"I'm worried about Victor," she said. "If he continues this way, Ethel will have to step in, or God will. Either way, he's a dead man."

They waited in silence until ten minutes had passed. Marina slipped out of the truck, looked around, and waved for Aaron to follow. They ran to the front door of the office building. After crossing her fingers, she pulled open the door. No alarm sounded.

They went inside and found Edward already at work. He was opening desks and rifling through the papers inside. Aaron focused his attention on a row of filing cabinets. He quickly discovered they were organized chronologically, which was convenient because he only cared about the last few months.

He took out the first folder, spread the papers on the floor, and took a picture. The flash was dark blue and barely visible.

"Edward," he whispered, "what's wrong with this flash?"

"It's an ultraviolet camera," Edward said. "It works perfectly well, sir. The pictures will come out crystal clear. Just start shooting."

"Nice." Aaron clicked away freely.

He had worked through an entire drawer of one filing cabinet, when he heard the back door of the office open. Cautiously, he investigated. Marina was standing just behind the building on the dock. She was in the open.

He hurried over to her. "What are you doing?"

"I heard something." She looked at the harbor full of boats. "Maybe a scream."

He listened carefully and heard it. "A woman in trouble. Over there, I think." He pointed at a boat at the end of one of the docks. Its lights were on.

Marina started walking along the dock.

"Where are you going?" he said.

"To help her."

"But we're on a mission. I thought we weren't supposed to get involved in other business. Ethel told me we don't fight crime."

"Stay with Edward," she said. "I'll be back in just a few minutes."

"Let's call the police and let them deal with it."

She glanced back at him. "Are you kidding? We're working here. We can't have cops hanging around. This won't take long."

He watched her walk out to the boat. In her black and gray clothing, she looked like a flowing shadow. Her footsteps on the wooden planks made no noise at all.

Edward came up behind Aaron and whispered, "What's going on?"

"We heard a woman scream," Aaron said. "Marina is investigating."

"We're on an assignment."

"I understand, but what if the woman is injured? Or getting raped?"

Edward shook his head. "Doesn't matter, and Marina knows that. Ethel won't be happy when she hears about this. And if it really is a rape..." He furrowed his brow. "Maybe you should go out there."

"Why?"

"Marina has a thing about rapists. Hurry, but be careful."

The anxiety in Edward's voice caused Aaron to worry also. Aaron jogged along the dock, making no attempt to be silent.

He arrived at the boat but nobody was on the deck. However, there were plenty of thumping and crashing noises coming from the hold, the sounds of a serious fight. At least the screaming had stopped.

He hopped onto the boat and leaned over to look into the hold. The sight was so grotesque it took a moment for him to comprehend what he was seeing. There was blood everywhere. A naked girl was handcuffed to a bed, obviously a rape victim. Fresh bruises on her thighs, arms, and face marked her pale skin. She was cowering, frozen with terror. Marina stood a short distance away, and she was catching her breath.

The remains of two men lay at her feet. She held a bloody dagger in her hand, and judging by the horrifying condition of the men, she had put it to good use. The cuts were not so much deep as plentiful, as if she had wanted the suffering to last. One of the men still moved slowly, but he lost more blood with every heartbeat. The other man was already gone.

Marina looked up at Aaron. Her eyes held an insane gleam, and she brandished her knife.

"Calm down," he said softly. "It's just me. You won."

She looked around in confusion as if seeing her location for the first time. She walked over to the girl. "Sleep," Marina whispered as she pressed her black fingernails against her neck.

The victim went to sleep. Marina covered her with a sheet.

She climbed out of the boat. Aaron gave her plenty of space. She jumped into the dark lake and dunked her head under the surface to wash off the blood. She climbed onto the dock, dripping wet. She slipped the dagger into a scabbard on her belt.

He didn't know what to think. Saving the girl was necessary, but butchering two men in the process was not.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asked nervously.

Her body was shaking even though the air was very warm. "No."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Marina headed up the dock alone. Aaron trailed her by a few paces.

"I think we should talk about it," he said. "It looks like Victor isn't the only one with extreme and erratic behavior."

She shook her head.

"Please." He touched her shoulder.

She grabbed his wrist and performed a hip toss. He landed flat on his back hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He couldn't remember the last time he had been thrown like that. Certainly, a woman had never done it.

"I'm your friend," he said after he caught his breath. "More than a friend. We can work on this together." He got back to his feet.

Tears were running down her cheeks. He approached her cautiously, and she allowed him to hug her.

"What's going on in your head?"

"Be quiet," she said.

"I'm trying to help," he replied softly.

"It's not working."

He squeezed her. "OK. I'll shut up."

She was so tense it was like holding a statue.

After a moment she melted into him, and her tears made his chest wet. "I just carved up a couple of grown men like they were Halloween pumpkins." She held up her black fingernails. "I'm a repulsive monster. You should be disgusted with me."

"Then I must be a monster, too, because I'm in love with one." He kissed her.

"Stop that!"

"What?"

"Being so nice," she said. "I don't deserve it."

He just held her.

Finally, she sniffled and wiped her nose. "Enough. Let's get back to work."

"Sure." He gave her another quick kiss.

They returned to the office and spent another hour taking pictures. When it seemed like they had photographed every piece of paper that might possibly be interesting, they went back to the truck. Aaron yawned. He had been awake for twenty-two hours, and dawn was just a few hours away.

Marina called Ethel. They spoke for a moment.

Afterwards, Marina closed her phone and said, "Ethel and Victor are still watching the house with the cult members inside. They'll spend the night there. We're under orders to get a little sleep and relieve them at 7:00 in the morning."

"Where are we sleeping?" Aaron said.

"The nearest hotel with high-speed internet access."

"Why?" Edward said.

"Because you have to transmit all those photos back to headquarters," Marina said.

"That's like ten gigabytes of data. When do I get to sleep, ma'am?"

"After you're done," she said.

* * *

Aaron rubbed his eyes. A "little" sleep had turned out to be only three hours worth. Two cups of coffee were the only thing keeping him upright.

He and Marina were walking down a street towards the location where Ethel and Victor were hiding. It was a quiet, traditional neighborhood with a mix of large and small homes. Some were clearly abandoned, but most were in good condition, and a handful even had fresh paint. Weeds pushed through cracks in the sidewalk. The nicest feature of the neighborhood was the many large, lush trees that concealed some of the signs of neglect and decay.

Aaron and Marina wore disguises. She had put on a traditional Indian sari that went from her neck down to the ground. She also wore a brunette wig, and brown makeup darkened her face. The disguise would not stand up to intense scrutiny, but from across the street she looked like she had come straight from India. The loose-fitting sari had the additional advantage that it allowed her to hide a variety of weapons underneath.

Aaron had attempted to match her disguise by wearing an Indian sherwani made of black silk, which went down to his knees. Like her sari, his outfit allowed him to carry an assortment of concealed weapons. He also wore brown makeup on his face, but instead of a wig, he had a round turban made of red cotton.

They turned left into a driveway and walked past a blue house with cobwebs on the windows. A "For Sale by Owner" sign was nailed to a tree, but it had rusted through in spots.

Instead of going into the house itself, Aaron and Marina went to a garage in back made of cinderblocks. They found Ethel and Victor inside, sitting on folding lawn chairs in front of video monitors. Live feeds from a dozen hidden cameras showed various views of the street.

"There you are!" Ethel said. "Five minutes late."

"Sorry, ma'am," Marina said.

"The cult members are inside that one." She pointed at a yellow house on one of the monitors. "And the DEA is hiding there." She pointed at a brown van parked on the street. "Four men, including Hoskins."

"That's a small van for four guys plus gear. It must be snug in there."

"I'm sure it is, so don't whine about our luxury accommodations."

The garage was dusty but spacious and well ventilated. Between the lawn chairs were two grocery bags full of soda, fruit, and snacks.

"You won't hear me complain," Aaron said. "This is nice for a stakeout. Comfy."

"I drew a schematic." Ethel gave a piece of paper to Marina. "It shows the locations of cars, cameras, and other items of interest. Study it."

"What's the plan?" Aaron said. "When are we going to grab the cult members, ma'am?"

"Soon. I'm sure there are other cult houses. If we take out this one, the rest will know to expect trouble, so for now we'll just gather intelligence. Besides, before we deal with the cult, we will have to deal with the DEA."

He looked down, not liking the implications of her statement.

"I think that's all," she said. "We'll be back at 1600 hours to relieve you."

Ethel and Victor stood up and headed for the door.

"Wait, ma'am!" Aaron said. "I need a few minutes with you alone, please."

He and Ethel went outside together. They stood on the back lawn behind the abandoned house. He made sure to close the garage door so Marina wouldn't hear.

"What's wrong?" Ethel said.

"Something happened last night, ma'am."

"What?"

"While we were at the harbor," Aaron said, "we heard screaming. It turned out to be a girl getting raped. Marina..."

"I can guess the rest. She went berserk."

"She shredded two men."

Ethel nodded and sighed. "We're violent creatures fighting a violent war, but there are boundaries. She sometimes forgets that."

"What's wrong with her?"

"All I know is that she had a very bad experience when she was young. She's still angry about it. I've tried to talk to her many times, but she refuses to even discuss the matter."

"So," he said, "you just tolerate this kind of murderous behavior, ma'am?"

"I'm in a very difficult position. Marina is a phenomenally talented legionnaire, and when she stays in control, she's a star performer. Just as important, she's a survivor. To give you an idea, twelve different legionnaires have worked for me during my time as a commander. Eight were killed."

That last number troubled him. Those weren't good odds of survival. "Wait. You have three now, plus eight is eleven."

"You're forgetting Yvonne," she said. "She was a legionnaire too, and technically, she still is. My point is surviving five years is a substantial achievement. Marina is almost at her tenth anniversary. Some day you'll understand how impressive that is. This team would be much less effective without her. I keep hoping she'll get better. I've been trying to counsel her. It hasn't helped."

Ethel's dark eyes were full of sorrow. It was as much emotion as Aaron had ever seen her express.

"Maybe I can help her," he said.

"I very much hope you can, but be careful. You could easily become another victim of her rage. At least she didn't compromise the mission. Headquarters reported they received the photos. Nobody on the team was injured, and the police weren't involved. Good work."

He looked up at the lush trees. "Victor is a thug. Edward was a professional crook. Marina is dangerously insane. It makes me wonder whether I'm on the right team, ma'am."

"Your history is not without blemish. You were a Chicago cop for long enough to get plenty of innocent blood on your hands. When the department threw you out..."

"Those charges were fabricated!" Aaron clenched his fists.

"Not all of them," Ethel said. "The reports I saw called you a maniac and a gun slinger, and they were written before the bribery incident. That's one reason I recruited you."

"I don't understand, ma'am." He shook his head.

"We are God's attack dogs. Priests and preachers take the high road, but we take the low. Have you ever read the Old Testament? Sodom and Gomorrah. Jericho. Exodus 11:5: All the firstborn in the land of Egypt shall die. Deuteronomy 20:3: Hear, O Israel, ye approach this day unto battle against your enemies. Jeremiah 18:21: Deliver up their children to the famine, and pour out their blood by the force of the sword. The Lord commands us to crawl through mud and slay His enemies without hesitation. Marina will do that. If I'm worried about anybody on this team, it's you."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure you have the stones to be one of us."

Not too long ago, that comment would've offended Aaron. He had to admit maybe Ethel was correct.

"I have to get some sleep," she said. "I'll see you later."

She called for Victor, and they left.

Aaron went back into the garage and sat with Marina on the lawn chairs in front of the monitors. The only visible activity was one squirrel chasing another around a tree. He exhaled slowly. It would be a long, dull day.

"You told Ethel about last night," Marina said softly.

Aaron glanced at her. "I had to talk to somebody. Sorry."

"I thought you loved me."

"I do."

"But then you rat me out."

"It's not like that." He shook his head. "Besides, do you really want to keep secrets from Ethel?"

She took a long moment before answering. "I'm not proud of what I did. I completely lost control, and that's inexcusable. How did Ethel react?"

"She's not going to kill you this time. No guarantees about next time though. You're sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"Very sure. And it's not smart to tell Ethel everything. She doesn't need to hear about every screw up."

"Oh?"

"If she decides you're too weak or too stupid to be a Spear, she will revoke your membership... with her machetes." Marina made a slashing motion across her own throat with her finger. "Understand?"

"Yes," Aaron said. "I understand very well."

Chapter Seventeen

Aaron was having trouble keeping his eyes open. The garage was too warm, the air was too still, and the only sound was cicadas chirping in the trees. He glanced at Marina. She was slouched in her lawn chair with her head at an angle. His watch showed 2:00 PM. Two hours until our shift is over, he thought.

Hoskins and his team were still in their brown van, which hadn't moved an inch all day. One of the surveillance cameras showed a partial angle through a back window of the van. Aaron could sometimes glimpse the men inside, and he didn't envy them. It was probably as hot as an oven and stinking of sweat inside there. They couldn't run the air-conditioner without starting the engine, and they couldn't start the engine without attracting attention.

Aaron slapped his own face to wake himself up. He grabbed a can of cola from one of the grocery bags that Ethel had left behind. The can was warm but the drink was caffeinated, and the latter was the most important consideration.

A white sedan pockmarked with rust pulled into the driveway of the yellow house where the cult members were hiding. Four men immediately rushed out of the house and began unloading small wooden crates. The men wore street clothes, but green tattoos on their faces marked them as agents of the Church of One Soul.

"Do you see that, Marina?" Aaron said. "Are you still awake?"

"I see," Marina said.

It took just half a minute to move eight crates into the house. The sedan drove away. The driver never even got out of his seat.

Marina walked over to a video control console next to the monitors. She played the video back until they had a clear view of one of the crates. She zoomed in.

"Russian markings," she said. "Military high explosives."

Seeing the actual explosives crystallized the danger in Aaron's mind. "What should we do?"

"I don't know. Ethel has to make the decision. Our orders are to stay put and observe." Her phone rang and she answered. "Hello? OK." She pressed the speakerphone button so Aaron could listen.

Edward's voice came through the phone. "I just intercepted a phone call from Agent Hoskins. He was excited about some crates that were just delivered. He sent photos to a lab in Washington for analysis."

"We saw them," Marina said. "Russian high explosives."

"That's not good."

"Did you tell Ethel?"

"No," Edward said. "She and Victor are still sleeping."

"What about the guy who delivered the explosives?" Aaron said. "We can pull a license plate number off the surveillance video and track him down."

"I think Hoskins had the same idea, sir. His phone call included a license plate number, so the DEA is already chasing that lead."

"OK," Marina said. "Wake up Ethel and advise her of the situation. Bye." She closed her phone.

She and Aaron looked at each other.

"What now?" he said.

She shrugged.

"At least we have a little more information. The cult intends to blow something up, and the plan probably involves a boat."

"It's three days until the Fourth of July," she said. "That means huge crowds of people packed together to watch fireworks, and we barely know anything."

"Damn," he muttered. "Are all your missions this intense?"

"Each in its own special way."

* * *

4:00 PM finally arrived, and so did Ethel and Victor. Aaron pushed himself out of his lawn chair and stumbled on legs that were half-asleep.

"Walk south to 61st Street," Ethel said. "A cab is waiting to take you back to the hotel."

"Thank you, ma'am," Aaron said. "I'm desperate for an ice cold glass of water and a shower to wash off the sweat."

"Anything new to report?"

"No, ma'am," Marina said.

"Hoskins still hasn't taken a break?" Ethel said. "The man is certainly dedicated. He's been on duty for twenty straight hours."

Aaron and Marina left the garage and headed south along the street. Heat rising from the surface made the air shimmer. A slight breeze rustled the green leaves of the many trees.

"It's a shame about Hoskins," she said softly.

"What is?"

"He's as good as dead. I tried to warn him."

"He's a senior federal agent," he said. "He can protect himself."

"No." She sighed. "You'll see. It's always the same."

They found the cab that Ethel had left for them. It had the traditional yellow paint job with a black checkerboard pattern. Aaron and Marina slid into the cramped back seat, and the air-conditioning felt like a wind from Heaven. The cab driver started driving without asking about the destination.

Marina's phone rang and she answered it. "What? Shit. OK, we're on it, ma'am." She closed her phone. Then she leaned over and told the cab driver, "Take us back to the harbor. Quick."

The cab performed an immediate U-turn.

"What happened?" Aaron said.

"Two cult members just left the house in an electric golf cart," she said. "It was loaded with duffel bags and headed towards the harbor. Our orders are to investigate while our teammates watch the house."

So much for my ice water, he thought.

The cab dropped them off just south of the harbor. Marina gave the driver a very generous tip.

A white golf cart was parked at the entrance to one of the docks, where it met a narrow access road. Two men were depositing several duffle bags in a small speed boat. Judging by the physical effort involved, the bags were heavy.

"We need to follow that boat," Marina said.

"Then let's steal one of our own," Aaron said.

He sprinted north and made a wide circle around the cult members. Aaron picked another dock about two hundred yards away. A locked gate blocked the entrance, but he climbed over it. He glanced back and saw Marina go over the gate with the skill of an acrobat. She was impressively limber.

He ran along the dock until he spotted an outdated boat with a big engine. Hopefully, the primitive controls would be easy to hotwire. He jumped onto the unsteady deck.

"Tools," he said, looking around. "We need tools."

Marina reached under her sari and produced wire cutters and pliers. "Like these?"

"Perfect. But how did you know?"

"Standard equipment on a covert mission."

"I guess I need to read the manual on covert missions."

Aaron got to work on the ignition. As he had hoped, the wiring was simple, and in less than thirty seconds he had the engine purring.

He was just in time because other people in the harbor were looking curiously in Aaron's direction. There was too much daylight for this job. He spun the boat around and aimed the bow toward the mouth of the harbor.

He stopped when he was well outside the breakwater. He could still observe the cult speedboat, but he was far enough away to be discreet about it. Sweat dripped into his eyes.

"Nicely done," Marina said. "You have real talent."

"Thanks. Sometimes a misspent youth has advantages."

Four men came running up the dock towards the speedboat. Two were uniformed police officers, and the other two had buttoned white shirts. Aaron recognized Agent Hoskins among the latter.

There was a verbal confrontation. It seemed Hoskins was trying to arrest the cult members. Instead of complying, they pulled out assault rifles and began shooting wildly. One of the cops went down, obviously hit by a bullet.

Seconds later, the speedboat shot out of the harbor with a huge rooster tail of water trailing behind. It blew past Aaron close enough to spray cool mist in his face.

"It's headed east!" he said.

He opened the throttle of his own boat and pursued. The rooster tail turned out to be a tremendous help. Not only did it allow him to follow from much farther back without losing his quarry, but it blocked visibility to the rear of the speedboat. The cult members couldn't see Aaron as long as he stayed directly behind the spray.

Marina's phone rang. She crouched down to get out of the wind. She took off her wig because it kept getting in the way. He couldn't hear the conversation over the ferocious engine noise, but it didn't last long.

After the call ended, she stood up and spoke directly into his ear. "Edward intercepted an emergency message sent by Hoskins to the U.S. Coast Guard. He ordered them to stop the speedboat by any means necessary."

"Is that good?" he said.

"No, it's very bad. We need to know where that boat is going, and we absolutely do not need more involvement by the authorities." She shook her head. "What a nightmare."

The pursuit continued at full speed. Aaron pushed his boat as hard as he could, but it just wasn't fast enough, and the cult speedboat started to get too far ahead. In frustration, he threw his red turban into the lake.

Just when he thought he might have to give up, he spotted a much larger ship ahead. The white and red paint marked it as a Coast Guard vessel. He killed his engines and drifted to a stop.

The big ship fired a shell across the bow of the speedboat, and the booming noise was loud even to Aaron, half a mile away. The speedboat turned hard and stopped.

His ears were used to the constant roar of an engine, and the sudden silence seemed loud. The Coast Guard vessel remained in place about a hundred yards away from the speedboat. Nobody was moving.

"What should we do?" Aaron said.

Marina shrugged. "I'll call Ethel."

"You can't get a signal out here. We're in the middle of Lake Michigan."

"Our phones can get a signal anywhere."

She made her call and pushed the speakerphone button so he could hear too.

"What's your status?" Ethel asked.

"A Coast Guard cutter stopped the enemy boat," Marina said, "but they're still separated, ma'am."

"Maybe the Coast Guard is waiting for Hoskins to get out there. According to Edward, he rented a couple of boats a short while ago."

"Sounds like he wants to make the arrests in person."

"Not a surprise," Aaron said. "If I were Hoskins, I wouldn't want the Coast Guard screwing up my bust, especially after the bad guys shot at me. I'd want to see their faces when I slapped on the handcuffs. I'd also want to be the first person to look inside those duffle bags."

"Regardless," Ethel said, "this situation is deteriorating quickly. Continue to observe. Call me if you have anything new to report."

Marina closed her phone.

"What did she mean by 'deteriorating quickly?'" Aaron asked.

"There are way too many civilians getting involved in a Spears mission. It's going to get ugly."

They waited as the sun dropped slowly towards the horizon. The only sound was waves slapping against the hull.

He heard engines in the distance. Two more boats were approaching at high speed.

"That must be Hoskins," Marina said.

The new arrivals suddenly veered towards her and Aaron.

"Shit!" he said. "He spotted us. Should we run?"

"No," she said. "Let him talk to us. Maybe we'll learn something useful."

"He'll try to arrest us again."

"Yes, he'll try."

The DEA flanked Aaron's boat on both sides. Hoskins had brought five other men with him, for a total of three men in each of his two boats. They wore blue body armor over T-shirts and jeans. In the orange light of sunset, Hoskins looked exhausted. He had black circles under his eyes, sagging cheeks, and uncombed hair.

"You two!" he said angrily. "I should've guessed. You're like a bad habit I can't get rid of."

"The same goes for you," Marina said. "Did you catch the guy who delivered the explosives earlier today?"

He stared at her. "You're well informed."

"Of course."

"You're not getting away from me this time," he said. "There are six of us plus an entire Coast Guard cutter against just two of you. Unless you have a submarine, you're alone out here. Dead or alive, we will take you in."

"I suggest you deal with the cult first. You'll have better luck with them. Actually, it would be even better if you just ran away and forgot about this whole thing."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because there is a slim chance it could save your life," Marina said. "Did you interrogate the delivery guy? What did he tell you?"

Hoskins paused. "This wasn't his first delivery. He made many, many others. Simon purchased several tons of high explosives and other ordinance."

"Strange behavior for drug dealers, don't you think?"

"Tell me the truth. What's going on here?"

"The truth?" She looked up at the sky. Sunlight made her pale freckled skin glow. "God wants you to leave."

"Huh?" He raised his eyebrows.

"He doesn't need your help. You shouldn't be here. This is our job, not yours."

"So, God wants you to stay and me to leave."

"That's exactly right." She nodded.

He rolled his eyes. "Enough of this shit." He looked at his three men in the other boat. "Stay here and watch these jokers," he ordered. "If they do anything, shoot them. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," the three replied.

Hoskins drove his own boat towards the speedboat with the two cult members on board. The Coast Guard cutter converged at the same time.

Take it nice and slow, Aaron thought. He had a bad feeling.

The engine on the speedboat roared to life. With a huge spray of water, it jetted towards the cutter at suicidal speed. Hoskins accelerated his own boat on an intercept course, and everybody converged towards the same spot.

The speedboat exploded into a fireball. Aaron felt searing heat on his face, and a blast of hot air ruffled his clothes. The size of the explosion was like nothing he had ever seen. The hull of the cutter was torn open, allowing water to flood the lower decks. An inferno made of burning fuel gushed out and spread across the lake. Hoskins and his men were caught in the middle of the fire, which didn't matter because the blast had already killed them.

Aaron heard three rapid gunshots at close range. He turned to find that Marina was holding a smoking pistol. The three DEA agents that had remained behind were dead, each shot in the head. She fired a few more times at the hull below the waterline, clearly intending to send their boat to the bottom of the lake.

The Coast Guard cutter sank while Aaron watched. There were dozens of men in the water, but they were either dead already or being burned alive by the spreading fuel. Distant cries of pain filled the hazy air. It was the most horrifying thing Aaron had ever seen.

"Get us out of here!" Marina ordered.

"But what if there are survivors?"

"Then they'll drown! Only two people are leaving this battlefield: you and me."

She shoved him aside and grabbed the controls of their boat. She drove west at full speed.

He looked back at the scene of fire and death. The cutter had almost disappeared under the water. There were no lifeboats. Feeling sick, he sat down.

"You froze back there," she said. "That's unacceptable."

"I didn't freeze," he said. "I had a normal human reaction. I felt compassion! Is that unacceptable now? Why did you kill those three men?"

"Because they were distracted. It was my opportunity."

"You murdered federal agents in cold blood."

"I wasn't about to let them arrest us. We're past the point where we can afford any more delays. I told Hoskins to go away. I don't know how I could've been more explicit. This is what always happens when outsiders stick their nose in our business!"

He didn't know what to say to her. Images of death crowded his mind and destroyed his ability to think rationally.

"Make yourself useful," Marina said. "Call Ethel and report our situation."

He took out his phone and punched in Ethel's number with no enthusiasm.

"Hello?" Ethel said.

"Everybody is dead, ma'am."

"Marina?"

"No, no," Aaron said. "She's fine. Everybody else is dead."

"How?"

"The cult members blew up their own boat. I guess those duffle bags were packed with explosives. The fireball was big enough to take out the Coast Guard cutter. Then Marina finished off the DEA agents. Oh, one other thing. Hoskins talked to us before he died. He said Simon purchased tons more explosives. They must be building a gigantic bomb."

"I see." Ethel paused. "Get back here as fast as you can."

"We'll try, ma'am. We're pretty far out in the lake, so it might be a while."

"Victor and I have to attack now, while we still have the advantage of surprise."

"Don't wait for me," he said. "I've had my fill of action."

Chapter Eighteen

Victor watched Ethel finish her phone call.

"Did you hear what Aaron told me?" she asked.

"I heard enough." He stood up. "Let's go."

"There are three cult members left in the house and two federal agents in the van."

"I'll take out the feds by myself, ma'am."

"Aren't we eager tonight?" She raised her eyebrows.

He cracked his knuckles. "I've been sitting in this fucking garage too long. I need to get my blood moving."

"Just do it very quietly. There are neighbors all around, and I don't want any of them calling the cops because they see or hear something."

"Yes, ma'am."

He walked out of the garage and into the night. The sun had just set. The air was warm and moist, fine weather for killing. Garbage cans behind a neighboring house emitted the odor of rotting food.

He rolled his shoulders and popped his neck as he moved. He should've taken the time to stretch and warm up properly, but his adrenaline was pumping, and he didn't want to wait.

He paused when he reached the sidewalk. About seventy yards to his left, the brown van was parked on the street. Two DEA agents were inside. He had to kill both of them before either had a chance to fire a shot or yell for help.

Victor performed a tactical analysis. The targets were in a static location with limited visibility, which meant he could get close. He carried five weapons: two knives and three guns. He decided to use his fists instead for the fun of it. His great strength allowed him to kill with just one punch. Even an inaccurate blow would stun his opponent for several seconds, long enough for him to finish the job.

He tore off long strips of black cloth from his shirt and wrapped them tightly around his knuckles. He hated getting bloody knuckles. They hurt, they aroused suspicion, and they sometimes became infected. As a young man he had believed open wounds were a sign of toughness, and he had displayed them proudly to his friends. Now he understood that any injury was the mark of an amateur. A true professional never looked like he had been in a fight.

He walked towards the van at a casual pace. He hoped anybody who saw him would assume he was just taking an evening stroll.

He went around to the rear of the van and boldly knocked on the door. "Hello! I know you're in there. Come out where I can see you."

A male voice responded, "Who is it?"

"The police. We received a report that you were loitering here all day."

A door opened a little. A Caucasian man with blond hair peered out, and he seemed too young for his job.

"We're federal agents," the man said. "Hey, you don't look like a cop."

"I'm supposed to be off duty. A fed, huh? Can I see some identification?"

"Sure." He produced a badge.

Victor examined it closely. "Looks legit. I apologize, sir. By the way, did you know one of your tires is flat?"

"It is?"

Victor nodded.

The man stepped out of the van and came around the side. "They look fine to me."

Victor punched him in the back of the neck, exactly where the first cervical vertebrae met the second. There was a pop as the bones dislocated, pinching and perhaps severing the spinal cord. The agent collapsed to the sidewalk as all his muscles went slack at once. Victor stepped on his throat to crush his windpipe. The man didn't even struggle as he died.

Nice and quiet, Victor thought.

"Joe?" another voice called from inside the van. "What's going on out there?"

The second agent came out of the van with his gun drawn. Victor slapped the gun away and punched the agent in the solar plexus, forcing all the air from his lungs and silencing him. Then Victor performed a high spinning kick. There was a double thump as his foot smashed the agent's skull into the van. He was knocked out. Ethel and Marina aren't the only ones with martial arts moves, Victor thought. He crushed the second man's throat.

Quickly, Victor tossed both bodies into the van, closed the door, and looked around. There were no witnesses. Perfect.

He felt cold and empty inside, but it was the same after every kill, so he wasn't surprised. Sometimes when a challenging job went very well, he would experience some satisfaction, but tonight's work didn't meet that standard. The federal agents never had a chance.

"Well done," Ethel said.

He looked back and found her standing directly behind him. With her loose black and gray clothing, dark skin, and darker eyes, she appeared to be the ghost of death. He controlled his reaction enough that at least she wouldn't see him jump.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said.

"We'll have more trouble with the next part. We're facing three paranoid, brainwashed, militant zealots who will eagerly fight to the death. But we need them alive for interrogation, and there can't be any noise."

"Don't forget the booby traps. There are always booby traps."

"Of course," she said. "Do you want to suggest a plan?"

He furrowed his brow in thought. "Edward could bring the truck here. We could use our night vision gear, smoke bombs, and knockout gas."

"But that would take time, and you're so damn eager." She lowered her voice to parody his. "From sitting in the fucking garage too long."

"Don't make fun of me."

"Why? Do you suffer from the sin of pride?" She poked his chest with her finger.

He snarled. "Back in the day..."

"Excuse me, Victor. Are you about to threaten your commander?"

"No, ma'am." He ducked his head. "Sorry." His heart beat quicker than it had at any time during the fight with the federal agents.

"Don't be so huffy," she said. "It demonstrates a lack of self-confidence and maturity. I'm still waiting for you to suggest a plan."

"What kind of heat are you packing?"

"My usual. Two machetes, a thin blade, and a target pistol."

He had seen her wield her machetes in battle. They were made of the toughest steel, polished to a mirror finish, and honed to an edge that would make a samurai proud. She could conduct a symphony of blood and suffering with those weapons. A spare knife was always useful, of course. However, he didn't like her pistol, but that was an old argument between them. The dainty .25 caliber bullets lacked stopping power. He preferred rounds that could drop a charging bull in its tracks.

After another moment of thought, he said, "Honestly, I don't have a plan. That house is full of question marks that could kill us."

Two engines roared. An instant later two green motorcycles shot out of the driveway, turned hard, and sped down the street. The riders wore green trench coats and had green tattoos on their faces.

Ethel ran after them. "You get the third!" she yelled over her shoulder at Victor.

He shook his head. She was extremely fast, but he didn't believe she could run down fleeing motorcycles. It was worth a try, though. Good luck and a few shortcuts might make up the difference in speed.

Regardless, he had to worry about his own problem. There was a third cult member in the yellow house, and if Victor failed to capture him alive, the night could be a total debacle. The Spears were running out of people to interrogate.

Victor sprinted across the street, heedless of the fact that he had no specific plan in mind. Entering the house was the first obstacle. He went around to the side yard and tried one of the windows, but it was locked. There was no way to force it open silently, and he couldn't afford to make any noise.

He worked his way around the house, trying all points of entry. He came to a cellar door in back that looked inviting. There was a strong padlock, but the latch was anchored by just four wood screws. Using his brute strength, he tore off the padlock along with the latch.

He went down into the cellar, which was very dark. It took precious seconds for his eyes to adjust enough that he could move without knocking something over. The floor was littered with old appliances, boxes, paint cans, and other debris. Even though the room seemed harmless, he took very slow, careful steps. His caution paid off when he brushed against a thin wire stretched across the floor. He followed the wire to the pin on a hand grenade.

A classic that never goes out of style, he thought.

Victor climbed a flight of wooden stairs. He walked on the sides so the steps wouldn't creak, but he still produced a few squeaks that seemed as loud as thunder to his ears. He nudged open a door and peeked into a kitchen.

The light was on, but he didn't see anybody. The kitchen was old and had cracked vinyl floor tiles, but it was very clean. Every surface had been scrubbed until it gleamed, and there wasn't a dirty dish in sight. This fact worried Victor. A house full of men usually meant a messy kitchen. This group had to be exceptionally disciplined.

He nudged the door a little more and felt unexpected resistance. Immediately, he backed off. He looked up and saw a shotgun pointed straight down with a string attached to the trigger. If he had opened the door another half-inch, the shotgun would've blasted his head. Carefully, he drew a knife and cut the string. Then, standing back, he pushed the door open with the tip of his knife.

He moved into the kitchen. He smelled petroleum fumes, and the odor drew him towards an adjacent room. A man in green robes was pouring gasoline over a large pile of papers, blankets, and towels. Green tattoos around his eyes confirmed he was a member of the Church of One Soul. On the floor there were also several hand grenades, boxes of bullets, guns, and a small plastic crate marked "explosive."

A floorboard under Victor's foot creaked. The man looked up, and their eyes met. Victor instinctively drew his gun but didn't shoot. He needed to capture this guy alive. The man grabbed one of the hand grenades, the nearest weapon within reach.

"Back off!"

Victor brandished his gun. "No."

"I'll use this!" The man threatened to pull the pin on the grenade.

"In here? You'll kill us both." Victor glanced at the explosives on the floor. "You'll blow this entire house to bits."

"That's right."

Victor considered his options. He wielded a specialty revolver that fired huge .50 caliber bullets. He loved his gun, but it was a terrible choice for this job. Not only was it loud enough to wake half the neighborhood, but it was too lethal. A hit almost anywhere on the body could cause death from shock and blood loss.

"What's your name?" Victor lowered his gun.

"Brimstone. Why?"

Victor recognized the name from Marina's report. "Just being friendly."

"Don't bother. You're an enemy of Simon," Brimstone said.

"Calm down. Let's talk about this."

"There is nothing to talk about."

The gasoline fumes were making Victor nauseous. He wished he could open a window.

"We could discuss how your friends abandoned you."

"It was my choice," Brimstone said. "I volunteered to burn this house, and if necessary, I will die here."

"Why?"

"Because I led the enemies of Simon to this place. His loyal soldiers worked here for over a year without trouble until I arrived. Then suddenly, they were beset by foes. I must atone for my failure."

Over a year? Victor thought. What the fuck have they been working on?

"You made a mistake. That's no reason to commit suicide."

"But I will kill you, too," Brimstone said. "Simon would approve."

"He's dead."

"I've heard that lie before."

"It's true." Victor nodded. "I saw it with my own eyes. Your prophet is gone. The Apocalypse is officially postponed for another thousand years."

"No! Simon's plan is almost complete. Very soon all of humanity will learn a hard but important lesson. Then Simon will rise to absolute power, and criminals like you will get the justice you deserve."

"But if you blow us up, you'll never have the satisfaction of knowing you were right."

"I don't need satisfaction," Brimstone said. "I have faith."

Victor was running out of patience. He wondered if he could safely shoot the grenade out of Brimstone's hand. It seemed unlikely.

Victor took a step.

"Don't get any closer!" Brimstone held the grenade like a shield.

"Come on. You don't really want to die."

"In a moment of weakness, I allowed myself to be arrested once. I will not be weak again."

"I won't arrest you," Victor said. "I'm not the police."

"You're one of them, which is even worse."

"Them?"

"Simon warned us." Brimstone nodded. "Sworn enemies of Sraosha. Unholy warriors. Creatures made of darkness and hate."

Victor chuckled. He had been called many things before, but never a "creature made of darkness and hate." He considered just shooting Brimstone in the head and ending this stalemate, but that would be an admission of defeat. Ethel wanted a live captive.

"You think that's funny?" Brimstone said.

"I think Simon filled your head with a lot of bullshit."

"You have no faith."

"Actually, I do," Victor said. "I have faith that the world will always have more than enough stupidity to go around. How about if we make a deal? I don't care about this house. If you want to burn it, that's fine. All I want is for both of us to walk out of here together."

"No." Brimstone shook his head.

"I can't leave without you. I have a job to do."

"Your job is to doom mankind to an eternity of selfishness and critical thinking."

"Do you even know what that means, or are you just mindlessly repeating Simon's catch phrases? If you're going to argue with me, try to sound like you have a complete thought in your head." Victor rolled his eyes.

"Maybe you're right. This argument is a waste of time. I should give up."

Victor was suspicious. "Then put the grenade down slowly."

Brimstone placed the grenade on the ground behind the pile of papers. He raised his hands to show they were empty.

"Good," Victor said.

Brimstone smiled. "I do have one thought, and it's a happy one. My death tonight will be glorious. Take me now, Simon!"

Suddenly fearful, Victor leaned over the pile so he could see the grenade for himself. The pin was out. Shit! He took two steps towards the door.

Fire consumed him.

* * *

Aaron rode towards the shore of Lake Michigan. The night was cloudy and dark, and the air had finally started to cool after a very warm day. It seemed like he and Marina had been on the water for hours. They saw street lights on the horizon, which meant the trip was finally coming to an end.

Marina's phone rang, and she answered it. She hardly spoke during the short conversation, but the stony expression on her face told Aaron the news was bad.

After closing her phone, she said, "Victor is dead."

"What!?"

"A bomb killed him along with one of the cult members. The other two escaped. We have no leads, no captives to interrogate. We're completely fucked."

Aaron shook his head slowly. He couldn't believe the news.

"Ethel wants to meet us back at the hotel," Marina added. "We need to figure out our next move, whatever it is."

He paused. "Do you want to talk about Victor?"

"No."

Chapter Nineteen

Aaron and Marina entered the hotel suite that had become their temporary base of operations in Kenosha. There was a central living room and two nicely furnished bedrooms. Edward sat in the corner of the living room and watched television with drooping eyelids. Ethel paced back and forth, still in her stealth outfit. Her legs moved unnaturally fast, which Aaron found disconcerting.

"What took you two so long?" Ethel said. "I called an hour ago."

"Sorry, ma'am," Marina said. "We couldn't find the harbor in the darkness. We had to hike through the woods and steal a car. It's been a long night."

"Long" was an understatement. Aaron was so weary his eyes wouldn't focus properly. He could've fallen asleep leaning against a wall.

"Regardless," Ethel said, "we're not resting until we have some kind of plan for how to proceed."

"We'll think better with a few hours of sleep, ma'am," Aaron said.

"You heard my orders."

He sighed and looked for a place to sit. There was a couch, but its plush cushions looked dangerously soft and soothing. He settled for a chair made of metal, which was sufficiently uncomfortable to keep him awake. Marina sat near him.

"Does anybody have any ideas?" Ethel said.

Aaron rubbed his temples, hoping to push extra blood through his brain. His mind was completely blank.

"There are more cult members out there," Marina said. "We just have to find them."

Ethel shook her head. "By now the ones that escaped have warned the rest to expect trouble. They'll be extra cautious. Finding them could take weeks, and we might only have days."

"What about the prisoners who are still in jail in Chicago?"

"We've had enough trouble with the authorities. I was uncomfortable the first time you went into the jail, and we won't go back unless it's our last option."

"I have an idea," Aaron said, surprised that he actually did. "That cult speedboat was travelling in a straight line. If we follow the same heading in the morning, we might be able to figure out where it was going."

Ethel nodded. "And since it was a small boat travelling at night, I bet the destination was a larger ship. Otherwise, they would've driven a car around the lake."

"A ship is a great place to store tons of explosives. It's mobile, big, and you can see the cops coming from a mile away. Simon made several obvious references to water."

"And a ship can wander around for years without attracting attention. Lake Michigan is twenty thousand square miles."

"High-resolution satellite photos," Edward said from the corner of the room. "That's what we need. We can follow the heading with our eyeballs."

Ethel looked at him. "The photos will have to be from yesterday."

"The Chinese and Russians fly military spy satellites over the United States every day. I have access to that data, ma'am."

"Good." She nodded. "Edward, work on the satellite photos. Also do a computer search for ships owned by the Church of One Soul. Look at registries and tax records. Maybe some of the information you gathered at the harbor office will be helpful. Meanwhile, the three of us will search the lake by air. Marina, is your pilot's license still valid?"

"Yes, ma'am," Marina said. "I renew every year."

"Then I'll rent one airplane, and you'll rent another. Aaron, you go with Marina."

"What about sleep?" Aaron said.

"Four hours," Ethel said. "That's all we can afford."

* * *

Lake Michigan was huge. Aaron had not fully appreciated this fact until he had to fly over it a few times. Blue-green water stretched from horizon to horizon, and he was seeing only a tiny part of the lake. It should've been called the Michigan Ocean.

Marina was at the controls of a tiny aircraft with only two seats, one for each of them. A single propeller pulled the plane through the air, and the engine noise was enough to give Aaron a headache despite the ear protection he wore. She was a skilled pilot, but the aircraft was so light even a gentle wind knocked it off course, and that happened often. Fumes from the engine leaked slightly into the cockpit. The result was nausea, and Aaron had already used his vomit bag once.

He still had a job to do. He was looking through high-power binoculars at the endless expanse of water. They had already made a few passes over the lake, and he was searching for boats that he had missed the previous times. Whenever he saw one, he would write down its position and general description. If the boat seemed particularly interesting, Marina would dive down for a closer look, and he would take a picture with a camera.

"Are you ready to talk about Victor?" he said, eager to take a mental break from the tedium and sickness.

"Sure," she said. "If you want."

They had to yell to make themselves heard above the engine noise.

"I just want to make sure you're OK. Are you angry? Sad?"

"Disappointed," she said. "He was an effective teammate. He won't be easy to replace."

"That's all? You worked with the guy for years."

"But we were never close."

"What about Ethel?" Aaron said.

"Their relationship was strictly professional. Victor was an angry, broken man, and I don't think he had any real friends. There were times when I thought he might try to kill me."

"Was he a better fighter than you?"

She shrugged. "Hard to say. Ethel could certainly beat him easily."

"How good is she really?"

"She could teach a course in medical school on human anatomy. She knows exactly where all the nerves, arteries, and tendons are." Marina grimaced. "She doesn't just kill her enemies. She dissects them alive with her machetes."

"Is she the best there is?" Aaron said.

"Not nearly. She's in the upper tier of the Society, but there is a whole class of fighters tougher than her. The true elites. Frightening monsters who barely qualify as human. Yvonne used to be one of them."

"That's hard to believe. She looks so frail. And if she was tougher than Ethel, why does she report to Ethel?"

"Being the best fighter doesn't automatically make you the commander. When Yvonne was active, she could've torn you to shreds." Marina looked at the dials on the dashboard. "We're getting a little low on fuel. We should head back to the airport. Let's give it ten more minutes."

"Thank, God. I have no sensation left in my ass. Are we really done talking about Victor? You must have feelings besides disappointment."

She stared out the windshield of the airplane. "I guess I'm a little scared, too."

"Oh?" Aaron said.

"If he can die that easily, so can I."

"But you seem to love the danger."

"When I'm in the middle of it, I do, but I don't like to think about it afterwards. I also believe God had a hand in Victor's death, which scares me even more. I have some of the same... personality defects as him. I could be next on God's hit list."

He put his hand on her thigh. "That's a good reason to work on those defects. I'll help you any way I can."

She briefly smiled. "You already are helping me. I feel so much better when I'm with you. I'm not so lonely anymore." She paused. "So, you've been with the Gray Spear Society for a few days now. What do you think?"

"The whole thing still seems completely crazy to me."

"Is that good?"

"I don't know yet." He shrugged. "A lot of people have died, and we don't have much to show for it."

"Not true. We accomplished quite a bit already. The cult is scattered and much of the leadership is dead, including Simon. Our mission is halfway done."

"But is it necessary to use such extreme methods?"

"It's like treating cancer," she said. "You have to make sure every last bit is gone."

"Every last bit of what?"

"Contamination. When Sraosha touched our world, it became diseased. God's plan was thrown off. We have to cauterize the wound."

He sighed. "You're very good at rationalizing murder."

"Have a little faith." She gave him a playful punch in the shoulder. "We're experts. By the time this mission is over, you'll understand."

He spotted an interesting green and white boat with the binoculars. He pointed, and she flew the airplane in a big circle. He took several pictures through a telephoto lens, allowing him to capture crisp details of the boat. Then he wrote down its position.

"So," she said softly, "what do you think of me personally?"

He looked at her pale, lightly freckled face in surprise. "You know the answer. I love you."

"That's the male hormones talking. I want a straight, honest analysis."

She was dragging him into treacherous terrain. Long experience with women had taught him that too much honesty was never a good thing, and Marina had a terrible temper besides. On the other hand, he didn't want to lie to her. There was no doubt she could read the tiniest signs of deception. He thought about her black, venomous fingernails and rubbed his vulnerable neck.

"We just talked about it," he said. "You carry around a lot of anger. If you could let it go, you'd be much happier and easier to..."

"Deal with?"

"Yes."

"That's fair," she said. "But you have anger, too. You're still mad at the police department that hung you out to dry and at the wife who left you. Where is your forgiveness?"

He looked out the window. "At least I don't become a homicidal madman. I think you might enjoy the rage. It gives you a rush. How many times has it happened?"

She didn't answer at once. He turned back and saw her chewing her lip.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Maybe ten or twenty times." Her voice was almost buried by engine noise.

"Jeez. And how many corpses have you left behind?"

She winced. "Does that really matter?"

"Yes, damn it! This is exactly what we have to fix."

"We are instruments of divine retribution. Killing is our business."

"Don't make excuses," Aaron said. "I'm sure God would prefer that His instruments were more disciplined and professional. Am I right?"

She furrowed her brow. "Yes."

"Does Ethel ever lose control?"

"No, but..."

"Are you about to make another excuse?"

She closed her mouth.

He patted her knee. "I'm not attacking you. I'm on your side, and we'll work on this problem together. OK?"

"OK, but I'm not ready yet. I need to ease into it." She wiped her eyes. "Oops." She tapped the fuel gauge. "It's time to go back." She turned the airplane around.

* * *

Aaron was no expert, but it seemed to him the Kenosha Regional Airport was unimpressive, even by the standards of regional airports. There were just three short runways. The hangers were big enough for one corporate jet, or perhaps four small airplanes if they were packed in tight. Most of the planes were parked behind the hangers with just a roof and no walls for protection.

He had a scenic view of lush farms and forests as Marina piloted their airplane toward the airport. The City of Kenosha was to the south and west, although calling it a city was a stretch. The town was really just a remote northern suburb of Chicago.

Marina landed the plane with an awkward bump. She drove it around to a fuel station on the east side of the airport near the control tower.

She and Aaron climbed out. His back popped as he stretched his arms. He was grateful to be free from the flying torture chamber after hours of close confinement. The warm, fresh air was delightful, especially after smelling fumes for so long.

He immediately went off in search of a restroom.

When he returned a few minutes later, he found that Ethel had parked her plane next to Marina's. Technicians were refueling both planes while the two women talked some distance away.

Aaron walked over to them. "Hi. What's up?"

"You get a twenty minute break," Ethel said, "and then it's back into the sky. This time you're riding with me."

He groaned. "What about lunch, ma'am? I'm starving."

"Edward needs to download the pictures off your camera. He's waiting in the truck. If you're lucky, he might have some food for you."

Aaron knew he had no time to waste if he wanted to eat. Holding the camera, he jogged to the small airport parking lot. The white delivery truck that the Spears team had brought from Chicago was parked along the driveway. He opened the rear door without bothering to knock and climbed into the cargo area.

Edward was working inside bent over a computer station. When they had left Chicago, the interior of the truck had contained neat stacks of boxes, crates, and suitcases. Now hardly anything was still in its original container. Tools, weapons, and clothes were sorted into loose piles according to category or were stuffed haphazardly into temporary metal shelving. Edward had turned the larger crates into a workbench. The truck's running engine supplied power to three computers. Their exhaust fans pumped hot air into a space that already felt like a sauna.

Aaron gave his camera to Edward, who grunted without looking up from his computer display. He had dark circles under his eyes.

"Do you have any food?" Aaron said.

Edward pointed at a grocery bag on the floor. Aaron discovered that it contained sliced meats, cheeses, and bread. Rather than take the time to make a proper sandwich, he just ate the parts separately.

He was finishing off his hasty lunch with a can of soda when Edward gave him a sheaf of color printouts. They were full page photographs of boats, each with names and specifications listed at the bottom.

"Find these ships, sir," Edward said.

"How did you pick these?"

"Suspicious registrations and patterns of movement. Anomalous reports. Satellite photos. Don't worry about the details. I'd bet my life one of these is the one we want. Now, I need to get back to work." His eyelids drooped.

Aaron patted him on the shoulder. "You're doing good. Keep it up."

He carried the printouts back to Ethel and Marina. There were two copies of each photo, so he divided the stack between them.

"Let's get out there," Ethel said.

She and Aaron climbed into her tiny blue and white aircraft, which settled noticeably under their weight. She drove it over to the runway, and as soon as she got tower clearance, she opened the throttle to full power. She didn't ease back until they were high in the sky. He could already tell she was an aggressive pilot, and this ride would be rough. She flew east towards the search area.

"Marina told me you had a conversation about anger management," she said.

"That's right, ma'am."

"Don't try to tame her."

"That would be impossible," he said. "I just want her to be less angry."

"You're the rookie here. Maybe you shouldn't be giving too much advice."

"You told me she has a problem, ma'am. She admitted it, too."

Ethel frowned. "True, but her 'problem' has saved a mission from disaster more than once. Sometimes, a dose of homicidal rage is just what you need."

"I was a Chicago cop for several years. In my experience, calm, rational decisions always produce a better result than...."

"Quiet. I'm going to tell you a story." She stared out the windshield. "A few years ago, we were chasing a chemist who was pushing a new drug. One of God's enemies gave him the formula."

"What kind of drug?" he said.

"It was a narcotic, ten times more addictive than heroin. The chemist was still launching his operation, but he already had dozens of loyal addicts who would do anything he asked. He used his magic pills to turn innocent men and women into hopeless slaves. While we were investigating, Marina got too close and was captured. They beat her very badly. Then they forced her to take some of the pills, and instantly, she became an addict."

"Oh." The mental image made Aaron hurt inside.

"Our enemies finally let Marina go. Injured and hooked on the drug, she didn't seem like a threat. They assumed she would just follow orders like the rest. But not our Marina. Anger made her strong. She started killing, and she didn't stop until all of them were dead, including the chemist. Then she burned the place down. By the time we found her, she was almost dead herself. She had a broken wrist, two broken ribs, and was hemorrhaging. I don't know if I could've accomplished what she did. I know you couldn't have."

"I'm strong, ma'am."

Ethel raised her eyebrows. "You're soft. You would've calmly, rationally gone to your death."

"I don't think so." Aaron shook his head. "And if I'm so soft, why do you keep me around?"

"You have some redeeming qualities. We'll work on the soft after this mission is over. I know just how to fix that problem."

"Oh." He anticipated his training would involve a great deal of sweat and pain, but at least he would share the experience with Marina.

"My point is that Marina may be insane," Ethel said, "but sometimes that can be an asset in this business. As you try to calm her down, don't forget she still has to do her job. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

They were flying over open water now. The sparkling green surface of the lake was calm, and it reflected the bright sunlight like a mirror. He flipped through the photos and quickly tried to memorize them. All were large private yachts, between 100 and 150 feet long. Unfortunately, all had the white hulls typical of most yachts, so he would have to rely on shape instead of color for identification.

Ethel took a turn at examining the photos, one hand still on the controls. Meanwhile, Aaron used binoculars to search the lake.

They were sweeping an area that was 50 miles by 50 miles. It took about 20 minutes to fly from one edge of the square to the other, and then turn around. A full fuel tank lasted for six hours, which was enough for the entire search pattern plus a little more. It was arithmetic that Aaron had learned well while flying with Marina.

He pointed at a ship in the distance. "I think that's one of them."

Ethel immediately turned her airplane. She lost altitude and gained speed until the engine whined unpleasantly. She passed so close to the ship that Aaron could easily see the faces of the passengers, who stared back at him in shock.

"Just a wealthy family and servants." He threw the photo of that ship onto the floor.

She flew the airplane back to their original position and resumed the search pattern.

"Are you upset about Victor?" he said.

"Why? Do I look upset?"

"A teammate died last night, and nobody seems to care. Where is the grief?"

She glanced at him. "You want me to wail and gnash my teeth?"

"A little sadness would be expected, ma'am."

"We have a mission to complete."

"I understand," he said, "but you worked closely with him for years."

"My feelings are my private business. I don't wish to share them with you."

"Sorry, ma'am."

"And," she added, "don't tell me how to respond to the death of a friend. That's rude and disrespectful. Sometimes you forget I'm your boss, not your buddy."

He ducked his head.

"You need to understand something about Victor," she said. "Everybody on our team walks in the shadow of death. That's part of being a Spear. But in Victor's case, the shadow was particularly dark and ominous. The man enjoyed battle too much."

"Marina is the same way."

"Not quite." She shook her head. "She needs a good reason to kill. He just needed an excuse, and not much of one. Nobody is surprised he had an early retirement. There are limits to what God will tolerate. In fact, Victor lasted longer than I expected."

He frowned.

"You still don't look happy."

"You act like all the extreme violence and death is completely normal," he said cautiously. "I'm having trouble with it, ma'am."

She reached into her shirt and took out a small velvet bag. He accepted the bag, which felt like it contained marbles. When he looked inside, he saw it held large diamonds instead.

"Whoa!" he said.

"I always carry diamonds for emergencies," she said. "They're a universal currency and great for bribes. You can keep the bag."

"There must be a million dollars worth!"

"1.6 million, actually. Are you happier now? Do you feel compensated for your troubles?"

Aaron took out a diamond and held it up to the sunlight. The gem was absolutely beautiful. He had never before held so much wealth, and it made him a little giddy.

"Well?" Ethel said.

After a moment of thought, he said, "These are very nice, but I don't think I ever complained about money. I'm not a hired gun. So, no, I don't feel compensated at all."

She smiled. "That was the right answer."

He realized he had just passed a test. If he had simply accepted the diamonds as payment, his body might be floating in Lake Michigan by now.

"We'll kill one to save a thousand," she said. "We'll kill a thousand to save the Earth. If the mission demands it, I'll even sacrifice a member of my team, including myself. That's the cold calculus of war."

Her phone rang, and she had a brief conversation. She hung up.

"A Muslim extremist group just announced that they're planning a major terrorist attack against the United States during the Fourth of July weekend. It's all over the news. The government claims the message is bogus, but everybody is taking it seriously, just in case."

A shiver went down Aaron's spine. "I bet Simon's men faked the announcement. After they finish the attack, the Muslims will be blamed."

"Which will create an international crisis. The entire world could be thrown into chaos, exactly as Simon had planned."

"Damn. The plan isn't even that complicated. Just blow up a lot of innocent people and make sure the wrong guys are held responsible. Doing it on the Fourth of July is a nice touch because everybody will feel patriotic about declaring war. We'll be bombing the Middle East the next day."

"Does the calculus make sense now?" Ethel asked.

"Yes, ma'am." He sighed. "Suddenly, the numbers are adding up."

Chapter Twenty

They were five hours into the second round of searching Lake Michigan by air. Aaron's legs were cramping from being locked into one position for so long. He felt sure engine vibration had loosened every filling in his teeth. His eyes were so tired from staring through binoculars at sparkling green water that he could hardly focus.

The search had been a colossal waste of time, which was already in short supply. Edward had given Aaron pictures of ten ships, but he and Ethel had found only two so far, and neither had turned out to be the right one. Aaron was painfully aware that every hour that passed increased the chance of disastrous failure.

"What happens if we can't find these assholes, ma'am?"

"We will," Ethel said. "Be confident."

"We spent all day flying back and forth across this damned lake like a couple of chumps."

"I'll call Edward."

"He probably passed out. How much sleep has he had in the last three days? I admire the man's dedication, but this isn't a healthy lifestyle."

Ethel made her call.

After she finished, she said, "Good news. Edward confirmed the cult purchased a large yacht one year ago, so we're on the right track. They registered it under the name Scimitar of Allah."

"Cute," Aaron said. "Simon wanted to make sure the authorities would blame the Muslims for the attack."

He flipped through his thin stack of printed photographs until he found a ship with the right name. It was a handsome vessel, white with dark windows that wrapped around the upper decks. There were three decks total, not counting the hold. The tall mast sprouted sophisticated navigation equipment instead of sails. He gave the photo to Ethel, and she studied it.

"If Edward knew the name, why didn't he call us earlier?"

"He fell asleep," she said.

He nodded. "Ah." He took back the photo, which had specifications printed at the bottom. "It's a big boat, 135 feet long, capable of carrying tons of explosives with plenty of room to spare."

"Which means we'll be fighting a large, well armed crew. I'm sure Simon picked his best soldiers to guard the centerpiece of his entire plan."

"And they can blow up the bomb at any time if they're losing the fight. Sounds like a suicide mission."

"Yes," she said. "Welcome to the Gray Spear Society."

"I've wondered about that name, ma'am. Where did it come from?"

"During the middle ages we would always conduct our business at night. We would stab our enemies with spears coated with dark ashes as camouflage. The gray spear became our symbol."

"Interesting." He tapped his fingers on the picture. "If this ship is delivering the explosives, the target must be close to the water."

"On the Fourth of July, big crowds gather on the beaches and piers of Lake Michigan to watch fireworks."

Aaron grimaced. "And the biggest crowds can be found in the cities: Chicago, Milwaukee, and Green Bay."

"Yes," Ethel said. "Thousands of people packed close together, unable to flee. A perfect target for a bomb."

"Of course, this is all speculation, ma'am. We may be completely wrong."

"All the evidence—what little we have—points in one direction. We don't have time to second guess ourselves. We have to trust our instincts, and mine are telling me we're right. Simon wanted an Apocalypse."

He nodded. "It's a simple recipe. Just pack a boat with explosives, drive it into a crowd, and blow it up."

"Not so simple," she said. "The ship and the explosives cost millions of dollars, and Simon needed absolutely loyal volunteers to make the preparations. This was a huge project that took years to accomplish. You have to respect that kind of leadership."

"I guess so. How do we find the ship?"

She pointed at the lake. "We keep looking."

He sighed.

An hour later their fuel ran low, and they turned back towards the Kenosha airport. The sun would set soon, so there was no chance of more flying today. The search had failed for now.

"Maybe the Coast Guard can look for the ship," Aaron said. "They operate at night and have enough manpower to watch all the major ports."

"What are you suggesting?" Ethel asked.

"We could notify the authorities that terrorists armed with a giant bomb are on the Scimitar of Allah."

"No. Absolutely not."

He raised his eyebrows. "Why not, ma'am?"

"This is a Society mission. We will deal with it ourselves."

"That's just a policy. Under the circumstances, I think we can justify a little flexibility. We won't find this ship by just searching the lake, and we don't have a lot of time."

She shook her head. "It's not an accident that Agent Hoskins and his entire team were wiped out along with the crew of that Coast Guard cutter."

"That was a lot of bad luck."

"How many missions have you completed?"

"None, ma'am," he said in a humble tone.

She looked out at the horizon. "The pattern is always the same. God draws a red circle around the enemy, and everybody inside that circle dies, guilty and innocent alike. Total cleansing. Sterilization. No trace of contamination can remain. We will be the only survivors, if we survive."

"God didn't blow up that cutter or kill those federal agents. Actually, Marina and Victor killed five of them."

"You dare to assume you know God's methods?"

"Well, I certainly don't understand them, ma'am," he said. "Why doesn't He just tell us where the cult ship is? Or destroy it Himself?"

"Because that's our job," she said. "If He gets directly involved, it means we failed badly."

He stared at her. "You're contradicting yourself. A second ago you implied He killed Agent Hoskins. Is God involved or not?"

"I can't answer that question in a way that will satisfy you. One thing I do know is that using the Coast Guard will accomplish nothing except filling more body bags."

"Then can we ask other cells for help? We're not alone. You could call your boss, ma'am."

"This is our territory," she said firmly. "Marina, you, and I will have to solve this problem alone."

"Why?"

"Because that kind of request is an admission of incompetence. If I have to call the legatus legionis and beg for help, he'll wonder if I'm still qualified to run my team. He'll wonder if any of us should be members of the Society at all. I'd better have a damn good reason before I make that call."

He pointed at her. "This is about pride."

"Not quite. An incompetent Spear is one who must retire. Are we really so overwhelmed that we need to plead for emergency aid? What do you think?"

"You're asking me, ma'am?" he said.

"You're a very intelligent man," she said. "Is there another solution to our problem?"

"You already eliminated all the obvious solutions."

"Then think of a non-obvious one. Impress me."

He could see the approaching shore as a horizontal green line separating the sky and the water. The scattered clouds were high and wispy. Sunlight coming through the window warmed the right half of his body too much.

"Oh, shit!" he said. "I just remembered something!"

"What?"

He stared at her. "The Fourth of July is Sunday, but the Navy Pier fireworks show is always on a Saturday. If that's the target, then the attack happens tomorrow!"

"The Pier will be jammed with tens of thousands of tourists." She furrowed her brow. "We may have less time than we thought."

He looked up at the blue ceiling of the cockpit. The airplane was old, and the fabric was threadbare from decades of people bumping their heads. Exhaustion gummed up his brain like dirty engine oil.

"I have one idea, ma'am."

"What?" Ethel said.

Aaron took out his phone and called Edward.

Edward answered, "Hello?"

"I need information about Brittany Waters," Aaron said. "Girl, age fifteen, blonde hair. She was with the cult at the campgrounds."

"Hold on." There was a long silence. "I found her, sir. She's locked up in Cook County Juvenile Detention. She is accused of being an accessory in the kidnapping of Frank and Caroline Waters."

"Good work. I'll be in touch." Aaron closed his phone.

"Brittany Waters?" Ethel said. "What would she know?"

"She slept with Simon, and maybe he talked to her while they were in bed. Guys like to brag before sex. The problem is that Brittany is in Juvenile Detention."

She grunted. "I'll get her out. That won't be hard."

"What are you going to do to her, ma'am?"

"Interrogate her, of course. If she doesn't want to talk, it could get very rough. We can't afford to be patient."

"I know." He sighed. "That damned calculus of war again."

* * *

Marina and Aaron sat in the front seat of a police car parked on Odgen Avenue in Chicago. They were across the street from the Cook County Juvenile Center. The huge, white buildings looked like generic office space rather than a prison for children. Only a relatively small red sign in front indicated their true purpose.

Early morning sunlight made him squint. He was somewhat rested thanks to several hours of deep sleep. His bed back at headquarters had felt like a dream come true after days of taking only short naps wherever and whenever he could.

Ethel came out the front door of the Juvenile Center. She wore a regular police uniform, which fit her well, and she strode with the confident gait of a veteran cop. Brittany Waters walked beside Ethel, her hands cuffed behind her back. The girl wore a green shirt and pants with the letters C.C.J.C. printed on them. The shirt had odd brown stains on the front. Her left eye was puffy.

Ethel held Brittany firmly by the arm. The two of them crossed the street, and then Ethel pushed Brittany into the back seat of the police car. Ethel sat beside the girl.

Brittany looked at Aaron with wide eyes. "You! I thought I smelled shit."

He ignored her and spoke to Ethel instead, "Any trouble, ma'am?"

"No," Ethel said. "I just presented my paperwork and received my prisoner."

It hadn't been so easy for Edward. He had spent hours forging the paperwork and tweaking Cook County computer files so that everything would appear legitimate.

Marina handed a syringe to Ethel, who immediately jabbed it into Brittany's thigh. The injection was over before Brittany had time to scream in pain.

"What the fuck was that?" she yelled.

"It will make you relaxed and cooperative," Ethel said.

Brittany squirmed, but with her hands still cuffed, she didn't accomplish much.

Marina drove off.

"Where are we going?" Brittany said.

"Someplace private," Ethel said. "We just want to ask you a few questions."

"Go rot in Hell. I'm not talking to you."

"Simon had a secret plan. He wanted to blow something up. Tell us what you know."

Brittany clenched her jaw and glared silently.

"That's fine." Ethel leaned back. "I'll ask again in a few minutes."

Aaron shifted in his seat. He dreaded what was coming next, but he knew of no better alternative. They needed answers now. The deadline, with strong emphasis on dead, was just hours away.

They arrived at a small meat packing plant in northern Chicago. It was closed for the holiday, so they had the whole facility to themselves. Ethel used a key to open a back door, and the entire group went inside.

The interior of the plant had long assembly lines—actually, disassembly lines—where large animals were chopped, cut, and packaged. Everywhere Aaron looked, he saw sharp blades attached to complicated machinery. The metal surfaces were polished and spotless, but the odor of rotting meat still lingered in the air. The stubborn expression on Brittany's face was replaced by fear.

"What are we doing here?" she said hesitantly.

Nobody answered.

She tried to run, but Ethel tripped her before she could take two steps. Brittany fell hard on the concrete, unable to protect herself with her hands bound. Ethel jerked her back to her feet.

They proceeded to a large freezer in the back of the slaughterhouse. The freezer was currently empty of meat, but many steel hooks hung from the ceiling. The frigid air turned their breath to fog. There was a bathtub filled with water on the floor.

"Do you feel like talking yet?" Ethel said.

Brittany shook her head but not with enthusiasm.

Ethel grabbed her arms, and Marina grabbed her feet. Brittany struggled with all her strength without much success. Ethel and Marina dropped the girl into the bathtub of water. Brittany splashed around for several seconds before she managed to get her head above water. She gasped for air.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" she screamed. "That's cold!"

She tried to climb out, but Ethel shoved her back under. Finally, Ethel allowed the girl to keep her head and chest out of the water. She knelt in the tub with her hands cuffed behind her back, shivering and miserable.

"Hypothermia," Ethel said. "It's horrible, isn't it?"

Brittany gritted her teeth.

"And it's a relatively safe form of torture. A healthy teenager like you could spend an hour in that freezing water without suffering real harm."

"You bitch!" Brittany cried.

"Feel free to start talking any time."

Nobody spoke as they watched the girl suffer for a few minutes. Aaron desperately wanted to leave the room, but he knew Ethel wouldn't approve. He had to be strong.

Brittany swallowed as if nauseous. "I don't feel good," she muttered.

"The injection must be working," Ethel said.

"What did you give her, ma'am?" Aaron said.

She looked at him. "Rohypnol, ketamine, mescaline, and a few others substances. I invented the recipe years ago. I call it the 'cocktail of nightmares.' I don't like to use drugs, but with so little time left, we can't mess around." She turned her attention back to Brittany. "Now, I'll ask again. Simon had a secret plan. What is it?"

Brittany shook her head with a clumsy jerking motion. Her skin was so pale, it was almost blue.

"That water must be very, very cold," Ethel said in a suggestive tone. "Like a thousand tiny teeth biting at your skin. Can you see the teeth in the water? Swirling around... hungry... so white... so sharp..."

Brittany's eyes grew wide. Her breathing became fast and violent. Suddenly, she let out a scream of terror. Aaron could tell she was having a horrifying hallucination. She thrashed around in a desperate attempt to climb out of the tub, but Marina held her down.

"I can take the teeth away," Ethel whispered in the girl's ear.

"Please..." Brittany whimpered.

"Tell us about Simon."

The girl's teeth rattled together. She seemed to find fresh strength and remained silent.

"Did you notice all the hooks above us?" Ethel said. "Hundreds of them. They're coming down now, reaching towards you. The needle-sharp points are piercing your flesh. They're digging into your muscles and organs like hungry, steel parasites. Slowly, you're being ripped apart..."

Brittany's eyes rolled in her head like a terrified animal. She tried to scream again, but it stuck in her throat. Ethel allowed the torment to go on and on. Brittany thrashed so hard she almost tipped the bathtub over.

Finally, Ethel said, "Shhh... It's all right now. You're safe. I can help you, but you have to help me first."

The girl sobbed uncontrollably. She made inarticulate noises as if she had forgotten how to form words. Ethel helped her out of the tub, removed the handcuffs, and laid her on the frosted floor in a fetal position. Ethel stroked Brittany's hair to calm her down.

"Talk to me," Ethel whispered.

"Simon never told me his plan," Brittany pleaded in a raspy voice. "I don't know anything!"

"You want to go home, don't you?"

"Yes!"

"Then tell me something useful, or we'll put you back in the water."

"No, no, no." Brittany vomited onto the floor as convulsions ran up and down her entire body.

"Talk."

"We just had sex. Nothing else!"

"I've been with enough men," Ethel said. "There is always something else."

Brittany squeezed her eyes shut. "Papers..."

"What about 'papers?'"

"In a special apartment in Chicago, where Simon takes his favorite girls. He calls it his 'oasis of love.' That's where we had sex. He keeps his secret papers there."

Ethel leaned in. "Where, exactly?"

"The Spire. Number 5333."

"Very good." Ethel carried a service pistol as part of her police costume. She stood up and handed the gun to Aaron. "Shoot her."

"What, ma'am?" he said.

"She's an ally of those who would burn this world, a tool of God's enemies. She's unfit to live any longer."

"But..." The gun felt heavy in his hand.

"That's an order. Pull the trigger, so we can go."

Aaron glanced at Marina but saw no compassion on her face. Then he looked down at Brittany, who had drifted off to her private realm of nightmares. The girl mumbled incoherently and blinked very often, unaware that her life was almost at an end. Aaron loaded a bullet into the gun's chamber.

"Hurry up," Ethel said. "Nobody will hear. We're completely alone."

He realized that more was at stake than the girl's life. If he refused the order, Ethel would probably kill him on the spot, and then Brittany would still die. He couldn't fool himself into thinking he had a chance against Ethel in a fight. Shooting Brittany was the only rational choice.

However, Aaron had never performed a cold-blooded execution, and the victim in this case hardly deserved such a poor death. She was just a very confused teenager who had been seduced by a very bad man.

This is my initiation rite, he realized. My chance to prove I have the strength and discipline to be a real Spear. Here is where I make my bones.

Or I fail and die.

"Tick, tock," Ethel said. "Tick, tock."

Ethel is the commander of this team. I have to trust her judgment, even if I don't understand it. She has the most experience. She knows what's best.

Aaron aimed at Brittany's head and started pulling the trigger. An instant before the gun fired, it was taken from his hand. The move was impossibly fast. He looked over and saw Ethel holding the weapon.

"Why?" he said.

She smiled. "We're not complete monsters. You pass the test. Jack, are you out there?"

Their head of security walked into the freezer. He wore blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a leather jacket. "Right here."

"Clean up in here and take the girl to a hospital. She won't give you any trouble. She'll be delirious for several hours."

"What if the police question her, ma'am?"

"Not a problem." Ethel waved her hand. "The drugs cause amnesia. The whole day will be a complete blank for her. Aaron, Marina, come with me."

She walked quickly out of the freezer and back onto the main floor of the meat packing plant. Aaron and Marina jogged to keep up with her.

"That was cruel," Aaron said.

Ethel shrugged. "You're a rookie. It's my responsibility to test you."

"If I had refused the order, would you have killed me?"

"Let's not dwell on the negative."

"Will there be more tests?" he asked.

"For us, every day is a test," she said. "Now, hurry up. Both of you have to get over to the Spire after dropping me off at headquarters."

"You're not coming with us, ma'am?"

"You two can handle the next part without me."

Chapter Twenty-one

Aaron looked up, way up, at the world famous Chicago Spire. At 150 stories tall, it was the tallest building in the Western Hemisphere. Clad in glass and polished steel, it curved and twisted along its entire length, reminding some people of a gigantic "drill bit." The architect, Santiago Calatrava, had been inspired by the organic form of a sea shell. The structure was as much art as architecture, a complete break from the generic boxes and rectangles of other skyscrapers.

"Nice place," Aaron said.

"Yes," Marina said. "I guess Simon didn't spend all the money on his terrorist plan. He kept a little for his own pleasure."

They had changed into outfits appropriate for evidence collection. Once again, she was Gretchen Stableford, FBI agent, and she wore a conservative blue business suit. Aaron had assumed the identity of an evidence technician named Joseph Biondo. It was a cover that Victor had used, but he didn't need it anymore, and Edward had been too busy to create another for Aaron. Wearing the Biondo identity felt a little like wearing the clothes of a dead man.

They went inside and walked to the security desk. Marina presented her FBI badge to the security guards along with appropriate search warrants, photos, and other forged papers. It had taken almost an hour for Edward to prepare the documentation back at headquarters, time that the team could ill-afford to spend, but there was no alternative. At least it had given Aaron and Marina an opportunity to eat, change clothes, and rehearse their cover stories.

The search warrant was convincing enough that the guards only skimmed it. The on-duty head of security, a big African-American man named Rogers, took Marina and Aaron up to the fifty-third floor of the building. The elevator ride was so swift Aaron felt the pressure change in his ears.

Roger used his master key to let Marina and Aaron into suite 5333, and the three of them went in together. Aaron quickly walked through the small condo to learn the layout. The kitchen, bedroom, and living area were combined into a single large room with a glass window wall. The floor plan was in the shape of a pie slice with a truncated point.

He went to the glass and looked out at a spectacular, unobstructed view of glittering Lake Michigan. Thousands of boats were moving across the water under the hot sun. He had never seen so many at once.

"Very nice," he muttered.

Then he continued his quick survey. Aside from some large closets, the only other room was a bathroom. He had stayed in hotels with bigger suites than this one.

The place was barely furnished, and there was no art on the walls. The kitchen had a refrigerator but no oven or dishwasher. Clearly, Simon hadn't spent a lot of time here.

"How long will this take?" Rogers asked.

"You can leave if you want," Marina said. "No reason for you to hang around."

"No, I'll stay."

Aaron carried an evidence collection kit as part of his disguise. He opened it and took out latex gloves, which both he and Marina put on.

The obvious place to start searching was a desk in the main room. It was made of solid oak planks covered with clear lacquer, and the ends of the planks were rough cut. Dowels and glue held the desk together instead of nails, but the joints were still tight and solid. Clearly, the desk had been built by a skilled craftsman.

Aaron started going through the drawers. He found just a few papers, which included the warranty for the refrigerator and the purchase agreement for the condominium. None of it seemed interesting. There was a pair of high-power binoculars in the bottom drawer, which puzzled Aaron. Perhaps Simon had used them to look out at the lake. Marina helped with the search but found nothing else.

"You check the bed," she said. "I'll work on the closets."

There was a nightstand beside the bed. Aaron opened the drawers and discovered a variety of sex toys including dildos, vibrators, and a set of fuzzy handcuffs. He dutifully examined the collection to make sure he missed nothing, even though it was repugnant.

Then he attacked the bed itself. All the sheets and blankets came off. He looked between and under the mattresses without finding anything.

The search continued, and with each tick of the clock, Aaron's frustration increased. He could feel the weight of time pressing down on him like a ton of bricks.

Finally, he and Marina conferred in the main room.

"A dead end?" he said.

"It better not be." She frowned. "I'm sure Brittany didn't lie. The secret papers must be here somewhere."

Rogers approached and said, "Are you done, yet? Can we leave now?"

She jabbed him in the neck with her black fingernails. His eyes opened wide, he stumbled backwards, and then he slumped to the floor. He was still breathing.

"That's better," she said. "I was tired of him watching us."

Aaron walked over to the glass wall for another look outside. The spectacular view included all of Navy Pier, less than half a mile away. Over the years the Pier had grown into the top tourist destination in the entire Midwest. The 50-acre complex was a Chicago landmark, which included shops, restaurants, a small amusement park, gardens, a children's museum, an IMAX theater, several stages, and even a convention center. Large ships lined the side of the Pier, ready to take tourists on pleasure cruises. The giant Ferris wheel, big enough for 40 gondolas, turned slowly in the center of the amusement park. Even from this distance, Aaron could see thick crowds everywhere, slow moving rivers of human bodies. The middle of summer was the busiest time of the year for the Pier.

"That's it," Aaron announced.

"What?" Marina said.

"The target is definitely Navy Pier. I suspected before, but now I'm absolutely sure. Simon bought this condo so he could have a bird's eye view of the action. This was going to be his command post, not just a love nest."

She came over to the window. After a moment, she took out the binoculars from the desk drawer and used them to study the Pier.

"You could be right," she said. "I can see everything from here."

"What should we do?"

"We still have to find the damn secret papers."

Aaron began to knock on the walls, searching for hidden compartments. He would check every inch of the condo if necessary.

"I have an unrelated question," he said as he worked.

"What?" Marina had pulled out a knife with a black blade, and she was slicing open the mattresses on the bed.

"Ethel was only a few seconds from killing me earlier. Let's say she wanted to kill you. What would you do?"

"Beg her to do it quickly and painlessly."

"Come on," he said.

"I suppose it depends on the situation. If she had two broken legs, I might have a chance to run away, but that would just postpone the inevitable. She could always order somebody else to kill me. Worse comes to worse, she could call her boss, the legate. He has people who could find me anywhere, and I wouldn't last a second against them. If the Gray Spear Society decides you're a problem, you don't stay a problem for long."

"Would you get a hearing? Is there an appeals process?"

She snorted. "No. If you did something bad, Ethel would be your judge, jury, and executioner. No appeal. She has the last word on anything that happens in the Chicago territory."

Aaron grunted.

He went back to the desk, the only interesting piece of furniture in the entire condo. It occurred to him the thing was built like a giant Chinese puzzle box. The unusually heavy construction allowed plenty of space for secret compartments. He started tapping on the sides and listening for a hollow sound.

Marina watched his fruitless efforts for a couple of minutes. She left the apartment and came back a moment later carrying a two-handed axe.

"Where did you get that?"

"The fire hose cabinet." She handed the axe to Aaron.

"Very resourceful."

"I always try to know where the nearest deadly weapons are. Start chopping."

He whacked at the desk with enthusiasm. It felt good to engage in violent physical action after days of inactivity and tension. Soon there were chunks of wood on the floor and sweat in his eyes. The heavy planks resisted his attack, but he was relentless and motivated.

He struck a metal object inside the desk, which turned out to be a small, hidden safe. He used the axe to destroy the wood around the safe and pulled it free.

Panting and dripping with sweat, he said, "Do you think you can open it?"

Marina leaned down and examined the lock. "I can't pick a high-security combination like this one, and there could be booby-traps. We have equipment back at headquarters that can cut this thing open safely. Can you carry it?"

He grunted as he lifted the safe which probably weighed a hundred pounds. The sharp, metal edges dug into his skin. "Let's go!"

She held the door as he staggered out of the condo. The elevator ride was mercifully swift. A minute later they were at street level, and he carried the safe out into the steamy summer air. He set it down on the sidewalk and massaged his sore hands.

"I'll call headquarters and have them send a car," Marina said.

She made the call, and she included a situation report for good measure. They were close enough to headquarters that it took only a few minutes for a brown sedan to arrive. Edward was driving, and surprisingly, Ethel had come with him. She stepped out of the car.

Aaron loaded the safe into the trunk. Meanwhile, Ethel took out a large gray shoulder bag and a gray backpack. She gave the shoulder bag to Marina and the backpack to Aaron.

He hefted it. "What's in here, ma'am? Feels like it's full of rocks."

"Look inside," Ethel said.

He peeked under the flap. The backpack contained guns, grenades, knives, and boxes of bullets. There was enough firepower for a prolonged, all-out battle. He guessed Marina's bag held similar contents.

"Unfortunately, I couldn't bring you body armor," Ethel said quietly. "Maybe we'll find some later."

She wore a long, gray shawl that wrapped completely around her body. Now he understood the reason for her strange attire on this miserably hot day. She was wearing her weapons underneath.

Edward drove off, leaving Ethel behind with Aaron and Marina.

"Where is he going?" Aaron said.

"Headquarters," Ethel said. "The team will open the safe and tell us what's inside."

"And where are we going?"

"Navy Pier, of course. It was your theory." She started jogging.

He sprinted to keep pace with her. "What if I'm wrong? It was just a hunch."

"Or divine inspiration."

"The real target could be miles away. This could be a huge mistake. We don't have any solid evidence I'm right!"

"That is a risk," she said, "but we don't have time to be methodical."

The three of them hurried all the way to Navy Pier, which didn't take long. They spent more time waiting at traffic lights than actually jogging. Still, they managed to work up a sweat in the oppressive heat. A slight breeze blew towards the lake, providing little relief.

When they arrived, Aaron discovered the pier was even more crowded than he had thought. The walkways were so packed with sweaty, brightly colored, irritable tourists that he had to squeeze between them. He tried to keep the guns in his backpack from clanking together.

"Let's look around," Ethel said. "Stay alert."

They made slow progress along the main walkway on the south side of the Pier. Venders selling food and drinks created localized traffic jams, which made the journey even slower. Aaron wanted to yell with frustration. If only they could evacuate the area.

"This is insane, ma'am," he muttered to Ethel. "These people are in danger. Let's tell the authorities about the threat."

"The cult would just wait to strike another day. The three of us by ourselves will wipe out the enemy. That's how we work, and if we do it properly, we'll succeed. The Lord wants this done. Can you feel it?"

Aaron actually did feel something strange. There was a tingling heat in his veins which energized him. God's breath, he thought.

"What about all the innocent lives at risk?"

"Simon put them at risk, not us," Ethel said. "We'll do what we can to protect civilians, but our first priority is completing the mission. That will save the most lives in the end."

It took a quarter of an hour just to reach the far end of Navy Pier, which was even bigger than Aaron had remembered. He saw countless boats, large and small, but none were the one he wanted. There were so many that all the marinas in Chicago must have emptied out. Everybody wanted to enjoy a relaxing afternoon on the water, capped off with a spectacular fireworks show.

The Coast Guard also had a very visible presence. He saw one big cutter and at least a dozen patrol boats on the lake. They seemed very busy with the job of keeping the pleasure boats from crashing into each other or into the big commercial ships. Too many people packed into too small an area, Aaron thought. It's a disaster waiting to happen.

Already tired and thirsty, he purchased four frozen lemonades, one for each of the women and two for himself. Ethel seemed about to complain, but she just ate her lemonade instead. Marina didn't hesitate to eat hers. When Aaron took a bite, the refreshing iciness and sharp flavor made him moan with pleasure.

Coin-operated telescopes dotted the end of the Pier. He dropped a quarter into one and looked out at the lake, still searching for that elusive cult ship. Marina and Ethel followed his lead.

After a minute Marina pointed and said, "There! I see it! The Scimitar of Allah!"

Aaron swung his telescope around to point in the same direction. The Scimitar floated near the breakwater away from the other boats. From its heading and speed, he judged it had just come in from deeper waters. The polished, white hull gleamed in the bright sunlight. Long, horizontal strips of windows were so heavily tinted they looked black. It was a gorgeous yacht, certainly worth millions of dollars when new.

"I see guys standing guard on the deck," Aaron said, "and there could be a lot more inside. That ship is much bigger than I realized. We have our work cut out for us."

The guards stood in strict military postures. They wore civilian outfits, but all the clothing was various shades of green. No weapons were visible.

"I expect the enemy will wait until dark," Ethel said. "Then they'll cruise over here, crash into the pier, and detonate the bomb directly underneath the tourists. A night attack will produce more casualties due to the extra panic and confusion."

"What are our orders, ma'am?" Marina said.

"If we spook them, they'll just launch their attack immediately. We have to be very careful about preserving the advantage of surprise."

Ethel's phone rang. She listened for a couple of minutes before hanging up.

"That was the team back at headquarters," she said. "They cracked the safe and found the mother lode of intelligence. Names, phone numbers, addresses, bank accounts. It turns out Simon's organization was even bigger than we suspected. It was an entire criminal empire built on drugs and theft. The cult members were his loyal soldiers, willing to commit any crime on his orders. We have enough information to destroy every last piece of his operation."

"That's good news for tomorrow," Aaron said, "but we still have a problem right now, ma'am. I don't see how we can get close to that ship without being spotted." He looked around for a source of inspiration. The Coast Guard cutter had a naval gun mounted on its bow, which gave him an idea. "If we blow up the Scimitar while it's still far from shore, civilian casualties will be light."

"I'm worried that any large explosion will be taken as a terrorist attack by Muslims. Let's save that idea as plan B. If possible, we want to do this quietly."

"Just the three of us? In broad daylight? That's extremely optimistic, ma'am." He furrowed his brow.

Ethel nodded. "And the first step is getting much closer to the enemy. Let's steal a boat."

They worked their way along the north side of the pier. It was less busy than the south side, but even so, a steady stream of tourists flowed in both directions. The access road and parking garage entrances were on this side.

Many boats of various shapes and sizes were docked along the pier. Most were tied to red and blue bollards, but there weren't quite enough, so some of the small boats used iron fence posts instead. Nearly every boat had people drinking and eating on board. Loud music added to Aaron's irritation, which the heavy crowds and oppressive heat had already pushed to a high level.

"I don't see any empty boats." Marina massaged her black fingernails. "We may have to take one by force."

Ethel looked left and right. "There are too many people here. We'll cause a commotion, and then the police will be on us in seconds. Let's go somewhere less crowded."

"There is a marina behind Soldier Field, ma'am."

"The traffic is so bad it would take us a half-hour just to get there." Ethel shook her head. "We can't leave the enemy alone for so long. I'll go by myself. You two stay here and keep watch. Hopefully, nothing will happen while I'm gone, but if something does, you're in charge, Marina."

Ethel jogged away.

Aaron looked at Marina, who just shrugged.

They turned back toward the lake end of the pier. She took his hand, and the unexpected token of intimacy gave him some comfort despite their palms being sweaty. Her beautiful face improved his mood another notch. She really was an amazing woman, and he felt lucky to be with her.

The aroma of cheap beer was unmistakable. There was a beer garden nearby, which was already packed with loud tourists, even though it was still the middle of the day. Aaron had to step over a puddle of vomit. Like a college frat party, he thought.

"We need to prepare for battle," Marina mumbled into his ear. "Find a place where we can have some privacy."

He looked around. There was a large, red brick building at the end of the pier. A ballroom on the ground floor was full of people eating and drinking. The upper stories were more promising.

Aaron and Marina went inside and found a back stairway. A security guard caused a bit of a delay, but Marina used her venomous fingernails to quickly resolve that issue. They left the guard sleeping with his back against a wall.

On the second floor they discovered an unoccupied office, which had the bonus of a window facing east. They could see the Scimitar slowly moving around the harbor like a stalking predator.

Marina emptied her gray bag onto a desk, creating a pile of assorted weapons, holsters, and other accessories for killing. Aaron added the contents of his own heavy backpack to the pile.

"Jeez," he said. "Do you think we have enough firepower?"

She shook her head. "No, but it will have to do."

He sorted through the guns to find his favorites. A Beretta PX4 caught his eye due to its light weight, reliability, and accuracy. He loaded it with 17 rounds of 9mm ammunition, and then he loaded two spare magazines.

The pistol would serve as a base weapon, but he also needed something that could get him out of an ambush. After some indecision, he settled on a Heckler & Koch 69A1. It shot 40mm grenades that had to be loaded and fired one at a time, but there was nothing better for creating a quick escape route, no matter who got in the way. Ethel had thoughtfully packed several types of 40mm ammunition including high explosive and poison gas.

"Be careful with those grenades," Marina said. "They make enough noise that people on other boats might hear. Only use them indoors."

Aaron smiled at the irony. Normally, exactly the opposite advice was given regarding grenades.

Finally, he picked out a couple of hunting knives. Death was sometimes a very intimate affair.

He went over to the window and looked out. The Scimitar was still gliding across the sparkling, blue-green water.

"I don't like this," he said. "There will be a lot more of them than us, and they'll have bigger guns."

"That's usually how it goes," she said without emotion.

She finished choosing her weaponry. Her base gun was a HK G36C. It was essentially an assault rifle, trimmed down to a size that might possibly be concealable. The compact weapon fired .45 caliber ammunition at a rate that could shred an enemy in seconds. Unfortunately, its very short barrel made it exceptionally loud and inaccurate, more like a fire hose than a precision rifle. Aaron wondered if her slender arms could handle the wicked recoil, but she had to know what she was doing.

For her second weapon, she went to the other extreme: a Walther P22. She had attached a suppressor to make this classic firearm almost silent, and a laser sight made it deadly accurate as well. She would need all that accuracy because the tiny .22 caliber bullets had almost no stopping power. It was certainly a finesse weapon.

She nodded, obviously satisfied with this odd combination.

She joined him by the window and looked out at the Scimitar.

"When we get on board," she said, "we'll be working in tight spaces. Don't let yourself get cornered. Stay mobile. Don't forget where the exits are."

"Thanks for the advice, but I already knew that. I was a city cop, remember?"

She glanced at him. "I didn't mean to be condescending. I'm just a little anxious."

"No harm done." He put his arm around her shoulders.

She leaned against him.

"I'm so glad you're with us," she whispered. "With me."

"I'm glad too." He kissed her gently. "Even if we're about to die."

"I never told Ethel, but I did something very strange a few weeks ago. Something I never do."

"What?" He looked at her freckled face.

She gnawed her lip.

"Talk to me."

"I prayed," she said.

"For what?"

"An end to the loneliness. For love. But it seemed impossible. I can never be a mother or a wife. No man could accept me as his woman. I'm as lovable as a machine gun. When I'm not killing, I live underground, hidden away."

He pulled her close. "Do you know why I joined the Society? For you. I wanted to be with you. That was really the only reason."

She abruptly kissed him on the lips. Their bodies melted together, and the kiss went on and on. Finally, they pulled apart.

"You realize that may be our last kiss," she whispered.

"Then let's do one more."

He kissed her again. The experience was so warm and affectionate, he forgot all about the danger.

Her phone rang. "Damn it." She answered it and had a brief conversation. Afterwards, she said, "Ethel is coming in a boat. We're supposed to meet her on the pier in ten minutes."

"That was fast."

"Too fast. We're not ready to go yet."

They set about the task of concealing their weapons. Aaron put his Beretta in a holster under his shirt. The grenade launcher was not so easy, and he settled for strapping it across his back under his jacket along with two belts of grenades. When the shooting started, he would have to take off his jacket to reach the launcher.

Marina had a long skirt, which meant she could strap her Walther P22 against her inner thigh. There was no good place to put the assault rifle though. She ended up stuffing it into her oversized bag along with plenty of ammunition.

That still left a pile of spare guns and ammo which Aaron hated to leave behind, but he couldn't afford to be weighed down by extraneous weapons. A few of the nicer items went back into his backpack, but the rest went into the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. Somebody would get a big surprise when he opened that drawer.

"I really wish we had body armor," Aaron said.

Marina nodded. "The bad guys will have some. We'll take theirs. Once the killing starts, we'll have all the guns and armor we could want. Come on. Ethel gets grouchy when she has to wait."

They rushed out of the office.

Chapter Twenty-two

Aaron and Marina returned to the north side of Navy Pier. The muggy air caused him to add fresh sweat to his already sticky shirt.

Ethel was standing at the controls of a red speedboat with twin outboard motors. She still wore her long, gray shawl, much too warm for this weather, and he felt sorry for her. He wondered how many guns she was carrying underneath.

There was no place to dock the speedboat because every bollard was in use, so it just bobbed against a wall. Aaron and Marina had to jump down several feet to get into it. As soon as they were aboard, Ethel opened the throttle, and they roared off.

"That didn't take so long, ma'am," Aaron said.

"I went down to the dock on Monroe Street instead of all the way to Soldier Field," Ethel said. "There was a man drinking beer on his boat. He made a racial slur as I walked by, so I decided to take his boat. I hate racists."

"What happened to the man?"

She pointed to a tarp at the back of the boat. Aaron lifted the tarp to find a man in jeans and a white T-shirt underneath. He reeked of beer. Aaron checked the man's pulse to confirm he was still alive.

"We can't take this guy along for the ride," Aaron said.

"He'll drown if we dump him in the lake," Ethel said. "Is that what you want?"

"No, ma'am."

"Then he'll have to take his chances."

"Is that your idea of simple justice?"

"Why not?" Ethel shrugged.

She made wide S-turns as she drove across the lake, so that it wasn't obvious where they were headed. The Scimitar of Allah grew larger and even more impressive. Ten windows along the waterline suggested a good number of rooms below deck. The lines were straight and clean. It was a yacht suitable for a wealthy family with a full complement of servants.

She killed the engine and allowed the speedboat to drift silently.

Aaron remembered he had a telescopic rifle sight among the gear in his backpack. He fished out the sight and peered through it.

"Six guards," he said. "Two in front, two in back, and two above the bridge."

He handed the sight to Ethel, and she looked through it.

"If anybody has a suggestion," she said, "I'm ready to hear it."

Marina took her turn with the sight. "We could try sniping. If we could take out the guards fast enough..."

"No," Ethel said. "This boat is rolling too much. We'd need a more stable platform and quieter guns. However, if I can get aboard without being seen, I could take out the guards myself and do it quietly. Then you two could join me."

"You could kill all those guys without making any noise, ma'am?" Aaron said in a dubious tone.

"Easily."

The bloodlust in her dark eyes disturbed him.

He took another look through the telescopic sight. "There is a ladder on the side of the ship. Could you swim to it?"

"With all the steel I'm carrying, I'd sink straight to the bottom of the lake. But if you get me close enough, I can jump across. You'll have to create a distraction while I climb up."

Aaron looked across the crowded harbor. The sight of two small sailboats almost plowing into each other gave him an idea. He hunted around in the speedboat until he found a plastic cooler. He opened it to reveal a dozen cans of cheap beer.

"Bingo," he said.

* * *

Aaron leaned back against the controls of the speedboat. The engines were idling, but they still pushed the boat forward at a leisurely pace. It was on a collision course with the Scimitar.

He made a show of not noticing their heading and looked at Marina instead. With a beer in each hand, he made broad, sloppy gestures and spoke in a very loud voice. She listened to him passively, leaning against the hull, her head bobbing back and forth. Ethel was curled in a fetal position with her eyes closed.

"I told him," Aaron slurred. "You want to know what I told him? I told him... go to Hell!" He waved an arm and splashed beer onto Ethel's immobile form. "Yeah, that's right! The fucker... his face turned red! I mean... I mean..." He drank some beer. "You know what I mean?"

Marina blinked slowly at him. "Uh, no."

"He couldn't believe it. He was really..." He paused to take a deep breath. "Really pissed. Then I told him again. Just because. You ever do that, babe?"

"Uh, no."

Aaron glanced out of the corner of his eye at the Scimitar. Using his thigh instead of his hands, he made a subtle adjustment to the steering. He needed to hit his mark precisely.

"That's the kind of man I am." He threw out his chest and almost fell over. "A real man. You ever been with a real man before? I'm a real big man." He winked.

Marina abruptly leaned over the side and pretended to vomit. Her chest heaved realistically, and it was an impressive performance.

"Uh, you OK, babe?" he asked.

She groaned.

They were about fifty yards from the enemy now. He risked another glance and saw that several men had gathered on the side of the ship. They yelled at Aaron to steer away, but he ignored them. It seemed everybody on board the Scimitar was wearing green clothes, and their elaborate facial tattoos were prominent at this distance. There was no sign of weapons. A Coast Guard patrol boat wasn't too far away.

"Can't hold your beer?" Aaron said. "That's OK. A woman doesn't need to drink like a man... like me. I drank ten... eleven... twelve, and I'm not..." He belched. "Not feeling it. Maybe a little." He took a step and stumbled against a chair.

The cult members were yelling louder as the distance closed. Finally, Aaron turned and looked as if noticing the noise for the first time. He fumbled with the controls of the speedboat. Instead of steering away, he "accidently" fell against the throttle and pushed it all the way. The speedboat lurched forward violently. He killed the engine seconds later but a collision was unavoidable. The bow of the speedboat banged against the side of the larger ship, and everybody was thrown forward. The steering wheel caught him hard in the ribs.

He had chosen the location and angle of approach with great care. At the exact moment of impact, Ethel leapt, flew through the air, and grabbed a ladder on the side of the Scimitar. It was a maneuver that would've impressed a circus acrobat, but she carried it off easily despite her age. She held onto the bottom rung of the ladder with just her head and hands out of the water. From the deck of the ship, she would be impossible to see.

Aaron let his speedboat coast for another thirty or forty feet to draw attention away from Ethel. Finally, it came to a stop.

"Hey!" one of the cult members screamed. "Asshole! Are you drunk?"

"Maybe I am!" Aaron yelled back. "So what?"

"Get the hell out of here!"

"My boat is damaged."

"Go," the cult member bellowed, "or we'll make you go!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Aaron saw Ethel climbing the ladder. She had thrown off her shawl. Underneath she wore black tights from neck to toe with a black and gray vest protecting her torso. Guns and knives decorated her body like Christmas tree ornaments. Twin machetes were strapped across her back. She moved astonishingly fast, yet made no noise.

Aaron remembered that his job was to create a distraction. "No way!" he yelled. "Call the police! I want to file a report."

"So they can arrest you for drunk driving?" the cult member replied. "This is your last warning."

Aaron threw a beer can at the ship.

As soon as Ethel reached the deck, she drew her machetes and sprinted forward. The weapons were highly polished and caught the sunlight like mirrors. There were six men in front of her, and she seemed intent on attacking all of them at once.

She spun her long blades as she advanced. Her targets didn't realize they were in danger until she was already killing them. Sharp steel passed through flesh without apparent resistance. She sliced throats, abdomens, hamstrings, and other soft targets with surgical precision, and her machetes never stopped moving. The performance reminded Aaron of a well rehearsed ritual dance. Compared to her, her victims seemed as inert as practice dummies.

Seconds later, the fight was over. The dead bodies dropped to the deck, hidden from view by the railing. Arterial sprays had painted insane patterns on windows and walls. Ethel had no apparent injuries, although with so much blood everywhere, Aaron couldn't be sure.

He had never seen anything like it. Perhaps for the first time, he was truly afraid of her. She was an inhuman killing machine, a living expression of divine wrath. Her supernatural speed was only part of her power. She could've slaughtered six hundred men as easily as six.

Marina tapped Aaron's head to get his attention. "Wake up!"

He started the engines and drove the speedboat over to the ladder. Even before he came to a complete stop, Marina started climbing onto the Scimitar. He followed her as quickly as he could.

He heard rapid footsteps approaching. She already had her Walther P22 drawn. A man came around the corner, and she put two bullets between his eyes with a textbook double-tap. The weapon made only soft hissing and clicking noises.

Aaron joined her on deck and drew his own gun.

Ethel came over to them, stepping over bodies like they were just piles of dirty laundry. She still held her fearsome machetes. They were beautifully made with lacquered wooden handles that fit her hands exactly. He instinctively kept his distance from the sharp edges.

"Let's go in," she said.

The ship had three decks: the main deck, the bridge above, and the cabins below. Most of the main deck was enclosed, creating a large interior space. They found a doorway leading inside, but nobody rushed to open it. All of them were experienced enough to fear an ambush.

There were windows, but Aaron was afraid to put his face in front of one and risk getting shot. "I have a flashbang in my backpack," he said. "We could toss it in."

"Too loud," Ethel said. "Sound carries over water."

"A gas grenade, ma'am?"

"We don't have gas masks."

"Then I guess we'll have to charge in, guns blazing, and shoot them before they shoot us."

Marina pointed at a dead body at their feet. "Let him go first."

Blood still oozed from twin bullet holes in the man's forehead. Aaron clenched his teeth, lifted the bulky corpse, and used it as a large shield. The guy was heavy.

"Open the door," he grunted.

Marina drew her HK G36C and chambered a round. Apparently, the time for finesse was over.

She yanked the door open, and Aaron immediately entered. Even though the room was dimly lit, he moved as fast as he could. Automatic gunfire erupted from two directions, and he felt impacts on the corpse he held. Marina answered with her own weapon on Aaron's right side, silencing one of the enemies. Ethel killed the other with a revolver.

"Well done," Ethel said. "Anybody hurt?"

Marina shook her head.

Aaron checked himself. "No, ma'am."

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The two enemies turned out to be men carrying AK-47's. The heavy bullets in Marina's assault rifle had splattered the brains of one of them. Ethel had put a single round through the eye socket of the other. Nice shot, Aaron thought.

The bodies had Kevlar vests. He and Marina put them on.

"Aaron," Ethel said, "you take the bridge. Marina, clear the rest of this deck. I'll go below. Move!"

A stairway led up to the bridge. Aaron knew every second of delay gave the opposition time to prepare, so he immediately started up the stairs. Halfway up, he decided his Beretta probably wasn't sufficient for a one-man assault. He readied his grenade launcher instead and loaded one fragmentation grenade into the tube. To hell with the noise, he thought.

He crawled on his belly as he went up the stairs. His caution served him well because when he reached the top of the staircase, a bullet almost hit his ear. He answered with the grenade launcher. The resulting explosion was so loud it rattled his guts and made his ears ring. Nonetheless, he reloaded and fired a second grenade, just to be sure. Only then did he proceed.

The shrapnel had done its job, and he found three tattered bodies on the bridge. The sight of so much blood and death made his stomach clench, but he didn't have time for remorse. One of the bodies was still moving. Aaron drew his pistol and put a bullet in the man's head.

A haze of foul smoke filled the air. There was broken glass and splintered wood all around, and some windows were blown out. He wondered whether the damaged controls could still function.

Aaron found nobody else on the bridge. He heard the distinctive chatter of Marina's assault rifle below. I should go help her.

The ship's radio crackled, and then a gruff male voice spoke, "Scimitar of Allah, report immediately. This is Aegis of Allah. We see damage to your bridge. What happened?"

Aaron raised his eyebrows. Another ship? He pressed the send button on the radio and said, "This is Scimitar. We had a serious weapons malfunction, but we can continue the mission. What's your status?"

"We're still in position. No problems to report."

"Where are you now?"

"What do you mean? Can't you see us?" There was a pause. "Who is this?"

The dead captain had a pair of binoculars around his neck. One lens was broken, but the other still worked. Aaron used it to scan the crowded harbor.

The voice on the radio said, "Identify yourself, immediately!"

Aaron turned the radio off. He opened his phone and called Edward.

"Hello?" Edward said.

"There is a ship named Aegis of Allah in the area. I need a description right now."

"Hold on, sir." There was the sound of tapping on a computer keyboard. "I found the registration. Length is 134 feet. Blue-gray hull. I'll send a picture to your phone."

"Thanks."

Aaron received the picture and studied it. Then he renewed his search with the broken binoculars. He found the Aegis floating a few hundred yards south-east of Navy Pier. Men wearing green clothes stood guard on deck. Shit!

He ran downstairs, taking three steps at a time. The sound of automatic gunfire made him slow down. Aaron didn't want to run headlong into the middle of a gun battle.

More cautiously, he proceeded from room to room. Panels made of knot-free wood, handsomely lacquered, covered the walls. Brass fixtures added to the air of luxury. Plentiful mirrors and lights made the rooms feel big and open, despite windows so heavily tinted they were almost murky. Unfortunately, the current occupants hadn't taken good care of the ship. Stains marked the yellow carpet in many places, and dust covered all the brass. Some furniture had been removed entirely, leaving ugly bolt holes.

The occasional corpse lying on the floor didn't help the décor, either. Marina had been busy, and Aaron noted she favored head shots. A few bodies had been stabbed with knives.

There was a burst of fire from her HK G36C in the next room, followed by several single shots. He cautiously peered around the corner.

Marina crouched behind a desk, pinned down by two men with revolvers. The men wore vests and army helmets.

Aaron shot both men in the unprotected face. Marina looked at him in surprise and almost fired at him.

"Be careful!" she yelled. "I could've killed you."

"It looked like you could use some help," he said.

She stood up. "I was fine."

"If you say so. We have a big problem. There is a second cult ship south of here, and it's just as big as this one."

"Damn it! I knew this mission was going too well. Did you clear the bridge?"

He nodded.

"I'm done on this deck," she said. "Let's head downstairs and find Ethel, carefully. Her trigger finger is even quicker than mine."

They made their way to the lower deck. A central corridor ran down the middle of the ship with cabins on either side.

There was no sign of Ethel, but she had left many gruesome remnants of her passage. One poor man had been gutted, and he had obviously tried to stuff his intestines back inside before dying in agony. Another man had a knife rammed to the hilt in his ear socket. Two detached hands lay on the deck, still clutching a gun. A head was separated from a body by five feet. Pools of blood were so wide Aaron had to hop over them, and the stench of human bowel was nauseating. He had seen plenty of horrible things as a Chicago cop, but this slaughterhouse shocked him.

It was strangely quiet, the only sound being waves lapping against the hull. Aaron and Marina checked every room without finding any sign of life.

They had almost walked the length of the corridor when Ethel said, "You two are done upstairs?"

Aaron spun around to find her standing behind him. Somehow, he had walked right past her.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Looks like you're done down here, too. You certainly made a mess."

"One room left." She pointed at a steel hatch at the end of the corridor. There was a heavy padlock on the handle.

"Wait, we have a big problem. When I was up on the bridge, a second cult ship contacted me by radio. It's here, in the harbor."

"Hmm." She furrowed her brow. "Were you the one making all that noise up there?"

He patted the barrel of his grenade launcher. "My new favorite toy."

"I don't approve. When this mission is over, you're going to practice stealth until I'm satisfied the message has gotten through."

"Yes, ma'am, but what about the other ship? It's as big as this one."

"First thing's first. Let's see what's behind that hatch."

The padlock was too strong to force with brute strength. Instead, Ethel pressed strips of shaped explosives onto the hinges and rigged a detonator. Everybody ran into another room. Aaron covered his ears, but the explosion was quieter than he had expected.

They went through the now open hatch. The door had simply fallen out of the hole.

The room beyond held the engine and some other mechanical equipment, but mostly it was a large cargo hold. It was crammed full.

The cult had constructed a gigantic bomb from several different materials, arranged in layers, with an open path leading to the trigger in the center. The outermost layer was a large number of 50-gallon steel drums, and the markings indicated they contained kerosene or diesel fuel. Bags of fertilizer were stacked on top of and between the drums, and the air smelled like fresh manure.

The next layer was boxes of Tovex, which Aaron vaguely recalled was a bulk explosive used for mining. There was a ridiculous amount of it, thousands of pounds, enough by itself to vaporize the entire ship and anything else in the vicinity.

Going inwards, the third layer consisted of the more expensive plastic explosive, Semtex, also in boxes stacked to the ceiling. Even though the markings were mostly in Czechoslovakian, there was enough English for Aaron to recognize the contents. He recalled from a class on counter-terrorism that just a half-pound of the stuff was enough to destroy a commercial airliner, and there were thousands of times that much here.

Finally, at the very center was an electronic timer connected to detonation cord and dynamite. The bomb was currently set to explode at 9 PM. The entire detonator was completely enclosed in a glass box which had sensors all over the interior. Aaron was certain bumping or cutting the protective glass would immediately trigger the bomb. Somebody had worked very hard to make it tamper-proof. Aaron had no idea how it could be safely defused.

"Holy shit," he said. "Simon didn't screw around."

Ethel nodded. "Years of planning and preparation went into this atrocity." She paused to take a deep breath. "Here are my orders. I'll stay here and deal with this bomb... somehow. You two handle the other ship."

"Are you kidding, ma'am? It took all three of us to take this ship, and we had surprise on our side. The bad guys are expecting trouble now. I don't see how Marina and I have a chance."

"Nonetheless, those are my orders. This is an opportunity for you to earn my respect. The Lord told me you're an extraordinary man. Let's see if He was right."

"But..."

"Those are my orders!"

Aaron cowered slightly. "Yes, ma'am."

Marina grabbed his hand and pulled. "Come on. We'll take the speedboat. Let's go!"

Reluctantly, he followed her out.

Chapter Twenty-three

Ethel stared at the bomb, hoping to defuse it with the force of her severe displeasure. She knew the basics of disarming bombs, but the thing in front of her was far beyond her limited skills. The glass containment box had many different sensors to make sure nobody could reach the detonator inside without setting it off. It seemed every avenue of attack was blocked.

There were people she could call for help. The team back at headquarters had enough collective expertise to guide her through the complex defusing procedure, and if necessary, they could consult bomb experts in other Society cells. Still, Ethel would be holding the tools, not them. She felt sure she would accidently cut the wrong wire and blow herself up.

However, she could easily move the bomb to a location where it wouldn't cause any harm. Presumably, the ship's engines and controls still worked. She decided she would drive the Scimitar a few miles out into Lake Michigan, scuttle it, and escape on a life boat. The worst possible outcome was a burning oil slick and some dead fish. Furthermore, a lot of physical evidence would be destroyed, which was always a good thing. The police would find only unidentifiable debris, if they found anything at all.

The only serious problem with this idea was that it would take her out of the action. She wouldn't be able to get back in time to help Aaron and Marina. They would have to finish the mission without her.

That was annoying but acceptable. She had great confidence in Marina and growing confidence in Aaron. Granted, the rookie was undisciplined and disrespectful, but he had the instincts of a survivor and a remarkably quick mind. More importantly, God favored Aaron. Ethel was inclined to step back and allow Aaron to demonstrate why he deserved such a high honor.

Her decision was made. She put her doubts aside and sprung into action.

She left the cargo hold, climbed two flights of stairs, and soon arrived at the bridge. Aaron's grenades had made a real mess of the place. Half the windows and many of the instruments were broken. At least there was a fresh breeze blowing through the room.

She found the ignition, but it required a key. Fortunately, the captain's dead body was on hand, and a quick search of his pockets turned up the key. She started the engine, which purred like a lion under her feet. It really was a very nice ship. A shame, she thought. She opened the throttle and steered towards the nearest gap in the breakwater.

She spotted two U.S. Coast Guard patrol boats headed directly towards her. They were small, about thirty feet in length, with twin outboard motors. Perhaps the Coast Guard had noticed the damage to the bridge and was investigating. This is Aaron's fault, Ethel thought. He had to use the damn grenades. He has a lot to learn.

She opened the throttle to full power. Her first priority was moving the Scimitar of Allah to a position as far from shore as possible. If the Coast Guard wanted to keep her company, that was their choice. She didn't see how the small patrol boats could stop her.

It turned out the Scimitar had plenty of horsepower. The speedometer was broken, but she estimated the ship was travelling at 20 knots, fast enough to give the Coast Guard patrols some trouble. Still, they managed to flank her on both sides.

"Halt!" a male voice boomed through a loudspeaker. "Kill your engines! Prepare to be boarded!"

Ethel shook her head. If they try, they'll regret it.

She was flying across open water now, and Navy Pier was fading into the distance. She let herself relax a little. The most important part of the job was done.

The sun was bright, the water blue, and the breeze fresh. The weather was so perfectly pleasant she smiled despite the circumstances. Whatever else happened today, at least she had this one enjoyable moment. She had long ago learned to treasure these small gifts.

The men on the patrol boats shot handguns into the air, obviously trying to scare her. She ducked down as a precaution, but there was little actual danger. She allowed the Scimitar to continue on its course towards deep water.

She would have to face the Coast Guard eventually. Killing the boat crews was an option, but she hoped she could find a peaceful alternative. She had no desire to slaughter innocents. She decided to just surrender instead. At this point it didn't matter whether she got arrested. Her team would just arrange for her release from jail, and she could probably escape even without their help.

She used a broken piece of wood to lock the steering wheel in place as best she could. Then she abandoned the bridge and headed down to the lower deck.

She went back to the room containing the gigantic bomb. She placed one of her own demolition charges on top of a box of Semtex, and she started a detonation timer with a twenty minute delay. All done, she thought.

She quickly stripped off all her weapons, body armor, and other possessions, leaving only black tights. She even gave up her precious machetes. The only item she kept was her phone. The Coast Guard would see that she was completely unarmed and hopefully, they would not get trigger happy. Just as important, she carried nothing that could serve as evidence or provide identification. The phone needed a special code to be unlocked, so it was safe to carry.

She went up to the main deck. With her hands held high, she walked slowly out the door. A Coast Guard boat was nearby, and the men immediately aimed their guns at her. She continued to the railing and jumped into the water, which seemed to surprise them.

The lake was cold compared to the hot air, and her muscles clenched, but she fought through the tightness. She treaded water as the Scimitar moved rapidly away with its escort of patrol boats. Bon voyage, she thought.

One of the patrol boats peeled away and circled back towards her. There were four men in red and black uniforms on the boat. Two kept their weapons drawn while the other two pulled Ethel out of the water. She didn't give them any trouble and just sat on the deck, dripping cold water.

The captain had a brass name tag that read "Ben Thomas." He was tall, muscular, and well tanned.

"Who are you?" he barked at Ethel. "What's going on?"

He would get no answers from her. She considered remaining completely silent, but then she decided to say one thing.

"There is a large bomb on that ship which will explode soon. I strongly recommend you order the other patrol to turn back. Those men are in great danger."

"What bomb?" Captain Thomas demanded. "Why is there a bomb?"

"Please, do as I ask. I'm begging you. When that bomb explodes, everybody in the area will die."

He shook his head. "I bet there's something or somebody on that ship you don't want us to see. I can't just let it escape. If there's a bomb, we'll find it when we search the ship. Until then, sit there and shut up. We'll get to you later." He turned to the other three men on his boat and yelled, "Let's go!"

The pilot gunned the engines, and they were off, headed straight towards the Scimitar. Ethel estimated the distance at 1000 yards and closing. She wanted to go in exactly the opposite direction.

"Captain," she said calmly, "listen to me."

"I told you to shut up!"

She sighed with disappointment. Even after serving in the Society for decades, these situations still depressed her. These men were innocent, but God liked His battlefields swept clean when the fight was done. All evidence and witnesses had to be eliminated. Only the Spears were permitted to know about His secret struggle for control over His own world.

Ethel looked at Captain Thomas. This would be a quick fight.

She broke his knee with a kick, and as he fell, she grabbed his gun from its holster. She shot him in the head. He was already dead when he hit the deck. She rolled over and shot three more times, killing the rest of the crew in under a second. Still moving fast, she pushed all the bodies into the water.

She grabbed the steering wheel and swung the boat hard around until the Scimitar was at her back.

A few minutes later, the sky brightened. She glanced back to see a gigantic fireball rising up. The explosion made a boom so deep and loud it was more a sensation than a noise. The other patrol boat was close enough to the blast that it simply evaporated.

This battlefield is clean, Ethel thought. God must be pleased.

* * *

Aaron and Marina approached the second cult ship, the Aegis of Allah. It was about the same size as the Scimitar, but taking control of this ship would be much more difficult. A small bridge sat atop a very large, enclosed main deck. The blue hull was tall enough to contain two full decks below.

The Aegis moved slowly but inexorably towards Navy Pier and its dense crowds of unsuspecting tourists. Already, it was frighteningly close.

Aaron loaded a 40mm grenade into his launcher.

"What are you doing?" Marina said.

"I have six grenades left. I could do some real damage, maybe even sink that ship."

"Are you kidding? Ten thousand people would see you."

"So what?" he said. "Better than those people getting blown up."

"The police will be all over us in a minute. It will be a huge scene."

"That's fine, as long as we win."

"No!" She shook her head. "The Gray Spear Society is first and foremost a covert organization. Our operations must remain secret, even now."

"Don't quote policy to me. Too many lives are at stake."

"It isn't just a policy, you idiot!" she yelled. "It's a mandate from God! You're new at this, so you don't understand what that means. If we don't do this the right way, it will end in disaster for everybody, including all those innocent lives you want to save. I appreciate your willingness to take risks and make sacrifices, but no. You will not use grenades in the open. You will not create a public spectacle. We have to get onto that ship quietly."

"Without Ethel helping us, I don't see how." He shrugged. "We're screwed."

"Hey!" She narrowed her eyes. "Ethel isn't the only one with elite skills. I'm not so shabby."

"It doesn't matter since we don't have a plan. Right?"

"Well, we, uh..."

"Hmm?" He gave her a hard stare. "You're the experienced veteran with 'elite' skills. What should we do?"

She looked at the Aegis and frowned.

"I still like my idea." He aimed his grenade launcher at the ship.

"Don't." She touched his arm with her black fingernails. "I may love you, but duty comes first." Her expression was deadly serious.

He lowered the launcher.

Aaron studied the ship, hoping to spot a weakness. He saw ten alert guards posted on the main deck, spaced at regular intervals. The hull was tall and smooth enough that the only way to board was by using the single ladder on the side. One guard stood directly above the ladder. It was impossible to approach the ship unseen.

An idea occurred to Aaron. He called Edward back at headquarters.

"Yes?" Edward said.

"This is Aaron. Ethel told us Simon's safe contained names and phone numbers. Have you sorted through it all, yet?"

"We just started, sir. There is a lot of material, mostly handwritten, with plenty of religious gibberish mixed in."

"I'm hoping you can find a page that lists the crew of the Aegis of Allah along with some cell phone numbers."

"Why?" Edward said.

"Because I want to call the captain of the Aegis and tell him that two more crew members are about to arrive," Aaron said. "Simon is sending last-minute reinforcements, a woman and a man who just happen to look exactly like Marina and me."

"I understand, sir. I'll get the whole team here working on it right away."

"Good. This is extremely urgent. Call me when you have the information." Aaron closed his phone.

Marina nodded to him. "Very clever. Impressive, even. I knew there was a reason I loved you besides your handsome face."

"But now we have another problem. The bad guys won't accept us looking like this. We need green clothes and facial tattoos. Good thing my head is already shaved."

"Then we have to go back to Navy Pier."

"Do we have time?" he asked.

"The bomb on the Scimitar was set to explode at 9 PM. I assume it's the same on the Aegis, which gives us plenty of time."

"Unless the enemy decided to move up the schedule."

"That's true," she said. "Let's get moving."

He drove the red speedboat towards the pier, making a wide arc around the Aegis. Along the way they stowed their weapons in cabinets on the boat. Marina wanted to make sure a chance encounter with the police wouldn't turn into a deadly confrontation.

The guy who owned the speedboat was still unconscious under a tarp. Marina gave him a dose of venom from her fingernails to make sure he stayed asleep for at least a few more hours.

Finding a place to dock turned out to be a big challenge. After going completely around Navy Pier, they finally found a free bollard near the water plant. Aaron had forgotten the James W. Jardine Water Purification Plant was so close. The largest water treatment facility in the world, it supplied fresh water to an area that included all of Chicago and the outlying suburbs. If the plant were damaged, millions of people would lose their water supply.

"I just figured out why Simon sent two bomb ships," Aaron said. "There are two targets."

Marina nodded. "He was a real bastard. It's a shame his death was too quick and painless."

They climbed onto the sidewalk. She led the way into the crowds of tourists, which had grown even thicker and sweatier since last time.

"Where are we going?" he said.

"I'll know when I see it," she said.

As they wormed their way between moving bodies, she held his hand to keep from being separated. Finally, after twenty minutes of tedious wandering, she came to a stop at a long line of young children. A make-up artist sat at a table and painted on the kids' faces with thin brushes. Puppy dogs, kitty cats, and butterflies seemed to be the main theme.

"Perfect," Marina said. She walked past the entire line and spoke to the young lady at the table. "We need to borrow you for a private face painting."

"Please wait in line, ma'am," the girl said. "There are a lot of children ahead of you."

Marina pulled out a roll of bills and peeled off a stack of hundreds. "Are you available now?"

The girl looked at the Benjamin Franklins. "Yes, ma'am."

"Let's go somewhere else. Just bring your green paint. You won't need another color."

It took a half-hour that they could ill-afford to spend, but the girl did a nicely artistic job. Marina asked for skulls painted on her cheeks and crossed swords on her forehead. Aaron went with green flames around his eyes and mouth. The paint didn't look exactly like a tattoo, but one had to get close to see the difference.

Then Marina and Aaron walked over to the shopping section of Navy Pier. A large crowd had gathered around a small stage where a pirate show was taking place. The actors lacked talent, but they compensated with relentless energy, although the strain of countless performances was obviously wearing them down. Their movements seemed forced and robotic.

Marina found a store that sold clothes. Everything had Chicago or Navy Pier logos, but those could be concealed by turning the clothing inside-out. She and Aaron walked out wearing green sweat pants and green T-shirts.

She looked him up and down. "Not great, but good enough."

"It better be," he said. "We're spending too much time here. Let's go to a quiet place so I can call headquarters."

They found a service corridor. Uncovered fluorescent lights lit a white hallway with scuffed, white tiles. Doors led to the back rooms of the many retail stores. A few cardboard boxes and crates were stacked near the doors, but otherwise, the corridor was empty. The quiet came as a great relief to Aaron, whose temper was badly frayed.

He called Edward.

"What's your status?" Aaron asked.

"We have a phone number, sir," Edward said.

"Great. Now I need to hear Simon's voice so I can imitate it."

Aaron heard a noise coming through one of the nearby doors. It sounded like a man yelling in Polish in a very angry tone.

"Way ahead of you," Edward said. "We found a recording on the internet. Jack has been practicing, and he has it nailed cold. We think he should make the call."

Aaron raised his eyebrows. "OK." These guys are on the ball. "Have him tell the captain of the Aegis to expect Marina and me to arrive in ten or twenty minutes."

"Your cover names will be Delilah and Sampson."

A woman replied in a soft, muffled voice to the angry man, and she also spoke Polish. Marina stared at the door behind which the argument was taking place.

"Very biblical," Aaron said.

"The cult likes Christian mythology," Edward said. "One problem, sir. Won't it be suspicious if Jack pretends to be Simon given that Simon is dead?"

"The crew only knows Simon has gone missing. Tell them he's watching the action from his condo in the Spire. He can see the ship from there. Got it?"

The angry Polish man yelled some more.

"Yes, sir," Edward said.

"Good. We'll head over to the Aegis now." Aaron closed his phone and spoke to Marina. "It seems we are Delilah and Sampson now."

"It's a pretty name," she said, "but didn't she betray Sampson for silver?"

There was the distinct sound of somebody being slapped. Marina headed toward the door.

"Marina," Aaron said, "what are you doing?"

"Just checking...," she replied.

Suddenly very anxious, he rushed over, but he failed to stop her from opening the door. They looked into a small, poorly lit storeroom crammed with boxes. A large man stood over a woman, who sat on one of the boxes. She held her right cheek, which had the red imprint of a hand on it.

"What are you looking at?" the man yelled in a Polish accent. Both he and the woman wore T-shirts with the name and logo of a nearby coffee shop. "This is none of your business!"

Marina clenched her jaw. Aaron put his hand on her shoulder and found she was as tense as a bow string. She started rubbing her black fingernails.

"Marina," he whispered into her ear, "we can't afford one of your episodes right now."

She stared straight ahead, frozen in place. Then she took a step towards the Polish man.

"Marina!" Aaron said urgently. "If you love me, you'll let this one go."

He realized she wasn't capable of just walking away, no matter how much he pleaded with her. He also didn't trust her to choose an appropriate, non-lethal response. He had to take some kind of action so she wouldn't have to.

He walked over to the Polish man and stood with their noses almost touching.

"Apologize to the lady," Aaron said.

The man sneered.

Aaron didn't have time to mess around, so he punched him in the gut very hard. The man crumpled to the floor. Aaron kicked him in the face to make sure he knew what it felt like to be struck there.

"Apologize," Aaron demanded.

"I'm sorry," the man croaked.

The woman smiled slightly.

Aaron grabbed Marina's hand and left the storeroom. She allowed herself to be led away.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"No problem," he said. "Can we get back to saving the world now?"

They slowly made their way through the churning crowd. Once outside, they could move more quickly, but then they came to a stop. Policemen were examining the red speedboat while paramedics tried to revive the owner of the boat. The tarp had been pulled back.

"Fuck!" Marina murmured. "We need our weapons."

"We have to keep moving," Aaron said. "Let's see where the Aegis is."

They walked around to the south side of Navy Pier where the crowd was even worse. Sweat stung his eyes. They spotted the Aegis drifting near the end of the pier, just a hundred feet from thousands of unsuspecting tourists. The attack could come at any moment. Guards wearing green clothing were still posted all over the ship.

Aaron's phone rang, and he answered it. "Hello?"

"This is Edward. We called the Aegis, and the captain bought the whole story. He actually believed that Jack was Simon. Give 'em hell, sir."

"Good job. Bye." Aaron turned to Marina and said, "We have permission to board the enemy craft."

"How?" she replied. "We don't have a boat, and we can't swim across."

"That's the easy part. I'm worried about fighting an entire gang of heavily armed thugs with nothing but our bare fists and sharp wits."

"And then we have to defuse a highly sophisticated, tamper-proof bomb."

"Since we're working miracles today, why not cure the common cold, too?" he said. "I hope you enjoyed your life. Today is likely to be the end of it."

Chapter Twenty-four

Aaron and Marina stood at the end of the pier to get a closer look at the Aegis. Wearing green clothing and facial tattoos, the dozen or so sentries tried to maintain casual postures, but their stiffness showed they were hardly relaxed. Standing on a giant bomb would explain their anxiety. Compared to most of the boats in the water, the Aegis was a big ship, like a bully among small children.

Marina started jumping and waving her arms.

"What are you doing?" Aaron said.

"They're expecting us, aren't they? Maybe they'll come pick us up."

He shrugged. He also waved his arms like an eager child.

They eventually got the attention of the men on the ship. A blue, inflatable dinghy was dropped into the water, and a man rowed it over to the pier. Aaron and Marina climbed down into the small boat carefully to avoid capsizing it. The lone man at the oars turned the dinghy around and started back towards the ship.

He had a shaved head with green leopard spot tattoos in place of hair. Aaron judged he was no older than twenty, perhaps even just a teenager. He wore a green sweat suit.

"Hi, there," Aaron said. "Thanks for the ride."

He was ignored.

A bulge under the young man's shirt suggested he had a concealed gun, and Aaron wanted the weapon. Others were watching from the Aegis, which limited his options.

Marina abruptly leaned to one side, forcing the dinghy to rock violently. The man with the leopard spots fell on her, and they became a tangle of arms and legs. After a moment of awkward struggle, they separated. He resumed his work at the oars.

"What was that?" Aaron murmured to Marina.

She took his hand and pressed it against her belly. He felt a gun under her shirt. He smiled at her. I picked the right woman to fall in love with, he thought.

The dinghy arrived at the Aegis. The three of them climbed a ladder to reach the main deck. Aaron's heart was pounding, but he maintained a calm appearance.

A small group waited on the deck. The oldest man wore elaborate green robes with blue bands. Jade rings pierced his nose and eyebrows.

"I'm Captain Job," he said. "You must be Delilah and Sampson."

Marina nodded. "What can we do to help you?"

"You can start by explaining why Simon sent you. We didn't ask for help, nor do we need it."

"He lost contact with the Scimitar, and he became concerned."

The crew was staring at Marina with obvious suspicion. Aaron realized she was the only woman in the group, and the entire crew of the Scimitar had also been male. Apparently, Simon had run a very sexist organization. Marina was not acceptable as a fellow crewmember. Aaron became irritated at himself for not anticipating this problem, but there was no helping it now.

"Does Simon know what happened to the Scimitar?" Job said.

"No." Marina shook her head. "We must presume it's lost. The entire mission now depends on you, Captain. It is fortuitous that Simon sent two ships instead of just one."

He looked at her face closely. Then, he looked at Aaron's face. "Your tattoos seem odd."

"It's a new style," Aaron said. "Simon prefers it."

"Does he?" Job said in a tone of doubt. "He also prefers the women remain with the children, instead of pretending to be soldiers."

Marina's cheeks became flushed. To her credit, she held her tongue.

"Delilah is an unusual woman," Aaron said. "Simon trusts her. We would like our orders now. I'm sure there is something useful we could be doing."

"Everything is done," Job said. "We're just waiting for sunset and watching for enemies. Sraosha warned that our adversaries would attack the instant we dropped our guard." He gave Marina a sharp look.

"Could we tour the ship?" she said. "Simon would like a report from us."

"Are you saying he doubts my abilities?"

"No, but he is anxious. Tonight is the culmination of years of hard work. I don't understand your hesitation, Captain. Aren't you proud of your ship and crew? Don't you want to show them off? I'm sure my report to Simon will be very favorable."

"This isn't the time for a guided tour. I need my entire crew at their posts, including myself."

Job crossed his arms in an aggressive, stubborn manner.

This isn't going well, Aaron thought. The captain had three other men with him, and all three carried AK-47's. The weapons were held low, below the top of the railing, so nobody else in the harbor could see. Aaron noted the safeties were off. Not well at all.

"Captain," he said, "we all serve Simon, and our goals are one. There is no reason for this argument."

"Right now the best way for you to serve Simon is to stop distracting me." Job turned to his men. "Lock them in the forward starboard stateroom. Be alert! I don't trust these two." He walked off.

Marina and Aaron were escorted into the interior of the ship. One of the crewmen led the way while the other two followed behind. All three held their assault rifles in a ready position. They were tense and quiet.

Aaron couldn't allow himself to be locked up, which meant he had to make his move now. He was confident he could take out one of his escorts quietly, and Marina could handle another, but that left the third. Any gunfire would cause the entire crew to come running. He had to be clever.

The interior of the ship had beautiful furniture and cabinets made of cherry wood. The windows were beveled glass, which refracted the sunlight into a thousand tiny rainbows. A large plasma television showed a pie eating contest in progress. There was a half-full glass of cola on a table beneath. That's what I need, Aaron thought.

He approached the television until the cola was just within reach. He pretended to watch the eating contest.

"Hey!" one of the crewmen said. "Come back over here. Stay with us."

Aaron didn't respond. Keeping his gaze forward, he mentally rehearsed the series of movements he was about to perform. The television screen was a good enough mirror that he could locate everybody in the room. He measured distances with his eyes.

Marina took a casual step to her left while everybody was looking at Aaron. She knows, he thought. We're going to be a great team.

Two crewmen came up behind Aaron. He glanced backwards out of the corner of his eye to make sure he knew exactly where his opponents were standing. Then he forced himself to relax so his actions would be quick and fluid, like a viper striking.

"I'm talking to you!" the crewmen said.

Aaron slapped the cola at his face. Then, still turning, Aaron grabbed the barrel of the second man's AK-47 and wrenched it away. Aaron immediately reversed the motion and brutally slammed the butt of the rifle into the second man's jaw. There was a crunching noise as teeth broke.

By this time, the first man had cleared the cola from his eyes. Aaron landed a wicked blow on his wrist to make him drop his weapon before he could pull the trigger. Then Aaron gave him the same dental surgery as his comrade.

Continuing to wield the rifle as a club, Aaron savagely beat both crewmen until he was pretty sure they were dead. Every blow was as hard as he could make it. Now was not the time for measured use of force.

Breathing hard, he looked over at Marina. She had already taken out the third and final escort without a shot being fired. Blood spurted from a deep gash on his throat where she had slashed him with her fingernails. He died as Aaron watched.

"Nicely done for a rookie," Marina said. "Bravo."

"Thanks," Aaron said. "What now?"

"Take their weapons."

Aaron didn't keep the AK-47 that he had used as a club because the barrel might be bent. However, that still left two good rifles, one for him and one for Marina. He also found spare ammo, a loaded revolver, and two knives.

"This is a good start," he said, "but I want more firepower."

"Me, too. You miss your grenade launcher?"

"Like it was my own child."

She smiled slightly. "I bet they have a weapons locker below. That will be our next destination."

"Should we hide the bodies, first?" He pointed at the dead crewmen, who were leaking large quantities of blood into the carpet.

"Better to move quickly while we can. Come on."

They went down a narrow staircase to a lower deck. Aaron entered a long, well-lit corridor with doors on either side.

"Keep your knife ready," Marina said. "That's the best weapon in a tight space. Watch how I do this."

She knocked softly on the first door. Then she stood with her back against the wall and a knife in her fist. Nobody answered the door, so she opened it herself and peeked inside.

"Empty," she whispered.

She moved on.

On the third door, a man answered her knock. She drove her knife into his throat as soon as he stuck his head out. She checked the room, kicked the body back inside, and closed the door to hide it.

"Nasty," Aaron said, "but efficient."

He took one side of the corridor, and Marina took the other. They worked their way down the length of the ship. Aaron wanted to move quicker, but he knew haste would cause mistakes of the fatal variety. The Navy Seals had a saying, "Slow is fast, and fast is slow." It described exactly this kind of situation.

After a few more doors, Aaron killed a man using the same method that Marina had used. He had never stabbed a guy in the throat before, and it felt dishonorable somehow. Intellectually, he knew all methods of murder ended in the same death, and this one was less painful than most, so he kept going.

He looked in every room but found little of interest. This deck held mostly cabins and storage spaces. Most of the original furnishings had been removed, and bunk beds had taken their place. Now the cabins looked more like prison cells than luxury staterooms. There was a persistent foul odor reminiscent of dirty socks.

Suddenly, people on the deck above started yelling.

"They found the bodies," Aaron said.

"Follow me," Marina said.

She sprinted the rest of the way down the corridor. They came to another stairway leading to the lowest deck, and they ran down it.

"This is a bad idea," he said. "We could easily get trapped."

"I'd rather be attacked from one direction than two," she said.

There was another corridor on the lowest deck, shorter than the one above but still with plenty of doors.

Captain Job's voice sounded over loudspeakers, "We have armed intruders on board. They are dressed like us. Shoot anybody you don't recognize."

A man stepped out into the corridor with an alarmed expression on his face, and Marina almost tripped over his leg. She left a knife in his stomach for his trouble. He didn't look like he was dying fast enough, so Aaron slashed the man's throat. This is starting to feel natural, Aaron thought. Is that wrong?

The warm tingling sensation in his guts was back. It gave him strength and focus like he had never felt before. God is pushing me. The world seemed to slow down.

There was a footstep behind Aaron. Marina swung her AK-47 around. He barely had time to duck before she cut loose with a burst of fire. He turned and saw she had shot a man several times in the face.

The sound of a gunshot came from a room beyond an open doorway. Marina stumbled backwards, obviously hit. Aaron ran to the doorway, spotted her assailant, and pulled the trigger of his own assault rifle. A spray of bullets turned the man's chest into a bloody mess.

Aaron looked back at Marina. She was leaning awkwardly against a wall with a hand on her hip. Blood dripped through her fingers.

"Let me take a look," he said.

She lifted her hand to reveal an ugly, deep wound.

"It's not bleeding too bad," he said. "You'll live if we can get you to a doctor. Can you walk?"

She tried to take a step, gasped, and fell back. "No. Stupid!" She clenched her fists. "I got sloppy for just a second, and now look at me. I'm useless just when I'm needed the most."

"I'll carry you."

"Hell, no! Hide me and leave me behind."

"I can't abandon you," he said.

"We're in the middle of a fucking fight to the death! You can't afford to haul me around like a sack of rocks. Hurry up! They'll be here any second."

He couldn't argue with her logic, no matter how much it bothered him.

He checked a couple more doors and found the weapons locker at last. There were racks of rifles and guns, boxes of ammo, grenades, and even an RPG-7. At least now he would have all the firepower he could carry.

He spotted a large wooden crate with the lid half off. It had Russian markings on the side. He ran over and found it contained some packing peanuts and not much else. Carefully, he carried Marina and placed her in the crate. She only winced softly even though her position was awkward and her wound must've hurt like hell. He kissed her gently on the lips. He gave her a knife and a loaded pistol. Then he put the lid back on, leaving a crack for air.

"Now make me proud," she said.

Aaron looked around the locker. An AA12 caught his eye and made him grin. A fully automatic shotgun designed for urban warfare, the AA12 was capable of delivering 300 rounds-per-minute of 12-gauge mayhem. It was completely illegal for civilians to own. He put down his AK-47 and picked up the bigger, beefier, and much more exciting shotgun. It fit his hands perfectly.

There was a drum magazine, but unfortunately, it was empty. He tore open a box of Remington Express buckshot shells and began to load the magazine. Even though he was pressed for time, he forced himself to be patient. A jammed magazine was the last thing he needed.

He heard soft footsteps in the corridor. Not yet. I need more time to load this shotgun, he thought. He grabbed two grenades from a box, pulled the pins, and threw them down the corridor. He heard the satisfying sound of fearful yelling, followed by even more satisfying explosions. Dust drifted down from the ceiling.

He grabbed another two grenades, counted to twenty, and repeated the attack. Smoke and noise from the first set of grenades would've left the enemy blind and deaf. He expected a few of them would still charge forward heedlessly. More explosions rang the ship's hull like a giant bell. Those reckless soldiers were now dead.

Aaron risked sticking his head out to assess the situation. Seven bodies littered the corridor in various states of dismemberment. The bloody mess was gruesome in the extreme. He felt a twinge of revulsion but not enough to bother him. Perhaps it was just the heat of battle, but he was feeling surprisingly happy. The bizarre and grotesque situation seemed normal to him, as if he had finally found his place in life after many years of searching. I was born to be a Spear, he realized.

More people were coming down the stairs at the far end of the corridor. They were being very cautious. Aaron grabbed the RPG-7 and examined the firing mechanism. It seemed simple enough. Apparently, he just aimed and pulled the trigger. Only one way to find out, he thought. He jumped into the corridor and fired a rocket at the stairs. A fireball dazzled his eyes and hot wind blew across his bare scalp. When the smoke cleared, burnt and twisted bodies remained. He smiled grimly.

He had a few minutes before the enemy would dare to try another attack. He used the time to finish loading the AA12.

Now he had to make a decision. He could run back up the stairs, blasting anybody who got in his way. The fearsome AA12 was the ideal weapon for clearing out corridors and rooms. However, charging directly into the enemy was a dicey proposition. They would need just one lucky shot to kill him, and he didn't know where that shot might come from. The ship was unfamiliar to him.

The alternative was setting an ambush and letting the enemy come to him. That seemed like a smarter idea. Staying low, he went from door to door, looking for just the right spot to hide. His shots had to come from an unexpected direction to create optimal confusion and panic. Simply crouching in a dark corner wasn't good enough.

He came to the end of the corridor, where a grenade explosion had bent a large metal hatch. Heavy chains and padlocks still held the hatch closed, but he could peek through a gap around the edge. A giant bomb was in the cargo hold beyond. It looked just as elaborate and devastating as the one on the Scimitar.

Captain Job would be most concerned about the bomb. He would have to send men to check on it eventually. An ambush was definitely the right choice.

After a moment of consideration, Aaron settled on a plan. He rolled back and forth on one of the corpses to cover his green clothes with fresh blood. Then he laid down on the floor of the corridor, completely exposed. The only precaution he took was hiding the AA12 under the corpse, but he kept his hand on the grip. Now he looked like all the other dead men in the bad lighting.

He waited as minutes crawled by. He didn't dare move a millimeter. His pounding heart sounded like a drumbeat in his ears. The burning sensation in his belly was getting stronger.

His discipline paid off when he heard footsteps. Some crewmen crept right past his position. Aaron was ignored, just as he had hoped. The bad guys were looking at the dark corners instead.

He waited until the crewmen were well past him before he took a peek. There were three men wearing body armor and army helmets. The buckshot wouldn't penetrate Kevlar, which limited the choice of targets.

The crewmen moved down the corridor slowly, checking every room. They were facing the other way. Aaron fired a burst of shells at their unprotected legs. The AA12 made a hellacious amount of noise, but the recoil was very manageable. Small metal balls moving at over a thousand feet per second turned flesh into hamburger instantly. The crewmen turned around, and as soon as Aaron could see their faces, he let loose another long burst. The resulting carnage was horrifying enough to make him turn away briefly.

Still, he had a job to do. He walked over to the enemy to confirm they were dead. One man was actually still alive even though his face was shredded. Aaron put him out of his misery by shooting him in the forehead. Blood and brains splattered the floor. There can only be a few left, Aaron thought. We killed so many.

He looked at the locked hatch. After the killing was done, if he survived, he would have to defuse the bomb. He had no idea how to accomplish that. One impossible problem at a time.

Bullets ricocheted off the walls around him. Without thinking, he immediately dove through a side door. Once he was safely behind cover, he checked himself for wounds. Blood was dripping down his leg, and he discovered he had been shot in the thigh. There wasn't much pain, but he knew it would come soon.

"Come out with your hands up!" Captain Job yelled from the far end of the corridor. "You're trapped."

Aaron shook his head. Does he think I'm an idiot?

"I'm holding a remote trigger for the bomb," Job said. "If you don't come out, I'll press the button."

"You'll kill everybody, including yourself!" Aaron yelled.

"Exactly right. We'll all die for Simon in one glorious fireball of righteousness!"

Chapter Twenty-five

"You're bluffing!" Aaron yelled.

"You think so?" Captain Job replied. "The ship is in position. I already dropped anchor and disabled the engines. We're just waiting for nine o'clock, but Simon would forgive me if we detonated early. The crowds on Navy Pier are already packed as tight as they can get."

"Do you understand what will happen? How many innocent people will die?"

"Infidels, all of them. Of course, today's attack is just the start. Simon's ultimate goal is a world war."

"It won't work," Aaron said.

"It will work. Muslim terrorists will get blamed, thanks to rumors we spread. War will engulf the Middle-east, leading to ever larger conflicts over oil. The plan is both brilliant and simple. Tomorrow will be the dawn of a new age."

"Which you won't see if you're dead."

"I'll watch from my place of honor in Heaven," Job said in a confident tone, "in the presence of Sraosha."

Aaron considered his options. His AA12 still had some shells in the magazine, but its range was limited. Job was at the far end of the corridor, and Aaron wasn't confident he could get a clean kill at that distance. A mere wounding wasn't good enough. Job would just blow up the ship if he were injured. Aaron also had a revolver, but its accuracy was insufficient. He needed a rifle, but unfortunately, all the rifles were in the weapons locker two doors down.

"But you want to live, don't you?"

"I would prefer to live," Job said, "but I can't leave this ship while you're here, so we'll die together. What happened to your woman?"

"Dead." Aaron delivered the lie forcefully.

"That's the fate of females who pretend to be soldiers. Good riddance."

"Why are you doing this?"

"The human race has grown soft and decadent," Job said. "We bicker and squabble like children while the natural resources of the Earth are squandered. War teaches discipline and unity of purpose. An army is the perfect social system."

"What?" Aaron said. "Have you actually been in a real war? Do you have any idea what it's like?"

"Simon taught us all we need to know. My patience is wearing out. Will you show yourself?"

"So I can get my head shot off?"

"Then I'll press the button," Job said. "A shame. This isn't quite the ending I was hoping for, but it's good enough."

Aaron took a quick peek and then pulled his head back. Shadows and smoke made it hard to see, but it appeared three men were standing at the far end of the corridor about thirty yards away. Aaron couldn't tell what weapons they were carrying.

He didn't have a lot of choices. The only way to prevent Job from blowing up the ship was to keep him talking.

"If I come out, will you promise not to kill me?"

"I can't make that promise," Job said, "but your odds of survival will be greater than zero, which is an improvement. Keep your hands up. No weapons. Don't make any sudden movements. I will not hesitate to die for Simon."

Aaron left his precious AA12 behind, but he hid his revolver under his shirt. He could grab it quickly if an opportunity arose.

Very slowly, he limped into the corridor with his hands up. "I'm coming!" he called out. "I'm unarmed!" A barrage of bullets didn't kill him, so he proceeded down the corridor.

"Who do you work for?" Job said.

"Let me ask you a question first. Why does humanity need 'unity of purpose' so badly? What's wrong with a little variety? Is free will so bad?"

"Our species cannot achieve its glorious destiny until everybody is marching in lockstep."

"What 'glorious destiny?'" Aaron said.

"Have you ever watched an ant colony? Ants can accomplish amazing things despite having brains the size of a pinhead. Now imagine what humans could do with our vastly superior intelligence. We would be masters of creation. Poverty and depravity would be forgotten. We would travel to the stars on beams of white light."

"Maybe, but I don't want to live like an ant. I like having my own opinion."

"That attitude is why the world is falling apart," Job said.

Aaron was half-way down the corridor now. Two men stood in front of Job, both armed with AK-47's, which were aimed directly at Aaron's head. The men shielded Job with their bodies.

The warm tingle in Aaron's guts had grown into an intense burn. The Lord was very close and very angry. Aaron's pulse quickened and he felt powerful in a way no normal man ever could. At that moment, he truly understood what it meant to be a Spear.

"And who gave you the right to decide how everybody else should live?"

"The angel, Sraosha," Job said, "who revealed the truth to Simon."

Aaron cocked his head. "Where did Sraosha get the authority?"

"From God."

"That's very strange." Aaron lowered his hands a little. "Don't you think?"

"Why?"

"Consider the universe that God created. Billions of planets and probably a lot of them have their own forms of life. On Earth alone there are millions of different species. Humans come in so many shapes and colors, cultures and languages. It seems like an awful lot of diversity to me, which can't be an accident. Obviously, God wants exactly the opposite of what you're talking about."

"That statement is typical of an undisciplined, ignorant infidel like you," Job said. "How dare you speak for God!"

Aaron felt the weight of the revolver hidden under his shirt. If he whipped it out, he could kill one of the bad guys, two if he were lucky, but Job might survive long enough to detonate the bomb. It was a bad plan.

"You're a doomed man," Job said, "but if you answer my questions truthfully, I might consider letting you survive a little while longer."

"Go on."

"The voice I heard on the phone wasn't really Simon."

"You just figured that out?" Aaron said.

The burning in his veins was painful. God was becoming impatient with all this useless talk.

"It was a good impersonation," Job said. "How did you get my number? How did you find this ship? What happened to the Scimitar?"

Aaron sneered as he continued to limp forward. "You really want to know? We got your phone number by cracking open Simon's secret safe. We also got the names and addresses of everybody else in your little cult. Soon all of you will be dead. The Church of One Soul will be wiped off the face of the Earth. We're the ones who ambushed Simon at the campgrounds and killed his lieutenants."

Job swallowed. "Where is Simon?"

"I watched him die. While we're on that subject, I should mention the entire crew of the Scimitar is also dead."

"No." Job shook his head. "It's all a lie."

"Do you want to know how Simon died? Sraosha killed him. Sraosha! Your so-called angel was worried Simon would spill his guts under torture. He probably would've, too."

The two crewmen glanced at each other, and they lowered their assault rifles an inch.

"That's even more ridiculous than your other lies," Job said in an uncertain tone.

"The truth," Aaron said, "the truth is you're playing for the wrong team. You were deceived."

"No."

"Because Simon told you? One fool leading another. Seriously, how can killing thousands of innocent people and throwing the entire world into chaos be a good thing? I mean, who came up with that stupid idea?"

"God."

Aaron snorted. "Come on. Why would He wreck His own creation?"

"My faith is unbreakable."

"It's easy to have faith when you're holding the guns."

"What's your faith?" Job said. "Do you believe in anything?"

Aaron paused before answering. He wasn't religious, even now. He had always led a very pragmatic life with simple goals. Philosophy bored him to tears.

Thinking about the question, he had a moment of clarity. He saw his entire life as a whole with all the decisions fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Even the insanity of the last few days was a seamless continuation of everything that had come before. For the first time, it all made sense to him.

"I believe I was made for one purpose," Aaron said. "It took me a long time to figure it out. My years as a cop were just a rehearsal. My purpose is destroying assholes like you."

He saw the bomb trigger in Job's hand. It was a small, red box with a radio antenna and some buttons. Job held the box tightly. I'm close, Aaron thought, but not close enough.

His muscles were on fire. He had never felt this kind of excruciating pain, and strangely, he liked it. It was what he needed. It made him stronger and faster.

"In other words," Job said, "you want to be a hero. You seek fame and glory."

"Not at all. The world will never know my name."

Aaron flexed his hands. His plan was to grab his gun and start shooting. It was all he could do. Hopefully, he would kill all three men before he died. If it worked, Marina would be the lone survivor on the ship, and maybe she could defuse the bomb. Aaron gave the plan a one percent chance of success. Better than zero percent. He took a deep breath. He we go!

An odd sensation stopped him. The Presence was inside him. For an instant that seemed to last an hour, Aaron understood he was a very tiny part of a very large universe. The vastness and complexity of it was far beyond human comprehension, but that fact did not make him insignificant. He was loved and cherished like all living things. Stars didn't have brains and planets didn't have hearts. Aaron's brief passage through the cosmos mattered in the biggest of all big pictures.

The Presence was enraged though. All that anger condensed and collected in Aaron's mouth until it became a molten ball of fury. His tongue and jaw were transformed in that crucible. His mouth became a weapon.

The Presence left.

Aaron knew what he had to do.

He spat at the trigger in Job's hand. With supernatural force and accuracy, a blob of yellow liquid splashed onto the device. There was a loud hissing sound as it crumbled into fragments. Job never had a chance to press the button. Then Aaron spat at the AK-47s in the hands of the two crewmen, and the metal parts fell apart like ice melting under a blow torch. Hazy, yellow smoke smelled like burnt toast. Aaron's saliva seemed to have no effect on living flesh.

He whipped out his revolver and fired. He used three bullets on each of the crewmen, but the revolver only had six chambers. When it clicked empty, he threw it aside.

Job started to run away. Aaron grabbed a rifle from a dead body on the floor and shot Job in the legs. He fell. Aaron held the trigger until the captain's legs were shredded meat and the magazine was empty.

Aaron limped forward until he stood directly over the enemy.

Job rolled onto his back and tried to shield himself with his hands. "Who are you?"

"I am an instrument of God's will, a divine weapon made of flesh." Aaron grimaced. "The Lord demands retribution, and I shall deliver it!" He flipped the rifle over and bashed Job in the face with the stock. Aaron kept pounding and pounding until gray brain matter splattered onto the floor.

He dropped the bloody rifle. The battle was over. The enemy was destroyed.

He went back to Marina. When he pushed the lid of the crate off, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Hey," he said softly, "it's just me."

"Did we win?" She lowered the gun.

He nodded. "I'll carry you out."

He very gently helped her out of the crate. Holding her in his arms like a child, he went into the corridor.

"Whoa!" she said. "Hold on."

He stopped. "What?"

"This mess."

He looked at the many corpses in the corridor. They had died in different ways, none clean or pleasant.

"Is there a problem?" he said.

"No problem at all! This is great work, Aaron. For a rookie, it's fabulous! And I thought you were soft." She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "I love you."

"You haven't even seen the best part."

He walked up to the locked hatch. He spat a yellow glob, and the chains fell apart.

She stared at him. "What was that?"

"A gift from God." He grinned.

"That's impossible. Nobody ever gets a gift on his first mission. You're supposed to wait years."

He kicked open the hatch and looked at the bomb. Like the one aboard the Scimitar, it was made from layers of different materials. Drums of kerosene and bags of nitrate fertilizer formed the outer layer, then came many crates of Tovex, and then came more crates of plastic explosives. He couldn't even guess how much damage the explosion would do. The detonator in the center was protected by a glass box covered with sensors. Aaron suspected just tapping the glass would set off the bomb. He was lucky the grenades had not triggered it.

"Damn," Marina said. "This is going to be a problem."

He spat at the glass box. The yellow liquid bubbled frantically, and a hole formed big enough for him to put his arm through. He spat through the hole at the detonator itself. The device crumbled into smoking pieces of plastic and wire. The liquid even dissolved some of the dynamite beneath the detonator. When a drop struck the metal deck, it went right through.

"Or maybe not," she said.

He carried her back out of the room and into the corridor. The wound in his thigh was stinging, but her injury probably hurt a lot more, and she wasn't complaining, so he trudged on. He still had to climb two flights of stairs to reach the main deck.

She touched his jaw. "Does it hurt?"

"At first it did," he said. "Now it just tingles. Did it hurt when you received your gift?"

She rubbed her fingernails. "It still does sometimes. How do you feel? This is fantastic! Are you happy?"

"I don't know. It's very... strange."

"I understand what you mean." She nodded. "You're different from everybody else now. A monster. A freak."

"I have a purpose too. I know exactly what I'm going to do for the rest of my life, and who I'll share it with."

She kissed him on the lips. "Me, too."

It took a while, but they finally reached open air. He carefully set her down on a deck chair and stretched his tired arms. A spectacular sunset made the famous skyline of Chicago look like a picture on a postcard. He enjoyed the natural beauty of the world for a moment. The crowds on Navy Pier continued to party, unaware of how close to death they had come.

A U.S. Coast Guard patrol boat was approaching at high speed. Aaron stared at it, too exhausted to worry about this new complication. He would deal with it. Compared to what he had just survived, getting arrested seemed like a trivial concern.

When the boat got close, he saw Ethel at the wheel. He waved to her, and she waved back.

She drove over to a ladder and climbed onto the deck with her usual extreme agility. She wore nothing except black tights and her phone.

"What's your status?" she asked.

"We're all done here," he said. "The enemy is dead. The bomb is defused."

"Casualties?"

"Marina took a bullet and needs medical attention, but she'll live. I was shot in the thigh. That's not as serious."

Ethel relaxed visibly. "Excellent! Great job, both of you. I'm very impressed."

"I had help, ma'am. A gift." He spat at the deck, and his saliva burned a clean hole about the size of his fist. The reaction was startlingly energetic.

She stared at the hole. "I've never heard of anybody getting a gift on his first mission. This is a unique event. The Big Man must have special plans for you."

"We'll see."

"Call headquarters and give them an update. Tell them to send an ambulance for Marina and you."

"What about this ship, ma'am?" he asked. "It's full of dead bodies and high explosives. We can't just leave it here, but the engines are disabled."

"Nancy and Edward will help me get them working again. We'll drive this ship into the middle of the lake and blow it up. There will be no evidence left behind."

"Is that what happened to the Scimitar?"

"Yes," she said.

"And how did you get the Coast Guard boat, ma'am? I assume it came with a crew originally."

She frowned. "Don't worry about that. The good news is we're near the end of the mission. I don't think any more innocents will die."

"Good," he said, "because I've seen too many dead bodies lately. Now I know what it's like to be a coroner."

"You still need your initiation ceremony. We'll combine it with a big party to celebrate our victory today and, just as important, God's gift to you."

"That sounds like a great idea." He nodded. "Can I get some sleep first, ma'am?"

"Of course." She grinned.

Chapter Twenty-six

Ethel wore formal gray robes with braided hems and an elaborate, layered hood. She stood on a dais at the front of the room with a long spear in her hands. The spear, her face, and her hands were covered with gray ashes so that she was the same dull color all over. It was a reminder that a thousand years ago members of the Gray Spear Society had camouflaged themselves with ash when performing missions at night.

Aaron knelt before her with his head bowed. He didn't carry a spear, but he did have ashes on his face, which itched mercilessly. It was all he could do to keep from scratching. Also, his knees ached from kneeling on the cement floor.

Marina sat just behind him in a wheelchair. There was an open space left for Victor. It was a nice gesture, although nobody had expressed much grief over his passing. Indeed, Aaron could hardly remember hearing his name mentioned at all.

The legionnaires wore plainer gray robes than their commander. The supporting members of the team—Jack, Yvonne, Edward, Kamal, and Nancy—formed a line at the back of the room. Their faces were clean, and they just wore gray pants and shirts.

"Finally," Ethel said, "we come to the oath of membership in the Gray Spear Society. I must remind everybody that violating the oath is a grave offence, and the penalty is always death. Once the oath is sworn, it can never be retracted. We are not permitted to quit the Society. Aaron Glade, do you understand?"

"I do, ma'am," Aaron said.

"Do you swear to fight the enemies of God with all the strength in your body and mind?"

"Yes."

"If necessary, will you sacrifice your life and all you hold dear for that cause?"

"Yes."

"Are you even prepared to sacrifice the woman you love?" Ethel looked meaningfully at Marina. "As she would sacrifice you?"

Aaron frowned. He didn't believe this question was part of the traditional oath. "If necessary. Yes."

"Good. God demands we remain covert. Do you swear to conceal the Gray Spear Society at all times and in all ways?"

"Yes."

"Will you take our secrets to the grave rather than reveal them?"

"Yes."

"Finally, will you obey the orders of your commander and trust her judgment in all matters of importance?"

"Yes."

"Then, stand up," Ethel said. "I hereby award you the rank of legionnaire with all the attendant rights, privileges, and responsibilities. Bring honor to the title, and welcome to our ancient Society!"

Everybody clapped loudly. Aaron turned and smiled to the rest of the team. When the applause went on, he took a bow.

He leaned down to give Marina a gentle kiss. Only three days had passed since the battle aboard the Aegis, and she was still in great pain. Attending this ceremony, even in a wheelchair, had taken a lot of fortitude. He had asked her to stay in bed, but she had absolutely refused. Now he was glad she could witness this unique event in his life.

"It's party time!" she said.

"Not for you," he said. "I'm taking you back to bed."

"Oh, that's not fair. I earned this celebration as much as anybody."

"After you heal, we'll have a special celebration, just the two of us."

The ceremony was taking place in the part of headquarters where they normally practiced martial arts. It was the largest space available in the underground maze of small rooms and narrow corridors.

He pushed her wheelchair to the section where the bedrooms were located. Aaron was occupying one of the two guest suites, and Marina had the other for the duration of her recuperation. He enjoyed this arrangement because it allowed him to spend as much time with her as he liked.

They planned to find an apartment and live together as soon as she was healthy. The Society did not allow legionnaires to marry, but they could pretend. Ethel was still uncomfortable with this concept even though it followed the letter of the law. She would rather that they "pretend while living in separate apartments."

Like Aaron's room, Marina's was sparsely furnished. There was a full-sized bed, a dresser, and a wardrobe, all made of plain wood. She also had some medical necessities, such as an accessible toilet.

He gently took off her robes and helped her into bed. The tension in her muscles eased as she laid down.

"That food smelled great," she said. "I'm sure Yvonne prepared quite a feast."

He covered her with a blanket and turned on the television. "I'll bring you a plate."

"Don't skimp. I'm hungry."

"I wouldn't think of it." He smiled.

He gave her a kiss and left the room.

The dining room was just down the hallway. He walked in, and his eyes widened when he saw all the food laid out buffet-style. Yvonne had indeed been busy. There were roasted meats, vegetables, pasta, salads, and several desserts. Judging by the sheer quantity, he expected leftovers for days, even with the entire team gobbling them up. The savory aroma made his stomach grumble with hunger.

He grabbed two plates, one for himself and one for Marina. He began to heap food on them.

Ethel came over. "How is your leg feeling?" she asked.

"Better, ma'am," he said. "I can almost walk without a limp."

"Good, because your training begins tomorrow. We need to whip you into top physical condition. We never know when our next mission will be, and while Marina is healing, only you and I are available for duty."

"I'm still blown away by what you did on the Scimitar. Do you think I'll ever learn to fight like you?"

"No." She shook her head. "You'll become a good fighter. Skilled, strong, and resourceful. But I don't believe you'll ever be considered one of the elites in that regard."

"What about my corrosive saliva?"

"An interesting gift, but not spectacular. I've seen much better."

"Oh." He frowned.

She touched his cheek and looked into his eyes. "Don't worry. You'll still be an extremely dangerous man one day."

"How, ma'am?"

"I saw the mess you left on the Aegis. It was enough to make Nancy throw up. Very impressive for a raw recruit working by himself. It showed me a glimpse of the kind of legionnaire you'll be with proper training."

He raised his eyebrows. "What kind?"

"Your real strength is here." She touched his forehead. "You have a special kind of genius. Your enemies won't fear your fists, but your mind will terrify them. They will dance to your drum beat, and they will dance to their death."

"You really think so?"

Her pupils were pits of infinite darkness. "I have it on very good Authority."

THE END

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six