The Unknown Element: An Action-Packed Supernatural Thriller (Challenged World Book 1) Page 12

  Jenni apparently decided this was legitimate business and called ACC Gavin Morris, asking him to join them, and explaining that protocol dictated the head of the street cops for Cardiff should become involved.

  “And you, Ms. May. Your involvement?” asked Jenni.

  “Data. Information. Search criteria, etcetera. Finding answers, primarily,” replied Nadine. “Do you use AHT here?”

  She had invented The Advanced Heuristic Toolset. Leveraged by the NSA, CIA, Homeland Security, FBI, and shared around the globe with other law enforcement entities, AHT had become an investigative standard. It allowed discovery through data mining and algorithmic assumptions under less than optimal input ranges. Within the often-murky world of crime, it comprised a valued tool.

  Jenni’s surprise showed. Outside law enforcement and intelligence communities, the AHT remained unknown. “We may,” Jenni said. “Why do you ask?”

  “I created it.”

  “Did you now? Well, yes,” said Jenni. “In fact we do utilize it.” Her body language indicated that she found this extremely cool. “You and I have a lot to talk about, Ms. May. I’ve some ideas about the application I’d love to discuss with you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Nadine relaxed. Jenni was one of her “people”—a computer savvy cop who bridged theory with practical application. “Love to,” said Nadine. “But first, this thing the three of us are chasing. We could use some help.”

  “Thing?” asked Jenni just as the door opened and ACC Morris entered, followed by introductions.

  “Right,” said Morris. “What’s this all about?”

  Cole repeated the tale to Morris. Jenni piped in with Nadine’s credentials, although Morris snorted at the AHT reference.

  “Alright. What about you?” asked Morris, pointing at Francois. “Father Domaine, was it? What’s your association with this case? Spiritual advisor?” Morris gave a chuckle as he finished.

  “I am here to do battle,” said Francois.

  That landed with a thump, so Morris turned his attention back to Cole. “Sheriff. A Texas sheriff.”

  “Yessir,” replied Cole.

  “Is there some sort of arrangement with our governments regarding this case?” asked Morris.

  “Not exactly,” said Cole. “Although the Vatican supports our efforts.”

  Morris and Jenni looked at each other across the table.

  “The Vatican?” asked Morris.

  “Oui,” said Francois.

  “Yessir,” said Cole.

  That’s a pretty nice hole card, thought Nadine. Support of the pope and all. Well played, Cole. Catholic or not, few could remain immune to the gravitas the head of the church carried.

  Jenni became more animated. “This is proving a great interruption in what had turned out a boring day. The AHT creator, a Texas sheriff, and the Vatican. Goodness.”

  “So on whose authority do you request assistance?” asked Morris.

  “God’s,” said Francois with finality. “It is possible to smoke here?”

  “No,” said Morris. Francois’s exasperation showed.

  “Would any of you like something to drink?” asked Jenni. “This may develop into a longer discussion than anticipated.”

  “Coffee, if you have it,” said Cole. “All around.”

  Jenni pushed an intercom button and asked for three coffees. The sterile white room was cool, and Francois rearranged his scarf.

  Nadine saw that Cole had clearly tried to avoid the “on whose authority” question, instead leveraging universal cooperation among all legitimate law enforcement organizations. But now Francois had stated his case and brought the issue to the forefront. This would require some sidestepping from her and Cole, which was fine except that Francois would undoubtedly keep coming back to his anchor point. Any spiritual component in a case, she knew from past experience, drove law people nuts.

  “God’s authority,” said Morris as he cast a glance at Jenni. “That’s quite potent. Anyone else? Someone of a more secular position?”

  “Well, sir, in the non-spiritual realm, I suppose the authority of the folks who elected me in Aransas County,” said Cole.

  Eyes hooded, Morris did not react. Nadine eyeballed this Morris person as her foot began a triple rhythm on the floor. The whole bona fides thing had become tedious. She had worked with law enforcement types like Morris many times. They were good cops, but in her opinion they got too bogged down in dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.

  “Have him call Jeeter,” said Nadine. “Let’s get going on this.”

  “Who?” asked Jenni.

  “Captain Johnson,” said Cole. “Head of the Texas Rangers. Although at this point I don’t think it’s necessary to contact him.” He gave Nadine a look. She smiled back.

  This got the attention of both Jenni Thomas and Gavin Morris. Nadine understood that when you toss out the head of the Texas Rangers as a contact point—especially outside Texas and more so outside the US—the response would invariably be heightened curiosity. But Cole didn’t need to give her that “Why did you bring up Jeeter Johnson” look. After all, he’d played his hole card about the Vatican and the whole point of the entire silly exercise was to get cooperation from these folks.

  A soft tap on the door, followed by the appearance of a young assistant carrying a tray with three cups of coffee, allowed for a small break in the conversation. Nadine could read Cole’s body language, indicating he would try and formulate some action to avoid the phone call. That made no sense to her, since Jeeter could provide a kick-off point.

  “It’s still early in Texas,” she said, pointing to the table’s speakerphone.

  Jenni moved the phone closer, hit the speaker button, and asked Cole for the number. She dialed and three rings later Jeeter Johnson answered. Cole shifted uncomfortably. Francois sniffed at then sipped the coffee. Nadine was looking forward to the exchange.

  “Captain Johnson,” said Jenni. “ACC Thomas here, along with ACC Morris of the South Wales Police Department.”

  “Are my people alright?” asked Johnson. “Any problems?”

  Francois looked at his companions, apparently unaware he had become one of the head Ranger’s “people.”

  “No sir, no problems, and everyone’s fine,” said Jenni. “We’re just trying to get an understanding of the lines of authority. Sheriff Garza, Ms. May, and Father Domaine are here with us on the speakerphone.”

  “Cole, you okay?” asked Johnson.

  “Yessir, fine. This call wasn’t my idea. It’s at the insistence of ACC Thomas and Morris.”

  A short pause followed before Johnson asked, “Y’all keep tossing that out, so what is an ACC?”

  Gavin Morris began to interject, but Jenni raised her hand, stopping him. “Assistant Chief Constable, Captain,” said Jenni. “Again, no issues other than some clarification. We are here to help.”

  “Nadine, you there?” asked Johnson.

  “How you, Jeeter?” Nadine replied. She had worked with him multiple times and liked both him and the professionalism of the Rangers, although she didn’t buy into the whole Lone Star ethos and the added baggage that mindset carried. She also knew she scared them for some reason. That made for interesting dynamics and awfully short conversations, so Jeeter wouldn’t chat with her beyond the minimum, which was okay.

  “I’m fine. Father Domaine? We haven’t met. I hope things are going well.”

  Nadine had dug up enough background on this case to understand that Jeeter likely intended to keep the Vatican happy, and keep the governor off his tail. If this blew up, the governor would insist Jeeter deal with what he’d call “the morons” at the State Department. She’d snooped and read communiqués on that history and “hot pursuit” had irritated the fire out of the Harvard School of government bureaucrats at State.

  “The honor is mine, Capitaine,” said Francois. “The sheriff speaks highly of you, and the church is most appreciative of your assistance. Oui, things are moving. How they wil
l culminate, one does not know at this point.”

  “Alright, we’ve got the verbal arm-squeezin’ out of the way, so what’s the issue?” asked Johnson.

  Morris took this opportunity to interject. “Again, Captain, no particular issue. We just want context. We can assume this is, in fact, an official visit by the sheriff and his cohorts?”

  The five waited through another pause on the speakerphone, this one longer than the last. “Official in the sense it’s part of an ongoing investigation. That’s about it,” said Johnson.

  Morris and Jenni looked at each other, nodding with satisfaction.

  Johnson continued. “Cole, are y’all convinced this hombre is dangerous?”

  “Yessir,” said Cole. “Pretty much guarantee it.”

  A third pause, this one the longest yet. Nadine knew guns would surely be the next topic. Regardless of Jeeter’s sometimes annoying outlook, he had exhibited time and again that when he backed a team he took that with the utmost seriousness, and would now consider the three of them his responsibility. He never left someone on his team hung out, exposed, and would do his best to make sure they were protected by what he considered the answer to pretty much any situation—firepower. And the more the better. You couldn’t fault the guy, since he was a product of his environment and all that, but this would fly like a lead balloon with the Welsh police.

  “Thomas, Morris, do you people carry?”

  “What?” asked Morris. Jenni’s body language indicated she knew what Jeeter meant.

  “Arms. Weapons. Guns,” said Johnson.

  “Absolutely not,” said Morris. “This isn’t the wild west where we shoot criminals on sight. A bit of a thumping, perhaps, then off to jail.”

  There it was, a cultural disconnect as wide as the Atlantic Ocean. Nadine’s gut told her that Jeeter likely had come to expect such gross oversimplification of his world and had certainly heard it more than a few times in his own country and, knowing him, would get all prickly, which wouldn’t be helpful.

  “Y’all might consider just shooting them. Saves on court costs,” said Johnson.

  Silence ensued on both ends of the line for several seconds. Johnson continued, “What’s the chance of making an exception for the sheriff? Not a hog leg, just something that can inflict lead poisoning if needed.”

  Neither Jenni nor Morris understood “hog leg,” but they evidently grasped the reference to lead poisoning. “Sir,” said Jenni. “We are in no position to fulfill such a request. We will offer whatever assistance we can within the laws of Wales and the United Kingdom. And we’re happy to, now that we have had the opportunity to talk with you.”

  “Well, I had to ask,” said Johnson. “Anyway, Cole, you keep your head down. And tight, remember? Keep it tight.”

  “Will do, sir,” said Cole.

  The five sat around the speakerphone and looked at each other, all but one ready to end the conversation.

  “One final thing, Captain,” said Morris. “I assume Sheriff Garza is in charge of your contingent?”

  “Right out of the chute, I’d say yes,” said Johnson. “But anytime you toss Nadine in the mix, ‘who’s in charge’ sorta goes out the window.”

  She took this as a vast compliment, and smiled. She had received more backup, more support. Jenni smiled as well, apparently enjoying the assertion that this woman from Texas was a force unto herself.

  “Actually, sir,” said Cole, “Father Domaine in many ways leads this effort. At least when needed. All in all, we’re working as a team.”

  “Alright, Cole,” said Johnson. “This doesn’t sound like I need to make any phone calls myself. Communicate, son. And keep it tight.”

  The phone call ended. Morris looked hard at Cole and added, “No wild west, Sheriff. We do not do such things. Understood?”

  Jenni jumped in to keep the conversation civil. “I’m sure the sheriff understands. Now, let’s get to the details. Who is this suspect?”

  Nadine handed her a thumb drive with Moloch’s picture taken from several angles.

  Cole described their encounter with him a few hours ago, opting not to include the parts inexplicable in earthly terms, including the part where Moloch had been expecting them. “He fled when we questioned him,” said Cole. “He’s up to something. And it’s liable to be a very bad something.”

  At that moment, a policeman flung open the door and blurted out, “School for the Blind. Five separate emergency calls. Killings. A lot of them.”

  Chapter 22

  Kanamel the Crusher emerged from his basement locker space, wearing street clothes and wielding the sword-like trench knife. The time had come. They would know him now. Oh, the power, the power and the righteousness—shining bright and true and strong.

  He ascended the first flight of stairs and stood near a classroom with ten students and an instructor. The door stood open and he entered.

  “Yes? Can I help—?” said the instructor. He saw the knife and yelled, “Get out! Get out now!”

  Jones swung a backhand blow. The instructor hung on the blade, gurgling, as blood flew from his carotid artery. Jones held him suspended on the blade, and looked over his shoulder at the room of students, smiling. Several of them already fingered their cell phones, frantically dialing. Their acute hearing caught the death rattle from the instructor. Jones snatched the blade from the instructor’s throat, let him drop, and screamed, “Put down the phones! Now!”

  Vicious slashes rained on sightless students. “Silence!” said Kanamel the Crusher. “You will be silent! You will pay attention to me!”

  Spoken prayers from several of the students mixed with the moans of the wounded. Cell phones lay on the floor, lines still open to the Cardiff Police emergency center.

  “Listen to me, you stupid people!” said Kanamel. “I’m your Lord! This is your heaven. I’ll decide who lives and dies. Listen to me!”

  The uninjured students shivered and wept, listening as he paced the wooden floor among them. This was too easy for Kanamel. The situation presented no challenge for a man of his capabilities. He moved to the door, wooden floor creaking under his footsteps. Outside the door, a female administrator shook as she whispered urgently on her cell phone. She raised her head and saw the magnificent figure standing before her, speckled with blotches of the enemy’s blood. The knife thrust in below her sternum and he lifted her off the ground.

  “I decide,” he said. “I wield. Kanamel the Crusher. Know who I am.” He let her body fall, her weight pulling her off the blade. He moved down the hall to enter another room.

  ***

  Jenni and Gavin Morris leapt from the conference table at Police Headquarters and rushed from the room where they joined dozens of officers taking the stairs. No one waited for the elevator.

  Francois broke the spell among the three of them. “We must go there as well! Allez!”

  “Right,” said Cole, on Francois’s heels. He turned and saw Nadine hesitate, an element of fear back in her eyes.

  “We can do this, Nadine,” said Cole. “We can all cowboy up together, and do this.”

  She snapped out of it, fire returning. “Okay. The team. Yeah, we can do this,” she said, nodding to him and accelerating out of the room.

  The elevator doors stood open. On the ride down, Cole took Nadine’s hand and squeezed. Francois saw the gesture and took Cole and Nadine’s free hands, making a circle. “The power of God through his son, Jesus Christ,” said Francois.

  “The power of God,” said Cole.

  “We could use a can of whup ass, God,” said Nadine as the elevator doors opened.

  “Suffisant,” said Francois to Nadine as they rushed to the parked car.

  Cole drove their rental car at breakneck speed to the school, surrounded by cop cars and sirens and flashing lights. None of the officers paid them any heed.

  He wheeled around the parking lot, took a small gravel drive to the back of the school, slid to a stop, and flung open his door, exclaiming, “Stay toget
her!”

  They approached one of several back doors and heard screams from the window of a corner room. The three burst into the hallway and dashed toward the sounds of terror, Francois leading. Cole slowed long enough to confirm Nadine followed. With Moloch on the loose, he wanted her to stay close.

  Cole saw Jenni Thomas enter a door at the front of the building, adjacent to where cries of horror emanated, having a slight lead on the three of them. She did not hesitate, and entered the room.

  “My date!” a voice screamed, echoing down the hallway. “She’s arrived! Let’s consummate this arrangement, Assistant Chief Constable!”

  Sounds of a struggle followed. Francois moved as a fired cannonball, showing amazing agility and speed. He accelerated and entered the room at full speed, Cole on his heels. They entered the hellish scene of dead young people, a floor flooded with blood, and a nightmare sitting on the floor, legs spread, with a knife blade against Jenni Thomas’s neck. His other hand jerked her hair back to give his blade more exposure. Both Cole and Francois knew the look on the madman’s face, one having seen it twice before and the other many, many times.

  “She fought!” the nightmare screamed. “She tried! But Kanamel conquers!”

  “Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus,” blurted Francois as rapidly as he could.

  “No! In my name, priest,” interrupted the madman. “In my name!”

  This monster would kill Jenni and the only shot they had was to go right at him. That one thought flashed as Cole burst toward the two on the floor, making four accelerating sprint strides across the large room before losing his footing and sliding on the thick blood pooled around him. He crashed through several desks as he headed for the two, feet first.

  The killer released Jenni, rolled to one side, and rose to his knees to meet Cole’s slide. He prepared to arc the blade into Cole’s belly. Cole focused on the man’s actions and lifted his knees to his chest. There was no stopping his momentum on the gore-drenched floor. The killer raised the blade, lips curled in triumph as he slid closer. At the final moment, Cole kicked both feet forward with every fiber, the effort so extreme his back left the floor. The kick delivered to the man’s chest knocked him off his knees and sent him skidding against the back wall. Pools of blood waked in front of his slide.