Carnival Of Mayhem Part 34

Bourke shrugged. "Maybe the Army is attempting a cover up. You're a national embarra.s.sment."

Smythe frowned. "This is pointless. I'm done talking."

"I have more questions."

"I don't have more answers."

"Talk to me," Bourke said. "I can get you the help you need. Chicago has some good psychiatrists."

Smythe remained silent.

"Then I'll just hold you here until the court decides what to do with you."

"I don't think so." Smythe shook his head. "You have no paperwork. Remember?"

"I'll go out to Naperville and re-interview witnesses myself," Bourke said. "I'll recreate the missing files. I'll get a judge to issue a new arrest warrant."

"Don't bother. I'll never stand trial. People will come for me, and if you get in the way, you'll just get hurt."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I won't be doing the hurting," Smythe said.

"You're insanity is making you paranoid."

Smythe sighed deeply. He finally understood the true magnitude of his error. "It was stupid for me to talk to you at all. Stay away from me. I'm a bringer of death. A monster who has no place among ordinary people. I need to be with my own kind." It was a bitter realization.

"Why did you murder Mark Woods?"

He just stared at Bourke.

"What really happened in that hotel?"

Smythe looked down at the table.

After a minute of silence, the detective stood and left the room.

Eventually, Smythe was taken back to his cell. One of the minor perks of being accused of murder was that he didn't have to share it. He had the stainless steel toilet and single bed to himself. The bed was just a concrete bench with a thin, foam pad on top. There wasn't even a pillow.

He had just sat down when a sergeant knocked on the bars.

"You have a visitor," he said.

Smythe sagged. The list of possible visitors was very short and not pleasant to contemplate.

The sergeant backed off several paces, and Ethel took his place in front of the cell. She wore a gray business jacket over a white s.h.i.+rt. Her disturbingly dark eyes showed no emotion. Fear made Smythe s.h.i.+ver. He would've preferred to fight a battalion of Afghani rebels rather than face this woman now.

He stood close to her and spoke softly. "I screwed up. I'm an idiot. I admit it."

"What was your plan?" she said. "We know you took food samples from the laboratory."

"I hired a courier service to deliver the samples to the Army lab. I expected to come back to headquarters before anybody got suspicious, but I was arrested instead. The samples never made it out."

"I see."

"How did you find me, ma'am?" he asked.

"If you had kept your phone, it would've been a lot easier. When you didn't come home, Edward started checking police reports. He wasted hours that should've been spent on the mission. I should be at headquarters right now, leading my team."

"Sorry."

"Did the police interview you?" she said. "What did you tell them?"

"I talked about the Eternals, but the detective thinks I'm delusional."

"Of course he does. Did you talk about us?"

"No, ma'am," he said firmly.

She crossed her arms. "Now I have a difficult decision to make. What should I do with you?"

"Innocent people are dying of a terrible illness. As a doctor and a human being, I can't ignore that fact. You may not like what I did, but honor and compa.s.sion compelled me."

"I understand. You're not evil or stupid. In fact you're one of the more promising recruits I've had. You're just very stubborn. I asked you to trust me. Why didn't you? I told you the illness will be dealt with at the proper time, and that's still absolutely true. I never forgot about those innocent people."

His sighed. "Are you going to kill me, ma'am?"

"I don't know." She looked up at the ceiling. "As you sit in this cell, G.o.d is teaching you a lesson and maybe I should let that lesson continue. On the other hand, a strong commander doesn't flinch when an unpleasant task must be done. I gave you plenty of warnings. I need to think about this."

"For how long?"

"Not very." She looked straight at him. "This could be our last conversation. It was nice knowing you Dr. Smythe. I'll always value the brief time we spent together, and if I do kill you, I won't enjoy it."

She walked off.

A few hours later, Smythe was lying on his concrete bed, staring at the concrete ceiling. He had tried to sleep but it was only seven o'clock at night. He wasn't tired enough to fall asleep this early, especially when there was so much on his mind. However, the soldier in him kept ordering him to rest while he had the chance.

Two police officers came to the door of his cell. They were young men, and their blue uniforms had nice, crisp creases.

"Get up," one of the cops said. "You're being transferred."

Smythe stood. His opportunity to sleep was gone.

The cops entered the cell and cuffed his hands behind his back. They briskly escorted him through the busy police station. Smythe was forced to go out the front door into the cold without a coat. Fortunately, an idling police car was parked at the curb. He was helped into the back seat, and the warm air was a relief.

As the young officers took their place in front, Smythe noticed something odd. Both had very thick hair, which was groomed a little too perfectly. He realized they were wearing wigs. Suddenly, he had a very bad feeling.

He looked around for a way to escape even though his hands were still cuffed. There were no door handles in the back, and a steel grill prevented him from getting to the front. The windows looked bulletproof. He was locked in a cage.

Detective Bourke came running out of the station. "Hey!" he yelled. "What are you doing? That's my prisoner!"

One of the fake cops rolled down a window. "We have orders to transfer him."

"From who? Show me the paperwork!"

"Take a look."

Bourke leaned down, putting his head close to the window.

"Get back!" Smythe yelled.

Bourke gave him a funny look.

The cop reached into his s.h.i.+rt pocket and took out a short, wooden tube. He blew through the tube, spraying black dust onto Bourke's face. The detective staggered backwards, coughing violently and clawing at his eyes. The police car immediately shot forward into city traffic.

The windows were rolled up before Smythe could yell again. The cops also turned on the flas.h.i.+ng lights to encourage other cars to move out of the way, but they didn't use the siren.

"Let me guess," Smythe said. "The Order of Eternal Night."

"Correct," the driver said. "We have questions for you."

"I don't know anything."

"A few hours ago you told the police we're a.s.sa.s.sins and use poison."

"How do you know that?"

"We have friends," the driver said.

"Dirty cops on your payroll?" Smythe said.

"Isn't that a Chicago tradition?"

"What kind of poison did you use on the detective? Is it toxic?"

"He's already dead," the driver said. "He knew too much. Maybe you should've kept your mouth shut."

That comment hit Smythe hard. The truth in it was inescapable.

He looked through the window at the sky. Did you choose this for me, G.o.d? I never asked for it. I want to save lives, not end them.

"Where are we going?" Smythe asked.

"The Farm," one of the Eternals replied. "You're a very lucky man. After your interrogation, you'll get to partic.i.p.ate in one of our most secret ceremonies. You'll witness things that very few others have seen."

"Partic.i.p.ate?"

"Actually, you'll be the guest of honor. The ritual requires a lot of fresh human blood and you have plenty."

Two hours later, the car pulled into the Farm. Smythe had expected the name to be symbolic, but it really was a working farm. Black and white cows stood in the cold darkness. There were barns, silos, and a very large, rustic house. Empty fields contained stubble from a recent harvest. The odor of fresh manure made him wrinkle his nose.

The fake cops parked in front of a huge, metal shed. Two other men in black robes came out to meet them. All four Eternals had combat knives in hand when they finally let Smythe out of the car. The blades were painted black and wickedly serrated. He decided not to give his captors any trouble, especially since he was still in handcuffs.

Both his arms were held tightly as he was escorted into the shed. As soon as he stepped inside, the stench hit him. The shed was filled with pigs wallowing in brown filth, and the stink was unlike anything he had ever experienced. His eyes watered.

The men stripped off all of Smythe's clothes, leaving him only his briefs. The air inside the shed was cool but much warmer than outside, so hypothermia wasn't a danger. They removed his handcuffs but maintained a firm grip on his arms. One man kept the point of his knife pressed against Smythe's back.

One of the pig pens had a rusty iron cage in the middle, partially submerged in the muck. Smythe was shoved into the cage, which was just big enough for a large dog. He couldn't stand up or stretch out, so he was forced to kneel in the sticky filth with his head bowed. The men locked the cage with loops of heavy chain and two padlocks. Escape was clearly impossible.

"The master will speak with you in the morning," one of the men said. "Until then enjoy our hospitality. Good night."

The four of them left.

Smythe looked around to see if he was truly alone. He spotted two security cameras, both aimed directly at him.

I was f.u.c.ked before, he thought. This is worse.

Chapter Twenty-one.

Aaron sat in the cab of a fuel truck. Nine thousand gallons of low grade diesel sloshed in the steel tank behind him. The truck was running and warm air blew on his face, but soon he would have to go back out into the cold.

The truck was parked at the very edge of the quarry. He looked out at the giant excavation, which seemed like a bottomless pit in the night. The carnival was a floating island of light in the center of the darkness.

His watch showed 12:30 AM. It's time, he thought.

He climbed out of the truck without turning it off. He wore full camouflage over body armor and heavy clothes, but the cold still made him s.h.i.+ver.

He took his favorite gun, a Barrett M98B sniper rifle, from behind the driver's seat. He had shot many thousands of rounds through its twenty-seven inch, fluted barrel. He had practiced with it so much some of the parts had needed to be replaced. Marina and Ethel preferred close combat, but he was a natural marksman. Those skills would be tested tonight.

He turned on the thermal scope and sighted through it. The darkness of the quarry became sparkling, electric green. He could easily spot the individual carnival workers from their body heat, and they looked like glowing embers. The scope's clarity was amazing.

He located Marina at the far side of the quarry. Her slender, glowing form was crouched behind some rubble. An infrared strobe on her head flashed every two seconds. The light was invisible to human eyes, but it was an unmistakable beacon when viewed through the thermal scope. No matter where she went in the quarry, he would be able to find her.

Aaron called her on his phone. "I see you. Are you ready?"