Carnival Of Mayhem Part 36

"Home," Ethel said.

Aaron had just reached the outskirts of Chicago, when Ethel got a call. The conversation was brief.

After the call was done, she reported, "Smythe is missing. Two men dressed as police officers 'transferred' him out of jail. A detective tried to intervene and was killed with an exotic poison."

"The Eternals," Aaron said.

"It seems the Almighty wants Smythe to meet the enemy in person."

"They'll torture him."

"I hope we can find him before permanent damage is done," she said.

"You want to rescue him? A while ago you were talking about killing him."

"Until I do, he is still a member of the team. Besides, I think this experience might finally teach him a lesson. He won't be so quick to ignore my orders next time."

"If he survives," he said. "I'm sure the Eternals are extremely p.i.s.sed after the smack down we just gave them. They won't be gentle."

"I know. Drive faster."

Chapter Twenty-two.

Smythe's back, neck, and legs ached from being forced to remain in an awkward position for hours. He was also cold and very hungry. There was no possibility of sleeping under these conditions. His only entertainment was the sound of pigs grunting and pa.s.sing gas.

Sunlight filtered through tiny windows in the shed, which meant morning had arrived. He wondered if this were his last day on Earth.

As bad as his situation was, he knew it could be worse. He still had vivid memories of the repulsive horrors Ethel had committed when torturing her prisoners. It was impossible for the Eternals to be as cruel.

Four men in black robes entered the shed and extracted Smythe from his cage. His muscles were so stiff at first that he couldn't stand. The men carried him outside, where the air was very cold. Still wearing only underwear, he shivered uncontrollably.

A garden hose was used to wash off the filth. The water felt like ice when it struck Smythe's bare skin. The shock caused him to collapse and curl into a fetal position on the dirt.

After the men finished rinsing him, they dragged him across the yard and towards a huge house with dozens of windows. The plain, rustic building was painted all black.

Smythe had regained the ability to walk by the time they reached the door. However, with guards on all sides and his body still crippled, escape wasn't a possibility. They climbed a flight of stairs and entered an office. He was quickly tied to a steel chair in the center of the room using thick ropes. The four guards stood at attention behind him.

A man sat behind a desk in the office. His robes were made of shimmering, black silk, decorated with geometric designs sewn with gold thread. His hood was thrown back to reveal short, golden hair. Thin scars on his forehead formed the "sunset" symbol of the Eternals.

"You must be Timothy Smythe," he said. "They told me you're a soldier, but you don't look like one. You're soft."

"Who are you?" Smythe said through chattering teeth.

"I'm known as the Harbinger of the Night. You may call me Master. Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"You may eat after you answer some questions." Harbinger glanced at a sheet of paper in his hands. "You told the detective we're a.s.sa.s.sins, and you told him about the poison. Where did you get this information?"

Smythe looked around the office. There was a black flag on the wall with the red sunset symbol embroidered on it. A display case held a variety of antique knives and swords, and some of the items looked ancient. A refrigerator with a gla.s.s door contained flasks of blood. Heavy, black drapes covered the windows. Most of the light came from a single lamp on the desk.

"I asked you a question," Harbinger said.

Smythe had no incentive to answer. In fact, cooperation would end his life quicker because the Eternals would kill him as soon as they had no more use for him. His best strategy was to be as stubborn as possible, and to hope for an opportunity to escape. It was a slim hope.

He doubted the Spears would make a serious effort to rescue him. Ethel was planning to kill him anyway. In her eyes his capture was a well deserved consequence of his insubordination. He couldn't argue with that position. He would still be with his team if he had just followed orders.

"I'll talk after I eat," Smythe said.

"Don't test me," Harbinger said. "I'm normally a patient man but you caught me at a bad time. We had trouble last night. Some of my best men died."

"What a shame. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I want you to talk about it."

Smythe shrugged. "I was here all night. I don't know anything."

"Who is my enemy? Why did they attack us? Are the same people responsible for the other recent incidents?"

"Timothy Smythe, Captain, United States Army."

"What?" Harbinger's eyes widened.

"Timothy Smythe, Captain, United States Army."

Harbinger stood up and came around his desk. With his impressive height and bulk, he had the physical presence all military commanders craved.

"You will talk," he said, "eventually. Until then, you'll suffer in ways you can't even imagine. I have yet to meet a man I couldn't break. When I'm done draining the information from your mind, I will drain the blood from your veins. Of course, you'll beg for death before then."

A short, thin man with a shaved head hurried into the room. He only glanced at Smythe before dashing over to Harbinger. The newcomer whispered into Harbinger's ear.

"d.a.m.n," Harbinger said. "None of the relics were recovered?"

The thin man shook his head sadly. "Sorry, sir."

Harbinger grimaced. "This is unacceptable. There were only two of them! You'd think an entire regiment attacked us. Are we really that vulnerable?"

Smythe smiled slightly. Sounds like Aaron and Marina had a busy night, he thought. I wish I was with them.

"And the attack was too precise," Harbinger added. "I'm starting to think the enemy has an informant. We've had too many suspicious setbacks lately. There must be a traitor in our midst."

The thin man stepped back. "That's impossible, sir! Everybody is absolutely loyal to you."

"Call an immediate meeting of the leadership council. We're going to deal with this problem right now. It can't wait. Finding the traitor is our top priority."

Harbinger went to a blank section of the wall. He pushed against one of the wooden planks, and a concealed door popped open. There was a huge safe behind it. He typed a code into the electronic combination lock and pressed his thumb against a scanner. When the safe was open, Smythe caught a glimpse of papers, bundles of cash, and gold bars.

Harbinger took out a tall ceremonial hat. It was black with hundreds of tiny rubies forming the sunset symbol on the front. He closed the safe and double-checked it was locked.

"Let's go," he said.

One of the guards pointed at Smythe. "What about the prisoner, sir?"

Harbinger furrowed his brow. "I don't have time for him now. Bind him and bury him in the s.h.i.t pile. Not too deep, though. Make sure he doesn't suffocate. I'll interrogate him later." He left.

The guards took Smythe to a giant pile of compost on the edge of the farm. The sharp odor of ammonia made him cough. Ropes were brought forth, and the men tied his arms and legs tightly. He was thrown onto his back and buried, so only his face was exposed.

Instead of being too cold, now he was too hot. The decaying compost was generating a lot of heat. Countless tiny insects crawled across his bare skin.

Be strong, he told himself. Then he looked up at the blue sky. G.o.d, if I made you angry, I'm sorry. I promise I'll follow orders next time. I'll be the soldier you expected. Just don't let them kill me.

Aaron, Marina, Ethel, Edward, and Kamal sat around the conference table in headquarters. Aaron felt somewhat rejuvenated after several hours of sleep, a hot shower, and a hearty breakfast. Kamal was not as fortunate. He had worked through the night a.n.a.lyzing the evidence that had been taken from the hidden compartment. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks sagged, but he was ready to give his report.

"We have a positive confirmation," he said. "Some of the materials were definitely exposed to radiation from a spatial intrusion."

"That's good news!" Aaron said.

"No." Ethel shook her head. "It's never good news when an enemy of G.o.d is active in the world."

"But it means we can finally get out the big guns, ma'am. I'm tired of going easy on these murderous b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

"Your work in the quarry can't be described as 'going easy.' How many of them did you kill? However, it's true our new goal is the total annihilation of the Order of Eternal Night. Edward, where is the 'Farm?' That's our next target."

Edward was in even worse shape than Kamal. Edward's eyes were half-closed with exhaustion, and his wiry, brown hair needed a good combing. He had worn the same yellow T-shirt for three days. It had the words "I eat bytes by the tera" printed on the front.

"I ran every computer search I could think of," he said in a weary voice, "and I found nothing about the Farm. Sorry, ma'am, I failed. But I do have one lead for you. Wiley's Wild and Wacky Carnival of Fun has an accountant, who handles their payroll and taxes. His office is in Rockford. If the Eternals have a real farm, then they have to pay real property taxes on it, and the accountant will have the address. The problem is his computers aren't on the internet. I need to search his files in person."

"Then you're coming with us," Ethel said. "To save time, we'll rent a helicopter and fly straight to Rockford. Marina, are you still a licensed pilot?"

"Of course, ma'am," Marina said.

"I want to depart in thirty minutes. Pack all your favorite weapons. We're going heavy."

"What about the carnival? We have to hit it before it moves again."

"I'm one step ahead of you." Ethel winked. "I already called the Washington cell. After this meeting I'll give them my final confirmation, and they'll obliterate the carnival for us. There will be no survivors."

"How?" Marina said.

"When G.o.d wants to rain death on His enemy, He uses fire and brimstone. We use a cruise missile."

Technical Sergeant Sperry's finger hovered over the large green b.u.t.ton marked "FIRE." If he pressed the b.u.t.ton, a Tomahawk cruise missile would immediately launch. It would travel along a programmed route and hit a precise spot 1,480 miles away. It wouldn't miss. Even at that range, the guided missile was accurate enough to fly through the window of an enemy bunker.

The order to fire was right in front of him. The printout had all the right names and security codes, and the word "IMMEDIATELY" was highlighted in red. There was no indication the order was illegitimate or ambiguous. He had already entered the target lat.i.tude and longitude into the computer, and the only remaining task was pressing the b.u.t.ton.

Still, he hesitated.

The target wasn't in a distant, foreign land. He was shooting at a spot in Illinois, which meant the lives of American civilians were at risk. This particular missile was armed with a top secret, thermobaric warhead. It had the destructive power of five thousand pounds of TNT and could incinerate an entire enemy base. The shockwave alone could strip flesh from bones.

If this was some kind of test, then n.o.body had told him about it. His Air Force base was at normal readiness. No other missiles had been launched, and as far as he knew, there were no plans to do so.

Even though it wasn't his responsibility, he decided to double-check the destination coordinates. He used his targeting computer to call up a recent satellite photo. It appeared that he was shooting at an abandoned quarry. There were no towns nearby and the nearest farm was a mile away. It seemed a safe enough target. However, he didn't understand why the Air Force would use a million dollar missile to make a crater at the bottom of a quarry. It didn't make sense.

I have my orders, he thought.

He pressed the b.u.t.ton.

The accountant occupied a small office on the sh.o.r.e of the Rock River. It was a single story, red brick building with narrow windows made of translucent gla.s.s. A small sign on the front read "JK Brown, CPA." There was no other indication of what kind of business was taking place inside the building.

Aaron, Marina, Ethel, and Edward stood in front, all disguised as federal agents. They wore blue business suits and black shoes. Gun holsters under their jackets were visible but not aggressively so.

"Go," Ethel said.

Aaron opened the door. They walked into a small reception room, where a surprised young woman in a green dress was sitting behind a desk.

"Where is Mr. Brown?" Ethel demanded.

"Uh," the girl said.

"Spread out! Find him!"

They fanned out and quickly located Mr. Brown in a private office in the back of the building. He was a short man with pale skin and wispy red hair. Green filing cabinets covered the walls of his office.

"Who are you?" he said. "What's going on?"

Aaron ran around his desk, grabbed him by the shirt, and put a pistol against his temple. "FBI!" Aaron growled. "You're in a lot of trouble! Start talking!"

Brown's eyes grew wide. "About what?"

There was a computer on the desk. Aaron dragged Brown out of the way, so Edward could get to work immediately.

Edward started typing, but then he said, "I need the pa.s.sword."