The Blood Eagle In The Big Easy Part 1

The Blood Eagle in the Big Easy.

K. A. Lange.

This book is dedicated to everyone who helped me along the way. Thank you so much for being patient during this process. And Kim without you this project would never have seen the light of day so a very big thank you for your support. I would also like to thank Severus, Isis, Ca.s.sie, Chia and Chewy for bringing me so much joy.

Prologue.

Though I walk amongst you I am not one of you. My name is Viktor Engle Warden and I am a va.s.sal of the Mystick Courts of Comus in New Orleans LA. I began my service to the courts out of obligation to Hustahli, or The Great One, as he was once known to the Choctaw. He came to me so long ago as I lay dying alone in the dark, healing my wounds and saving my life. I swore a blood oath to serve those under his protection until my debt was repaid.

*Truth as defined by Shaffer 1828: 1. Conformity to fact or reality; exact accordance with that which is, or has been, or shall be. The truth of history const.i.tutes its whole value. We rely on the truth of the scriptural prophecies.

2. True state of facts or things. The duty of a court of justice is to discover the truth. Witnesses are sworn to declare the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

3. Conformity of words to thoughts, which is called moral truth.

4. Veracity; purity from falsehood; practice of speaking truth; habitual disposition to speak truth; as when we say, a man is a man of truth.

5. Correct opinion.

6. Fidelity; constancy.'

The word truth is probably the third most abused word in the english language. The first is love and the second is friend. Let me drive the point home to you by asking you a few simple questions. Do you honestly love everyone you say it to? Before you hang up the phone and out of habit or obligation you say love you, or when you speak of something that you love do you really mean it? The thing is, you might like the person or thing that you are speaking of but I doubt you truly love it. Most people call everyone they know a friend. No one is that lucky to have that many friends. True friends are hard to come by. Most of the people whose names you know are at the most acquaintances, and if you think about it really hard you might find that you have only one or two real friends.

Truth is in the same category. People are always harping about how they want to know the truth and that anything less is a lie. They act as if any omission of the truth is a disservice to the world at large. That is a fairy tale, if not a flat out lie. It is a lie perpetuated by the white knight in shining armor myths and the stories told to children that good will always triumph over evil. Truth sometimes good people die and the bad guy wins the day. A knight with gleaming armor in its pristine form is a man who has never been tested in the heat of battle.

Overall people tell themselves these things to feel better about their life. They believe that everyone they know is someone they love and is a dear friend. Moreover they believe they are ent.i.tled to the truth. I don't know why people feel this way. All I know for sure is that deep down they really don't want to know the truth of things. The truth, the unyielding reality of such a word is scary as h.e.l.l. No one really wants to know what their government is doing behind closed doors. People don't want the knowledge that others are tortured or even killed to keep them safe at night. Men such as myself are not evil, not at all, but we are monsters. We stand between the light and the darkness to shield those under our protection. We have no hope of salvation and our continued existence is an affront to most but we are absolutely necessary.

The stark reality is that the truth is frightening, and given a choice between what is true and what is fantasy, people as a whole will choose the fantasy. Take the city I live in, or any city for that matter, and realize that crimes happen daily and people go on with their lives as if nothing happened. They might hear a scream in the night and choose to ignore it as a figment of their imagination or perhaps a TV turned up too loud. Because people as a whole choose to ignore the things that happen right in front of them, people like me are necessary. For those who cry out in fear when the darkness comes for them I'm their best and sometimes only defense against the things that can go literally unseen. Do you still want to know the truth? You should remember that knowing the truth of a thing that can't be undone.

The Mystic Courts of Comus, and people like myself, do the unthinkable to keep everyone safe from things that they shouldn't need to know about. There are creatures out there that walk, slither, glide and otherwise transport themselves through our world that are so hideous that it would cause some to lose the tenuous grip on reality that we all hold so dear. Not all of them want to do you harm, but many do. My kind work in unison to keep those around us in the dark, so to speak. We lie to the public openly and with some regularity. A few who are burdened with the knowledge of the frightening truth, either by it being thrust upon them by some act of violence or are conditioned to accept the reality that monsters do exist, are recruited by private organizations like Warden Industries or by the Mystick Courts of Comus and the best are recruited by both.

My company, Warden Industries, provides protection. We will take a job if I believe that your cause is a just one, and as the sole owner of the firm I make that call. I have been duped a few times but my clients didn't live long enough to regret it. What can I say? I have a very strict don't f.u.c.k with me policy.

You might ask what qualifies me to make such judgment calls. All I can say is that I do the very best I can and go from there. I am more or less what the ancients called a warrior priest, a man of conviction and power with the might to back it up. It is my belief that if you run headlong into the darkness, sooner or later you are going to run head first into a brick wall. According to one of Newton's laws for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. So it can't be a real surprise for all those things that go b.u.mp in the night to find something that b.u.mps back. I have made it my job to be the brick wall. I know it's a fairly lofty goal but so far I have done alright making sure that the boogie man doesn't take you while you sleep.

Chapter 1.

September 7, 2005.

Looking at the night sky above I could barely make out the low hanging waxing crescent moon through the dark clouds. The flood waters rolled through the vacant streets creating slow moving rivers dumping into tiny freshly created lakes throughout the city. The East was particularly hard hit with the lake pinning in those who remained to the north and by a broken ca.n.a.l to the south. It was becoming increasingly harder to breath as the near ninety degree temperatures mixed with the rain and flood waters causing the air to be thick and heavy. As I waded through the desolate streets I occasionally heard the lamenting cry of those who had foolishly chosen to stay behind. Their suffering and loneliness tore at my soul but no matter how much I wanted to help them I had a task that took priority. The stench of rotting meat, be it human or animal mixed with the swampland that was New Orleans creating a unique combination of mold, death and rot. What can I say? This place always has it's own unique aroma that can't be mistaken for anywhere else in the world.

It's been nine days since Hurricane Katrina made landfall leaving much of the Big Easy underwater. The MCC alerted my office that a Houngan, or Haitian Voodoo priest, was practicing black magic through which he was controlling a particularly vicious kappa out in the east. A kappa is a swamp monster of sorts roughly the size of a man with slick, squishy grayish-green flesh and the strength of a rhino. They never start out as a creature of darkness. It's the result of some poor soul, be it human or animal, perverted through blood and elemental or nature magic that turns them into mindless killing machines. It is my job to stop them, and those like them, before they do too much more harm. The MCC (Mystic Courts of Comus) and I already accounted for seven deaths credited to the kappa and its master. I'm sure given time that these deaths will be blamed on the storm.

And yes, magic is real. Sort of anyway. Basicly magic is just a form of science that most don't understand. The myths you have heard about and dismissed out of hand are normally based somewhere in fact. Those ancient G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses were, or in some cases still, are real. Not really G.o.ds in the "capital G" sense of the word, but still beings of power and influence. Many fight to keep mankind safe from the perils that have long since been dismissed as fantasy.

The MCC as they are known in New Orleans, are made up of the governing human population (and at times non human) to deal with threats like the bat s.h.i.t crazy black magic wielding voodoo priest and his pet kappa. It's people like Houngan who give voodoo and other religions a bad name. With luck though, this story should never see the light of day.

Over the past twelve hours I'd tracked the Houngan and kappa to a deserted partially submerged two story brick home located on a corner lot. What the h.e.l.l am I saying? Ninety-eight percent of the East was deserted, which meant we were utterly alone. You could feel the wrongness that pervaded the city. Darkness reigned supreme in every direction reinforcing the insignificance of one man alone in the world. Shaking off the despair and loneliness that exuded from the very earth itself, I focused my will. The air started to shimmer slightly as my shields wrapped around me.

Pulling my PX4 storm special duty pistol from its holster, I casually strode through the front door. That particular line of entry was probably a mistake. I barely caught sight of the kappa before it slammed into the midsection of my shield. Bringing my elbow down I caught the creature hard on its squishy little neck, but this did little to deter it as it shoved me through the brick outer wall of the house.

Crashing hard against the buckled and raised sidewalk several feet from the house I felt an explosion of pain, one of my ribs cracking as my shields barely held. The kappa tore through the opening catching sight of me laid out helplessly on my back. It roared with delight as it rocked back on it's hind legs preparing to maul me. Lifting the pistol just as it rushed me, I put four slugs through the wretched creatures skull. The molten hunks of lead tore large holes through the creatures softened skull, muddy green fluid to oozing freely from the gaping wounds. The creature crashed face first in the wet muddy yard. It's momentum carried it a few feet further before stopping, twitching for a few seconds longer as its body tried clinging to life but failing as it went still.

The Hougan howled in rage somewhere in the darkness of the abandoned home. Coughing up blood, I gingerly lifted myself out of the mud. Suddenly I was forced to fling myself to one side as I sensed more than saw the machete flying at me. The rusty blade dug deeply in my left shoulder, making my arm scream in pain before going numb, and while my shields would normally protect me from such things they had been weakened when the kappa struck me with the force of a speeding semi. Rolling to my feet I haphazardly fired through the fresh opening in the brick wall but to no avail. Great! Now this was going to turn into a game of hide and seek!

Even though the priest looked ancient and frail he sure as h.e.l.l could move like the wind. Every single time I tried to put a bullet through that skull of his, he was just simply gone. I staggered to my feet as pain ripped through my lung and stalked through the broken house in search of the old man. As I was entering the next room I suddenly felt something behind me. I threw myself to one side as the wall in front of me exploded with flames. I came up and fired, catching the Voodoo priest in the right knee and he went down with a howl. As he tried to hobble away I put a bullet through his skull for his trouble.

There isn't any surrendering for people like him. Due to the overcrowding situation at the courts, with their facilities unable to receive or house any more prisoners, anyone who poses a threat is to be immediately exterminated. There is no trial. It is my job, and my job alone, to pa.s.s judgement. That is the decree of the Mystick Courts of Comus' Gatekeeper and for once the two of us agree on something. He and I don't exactly see eye to eye on certain issues and things are especially tense between us right now. He is trying to play politician, while I am left dealing with things like this.

Chapter 2.

November 28th, 2012.

Blinking my eyes several times while trying to bring the world into focus, I turned my head from side to side. My shoulders and back ached from laying on the jagged crystalline rocks. The long thick leather overcoat I was wearing had kept me from being completely cut to shreds not to mention freezing to death. Looking down at my body I could see a thick acc.u.mulation of snow indicating that I had been here for several hours, perhaps longer. The snow was melting on the parts of my chest and stomach where the coat had come open, threatening hypothermia. The deep wet cold dug deeper with every furious wind gust. Mother nature was angry as if she had been violated in some way and I was to pay the price.

Every nerve ending in my body was afire with pain as I tried to move. Forcing it aside for the moment, I slowly sat up. Cupping my face in my hands I tried to remember how I had gotten here, or even where here was, but it was all in vain. There was an urgency to find shelter from the storm. Lightning arched through the swirling clouds above, quickly followed by a thunderclap which shook the mountainside. Once that was accomplished maybe I could revisit the *how', *why' and *who' of my situation. Everything before the moment I opened my eyes a few minutes ago was a complete blank.

My body continued to object to my every movement as I gingerly got to my feet. Several of my ribs were fractured, making every breath torture. My ankle was badly sprained and my hands were covered in my own blood. As I tried to pull the heavy leather hood over my head my right shoulder painfully popped back into its socket.. The pain was making me nauseous as I tried not to pa.s.s out. I was in terrible shape and I had no idea how or why this came to be. I could only hope that there weren't any unseen dangers in my immediate future.

Staggering ahead like a drunken sailor on leave I went in search of some type of shelter. The lightning continued to arch through the turmoil in the night sky. Suddenly it was as if time slowed while I continued to moved normally. The snowflakes stopped falling, suspended in midair. I was able to move my hand through them and wipe them away, leaving an eerily empty place before me. As I looked up tumultuous clouds above formed in the shape a of a weird wagon wheel, lighting arching overhead. The black gray clouds roiled around the enormous light show giving the impression that the sky was afire. Something about it called to me as I tried to remember something just on the outer edge of my minds eye.

A voice echoed through my mind chilling me to the core. "You can not escape me..."

Sitting bolt upright in bed I was disoriented, my breath ragged as I shivered as the cool air wrapped around my drenched body. Trying to slow my breathing I jumped when the phone rang. Leaning over to grab my phone I saw it was only 3:30 a.m.

As I swiped the answer b.u.t.ton I wasn't sure if I should be grateful for the distraction from the dream or p.i.s.sed that someone I didn't know was calling this time at this of the night. So I went with a little of both. "I don't recognize this number so this had better be good."

The man on the other end of the line took a sharp intake of breath as if he were nervous. "Is this Viktor Warden?"

Something about the deep baritone voice sounded familiar but I couldn't quite place it. Curious I leaned over and turned on the lamp next to the bed causing me to wince as light flooded the room. "Yeah, who's this?"

"This is U.S. Deputy Marshal Gregory Aaron." He cleared his throat. "Not sure if you remember me or not but we worked a case together back in *92."

c.r.a.p! That was a case I could hardly forget no matter how much I would have liked to. Gregory was one of the survivors of that painful endeavor. Rubbing my eyes I tried to shake off the dream to give the man my full attention. "Yeah, I remember you." Swinging my legs off the bed I leaned forward allowing the cold hardwood floor to cement me in the here and now. "I'm guessing something bad has happened."

"That would be putting it rather mildly." He covered the phone as he barked a few orders. "The Fenrir Cult has come back to bite me in the a.s.s."

Rubbing my neck with my free hand I stood as I winced as several of my joints cracked. "Since you're calling from a local number I can a.s.sume you're in town?"

"As a matter of fact I am." He covered the phone again as I heard him asked someone for the name of the place. "We're at Popp Fountain. Do you know the place?"

Grabbing my watch off the nightstand I was about to head for the bath when I stopped in my tracks. "I'm familiar with the place." This could hardly be a coincidence. "Is there a body?"

"What's left of one anyway." He coughed and cleared his throat. "Sorry about that. I have some sinus issues today, and I'm not used to this d.a.m.ned weather. It's Helena Summers. Well, like I mentioned, most of her anyway."

I swallowed hard. "She didn't stay in Alabama I take it."

"Doesn't appear she did. I am getting the details now." He took a deep breath as he yawned into the phone. "How long do you think it will take you to get here?"

"I should be able to get there within the hour." Quickly making my way through the bedroom to the bath I looked at my watch which read 3:35. "Can you clear me?"

"Consider it done. See you shortly." Gregory said as he hung up the phone.

Bracing myself against the bathroom counter I recalled the case. The Marshals service contracted my firm to a.s.sist in building a case against what they referred to as a group of radicals who were a perceived danger to the locals in Maine. Their original contact was a young woman who had supplied the federal government with the information they needed to shut the *cult' down permanently. Several months prior to my involvement she had stopped communicating with them. While the Marshal's believed she was still alive somewhere on the compound they had no idea where or for how much longer. I infiltrated the compound where I found Helena being held captive in a remote building. With her testimony secure Gregory and I were able to protect her and her young son from any reprisals her former const.i.tuents might try.

Talk about bad omens! Every time that horrid dream returns to haunt me I am almost always in for a very bad day (or ten). Today certainly would not turn into the exception to the rule. The victim, Ms. Helena Summers, had originally contacted Gregory, who at the time was the low man on the totem pole, about some dangerous people she found herself involved with.

According to Helena she'd joined the 'Church of Fenrir' back when it was all sunshine and poesies. She'd said that in her last few years as a member of the church a darker element had crept in and taken over. She first told us of tax evasion charges, which were the least of our problems. They were now practicing human sacrifices and blood magic. She had been a full fledge member of the church for nearly ten years. It was our understanding that during the final three years she was held against her will.

With her help we were able to track down and jail or kill all but five ranking members of the church. She and her nine year old son were put in witness protection. Gregory and I were the only two individuals that knew she had been relocated to a small town just outside of Mobile, AL. I warned her then that she could not leave because the protection Warden Industries provided her only went as far as the Alabama state line. We established as many roadblocks between her and her former life in the state of Maine as possible, but it would seem however that they were not enough and that my warnings were for naught. The church, or what was left of it, found her just as I feared they would. People like that have a long memory, and let's just say they were not the forgiving type.

Getting dressed on autopilot I let my thoughts drift over some of the more unseemly and unsolved details of the case. First and foremost was the fact that someone in the *church' had found their way through the *veil' between reality and what lay beyond. In doing so they were imparted with unusual abilities. If the church had not been able to part the veil back in *92, maybe they had contacted some sleeping spirit who imparted the knowledge upon them or just gotten lucky enough to find an artifact which gave them their supernatural gifts.

Whatever the case may have been it was lethal. When the SOG (Special Operations Group) from the Marshals service in conjunction with Warden Industries and local law enforcement broke through the perimeter of the church's property the cult fought back. At first nothing out of the ordinary happened, just a lot of gunfire from both sides. Then as we fought our way inside the main building s.h.i.t went to h.e.l.l fast.

I had counted four hooded figures on the second floor balcony above the main hall when we entered. The tallest one had hurled a huge ball of fire at the men who were bottlenecked at the doors. They screamed when it exploded in their midst as it killed many of them while injuring several others. One of my men was in that group and lost his right leg at the knee. I gave cover fire catching the shortest and fattest of the four in the stomach with three rounds. His gun toting psycho cohorts carried him away quickly allowing our second wave access to the building.

Gregory's partner was one of those who died that day. His body was nearly turned inside out by a single word of power muttered by one of the hooded figures. All toll forty people died that day, ten from the Marshal's service, five state police officers and the rest from my private security force. Those that walked away from that fight were scared to their souls. None of us spoke much about it afterwards; it wasn't exactly like anyone would believe what happened anyway. The official reports told of improvised explosive devises to explain what had happened to the fallen.

I can a.s.sure you there weren't any such device to be found. Of course I had zero proof that magic had been used, that they had parted the veil or contacted these spirits of old. I only knew in my heart that they had. I never found the source of their power or how they were able to wield it. This above all disturbed me.

Shaking off these disturbing memories I blinked in shock as I caught my reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes told me I needed more rest and probably had needed it for sometime now. What was the old saying? Oh yeah, no peace for the wicked, and certainly no rest for those of us who secure the peace. After washing my face I leaned against the sink, closing my eyes once more. I would like to believe I'm average height but considering I am around five foot nine that was probably stretching it a bit. The gray/black hair atop my head was short enough to pa.s.s inspection at Parris Island though my neatly trimmed beard wouldn't.

For my age, or h.e.l.l any age, I would be what most would consider fit. Considering that my life depended on being at the top of my game I hardly had a choice in the matter. I dressed in black tactical pants and a long sleeve gray running shirt before stopping to pull on a pair of combat boots. Strapping on my watch I walked out of the bedroom pausing long enough to shove my phone in my pocket along with my wallet before heading out the door to see what type of special h.e.l.l the day would bring.

Hurrying out of my house some twenty minutes after Gregory's call I clicked the b.u.t.ton on the keyring to unlock my Kia Sportage. Hey don't knock it till you try it! They are actually quite nice. I flicked on the lights which bore into the darkness ahead of me. The sky was pitch black with dark low hanging clouds. Even though the moon was hidden from view I knew it would be full in a matter of hours. Contrary to popular belief the moon isn't always full at night. Today that particular event would happen at 8:43 a.m. I could hear thunder rumble in from Lake Pontchartrain and lightning flashed through the angry clouds above. It didn't feel like rain today but mother nature was angry and was letting me know of her displeasure.

Pulling off Wisner Avenue onto the service road I was reminded why City Park was such a popular attraction. Large old oak trees ladened with Spanish Moss made grandiose appearances throughout the landscape. This particular area had been part of the golf course before Katrina's devastation. Now the rolling greens were unkempt, overgrown and slightly brown. The wide paved path once used by golf carts was empty and buckling. Even so the place still had a majestic feel to it as if its former self couldn't be lost to something even as powerful as Katrina. Pa.s.sing Pan Am Field I admired the wooded area just before Diagonal Dr. (Can we guess why it's called Diagonal Dr.?) Pa.s.sing several cruisers I finally found a place to pull off into the gra.s.s that was being used as a makeshift parking lot.

Popp Fountain according to most sources was built in 1937. However that is wrong. It was designed in the twenties by the Olmsted brothers for John F. Popp who died a few years earlier. It was actually dedicated to Mr Popp in 1934 and finally *officially' recognized by the state in 1936, so I have no idea how anyone ever came up with the year 1937. It is some sixty feet wide with twenty-six Corinthian style columns which nicely represented the art deco style of the day. Created by Mexican master sculptor Enrique Alferez, he sculpted a bronze base depicting dolphins leaping out of the water, spraying water some thirty feet in the air. The fountain itself contains secrets that few people knew about when it was built and still fewer know today. Needless to say the wisteria only adds to the entire sacred feel emanating from the area. Given the fact that to some people this area is basically a holy site I found it disturbing on many levels that this particular spot was chosen for a murder.

A crowd of NOPD and state police officers were busy trying to secure the area with crime scene tape. Showing my ID to one of the officers at the edge of the tape, he nodded at me before lifting the tape allowing me to proceed. As I looked down at the red clay brick walkway that lead to the east entrance of the fountain I took a deep breath and steadied myself before continuing on. The columns around the fountain had a new addition of long strips of white cloth between each one shielding the scene from view. Maybe the park services wanted to *upscale' the Roman columns? My foot no sooner hit the first step of Popp Fountain when I heard Gregory call my name.

"Viktor, we're over here." Gregory waved at me to join him center stage.

It didn't take long for me to pick him out of the crowd. At six foot four inches tall and two hundred and thirty pounds of solid muscle Gregory stood head and shoulders above most men. His dark brown skin stood out against the bright white perfectly pressed oxford while his black slacks we obviously tailor made. He always looked as if he had just stepped off the cover of GQ magazine. He was a cross between Omari Hardwick and his better looking older brother.

I acknowledged him as I made my way through the opening created by the columns. Glancing to my left I caught my first sight of the horrific crime. Ms. Summers was suspended several feet off the ground by ropes on either wrist. They were tied off around the stone topper which encircled the fountain and her legs hung limply below. The smell of iron and blood hung thick in the air from the large pool staining the concrete floor below her. Her ribs had been broken and pulled out of the gaping wound in her back to make it appear as if she had gruesome b.l.o.o.d.y wings.

Looking back at Gregory I shook my head as I let it all sink in. "It looks like whoever murdered her took their time." The glare of the CSI's artificial lights caused me to squint as I tried to see more of the scene. "Did the perpetrators put these sheets up or is this something to do with the park?"

Gregory followed my line of sight. "According to our witness they don't belong to the park." He shrugged helplessly. "If I had to guess the perpetrators brought them here for effect."

Grimacing as I looked back at the long strips of pure white linen, I nodded. "It sure as h.e.l.l worked!" As I made my way over to Gregory I tried to take it all in. It boggled my mind that they had picked this place out of all the other landmarks in the city. "You say you have a witness?"

Gregory jerked his head back over his shoulder and I saw a man sitting on one of the golf carts used by maintenance workers for the park. He looked dazed and his eyes were red from crying or puking, or both. "He found the body this morning when he was making his rounds." Gregory craned his neck trying to stretch out the tension. "According to what little we are able to get out of him, he saw the linens and came to investigate and found h.e.l.lena like this," gesturing at the tortured body.

"h.e.l.l of a thing to start your day with." After the dream and now this I tried to keep myself centered. There was a part of me that was hoping I was still having a nightmare. "Think he will be alright?"

"I doubt it." He glanced over at the man sitting there with sadness in his eyes. "No one should ever have to see such things. The poor man may survive this but I doubt he will ever be the same again."

Gregory sent off his subordinates before motioning for me to follow him. Once we were on the other side of the fountain and hopefully out of earshot he leaned in to whisper. "What the h.e.l.l is going on? I was hoping we put an end to this twenty years ago!" He shook his head in disgust. "You don't really think those crazy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds held a grudge for this long do you?"

The fact was that we knew that five of the ranking members had escaped that day but it was hard to believe they would still be biding their time. "We warned her that if she didn't stay put something like this might happen." I pointed at Helena's dangling corpse. "They waited twenty years for their revenge and if I hazard to guess this is only the beginning." My heart beat faster as the adrenaline rushed through my veins. "Whoever did this was willing to take the time and energy to make a glorified broadway production of the murder scene." I shivered slightly. "I can't believe that this will be the only one. They have others that they are angry with. You and me for instance."

Gregory shuddered at the thought as he eyed Helena. "I was thinking along the same lines." He reached in his pocket for his phone. "Before I make this call are you willing to work on this case? This is something you should be involved in, don't you think? You saw before what they were capable of then and now there's this!" Gregory waved back at the body.

"You can count me in." I found myself pacing in a small orbit around Gregory as my mind raced with possibilities. "I was never satisfied with how things were left back then." Anger welled up inside me as I stopped in front of Gregory. "It was the Marshals who shut down the investigation last time, citing everything had been done that could be done. Which was a s.h.i.tty way of saying they just didn't want to know what really happened." I took a step closer to Gregory who stepped back instinctively. "Before I sign on officially there are a couple of conditions. First I want full access to everything pertaining to this case, past and present."

Gregory nodded. "I can do that. It will take some time to get all the old files out of storage but consider it done." He stood up straight and grimaced. "You said a couple of conditions, that was one. What's the other?"

"I want an unspecified favor sometime in the future." Its always good to have a federal Marshal owe you a favor, especially one in Gregory's position. "I'll do my best not to get you in too much trouble."

Gregory thought for a moment before answering. "I suspect one day I will regret this but I think we have a deal." He stuck out his beefy hand and we shook.

"Time to earn my keep then. Can you get someone to bring me up to speed?" I rubbed my hands together as the crisp morning air chilled my fingers.

"Unfortunately yes there is someone." Gregory sighed. "The FBI was notified since the crime happened on federal property." Gregory turned and whistled, catching the attention of one his men. "Can you get Smith for me?" The other Marshal looked displeased at the request but left to fulfill it anyway. "The guy is an a.s.s so be ready to jump through hoops."

About a minute later the deputy that Gregory had sent to find Smith reappeared looking miserable. "Smith said he would be here shortly. In his words he has important things to do." Gregory nodded and the Marshal vanished into the crowd of CSI's working the scene.

"You wanted to see me Deputy Marshal Aaron?" I heard a voice drawl as a figure emerged out of the darkness. Smith was a tall good looking man with blond curly hair, with an athletic build that said he had kept himself in shape since his college sporting days. He also exuded douchebag from every single pore of his body. "As I told your lackey I have important things to do." He blew the steam off a fresh cup of Morning Call coffee.

"I can see that." Gregory glared at Smith. "Finding a fresh cup of coffee on the side of the park is so very important." Gregory stiffened as he waved a hand in my direction. "Viktor Warden I would like you to meet David Smith, FBI."

Smith sneered at me, stepping back when I offered to shake his hand. "I'm sorry as you can see I have my hands full." He didn't even try to hide his contempt for me. As he turned back to Gregory he asked"Who the h.e.l.l is he? And why is he here?"

Gregory's face contorted in anger but managed to keep his voice down. "Viktor was involved with the original case." Smith's face turned beet red as Gregory smiled. "He has agreed to consult on this case as well."