When she saw a message topic that struck her as particularly intriguing, she scanned the message content to determine if it suited her criteria. If it did, she copied the screen name and message ID and transferred it to a tab of a database she had already set up. The tab’s title was ‘Potential.’ She had other tabs as well, each describing some aspect of the woman’s character that merited further review or cultivation.

  The most coveted tab, at least as far as she was concerned, was titled ’True Believers.’ These were the names of women that she was actively engaging, and whom she considered as acolytes, those who would serve her well as the public face of the belief and worship system of the CDRS.

  She smiled as she read snippets of various messages. “Oh, my Goddess! This is exactly how I feel! Too long have we been trapped in the patriarchy fostered by a male-dominated society. I feel so empowered by the message of CDRS!! (smiley emoji)”

  She sipped a soothing cup of chamomile tea, letting its relaxing warmth ease her spirit. Her spiritual cleansing episode from earlier in the evening was a distant memory now as she basked in the online adulation afforded by her many thousands of followers.

  But still, those negative, ghastly visions were becoming more and more frequent. Sometimes she would complete her spiritual cleansing and she would feel refreshed, energized, emboldened, ready to take on anything the world could throw at her. When she had a vision like the one that intruded on her ritual tonight, she felt weak, exhausted, and terrified. It wasn’t fair. Deities were supposed to be above all that, weren’t they?

  Her brows knit as she read one message. “WTH? U bitches are all crazy! This is some kind of weird-ass cult! We need to help men see our point of view – change their minds!! They are not the enemy!! (Angry emoji).”

  She copied the screen name and message ID and placed it under a tab in her database titled ‘The Lost’. This was the least favored category. Those on this list would have to be dealt with if they were found to be unredeemable. Inanna felt sure that once the women on this list were shown The Way, they would toe the line. If not, they could be dealt with.

  Suddenly, a variety of message threads began to pop up with a similar theme. ‘Explosion,’ ‘Gym Explosion,’ ’24 Hour Fitness BootCamp Explosion.’ Quickly scanning the messages, Inanna’s eyes lit up. Could this be it?

  She retrieved the remote from her nightstand, pressing the power button as she raised it toward the huge flat-screen TV hanging on her bedroom wall. It powered up within seconds to reveal some late-night pitchwoman hawking “Revive-X©” Youth Restoration Cream. Hm. She’d have to check back on this once she had her fill of the news.

  She spoke into the remote, “24 Hour Fitness BootCamp Explosion,” and the options screen quickly provided her with several news channels currently broadcasting the story. She clicked on the CNN feed, and the screen was filled with a grave-looking reporter describing the devastation in full color, all in the comfort of her bedroom. Laius toggled the volume until the reporter’s voice filled the dark room. “— And early estimates indicate that upwards of 70 people may have been killed in the late-night bombing at 24 Hour Fitness BootCamp here in the community of Edgewood in East Atlanta. Police are looking for any witnesses that may be able to give them any clues as to what may have caused the explosions. While it’s too early to speculate, firemen are ruling out the possibility of a natural gas explosion, claiming that damage is inconsistent with an explosion of that nature.”

  Her eyes widened in the pale glow of the huge LCD, the images on the screen playing the light as ghostly shadows across her face. This was it! Which one of her followers had responded to her subliminal prodding?

  A lyrical tone alerted her that a new message was posted to her administrator’s inbox on the CDRS chat room. She moved her gaze from the TV to her laptop screen. Odd. The digital timestamp indicated that it had been posted over 30 minutes ago.

  Clicking on the missive, she saw there was no text in the body of the message, only a video attachment. Ticking the image, the attachment downloaded to her desktop in seconds and opened automatically.

  The screen capture for the video showed a somber-looking young woman whose gaze bore right through the ghosted image of the ‘play’ arrow across her face. She clicked the image and moved the slider to increase the video’s volume.

  The young woman spoke confidently and directly, almost as if she were addressing Inanna Laius in person. Her eyes never wavered, and she held her chin high, assurance in her every syllable.

  “Hi, my name is Phoebe Washington, and if you’re watching this now, chances are pretty good that I’m already dead. At least I hope I’m dead. I don’t want to be around for an endless barrage of second-guessing and hand-wringing from people who have no idea what it means to be repressed and unable to pursue your destiny.” The young woman paused, taking a deep breath before continuing.

  “I never knew how subjugated my existence was until I discovered the Church of the Divinely Redeemed Sisterhood. The CDRS has changed my life, allowing me to discover the empowerment that is only possible through true sisterhood.” Impressive. She’s delivering this all as smooth as silk without notes.

  “Fortunately, the Priestess Sister Inanna Laius has opened my eyes not only to the true extent of my physical oppression but to the degree of my emotional and spiritual bondage as well.” Here, she leaned in and narrowed her eyes. “I say to you all – no more! Let tonight be a warning shot fired across the bow of a patriarchal system designed to exploit my sex through objectifying us and financial inequality.” She leaned back and relaxed, becoming almost casual.

  “Tonight, this city and the world will understand the power of women unleashed. Tonight, men will understand that they can no longer treat women with disrespect. After tonight, men will regard us not as equals, but as a force to be reckoned with, to be respected,” and here, she leaned in again and hissed, “…to be feared!”

  “I’ve posted this as a time-delayed message on the CDRS chat room because I didn’t want anyone attempting to talk me out of my mission. I want the Sisters to know that we are here, we are strong, and we will no longer allow the men to suppress us. And to my Sisters, you are either with us or you are against us. It is time to make your choice. After tonight, there is no turning back!”

  Phoebe smiled briefly, leaned forward and the video went to black.

  Inanna Laius leaned back against the pillow and exhaled the breath she had been holding since Phoebe began her manifesto. The laptop clicked as she closed the lid, sending her bedroom into an eerie darkness. She sat that way for many minutes, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, her mind processing her young follower’s pronouncement.

  Laius then sighed contentedly, snuggled comfortably into her duvet, and fell into a deep sleep within minutes, smiling as if having a pleasant dream.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Flint edged his way past the Linchpin security check-in, gingerly holding his package before him like a baby with an overripe diaper. His Columbia jacket made for the most unlikely of wrapping paper for the bundle he carried. Several Linchpin support personnel eyed him warily as he passed them by. It didn’t help that he looked like he’d been throwing up for the last twenty minutes – because he had.

  Cinder rounded the corner and bumped into him, a repeat of their first encounter the previous afternoon.

  “Whoa, hoss! You look like shit! What’s goin’ on?”

  “Good to see you too, Cinder,” Flint managed to grumble, his pasty countenance betraying the volcanic turmoil going on in his gut. He glared at Cinder, still amazed that he was so clear-eyed and alert even at 1:30 in the morning.

  “Are you still not over our afternoon of casual imbibing?” Cinder asked with a grin. “I’d have pegged you for a man of stronger constitution.”

  Flint managed a weak smile. “Shut up, Earl. You don’t know what I’ve got in this little package here.” He pulled back the jacket slightly, revealing the severed limb, still clinging rigidly to the mobile phone clutched in its death grip.

  Cinder jerked back, his eyes widened in shock. “Damn. That’s rough! Remind me never to go on a scavenger hunt with you!” He delicately replaced the jacket over the arm in Flint’s grasp, lest he accidentally touch the grim memento. “Where’d you find that – or do I want to know?”

  Flint swallowed hard, fighting the rising bile in his throat. “I’ve just come from the scene of the 24-Hour Fitness BootCamp Explosion. I probably shouldn’t have taken this, but my instinctual alert system reacted so strongly to it, I thought I’d better bring it along. I thought maybe our forensic operations might want a look at it and maybe Sherman Peabody in IT might get something from the phone.”

  “No kidding? I’m headed over to the scene now. Seven wants me to see if there’s anything we ought to be checking in on this about. ATF will soon be all over the place, and if the feds sniff anything that falls under their purview, it’ll be much harder for us to check it out. I’m going to pose as an ATF agent and do a quick snoop at the site. I should be in and out before anybody’s the wiser.”

  Flint belched, blowing an acrid, boozy breath in Cinder’s face. “Sorry, man. I’m still a little queasy from handling this thing, and I haven’t had the stomach for any solid food since yesterday afternoon.”

  Cinder blanched and winced at Flint’s belch. “God Almighty, Flint, have you been eating dead squirrels? You might head to the toilet and rinse out your mouth. That would knock a buzzard off a shit wagon.”

  Flint grunted and went to edge by Cinder, but Cinder grabbed his arm before he could pass by. “Sorry, Flint. I know that was probably a rough scene. Unfortunately, I’ve seen more than my share of them in my line of work. You never get used to it, but it does get a little easier.”

  Flint gave him a weak smile, “I hope I don’t have to find out.”

  Cinder shrugged. “If you keep working here, there’s a good chance you will.” He clapped Flint on the shoulder, and headed off down the hall, whistling as if he were headed to a company picnic.

  Flint paused momentarily, watching him as he exited. Shaking his head, he continued toward the Forensics Lab and Dr. DeBryn Maxwell, Linchpin’s resident pathologist/coroner/physician and expert on all things medical. He wasn’t sure if he’d be in at this time of night, but Linchpin agents as well as the upper level types seemed to keep weird hours.

  As he moved down the hallway, he saw CJ headed toward him, wearing workout clothes.

  “Whoa, Flint! You look like shit! What’s going on?”

  “Seriously?” Flint grimaced. Eyeing her exercise garb, he queried, “Where’ve you been? You always work out this late at night?”

  “I couldn’t sleep – too wired tonight from work. Just thought if I got a little extra workout maybe I’d be tired enough to bag it. Little did I know that I’d just barely escape being blown sky-high.”

  Flint stopped in his tracks, turned to face her, mouth agape. “You were at the 24-Hour Fitness BootCamp explosion?”

  “Yeah, lucky, huh? I was the only woman in the place besides the checkout girl. The rest of the patrons were all guys.” She shook her head, casting her eyes downward, “Poor bastards.”

  Flint narrowed his eyes, the tell-tale tingling again jiggling his subconscious mind. “All the remaining victims were men?”

  CJ nodded. “Yeah. The check-out girl and I were the only two women in the place. It was a guy party otherwise.” She nodded towards the bundle in his arms. “What’s in the jacket?”

  He cautiously pulled the jacket back, revealing his gruesome parcel.

  CJ twitched. “Ew! Is that—”

  “The girl’s arm? Yeah, I think so. You’ll note she’s still holding her cell phone as well. Maybe Sherman in IT will be able to get something off her phone that will prove to be helpful.”

  “What in the world made you pick that up?” she asked, covering the severed limb.

  “I dunno.” Flint shrugged. “My Precog was going off like crazy when I saw it. I’ve learned not to ignore it.”

  “Can’t see what significance this poor girl’s arm and mobile phone might have to this, but you never know.” She shook her head and tutted. “You amaze me, Flint. Only you would bring a severed arm holding a cell phone into headquarters.” She flinched and gasped. “Have you been eating dead squirrels? Your breath smells horrible!”

  He rolled his eyes. “Excuse me for being a human being. I threw up on the way here. The thought of this arm in my back seat kept making me gag.”

  She surveyed his bundle warily. “I hope you’re not ever going to wear that jacket again. I think I’d let them have that in forensics, and get another one.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Listen, I’m gonna go get a bite to eat at Waffle King. Wanna join me? I’m too hyped up after my near-death experience to go home to bed, and you look like you could use something in your stomach.”

  Flint nodded. “Yeah, sounds like a plan. Let me drop this off in Forensics and leave Dr. Maxwell a note if he’s not in, and I’ll catch up with you. You talking about the one over on Mayson Street?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. I’ll just get a cup of coffee until you get there. Try not to pick up any more severed extremities on your way over.” She gave him a grin and walked away.

  Flint shook his head and turned to resume his walk to Forensics, almost running into Senior Agent Grady Eckles, who had just rounded another corner.

  “Stryker! Why don’t you look where the hell you’re going?” He flinched and added, “Whoa, Stryker! You look like shit! What’s goin’ on?”

  Flint rolled his eyes, sighed and blew a pungent breath in Eckles’ face.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Flint held his package with one arm and knocked on Dr. Maxwell’s door. To his surprise, he heard Maxwell respond, “Come in.”

  Carefully edging into his office, Flint moved in to find Dr. Maxwell standing behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back. “Ah. Stryker. Good to see you. Come in, won’t you?” He scrutinized Flint closely. “Are you well, Stryker? You look like—”

  “Shit. I know, Doc, but—”

  “Well, I was going to say ‘death warmed over,’” he interjected, but perhaps your description was more apropos.”

  Flint smiled sheepishly. Here it was almost two o’clock in the morning and Dr. Maxwell was sharp as a tack and looked as fastidious as if he’d just arrived for work. His appearance was impeccable, he looked recently shaved, there was not a hair out of place, and his white lab coat looked as if he’d just pulled it from the rack, heavily starched. He stepped around the table and extended a hand to Flint. “What’s that you have there, Mr. Stryker?”

  As Maxwell moved around the desk, Flint removed his jacket from the arm, revealing the charred limb in all its ghastly glory. Maxwell’s eyebrows arched as he drew near. “Unusual item to bring into my office, Mr. Stryker. Care to explain how you came to possess this, er, prize?”

  Flint spent the next several minutes piecing together his experience with Dr. Maxwell. The doctor had quickly snapped on a pair of latex examination gloves and studied the girl’s arm closely while nodding thoughtfully, listening to Flint’s narrative.

  Dr. Maxwell looked up from the arm into Flint’s eyes. “You say your, er, ‘internal alarm’ alerted you as you discovered this, Mr. Stryker?”

  Yes, Doc,” Flint nodded. “I’ve learned not to ignore it, especially when it hits with the kind of intensity I experienced tonight.”

  Dr. Maxwell straightened and nodded. “It appears you were right to do so, Mr. Stryker. Although I’m not sure the police would agree. They’ll drive themselves crazy looking for this poor girl’s arm, but it will be our little secret.” He paused before continuing. “You know, Dr. Malloy had shared a bit with me about this heightened sense of foresight, this ‘Precog’ as you call it. It’s quite remarkable, you know. I’m sure you’ve had occasion many times over the years to appreciate its fortuitousness.”

  “More than I could ever say, Doc,” Flint acknowledged.

  Maxwell retrieved the arm from his desk using Flint’s jacket as a covering. “Let me do some lab work with this, Mr. Stryker. And I will see that Mr. Peabody in IT will get this poor girl’s phone to see what he can make of it. I’ve got a hunch that somehow this unfortunate young lady played a key role in tonight’s tragedy. You might go on home and get some rest, and perhaps file a report on this tomorrow morning.”

  Flint knew the doctor was finished with him and turned to exit his office. As he readied to leave, Dr. Maxwell cleared his throat, signaling one more thought. “Um, Mr. Stryker?”

  “Yes, Doc?” he turned, facing Maxwell again.

  “You might want to brush your teeth and find some mouthwash. Your breath positively reeks.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Flint entered the brightly lit Waffle King, welcomed by the cheery greeting, “Welcome to Waffle King. What’ll ya have?” He nodded wearily to the effusive workers who had no right to be so cheerful at this time of night. The polished chrome interior reflected the lights with such intensity it intensified the headache he’d been nurturing since the previous afternoon. He saw CJ at a booth near the back poring over a menu. She looked up and smiled at him, giving him a little wave. He gave her a return smile. Petite and lovely, CJ was gorgeous even after a vigorous workout and a long evening.

  He threw himself into the booth across from her and almost instantaneously a smiling waitress with ‘Edith’ stitched on her uniform appeared, handing him a menu and asking, “What’ll you have to drink, Sugar?”

  Flint winced and froze — no one had called him ‘Sugar’ since Amber’s death. Edith stood patiently waiting for Flint to give her his drink order, smiling sweetly, but unsure of how to proceed.

  After a long pause, CJ smiled at Edith and said, “Just bring him a cup of regular black coffee, please.”

 

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