Hells handmaiden, p.8
Hell's Handmaiden, page 8
part #3 of Flint Stryker Series
Flint gave a low whistle. “Wow. Two women in one night with a connection to this Chick Church, that can’t be a coincidence.”
CJ gave Flint a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Don’t be such a pig, Flint. This ‘Chick Church’ seems to be a resource for women who’ve been wronged or need help. At least on the surface, it appears pretty benign, but I think it’s more than just a coincidence that she’s tied in with the group somehow.”
Flint rubbed his ribs. “No disrespect intended, CJ. It just seems weird to me that a religion, any religion, would be all about the exclusion of men. I thought religions tended to be more about inclusion, trying to bring others into the fold, so they can ‘see the light’. Sounds to me like it’s more about trying to keep men away — especially with this woman. She made sort of a veiled threat to me that day at O’Toole’s.”
As Flint opened the door locks, she looked at him over the top of the car, raising her eyebrows, and said, “Really? What did she say?”
They got in the car and Flint narrowed his eyes as he tried to remember exactly what the woman had said to him that day in the bar. “She said something like the Sisterhood would be dealing with my gender soon. Perhaps sooner than I thought — something like that. She was as matter-of-fact as you please when she said it. She was stone-cold sober, too. She knew exactly what she was saying. Cinder and I both heard it. We were both creeped out by how she said it.”
CJ looked at Flint as he started the car. “If she could give a guy that disarms highly explosive devices the creeps, that’s good enough for me. I think I’m going to do little research on the ‘The Sisterhood’. Can you give me a lift home, Flint?”
Flint chewed his lip reflectively as he nodded at CJ. “Sure.” Looking at the time on his car dash, he grunted. “Looks like we’re not gonna get much sleep. I’ll be worthless tomorrow morning.”
CJ grinned at him slyly and replied, “Flint, darling, you’re worthless every morning.”
Flint gave her a look of mock anger, and accelerated quickly into the night, causing her to lurch in her seat, the two of them laughing as they sped away.
SAFELY HIDDEN from view in the shadowy alcove of a nearby building, Hallie Fuller watched as the car carried the two Linchpin agents away into the night. She’d met that man — that testosterone-filled bag of crap yesterday in O’Toole’s. She’d seen the way he’d ogled her, his male-fueled ego so cocksure she’d not be able to resist his drunken advances. Pig! And why was that sister with him? He’d probably strong-armed her into joining him for a late-night dinner, hoping to satisfy his lust-fueled male libido.
She shook her head in disgust. How much longer would the women of the world have to endure the shame of a male-dominated society? She set her jaw and narrowed her eyes into slits, imagining herself watching the man writhe in agony as she slit his throat, spewing his Y chromosome-tainted blood all over her hands and arms. She closed her eyes and smiled as she imagined herself listening to him gurgling piteously as his life drained out around him. She envisioned herself lifting blood-soaked arms heavenward, and gazing fervently as the Goddess smiled benevolently at her, filling her with indescribable warmth and peace.
TWENTY-SIX
The persistent digital tones of his mobile alarm slowly crept into Flint’s consciousness. He groaned and reached for the device, tapping the “Snooze” button and checking the time. 6:00 AM — exactly as he’d set it when he got in last night around 3:30 AM.
Flipping over on his back, Flint tried to clear the fog from his brain and process all that had happened in the last 24 hours. He pinched his fingers on the bridge of his nose and shook his head. At least his hangover was finally gone.
He sat up on the side of the bed and looked out his apartment window. The horizon was pinking with the sunrise, heralding what the Weather Channel said would be a glorious fall day. It would be clear, breezy, and the air filled with that certain crispness that is inherent to autumn in the South. The trees were filled with vibrant autumnal hues as the seasons changed.
He glanced around at his bedroom in the half-light of the morning. He saw his Velo waistband holster with his Sig Sauer tossed casually on the chair near his dresser. Pretty careless — he should have put it in the concealed drop-down compartment in the shelf above his bed. I’ve got to start paying attention to the little things. He sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes, willing himself off the bed and toward the shower. Better get on with it. I have a feeling today’s gonna be a busy day.
WITHIN THE HOUR, he was punching the code into the hidden access door tucked away neatly in the back room of Ah Cappella! Books located in the Atlanta community of Inman Park. No one would ever suspect that the entryway to a covert organization like Linchpin would be hidden in an area containing quirky retail operations mixed with long-established residences. Since the facility was underground, there were other access and egress points scattered throughout a five-block area. Flint could enter and exit Linchpin headquarters from any one of twenty-odd different locations. Each of these was a legitimate retail operation manned by Linchpin operatives, typically rookie agents or support personnel who were rotated out on a systematic basis and replaced with others. All of them were armed, and all of them were cleared to utilize deadly force at their discretion if the situation warranted. Every few years, the retail operations were closed, and new ones took their places, sometimes the same kind of business, under a new name.
Flint pressed the elevator button marked “LL” and began the swift journey to two levels below street level. He stepped into a self-contained room with bomb-resistant plexiglass that would keep a small attack force within its confines to determine the threat level. If it was determined that a real threat was posed, deadly gas would be pumped in, and the intruders would be dead within sixty seconds.
Today, however, was not such a day, and Flint gained entry by way of the iris scanner. He passed through the holding area, the door quietly whooshing shut behind him. He paused for a moment, trying to determine which direction he should head first. He had considered going straight to CJ’s station to see if she had learned anything new about CDRS and its strange band of followers. Now, he was pondering a quick visit to his long-time mentor, Dr. Morris Malloy, whose work area was in the opposite direction.
Flint pivoted on his heel and headed toward Dr. Malloy’s lab. He nodded distractedly to several agents he passed in the hallway, his mind racing. Flint had known Dr. Malloy since before his college days and unwittingly been groomed for recruitment into Linchpin during his less-than-stellar collegiate career. Involved in what many called ’fringe science,’ it was Dr. Malloy who had discovered his precognitive ability and had worked closely with Flint to enhance it.
Dr. Malloy spent much of his time at several Linchpin facilities involved in various areas of research and development, for all manner of scientific disciplines. His specialty was genetics, but Flint marveled at how much room the man had in his brain for so many different fields of study. He was brilliant, although at times a little offbeat. Physically, he reminded Flint of Abraham Lincoln — minus the beard — because he was tall and lanky with a bushy head of salt-and-pepper hair and prominent Soviet-era style eyebrows.
Head down, Flint almost collided with Cinder coming around the corner. “Whoa, hoss! Better keep that head up! It’s too early in the mornin’ to take a tumble!” He appraised Flint hopefully. “How’re you doin’ today, hoss? Feelin’ better? Where are you headed? Mind if I go with you?” He turned and joined Flint on his walk to Dr. Malloy’s lab.
Flint nodded, stepping briskly along the hallway. “Yeah, doing much better today. Finally got something in my stomach late last night. Went to bed pretty early this morning after the bombing last night. CJ and I had a late breakfast and found what may be another link to a group that may be involved.”
Cinder arched his brow. “You and CJ? Smooth, my man. She’s a beautiful lady. Of course, she could also kick your ass nine ways to Sunday, so I’d be careful.”
Flint stopped and turned to face Cinder, “Listen Earl, CJ and I trained together. We’re good friends and occasionally work the same case files, but that’s it — believe me.” He set his jaw and added, “And yes, she could kick my ass nine ways to Sunday.”
Cinder roared with approval. “Listen, hoss, you got it all goin’ on! I don’t ever want to take on that little lady one-on-one. She’s a qualified badass… But,” he continued, “although she’s been certified in incendiary disarmament, I might have the edge on her in that department. Like I always say, everybody’s got their specialty. You, for example. You’ve got lots of folks beat on thinking on their feet. If I was in a foxhole surrounded by fifty Isis fighters, I’d want you in there with me.”
Flint colored slightly. “Thanks, I guess.” The two resumed walking, and Flint abruptly changed the subject. “Cinder, any ideas on that explosion last night? Get any information that gets us closer to finding out what it’s all about?”
Cinder shrugged. “Pretty much standard stuff. Similar to what the Boston Marathon bombers used with a few tweaks. But the real story isn’t what was used, as much as why it was used. That arm holding the cell phone you brought in, combined with some online chatter, has the boys and girls over in IT and Recon Intel all aflutter.” Cinder, suddenly deadly serious, added, “After you visit Dr. Malloy, you might stroll over there and get a rundown on what they know.”
“I will.” Flint nodded. “Want to meet this afternoon at O’Toole’s for a beer? One… beer. Just one.”
Cinder grinned. “Just one? You’re no fun.” He winked playfully at Flint. “Sure. If I don’t get tied up on anything else, we’ll meet up. I’ll SecureText you later.” With that, he turned and headed back in the direction from which they had come.
As if alerted by the reference to SecureText, his mobile suddenly vibrated. The message was from CJ and it read, “CALL ME. INFO ABOUT CDRS.”
Intrigued, he keyed in, “Will do. About 2 C Malloy. Do U have 2 shout?”
She responded with a completely inappropriate emoji, and Flint smiled. He added, “After Malloy, going to IT & Recon Intel briefly. Will come by after.” This time she responded with a “Thumbs Up” emoji.
Flint had arrived at Dr. Malloy’s office. The door was closed. When his door was closed, he knew better than to walk in unexpectedly. Numerous times he’d almost been seriously injured when he interrupted one of Dr. Malloy’s experiments. He put his ear to the door, and he could hear the strains of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E minor playing softly within the lab’s confines.
He rapped on the door softly. “Dr. Malloy?”
Dr. Malloy’s sonorous, deep voice responded, “Come.”
Flint stepped into the room. “Good Morning, Doc, I—” The words caught in his throat, and Flint jerked back, reaching for his Sig Sauer.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Dr. Malloy stood in the center of the room, and at first glance, everything had appeared normal. But once Flint got a clear view of Malloy, he saw that the doctor was covered in a glowing green substance reminiscent of the ectoplasmic creature in the movie Ghostbusters. He kept his gun leveled at Malloy, and managed to sputter, “Are-are you okay, Doc?”
Malloy raised his hand and chuckled. “No need for alarm, Mr. Stryker. This is just another of my little pet projects. Put your gun away, please.”
Flint did as instructed, cautiously stepping toward Malloy and curious as to the nature of Malloy’s ‘pet project.’
“What’s that all about, Doc?” Flint questioned as Malloy casually peeled away the glowing material and tossed it into a bin near his desk. “I know Halloween is coming up, but is it a good idea for you to spend your morning working on your costume?” He eyed the fluorescent glob of material in Malloy’s trash bin and shuddered.
Malloy picked up a nearby tablet and quickly keyed in several lines of text in a spreadsheet he had open. He chewed his lip, pondering what he’d entered then sighed loudly. His gaze met Stryker’s.
“It’s a biodegradable material that, when perfected, will protect the wearer from all manner of biological threats. The chemicals are broken down upon absorption into the ‘suit’ and can be disposed of through most conventional methods with no resultant biological threat.”
“Does it work?”
Malloy paused. “Yes and no. The substance does, in fact, absorb the toxins and protect the wearer for the most part, but it won’t be useful until it is 100% successful.” He smiled at Flint. “After all, Mr. Stryker, you don’t want to be the one wearing the protectant that doesn’t work now, do you?”
Flint shook his head and studied the goop once again, thankful that Malloy was on his team. “I wondered if we might talk?”
Malloy extended his hand, gesturing to one of the empty chairs facing his desk. “Certainly, Mr. Stryker. We haven’t had many opportunities to sit and chat lately. I’m afraid things in the world are keeping me quite busy these days.” He looked over his readers perched low on his prominent nose. “And you as well, I hear.”
Flint shrugged, “Yeah. There have been some pretty hectic days. Sort of working on a couple of things right now that might require my involvement, but that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”
Malloy stapled his fingers, pursing his lips and studying Flint’s face intently. “Certainly, Mr. Stryker. Please proceed as you wish.”
He’s always so formal, Flint thought. He’s called me Mr. Stryker as long as I’ve known him, and he’s almost thirty years older than me. “Doc, I wanted to ask a few questions about my ‘Precog’.”
The doctor nodded thoughtfully. “Continue.”
Flint cleared his throat. “We spent a lot of time when I was in college studying and developing my precognitive abilities. You’ve explained it to me as a form of ‘Savant Syndrome,’ which manifests itself as a precognitive alarm system. And since I’ve been with Linchpin, we’ve continued this training and development.”
“That’s correct, Mr. Stryker. My research is based loosely on the work of Cornell professor Daryl Bern’s work in the 1960s. Simply put, you are a Precognitive Empath with the ability to experience and process the conscious awareness of a future event on a personal level,” Malloy continued. “You’ve made great strides in enhancing your innate abilities on your own. As you mature, this will continue to be the case.” Malloy looked pleasant, as if he were discussing his favorite variety of garden perennials, but Flint knew from experience that he was completely dialed in at this point.
“Doc, I need to know how reliable this prescience that I have is. Several things have happened recently that seem to indicate it’s giving me warning earlier and earlier as situations arise, and I just want to know what to pay attention to, and what to ignore.”
Malloy rocked back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, pondering Flint’s question. Finally, leaning forward and meeting Flint’s gaze, Malloy responded with a question: “Mr. Stryker, do you have to tell your ears what to listen to and what to ignore?”
Considering this, Flint replied, “No. I think my brain filters out the stuff that’s not important, as part of a learned process.”
Malloy clapped his hand lightly on his desk. “Correct! That is exactly the answer I was looking for! Your precognitive ability operates in much the same way. As you mature and it develops further, you will be able to discern the things that are most important from the less worrisome things. In the meantime, I would suggest you pay attention to every warning sensation you experience. You’ll know which indicate imminent threat and which do not.”
Flint nodded. “There are other precognitive symptoms as well, Doc. I’m picking up on vibes from people as well, not just situations. How reliable are these?”
The doctor spread his hands, palms facing out, his gaze boring directly into Flint’s. “My boy, your ‘Precog’ is an extension of inherent intuitive feelings that we all possess. Yours are just developed to a degree far beyond what most of us are endowed with. Again, I would pay close attention to all of these sensations. In time, you’ll have a greater understanding of how to interpret these feelings.”
He stood abruptly and Flint knew that their meeting was over. “Thanks, Doc. That helps, I think. I’ll try to pay attention when these sensations occur and hopefully respond in the right way.”
He shook Flint’s hand and smiled at him warmly. “I’m sure you will. Mr. Stryker. I have every confidence that you will master this ability as you progress further. Now, I’m afraid I have to go. I’ve another meeting I can’t be late for.” He added, “Oh, and you should head over to IT and Recon Intel. There are some, ah, interesting developments regarding your late-night delivery of which you should be aware.”
He exited the room quickly, leaving Flint to wonder, Why do I always feel like I’m late to the party?
TWENTY-EIGHT
Flint walked briskly toward IT and Recon Intel. The office this morning was a beehive of activity, more so than most mornings. Unless there was some specific threat or activity, it was much like any other office: sleepy cubicle dwellers getting their morning coffee and engaging in small talk, postponing the start of the workday. Today, it was not like that. There was a palpable energy in the air this morning as everyone appeared to be in a real hurry to get where they were going, including Flint.
IT and Recon Intel was located in a large room which looked a lot like every room of its type seen in most movies and TV shows. The room was a beehive of activity with techs and agents scurrying around with Bluetooth earpieces, tablets, and other devices. There was a large bank of high-definition monitors along each wall, and each desk in the room had a state-of-the-art desktop system. The smaller monitors all seemed to be viewing different locales simultaneously, each monitoring activity at some remote location as identified by a code on the screen’s lower left. A mid-sized screen displayed a complex menu of available video feeds that were available to every device in the system. The three largest monitors each had videos that were designated as a top priority so the techs could focus on some aspect of the feed selected for viewing. Currently, all three monitors were displaying a frozen video of a young woman who looked poised to speak.
