The Cain Conspiracy (Harvey Bennett Thrillers Book 8), page 3
Cisco Cabrera stepped down from the back of the huge truck and was immediately shuffled into a line. His mouth and neck hurt from the gag they’d tied around his head, but he felt nothing in the way of his own pain. Instead, he felt for the others — his mother and father, and his young sister with her baby. He wanted to do something, but these men, the white men wearing all black uniforms, were powerful.
They had come into the village at night, when everyone was sleeping. They were a small, close-knit community, many of whom had been in the same village all their lives, going back generations. They fished, grew corn and yucca, and the village had a reasonably profitable enterprise turning some of their product into beer and distillates.
They had no defenses of any kind, and by the time Cisco realized what was happening it was too late. His was the last home the men had entered, and they had quickly tied and gagged all of his family, including his two-year old niece. No one fought back — what would be the point?
After a two-hour journey, they were pulled off the truck and were now walking through a large doorway. It stood on the side of a mountain, the gaping maw of the door disappearing into black nothingness. It was into this hole where they were led.
At the end of a long, wide tunnel, more men appeared and pulled them apart. Cisco and his father were led one direction, his mother and sister with her child another. Into a room, dark and damp. The air smelled of earth, the same soil he had tilled every year for just about all of his thirty-three years.
A man came up to him. Taller than Cisco, wearing the black uniform. “Nombre?” he barked.
Cisco told him his name.
“Años?
He told him. Asked where they were, and what they were going to do with them. The man ignored him, or didn’t understand, and wrote down Cisco’s name on a piece of paper and then moved to Cisco’s father and started again.
It took half an hour to question all of the men in the room, and then they were taken into another room, three at a time. Cisco was the last man of a set of three into this room, so he was split up from his father. He was weighed on a scale, his chest and torso measured, then asked a rapid set of questions. He tried to answer as many as he could, but he didn’t understand a few. They didn’t seem to care.
When they were done in this room, they were once again split — three doorways, one for each of them. Cisco stepped through his and found a bed and chair, and some medical instruments on a tray in a small built-in cabinet. A single, dim bulb hung from the ceiling. He walked over and sat in the chair. His hands were still tied, so it was uncomfortable. He tried to move around, to keep focused, but found that he was exhausted. He hadn’t eaten in hours, nor had he had any water. He sat back down.
He was unsure how long he waited in the small room. Five minutes or five hours. Time had stood still in here. He wanted to know how his father was doing, and what they had done with his mother and sister. Were they taking care of his niece. He felt cold, but didn’t shiver; he knew it was from within, not the temperature of the room.
Finally the door opened. Cisco shot to his feet, both scared and excited that something was happening. A man walked in, wearing a white coat, followed by two more black-clad men. The white coated man looked at Cisco, examining him from the opposite side of the room, and said something under his breath to the other men. These two men stepped forward, grabbed Cisco’s arms, and pushed him down onto the bed.
He tried fighting back — knowing it was in vain, but no longer hoping there would be a positive outcome for all this trouble. They hardly worked to keep him pinned, holding his already-bound arms down on the bed. He kicked his legs, but there was no one near enough for him to contact.
The man in white stepped forward and held up a long, sharp needle. Liquid squirted from the end of it. Cisco had always hated needles. He’d had shots as a boy, only once, in the big city nearby, but hardly anyone in his village thought modern medicine a necessity, and his parents dropped the issue after he complained incessantly for weeks.
The man — a doctor, he guessed — plunged the needle into Cisco’s arm. He felt the cold steel, the pulsating warmth of the liquid, the empty void of feeling as it coursed through him. It was moving, replacing him. He felt raw, as if devoid of any emotion, then… nothing.
He could still see the three men, but there was no attachment or detachment related to them. They were apparitions. Wraiths. Floating above his head.
They were no longer holding his arms, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t move them even if they weren’t still tied behind his back. He watched them leave, thinking nothing of it. Or thinking of it in a acknowledgement sort of way but not with any purpose. They were gone, he was alone.
He didn’t think to leave — didn’t want to. He didn’t want to do anything. But he was alive. Was that good? Was the shot supposed to kill him?
No. Why would they go through all that trouble?
And then, as if stopping his own thoughts in mid-sentence, he realized he didn’t care. He was totally complacent, totally apathetic.
He lay his head back down on the bed, hard and flat and no pillow to rest it on. He closed his eyes, but he didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to do anything.
He looked up at the ceiling, the tiny gray squares staring back down at him.
He stayed this way until they came for him the next day.
5
Ben
Archibald Quinones, a Jesuit priest, administered the wedding. The setting was idyllic: the cabin’s front ‘yard’ had been converted into a beautiful, picturesque wedding venue, by way of white folding chairs, ribbons, and what must have been a metric ton of flowers.
The trees lined the area just beyond where Archie stood beneath the lattice, where Ben had waited for Julie to walk down the aisle arm in arm with her father.
She was stunning, and Ben could hardly focus on the vows as Archie led them through them. When it was time for the exchanging of rings, Reggie and Sarah, themselves a beautiful couple, handed them to their friends with a smile.
Then they kissed, and the assembled crowd of people cheered. Mrs. E stood next to her husband on a mounted television screen. Mr. E, who was dressed to the nines and seated behind his own desk at his home, clapped along with everyone else.
Ben and Julie walked up the aisle and disappeared into their cabin, where they changed clothes and reemerged a few minutes later, ready to celebrate. The wedding area in front of the cabin would also serve as a banquet hall, and hired teams were already erecting a white tent over the area.
Ben, walking with Julie, made his way around the tent and shook hands with everyone in attendance. It didn’t take long, as there were fewer than fifteen people there. When they got to the end of the line, Ben saw the final person waiting to congratulate them.
“Victoria,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”
Victoria Reyes smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Thank you for having me.”
Ben was about to turn away when he felt her hand on his arm.
“Ben,” she said, her voice low.
Oh, no. He didn’t need to know her very well to know that tone was not something she used for exciting news.
“Are you going back to Peru?”
Ben’s breath caught in his throat. He took a step back, and Julie put her hand on his back. Victoria stepped forward, staying in front of them.
“I… hadn’t really thought about it,” Ben said.
Victoria smiled, but she had a distant look in her eyes. “I’m not sure I believe that.”
Ben sighed. “Okay, fine. Yes. We’ve talked about it. Garza — your father — whatever he was planning there isn’t over.”
“I know,” she said.
Julie stepped in. “But we don’t have any details yet. It’s still… well, the wedding sort of took over this last month, and Reggie’s healing and everything.”
Victoria nodded. From somewhere behind him Ben heard strains of music piping through the PA system that had been erected at the edge of the tent.
“He has to be stopped.”
Ben looked up at the tent, then down at the ground. “Listen, Victoria. I know how you feel. And I think —”
“You do not know how I feel,” she said, her voice suddenly shaky. Alexis and Warren Richardson, who were talking to Mrs. E, looked over. “He’s my father. He must be stopped.”
“Vic,” Julie said, taking the woman’s hand. “He will be stopped. I promise you. But… these things take time. We have to plan, and we have to —”
“I figured it out,” Victoria said. “The Temple of Solomon. It’s the Hall of Records, the repository for the collected wisdom of the ancients. It’s in —”
“Peru,” Ben said. “Between the two pillars. The mountain.”
Victoria seemed shocked, then impressed. “Yes, exactly.”
When they had been in Peru the last time, there had been two temples — two identical ancient stone temples, each with a raised dais inside it and round stone table — a ‘pillar’ — on it. The pillars were representations of the pillars that stood outside the first Temple of Solomon, built by one of the early Freemasons named Hiram Abiff.
Reggie and Sarah had been kidnapped, strapped down to one of the pillars, and a guillotine had been placed above their wrists.
Ben and his team had found the pillar — but it was the wrong one.
Reggie had lost his entire arm protecting Sarah, and Ben had been at the wrong pillar. The memory haunted him, but he knew it was nothing compared to the haunting memories Julie was facing.
Memories that involved Victoria’s father, Vicente “The Hawk” Garza.
“I figured it out, too. When we left Peru the last time. It makes sense, geographically, and I bet the proportions line up, too. The ’33’ multiplier and all that.”
“They do. Everything points to the mountain — at least somewhere inside of it — being the final resting place of the Hall of Records. And I want to go there.”
“Victoria,” Ben said softly. “That entire area is going to be crawling with Ravenshadow forces. Your father’s going to still be there — he won that battle, remember? We barely made it out alive, but he took out one of our team and a whole bunch of the Guild Rite guys. There’s no chance he’s leaving it undefended, and I’d bet he’s even moved all operations to Peru — he’ll have an army there, if he doesn’t already.”
“But he may not know about the mountain, and what’s inside it. Which is why we need to go. I’m fluent in Spanish, and if we go now I can —”
“We will. Just… give it time.”
“We might not have time,” Victoria said, clearly frustrated. But she didn’t push it further. She turned on a heel and walked away. Ben saw her enter the cabin and turn left. They’d established the cabin’s kitchen and tiny dining table as the de facto bar — self-serve and open all the time. He wasn’t sure if Victoria Reyes drank, but she didn’t reappear in the doorway.
Ben and Julie stayed there for a moment, looking into the cabin, until Alexis corralled them over to her conversation with Mrs. E.
“Mrs. E tells me you two have been to Antarctica? Jelly, you didn’t tell me you’ve been there. What an amazing trip! Was it a cruise?”
6
Ben
Ben sat on the bed in the room. The lights were out, but there was plenty of it spilling in from outside. The party was raging, if twenty people dancing to oldies and disco could be considered “raging.”
Ben was alone, and he sipped from a glass of bourbon Reggie had gotten him. It was good — a bit briny, but smooth and full of caramel. He watched the legs of the whiskey as they snaked down the inside edges of the rocks glass, also a gift. The pumping strains of music wafted in, but it was otherwise quiet. Peaceful, almost.
I’m married.
It was weird. Surreal. He’d never had any doubt that Juliette Richardson was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, it was just he didn’t really know what the rest of his life meant. How could he imagine the next years of his life when he could hardly have imagined the last few years?
He took another sip, and a dark shape appeared in the doorway of his room.
Ben was immediately on high alert, and he slid sideways on the bed, depositing his drink onto the desk and grabbing the loaded Glock from underneath it. He was standing now, facing the doorway, the Glock perfectly balanced in his grasp and pointed at the door.
“Christ, man, sorry.” The shape put its arms up and backed up a step. The voice was young, a man’s, probably somewhere in his twenties. Ben was breathing rapidly, but he did nothing to try to slow it.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Can we… talk?”
“We’re talking now.”
“Man, you are on edge. They told me you would be. It’s… still weird, though.”
The man stopped talking and his face caught a bit of the light bouncing off the walls. Ben saw a bit of it. He dropped the pistol to his side, but didn’t set it down. “You look familiar.”
“I look — Harvey, are you serious? Familiar?”
The man backed up into the living room, finally putting his arms down. “Come on, man. Let’s talk. Oh, and congratulations.”
Ben followed him out into the living room, where there was enough light to see the kid’s face. Ben stopped, stared. Did a double-take.
“Zach?”
The kid grinned. “In the flesh. How you been, Harvey?”
“I — I uh, go by ‘Ben’ now.”
“Well, I go by Pete now. Sort of. I’m still deciding.”
“Pete.”
“Yeah… long story.”
“Well, Pete. It’s uh, good to see you.” Ben’s eyes flicked downward. He now wished he were holding the glass of bourbon instead of the pistol. He’d get more use of it. “I... uh, sorry I didn’t invite you.”
Pete or Zach waved it off. “Don’t worry about it. Wouldn’t have been able to find me, anyway.”
“Working for the government or something?” Ben asked.
“I wish it was that cool,” Zach said. “But no. Just needed a change. I was working for a place, and… now I’m not. Working somewhere else now, doing chemistry stuff.”
“You — were pretty good at that sorta thing, right?”
Zach scoffed. “I was nine, Ben. I don’t think anyone’s good at anything when they’re nine.”
The last time they’d seen each other, Ben had been nineteen, his little brother nine. They were on a camping trip, just the Bennett men. Johnson Bennett, their father, wanted a little time in nature with his boys while their mother was out of town.
That trip had ended in devastating horror. Zach had been hospitalized and their father had died. A grizzly attack, a freak accident. Ben hadn’t thought about it in years. He’d opened up to Julie about it, but he’d told the story in a staccato, detached way. Just the facts. He’d given Reggie and the others even less.
“Fair enough. So, you like the new life?”
“It’s… different. Good a life as any, I guess. The job’s good pay. You?”
“What about me?”
“Your job. They — the weird guy on the TV out there said you were part of something called the CSO?”
“Yeah. That’s Mr. E.”
“Is he as weird as he seems?”
“Weirder. Never even met him in person.”
Zach laughed. “I met your wife, too.”
Ben raised an eyebrow.
“You’re batting out of your league. She’s perfect, Har — Ben. Well done.”
“Thanks. Zach, what are you doing here?”
Zach took a breath. He’d caught him off-guard. Ben immediately felt bad.
“Sorry, I mean… I’m not used to — this is weird.”
“Yeah,” Zach said.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“I don’t drink.”
“I have water. Do you drink that?”
Zach smiled. “I saw a seltzer water out front. I’ll grab one on the way out.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I didn’t expect to stay. I’ve got a room in Anchorage for the night. No big deal.”
“We have room here. More than enough space, and more than enough food. Plenty of seltzer water, too.”
“Thanks, Ben. I appreciate it. It would be good to catch up, but I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not. We just built a wing that can sleep ten, and we’ve got a couch here. Stay, at least a night. I want you to meet everyone.”
Zach walked over and hugged Ben. Ben wasn’t quite sure what to do with the pistol in his hand, so he held it tightly and patted his little brother on the back with the butt of it.
7
Garza
Vicente Garza paced outside the makeshift hospital room. They were inside an abandoned mine, but Garza wouldn’t have known it by just looking around. The walls were pristine white, sprayed with two coats of interior paint. The hallways were bright, lit by fluorescent hanging fixtures that were all wired in sequence and driven by the massive generators he’d had his team set up in a nearby room.
As the founder and president of Ravenshadow Security, LLC, Garza had been looking for an offshore location to move his growing army of security professionals. Taxes and government scrutiny in the United States had only gotten worse over the past decade, and Garza wanted out. He still worked for many US companies, but his business location was far from important to his clients. They wanted anonymity and subtlety, and they respected his desire for the same.
The mine he’d purchased in Peru was structurally sound, needing little architectural support. His team had put in the infrastructure they’d needed, slapped a few coats of paint on the new walls, and called it home. The place had been remarkably clean — no sign of mining equipment or coal or anything. Now the new Ravenshadow headquarters boasted living quarters for up to two-hundred men, complete with a commercial kitchen and two recreation halls. His work building the Ravenshadow crew had slowly paid off, and he would now be able to reap the benefits.
