The Dark Circle, page 23
Another tear spilled over from her left eye and ran down the side of her nose to rest on her upper lip. I watched her tongue slide out and wipe it clear.
“I also doubt that Perry will be waiting at the altar for you after we send him and his parents on Beacon Street a stirring highlight reel from your activities at Stoneberry.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said softly.
I pulled my cell phone out of the breast pocket of the sports jacket and played a roughly edited, three-minute audio recording of her last two engagements. It culminated in the second giggling old pig saying he was going to give her his seed capital and later her voice screaming, “Fuck me, baby. Fuck me.”
“Of course, Beacon Street will get the video version,” I lied. She didn’t question the possibility.
“How do I know I can trust you?” she asked meekly.
“This is an undercover operation,” I said. “I’m part of the team. We’re not looking to nail you. We’re after the pharaohs at the top of the pyramid and they’re meeting tonight for the affair you’re coordinating at Stoneberry.”
“I don’t even know who they are,” she said.
“We know that. But with a little help from you, we’re going to find out and end their reign.”
“What happens to me?” she asked.
“If you help us, all the evidence against you will be sealed,” I said, echoing the term Fab had used to get the court documents. “You stay clean after this, and I can promise you won’t be prosecuted. You’ll be free to raise your seed capital or live happily ever after with Perry.”
“What would I have to do?” she asked finally.
“We’ll tell you at the command post,” I said, and drove out of the sorority parking lot.
52
The day before they set fire to him, Fab and I had discussed taking all the information we currently had to law enforcement, but he’d pointed out there was no solid evidence against anyone. There was also the problem of my explaining how I killed Frank Bull when Hirka was certain to offer his own version, with his fellow liars to back him up.
“I think the attorney general’s office is compromised,” Fab had said, “and we know the state police are, or at least one of their top investigators. The district attorney of jurisdiction in the Cheryl Larsen murder says it was an accidental drowning. We’ve got video of two sex cult ceremonies where the victims cry out, but no proof of the women’s kidnapping. For all the police know, they could be actresses in a gang bang movie, and Deborah Chapman is unable to testify otherwise. By the time they’d waded through our claims, you’d be in jail and held incommunicado on suspicion of Bull’s murder and the disappearance of Diana Larrimore. Hirka probably salted her burial spot, wherever that is, with something linking you to it.”
Fab had been right. We didn’t have the evidence we needed to go to the authorities. Those affidavits might have changed things, but they were now almost certainly gone.
I had been in tight spots in Afghanistan, but nothing like this.
After picking up Brianna at her sorority house, I drove straight to Stoneberry’s campground, where Lauren was waiting for us in the RV. On the drive, Brianna was clearly terrified at the thought of prison time. Kneading her hands nonstop, she kept asking if there was a way to just let her go if she promised to quit her job. I told her it was too late for that because there were too many law enforcement agencies involved.
I parked behind our RV and sent Brianna inside while I followed with her suitcase. Lauren was waiting at the top of the stairs. She was the central casting version of a female FBI agent in a severe, charcoal suit with white blouse, black necktie, and black pumps. She glared fiercely at Brianna, her head and shoulders back.
“I’ve changed my mind,” said Lauren. “We should just book her and turn over the surveillance video to the federal prosecutor. Conviction is a slam dunk.”
“Please …” said Brianna, starting to choke up. I took over.
“I told you it was a major operation, Brianna,” I said. “This is Agent Peterson and she heads up the child sex-trafficking unit. She has no sympathy for enablers.”
“Let’s see how Little Miss Sunshine enjoys being the play toy of the female inmates in a max security cell block.”
“Give her a chance,” I said.
“Speaking of giving, give me your cell phone,” demanded Lauren.
Brianna pulled it out of her purse and handed it over.
“Brianna, take a look out there,” I said, pointing to a group of people on their way back from the casino to their RVs. They all looked pretty spent.
“That’s just one of our undercover teams finishing their shift inside. The new one is already in place.”
“All right,” said Lauren before Brianna could focus on them, “let’s start with the planning for tonight … the frolic in the penthouse.”
Brianna looked momentarily confused.
“It’s down below,” she said, “not in the penthouse.”
“Down below what?”
“Three floors beneath the main casino,” she said. “I’ve only been down there a few times, the first time with Mr. Bull a few months ago when I started at the casino, and then two times this week for planning tonight’s event.”
I could imagine the reason Frank Bull took her down there.
“Tell us about the layout.”
“It’s like … like you’re inside an old fairy-tale castle with stone walls and arched passages connecting the different rooms in the complex. What’s creepy is there are no windows. There’s a double row of bedrooms off the main part … that’s a great hall with a dining table and a huge fireplace. Otherwise, it’s all super modern as far as the bathrooms and appliances.”
Once she got started, the words kept flowing.
“Another way it’s really creepy,” she went on, “it’s like you’re way down in the middle of the earth and no longer connected to the real world. But then you have the Knights of the Round Table chamber. It’s like right out of Camelot.”
“Camelot,” repeated Lauren.
“It’s got really high ceilings, and the stone walls are covered with tapestries from the Middle Ages. And he said the knights all sit in these carved chairs that face one another around a big circle.”
“Like a round table,” I said.
“Yeah, the Knights of the Round Table, but there isn’t any table.”
“We know that, Brianna.”
“What about the lighting?” I asked.
“It’s like a giant theater set,” said Brianna, “with spots and floodlights built into the walls and ceilings.”
“Have you met any of these good knights?” said Lauren.
She shook her head and said, “All I was told is that there are twelve of them and you have to be chosen.”
“Chosen by who?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, “but they’re really important men in the country who only come together here on special occasions. They first meet for drinks and a working dinner followed by entertainment, and then they spend the night.”
“And what’s your role?” demanded Lauren.
“My tasks are just to make sure the dinner is served properly and the entertainment part of the program goes all right,” said Brianna. “I don’t even get to meet them.”
“What a tragedy,” said Lauren. “So what’s the entertainment?”
Brianna looked seriously uncomfortable again, like she had after receiving the threats about prison time for child trafficking.
“Tell us or we’ll turn you over right now.”
“Two girls who arrived this week from Thailand,” she said. “Through an interpreter, I learned they’re from Bangkok, so they already kind of know. Only one of them will be chosen by the knights to perform after they meet the girls at the dinner in the great hall.”
“Have they ever performed before?”
Brianna shook her head and said, “I don’t think so. They’re virgins.”
“So the twelve good knights will teach the girl about the sharing of love. Noblesse oblige.”
“How old are these girls?” demanded Lauren, and Brianna actually cringed.
“They’re pretty young,” said Brianna. “I think one of them is around thirteen. I’m not sure about the other one.”
“And you don’t have any problem with statutory rape.”
“Since my new promotion, this is the first time I’ve been tasked for this kind of event,” said Brianna as if she was playing Anne Frank again.
“So you replaced Mrs. Seifert,” I said. “Do you know what happened to her?”
“Nancy died,” said Brianna.
“She was murdered by your good knights,” said Lauren. “She never quite warmed to the task you’re about to undertake. Apparently she had a conscience.”
Brianna took that in. She was silent for almost a minute.
“Agent Peterson and I were chosen from the rest of the operation to meet the knights tonight,” I said, “and you’re going to help make the introduction.”
“You’ll never get past security,” said Brianna.
“That’s where you come in, Brianna,” I said as she looked from Lauren to me.
53
“So how do the twelve knights get into their realm?” I said.
“There are only two ways to get down there,” said Brianna. “One is through a small elevator that connects the kitchen of the Mattaway Grill on the main floor to a small service room down below. It’s monitored by security guards. The other way in is the one used by the knights.”
The whole thing sounded absurd, but the setup was apparently real.
“They use an elevator hidden in the underground garage one floor below the main casino level. The limo drivers drop them off at the secret entrance, which is also guarded. That elevator only goes to the knight’s lair.”
“The knight’s lair,” Lauren repeated.
“That’s what Mr. Bull called it.”
“Do you know what happened to Mr. Bull? I asked.
“According to the news, he was killed by a lunatic,” she said.
“I killed him,” I said, “with a pitchfork, but it was in the line of duty.”
It was vital to make her think the consequences of betraying us were as bad as anything imaginable. This bluff we were trying was our only chance. She visibly shivered, but I saw something else infuse her eyes, a strange intensity as she stared back at me. The big bad wolf had been killed by a badder wolf.
“Tell us about the second elevator,” said Lauren. “What happens with the knights after they arrive?”
“They get dropped off in their limos and ride down to the lair. It only takes ten or fifteen seconds. They each have their own bedroom in the complex. One is much bigger and more lavish than the others. That’s the one I saw with Mr. Bull. After the knights arrive, he said they’d change into their costumes and come together in the great hall.”
The only costumes I had seen in the videos were leather masks.
“To make that elevator run, you need to know the password combination,” added Brianna.
“Which you have,” said Lauren.
“I don’t know it,” said Brianna. “I swear I don’t. I’m only allowed to use the service entrance through the Grill.”
I believed her. If she wasn’t even allowed to meet the pigs, they wouldn’t have given her the password to the führer bunker. We needed to figure out a way past the guards and into the lower complex.
“Do they need to use the password at the other end of the elevator once they’re in there?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, “but there are armed guards in the garage. I don’t know about the other end. The knights like to be left alone.”
“Who serves the dinner and drinks?” said Lauren next.
“We will,” said Brianna, “the Thai girls and me. As soon as the dinners are prepared in the Mattaway Grill, a member of the kitchen staff delivers them in a heated delivery cart to the guarded elevator that leads down to the small service room. The guard goes down and passes the meals through a small portal opening in the wall of the service room to the great hall. The girls and I will take them from there and serve the knights.”
“What time is that?” I said.
“At exactly eight o’clock. At seven thirty, I’m to bring the girls down from the kitchen so we can change into our own costumes and prepare to serve. The knights begin their cocktail time at seven. Dinner goes until around nine.”
I checked my watch. It was four o’clock.
“What about drinks?”
“Along with dinner, they’re served sparkling water in silver pitchers at the table and alcoholic drinks from a stocked bar in the great hall.”
“Somebody must stock the bar,” said Lauren.
“One of the guards, I think. I don’t know for sure. Once they’re down there, the knights don’t want to be seen.”
“Anything else?” asked Lauren.
“During dinner, the knights decide by vote which girl is to perform.”
“Democracy lives,” I said.
“After the entertainment begins, the other girl and I are supposed to stay in the green room until it’s over. After that I take the girls back from the green room to the training station.”
“The green room?” asked Lauren with an incredulous look.
“A green room is for the performers to wait and relax before they come on, like if you’re a guest on late night TV.”
It was too stupid not to be true.
“What were you told to give them?” said Lauren.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t lie to me, Miss Barnes, or we’ll end it right here. We know the girls are drugged.”
“After the girl is chosen by the knights, I’m to make sure she takes some pills dissolved in water that will enhance her personal pleasure during the performance,” she said. “I don’t know what they are … they’ll be given to me after I bring the girls down.”
“The new opioid,” said Lauren to me.
“In which elevator?” I asked.
“The elevator from the Mattaway Grill,” she said. “The green room is down a short passage from the service room. I have the key for the steel door that leads from there to the green room and the great hall.”
Lauren signaled to me that she had no more questions.
“What costume have they furnished you with for this new role?” I said. “Not your old orange hostess dress.”
“The girls are being body painted right now,” said Brianna, glancing over at her suitcase. “Mine is in there.”
Lauren walked over and opened the latches. A makeup tray with a clear plastic lid rested on top. Beneath it were layers of pink lingerie, a coquettish Maid Marian hat and veil, and an embroidered, full-length, red and blue silk gown.
Brianna watched as Lauren unfolded the clothing.
“Unbelievable,” said Lauren.
“Brianna, do you know who Sewell Mantcliff is?” I said.
“You mean the billionaire playboy?”
“Yeah, the same. Has he ever visited Stoneberry?”
“Are you kidding me? If he did, I’d know about it, believe me.”
Lauren held up the red and blue outfit and stared at Brianna again.
“Amuse yourself in the back of the command post, Miss Barnes,” she said, pointing to the master bedroom. “While you’re back there, we’ll decide where you’re going and whether we can use you.”
“Can I have my phone back?” asked Brianna, as if she had already served her punishment.
“Go,” demanded Lauren, and Brianna hustled back to the bedroom and shut the door behind her.
I turned on the music system, and Chopin came through the speakers implanted throughout the RV.
“So what do you hope to accomplish tonight?” said Lauren.
“For one thing, we see to it that the cult members get a serious dose of the medicine they’ve been giving to these young women. We saw the results at Slope Day. Maybe they’ll turn on each other or at least be disoriented enough to give us an edge. We’ll end the cult ritual and save the girl from Thailand. And I’ll try to find a way to make a video of the proceedings we can give to the press. It ought to be a big story.
“Let’s hope so,” said Lauren.
“We’ll have to take the chance of trusting Brianna,” I said. “We can’t do it without her. If we’re lucky, the fear we’ve created in her outweighs the need to warn her bosses. I say we go small first to test her out.”
“Agreed,” said Lauren.
I called out to Brianna. The door to the master bedroom opened, and she walked back up the passage with the expression of a punished puppy.
“All right, Brianna,” I said, checking my watch. “It’s four fifteen. We’re sending you into the building. You have exactly one hour to be back here with two electronic passkeys that will work for the casino offices, the kitchen, the training station, and the hotel rooms. We’ll need two name badges, one with the name Mandy and the other with Ted. And bring back two uniforms—a casino guard uniform in my approximate size and your old hostess uniform for Agent Peterson.”
“You want a guard’s gun too?” asked Brianna, looking anxious to please.
“I have my own arsenal,” I said.
“Go,” repeated Lauren, handing her back the suitcase.
54
I watched Brianna, from the foot of the stairs of the RV, until she reached the end of the campground. There, she turned and looked back. Seeing me, she waved before disappearing into one of the outer parking lots that led to the casino, towing the suitcase behind her like she was heading toward her terminal gate at an airport.
“May the cult pigs enjoy these,” said Lauren, removing a jar from her handbag. It was the plastic jar of oval-shaped white pills she had found and had analyzed after the Slope Day celebration, the same opioids given to Deborah Chapman.
