“… strap on a pair of balls that
match those muscles and tell us
everything you can...”
Annette and George Swan collapsed in screams and sobs when Jade informed them that there was a DNA match between the body found and their daughter, Emily. This was not Jade’s job. She usually wasn’t delivering this news. This was supposed to be done by a detective and a chaplain. She was used to having people come in to identify unknown persons, and that was hard enough. The reaction of the parents was almost the same as those who came in to identify a body, she commented to one of her coworkers when she walked back to her office.
Chris had been escorted through the federal building and taken to the seventeenth floor where he was roughed up then handed his temporary ID and badge and escorted to John’s office. He was ordered to sit and wait for Special Agent Swenson. John had been watching the goings on from one-way glass the whole time. He tapped one of his human resources people on the shoulder and smiled as he made his way to his office. Chris was sitting still when John walked in. John said nothing, and Chris sat silent until the silence was broken by Jim walking through the door. “So…what’s up, numb nuts?” Jim was looking at Chris who sat in stunned silence. Jim let out a laugh and put a cigarette behind his ear. He patted Chris on the shoulder and said to John, “This kid reminds me of someone I used to know.” John walked around to the back of his desk with several gray folders and his tablet.
John said to Chris, never looking up, “So, you have been through HR?” “Um…yes sir...they weren’t very friendly.” “They’re not paid to be friendly; they’re paid to make sure that everyone in this damn building does their job.” Jim sat in the chair next to Chris with a huge smile on his face. John looked up and saw it but said nothing. Jim asked, “Is this your new prodigy, or are you busting my balls? I just drove all the fuckin’ way over here at your goddamn request, Swenson.” The look on Chris’s face said it all. He was terrified.
John stared laughing and said, “Christopher Mantel, please meet Los Angeles County Sheriff Jim O’Brian.” They shook hands, and Chris said, “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.” Jim sat down and said, “Yeah, yeah. I don’t need your lip prints on my ass. Save them for that asshole.” He pointed at John, who was handing the two men four gray files. John said, “Chris, your credentials expire in one week. You are to report to Quantico for training next Monday, so I only have you for a brief period.” Chris looked down at the files and asked, “What do you want from me, sir. I’m not trained as an agent. I’m a lawyer.” Jim roared with laughter. “Jesus Christ. You turned the guy into a goddamn lawyer? You are a fuckin’ asshole, Swenson.” Jim looked at Chris and said, “You know you don’t have to be a goddamned lawyer to join the FBI, right?” Chris nodded and told Jim he was already going to law school when he met John.
“Where the fuck did you go to school?” “Pepperdine University.” Jim looked over at John and said, “Dia-fuckin-bolical…you son of a bitch. This is a kid of faith?” John nodded. Chris had a confused look on his face. “A kid of faith?” he asked. Jim nodded, putting the cigarette between his teeth and chomping like it was a piece of gum. “Oh yeah…Special Agent Swenson and I are not men of faith…we both know a lot about it, but we don’t…let’s say… practice it. So what’s your faith, kid?” “Christian…” Jim nodded. “Yea, okay. Well, that cleared that right up. What kind of fuckin’ Christian are you?” Chris looked at John and said, “I don’t understand the question.” John looked up and asked, “What denomination?” “Oh…well, my mother was a Methodist, and my father is Catholic.” Jim laughed. “Was your father a choir boy?” “I don’t know. I don’t recall him ever going to church.” Jim let out a sigh and said, “Then he was a choir boy.” John said, “Chris, the reason I brought you in before your formal training is to get your view on a killing spree that we have going on in LA.” Chris looked at the markings on the gray files and asked, “Are these case files?” “Yes, they are. Open the top one.”
Jim opened his as did John. There was a moment of hesitation, and Chris opened his. He looked down at first in horror and then with a look of curiosity. He looked over the file and then began to read the case report and look at the photographs. Jim had been watching him, waiting for him to wretch on the floor, but the kid was engrossed in the file. John asked, “What do you see, Chris?” “An altar and burnt offering to Yahweh. A Psalm of David…well, part of Psalm twenty-six.” John asked, “What do you know about that Psalm?” “It’s a Psalm of Prayer and Divine Scrutiny and Redemption.” “Redemption from what?” “Sin. Sinners. It’s what we would call a ‘cleansing’ Psalm.”
John sat back in his chair as did Jim and asked, “So this is a Psalm asking for God to scrutinize the behavior of the writer and then cleanse and redeem him?” “Yes. You see the line that says, ‘I will wash my hands in innocence?’” Jim and John nodded. “Well, in essence, the writer was cleansing himself, so that he would be worthy of being in the presence of God.” John sat back and said, “So, what you see in the pictures is a ‘cleansing’ process?” “Yeah…I mean I would have to go on scene to see the whole set up, but it appears to me that this is a cleansing ritual.” “They are killing infants and taking out their hearts then burning them on a spit,” John said.
“Okay, so they are cleansing themselves in the blood of the innocent, which is the blood of the children, then making a blood or meat sacrifice unto the Lord.” Jim slowly closed his folder and asked, “Are you telling me that Christians do this shit?” Chris shook his head firmly. “No, not at all. Whatever this ritual is, it’s some demented form of God worship. I have never seen anything like this. I know of the blood offering in the Old Testament according to the Mosaic law and the book of Leviticus, but Jews stopped this type of sacrifice hundreds, maybe a thousand, years ago. Christians believe that Jesus was their blood sacrifice to God. There were some strange sects through the ages in Christianity but nothing in recent memory.” John slammed the folders on his desk and said, “Well, there is now. We have us a group of psycho religious zealots who think that the blood of babies is going to do something.” “Wash away sin, or perhaps it’s an offering to God in return for the rapture of the church or the second coming of Christ.”
Jim and John sat silent for a few seconds, and Jim said, “Whoa…are you telling me that this could be a group of nut jobs who think that by killing and burning kids they will bring about the end of the world?” Chris nodded, and John said, “And they remove the heart and consume it as well as drink the blood of the innocent child?” Chris nodded and said, “Um…I’m sorry, sirs, but I am way out of my league here.” John sat looking at Chris and said, “Well, you better get into this league and fast because this is happening, and we have to stop it.”
Chris looked at the photos in each file and said, “I don’t know where to begin.” John stood up and called out into the bullpen, and one of the field agents walked in. “Give Agent Mantel the corner cubical out there and bring him all of the case files on the baby killings.” The agent left, and John said, “Chris, Jim and I have to take a little trip, so we will be gone the rest of the day. I want you to go over every file. Read every report, and then I want you to write up a profile of the killers. I want it when I see you at my house later tonight.” Chris stood up and walked to the door. He stopped and said, “I don’t think I’m ready for this.” Jim said, “Well, get fuckin’ ready. You’re about to be a special agent with the FBI. You’re going to Quantico to the Steve Hoffman Behavioral Science Academy, right?” Jim asked. Chris nodded. Jim said, “Steve Hoffman was my close friend, and he died saving me and John from an ambush by a cop killing mother fucker. Now, you strap on a pair of balls that match those muscles and tell us everything you can about those files.” Chris walked out of the office, and Jim said, “Jesus Christ, John. The kid is bigger than you.” John laughed. “In some areas…come on. We have a flight to catch.”
Jim called Pastor Erick Walton from the truck while heading for the airport and apologized that he would not be able to meet with him. He explained the situation and set another appointment for the next day and asked, “Erick …one of my main reasons for the meeting was to ask why you and your son broke apart.” Erick Walton was sitting behind his large mahogany desk in his oxblood leather chair with a wireless earpiece on as he spoke to Jim. “Oh, Jim, that’s a long story.” Jim asked, “Well, give me the abridged version.” “We just didn’t see eye to eye on the direction of the church. Erick wanted to take the church in a direction that I felt was unstable. I believe in the tried and true, Jim. That’s how the Lord built His church from tens to thousands over forty years ago. Erick and I just could not agree on so many things that the church board voted him out, and he walked out the doors and started his new church.”
They were pulling up to Santa Monica Airport where an FBI jet was waiting, and Jim asked, “What’s the difference between your church and your son’s?” “Erick is setting up his church to follow the church that is mentioned in the Book of Acts in the New Testament. That model has never worked and never will, but that’s what he wanted to do with this church.” John had parked and got out, and Jim was getting out and following him to the plane. “So, what’s the difference in the two churches, Erick?” “His idea is to make a communal society. Everyone sells everything, and the money is put into one treasury and distributed to the membership based on need. They all live together as one family unit. In essence, a socialist or even communist ideology as we would look at it today.” “That would give him total control over his parishioners,” Jim said. “Yes, Jim. It would, and in my opinion, that would make him and his followers dangerous.” The flight attendant told Jim to hang up, and Jim told Erick he would speak to him tomorrow.
The plane was taxiing down the runway for takeoff, and John asked, “What did the father have to say about the son?” “If I got the conversation right, we aren’t going to have to look very far for the source of the killings. I don’t want to say any more until I meet with him tomorrow. For now, let’s focus on this bizarre ass meeting you have set up between the Iron Eagle and Bruno Richards.”
It was half past ten a.m., and Lisa Farmer was cleaning up the nursery before heading over to the sanctuary for morning prayer service. She had just finished her clean up and gotten the last child off with an attendant when a tall, thin man appeared outside the window of the church daycare. She looked over and saw him. There were no words exchanged, just a look. The man was about six foot eight and might have been a hundred and fifty pounds. He was wearing a derby hat and a black suit and looked like something out of the nineteenth century. His facial features were gaunt, and his eyes were dark and deep set. He placed his long, bony fingers and hand on the window and slowly nodded to her. She nodded back, and then he was gone.
She turned to go to the service when one of her assistants in the nursery asked, “Who was that man?” Lisa looked around and said, “What man?” “The tall thin man at the window. He put his hand on the glass and then left.” Lisa laughed and said, “Oh, him? You just forget about him. He’s a bible salesman who has been after Pastor Erick.” The young girl looked at Lisa and said, “He was scary, Lisa, really, really scary.” Lisa let out a laugh and said, “Oh, now, don’t you fret about him. He’s no threat and don’t go talking to Pastor Erick about it or anyone else for that matter. It will only make him angry.”
The girl turned to leave, and Lisa asked, “Maria? When are you due?” Maria’s pregnant belly barely fit through the door. “Any day now.” “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” Maria smiled and said, “Yes. It’s a boy, and I have named him Jesus…Jesus Emmanuel Estonia.” Lisa smiled and said, “Well, you take care of our little savior there and let me know when it is time for him to come to us. I will be with you in the birthing room.” “Oh, thank you, Lisa, but I’m having Jesus in the hospital. My doctor is worried about the baby’s health. You know how protective my husband, Roberto, is. He insists that we have the baby in the hospital.” “I see…what hospital?” “Arleta Medical Center.” Lisa smiled and said, “A fine hospital. You get off to the prayer service. I’ll be right along.” Maria waddled down the hallway as Lisa wrote some notes on a piece of paper.