Philip waited at a mall just outside Starbucks for his contact to show. People fought for space in the throngs, each armed with bags and packages that some weren’t hesitant to use as battering rams. He’d moved away from Santa Claus earlier. Too many cameras.
His cell vibrated its way across the table. He grabbed it before it fell off the edge and found an email from Miloš. The daily report on Jane Frey. He read it and smirked. Jane and David were driving east. Still didn’t know what they were looking for. He closed the phone. Philip had secured the list of artifacts and treasure held by the local lodges. It had raised his eyebrows. Maybe he’d do some “shopping” himself after all this was over.
A chorale group dressed in Victorian outfits straight out of Dickens strolled by. The round soprano looked like she might pop a stay in her corset if she hit high C. Finally he spotted his psychic mincing his way through the crowd, his forehead furrowed in pain. Timons—and he insisted on being called Timons, not Tim, the pretentious little prick—hated crowds. Said they were undisciplined, chaotic, that they gave him a headache. He stood just on the other side of a display of Christmas cups looking everywhere else except where Philip was sitting in plain sight.
Psychic, huh? Philip thought, but the man had proven himself. He was just high maintenance. Coche had plenty of people on staff Philip could have used, but he always did a double-blind check when he was involved in an investigation. That way he was sure of his intel.
Philip stood up, stuffed his phone in his jacket pocket, and walked over to Timons, who jumped in surprised.
“There you are. I had to park way in back. These crowds . . .” Timons flapped his hand like some queen from the Castro District, although he was straight. Philip knew. He conducted exhaustive background checks.
“Can I buy you an eggnog latte?” Philip asked, his tone compassionate, soothing. “Chai?”
“That would be most kind,” Timons said, his hand flitting around his plum woolen scarf, but leaving it wrapped tight. “Eggnog latte, please.” He flounced down in an empty chair, accustomed to being waited on. “’Tis the season.”
Philip obliged. As long as Timons delivered, he’d baby him. Philip returned with the drink, let Timons take a sip, then said, “You picked three spots that fit the description I sent. Said these were the most energetically active. Your report was thorough, but I would appreciate it if you reviewed your reasons again. Refresh my memory.”
Timons took another sip of his latte—Philip’s lip curled, ridiculously sweet, these eggnog drinks, too fatty—then began to speak, now animated. By the subject or the caffeine and sugar, Philip couldn’t tell. “This area is packed with eight-petaled figures, macro and micro, simply packed. But you specified the National Mall—up to three blocks out.” Timons seemed pleased with this phraseology. “Even then, there were loads to sift through.”
“That’s why I called in an expert.” Philip forced a smile. He was lucky this man was no empath.
“Third on my list is the Jefferson Memorial. It’s not obviously an octagon, but the dome has alternating panels and openings with Ionic columns. The statue stands in the middle. An eight-sided building. There’s a museum below, but the active rooms are around the edges, leaving the center relatively clear.”
Timons took another sip of his drink, dabbed his mouth with a napkin and said in a low voice, “I don’t know what they buried under there, but let me tell you. It’s quite powerful.”
Philip matched his quiet tone, hoping to keep Timons talking more softly. “What did you experience?”
Timons closed his eyes. “There’s a column of light that rises from the statue and extends—” he raised his hand up in an elegant gesture “—oh, way past the earth’s atmosphere.”
Two people next to them paused to watch Timons. Philip had hoped the Christmas bustle would give them sufficient cover, but this guy was far too theatrical. Timons opened his eyes and took a breath to continue, but Philip cut him off. “I can hardly wait to experience it myself. My car is just outside.”
He stood up and headed toward the door, Timons scrambling to follow. Once in the car—borrowed from Coche’s company, he’d never let anyone in his personal vehicle—he merged onto the freeway clogged with fools headed to Reagan National. This was going to take a while, but at least their conversation would be private.
“What about connecting to an energy grid at the Jefferson Memorial? Did you get any sense of that?”
Timons sniffed, still ruffled by being interrupted unceremoniously. “Certainly an energy column extending that far above connects to the earth’s grid.”
“But I specified a network in D.C. A planetary web seems too general. How could something that large have such a specific effect?”
“The prophecy talks about dark forces trying to choke off the energy feeding this network.”
Philip looked over at Timons to find him looking rather smug.
Timons continued, “If this is an attempt to control global power, then tapping down the planet’s life force would accomplish that.”
“Why do you think this is such a grand conspiracy?” Philip asked.
“One hears rumors.”
So much for my double-blind test, Philip thought.
“Rumors? Do tell.” He matched Timons’ inflection. Philip wondered for the first time if he’d have to kill this little popinjay. He’d hoped to avoid such complications, but he had to keep his employer protected.
A rich chuckle rose from the man, earthy and practical, sounding far different from the ethereal space case who’d flitted around at the mall. “The spiritual world is small, even in a place as rich with metaphysical groups as this one. Word has spread of a new prophet with tales of a tug of war amongst the powers that be over an eight-sided figure.”
Philip looked sharply at him.
“I’ve taken precautions, Mr. Martin. Recorded our conversations. Saved a copy of your instructions. All tucked away in a safe deposit box. If I should disappear, certain people have been instructed to open it.”
Not impossible to destroy, Philip thought. He could track down his contact fairly easily. Erase all evidence. He doubted Timons had alerted more than one person. Still, his esteem for this man rose several notches. “I see.”
Philip took the exit and drove across the river. “So why is the Jefferson Memorial third and not your first choice?” He did a quick, illegal U-turn, and pulled the car into the parking lot of the place in question.
They got out and walked toward the monument, Timons continuing his commentary. “Because it was built in the early twentieth century. You did say the grid was laid down by our founders, but most of the subsequent building around the White House and Capitol Building has been conducted by initiates. They can easily connect to the original energy network. That’s not the problem.”
They climbed the steps and circled the rotunda, Timons pointing out the columns and panels. “See, eight.”
Philip stopped at the view across the water to the White House, and let his ankle stop throbbing. Damn that Ivar. The White House looked small, even fragile, from this distance. “What’s the problem then?”
“Although there’s that nice column of energy going up, I don’t feel it radiating out. Not much at all. But we could dowse it.”
Philip glanced around. The place was empty except for the staff. Too close to Christmas and early in the week. Still, someone walking around with a stick would draw attention. He’d send someone over, disguise the stick as one of those metal detectors they sold on TV to bored old geysers. “What made second on your list?” he asked.
“The Potomac Atrium in the National Museum of the American Indian.”
“You’re kidding,” Philip said. “That’s brand new, isn’t it?”
“The building. Not the site itself.”
“You could say the same of this place.”
“But the energy is different.”
“Let’s head over there. Take a look.”
Timons fell silent the few blocks it took to drive down to the end of the mall, which suited Philip just fine. He struggled to find parking with Congress still in session, if that’s what they called grandstanding and making ridiculous suggestions that everyone knew would never get passed in the other chamber. Someone pulled out about two blocks away from the mall, so Philip grabbed the spot and maxed out the meter.
“Tell me,” Philip said as they walked at a sedate pace toward the museum.
“A three-story octagon, the space open and clear for the most part. Used for performance pieces. Sometimes exhibits.” They entered the building and made their way to the atrium.
“Look.” Timons pointed up to the dome. Twelve nested circles surrounded the glass top, itself divided into a perfect eight-petaled flower. “Hidden in plain sight. The energy runs clean down toward the Capitol, then hits some sort of nexus where it gets distributed.”
“I see.” Philip was calculating how to stake out this area. Then he looked up at Timons, still admiring the window. “And your number one?”
“The Capitol Dome.”
“Dome?”
“Yeah. It makes the most sense. And the energy is absolutely off the charts.”
Philip stepped to the side of the room—circular spaces carry sound—and pulled out his phone. He called Spencer’s assistant. “We need to get into the Capitol.”
“Go over to the Longworth House Office Building. I’ll have an aide of Representative Foxington come down with passes. She’s one of ours.”
“We’ll be there in about five minutes.”
“I’m on it.”
They headed out the door and strolled down to the representative’s building. A harried young man waited on the steps. Philip stopped in front of him and showed him a company ID from one of Coche’s firms. The man squinted at the ID, handed Philip two passes, and headed back inside without a question.
Philip waited a few minutes, then followed the man inside. They took the elevator down and emerged in one of the corridors that led to the Library of Congress on the right and straight ahead to the Capitol Building. Timons followed, somewhat agog at the maze. They took an elevator up and stepped out close to the amphitheater where tourists were indoctrinated before taking the tour of the nation’s Capital Building, now little more than a museum.
He led the way to the rotunda. Timons followed, eyes darting around.
“Ever been in here?” Philip asked.
“When I was a kid.”
“So how did you make your determination?”
Timons frowned a bit. “Several ways. I can work off pictures—sort of like remote viewing, but more precise. A few other tricks of the trade. But this place exudes vitality. The energy grids pulse with power. And it’s simple to walk by. Anyone worth his salt can get close enough to read the flows.”
They finished climbing the stairs and emerged under the dome. A group was just finishing up, the tour guide pointing out the paintings hanging around the room.
Timons closed his eyes and swayed. Philip steadied him with an arm to his shoulder and moved to block him from view. “Yes,” Timons murmured, “I think this is the place.”
“What are you experiencing?” Philip whispered.
“I see a—” he shook his head “—like a gryphon sort of. Black, powerful, teeth bared. Guarding something.”
The guide led his group away. Philip took hold of Timons’ shoulder and squeezed. “Open your eyes.”
Timons gave himself a shake. “Sorry, it’s just so—”
“What part of the dome?” Philip asked.
Timons raised his arm and pointed up. “Imagine the intensity before they moved that statue of Washington. Above is the Apotheosis. It’s where the space opens to divine guidance.”
Philip snorted.
“I’m not kidding,” Timons said, somewhat piqued.
Philip looked around. “We’ve got a few minutes before another group comes. Let’s see what you can pick up.”
Timons took a shaky breath, then closed his eyes once more. After a few seconds he jerked. “It’s still there.”
“What?”
“A dark being—like an angel. No, there are more. All black.” He shuddered. “The energy flows up from underground and gets channeled out to a wheel. And from there avenues of energy flow out, first in eight channels, then twelve.” His eyes started to roll back in his head. His voice deepened, then he spoke in a deep, guttural voice, “The Nehemoth still guard the ways. We are the whisperers, the hinderers. None shall pass us.”
Voices sounded on the stairs.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Philip said, his voice gruff. He gave Timons a shake.
Another group of noisy tourists burst up the stairs.
“Come back now.” Philip clapped his hands. The sound resonated like a gun shot.
Timons shook his head, leaned against the wall to steady himself. “Yeah, they’ll want to dislodge these beings. Replace them with a higher frequency. Clean the place out.”
“There’s more than one?”
Timons nodded, his eyes haunted.
Philip had what he needed. “Okay, let’s go.” He guided Timons down the steps and back to the elevator. Once they’d emerged onto the street, the man seemed to have regained some control. But he was visibly shaken.
“I’ll drive you back to your car. Payment will be deposited by tonight,” Philip said. He stopped beside his car, leaned close as if to open the door, but instead he whispered, “If you discuss this assignment in any way, I will feed you to those dark angels. Do we understand each other?”
Timons nodded, his eyes wide.
It would be better to kill him, Philip thought, cleaner.
Instead, Philip dropped Timons off, reinforcing his warning with a dark look, then headed across to the Whole Foods and grabbed a Sonoma chicken wrap. He ate it while he drove. His next meeting was with Aleister, one of Coche’s most talented wizards. That’s what he called himself, Aleister. And wizard. Philip wondered if he’d taken the name or been given it by his parents. Based on what he’d seen the man do, he’d grant him the wizard title. He swallowed the last of the chicken wrap and washed it down with plum white tea.
Aleister had just started briefing his group. He nodded at Philip as he slipped into a back seat, then spent the next half hour explaining the energy grids set up by Washington, D.C.’s sacred geometry. Or maybe reviewing, because he moved through it at lightning speed. Philip tried to keep up as Aleister’s fingers clicked through the images he’d set up—the angle of streets, the way buildings sat in relation to each other, forming the pentagram, the square and compass, the Tree of Life—until Philip just let it all wash over him.
“They were brilliant,” Aleister summed up, clicking back to the first slide in his report. “The founders built an encyclopedia of esoteric knowledge in stone. Any questions?” He fielded a few from the team about the geometric figures and how they modulated energy. Then he reviewed assignments.
Philip gave himself a shake and paid close attention. Even though he wasn’t assigned to protect them, he needed to know who was where. He noted that Aleister assigned a man and a woman to each node.
The group was dismissed and they left, talking quietly amongst themselves, most avoiding Philip’s eyes. Once the small auditorium was cleared, Aleister waved him over. “Looks like that fluffy psychic of yours almost wet his pants,” he quipped.
“You saw?”
“Of course. I’m always watching you, Mr. Martin.” Aleister put the emphasis on the last syllable, revealing the French origins of his name.
“How?”
Aleister crooked a finger, beckoning Philip to him, reached up and flicked one of the snaps on his jacket. “I convinced dear Henry I needed a camera to check in with you from time to time. That you might need my help immediately, something I’d need to see.”
Philip usually did an electronics sweep every week, but this had eluded him. Aleister loved showing him up if he could. This was the one time he’d succeeded in a year. Well, if you didn’t count that time in Rome. He pointed his index finger at Aleister and whispered, “Bang!”
“That little brunette really whittled your pecker.” Aleister waggled his eyebrows like a scamp.
“You—” Philip remembered hanging his jacket on a hook in the plane. The camera must have fallen just right. “I’ll slit your throat one day, really.”
“Don’t be droll,” Aleister said. “Now, down to business. I assume you followed all that?”
Philip shrugged. “Enough, but you’ll be doing the magic, right? I’ll just protect your precious ass.”
Aleister’s breath hissed in irritation. “Muscle. That’s all you’re good for. You’re a goddamn muscle head. Tell me—” His tirade stopped when he caught Philip’s grin. Now it was Aleister’s turn to point his index finger at Philip. “One day.”
For a second, Philip held his hands up as if it were a real gun, then dropped them with a chuckle. “So, how have we fucked with the ingenious energy system our enlightened forefathers set up?”
Aleister sat forward, eyes lit. “Simple, really. We just called up the Qliphoth demonic equivalents to take up their appropriate stations.”
“The what?”
“Honestly, you are an ignoramus,” Aleister said without any heat. “The Fallen Tree.” He sat back, a look of satisfaction on his face. “Simple is always best.”
“So these mamby, pamby servants of the light are going to replace them with the right guys?”
“Right? Who’s to say they’re right?”
“I mean the Tree of Life guys.”
“Half of them are female.”
Philip put his hands on his hips. “How many times have you told me angels are—what’s the word—androgynous?”
“So you do listen.”
“Occasionally.”
“As to your question, we think so. If they realize what we’ve done.”
“Where will you be stationed?”
Aleister pulled up his diagram and went through the personnel and where they’d be working. Philip sat beside him, noting the areas, calculating the risks, thinking how to pull reports and schedules for a dozen different agencies tasked with security. “Can you send me this map? And your report so I can review it?”
Aleister pushed a few buttons on his computer. “Done.”
“Is the time set?”
“The old man isn’t certain, but my money’s on Winter Solstice.”
Philip gave him a blank look.
“December 21st? Longest night? If it was a sports team, you’d know the statistics on the most insignificant player.”
He grinned at Aleister. “I pay attention to what’s important.”
“They’ll try to flip the tree before they do the ritual to unlock the eight-petaled key. We’ll be on-site twenty-four hours in advance. We might have to move on a moment’s notice.”
Philip picked up his keys. “No problem. See you there.”
✬ ✬ ✬
Valentin Knight swirled Applewood Estates reserve brandy in the sniffer, a gift from a cousin, but did not drink. Instead he watched the light from the fire dance in the amber liquid. He set it down untouched.
Jane seemed to be adapting well. They were off somewhere, she and her David, visiting another Moravian site in the eastern side of the Czech Republic. Ivar reported her safe and happy, beginning a romance. Good for her. He wished her well. That she was safe was his only real concern. She’d uncovered the Blake painting, started the ball rolling. Found a star embedded in stone at Ronneburg Castle. She had more of a role to play in the escalating conflict.
And escalating it was. Coche had pulled his man from Prague and brought him here to D.C. where he was sticking his nose into the lodge meetings, conducting his own psychic tests.
Then there were George Remus and Paul Balford, the two strongest leaders of the various lodges. Honorable, capable men, doing their utmost to identify the grid, to find the key to unlock it. He was following all their efforts, but when it came to security, international politics, they were amateurs. Entirely ignorant of some angles that would need to be considered.
He’d sent Minerva, one of his group’s best, over to help, but they’d kept their meetings men-only. He picked up his sniffer and took a sip. Traced the fire as it spread through his chest. Now was not the time to cling to time-worn traditions. But they had. So he’d been forced to send Ron, with half the talent and a tendency to gossip. The lodges thought they’d identified the proper grid, but when it came to the sensitive point to work the grid, they always looked up when they should consider other options.
Knight shifted in his seat as a log hissed out sap. He should go to help himself, but something told him to wait. To stay still, as the sun would in a few days when it reached Solstice. To allow the energy to build until it pulled him into action. Already the force was growing in the grids, like the tension before a thunderstorm. But he kept the brewing tempest contained. He would release it only when it grew into a maelstrom.
He knew the place. And the time.