50

Several facts pointed to Washington, DC, as our target.

I was convinced that the federal insider who called Dick Valentine originally about the “voodoo” death of Jason Forester was the same person who called me, using a voice distorter both times. And I was betting the caller was Louisa Deidre Baldou. After all, she had a motivation to get someone —obviously me —to investigate the cruel abduction and exploitation of young girls. In my first conversation with Turk Kavagian, he mentioned that an occult-sounding voodoo network with Internet prowess was behind it, and Dick Valentine’s intel pointed the same direction. All of that rang familiar.

The fact she attended the ABA told me she was a lawyer. And Morgan Canterelle’s intel told me her bailiwick was the District of Columbia. According to Turk Kavagian, she did graduate work in technology, which is a bewilderingly vast field. But if her particular niche was Internet-focused, that would also explain a lot. Dick Valentine said Jason Forester was closing in on criminal child exploitation activity on the dark net at the time of his death. Those pieces also seemed to dovetail with the data shared with me recently by Detective Ashley Linderman.

And the fire-breathing creature flapping its wings over all of this —orchestrating and reveling in it —was some demonic voodoo cabal yet to be identified.

As I talked to Heather that night about plans for our flight to DC, I shared it all with her.

She had a pointed question: “You’re telling me this Deidre who talked to me at the ABA, and who you think was the anonymous caller to Dick Valentine as well as to you, was a double threat in terms of expertise: an expert in technology as well as the law?”

I told her that was my best guess.

“So the bottom line is, what . . . ? You want to talk to her?”

“Exactly. Bring her out in the open. Stop the shadow games. Find out what else she knows.”

Heather shrugged. “Washington, DC, is a huge place.”

“Right. Lots of lawyers and lots of technology experts.”

“Where do we start?”

“I’m betting she’s in the government sector.”

“I don’t see it,” she said. “At least not that clearly . . .”

I gave her the short list of facts we knew up to then.

“Morgan Canterelle thought that she could have government employment based on all the federal barriers raised to his getting more information about her —including those from Homeland Security —despite his ABA insider status. I’m also reading between the lines with Sheriff Haywood’s comments to me in that FBI parking lot. He made it sound like some official in a heavy-duty capacity was behind my apprehension and lockdown at Morehaven. Somebody outside Louisiana.”

“How does that lead back to Deidre?”

“Because that’s why she needed an outsider like me. Outside the system. Beyond the Beltway. In her call, she described our ultimate overlord bad actor —not as an outsider who’s running wild in the streets, but as someone inside the power structure. Which means she has to watch her back.

“Also, Dick Valentine looked into the federal personnel data she shared with him about AUSA Jason Forester, and it all checked out. It sounds to me like she’s a whistle-blower —except she’s not squawking about the usual corruption fare, like cost overruns or padded federal contracts, but about a whole different deal altogether. A cancer embedded deep inside Washington. Engineering an occult campaign of hellish female abduction and perversion. Even human sacrifice.”

That night, as Heather was in her hotel room booking our flight for the next day, I was slumped down in the chair next to my bed, practically tasting the bitter despair. The battle had become so elevated and the odds against us so astronomical that I felt overwhelmed. And then there was the crazy immensity of the evil we were facing. The enemy was a giant. And we were insects.

I plucked up my Bible, returning again to the book of Joshua, where I had left off. It was the part where God sent the Israelites through the Jordan River and into the Promised Land by holding back the waters, just like the Red Sea. Another miracle. Then God directed them to do something unusual. To collect stones from the river bottom and set them up as a memorial on the dry land so they wouldn’t forget the victory. And wouldn’t forget who had won it for them.

I was deep into it when a call came to my cell from Dick Valentine.

“Trevor, breaking news. Still sketchy, but I thought you ought to know. That international child exploitation ring we’ve been talking about? Our sources tell us there’s a major rush now to get a large number of abducted girls out of the United States. Like, right now.”

“Why the hurry?”

“Not sure. Maybe they think someone’s onto them and they’ll be shut down. . . .”

“What part of the country are we talking about?”

“Sorry, we don’t have that. Just some chatter on the Internet that was picked up by our guys here in NYPD doing surveillance for a terror cell, and they happened to land on this instead.”

While I was mulling it over, Dick said, “So frustrating. We’re trying to figure out how they plan to drag these poor girls outside the country —transportation routes, that stuff. But we don’t have enough hard data to make an educated guess. To do that, we’d need to know where the command decision is coming from. That’s the key.”

“Any closer to identifying who’s calling the shots?”

“Our guys are sure there’s a controlling administrator in America who’s running this entire putrid business and using the dark net to do it. But we can’t pierce it. Too sophisticated, digitally. We’ve asked the feds for special IT assistance, but no answer yet.”

The image of that girl’s face in the window of the boat was in front of me again. “You’re talking possible transportation routes,” I said. “I’ve got a story to tell you.”

“Should I grab some popcorn?”

“Not unless you’re into horror. I’ve got solid information that some of those girls are coming down the Mississippi River, being motored into the Gulf of Mexico, and then into international waters.”

“Makes sense. Our terrorism guys tell us about the vulnerability of ports and harbors. Good deduction, Sherlock.”

“I can’t take the credit. I have a credible witness. He dropped it right in my lap. I checked it out and saw it with my own sorry eyes.”

I could tell Dick was thinking. Then he said, “Are you still down in New Orleans? You’re right near the mouth of the Mississippi. You need to talk to law enforcement down there.”

“Already tried that. Their hands are tied.”

“Want me to give them a call?”

“Let’s hold on that. I want to keep our relationship close to the vest.”

“Coast Guard?”

“Tried that too. They sent me back to the local authorities.”

“What’s your next move?”

“I’m flying to Washington tomorrow with my daughter.”

“To do what?”

“Solve the problem.”

“Washington actually solving a problem? That’s strange logic.”

I smiled at my end. “To kill a snake, you have to strike at the head.”

He wished me luck and we both promised to keep in touch.

I popped into Heather’s room to check on her progress.

“Done,” she said. “I’ve got us on a direct flight leaving tomorrow morning from Louis Armstrong International Airport.” Then she asked what I had been doing.

“Mostly reading the book of Joshua.”

She smirked. “Old Testament.”

“Yes. Glad you’re familiar with it. . . .”

“Well, you know, those of us in the anthropology field have to acquaint ourselves with all the ancient mythological religions.”

I was tempted to take the bait but let it pass.

She asked, “Anything else going on?”

I told her about my phone call with Dick Valentine. And the extreme urgency now behind our trip to Washington.

I saw in her face that she was shaken, as I already was, by the news that captured girls were about to be hurriedly exported out of the United States.

Heather’s voice cut like a knife. “How can we stop this in time? Keep them from being shipped out of harbors? Or down the Mississippi to who knows where . . . ?”

I thought on it. “Here’s how. By drying up the river,” I said. “And then, when that happens, we take stones from the river bottom and build a memorial. So we don’t forget who gave us the victory.”

She gave me a funny look.

I smiled. “I’ll explain later.”