The dilapidated resort’s presidential suite smelled like a mixture of a pine forest and an ocean breeze. The first was a result of the biohazard cleaning crew that had disinfected the scene after the CSI work had been completed, and the second odor emanated from Derrick’s massive saltwater aquarium, which teemed with all manner of exotic fish. The faux nature smells made Marcus feel nauseous. The SFPD crime scene technicians had come and gone while he was in the hospital recovering. They had sprayed luminol-based chemicals and dusted for prints, searching for blood and other trace evidence. Then the cleaning crews had descended with their Tyvek suits and disinfectants.
And now, Marcus could barely concentrate over the scent of cleaning fluid and saltwater piercing one of his senses while the bubbling and humming of the aquarium’s lights and pumps attacked another.
Closing the door to Derrick’s master suite, Marcus Williams stared up at the wall filled with baby photos. He ached for those families whose dream of parenthood had been corrupted by the egomania of a madman. So far, none of the parents had been notified, pending the results of the investigation. Marcus wasn’t convinced that any of them should ever know the truth. It made him feel old and tired to think that only a few years ago he would have insisted that the truth see the light of day, no matter the costs. He had yet to decide if it was better that his views weren’t as rigid as they once were, or if it was worse.
The SFPD had been instructed to stay clear of Derrick’s personal computer system and to leave that portion of the analysis to the Shepherd team. The Director had insisted out of fear that some of the Judas Killer’s files on the SO might have found their way into Gladstone’s possession. With Ackerman’s help, Stan had been connected to the device using a wireless hotspot and was currently searching for any evidence that could put them on the trail of Demon’s other acolytes.
The locals had an entirely different agenda. The SFPD had hoped to find a connection to Oban Nassar or any of Mr. King’s other lieutenants. That would have given them probable cause for a warrant to search the mansions and King’s business holdings. Unfortunately, so far, all their efforts had turned up nothing. No official ties could be made between Derrick Gladstone and Mr. King’s illicit empire.
Ackerman was now helping Stan by inserting a series of USB flash drives that had been located in Gladstone’s safe. They had already been at the job for a few hours, but as yet, Stan’s computer forensics had turned up nothing more than a collection of video footage and personal documents. It would have been good evidence for a trial—which was a bit unnecessary for dead men—but nothing that could aid them in dismantling Demon and his Legion.
At his back, Ackerman said, “I believe Computer Man has discovered something pertinent.”
Turning around too quickly, Marcus felt the stitches in his side tug against his flesh to the point of breaking. Ignoring the pain, he joined his brother behind Gladstone’s mahogany desk and leaned down to the laptop’s webcam. He would have sat down atop a folding chair that rested beside his brother, but that chair was already occupied by Ackerman’s new best friend, his Shih Tzu puppy, which Emily had insisted he bring with him whenever possible.
Ackerman said, “I’d be happy to remove the vermin for you. Down, Theodore!”
The little dog looked up from his dreaming and wagged his tail. Marcus smiled. “You gave him a name?”
“Yes, I labeled him after two of my favorite historical figures. Ted Bundy and Theodore Roosevelt. One was a United States president, who had actually tasted battle, and the other a cunning serial murderer. I can’t remember which is which for some reason. No matter. The dog has a name, and Agent Morgan can now direct her attentions toward more fruitful pursuits.”
Theodore had grown bored and gone back to sleep. Marcus didn’t want to wake him. He also didn’t want to face the fact that his brother was noticeably slipping in very subtle ways. Instead, he leaned into the laptop’s view and said, “It’s a good name. What do you have for me, Stan?”
“I’ve found a hidden partition on some of these drives. The data from any one of them is garbage, but when I combined them together and used a deep analysis algorithm, I discovered a coded series of text documents.”
“English, please?”
“I think we may have found some additional Judas diary entries. He must have entrusted them with Gladstone for safe keeping.”
Ackerman said, “Or Judas is stringing us along with a trail of breadcrumbs that leads to Demon’s doorstep, still working against his old mentor from the grave. For all we know, Dr. Gladstone may have been unaware of the existence of the files.”
“Anything concrete in the entries?” Marcus asked.
“You guys will have to read them to determine that, but I did various keyword searches and came up with one match to the word ‘Demon’ that you may find interesting. There’s an entry here referring to Demon and Judas visiting a potential new member of the Legion. But the strange thing is that Judas refers to Demon as the Demon Welkar, like it’s his last name or something.”
Ackerman offered, “Or our scarred-faced friend is actually possessed by a supernatural entity named Welkar.”
Marcus said, “We have enough devils to fight. Let’s leave the supernatural stuff to priests and angels.”
“Spiritual warfare should be a primary concern of us all. We are but mere…”
Feeling one of his brother’s ramblings coming on, Marcus tuned out Ackerman, and instead, he closed his eyes and dissected the phrase ‘Demon Welkar.’ Was it an anagram? A code of some kind?
“… And then the young lady snapped the chains with her bare hands.”
“That’s great, Frank. But when you were inside Foxbury Prison, Demon gave you a business card. Remind me again what it said.”
“One side held a miniature version of a Henry Fusilli painting. The other contained a simple message …” Ackerman’s voice trailed off as he caught the connection.
Marcus said, “It said ‘A2E,’ correct? If we take that name and switch every letter E for an A and vice versa. It gives us the name Damon Walker.”
Ackerman nodded. “But if that is Demon’s given name, it’s a clue that either Judas or Demon could have planted for us to find. Two killers. One taunting us from the grave, and the other laughing in our faces at every turn.”
“Who knows what madness they have in store for us next.”
With a grin, Ackerman added, “I know I’m excited.”
“Oh yeah, great fun, if we survive.”
“I would be of greater assistance in such a fight if you were to give me a gun.”
With a roll of his eyes, Marcus said, “Sorry, the Director still says no guns. But I did convince him to allow you to have your bone-handled Bowie knife back. And these.” Fishing into a pocket, Marcus held out the small concealed sheath and push daggers that the Gladiator had used. “I figured these would be right up your alley. And … it’s your birthday next week, so consider this an early present.”
“I’ve never received a birthday gift before. Thank you, brother.” Then Ackerman examined the small blades and grasped the push daggers so that the cutting edges protruded out between his middle and ring fingers. Testing the weight with an elaborate shadowboxing display, Ackerman said, “These are better than a gun anyway, in the right hands.”
“Glad you like them. You’ve earned it. I’m proud of you, Frank. I mean that.”
“And I of you, little brother.”
From the laptop, Stan said, “We’ve turned up one more piece of information you may find interesting, boss. Not all of those pictures on the wall belong to Gladstone’s biological children. The biggest part of them are babies born as part of a clinical trial.”
“A clinical trial for what?”
“A new fertility drug that was apparently designed by Derrick Gladstone himself. It’s currently undergoing the FDA’s approval process.”
Ackerman asked, “What does the drug do?”
“From what I gather, it coats a man’s sperm in some kind of protein that makes them have to swim harder or something like that.”
“I’m no expert, but that doesn’t sound like it would aid in fertilization.”
“It’s not designed for men with problems. It’s supposed to be for a normal couple having a baby. The theory is that a lot of genetic abnormalities can be bypassed by essentially killing off the weaker sperm. It’s also designed to support insemination for the healthier and stronger swimmers. At least that’s what I gather from their website.”
Marcus’s lip curled up in disgust. “A drug that ensures that only the strong survive. Even in death, Gladstone is corrupting the world with his views about who deserves to live.”
Marcus supposed that neither he nor his son would have a place in Dr. Gladstone’s brave new world. Their unique neuropathology would likely have been one of many deemed unworthy of life.
Ackerman shrugged. “Gladstone was merely adhering to the Darwinian concepts revered by the scientific community. Perhaps taking them to extremes, but Darwin himself believed that inferior individuals should refrain from reproducing. I believe one such quote from Darwin, who is an irrefutable pillar of the scientific religion of today, states that hardly any farmer is so ignorant as to allow his worst animals to breed.”
With a shake of his head, Marcus replied, “And who determines who deserves to live? Who among us has that right? It makes me sick. Francis Galton’s concept of eugenics was built upon the scientific doctrine set forth by his cousin, Charles Darwin. And Hitler’s ‘superior race’ belief was based on the ideas of group inequality that are key to Darwin’s ‘survival of the fittest’ theory. Rudolf Hess, a Nazi party leader, said that ‘National Socialism is nothing but applied biology.’”
Ackerman leaned back in Derrick’s leather chair and placed his feet up on the desk. Then he said, “Perhaps, but we can’t blame old Charles writing about his observations on the Galapagos as having direct causality to atrocities like the Holocaust. After all, Hitler perverted religious ideology as much as he did scientific theory. Darwin didn’t directly advocate concepts like eugenics or the Nazi’s final solution, but the idea that we are no more than animals of flesh and blood certainly gives rise to the thought that we should control human breeding in the same manner we would any other livestock. Science is a wonderful thing. Such pursuits save lives and make the world a better place. It’s the study of God’s creation and our universe, and it’s beautiful. But science is not a satisfactory standard for quantifying the human condition. We are so much more than these mortal coils. We are beings of light and emotion. If you rob humanity of that ideal, classifying people as nothing more than a subset of intelligent animals with delusions of grandeur. If our lives have little meaning beyond what we can contribute to the herd, then it becomes easy for us to put a value on one life over another.”
“And now Derrick Gladstone is going to enact a holocaust of his own. But rather than killing those he deems inferior, he wants to make sure they’re never even born.”
“Perhaps your Director has an associate at the Food and Drug Administration who can put a halt to Gladstone’s brainchild?”
“Hopefully, but I’m not holding my breath. Damnit, Frank, even in death, that bastard is still hurting people. The more I learn about them, the more I think the Gladstone brothers are the most evil men we’ve ever hunted. It’s one thing to take life, but this is … a whole other level of depravity.”
“They were certainly a pair of lost souls, but I get the sense that we’ve yet to see the meaning of the word ‘depravity.’ Just imagine the perversions a mind like Demon’s could dream up.”
Marcus said, “Or someone like our father. But even he only brought two broken children into the world.”
“That we know of.”
“Don’t say that. Two of us is more than enough.” Marcus sighed and leaned his fists against the mahogany desktop. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Frank. Derrick Gladstone used his brother like a hammer to nail down his enemies. I don’t want to push you like that. I don’t know that this life is the best thing for you.”
“Our lives and the direction our paths take is something we can neither control nor hide from. You told me the past didn’t matter. All that’s important is what we do now. We are soldiers, Marcus, in a war that we can’t even see from our limited perspectives. We are those who stand against the darkness by bringing others to the light. It’s our job to save men like these from themselves and prevent them from bringing others down into the depths along with them.”
“Some people are beyond saving.”
“I’m sure everyone said the same about me. Ephesians 6:12: ‘For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.’”
“You and I aren’t exactly champions of virtue and light.”
“I don’t believe we were chosen for who we are, but, rather, who we could be. You and I have been called to rage against the dying of the light inside the souls of men.”
“It seems more like we’re called to be punching bags.”
“There’s some truth to that. But I think we’re more like those inflatable clowns that children pummel. We always seem to pop back up.”
“Until the day comes when we don’t.”
“And what a grand adventure that will be.”
“Where do we go from here? Do we head back to ADX Florence and pay Demon a visit, or do we go after Maggie?”
“You’re the boss, brother. But if I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion.”
“As if you have a problem being bold.”
Ignoring him, Ackerman continued, “I’m afraid that little sister may have bitten off more than she can chew by pursuing the Taker on her own. I say we leave Demon on ice and focus on our wayward team member. Because it’s my professional opinion that if we don’t find her before she finds the Taker … Well, then she’ll be the next one who’s taken.”
Tears brimmed in Marcus’s eyes. “It’s my fault that she left. I should have been there for her. I didn’t know how much she was hurting. If anything happens to her, that’ll be my fault too. So how do we find the Taker? It’s a twenty-year-old cold case that has been poured over by the best minds law enforcement has to offer.”
Ackerman smiled. “But sometimes, dear brother, catching the worst of the worst is a job for the best of the bad.”