Rafe pulled to the curb at San Francisco International in front of baggage claim. He looked for a place to park temporarily, out of the view of the police, shooing the parked cars away from the front of the airport for security reasons. The terrorism threat had been raised recently due to events overseas and the security personnel were nervous. Neal was waiting for him on the curb and hurriedly hopped into the rental car, slamming the door behind him after throwing his small bag into the backseat. He carried only a small briefcase otherwise. The two shook hands aggressively. “Good to see you, mate!” said Neal as Rafe pulled back into the active traffic lane and headed to the airport exit to go back into the city.
“Good to see you as well. How was the flight? Long I presume?”
“Yes, quite long. It’s good to be off that bloody airplane. The business class ticket helped somewhat though. I thank the Queen for that small luxury.”
“She always did take care of you," laughed Rafe. "Let’s find a nice place to eat and grab a drink. Work for you?”
“Splendid idea!”
“We’ve got to get through the city first. I say we cross the bridge and find a place to eat in Sausalito. I’ve booked us a hotel there. Fort Ross is an hour's drive north of San Francisco. So staying in Sausalito, we will be closer to our destination, once we decide to visit the fort, and we won't have to negotiate the traffic coming out of the big city."
"This is your country, sport!" responded Neal. “I trust you implicitly!” Rafe navigated the myriad of paths out of the large, multi-terminal airport and soon they were headed north.
It was 7:00 p.m. when they arrived at the bistro overlooking the Sausalito section of the San Francisco Bay Area. They had crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and the weather was clear enough to get a good view of Alcatraz in the middle of the bay to the east. Hundreds of yachts were moored off the coast, along with a large number of houseboats. Painters and other craftsmen were spread out along the plaza next to the water, hawking their wares. A small orchestra was playing chamber music on the waterfront as well. Sausalito was an industrial center during World War II, but had morphed into an artistic, cultural oasis. It was quite bohemian with art and creativity everywhere. The warm evening was quite pleasant. “This is beautiful!” remarked Neal.
“Yes, isn’t it? You’ve never been to the Bay Area before?”
“Never. I didn’t know what I was missing. And what a great little spot to eat!"
“Yeah, I like this place. They say the word bistro comes from the Russian occupation of Paris in 1814 after Napoleon was defeated and put into exile on the island of Elba. The Russian word for quickly is bystro. It is thought the Russian occupying officers would force the Parisians to feed them and would say quickly in Russian. Hence, the term bistro was applied to small French restaurants that served food rather quickly. That’s your trivia for the day.”
“Interesting,” added Neal, not really listening to Rafe as he gazed out over the water, lost in thought.
“So tell me more about the visitor activity around the fort,” said Rafe, as he noticed he had lost Neal's attention and therefore changed the direction of the conversation.
Neal was jerked back to reality and replied a few seconds later after thinking about Rafe's question. “We’ve only got circumstantial evidence, you understand. Several of the residents along the coast near the fort have reported to police that they have seen frequent fires burning around the fort itself, multiple fires at once in fact, usually late in the evening. It could be torches from one of the rituals you have spoken of. Some of the locals have been quite upset and vocal about it and want it to stop.”
“How often have you had these reports? And have the police found anything?”
“We’ve located a handful of eyewitness complaints thanks to the cooperation of your local police. And no, the police have found nothing when they checked them out. To them, it was just a false alarm. But to the trained eye, well it could be something else, couldn't it?"
"And this was enough for you to fly all the way over here?"
"Yes, it was. We don't have that much to go on. However, there is more. Your government has picked up signal traffic. You're very good at that you know. They've collected several conversations about events at the fort. It seems they've been monitoring some of the same people we have and passed on the information to us recently. It seems your NSA has been quite productive."
"Yes, we've become quite accomplished at spying on our own people. So some of the visitors mentioned these so-called events? In what manner?"
"They've been caught discussing going to the fort in San Francisco. It doesn't take too much to put two and two together now, does it? It's probably the visitors."
"Well that is interesting."
"And here's the mother lode. They've discussed tonight as a possible time frame for an event."
"Really? Do you have a time? That is something to fly all the way over here for!"
"Yes, I thought you might see the light."
"So where do we go from here?"
"Once it gets dark," added Neal, "We go to Fort Ross."
An hour and a half later, the sun was approaching the horizon, and Neal motioned for the waitress to bring the check. She returned shortly with the bill. Rafe nonchalantly threw some cash on the table to cover the dinner and drinks. After standing, he reached down to add a few one-dollar bills for the tip. Neal followed his movements and saw the dollars lying on the table with the back of the bills facing up. He became transfixed on the image presented to him on the back of the one-dollar bill. It was a pyramid adorned at the top, with the Eye of Providence, or the all-seeing eye. Neal stared at the image for several uncomfortably long seconds.
"You okay?" asked Rafe, noticing Neal's trance on the image.
"Yeah, I guess so," responded Neal as he forcibly broke his gaze away from the dollar.
"You've never seen the back of a U.S. dollar before?"
"I'm sure I have, but no, can't say that I've ever noticed. Interesting design." said Neal squeamishly. His face had turned white as a ghost.
"First time for everything," added Rafe suspiciously. What was that all about? he wondered to himself. Something stirred in the back of his mind and he became suspicious of Neal and his interest in the all-seeing eye.
Rafe and Neal drove the hour-plus route up to the area on the coast where Fort Ross was located. The fort was perched on a flat cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The view was quite stunning during the daytime. The site had attracted the early Russian explorers for its beauty as well as its natural security features. The fort sat in the middle of a large grassy area, no trees or any other obstacles around it. No one would be able to approach the citadel unseen from any direction, providing an extra modicum of safety.
It was a square, wooden structure surrounded by walls built with sharp pointed poles, as forts were constructed in that era. Multiple wooden buildings were located inside. Guard towers were placed on the four corners of the fortress. There were several modern buildings outside the structure that housed tourist facilities and other commercial ventures, but the majority of the grounds were made to resemble the early nineteenth century Russian stronghold.
Fort Ross had been a Russian outpost at the farthest reaches of imperial Russia as the tsar searched for lucrative fur pelts to line his pockets and finance the wars in Europe. The Spanish had claimed the land of California to the south but the north was wide open to Russian explorers. The fort also helped supply the Russian Alaskan community as well with raw materials.
Relations between the Russian colonial rulers and the native peoples of Alaska were adversarial at best. Many of the groups were conquered by Moscow but a few of the native Indians tribes held out against Russian rule. However, most were negatively affected by disease and outright brutality at the hands of the Russian occupiers. Moscow sold the fort in the mid eighteen hundreds as they pulled back to preserve their Siberian empire as war spread in Europe and Asia. The sale of Alaska took place a few decades later as the furs were over trapped and the supply was dwindling. Russia never again ventured into North America.
As they arrived, night was setting in and the entire compound was dark. They parked in the tourist parking area, away from the walls of the fort, and began walking towards the ocean. The moon highlighted the way as they progressed slowly, not knowing what to expect. They both were apprehensive.
The two men quickly passed the compound itself and, not noticing any activity, continued towards the ocean and soon were standing before a guard rail, which prevented any further advance. They were completely alone.
"I guess we wait?" asked Rafe.
"Sounds good to me. I'm glad it's warm. It could be a while. Who knows what we are likely to see tonight. Let's stay alert. We should see anyone coming."
Rafe pulled a cigar out of his sport coat and lit it. He held out one for Neal. "Care for one?"
"Sure, thank you. I love surprises." The moon was high in the sky now and bright as a beacon. They were highlighted against the ocean. "Tell me about San Francisco," added Neal after lighting the cigar and puffing to ensure the tobacco was well lit all the way around the far end.
"What do you want to know?" asked Rafe as lit his cigar as well and drew the smooth tobacco smoke into his mouth.
"I want to know about the soul of the city."
"The soul of the city is dying," responded Rafe.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I drove through it today. There are homeless everywhere. There is no work ethic. It's just anything goes it seems and someone else will pay for it."
"That's what happens when you promise a society everything they want," responded Neal.
Rafe looked at him for a few seconds, trying to understand his meaning. "Do you know something I don't, Neal?"
"Yes, I think I do, Rafe. And it's time you knew as well."
"What do you mean by that?" Rafe asked suspiciously, his spine stiffening, a sense of dread washing over him. His new suspicions about Neal seeming to be confirmed, his anxiety level for Clare increased as well.
Neal said nothing for several moments, then finally spoke. "Why don't you follow me?" Neal hopped over the railing and started walking to the edge of the cliff. Rafe followed cautiously, his guard highly aroused. They approached the point of no return on the cliff, and Neal turned to Rafe. "What do you see below?"
Rafe walked to the edge and stood beside Neal. Far below, there was a small beach where the waves crashed into the land from the ocean, having whittled away the dirt from below the cliff over the centuries. Rafe leaned over the edge and looked down. A hundred feet below, he saw a large group of torches arranged in a circle on the sand. He could vaguely make out dark shapes around the fires. The people started chanting in some kind of dialect that Rafe couldn't understand. Neal spoke. "I think it's time we go down, don't you, Rafe?"
"I'll follow you from a distance," Rafe responded, being very cautious.
"Your call," replied Neal. The two started walking along the edge of the cliff. Soon Neal turned and spoke to Rafe, who was walking a few meters behind. "Follow me down these stairs; they've been carved into the rock. They are solid, but the lighting is not great as you can see, so be careful."
"I appreciate your concern," responded Rafe sarcastically.
"I thought you might," Neal said as he smiled politely. He started down the stairs and Rafe followed, slowly negotiating the rough, stone steps. Ten minutes later, they emerged on the beach; the waves crashed against the outlying rocks, creating a deafening sound. Rafe stayed a ways behind Neal as he walked towards the torches. Rafe could make out the altar in the center of the ring of fire, the hooded figures silently surrounding the area in a familiar arc. When he had reached the group of people, suddenly Neal turned towards Rafe and spoke. "Rafe, we've been waiting for your arrival here. We are glad you are finally among us, so we can talk."
"So you knew I would come here? Or better yet, you led me here?"
"Yes, you could say both statements are true!"
"So I guess the question is, why?"
"Because we want you to join us, Rafe!"
"Join you in what?"
"We want you to join our little group here. We have a lot of fun at our recurring gatherings! Haven't you seen?" Neal said with a laugh.
"You forget the small issue of my daughter's disappearance."
"Well, I'm sure our leader can help with that. The real question is whether or not you will become one of us."
"Where is your leader?” asked Rafe.
"You will see him again soon enough."
"What are you trying to accomplish? What are your goals? Tell me what you are trying to do!" demanded Rafe.
"I think that is painfully obvious, and you know very well what we are trying to do! Just look at all of the poverty, joblessness, and corruption all around you in this city! Isn't it wonderful! It gives me a hard-on!"
Rafe looked into the eyes of the hooded figures standing around him in a circle. The torches flashed an orange glow into their faces. He recognized many of them, as they were frequent figures in government, academia, and in the media. He was among a group of very powerful people indeed. Rafe said nothing for a while.
"Let it go, Rafe! Join us! It's no use trying to resist. Everything has been planned! You are supposed to be one of us!"
"I guess I didn't get the memo. And besides, murdering families in the middle of the night just doesn't appeal to me!"
"That matter couldn't be helped! Sometimes things must be done for the good of the society!"
"Yeah, I remember Stalin said something like that."
"He was a wise man!"
"Whatever you say, Neal. So let's cut to the chase. There is no way I'm going to join your little band of marauders. It's just not my bag, baby. So why don't you give me back my daughter, and let's call it a day, huh? That way you can go back to England and continue whatever evil journey you are on, and I can get back to writing. How does that sound?"
"I'm afraid it's not so easy, my friend. And besides, I can't give you your daughter back. That will come from the leader, if he decides to do so. I was merely asked to invite you to join our group."
"Well, as I said, that's not going to happen."
"Suit yourself. But I must tell you, there will be consequences. It would be much easier if you just submit now and avoid all the unpleasantness! Speaking as your friend of course!"
"You are not my friend!" responded Rafe.
"That's where you are wrong. You see, I was given an offer I couldn't refuse as well. Now, I'm happy I made the right choice. It's not that difficult once you get the hang of it! Trust me!"
"I used to trust you. No longer."
"I had no choice, Rafe, and neither do you."
"We'll see about that."
"Yes, you are right about that one! The problem is, I'm not sure you'll get another chance."
"Well, your leader asked me to find something. Is this it?"
"Aaah, yes. You are correct. I'm not sure how to answer that. You will have to figure that out on your own, as he said. All I know is he will be disappointed in your answer tonight."
"I guess I'll deal with him some other time. So what do we do now that I have refused your offer? Are you going to kill me here on the beach?"
"Oh no! Nothing rude like that, I assure you. We are simply going to blindfold you and tie you up. That way you can't see us leave. We'll leave enough slack so that eventually you can get free, but, it will take you a while. Good night, Rafe!" With Neal's comment, someone from behind Rafe put a hood over his head, and whatever light there was went out. Rafe was hog-tied and left on the beach. The crashing of the waves drowned out any sound of the visitors leaving and heading back into society.