Michael simply grunted a reply, “Hmm.” Then he knelt to check Elena.
Jackie was hunched with a hand on the wall, transfixed, not sure if what she saw was real or a manifestation of her desire to find her lost little girl. “Momma?” Elena yelped as she took off down the hall and into her mother’s embrace.
Jackie wept softly and closed her arms around her sweet little Elena, vowing silently to never again let her out of her sight.
Sean stepped back up to the window, the deep thrumming sound more distinct. Closer. He looked back at Michael, who had pulled a miraculously undamaged phone from his pocket. He had two text notifications from Agent Connor.
‘Rescue on the way,’ the first one read.
The next said, ‘We’ve been monitoring drone feed. My team got wind of what you were doing, all on-duty agents wanted to help. Hang in there.’
Michael let his hand fall to his side, the screen of his phone illuminating his leg. “Those are helicopters. They’ve sent a rescue team.”
The sounds of soft grateful sobs from Jackie and Elena spilled out into the cool night air. The others murmured their thankfulness as well.
𓂓
Slade watched the hacked video feed on the DEA drone and felt a sigh of relief when they arrived. He hoped everyone made it out.
As he logged off the feed, he heard footsteps in the stairwell just outside his door. The second-floor door swung open and two men poured through, dressed in similar suits. A few steps and they were in Slade’s office without a word. He shifted in his chair and asked, “Can I help you?”
One of the men took out his ID, showed it to Slade. “Agent Sparkman, DEA,” he said. “We’d like to talk to you about the drone you just hacked—our drone.”
“Look, guys, I was just trying to help one of our detectives,” Slade said. “One of the good ones.”
“Yeah, we know,” Sparkman said.
“All I did was distribute the feed to the mobile devices used by the DEA team members, the same people Officer Street had been working with. It was a long shot, but I figured once they saw what was going down, they would back him up.”
“Well, you were right,” Sparkman said. “But this isn’t what you think it is.”
“Okay, so what is it?” Slade asked.
“We want to hire you.”
“Hire me, the DEA?” Slade said.
“We could use your... particular tech skill set.”
“Look, I’m trying to be a detective, not a technician,” Slade replied.
“Maybe you can be both.” Sparkman paused, pulled something up on his phone, and showed it to Slade. “We have a case in Central Florida, Orlando area. An old friend of yours is in too deep.” With that, he showed Slade a photo of a man.
Slade sat back in his chair and turned away, shaking his head. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, face tensed. I thought I was done with all that.
“We know you might have an in. We want to plant you in Florida as an undercover agent. You can work the detective job in the department, sure, but you’ll also work on this for us.”
“I’ll have to think about it... talk to my wife about a move to Florida,” Slade replied.
“Do that,” Agent Sparkman said as he pointed to the floor. “This department is about to get gutted, corrupt to the core. You want to be long gone before that happens.”
𓂓
The Shaman hustled around inside his adobe dwelling, packing only what he would need. He had received word of Armando’s failure and knew they would come for him.
“True, the Demon Scorpion has been defeated,” he had implored the leader of the Scorpion Cartel on the early morning phone call. “But look what he accomplished.”
“He has left a path of destruction in his wake, and we have lost all we gained. The cartels have already fallen back into chaos,” the leader said.
“You call it failure. I call it success. Think of what more we can do if you—”
“Enough. Stay where you are. My men will be there to pick you up.”
The call ended. The Shaman walked outside, set the phone on a rock, and smashed it with another. He went back into his dwelling and sat on his cot with a huff. So much work lost. He knew he needed to leave right away, so he would only take the essentials. As he scanned his home for the items he would need, his gaze fell on a bundle of papers sticking out of the antique backpack that had been handed down to him. He reached for the olive-green canvas pack and searched for the hidden inner pocket. He found the flask of Himbeergeist raspberry Schnapps and regarded it for a moment before taking a satisfying drink and returning the flask to its hiding spot.
Knowing what was coming, he removed the bundle of papers along with a sack of coins. He spilled the coins on the bed beside him, then flipped through the papers until he located the one he needed. Setting the bundle down, he smoothed his fingers over his copy of the Liber Linteus de Cetamura with reverence. After the initial flush of warmth from the spirit, he felt a sudden chill and a rush of air. Hints of orange light filled his vision. The coins rattled with tension, emitting reddish and orangish glows. The Shaman placed a calming hand on them as the apparition appeared before him, then consumed him—merged with him. His eyes lit the inside of the dwelling with an orange glow. Then he understood. He would have to go into hiding for a time before making the journey to America.
In his mind, he heard Seti I. “The restoration of my inner circle must wait. Keep them safe. We are in danger, but you must tie up loose ends here before moving on. Then you must find this older woman. The one your pupil mentioned. And above all else, you must retrieve the Ouija.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jackie sat by the hospital bed, a wistful look on her face. Elena stood dutifully by her side. It had been a couple weeks since the events at Little Guantanamo. They had been airlifted out of the desert by the DEA response team and rushed to the hospital. Frederica and Rosaria were rescued along with Jackie, Clay, and Michael. Sean and Martha had gathered their gear, then drove the Suburban back to town.
Jackie’s and Michael’s wounds had been cleaned and dressed. A few stitches were needed. Michael required minor surgery on his shoulder. They’d both stayed in the hospital for a few nights for observation. Both eventually found themselves in Clay’s room along with Martha and Sean. Clay had not been alone since he’d arrived in a coma. He lost a significant amount of blood, but Sean’s field dressings had saved his life.
The sun began to set on another day. Still no movement from Clay. The machines beeped slowly, monitoring his vitals. Jackie reached out again and took his hand as she had done so many times over the past few days. She murmured soft words of encouragement, uncertain if he could hear. Then she stopped and looked down in surprise. He’d tightened his grip on her hand. She looked up and saw him staring back at her, a soft white glow emanating from his eyes.
Jackie put her hands on her mouth and sat back, unable to control her tears. Then, something in Clay shifted as the light left his eyes. He blinked and looked around at the people in his room. His gaze settled back on Elena and Jackie. His eyes clear and normal. No white light.
