Page 21

Hagen held the handle above the passenger seat window as Stella pulled off the road and onto a dirt track. They bounced through the darkness, the wheels of their rented GMC Yukon crunching over the frozen mud. His stomach felt queasy. That pizza wasn’t sitting well.

On the drive over, he’d called Journey Russo and informed her on where they were going.

Journey, in turn, told him they were on their way.

Hagen imagined the pair of them were bored. They didn’t seem the types to sit things out. He wanted to tell them to wait, but he was also interested in seeing them in action. Plus, this was their turf.

“Is that them?” Stella looked in the rearview mirror.

Hagen glanced at the passenger side mirror. Sure enough, it looked like a black Bureau-issued SUV was tearing up the road behind them. They’d made quick time.

“That’s them.”

The SUV fell in behind them and matched their pace. They looked like a protective detail for the president. If any Meyersdale citizen had looked out their window at that moment, they might’ve been a bit intimidated. Hagen felt a strange sense of comfort with Journey and Lucas behind them.

A dark shape grew out of the gloom straight ahead.

Through the mist, Hagen could just make out a rectangular wall, broken windows, and the jagged shape of a roof the weather had partially destroyed.

If someone was in there—someone who believed the world was about to end and had killed to seal his place in the days to come—they needed to approach quietly.

“Shut off the lights. Let’s go in on foot.”

Stella pulled over and turned off the headlights, and Hagen noted the SUV behind them did the same. The engine died. They sat there for a moment, watching the building. Nothing moved. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted.

She spoke quietly. “Maybe he’s not in there. Doesn’t look like the place is fit for habitation. Especially not this time of year.”

“Maybe we should go back to that bar.”

“You want another Coke?” Stella lowered her chin and fixed her gaze on him.

Hagen hadn’t even wanted the first one.

“I was thinking we should go back and kick some asses in there for sending us on a wild-goose chase. We don’t have time to sit in a muddy field in the dark, watching an empty building.”

A yellow light flickered through the filth of a broken window.

“Not so empty.” Stella eased open the door and stepped outside.

Hagen followed. They left the doors open. The light fog swirled as the warm air leaked out of the cab.

Beside them, Journey and Lucas also climbed out and left their doors open. They moved like ghosts .

Quickly, they synced their mics and earpieces.

Hagen opened his coat to have easier access to his shoulder holster but didn’t draw his gun as he walked alongside Stella. Journey and Lucas fell in behind them as if they’d all worked together for years.

The freezing mud clung to the sides of Hagen’s shoes and made a soft sucking sound. Cleaning them would be a pain.

“Oxfords, huh?” Lucas whispered. “Good luck with those out here.”

Hagen noted that both Lucas and Journey wore black boots.

“At least he looks good.” Journey crept to the side, indicating she and Lucas would take the back entrance. The pair broke off.

“I like her.” Hagen stepped closer to Stella.

“Blah, blah. ‘She told me I’m pretty,’” Stella teased, her voice softer than the wind.

They reached the door, an old wooden thing that hung crookedly on its hinges. A thin strand of yellow light squeezed below the planks. Stella gripped the handle, but Hagen held up a finger to stop her.

Crouching, Hagen crept to the broken window until he was directly beneath it. He lifted his head and, using the tip of his finger, cleared a small hole in the grime covering the glass.

A man, maybe thirty years old, sat in the middle of the floor. The front area seemed to be a living room. A small kitchenette stood in the far corner. The guys at the bar weren’t lying when they said Brook Irving was down on his luck.

Irving had a ragged beard and long, dirty hair.

His chest was bare despite the frigid air, and the lines of his ribs, along with some visible scabs, were highlighted in the pale glow of a flashlight that hung from a post above him.

A pair of dog tags on a silver chain glinted in the light.

He scratched the sparse hair on his chest with the end of a pen, then bent over a sheet of paper on the floor in front of him.

At least a dozen sheets were arranged around him in three rows of semicircles. One sheet was held down by an old cell phone with a crack that ran up the screen. Another sheet was held in place by the weight of a gun.

As Irving lifted the sheet to place it on the pile in front of him, Hagen recognized the familiar pattern of lines and triangles, the cuneiforms that this strange cult carved into its victims.

That Charlie Caine’s killer carved into his victim.

Hagen turned to Stella and pointed in Irving’s direction, keeping his voice low. “It’s our guy. He’s got a gun.”

“Copy that.” Any teasing had left Journey’s ghost of a murmur. “Breaching rear exterior.”

Even though neither Hagen nor Journey had made a noise, Irving lifted his head, as if his Spidey-sense had activated. He looked right at Hagen with strangely soft blue eyes that contradicted every other thing about him.

In one quick sweep of his arm, Irving grabbed his gun from the pile of papers in front of him and fired.

The window shattered, showering Hagen with broken glass. “Shots fired.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Through his earpiece, Hagen heard Journey and Lucas entering in earnest. “FBI!”

Stella yanked open the front door and leaped inside. “FBI. Put the gun down, Brook.”

Shaking glass from his shoulders, Hagen took his Glock 17 out of its holster and ran in after her.

She didn’t shoot, even though the man was armed and dangerous.

Journey and Lucas stood in the kitchenette. Weapons were drawn, but they didn’t fire either .

Everyone wanted him to be able to talk.

The only cult member they’d found alive had been Tyra Scharf, and she wasn’t cooperating.

Stella stood against the front wall, her weapon in hand. Irving was now on his feet in the corner of the shack. The agents’ flashlight beams cut through the dim light.

His chest heaved in time to his rapid breaths. He held his gun to his temple.

Hagen lowered his weapon, and the others followed suit. “Put it down, Brook. There’s no need for this. You need help. We can get you that help. Just lower the?—”

“No.” Irving shivered, though whether the cause was cold or fear, Hagen couldn’t tell. “No one can help. I know why you’re here. You’re here because of Charlie. He was my friend.”

Stella shifted sideways, out of the puddle of her flashlight’s pale-yellow glow.

“We know he was, Brook.” Journey sidled ever so slowly out of the kitchenette. She was closest to him. “We just don’t know why you killed him.”

“I had to kill him. I had to save him. He told me to.”

“Who told you? Put the gun down, and we can talk about it.”

Hagen glanced at Stella. Maybe Journey was getting somewhere.

Irving lowered the muzzle a tiny bit. “He…”

All four agents waited a moment longer, letting the silence encourage Brook to continue. When it became apparent he wasn’t going to speak, Journey pressed. “He? Who’s he?”

Hagen waited for an answer. They had to get him to put down the gun. But if he wasn’t going to, they had to get him to talk.

Irving adjusted the angle of the muzzle. A squeeze on the trigger would still be enough to blow his brains out. Hagen heard Stella’s breath catch. He was sure she was thinking of Maureen in the psychiatric hospital. That had not ended well.

“The Administrator. He said we had to make a sacrifice. Save ourselves. Save our friends. It’s what the prophecy demands.”

There it was. The mention of the mastermind behind all these murders. Hagen needed to be careful now. And he had to be fast. They had to find out who The Administrator was, who was running the Dispatch group.

“Who’s that, Brook? The Administrator. Who is he? Just put that thing down. You can help us. We can help you.”

Irving grinned. He was missing a front tooth. “You’ll see. It’s coming.”

He closed his eyes.

Stella shouted, “No!”

Déjà vu.

The boom that followed was much louder inside the shack than it had sounded to Hagen outside. The noise echoed off the wooden planks. It shook dust from the rafters and sprayed blood and brains onto the wall.

As the body thumped to the ground, Hagen dropped his head. “Shit.”

“The phone.” Stella was already standing among the sheets of cuneiform. She grabbed the cell phone and touched the screen.

Lucas caught on to what Stella was doing first. “Any luck?”

“It’s still unlocked. Let’s keep it that way.” Stella began typing and scrolling.

Hagen stepped closer, watching as she turned off the passcode requirement .

Stella swiped the screen. “But he is in that Dispatch group. We’re in.”

Ignoring the body still leaking blood in the corner of the shack, Hagen looked over Stella’s shoulder. She opened the app and scrolled through the messages. They were inside at last.

Reply after reply announced that the members were ready.

Hagen holstered his weapon, his focus still on the screen. “What are they ready for?”

Stella scrolled up. A message from someone with the username TheAdministrator declared that the end was coming.

It’s close now. Just two more days. Be prepared to prove yourselves.

Hundreds of replies followed.

Stella shook her head. “Brook was right. Something’s coming. Something big.”