Season of the Witch Read online

  “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Sokol has arranged for an early supper,” she turned and gestured to an industrial looking set of double doors. They opened automatically when approached. She again gestured for Briggs to precede her into the closed off area. He hesitated, and then walked through.

  What he saw was a dinning area that could have been ensconced in any fine hotel or private billionaires’ residence. The long table had chairs at each end and there were place settings for two. Fine crystal ringed even finer china and bright, shiny silverware.

  The woman walked to one of the chairs and pulled it out. “I hope you are fond of Chilean Sea Bass, Congressman. Mr. Sokol likes to stay local in his choice of menu.”

  Briggs said nothing but he did sit. The briefcase was securely placed beneath the table near his feet.

  He heard a loud hiss and then another set of double doors at the opposite end of the large room opened and his host came through wiping his hands on a towel. He had changed suits and when he approached, he tossed the towel across the room where it landed on a bronze bust of Vladimir Putin and draped over its dark features. He went to the table where the woman had pulled out his chair and he sat. Then she started to pour wine.

  “Thank you my dear. Mr. Briggs, this is my assistant Vexilla Trotsky.”

  The woman bowed her head as she poured a nice white wine for the congressman.

  “I imagine the name sounds familiar?” Dmitri Sokol said, as he opened a cloth napkin and placed it in his lap.

  “Vaguely,” Briggs answered as he sipped the wine and then looked closely and appreciatively at the glass.

  “Her Great-Grandfather was Lev Davidovich Bronstein, or better known to you and your countrymen as Leon Trotsky. Soon after the Bolsheviks came to power in 1918, he became a very powerful man. However, after Lenin’s death, he fell out of favor. Stalin sent him into exile where he was murdered on his orders in Mexico. The strange dialect you hear from my assistant is a bastardized form of Spanish and Russian.” As the woman placed the bottle of wine down, her hand was taken by Sokol and squeezed. “We have that in common you see. She is very loyal because both of our families were ruined by the great Stalin. We have both sworn since that men such as he will never rule our lives nor the lives of our people again.” Sokol kissed the woman’s hand and then shooed her away. Sokol sipped the glass of wine just as six men in red waiter’s attire entered. They placed a large china plate with steaming Chilean Sea Bass. “I hope you enjoy—luxurious meals are one of my weaknesses.”

  Briggs waited while the waiters left the dinning area. Then he placed the fork he never intended to use down on the polished tabletop.

  “My people failed to realize we were dealing with Russians,” he said as he drained the crystal glass of wine.

  Sokol, after biting into his meal, wiped his mouth and then stood. He retrieved the bottle and walked to the far end of the table and poured Briggs another glass. “That’s the problem with the world today Congressman. The separation of the human race by men that aren’t worthy to make that decision.” He sat the wine bottle down and then went back to his chair and placed the napkin back onto his lap. “You see, men like you and I need to realize that there is a much better way.” Sokol started to eat again as Briggs watched the confident man before him.

  “What is this about…Mr. Sokol is it?”

  The Russian wiped his lips again. He sipped more wine and fixed Briggs with an unsmiling glare.

  “When you achieve your goal in the political arena, I expect you and I will work closely together in changing the status-quo.” Sokol downed his glass just as his assistant made another appearance. Until we are ready, I need to satisfy certain elements back home, namely the very men you have been dealing with. My eventual elimination of these gentlemen may be the only way that you are ever truly free of them.”

  His assistant walked to the table and poured her employer another glass of wine.

  “That is what this is for,” Briggs held up the briefcase and then sat it back down. “I plan on fulfilling their request and then that will end our relationship.”

  Sokol chuckled and then placed a fork full of Sea Bass into his mouth. “I am always amazed how easily it is for Americans to lie to themselves. I guess it’s a form of delusion, as if you can control elements around you by telling yourself something that doesn’t meet the requirements of reality. I’ve learned from past experience that is a misnomer, sir.”

  “If I wanted to listen to someone’s warped opinion on delusional leadership, I would just turn on the television and watch that fool in the White House. Which his embarrassment over this hidden Group in Nevada and my election is the only reason we are even talking.”

  “As I was saying Congressman, as soon as I am in a position to please the men above me in power, the sooner I can remove them and insert my own play of the cards. If what you have in that case is what was requested by these men, the sooner I can achieve their goals and then eventually, mine. That goal is to take charge, and then you and I can make a new world. Together. When I eliminate certain enemies of my enemies, they will have no choice but admit to my growing power, Congressman. The names you have will help me achieve this. Trust you see. If my superiors trust me, they will never see the knife that plunges into their backs. More wine?” Sokol smiled and finished his dinner.

  * * *

  Congressman Harold Briggs, Independent nominee for his party to run for the highest office in the land was near panic as he watched Dmitri Sokol eat his desert. After the extraordinary claim made by his host, Briggs realized he was so far in over his head he saw no way to ever draw a free breath again.As Sokol placed his napkin onto his plate and watched as the waiter took it away, he fixed Briggs with a calm and collected look, as if he had not just delivered a speech that would rival anything Adolph Hitler would have given to his cronies in 1933. The man seemed not concerned in the least about divulging his plan and that was because Harold knew he was already in the rabbit’s snare. If he gave over the computer disc inside his briefcase his life would be over, and he was just realizing deservedly so.

  “So, I believe my superiors requested something from you. I assume it’s in that case you so reverently guard.”

  “You intend these people harm just so you can gain the confidence of men as low handed as you?”

  “An unfortunate way to put it Congressman, but in short, yes. What is your American saying, you can’t make a cake without breaking some eggs?”

  He held the case up once more. “These eggs are still Americans. Men and women not responsible for the illegal situation our presidency has placed them in. If I refuse to go further with you and your plan, it seems you may be placed in a very leaky boat my friend.”

  Sokol stood and lifted the bottle of wine and walked to the far end. He started to pour but Briggs placed his hand over the glass as if this would say in no uncertain terms that the pleasantries were now over. The Russian smiled and then moved back to his chair where he poured himself more wine and then sat.

  “In case you haven’t noticed Congressman, you are at the tiler of that leaky vessel. Perhaps you need to meet my ace in the hole,” he chuckled at the American saying, “the new friend that will make all of this and so much more possible. I hope sincerely he becomes your new friend also.”

  Briggs watched as Sokol downed the rest of his wine and then he placed the empty bottle upside down in an ice bucket as if putting a period on a very long and disturbing sentence in a horror novel. He stood and then walked to the double doors on the opposite end of the large dinning room. He opened them and then vanished.

  Briggs looked around nervously. He heard the creaking of steel against steel as the large platform was brushed by the angry sea growing around them. The feeling of movement made the congressman quite nauseated.

  The lights went out and even the outside sea view was cut off as steel blinds crashed down and sealed the windows. Briggs was so startled that when he suddenly stood, he knocked over his wine glas
s. He heard the sound of pumps and the soft hum of the air conditioning system as he felt around in the pitch blackness.

  “Hello? This is very amateurish, I assure you. I haven’t been afraid of the dark since—” He stopped in mid-sentence when he heard the double doors open. He tried desperately to peer into the darkness. “Sokol, stop these silly games.”

  Silence.

  “Turn on the damn lights!” he called out angrily.

  He heard shuffling noises coming from the direction of the double doors. The unplaceable sound was growing closer.

  “It’s very disconcerting being stalked by something you can’t see, is it not Congressman?”

  “Where are you Sokol?”

  “Safely out of the way of the predicament you find yourself. We never really know how our new associate will take to someone.”

  “What predicament? I insist you turn on the lights and get me back to my people.”

  “I’m afraid that is no longer up to me.”

  “Then who is it—”

  The long fingers caressed the left side of Briggs’ face and he yelped and jumped away, knocking over his briefcase. What ever had touched him was sickeningly warm and he could still feel the trace of something that felt like slime. He viciously wiped at his face.

  “Please, you’ve made whatever sadistic point you wanted, now turn on the goddamn lights!”

  “My associate thinks you are in need of more persuasion, Congressman. He wants assurance you will continue down the path of cooperation,” came the voice through what Briggs now knew was speakers arrayed around the room. “I would like you to meet the gentleman whose power will make all of our desires move from mere wishful thought to reality. Congressman Briggs, his actual name is damn near unpronounceable to pronounce correctly, so we just call him, Asmodius.”

  Briggs felt his legs twitter as if the start of a leg cramp. Then he felt his feet slowly come free of the floor. He tried in vain to keep contact with the polished steel but was helpless to anchor himself. Then he felt static electricity course through his body and his hair stood on in. He tried to call out but felt his throat tighten as if he were being chocked, all the while his black shoes kicked out trying to find some form of purchase. He felt as if he were nothing but a child’s doll being held at arm’s length. Then his nostrils caught the stench of something wholly unpleasant. It was as if a dead fish had lain too long in the Louisiana heat. Then he heard the shuffling sound again and his eyes widened as he realized that he wasn’t being held by whatever had entered the chamber. He was suspended in the air by some power that was merely projected by whatever had joined him in the dark. Then he was slowly lowered to the floor where he grabbed the back of a chair for support. Slowly the static electricity drained from his body. He breathed heavily trying to get his fear under some form of control.

  Suddenly the lights flared to a brilliance Briggs had to close his eyes too. He blinked several times when his vision finally cleared and he saw only Sokol’s assistant, Vexilla Trotsky, standing by the double doors. She was holding a small laptop computer and wasn’t even affording him her lovely smile which she had been showing all evening. He started to relax believing it was all just a put-on show just to scare him. He let go of the chair back and then he gathered what courage he had remaining and then he brazenly puffed out his chest, but that was when he sensed the movement behind him. He slowly turned and that was when Congressman Harold Briggs suffered the first near stroke of his life. The entity known as Asmodius was towering over the smaller man. His yellow eyes penetrated to his brain and he noted the recognition in the horrid creature’s face and body. It opened its mouth and then leaned down as its long, dark tongue came free of the scaly lips and licked the congressman’s left side of his face. He cowered when the moistness made his gorge threaten to rise. As he opened his eyes, he saw the long, clear teeth of the Grey and he cringed in terror. Then the creature moved back three steps and watched Briggs. Its head moved from side to side as it examined him like a bug under a microscope.

  “My God, are you people insane?” Briggs stuttered.

  The creature slowly brought up its left arm and extended the long digits of its hand palm up. A ball of blue light started spinning as if it were a small globe of bright electrical flame. He was forced to step back when the spinning ball of neon-like light slowed, and then blue and green sparks exploded, and Briggs went to a knee as the ball changed shape into bright red lines that shot free of the Grey’s hand. They formed first into a large star that expanded into a glowing four-pointed star and then as Briggs eyes widened in fright, a green circle of electrical light circled the star. Then the creature closed its large four fingered hand and the sparks flew and the pentangle vanished as if it had never been. The Grey gave Briggs a sickening grin, exposing his long, clear canines. The yellow eyes bore into his own and he had to turn from the sight.

  “The briefcase, please Congressman,” said the woman who watched on as if this whole thing had been planned from the outset.

  He started to bend over when the Grey moved swiftly, knocking the congressman from his feet. It stood over the case. Then to the amazement of Briggs, the creatures hand rose and then easily waved over the case on the deck. It rose into the air. With his eyes bulging, Briggs heard and then saw the cases clasps pop one at a time. The lid slowly opened, and the disc came floating free into the air. Briggs jumped when the case fell to the flooring of the dining area. On wobbly legs, the congressman backed up so hard he stumbled into the long table and then fell down next to the case. With a flick of the long-nailed fingers, the disc flew across the room and the woman deftly caught it. The Grey’s yellow eyes never left Briggs.

  As she inserted the disc into the laptop, she moved to the table and then she sat down as the drive warmed up. Briggs never noticed this because he was staring into the most frightening visage he had ever seen. He had been debriefed on the Greys after the war, had even attended an autopsy of one of their casualties, but until now he had never seen a live specimen in person, and it sickened him. As he lay on the floor the creature leaned over. With a curled hand the grey colored finger rose into the air, and so did Briggs. He floated as if he were lying on his back in the water.

  “Asmodius, put him down, please,” the woman said absentmindedly as she was giving the laptop commands.

  The fingers circled in the air and Briggs felt his body cartwheel as if he were spinning around the sun. Then he was thrown into a chair and the giant Grey hissed as if in warning. Its white, stringy hair flew from side to side as its entire body shook. Then Briggs heard the doors open and his eyes gratefully turned that direction. Sokol walked in with a glass of amber liquid and handed the glass of whiskey along with his smile over to a stunned and visibly shaken Congressman Harold Briggs. Sokol patted the man on the back in a mocking comforting gesture.

  “I believe Asmodius is attempting to say, welcome to the team, Congressman.”

  “Wh…what is that thing?” he stammered as he tried to get his breathing under control and his heart from bursting through his chest. “It…it… looks nothing like the dead Grey’s that I have been briefed on.”

  Sokol only smiled as he looked over at his assistant and saw the first few briefing photos Briggs had delivered come onto the laptop’s screen. The creature was still looking threatening at the frightened congressman. Then without moving the burning yellow eyes from him, waved a clawed hand toward the laptop, it shook and made both Sokol and his assistant jump in reverence to its power. A swirling ball of light appeared and spun as Earth would in its gravitational rotation. Then the image pixelized and the Grey opened its hand wide. Amazed, the three humans watched as the faces started to appear from thin air, rotating in five-foot projected representations around the darkened room. The Grey smiled, making Briggs want to void the wine he had consumed.

  The unidentified photos absconded by Briggs private investigators, himself and several traitorous entities inside the intelligence agencies, was that of the Match
stick Man and spinning beside it was a photo of Alice Hamilton, Anya Korvesky, Virginia Pollock and a man from Jack Collins security team, Sergeant Pete Sanchez.

  Chapter Four

  Lake Mead National Recreation Area,

  Ninety-Four Miles, East of Las Vegas

  Chain lightning crisscrossed the night sky sending most campers into fear induced hiding spots. The lake, normally calm, was sending waves of Colorado River water crashing onto the ragged shoreline. Boats, normally sitting calmly at anchor, were tossed about as if they were at sea instead of the manmade lake created by the construction of the Boulder Dam. Tents of campers were shaken and knocked down as the summer storm struck in earnest. The owner and operator of one of the smaller bait, tackle, and convenience stops was no different than the tourists when it came to fear of summer storms in the desert. He closed his store early and made for the apartment he owned above the shop.

  Bob Davies watched from an upstairs window as the lightning increased. Every boom that thundered from the sky told the men and women who called the desert home that there may be flash flooding in the area and that was what the denizens of the lake area feared most. On instinct, Bob, the sixty-three-year-old owner, ducked as the thunderous roar crashed overhead as if ducking would have made a difference. As the store beneath shook under his feet he could hear cans and bottles falling from his stocked shelves. Every sound of crashing and breaking made him cringe at the potential loss.

  “Bob, honey, what was that?” his fifty-seven-year old wife Emily asked as she came up behind him and held him for comfort.

  “It’s our damn profit margin shrinking again, that’s what. Goddamn desert, if it’s not one thing it’s another in this god-forsaken wasteland.”

  “That’s not what I mean, listen.”

  “To what, our inventory being smashed to pieces?”