The Cult (10 page)

He looked down at the medallion on his chest. “The Legionnaire’s medal of honor, General.”

“And why did you receive it?”

Latorre pursed his lips, fiddling with his beret. “For saving the Captain’s life, General,” he whispered.

Laiveaux leaned forward. “Speak up, man.”

“For saving the Captain’s life, General,” Latorre said, louder this time.

Laiveaux smiled and nodded. “If it weren’t for you and Voelkner, Captain Guerra wouldn’t have blessed us with her sparkling persona and gentle heart today. I climb out of bed every morning thanking God for sending you two to look out for her while she was still a recruit in the French Foreign Legion.”

Latorre smiled uneasily.

Laiveaux jumped up, strode around the table and slapped the man lightly on the shoulder. “That’s a compliment, man. Captain Guerra is simply trying to pay you back for saving her life so many years ago.”

Laiveaux opened the door. “Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

Latorre stood up, stuck his beret on his head and saluted smartly.
 

“Oh, Latorre,” he called.

Lieutenant Bis Latorre spun around on his heel, casting the general a questioning look.

“You know that the Captain is extremely fond of you?”

Latorre nodded. “Yes, General.”

“And extremely protective over you.”

Latorre smiled. “Yes, General.”

Laiveaux sighed. “Don’t screw up and get yourself killed or something.”

“I won’t, General.”

Laiveaux nodded a good bye, closed the door and sighed. He sauntered to the liquor cabinet and poured himself another Cognac. “Be safe, Lieutenant. The Captain would never forgive me if something were to happen to you.”

Alexa slipped out of the seat of their rented Chevrolet and inspected the building from the parking lot, her hands on her hips. She glanced sideways at Neil and he shook his head, an amused grin on his face. “Welcome to the spiritual capital of Vegas, Captain.”

It had taken them almost two hours to get to the place, having been built deep in the Mojave Desert. The building was a three-story monolith with large, Roman columns in front. A twelve-foot-high statue of what looked like a woman holding her arms outstretched stood in the middle of a fountain in front of the building. Her right hand was slightly raised, gripping a staff which had an elaborate trinity knot sculpted at the top. Jets of water formed elegant arcs and splashed down at the statue’s feet.

The building was surrounded by acres of neatly-tended lawns as far as the eye could see. Dotted across the grassy lawns stood sculptured reliefs of various animals, a growling lion and some prancing buck, an escutcheon of the
fleur-de-lis
, the three-petalled lily, fastened to their chests.
 

A large sign board stood to the side of the building. It said
Welcome to Illumenex Park. Please report to Reception.

They strolled along a shaded walkway fenced in by tall Sissoo trees. At the top of the arched doorway was another emblem of a female with outstretched arms. This one had wings as well, and wore a crown with what looked like an eye set in front.

They entered the building through large glass doors which sucked closed behind them, a refreshing puff of cool air greeting them as they entered. The floors were shiny white granite, and the soothing sounds of running water and birds tweeting drifted to them from hidden speakers.

A smiling young woman and man stood behind a white granite reception desk. They wore garments that looked like flowing robes, the man had a bizarre golden tassel around his head and the woman wore a white hood. Both wore a thickly corded golden chain around their necks. The same type Danny Gonzales had worn in the questioning room.

“Welcome to Illumenex Park,” the man said with a beaming smile. He did some weird stuff with his hands, an intricate alien greeting of some kind, then bowed.

“Are you attending an orientation course or would you like to make use of the Park’s spa facilities?” the woman asked, the same funky hand signal followed by a bow. She folded her hands into the sleeves of her robe, like an ancient female druid.

Alexa showed the woman a badge, resisting the urge to do the funky chicken. “My name is Captain Alexa Guerra from Interpol. This is Superintendent Neil Allen. We’d like to speak to a Mr. Joe Di Mardi.”

The man pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side, a quizzical expression on his face. “Do you have an appointment with Grand Master Di Mardi?”

“Nope,” Alexa said.

“Then I’m afraid—“

Neil slapped his hand down on the solid granite reception desk. “Check the badge, pal. If you can’t read, it says
Interpol
, which means one of two things. Either your boss is in deep shit already or he’s going to end up in deep shit if he doesn’t speak to us within the next five minutes.”

The woman pursed her lips and rubbed her hands down her robe, as if she was trying to straighten out a crease. She turned on her heel and flicked her head back. “I will see if the Grand Master is willing to accommodate your request,” she said and marched away, the robe billowing out behind her. She wasn’t wearing any shoes.

“Tell him that we may accommodate him by not locking him up today,” Neil called after her.

The man behind the reception desk closed his eyes and sighed, shook his head. After a deep breath he opened his eyes and smiled, pointing toward some white leather couches. “Please have a seat and help yourself to some Rooibos tea.”

They strolled to the couches. If felt like they were in a Roman bathhouse, the sound of water trickling everywhere around them. “What’s Roy Bush tea?”

“It’s pronounced Roy Boss,” Alexa said. “It means red bush and grows indigenously in the mountainous areas of the Cape Province in South Africa. You should try some, it’s very aromatic.”

Neil flopped down onto a sofa while Alexa inspected a serving area containing an array of cups and cutlery. She popped teabags into two cups and filled them with boiling water, strained it and handed a cup to Neil.

He sniffed it. “No milk?”

“It’s better this way, trust me.”

He took a sip, nodded. “Nice.”

Alexa turned around as they heard the urgent patter of naked feet on granite. A tall man with a kid’s face strode towards them. “Agents, please follow me to the board room.”

His face looked almost angelic, a smooth, white porcelain skin with full red lips. The face was framed by a mop of curly black hair which bounced up and down as he energetically propelled himself forward. Alexa and Neil caught up with him, strutting along, shoulder to shoulder, down a wide passageway that could easily accommodate four cars side-by-side.
 

The man smiled, his lips pouting slightly as he did so. “Sorry, my name is Joe Di Mardi, and you are?”

“Captain Alexa Guerra and Superintendent Neil Allen,” Alexa said, showing her badge.

He ushered them into a room with a white granite table and white leather chairs. “This place must be a bitch to keep clean,” Alexa muttered.

“What was that?” Di Mardi asked.

“I love the scenery,” Alexa said with a smile, looking out through a large wraparound window to the side of the room. Two imposing ziggurats had been built a hundred yards away, white-robed men and woman climbing the stairs, baskets filed with what looked like fruit in their arms. “What are those?”
 

The man smiled, the sides of eyes crinkling to prove that he wasn’t a mere child. “Why thank you, Captain Guerra. Those are the temples of Isis and Ra, they took us almost ten years to complete.” He clapped his hands together. “I must say, I am pleased with the outcome.” He sat down. “How may I help you today?”

“Do you know a girl called Mika Wattana?”

He nodded. “Yes, I knew her well. She and some other kids always stood picketing at the gate, trying to convince people not to join our organization.”

“You didn’t have her removed from your property after these protests?”

The man shrugged, folded his hands together. “It’s a free country.”

“You spoke to her?” Neil asked.

The man held up a hand. “Wait, why all these questions about Mika, is she okay?”

“She’s dead, Joe,” Neil said, leaning back in his chair.

Joe Di Mardi’s hands went to his mouth, his eyes darting between Alexa and Neil. He pulled a hand through his hair and slowly shook his head. He fell back into his chair with a heavy sigh. “Great mother, Isis.”

“I’ll repeat my question,” Neil said. “Did you speak to her?”

Di Mardi nodded, dumbstruck. “We had long conversations. Arguments about the origins of the Bible and the true meaning of Salvation.” He looked up, his mouth open and eyes wide. “How did she die?”

“She was murdered,” Alexa said. “Tongue cut out. All her organs removed.”

Di Mardi swallowed.

“Kind of symbolic, isn’t it?” Alexa asked.

“What?”

“Someone’s tongue being cut out, someone who didn’t agree with your church, and who had, by your own admission, regular arguments with you. Eyes cut out to symbolize her blindness to the truth.”

Di Mardi glanced at Alexa. He now had a deep frown on his boyish face. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating Captain, but I don’t think—“

Alexa stood up. “Thank you for your time. Let’s go, Superintendent.”

They left Di Mardi in his cold stone board room. “What’s the rush?” Neil asked as they strode out of the automatic doors.

“He said he
knew
Mika well, past tense.”

“Maybe one of his disciples told him about her death.”

Alexa glanced at Neil. “The only people who knows is us, Inspector Ortell and the handful of people we told. Not one of those people are members of this…,” Alexa looked around, hesitated. “
Cult
.”

The desert heat hit them like a furnace blast to the face. “He did it,” Alexa said. “He killed Mika Wattana, and probably Eden Calloway as well.”

“How do you know?” Neil asked, unlocking the car remotely.

“Get in and drive, Neil,” Alexa said. “This heat is killing me.”

Neil cranked the air conditioner full blast and sped out of the parking lot. He glanced at Alexa. “So, how do you know?”

She studied his face for a moment, then looked at the road ahead. “I just know.”
 

She needed to get out of the place, it gave her the heebie-jeebies.

Lamont rewound the CCTV footage and gave a whistle. “Look at the ass on her.”

Di Mardi chuckled. “It looks even better in real life.”

“We should go work for Interpol. The girls are hot,” Lamont said with a smile, then took another sip of his vegetable smoothie. “You think she suspects anything?”

Di Mardi tucked his hands into his armpits. “No, I wouldn’t be too fussed.”

Lamont flopped into a leather couch and covered his hairy legs with his robes. “She got out of here in quite a hurry.”

“She knew she had nothing on us. Besides, how much harm could a beauty model do? Interpol is hiring floozies to give their public image a boost.”

“What about the big guy?” Lamont asked. “He looks dangerous.”

Di Mardi nodded slowly. “We’ll have to keep an eye on him.” He looked up at Lamont and smiled. “Let’s get back to happy thoughts, shall we?” He removed his arms from his armpits and flopped down next to Lamont. “Tonight we have a mass cleansing ceremony.”

Lamont grinned.

“I dibs the redhead,” Di Mardi said, slapping Lamont’s exposed thigh.

He shrugged. “I’ve cleansed her already, yesterday as a matter of fact.”

Di Mardi looked disappointed, then shrugged. “Ah well, I have another two hundred to choose from, so I guess I’ll be okay,” he said and winked.

Lamont chuckled. “We always are, Joe. We always are.”

Vatican City, Rome

Lieutenant Bis Latorre was scribbling furiously in his notebook. He would have to report back to Laiveaux, and he didn’t want to leave anything to chance. He looked up at the cultured-looking man sitting in front of him. Father Casanellas was impeccably groomed, even his eyebrows seemed plucked to perfection. “So you say that it was all coincidence?”

The man lifted his hands in the air. “How could it not be? I’m not a murderer,” he said with a laugh.

“And you were nowhere near…,” he paged back in his notepad. “Father Watson or Garland during the time of their murders.”

The Father shook his head emphatically. “Nope. And I have alibis to back me up.” The man’s eyes widened. “What if a killer is stalking us, taking clergymen out one by one?” His face was contorted into a fearful grimace and he grabbed Latorre’s arm. “What if I am next?”

Latorre patted the man’s hand. “Don’t worry, Father. If you want security assigned to you, I will be more than happy to oblige.”

The man closed his eyes, shaking his head. “No, I won’t be safe inside the City. Maybe I should leave, go somewhere until all of this has died down?”