Tricks and Traps (Gray Spear Society Book 7) (21 page)

"How did you meet?" she said.

"She was a
legionnaire
here. She was promoted last winter and sent to San Francisco to replace a commander who had died."

"That must've been tough for you."

"Very," he said, "but it was for the best. When we're together, I think about her too much. I lose perspective. I'm not as effective at my job. Ethel saw the danger and separated us."

"Harsh."

"It's a harsh business we're in, which reminds me. I never went over the rules with you. You're not allowed to marry or become pregnant. Members of the Society must commit fully to the mission. A family would get in the way. Relationships with outsiders are discouraged, and if you have one, you must use a false identity."

"That's an extreme position," she said. "You can't dictate how I lead my personal life."

"God made the rules. File a complaint with Him if you want them changed. You won't be the first. The penalty for a violation is death. I will be your judge, jury, and executioner."

"Have you ever killed one of your own people?"

"Not yet," he said, "but the possibility has come up."

"What happens if you break the rules, sir?"

"Ethel will kill me. It's a simple system." Aaron was staring out the windshield at the horizon. His expression was unreadable. "And she answers directly to God. We are all His soldiers."

Sheryl sighed. She didn't like the system but was clearly stuck with it. At least she knew exactly where she stood.

They were flying north at high speed over a vast suburban landscape. Sheryl had expected to see a uniform grid, but only the big avenues followed a regular pattern. The small residential streets had plenty of loops and dead ends. Each block used a different plan, and some seemed purposely tricky.

She settled back in her seat and listened to the engine whine.

* * *

Sheryl was standing on the main stage of the Huhawira Casino in the exact spot where she had died. Exit signs provided a little red light, but otherwise, the theater was dark. Even the usher lights were off. The quiet was eerie. She couldn't hear the slot machines outside the doors.

She was impatient to begin her performance. The show was going to be short but spectacular.

A door in the back of the auditorium opened, allowing a stream of light to leak in. A man walked through the opening. She couldn't see him clearly, but it had to be Wilman.

"Hello?" he called. "Is anybody here? I got a text from security telling me to come."

Spotlights slowly came up on the stage, and all of them were aimed at Sheryl. Marina was in the control booth operating the lights.

Sheryl knew exactly what Wilman would see. Her white gown flowed elegantly from her shoulders to the stage. A splotch of fake blood marked the middle of her chest. Fog effects from a smoke machine played around her feet and softened her appearance. A diamond tiara glittered in the bright light.

"Come here," she said.

He approached slowly. "You're supposed to be dead."

"I am dead."

He was close enough now that she could see him clearly in the gloom. His eyes were very wide.

"What's going on?"

"I came back from the grave to deliver a message to you," she said.

He took a step backwards and bumped into a shadowy figure. Aaron was there. Layers of black cloth covered the commander's body and black gauze enveloped his head. He was barely visible in the darkness. The unnatural shadows that clung to him made the effect more frightening. Even Sheryl was intimidated.

Wilman spun around. "Who is that?"

Aaron was silent.

"He is Death," Sheryl said. "I suggest you turn away and look at me instead."

The statement was meant to be dramatic, but it rang with truth. Aaron could be mistaken for an incarnation of Death.

Wilman faced her. "What do you want?" His voice was high and shaky.

She glided forward without moving her feet. She was standing on a platform attached to an electric forklift in the back of the stage. Tawni was driving the forklift. Wilman couldn't see the mechanism, and from his perspective, it would appear Sheryl was floating a few inches in the air.

He gasped.

"To save you from yourself," she said. "You have one chance for salvation. Otherwise, you'll be his."

She pointed at a high balcony, and a spotlight illuminated a large figure in black. It looked like Aaron, but it was actually Smythe in an identical costume. From this distance, it was impossible to tell the difference. Aaron had already ducked out of sight. Wilman would assume "Death" had teleported to the balcony.
The twin assistant trick,
Sheryl thought.
A classic that never goes out of style.

The high spotlight went out.

Wilman was shaking. "What chance?"

"This casino has ruined the lives of thousands of people," she stated in a deep voice. "Many committed suicide. Their damned souls cry out for justice. You can help stop the madness."

"But I'm just an accountant."

He looked so terrified it was almost comical. She felt sorry for him.

Aaron slipped up behind Wilman and wrapped his hands around his throat. Wilman was lifted off the ground by the neck. He frantically struggled and kicked, but he was being held in an iron grip.

"No!" Sheryl said. "Don't take him yet. He still has time."

Aaron put Wilman down. Wilman gasped for air and looked back, but Aaron had already vanished silently into the darkness. For such a big man, he was astonishingly slippery.

Wilman vomited onto the carpet.

"A woman with red hair came to you today," Sheryl said. "She is your guide to salvation."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Smythe walking across the stage behind her, still in his black costume. To Wilman, it would appear that Death was everywhere.

Wilman wiped his mouth. "But she just wanted to know about the monkey machines."

"Machines made of lies, secrecy, and hatred. You've seen the evil with your own eyes. Don't deny it."

He swallowed. "You're right. You're absolutely right!" He raised his head. "Those machines suck the soul out of everybody who touches them. The guilt has been tearing at my guts for months. I attended the meetings. I signed the agreements and authorized the payments. I could've stopped it at the beginning, but I saw a revenue stream that was too juicy to pass up. What have I done?!"

Tears were rolling down his cheeks. The strong reaction made Sheryl hesitate. This scene was getting too real.

She pointed at the floor. Floodlights came up and illuminated much of the stage. Nothing had been touched since last night's performance. A big splotch of dried fake blood was still there. Some yellow police tape and chalk marks had been added though.

"This is where I died," she said. "My time is up, and I don't have any more choices. You still do."

The platform she was standing on glided backwards, and simultaneously, a large mirror descended. It reflected black against a black background, so Wilman couldn't see it from his position. The motion stopped when she was towards the back of the stage. The invisible mirror was just above her head and a foot in front of her. She was surrounded by open space.

A waterfall of dense theatrical smoke cascaded down from far above and fell straight on her head. She held her breath. She didn't like the smell of the mineral oil used to make the smoke. Intense beams of light turned the smoke into a column of shimmering mist. It was a dazzling effect.

The platform lifted her up. She grabbed a ladder mounted on the back of the mirror. The platform withdrew into the backstage darkness, and the mirror rose straight up. Wilman would've seen a woman rise into the mist and vanish.

Sheryl's prerecorded voice boomed through the auditorium, "You still do."

All the lights went out.

She carefully got off the ladder and climbed onto a high catwalk above the stage. She couldn't see anything so she took her time. A fall from this height might kill her. Dying on this stage for real would be an ironic end.

She heard thumping noises below. She expected Wilman was desperately groping his way towards the nearest exit. A moment later, a door opened and closed as he successfully escaped.

Sheryl felt around until she found a flashlight taped to the catwalk. She turned it on, and being able to see again was a relief. Her teammates also had flashlights. Beams of light moved around the theater as everybody converged.

She walked to the end of the catwalk and climbed down a ladder as quickly as she dared. She had to hold the flashlight in her mouth during the climb. By the time she set foot on the stage, Aaron, Marina, Smythe, and Tawni were already there.

"Let's go," Aaron said.

They hurried through the darkened backstage area.

Suddenly, all the lights came on, and Sheryl heard yelling in the auditorium. Casino security had arrived.

Aaron silently opened an exit door and the rest of the team followed close behind. They emerged into muggy air and late afternoon sunlight. He kept running until everybody was safely crouched behind a van in the parking lot.

Aaron stripped off his black costume to reveal a casual outfit underneath. After Smythe took off his wrappings, he was back in the blue suit of an FBI agent. Tawni gave a paper bag to Sheryl that contained fresh clothes for her. The team politely looked the other way while Sheryl changed.

"Well done, everybody," Aaron said. "Not a single mistake."

"You were great," Tawni said to Sheryl.

Sheryl smiled. "Thanks."

Marina's phone rang.

She put it against her ear and said, "Hello? Mr. Wilman? Calm down. Talk slowly so I can understand you. Wait. Just hold on. We'll come to your office. You can explain everything to me in person."

She put her phone away.

"That sounded like good news," Aaron said.

She nodded. "I suppose you and Sheryl can hang out in the casino until we're done with Wilman."

"I hate casinos, and this place isn't safe for Sheryl. We'll do something else."

She gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "I'll see you later."

Marina, Tawni, and Smythe walked off.

Aaron turned to Sheryl. "We have a little free time."

"We could just relax," she said. "That's not against the rules, is it?"

"Why relax when you can do more training?"

Her shoulders sagged.
This man is a slave driver,
she thought.

He looked around. "Let's find some locked doors. I want to see you pick them."

"I don't have any lock picks."

"Ah!" He raised his finger. "Conveniently, I always carry a set."

"How lucky for me."

Chapter Eleven

Tawni and Smythe followed Marina back to Wilman's office.

He looked like a different man than the one from before. His hair was unkempt and his eyes were bloodshot. His expensive, black jacket was lying on the floor.

"You got here quickly," he said.

Marina nodded. "We were looking around the casino."

"All the details are here." He shoved a piece of paper across the desk. "I wrote down everything I know about the monkey machines, which isn't much."

"Who is the vendor?"

"I never got his name or number. I met him just once."

She sat across from Wilman. "Strange. How do you do business with him?"

"Every month or so, one of his associates meets me. I never know ahead of time, and it's never the same man twice. They just show up and take orders for new machines."

"Sounds shady."

"Everything about this is shady," he said.

"Do you pay for the machines on the spot?"

He shook his head. "The money transfer is done separately."

"How?" she said.

"There is a hedge fund named Golden Spiral Investments. We just deposit the money in our account there."

"And somebody else transfers it out?"

"No," he said. "The account loses value over time until the money is gone."

She furrowed her brow. "I don't get it."

"All I know is we've put a hundred million dollars in that fund, and only two million is left. It's a great tax write-off. The account numbers are here." He tapped the paper.

"Sounds like a money laundering scam. Why did you engage in such an obvious criminal undertaking?"

"We were desperate. The competition in the gambling business is brutal these days. It seems like a new casino pops up every week, and there are a thousand unregulated internet sites. Those monkey machines saved this casino from bankruptcy and turned it into a profitable enterprise. They earned me a very nice Christmas bonus."

He put his face in his hands and shuddered. Tawni wondered if he was about to cry.

Marina took the paper and put it in her pocket. "You met the man behind all this once. Can you describe him?"

"Very handsome. Sharp dresser. Sociable. Brown hair, brown eyes. He had some big, tough bodyguards with beards."

"Russians?"

He stared at her. "They had Russian accents. How did you know?"

"We're not completely clueless. Is there anything else you can remember?"

"No." He shook his head. "That meeting was years ago, and it wasn't long. He gave us two free monkey machines to get us started. They were early models, but they still made money like crazy from the first day. We've been snapping them up ever since."

"Do you have any idea why they're so incredibly popular?"

"They're possessed."

She raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"That man is the Devil. I sold my soul for a Christmas bonus. I sold a lot of souls that day."

"Let's not get carried away."

"Are we done?" he said. "I have no more information."

She stood up. "For now."

"Good."

He reached into a desk drawer and took out a gun. Before anybody could stop him, he jammed the barrel into his mouth and pulled the trigger. His brains splattered across the wall.

Tawni stared in astonishment.

"Let's go!" Marina said.

She hustled out the door. Tawni and Smythe followed close behind.

* * *

Aaron checked his watch. "It's taken you three minutes so far. That's too long. Hurry!"