CHAPTER 51
Beaver Creek, MT
Later that night, Yoni and Jake prepared to recon the Kensington site. They were dressed like something out of the Swamp Thing.
After seeing their get-ups, Laney didn’t even attempt to get them to let her tag along. She knew she was out of her league. She might know how to run a hierarchical linear model analysis, but recon a target in the dead of night while dressed like a creature from the black lagoon? Not her thing.
After the last night’s attack, though, Jake wasn’t leaving her unprotected. She had a Beretta to the right of her laptop on the coffee table and a fully loaded shotgun on the kitchen counter across from her. All the doors and windows were locked, the blinds down.
Yoni had even set up trip wires out in the yard and drive as an extra precaution. At the first sign of trouble she was supposed to get to the truck and beat it out of there. And according to Yoni, if anyone tried to stop her, she was supposed to mow them down.
As he left, he’d even slipped her a machete with a wink. “Just in case. Remember, dismemberment will probably work, too.”
She smiled wryly. Her life had certainly taken a turn to the absurd recently. Last week around this time, she’d been settling down to watch a movie about a cat who wanted to sing in the movies with Max and Kati. Now she was sitting in a wired house, armed, trying to find information that tied a U.S. Senator to a bunch of missing cons.
And she was coming up empty. Although Kensington certainly had no love lost for the criminal population, all of it was pretty standard stuff. He was a strong proponent of the death penalty and reducing the number of appeals for a death verdict. He even wanted to increase prison time for all offenses across the board. Basically his motto seemed to be, if you couldn’t kill them for their crime, they should be locked up for the rest of their life.
Laney shook her head. She knew that politicians loved to take strong stances against crime, but the reality was that by the time the criminal justice system got involved, it was usually too late to do anything. Criminals weren’t made when they turn eighteen. They were made through a lifetime of experiences.
Effective crime reduction policies involved early parenting classes, increasing the quality of education that children received, and providing children with a safe environment after school. Those options always looked too soft in the public arena. So Senator Kensington was towing the party line with regards to the appropriate way to deal with criminals – lock them away for as long as possible.
Everything else about him looked normal and above-board as well. Henry had sent over a dossier, and nothing stood out. There were no red flags. Age fifty-nine, Harvard-educated, ran for his first office at thirty-two after running a successful law firm. Married at twenty-seven. His wife had died from breast cancer twenty-four years later, leaving him a widower with two adult sons. One son had taken over his father’s law firm a few years back and the other worked for a hedge fund in Manhattan.
Kensington had made a name for himself on the national scene two years ago when he'd introduced his controversial crime bill. The bill had failed, but his popularity had continued to grow. He’d been considered a shoo-in for the next Republican nomination for president, at least until John Michaels star started rising.
On paper, everything looked good. No scandals, no affairs. He appeared to love God and country. Laney’s additional searches did nothing to change that view. He’d become more conservative in his views in the last decade, at least publicly, but there was nothing that stood out as a problem. He was squeaky clean.
She sighed, clicking on another internet site. “Let’s see if this one is any more useful.”
Her phone beeped and she checked the text message. It was from Rocky. “Pulled his picture off an ATM cam. Emailed you a copy. We're putting it thru facial rec.”
Laney accessed her email and clicked on the attachment Rocky had sent. Even though she knew what to expect, she jolted at the sight. The man glared at the camera, somehow conveying a palpable sense of menace even through the still photo. She shoved her chair back from the table, wanting to put some distance between herself and the picture.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
She shuddered as she remembered the sound of his body colliding with Jake’s car. She forwarded the email to Henry and then closed the picture. She didn’t need that face staring at her. Her nightmares were vivid enough.
She stood up and paced the room. She pulled out her phone and dialed Henry. Absently, she stood at the table and clicked through the pictures of Kensington she’d found. Some of the photos were obviously from the news media, some were surveillance photos. But there was nothing incriminating. Just pictures of the Senator waterskiing, snowshoeing, kissing babies, making a speech, meeting constituents.
He looked normal. Strong, patrician features, the slightest touch of grey at his temples. He looked like he was right out of central casting for a politician.
“But you never can tell, can you?” she murmured.
Her hand stilled over the computer as the next picture flashed across the screen. Paul’s companion’s face stared out at her. “Holy crap.”
She dropped back into her chair, pulling up Rocky’s picture. Her eyes shifted back and forth between the two shots. There was no mistake. It was the same man.
Henry’s deep baritone filled the phone. “Hi Laney. What are you still doing up?”
“Hey Henry,” She struggled to keep her voice even as she paced. “I um, was, um. . .
“Laney?
She gave herself a mental shake. “Sorry. Just got a double hit here. Rocky sent me a photo of Paul’s accomplice. And I just found pictures of him and Kensington. I’m not sure what his role is, but he’s connected to the Senator. I just sent you the picture from Rocky.”
“So now we’ve connected them. Hold on a sec.” She heard rustling and figured he was trying to get his large frame behind a normal desk. It must not be too easy being Henry.
“I can run a facial recognition. But it will take a while.”
“Okay. Rocky’s doing the same. Just let me know when you get something.”
“Will do.” Henry paused. “How’re you doing?”
“I’m okay.”
“Really?” Henry asked quietly.
She sighed, shutting down the pictures again and walking to the couch. She plopped down, pulling her legs under her. “I don't know, Henry. I mean, I keep trying to make sense of all of this and the one explanation that makes sense just seems impossible.”
“The fallen angels.”
She pulled a wool blanket from the back of the couch over her. “Yeah. When Dom first mentioned them, I thought he was crazy. But with the M.E.'s report and my own experience, what other explanation is there? And I checked out Cayce a little more thoroughly. The man was not a quack. He refused to take money for his work and he helped a lot of people. Research has even been done on his medical predictions, and he had an 86 percent accuracy rate. And I can't help but think...” her voice trailed off.
“If those reading were accurate, why couldn’t the other ones about Atlantis be just as accurate?” Henry sighed into the phone. “I know. I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
She drummed her fingers on the side of the couch as her eyes roamed the room. “In Cayce’s work, he speaks of the split between the Children of the Law of One and the Sons of Belial. But before that time, everyone lived and worked together. And Cayce never explains what caused the split. But if Dom’s right, the fallen angels caused it.”
“I came to the same conclusion. I just don’t know where that gets us.”
They both lapsed into silence for a few moments before Laney broke it. “Henry, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
She sat up from the couch and started tracing the outline of the handgun on the table. “When Dom mentioned that quote from the Book of Enoch, you and my uncle seemed to recognize it right away. I get why Uncle Patrick did, but why did you?”
Henry was quiet on the other side of the phone. Laney worried that maybe she had overreached.
But then his voice came through, calm as usual. “When I was a child, my mother didn’t read me fairy tales the way other moms did. Instead, she read me the stories of the angels, both good and bad. They were my bedtime tales. It’s funny you should ask me about that, because ever since Dom mentioned the fallen angels, their stories have been filling my mind.”
“Why was she so fixated on angels?”
“I don't know. Now I’m beginning to wonder if she was trying to prepare me for something.”
“So you think Dom could be right?”
“I don't know, Laney. I just don't know.” Laney could hear the exasperation in his voice. “On the one hand, it seems crazy. Angels walking among us and being reincarnated over and over again? But on the other hand,” he paused, “it would explain what we’re dealing with.”
“And that means we need to prepare for the worst.”
“Yes.”
She picked the gun up from the table and sat back on the couch with it in her lap. “So, we’re preparing to go against a fallen angel who’s using men to dig up an ancient source of power.” She took a deep breath. “And who then plans on using said weapon to destroy the world.”
Henry gave a small chuckle. “Well, at least there’s no pressure.”
Laney smiled, but then it fell away. “You know, Henry, as long as we’re being so straightforward, it seems we’re avoiding one big issue.”
“What's that?
“The name. We keep calling them fallen angels, but that’s not entirely accurate. Because when an angel falls, he’s no longer known by that name. He’s called a demon.”