John Ringo - Princess of Wands

“There are certain investigations that take on odd hues,” Germaine replied, taking his own seat. “And I’m going to explain to you what is really going on in this one. At the end of the conversation, you’ll realize that you can’t pass it on to anyone because they would assume you’d cracked under pressure. And if you decide to chance it, don’t. Because we don’t let this information get out. Period. Understand me?”

Chimot looked at those piercing black eyes and nodded, a cold chill running down his back.

“That’s a little blunt,” Chimot said. “And aren’t people usually asked if they want to know stuff like this?”

“No,” Germaine replied. “Because if they have to know, they’re told. And they generally keep their mouths shut for reasons that will become obvious. Is that clear enough to start?”

“Yes,” Chimot said.

“You’re a smoker, Lieutenant,” Germaine said, quirking one cheek in a grin. “Please, light up. Cigarette smoke does not offend me.”

“This is a no-smoking building,” Chimot said.

“You have a smokeless ashtray in your bottom left-hand drawer,” Germaine replied. “And you usually open the window to make it less obvious. Please feel free to light up. But you probably want to save a hit from the bottle of Jim Beam next to the ashtray until after the conversation.”

Chimot glared at him but fished out the ashtray and lit a Marlboro.

“Go,” he said when the cigarette was lit.

“The FBI gets involved in most serial killing investigations since they almost always involve kidnappings. And ones that do not rarely matter to them, but they do to us . Most serial killers are simply evil humans that enjoy the power rush involved in the killing and control of their victims. But a few do it due to Special Circumstances. Special Circumstances is the FBI’s cautious euphemism for the supernatural. Shall I continue?”

“Go ahead,” Chimot said. “If you were nuts, the director wouldn’t have called me.”

“I am the European and American head of a group that supports the investigation of Special Circumstances. We have an arrangement to share information and assist in investigations with the FBI. There is a similar arrangement with Interpol, Scotland Yard, what have you. We also have worked with local authorities from time to time. In this case, we were uninterested until the FBI crime lab identified one of the semen samples as construct DNA. That is, the DNA of a supernatural being that had manifested on earth. The scale, which was not lost by the way, we have it, is from the avatar of an entity named Almadu. Are you familiar with the name?”

“No,” Chimot said, his head reeling from more than nicotine. “You’re serious.”

“Very,” Germaine said. “Almadu is a god who was first identified by the Babylonians, one of the eleven monsters summoned by the dragon goddess Tiamat in her battle with Marduk. There are indications that he was listed as a daevas in the Zoroastrian religious tracts that were destroyed by Alexander in Persepolis. Possibly associated with Lilith who may, in fact, be Tiamat/Kali. A water god, usually depicted as looking like a cross between a fish and a dragon. He requires human sacrifice and often engages in sex with the sacrifices. Occasionally he will reproduce with a human female and create an amphibian cross species. They don’t look very human but can pass for it in a bad light. The last manifestation of Almadu was in the 1920s in Massachusetts and involved a colony of such crosses. It was, we believed, wiped out and Almadu was dispelled. He apparently has been brought back from the nether realms. It is he who has been gutting your victims.”

“You’re telling me there’s some fish god going around screwing hookers and then murdering them?” Chimot asked, shaking his head. “You’re right, I can’t tell anybody this. They’ll think I’m nuts. I’m not too sure about you.”

“Lieutenant, in the… very long time that I have been in this organization, I have seen things that would drive you mad,” Germaine replied, calmly. “Almadu isn’t even close to the worst. Almadu is, however, very bad. A full physical manifestation requires enormous power, more than I’d have thought he could gather. Either he has a large group of worshipers, numbering at least in the tens of thousands, or there have been far more murders, sacrifices, than you suspect. I’ve run a match on the criminal database and I think that some sixty street ladies have disappeared in one place or another in the Louisiana and Mississippi area. It’s hard to tell, obviously — people just disappear from the street, change their names, what have you — but that would explain the full manifestation far better than five. However, with the full manifestation, he can begin using powers that he would not have without it. And I would anticipate his numbers of worshippers would grow. I suspect that he’s soon going to leave these parts for somewhere he can gather sacrifices without so much oversight. And we dearly want to prevent that, for obvious reasons.”

“So why are you telling me this?” Chimot asked.

“Two reasons. The first is that if you close on his place of worship, you are liable to encounter resistance beyond what you’re used to dealing with. Think of it as attacking a group of ardent terrorists, for that is in many ways what they are. And there are no police tac teams on earth that are prepared to handle Almadu. Very few earthly weapons will harm him. He is vulnerable to fire and electricity, but shooting him will only make him angry. He also can charm people, make them believe he is a good god, control their actions and so forth. He prefers sacrifices that die in terror, but he is not averse to charming attackers and then eating them, stealing their souls to do his service in the Dark Realms.”

“That’s what he’s been doing to the victims?” Chimot said, swallowing.

“Yes,” Germaine answered. “The other problem is that anyone who gets close to him is in danger. I don’t have any agents available who are trained and capable of assisting right now. To defend oneself against the power that Almadu can use requires ardent belief in another god. A Catholic priest or a Protestant minister or a Wiccan high priest or priestess who really believed might be sheltered from his power, might be able to channel a shield against it. Might. One of my agents would be, if I had an agent of the caliber to take him on. But your average Joe Cop would be as undefended as if he was in a firefight with no vest. It’s important that you understand that. Do you?”

“I hear what you’re saying,” Chimot admitted. “But I’m having a hard time believing it.”

“That, of course, is the problem,” Germaine said, smiling sadly. “It requires that the agent not only believe, fundamentally, in evil as a separate power but that the agent believe, again fundamentally, that there is an equivalent power of good and that it can defeat evil. Without that belief, an agent, or the noted Joe Cop, is unshielded.”

“Crap,” Chimot said, shaking his head. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Which is?” Germaine asked.

“We have a possible lead in the case,” the lieutenant said, swallowing and putting out his cigarette. “One of the people that was talking with one of the victims has disappeared. And, come to think of it, one of our informants mentioned that he was dabbling in ‘old time religion.’ We have reason to suspect he went back to his hometown, which is right down in the bayou…” He paused and looked at Germaine, raising an eyebrow.

“With access to water and eventually the oceans,” Germaine said, nodding. “Anywhere in Louisiana practically fits that description, but it’s logical that it may be the center. Go on.”