Линкольн Чайлд - Bloodless

Suddenly the silver wand flew out of Moller’s hands, as if yanked by an invisible string. It was a cute move, because to Coldmoon it really did look as if something invisible had pulled it away, instead of him throwing it through some sleight of hand. Moller, as if released from an unpleasant trance, halted, took a deep breath, seemed to slump, and then recovered, wiping his brow with a silk handkerchief. Retrieving the dowsing stick, he then retreated to his suitcase and removed a large box camera, which he set up on a tripod. He then took out a strange piece of smoked glass — upon closer look it appeared to be a slab of crystal, cut and polished — that he raised in front of his face and gazed through, peering here and there across the area being searched by the CSI squad.

“The evil, become visible,” he muttered. He began to tremble. One of the camera operators followed his movement, shooting close over his shoulder.

Coldmoon noticed that Betts had disappeared. He looked around and saw him deep in the vegetation, having used the diversion to slip inside the police cordon. He was with the second camera operator, filming something else.

“Hey!” Coldmoon cried, pointing and striding in Betts’s direction. “Get out of there! Back behind the tape!”

Several cops turned and began jogging over as Betts and the cameraperson scurried off into the undergrowth, ducking back under the police line.

Coldmoon walked over to where they had been filming but didn’t see anything of note beyond another old mausoleum with a broken door. The abandoned part of the cemetery continued into the overgrowth, the tombstones split and lying on their sides, the pathways so poorly tended as to have disappeared.

He returned to find Pendergast approaching at a brisk walk from an unexpected direction.

“Find anything?” Coldmoon asked as he came up.

“Nothing.”

“Too bad.”

“On the contrary,” Pendergast said as he adjusted his cuffs. “It was most edifying.”

From behind her monitor, it looked to Gannon like half the Savannah PD had been called out to keep the crowds behind the police cordon. The loud, zoo-like atmosphere contrasted with the stateliness of the old cemetery, with its ranks of mossy tombs speckled in sunlight, slumbering beneath giant oaks. Behind the tape, the police were still working diligently, the CSI team searching the area meticulously. Despite the activity, Gannon noticed that the weird FBI agent and his sidekick had disappeared, along with that officious police commander.

Gannon had her two camera operators well-positioned to capture everything. Pavel was filming the mayhem from various directions with the Steadicam, while Craig, on camera one, was focused on Moller. The paranormal researcher was putting on quite a show, first with the silver dowsing stick and slab of obsidian, and now with the camera that could supposedly capture supernatural images. Daisy, the ditzy historian of the supernatural, was also there — despite the fact that she had no place on the schedule — trying to insert herself whenever possible into the camera frame, with Betts sidelining her every time. The mob scene was great stuff, and it would make a fine contrast to the dark and creepy scenes Gannon hoped to get more footage of. Since Betts had changed their focus to covering the Savannah Vampire, all her shots so far had involved activity and people. What they needed to do was to come back to the cemetery at night with a couple of fog machines.

Betts came up to her. “Listen, here’s the plan. Moller says he’s getting amazing stuff, especially pictures. The press is all here, even some national. It’s a great opportunity for free publicity, to get the word out on the doc.”

She nodded.

“So Moller’s going to unveil some of his pictures right here, while all these people and press are around. We want to capture it all.”

“Pictures of what?”

“He won’t say. You know how the old fart is. But he claims he’s getting pictures of ‘spiritual turbulences.’”

“So that contraption is digital?” Gannon had always assumed you needed a film camera to capture ghost images.

“You tell me.”

The camera that Moller had been circling the tomb with was like none she had ever seen. It was beautiful, made of polished mahogany, gleaming brass, and chrome. Judging from the way the rubberneckers and press were following Moller around like the pied piper as he took what appeared to be long-exposure photographs, this was going to be quite a show.

“Where’s all this going to happen?” she asked.

“Over in that open area. In about ten minutes.”

“We’ll get set up.” She spoke to her camera operators over their headsets, giving them orders to set up on either side of the area: one for close-in shots, the other farther away. The press were starting to get restless. They were hungry for something, and Moller was going to give it to them. She saw Betts confer with Moller in low tones. Then he stepped up onto a marble slab — so much for respecting the dead — and clapped his hands.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he cried out, his short arms stirring the air as Moller stood next to him, cradling his camera. “Ladies and gentlemen!”

The boisterous crowd surged forward, the press muscling ahead with their cameras, boom mics swinging around. It amazed Gannon how Betts had turned the interest of the press on himself and Moller.

“As you know,” Betts continued, “we have here the famed paranormal researcher Dr. Gerhard Moller. It seems his equipment has been picking up distinct amounts of unusual supernatural activity. Dr. Moller, tell us what you’ve found.”

Moller, with a look of modest reluctance and disinclination on his face, raised his head and looked over the crowd, letting the silence build. Gannon’s camera operators were rolling. The cops, guarding the perimeter, watched them warily.

“My instruments,” Moller said in a deep, resonant voice, “have registered powerful supernatural currents.” He paused again. “There is a strong presence of evil here.”

At this, a hush fell over the crowd. Even the noisy press were rapt.

“And I have captured proof of the presence.” He brandished the large camera. “In here.”

Someone shouted out, “Can we see it?”

Moller swiveled his large head toward the speaker. “Yes, indeed. That is in fact my intention: to show it to you now.”

This triggered a restless stirring. How is he going to show it to them? Gannon wondered. There must be three hundred people here.

“There are some,” Moller intoned, “who have doubted my work. Who have accused me of manipulating my pictures.” He held up the camera. “But in here are pictures I took, just seconds ago, of these tombs and surroundings. Some of them show remarkable things not visible to the naked eye — that I’ve captured using my own proprietary multispectral imaging technology. The photographs are in here, raw and unretouched. You will find this to be true, because you will have a chance to examine them for yourselves.”

He paused and raked the crowd with a fierce gaze. “I will make these pictures available to all, with no restrictions on their use. They will be sent from my camera directly to your cell phones. Please make sure Bluetooth is enabled on your mobiles, and select ‘Percipience Camera’ in your device list. In thirty seconds, I will transmit three images.”

He turned and bent over the camera. Those in the crowd, with a burst of chatter, fumbled out their cell phones and began frantically poking and swiping. The atmosphere of anticipation had become almost unbearable. It was brilliant theater — more than theater, as Moller had found a way to make his audience active participants. Gannon, watching the feed from her two camera operators on her monitors, was happy to see them nailing it.