0930HRS (CST)
NEW ORLEANS NAS JOINT RESERVE BASE
BELLE CHASE LA
They had successfully avoided the press that had swarmed like feeding locusts around the hotel and drove in silence across the Mississippi River toward the base, Harm continually checking the rear-view mirror for the blue Navy sedan.
Taking the bridge exit toward the base, Harm glanced at Mac, who had seemed to be drifting on another plain of consciousness since Singer's abrupt return. Reaching across the seat, he took her hand in his and watched her close her eyes, a small sigh escaping her lips.
"Hey, is that kick-ass jarhead somewhere in there?" He felt her fingers intertwine with his, and he relaxed, tightening his hold on her hand and offering her his most brilliant smile . . . a smile that came from his heart, that had always come from his heart for her.
"Oh, she's right here and ready to save your sorry six if she has to, flyboy." His smile always seemed to work miracles, and she knew that was exactly what it would take . . . a miracle. As she stole a lingering look at him, tightening her grasp on his hand, she ached inside . . . not for the time they had lost as lovers . . . but for the time that might never be theirs. "I love you."
"I've been waiting to hear that . . . since yesterday . . . no since I first felt you respond to me as a woman."
"I know. It took awhile for the words to register when you said them to me."
"Said them and meant them. You do believe this isn't just something that's a manifestation of our bizarre circumstances and that I intend to prove that to you when we get back to Washington . . . unless I end up in the brig for killing Singer when we get back."
"What about Singer?"
"Right now all I want is her out of here . . . for her protection and for yours."
"And the Admiral?"
"Well, her showing up with her tail between her legs is going to be the least of his problems when he hears the rest of what's been going on down here. I'll call him after we get the full story on the second murder."
"I have to admit I'm glad she's going back . . . but not only for her protection and mine, but for yours, too. You are her focus . . . you are clearly what her darkened soul wants. I think I'm just an obstacle that she now clearly recognizes to be in her way."
"Maybe . . . but I think there is much more to this than what you or I see or what Singer wants . . . much more than just stopping this investigation . . . much more than just stopping you and I."
They rode the rest of the way in silence, never letting go of each other's hand. The comfort in their touch was enough for both of them right now. Only when Harm turned onto the street that would take them to the front gates of the base did he release his hold of her hand, as he saw the street was a tangle of media vans and his hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white from the pressure.
"Oh, no. Here we go again."
"Must be a slow news day. A really slow news day."
"No, to the media this is an 'X-File'. This IS what's news."
"Why, Harmon Rabb, I didn't know you were a fan of the paranormal."
"I'm not. I just admire the logical, questioning mind of Dana Scully."
"Oh, is that all you admire about Scully? Her mind?"
"Well, the package isn't bad either."
The car crept through the media crush, as reporters and cameramen surrounded the car and shouted questions through the closed car windows like a school of piranha thrown into a feeding frenzy at the smell of blood. All the major affiliates and news stations had taken up residence outside the base gates, apparently camped out for the duration, live feed equipment parked everywhere.
Planning on going directly to the brig, they entered through the gates and tried to make their way across the base, only to be suddenly blocked by two base security vehicles which appeared out of nowhere.
As Harm rolled down his window, his voice was filled with tension. "Is there a problem, Sergeant?"
"No, Sir. No problem. The Captain has requested that you and the Colonel join him at the base command center immediately upon your arrival."
"Please let Captain Rawlins know that we will meet with him as soon as we complete our briefing with our client, Sergeant."
"That's not possible, Sir. We have been instructed to escort you to command as soon as you arrive. So if you would please follow us, Sir."
After a brief exchange with Bud, it was decided that he would return the vehicle to the motor pool and then go start the process with Lt. Hawkins. With one security jeep behind and with one jeep in front, Mac and Harm were a captive audience as they were escorted toward the nondescript command building.
"It's going to be a long day, Sailor."
"That it is, Marine. That it is."
Escorted into the Captain's office, a distinct feeling of dÈjý vu seemed to hang unabated in the air. After being so ceremoniously summoned, they were surprised to find the office empty.
"The Captain has asked that you wait. He will be joining you shortly. Is there anything I can get for you, Ma'am, Sir?"
"No, Staff Sergeant, thank you."
The office was still as stark and impersonal as it had been the last time they had met with the base commander. Unable to stay still, Mac wandered around the room, taking in the dismal surroundings once again. Who was Captain Stuart Rawlins, personally? For someone who had been assigned to New Orleans NAS for the last eight years, there was nothing that indicated the likes or dislikes of the career military officer. There were no trophies, citations, and no memorabilia from past base events. The only sign was still the family picture that she had noticed on his desk the last time they were in the office.
Maybe the man was just reluctant in mixing his personal life with his professional one? After all, the Admiral's office, though tastefully decorated, held no information about the man. She smiled, remembering all the clutter that had slowly but steadily seemed to accumulate in her office since she had accepted her duty assignment at JAG. Books, posters, personal gifts from staff, and items that Chloe had sent her. And then, of course there were the photographs. So many moments in time captured, framed, and displayed lovingly to remember all the good times of who Sarah MacKenzie had become.
Pictures of Chloe and Uncle Matt. Pictures of Harm and her at Bud and Harriet's wedding . . . Harm and her at baby AJ's christening . . . Harm and her at the Sudanese Embassy Ball . . . Harm and her at the Nato Ball . . . Harm and her with Sarah. A small frown crossed her forehead when she remembered there was not one picture of her and Mic, not one picture with the man she was dating, sleeping with and practically engaged to. And yet even when the distance and indifference had grown between them, she still couldn't let go of all the sweet memories . . . pictures that had been removed and hidden in the drawer of her desk, like the feelings that had been removed and hidden in the recesses of her mind and cloistered in the beating of her heart.
Mac glanced at the man across the room, his strong body framed in the light of the window, his jaw firmly set and a distant and troubled look in his penetrating eyes. Now . . . now that they finally had a chance to create a sequel to the story of their lives together . . . now that they had found what they had wanted and hoped to be together . . . now would the ending come before the beginning . . . would it be a prologue of what would and should be, or would it be an epilogue of what had never been?
Standing in front of the Captain's desk, she picked up the picture of the smiling family, the woman and the three happy children. She knew very little about who Captain Stuart Rawlins was, but the picture told her one thing. He was a family man with a wife who loved him and three children who probably adored him. Her heart ached for what she hoped would be as she looked up again and saw Harm watching her.
He turned toward her and saw the apprehension, the fear, the longing in his strong Marine's eyes. The same apprehension, the same fear, the same longing that were reflected like a mirror in his own. He couldn't lose her now . . . he couldn't lose them now . . . not when there was still so much to do . . . to say . . . not when there was so much to be together.
"Harm, we'll get Hawkins out of this. There has got to be a logical explanation for all of this."
"I wasn't thinking of Hawkins . . . Agent Scully."
"We'll get out of this." She offered him a smile that she hoped hid her own uneasiness. She wanted to say so much more. "Harm . . ."
The abruptness, the force and the gruffness of Captain Rawlins' entry brought the two officers to immediate attention, each realizing the meeting with the base commander was not going to be a pleasant one. "As you were. Tell me Rabb, is this how you obey orders!"
"Sir?"
"I thought you were going to handle the situation, Commander!
"With all due respect, Sir . . . "
"Look at all of them out there swarming like parasites. Ready to infest, infect and destroy all I . . . " Captain Stuart Rawlins looked like a man who was about ready to self-combust as his eyes darted back and forth between Harm and Mac like he was watching a professional tennis match. He finally fixed his gaze on Mac, when he noticed the picture in her hand. "Find something interesting, Colonel?"
"Sorry, Sir. I was just admiring your family. You must be very proud . . . "
"I am. I once thought the military was my life, but I realized years ago that there was more . . . much more. Your family is who you are . . . they define your existence . . . they are your life . . . without family you are . . ." He softened for just a moment, taking the photograph from Mac's hand and replacing it on his desk, almost ceremoniously. "But we are not here to discuss my family, are we! How the hell is JAG's supposed top team going to handle this reprehensible situation, Mr. Rabb!"
"With all due respect, Sir, that is precisely what we were trying to do when we were summoned here. We were on our way to the brig to meet with our client and take his statement concerning the latest alleged murder. Our investigation . . ."
"Alleged! Investigation!" He was now standing and leaning menacingly over the desk glaring at the two officers, who instinctively had come to attention. "What the hell are you talking about, Rabb! Did I not make myself clear the last time you were here! There is to be no investigation! This is an open and shut case as far as I am concerned! The man has now confessed to two murders! I want him prosecuted, convicted, sentenced quickly, the media handled, and I do not want Voodoo linked to this case in any way!"
"Sir, the practice of Voodoo appears to be a major part of his case. We can't just ignore . . . "
"Do the two of you believe that man's soul was commanded to kill those women . . . that he was possessed by some evil presence!"
"No, Sir." Harm noticed Mac steal a glance in his direction, unspoken confusion in her eyes at his response.
"And you, Colonel?"
"No, Sir."
"And you are both clear as to my directives concerning these incidents?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Good! Then I suggest you both go carry them out now! Dismissed!"
"Aye, Aye, Sir!"
Both officers left Captain Stuart Rawlins' office, and when the door was closed securely behind them, Mac was the first to speak, her eyes filled with questions. "Harm, what the hell . . ."
"Not here." Harm nodded, to the Staff Sergeant in the outer office, and quickly guided Mac out into the bright Louisiana day, away from the base command building.
"Harm, talk to me. What the hell was that back there? What the hell is going on?
"I don't know, Mac. But I am sure going to find out. There is more to Captain Stuart Rawlins then meets the eye. Much more."
1000HRS (CST)
THE PERISTYLE
1437 RUE DOMINIQUE
NEW ORLEANS LA
The "Peristyle" was one of the finest examples of the traditional Creole Townhouses that first started to appear in New Orleans after 1788 and had been in the LaVeau Family since the house was built. A four-story brick structure set at ground level, it was an asymmetrical arrangement of arched openings with intricate iron balconies adorning the second and third levels. A steeply pitched side-gabled roof with multiple roof dormers reached to the heavens.
Madame Claudette LaVeau-Gautier stepped out of the front door, as she had done so many other mornings during her 61 years, preparing for the days' tourism. The air enveloped and saturated her, and she took a deep breath, breathing in the familiar city scents. The nostalgic sweet olive, the scents of roasting coffee, fresh fish, the nearly rank brewery odor and the pungent odor of mildew that spread as toadstools grew unabated after a Gulf rain.
She looked down the Rue Dominique, which had been her home since she had taken her first breath, and she longingly wondered what happened to the New Orleans of her youth . . . the New Orleans her ancestors had known. Now a seething cosmopolitan center of contentious types, the architecture, still predominately that of the eighteen and nineteenth century, seemed almost an invisible background to the jazz spots, restaurants, boutiques, souvenir and antique shops of modern articles of virtue. In her mind's eye she saw the traders, the sailors, the immigrants, the bon-vivants, the indians, the slaves and the adventurers traveling the cobblestone streets. She saw the realm that had been the home of marooned French, African, Spanish and Haitian families, the grand balls and banquets, and the bordellos intermixed with the poverty and depreciation . . . the world of her ancestors, the world of the "Voodoo Queen of New Orleans" . . . her great grandma-ma, Marie LaVeau.
Picking up the "Times-Picayune," she glanced at the headlines and a single tear silently found its way down her graceful lined face. There had been nothing she could do . . . she had been powerless to stop the evil. It had been the darkest of all visions, darker than the last blood-letting, and she had once again become an unwilling audience to the taking of another innocent life. But today the strangers would come . . . today she would conjure the unconventional and the unacceptable . . . today she would pave the road that the strangers would travel to defeat the Bokar . . . and end his reign of self-serving terror. For today the strangers would come, and she would make believers of those who refused to believe.
The Mambo turned over the "Open" sign that swung on the string of gold . . . tonight she would try to save them all . . . if she could . . . if she only had the strength and the power to save them all.
1130HRS (CST)
SOMEWHERE IN THE FRENCH QUARTER
NEW ORLEANS LA
The flames of hatred, spawned by the fire of hell, all but consumed her as she made her way back to the "Hounfour". Opening the door, she crossed the threshold into the Temple, vacant and silent during the light of day, she still felt the strong presence of the Bokar surround her in the damp stillness.
Walking reverently toward the altar, adorned with the waiting candles that would be lit when night fell with the same evil that now devoured her. An unearthly animalistic groan escaped her lips, and she dropped her bags, his power grabbing her soul with the strength of a thousand wailing wounded souls . . . filling her, once more, with the darkened possession. Filling her with the visions of the sexual ecstasy and the limitless power that would be hers at their joining . . . with the ultimate joining of two souls . . . and the subsequent death of one.
1245HRS (CST)
NEW ORLEANS NAS JOINT RESERVE BASE
BELLE CHASE, LA
The Detectives had taken Commander Hawkins' statement, and the story was still the same . . . nothing had changed except for the victim. Mark Hawkins, a Commander in the United States Navy, had admitted to yet another murder . . . had admitted that his possessed soul had left his body and taken the life of yet another innocent . . . had drained the life out of Adrian Pilsner, the researcher who had worked for Gloria Patton. But now there was a common link between the two victims, no longer random victims of a mystic darkened force. The link was the "Belle Chase Bugler" and the expose they had been working on. The story that may have cost them their lives . . . the story of "black-magic," the story of "left-handed" Voodoo and the story of a powerful Bokar, who now reigned over the believers who worshipped evil and who believed in the power of the wandering undead.
Harm, Mac, and Bud walked out into the suffocating humidity, a step closer to the truth . . . to the truth that was being uncovered by two young reporters, the truth that was still partially hidden in the beliefs of an ancient religion. Exposing the truth had taken the lives of two young women who now had left a legacy of questions concerning what was fantasy and what was reality. Two young women, who left loved ones to grieve their senseless passing, and three Military officers, now bound by their duty, their integrity and their honor to find the truth . . . for to uncover the truth was everything. To uncover the truth and save the immortal soul of another innocent, a fellow officer, was everything.
As they made their way back to their vehicle, Harm looked over at Mac, trying to suppress the gnawing fear that was starting to grow within him . . . and he wondered. He wondered . . . if this time the truth was worth the price that they might have to pay. Would this truth take their future and write the final chapter to a love that would never be fully expressed in all the words, desire and passion that had been hidden in their hearts for so long? Would this truth take their future and rob them of an eternity that they both knew now had always been their destiny . . . a destiny wrapped in the sensual pleasure and strength of each other's arms?
1330HRS (CST)
QUEEN AND CRESCENT HOTEL
ROOM 777
NEW ORLEANS LA
They had decided to return to the hotel, to have Bud retrieve some additional information from the Department of Navy Personnel Archives, have lunch, and change out of their imposing military uniforms, opting for civies before they went to the "Peristyle".
Entering their suite, they felt the fear take hold of them, afraid they would have to once again confront what Lauren Singer had become. They would have to face the one person they were convinced had lost her soul to the other side . . . who had crossed the line between the living and dead, who had tried to destroy one and seduce another. But greeted by the quiet stillness of the room, void of any sign of her, they all released the breath they had been unconsciously holding.
"Bud, why don't you go change and then get those files downloaded."
"Yes, Sir." Grabbing his laptop, he moved in the direction of the bedroom they had stowed his gear in earlier that day.
"Bud."
"Sir?"
"Why don't you give Harriet a call."
"I'll try. But this time of the day, she's . . ."
"Be sure you get a hold of her, Lieutenant. That's an order."
"Will do, Sir."
Bud Roberts watched his superior officer, but foremost his friend, turn and enter the opposite bedroom. Exchanging a questioning glance with the Colonel, who nodded a silent understanding, he watched her follow the Commander and quietly close the bedroom door behind her.
Entering his own room, his first thought was of the orders just given him, as he dialed JAG Headquarters. The second thought was of the Colonel and the Commander, hoping that they had finally let something so long buried, surface. Hoping that they had finally allowed themselves to feel . . . that they had finally allowed themselves to recognize the strength of their love for one another. That they had found what he and Harriet had . . . and that fate would give them the chance to love.
As he heard her voice on the other end of the line, full of military efficiency and protocol, his face softened with love. "Excuse me, I am looking for the sexiest pregnant woman in the Navy. Would you happen to know who that might be?" He heard her giggle, he imagined the blush that was probably creeping up her beautiful face, and he heard the "faked" reproach in her voice. Their conversation took away the darkness and the evil, their conversation took him back to his life in the light . . . back to his life with the woman he would always love, with his beautiful son and back to the birth of their much-anticipated daughter.
He asked about the Admiral, he asked about the Gunny, he asked about Tiner, he asked about all who had become his extended family at JAG. And as he hung up, his last whispered words were, "I love you Harriet Beaumont-Simms."
Though they had discussed the case during the drive back to the hotel, Mac had noticed a distant foreboding that seemed to have Harm gripped and held somewhere between the past and the present . . . the present and the future. Now secure behind the closed door of the bedroom, while Bud went to change and call Harriet in the seclusion of the other room, she caught Harm's eyes as he tried to look away.
"Harm."
"Use the bathroom to change, I'll change out here." He couldn't look at her because he knew if he did, there would be no stopping him . . . there would be no going back this time. "Go ahead, I'm fine."
Grabbing what she needed, Mac decided to give him some time and space . . . when he was ready he would talk to her . . . he would eventually tell her what was suddenly eating him alive . . . after all they had found each other again.
Lost in his own world, she stole one last concerned glance at him before she retreated into the bathroom, but suddenly she found herself frozen, unable to remove her eyes from his body as he undressed in what appeared to be sensual slow motion in front of her. She had seen him remove his shirt a thousand times before . . . she had seen him remove his undershirt a thousand times before . . . but this time was so much different.
She was mesmerized by his simple movements, the burning ache increasing with every button that was unbuttoned, with every muscle that rippled from effort, until he stood bare to the waist in front of her. He was seducing her with the simplest of body movements, movements that had been repeated a thousand times in the past and she wanted to scream from the frustration that welled in her. He stopped and walked to the window, bracing himself against the window frame, his lean muscled torso highlighted by the sunlight . . . and all she wanted was to be completely covered by his body and his by hers.
Somehow she found herself behind the safety of the closed bathroom door, and she leaned against the cool wall tiles trembling. Trembling from her surfaced desire, trembling from her profound need and trembling from the fear that they were destined to never be. That somehow, something dark and evil would rob them of all their tomorrows. That somehow, something dark and evil would twist their destiny and break them apart, and they would never feel each other's love.
Still disorientated by her reaction, she came out of the bathroom and was surprised to find him still standing by the open terrace. Walking to him, she sensed him tense at her nearness, her own body reacting again to his. "Harm, look at me."
"Mac, I can't . . . don't." He tried to move away, but he couldn't will himself to move, her seductive scent like tendrils binding him in place.
"Look at me, please." She watched him turn hesitantly, and with the tenderness of love, her fingers traced his cheek and tilted his face toward her, a barely audible gasp escaping her as she saw the pain and pleading in the eyes that stared back. "Harm, please, you're scaring me. What is it?"
"It's this case . . . it's the fantasy . . .it's the reality . . .it's the unknown danger at the end of a road we don't know how to travel . . . it's you . . . it's losing you. It's always been you. I can't lose you now!" What was the tender touch of love shot through him like a bolt of lightening, sparking a fire no longer able to be extinguished.
He pulled her to him, no hint of tenderness in his kiss, just repeatedly whispering, "I'm sorry," seducing her before his lips burned against hers. The fear of what they were going to face together, what might separate them, driving his blinding need for her, to unstoppable proportions. His grip was almost one of desperation, his one hand tangling in her hair, holding her to him. Her delicious moans against his lips fueled him to take more of the sweet taste of her . . . more of the promise and pleasure she offered him in return as he felt her open herself to him.
Their shadowed partners of the past and their shadowed partners of the present were chased seared and flaming from their consciousness by the explosion of molten heat that emanated from their now threaded bodies. If there would be no tomorrows, consumed by the dark unknown evil they would face, they would allow themselves the ecstasy of the here and the now . . . this one sweet moment in time would become the only precious memory of their love, their commitment, to hold for all eternity.
1400HRS (CST)
THE PERISTYLE
1437 RUE DOMINIQUE
NEW ORLEANS LA
Madame Claudette LaVeau-Gautier watched as the glass candles, dressed with the special magical oils of love, friendship, passion, romance and success, flickering wildly with each seductive movement of the strangers in love . . . their much needed release, so long denied, would only make them stronger.
The Mambo knew the success or failure of the joining lay in her hands as she broke the seal on the ancient parchment and spoke the words that were as old as time itself. The words her ancestors had spoken for centuries that would expel the fears, the insecurities, and the foolish pride that the strangers had for so long held in their hearts. The fears and insecurities that had shrouded the love, the needs, the desires, the passion that each had always held for the other. The admitted love for one another that would help them move into the future together and if strong enough, only if strong enough, would help them defeat the evil darkest of all presence that would possess the one, destroy the other and cause the single innocent one to go insane.
1400HRS (CST)
QUEEN AND CRESCENT HOTEL
ROOM 777
NEW ORLEANS LA
Bud crossed the living area of the suite, still lost in his memories of his conversation with Harriet. He was so damn lucky, he had all any man could want . . . a beautiful woman who loved him, a beautiful son, a great career and soon . . . very soon a beautiful daughter. He shook the darkened thoughts that suddenly appeared to shroud the memories of his perfect life . . . but what would they have tomorrow . . . where would they be tomorrow. Poised to knock on the other bedroom door, he tried to listen for any sound of movement . . . a smile suddenly crossing his innocent features.
He returned to his bedroom and closed the door. Firing up his computer, he accessed the Department of the Navy website. While he waited for his log on to be accepted at the Naval Personnel Archives, he decided he would wait for them to come to him . . . he would wait until they were finished and he couldn't contain the smile of happiness that crossed his face.
It was to be a slow, sensual seduction, one of pent-up sexual frustration, initially ignited by fear, fueled by infinite moments of lost time and ablaze foremost by the greatest of all loves. A sexual joining that would not be stopped by the evil that threatened to consume them but would only flourish by the infinite love between them. A sexual joining that would not be hurried by the burning desires that throbbed through their hungry bodies, but would be enjoyed leisurely as they teased and explored all the pleasures that their infinite love offered.
Their souls would eventually be one fused by the inexplicable erotic sexual pleasure they would elicit in each another . . . their souls would be fused by the sweetest taste of love that would linger on their lips, awaiting the next spark. And their souls would be fused and strengthened, by the mingling of their unique love-induced sexual juices.
All concept of time was lost as Mac groaned at the sudden loss of contact and then shivered with unrecognizable pleasure as she felt Harm's lips, warm, wet and enticing, trail down her throat, the sensation teasing all that made her a woman. She arched toward him, the sweet torture causing her to dig her fingernails into his back and pull him firmly against her, wanting him to continue his assault on her already sensitized aching flesh. She moved sensually, pressed hard against his mouth, warm, hot, wanting and was completely immersed in the total numbing sensation of his lips eating at her flesh.
"Harm . . . please . . . take more . . . your mouth . . . I'm on fire . . ."
There was no regret. There was nothing that would or could stop them now that he felt her arching toward him, her burning need matching his own, her moaned words driving him crazy. His hands moved to her breasts, and roughly grabbed at her, unable to control the need to feel her, while his tongue and lips continued to suck and nip at her exposed skin, dipping deep between her breasts and lapping at their swelling sides. The more he tasted the more he wanted to taste. He pulled and played hard at her nipples, hoping he wasn't hurting her, but when he heard the heated rasping moans of pleasure and the request for more sweet torture, he lost it.
"More, Marine . . . how much more? Tell me, Sarah how much more?" He continued to work her pliant flesh, harder, as she counter tugged to increase the sensation.
"Harder, please harder . . . yes, so good . . . so god, it feels so good."
She pushed her breasts harder against him, and his lips burned for more of her bare swollen skin. His hands covered both sides of her heaving breasts his thumbs hooked under the fabric of her top and pulled it down, exposing more of her heated flesh to him.
"Yes, more . . . more."
He stared at the "olive silk flesh he now held in his hands, swelling and straining against the onerous material with each ragged breath she took. He continued to stare at her, wanting the seduction to be a slow, sensual exploration of all erotic pleasures she would give him and all the erotic pleasures he would return. But god, all he wanted to do was feed on her, until he satisfied the consuming hunger for all that was slowly being exposed before. He had never felt such a driving hunger, such a driving need to give pleasure and the need to be pleasured.
Opening her eyes at the sudden loss of his lips and his delicious tongue, she met his eyes, blazing with an appetite, one she wanted to satisfy. She licked her lips, now parched by his burning gaze, which continued to move slowly, consuming all he saw with his eyes, further enflaming what was already enflamed.
"Harm, please take them, take them. . ." Her words were a whispered moan that caught in her throat when his lips finally descended on her, his hot probing tongue, dipping deep beneath the recesses of her top. His groaned desire reverberated through her as he moved his hungry mouth from one breast to the other, and her own groan mingled with his as she rubbed her heated core against his pulsing erection. "God, your so hard and it feels . . . so good."
He tried to satiate his hunger for her as he fed slowly on all she offered, placing heated kisses against her exposed flesh, from her breasts to her shoulders, to the curve of her neck. When he captured her lips again and drank in her sweetness, her now taut nipples pressing deep into his naked chest, he grabbed her ass and moved her rhythmically against him, grinding her mound against his hardness. Her eager counter moves hard against him, caused him to tighten his hold as their bodies continued to grind with increased pressure against the other and their tongues dueled through the now bruising kiss. And as they continued the erotic dance, they both knew it was now time for more . . . they both knew they both needed more of this slow carnal seduction.
Like they had always been able to communicate in and out of the courtroom with just a gesture or a glance, so were they now able to communicate while caught in the throws of passion. Mac sensed his increased need for her, and her fingertips teased his naked back before she reached for the hem of her top, only breaking their kiss long enough to free herself. She stood back and let him drink in the vision that had been hidden from him, a small smile of erotic satisfaction played across her love-bruised lips when she saw a new hunger, a new need, blaze in his eyes. She continued to watch him, wanting the seduction to be a slow, sensual exploration of all the erotic pleasures he would give her and all the erotic pleasures she would return. She had never felt such a driving hunger, such a driving need to give pleasure and the need to be pleasured.
Harm bit his lip at what now stood unencumbered and exposed before him. Her peaked full breasts, the curves of her flat stomach, her exquisite muscular legs and her sex, her hot, sweet, dripping sex, wet with desire for him to taste and to touch. His mind burned with lustful thoughts of what would soon be his, the vision, the experience better than all his illicit fantasies of the past . . . that were enjoyed in his private moments, alone or with Renee, as the substitute for what now stood before him.
"Come here."
He knew his hand trembled when he reached around her to further free what strained and peaked for his touch. But he felt her hands on his naked chest, pushing him away, pushing him on the bed and watched her spread his legs as she stood between them, the object of all his desires now towering over him.
"No." Mac, now in control, watched the desire spill from his eyes as they roamed over her half-naked body. His words were whispered through an animalistic moan of needed erotic release, licking his lips in unabashed anticipation.
"Mac, please . . . don't do this to me . . ." The sight of her full breasts swollen with desire paralyzed him. Her breasts, not hidden through the sheer material of her demibra, teased him. Her large cinnamon-colored nipples, taunt and hard, were out of the reach of his hands that wanted to play them and his waiting warm and wet mouth that wanted to feed on them.
Ignoring his pleas, she focused her attention on him, on freeing him from the slacks that hid his manhood straining painfully for its own release. Expertly, she undid the clasp and slowly drew down the zipper hearing his breath catch and watched him close his eyes in anticipation of that was to come. Her fingertips teased his erection, as she slipped her hand slowly in, and ran them along his satin throbbing length.
"Mac . . . take it . . ." She felt him buck against her hand and she smiled, as her hand encircled his shaft and she played with the tip.
"Open your eyes, Harm and watch me. I want you to watch me . . . play." Only when she saw his eyes, clouded with a craving for satisfaction, snap open, did she smile and lick her lips before she continued.
He thought that he would die from the sheer frustration of not being able to touch the object of all his fantasies that now stood half-naked before him, but now he was sure he was going to self-combust from the immeasurable lust that pounded through his veins. Her seduction was driving him crazy, but when he felt his throbbing erection finally freed, he grabbed for her with an unbridled yearning and grazed the darkened tip of one hardened nipple. He tugged at the tightened mass, and watched her writhe with satisfaction, guttural sounds escaping her as she allowed him to roll it into a pulsing peak of raw pleasure, her fingers digging into his strong muscled calves, her peak growing between his fingers.
"You like that, Marine. You like it . . . let me show you what I can do with more. Tell me, do you like this?" He increased the pressure, but slowed the thumbing, her peak now hot and pulsing.
"Oh yes, just like that . . .it feels like fire . . .it feels like it's on fire and I love it . . . no I need it. " She was losing it as he continued the pressure and she was melting under his touch . . . as his hands tried to take more of her . . . as his eyes burned into her . . . and as her hot juices flowed between her legs. She had to focus . . . she had to slow down . . . and she did . . . as she focused on what she wanted to taste . . . on his point of satin pleasure.
Harm tried to take more of her and make her feel the ecstasy he wanted to offer her, but when he felt her fingers trace his manhood again, caress his balls, and her tongue lick at his tip, he lost his grip on her and reality. He heard her low laugh and then felt her warm mouth slowly cover the tip of his erection and he offered her more of him, groans emanating deep from within him as she covered all he offered. She withdrew her mouth, making sure he felt every last flick of her tongue and again stood towering over him. Still reeling from all the feelings that she had elicited, he moaned his displeasure as he felt her distance and the cool air that tried to extinguish the fire as he stared up at her again.
Mac just smiled and saw the flicker of despair turn back into the fire of desire, and then a smile of hunger illuminate his handsome face when she started to strip, slowly and seductively, before him. She reached behind her and unclasped her bra that freed her aching breasts to him, her nipples reaching and aching for the fire of his touch. She watched him focus on what would soon be his, to feel, to hold, to take into his mouth and satiate his growing uncontrollable hunger, as her own lust continued to pool uncontrollably between her thighs.
Enjoying the sensations she was evoking in him, and those he was evoking in her with just his piercing stare, she continued her erotic enticing dance. She unclasped her shorts and slipped them and the thin thong slowly down her muscular legs, never once taking her eyes away from him. She watched him travel the length of her naked body and fixate on her sex, swollen, wet and glistening for him already.
"You're beautiful . . . I want . . ."
"You want what, Harm. Tell me what you want . . . first . . . tell me what you want first."
Mesmerized by his expression, she didn't anticipate his reach. But when she felt his gentle fingering, as he lovingly separated her folds and the tips of his fingers lightly rubbed against the lips of her sex, gently grabbing, holding and pinching her pulsing bud, the strength of her teasing abstention disappeared.
"Everything. Mac, come to me, now. Please . . . I need to feel you . . . to hold you . . . to love you." Withdrawing his hand he licked her sweet nectar from his fingers, sucking them seductively, prolonging the eroticism when he saw her eyes darken at his carnal display of total commitment.
Hearing the rasping throaty plea, aching to feel the stimulation of his fingers, his tongue, his mouth, and finally his pulsing erection that he would bury deep within her, stimulating and satisfying all her womanly desires, the room started to spin around her. She gasped with her own lust, her legs turned to rubber, by her own anticipated pleasure, and she knelt trembling on the bed, finding the strength somehow to straddle him.
"Oh, God, Marine." The sudden sensation of her wet, slick folds against his hard stomach threw him into spasms as he shut his eyes and moved against her spreading the warm nectar against his rippling muscles. But when he opened his eyes, his hands held in place by hers, his mouth lunged at the peaks that dangled before him. Somewhere in the distance, he heard her scream his name as he sucked and tugged at her nipple, pulling it deep into his wet mouth, and the more he worked on the pliant peaks the more she fed him.
Shaking with her own needs elicited by her little game of seduction, she collapsed on his hard muscled body, letting him roll her under him and feeling his strong arms encircle her as he continued to feed his hunger. His hunger was insatiable, moving from one to the other, his tongue, his lips, his teeth, worked her over-sensitized breasts into unrecognized body parts. The more he took the more she gave, his rasping tongue swirling torturous patterns against her skin, his teeth tugging at her nipples and his lips moving deliciously between the two peaks of pleasure with kisses of fire.
They tossed and tumbled . . . tangled and bound forever in their endless lovemaking. No part of their bodies was left not touched, not teased, not pleasured, not consumed with the fire of their love and their lust. Their lips, their tongues, their hands roamed freely evoking and satisfying the illicit, erotic, carnal desires of each other. Their groans of pleasure against the other seemed to be absorbed and seemed to strengthen their continual need to explore the explored, to pleasure the pleasured and to continue to find a new way to illicit the erotic.
Occasionally they would stop their feeding frenzy, and they would whisper words of love against each other's bare skin. Then he would claim her lips in a deep, bruising, and passionate kiss that sucked the breath from her, and she would writhe uncontrollably against the erection that ground into her skin again. Their orgasms had whirled around them, bringing them close, but not close enough, as if an ethereal presence was controlling them . . . so that the pleasure would continue almost endlessly until they self combusted in one cosmic orgasmic explosion of universal proportions.
There was no part of her skin that his lips hadn't enflamed with his hunger, but when she felt his hand slip between her folds, her legs shook as she spread herself to him and she screamed her need, clenching around his probing fingers.
"Harm, please, oh please!"
This time it was his turn to smile seductively at her pleading, his fingers like teasing feathers against her bucking core. He ran his fingers up and down her slick sex and continued to whisper words of desire, words of passion, words of undying love against her bare skin.
She was finally losing her grip and she didn't know if it was his whispered word of love or his teasing fingers that were causing her to lose focus as her threads of control were snapping one by one. She was floating in a sea of passion like she had never felt, waves of sensations crashing unrecognized through her body. She wanted to be nothing more than a pleasure palace that would give him shelter where he would want to live forever satisfied . . . and his strong body was her shelter, her pleasure palace where she knew she would live forever satisfied.
He turned on his side, never removing his hand, as he settled her against him. He couldn't help but watch, as he stroked her, knowing she was finally close to the edge of ecstasy and that he would soon finally follow. But he loved the way she had seduced him, the way her bare satin skin felt on his lips, the way her nipples pulsed for attention against the warmth of his mouth. And he loved how wet she was for him as his fingers probed her sexual lips and pressured the bud that burned for him. He slowed his fingers, starting to gently tease her again and watched her bite her lip as the sensations taunted her and she opened her eyes to look at him.
Through the sexual haze that was starting to engulf her, she focused on the man she loved, who had and still pleasured her endlessly in ways she had never imagined were possible. She rasped the whispered words between her gasps for air, as tears threatened to fall. "God, I love you, Harmon Rabb. I will always love you . . .always." She groaned as she felt his fingers enter her slowly once again, and she felt another string snap . . . nothing was going to stop her now.
He leaned and whispered the words against her heated throat, their meaning, the desire and the increased stimulation of his fingers against her swollen sex causing her to buck against him once again uncontrollably.
"Come for me, Sarah. Let me watch you come. I want the first pleasure to be yours . . . my pleasure will be first to see you come." He increased the speed of his strokes, probing and stimulating and finally pinching and pressing on her small bundle until it seemed to explode against him.
"No!" Her scream was not of disagreement, but one of inexplicable release as her orgasm ripped through her, every nerve ending on fire, her mind spinning, her heart racing, and her sex pulsing against him uncontrollably. She was cold, she was hot, and she was somewhere suspended high above a deep chasm filled with the flames of that sexual release and she never wanted to come down from the high . . . she never wanted the flames to be extinguished.
Harm watched her and felt her heat spill, searing his hand, and he wanted to prolong her exquisite release as long as he could. His hand was replaced by his hungry lips and his burning tongue, probing and lapping at her sweet nectar and riding the wave of pleasure with her, her screams only causing him to ache for more, never experiencing anything so erotic, so arousing. He held her thighs and he continued his assault, lapping and probing at her sex, his tongue slipping deeper inside at every pass, his lips pulling her little bundle . . . with every scream that escaped her.
"Your incredible . . . I need more. I need more of the sweet taste of you." And he took more. With no inhibitions, he enjoyed his own arousal as his tongue flicked faster and harder against her. He was lost and out of control. He spread her lips and drank, his tongue roamed deep within her sex, stroking and probing all of her. The tip of his tongue traced the outline of her folds, licked at her clit, and then shot deep within her, sucking her sex as he again buried his tongue into her warmth. Over and over he pleasure her slick, wet, wanting folds, her arousal becoming his own. Each pass, each groan, caused him to feed harder. The more he ate, the harder she came.
As she road the first orgasm, prolonged by his warm lips caressing her sensitized mound, she felt a second wave rise deep within her core, threatening to consume her again. She bucked against him and heard his whispered words of love against her wetness, teasing and driving her crazy. Words of love, words of passion, words of need whispered against her throbbing folds, as she continued to come uncontrollably. But this time she wanted only one thing . . . she wanted him buried deep inside her . . . she wanted to feel his pulsing erection stimulate her waiting cavern and spill its hot seed deep inside her.
"Harm . . . please. No more! I want you! Please I want you! Oh, God I want you to fill me!"
His time had come, and he couldn't control his own release any longer. Her screams and the erotic experience of riding her first orgasm with her made him want exactly what she begged for. There was no hesitation as he plunged into her wanting sex, slick and hot and waiting for him. He groaned at the sensation as she enveloped him, rubbing her constricting muscles tightly around his erection, and he thought he was going to pass out from the sheer feel of her.
They moved together as they massaged each other with the power of their sex, his shaft filled her deeply and her muscles constricted around him with every delicious movement. He found her breasts and kneaded and stoked them, keeping the same rhythm, their eyes never leaving each other. Her second orgasm tore through her and at the feel of her lubricating heat surrounding him, he followed, exploding and spreading his burning seed deep inside her. They groaned against one another, Harm reeling from the enormous release, from the sheer pleasure of her warmth, her seductive wetness, and her soft folds surrounding him, like tender moist kisses. Her muscles constricting and drawing from him everything he had ever wanted to give . . . and now he knew that he would never, ever, feel the arousal he felt with her . . . the erotic arousal she elicited from him.
But she wanted more and she knew he wasn't finished. She felt him pulse and grow inside of her and she moved against him causing the pressure to grow. She held his eyes, and watched them darken with possessive desire as she felt him withdraw his silken shaft. She started to protest, but then she felt him thrust deep inside her, once twice, three times . . . she lost count as he pounded deeper within each time. She groaned at his power, she groaned at the eroticism again, aroused by every forceful thrust she opened herself to him and closed around him again. When she heard his moan of release, when she felt another hot burst fill her, she let herself go and pulled him tighter and deeper inside her, trembling as the waves of heat washed over her again.
This time they lay against each other still joined, never wanting to separate, never wanting to leave the place of intimate pleasure they had once again found together. They were somewhere neither had ever been before, and neither recognized where they had come, but both knew that they could stay here for eternity wrapped in the silence and the scent of their sexual joining.
They lay naked in each other's arms, exhausted, not quite believing the intensity of the love that they had shared . . . amazed at how much buried passion had been hidden between them . . . how much lust, hunger, and desire had finally been released taking them both somewhere they had never been before.
"Hey, Mac?"
"I know, we need to get up and get dressed."
"Yea, that too . . . but can I ask you something, and I want an honest answer, counselor."
"Always, counselor."
"Well, was this . . . this 'unbelievable'. Not, that . . . well, I have . . ."
She smiled and kissed him soundly, once again the aching need growing deep within her but knowing they couldn't go there again, not just yet. "The great Harmon Rabb, at a lost for words. Does your ego need inflating or stroking?"
"No . . . it's just. Okay, yes I'm at a loss for words, smart ass. Just answer the question. What ego?"
"Yours, flyboy. What is it that the Admiral says about gold wings and an . . . " She screamed as he grabbed her and pinned her beneath him, feeling again his strong body pressed against her.
"Just answer the damn question, Marine!"
"Yes, it was 'unbelievable'. It was the best. It was . . . beyond words."
"Really? Well, at least we found something 'unbelievable' down here that we can 'believe' in." He brushed her lips with a light kiss still permeated with a hint of lingering passion and promise, only deepening it as he felt her hunger and responded with his own need. Breaking away, he stood and gave her a look of obvious regret that they couldn't continue. "Let's go, Marine. Let's solve this case, get on the first plane back to Washington, sort out the mess we've managed to make with our personal lives, and get on with our 'unbelievable' future together."
1530HRS (CST)
THE PERISTYLE
1437 RUE DOMINIQUE
NEW ORLEANS LA
The Mambo smiled, satisfied. It was to be a slow, sensual seduction, one of pent-up sexual frustration, initially ignited by fear, fueled by infinite moments of lost time and ablaze foremost by the greatest of all loves. And as the candles flickered their last fire, she knew it had been much more than she could have hoped for . . . and now they all had a chance, for such a love had given them the strength they needed to possibly defeat the evil . . . they all now had a chance.
And if they found the strength, if they defeated the powerful Bokar, it was not her spell that had bound the two souls as one, it had been the love they had always held for each . . . they had woven their own spell . . . their own spell of eternal love.
1330HRS (CST)
QUEEN AND CRESCENT HOTEL
ROOM 777
NEW ORLEANS LA
Darkness fell quickly over New Orleans, engulfing the city in an eerie light, even though it was mid-afternoon. The sun that had brilliantly started the day seemed to have been engulfed helplessly by the encroaching darkness, shrouding the city and it's occupants in the ominous darkness. In the distance, a sudden Gulf storm was visible, moving quickly, and threatening to drench the city in another of its sudden torrential downpours. The humidity built in the air and felt as threatening as the storm that would pelt the city, flood the low lying parishes, and then just as suddenly it would disappear, for after all New Orleans natives often said, "If you didn't like the weather, just wait a minute."
As Harm and Mac finally appeared in the living area, Bud was just finishing lunch. "I ordered some sandwiches for you, Ma'am, Sir. Figuring you would be hungry . . . I know I am after . . . not that there would be any reason . . ." Bud turned as red as the brightest Christmas bulb, trying to stop the stammering. Suddenly realizing that discretion was the better part of valor, he diverted his eyes and fell silent.
"Easy does it, Bud. Thanks, actually we will probably take them to go. We need to get to the 'Peristyle.'" Harm stole a discreet glance at Mac and shook his head, noticing the smile of satisfied contentment on her beautiful face. She looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary and managed not to get caught. Hoping he didn't carry the same look, he mentally tried to cloak himself in the armor he always had worn like a shield, always able to shroud his personal emotions. But when he suddenly realized that he had probably lost it somewhere between the sheets, a small shudder of satisfaction passed even through his body and he swore he could still taste her on his lips . . . still feel her on his fingertips . . . still feel her warm body pressed firmly . . .
"Harm. Hey, earth to Harm. Harm!" Seeing the flicker of heat in his eyes, she wanted to be back to wherever his mind had taken him, warm and safe in the arms that were now hers. But she knew if they were ever to get home safe, they would have to focus . . . focus on the unknown evil that was still ever present in the "reality" of their todays.
"Sorry. Ready to go?"
"Look, let's take a half-hour and eat, go over what Bud has downloaded, and then take off. From what the desk clerk told me the 'Peristyle' is within walking distance. So place your six here, flyboy, and eat."
Harm watched Mac pat the seat next to her with one hand and with the other slide the pickle seductively into her mouth. Suppressing an inaudible groan, he forced his focus on Bud and tried to shake the mental image her action had conjured in his mind. <Damn lucky pickle,> was all he seemed to focus on.
"Okay, what have you got, Bud."
"Actually, not much of anything. I ran most of the base command through the personnel archives and to tell you the truth, all have exemplary records. Their lives, personally and professionally, have no dings."
"Well, you and I know when you live on a base like NAS or in a small military town like Belle Chase, your personal and professional life is one. There have to be some ghosts in someone's closet."
"Except for the stoic Captain Rawlins."
"How's that Ma'am."
"Well, I get the feeling that his family is the most important thing in that man's life, even before his military career. I've only seen a flicker of humanity in that man, when he talks about his family."
"Well, in his case that is understandable, Colonel."
"What is understandable, Bud? The fact that he has tried, convicted and sentenced a man who has been in his chain of command for . . . "
"Eight years, Ma'am. Well, actually more than that. Commander Hawkins has been with Captain Rawlins for . . ." Bud shuffled through the personnel records before he continued. " . . . for actually twelve years."
"But Rawlins has only been at New Orleans NAS for eight, Bud."
"That's right, Sir. But when Captain Rawlins accepted NAS as his duty station in 1992, he had Hawkins transferred also. They both previously served together at the Naval Sir Station in Corpus Christi, Texas."
"Now why would a Captain in the United States Navy, who has served with an officer for twelve years and specifically requested his transfer, give up on his innocence so easily, especially when the circumstances are linked to the paranormal?"
It was a question . . . it was a statement and it caused an unearthly silence to fall over the three officers as their minds tried to digest Harm's words. Mac remembered all the skeletons in her past . . . that had risen and had walked in her present, almost destroying her military career and trying to suck her back to the person she once was. But if it hadn't been for the Admiral, Harm, and her friends, the ghosts of her past would have consumed and destroyed her present, by infesting it with the foolishness of the troubled girl she had been. Their unfaltering faith, trust and respect for her had given her strength and had helped her defeat her demons . . . the demons of a woman, an officer they had barely known for four years.
And yet . . . yet Captain Stuart Rawlins held no such faith, trust and respect for an officer who had served under him for twelve years. He had tried, convicted, and sentenced a man he had once respected, trusted and needed enough to have requested a transfer for him to his current command. What had happened between the two officers? What was Stuart Rawlins not telling them . . . and what was Mark Hawkins hiding?
"Bud, let me see Captain Rawlin's personnel file."
"Yes, Ma'am, but there is nothing unusual that I could see in there."
"Maybe, but my instincts tell me there has to be something. Something we are missing in all this."
Harm watched Mac as she intently centered her total concentration on the papers, remembering that her instincts had been correct on more than one occasion. Her instincts had saved then in Russia . . . she had been right about trusting Falcon . . . she had believed Ruzsa . . . and he had fought her the entire time. But as he rubbed his tired eyes, he knew that the logic, the order, the discipline of his ordered world would never be the same. Commander Mark Hawkin's wandering soul and the blackened unknown forces that now had control of him had changed all he had considered to be safe, sane and sound.
And the beautiful, intelligent, strong, sensual woman who now sat next to him had finally taken his love, no she had taken his soul and turned his world upside down, jumbling the pieces and creating a maze of erotic love and unending carnal desire . . . a world he wanted to wander in forever.
1500HRS (EST)
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH VA
"Damn it, Rabb!" It was more of a growl than a voiced statement that emanated from deep within the stoic Admiral. He stood and started to pace, trying to work off the excess energy and anger that Captain Stuart Rawlin's call had elicited. He instinctively didn't like the New Orleans CO, but the biting inflection and innuendoes in Rawlin's words and Rabb's mysterious two-day silence told him something more was going on down there than a simple investigation into, now, two murders.
"Tiner! Have you gotten through to Commander Rabb yet!"
Jason Tiner jumped at the booming voice that seemed to blow through the intercom like a hurricane, causing the papers he was shuffling to scatter and scamper across the floor of the Admiral's outer office. "No, Sir! Not yet, Sir!"
"Do I need to try a tin can and a string or would a carrier pigeon get through to him quicker . . . or maybe I should try a new Petty Officer that could follow orders! Now, Tiner!"
"Yes, Sir! I mean no, Sir! I mean, there's a storm brewing in the Gulf, and well, I'm having trouble getting through to his cell . . . Sir."
"Have you thought about trying the damn hotel number!"
"No, Sir . . . but I will, Sir."
"Now!"
"Aye, Sir."
Mumbling, Jason Tiner crawled across the floor, knowing somewhere in the scatter of papers that had been spread by Hurricane AJ was the Commander's itinerary. Oblivious to everything around him except the number he was trying desperately to locate he was jolted back to reality when he bumped into the legs of a very pregnant Harriet Simms. Blushing when he looked up, as if he had caught her naked in front of him, he slid away and rose quickly to attention.
"Ma'am. Sorry, Ma'am . . . is . . . there something . . . I can get . . . you need?"
"I'd like to see the Admiral, if he's available Tiner." Even in her troubled mood, she had to smile at the look on the Petty Officer's face. "And I think you could use a better filing system, Tiner."
"I'm working on it, Ma'am." Buzzing the Admiral, praying that he would see the Lieutenant, thus allowing him more time to locate the Commander's number, he held his breath until he heard the Admiral's gruff agreement.
"He'll see you, Ma'am."
"Thank you, Tiner." Harriet took a calming breath, knocked softly, and entered hesitantly once she heard the growl "Enter" seep through the mahogany door. Maybe this wasn't the best of times? Maybe he would just think these were the ramblings of a pregnant woman on hormone overload?
But her conversation with Bud, though sweet and loving, had left her strangely uneasy . . . and if anyone knew if there was something wrong . . . the Admiral would.
But once she entered and stood at attention, sensed the tension in the air, saw his more than normal stiffened posture, and the firm set of his jaw, she knew she had come at a bad time . . . or she had come when there was something very wrong.
"Sir."
"At ease, Lieutenant. What is it you need?"
"Well, Sir. I spoke to Bud . . . Lieutenant Roberts, about an hour ago . . . and well . . ."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that someone is still alive down there!" Once AJ looked up and saw the flicker of fear in her eyes, he regretted his gruffness and his choice of words.
" . . . Why wouldn't they be, Sir? Sir, why wouldn't they be? Is there something wrong?"
"No, No. I'm sure everything is fine. It's just that the Don Quixote of the Navy seems to have found another unauthorized crusade. I'm sure everyone and everything is fine." Seeing the flicker of fear in her eyes dim but still smolder, AJ softened his words with a more convincing intonation. "They are fine, Lieutenant. I'm sure."
" . . . Yes, Sir." Harriet relaxed and hesitated, hoping if she continued her CO wouldn't think she had lost her mind. But she had served under him for years, and though he would never accept her ability to read him, she had seen that look in his eyes before, and she read its clear concern . . . concern for the Commander, concern for the Colonel and concern for her husband.
"What did Mr. Roberts have to say? Lieutenant? Harriet?"
"He asked about you, Sir. He never asks about you when he is on an investigation." Watching the rise of his brows, she recovered, though she knew she was starting to ramble, a trait she lovingly remembered she had picked up from her husband. "Oh, it's not that he doesn't care about you, Sir. He considers you . . ."
"Harriet, I get it. It's all right, Lieutenant. What else?"
"Sir, he asked about you, about Tiner, about the Gunny . . . about everyone, and he told me to . . . to . . ."
"To what? What?" His reason attempting to catalogue this conversation as ridiculous, as the hormonal worries of a pregnant woman, he tried to hide the swell of apprehension that was starting to seep through his normally controlled faÁade.
"To wish you all well, Sir. To give you his best . . . like he wanted to be remembered . . . like . . . he . . ."
"Harriet, do you have the hotel number? Harriet, the hotel. Damn it, Lieutenant, do you have number to the hotel?"
1510HRS (CST)
QUEEN AND CRESCENT HOTEL
ROOM 777
NEW ORLEANS LA
Sarah MacKenzie read the personnel file again, staring at the words that started to scream at her from the page. " Oh, God. Harm look at this. Oh, dear God."
He saw her pale, and he saw her hands tremble as she handed the papers to him, pointing at the hidden passage. The passage that had seemed to be hidden amongst the military rhetoric that should have been standard, commonplace in the file of a career military officer. The passage that now seemed to lift a corner of the unearthly shroud, that had hidden a piece of the truth, lifted by the fingers of the living and the fingers of the dead. The shroud that had buried the truth in the land of evil, in the land of darkness, in the land of the undead. The unearthly land where souls wandered endlessly, wailing for salvation, wailing for release from the evil darkness, wailing for redemption, wailing for peace, wailing to be allowed to move into the light . . . where their captured souls could rest for all eternity.
"Let's go. We need to get to the 'Peristyle'. Now!" Harm stood, grabbing the file, knowing he would never be able to explain its contents . . . somehow he knew the only person who would or could help them would be the person they would find at the "Peristyle" . . . the person they would find at the "Peristyle - The Gates To Salvation."
"Harm, it can't be. It just can't be."
"Not in our world, Mac. But this isn't our world any longer. It belongs to someone and some things we don't understand . . . but if any of us are going to survive . . . we will have to believe in his world and fight like hell . . . with hell . . . fight what we've never fought before."
1600HRS (EST)
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH VA
The phone rang, an incessant constant cry, piercing and slicing into the stillness of the now empty hotel room, cloaked now in an icy haze of despair. Closing his eyes, he felt the same foreboding wash over him . . . like when he had first given them their orders. Knowing then this case wasn't simple, wasn't common, wasn't ordinary, but his reason had pushed the illogical thoughts from his ordered mind.
As the receiver seemed to slip silently into its cradle, drawn from his hand by the unanswered stillness that seemed to fill his mind . . . he wondered where they were . . . what they had been drawn into when he had given them their orders. And the strong Judge Advocate General, the brave Navy SEAL, prayed that the orders he had given them would not be their last . . . would not be the last orders he would give to Commander Harmon Rabb, Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, Lieutenant Bud Roberts . . . his finest . . . his friends . . . his family. And he wondered . . . he wondered why he hadn't had a thought about Lieutenant Lauren Singer.
"Tiner!"
"Yes, Admiral."
"Book me on the next flight to New Orleans."
1600HRS (CST)
SOMEWHERE IN THE FRENCH QUARTER
NEW ORLEANS LA
The storm had come and pounded the cobblestone streets, drenching the three officers in the torrid sheets of rain and surrounding them in the sudden stifling humid darkness as they tried to find their way to "The Gates of Salvation."
"Harm, this doesn't look right. I think we've come this way before." She was having difficulty seeing in front of her, the heavy rain blurring her vision, and the sudden fog that had rolled in dimming the straining gas lamps, fighting unsuccessfully to light her way.
"Mac, it's right! I can feel it's this way. It's just a little further, give me your hand." Reaching out for her, expecting to feel the warmth of her hand in his, he felt nothing but the cold fog that seemed to fill his hand with a firm void of emptiness. "Mac, give me your hand, damn it!"
Harmon Rabb stopped and turned when he still didn't feel the warmth of her hand, the warmth of her soft touch and when he didn't hear her respond. He turned into the fog that now cloaked them when he only heard the silence in return, broken intermittently by the howling of the storm, the rumble of the ominous thunder, and the flash of the lightening that split the sky . . . he turned to grab her . . . to shelter her in his arms . . . to protect her . . . but when he turned trying to adjust to the sudden eerie light and the endless fog that suddenly thickened around him, suffocating him . . . Sarah MacKenzie was gone.
1700HRS (CST)
SOMEWHERE IN THE FRENCH QUARTER
NEW ORLEANS LA
The four bodies had been laid ceremoniously at the cosmic entrance dressed in the sheer silken garments of passage. The Bokar watched as the hounsis took every care with the preserved remains, preserved by the spells and the potions as old as time, passed to him by the dark gods, who had protected them for so many years with their black sorcery. Preserved as he had remembered them, preserved to be reborn again, and walk among the living.
He watched the other students prepare the ceremonial feast, he watched them prepare the cornmeal for the creation of the "veve", a pattern unique to each of the two dark gods that would be evoked to pass through the cosmic door, each transporting the souls of the dead. He watched as the vessels needed for the ultimate possession and joining were gathered and placed reverently on the altar, each filled with the potions of death, of life, and of eternity.
The animals were assembled for the initial sacrifice, the scattered candles flickering, but not sheltering them as they cowered in the corners of the room as if they knew their fate. The vessels that would hold their blood were cleansed and lay waiting for the contents that would bring the possession of the "Loas," once it was consumed. Reflecting the flickering candlelight and sending colored shards of light throughout the room, the sacred receptacles glowed as if the liquid of life had already been placed in their hallowed recesses.
A smile of evil satisfaction crossed his face as the fifth body was added to the ceremonial altar, her olive skin aglow with the strong presence that emanated from the light of her living soul. As he approached he was amazed again by her beauty and at the strength she radiated even in her catatonic state of drugged possession. Pleased with his choice he traced her fine features, the warmth of life pulsing against his fingers through the flimsy black silk gown, sheer enough to let her soul pass, when the time was right, and sheer enough to absorb his possession.
The "Rite of Passage" would take her life and pass it to his loved ones, and they would walk once again in the light protected by the strength of his black sorcery. And Colonel Sarah MacKenzie would remain and be his, possessed by his power, a slave to satisfy his every need and desire . . . and she would be destined to walk in the darkness for eternity.
Sometimes we blindly test ourselves by accepting only the truth that surges around us in the present darkness summoned by the winds of what we identify as fate.
1800HRS (CST)
SOMEWHERE IN THE FRENCH QUARTER
NEW ORLEANS LA
He was like a blind man possessed as he ran through the deserted New Orleans streets, filled with terror, screaming her name into the blackness of the night. Fighting the rain that pounded him without mercy, fighting the howling wind that stifled his anguished cries and fighting the thunder that seemed to slap him with every crack against the angry night, he continued to slip and fall against the unyielding cobblestones that strained unsuccessfully to absorb the storm's wrath.
Stopping, exhausted, he leaned heavily against the rain-soaked brick of an age-old building, trying to absorb the warmth it radiated even through the chilling storm that ravaged its exterior. He shook with every breath he took as his heart beat painfully against his heaving chest, and his eyes burned with the tears of fear and sorrow for what Fate had now taken from him. Trying to block out the truth of his surroundings and the truth that was shredding his heart, numbing his mind, he screamed her name into the raging storm again and again, only to be answered by the ominous silence that hung on the howling wind.
Regret that can only come with shattering recognition spread the poison of immeasurable sorrow through him, for that which Fate now appeared to have stripped him of . . . the one thing he had been searching for all his adult life.
He had finally found the exit to the maze, the exit to the maze of surrogate love that he had been lost in all his adult life. And he had found and entered willingly into the maze of eternal love, whose endless twists and turns would give him the love, the friendship, the passion, the desire, that he had always hungered for, but had, in the past, hidden in the recesses of his foolish heart. Not recognizing the power, the beauty, the peace, all parts of the truth, that he had held in his life-giving organ, shrouded for years by his fear to love one and only one. And once his personal armor had been peeled away by her love and forgotten between the sheets soaked with their passion, he understood that he wanted to be lost in that maze forever . . . wandering with her by his side, in his bed, in his life as his partner for all eternity.
Harmon Rabb felt helpless, he felt like he was dying on the inside and without Sarah MacKenzie, he now knew he would die the loneliest death of all. For he finally had loved, and the fear of never being loved by one or loving one again, fed his hopelessness, fed a human weakness he had never felt before . . . and he knew he was destined now to die the loneliest death of all.
She felt like she was floating on errand wings toward him, the wind billowing around her sensual form, caressing and outlining her hungry body, hungry for him . . . hungry for him to love her. She was so close to him now . . . close enough to feel his own desires . . . his masculine scent drugging her as her body absorbed its unique essence.
He was so close and he would be hers forever . . .
Bud heard the anguished cries of his friend that echoed on the howling wind, the unmistakable pain accentuated by the raging storm, which appeared to increase the fear, the terror and the loss. He hurried along the streets, but as the cries became more distant, his terror rose . . . for himself, for the Commander, for the Colonel, as visions of Harriet, baby AJ and his unborn "Sarah" flashed through his mind. Continuing unsteadily towards the voice, his knee throbbing with pain, he recoiled when he felt the hand grab his elbow and heard the whispered word.
"Come."
Suddenly shaking uncontrollably, he turned and faced an old woman with the most incredible piercing yellow-green eyes, standing without warning so close to him, frail and soaked. Recoiling further, he cursed his weakness, for fearing something so fragile, so unthreatening. But he couldn't find his voice and just continued to stare at the rain-soaked woman, continued to stare into the piercing yellow-green eyes.
"Come. We must go, Lt. Roberts."
The intensity of his stare increased and his voice filled with an incredulous intonation. " . . . how . . . how do . . . do you know my name?"
"I know of you, the Commander, and the Colonel. Come, please. I have much to do. Much to explain. Come." Madame Claudette LaVeau-Gautier saw the confusion, felt the hesitation, and recognized deep in her aged being that she needed them all if she was going to save the soul of one. "You must come, or Sarah MacKenzie will soon pass to the dark side, lose the light of life and never walk as one of the living again."
The more she said, the more Bud heard, and the less he understood. But for some inexplicable reason that his mind could or would not comprehend, he relaxed, the piercing yellow-green eyes penetrating his very soul." . . . the Commander . . . I have to find . . . the Commander . . . he's lost . . . he . . ."
"The Commander is not physically lost, he is consumed by the loss of a great love. This has caused him to feel emotions he has never allowed himself to feel before. He has lost his strength, his hope, his will to continue, in . . . "
"No! Commander Rabb would never give up! He'll find her . . ." Bud straightened grabbing at the last thread that held him together, intensifying and leveling his own stare on the old woman. "We'll find her . . . we'll both find her!"
"Perhaps. Perhaps you will find her body, but you might never find her soul. You might never find that which might no longer exist in the world as you know it. Your Commander has lost the strength, the hope, the will in his mind, but not all that he holds in his heart. And it is what he holds in his heart that will save your friend, that will save you all . . . but we must go, now."
"That's . . ." Bud tried to stammer his mind's protests against the unbelievable, against the inconceivable, but when he saw was the old stranger turn and walk into the thick fog that had replaced the torrential rain and speak the simple words, he knew he had little choice but to follow.
"The truth. I speak the truth of things you do not understand." The Mambo started to make her way down one of the darkened allies that ran like branching vines throughout the French Quarter . . . roads from the past that still wound their way through the present New Orleans.
"The Commander. We must find him."
"No need, Lt. Roberts. He is already at the 'Gates of Salvation.'"
Haunted still with apprehension and fear, Bud Roberts continued to follow Madame Claudette LaVeau-Gautier in silence, through the thickening fog down the ancient allies towards salvation.
It was to be the final chapter, a repeated rite of age-old passage performed out of desperation for centuries in the darkened caverns where black magic and evil sorcery reigned and flourished. Where the beliefs of the past clashed with the beliefs of the present, where evil clashed with the goodness found only in love. It was in these dark caverns of the dead where her soul would leave her body and replenish those who had passed so many years ago. Those poor souls who had neither been permitted to be part of the living nor part of the dead . . . those who had been denied the peace of final rest, out of desperation and selfishness, in the name of love, for what had been and for what would be again.
And Sarah MacKenzie would wander somewhere between the living and the dead for eternity.
1930HRS (CST)
THE PERISTYLE
1437 RUE DOMINIQUE
NEW ORLEANS LA
They had found him, hunched against the swollen sand-bags that had been placed at the foot of the building to prevent the onslaught of the storm's torrential rains. He was chilled and silent . . . his mind's logic had ravaged his heart's memories, and he was lost somewhere between what had been and what would never be again. Memories of the last five years became sinister reminders of the next five years, and for all his years, mere voids filled with immeasurable regret of a lost friendship, a lost trust, a lost faith and memories of a loss of the greatest of all loves . . . memories of love once tasted and now forever lost.
Harm stood with Bud's help and followed the Mambo up the side alley steps that led to the second and third floor living quarters above the small store. Stairs that protested under the visitor's weight, with every step they took, as if they knew the fates that they would all encounter in the caverns of the undead.
"Place him where the fire will warm him. I will return."
Cold and still shaking, Harm tried to focus on his strange surroundings, but his mind was still clouded with the painful flashes of loss and he could only manage to croak Bud's name with a whispered questioning inflection. "Bud?"
"It's okay, Sir. We've got you." Bud laid his friend against the tapestry of the antique sofa that sat adjacent to the hearth, where he had been told.
" . . . Mac? You found her? Where is she? Mac . . ." His eyes darted around the room looking for the "we've". He tried to stand, but a sudden dizziness forced him to fall back on the antique sofa, and his only answer came from the logs that crackled in the large stone fireplace.
" . . . rest, Sir. You'll be okay."
"Mac?"
"We'll find her, Sir."
Bud saw the anguish that crossed his friend's face, he felt the helplessness that seemed to radiate from every pore of his chilled body, and he felt the hopelessness that poured from his once brilliant but now vacant eyes. And suddenly that same hopelessness, that same helplessness overwhelmed him, as he collapsed in the chair next to the sofa. They had no idea where she was. They had no idea who or what had taken her. They had no idea how to find her. They had no idea how to bring her back to them. His own despair coursed through him as he laid his head in his shaking hands, and his own chilled body shook with the remnants of hours outside ravaged by the storm.
"Here, this will help."
Bud opened his eyes to see the fragile gray-haired stranger hand him a cup of what appeared to be tea, its steamy pungent curls wafting up and seemingly, magically clearing his vision momentarily. "What is it?"
"A tonic. A special blend that has been in my family for generations. A tonic for both mind and body, that will cleanse the spirit and renew the soul." Claudette shook her head, seeing the doubting hesitant expression on the Lieutenant's face. "Drink it or do not drink it, it is your choice. Save her or do not save her, it is also your choice, for I cannot do this alone."
He watched, still apprehensive, as she carefully, almost tenderly held Harm's head and guided him to drink, the liquid passing over his dry pale lips almost painfully. "Don't . . ." Bud stopped abruptly, the piercing yellow-green eyes that turned on him was all that was needed to silence his protests.
"Don't what? Don't help? Your disbelief and your fears of what you do not know, what you do not understand, will defeat all of you." Her voice softened, now merely a whisper. "It is your intelligence, your strength of spirit, your friendship for one another, your hearts love that will defeat him and save you all. So just drink it, my son."
And they both drank the tonic that had been prepared by Madame Claudette LaVeau-Gautier, the great granddaughter of the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans . . . and the liquid did cleanse their spirit and renew their soul, while they slept and their mind's eye wandered somewhere between the past and present.
The Mambo rocked in her chair, the warmth from the fire taking the chill out of her weary aged bones and listened to the leveled breathing of the strangers, the peace that comes with anointed sleep, that comes with the cleansing power of the "retong". She stared in reverence at the picture of her grand-ma-ma that hung ceremoniously in its place of honor over the great fireplace of pebbles and stones, and whispered her prayers of hope. Closing her eyes, she let the visions of what had passed dance against her eyelids as she conjured the visions of what was to come in their place. What had to manifest itself if they were to defeat the powerful Bokar that had infected so many innocents with his blackened desires, his selfishness and his misuse of the power of the great Voodun.
Every so often she would turn her attention to the strong stranger who lay on her ancestral settee, and she would smile when she heard the mumbled words. Nodding in silent understanding, she knew that his heart and mind were being healed, that he was remembering the power of the greatest of all bonds . . . he was remembering the depth of their friendship, the truth in their love and the power of their sexual joining.
But the darkness, the evil, the despair appeared once again, cloaking the room and his memories with it's infinite satanic presence . . . and the Mambo found herself shaking uncontrollably as she whispered the silent prayers of universal cleansing to Marie LaVeau . . . her grand-ma-ma, the great Voodoo Queen of New Orleans.
She reached her destination, his strong arms surrounding her and the warmth of his smile arousing all that she was. As his hands warm, strong and exploring ignited the fire within through the thin black silk of her gown, she molded against the strength of his body. The feelings he was eliciting in her, were electrifying, were intoxicating, and seemed to contain all the loving tenderness of heaven and all the fiery animalistic desires of hell.
She needed him. She had always needed him. She wanted him. She had always wanted him. And as he lifted her in his arms, carried her to the place that once again would complete their sexual joining, she writhed under his heated touches and Sarah MacKenzie whispered the words as old as time from her heart . . . a heart filled with never ending love.
"I love you, Harmon Rabb. I will be yours for eternity."
"For eternity, my love. And I shall be yours till the end of time."
Harm woke abruptly, a cold sweat and flashes of her in his arms so real, so real that he could still feel her on his fingertips, warm and wanting. He could still feel her body molded against his, the heat of her perfect body starting to burn him like the fires from hell, her whispered words of love like sheltering prayers from heaven. Shuddering and disoriented when he realized it was the cruelest of all dreams, he heard the distant crackling of a fire, the steady creaking sounds of a rocker and the emptiness, he felt the aching emptiness of her no longer in his arms.
He focused on his strange surroundings, trying to clear the haze and remember where he was and how he had gotten to this place. His eyes darted around the room absorbing each detail of the darkened eclectic dÈcor, composed of times past, rich in the French traditions of the New Orleans, which was no more. He would have thought he was in a time warp if his eyes hadn't settled on Bud's sleeping form and if the veil of truth hadn't lifted, reminding him of her disappearance.
Swinging his legs to the floor he rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyes as the creaking of the rocker stilled and his attention was drawn to the stranger illuminated by the glowing embers of the fire.
"Good evening, Commander Rabb. I am glad to see you are feeling better."
"I . . . how did I get here? Who . . . who are you?"
"You are at the 'The Peristyle', my home. I am Claudette LaVeau-Gautier." She felt the strength emanate from him, she saw the firm set of his jaw, and she saw his brilliant eyes darken with the distant surfacing memories. Her own strength was renewed, for this was a man of great courage, a man of great integrity, a man of great honor, a man of truth.
"Bud, get up. I thank you for your hospitality, Madame. But we must be going. Get up, Bud."
"And where will you go. Where will you find, the one you call Mac."
"What the . . . with all due respect, Ma'am, we need to be going."
"No need . . . to call me Ma'am. Claudette will be fine. And where is it you will go, Commander? Have you not come where you knew you must be? Was this not your destination, when your lover was taken from you?"
"Excuse me . . ." A small shudder passed through Harm, but he fought its assault as his loss was finally put into words by the strange old gray-haired woman who approached out of the light of the fire.
"When Sarah MacKenzie was taken to the dark side."
"Look, I don't know what kind of . . ."
"Listen to her, Sir. Just listen." Bud had managed to stand and moved next to Harm, his hand firmly on his friend's shoulder in silent support.
"Yes you must listen, Commander, for our time together is short. There is much I must explain, there is much you must learn, and there is much we must do, for the time for her salvation is passing quickly, like fine sand through an hourglass."
"Bud, you can't possibly believe, that she will . . . that this is . . ."
"I do, Sir. What else do we have? The Colonel is gone and I think that well, maybe, just maybe I believe, Claudette can find her and bring her back."
"You know? You know where she is? Damn it, Bud! Why are we standing here talking . . . while Mac is . . . is . . . "
"Possessed by a powerful Bokar . . . a Voodoo black priest of great evil and powerful black magic."
A sudden all-consuming silence hung over the room, and once again a chill settled over the two officers, once again suspended over a deep crevice filled by the unknown and the unbelievable. It wasn't Claudette's words that re-played through Harm's head like a broken record . . . it was the pleas of Commander Mark Hawkin's. < . . . I was possessed by a very powerful Bokar, a high priest of left-handed Voodun practicing the black arts of the Dark Gods, and I will never be free. My soul will forever belong to him. Will do his bidding. You will never be able to save my mortal body for it is lost forever and will be turned to the dust of the undead, fated to wander among the living for eternity. But please, Sirs, I beg you. Please try to save my immortal soul . . . > Would Sarah, his Sarah also be lost forever and be turned to the dust of the undead, fated to wander among the living for eternity?
"Sir. Sir!" Bud felt all the emotion and he saw the pain, the fear, the disbelief. But he knew without hesitation that if anyone would find the strength, take the risk, sacrifice his life, it would be his friend . . . for her . . . especially for her.
"We listen, Bud. Tell us, Claudette, how can we help you get Mac out?" He felt defeated and helpless, as if all their lost time had not only taken the memories they could have built together, but that it had also robbed them of their future. Their future had been grabbed away by an evil presence that reigned in New Orleans apparently unencumbered. It was to be just a murder case, one of many they had investigated. It was to be an open and shut case in beautiful, scenic and romantic New Orleans . . . and it had turned into first a glimpse of heaven and then a burning flash of hell.
"Yes, I know where she is, I understand what will happen to her, but no, there is no way I can bring her back to you, Commander."
"But you said . . . "
"Come sit, there is much you must understand, much you must let yourself believe . . . before you, Lt. Roberts, and I will attempt to stop the black evil that is trying to rob her of her soul and her body."
2300HRS (CST)
SOMEWHERE IN THE FRENCH QUARTER
NEW ORLEANS LA
The exotics slithered against her still body, nesting themselves against her warm flesh, preparing themselves for their assigned journey. Before the dawn, driven by the forces of the ceremonial rites, summoned by the Dark Gods, the snakes would absorb her soul and take their precious cargo to the preserved ones. They would pass her life force to the preserved ones, with their stinging bites, carried on the streams of their venom. And the dead would once more enter the land of the living as they had once been, alive again to walk in the light . . . when the sun wakened and chased the darkness of the night . . . when a new day dawned.
And the Bokar stood and just watched as the feel of her in his arms still consumed him with an inexplicable ecstasy. He watched as the last of the exotics were placed in position by the young Lieutenant and he smiled in absolute satisfaction . . . for the "Rite of Passage" had finally begun.
Sometimes we lose ourselves in the truth we find outside ourselves, for we fear to look deep into our souls and find what fire lies in wait simply for a sign of recognition. Sometimes many would take the death sentence without a whimper to escape the life sentence that Fate carries in her hand.
2300HRS (CST)
THE PERISTYLE
1437 RUE DOMINIQUE
NEW ORLEANS LA
Harm stood by the second floor window and watched the revelers take to the streets again, replacing the last remnants of the dreary with exuberant celebration. But as their passing reflections danced against the rain-spotted windowpanes, his eyes, the windows to his soul, were spotted with the hot tears of all that had been taken from him.
Madame Claudette LaVeau-Gautier returned to the salon with the coffee and fresh beignets. While preparing the small offerings to her guests, she discretely observed her visitors, knowing that once the coffee was served she would have to begin their journey into the world of Voodun. She would take them into a terrestrial sphere that only believers could fathom, and she silently prayed to the "Gran Met" that they would understand. She would expose information to the non-believers that in the past had only been permitted for the high priests and high priestesses who had followed the old teachings, and she would commit her first betrayal. And then if the strangers did not resist the true wisdom of her assertions, she would commit the final betrayal and take them to the sacred caverns of the dead.
Regardless of her own fate, she knew she had to make them consider as true her teachings. There would be no peace, no salvation, no chance, no absolution for her . . . for her own destiny had now been pre-ordained, and she had to make them give credence to and trust in the power of good and the evil of the darkness. For if their minds resisted the reality, there would be no peace, there would be no chance, there would be no salvation and they would all be consumed in their own individual hell . . . all innocents would be lost forever.
"Commander, come sit by the fire and enjoy your coffee and pastry. The beignets are a New Orleans specialty and unfortunately one of my weaknesses and I tend to overindulge. Come, please."
She watched him approach in the dim glow of the fire, his strength was renewed and his eyes held the fire of desired memories lost . . . but still there was a void. She shook her own sudden apprehension . . . all would be fine, for he was good, and the time had come for their journey to begin. "It is time . . . time for you to learn and time for you to comprehend the incredible."
"Respectfully, Madame . . ."
"Claudette, please."
"Claudette, I appreciate . . . "
"Do you believe in God, Commander?" Claudette handed Harm and Bud their coffee and beignets, rich with the smell of chicory, covered with the sweet powdered sugar, richly steeped in New Orleans tradition.
"Yes . . . I believe there is a God."
"Good. So do we, we have our 'Gran Met' or Great Master. Do you believe in individual Saints and the love and the reverence in which they performed their deeds that gained them the eternal homage of the living?"
"Mad . . . Claudette, what does . . . " Harm watched as the Mambo raised her petite aged and wrinkled hand to silence his protests. "Yes . . . I believe in Sainthood."
"Good. So do we, we have many 'Loas'. Our 'Loas' resemble Christian Saints, in that they walked once among the living and led exceptional lives. Do you believe in fallen angels, who have been cast from grace by the hand of God?"
"I . . ."
"Satan, Lucifer, the Devil . . . "
"I know what she means, Bud. Yes, I guess that I do." Harm, exasperated, glanced pointedly at Bud, knowing he was in his element now. "With all due respect, Ma'am, we are not here for a lesson in theology . . . we are here in the hope that . . . some how, some way you will be able to help us find Colonel MacKenzie." His tension permeated the room, his helplessness started to resurface, and his hope that the old woman who sat in front of him drinking coffee and rambling about theological teachings could help them was quickly waning.
"I will help you find Colonel MacKenzie, the one that you love, but you must let go of your doubts, you must let go of your prejudices, you must believe, you must say the words . . . and you must gain strength from that love. We too have our fallen angels, 'djabs' who were banished from God's Kingdom, and because of their skewed view of redemption started their own versions of our ancient traditions."
"Yes, I believe there are those who are inherently evil." Harm's head was pounding as he answered the questions that to him seemed merely to be vessels that were stealing precious time . . . time needed to find his love.
The Mambo just stared pointedly when she heard the Commander's carefully chosen words but continued. "And miracles. Do you believe in miracles?"
"I believe there are things in this world that can't be explained by the traditional, but I'm not sure I would call them 'miracles'."
"What would you call them then, Commander?"
"I . . . I'm . . . not sure."
"Then the word 'miracles' will have to do. They are unexplained manifestations, sent by a Supreme Being to test and confirm our strength, to test and confirm our goodness, and to test and confirm our devotion and foremost our love. I believe they can come from Heaven and they can come from Hell."
"From Hell?"
"Yes, Lt. Roberts, from Hell. These are 'possessions' distended with selfishness, distended with despair, distended with the darkened desires of the fallen angels. They are also unexplained manifestations evoked by those repelled from grace or those who have chosen willingly to walk on the dark side. They are perhaps the greatest tests of our strength, of our goodness, of our devotion and the greatest of all sacred emotions . . . of our love. Commander?"
"Go on, Madame."
"Voodun, like Christianity, is a religion of many traditions. We both believe in a Supreme Being and an afterlife. Our 'Loas' resemble your Christian Saints, in that they were once people who led remarkable lives, given a single responsibility or a special attribute. We believe that each person has a 'met tet', master of the head, which corresponds to a Christian's patron saint. We both have liturgies or ceremonial rites of ritual sacrifice and the consumption of flesh and blood . . . your rite of communion. We both . . . "
"But our religion does not teach us, or condone us, to go around murdering innocent people in the name of . . . "
"An eye for an eye, Commander?"
"It's not the same."
"No, it is not. But both of us believe in the existence of invisible evil spirits or demons, our fallen angels and their minions, who walk among us and 'posses' those that are weak, those that are evil, those who do not believe in the power and the love of the father. Those who have faith only in their own singular actions to propagate their individual darkened agendas, with the help of the 'djab'."
"And this Bokar is one of those spirits?"
"Not exactly. He was once of the living, but he has been possessed by a 'amoral djab' of the dark world . . . he has been possessed by the equivalent to a follower of your 'Satan'."
"And this 'he' is?"
"He was one of you once, he was the one you called Stuart Rawlins." Claudette expected some opposition at her declaration and watched Harm's eyes darken with disbelief, with doubt . . . with resistance, but his outburst of overwhelming righteous indignation caught her by surprise.
"That is more than merely unbelievable, that is utterly ridiculous!" Harm stood, starting to pace like a threatened caged animal in front of the aged Mambo. "The man you are accusing of committing two reprehensible crimes, and God knows what else, is a Captain in the United States Navy! He is a career officer, a man of integrity, a man of honor, sworn . . ."
"But the file, Sir. What about what the Colonel found in his personnel file?" Bud had been mesmerized by the words of the Mambo, listening to every word, his mind, which had always been predisposed to the paranormal, absorbed every amazing utterance.
"Cut the crap, Lieutenant. Don't read more into a singular entry in a man's personnel file and turn it into something . . . something . . . that would . . . drive him to sell his soul to the devil!"
"But . . ."
"But what, BUD! The cruelest of fate took that man's family . . . he lost the woman and the children he loved that were his life, in one tragic moment. If you lost Harriet and AJ, would you remove every memory of them from your life . . . would you remove their pictures from your office and hide them away! Would you just forget them, Lieutenant . . . as if they had never existed! Would you just forget the life you could have shared, the children your love could have conceived . . . the future you could have . . ."
"NO, SIR! How can you even think that, let alone say such a thing . . . how could you even think I would do something like that!" Bud was incensed at Harm's inferences, so incensed that he moved until he stood toe to toe with his superior, fire in both men's eyes.
"Please, Bud. What the hell do you know . . . you HAVE Harriet and AJ, you have your career, you HAVE it all! You haven't lost the only thing that has ever meant . . . you haven't lost the one person who . . . damn it you haven't lost everything!" Harm glared at the man that had been an associate, but more importantly a friend and a confidant for over five years and he couldn't help it . . . he had lost total control. He couldn't contain the irrational words that spilled, like venom, from his bleeding heart nor from his ravaged mind. "Damn it! He lost everything! He lost it all! There is nothing left for him but a uniform, a code of conduct, and some meaningless ribbons of honor! But what would you know!"
"Stop it! Don't you think I have feelings . . . that I can sympathize with . . . don't you think I've always known . . . " All military protocol, all military propriety was merely a hidden memory in both men's mind as Bud Roberts, with fire in his eyes, faced Harmon Rabb.
"You just don't get it! She was all there had ever been . . . she was all that there ever would be . . . he . . . I've lost everything, and I never . . ." Harm's shaking hand constricted around the thin china teacup, each shouted word, each aching memory causing his hand to tighten around the object like a vise. Only when shattered shards of porcelain cut deeply into the palm of his hand, embedding themselves firmly in his flesh, blood pouring from his self-inflicted wound, did the shouting stop as the Mambo slipped between the two men.
" . . . had a chance for a future with the woman you love? But you will, Commander, with the grace of the 'Gran Met' and the love of friendship and the strength of love. Let me see your hand."
"No, it's fine!" He tried to pull away still gripped in the throngs of grief and regret, but the small fragile high priestess had already encased his hand between hers.
She was floating somewhere between the past and present, but even in her darkened state, she was still weightless in the brightest of lights. It wasn't her pass demons, indiscretions, and unsatisfied desires that assaulted her subconscious . . . there was only one thing that continually occupied her mind in her drug induced state. The love finally culminated . . . the love of one man.
Harm and Bud watched with unmatched astonishment at the mysterious rite. Harm felt the warmth and strength in her hands, and saw the ethereal glow that suddenly emanated from the palm of his hand. His hand still firmly interred in hers, the gifted Mambo whispered the sacred prayers to the 'Loa' of healing, Ogou Balanjo. Her voice rose in strength, her body trembled with each forceful word and the glow of the fire seemingly brought to life the picture of Marie LaVeau.
When she opened her yellow-green eyes, as the ethereal glowing warmth dissipated, Harmon Rabb looked with disbelief at his injured hand. The magical heat of the old woman's touch had absorbed the bleeding wound and the only remnants of the incident that remained were the few blood splatters on the tattered Persian carpet which covered the floor at his feet.
Claudette sat exhausted on the small stool that was placed in front of the fire. The shouting match between the two men had never been about the possession of a virtual stranger who had lost his family in a tragic accident. The shouting match between the two friends had been about Harmon Rabb's immeasurable loss, about this infinite remorse, about his dismal future . . . it had always been about Sarah MacKenzie. And as she watched one friend comfort the other, with repentant words, with gestures of camaraderie, with actions and apologies filled with mutual esteem, her strength was restored.
0130HRS (CST)
QUEEN AND CRESCENT HOTEL
ROOM 777
NEW ORLEANS LA
"Just open the door, son"
"Sir, this is highly irregular. I could lose my job over this." The Bell Captain eyed the tall imposing individual with wary uneasiness, unsure if he should continue. But the one hundred-dollar bill securely hidden in the pocket of his uniform gave him the courage to open the door to the suite without further trepidation. After taking a deep breath, he unlocked the door and let the stranger slip past him into the darkness of the room.
"Thank you, that will be all."
Admiral AJ Chegwidden inspected the large vacant suite, carefully. As if in the jungles of Vietnam again, he vigilantly surveyed his surroundings, going from room to room, noticing all, missing nothing. There was nothing out of place, there was nothing to indicate that any of them were in trouble, but still AJ felt a wariness, an apprehension, and a chilling anxiety started to build deep within him that something was very wrong.
Though all their things seemed to be in place, the fact that they were all sharing one suite, made the stoic Admiral tense with a disquieting misgiving . . . but he knew the only thing he could do . . . was wait. Strength in numbers . . . one for all and all for one . . . the words kept rewinding in his head.
"Rabb, I pray to God, you have taken the one path of common sense this time and not the path of a thousand stupidities . . . "
0130HRS (CST)
THE PERISTYLE
1437 RUE DOMINIQUE
NEW ORLEANS LA
"Come sit by me, for time is very short." Only when the two officers sat at her feet, the questioning wonder still in their eyes, did Claudette continue.
"When I was six years old, I realized that I had been endowed with certain gifts of vision and healing. It was very frightening for a young girl of my age, but like my ancestors before me, my future was preordained. As I got older, I could feel my powers became stronger with age. At my mother's passing, like she had at my grandmother's, I ascended to the position of high priestess in the practice of "right-handed" Voodun for the largest community of believers in New Orleans the 'Peristyle,' that had been founded by Marie LaVeau."
"The Voodoo Queen of New Orleans."
"Yes, Lt. Roberts, my great grand-ma-ma."
"Right-handed Voodun?"
"Those who follow the "white-magic" teachings of the faith. The purpose of our rituals is one of celebration, to make contact with a spirit, an ancestor, to gain their favor, to obtain help. They are mutual rites of cleansing and spiritual joining with our dearly departed through the presence of our 'Loas', whom we lavish gifts upon to obtain help in more abundant food and other materials; the 'Loas' provide health, protection from evil spirits and good fortune. Our rituals are held to celebrate lucky events, to attempt to escape a run of bad fortune, to celebrate a seasonal day of reverence associated with a 'Loa,' for healing, at birth, at marriage and at death." The yellow-green eyes canvassed the faces of the two officers, for any sign of doubt, for any sign of disbelief, for any sign of resistance. But all she saw as her eyes darted between the two, were signs of sudden silent recognition and she smiled with satisfaction.
"But Marie LaVeau was feared as much as she was revered." Bud was the first to speak, his Internet information on Voodoo, seeping suddenly into the conversation.
"That she was, my son, and in some instances she would align with a 'djab' and perform acts of "left-handed" Voodun. My ancestors are of an orthodox sect and an orthodox Houngan, high priest or a Mambo, high priestess is under oath never to do harm, therefore invocations of 'djabs' are more frequently attempted by Bokars. However an orthodox Voodun clergy person may invoke a 'djab' to do harm or evil and even direct him to kill a person, if that person has committed repeated crimes against innocents. But only under extreme circumstances would a Mambo or a Houngan, evoke the powers of a 'djab' to perform a cleansing."
"But not a Bokar and that is what we are dealing with now."
"No, unfortunately not, Commander. The Bokars practice the 'left-handed' or 'black magic' Voodun. They align themselves with all that is evil and they welcome the possessions by 'djabs' to perform their darkened rites of destruction. They are not motivated by traditional Voodun beliefs, but are motivated by all-consuming greed, hatred, prejudices, unearthly power, and carnal sexual desires . . . all that is and will ever be evil in this world and in the afterlife."
She could feel his wanting strong hands on her, roaming and exploring all that made her a woman. She could feel his fiery breath tease her bare flesh as his lips followed the trail of his blazing hands eliciting in her the most erotic pleasures. His mouth, his lips, his hands were probing and hungry, as they stimulated the most sensitive and intimate areas of her body, arousing her own animalistic needs to be satiated.
"What happened to Stuart Rawlins to make him forget the honor, the courage, the integrity of a career officer . . . to make him do something so despicable . . . to join forces with . . ." Harm ran his hand through his hair, impatient to find his Sarah, but knowing with knowledge would come strength and that he had to know all there was before he could act.
"Five years ago, a sudden Gulf storm ravaged the New Orleans area with torrential winds and blinding sheets of rain, and there was a horrific accident on the bridge to Belle Chase. Many had been drinking, and combined with the sudden swell of weather, twenty-eight innocents were taken, twenty-two were injured, some were maimed for life. The loss belonged to the families, to the small community and to the Base. Most of those who perished were military families returning from an outing organized by the Women's Auxiliary at NAS." The Mambo shivered and her hands shook the memories so vivid in her mind, but she smiled tenderly when Harm helped her adjust her shawl around her frail shoulders.
"Captain Rawlins' family were among the casualties, but he survived?" Bud blinked back the tears that tried to surface, afraid of what he would be driven to if anything happened to Harriet . . . to Baby AJ . . . to his unborn "Sarah" . . . and if he was ever left to go on alone.
"Yes, their car went out of control, swerved to avoid another and broke through the bridge guard rail and plunged into the depths of the muddy Mississippi River. Captain Rawlins lost his wife, his twin daughters and his son on that fateful day." Claudette's words trailed off to just a whisper as her mind replayed the visions that had torn through her that day . . . each hopeless cry still wailing in her mind.
"Madame? Claudette? Captain Rawlins survived the crash? But how? Are you okay, Ma'am?"
Brought back to the present she tried to continue as she willed the memories that so clearly played in her mind away. She focused on Bud Roberts, seeing the concern in his eyes. She had to continue, the voyage had already begin. "I'm sorry."
"No need, Ma'am. If you would prefer to rest . . . "
"No there is no time for rest. Captain Rawlins was not with his family on that fateful day. He had his duty, he had his responsibilities, he had his career . . . and he didn't attend the outing, he didn't take the drive across the bridge that day, he stayed behind for his career, like he had done so many times before. But did he survive? No, since that day he has been dying a much more painful death. The heart and soul of Stuart Rawlins might have as well entered the muddy Mississippi that day with his family, for his body has been left behind to aimlessly wander possessed with the aching despair of an immeasurable loss for eternity."
"I can understand him possessed, with grief and guilt . . . but why would he . . ."
"Shortly after all the victims were laid to rest, there was talk in the New Orleans Voodun community, that a very powerful Bokar had surfaced and had infused the weak, the mindless, the lost with his 'black-magic.' His minions grew in the shadows, preying on the hopeless and helpless, evoking the strongest of the 'djabs' and absorbing their power and darkened desires with an unequaled hunger, for one reason and for one reason only. When the time was right, when his power was the strongest, when the earth and moon were in the proper ancestral position, the 'Rite of Passage' would be invoked and he would never be destined to experience the loneliness and the loss again."
"The 'Rite of Passage'?"
The Mambo chose her words carefully, returning with equal fervor the intense gaze of Harmon Rabb as he stood and moved towards the window. "When the time came to transfer the life force of a living being into the preserved bodies of his wife, his twins and his son. For you see, gentlemen, shortly after the Rawlins family were laid to rest, their bodies were taken . . . taken to the land of the undead to be kept, to be preserved and to await their ultimate resurrection."
"Gloria Patton and her aide?" There was the slightest glimmer of hope in his voice, but as he turned toward the window . . . he knew in his heart that the words he was about to hear would only bring a stinging truth.
"No, Commander, not the two unfortunate reporters. Both were killed by Mark Hawkins because they knew the truth and were going to expose the identity of the Bokar and uncover to the world his reign of evil. They died for what they knew, not for what they could give."
Claudette stood and walked to the window where Harmon now stood, straight and still as a statue. She laid a calming hand on his shoulder before she continued. "It is her beauty, her sensuality, her intelligence, her strength, her discipline . . . "
"No more, please, Madame." The truth suddenly became his enemy and he was pleading for her not to continue as his hands gripped the weathered windowsill.
" . . . is all that he desires. He will absorb her life force with the
snakes he has ceremonious placed around her. The Egyptian Cobras, the Saw-Scaled Vipers, . . . "
"No more, stop, please . . . NO!" The truth had become his enemy and he was now begging, begging for her not to continue as his white-knuckled fists tightened on the weathered windowsill.
" . . . Puff Adders, Cobras, Russell's Vipers, Corals, Eastern and Western Diamondbacks. They will take her life force and carry it to the preserved ones . . ."
"Stop it! Stop it!" The truth had become his enemy and now the worst of all possible nightmares. He continued to beg her not to continue, beg her not reveal what was to be his lover's sickened fate as his grip splintered the weathered windowsill.
" . . . and she will wander in the land of the undead for eternity, serving his every need, satiating his sexual hunger. In the name of God, listen to me, please!" Strengthening her hold on his shoulders, the frail Mambo spun him toward her. "You have to listen! Listen to me!"
"NOOOOOO! Why us? Why her? Why?" She barely came up to his chest, but the grip the Mambo had on Harm felt like the hands of thousands, holding him in place, making him face her, making him face what now he knew to be the truth. "Why?"
"Because you all came. To do your duty, but you did more than your duty. You were all a threat to what he had waited so long to culminate, and though he wanted to destroy you all, by infesting her, by seducing you . . . he realized he couldn't. He had found his partner for eternity, and he had found . . .the life force that would bring back all he had lost in that one tragic moment in time."
"With all your power, with all your visions . . . why? Why couldn't you help them all! How could you let him do this to them . . . how could you let him do this to her!" Harm saw a flicker of regret in Claudette's eyes at his harsh words, but the conviction never left her eyes and her grip on him never loosened.
" . . . I . . . As my powers grew with age they have also lessened as I approach the end of my presence in the land of the living. Soon, very soon, I will join my ancestors, forever, hopefully, to rest in the loving land of the 'Gran Met'. I stopped the infestation, I helped prevent your seduction, but I knew I had to save my dimming powers to prevent the final possession . . . to make you understand and help me defeat that which I cannot defeat alone."
"I . . . that was you who stopped the poison . . . that healed Mac?"
"Yes, I helped to absorb some of the poison that would have spread and killed her . . . but it was a part of her and it was a part of you that helped to ultimately drain her of the evil that threatened to take her from you."
"I . . . don't remember clearly . . . a seduction." Harm's mind caught brief flashes of a nakedness, of a presence, of hands touching him, of the fire and of the ice. "I can't see it clearly . . . its . . ."
"Of course you do not, my son. You never were intended to remember the attempted sexual joining by the one you call, Singer. The sexual joining that would have taken your strength, that would have taken your will, and that would have taken your soul. That would have made you one with her forever. It was all she had asked of the Bokar to grant her . . . and she would have succeeded if it hadn't been for the intervention of my grand-ma-ma."
"Lauren?" Bud had been listening to the exchange, trying in his own mind to deny the fate the Colonel faced, trying in his own mind to deny the fate that would consume the Commander if he lost her. He moved to stand by them in the dim light of the window.
"That little . . . I guess I didn't send her home . . . home . . . soon enough." Harm's hand moved through his hair distractedly as he tried to absorb all the Mambo's words and also the betrayal of one of their own.
"You must not blame her for the possession, for she knows not what she is doing. She is weak, and yes she has great darkness in her soul, a great thirst for power. But she is a victim just like we all will be if the evil Bokar completes the ceremonial rite. She is not gone, she still stands at his left, doing his bidding, helping him prepare for the 'Rite of Passage.'"
0200HRS (CST)
CAVERNS OF THE DEAD
NEW ORLEANS LA
The "veves" were weaved from the finest cornmeal in honor of the great "djab", close to the sacrificial altar that held the life force encased in her beauty. He was enthralled by all he saw . . . by all that he would regenerate with his great power . . . and by all he would direct into the land of the undead . . . by all that would be his to pleasure as soon as the sacrificial rite was completed with the dawning light of a new day.
The exotics had already started their appointed tasks, nesting closer and absorbing the strength of her soul through the thin veiled material that barely covered her. The chanting, the dancing, the shouted prayers were reaching a frenzied proportions as the Bokar approached Sarah MacKenzie, careful not to disturb the most sacred of "veves" that would be used in the final transformation.
"Enough!" The Bokar shouted his instructions and waved his hand at the irritating blonde that had failed at her task . . . failed miserably at her the simple seduction. He watched her place the final coral snake at the base of altar and move away to join the others as they surrounded the sacred soul that would soon be taken.
He smiled with an immeasurable evil satisfaction as he touched the warm flesh. Her eyelids fluttered and the evil Bokar knew that she was still floating, still in the land of the living, still in the land of dreams, still enveloped in the warming memories of the mortal's love. His own darkened pleasures were aroused as he watched her body react to her mind's pleasures. He resisted his own body's needs as he continued to watch her skin flush with desire, her lips burn with the taste of his.
"Soon, very soon, he will not even be a memory . . . soon, very soon you will be mine . . . and I will be the only owner of your carnal pleasures . . . but first you will give me back my loved ones and my life."
0230HRS (CST)
THE PERISTYLE
1437 RUE DOMINIQUE
NEW ORLEANS LA
The silence was reaching deafening proportions in the dimly lit salon that had for the last three hours transported Harmon Rabb and Bud Roberts into the land of the undead . . . where the dead walked to serve the evil "djabs" . . . where there was no peace, where there was no light, where there was no love. Where bodies walked without souls, without feeling, without love, possessed and destined to wander for eternity, waiting for salvation, waiting for peace, waiting for release, to return to the love, waiting to be released back into the light.
A place and an evil that would consume Sarah MacKenzie forever, and she would be lost to the light, lost to the love of the man who would mourn her for a lifetime and wander in the world with an all consuming grief until he took his final breath . . . unless they could stop what was threatening to consume her . . . unless they could stop the black "Rite of Passage".
The fragile Mambo rested on the settee, exhausted by the hours of teachings . . . resting to restore her power for what was to come. What would represent her final betrayal of the traditions, of the rites, of the beliefs of the religion as old as time . . . the religion of her ancestors and the religion that had been her life for the last 60 years as the reigning Queen of New Orleans Voodun. She would take the strangers to the caverns of the dead, across the line of darkness. Held sacred and hidden from the light for centuries, she would expose to the non-believers, what she had been sworn to keep sacred and secret at any cost for all time. This time, however, his reign was too destructive, his desires too heinous, and this time defeat was within her grasp because the innocent was so loved. It would be the strength of his love, as much as her magic, that would defeat the black forces that held so many in the throngs of despair.
Harm moved to the settee and adjusted the afghan that had slipped from the frail old woman. The priestess who knew so much, who would risk her faith, risk her life, and risk her peace to save a stranger . . . to save the only women he would ever love. But did she have the strength to defeat the Bokar, even with the help of the great revered and feared Queen of Voodoo . . . even with the help of the spirit of Marie LaVeau. As he glanced at the picture adorning the fireplace, it even seemed to dim . . . dim with doubts that now permeated the room. Claudette LaVeau-Gautier had failed to save the other innocents . . . what if Sarah MacKenzie would be just another loss, just another soul encased in evil forever.
"We'll get her back, Sir. With the grace of our God, we will get her back . . . we have to. You have to believe, you have to have faith." Bud recognized the confusion in his friend's eyes, he felt the anguish, and he felt the fear that radiated from his friend. Like his own misgivings, he knew the fear they felt was not one of cowardice for they would do anything required of them to bring her back. The fear that they felt was spurned by helplessness . . . the fear that whatever they did would not be enough and she would be lost to them for eternity.
"I was so stupid, so selfish in not sharing my . . . and now I may never have that chance again. I love her so much, and you know I've only forgotten my fears, to tell her now much once . . . just once. I've always loved her and now . . . I may never show her my love again . . . she will never know . . . she will be lost without my love forever . . . and I without hers."
" . . . and you will again, Commander. You will again. Come it is time to prepare to start the rites." The Mambo rose, her yellow-green eyes filled with fire and the light of goodness, once again framed the picture of Marie LaVeau in its light of salvation. "I need something of the Colonel's."
"I have nothing with me . . .I have nothing to give you, Madame." Harm felt defeated as the Mambo approached him, a small smile on her reverent face.
"Ah, but you do, my son. You do." She reached and framed Harm's face with her small hands. "You have the one thing that I will gain my strength from, learn the essence of the woman I will save, for you see it is your love and hers for you that will give us all the power. It is the greatest of all earthly things."
0330HRS (CST)
What seemed like hours were only minutes that passed as the priestess held on to a mesmerized Harmon Rabb. Absorbing his strength, dispelling his fears, sharing the strength of his love, renewing his memory of the love of a woman and the passion and friendship they had shared over the years. Her touch brought flashes of distant events to the forefront of his consciousness, painful at first, but ultimately soothing and soul strengthening.
As he felt her ultimately move away, the brilliance returned to his eyes, his body renewed of conviction, he searched her eyes for confirmation of the next step up the stairs to their salvation.
"You must go, now."
"Go, where?" Had he not given her enough of himself? Had he failed Sarah MacKenzie once again?
"You must go and get the stranger that waits for you at the hotel. You must convince him of the truth, the power of the 'Loas' and return quickly, for time is very short . . . for the 'Rite of Passage' has begun."
"But . . ."
"Go, both of you and bring him back. We will need his strength, we will need his friendship, we will need his discipline, and we will need his love. While you're gone, I will prepare the offerings, I will prepare the 'gris' that will protect us when we start our journey and enter the caverns of the dead. Go, hurry and may the 'Gran Met' protect you until your return."
She still floated, consumed in the throngs of passion and desire, satiated for the moment by the strength of his love which she felt cloak her in his protective spirit. She knew in her mind and in her heart that when the time came for her to take her final breath, when death came to claim her soul, the memories of his love, the memories of his passion, the memories of his friendship, the memories of his trust, and memories of his faith would be what would make her days on earth complete.
And Sarah MacKenzie, so lost in the memories of the greatest of all loves, never felt the exotics start to drain her strength, never felt the exotics start to take her soul, never felt the exotics start to remove her life force . . . and Lt. Lauren Singer just watched with, demonic possession, the "Rite of Passage" begin.
It is a miserable state of mind for man to lose the few things that are truly desired and retain the many things that blind fear feeds to the heart. To lose one's will when it comes to the heart and ignore the fire that the fates has placed in our soul's life giving organ is to have never lived and to die the loneliest death of all.
So the strong of will and the questioning of mind must always have faith and listen to the loving recesses of their heart and listen to the logical recesses of their mind and believe there is a supreme being, whose love and wisdom are as ageless as all time. They must rid themselves of their prejudices, they must rid themselves of their fears, they must rid themselves of their insecurities and they must rid themselves of their disbeliefs. For whether they follow the teachings of Hinduism, Islam, Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism, Wiccan, or Voodun is of little consequence when they face the consummate evil of this world or the next. For his or her supreme wisdom will guide them and infuse them with the strength of friendship, with the strength of integrity, with the strength of discipline and with the greatest of all mortal and immortal strengths . . . the strength of love.
Only through belief will one not lose their will when it comes to the heart nor ignore the fire that the fates have placed in their soul's life giving organ and only then will they have truly lived and will they not have to die the loneliest death of all.
They ran through the veined allies toward the hotel, jostled and bumped by drunk revelers that were still roaming the darkened allies in the city that never slept. They didn't know what they would find, but they really didn't care because they had come to the darkened realization of what their fate would be regardless of what waited for them at the hotel. They recognized that whatever or whoever they found waiting, would have to be convinced of the unbelievable, of the inconceivable and would have to return with them to the "Peristyle" before the dawn lit another day.
It was a matter of life, it was a matter of death, it was a matter of evil, it was a matter of good . . . and most importantly it was a matter of friendship and of love.
0330HRS (CST)
QUEEN AND CRESCENT HOTEL
ROOM 777
NEW ORLEANS LA
"Wait, Commander Rabb. There is . . ."
The Bell Captain watched the two guests of Suite 777 hurry past him, ignoring his attempts at warning them of the man who waited in their suite. He shrugged his shoulders at their wave off and returned to the mundane task of sorting the luggage tags. He had tried, that was all he had to do, feeling the hundred-dollar bill in his breast pocket salve his greedy conscious.
Suddenly a numbing apprehension as to what they were going to find seemed to surround them driven by the events of the evening. Harm briefly glanced at Bud before he swiped the card key. "Bud . . ."
"Let's just do it . . ."
Opening the door, they found the main room empty and unusually dark. There was no sign of movement, no sign of life, no sign of anything . . . the room appeared just as they had left it earlier that day. The only difference was that the room service cart with their half-eaten lunch . . . or had it been dinner . . . had been removed.
Harm's head pounded, as if "Big Ben" had been lodged somewhere in his mind, each second that passed a painful reminder that time was running out for them all. Checking all the rooms, finding nothing but still emptiness, his frustration grew and he didn't want to believe that Claudette's visions had been mere hallucinations. That all she had said were just the ramblings of an old woman baptized in delusions, immersed in the diverse traditions of a city steeped in mysticism and cultural novelties. A melting pot of what was fact and what seemed to be illusions. Could they have allowed themselves to be damned in the mind of an old woman experiencing theological mirages out of sheer desperation? Could she have done nothing but waste precious time on an errand of futility?
"Anything?" Harm looked at the palm of his hand, remembered the healing warmth and pushed again all doubts from his tired mind . . . he had to believe because there was no other truth that they could be certain of . . . they had to consider as true the Mambo's teachings.
"Nothing, Sir. Why would Claudette be so insistent that we come here? Do you think maybe we misunderstood . . ."
"Misunderstood what, Bud? Misunderstood about the possessions, misunderstood about Rawlin's dark present, about Singer's participation, about the so-called 'Rite of Passage', about Mac's pending fate . . .damn it! I wish I knew what the hell we were doing here, and what the hell is going on!"
"My thoughts exactly, Commander. Would someone care to enlighten me about where in the hell you've all been and what in the hell you have been up to!"
They both spun around wound tight like tops pulled suddenly by an invisible force at the recognized booming voice and faced their CO standing in the open doorway, juggling what appeared to be coffee. <We will need his strength, we will need his friendship, we will need his discipline, and we will need his love.> Instantly the words of Claudette LaVeau-Gautier were clear. Her words were as clear as the finest crystal, a crystal shard that cut into Harm's heart with the painful force of a jagged dull butcher knife.
Moving within inches of Harm and Bud, coffee still dripping from the quickly shredding bag, the Admiral eyed them suspiciously, his instincts honed to the veil of disorientation that seemed to hang surreptitiously around them. "Rabb, I asked you a question and I want some answers now! And where in the blazes is the Colonel?" The Admiral laid the coffee soaked bag on the small table, the slamming of the hotel door echoing around them. "Now. Mister!"
"Yes, Sir. But I don't think you're going to like what I have to say."
"It wouldn't be the first time, Rabb, and I'm damn certain it won't be the last."
0330HRS (CST)
THE PERISTYLE
1437 RUE DOMINIQUE
NEW ORLEANS LA
The Mambo, the great-great granddaughter of Marie LaVeau, the Queen of New Orleans Voodun, descended the century-old stairs to the first floor shop, her way illuminated only by the moonlight that streamed through the arched windows. Instinctively, she started to collect the articles that would be needed to prepare the protective "gris" and the purifying "jubas" that would be used in the sanctifying rite of cleansing. Her aged hands shook from anticipation, not from fear, for there was nothing for her to fear any longer.
She had committed her first betrayal, and it had been just and true . . . she had exposed to the non-believers the truth of an ancient religion, and they had accepted her words. Now she would commit her final betrayal and take them to the caverns where the dead walked among the carcasses of those who had once lived with the warm caring souls of the living. She would take them over the line into the darkness, where the stranger's strength, their friendship, and their love for each other would be tested beyond all rational human understanding. Where they would face the greed, the depravity, the selfishness, the murderous disregard of what was righteous, of what was good. Where evil robbed man of his soul, deprived him of his life's light, and left him to wander with the wailing minions sworn to serve the "Amoral Djab" without questioning hesitation.
The aged Mambo's hands worked deftly and quickly, preparing the "gris" that they all would have to carry, to protect them, to block their earthly presence from the "Amoral Djab" and from the Bokar's visions. Congo packets soaked with equal parts of Dove and Dragon's Blood Ink, filled with the Magnetic Sand, Camphor Block, Lodestones, and the Black Sand. The Ritual Tattoos, that would be constructed with equal parts of Four Thieves Vinegar and the sacred Black Sand, that she would apply in ritualistic patterns of protection to them all. The custom-made hand-carved Spirit-Calling Sticks with the Turkeyfoot Fetishes were prepared and stacked in order of preference. Genuine Parchment made of blessed sheepskin that contained her ritual spells, were rolled and tied with the ceremonial ribbons of protection.
As the high priestess laced the last of the leather bindings on the blessed Dyed Bone Necklace, she placed it lovingly in the Coconut Perfume soaked Silk Purse. This would be the most important part of the sacred rite of Sarah MacKenzie's salvation, with love and friendship it would be placed around her neck by her lover's hand . . . and only then, only then, would her soul would return and be free from an eternity of blackness and despair. Her final salvation would be at the hands of her loving fate partner and only then would she return to the land of living to return to the sunshine, on the arm that destiny had pre-ordained her to be with, blessed by the reverent "Grand Met."
For the two souls that at one time were afraid of dying alone, without each other, had finally learned to live in the brightest light of all. They would once more walk on the side of his grace, because their love was the purest of all. After all the might have beens, after all the would have beens, after all the try-agains . . . they found the greatest gift of all, after all.
0400HRS (CST)
QUEEN AND CRESCENT HOTEL
ROOM 777
NEW ORLEANS LA
The men sat in the stilled, all encompassing darkness, chilled by the unearthly truth, the words gripping them like the cold fingers of the dead, until AJ Chegwidden couldn't stand to hear the words anymore. Words of demonic possessions, soul stealing, death and resurrection at the hands of a decorated naval officer. It was more than the brave Navy SEAL, the stoic Judge Advocate General could comprehend in a mind dictated by discipline, order, logic and the need to only believe in things that could be seen, touched, smelled, and tasted.
"Enough!"
"Sir?"
"Gimme a minute, Rabb."
"Respectfully, Sir, we don't have a minute."
"Mr. Roberts, I said a minute!"
"Aye, Sir."
Bursts of all that had been and all that never would be again flashed through Harm's consciousness as he stood and started pacing nervously around the suddenly claustrophobic suite. His past, his present and his future played a chaotic medley in his mind. The vivid tragedies of the past, the stolen memories of the present, the fleeting visions of the future, snarled in an exhaustive maze as remorse numbed him with the final realization that he had no control over his own fate. What fate would present him as a future if he failed to save the one person who was his everything. It was as if he was transported back to that fateful night, landing the 40,000 pounds of screaming metal on that storm tossed carrier, when his destiny was in everyone else's hands but his own . . . everyone had a grip on the ejection handle between life and death, everyone, except for him. Everyone seemed to be in control of his life, except for him.
"You know, when you asked me to approve your change in designator and return to an active fighter squadron, I thought that that was the stupidest thing you ever requested of me. But . . . "
"Sir, respectfully . . . "
"Let me finish, Mr. Rabb. Going to the Secnav, asking him for a favor, was one of the hardest things I ever had to do . . ."
"I know that, Sir . . . but please . . . "
"I said let me finish. He asked me why I was putting myself through going to him . . . for a favor. He reminded me that you had given me more trouble than anyone in my command and wondered why I was going to the wall for you." AJ stood and faced Harm, who had finally stopped his incessant pacing. "Do you know what I told him?"
"No, Sir."
"I told him that I believed in you, Harm. And as much as I find what you've told me tonight to be beyond logical cognizance in my ordered world, damn it, I still believe in you, son . . . so let's do it. Let's go and get Mac. Let's bring her back to us."
0415HRS (CST)
THE PERISTYLE
1437 RUE DOMINIQUE
NEW ORLEANS LA
Claudette nervously eyed the grandfather clock that seemed to voluntarily accentuate every second that passed. Each chime at the quarter hour increased her apprehension and her nagging fear that they would be too late. That the sun would dawn on another day and another soul would be stolen . . . would be lost to the darkness . . . would be absorbed by the "Amoral Djab" to never walk in the light again. She knelt by the Ancient altar constructed by her great grand-ma-ma and chanted the ancient words to the great "Grand Met" and to the "Loas" that would protect them this night. That would grant them the strength, this time, to defeat the depravity of yet another "black-satanic" sacrifice initiated by the "Amoral Djab" through the desperation of the possessed Bokar.
Engrossed in a trance-like state, the visions of the "Rite of Passage" tangled with her own prayers, she was transported to the darkened caverns of the dead. She swayed and shook violently, feeling the snakes slither across her own consciousness as they continued to drain Sarah MacKenzie's life force.
The Mambo felt every exotic scale rasp against her own skin, crawling, nesting, and draining that which belonged to another innocent and felt them carry their precious cargo to the preserved ones. Her voice raised in screams of objective remorse, for all the "Loas" to hear and for the "Grand Met" to help forestall what now she feared was pre-destined. But as she focused her own life force fully on the tortured young woman, and she suddenly felt his hand on her trembling shoulders, she calmed her ranting. For in her mind's eye she still saw the glimmer of love for him in her heart and felt the strength of love in his touch, stronger than before.
Her yellow-green eyes filled with immeasurable relief when she turned on the three-some that had entered the shop, undetected, and now stood next to her. As Harm helped her to stand with a gentle hand, a single tear slipped from her eyes as she focused her attention on the Admiral. "I knew you would come, but we must hurry. I've seen the 'Rite,' and she is quickly passing to the other side. We must prepare, for time is very short. Come."
Silently, AJ followed them toward the back of the shop, absorbing every sight, every scent and every sound around him and maneuvering with great difficulty through the main area filled with the articles from a world he did not understand.
Bottles of all shapes and colors, containing potions, oils and herbs were crammed in every available cranny of the eclectic store. Seemingly, they lay in wait to be mixed and blended to fulfill a wish, a dream and release their magical powers against evil and possibly even against good. Candles of all shapes, colors and scents permeated the air, some lit, others dark, seemingly lying in wait for a hint of fire, for a source of heat, to set free their salving grace into the air, to hurt, to heal the suspecting and unsuspecting.
Parchments, hand rolled and sealed, alligator heads desiccated and cured, amulets poured of gold and silver strung and loose, bones sun-beached and preserved, protection sticks decorated with feathered fetishes, dolls of unconventional sizes, empty and full pouches of distinct hues and diverse cloths . . . all hung from the ceiling rafters teasing his head as AJ Chegwidden passed beneath them . . . as he passed through a mystic chasm of the unorthodox, of the implausible, of the insane and of the sane . . . trinkets that would be used, spells that would be cast, and prayers that would be uttered, apparently now the only weapons they had to save an associate, a friend, a member of his extended family and the true love of one.
The Mambo entered the altar room that held the sanctified articles, blessed and cleansed with her protective "white-magical" powers. "We must hurry, and I must pass you the sacred items, for my visions have taken me to the 'Rite,' she is passing quickly now, and the sun is teasing the horizon to light yet another day."
"Claudette, if your visions have shown you the . . . will . . . will their visions not show them that . . . that . . . we are coming?" Bud voiced the silent concerns that were in all their minds, as he took the offered items, carefully placing them on his person, as directed.
Still distributing the items with an almost fanatical precision, the Mambo stopped her instructions briefly to answer Bud's question, the same question that appeared in all their eyes. "Yes, their visions are even more powerful and far reaching than mine." Seeing the intense doubt that now surfaced in their eyes, she quickly continued. "The congregation of a Houngan or Mambo who serves a 'Djab' is usually protected from possible acts of random aggression, generally, by a 'garde', a magical shield effected by rubbing specially prepared dried- herbs and blessed Black Sand into shallow cuts ceremonially made in the individual's skin. Like this."
The three officers stared in disbelief as Claudette made small, barely visible cuts deftly and precisely into intricate patterns on their forearms and rubbed the ancient blessed Black Sand into the ritual tattoos. The black dust laced with the Four Thieves Vinegar burned their fresh cuts, but they all stood their ground.
"Then how will we . . ."
"It is said that this 'garde', though shielding them, also diminishes their visionary powers and those of their congregation. You three will wear the ritualistic tattoos to shield you. I will not. Therefore my visionary powers will not be diminished."
"It is said?"
"These are not 'conventional weapons' we will be forced to use against them, Admiral. These are weapons steeped in ancient theological beliefs, used effectively for centuries in the war between good and evil."
"No offense intended, Ma'am, but I think I would feel much more comfortable going in there with a small arsenal of conventional weapons used effectively for centuries."
Still working diligently, Claudette turned her concentration, for just a moment, and leveled a pointed stare at AJ. "Tell me Admiral, have you ever seen your effective conventional weapons of choice kill a person's soul, dissolve an evil presence, exorcise an evil spirit of despair. They may be very effective on killing a mortal, but they are of little use against an immortal . . . they are of very little use against the 'undead'."
"Point taken, Madame."
"I assumed it would be, Admiral." With a slight smile, she turned away from AJ, most of the ritualistic items distributed and most of her instructions complete. She now focused on Harmon Rabb, holding the last but most important item of salvation in her hands. "Commander, when the time is right, when he who appears to be the Bokar stands completely in the 'veve' at the side of the altar, when he dismisses the snakes and is about to take her completely to the other side, then, and only then will you . . . "
"You mean Stuart Rawlins?" Harm found himself concentrating intensely on every spoken word of the aged Mambo, but he never took his eyes from the necklace that lay reverently in her steady hands, as if drawn to it . . . as if it spoke of Mac.
"Yes and no. Yes, he who appears to be Stuart Rawlins is the Bokar. But he is not the only evil presence that we must exorcise at the light of this new dawn . . . there are two."
"Two, Madame. How are there now two?"
Claudette LaVeau-Gautier sighed heavily as she steadied her gaze on Harm. "Since Sarah MacKenzie was infested with the poisonous venom by the one you call Singer, there has always been two." Her yellow-green eyes, like steel orbs of determination, steadied again on the devastated naval officer. "The second evil presence spared her death at the hands of the first evil presence, only to consume and take her for his own to the other side. To steal her soul, to use her body for pleasure, and to have her walk at his left till the moon becomes the sun and there is no longer any light as we know it. Till day becomes night for eternity. Stuart Rawlins asked the darkest of all 'Amoral Djabs' for the return of his family, in exchange for his soul. Once the 'Rite of Passage' was completed, he and his family would disappear, for it would be impossible to live the life as they once knew it."
Harmon Rabb's body began to shake with a new apprehension, with a new foreboding, with a new unearthly fear at every spoken word. He heard what she said, but he listened to the volume of unspoken words that hung around him and soaked his own sinking soul. He had spent his life like a ship pitched by the wind on a storm-tossed sea, aimlessly wandering in the dark from the shore of one relationship to the other. Until he saw the light through the storm, and found his shore . . . until he found his lighthouse in the storm . . . until he found her. And now in the darkest of all hours, he heard her voice, he felt her touch, reaching out to him, and he knew he would fight with his every breath to bring her back . . . to bring her back to him.
"Admiral, Bud, I appreciate what you've committed to do, but the rules of engagement seem to have changed drastically . . . I . . . Mac and I would understand if you both chose to . . . "
"There is no choice, Commander. I need all of you." The Mambo's attempt to dismiss Harm's fear for his comrades was unnecessary when she heard the Admiral's staunch reply.
"Son, duty is an obligation. What we are about to do is not out of duty, it is out of friendship for you and for Mac. It is an option of choice, our decision." AJ grasped Harm's shoulder with a show of support, after acknowledging Bud's silent nod of confirmation. "We'll get her back, Harm, or go down damned trying."
Overwhelmed with emotion, steadying himself, Harm turned back to the Mambo. "Tell me, Claudette. Tell me about the necklace . . . Tell me what I have to do to get her back." The loneliness within him had taken a heavy toll, but his eyes burned with a new fire, burned with a new resolve, burned with a new conviction of spirit . . . the conviction of three.
"When the 'Rite of Passage' is near completion, when her soul has left her body, Stuart Rawlins, possessed by the 'Amoral Djab,' will stand by the altar, in the center of the 'veve' weaved in his honor. He will command her body to walk with him in the evil darkness forever, infused by his satanic glory. All in attendance will be caught up in the ceremonial frenzy of the final passing, and they will enter a 'trance-like' state, transferring their life force momentarily to the 'Djab' as he takes her body. In their 'trance-like state' and protected by the 'garde' is when they will be their weakest, their most vulnerable. Then and only then will you have your only chance to save her and to save us all."
"And us, Madame. What would you have us do?"
"You will stand at the Commander's side, surrounding the altar while he places the blessed necklace of my ancestors around Sarah MacKenzie's neck and lifts her from the altar."
"Surely, there is more we can do."
"NO! Neither of you must touch her . . . only the strength of the Commander's love and the power of the sacred necklace, woven with the blessed bones of my ancestors, can return her soul."
"But . . . there must be something else that we can do." Bud glanced at the Admiral to support his objections.
"Your strength, your friendship, your love, your presence and your protective aura is all that will be needed from you. Your unyielding powers will supply the surrounding grace needed to defeat and destroy the evil that reigns and all will be free . . . I will do the rest."
The Mambo straightened, gathered her parchment-bound spells, and with her finally whispered words, "Let us go with God", they left the security of the "Peristyle - The Gates to Salvation" and hurried out into the night . . . the night being taunted by the darkened dawn of a new day.
0530HRS (CST)
LAZARUS STREET WHARF
CRESCENT CITY LA
On the west bank of the muddy Mississippi, just on the outskirts of Jefferson Parish, right across the Crescent Street Connector, part of the Mississippi River Authority, was Lazarus Street Wharf. Unassigned and deserted, the dock stood silent and alone, the 160,000-square-foot shed appearing like a giant behemoth, beckoning to swallow their future in its interior darkened veined mini-sheds. The wharf was an anomaly to the frenzied cargo activity that was gearing up across the deep-water port on the east bank. The silent muddy water, which maximized the flow of foreign and domestic waterborne commerce throughout the Port of New Orleans, seemed to be the demonic divider between the light and the dark.
For more than a century the darkened shed stood guard. At one time a bustling wharf, as slaves delivered their master's cotton crop for compressing and shipment to distant foreign lands. Then it served as an armory for armaments that were shipped to distant foreign wars. And now the darkened desolate wharf lay forgotten, a mere memory of past times, except for those . . . for those who had made it a precipice for the raising of the undead and the shipment of souls to the dark side.
They approached in the soaked humid darkness undetected . . . the shed appearing silent, unoccupied and bathed in an eerie solitude of empty blackness all its own. The large soot-covered high windows, like clouded eyes into its recesses, did not expose the evil that resided within, cloaked also by the sullen gray wooden walls. No sound was heard, no sight was seen, no threat was evident, no fear was felt, until they slipped through the side-door of the warehouse into the chilling blackened universe, where the undead walked, unencumbered, in the caverns of the dead.
Before they moved into the darkened building, Madame Claudette LaVeau-Gautier laid a gentle but firm hand on AJ's arm, making him turn and look in the now glowing yellow-green eyes. "You must be prudent and watch out for the Commander, for he knows not the horror that he will face. You must restraint him, when needed, for the sanctity of us all."
Once they entered the huge warehouse, a maze of mini-sheds and offices, their hearts were clutched by terror, their minds were anesthetized by horror, and their steps were paralyzed by panic, not for themselves, but for her, consumed with the fear that they were too late.
And Madame Claudette LaVeau-Gautier prayed . . . I Summon. I Stir. I call to you, all Mighty Ones of the East, South, West, and North. To witness these darkened 'Rites' and to guard the circle of friendship and of love in our divine mission of salvation . . . Please come to us. "
With every poised and careful step they neared the distant mournful wailing of the tormented souls, crying out for salvation. With every poised and careful step, they neared the burning flames of a distant hellish fire of possession. With every poised and careful step they neared the minions of the living that followed the dark teachings of the dead, entering their final trance-like state. And when they finally . . . finally . . . found themselves in the protective shadows of a corner faÁade that faced the sacrificial altar, they saw her stilled ashen body, veiled by the thin black silk, held by the thin invisible thread between the land of the living and the land of the dead.
And Madame Claudette LaVeau-Gautier prayed . . . "I call to thee, Ayza, great spirit of protection; Ogun, great spirit of war; Ogou Balanjo, great spirit of healing; Ezili , great spirit of love join us in our earthly mission of salvation with your wisdom, grace and guidance. Bring your protective powers, bring your fervor of battle, bring your faith of healing, and bring your strength of love to us all . . . Please come to us! Please join our circle!"
And all was lost in the ravaged mind and bleeding heart of Harmon Rabb as he reached out of the shadows for her.
At the head of the altar stood Stuart Rawlins with a smiling Lauren Singer by his side, shouted incantations of demonic invocations rumbled through him as he commanded the final liturgy to begin. Swaying with his serviles, he conjured all that were unholy from the dark underworld and ordered the exotics to take what was left of the innocent and resurrect the preserved ones.
The Bokar's own body shook violently, and suddenly, some unearthly hand separated him from the "Amoral Djab" and permitted him to go join his loved ones . . . leaving the great lord of dark depravity exposed to his earthly minions . . . and exposed to the strangers who gasped in horror at the sight of the all consummate evil creature that now stood before them.
And Madame Claudette LaVeau-Gautier prayed . . . "The time has come for your all-powerful reverent intervention, oh great spirits of all we are, of all we hold sacred, of all we are to be . . . Please honor us! Please come to us! Please join our circle!"
And all was lost in the ravaged mind and bleeding heart of Harmon Rabb, tears now blinding his vision as he reached with shaking hands out of the shadows for her.
As the slithering exotics moved away, taking the last of Sarah Mackenzie's life force, the drums continued to beat in a frenzied rhythm and the followers swooned at the honored sight of the great "Dark One" posed for the final taking of her mortal body. The "Amoral Djab" moved toward the "veve" in his honor, running his hands purposefully along her still body, caressing her exposed paled cold flesh, stopping to intimately pleasure all that would soon be his . . . for eternity.
And Madame Claudette LaVeau-Gautier prayed for the divine intervention of her great-grand ma-ma . . ." I invoke thee, and call upon thee, oh mighty Marie LaVeau, harbinger of faith, of goodness, of fruitfulness. By seed and root, by stem and bud, by leaf and flower and fruit, by life and love, do I invoke thee to descend upon the body of thy servants, Sarah MacKenzie, Harmon Rabb, Albert Jethro Chegwidden, Bud Roberts, and I your priestess, your great grand-daughter, Claudette LaVeau-Gautier. Please honor us! Please come to us! Please join our circle!"
All was lost in the ravaged mind and bleeding heart of Harmon Rabb the first moment he saw the creature touch his Sarah. He felt like he was bleeding from every pore, his legs were weak, his heart threatened to beat out of his chest, his pulse raced uncontrollably, his breath came in ragged torturous gasps, and his mind screamed for her salvation. There within a few feet of him, a sullen gray tinge to her skin, lay the shell of what was once his only true love.
And when the creature touched her limp and pale body, his devilish eyes blazing with the fiery pleasures of hell, Harmon Rabb lost all control. He forgot the teachings of the great Mambo, he forgot the timing of the "veve", as he lunged for the satanic creature with all his strength and all his faith. From the corner of his burning eyes, he saw her paled skin suddenly take on a eerie glow, as the sun tugged at the horizon threatening to send its first shards of light through the high dust-laden windows and he knew in his heart . . . that he was close to losing her forever.
With the power of thousands Harm tackled the growling beast-like creature, surprising him in his trance-like state and dropping him to the ground outside the "veve". A brief stunned silence fell over the participants at the intrusion of the non-believer, until the "Amoral Djab" regained his evil strength and grabbed Harmon Rabb by the throat and held him above the sacred altar for all to see. "YOU DARE TO DEFY ME WITH YOUR WEAK MORTAL POWERS . . . YOU DARE TO DEFILE THE SACRED 'RITE OF PASSAGE' WITH YOUR PATHETIC BELIEFS!" Tightening his hold on Harm, he continued his tirade as his minions started the chant of torturous immortal death. "YOU WILL DIE A HUNDRED DEATHS . . . BUT FIRST . . . BUT FIRST . . . YOU WILL WATCH ME JOIN WITH WHAT NOW IS MINE . . . WITH THE ONE YOU CALLED 'SARAH'!"
And Madame Claudette LaVeau-Gautier prayed . . . "I conjure thee, that thou be our boundary and our protection and a meeting place of salvation between the world of evil and the evoked realms of the great Loas, your power to grace and bind us. A guardian and a protector that shall preserve us and infuse us with the power and the love, which we shall raise within, wherefore do I bless and consecrate thee. Please honor us! Please come to us! Please join our circle!"
Like crazed animals in pain, Bud and the Admiral left the protective shadows of the faÁade and raced to the altar to remove what was left of Sarah MacKenzie and try to forestall the behemoth that held their friend, that held Harmon Rabb in the devil's grip of a hundred deaths. But they were stopped, frozen in time, by the Mambo's raised voice, filled with the strength of centuries and the ancestral power of past lives.
"DON'T TOUCH HER!"
She moved into the "veve", with renewed strength, bathed in the blinding ethereal white light that suddenly shattered the high dust-laden windows, raining shards of pointed glass on to the devil's worshipers. They scattered in wailing hordes as the glorifying light of the just and of the righteous burned their tortured souls and set their false bodies afire with the flames of goodness. The chaotic chasm that now consumed his ceremonial "Rite of Passage" caused the "Amoral Djab" to forcefully cast Harmon Rabb aside and focus his evil powers on the high priestess who now stood before him, her yellow-green eyes afire with the purest of white flames.
She stood her ground, as the creature turned his torturous evil presence upon her, focusing his strength now on destroying the object of righteous "white-magic" that stood in his honored circle. "The necklace! You must place the necklace! The Necklace!"
AJ and Bud scrambled to where Harm lay, semi-conscious. Knowing they could not touch her, knowing that they could not touch the sacred necklace of dried ancestral bones and they felt helpless as they tried to revive their friend with the conventional means of their world.
"The 'gris bags'. Feed him the herbs from the bags! Hurry!" Watching the "Djab" turn back towards his earlier prey, she gathered all her power and continued the cleansing incantations, as the spirit of Marie LaVeau continued to wreck havoc on the evil scattered minions. "I exorcise thee, oh creature of the greatest of all darkened evils, that thou be cast out from the land of the living and return to the darkened hell of your world, to wander in veiled and wailing terror for eternity."
The officers did as they were told, emptying the mystic contents of the bags into Harm's mouth, holding his head still so to absorb all their contents. He writhed against the force of their hold on him, his blue lips trying desperately to form her name. They held him still for what seemed like hours but was only minutes, as the herbs worked their healing magic. Only when he was revived, only when he stood shakily with the sacred necklace in his hands, did AJ's attention turn to hear the choked incantations of the Mambo as she struggled against the creature that had moved into the "veve" with her.
Watching AJ move toward her and Claudette screamed for him to stop, her strength being sapped by her struggle with the evil presence. "NO! The necklace, please place the necklace!"
Pleading eyes turned on Harmon Rabb, numbed to the chaos that reigned around him, the destruction that was being evoked at the hand of Marie LaVeau, but he focused on the Mambo's chilling pleas. Unsteadily, with Bud's help, he moved toward the altar, his breath catching and his eyes tearing, as he placed the sacred necklace firmly around her once graceful neck. With tears running down his face, he forgot his own disorientation and weakness, as he lifted her cold ashen body into his arms. Her weight too much for him in his weakened state, he slid with her cradled against him to the cold concrete floor leaning heavily against the altar, that had been her death bed, that had been the vehicle that had taken her from him.
Bud and AJ felt hopelessness as they moved to Harm's side and watched the old woman struggle with the beast that held her in his claw-like hands, the force of her voice slicing through their hearts like the jagged edge of a blunt dagger. The thought that they were powerless to help her assaulting all their ingrained values.
Gathering what little energy she had left, knowing there was still much to do after the "Djab" was expelled, she completed the age-old spell of cleansing. "Thee, composed of all the impurities and uncleanliness of the Dark Spirits, of the under world, of the undead, leave us and return your minions to a place of rest in the land of the living. In the name of the great 'Loas' that guide and protect us and in the name of my great grand-ma-ma, who has given us the power of her presence, let this holy water scourge your soul and expel your false body from the land of light."
Feeling the false prince of darkness increase his hold on her, the Mambo used her last ounce of mortal power to remove the sanctified water mixed with the cleansing powers of the Black Sand, from the pocket of her jacket and covered the "Amoral Djab" with its healing domination. "With all that these waters evoke, release her and let her return to the land of the living! Release her to those that love her!"
A growl of surreal animalistic pain and fury reverberated through the chaos that surrounded them. With an explosion of immoral indignation, a flash of attempted fiery resistance, as he had come into the land of the living, so did he return to the place created by the father of all that was dark and evil. Engulfed by the flames of the crevice that opened below him, he was committed to return from where he had come, and wander no more among the righteous and the blessed. The ones fortunate to share and fill their lives with the emotions as aged-less as time . . . the greatest loves of all . . . the love of one for another in consummate friendship and in never-ending passion.
Struggling, her breaths coming in small rasping puffs, Claudette crawled along the filth-laden floor to where the strangers huddled around the one called Mac. The one still ashen, the presence of death from her vanquished soul still engulfed her, but her lifeless body was still held tightly in the embrace of her lover. "Hold her . . . we must all lay our hands against her skin . . . hurry! We must give her soul the strength and the reason to return to the land of the living. She must feel our love and our friendship and our enormous need for her soul's presence. Hurry, before the Queen relegates all around us to dust with her power and Sarah MacKenzie is lost to us forever. Hurry, please!"
Clutched tightly in the arms of Harmon Rabb, Sarah MacKenzie hung between life and death for hours. The radiating heat of love and of friendship trying to return her soul to her body, trying to return her mortal body to the land of the living, and trying to return her never-ending love to the man that was still consumed with his feared lost. They all prayed to their individual Gods for their divine intervention and for the return of the one they loved to them.
Harmon Rabb, his body and heart racked with grief, prayed with a fervor found in the depth of his own soul while he held and caressed her lifeless body with a gentle tenderness, as if life still coursed through her veins. He knew he had come to a defining moment in his life, a defining moment in space, a defining moment in time, when what had been done could be undone if his heart and his love was strong enough . . . and if he committed all he was, all he ever would be, to her and her alone. He prayed, he listened for her voice, he waited to feel her warmth, he waited for her to come back to him to restore his present, to fulfill his future, for without her he would be destined to die the loneliest death of all.
They all held her in their hands of loving grace and as suddenly as the chaos stilled around them, they felt the warming white light engulf them and saw in their mind the image, the strength and heard the words of the spirit of Marie LaVeau infusing their own powers of healing. "Heal, Sarah MacKenzie, and return to the circle of those who love you. Return to what fate has pre-ordained to be your future. Return with your strength, your love, your integrity, your faith, your honor, your friendship, and commit to walk with the man that loves you for all eternity."
As their mind's eye lost the vision, their consciousness focused on the danger of the fire that suddenly started to rage through the old shed, consuming what was left of the caverns of the dead.
"We must go! Quickly! Lift her, Harmon Rabb, and take Sarah MacKenzie out into the light once more."
And as Claudette walked out into the brilliant sunshine of another day she whispered her prayers of reverend thanksgiving. "Hail, ye mighty 'Loas' and my 'Queen.' We thank you for attending, and respectfully with consummate thanks watch you depart for your lovely realms. We say, hail and farewell, for allowing another day of loving grace to dawn."
For more than a century the darkened shed had stood guard. At one time a bustling wharf, as slaves delivered their master's cotton crop, for compressing and shipment to distant foreign lands. Then it served as an armory for armaments that were shipped to distant foreign wars. And then the darkened desolate wharf lay forgotten, a mere memory of past times, except for those . . . for those who had made it a precipice for the raising of the undead and the shipment of souls to the dark side. And now it lay in ruin at the hands of Marie LaVeau, the undisputed Queen of New Orleans Voodun and the great 'Loas' . . . and no longer did it serve as the portal for entry into the depraved kingdom of the undead.
1600HRS (CST)
QUEEN AND CRESCENT HOTEL
ROOM 777
NEW ORLEANS LA
Harmon Rabb awoke with a start, but the minute he felt the warmth of her body against his face, he relaxed. His eyes focused on her beauty as she slept peacefully against the mound of pillows that surrounded her, and resisting his own muscles that groaned in protest, he tightened his arms that encircled her waist and just watched her sleep.
By the time they had returned to the hotel, with a groan, with a gasp, her color had returned, her breathing had leveled and she had returned to the land of the living and fallen into the exhaustive sleep of renewal. And he had refused to leave her and had fallen into his own fitful sleep, kneeling at her bedside, his head resting against the warmth of her body, his arms encircling her as if his touch would prevent her from slipping away from him again.
The Mambo had told them they would remember all and he did. He remembered with anger, with regret, and yes, with fear all that had almost been taken from him . . . and he swore to all the Gods that he now believed in that he would never allow foolish pride to prevent him from reigning in his future . . . the only future he would ever want . . . the only future he would ever need. Brought back to reality, he felt the strength of an arm on his shoulder and heard the concern in the Admiral's voice.
"How's she doing, son?"
"She's still asleep."
"I can see that, but . . . "
"She's fine I think. I just wish . . . I have so much to say to her . . . so much she needs to hear."
"I know, but Claudette said it would take time. Give her time to heal, in sleep and let's just be thankful she's come back to us. And that she . . . won't . . . won't remember any of the horror." AJ Chegwidden's own logical mind fought the memories of all that had happened, all that he had witnessed, and all that he would remember for the rest of his days. Moving to the chair in the corner, he sat, and his own exhaustion over-took him.
Sarah MacKenzie finally stirred from her sleep, feeling somehow euphoric, feeling somehow more content, feeling somehow more at peace then she had ever felt in her life. She felt his warm breath, in peaceful sleep, tease the skin of her stomach, she felt his strong arms around her and she opened her eyes, only to see his odd position against her.
"Harm." Her own hands caressed his broad shoulders, her love for him evident in every stroke. "Harm, wake up."
As though hearing the voice of angels, he raised his head and shook the sleep from his mind, his eyes focused only on her beautiful smile and her questioning eyes . . . and he knew in his heart that she "had" been spared the horror of the illicit memories, and he once again thanked all the gods of this life and the next.
"Hey . . . you're finally awake."
"And what are you doing, Harmon Rabb. Praying?" The smile that graced her face and reached her eyes faded as she noticed the single tear escape down his handsome face. Reaching for it in confusion, she felt his soft lips on her palm.
"Kind of . . . I'm actually . . . proposing . . . marry me, Sarah MacKenzie. Marry me." Once again, he held his breath, as he had done so many times in the last twenty-four hours.
"Marry you? Be your wife?"
He gathered her in his arms, carefully and tenderly, and whispered his answer against the warmth of her lips. "Yes, for all our tomorrows. I want to face and feel the future with only you by my side, as my partner, as my friend, as my lover, as the mother of my children. I want only you, Sarah MacKenzie, only you forever."
At that moment in Sarah MacKenzie's life there were no words that could adequately express what she felt in her beating heart and in her living soul. Her answer was carried on a kiss that she placed gently on her lover's lips and in the touch of the arms that encircled him. A kiss that merely represented a "yes", turned into a passionate exchange that represented all that was to come . . . all that they wanted and needed from each other, and for Harm, all that they had almost lost. As she felt his tongue tease her lips, begging for entrance, she opened herself to him and let him taste a hint of what was waiting for him. His hands started to roam hungrily, aching for more, and more of her, until he couldn't control himself anymore.
He hoisted himself on the bed, moving to cover her, never losing contact with her exquisite lips, ready for all he felt her wanting to give . . . until the stoic clearing of a throat was heard somewhere in the distance, and they were brought back to reality abruptly.
"I assume that is a 'yes', Colonel."
"Admiral! Sir, what are you doing here?" Shocked and totally embarrassed, Mac eyed Harm suspiciously as she quickly covered what wasn't really showing.
"That's not important. Well, Colonel, are congratulations in order?"
Only at the question did she turn her gaze back to the man whom she loved with all her heart and finally voiced the words that were no longer really necessary. "Absolutely, Sir. If he'll have me, I'd be honored to be his wife."
"I believe, Colonel, that is a foregone conclusion." AJ made his way to the door, remembering what a long road it had been to get where they were today . . . a very long road. Before shutting the door behind him, he looked once more at the two souls and smiled. "As you were, Colonel, Commander. As you were."
BURNETT RESIDENCE
LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA
1 MONTH LATER
1145HRS(EST)
Surrounded by the endless expanse of the swelling sea, a symbol of their never-ending commitment. High a top a lush foliated cliff, a symbol of the height of their passion. Facing the shimmering deep Blue Pacific, a symbol of the depth of their love . . . Commander Harmon David Rabb Jr., and Colonel Sarah Catherine MacKenzie became husband and wife.
Harm and Sarah exchanged their vows as their friends and family shared the moment, the two souls finally admitting their love for the entire world to see . . . the two souls vibrant with life again finally one. Their vows reflected their lives and the lives of those around them. The roads that they had traveled . . . the things they had experienced . . . and the roads that they would travel . . . always and forever together. Committed to love and to be loved by each other for eternity.
Harm gazed at Mac, barely hearing the non-sectarian Chaplain's words, so mesmerized by her beauty and the realization that she was really finally going to be his. After today she would be his wife, his best friend, his lover, the mother of his children. When the time came for him to say his vows, his voice faltered as he saw the incredible look of love in his Marine's beautiful eyes.
Tenderly he took her hands in his and the words started to spill from the bottom of his heart and from the depths of his healed soul. "When darkness falls upon your heart and soul, I'll be the light that shines for you. When you forget how beautiful you are, I'll be there to remind you. When you can't find your way, I'll find my way to you. When troubles come around, I will always come to you."
Harm saw the tears welling in her eyes and felt her squeeze his hand. He caressed her face tenderly, and with the strongest emotion he had ever felt, he continued. "I'll be your shoulder when you need someone to lean on. Be your shelter when you need someone to see you through, I'll be there to carry you, I'll be there. I'll be the rock that will be strong for you. The one that will hold on to you, when you feel that rain falling down. When there's nobody else around, I'll be..."
"I'll be . . . your everything . . . Sarah Catherine MacKenzie, and I will love you with all that I am, with all that I will ever be, till I take my final breath and beyond.
Mac closed her eyes as she felt him kiss her palms softly, an act of pure love filling her with the most incredible warmth and thankfulness to be loved by him. Wanting to say to him all that was and all that had always been in her heart and her healed soul, she finally found her voice, her eyes never leaving his. "And when you're there with no one there to hold, I'll be the arms that reach for you. And when you feel your faith is running low, I'll be there to believe in you. And when all you find are lies, I'll be the truth you need. And when you need someone to run to, you can run to me."
Mac, so overwhelmed by the sensations surrounding her and the look in his incredible eyes, she moved into his arms as the congregation witnessed the purest out-pouring of an everlasting love, an unfaltering trust and the most reverent of all conceivable faiths. She continued her vows comfortable and safe in the arms of the man she had always loved. "I'll be your shoulder when you need someone to lean on. I'll be your shelter when you need someone to see you through. I'll be there to carry you, I'll be there. I'll be the rock that will be strong for you. The one that will hold on to you, when you feel that rain falling down. When there's nobody else around, I'll be..."
"I'll be . . . your everything . . . Harmon David Rabb, and I will love you with all that I am, with all that I will ever be, till I take my final breath and beyond."
And as their lips met and their souls were joined, to live their days on earth as two hearts beating in one body . . . the sunlight danced on the crystal blue Pacific, sheltering the thousand souls that had been freed, to finally rest in peace by the greatest of all loves.
EPILOGUE
We all start from a single cell, a miracle of nature that grows, absorbing the love, the hatred, the compassion, the disinterest, the calm, the chaos, the bigotry, the tolerance and intolerance that surrounds us. Through experiences, we select, we catalogue and we sort the lessons we learn as we travel life's path, spawned by the gene pool fate has instilled in us.
We are nurtured, and we grow into unique, complex multi-celled organisms. We learn about truth, about deceit, about trust, and about betrayal, about peace, and about war. And as we travel down our individual roads we all reach cross roads, tangle and twisted, and we choose the path to follow which will lead us to our destiny. We make the choice between the good and the evil, between the dark and the light, for nothing is truly pre-destined . . . for nothing is truly pre-ordained . . . for nothing will destroy our soul except our fear to love, our fear to feel, and our fear to accept that which we do not truly understand.
And Stuart Rawlins . . . because of his greed, his desperation, his selfishness, his depravity, died the loneliness death of all on that cold October day on Lazarus Street Wharf. His soul was destined to wander aimlessly, without the love of his wife, without the love of his twins, without the love of his son for eternity.
And Mark Hawkins . . . one of the helpless innocents was released from his tormented living hell after the "Bokar's" death. Cleared of all charges due to extenuating circumstances, he resumed his duties, became a career-naval officer of distinction and went on to command the New Orleans NAS Joint Reserve Base. He served the Navy with honor and integrity, and he gave his wife, his twins and his son the greatest of gifts . . . the love, concern and dedication of fatherly love.
And Lauren Singer . . . another innocent of sorts was relegated to research and filing mindless motions, due to Admiral's privilege. She eventually resigned her commission in the United States Navy, joined a private Washington Law Firm and was ceremoniously disbarred by the State of Virginia, for leaving a confidential file on the front seat of an associate's vehicle.
And Madame Claudette LaVeau-Gautier . . . the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter, passed quietly in her sleep on a cold October night, and entered the land of her ancestors. Forgiven her betrayals performed for the salvation of so many innocents, she was laid to rest in the LaVeau Family Tomb, next to her great-grand-ma-ma in Saint Louis Number One. And to this day, those who believe swear they still see, at the darkest of times, the Queen Of New Orleans Voodun, Marie LaVeau and her great-grand-daughter, Claudette LaVeau-Gautier, ascend from their resting place to help another in need, help another innocent find salvation. Those who believe still swear . . .
The End