"Perhaps a vengeful parent?" said Papa Benjamin.

  "Nan. That stuff only happens in the movies. You watch too much TV, Papa," said Kaufman.

  "Anyway," continued the Jewish detective, pulling several large black-and-white photos out of a briefcase, "the chief insisted we come down to the oum'phor and talk to you."

  "I told them it was a waste of time," said Lane defensively. "But the boss insisted."

  "I understand, Calvin," said Papa Benjamin. "Whenever things like this take place, the uninformed always blame voodoo. What they do not comprehend, they fear."

  "They've watched too many reruns of I Walked With a Zombie," said Kaufman. "To most people, voodoo consists of zombies, drums and biting chickens in the neck."

  "You have a way with words, my friend," said Papa Benjamin with a smile. "Now show me these pictures."

  Moe Kaufman handed over the photos.

  The pictures were close-ups of a blood-splattered apartment wall. Filling most of the bare space were five unusual symbols, crudely etched in blood.

  "I do not recognize any of these markings," said Papa Benjamin after a moment. "They are not true voodoo veves. Yet, they do look vaguely familiar."

  "Maybe from that religion course," said Moe Kaufman, sounding slightly guilty. "We already know what they are, Papa Benjamin. The chief insisted we show the photos to you just on the off chance we might stumble onto a lead."

  "What are you saying?" said Papa Benjamin, sounding properly indignant. The two officers looked stricken. Then, before they had a chance to apologize, he chuckled with amusement.

  "So your chief thinks that I am strong enough to cause such destruction? How did I get so powerful? Perhaps by wrenching the necks of chickens?"

  "It was a crazy idea," said Calvin Lane. "But they're grasping at straws downtown. It's the Gacy mess but lots worse. I mean, this guy is still on the loose, and he's armed with an axe or something."

  "So, satisfy the curiosity of an old man," said Papa Benjamin, fishing for a little more information. "Tell me about the meaning of those symbols."

  "They're Hebrew letters," said Moe Kaufman. "Five Hebrew letters. Don't ask me what that means. The chief himself is handling that aspect of the investigation. He's talking to some expert from the university right now. The boss needs something to tell the reporters other than the usual crap. Otherwise, the whole city is going to go apeshit."

  "I have this terrible feeling," said Calvin Lane, as the two detectives prepared to leave. "Things are gonna get a whole lot worse before they get better."

  "Tell me about it," said Kaufman. "You get any sleep last night? I didn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept seeing those blood-stained walls."

  Kaufman turned to Papa Benjamin. "Sorry to have troubled you, Papa. Calvin and I knew better. But you can't argue with the chief."

  "I understand," said Papa Benjamin as he walked the two detectives to the door. "I am not offended. Go in peace."

  Alone again, Papa Benjamin pondered over what the two officers had revealed. The sight of the actual symbols painted in blood had shaken him more than he cared to admit. This was not the act of some homicidal maniac. The markings had been done too exact, too careful to be the work of a madman. The five letters served as a focus point of unholy magic.

  In voodoo the veves obligated the Mysteres to descend to Earth. They acted as astral forces and personified the Loas. When called, the symbols forced the Mysteres to attend the voodoo ceremonies. Usually the symbols were traced in flour or cornmeal. For important rituals, facial powder or gunpowder was used to draw the pictures. Only the Cochons sans poils painted their veves in blood. And the Red Cults never killed so savagely and so often.

  Those tracings spoke of a darker, older magic than voodoo. The decapitations and use of the victim's blood hinted at rituals older than civilization.

  "For the Blood is the Life," whispered Papa Benjamin, reciting the ancient chant of human sacrifice.

  For the first time in many years, he felt afraid. His was the power of the voodoo Mysteres. All of his life, he had fought for those beliefs, confident in his own strength. The Loas gave him courage no matter what the odds.

  Now he faced a magic stronger than his own. This vampiric monster, the Dark Man, drew his life from the death of others. Even in voodoo, nothing was stronger than death.

  The easiest thing for him to do would be to ignore the killings. The killings did not involve any of his congregation. He owed nothing to Willis Royce. If that charlatan dealt in drugs, he richly deserved his fate. Why tempt fate? His duty to his own followers demanded he remain neutral in this battle.

  Still, deep within himself, Papa Benjamin felt troubled. By passively accepting the murders, he was in effect condoning them. No matter how good the cause, indiscriminate killing was wrong. The death of innocents must be punished. No amount of mental gymnastics could change that basic fact.

  His path was clear. Despite all of his fears, all of his doubts, Papa Benjamin knew what he had to do. He had always stood unwavering against the forces of darkness. He was too old to change now. Besides, Ape Largo needed his help to survive. To save the soul of an innocent man, he must defeat the Dark Man.

  19

  The metal sign on the office door was reassuring in its understatement: SIDNEY TAINE: INVESTIGATIONS. Janet read then checked the slip of paper she clutched in one hand. Not that she needed to compare the two. They were the same and had been the same since she had approached the door five minutes earlier.

  The reverse phone directory had provided her the name and address of the agency. Faced with the likely prospect that the mysterious Mrs. McConnell had been at the library researching a case, Janet had decided on the direct approach. A phone call might clear up the mystery. But on the other hand, it might create more problems than it solved. Personal contact was the only sure way of learning the truth. Timmy's safety demanded she make the effort.

  Gathering together her courage, she gripped the doorknob and pushed open the office door. Inside was a small reception room, furnished with a few chairs, an end table and the usual magazines. Directly across from the door loomed a large desk. Behind it sat a middle-aged woman Janet guessed to be Mary McConnell. At least, she looked like an Irishwoman, with her well-defined features, dark hair and hint of freckles. To the right side of the desk was a further door, obviously leading to Sidney Taine's office.

  "Can I help you?" asked the woman.

  "Uhh, I hope so," said Janet, momentarily at a loss for words. She was treading in completely unknown water here. A half-dozen alibis and deceptions flashed through her mind. Rejecting them all as too transparent, she settled on the one approach that might yield some results—the truth.

  "Are you Mary McConnell?" When the woman nodded in reply, Janet rushed on. "I'm Janet Packard. The librarian downtown gave me your name. We both went to the main library today searching for information on the Mystic Order of the Knights of Antioch. I want to know why you were there?"

  "That's confidential, of course," answered Mrs. McConnell. Her friendly smile took most of the bite out of the words. The secretary acted as if she fielded questions like this all the time. "I can't tell you anything without Mr. Taine's permission. Even though I did the research, it's his case. He's not in the office right now, but I expect him back shortly. Why not wait around and talk to him?

  "Besides," continued Mrs. McConnell, "he's a pushover for women in distress. Especially good-looking blondes like you. The boss called in from the Loop around twenty minutes ago. He was on the way back here after a late lunch. Give him five or ten minutes more."

  Janet didn't have long to wait. Two minutes after she had settled in a chair at the far side of the office, a big, burly man rushed into the office, slamming the door behind him. "Hurry up," he said to Mrs. McConnell, "turn on WBBM-AM. My whole drive back, they've been promising news of a late-breaking story of a rash of murders on the South Side. The anchor keeps on referring to them as 'Cult related.' I want to know what's going on."

  "There's someone here to see you, Mr. Taine," said Mrs. McConnell, gesturing with her head as she twirled the station selector of the radio on her desk. "Her name is Janet Packard. I think you ought to talk to her."

  The big detective turned to face Janet. She rose from her chair, bringing her eyes almost level with his. For an instant, they just stood there, as if evaluating each other. Then, holding out a hand, Taine stepped forward.

  "Please excuse my rudeness," he said, in a surprisingly mellow voice. "When I get excited, I tend to block out any distractions. It's a bad habit."

  They shook hands briefly. His grip was firm but restrained. Janet got the impression that this was a man who knew his own strength and kept it tightly under control.

  "They're on with that story," said Mrs. McConnell.

  With a quick "Excuse me for a minute," Taine hurried back to the radio. As the detective bent close over the desk to listen, Janet took the opportunity to study him closer.

  She guessed the detective to be about her age. Dark eyes and wavy brown hair blended well with his pleasant, even features. Not exactly handsome, he fit under the general heading of "good-looking." Tall and athletic in build, he was well muscled but definitely not fat.

  He moved with the lithe grace of a trained athlete. Astonishing for a man his size, Taine made not a sound as he walked. His feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. Janet liked what she saw. But she also knew the dangers of making snap judgments based solely on pleasant features. A multitude of deadly sins often lurked behind nice eyes.

  With a whistle of surprise, Taine rose to his feet. "Five Hebrew letters drawn in the victim's blood," he muttered, as if thinking out loud. "Now I know what that old codger in New York meant."

  His expression troubled, the detective again faced her. "I apologize again for my lack of manners. But things are boiling over here and I expect they'll only get worse."

  "Ms. Packard came here looking for information on the Knights of Antioch," interrupted Mary McConnell. "She found us through the library. I thought it best if you talked to her. We were the only people to use that book in years."

  "Coincidence only stretches so far," said Taine, an odd note in his voice. "We definitely should hear your story, Ms. Packard. Why not step into my office? We can talk in there.

  "Meanwhile," he said to his assistant, taking one of his business cards from the desk and scribbling something on the back of it. "See that this note gets delivered to that loudmouth leader of the Children of Danballah. I don't care how you do it. If necessary, take a cab downtown to their church and hand it to the gatekeeper. Just make sure he understands Willis Royce has to see the message."

  Taine smiled. "We might have a little business to conduct, Mr. Royce and I. Friday is still two days away. Time for us to earn some of that ten thousand bucks. Don't worry about the phone here. I'll handle any calls from my office. Get going."

  Entering his office, the detective beckoned Janet to an old-fashioned high-back chair. It faced a huge desk, a twin to the one in the outer room. After she sat, he paced over to a wall of windows looking out on the lake.

  "Now," he asked, turning back so that he faced her, "why are you interested in the Black Lodge?"

  "You mean the Order of the Knights of Antioch?" said Janet, slightly confused. "It's a long story."

  "I'm a good listener," said Taine, smiling at her. "It comes with the occupation. Let's compare notes. Why not tell me all about it."

  Janet hesitated, wondering if it was wise trusting the detective. Considering her options, she decided to gamble and take him at face value.

  "It all started yesterday," she began, "when I went to pick up my son, Tim, from school."

  For the next twenty minutes, Janet recited the events and conversations of the past twenty-four hours. Here and there, she cut the story a little. Transformers made little difference to the final outcome. Nor did Mrs. Kearny's fear of Bruno. Otherwise, she let the facts speak for themselves.

  Taine listened attentively. He remained standing during her entire story, his arms folded across his chest, lines of concentration etched in his brow. He interrupted only a few times, seeking to clarify one point or another. By the time Janet finished, all of the good humor had vanished from his face.

  "I don't like it," he said, biting his lower lip as if pondering her story. "I don't like it one bit."

  He dropped into the swivel chair behind his desk. For a moment, he closed his eyes as if in deep concentration. Opening them, he stared at her with an attentiveness that she found unusually refreshing. "Your ex-husband sounds extremely dangerous. Are you sure your son is adequately protected?"

  "Bruno drove him to school this morning and will meet him afterward," replied Janet. "Tim is safe with him. Roger is terrified of Bruno—always has been. I'm not worried."

  "If you say so," said Taine, frowning. Then, abruptly, as if changing the subject, "Did you read about the Mystic Order of the Knights of Antioch?"

  "Just a quick skim at lunch," said Janet. "The article implied that the group no longer existed."

  "I'm not surprised," said Taine. "Like most cults, the Black Lodge survives best in secret."

  "That's the second time you referred to them by that name," said Janet. "What do you mean by the Black Lodge?"

  "The Knights of the Temple, or as they were soon renamed, the Templars, were a military order founded in the twelfth century to battle the Saracens in the Holy Land. Consisting of a dedicated band of toughened knights, the Order quickly gained fame for their heroic acts. They became the standing host of the Church in the Middle East. Their official garb was a white cloak, symbolizing purity, supplemented with a red cross.

  "The Templars thrived under papal favor and soon became a rich and powerful league of nobles. They divided the East into five provinces, each with its own 'Temple Court.' There were also strong branches of the organization in France, Spain, Portugal and England. At the head of the society was a Grand Master, elected to his post by thirteen knights."

  "The king of France outlawed them," said Janet, remembering a fragment of history from her college days. She wondered about the purpose of this story.

  "Philip the Fourth saw the powerful organization as a direct threat to his rule. With the aid of Pope Clement, in 1307 he charged the Templars with heresy. Little evidence was offered to warrant the accusations, but no one dared disagree with the pope.

  "Over fifty Templars were burned at the stake, and hundreds of others perished under torture. The order was disbanded, their wealth divided by the king and pope.

  "However, not all of the knights died at the hands of the Inquisitors. The few who escaped formed a new Lodge, the Order of Antioch. Betrayed by their Church, they abandoned all pretense of piety. Their only goal was the pursuit of material pleasures. They became a society of black magicians.

  "Ever aware of the pope's avarice, this new Order operated in total secrecy. In mockery of the Church, they adopted a new standard—a white mantle with an inverted red cross, the symbol of the Antichrist. At the base crawled a serpent, signifying the triumph of evil over good."

  "They were Satanists?" asked Janet, not liking the turn of conversation.

  "They worshiped only greed," said Taine firmly. "Whatever the cost, they paid the price willingly.

  "The Order soon disappeared into the mist of history. From time to time, some reference to the group appeared in Church records. By and large, they were forgotten. Just as they wished.

  "Reports of their activities still surfaced, but few people recognized them as such. Over the years, the society evolved into a much more insidious organization. Avarice remained their only goal. However, most wars were no longer fought on battlefields. Empires were won and lost in executive boardrooms. Swords and shields gave way to stocks and bonds. The right word or casual nod could make a man rich.

  "In late nineteenth-century England, the Order accidentally emerged from the shadows. The leading members achieved a certain notoriety as the Black Lodge. That name came from The London Times which broke the story."

  Taine spoke with a force and conviction that captivated Janet. He reminded her of several of her college professors. Those men had lectured with such passion they made their subject come alive. The detective expressed himself with that same intensity.

  "Evidently a major schism had developed in the Order a few years earlier. Fortunes were lost and not recovered. One of the losers grew so bitter he turned to the papers for his revenge. Over the course of six months, numerous anonymous articles appeared in The Times by this ex-member of the Order. The pieces detailed the widespread use of dark sorcery and influence peddling on the London financial markets. The tales of black magic were politely ignored. Not so the reports of manipulating the market. No formal charges were ever filed, but a number of important brokers suddenly disappeared from sight."

  "Black magic?" repeated Janet doubtfully. "Surely you don't mean ghosts and vampires and stuff like that."

  "What you and I believe doesn't matter," said Taine. His expression was deadly serious. "The only ones who count are the members of the Black Lodge. All of the mystical trappings contribute to the strength of their fellowship. Every Lodge functions in that fashion. Don't scoff at their beliefs. The members of the Order take them very seriously."

  "And you think a branch of this Order of devil worshipers exists now in Chicago?" said Janet.

  "I know it," said Taine. "I just returned from interviewing one of the members. The Black Lodge wields incredible power in the Windy City."

  "And my ex-husband, my psychopathic ex-husband wants to join their ranks?" Janet shuddered. "This is all too incredible to believe."

  "Which is exactly how the Order manages to avoid detection," said Taine. "Nobody is willing to believe stories involving stock brokers and black magic. I can't blame them, and I know the truth."

  Janet said nothing in return. Taine's revelations frightened her. It took no great leap of faith to convince her he spoke the truth. Crazier stories filled the newspapers every day. It just took a few seconds for the shock to fade.