World War S 2: The Servants of the Dragon

By Stephen Paul Thomas

Now the world stands on the brink of another big economic and social crisis. People look for understanding through occult practices, so that mediums and fortunetellers have become wildly successful in helping them escape from reality. No more churches and established religion, Christians now gather in hidden places.

 The story continues right after Book 1. Dark clouds are gathering around the Vatican. The economic and moral cataclysm has reached the Papal State. The Master, who’s behind the demonic forces and possessed by the demon of Authority, wants to save the Vatican State.

 Meanwhile we learn more about the origins and nature of Josh’s prophetic abilities. A psychiatrist claims that the boy is a reincarnation of his grandfather who was killed by a bullet through his heart, but Julie Bond, his doctor, finds out that she is facing with a lie of a familial spirit which followed Josh’s family through the generations.

 While the future of the Vatican hangs in the balance, John Levi, the cop investigating Josh’s accident and the TV-evangelist’s murder, uncovers strange evidence at the scene—Will’s dissected sentences, words, and characters from his Bible collection arranged into several new languages. The big puzzle starts to emerge from the supernatural revealing the movements of the demonic legions…

The story continues in the Book 3. – World War S: In the Heart of Black Magic

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Articity Publishing
• Release date: Apr 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9786158032506

Book preview

Brutally good

Prophetic...

The reality of the demonic...

Genious...

(Readers opinion after the first foreign edition)

www.articity.com

www.stephenpaulthomas.com

www.worldwarspiritual.com

Stephen Paul Thomas

World War S

II.

World War Spiritual

The Servants of the Dragon

novel

The World War Spiritual Series

Book 2.

Stephen Paul Thomas: World War S II.

The Servants of the Dragon

(World War Spiritual Series Book 1. and 2.)

2020

ISBN 978-615-80325-0-6

translated by

Istvan Tomasovszki

Copy Editing

Paige Duke

2015

© 2020. Articity Publishing and Media Ltd.

© 2020. Istvan Tomasovszki

Cover design

Istvan Tomasovszki

www.worldwarspiritual.com

www.stephenpaulthomas.com

Available from Amazon.com and other retail outlets

Available on Kindle and other devices

The Servants of the Dragon

Book 2.

...has posessed the priesthood, then it has began...

1.

The limousine was waiting for Sidney Grimm outside the Charles de Gaulle airport. The uniformed driver loaded her suitcases in the trunk and opened the door.

They’re waiting for you at the Élysée Palace, he said while Sidney nestled into the backseat. I’ve been instructed to take you shopping, Miss Grimm. You need to choose an evening dress.

Sidney was charmed by the attentions of the Master. He was not the first man she’d gone to bed with, but none of them entertained her as lavishly as he did. Not only did he take advantage of her beauty, like other men, but he also generously rewarded her for her service. Sidney wanted to believe that soon it would be more than a working relationship.

She chose a gown with a daring neckline; the transparent lace let the eyes move down all the way to the navel. At her back, there was only a jelly-like strap holding the light dress together, which fell gently around her silicon-shaped bottom and stopped at the knee. She selected a necklace with a raindrop-shaped diamond pendant, which she let descend provocatively into her very low neckline, and which was connected to her belly ring by a golden chain.

But the outfit didn’t get her the reaction she’d hoped for from her adoring man.

Are you really serious? he asked angrily, pulling a hand nervously through his hair. What the bloody hell will they think of us? You’re my whore and I’m your pimp?

I thought you’d be happy. You’ve always liked the provocative dresses before …

I beg you, the man shook his head, we will be guests at the French Palace, not some little corner bar.

Sidney resentfully pulled off the new purchase, throwing it to the floor before slamming the door of her room.

Then go alone! she shouted. The rural house on the outskirts of Paris had thick, padded doors, which significantly muted the erupting waves of her disappointment. Only muffled fractions of words reached the man’s ears. But he didn’t really care to hear any more of her outburst. He walked to the small table next to the couch and poured himself a drink. He took a fine Cuban cigar out of his inner pocket and lit it. With a sudden movement, he picked up the dress from the floor and burned a hole through it with the red-hot end of the cigar. The smell of the scorching artificial silk filled the room.

In the meantime, Sidney hadn’t stopped ranting; she was acting like an offended lover.

You should decide what kind of role you intend for me! she shouted from inside.

The man got bored torturing the dress and threw it into the corner.

Go to the wardrobe and look into it! he said in a loud voice, puffing deeply on the cigar. He leaned forwards to the wide, old style keyhole and blew the smoke into Sidney’s room.

There was no reaction from the other side. The silence could mean Sidney was enacting a sulky boycott, but the man felt she would not be able to resist peeking in the wardrobe. Sidney’s clothing and jewellery addiction made her so easy to control. The bankcard he’d given her, with an unlimited credit line, was a pleasant shackle connecting them.

The door flew open, and Sidney stood there with a satisfied smile on her face. The red dress curved with appropriate decency at the right places but still covered the necessary parts of her figure.

You … was all Sidney said, flinging her arms around his neck. Then why did you send me shopping?

Because you’re an addict. Because you had to give an offering to the god of purchase, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to cope with you.

You’re such a bastard … Sidney said, kissing him on the mouth.

Brave! This is how you speak to the wealthiest man in Europe—

And you to the most cunning woman in America—

Witch, the man whispered, and he pretended to push her away. The movement worked because Sidney clung to him even stronger.

I have skills. But you’re the real Master.

They kissed passionately for a few minutes.

What did your wife say when she realized you were leaving her for me?

Now the man pushed her away and looked into her eyes.

Silvie can’t come anyway. You know very well that she’s in the hospital.

And if she weren’t?

If she weren’t … he drew his finger over her forehead, down her nose, and across her lips, wetting the tip of his finger on her tongue. "But she is there. Would you prefer to be the wife of Europe’s wealthiest man?"

I’m already his lover, can I be more?

At that moment, the phone rang in his pocket. He answered, and for thirty seconds he spoke in a language Sidney didn’t understand. He walked over to stand beside the windows, looking out to the well-maintained park lined with ancient trees. A moment later, he said good-bye.

He went back to Sidney and put his arms around her waist.

The mine of opportunities is infinite, you can’t even grasp it with your human mind. Now you can enter into France’s most beautiful building, where you’ll meet with the most famous puppet of this country. Here we can make the contract of our life. And everyone will be our servant.

Sidney knew the light that ignited his eyes. It was the same light that burned in her too. It warmed her up from the inside, infiltrating her whole being, filling her with motivation and energy. And it was black as night.

I can hardly wait, she said, kissing the man. She lingered over him for long minutes, pampering him the way Silvie would never be able to do. Because Silvie was a spastic, frigid woman who was destined to lose to Sidney. No matter how she tried, despite all she did to keep her husband on her side, she would fail.

There was nothing she could do against a witch.

*

Come, Doctor! the nurse said urgently. The doctor stood up from beside the microscope, where he was preparing the zygotes for implantation.

Again? he asked, taking up a new pair of rubber gloves. The nurse didn’t say anything, just nodded tensely. There was dread in her eyes.

They ran through the corridors, headed towards one of the separate apartments of the private clinic, where unearthly screams were growing louder every second. Another nurse ran in the opposite direction right in front of them; her hands were drenched in blood to her elbows. The doctor tried to stop her, but she wrenched herself from his grip and burst out crying. The nurse following the doctor looked dead pale in the radiating, wan light of the fluorescent bulbs, but the dim atmosphere just emphasised the usual facial expression of a terrified human being. The doctor didn’t look much better, although this was the fourth such event in the last month, so one might think he’d have grown used to it by now. But when his eyes flashed towards the nurse, they were afraid—they ran, and their shared terror only increased their fear.

The door flew open just as they approached it. The sister on duty fell through the doorway. The real colour of her blue rubber gloves couldn’t be seen anymore—they’d turned blood-red all over. She didn’t say anything to either of them, just shook her head and drew back to let the new arrivals into the room. Another four strongly- built men entered the apartment.

The hall decorated with thick drapery was practically empty. The furniture, styled in the period of Louis XIV, was lying beside the wall, overturned and showing the path of the escapees. The smeared handprints on the golden stucco indicated the points where the staff had tried to regain their balance.

This suite is incredibly expensive, the nurse thought, the cleaning alone cost a couple thousand euros after the last incident.

They found the coffered, richly decorated door half opened—the sound of moaning drifting out from behind. The six men in white coats crept closer like a group of zookeepers trying to tame the mighty Bengal tiger. Although what they should have found in that room was only a fragile woman waiting for artificial insemination.

One of the men took a syringe and sucked up some tranquiliser from a vial. They had learned from the previous incidences; the other male nurse still bore the marks of the deep bites on his arm. One of the nurses—the one who ran in front of them—lost her earrings the last time; they had found them afterwards on the suite’s Persian carpet after her earlobe had burst. Almost everybody had uncomfortable experiences in this facility, but none of them had met a hard case like this before. But they had to continue their work. The client was the wife of a very influential man, at least that was what they’d heard. The husband paid handsomely for their services, and for the inconvenience of coping with the difficulties.

The only person who hadn’t been hurt was the doctor who performed the artificial insemination. The woman spared him every time, and she even listened to him. Some of the staff thought it was due to the doctor’s calm, balanced character, while others attributed it to his previous work in a church hospital before it was shut down. Faith could give him the strength to make the woman tractable, they thought.

But this time he was afraid as well. The previous incidents had left him shaken, had weakened his nerves. He let the strong male nurses go through first. Those four men—covering their colleagues with the syringe—slid through the gap between the door and the frame.

They feared the worst. On the previous occasion, the woman had broken all the mirrors and cut her body to splinters. Wherever the nurse went, spattered blood signalled his path.

But to their great surprise, the room had stayed clean this time. The woman wasn’t wallowing on the floor, tossing and turning in a state of unconsciousness, like before. She was lying in the bed looking at them with curious, clean eyes, although just a few minutes ago she had been crying. The snow-white bed sheet was shining in the light coming from outside, and it was neatly arranged without any folds.

Doctor, I’m ready, she said. A vague smile appeared in the corner of her mouth.

Silvie … the doctor moaned, standing between the male nurses. Then he signalled with a flick of his eyes that they could put the syringe down. Everyone gathered around the bed.

The doctor slowly turned back the covers. He stood there with a hard-set expression, waiting to see her body covered in blood.

But there was no blood or new wounds. Even the old ones looked better; they were healing well, and the bandages were clean.

Where did the blood …? the doctor asked astounded, pointing towards the corridor.

What blood? Who is bleeding? Silvie looked back amazed.

Those … the doctor started, but he realized he didn’t need to continue. There was no visible evidence that the blood came from the woman. May I ask you to turn around? He thought to check her back, but it was also intact.

Did somebody get hurt? asked the woman.

The doctor motioned for the others to leave the room. He wanted to be alone with the patient.

No, thank God, nobody, he started when they were alone. But what is more important is that you’re healthy.

I think I am, Silvie smiled, caressing her tummy. I have a feeling it will be successful this time, she said, nodding confidently. I’m not afraid.

I share your opinion, the doctor said, touching Silvie’s hand. Do you want me to pray for you?

She looked timidly towards the window. The room was filled with the evening lights coming from the park’s old diamond-shaped lampposts, covering the lavender wallpaper with a play of light.

Maybe … you can try.

The doctor closed Silvie’s clasped hands with his and bowed his head.

Heavenly Father …

At that moment, Silvie’s body strained and her head fell forward. She started to vomit. She was vomiting blood in a wide stream.

Oh, my God, that’s the origin of the blood, he thought. This is some kind of internal haemorrhage!

Everybody back! Quickly, take her to the surgery! It’s an abdominal haemorrhage. We have to find the source now!

The male nurses came back and transferred Silvie to the stretcher. They pushed her to the surgery connected to the suite and immediately started the intervention.

They struggled for two hours to save her life. One of the abdominal blood vessels burst and emptied its content into the stomach, so Silvie lost a lot of blood. The nurse’s gloves had become bloody when she tried to help her, but Silvie must have fought back unconsciously. The nurses ran away because they remembered their previous injuries.

Though this woman looks so fragile, thought the doctor, looking at Silvie sleeping calmly in the intensive care room. Her body structure—small and slender as a reed—was not suitable to carry twins. That’s why they only left one ovum alive from the four they’d implanted. But this single ovum had just been lost due to the stress and unexpected bleeding.

Could that explain her continuous aggressive behaviour and outbursts? Is that why she turns against herself?

What kind of man would put his wife under constant struggle and torture, even if she isn’t able to cope with these interventions anymore?

Who is this powerful, influential businessman?

The doctor changed the speed on the infusion, making it quicker, giving Silvie a tranquil rest. He dragged a chair next to her bed, sat down, and grabbed her hand.

He felt that he had to start the prayer again.

Heavenly Father, please help this poor lady, Silvie, lying before me …

He continued to pray aloud for another hour. Each time he pronounced Silvie’s name, her hand flinched. The doctor took this as a sign that his prayers were getting into heaven.

But he didn’t see the light, the transparent dome that covered both of them. Only the shadows saw it, those that whimpered and clung to the walls, unable to get any closer to their prey. To that prey, who needed to be killed as soon as she gave birth to her child. That was why they continuously tortured her body and mind. They had to finish her, but only up to the limit where she could still carry on by her vital instinct, until the final moment of the pregnancy.

They hated this doctor. He was that kind of praying man, which they rarely saw nowadays. They were afraid he would make Silvie stronger and upset their plans.

He would make the Master’s wife stronger, this woman who was no longer suitable to be the wife of a huge potentate.

Sidney Grimm would be a better candidate. Much better.

*

At the same moment, Salome Sue Richardson was feeling a terrible stabbing pain somewhere below the line of her caesarean scar. She thought it might be the coming of menopause, and she finally would enter this unwanted period of life. It hadn’t fully set in yet, but there were some unmistakable signs that soon it would turn her life upside down. She was not able to judge if the hot flashes occupying her body were the result of the true onset of menopause or the events of the past days. She doubled over, moaning, which grabbed the taxi driver’s attention.

Miss, is everything all right? Do you want me to stop? Don’t you want to see a doctor?

No, it’s all right. Only a cramp. Just keep going.

Sue straightened up, smoothing out the wrinkles of her steel-blue suit, which she only wore to meetings. When was the last time I put it on? she tried to remember. Maybe it was when I signed the contract to the series. Damned series, I have to get it back! That tragic last episode cast the good viewer ratings into the deep pit of Hell!

But now she was going to an even more important meeting in central Los Angeles. She had never done this kind of thing before; she had never cheated on Joe. Her husband was not the most ideal man, but she had never thought of looking for someone else. It would definitely happen now. Or at least she would try. She lied to Joe, saying that a producer called her from the rival channel to renew her series, Medium on Call. It was a believable explanation, as Joe had witnessed the morning when that episode had pissed her off so much.

She took off her wedding ring. She didn’t know why; maybe she didn’t want to make it unclean.

Un-clean, she syllabified to herself, as if the word had an important, special meaning.

Did you say something, Miss? the driver turned back again.

No, sorry. I’m really absent-minded today.

No problem, the man smiled. Is it you … are you the medium from that series?

The kindness of the driver pulled her from her thoughts.

Yes, I’m … or I was, she nodded. She realized that in the prime of her life, she’d already felt the small fumbling in her mind, as the fragments of thoughts reached her when she started to work as a channel to the afterlife. At this point in a conversation, she was usually aware of the person she was meant to contact in the spiritual realm, whatever friend or relative of the family had died recently.

Are you going to a client, by chance?

Not exactly …

So, did you stop once and for all? Why?

She saw the man’s curious eyes flashing in the mirror.

That’s a very long story.

We have time. We’ll just be sitting in this traffic jam until the Hotel Ritz, he opened his arms, showing he couldn’t do anything about it. His teeth were white as snow, when his smile occupied the whole view of the mirror. Sue noticed a plastic cross hanging on a cheap metallic necklace from the middle mirror. Her heart gave a leap.

It reminded her about Reverend Robert Martens, as he had knelt beside her daughter’s hospital bed. She should listen to him over Sidney Grimm or the presently silent inner voices.

But the God of Robert Martens could only give her a twinge of guilt, nothing more. He accused and scorned her because she followed the rituals of Great-granny Salome. Who needs a God who wants you to break with your past? She thought. The path of the reverend’s God was so narrow it was uncomfortable to walk on even for an everyday person, much less a medium. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it (Matthew 7:14), she thought. Or however that damned passage says it. Bullshit!

On the other hand, the Master didn’t ask anything from Sue when he led her into the secrets of magic and fortune-telling. Sue was like a radio that only worked when somebody tuned to the right wavelength. I did nothing but wake up the sensitive receiver inside you, the Master had explained after the séance. It had dawned on Sue the following day that what he’d said was very true. From that day on, as she entered a place, the information had flown towards her. Formless, cloud-shaped, and ghost-like creatures brought pictures to her, as if to say, "Look, we want to tell you something." Soon after, she started to hear them more clearly. In the beginning it was frightening, but she grew used to it later.

Then Sidney Grimm displaced Sue in the Master’s affections. Sue didn’t understand why the Master didn’t see what Sidney was up to; she was a leech of the most hideous sort that Sue had ever seen. Though she’d met many throughout her career, none of them was so … so obsessed, purposeful, and determined.

And then the big silence began, Sue thought. Sidney might have learned something from the Master that even Sue wasn’t able to do, a way to silence all the spirits, just to show she’d become a key player in their spiritual game.

So, tell me, why’ve you stopped contacting the ghosts? the driver asked again because Sue was just sitting, staring into space.

The silence is the reason, she thought, but she didn’t want to say that.

I don’t really know, I think I’m tired … it was not the most appropriate answer to this stranger either, as he had nothing to do with Sue’s personal life. It was too honest, but she couldn’t hold it back. Maybe the spirits consumed all my power, and … She took a deep breath because she didn’t want to continue. She didn’t understand why those words had come out of her mouth as only a few minutes before she was worried about how to get her show back. Her hands accidently brushed her pocket where she felt the outline of her wedding ring. She ran her forefinger around the circle.

Only a few kilometres from her, a short man was kneeling in his hotel room next to his bed. Reverend Robert Martens didn’t give up the fight easily. He believed it was divine inspiration that he had booked a hotel in this city only a few streets from Sue’s house.

If this is truly coming from God, and it was truly an inspiration, then it will soon come to light, he thought.

He prayed a long while for Kathy’s recovery. He felt that the girl was in grave danger, and he might not be able to save her by his prayers alone. So he called the remaining members of his small congregation and asked them to gather for an evening prayer meeting. He also decided he would ask the pastors at the conference tomorrow to intercede for her, to help him in his prayers. Robert knew about the pitch-black well of the generational curse that swallowed Sue, which he had fought against in prayer when Sue was young. But in his old age, he could not face these forces alone because Sue was no longer on the surface of the black water, but the spiritual potentates had pulled her down to the bottom of the curse.

He turned the pages of his Bible to a verse about the release from demonic forces. He put on his glasses, and although he already knew it by heart, he still read it from the book: he didn’t want to make any mistakes.

In the taxi, at that very moment, the driver agreed with Sue, You did the right thing, giving up the show. His warm brown eyes looked at Sue through the mirror. The cross was swinging gently like an unstoppable warning sign, although they hadn’t moved at all in the last five minutes because of the traffic. The medium becomes a slave as well. Don’t you want to be free?

That smile, a strange feeling rushed through Sue, it’s the most genuine and beautiful I’ve seen in all the world.

She wanted to shout yes, but she was only able to moan weakly.

Her demons wanted to run, but for that they had to motivate Sue to move. They had to use Sue’s instinct of escape.

A moment later, an enormous wave of fear swept through Sue’s body. It was so strong that it pushed her out of the car.

She slammed the door behind her and ran to the crosswalk, avoiding the cars. She didn’t even care about missing her rendezvous; she couldn’t stay in that car another minute with that shivering fear.

*

If you board that plane, you can’t count on me anymore, the voice of his boss echoed in John’s head as the plane landed on the runway in L.A. He didn’t immediately turn on his mobile because of that last call, but he knew he needed to; Paul would surely call him.

If they ever let him call, he thought, pushing his way through the crowd of passengers, from the look of this case, they’ll be limiting his basic rights.

The flight marshal smiled at him from afar and approached to shake John’s hand. Either they hadn’t notified him or he was successfully disguising the fact that he would arrest John in a minute.

What’s the case you’re working on? he asked with an inquiring look.

Nobody can act that well, John thought. He was adept at reading people after his undercover role as a drug addict. Although he was a crappy actor, he survived because of the clumsiness of the drug barons.

It’s a very complicated case, but unfortunately I can’t talk about it, John said with a troubled smile. He felt sorry that he could not let this kind guy into his private investigation; he might even be able to help him.

No problem, I understand, the marshal nodded, patting John’s back. But I can still give you advice. When you leave the aircraft, always stay on the right side!

The realization sliced through John’s mind like a knife; the guy knew everything! He knew everything, but his kind smile said he intended to help John. Or did he really mean to ensnare him?

John tried to look straight into the marshal’s eyes, and then let them roam over the guy’s face. He watched every movement of his facial muscles, thinking he might give himself away. But the man was still smiling steadily.

Hey, buddy, the marshal said when John didn’t move, take it easy! I’m sure everything will be all right with the case.

Everything will be all right with the case, John repeated the sentence as he walked through the tunnel out to the terminal. How could he know about it? How does he know that everything will be all right?

He looked back from the door once more, but the marshal was not concerned with him anymore; he was watching the passengers slowly exiting the plane. I’m just imagining things, John thought.

At the terminal, he just joined the crowd, mixing with the passengers from different flights. Stay on the right side, he remembered, watching for the disguised policemen waiting for him. But the right side of the corridor was as clean as the left. He noticed nothing suspicious.

The crowd slowly piled up, three to four hundred people spanning towards the checkpoints. Now, he thought, now they’ll pull me out of the line. He decided to stay in the middle, where they wouldn’t nail him as easily. He would stand behind a big guy, where he could hide from the cameras.

He looked right again, hoping to find the colleagues who would come for him, but there was only a female guard standing below the Officials Only sign. She let a group of flight attendants and pilots pass through after checking them. The air marshal might have been suggesting he pass through that gate, as he might be regarded as an official person …

John made a sudden decision, as he usually did in life; he stepped out of the line and headed to the uniformed woman. Come what may!

Sorry, sir, this exit is restricted for officials only.

I see. I’m Lieutenant John Levi, from Morris County Homicide in official matters.

All right, sir, she nodded, checking his badge. "Please, the way is clear."

The way is clear, the words echoed in his head as he passed through the narrow corridor marked by cordons to the huge terminal building.

Nobody stopped me. It was a false alarm.

He looked at his mobile. He couldn’t decide if he should use it or not. They could trace him by following this signal, so he decided that he would call the L.A. District Police Station on the public phone to find out about Paul’s place of custody.

There was only an older woman in the queue in front of him, and luckily she finished her call after just a few words. John swept a prepaid card in front of the scanner and dialled the number. Only a moment later somebody tapped him on the shoulder.

Okay. I promise, I’ll be quick, he said to the stocky guy and turned back to the phone. But the man didn’t give up.

Believe me, it will only take … he said, turning, but the words stuck in his throat. Two other men had joined the short one. One of them was holding handcuffs, which he immediately snapped onto John’s wrists.

He didn’t resist; he knew if he didn’t put his hands behind his back, they would twist his arm.

John Levi, you’re under arrest on drug charges. You have the right to remain silent … the short man rattled off.

John noticed he wore a DEA jacket. He couldn’t speak, nor did he want to. He realized that his decision was once again the wrong one, and Paul would be pissed off.

If they ever saw each other again.

*

Raymond stayed at the police station late that night, after his partner, John, stormed out. His colleagues working with the police’s special supercomputer had promised the first results this evening. Ray hoped they would be able to give him a clue about what those many hundred thousands of words in all those languages—cut out from the Bibles—meant, the ones they’d found in William Ridmoore’s flat. The superbrain will have a hell of a time solving it, he thought.

Suddenly Jack, the captain, stepped into their office without knocking.

Ray, please collect the files on B.A., we have to close the case immediately!

Raymond must have had a strange look on his face, as the captain had to repeat the sentence. Ray still did not believe his ears.

Now, when we’re only just starting to get somewhere?

Now. Right on time, before you get anywhere. I suspended John for a while anyway.

But … Ray stopped when the captain signalled with his hand that he didn’t want to start a debate on it, and with the same movement he closed the door behind him.

Ray followed Jack’s blurry figure behind the smoked glass as he disappeared around the corner. Ray was still holding the thicker folder of this bizarre case in his hand, wondering what he should do with it.

Whose interest is served by making this case vanish into thin air? Or rather two cases, because the Heartley accident has obvious connections to this one …

He decided that he would collect all the papers and take them home. He couldn’t do what the captain was asking; he couldn’t do that to John or the Heartley family. He wouldn’t let all the evidence just be destroyed in this intricate case. Because William Ridmoore was guilty, no question.

He was just packing the documents into boxes when his phone rang.

I think you need to get over here, the technician said. I can’t fully explain to you over the phone what we’ve found here.

All right, I’ll leave in a minute, Ray said, hoping his boss would not realize that the decoding project was connected to the case of the mysterious arm until he could reach the building at the other side of the city. Is it that interesting?

It’s even more interesting than you think. You won’t be disappointed. The person who made this was either a genius or totally crazy.

Bingo, Ray thought, Ridmoore is definitely crazy. Who else would be able to mutilate a man and crash the car of an innocent family at the same time?

Well, I’m even more eager to see now, Ray said, about to cut the line. Look, there’s something I have to tell you. If the boss or anybody else calls to say you have to delete all the evidence before I arrive—don’t do it! Promise me?

Sure. I’ll save it on a data key right now, and I’ll only give it to you, the technician answered and cut the line.

Ray put the boxes under his arms and headed to the garage. Only the guys from the night duty were there; and