Reign of Evil

CHAPTER 14

Director David Lynch made the place famous, but there was really nothing to the town of Twin Peaks other than several hundred homes and a quickie mart. The TV series by the same name started out with a mysterious naked body wrapped in plastic found on the side of the road. Nothing like that really ever happened in this sleepy out-of-the-way hamlet overlooking the Rim of the World Highway and downtown Los Angeles. Which is why many old Hollywood movie stars settled in the greater Lake Arrowhead area. A normal day out near the lake or in one of the nearby towns such as Twin Peaks or Crestline could find a person passing Will Smith or Heather Locklear or Vince Neil from Mötley Crüe. One of the unspoken rules, however, was not to approach them and to give them their space. Although there were tourists who didn’t know this, the locals treated it as dogma.

So when SEAL Team 666 landed, loaded into the NCIS-provided SUV, and headed toward Lake Arrowhead it wasn’t any surprise when they found themselves at a stoplight next to a Mercedes convertible with a woman behind the wheel who resembled a star from a famous 1970s TV show.

Yank drove. Holmes sat in the passenger seat. Behind him sat Laws. Behind Yank sat YaYa. They all wore jeans and T-shirts and light jackets to cover their shoulder rigs, which carried Sig Sauer P229s.

Yank thumbed toward the Mercedes. “Isn’t that that actress from The Love Boat? What’s her name, Jane?”

All four SEALs turned to stare at the older woman in the car next to them. Although she couldn’t see them through the heavily tinted windows, she turned and looked at the SUV that towered over her car, giving them all a clear look.

“That’s Julie,” Laws, the man with the eidetic memory, said. “And it’s Love Boat minus the ‘The.’”

“Julie, right,” Yank said, smiling wistfully. “She was the cruise director. Never knew she got so old.”

“It’s called the passage of time,” YaYa said from the backseat. “It’s been more than thirty years since that show was on television. Which begs the question, what’s a Compton kid like you watching an all-white show like that?” He snapped his fingers. “That’s right. The bartender was black. What was his name?”

“Isaac Washington played by actor Ted Lange,” Laws said flatly.

Yank spoke into the rearview mirror. “You’re always so cliché, Yaya. Why is it a black guy like me only watches black people on television? Do you only watch ragheads?”

“That would mean I’d spend my days watching nothing but Al Jazeera. We’re seriously underrepresented on television unless it’s some terrorist blowing themselves up. What do they expect me to do, clap and shout, Hooray, another one for the seventy-two overworked virgins!?”

A car honked from behind.

Yank looked up and saw that Julie in the Mercedes was already three car lengths ahead.

“We can go anytime,” Holmes said.

“Yessir.” Yank cursed inwardly. YaYa was always getting him in trouble. He put the SUV in gear. They drove a mile farther before he added, “Anyway, my adopted father watched it as reruns. He made me sit in the living room and do my homework when he watched it. I couldn’t help but watch it. It was either that or math.”

They drove in silence for several minutes, during which Yank thought fondly of the man who’d adopted him and given him a new life after his mother had perished in a house fire. He wished the man was still around so he could see how his work in progress, as he sometimes called Yank, turned out. Being a Navy man, he’d have been very proud his adopted son had become a SEAL.

“Let’s review,” Holmes said. “YaYa, give us the rundown.”

YaYa glanced into the mirror nervously, catching Yank’s attention. Whereas before the mission to Mexico YaYa had been the most outgoing member of the team, the loss of his left arm to the elbow and the installation of the new DARPA mechanical replacement had made him feel less than who he’d been, culminating in a loss of confidence. Yank had told him that he should see it as an addition, rather than a subtraction, but it was hard to dissuade the lithe young Jordanian-American from what he’d already come to believe. Still, both Holmes and Laws had been forcing him to brief and debrief recently in an effort to get his confidence back to the Navy SEAL norm of 1,000 percent.

“So the murder of Jen has been tied to an organization called the Red Grove. It’s a 50…”

“501.3c tax-exempt religious organization,” Laws supplied.

“Right. What he said. A payoff check was traced to this organization, whose chair is Hubert Van Dyke, a former television actor who had bit parts in pretty much every show that came out in the fifties and sixties.”

Holmes nodded. “What do we know about him now?”

“Now, according to Who’s Who, he is a philanthropist and an environmentalist. His net worth is believed to be around thirty million dollars. He’s a member of virtually every conservancy group and also every Wiccan religious group. Interestingly enough, he’s on the board of trustees for Loyola Marymount University, which is a Catholic college.” YaYa paused and stared at Holmes.

“Continue.”

“He also sits on the board of the Bohemian Grove, which we’ve been asked not to even think about. He’s also on the board of A Celestial Worry LLC, which is a young adult organization which promotes thoughtfulness on the control of Earth by corporate religions. Its list of religions to watch includes Scientology, Judaism, and Catholicism.”

“Which makes his affiliation with Loyola Marymount curious,” Laws said. “What’s that tell us?”

YaYa narrowed his eyes. “I—uh—am not sure.”

Laws looked to the driver. “Yank?”

“That he might care more about money and connections than about his own philosophy.”

Laws smiled. “Exactly. It’s difficult to make someone cooperate who believes strongly in an ideal. Greed, on the other hand, is something we can work with.”

Yank made several turns, then pulled into a cul-de-sac. Two-story houses stood back from the road between towering trees. The grass on the ground was brown, not only from the constant shade but also because of the layers of pine needles that shoaled here and there. The temperature was fifteen degrees cooler in the mountain than it was in the valley. The air was also noticeably cleaner.

“Laws, you ready?”

He put on a pair of glasses that made him look like a fit Berkeley professor, if Berkeley professors wore their hair high and tight and had trained-killer eyes. “Ready.”

Yank watched as the second in command left the vehicle and headed down one of the longer driveways. The plan was to determine if Van Dyke was actually there. If they’d been in any other country in the world, they could have used the full intelligence powers of the U.S. government, but Americans, especially in their own country, were provided a privacy barrier that they weren’t allowed to cross. Nor should they. Although it would have been easier, Commander Holmes said it best. We can’t trample the rights and freedom we’re sworn to protect.

“YaYa… move,” Holmes commanded.

The SEAL pulled a Dodger cap low over his eyes, grabbed the bag from the seat beside him, and exited, closing his door softly behind him. He jogged into the woods, then began to angle toward the house. He’d set up in the wood line to monitor Laws’s engagement with the persons on the premises.

Holmes toggled on a tablet to magnify the view and waited.

Through the mask of trees, Laws could be seen approaching the front door and knocking. The house was Tudor-style with a pitched roof, dormers, and timbers offset by the white cottage covering. It appeared perfectly suited for its secluded position, deep within the San Gabriel Mountain woods.

They waited.

Laws turned and looked around, but not in the direction of the vehicle.

He knocked again.

The door was opened several seconds later by an older woman, dressed in a housedress, apron, and sensible shoes, right out of a 1960s Better Homes and Gardens photo.

Laws smiled, held out his hand to shake, and waited.

The woman ignored it, however, and seemed about to close the door when—

The tablet came to life as YaYa’s equipment came online. A zoomed-in side shot of Laws and part of the woman’s face appeared along with audio. “But ma’am, I’m just a courier from Loyola Marymount.” He spread his hands apologetically. “I have a registered letter that I have to deliver to Mr. Van Dyke regarding an emergency meeting of the Board of Trustees.”

“Again, Mr. Van Dyke isn’t here at the moment. If you can leave it with me, then I can—”

Laws shook his head and frowned sadly. “That’s unfortunate. The board requires an immediate response. It’s why they sent me out here.” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “It has to do with a windfall they want to distribute among the board members. I don’t know any details, but it’s supposed to be a considerable sum.”

The woman was silent for a long moment, then said, “Wait one moment,” and closed the door.

Laws turned to where YaYa was sitting and gave a huge grin.

“Show-off,” Holmes said quietly.

Yank noticed that despite the word, his boss had a secret smile on his face. They were lucky to have Laws. Not only did he have a photographic memory, but he could also speak several languages. Yank was just happy to be able to speak a little L.A. Spanish, much less Chinese.

A minute later, the woman returned to the front door. She opened it. “Come in, Mr. Fogbottom. I’m sure you understand we get people wanting Mr. Van Dyke’s autograph all the time.” She smiled softly and stepped aside. “He asks me to keep them out.”

“I’m sure you do an excellent job, ma’am.” Laws stepped inside.

With no one outside, the image snapped off, but the audio continued, provided by Laws’s wire. “Sure glad he’s here. It was a long drive and that road—”

She chuckled. “Rim of the World. It keeps many from coming, thank the gods.”

Yank and Holmes glanced at each other.

“It also keeps me from getting down to L.A.,” she added. “I can’t stand those sheer drop-offs.”

“Me neither.” The sound of several footsteps on a hardwood floor.

“This is Mr. Van Dyke’s sitting room. If you’ll wait a moment.”

The sound of a single set of footsteps retreating.

Laws whispered, “East-facing window. Walls lined with floor-to-ceiling built-ins, except for one wall with pictures with movie stars and… is that Schwarzenegger?”

“Yes,” came a raspy voice. One could tell it had once been deep but now was edged with sickness.

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’m not one to clomp around my own house like Ms. Murphy. Plus, these slippers don’t make much noise.” After a pause, “Ms. Murphy said you had something for me.”

“I do.” The sound of paper ruffling. “If I could see an ID, though, Mr. Van Dyke.”

Rasping coughs. “Look at the man in the pictures and look at me.” More coughs. “What you see is a younger, handsomer version. Plus, that young man doesn’t have my particular sickness.”

“Very sorry for your—illness, sir.”

“It comes and goes. Now the correspondence.”

Sounds of papers shuffling. “If you can sign here, please, sir.”

“Fine. Give.”

More paper shuffling.

Then a sharp intake of breath.

“There you are. And thank you very much for your time.”

“Leaving so soon?”

“I have several more of these to deliver.” Sound of footsteps on a wooden floor. “I’ll let myself out.”

“You don’t understand,” began the raspy voice. “You can only leave when—”

The door opened, then slammed shut. “Start the engines. We need to leave. Now.” Laws was walking as fast as he could.

YaYa picked himself up from the ground, then began to run.

They made it to the SUV at the same time, jumped in, then Yank sped away.

Holmes turned around in his seat.

“What was it?”

For one of the first times Yank noticed fear in Laws’s eyes. They’d been in plenty of situations and the man had seemed always in control and capable of taking anything thrown at him. Seeing his fear stirred the butterflies in Yank’s stomach.

“What was it?” Holmes repeated.

“I think… I think it was a vampire.”