Chapter 4: Dark Web
Jeremy strolled over next to Lermon and promptly had him step to one side, blocking Aaron. Aaron tried shifting so he could be seen and visible but after a moment just threw his hands in the air and gave up in despair. Nobody cared about his ego, largely because this office didn’t have egos.
Jeremy began, “The Agency has been looking into rumors of the latest edition of the Silk Road. For those of you who do not know, the Silk Road used to be a dark web clearinghouse for everything from drugs, to guns, to RPGs, and I do not mean Dungeons & Dragons. This particular edition of Silk Road, called Shadow Mart, is also marketing itself as Silk Road 666. That is to distinguish it from the other places on the dark web calling itself Silk Road three- or four-point-oh. Those are all trying to steal the same franchise name, even though the first franchise was closed.
“Now, the things they’re selling—that we know about—include various and sundry items that are eerily familiar to each and every one of us.”
Jeremy took out his smartphone, plugged it in to a computer monitor, and started flipping through images. “As you can see,” Jeremy continued, “we have chicken bones supposedly used by certain witches out of Long Island from several years ago. Dad, this is where you were abroad for several months. I believe Alex had something to do with that.”
Alex sighed deeply. “Yeah, I remember that. Long story; well, a short story, really. Witches came in. Witches tried to hit all of the various and sundry places Tommy had had incidents, and I wound up taking them out. With Father Freeman and Sinead.”
Aaron coughed and scorned as he said, “Oh please! You idiots. Witchcraft! Chicken bones! What sort of stupidity are you people talking a—?”
Jeremy turned to face Aaron. He promptly poked him hard, just enough to force him back against my office door. Jeremy said, low, quiet and dangerous, “You will be quiet while I am briefing. You might learn something. And if you can think for just a moment, maybe you’ll know when to open your mouth and when to keep it closed. Obviously, some people are more politicians than they are cops.”
Jeremy turned back as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “One of the things about Shadow Mart or Silk Road, or whatever they want to call it, is that they deal in...a lot of things. Slavery, child labor, everything else you can do with human trafficking. But almost half their inventory is weaponry. The Agency didn’t make it a priority until I saw some of what they were selling. One of the primary items on continuous bidding has been a book that looks suspiciously like something we encountered in the middle of New England. In fact, the item description says that the book came from the collection of one George Matchett, from his personal office building.”
Jeremy didn’t say it, but everyone on on the Joint Supernatural Taskforce nodded somberly. They all accepted that the Necronomicon might actually still be loose in the world. But there was no surprise on anyone’s face.
“Basically,” Jeremy continued, “we’re still dealing with fallout from Bergolio. The agency always figured plenty of his minions grabbed as much of his stuff as they could, shuffled under some rock, and hid until they could see whether or not the coast was clear.”
Aaron interrupted, incensed, and even shoved Lermon. Lermon stepped forward, pivoted, and everyone half-expected him to deck Aaron. The Chief of the Rangers stepped forward and barked, “Why do we care if some damn fool criminal decides he wants to get his hands on bones to reconstruct a roast chicken? Let him waste his money. It's not as though he made it honestly. Our only concern is getting to Fulton Zmirak.”
Jeremy glared at Aaron. “Listen, fool, we’ve dealt with this a lot longer than you. And it’s obvious you haven’t paid attention to your fellow Rangers. So be a good little bureaucrat, go downstairs, outside, have a coffee, and let the adults get down to business. Because if you’re not going to be helpful, you are going to be a hindrance.”
“Listen here, son, nobody in this room is my superior—”
Jeremy’s first kill had been a few months before his German expedition, where he had first met Ranger Lermon, while he was hunting Bergolio. Jeremy had come across one of Bergolio’s minions practicing some human sacrifice. When Jeremy had arrived, the wicker man had more than finished, still smoldering. The victims had been a family of four, and their pets.
The killer just laughed at her handiwork.
Jeremy had been geographically the nearest agent to the family, and had been sent in. He spent the train ride over familiarizing himself with their files. He knew their names. He knew the last report card of each child. He knew the dogs’ names. He knew Billy’s last baseball score.
Jeremy still knew all of that information.
So when Jeremy arrived upon the scene to witness their still-smoldering remains, Jeremy was compelled by an irresistible impulse.
It was a result of pure, unbridled rage.
Despite that the witch had been a beautiful, stunning redhead, and he had been nineteen at the time, Jeremy didn’t hesitate. He clubbed her with both fists, balled together into a hammer. The thundering impact came right behind her ear. The witch had staggered but did not fall. She turned and tried for a fireball. Jeremy didn’t even try dodging. Her concussion threw off her aim. She exploded a tree to splinters.
Jeremy proceeded to beat her to death.
Yes, afterward, Jeremy puked his guts out. He had been less repulsed by his actions than by the remains of the family. He found Jim and Hannah’s wedding rings, Billy’s aluminum bat, Becca’s doll.
But his first kill in the line of duty had been relatively easy.
There were a lot of reasons for this. Because it was evil and needed killing. Because he had been nearly murdered by a demon before he hit puberty. Because the supernatural had tried to butcher his family.
But mainly because he knew what evil was.
In the case of this stranger who wandered into their lives, he ran one of the largest law enforcement agencies on the planet who knew that the supernatural was real and trying to destroy the world. He had wandered into their office, tried to bully his father, and would not shut up about his false believes about the supernatural—it was something Jeremy just couldn’t, wouldn’t, tolerate. Jeremy had seen it too often to tolerate that level of stupidity.
So Jeremy had no compunction whatsoever when he promptly whirled around and backfisted Aaron in the face, knocking him back against Nolan’s office door, bouncing him off the security glass, and sending him to the floor.
Jeremy knelt over him and slammed his open palm into Aaron’s chest. “Now you listen, little man. No one here is your son. And you are superior to no one. Here, you’re just another petty bureaucrat. Are we clear?”
I was only a little surprised at Jeremy’s reply to Aaron’s arrogance. Aaron glared at Jeremy a moment, unable to respond. He probably hadn’t had his authority challenged like this since I had used his Buntline on him.
Jeremy straightened, backed away from him, hopped up to sit on a desk, and kept an eye on Aaron as he straightened.
“Ranger Lermon,” I asked, moving on, “could you tell us if there’s any sign of a ransom?”
Lermon shook his head. “Nope. One of the reasons we think it’s the Chinese who want him. They’re not interested in giving him back.”
Jeremy frowned. “Do you know why here? San Francisco would get them closer to the end point. Especially if they’re shipping him to China. Heck, shipping him out of Texas would’ve been quicker.”
Lermon shrugged. “No idea.”
Something clicked in my brain. Something so simple, I couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to me. “Because New York City is the endpoint. Maybe Connecticut or even Jersey.”
Everyone in the room looked at me. Lena’s eyebrow quirked, but she said nothing. Everyone else’s face held an unspoken question of Well? What?
It took me a moment to put the reasoning together from the gut instinct. “This is the most easily recognizable city in the world. What does China hate more than religion? America.”
Lena nodded, catching on quickly. “So they come here, attack one of our citizens, and kill him in the most recognizable American city. They probably broadcast it live, after they force him to confess how wrong he was about China. Praise China. Something Communist. Then he admits that he deserves to die for his crimes, before they pull the trigger on him.”
I nodded. “More or less.” I glanced to Jeremy. “So in order to save Zmirak, we have to hunt through Shadow Mart. We may even have to take it down.”
My son nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking. And we may have a lead already.” Jeremy glanced to Lermon, not even bothering to acknowledge Aaron. “The street drugs out of Shadow Mart look like a bioweapon. The few shipments we’ve heard about have come with rumors. Like the idea that they create zombies.”
Alex started. “Oh crap!” he exclaimed. “Victoria Rivera!”
Jeremy nodded at Alex. “Exactly.” Addressing Lermon, he continued. “Few years back, there was the Victoria Rivera case.”
Lermon smiled and nodded. “Yep, I recall it. Especially Tommy’s press conference where he took down the press. Luminary Productions, wasn’t it? That Luciano character.”
Jeremy smiled. “See, what never made it to the press was that Victoria Rivera attacked the police officer babysitting the crime scene.”
Lermon tilted his head, blinked, and frowned. “After she was dead?”
My son nodded. “Bingo. Now we know where the drugs came from—Shadow Mart.”
Aaron growled. He had been content to stay on the rail separating the main office from Alex’s foyer. He now pushed off the rail and sneered, looking at me. “Really, Thomas? Monsters in the dark? What are you, son, four?”
I was content to laugh at him and his ignorance of everything that had stayed in the dark. The Rangers had been read in on the supernatural. Either Aaron hadn’t gotten that memo, or he decided to ignore every warning from the lower ranks.
Jeremy’s eyes narrowed as he took up my defense. “Listen, you piss-poor excuse for a man. He’s raised three kids, did all but raise a dozen others in shelters. In a world where children are bargained and sold and rape gangs act with impunity, you think monsters don’t exist? What sort of cop are you?”
Aaron spit on the office carpet. “Demons. Bah! All of this magic and hoodoo is glorified technology. In a world where physicists classify dark matter to fill in gaps in the laws of reality, all this garbage is obviously just tapping into unknown forces.”
Lena glowered. “Unknown forces? Such as Hell?”
Aaron glared at her, then at me. “I see you people are all irrational and emotional.”
“Just and honest,” Jeremy corrected.
Aaron stepped around Lermon so he could take the steps down to Alex’s level. “Can’t wait to see what the mother is like.”
Aaron tripped.
At least, that’s what it looked like. Lena was staring at him intently, probably deciding if she could kill him in a painful way that wouldn’t make a mess that we’d have to clean up.
Aaron’s comment about Mariel had been the last straw for her.
I waved at her to stand down. She pouted but relented.
Lermon looked from Aaron to Lena, but said nothing. I thought back to when the two of them had met, but I couldn’t remember if Lermon knew Lena was telekinetic.
Aaron pushed himself to his feet. No one helped him.
Alex coughed and said, “How is the drug a lead?”
Jeremy smiled. “Because we’ve had at least one person on the lookout for them.”
I smiled. “I’ll call D.”
Aaron stood and dusted himself off. “What’s he? A CI?”
I pulled out my cell phone and searched through my contact list. “Only if you consider a CI someone who graduated from being a teenage numbers runner to holding an MBA and running his own private security company.”
Daniel David DiLeo, or “D” for short, had rarely been known as 3D or any other kind of shortening of his name. However, I had found out somewhat later in life (and in my association with him) that his “street gang” was Affiliated under an LLC named Triple D. So the “3D” was already off the table and trademarked.
When I had known him, he was a white collar criminal... or at least, that’s what everyone suspected. There were various and sundry hints that D was in fact a gang leader, although no one had ever quite found a name to go with that particular gang. And while I had known from close personal experience that this “gang” was armed to the teeth with weapons of unknown specificity and origin, I had never inquired too closely. This was partly because, the first time I realized just how well-armed D and his crew were, he had literally saved me and my son from a death cult that worshiped Moloch. In the ensuing battle, we went up against a bokor and zombies wielding automatic weapons.
Again, these were things that did not fit easily and neatly into a daily report.
As of three years ago, however, D and his people had upgraded into a full-service security company. In part, D managed to pull this off with my funding. If you wished to be technical about it, it was less my funding and more the funding of Bokor Baracus’ estate.
Baracus had, once upon a time, been a dire adversary that had turned into a commissioned ally. When he finally died for the last time, he’d bestowed the bequest on me, to use or invest as I saw fit. As he had lived for centuries, you can do your own math on the accumulated interest Baracus had managed in his various bank accounts. We liquidated his land holdings, but kept the private jet.
When the bequest came in from Baracus, I had invested in local businesses, such as D’s, and made certain to upgrade his “gang” into a full security service, armed to the teeth with the arsenal you’d expect in order to battle the forces of Hell. No, you should not ask if the weapons were, strictly speaking, legal in the City or State of New York. Considering he was one of my backup plans for the next time I was facing an army of darkness, I didn’t ask or look too closely.
In any event, D was quite happy to take my phone call. “Hey, man! What’s up?”
“I called to inquire whether or not you had heard anything about the drugs we were looking into a few years ago.”
D chewed over what I said. Technically, our conversation was on an unsecured line—defined as anything the NSA could intercept.
After a moment, he said, “I haven’t heard anything recently. Then again, now that I am obviously legitimate, the gangbangers no longer talk to my men as often as they used to.”
“Okay,” I told him, thinking what to ask next. “This I understand. However, we’re investigating the entity behind the drugs. We believe it’s a dark web vendor also responsible for coordinating and kidnapping an online personality who goes by Fulton Zmirak.”
D laughed. “Really? Yeah. My kids love him. In fact, so does my wife. He’s so entertaining, we considered converting. The jokes he makes about casseroles being a Eucharistic dish in our churches is funny because it’s true.”
“Huh. Didn’t know that. Anyway, we believe the vendor known as Shadow Mart coordinated Zmirak’s abduction. We’re hoping to intercept Zmirak before he’s handed over to whoever commissioned the kidnapping.”
D said nothing for a moment. After a while, he asked darkly, “You mean the Chinese, don't you?”
I kept my voice perfectly neutral. “What makes you say that?”
“Man, come on. They hate him so much you can feel it radiating off the comments sections of his video clips.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I told him. “I don’t generally go on YouTube.”
D chuckled. “You really should check him out, you know. He’s quite entertaining. I figure he’ll be more entertaining for you, since you should know these jokes.”
“I don’t really need these jokes. I’ve met most of them. They usually wear clerical collars.”
D chuckled. “I know the feeling,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye and ear out for Zmirak before he’s taken out of the country.”
“I don't think the point is to have Zmirak taken out of the country. If the Chinese reach him first, I’m almost certain they’re going to twist his arm until he renounces the faith and retracts everything he’s said about the People’s Republic. Then publicly execute him live on YouTube, in New York City, so the Chinese can embarrass America as well.”
“Yes,” D sighed. “Because pissing off America works so well.”
Off in the distance, a fire truck went past. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if it was anyone I knew. I shrugged it off and added, “Shadow Mart doesn’t only sell drugs. But they traffic people and sell weapons. The sort of weapons you and I have faced before.”
D growled. “Of course, they are. But dude, anyone kidnapping people from my hood gets disappeared in the Gowanus Canal.”
I smiled, mostly to myself. “I didn’t know you had friends in South Brooklyn.”
D chuckled. “’Course I do. Everybody likes me.”
“Do me a favor?” I asked. “Talk to them beforehand, will ya? It’s hard to interrogate the drowned.”
D mock-scoffed. “Okay. You insist.”