Reign of Evil

Founded in 1569 by Sir Francis Walsingham, Section 9 had defended Britain for centuries under many different names. Their current nom de guerre had come from the organization’s name in World War II. MI9, or Section 9, as it was called, had reported directly to the War Office and was overtly responsible for aiding resistance fighters. While there were those in Section 9 who did this, the majority of personnel and resources were allocated to stopping Hitler’s Thule Society, who had been intent on helping the Reich reach her pinnacle through magic and artifice.

No. SEAL Team 666 had it easy.

Walker entered a roundabout. He missed his turn onto A303 and had to go around again. Ian had no choice but to follow him. If Walker was actively detecting surveillance, then he was as good as made.

They continued for another ten minutes then pulled into the parking lot north of Stonehenge.

Walker got out of his car. As he passed Ian sitting in his own car, Walker turned and gave him a steady look. Ian had no doubt that the double roundabout had been a provocative move and part of the SEAL’s surveillance detection. Not that Ian had been trying to hide. Walker approached the policeman at the barricade. Although the crime scene had been released, until the blood was cleared the place was closed for tourism.

Ian watched as Walker tried to talk his way past the guard but got stopped. When Walker began to yell and gesticulate, Ian decided it was time for him to get involved. It would be neither right nor proper for a SEAL to kill one of their bobbies.

Ian made his way up the path to where Walker was about to attack the policeman.

“Walker,” he called.

The response was immediate. Walker ceased his engagement with the bobby and strode purposefully toward Ian. Fire blazed in the man’s eyes. It would do no good to talk to him now. Instead, Ian sidestepped him, saying, “Wait here a moment.”

CHAPTER 5

STONEHENGE. DUSK.

Walker was furious at the world. Not only weren’t they going to let him see the place where his fiancée was murdered, but some man, probably a government flunky, had trailed him all the way from London also. By his poor tradecraft, the skinny guy who knew his name must be some low-level worker bee they probably assigned to trail him based on his use of his official passport when he went through customs.

Fuck it. If the man wanted to play a game, then Walker was ready to play. But now he had to wait until the man spoke with the police officer. Walker realized his hands were fists and forced them to relax. After a moment, the man began walking into Stonehenge.

What the fu—

Then he gestured for Walker to follow.

Walker jogged past the policeman and couldn’t help but give him a look as he passed. He soon caught up with the man and slowed. They walked the rest of the way in silence. The man stared at the ground, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. Walker had a sense of expectation as he approached the monolithic stones. They were at once so real and present as they seemed impossible. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch them, but then this was where Jen died.

Walker paused at the outer stones, but the man continued inside. He stopped, then turned to look at Walker. He pointed at the ground. “They found her here. Her throat was cut; then she was mutilated.”

Eyes riveted to the grass, Walker took a reluctant step forward, as if he were being pulled.

“Seventeen civilians were killed in the same way. Some ceremony by some whacked-out neo-pagans or druids. MI5 is still trying to figure it out.”

There was so much fuzz in Walker’s head he barely heard the other man’s words. Walker suddenly felt the need to touch the spot. Three quick steps, he was down on both knees, his hands against the cold ground. He stayed there for a long while. He pressed his cheek against the ground. He didn’t know what he’d expected to find. He didn’t even know what he’d feel, maybe a piece of her. He had the ability to detect supernatural forces. Maybe if her ghost had been nearby he would have detected her, maybe put himself in position to communicate with her somehow.

But there was nothing here.

The ground was cold.

The place was empty.

He stood. Stonehenge had the feeling of an old battlefield. Like Chickamauga or Gettysburg, whenever he was at a place where a lot of people had died, it felt different. Reverentially empty.

He suddenly felt cold and shivered. “A lot of people died here,” he said.

“This used to be a ceremonial place for the druids, some say all the way back to two to three thousand years before Christ.”

Walker shook his head and blew into his hands. He hadn’t prepared for the cold. Coming from Tucson and San Diego before that, all he had was jeans, a T-shirt, and a light Polo jacket. “Do they have any leads at all?”