The Agnus Dei Gambit

Isobel looked at her with misery in her eyes and said, "They say it was suicide. But I know they killed him. It was because of the project."

I said puzzled, "What happened?"

Isobel said weepily, "He supposedly rammed the abutment on the footbridge over South Lakeshore down by the park. He would NEVER do that. He was very excited about the blood sample. We just got it today."

Kelly was tracking better than I was. She said, "So the sample from the shroud arrived. Did he have it in his possession?"

Isobel grimaced and said, "Of course not. It's in a controlled environment in the Human Genetics lab."

A thought began to hatch in my suspicious cop mind. I said, "Is it guarded?"

Isobel looked puzzled and said, "Just the University Police? Why?" I looked at Kelly. She saw what I saw. I said to Isobel, "Take us to that sample as fast as you can!"

Isobel and Kelly arrived at the Department of Human Genetics several seconds before I did. I'm not built for speed.

They were surveying the carnage when I arrived. I was puffing like a steam train. Benches and equipment were overturned and a male and female were laid out on the floor, clearly dead. Nobody's head belongs at that angle.

Kelly was calling 911. Isobel was frozen in sheer anguish. I charged past them in the direction of the cleanrooms. I was hoping whoever did it was still on the premises.

There was one door hanging by its hinges. That seemed a likely place to start. I slowed and stopped just outside the entrance. There was the sound of systematic ransacking going on inside. I thought to myself, "Aha!!" and stepped into the room. Then I stepped right back out.

The axe they'd appropriated from the fire cabinet missed me by a fraction of an inch. There were two of them. The one who had swung the axe was a big guy. The other one looked like the Archangel Gabriel.

He was so beautiful that he was almost non- human. He was the one who was in the process of removing something from the safe-storage locker.

I knew what he was taking. But I had to deal with the other dude first. Since, he was the one with the sharp thing. I turned to face the guy. He was smart enough not to raise the axe over his head. If he'd opened his body, I would have taken him out easily. Instead he backswung the axe at me.

I'm bulky but I'm not muscle bound. I work on quickness and agility more than I do strength, because that's what it takes to win fights. I bowed myself away from the axe head as it swished past and stepped into the guy with a huge right hook.

That clearly broke a couple of ribs. He went, "ooofff" and the axe flew. He started to double over which was convenient since I was already in the process of grabbing the back of his head and ramming his face onto my swiftly rising kneecap. There was a crack and he hit the floor.

In the meantime, my angelic friend had whisked out the door headed for the exit. I heard Kelly make a loud effort noise and there was some crashing and banging. Then there was silence.

I grabbed my unconscious victim and dragged his limp body out into the main room. Then I dropped him and kicked him a couple more times. That produced a moan of sheer agony.

The stranger had become the object of my wrath because Kelley was lying splayed out against one wall looking as dead as the other two corpses. Isobel was bending over her wringing her hands in misery.

It took me two seconds to get to my wife. She had a rapidly developing bruise on one of her marvelous cheekbones. But I could see she was breathing.

Isobel said distressed, "She tried to stop him. She hit him with one of those martial arts kicks. But he just swept her aside like he was swatting a fly."

At that point Kelley opened her eyes. My wife is no shrinking violet. Her Irish was up, even though she had just been sent to la-la land, and she was looking for somebody to kill. She began struggle to her feet. I held her back saying hastily, "It's okay, he's gone. We'll get him later."

She slumped back looking concussed. I said to Isobel, "Take her across the street to the medical center and have her looked at. I have a few questions that I want to ask my friend before the cops show up."

I helped Kelley to her feet and the two of them shuffled out of the lab. Kelley was getting her usual feline grace back. But it was clear she had been rocked.

The other guy was an accessory to a murder. So, he wasn't going anywhere except downtown. So, I only had a short window to get the answers. Since, it was a good bet that I'd be spread-eagled on the floor next to him when the cops showed up; at least until Isobel and Kelley sorted things out.

The cops didn't have the same interest in him that I had. Hence, I needed to act fast. I hauled him into a sitting position. He groaned in pain. I said grimly, "If you think that hurt you ain't seen nothing yet."

He looked at me with hatred and said, "I'll tell you nothing HERETIC!!"

I've been called a lot of things. But that was a new one. I said amused, "And what makes me a heretic?"

He spat at me and said in a voice dripping with fanatic loathing, "The Apostles have taken back the sacred blood of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. You will never defile Him with your profane hands."

That was promising. I thought, "The convenient part about the real nut-jobs is that you don't have to beat it out of them. They'll go out of their way to tell you everything. All you have to do is let them talk."

I said sneering, "Oh yeah? and who are these Apostles, a motorcycle gang? Did your old lady have to pull a train to get you in the club?"

He got the beatific look that all good Christian martyrs get and said, "We are the Holy Apostles. We do God's work, and He will protect us."

At that point, a loud voice said," Get down on the ground NOW! Put your hands over your head!! You are under arrest!!"

*****

John was feeling ecstatic. He always felt that way after he had done God's work. He had cut the head off the blasphemous serpent and wrung the necks of the infidel unbelievers. He hadn't needed Timothy to do that. But the fool had insisted on accompanying him anyhow.

Now, John realized that he'd committed a grave error. He had sacrificed Timothy to enable his getaway. But at the same time Timothy also knew too much. Hence, he had to be silenced before John could return to the Citadel with the precious prize.

The demon who had materialized in the clean room had been brutal and alarmingly capable. The red-headed she-devil had dealt him a punishing blow. He did not want to contend with those two again. Yet now, John had to follow the acolyte to the place where the authorities took him. That was his duty.

John watched in the shadows as both men were led into the building. The authorities also brought the heathen beast with them. He knew that Timothy would ask for a lawyer. John would be there to give him one.

*****

I told the cops that the guy I was sitting on was the perpetrator. But of course, they didn't believe me. They put us in separate cars and hauled us both down to Cottage Grove. When we got there, they tossed us into adjoining holding cells.

I had seen Isobel hurrying back toward the building. So, I expected to be released as soon as she and Kelly straightened things out with the cops. It was just a matter of waiting.

Fanatical and stupid are a bad combination. That is, if you want to keep secrets. Of course, the latter is probably a prerequisite for the former, but I digress.

I could see the dumb shit slumped in the cell next to me. I thought I'd poke him some more, just to find out what he'd spill. I shouted across, "Hey man, you're gonna do life in Joliet. Do you think Jesus is going to come down off his godforsaken mountaintop and save you?

He snarled back at me, "Blasphemer!! Melago is God's home on earth."

I thought to myself, "This guy is too stupid to live."

Then it dawned on me, "And I'll bet somebody's on his way to do something about that."

I said contemptuously, "You're just a bunch of faggots living in a cave. Maybe I'll drop by someday and kick all of your asses."

He sneered, "The Citadel is pure and protected by God. HE would never tolerate your profane presence."

At that point, a turnkey showed up to escort the dipshit up to an interview room. His lawyer must have arrived. I had everything I needed so I sat back on the cement ledge to wait. It had been informative.

I was still cooling my heels when utter chaos broke out upstairs. There was a gunfire then one of Chicago's finest came rushing downstairs wild-eyed. He took a quick look at me and said into his shoulder mic, "The other one's still here." Then he turned and bolted back upstairs.

Another half-hour passed and the same dude appeared again. This time he opened my door and simply said, "You're free to go." He looked a little green.

I could see why when I walked into the hall next to the squad room. The door to an interview room was wide open and the Coroner's people were just lifting the body of my former cellmate onto a gurney.

He had about an inch of something sticking out of its neck just below the jaw line. There was blood everywhere, painted up the walls and pooled all over the linoleum floor.

Two detectives were being looked at by the EMTs and a uniform was lying sprawled face down on the floor. His neck was sitting at the same odd angle as the two in the Genetics Lab.

My guess was that my angelic friend had paid them a visit. The cop noticed where I was looking and said, shaken, "He said he was his lawyer."

I said blandly, "From what I can see he was his executioner." Then I spotted Kelley waiting for me out front.

She looked as sparklingly vigorous as ever. Kelley's gorgeous. But she is as tough as I am. I love the woman. It's as simple as that. She sauntered over to me, gave me a hug, and said in that low sexy voice of hers, "We can't seem to stay out of trouble can we Babe?"

*****

John was in an Uber going back to O'Hare. It had been a satisfying day. One of the advantages of his beauty was that people took him at face value. Meaning they never questioned his motives.

The policeman at the front desk had been astonished when John said he was an associate at Pritzker-Hageman. Apparently, one of the lowlifes in their holding cell had big-time connections.

John was lounging relaxed in a chair when the detectives brought the Acolyte into the interview room. He handed P&H cards to each of them and said, "I've been retained to represent this client."

He sat down next to the Acolyte holding a yellow legal pad and twiddling a common Bic pen. He was wearing a thousand-dollar suit. He looked like an important guy who'd been sent to bail some rich fucker's kid.

The fool had gotten a worshipful look on his face when they brought him into the interview room. He was about to say something indiscreet as the uniformed policeman seated him. It would no-doubt be unthinking and careless. So, John had to act quickly.

The branches of the external carotid artery lie just under the jawline. That is where blood under maximum pressure is distributed to the vital organs in the head and neck. It is perhaps the most vulnerable point in the human body.

John struck violently and with utmost accuracy. The pen was blunt. But its tip was properly shaped to penetrate the skin of the neck and cut the carotid at the branch. The acolyte died instantly the detectives reacted with horror.

While still sitting, John administered a lightning fast hand-sword to the throat of the detective in front of him. That blow always incapacitates. Then John spun 180-degrees out of his chair and around the table. That ended with a violent elbow to the temple of the other detective.

Only the uniform had an opportunity to react. He started to pull the Glock 19 out of its holster as John used the momentum of the spin to dance behind him. The policeman actually got off two random shots, one intentional and the other a reflex as his neck snapped.

That sudden violent burst of activity did not go unnoticed in the squad room. Startled cops were pushing back chairs and leaping to their feet as John whisked out the door, through the lobby and around the building. That was where he had stashed his next disguise.

The herd of police that disgorged from the building nearly knocked down the stooped and feeble old man wearing sunglasses and a World War Two veteran's hat. They charged past him, guns drawn and spread out down the street looking for the perpetrator of the horrific crime.

Meanwhile the old man withdrew a cell phone and ordered-up an Uber. Old people need help getting around to places you know.

*****

Kelley told me the rest of the story on the ride back to the U of C campus. She said that the University realized that the project would generate controversy. But Dr, Atkinson, Isobel's boss had been adamant about taking it on. He believed that it was the responsibility of a great research institution to root-out the truth.

Nobody could understand why he had killed himself at the precise moment his life's goal had been achieved. But the evidence all pointed to a conscious attempt. Why else would he steer into a concrete abutment at ninety miles an hour, with nobody else in the car?

Maybe it was cop instinct. Maybe it was just the fact that the situation simply didn't add up. But suicide was off the table with me.

As we gave Isobel a lift back to her place, I interrogated her about her boss.

I said, "Did his accident make sense? Was he normally a reckless driver?"

Isobel was still shaken. Real life had intruded into what had been, up to that point, a sheltered and very civilized existence in academe. She said, "He was such a little old lady that he drove me nuts." Then she realized that comment sounded a bit sexist, so she said, "Oops."

Being a study in political incorrectness, it took me a second to understand why she'd said oops. I continued with, "So what else would cause the collision. It was almost like the car wasn't under his control."

My genius wife said thoughtfully, "Maybe it wasn't!!"

I stared at her questioningly. Kelly laughed at my puzzlement and said, "Cars are so complex these days that somebody probably hacked him. There's a lot of research on it. The Jeep hack in 2015 is the one that made all the headlines."

Really??!! I said totally confused, "Wait a minute. Are you telling me that a stranger could use a computer to take control of your car? How is that possible?"

Kelley said, "Well, the easiest route would be via his cell phone. But the newest cars also have mobile LTE hotspots built into their on-board capabilities."

I looked shocked. Kelley added, "That would give somebody direct access to the under-dash unit that coordinates the electronic gizmos that really control your car, and babies can break mobile security."

She grinned lasciviously and said, "Just ask the starlets whose sex tapes are all over the internet."

I said, "You mean to tell me that some passer-by could've taken control of Atkinson's car through his iPhone?"

Kelley's gorgeous face morphed into a worldly look as she said, "It's a little more involved than that. But it's easy-peasy if you know your stuff and you have the right cracking gear. Want me to show you?"

I said agitatedly, "God no!!"

My wife laughed fondly and said, "You really belong in the last century my love."

Isobel piped up from the back seat, "How do we prove Ted didn't kill himself?"

Kelley said, "All cars record a small amount of event data, like an airplane black-box. If we could get access to Ted's car, we could probably tell if he'd been hacked. But I don't see what the point would be. You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that the freak we ran into in the lab is the problem."

Isobel looked even sadder as she said, "Dr. Atkinson has a wife and kids, and the insurance people won't pay if he killed himself."

Kelley got a look of pure sympathy and said, "It was murder plain and simple. Get the cops to pull the OBD-II data. That will get them the proof they need."

I heard a tearful voice from the back seat say, "Thanks Kelley."

*****

We made love that night. Kelley is a strong-minded woman. But today was a reality check for her. Up until now, she had never been hurt during any of our exploits. So, having her bell rung was a new and somewhat sobering experience for her.

She said, wryly, "That creep reminded me of my own mortality, which is something I'd rather not think about, thank you very much." She added dryly," We play for keeps don't we Baby?"

Then her mood shifted. I joke about Kelley's Hibernian origins, since she is the soul of the Irish people, passionate, complicated, and the best companion you could ever ask for. Still, the power of her feelings sometimes require her to blow off steam. Especially when a significant life event riles her up.

I benefit from that since her outlet of choice is sex, which was a particularly true in today's case. She gave me a smoldering look, turned, and sauntered toward the bedroom. I thought perhaps I should send the creepy guy a thank-you note.

In the short thirty seconds it had taken me to get to the bedroom, my incredible wife had laid herself on the bed completely naked. Kelley is just spectacularly sexual, from the thick copper hair that frames her ideally proportioned face, through her big, full, world class tits, to the breadth of her hips and her well-muscled legs. But in the dim light of the room all I could marvel at was her skin.

Kelley's a redhead. So, her skin has a special satiny feel to it. But it isn't milky white like most Irish redheads. Kelley's people are Celts, not Gaels. They are the original inhabitants of the British Isles, darker and much more exotic looking than the strictly Irish Gaels. As a result, Kelly's skin is almost golden under low light.

The two of us are close in every way. But there are still moments when I get a breathtaking vista of my wife, and simply can't believe my good luck. This was one of those moments. The voice in my head just kept muttering over and over, "So perfect!"

The only question was where to start. Kelley is so luscious that it is hard to choose where to begin. She was lying on the bed eyeing me speculatively, like she was challenging me to do something extraordinary.

The little voice in my head chuckled and said, "Really??!", "Seriously??!" So, rather than just cut to the chase I decided to do a full reconnaissance of that superb body.

I made a motion that I wanted her to turn on her stomach. She is not a big fan of doggy style, doesn't feel like it's satisfactorily intimate. I had much bigger plans than that, so I just made the same motion.

She looked disgusted but she turned on her stomach and elevated her hips for me to enter her. I pushed down on that magnificent butt, clearly sending the message that I wanted her lying flat.

I got on my knees and positioned myself at her shoulders leaning over her. As I did that, I inhaled her scent, which is an uncanny combination of tangy, sweet, earthy, and scrubbed with a light bouquet of something flowery.

I had noted that she smelled like summer when we first made love and I have never understood how somebody could convey robust good health, vitality, and bright sunshine by smell. But Kelley does that. My little voice was tying a napkin under its chin and beginning to drool.

She had her head turned toward me pillowed on her hand watching me intently. I pushed the dark copper hair that frames her face aside and blew lightly on her ear. The normal blush and forest of goose bumps appeared, and she let out a little moan.

Then I kissed it and nibbled my way down the back of her neck to where her shoulders attach. She wriggled and let out another low moan. Still, she is so in control of her own body she didn't do the usual, "You're tickling me," thing that most women do when you arouse them like that.