Chapter 25
“All right, let’s go over it again from the top,” said Agent Smith, hands clenched behind his back as he faced Mateo and the team. “Here’s what we know about the inner hierarchy of The Veil.”
They stood clustered in the conference room around a large whiteboard on wheels—Mateo, Donovan, Williams, Jones, and Darcy.
The short, stocky agent had written on it in a rigid, efficient hand, a pyramid of the inner hierarchy of The Veil.
It was late—a few minutes past eight p.m., and the entire team showed signs of fatigue.
It had been a long day, mostly consisting of waiting around for Caleb Morgan to realize that his options were few to none.
They’d sent Smith in at around two o’clock, after ignoring several requests for food, water, or bathroom trips.
Caleb had been isolated, starved, dehydrated, and left in a room with an overhead light that had been purposely tinkered with so that it flickered occasionally.
One of his chair legs was shorter than the others, and the vents offering air conditioning had been shut tight.
The foundation had been laid and the way paved for Smith, who had gone into the interrogation room with a rare gleam twinkling in his eye.
The man was in his element, striding in and proceeding to wrap Caleb Morgan around his finger.
Mateo hadn’t bothered to listen in, trusting Smith to do what he was known for. The man emerged five hours later without his shirt, jacket, or tie—just an undershirt, dress pants, belt, and shoes. He strode straight to Mateo and silently placed a recording device in his palm—Caleb’s confession.
Mateo laughed at Donovan’s shocked expression. “I told you he would break him. How’d you do it this time, Smitty? Good cop or bad cop?”
Smith grunted and crossed to the coffee station, helping himself to the strong black brew. Going into his back pocket, he came out with a pack of cigarettes.
“Neither. Kid never had a dad, so I went Father John on him. Threw in a couple of those ‘us white guys against a changing world’ moments. Easy work.”
Mateo smirked. ‘Father John’ was a character Smith often played when dealing with suspects like Caleb—those from broken homes with checkered pasts.
Those who had never known the gentle but firm guidance of a father figure.
He started off stern, portraying an air of disappointment in their behaviors, as if his opinion of them ought to matter.
Over time, he grew gentler, yet still stern, poking and prodding and exposing their vulnerabilities until they crumbled, telling him everything he wanted to know.
Slipping a cigarette between his lips, Smith had taken up his coffee. “Goin’ for a smoke. Lemme know when you’re ready to dig in.”
By the time Smith returned from his break, Mateo and Donovan had listened to the recording and started documenting the details. Smith had then taken everything and organized it into the chart they now stared at.
Smith used the dry-erase marker in his hand to point at the names written off to the side of the pyramid, an arrow indicating an adjacent connection.
“We have our Associates, guys like Tariq Hayes, Wilson, and Morisson. They’re not a part of The Veil—Tariq is Black, Wilson has Jewish ancestors, and Morisson is too old.
But they’re good enough to do business with, and the only color that matters in that type of arrangement is green. ”
“So, they have no power outside their function within the drug and human trafficking business,” Williams offered.
“Right. Now, at the bottom of the pyramid we have the Acolytes. These are your regular members—the sheep. There’s a bit of hierarchy within this tier and as a recruiter, Caleb is at the top.
He and the others help bring in the Prospects …
that’s what Jones will be if we can get him in.
Prospects serve in silence and prove their worth through a variety of tests—physical pain, humiliation, drug-induced rituals. ”
Mateo eyed Jones from the corner of his eye and watched the young man take that in.
Caleb’s confession had been filled with details of the things new Prospects were expected to do to prove their loyalty and devotion.
Jones seemed unruffled, paying rapt attention to Smith as he pointed at various points on the board, talking faster now that he’d gotten going.
“Above the Acolytes and Prospects are the Harbingers. These are the true gatekeepers of The Veil. They supervise the Recruiters and the trials, and they have the final say on whether someone is let into the fold. Prospects practically worship these guys, doing whatever they can to stand out and be noticed. The more depraved and unhinged a Prospect can be when given the chance, the better. The Harbingers are always watching, sizing up the Prospects for the best and the strongest. And then we have the Sovereigns.”
“The true villains in all this, if you ask me,” Darcy muttered from where she sat curled in a chair with her knees drawn to her chest.
Smith tapped his marker against the board over where he had written SOVEREIGNS in all caps.
“This is where the money comes from. Wealthy white men—politicians, CEOs, lawyers, bankers. Caleb says most of these guys are only in it for the power and the money, but a handful are true believers who participate in rituals. They are mostly silent partners, but a few take more active roles.”
“And what occurs during these rituals?” Donovan asked.
Smith shook his head. “Caleb’s clearance isn’t high enough for him to attend rituals. To be invited to one is a great honor. He would do anything to be included.”
“Could Caleb identify any of these Sovereigns?” Williams asked. “Has he seen any of them in person?”
Smith shook his head. “The Sovereigns are referred to with code names, and they come to the temple masked.”
Jones frowned. “Temple?”
“The mansion,” Smith clarified. “It’s not just a party spot or a meeting place. It’s a sacred Temple of The Veil.”
Donovan came closer to the board, pointing at the top of the pyramid, where two squares sat side by side. “And these two? The Benefactor and the Shepherd? Why are they side by side like this?”
“Because,” Smith answered, “Caleb can’t tell me which of them is actually at the top of the pyramid.
He assumes they share power. Korenic is the Benefactor, a patron whose wealth and connections open doors and keep the proper authorities and officials in The Veil’s pocket.
My guess is, the Benefactor is cultivated from among the Sovereigns.
Korenic is a trust fund kid with an impressive pedigree; he’d fit right in. ”
“And the Shepherd?” Williams asked. “What do we know about him?”
Smith shook his head. “Almost nothing. To Caleb, he is a figure talked about but almost never seen. His orders are passed down by the Sovereigns and Harbingers, and the Acolytes are rarely even privileged to be in the same room with him. But he’s their spiritual leader.
He leads them in special rituals, sacrifices, and direct initiations into the inner circle.
Like the Sovereigns, he appears at the temple masked and only interacts with those who have been deemed worthy. ”
“Okay,” Donovan said, pacing back from the board and then studying it with a hand braced at his jaw. “Now there’s only two things left to figure out. How the hell do we get Jones in, and where in this hierarchy do we think the UNSUB falls?”
Smith looked to Mateo then, clearly ready to give up his position as the center of attention.
He had spent five hours interrogating Caleb and looked like he’d had more than his fill of talking.
Mateo unfolded himself from the chair and accepted the marker from Smith.
He snatched off the cap and made three asterisks on the board—one near the Sovereigns, one near the Benefactor and one next to the label of the Shepherd.
“I’ll answer your second question first,” he said, tapping the marker at the bottom of the pyramid where Smith had scrawled ACOLYTES.
“We know it can’t be one of them. They’re all too young and broke.
The profile indicates the UNSUB is a man of means in his mid to late forties.
We know he’s wealthy and connected, so not your usual target of a cult.
” He then drew an X through the names of the associates.
“And we count out the three stooges. Now that we’re forced to accept the ritualistic nature of the murders, we know it can’t be them.
Whoever murdered those women sacrificed them to Azrael, which means the UNSUB is a true believer. He drank the Kool-aid.”
“Or,” Donovan said, inclining his head and squinting at the board. “He’s making the Kool-aid.”
Mateo drew a large circle around the Benefactor and the Shepherd. “Yes … so that leaves only these two.”
“We can’t ignore what Suede said,” Donovan reminded him. “He told us Korenic is known to butcher his victims. He even mentioned bathtubs and severed limbs. The M.O. fits.”
Mateo shook his head. “Without a full accounting of Korenic’s kills, we don’t have a victimology. Also, there’s something else … something I didn’t want to mention until I was certain. I needed to make sure my memories were actually memories and not dreams.”
Smith peered at him warily. “What is it?”
“The Breath of Azrael. I’m fairly certain the UNSUB had it in his system when he … when he murdered Mari. When he attacked me.”
“Fuck,” Smith whispered.
Williams held a hand over her mouth with wide eyes, while Jones stared down at his hands.
“How can you be sure?” Darcy asked.