180 Days in Montauk

Sitting back in the wheelchair, I met the eyes of my sometime colleague and gestured to him. "Mort, you have the floor."

"Thank you, Ms. Kallas. I'll make this brief." He gestured to a large, bearded, bald man. "Nikolas is a colleague who runs an operation similar to ours in Eastern Europe. He wanted to help, and we gratefully accepted his assistance. He has a dozen men out there now, covering the area. Nikolas picked up some chatter recently about a cultist sect in Belarus that had activated sleepers across the New York area. Supposedly their leaders flew in to JFK yesterday."

George spoke up. "You think they're coming here? Why the hell would anyone want to stop us?"

Mort smiled sadly, shrugged and responded. "Mr. Espinoza, they're cultists. Some of them don't know what's really going to happen, others simply don't care. Their leaders want to have the best seat in the house as the building burns down. Like some Freemasons that think they're spiritual descendants of Templars, they believe they're of a pure line running back to a civilization that predates Sumer. The name they use for themselves roughly translates in proto-Sumerian to Gate Opener. They consider themselves priests of elder gods."

George actually spat on the floor. I would have looked askance if I didn't agree with the sentiment. He went over where our men would be positioned, how many we had available and what our priorities had to be. I was glad that we were taking precautions, but I doubted they would be necessary. There was always someone talking about fanatics somewhere, but concerns are most often baseless.

Tesla had been a generational genius. Very few things he conceived of had only one purpose. Thecreatures didn't need allies on this side. They were terrifying enough on their own. The key was the tower. We needed to get it up and operational. Unfortunately, I was sadly confident that we weren't the only ones that knew about Nikola's insights.

"George, where's Duhnagaham?"

"With Jennifer. He flew in immediately. I don't believe in all his positive imaging mumbo-jumbo, but he's a good man to have at your side."

It had been almost thirty-six hours and she was still sleeping. Mort's operatives were running security. They could handle themselves if it came down to it and were certainly capable of keeping away the curious.

Wardencylffe had a warren of tunnels that were supposedly unexplored. There were numerous rooms that had been locked or blocked off for a century. George had been indexing them off and on for years. There were wooden crates filled with odd equipment, diaries upon diaries, books on pigeons and a room with huge thick black cables that ran from a six-foot lever to and into the wall. He estimated that the room with the lever was almost directly beneath the area where the original tower was erected.

George sounded both skeptical and amused. "You still want to power up the tower at 10:15? You think that matters? We can just do it now.

Smiling at him, I replied. "Duhnagaham's convinced that's the precise moment for our efforts to have the best chance at success." It seemed like more of his hokey mysticism, but it was hard to argue with his results.

I was ambulatory enough to walk to Finn's Grand Cherokee when they arrived. As the windows lowered I could hear Dunhagaham's chanting as he sat behind Jennifer, leaning forward and massaging her temples. Shaking my head, I smiled at my tiny friend and his affectations. Finn stepped out and pulled me into a huge hug.

"Are you okay?" He pushed back and looked me up and down. "How are you feeling? I just... Seeing you sitting there, screaming, bleeding. It almost killed me, Aunt Cynthia."

After playing second fiddle for the past few months, I was inordinately pleased by his concern. "I'm fine Finn. I'm sorry I worried you."

He leaned forward and spoke softly. "Who the heck is this guy?"

"Duhnagaham is an old and dear friend. On occasion, we work on some... projects together. You can trust him implicitly." For some reason, George seemed irritated when I said that.

Although the immediate effects were more severe for Jennifer, she recovered quicker than I did. She was up and walking while George wheeled me around. I had George fill her in on the history and surprises of Mr. Tesla's lab. We talked as I rolled, he pushed, and Jennifer walked. She was asking strong insightful questions, which pleased me to no end. Seeing how her mind worked fascinated me. It was like being able to see myself from the outside.

"So, who do you have looking into Nikola's artifacts? You've got people going through his diaries and stuff, right?"

"We have top men working on it right now."

"Okay, I guess. Scientists? Researchers?"

"Top...men."

She looked a little hurt. "All right. I don't need to know."

George interrupted us. "Stop teasing her, Cynthia. Jennifer, she's quoting a movie. Most of the crap down there is useless. You're not going to find the Ark of the Covenant. We've had transcriptions made of the diaries and they're heavily redacted, so no one would know whose ideas they were. The text was given to researchers who are looking into how feasible his ideas were. Most of the contraptions we've catalogued are covered in the diaries."

He lightly squeezed my shoulder, his gentle reproof more of a sign of affection than anything else. He liked Jennifer a great deal, which shouldn't be a surprise. She was a younger version of me. He continued. "According to Duhn and Cynthia, we need to power up that bastard tonight." George waived a hand at the tower. "Somehow that's going to help the two of you with whatever the hell happened. Let me show you around."

As we walked, he tapped me on my shoulder to get my attention. He nodded towards Duhnagaham.

"What's he doing?"

Duhnagaham made his way across the property, picking up dirt periodically, tossing it lightly and watching it scatter as if he could divine our portents in its dispersal. He stopped and spoke with everyone he came across, security, construction worker, engineer and even the girl delivering lunch. He'd share a few words, touch their hand or arm lightly and move on.

"What he always does. Doing his weird divination thing, calming people, putting them in the right frame of mind."

Finn, as usual, plotted his own course. I'd look over from time to time and see him on his phone, likely Googling Tesla and Wardenclyffe. He meandered, examining the building that would become the museum and the tower itself. Duhnagaham approached him and they spoke at length, often gesturing towards the structure.

We watched the sun set slowly and gathered for a supper of sandwiches and salads. Siobhan showed up and sat next to George. They seemed to be speaking intently, not engaging in idle chit-chat. That had been happening a lot lately, and I should have been paying closer attention. What's this new connection between George and Siobhan? I focused my attention and listened, trying not to be obvious.

George was looking straight ahead as he spoke softly, words meant for Siobhan. "There's a man on the grounds named Duhnagaham. Very touchy-feely. Small, Indian man. Can't miss him. He's an ally, but he's not a friend. Keep an eye on him. He'll take a bullet for Cynthia and he believes in what she's doing, but he's the most ruthless man I've ever met. He's the Old Man on the Mountain. It's a hereditary position. Look it up. Hassan-i Sabbah."

I slumped back in the wheelchair. How did George learn these things? I'd heard the legends, but to hear him just bandy about the accusation was unnerving. Well, that's what he did and who he was. George became aware of and dealt with problems. But why involve Siobhan? If Duhnagaham was the legendary leader of assassins, he was a gardener, snipping and clipping the banzai. What we were dealing with was the equivalent of a madman that entered the forest with a flame-thrower. I'll take the gardener every time.

A damp cool wind came up from the water as we settled in to wait for 10:15. George and Siobhan walked the grounds on occasion, as he pointed out things here and there on the perimeter. The head engineer came over a few times to assure me that everything was set. The power had been tested, the connections between the different tower segments were secure. We just had to kill some time.

There was a skeleton crew of workers and seven of Mort's black clad operatives left as the clock ticked down. At 9:45, George headed over to the building to access the tunnels. I sat outside the fence that enclosed the base of the tower with Duhnagaham as we discussed other events in our past. We had an understanding of things that few others shared, and relished our time together, sharing memories of disasters averted and friends lost.

"You need to tell your young man. One of you will be leaving and he will be devastated in either case. If you leave, he loses a beloved aunt. If Jennifer leaves, he loses his heart."

I frowned, thinking about his words. "Whoever stays will be here for him. To comfort him. Things are too strange. It's too much. He's not like us. His is a normal life. Actually, he is sort of like you. He's a good person. People like him, they're drawn to him and he doesn't realize it. They are better for being near him. Maybe. I could just be seeing things through rose tinted glasses, but we're in the forefront of all of this. Finn can't be. He's who we do this for, his role isn't to be the person taking the risks."

He smiled up at me, eyes twinkling. He was almost elfin in size and temperament. "You underestimate him. Your love blinds you. He's more of a son now than the man who won your heart and you look at him with those eyes. He is strong. He is perceptive. Talk to him."

Duhnagaham wasn't always right, but he was always worth listening to. I checked my watch and looked around. "Is the fence gate locked?"

"I shall go ask. Let me leave you with this. What you wish for is not impossible. The cycle has already been broken. You didn't experience this." He waived his arm, encompassing the tower and the grounds "This didn't happen when you were younger, on your first time through, correct? So, if this is new, why not something else? You are not a slave to the wheel of fate. I believe in you Cynthia. You will find a way to keep Jennifer here."

He was gone for a few minutes and his return was silent. Suddenly standing by my side, voice no longer placid, "Stay calm. The men are dead or gone. I found seventeen bodies. This property is an abattoir. You must come with me. I will get you to the road and circle back."

And I thought my friend knew me. "Get to George. Make sure he's safe and gets the power on." I pulled the Glock from my shoulder holster, under my jacket. I'd learned the value of being able to defend myself in 1977. This wasn't the first time I'd danced to this tune. "I'll cover the tower. If you see Finn and Jennifer, get them the hell out of here. Do you need a gun? Under the middle of the backseat of the Town Car."

Looking down at the gun in my hand, he watched me get out of the wheelchair. He removed a black, carbon knife from its sheathe at his waist. "No, I shall do this my way." Taking my other hand, he brought it to his lips and slipped off into the darkness, stripping off his garish clothes as he went. I had odd friends.

Leaving the wheelchair where it was, I moved towards the fence gate, leaning into the shadow of a tree not far away. Checking again, my watch read 10:09. I marveled at how steady my hands were as the rest of me trembled. If I were a believer, I'd be praying that Finn and Jennifer were off in a field doing what young people in love do. If anything happened to either of them, I would kill every one of these bastards myself.

The cracking noise preceded the sharp, piercing impact of my cheek as I was shoved to the ground. Looking forward towards the gate, I never looked behind to the crane. Peering up from the ground, I saw Siobhan standing in the traditional Weaver stance, Glock aimed towards the crane as she squeezed off three rounds. The bearded man fell to the ground as his partner started the machine. He was wearing a cassock. Who wears a cassock to a gun fight?

She looked down at me. "Aunt Cynthia, are you okay? Can you hear me?"

This wasn't my first rodeo. Amused at her concern in spite of myself, I replied. "I'm fine, dear. I'll cover the gate. Can you get to the crane?" She nodded and headed off. I wiped off some of the blood from my face and realized how I must look. I hadn't been shot, it was bark from the tree acting as shrapnel that sliced my cheek, but I had blood streaming down to my chin. I could see the groove in the trunk. Another inch or two to right and all my plans would have ended immediately.

I rolled over, remaining on the ground and continued to cover the gate. Two men rushed forward, the one in the rear with a heavy metal tube of some sort. I didn't know if it was to bludgeon open the lock or if it carried explosives to use on the tower, but it didn't matter. Three shots, center of mass, put him down. The one in the lead suddenly clutched his throat and crumpled to the ground, my friend appearing behind him as the corpse fell. Duhnagaham stepped to the one I shot, knelt on one knee and slit his throat. He looked in my direction and patted the man's chest, indicating body armor.

My heart pounded as I thought of Siobhan. She needed to know. I cried out. "Body armor!" I hoped she heard me as I turned back to where Duhnagaham had been standing. He was gone. I checked my watch again. 10:13.

Lying there, I took my eyes off the gate for a moment to gaze at the moon. Hackles on the back of my neck rose and my stomach nearly revolted as I saw parts of the night sky bulging obscenely and becoming translucent. Five or six distended areas, miles across in diameter, had an orange and red hue andthings floated behind them. The pounding in my head started again.

Shots rang out, followed almost immediately by the engine from the crane cutting out.

There was a low thrumming as an iridescent green light coursed up the tower from the base. The pain immediately receded, and I scrambled up, putting my back to the tree. I remained there, eyeing the gate until Duhnagaham returned, naked, aside from his black boxers.

"They seem to all be dead. Where is George?"

George! I ran as fast as my old legs would take me to the entrance to the building. When I stepped inside I saw Jennifer clutching her left, blood-soaked arm. Finn carried a piece of rebar that seemed at a quick glance to have both blood and matted hair attached at one end. Siobhan soon followed. Politely nodding to us in his punctilious manner, Duhnagaham exited, I assumed to watch the gate in case any stragglers were still alive.

The body of a large bearded man lay at the bottom of the stairs. We pushed it to the side and moved to the open panel that normally hid the entrance to the tunnels. Three more bodies left a path to George, like Hansel and Gretel's bread crumbs. A fifth body lay just inside the doorway, and George sat in a wheeled office chair near the lever.

We stepped through the doorway, spotting him immediately. He looked wan. Voice weak, he spoke up. "Duhnagaham?"

I saw the spreading blood beneath his ribs, soaking through the shirt. Swallowing twice before I could speak, I answered. "Outside. Guarding the tower."

"Fucking cultists." Nodding his head, he gestured towards Jennifer. "You okay?" Coughing, blood flecked his lips.

Tears welling, she ran to him, pulling him in tight. I stumbled back and leaned against the wall, not willing to accept what I was seeing. He was my rock. He was inviolate. Nothing could hurt George. He clumsily patted Jennifer near her shoulder. "Through and through?"

She looked up at me and I nodded at her. It was Siobhan that answered. "Looks like. I think Finn brained the shooter. We need to get both of you to the hospital. Can you walk?"

"Take," he coughed again, blood trickling from his mouth down to his chest, "take Jennifer." His voice had a burbling resonance. "I'm going to rest here for a while. Go ahead."

I looked at Finn, Jennifer and Siobhan. "Go. I'll stay with George."

When they left I stumbled towards him, fell to my knees and wrapped my arms around his waist. Heart in my throat, I forced the words out. "George, George, don't leave me. God, don't leave me. I never, I didn't, you know that..." I was babbling.

He awkwardly patted my head, motor skills departing, voice slurred. "Cynthia, it was always enough. It was always..."

Standing, I grabbed his head and looked into his dimming eyes, willing him to stay with me for one more moment. "George, I love you. I'm so sorry. So, so sorry. I love you."

I preferred to think that his head nodding again indicated that he heard and understood.

His eyes gazed vacantly over my shoulder as his body slumped down, breath ceasing. I fell to the ground, sobbing.

JENNIFER

When George died, Cynthia seemed to shut down. Finn drove me to a synagogue where a Rabbi guided me in the rituals of Jewish mourning. My arm was in a sling, but otherwise I was fine. Cynthia took on the role of the bereaved wife. Mirrors were covered, friends received, men's prayer groups formed. She was strong until his children arrived. It seemed as if she was blaming herself, she couldn't look at them without crying. When they approached her, she clung to them fiercely before retreating at the first opportunity.

Twelve of Mort's men died that night. Seven of Nikolas's colleagues joined them. Siobhan said that twenty-three cultists were found dead from knife wounds. Duhnagaham had gone on a killing spree. He had assured her that none had escaped. Mort and Nikolas had all of the bodies removed and any evidence obscured.

Night and day, the power coursed through Tesla's tower. Mort came by a few weeks later and assured us that the breach had fully healed. He also had some of his people permanently stationed at the facility. Monitoring cultists became a higher priority, no expense was spared and no resources were withheld.

Cynthia started leaning heavily upon Siobhan for support. She quit her part-time job and when she wasn't in class, she was by Cynthia's side. She was the new George. It seemed that he had been working with her for months. I couldn't be Cynthia, and Siobhan couldn't be George, but they were beacons to look to for inspiration.

Siobhan and I grew closer and spoke often. I felt guilty about our relationship revolving around Finn, but I couldn't stop myself from using her as a resource. She knew more about him than anyone. A friendship grew and I began to feel that we were on more even ground. For a long time, everyone was almost my benefactor, now we were almost peers.

I was chopping up peppers as we worked on dinner in Finn's kitchen. She kept eyeballing frozen meals he had in the freezer. I was sure she'd be leaving again with a bag full of food. I put the knife down on the stone cutting board and turned to her. "You're his sister, explain something to me. I didn't notice it for a long time, but I've never seen Finn's friends here and he only talks about a handful of people he knows. Cynthia says that he's a loner, but I don't know. It just seems odd. I've always been a team person. Good in groups or with a partner. Is he really happy like that?"

Siobhan smiled and patiently waited for me to finish. "Aside from my parents, Aunt Cynthia probably knows Finn and I best, but she's completely wrong. Finn absolutely does not prefer isolation. She's got some stupid heroic notion of Finn in her mind. The John Wayne man of few words thing. It's always been that way with her. She just can't see his faults. He's my brother. That's my job."