Modus Operandi Read online

  *****

  The masked guards slowly made their way through the vast auditorium, putting out each of the candles. Mercifully, the harmonization service had come to an end. Master Zule, leader of The One True Way, had finished his oration, given his benediction, and had promptly left the stage. After what seemed like an eternity, the reverent audience, filled with jubilation and exhausted from the service, began to file out through the side doors near the front of the auditorium. I remained in my pew, pretending to bow my head, copying the body language of the handful of others who remained, scattered throughout the room. In the pew beside me were three others who were kneeling and leaning on the pew in front of them, shouting words of gratitude.

  The one closest to me, nearest to the aisle, slowly turned his head towards me, revealing the steel grey eyes beneath the hood of his robe. “It is time,” he whispered to me in a low voice, “are you ready, my Son?”

  “Yes, Father,” I nodded back, careful to hide our brief exchange from the guards that continued to move throughout the room. Father Sylvanus carefully got up from his pew, and led the other two robed individuals down the aisle towards the back of the room. A few moments later, I feigned my last act of reverence, slowly got up, and followed them down the aisle. The room became much darker and colder as I climbed the ramp that led towards the back. With the candles out and the moonlight obscured by clouds, the auditorium was growing more chilling by the minute. Rows of unused candelabras lined the area, leaving a space only where a dark red curtain covered the back exit. I approached the curtain, took one final look behind me to check on the guards near the stage, held my breath, and went through.

  As I entered the dark, barren hallway, a hand suddenly grabbed me from the side and pulled me into a shadowy recess. Even in the darkness, the cold grey eyes of Father Sylvanus shot through me like lightning. He nodded.

  “Mr. Poole,” he whispered, “you are aware that you are risking your life in your journey with us tonight?” I nodded vehemently. “Good. Then make good use of the skills that God has given you, and be sure to record everything that happens from here on in. Report to the outside world the freedom that will result from the deed that we must commit in the bowels of this cruel building.”

  Seconds later, the hoods lifted from the two figures standing behind Father Sylvanus. The figure on the left, a woman with dark brown eyes, skin as white as snow, and jet black hair tied back in a tight bun, introduced herself as Dr. Lombardi, a neuroscientist and engineer from the European Union. The other, an older, dark-skinned man with a long beard, introduced himself as Doshar, a guru and healer from the East. Both offered me a brief gesture of greeting, before once again donning their hoods.

  I covered my head with my own hood as I followed the group of three down the length of the hallway. Father Sylvanus, the leader, held out a candle in front of him and promptly lit it, casting an ambient light on the marble walls surrounding us. I saw that they were lined with gold and silver, and every few feet there hung a painting, a full headshot of Master Zule, with his piercing blue eyes. For a moment, I even felt like they were watching us, following us through the painting.

  We continued down the hallway through a series of unlocked doors, each leading deeper and deeper into the heart of the fortress, each signaling to myself, to all of us, that there was no turning back.

  Along the way we passed by several hallways that seemed to branch off from the main artery and lead deeper into each wing of the Capitol. Father Sylvanus stopped us for a few moments at each junction, pausing to listen for any signs of movement. What we could make out chilled me to the bone. It was chanting. But not the jubilant, gracious chanting that we had sat through in the main auditorium. This kind of chanting was more like a low hum, a buzz, and reverberated through the walls of the hall and into the recesses of my mind. And although we knew the chanting could not be coming from anywhere close to where we were, I shuddered.