Do Not Go Gentle (5 page)

* * * *

Sedecla awoke to reddish, dawn light flooding through her windows.
What is the old saying? Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.
Sedecla stretched back and forth in bed. While she could see Old North Church and Boston Harbor from the windows of her top-floor living quarters, Sedecla could not see the ocean.
It has been too long since I last sailed upon the water. Far longer since I have sailed upon the Mediterranean, the waters of my youth.
Clad in a simple purple chemise, Sedecla arose and walked to the window that faced the harbor. She appeared to be about thirty, with dark skin and hair and a slim figure.
Perhaps we shall go sailing today.

She was just completing her morning workout, a strenuous routine that took her through all movements of the seven categories of the Abir fighting technique, when she heard her door open. Sedecla turned to see her maidservant enter. Afya was the latest in a long line of Sedecla's maidservants. She was twenty years old, of average height and weight, dark skin and hair. “Is my Mistress ready to prepare for the day?” Afya had her eyes downcast and hands spread.

“Yes. Attend me.” Sedecla moved into her private bath and allowed Afya to bathe her, comb and braid her hair, and dress her for the day. Sedecla's fashion tastes were simple: a dark red and brown tunic, which was made of expensive material, and a gold belt. The only jewelry she wore was a black ring she wore on the ring finger of her left hand.

After dressing, Sedecla descended a wide spiral staircase, with Afya trailing behind at a respectful distance. The staircase wound down to her private offices on the next floor and then to her main living quarters. Her private offices occupied the entire third floor of her building, just as her bedroom, bath, and exercise space comprised the top floor. The second floor consisted of a gourmet kitchen, dining room, formal living room, study, and home theater. All rooms featured restored brick on the outer walls, golden oak or tile floors, and ten-foot ceilings. Sedecla sat at her table to her usual breakfast of bread, porridge, grapes, figs, purified water, and strong, dark
kafeh
. The latest model iPad sat beside her food, which she used to check morning markets and news. Following breakfast, Sedecla went to her private study to perform her morning meditation for an hour.

When she emerged from her study, Sedecla gestured to Afya, who was waiting impassively in a corner of the main room. “Yes, Mistress?”

“Send word to my managers—I wish to sail today. We shall meet aboard my boat, so notify the ship captain as well. Tell Abida to have the Maybach ready to take me to the pier in an hour.” Of the dozen cars in her collection, Sedecla preferred the luxurious Maybach Landaulet sedan.

“As you command, Mistress.” Afya left the room to carry out her instructions.

Sedecla's “boat,” the
Suf
, was a 200-foot Trinity tri-deck luxury yacht, moored at Battery Wharf. Her captain and crew lived aboard ship, always on-call for the times when Sedecla wished to sail.

It was mid-morning by the time Sedecla and her managers set sail. Sedecla told the captain, Thomas Proulx, a large, ruddy New Englander to sail at a leisurely pace through the islands just outside Boston Harbor, then south to Cape Cod Bay, and back due north into open ocean before heading back due west to Boston. The trip would take the rest of the day at the pace she had ordered, which gave her time for her weekly meeting with her managers. Before starting, Sedecla gave her orders for lunch and dinner to the chef. The
Suf
was equipped with a kitchen that would put many restaurant kitchens to shame.

She met with her managers on the upper deck of the boat—it was covered, but open on three sides to allow them to enjoy the summer day. Sedecla sat with her legs curled beneath her upon a small sofa with her back to the open water. The three men who served as the managers of her enterprises sat before her on padded chairs around a small, wooden coffee table. There were drinks and snacks at the wet bar on the starboard side, and while each man had a drink, Sedecla could tell that they were, as always, on guard beneath their veneer of casual easiness. Each man held an iPad similar to Sedecla's.

After they had been underway for some time and passed the first of the harbor islands, Sedecla nodded her head to the short, dark, thin man seated in the leftmost chair before her. “You may begin your report, ibn Ezra.”

Achan ibn Ezra was a man in his late forties, in a dark red and brown tunic similar to Sedecla's, with a silver belt. Gray threaded ibn Ezra's close-cropped black hair and beard, and he wore a black velvet kippa upon his head.

He nodded his head and spoke in a thin, reedy voice. “As you wish,
Qedesh
. I am pleased to report an increase in all levels of membership in the Disciples. Our outreach program continues to draw in new members of all ages, from our youth groups to our adult disciples. Fundraising is also progressing at a brisk pace.” ibn Ezra provided a detailed accounting of the activities of the Disciples of Endor, of which Sedecla was the leader.

Sedecla listened patiently to his report, and then asked him some detailed questions, dealing with public relation efforts for the sect and some legal matters being attended to by the sect's attorney. While Sedecla was the
Qedesh
, the head of the Disciples of Endor, ibn Ezra was the sect leader, handling the daily activities and administrative duties associated with the organization. Few people outside her inner circle of the Disciples ever saw her. After satisfying herself about the status of the sect's ongoing activities, Sedecla inclined her head to ibn Ezra. “Very good, Achan. Please keep me apprised of any further legal actions against the sect.”

“As you command,
Qedesh
.” ibn Ezra bowed deeply, lowering his dark eyes from his mistress' gaze, and then returned to a sitting position.

The man sitting in the middle chair opposite Sedecla was Rufus Choate, a fair-skinned, obese man with a thin fringe of short white hair ringing the back of his head. Pale blue eyes stared out from the recessed folds of Choate's face. Despite his girth, he wore an immaculate, tailored tan suit with a black silk shirt and tie—a tan fedora with a dark brown band and a single stylish feather sat beside him on a small table. Choate waited for Sedecla to invite him to speak.

“Rufus, please tell me the latest about our properties.”

“Indeed, Mistress. If you will open the document I emailed to everyone, I will review our latest sales and acquisitions.” Choate's basso-profundo voice rumbled through the business activities of Samuel Properties, the organization owned by Sedecla through a maze of shell corporations and the legitimate arm of her businesses where she invested a great deal of her wealth. Choate was only in his thirties, although he looked like an older man. He concluded his report by detailing several opportunities he had become aware of that he believed might be of interest to Sedecla.

After perusing the prospectuses, Sedecla tilted her head toward Choate. “Which of these opportunities do you recommend, Rufus?”

Choate paused, licking his broad lips and mopping his forehead with an immaculate white handkerchief. “I would advise against purchasing the competing pawn shops. They are for sale because ours are doing quite well, and I do not believe the additional revenue generated would offset the acquisition costs. The coffee shops also seem to me to be a losing proposition. They are never going to rival Starbucks, and the operational costs are extremely high. My recommendation would be to go with the townhomes and the strip mall. While the purchase costs are high, the resulting income, as we have seen in our other properties, is quite good and tends to be stable.” Choate spoke with a precise, clipped New England accent.

“Very good. Make it so.”

Choate nodded his head deeply. “Consider it done, Mistress.”

The third man, seated in the deck chair to Sedecla's right looked at her. He was a tall, red-haired man of middle age dressed in a business suit. However, where Choate's suit was impeccable and very expensive, this man's suit was off-the-rack and rumpled. He waited with practiced patience, his dark green eyes returning Sedecla's intense gaze.

“And you, Timothy? How fare the operations of the Mazzimah?”

“They fare well, Mistress. My lieutenants are all growing their operations while maintaining a low profile.” The Mazzimah operated a number of front groups that purported to be legitimate businesses, such as betting parlors, escort services, delivery services, auto repair shops, and pawnshops. In reality, the Mazzimah groups each fronted an extensive network of illegal activities: bookmaking, prostitution, drugs, auto theft and chop shops, and the theft and disposal of stolen goods. The Mazzimah generated a huge amount of dirty income, which Sedecla funneled through offshore accounts and back into stable investments and properties. A substantial portion was also “donated” by her shell corporations to the Disciples of Endor. Timothy concluded his report with an update on several Mazzimah members who had been arrested in various activities.

“These men are all loyal?” asked Sedecla.

“Any who are not will not live long,” replied Timothy with a small smile. “My men know how to take care of business.”

Sedecla inclined her head and spread her arms, palms up. “How so? Did I not learn of the clumsy disposal of our most recent sacrifice?”

Timothy did not avert his eyes from his mistress' fierce gaze. “You did indeed, Mistress. However, I believe it wasn't clumsy so much as unfortunate.”

“Really? Please explain.”

Timothy slid forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees as he spoke. “I believe we need to start disposing of the bodies in a different location from where they were taken.”

“Why do you believe that?”

“Well, when we were only engaging in this activity on an occasional basis, disposing of the bodies back where they were taken was not a great risk. Since our recent increase in the number of abductions, disposing of the bodies in the same place as the abduction greatly increases the chance of a timely discovery.”

“Why would that be the case?” Sedecla asked in her slow, contralto voice. While not overt, if one listened closely, a trace of a Mediterranean accent emerged.

“Easy. Once someone is reported missing, the police immediately start looking in the places the person is known to frequent. This results in the body being discovered and identified potentially much faster than we wish.”

Sedecla nodded and steepled her fingers. “So you believe this problem is due to my increased requirements?”

Timothy shook his head slowly. “I did not say that, Mistress—”

“ Fool. You did not have to
say
it. You clearly
meant
it.” Sedecla paused, but Timothy knew better than to interrupt when she was angry. She sat in silence for several minutes, looking out over the water. At length, she looked back at the men. “I suppose I must not be too angry with you. ibn Ezra, as head of my sect, has long known the reasons for these abductions and the reason for the current need to increase their number.”

Timothy nodded to Sedecla. “Thank you, Mistress. While I do not question your needs, I can do my job much better if I have more information.”

“Very well. You have all observed the ritual I conduct with those I receive as my
qurbana
, my sacrifices. The ritual allows me to absorb the
mana
, the life force, of these sacrifices. Their life force restores my life force that has been leeched from me by both the passage of time and the cost of my magics.” Sedecla paused to drink some water and observe their reaction.

Choate spoke up. “I see, and how long have you been performing this ritual, Mistress?”

Sedecla laughed softly. “Far longer than you could imagine, Rufus. Many, many of your lifetimes.” Sedecla looked out over the water again, her gaze faraway, as if she were looking at different waters or waters from a different time. “Since my plans are now changing, I suppose I must impart at least some of my secrets to you if you are to serve me well.”

Looking back at her managers, Sedecla paused, and then spoke again. “Achan knows more than the two of you who do not belong to the Disciples. Have you never wondered at the name of my sect? Do either of you know anything about the Witch of Endor?”

Choate shook his head, but Timothy held up a hand, index finger and thumb pointed skyward. “Yeah, isn't she mentioned in the Bible?”

“Very good, Timothy,” said Sedecla with a soft laugh. “First Samuel, Chapter 28, verses 3-25 to be precise. Saul became afraid on the eve of battle with the Philistines and did not receive any assurances from the Lord. So, despite having forbidden the practice of necromancy, Saul asks his servants to find him a witch or medium to consult with the spirit of Samuel. Saul then went to a woman known as the Witch of Endor, who raised Samuel's ghost for Saul.”

“So your sect worships this Biblical witch?” asked Choate.

Sedecla shook her head gently. “Not exactly. As I told you, I have survived many normal lifetimes by the use of my
qurbanic
ritual.”