A Conspiracy of Shadows

Chapter 1

No Joke

It sounds like a joke, but it's true. A man walks into his temple and departs this world. They still don't know where he went to this day.

Chapter 2

The Hipster Squad

Besides their beards, the three men sitting around the table all shared one thing in common--they used to work for the CIA, but through various mental deficiencies, all had been released from their assignments. Every one of them had enjoyed working for the CIA (It had good medical benefits and a time-off policy.) but could not resolve their moral quandaries or personal philosophies to manage continuing.

All were large men, big, bulky, except the mystic, whose daily fasting kept his weight off. The mountain man and the hermit both displayed well defined muscles, overlaid by a thin layer of fat from having not kept up the regimen normally required of operatives. But then, they'd been out of the field for a while and all had been called in on short notice.

The three men awaited a fourth, though none of them expected him to show. Code-named North, he was sort of a lone wolf. All the men knew this when they had taken the assignment. They knew of North through reputation only, and it was only out of respect that they waited at all.

The elusive North had parted ways with the CIA over a year ago. And up until two weeks ago, when the men had received their assignments, the CIA had classified North as an extreme agoraphobe. And now, it seemed, they couldn't get him inside.

Finally giving up, West said, Let's proceed. He was here to keep watch on their asset--a thing the CIA did best--but this sort of operation made him quickly loose his patience with waiting. He would fill North in on the fly--if he showed up.

And the asset? East asked, pushing up his glasses. The printout before him had only the basic facts of the problem.

In charge, West said, Intel says she'll be here soon. We're to watch and observe.

What kind? said South. His prominent southern accent gave West the impression South had once lived in the deep south, but you could never tell with agents; they sometimes took on the qualities of the people around them and retained them for some reason.

Mainly psychological. They say the blond will draw her here. She's that type, West said. For the last five years, West had been holed up in a cabin in the mountains of Montana, not dissimilar to the one they were in now. For a moment, he missed his cabin, his mountains and especially his wife, but not his sister-in-law, who also lived with them. She nagged a bit.

The blustery wind outside rattled the door on the cabin they were using as HQ and all of the men looked up in alert readiness, thinking maybe North had arrived.

The cabin was well-placed--and West really liked it--since the silo lay just over the hill, which made it easily accessible from the trails running through the wooded area. The two bicycles leaning against a wooden post outside made a slight metallic noise, like bones rattling or the armors of Knights on horseback.

South glanced outside. A hermit only in a loose sense of the word, he wandered if maybe they should move the bikes to the backside of the cabin. Used as his main mode of transportation, he could not bring himself to utilize an internal combustion engine because of the harm they exacted on the planet--unlike the mystic who just liked the exercise he received from his.

South feared they might somehow reveal their presence.

Who chose the schedule? East said, pushing up his glasses to read the schedule on the paper.

I did--six-hour shifts. Use your free time for whatever purpose you wish, but stay in radio contact at all times in case she enters an urban environment, then we'll shift tails to keep from alerting her to our presence.

That sounded satisfactory to East. He spent his days fasting and pondering the sound of his own breath, so not much bothered him but he did miss his robe. He would have liked to be wearing it now--for the comfort it provided--but knew that he would stand out in this mountainous area. They all were dressed alike, in lumberjack clothes--flannel shirts, jeans and boots-- which amazed East that he pulled it off at all, but it didn't bother him. He had long since done away with such worldly desires.

What about the money? East asked.

Half paid in our accounts yesterday. You can check if you like? The computer has a Sat feed and we have internet.

What's that? South asked. He'd never used electricity much less a computer and as the oldest operative, had been out of the game for twenty years. He still wondered why they had called him in. Most likely, it was West's doing; they knew each other from three previous operations they'd worked on when West was a rookie. Now the butthead was running the show. He hated that idea about as much as he hated poets. And South possessed an irrational hatred of poets. He hated their haughty ways, their superior attitude to those who didn't get their ideas. He liked reading poetry but hated poets. And he saw no conflict in that either.

Figure it out, West said, having no patience for people's ignorance. He'd never trained a rookie his entire career--and didn't plan to start with South, the butthead.

When do you expect her arrival?

Still undetermined, but we start shifts today. Just in case.

I'll go first, East said, eager to get on with his plans.

West shook his head. North already has that covered. He said he would watch for the rest of the day and then take the night shift too--if no one objected.

No one did.

West went on to explain. He said he would meet less people that way. North's an odd one.

That he is, brother, East said, with no inkling of who North was.

So what? We break for lunch?

Sounds fine to me, West said. We need to get settled in anyways.

The men began unpacking their lunches--in East's case a paper bag--opening up sandwiches and looking over the contents. West's wife being conscientious as well as a new age healer had packed his lunch in one of his kid's old lunchboxes, a blue box with an I Carly logo on it.

What no meat? South asked when West opened his sandwich to inspect it.

No, vegetarian.

The other two men looked at him strangely, then at each other.

Me too, said South.

And I as well, said East, pushing up his glasses.

All three men laughed at the coincidence.

So, what does yours have on it? South asked East.

Tofu, what else? And yours?

Wheat grass infused with lemon grass and asparagus sauce with a dilled cucumber, South said.

Mines a TLT. A tofu, lettuce and tomato. East grew his own vegetables at the small temple he'd built to no deity. His mysticism blended agnosticism with Feng shui, so that in order to please whatever deity ruled the multiverse worlds, he demonstrated the proper placement of man within the ruling chaos. He was still working out the details.

Oh, that must be horrible, West said.

East shrugged. It grows on you.

Mine is merely a meatless on wheat. West said, sounding a little disappointed, thinking his sister-in-law had probably made it. He pulled out a bottle of green liquid.

And that? South asked.

A grass-infused grape drink. Keeps me as regular as sunrise.

I bet. And it might help with the surveillance--being regular, that is, South said.

As West bit into his sandwich, he reiterated, Remember, keep your distance. If the target arrives, don't hesitate to eliminate him. He is far more cunning and dangerous than you imagine.

Then all three men fell into silence, eating their lunches and contemplating their own thoughts or that of their breathing.

Chapter 3

Lyse in Washington--Not DC.

No house stood where Lyse was staying for the next month. No front porch, no shingles, no windows, and though it bothered her, she felt excited, being able to overcome such minor fears for the adventure of it. I'm staying in a missile silo, she thought. A real once-deadly missile silo! The idea seemed so out there.

With some regret, she watched her taxi driver drive away. It would take her an hour to walk back to Spokane, for sure. She crossed her arms; for some reason the late summer air felt cool in her light, white shirt and khaki shorts, so the house better be here somewhere or she might have to change clothes in the woods for that walk back.

Looking up the driveway, Lyse wondered why anyone would want to own a missile silo. Sandy's parents were very liberal and well, odd from Sandy's description of them. Sandy threw the word eccentric around a lot. So that might explain it.

Thinking this as she picked up her bags, she wondered as she walked how rich you had to be before you went from plain ole crazy to eccentric--but couldn't come up with a figure. The Moore's had a lot of money was all that mattered. Sandy's mother had inherited what Sandy referred to on her Facebook page as an HL, a huge lump, from her grandfather. Lucky girl, Lyse thought, although sad that Sandy's grandpa had died. She knew how much Sandy loved him.

The farther she walked up the driveway the more her nervousness increased; there appeared to be no house there at all. And Lyse began wondering how she'd gotten into this mess. But she knew the answer to that--Sandy.

You have to come visit! Sandy had said when Lyse informed her that she had received four-years of tuition, room and board, plus all expenses paid to East Washington University, EWU or you-you as Sandy called it.

Besides the free college education, the fact that you-you had an excellent engineering program and Jeb Ford an Olympic archery champion as alumni, also lured Lyse since she was preparing for the Olympics in archery.

But that was still a whole year away for her--if things worked out. Lyse wasn't like her younger sister, Bell, who was also going away to college next year, her high IQ allowing her to finish high school early. Lyse struggled to make good grades. And she barely afforded the plane ticket here, much less a vacation, so she saw no reason to check out a school that she couldn't afford to visit much less live there. Lyse had waffled on and off, wanting to go but seeing it as near impossible.

However, Sandy continued through e-mails and Facebook posts to encourage Lyse. "My parents are gonna chaperone us--wink-wink, Sandy had posted, which became the fait accompli to Lyse's indecisiveness. We're gonna have a lot of unsupervised fun! Like two blondes on a roll! Her parents believed in trusting Sandy. Besides, we can't get into much trouble. This place is out in the middle of nowhere." Along with the silo, the Moores also owned a house near the university and that's where they would be staying during her visit.

Come and spend a few weeks up here. We'll live in my Grampy's silo and do whatever we want as long as it involves the outdoors.

Lyse had thought that would be cool too. She didn't go camping or anything like that but the few times she'd been hiking, she'd loved it, and as Sandy said on the phone--Sandy talked a lot too, "Lots of places to hike up here. We might see a few moose, maybe even a bear or a mountain lion, and if we're real lucky, we might see Bigfoot?"

Bigfoot's real?

"Heck if I know. Let's get you up here and then, we'll find out."

But it hadn't been Bigfoot that swayed Lyse's decision--it had been all that unsupervised fun. And so, she had found a way.

However, Lyse still had to move in and today was the day for that.

She stood there staring at the grounds, thinking, now just how do I do that? She looked for an intercom somewhere to buzz. For a door that she wasn't seeing. She walked up the long stretch of driveway, her two bags growing heavier with each step as they rubbed against her bare legs, fearful she was at the wrong address. At the thought, Lyse fought the anxiety that rose up in her, fiercely maintaining that she would get there eventually.

She focused her attention on the birds singing in the green trees, on how fine the morning seemed, on the sun finally warming her up--these things absorbed her thoughts and helped calm her nerves.

Five minutes later, all of that was answered for her as she walked upon a ramp leading down to two huge metal doors, painted gray and riveted no less. You couldn't see the entrance because a slight rise hid it from the road. Inset into the double doors was a smaller door with a battered sign taped to it that read: Ring me if you want to talk. Don't if you have something to sell.

Lyse wondered who would come all this way to sell you something but then, thought, well, a vacuum cleaner salesman might. As pushy as goats at a petting zoo, they would go anywhere to sell one.

Lyse shrugged and rang the doorbell. She heard nothing inside the house but soon, something clanked on the other side and wearing a similar white shirt and shorts, Sandy opened the small door.

She grinned at Lyse, who hesitated to enter the house, still holding onto the anxiety this new experience created for her.

You know, Sandy said. You can't pick a dollar off the ground if you don't bend over.

Squealing, the blond-haired girl ran out and hugged her, reminding Lyse of her little brother, Carson so much it made her miss him for a moment.

Lyse hugged her back and then Sandy said, You gonna love this place. It's so cool! It has eight levels. And thankfully, I haven't even explored them all--except the third level where the tunnel is that connects to the house next door. Grampy didn't let me go down below the third level to his basement he called it. And below that, he called it his dudgeon. But I know my way around. I spent a lot of time out here with my Grampy--despite a Tiger Mom and Dad. He lived out here the last few years of his life, doing things, saving the world, he said. She rolled her eyes as she said it. I visited him all the time. My Mom and Dad were too busy in town to spend much time out here, although my Mom came out here more than my Dad. And we're gonna have great time!

Sandy's excitement made Lyse reluctant to dampen her friend's mood. But goodness, she could talk.

They followed the ramp downwards, passing Sandy's new red Corvette on the way down. They took the elevator down to the second level. Where the living room is, Sandy told Lyse as they descended with Sandy still yammering away.

The second level of the silo was indeed cool. Its open floor plan offered you a view from one end to the other. On the far side directly across from the elevator, a set of stairs ran up and down between the levels and as Sandy said, led all the way down to the dudgeon, which Lyse took uncertainly as a joke. To the left of the stairs, divided by a wall, was the kitchen.

A huge place, to get from the living room to say the kitchen, you had to walk about fifty feet. When you came out of the elevator, to your right was a living room full of couches and chairs, two large TV's set up for video game equipment. After that, a library filled with books and more chairs. As Sandy led her past the rooms, pointing out an aquarium full of exotic-looking fish--and a bluegill for some reason--that shared space in the lounge with a bigger, big screen TV, she couldn't help but think that Sandy's parents or Grampy one had made up rooms just to cover the large space. Right next to the lounge, Sandy showed her the home theater; a large twenty by twenty room complete with Dolby surround sound and a pull-down screen that included a movie-theater popcorn maker and rows of candies in a display case. The real movie experience without all those clowns in the back talking on their cell phones, Sandy explained.

Six bedrooms lined the far wall on their left, and when they reached them, Sandy opened up the rooms to show them to her. Take your pick, she said.

Lyse chose a rose-colored themed room next to Sandy's, to stay near her, dropping her bags on the bed.

When she had shown her everything on the second level, her and Sandy returned to the kitchen. They sat at the kitchen table, drinking water, when Sandy said, You know, I almost don't believe those videos about you. Are they real?

Yes, Lyse said. Bell, Lyse's sister, had shot four videos of Lyse's trick shooting and seeing abilities. One showed her shooting an arrow from almost three hundred yards away and hitting a bull's eye. Did you see the three-hundred-yard shot?

That's one of them, Sandy said, smacking her lips. For a girl, she had boyish ways.

I'll show you while I'm here. When I unpack my archery equipment.

No need. I had my Mom buy some already.

Lyse shrugged, a little embarrassed by her fame. She should've never let Bell post those videos. But they had seemed fun at the time. In the comments section, people gave her a rough time about faking it. Yeah, I have really keen eyesight.

And you can see a grain of rice with a number written on it from half a mile away?

Lyse smiled about the fourth video. That's a bit exaggerated. She could only see it from a quarter mile away. Lyse didn't understand her keen eyesight, or how she had developed such an ability. But yes, if she concentrated, she could see the details in things from a long way off.

Sandy clapped her hands. "Well,