There isn't much to say about this chapter. Thompson has his confrontation with the Captain (who I actually had to give a last name this time), but otherwise it just sets the stage for what's coming next.
Return
A little later that night, Thompson pulled his gas guzzler into the lot outside of his home precinct. He was dead on his feet after the day that he had had, and the length of the drive, during which he had had to put the air on full blast, and turn the first local metal station he could find on full blast to prevent succumbing to highway hypnosis. Despite this, Thompson stepped out of his car, his composure unfaltering. Finally all of his practice keeping himself from looking as beaten down as he really was would come in handy. After all, he had an important appointment to keep, and he wanted to look his best.
Thompson sauntered in through the front door, into the familiar building. He couldn’t help but note the parallels between this night, and the night that his investigation had begun. Then he had been walking into an old, empty, dilapidated structure practically in the middle of nowhere, a stark contrast to this familiar structure, which even late at night was still bustling with activity, and yet tonight Thompson felt infinitely more bleak. He considered why as he stepped across the threshold. He’d long since come to terms with the fact that his collected facade was really for no one’s benefit, as everyone knew how Thompson really handled things. At the time he hadn’t been affected by the situation, because he hadn’t actually cared. Despite the mysteriousness of it all, it hadn’t mattered to him. Now he did care again, for the first time in years. He finally cared about a case again, and he was walking into a situation that might cost him the job that he had sacrificed his family for. He couldn’t think of anything bleaker than that.
Thompson was barely into the dugout when he heard the impatient voice of his captain, his one-time old friend Carl Baudin caught his ear. He would have sounded calm to the casual listener, or even to many of the officers present, but Thompson knew him well enough to hear the concealed tension behind his words, “Detective Thompson, I’ll see you in my office.”
Still sauntering, Thompson made his way over to the office where his captain stood waiting at just above a casual pace. He had to project strength and confidence today of all days, and he fell back on his usual facade to project those things, almost entirely out of habit. The captain simply glared at him and gestured for him to step inside. Thompson obliged, ignoring the many eyes of his colleagues that were upon him.
The office was poorly lit. Shadows clung to the simple, box-shaped desk, and the sparse walls and made it difficult to make out what exactly was or wasn’t there. Thompson had been in Carl’s office many times, most often to listen to the older man chew him out and beg him to do his duty just a little better. He always listened to the man, and he always picked up the pace for a while. Not that Thompson had ever slacked on a case that really mattered. He always did his job. He just didn’t always do it in a way, or to a degree, that Carl wanted him to.
To the captain’s credit, or maybe to his discredit, he’d always kept Thompson around, always putting faith in the other man’s skills, always trusting him not to go too far and neglect the investigations that really mattered, and Thompson had always been thankful for that, even if he’d never said it. So today, when the captain gave Thompson the same old look of anger and disbelief, it barely fazed him. He hadn’t been bothered by it when he hadn’t cared, and he wasn’t about to let it bother him now when he had a purpose.
Captain Carl closed the door to his office behind them, and without even offering Thompson a chair he said, “Alright, Jeff, I did what you asked. I contacted Westchester and convinced them to allow Detective James and two other past security. I was promised a convincing explanation. I expect this to be good, especially if this is what I think it is. Who was with James, and where’d you send them?”
Thompson took a deep breath. It was time. There was no putting it off any longer. He took a half second to wonder exactly how his one-time friend would react before he just spit it out, “James is with the Reaper and one of his associates, and I sent them to Egypt. Al Minya, specifically.”
Whatever reaction Thompson had been expecting, he didn’t get it. For the first time since Thompson had known him, Carl Baudin was speechless. He looked at Thompson like he’d just spoken an alien language. It was almost a minute before he finally spoke, “Say that again?”
So Thompson repeated himself. This time Carl handled it better. He looked furious, like he wanted to yell like he’d never yelled before, but with visible effort, he forced himself to maintain his calm. He walked around behind his desk, and sat down. Thompson sat down as well, in one of the seats across from the older man, and he leaned back as far as the chair would allow him, and he waited. There was a pause of only another second or two, before the captain spoke to him again.
“So you’re saying,” Carl asked, sounding as if he genuinely hoped that Thompson would laugh and reveal that he was making some kind of inexplicable joke, “that you allied yourself with a dangerous vigilante, and then you authorized your partner to go with that vigilante and continue his investigation on the sovereign soil of another nation? And that you got me to throw my hat into this thing without any warning by offering you my support?”
“That’s right,” Thompson replied, resisting the urge to laugh at the sheer audacity of what he’d done. It hadn’t seemed quite so serious in the moment, because he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on it, but now, in retrospect, the scope of it was obvious. He realized that he wouldn’t be surprised if Carl actually took his badge and sent him home without giving him the chance to explain. Hell, he thought, I wouldn’t be surprised it he had me arrested, just to make a point.
“I take full responsibility,” Thomson told Carl, “and I’ll reiterate that in front of anybody you want. I’ll let anyone who listens know that this was all my idea, that I tricked you into helping me authorize an illegal investigation, and that James was acting under my orders. Hell, I’ll tell anyone who’ll listen that I threatened the guy, or that I was working with the Reaper all along, or whatever it takes to take all of the flak on myself.”
Carl shuffled in his seat and sat back, letting out a long sigh, “That serious?”
“Carl,” Thompson told the older man, “this is the most serious case that I’ve ever been involved with. The shit I’ve seen, you wouldn’t believe it.”
Carl scrutinized Thompson, and he came to a realization, “Something’s different about you. You’ve changed.”
“This case,” Thompson told him, “it reminded me that sometimes my problems aren’t the most important thing.” He launched without hesitation into a full explanation into everything that had happened, beginning with the very start of his and James’ investigation, and recounting every detail all the way up to his choice to send James, the Archer and the Reaper off on their own. He even told Carl about the Reaper’s invasion into his mind, though he didn’t tell him what the two of them had seen.
He spent the most time, however, on his description of the actual killer, his abilities, and on what the groups findings suggested that the man was after. He stressed the point that a man as open to committing murder as this man was, gifted with that kind of magic, would be a threat that the world couldn’t face. Carl listened intently to every word, and when Thompson’s story had finally concluded, the older man didn’t laugh at him and call up the local funny farm. Instead, he actually sat there and contemplated the detective’s words.
Thompson didn’t press the captain. He simply sat back in his chair and waited. He waited as the captain rose, and paced the width of the small room. He waited as the captain stopped and looked at nothing specific on the almost entirely sparse office walls as he considered what to say next. Finally, the older man turned to Thompson and, very carefully, he said, “I’ve seen things on this job, Jeff, and I’ve heard more from the men under my command.
"This city has always been strange. Some of the craziest criminals in the world make their home here, but something like a decade ago something else was added to the mix. Something that I could never explain, or prove. Something supernatural. When the area police captains decided to ban together to find this Reaper, I pushed for you to lead the investigation because I hoped that you’d track the guy down, and that, through him, we could prove the existence of the supernatural element at work in the city and start to take authorized action against it.”
Carl turned to face Thompson, “I knew it was a risk. Using you, that is. Jeff, you’re a good guy, and I remember when you used to be a great one. I know the gist of what happened to you, and I’ve taken it easy on you because I know that, when push comes to shove, you still do the job. I knew that if I could get you to see the importance of this case, that you’d be able to solve it. But I also knew that putting you on the case risked you losing interest and throwing the entire investigation off the rails. I never in my life imagined that you’d somehow realize the importance of the case, and go off the rails all at the same time. And the worst part is, if you’d just gotten in touch with me first, I could have backed you up from the start.”
“I didn’t have time to convince you,” Thompson explained, “and I had no way of knowing that you were so open to this kind of thing. I made the decision that I thought worked best. As far as I’m concerned, I didn’t send the investigation off the rails, because there isn’t an investigation anymore. This is a mission, and an urgent one. If this man gets his hand on what he’s after, if we’ve interpreted this right, he can’t be allowed to succeed. Just on the off chance that this really could happen, I’d risk my job, your job, and James’ job a dozen times over to stop it.”
Thompson paused. Even he was surprised by the intensity of his conviction.
Captain Carl looked almost amused, “I haven’t seen you show so much interest in anything for a long time.” He sat back in his chair, and he sat there thoughtfully for a moment, while Thompson waited, meeting his captain’s eyes through the heavy shadows. Finally, the captain spoke again, saying, “I believe you, Thompson, and I’m not going to do anything to stop James from doing whatever it is that he’s gotta do over there, but you’re right, you’ve gone too far this time.”
He held out his hand, and Thompson felt like someone had scooped his heart out with a spoon. He’d expected this, but having it actually happen was something that he never could have prepared himself for, emotionally. He stood up, and removed his badge from its place around his neck, handing it off to Carl. Then he removed his sidearm and placed it on the desk. He’d managed to dislodge the knife from its barrel, but the barrel was still deformed. It would have to be replaced before the gun would fire again.
“You’re on indefinite suspension,” Carl announced, very officially, “pending an investigation into your actions.” He opened his desk and placed Thompson’s badge and weapon within it, and then said, in a less official tone, “I’ll do what I can for you, Jeff, but if you’re serious about taking all of this on yourself-.”
“I am,” Thompson interjected, standing up a little taller.
“Then there’s no blame to spread around here,” Carl continued. “It’ll be your job.”
“I’m aware of that, sir,” Thompson told him, his voice faltering for just a moment.
Carl stood up as well to face his old friend, and offered him a hand. Thompson took it. “I’m sorry, Jeff,” Carl told him, “but at least you’re going with the knowledge that you did good in the end.”
Thompson nodded, and he turned to leave, but Carl stopped him.
“Off the record,” he asked, “why were you willing to trust the Reaper?”
Thompson smiled, “That’s an easy one. The kid reminded me of myself.”
Carl simply nodded. Thompson nodded back and smiled despite everything as he stepped back out into the dugout. All eyes were on him again, and nearly every pair of eyes took notice of the lack of a badge around his neck. Murmurs filled the room immediately, but Thompson didn’t care. He was proud of himself. He’d done something that mattered, and that was what, well, mattered. So he crossed the dugout, ignoring his colleagues, and stepped outside and back to his car. He drove himself home, content with his decisions, but wondering, nonetheless, where to go from here.
The trip to Egypt wasn’t a short one. The plane couldn’t land directly in Al Minya, so James had been forced to buy tickets to Cairo, and it wasn’t even a direct flight, stopping once in Munich. Overall it took just over thirteen hours. Between that and the time difference, it was dark again by the time the group arrived. They had no local money, and El and Max didn’t even have passports. It had been a detail that had slipped the others’ minds in the moment, that and the fact that police authority couldn't get them past security in a foreign airport unchecked, and Max had been forced to improvise a spell as they boarded the plane at both locations that had caused the perception of the gate attendant to pass over them to prevent them being detained. They probably could have gotten onto the plane without tickets if he’d tried a little harder. The point was, they were as out of place as they could be, and they had no means of acquiring transportation. They had no way of knowing where the dig site was. They had no idea what to do.
The group found their way to a little corner shop with a table outside and sat down. James and El discussed options, but Max didn’t participate. Ever since arriving in Cairo, he’d felt a strange sensation pulling at him, like some kind of tugging at his sinuses, pulling him in a particular direction. While the others talked, Max focused on that feeling. His Soul of Life shimmered, and he came to a realization.
“I know where we need to go,” he said suddenly, interrupting their conversation. He turned his head south, as if trying to see something in the far distance. James and El fell silent and turned to look at him.
“It’s far away,” Max continued, struggling to interpret the sensation coming from his Soul. “Maybe one hundred miles.”
“Al Minya is about one hundred miles from here,” James replied, thoughtfully, “so that does about line up with what we know of the potential location of the site.”
“How do you know?” El asked Max, putting her hand on his shoulder.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “It’s like something wants me to find the place. Like my Soul of Life is being pulled toward it. Egypt is a magic place, literally. Modern Shadow Magic originated here, and there is still magic in the air and the ground everywhere throughout the entire country. Maybe that magic can feel that something dangerous is about to be unleashed, and it’s reaching out for anyone who might be able to stop it.”
He looked over at El, “I know it doesn’t make much sense, but I can’t explain it any better.”
“Okay then,” said El, “we don’t really have any other option, so we’ll follow your trail. The question is, how?”
“We have to be quick about it, too, whatever we do,” James added. “Based on the abilities that the killer exhibited back at the university, we have to assume that he was able to get here ahead of us.”
He didn’t add that, if the man was already at the site, it was entirely possible that he had already completed the spell to give himself the power that he was after. He didn’t want to think about it, and he rightly assumed that the others didn’t either.
“Okay,” El reasoned, “then we need some form of transportation. Maybe we can find a car to, uh,” she looked awkwardly at James, “borrow. Or a bus service or something that takes American money.”
“This would all be a lot easier if I had an international credit card,” James mused, and neither Max nor El bothered to argue.
Instead, Max said, “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that.”
“What do you mean?” James asked.
Max met his eyes, “Normally my powers move me physically through the world. They have clearly-defined limits. But I learned something very early on in my experience with Shadow Magic, that any magic item, with enough raw magic energy to draw on, can move people from one place to another almost instantly. And as I said before, there is a lot of magic just hanging in the air around here. If I focus hard enough, I might be able to harness that magic and take us right to the place that my Soul is drawing me toward.” He looked to El now, “It could be dangerous, since I’ve never done this before, but I don’t think we have much of a choice.”
El nodded, and James said, “What the heck, I’ve always wanted to experience teleportation.” The trio rose from their seats and stepped off into a space between two building, out of sight. Without even thinking about it, El reached into her bag and removed Max’s cloak, handing it to him along with his belt of knives. He put them on as El put on her gloves and helmet. Max raised his hood. Immediately he felt more comfortable and confident. El seemed to feel the same way once her helmet was in place, her stance immediately becoming less guarded. She took her bow from the bag next, before slinging the bag again over her shoulder.
After taking a moment to extend the bow and strap the quiver of arrows to her belt, she took James’ hand, and then Max’s. Max collected himself, directing his senses out through the Soul of Life. He could feel the ambient magic everywhere all around him, and he drew it to him with effort. Then he turned him mental attention to the place pulling at his senses, and in an instant the three of them were gone, finding themselves a moment later on a dune overlooking several half-buried piles of stone poking up from the ground.
“This is it,” El said, almost reverently, losing her grip on her companions’ hands. She was so awe stricken that she almost didn’t notice when Max collapsed beside her.
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