The Argus Deceit Read online

  ALSO BY CHUCK GROSSART

  The Phoenix Descent

  The Gemini Effect

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2017 by Chuck Grossart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by 47North, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477819647

  ISBN-10: 1477819649

  Cover design by Cyanotype Book Architects

  To the believers

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  PART I THE DANCE OF THE FOUR

  Chapter 1 BRODY52

  Chapter 2 BRODY10

  Chapter 3 BRODY26

  Chapter 4 BRODY16

  Chapter 5 BRODY52

  Chapter 6 BRODY10

  Chapter 7 BRODY26

  Chapter 8 BRODY16

  PART II BREAK

  Chapter 9 BRODY52

  Chapter 10 BRODY10

  Chapter 11 BRODY26

  Chapter 12 BRODY16

  Chapter 13 BRODY52

  Chapter 14 BRODY10

  Chapter 15 BRODY26

  Chapter 16 BRODY16

  Chapter 17 CONNIE

  PART III MERGE

  Chapter 18 BRODY52

  Chapter 19 BRODY10

  Chapter 20 BRODY26

  Chapter 21 BRODY16

  Chapter 22 BRODY52

  Chapter 23 BRODY10

  Chapter 24 BRODY26

  Chapter 25 BRODY16

  Chapter 26 BRODY52

  Chapter 27 BRODY10

  Chapter 28 THE SHADOW MAN

  Chapter 29 BRODY26

  Chapter 30 BRODY16

  Chapter 31 BRODY16

  Chapter 32 BRODY10

  Chapter 33 BRODY26

  PART IV THE UNRAVELING

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  Watseka, Illinois

  Saturday, July 23, 1994

  2:05 a.m.

  The bright light was the first sign.

  Connie opened her eyes and watched the light slowly creep across her wall, crossing her room from left to right. Cars did that sometimes, their headlights shining through her window as they passed the house.

  Funny thing was, she couldn’t hear a car.

  The light stopped for a moment, then slid toward the corner of her room, fading away as it moved.

  It was dark again.

  She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes and wondering what had woken her. She didn’t remember hearing any noises that could’ve jolted her from her sleep. It must’ve been the glow from the headlights that woke her up. It was gone now. The night was perfectly still.

  It had been a hot and sticky day, and the temperature hadn’t dropped much. She’d kicked her sheet off while sleeping, and it lay crumpled in a pile. Her nightie was all wet, not the accident kind of wet, as she was a big girl now and didn’t pee the bed anymore, but she was covered in sweat. A breeze came through her window, and even though the weather was hot, she still got goose pimples on her arms. She reached down and grabbed her sheet, pulling it up toward her chin as she settled back down in bed.

  She closed her eyes and reached for Mr. Bear, but he was gone. He must have fallen off the bed. She turned on her bedside lamp and squinted against the bright light. Sure enough, he was on the floor. She wished she didn’t have to reach down to get him, with the shadows under her bed providing a perfect hiding place for all sorts of monsters and creepy-crawlies. Her dad said monsters weren’t real, and there was nothing to be afraid of under the bed, but still. He was big and could fight them off, so of course he wasn’t afraid.

  She snatched Mr. Bear from the floor (quickly) and reached to turn off her lamp. Her alarm clock said it was past two in the morning; she’d never been up this late before. She turned off the light, hugged her stuffed bear tightly, and snuggled back under the covers.

  She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she opened her eyes again, but it couldn’t have been long, as her eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the dark. Her room was pitch-black.

  Their trailer was at the edge of the park, and outside her window lay farm fields, acres and acres of soybeans. That’s what her dad said they were, anyway. If they were anything like green beans, she wondered why anyone would want to grow so many of them. She hated green beans.

  In the summertime, the music (what her mom called it) from the fields was constant, the crickets singing all night long. She was used to hearing their songs, a background noise no longer noticed until it was gone.

  The crickets stopped chirping. Just like that. It wasn’t a noise that woke her this time; it was the lack of noise. The critters would stop chirping if startled.

  If something was close.

  She sat up and looked to her window. Her curtains were hanging straight down. Even the breeze had stopped. She tossed her sheet aside and stepped out of bed. For a second, she stood there and listened, gripping Mr. Bear’s arm tightly.

  Quiet.

  In the next room, though, she could hear her father snoring.

  Something wasn’t right. She took a tentative step toward her window, afraid to peer outside but knowing she was going to anyway. She cupped her hands against the screen, inhaling the dusty metallic scent of the thin aluminum mesh.

  The sky was clear, stars twinkling above. No moon. No clouds.

  The field was dark, but she could see lights from the farmhouse way across the field where Becky Coleton lived. Her family had a big light mounted on a pole outside their barn, which would switch on when the sun went down and turn itself off in the morning. A mercury vapor light, her dad called it, or something like that, which kept most of the Coletons’ yard lit at night.

  Connie wished her family had one of those, too. Especially now.

  She watched for a minute, looking to see if she could tell if anything was out there, but saw nothing.

  A cricket began to chirp. Then another. And another.

  Whatever had startled them was gone.

  Connie sighed, realizing she’d been holding her breath. There’s nothing there, quit being such a baby. She turned away from her window.

  Then, a bang.

  She gasped, nearly jumping out of her skin. A quick shiver jolted through her body. She stood perfectly still, afraid to move.

  And the crickets were silent once again.

  Her heart was pounding, and she could hear herself breathing.

  Another noise, not as loud this time. The front door.

  Someone was trying to get inside. A burglar. A robber. A bad man.

  She stared at her doorknob, wanting to run and wake her parents, but fear kept her still. She couldn’t open that door if there was a bad man in the house. The window. She could remove the screen and crawl out if she had to. She turned toward her window and stopped.

  At first, it didn’t register. She’d even taken a step before she realized

  someone is someone is someone is

  there was a shadow outside her window. Someone standing just outside, looking in.
/>   At her.

  She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a scream as the shape darted to the right. Gone.

  She heard her mother’s voice, soft, muffled through her bedroom wall.

  Then her father’s voice, deeper. She heard the floor creak as he stepped out of bed.

  They’d heard the bang, too. Connie stepped to her door and twisted her doorknob, wincing at the loud click as the latch released. She mustered her courage and opened her door, trying to keep the hinges from squeaking.

  She heard her parents’ door open and saw her father step down the hall past her room.

  “Dad?” she whispered.

  “Connie, were you up a second ago?” he whispered back.

  She couldn’t see his face, just a large shadow in the hall. She stepped out of her doorway, close to him. “No. I heard a noise and I think I saw—”

  “Shh,” he said, patting her shoulder while he stared into the darkness down the hall.

  Connie grabbed his hand as he started to move. “Daddy, don’t,” she whispered.

  He looked down and smiled. “Be my brave girl and stay in your room, honey,” he said, giving her tiny hand a squeeze before he stepped into the darkness.

  Connie stepped back into her room but didn’t close her door all the way. It was going to be okay. Her dad was awake. She was safe. But she was worried. There could be a bad man out there. She turned back toward her window, hoping she wouldn’t see someone looking in like before. There was nothing there, but she didn’t want to stay in her room alone. She opened her door wide enough to poke her head through and heard her mother whisper, “Come here, C Bear.” Her mother was standing in her parents’ bedroom doorway, white T-shirt visible in the darkness.

  Connie opened her door all the way and quickly went to her mother, wanting nothing more than to get away from her open window and from whoever might be lurking outside.

  Or trying to get in.

  She hugged her mother’s bare legs, warm from sleep. Connie was shivering, and her teeth chattered as she spoke. “I heard something, Mommy,” she whispered. “And I think I saw someone outside my window.”

  Her mother drew her closer. “What did you—?”

  They both jumped at the sound of her father’s voice.

  It wasn’t loud. He didn’t cry out. But it was a surprised sound. Startled.

  And then nothing more.

  Connie held her mother tighter as they huddled together in the doorway.

  After a few long moments of silence, her mother whispered, “Jack?” Then louder: “Jackie?”

  The house was silent. And it shouldn’t be. Not now.

  Connie hugged tighter when she felt her mother move. “Stay here, C Bear,” her mother said. “Close the door and don’t come out, okay?”

  “Mommy, don’t go.”

  “Listen to me. Stay in our room and don’t open the door. Understand?”

  Connie felt the first tear slide down her cheek as her mother gently pushed her inside and closed the door. Mommy and Daddy always came running when she was scared, but this time they’d left her alone. They weren’t supposed to do that. “Mommy?” she said quietly. Connie was really shivering now and hugged Mr. Bear tightly. The seconds ticked by, marking every moment of silence as she shifted her weight from one foot to another, feeling the urge to pee.

  The door wasn’t closed all the way, and she stared through the crack, hoping to hear one of her parents say that everything was okay, there was nothing there, and they could all go back to bed. The shadow she saw in her window was nothing more than her eyes playing tricks on her, they’d say.

  Everything would be okay.

  In the morning, she would watch cartoons and have a big bowl of cereal, like every Saturday morning.

  Bad things happen to other people. Not to her family.

  A noise.

  Not a voice, but something else.

  A gurgling. Clicking.

  A sound Connie couldn’t place.

  “Mom?” she whispered. “Mommy?”

  She heard a moan. Her father’s voice. She grabbed the doorknob without thinking and opened the door wide. She stepped into the hall, one foot following the other, into the shadows.

  you’re my brave girl you’re my brave girl

  Something was wrong. Her dad was hurt. Maybe they were both hurt. Her heart pounded away in her chest as she moved toward the living room—she was so scared—but couldn’t stop. “Daddy?” she said, her voice quivering as her body shook with terror.

  brave girl

  She could see them, standing side by side in the living room. Two shadows.

  Connie ran her hand up the wall until she felt the light switch. She flicked it on.

  Her parents stood motionless, arms at their sides. Their heads hung down, like they were asleep. And they weren’t alone.

  Connie felt a warm trickle run down her leg as Mr. Bear slipped from her hand, thumping against the floor.

  She turned to run.

  But didn’t get far.

  PART I

  THE DANCE OF THE FOUR

  Chapter 1

  BRODY52

  Joshua, Maine

  Friday, October 25, 1974

  5:34 p.m.

  The sun was on its way down, right on schedule.

  He couldn’t recall the last time he’d actually watched the sun set, though. There wasn’t a need to, not anymore. Those were moments best shared with someone else. Now the orange glow behind drawn blinds marked nothing more than the end of one more day of pain, piled upon all those that came before it.

  She wouldn’t like the way he was living, of that he was certain. She hardly ever closed the blinds. Or kept the windows closed, for that matter. “Let the outside in, Brody,” she’d say.

  Let the outside in.

  But the outside had taken her from him, so cruelly, and he was content to let the outside remain just that. Out.

  He was becoming an old hermit, holed up inside his house. Maybe in a few years he would be a Howard Hughes–esque recluse, unkempt beard and hair hanging to his waist with yellow nails thick and curling.

  And why not?

  He didn’t have much to live for. Not without her.

  No, Felix probably wouldn’t let that happen, bless his soul. The man had been in their employ for decades and would never leave Brody’s side. Felix felt the pain of her loss just as sharply as Brody himself had, in a different way. She hadn’t been his lover, his wife, the mother of his children—two boys who no longer called. If Felix harbored any of the same suspicions as Brody’s own flesh and blood, the man never showed it. He was a professional servant, cut from a cloth woven during a more genteel time. His job was this house and what was left of its family.

  And Brody Quail, widower at the age of fifty-two, represented the remainder of the broken pieces of the Quail family of Joshua, Maine. Felix was the broom and dustpan, and he was trying to clean.

  Brody supposed he could fire the man, forcibly breaking his chains and allowing him to seek employment elsewhere, to get on with his own life at least, but he didn’t have the heart to do so. He doubted he could fire him even if he truly wanted to. Felix would probably smile, say “Yes, sir,” and continue to go about his daily rituals. He and Felix would likely remain in this cesspool of an existence until the bitter end, whenever, and however, that sad result came to fruition, two lonely men bound by the memory of a once-happy family now shattered.

  As the day’s brightness faded with the diminishing sunlight, Brody opened his side drawer.

  He’d been a cop once, a life that seemed so far away, made real now only in the reflection of his haggard face in the blued steel of his Smith & Wesson Model 27. It had been his service weapon, back in the day when a six-round revolver and a billy club were the only weapons a police officer had to carry and seldom had to use. A pedestrian endeavor, his father would say, a life meant for others, not for his son. Brody joined the police force in spite of his father’s wishes. The act
was a personal accomplishment, something earned, not a handout from his father. When the time came to step up and take the reins of the family’s holdings, though, Brody did what was expected of him. He took off the uniform and stood at his father’s side.

  Brody became a rich man because of that decision. But none of it mattered without her.

  He fingered the rough, checkered grip of the revolver, felt the comfortable heft in his hand as he removed it from the drawer, six .357 Magnum rounds nestled in the cylinder. He always kept it loaded now.

  Loading a weapon took time. Precious seconds. Time that could have made a crucial difference that night when his heart was ripped from his chest.

  Seconds. The course of a life decided on the tick of a clock.

  Tick. She lives.

  Tick-tock. She dies.

  He swiveled his chair to face the windows, trying to banish the past. The memory would never go away, though. The memory would haunt him for the rest of his days. He held the pistol in his lap and stared at it.

  It could be his way out, if he wished.

  One shot. Not necessarily clean, but quick and most likely painless. A second to raise the pistol to his temple. Less than a second to pull the trigger.

  “A fine weapon, sir,” Felix said from behind.

  The man had a preternatural ability to appear whenever Brody wondered about the one-way ticket the gun provided. He swiveled around and placed the gun back in the drawer, then slid it shut. “Sneaking up on a man with a loaded gun isn’t a smart thing to do, Felix.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Felix stood in the doorway, a tray in hand. He wasn’t a large man, rather thin for his height. Gray eyes stared out beneath a balding pate framed by gray at the temples.

  “Your evening meal, sir. If you’d like, I can take it downstairs to the dining room.”

  Brody motioned for Felix to place the tray on his desk. He hadn’t eaten at the dining table since Rebecca passed. His dear Reba. “Thank you, Felix.” He had to give Felix credit for trying.

  “This is the last of the roast from yesterday evening, sir,” Felix said. “If you would like something different . . .”

  “No, Felix. This is perfect.” Felix was quite the chef, but cooking for one less person in the house meant leftovers were common. Brody didn’t mind. He hadn’t cooked a meal for himself in years, so he was grateful for Felix’s culinary skills.