The Mephisto Club

quietly alone. Another Jeffrey Dahmer, or another Son of Sam. Maybe this killer hears voices. Maybe he’s read Anton LaVey’s
Satanic Bible
a few too many times and taken it to heart. But consider another possibility, something far more frightening.” He looked at her. “That Nephilim—the Watchers—really exist. That they’ve always existed, and they still live among us.”
    “The children of fallen angels?”
    “That’s merely the biblical interpretation.”
    “This is all biblical. And you know I don’t believe.”
    “The Old Testament is not the only place where these creatures are mentioned. They appear in the myths of earlier cultures.”
    “Every civilization has its mythical evil spirits.”
    “I’m not talking about spirits, but flesh and blood, with human faces. A parallel species of predators who’ve evolved right alongside us. Interbred with us.”
    “Wouldn’t we know of their existence by now?”
    “We know them by the evil they commit. But we don’t recognize them for what they really are. We call them sociopaths or tyrants. Or Vlad the Impaler. They charm and seduce their way into positions of power and authority. They thrive on war, on revolution, on disorder. And we never realize they’re different from the rest of us. Different in a fundamental way that goes right to our genetic codes. They’re born predators, and the whole world is their hunting ground.”
    “Is this what the Mephisto Foundation is all about? A search for these mythical creatures?” She laughed. “You might as well hunt for unicorns.”
    “There are many of us who believe.”
    “And what will you do when you actually find one? Shoot him and mount his head as a trophy?”
    “We’re purely a research group. Our role is to identify and study. And advise.”
    “Advise whom?”
    “Law enforcement. We provide them with information and analysis. And they use what we give them.”
    “Law enforcement agencies actually care what you have to say?” she asked, with an unmistakable note of disbelief.
    “Yes. We are listened to” was all he said. The calm statement of a man so sure of his claims, he saw no need to defend them.
    She considered how easily he had accessed confidential details of the investigation. Thought of how Jane’s inquiries about Sansone had met with silence from the FBI and Interpol and the Department of Justice.
They are all protecting him.
    “Our work has not gone unnoticed,” he said, and added softly, “unfortunately.”
    “I thought that was the point. To have your work noticed.”
    “Not by the wrong people. Somehow, they’ve discovered us. They know who we are, and what we do.” He paused. “And they think you’re one of us.”
    “I don’t even believe
they
exist.”
    “They’ve marked your door. They’ve identified you.”
    She gazed out at moonlit snow, its whiteness startling in the night. It was almost as bright as day. No cover, no darkness. A prey’s every movement would be seen in that merciless landscape. “I’m not a member of your club,” she said.
    “You might as well be. You’ve been seen at my home. You’ve been seen with me.”
    “I’ve also visited all three crime scenes. I’ve only been doing my job. The killer could have spotted me on any one of those nights.”
    “That’s what I thought at first. That you just happened to cross his line of vision, as incidental prey. It’s what I thought about Eve Kassovitz as well—that maybe he spotted her at the first crime scene on Christmas Eve, and she attracted his interest.”
    “You no longer think that’s what happened?”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “The seashell. If I’d known about it earlier, we all would have taken precautions. And Joyce might still be alive.”
    “You think that seashell was a message meant for you?”
    “For centuries, Sansone men have marched into battle under the banner of the seashell. This was a taunt, a challenge aimed at the foundation. A warning of what’s to come.”
    “What would that be?”
    “Our extermination.” He said it quietly, as though just speaking those two words aloud would bring the sword down on his neck. But she heard no fear in his voice, only resignation that this was the fate he’d been dealt. She could think of nothing to say in response. This conversation had strayed into alien territory, and she could not find her bearings. His universe was such a bleak landscape of nightmares that just sitting with him, in his car,