It was time to question Baphomet. Oliver was furious. He raced to the prison in Minnesota where Baphomet was being held. He drove erratically down the interstate. He replayed the recent events in his mind.

Oliver had held an impromptu talk in the XWF backstage area hoping to gather whatever information the workers had. But it had devolved into a shit show. They didn’t believe that he really worked for the CIA. Oliver knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. They were no help at all. They knew nothing about the Left Hand. But it had been worth a shot to ask. And also to plant the seed of doubt into the minds of whatever secret Left Hand members were there watching. And he knew at least one was.

Lycana, Marf and Geri Hayden were not the only members of the Left Hand left. While Oliver had been out on the road, staying in hotels, someone was tailing him. They’d knock on the door of his hotel room at night and then disappear. Someone had been following him, he’d see the same black sedan in his rearview mirror multiple times, then tried to u-turn and double back on them only to lose them in traffic. It couldn’t be Lycana, Marf or Geri, because he had them under surveillance while all this was happening. Now he didn’t see them but they were probably just hanging back. They probably had a tracker on his car.

But the worst was when he got a call, interrupting his talk with the XWF members. It was from his wife Geena, and he had some odd little feeling that he should pick up. She was hysterical:

Geena: Oliver!

Oliver: Hello? This is kind of a bad time, I’m in the middle of something.

Geena: Oliver . . . Oliver I was just attacked. I’m scared.

Oliver was surprised. He paused a second.

Oliver: I’m sorry, I have to cut this short. I’ll be in touch.

Oliver continues talking as he is walking fast.

Oliver: Geena what happened?

Geena: It just happened tonight. It was around 2 AM and I was asleep and I heard loud banging. I ran downstairs and men were just ransacking the house. They damaged everything! I screamed and they grabbed me and threw me down to the ground. Then told me to ask you about it. Whatever “it” is! They finished destroying everything and then left.

Oliver: Ok Geena now listen clearly. I want you to go to your parents house.

Geena: I’m already there. I just wanted to let you know, our house is a mess. Whatever you’re doing out there, I don’t care but keep me the hell out of it!

Oliver put his fingers to the bridge of his nose and squinted.

Oliver: Look, I’m sorry about this. I’ll figure this out. I’m just . . . I’m glad you’re ok.

Geena: Yeah, I’m sure you are.

CLICK

Damn it. This was what he was afraid of. So now this asshole was going after his family? Why did it have to be like that? He had problems with his wife, but he didn’t want her being threatened. Well that was it. It was time to pay Baphomet a visit. Baphomet had so far refused to talk, but maybe now he would. So as Oliver pulled up at the federal prison where Baphomet was being held while awaiting extradition, he thought in his head the questions he would ask, and answer. He drove past the guard out front after showing him his credentials. He parked and got out and went through the front door. The guards complained at having to bring Baphomet to him outside of the already arranged schedule of hours but they quickly realized Oliver outranked them. They led Oliver to the questioning room. He sat inside as he waited for them to bring Baphomet to him. He took his files out of the briefcase. He had crime scene photos of the people murdered by Baphomet. Perhaps that would garner a response. Then Oliver took his glock out of his holster and checked to make sure the safety was on and it was loaded. Putting it back in its place, he continued to wait for Baphomet.

With a startling clank of an echoing metal, the security door opens, and in the doorway stands a tall man, hands cuffed in front of him, dressed in an orange jumpsuit. The Baphomet. William Keen. The murderous cult leader in the flesh, still as intimidating as when Oliver first locked those cuffs on his wrists back at the XWF show. Baphomet locks eyes with his captor, and with a bump from the guard behind him, he staggers forward to the seat provided on the opposite side of a table to Oliver.

Baphomet doesn’t have much of an expression to read, and Oliver takes his eyes away and to the guard to nod him away. The door shuts behind the guard’s exit and it’s just the two men, hunter and prey, sitting across from each other for the first time since the arrest.

“I want you to know…” Baphomet surprises Oliver by immediately speaking, “I have no ill will towards you, Mr. Danielson. Much the same way I have no ill will towards a fly that I crush against a windshield while navigating on a freeway. You can spare yourself by simply flying in another direction.”

Oliver thinks it over before responding. This guy was already threatening him.

“Baphomet. William. It’s great to hear that. It’s great that you’re talking at all. Let’s just talk a bit ok? I can imagine you want to get out of here. This jail must be terrible. The food! Look. Enough small talk. Let’s get down to it shall we? You want to get out of here. I can make it happen. I’m the best friend you can have in the world. Threatening me makes no sense. I don’t care about these people you’ve killed. You can get out of here. Live in witness protection. You just have to tell me about your . . . group. The Left Hand. Who started it? Who runs it?”

Oliver looked at Baphomet and tried to read any emotions in his eyes. Something was off about this guy. He seemed way too at ease for someone looking at life in prison. Oliver thought that dangling the possibility of freedom would illicit something in him but he didn’t seem worried at all.

“I pity you…” Baphomet says, “Grasping on to your lackluster attempts at comprehending just what it is you have committed yourself to.”

Baphomet leans in close to Oliver.


“I suggest you consider asking for a new assignment.” Baphomet whispers, “It seems your superiors have dealt you an unfortunate hand, Mr. Danielson.”

Oliver looked back.

“Alright William. I don’t comprehend what’s going on here. Fine. Why don’t you explain it to me? Why not? You aren’t trying to hide are you? You put out videos online all about the Left Hand and what you’re going to do. Who is making those videos for you while you’re in here by the way? Why not talk? How do you expect this to go anyway? You’re looking at multiple life sentences. You got sloppy. You left evidence everywhere. Look at the pictures. We have the fingerprints. We have you on camera. It’s almost like you wanted to get caught. Explain it to me William. I’m in danger? You think this is a bad assignment? No shit. Well what do you want me to do? Leave? Transfer? The next agent you meet is going to be the same. Are you going to pay someone off? Pay me off.”

Oliver watched Baphomet to see what he would think of this. He showed the palms of his hands to try to show he meant no harm. He knew maybe Baphomet was worried about being recorded, and who else might be listening or watching thru the camera in the corner. Maybe he would give some sort of visual cue if he really had anything to say. Oliver thought about Geena. If Baphomet had hired thugs out there stalking her, maybe he’d make some sort of threat now, something specific that gave Oliver a lead on where they are and how to take them out.

“I sense a great discord in you.” Baphomet says, “A melee of various questions sporadically firing off in different directions suggest that your train of thought, albeit once sophisticated enough to land you in this position, has become a disorganized and chaotic desperation to remain in control of your own mind. Do you find your current path overwhelming, Mr. Danielson?”

“Well, Mr. Keen, why don’t you try answering one of these questions? I’m the one asking questions here.” said Oliver, obviously perturbed. This was going around and around in circles. “Why don’t you tell me about the Pale Horse? Who is that? You don’t seem afraid to give obscure hints at who this guy is. Come on, give me a hint.”

Oliver figured this was his last chance to get Baphomet to talk. The guy was clearly well trained to keep his cool and never give out any information. Oliver hated that Baphomet was turning the tables on him, almost making it as if he was the one being interrogated. Oliver almost never lost his cool.

The CIA had ways to make people talk but the intelligence wasn’t always useful that way, so it was a last resort. And Oliver had a feeling this guy would be able to resist it. Maybe it was possible to appeal to his vanity. Whomever the Pale Horse was, it was someone Baphomet respected and was excited to welcome. So maybe he would want to talk about it.

"You want to know the identity of the horseman?" Baphomet teases, "the answer will only create more questions for you to keep yourself up at night. Perhaps a better question for you to be asking is what it is you think you will do to stop what's coming… and for that I do have an answer for you, Mr. Danielson… absolutely nothing. Instead, what you can do is… raise your left hand."

Oliver looks at his left hand. “This?” he says. “You know, I understand what it represents. I’m not that different from you. I know you’re not evil. Well, it was a little evil to kill all those people wasn’t it? But they had it coming. They refused to “raise their left hand” didn’t they? Or maybe they just weren’t worthy? Not many people are, are they? You were in XWF just to recruit. Makes sense. Tough fighters might be there. But I gotta tell you.” Oliver leans in. “I don’t think any of them are worthy. Bunch of clowns if you ask me. I can’t stop what’s coming? I think I can. I don’t have to do anything. I think you’re bluffing. There is no horseman. One of your guys is going to slip up. They’ll lead me right to your leader. And I bet whoever that is, they’ll be looking to make a de-”

Before Oliver can finish his word, Baphomet, with hands still cuffed, finds themselves quickly at the operative’s throat, squeezing tightly as he is forced towards his much taller aggressor.

“Have you an inkling of what you are meddling with, mortal?” Baphomet growls in a choking Oliver’s face, “I am the Baphomet, I haven’t been William Keen for centuries! If the strict boundaries of time and space couldn’t withhold me, how is it that Oliver Danielson ever could!?”

Oliver clutches at Baphomet’s arms, trying to get him to release him. “Gakk – I can’t breathe” he sputters.

Suddenly the door opens as prison guards rush in, having seen from the camera what was going on. “Release him now!” they scream. Baphomet once again considers his options. The prison guards continue to yell and one produces a taser. Before he can use it, Baphomet lifts Oliver up by his neck and slams him crashing down onto the table, breaking it in two. Baphomet backs away from the broken table and man as if to say he is done attacking him but the guards start hitting him with batons until they are caught mid swing by each of Baphomet’s hands. He holds them against the guard’s yanking until they stop fighting, then he releases them, with no further struggle. He extends his arms out to surrender to them and the guards each grab an arm to take him away from Oliver, but Baphomet turns to him once again.

“Get some rest, Mr. Danielson.” Baphomet suggests, “Consider what I have offered.”



The next day Oliver woke up in a hospital bed. He didn’t need to ask a nurse to know that he had multiple broken bones. He was such an idiot. Baphomet had nothing to lose, why did he provoke him. He looked over at the end table and saw his cell phone there. There was also a business card there. He grabbed his phone and saw it was just messages from his wife. They were probably threatening her again. Nothing from Gina, which made sense, she was out of a job now. For all he knew so was Oliver. He looked at the business card.