Chapter 33

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"All the gods, all the heavens, all the hells, are within you."  

- Joseph Campbell

Harry watched the man from the large window that separated the interrogation room from the observation wing. The man fidgeted, tapping his foot repeatedly on the floor, staring at nothing in particular though his eyes traveled throughout all corners of the bare cell that contained only a desk and two chairs.

He was a Caucasian man with plain features, dirty blonde hair in need of a trim and some attentive styling. His eyes seemed sunken, as if he hadn't slept for days. He had removed his jacket and Harry saw the wet spots in his underarms as he continually wiped his face with his handkerchief.

Malcolm handed him a file folder, glancing distastefully at the man in the other side of the mirror and left the room. Harry took a few minutes to peruse through the file though he already knew that somehow this man would prove to be one of the final pieces of the puzzle in the Nephthys affair.

The man's name was Montgomery Coultron, and he was a psychiatrist, the word 'was' being the operative term. He now worked as hypnotherapist, his psychiatric license revoked years earlier for improper relations with a patient that included the use of highly controversial hallucinogenic drugs in his treatments.

Harry would never have known about Montgomery had the man himself walked into a local police precinct that very morning begging for police protection, claiming that men were trying to kill him as they had succeeded in killing two of his colleagues already. His case would have been buried under more important cases had Montgomery not mentioned a word that the policeman who took his complaint was cognizant enough to include in his report.


It was the name the officer had typed into his computer, triggering an alert to go off in Malcolm's computer that very morning.

And so here he was now, looking disheveled and barely having slept a wink for the last two nights. His shirt was rumpled and he bore the look of a haunted man as Harry finally walked and took the seat opposite him.

"Are you the man in charge?" He demanded and Harry noticed that the man was trembling.

"Yes, I am," Harry replied. "I understand that you need protection, Mr. Coultron. Who from?"

"From Mr. Jones and his men," Montgomery hissed. "Secret service."

Sweat had gathered on his brow and above his upper lip, and he wiped it with an already damp handkerchief. "Mr. Jones killed the two other doctors I was with that night, and now he's after me."

Because Montgomery had blabbered about the deaths even before he'd been sent into the interrogation room, it took Malcolm less than five minutes to confirm his story. "They were murdered," Montgomery insisted.

Both men had been killed under suspicious circumstances, the first one as a result of a home robbery that produced no suspects or leads, and the second man having been knifed outside a local bar just two nights earlier. There were no suspects there either.

It could have all been just a coincidence to Harry, but for the fact that all three men had been in the same room as Alexa the night she had been flown back from Russia. The three men had held her for three days under the orders of Jools Siviter.

What a coincidence it was then that with Lucas' very recent arrival, as well as Mikhael's appearance back in London that two out of the three men were now dead. And the body count hadn't stopped there.

For with Arkady dead from Harry's own hand, and Nathaniel shot dead by CO19 just two nights earlier, Harry couldn't help but see the pattern appearing as clear as day. It seemed that the final pieces of the puzzle had finally been revealed.

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