Special Agent Justin Pierce- Personal Journal - Sunday November 29^th, 2008

16:00hrs - Lobby of the Los Angeles Hilton

Okay so I am writing this on LA Hilton notepaper as some limp dick from hotel security is giving me the disapproving eye - I guess the .45 is visible by my side.  I smile, adjust my jacket, and badge him. He isn't happy though - he goes back to his floor patrol like he's Dick Fuckin' Tracy.  I don't have time for this bullshit.

So what the heck am I doing here?  Ask Brooks - no not that Brooks, the other Brooks - the King of England, last remnant of an arrogant fucked up Empire and Delta Green's own resident sorcerer supreme - I think I'm gonna call him Dee Dee from now on just to piss him off - see mom - I did pay attention in history lessons sometimes.  To be fair, that gangly limey did come up with some good ideas, without which we'd all be scratching our asses and Devereux's tail would be in the wind.  Well, perhaps I am getting ahead of myself, so people, let's review how we got here.

Friday brought an ill wind in from the Southwest on Delta Airlines as Devlin came in to bring us his own special brand of TLC.  I had the option of playing dumb or going full on smartass and guess which route I chose.  I swear the man nearly popped a vein and maybe, maybe, Wilmot and I were close to being canned but the man specialises in empty threats and I think I got his number.  All he cares about is himself and controlling any situation so once Frost reverted to his ‘bitch' status and sated his appetite with some suitable ass covering, he was able to slip back into the swamp like the smiling ‘gator he really is.  Whilst most of what he had to say was marsh gas, one point does bear mentioning - that John Edwards, Louisiana's Assistant D.A. and husband of Gloria whose alleged murderer Edward Cook is, we now believe, wrongly waiting on Death Row has been making enquiries about our enquiries.  Devlin said ‘he was ready to spill' which is, for him, surprisingly helpful.

Later in the day we sat down with the LA Feds and Everude's DEA team.  They're still holding something back and even Special Agent Anders personal plea (yeah thanks dude) couldn't help shake their resolve. I think it's territorial pissing - for Christ's sake, how connected can Devlin really be? 

Anyway, they'd had contact from CC in her undercover role as biker moll Kathryn Deville with the heads up that shit was going down on Sunday with the Twilights planning a little get together for the afternoon.  The DEA were concerned we might lose her so a plan was hatched to get a tracker to her in the form of a stud earring.  Our plan went by the numbers with Sommers handling the hand off. 

Earlier in the day, CC nearly caused a meltdown making a call from a payphone to a Louisiana number which we're guessing is Hamblin's although as she only completed the first 5 digits before spotting that Twilight member Mike Flynn had tailed her, we can't be sure. Flynn blew his top and I guess ‘Kathryn' blew him so that harmony could be restored - gee, that's an image I could sure do without.

Friday and Saturday night we returned to stakeout with the team observing trouble at the Bar and Grill from some local Hispanic gang - maybe affiliates of Las Muertos.  A face off with the bikers went badly for the spics although there seemed to be less Twilights on the ground than there had been.  These boys punch way above their weight so if in doubt, shoot ‘em is my motto. 

I didn't stay to see the Saturday showdown as I had asked A for help with Sunday's event coverage.  What I wanted was a method of being able to find CC if, as expected, she vanished off the map.  Brooks's solution via Nick the Fix was as unorthodox as it was inspired and it put me on a flight to Las Vegas in search of a friendly named David Swann.  Swann makes a living playing pro-poker which given he has a modicum of psychic talent sounds like cheating for a living to me. 

Anyway, Swann looked allergic to sunlight but he was one of the former ‘remote viewers' employed by the DOD for Project Stargate in the ‘90s.  If I was a sceptic before, I've seen the light now.  This guy delivered the goods. Basically, he was able to draw where CC was which gave us a delayed view of the situation.  A also connected us with an asset at the US Geological Survey in Washington D.C. and their supercomputers so that once we had a terrain image to try and identify, they could hopefully nail the location.

So to Sunday and the Twilights gathered for Sunday service.  Swann started sending drawings through every 10 minutes so we saw inside the gang's clubhouse which is apparently really a power conduit to some Outer God called Yog Sothoth known to Brooks and Frost as it turns out - our own future ‘bitch sorceror'?!  Yog has apparently helped ‘He who must not be named' but who we know as the King in Yellow before. 

Come 1300 and Caine led his Twilights in some sort of ceremony and then they all vanished through the gate that we guessed they had to be using to evade law enforcement surveillance.  Swann delivered an image of a ghost town reminiscent of the abandoned mining communities across the South West.  The Geo boys nailed the location to be somewhere in northern Death Valley National Park which straddles the California and Nevada state lines.

I had a heck of a time stopping the LA ASAC from pulling the operation once CC went off the wire but I am guessing A pulled some strings at Director level in the DOJ as he finally relented and let us make our play which brings us back to the Hilton lobby and the here and now.  Brooks is going to make a gate using Swann's detailed drawing which means we'll be able to follow the Twilights right into their backyard - surpriiise!  The situation from there gets a little more tricky but there ain't no procedure or process for this crap. 

Swann's last drawing had the bikers heading off armed for bear so it looks as if our theory that Chandler has ‘taken' Caine's men proves correct.  I don't think Caine understands what he's up against and that he may just have swelled the ranks of Simon's army.  Either way, neither of those boys are expecting us to get in the middle of it all.  It's going to be a baptism of fire for Wilmot and to a lesser degree Chief, who, I now know has seen some of the charms of a DG investigation before.  Whatever - we need every shooter.

That's Brooks's text - suite 312 is ready - time to saddle up for the Hell Ride....