Sign of the Maker Brian Shea THE SIGN OF THE MAKER Copyright © 2020 by Brian Shea. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Severn River Publishing www.SevernRiverPublishing.com This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. ISBN: 978-1-64875-073-1 (Paperback) ISBN: 978-1-64875-074-8 (Hardback) ISBN: 979-8-71998-664-7 (Hardback) Contents Also By Brian Shea Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Join the Reader List You Might Also Enjoy… Thanks for Reading Next in Series COLD HARD TRUTH: Chapter 1 Read Cold Hard Truth About the Author Also By Brian Shea The Nick Lawrence Series Kill List Pursuit of Justice Burning Truth Targeted Violence Murder 8 The Boston Crime Thriller Series Murder Board Bleeding Blue The Penitent One Sign of the Maker Cold Hard Truth Never miss a new release! Sign up to receive exclusive updates from author Brian Shea. BrianChristopherShea.com/Boston Sign up and receive a free copy of Unkillable: A Nick Lawrence Short Story I dedicate this book to the victims of the Boston Marathon Bombing. To every police, fire, and medical personnel who rushed to the aid of the wounded, thank you for answering the call. To those who relentlessly hunted the terrorists responsible, your bravery in the face of true evil exemplifies the resolve needed to fight back against it. To the citizens of Boston, you stood your ground and exemplified a rare strength in the wake of those savage acts. You are the light in the darkness! You are all my heroes! Boston Strong! 1 The morning walk through the park had been exhilarating for several reasons, most importantly because he was approaching an end to the weeks of tireless effort. It would soon be over. He had time. Seven minutes, to be precise. And if he was anything, he was precise. He'd calculated the moment of time he now took to sit on the bench and watch the birds. His back was to Beacon Street, where many of Boston's wealthiest lived, looking down on the green of the Common. The exhaust from a passing bus momentarily tainted the park's air until a gust of wind cleared it away. He settled, pressing against the hardwood as the birds shuffled around his feet. Most people hated pigeons, seeing them as rats with wings. But he did not. He saw the subtle variances of gray in their wings to be just as dynamic and unique as a brightly colored toucan. To him, the birds were fearless. He respected their defiance in the way they held their ground against humans who scurried about in the overpopulated city. They didn't cower and fly off like the more skittish and delicate birds. Sure, they'd shift and adjust themselves, maybe give a quick flight to move out of the way of a jogger or cyclist or speed walker. But they always returned. He felt a connection to the winged creatures, mostly for their ability to hide in plain sight. The man on the bench was invisible too. He, like the pigeon, moved in and out among these people without even receiving a passing glance. By design, the soft, muted colors of his uninspired clothing added to his ability to blend into the backdrop. He was neither good-looking nor ugly. An average person carried an intrinsic anonymity. On the outside he was nothing but a waif of a man. Shorter than most. Smaller than most. But his mind was anything but small. Early in his youth, he'd found that exposing the true nature of his genius caused others to look at him differently. His parents had been the first to notice, and it intimidated them. As he grew, he learned even his enlightened professors were no match for his intelligence. In time, he'd become completely isolated from the outside world, left only with his thoughts and the birds he so adored. He watched as a large pigeon shoved a smaller one out of the way and nibbled at a bit of coffee cake on the ground. In the animal world, size mattered. The bigger or more powerful you were, the more you could take. But intelligence was the ultimate equalizer. He wouldn't interfere and help the smaller bird. Nobody had helped him when he needed it. Survival of the fittest. He observed the smaller bird. Its wing fluttered briefly, tapping the bigger pigeon’s tail feathers. As the bigger bird spun to see the source of its meal interruption, the smaller bird swooped in, snagged the bit of broken coffee cake, and flew away. And, just like that, intelligence had trumped the larger bird's position. The man smiled at the insignificant victory. He spent the next several minutes in deep thought, contemplating what lay ahead for the next twenty-two minutes. His life had always been a series of calculations and equations. Now, he crunched the numbers one last time, running through the schematics in his mind. Everything had to be perfect. Precision was critical. Connecting all the dots in his head, he affirmed everything was as it should be. Satisfied, he got up from the bench as a group of pigeons parted the way. He strolled down through the park toward Tremont Street to his morning's destination. The coffee shop wasn't full, which meant a seat would be available. In the three weeks he'd been coming here, he was unable to find a seat on only two occasions. He was glad that wouldn't be the case today. It was busier than it had been in recent weeks as summer's grip yielded its hold to the coming winter. During these last few weeks of cool temps,
