Representative Kovalchuk, a brash New Yorker, interjected. “Agent Valentine, under what authority did you assume command of Division M?”
Val fixed the other man with a hard stare before breaking into a smile, but this grin was far colder than the one he’d given Claudia downstairs. “Seniority.”
Lucas shook his head and chuckled, but his counterpart wasn’t dissuaded.
“This is hardly a laughing matter, Agent.”
“I’m not laughing,” Valentine agreed. “You’re on oversight. You know my bona fides. What’s your concern?”
“There are protocols to follow, a chain of command, which you have usurped, sir. I’d like to know why, and for what purpose.”
“Our purpose?” Val let some of his annoyance at the dog and pony show creep into his voice. “Son, I was serving this country well before you were shitting in your Pampers. We’re the rough men standing ready in the night so you can sip cocktails and screw interns instead of serving as a quick snack to entities that find things like protocol amusing. That’s our purpose.”
DAG Perez reached out and put his hand on Kovalchuk’s arm. The other man’s face was beet red, but the appointee spoke before the Rep could launch into a tirade. “Historically speaking, a political appointee holds the position. Director Newquist was a holdover from the prior administration and enthusiastically endorsed by this one, but, no offense intended, you’re a political unknown, Agent Valentine.”
“Translation,” he replied. “You can’t control me. Not that you have anything on Newquist, either, but he’s a hell of a lot less blunt than I am.”
“That’s an understatement,” Senator Hecke murmured under his breath. It surprised Valentine the old timer hadn’t retired to Utah, yet. He’d been on the committee—and one of its more reasonable voices—since the late ‘80s. Val winked at him, not caring who else saw.
“Your reputation as a loose cannon notwithstanding,” Perez said, “none of us can argue that you haven’t had the interests of the greater good in mind, even when going against official directives. That, among other reasons, is why you’re still here.”
Kovalchuk had composed himself, and he snapped, “Insubordination from a field agent is one thing—it’s untenable from a higher level.”
Val shrugged. “Who do you work for, sir?”
Confused, the other man hesitated, then said, “The people of the 9th District of New York.”
“And even with your position on this committee, I don’t answer to you.” He turned to Perez. “I don’t answer to you, or your boss, or even the President. You want me gone? I’m gone. But that doesn’t change my duty.” He laughed. “Try to stop me from doing what needs to be done and you’ll find out how far out of your jurisdiction I am.” That was a bit of bluster. He hadn’t gotten any calls for a while, but setting captives free was kind of how they rolled.
Senator Prince of Maine was the newest member of the committee and had remained silent up to this point. He leaned forward now. “What exactly are you trying to say, Agent Valentine?” His tone turned joking. “That you’re on a mission from God?”
He stared silently at the Senator for a long moment. The other members of the committee held their tongues. A few had the good grace to look embarrassed for their counterpart; Representative Lucas covered his mouth with one hand to hide a smile. “Rough men and quick snacks, Senator,” Val said. “If you ever have the need to know more than that, you’ll be told, but not by me.”
Prince’s mouth opened and closed several times before he managed, “Ah. I see.”
“I’m not here to make policy, gentlemen. I’ve handed off as much of the Director’s day-to-day work to his staff as I can. I’m focusing on what I consider our top priorities—the attack on the Virginia facility and the hunt for Helen Locke. Period. If you have a problem with that, say the word. Lack of resources will make the job more difficult, but I’ll still do it.”
“That’s acceptable,” Perez said before anyone else could speak. “We simply want to ensure that the, ah, positive flow of communication established by Director Newquist continues, so we’re not blind-sided by any developments.”
“We’ll keep you in the loop,” Valentine agreed.
“Fair enough. That should suffice for now, unless anyone else has questions?” There were none, and Perez gave Valentine a tight nod. “Thank you, Agent.”
He held back his sigh until he got out of the conference room and down the hall. From a logical standpoint, he understood the need for oversight. Over the years, he’d seen the sort of corruption that sprouted in its absence, but this was something else entirely. Unless he missed his guess, there was some sort of power struggle going on in the committee. He tried to pay as little attention to politics as was possible while living and working in the nation’s capital, but he still picked up plenty. Mystical Affairs wasn’t one of the big, publicly-important postings, but it was critical. Getting the post meant that the appointee was well-respected within their own party, and there was nothing politicians liked more than shiny badges to burnish their reputations.
Too much of that lost the entire point of the committee, of course, but someone apparently saw opportunity in the present crisis and wanted to throw their weight around. It would shock him if it wasn’t that smarmy prick Kovalchuk. Val had seen him on the news more than once, crying crocodile tears over the crisis du jour and calling for ‘something to be done.’
Perez, at least, seemed to get it. He would act as a buffer until the Director recovered. If he recovers. The elevator arrived with a ding, and Val winced at the thought as he stepped on and hit the button.
His mood soured even as he descended, and when his phone rang, he pulled it out with an annoyed snarl and snapped, “What?”
“Sir? Agent Valentine? This is Agent Anjewierden from the Phoenix office.”
He forced himself to relax. “Sorry, kid. Bad day. What can I do for you?”
“I just got a strange call from a counterpart in the regional FBI office. We stored the vehicles from the Sikora crime scene there after we processed them because, well, to be honest, we don’t have the room.”
“Understood,” Val said. Phoenix’s Division M branch had an entire floor of an office tower downtown, but that was the extent of their resources. Except for a few small arms, they even stored most of their firepower off-site at a secured hangar inside Luke Air Force Base. Leaning on other agencies was part and parcel of how they did business. For the most part, the other branches didn’t even complain. Long-running TV shows to the contrary, the FBI didn’t have the expertise and personnel to deal with chupacabra, culebron, or other cryptids and gladly delegated the responsibility.
“Sometime between last night and this afternoon, the motorcycle on the back of Paxton Locke’s RV went missing. They don’t have surveillance cameras on the vehicle impound, but one of the FBI agents went in to check out another vehicle and noticed the discrepancy.” The other agent’s tone turned apologetic. “There was a mix-up, or they’d have called us sooner. I imagine there was a lot of second-guessing going on.”
Val closed his eyes and thought. “The cameras on the rest of the area didn’t see anything coming in or going out?”
“Nothing. Guards on duty didn’t see anything, either.”
He laughed. “I’m starting to like this kid. Somehow, he gets from DC to Phoenix, figures out where we stashed his stuff and steals some wheels right out from under our noses.” Val thought furiously. “Get the word out. It’s impossible to say if he’s still in the area, but put some ears to the ground.”
“That might be a little tricky. On the same hand, I think I’ve figured out what Locke was doing in Phoenix, to begin with.”
“Lay it on me,” Val said. He exited the elevator and headed back toward his place in the conference room.
“The local cops aren’t giving us much, but it looks like there was some sort of cult operating in Phoenix. They kidnapped some kids, but someone busted in and took ca
re of business. The surviving cultists, as well as a big chunk of the higher-ups in the police department, have all gone a little nuts. We didn’t get an official request for assistance, which is strange in and of itself, but I did some checking, talked to a few of the former cultists. There are enough of them that they’re spread out over pretty much every hospital in the Valley. The stories all line up—they woke up from what felt like a waking nightmare, and a young man with white hair brought them up from underground.”
“Interesting. What about Locke’s friends?”
Anjewierden sighed. “They’re still not talking.”
“I may have burned that bridge,” Val admitted. “Let me think on how to fix that. Worst case, we cut them loose.”
“Sir?” the younger agent sounded surprised. “What are you saying, exactly?”
“I’ve come around on Locke,” Val said. “I think we screwed up. He was on our side, and we need to figure out how to get him back there.” He considered the stack of paper dedicated to Helen Locke. He thought about rituals and his comment about quick snacks. Breaking open a nexus would be more like an all-you-can-eat buffet. “Something tells me we’re going to need his help.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Paxton—Tuesday night
Interstate 8, east of Yuma, Arizona
Out on the highway, I got the chance to zone out and just ride. Despite the lack of traffic, I forced myself to keep the Kawasaki a few miles an hour over the limit. Even with swapped plates, I wanted to limit the possibility of run-ins with the law. On the bright side, my helmet’s visor eased any paranoia I held about facial recognition and traffic cameras. Cruising, I stuck to the right lane and passed only when necessary.
The most surreal part about the road trip, other than the fact that Roxanne sat on the raised passenger bump without any tangible sense of her holding on, was the fact that the rush of wind did nothing to silence her ‘speaking.’ That made perfect sense, of course, since I wasn’t actually hearing her with my ears, but the first time she said something I still jumped in surprise.
Eventually, that oddness faded, and I grew accustomed to the sensation of the highway under me. It had been a long time since I’d ridden the bike anything but short distances on surface streets, but I was glad to have some mode of transportation that hadn’t required the abuse of my powers. It was a bit over six hours to San Diego. If I could power through, I wouldn’t have to worry about finding a place to sleep, either.
Roxanne left me alone with my thoughts for the most part. As I came up behind a lumbering semi and signaled to go around, she broke her silence and asked, What’s that? Do you feel that?
I couldn’t turn to look at her expression, but the strained tone of her ethereal voice almost sounded frightened. That made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. There were things that could scare even ghosts, and they weren’t much fun to deal with.
“I don’t feel anything,” I said. If the sound of the wind bothered her ability to understand me, she hadn’t said so. That was a nice stroke of luck—I imagine my throat would end up raw sooner rather than later if I had to scream my responses back to her. “What are you talking about?”
The truck. It’s not right.
I pulled back into the right lane and glanced in the mirror. The headlights made it difficult to make out specific details, but nothing struck me as particularly off about the semi’s silhouette. “Not seeing it,” I said.
I’m not imagining things. I know I’m not an expert at this whole being dead thing, but something about it gives me the creeps.
“Fair enough,” I said. I accelerated to shy of eighty, quickly outdistancing the truck. Crossroads were few and far between in the desert, but after a few miles, we came across an overpass where a county road spanned the interstate. There hadn’t been any exits in the interim, so unless the driver wrecked or made a U-turn, he was still heading our way.
Slowing, I came to a stop underneath the span and propped the bike on its kickstand. Keeping one ear to the east, I dug through one of my panniers as though looking for something. “Get another look,” I said.
Lights appeared on the horizon, and I bowed my head while keeping my eyes on the road. The driver must have seen me and the bike on the side of the road. He drifted over to the left, straddling the center line before he reached the overpass.
At highway speeds, I couldn’t make out more than a man-shaped silhouette back-lit by the dashboard lights before he zoomed by in a rush of air. Other than indiscernible lettering on the doors that I didn’t have time to study, there were no stand-out markings on the cab or the trailer. An owner-operator, I supposed, and not one of the bigger freight companies. With a shrug, I said, “Are you sure? I didn’t feel anything.”
I don’t know what it is, but something in there isn’t right.
Staring after the taillights, I tried to think of a way to check things out without alerting the driver. Holding the invisibility spell while on the bike wouldn’t be too difficult, but that still didn’t solve the problem of what to do once we caught up. I gave Roxanne a thoughtful look. “If I get you close to the trailer can you, I don’t know, jump across, or something?”
What if I fall?
I tried not to laugh. “Seriously? Work with me here.” I pointed to the road running above us. “Try jumping up there.”
She looked dubious, but she crouched as though gathering herself, and in a silent blur, Roxanne disappeared. Out of sight, and I assumed, up on the deck, her voice sounded perfectly clear.
Okay, so I don’t need to worry about falling.
“Interesting,” I muttered. Depending on how far that stretched, that could be useful. In a way, it made her the perfect scout.
There was a blur from above, and she stood on the ground next to me. What now?
Straddling the bike, I put my helmet back on and said, “When I catch up, jump into the trailer and check it out. Once you’ve gone through there, check out the cab of the truck. If you see something, great. If not, we can chalk it down to ghostly indigestion.”
If she had a snarky comeback, she didn’t offer it up. I gunned the engine and got the Kawasaki back up to eighty, then doubled down and went for eighty-five. If there were any state troopers out shooting radar, I could always kill the engine and go invisible.
The next few minutes were nerve-racking, and I realized that the tight feeling in the pit of my stomach wasn’t entirely due to unease at the road whizzing by beneath me. I might have denied it at first, but some instinct had come around to Roxanne’s perspective. There was something wrong ahead.
And one way or another, I was going to take care of it.
Twin red lights, like the narrowed eyes of some deadly creature, appeared ahead, miles off yet. I considered the bike’s headlight. The overcast sky lent no clearance for the moon, and I was reluctant to turn it off. Steeling myself, I went invisible, half-expecting the light to project out of the area of effect with no obvious source. Instead, the light itself stopped at the outer edge and the desert around us brightened ever-so-slightly.
Pondering the physics of that was liable to give me a headache, if not worse, so I went with it. The spell seemed to have some sort of built-in night vision function, and I’d never realized it. When it’s pitch black outside, you don’t have much call for invisibility.
Weird.
I laughed. “Right?”
As we edged closer, I pulled into the left lane and reduced speed. Slowly overtaking him, I didn’t want to run the risk of splashing myself all over the back of the trailer if he happened to slam on the brakes.
Even with the back end of the trailer, I said, “Go!”
I half-expected some sort of inertia as Roxanne pushed off and blurred onto the back of the trailer, but reality was doing everything it could to stymie Newton.
Slowing, I let the truck move away, my eyes on Roxanne, clinging to the back doors of the trailer. She gave me a nod, then pressed herself against the doors to pass through.<
br />
And remained there, hanging off the trailer. Cold blue light flared where she’d touched the metal, spreading in a growing outline of her form. The traces followed dense markings that bent back and around on each other. The longer I looked at them, the more they threatened to blur before my eyes.
Runes, or sigils—I’d seen something not so different inscribed in the outer walls of the cavern complex where a long-dead tribe of wizards had imprisoned the Aztec demon Tlaloc.
Question is, I wondered, is this intended to keep something out, or something in?
Out, I reasoned. The markings in the cavern under Upward Path’s gymnasium pointed inside. While I couldn’t understand the language of these symbols, somehow I intuitively knew these were meant to keep prying eyes away.
Either way, the spell on the trailer meant Roxanne was right. While that didn’t change my need to take a look inside before taking more drastic steps, the fact that she couldn’t scout it out mean that we had to try something different.
I pulled into the left lane and did my best to match the truck’s speed. Staring at the spinning wheels, I tried to commit the image of the rear driver’s side tire to memory. Easing off the gas, I drifted back behind the semi. Close enough that I hoped I was in the driver’s blind spot, I dropped the visibility spell and envisioned a narrow blade of force jabbing into the sidewall.
At first, I wasn’t sure it would work. A few weeks ago, it had taken every bit of my strength to pinch off a copper tube inside a water heater across the room, but in this case, the truck’s own inertia helped. All I had to was envision the blade in a static position, and with a sharp crack of escaping air, the tread peeled off in a single continuous strip.
Braking, I switched back to invisibility and steered for the edge of the road. I’d seen the damage a flying ‘gator’ could wreak, and I had no desire to take one to the face. The tread flew past, flopping to the road along the centerline. A groaning noise sounded from ahead, and the trailer’s brake lights brightened as the driver fought to bring his rig under control with a bare rim riding the pavement.
Come, Seeling Night Page 15
