“Hey asshole!”
He stopped trying to kill Belle and turned towards the sound of my voice. I advanced, firing carefully for effect. I didn't want to hit her and I wasn't sure of this particular gun, though I'd had plenty of experience with others. He was an easy target. Always shoot for center mass. My first two shots caught him directly in the chest. I noted with satisfaction my aim was good. If this thing had a heart, I'd just put two bullets in it.
Fusto screamed and dropped Belle, which was what I wanted. Then came barreling at me. Which I definitely did not want. This time I didn't try to run but sighted down the barrel even more carefully. I would live or die based upon the next few moments. The gun kicked in my hands twice before he hit me, perfect head shots. I heard the bullets whine into the ceiling as they ricocheted off the thick bone of his head. Shit! The two previous shots had probably done the same. His skin was like armor.
When the room stopped spinning I was staring up at his huge head. He was waiting for me to come to my senses. The gun was gone. I must have dropped it in the collision. My ribs felt like he’d caved them all in. Every breath hurt.
“I hurt,” he informed me. “Now you hurt.”
He pushed a long taloned finger into my chest. I felt a lung collapse while broken ribs were pushed to the side. I couldn't help it. I screamed. He probed around some more and was rewarded with more screams. He grunted in satisfaction.
“Now die,” he said it like it meant nothing to him.
His jaws opened to finish me and I heard a loud 'thwack’ and watched with surprise as his jaws snapped closed and his head spun to the left. Another blow landed from above and there must have been plenty of power behind it because it ripped his head to the right. I saw those tiny eyes close while he slumped on top of me. Four hundred pounds of dead weight is nothing to laugh at. I still couldn't move despite the fact he was unconscious and no longer holding me. Then I felt the burden lift as someone rolled him off, so he faced up, towards my benefactor.
I gaped. My benefactor had jet black hair that flew out in all directions and was basically a tangled mess. His eyes were pure black and completely focused upon Fusto. I shivered. Nothing human lived in those eyes. There was no mercy, no compassion only focus and intent.
He was dressed to kill. Shiny beaded armor covered his shoulders and the top of his chest. His midriff was bare and showed off a well-toned athletic build. A metal skull was clipped to his belt. The armor continued to his boots which had blades at the front and back. A bright green swirl of colour in the center of his chest pulsed dimly with power. Something inside me recognized him. Another Hunter. Danger.
“Wake creature!”
He gave Fusto a hard kick that actually shifted his entire body. His voice boomed in the large office. It was angry and full of hate.
“Tell me where your master‘s fled and I‘ll grant you an easy death.”
Not a line I‘d have used. I struggled to my feet, leaning heavily against the wall. I was bleeding badly from the puncture in my chest so I tore away a portion of my shirt and pushed it into the wound. I noticed he was carrying a metal staff with wicked looking blades at both ends. He pushed one of the blades against Fusto's throat for extra motivation. I approved while I wondered why I wasn't wearing armor or carrying a similar weapon. From my perspective this hunt had been a total disaster.
“You're a Hunter. Like Katal-Tik,” I said shakily. My world kept tilting right then left. “Like me.”
His head turned and considered me for a brief second. I felt a light touch in my mind as if he were searching for something.
“Not like you. You're weak. Just another human.”
He returned his attention to Fusto.
“I grow impatient monster. Speak. I can tell you’re conscious. Continue this deception and I will begin cutting off pieces.”
This was said with such utter conviction I knew he was about to do it. Fusto must have known it as well for his tiny eyes popped opened and stared furiously up at him.
“Such a great warrior who attacks from behind,” he snarled in that weird child's voice. “Let me up and we shall have a true test of your strength.”
For a second I thought he was going to do as Fusto suggested.
“I am Brenal-Tik. A true Hunter. I need to prove nothing to a Tik! However, I would test your proposition if I weren’t in a hurry. Now, for the last time. Where is Kailex?” He hissed the name.
“Why, right behind you of course.”
Kailex fired a small device sending a burst of ragged blue light into Brenal-Tik who staggered but didn’t fall. The green emblem on the front of his suit blazed with sudden power. I had the impression it‘d absorbed much of the force from the ray. The damage was done however. Fusto used this moment of confusion to deliver a punch that sent Brenal-Tik careening into the far wall. The punch and the ray combined to drop him to his knees where he remained shaking his head and looking pretty disoriented. His staff skittered to the floor at my feet. I picked it up and positioned myself between him and Fusto. He’d saved my bacon, the least I could do was return the favor though I had no illusions about my chances. I waved the blade as menacingly as I could at Fusto. I was seeing two of him at the moment and barely able to hold the weapon, let alone make a killing blow with it. Both Fustos seemed unimpressed and stepped towards me.
“Stop!”
Kailex's voice was commanding and impatient.
“The police are here. On the stairs actually. We have two Hunters and this one's tracker,” he waved at Brenal-Tik, “must be close by. We have no time to play” He looked disparagingly at me. “We‘re too close to be stopped now. We’ll kill them later. Come.”
With that he disappeared into the hidden door. Fusto stared at me for a long second, sniffed, then vanished through the same doorway. I slumped weakly to my knees, struggling to stay conscious. I'd been given a reprieve from Frankenstein's monster until another day. At the moment that was just fine with me.
Abruptly the fancy two bladed staff was yanked from my grasp and I was pushed aside hard. Brenal-Tik moved quickly to the place where Fusto had exited. He examined the hidden recess then snorted angrily. “Locked. I will need SHIP's help to break it.”
“Can you help us?”
I was sitting with my back to the wall, thinking I liked the idea of working with a ninja assassin. He seemed a match for Fusto. That would even things up considerably. I decided to call him Bren. Then he looked over at me, his eyes puzzled.
“Why would I do that?”
He touched a node on his shoulder harness and the air in front of him shimmered. He stepped into the shimmer and disappeared. At the same time my world dimmed and I thought, “Good, I can get some rest.”
Chapter Four
“I'm here. I'll keep you informed.”
She put the phone away and looked out at the media mess in front of her. Flashing lights everywhere, ambulances, cameras. She sighed, always cameras. She'd avoid them as much as possible. She was a creature of the shadows, not the light. This was not what she'd signed up for but every job had it downside. She readied her credentials and marched forward.
The sergeant pushed through the scrum to his captain who was patiently telling reporters there was nothing for them yet. They should stay back so his men could do their jobs. The reporters weren't buying it. They'd heard this line too often and were pushing hard. They knew if they pushed enough, some crumb would drop that they could turn into a headline.
The captain noticed his frantically waving sergeant with relief. He motioned and two burly officers assumed his spot in front of the media. They‘d say nothing to the reporters. Their job was to ensure no one got in and corrupted the crime scene.
Captain Ross shook his head in wonder. Thirty three years protecting this city and he’d never seen anything like this. Twenty dead, five seriously injured. A war had been fought here. Over a thousand rounds fired and he hadn't a fucking clue why. He wanted to know why. He’d been told to expect someon
e. He’d also been told to wait and keep his men back. That pissed him off more than anything. The first few hours at any crime scene were the most vital and they’d been squandered. He’d been forced to sit on his ass. Why? There were lots of other questions but that one currently sat at the top of his list. He pointed to the main lobby inside the building. His sergeant nodded. They‘d meet there, away from prying eyes and ears. The Captain had built up a head of steam and was hoping to take the piss out of someone before the night was over. In this business you could drink or yell, your choice. You needed one or the other if you were going to cope.
She materialized from the shadows in front of him. A woman, he realized with a start. This was the person he’d waited for? He clamped down on the thought. It was bad politics to discriminate between the sexes. Not to mention, plain bad form. He’d known a number of capable women and just as many men who were idiots. Anyways, this wasn't just any woman, he saw that immediately. She moved differently, seemed to glide towards him. Her feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. Fucking creepy! She was big too. He was six feet but she was taller, with broad shoulders, like she lifted weights. Lots of them. Not that she wasn't pretty because she was. Very. But you had to look for it. Like she didn’t want that to get in the way and so she hid it. Red hair framed a tanned face. Brilliant blue eyes returned his appraising stare. She smiled at him with her lips but it was her eyes that told him everything he needed to know. Cop eyes. She’d seen things, the kind of things that changed you. That's what happened to cops. They saw too much. That made them good at their job but not necessarily the friendliest people. Somewhere along the line you lost your trust, probably because the people you expected to do the right thing seldom did.
“Captain.”
Her voice was clipped, hard like her eyes. It wasn't a question either, so she knew rank when she saw it.
“Thanks for holding back the mob.” She gave a brief shrug toward the reporters. “And for making a hole for me.” This was a reference to the side route they'd taken to get her to him, away from the reporters.
“Ross, just Ross,” he said acknowledging her thanks with the slightest of nods.
“Walker.”
Then they stared at each other, each wondering if more pleasantries were required before the real business could begin.
“Your credentials?”
She nodded and showed him her badge and card ID. Special Agent Sarah Walker. At least that's what the card said. He’d seen a few of these and put little faith in them. She was a federal agent which was confusing. Why would the Feds be interested in this? He decided to try for a little information.
“Fed eh? Strange you’d be interested in something like this. You caught on to it pretty quick. Anything you can share?”
She gave him a cold smile.
“We're interested in a lot of things I can't discuss with you. Has anyone entered the building since you got our call?”
He grimaced and took a deep breath. He wasn't used to being ignored or questioned and she’d just done both.
“No one‘s entered or left since we got here. As per the call I got, I pulled my men out and put up the cordon. Your boss has a lot of pull.”
The last was said with a trace of disgust. He didn't appreciate political interference; no cop did.
“Yes. He does.”
There was no pride in her words. It was just fact. An acknowledgment she agreed with him. She experienced a moment of sympathy for a fellow officer. She’d have preferred to be open but that couldn’t happen here.
“This case has political implications.” She decided to give him something. “There’s also national security implications. This is big.”
“Politics! National security?” The Captain snorted derisively.
“Some federal officials up for re-election want to show reporters they’re fixing the situation. So they send you. A week from now when everyone's forgotten about these killings, you‘ll vanish leaving us with the mess. Only by then the trail will be cold and our job ten times harder! Such bullshit!”
To his surprise she nodded.
“That’s happened before. But that's not the reason I'm here. And that won’t happen this time.”
He looked at her, eyebrows raised, “Ok, I'll bite. Why are you here?”
She smiled, the same smile as before, “Because I'm the only way you’ll solve this.” Then dismissed him with her eyes.
He saw it and frowned. He’d done the same a hundred times to subordinates. He gathered his anger, but she held up her hand and shook her head.
“I've been where you are. Time‘s been wasted. I'm going to examine the site now. My forensic team will show momentarily. Send them in behind me.”
She expertly snapped on a pair of latex gloves. He knew how much practice that took. This wasn’t her first crime scene. He swallowed his anger thinking this wasn't over but right now someone had to examine the crime scene. In the meantime he’d wait for his answers. Scratching his head he wondered if he were fooling himself. He decided he didn't like spooks. Not even pretty ones with cop eyes.
Walker approached the building, her feet crunching on the broken glass. One of the windows in front had been blown out. Glass was everywhere, some of it quite a ways from the front of the building.
She strode into the main lobby and stopped. When people died in a place the smell was the first thing you noticed. It was a sickening sweet stink that hung in the air and didn't go away easily. It wasn't bad yet but it‘d get worse. She followed her nose to the bodies. Three by the stairwell door. Bullet holes climbed the walls around the door, tracing their way across the room to the elevator. She examined them. None had been killed by gunfire. Judging by the damage their assailant had incredible strength. One man's head had been completely caved in, cracked open, the brains spilling out. She checked their uniforms. Building security. Big men. In good shape. Even dead they looked hard. Professional. Not the usual brand of mall security. Then she noticed their armament. There was too much of it for an office building. An eyebrow lifted. A CZ805 BREN assault rifle lay on the floor in front of her. Also a couple of pistols. She picked one up. A CZ 75 manufactured in Czechoslovakia. She’d been right. Not mall security at all. Czech mercenaries. Whoever ran this shop hired top tier help. The question was why?
Her briefing said this was an ordinary office building. Sure it was. Ordinary on the outside but maybe extraordinary inside. It had to contain something of value if it needed this level of protection. And they’d been right. Even hiring the best it hadn’t been enough.
She looked up from her notes. It was time to visit the men sitting calmly by the main desk, a patrolman at their side. There were three and they all wore the same uniform as the dead men. She wondered what their story would be. Full of lies of course. But an interesting lie was sometimes better than a boring truth. She hoped they were good liars. Good liars wrapped their lies inside a kernel of truth.
She asked the officer to give her time with the men and turned her attention on the largest of the three. With males, particularly aggressive males, she'd learned it was best to start with the one in charge. Even from a distance she knew it was the big red head. She‘d watched the others interact with him. He did all the talking and they nodded when he spoke. He was the big dog alright. They'd expect him to take the lead and she didn't want to disappoint.
“What's your name?”
“John,” he answered immediately, a smile on his face.
His buddies laughed appreciatively. He sat up straight, trying to look relaxed. But he wasn't. She could hear his heart beating. Elevated. He was stressed. She thought of all the bullets holes and decided that was part of it. Not all though. He was a merc, so he’d been in fire fights before. Something had scared him this time. Something new to him. Something he’d never seen before.
“As in John Doe?” she returned just as quickly. Her voice was low, quiet. “Why not Smith? That's another good anonymous name.”
“Next time maybe.” He
nodded, grinning. He had a strong accent confirming his European origins. When he looked at his friends for encouragement her hand snapped out and caught his, pulling it easily towards her. He tried to pull free and frowned. He was much bigger but she held his arm unmoving.
“You seem a little freaked out. Why is that John?” she asked as he struggled in her grip. Moments later his face whitened visibly and took on a pained expression. She squeezed harder. Began twisting the arm, forcing his body toward the floor. Sweat dotted his brow. His friends started to get up so she gave them 'the look’. They paled and sat back down.
“Lady, what's wrong with your eyes?” One of them muttered.
She ignored him, applied more pressure until the red head yelped. His face was only inches from the floor.
“Lying to police is a bad idea. You should know that.” Her voice was expressionless. “In your country people caught lying disappear. That can happen here as well. If you lie to the wrong person.”
She nodded in the direction of the dead men behind her. “Three dead. But not from bullets. Beaten to death.” She glanced at Red’s arm, casually ripped the sleeve back to expose the tattoo on it. The number 301 inside skull and crossbones. Not all that original, but distinctive. She tapped the tattoo with her free hand, bent closer so he could see her eyes.
“Nice tat. The 301 were sent in to deal with the Grozny rebellion. Crushed it in three days. Were you part of that?”
He nodded weakly. His face grey from the pain. The skin on his arm was swelling around her fingers. She clamped down and he yelped again. His buddies started to get up again.
“Don't,” she snapped, showing teeth. They sat down.
She released him, peeling away each finger slowly. Five perfectly shaped purple fingers decorated his arm. Grimacing he began rapidly massaging it to get the blood flowing again.
The God Hunters Page 6
