by L C Champlin
“Mr. Serebus,” he ventured before the other man could do more than hum in acknowledgment, “you are aware there is a DHS officer outside our door.”
“He’s from the government and he’s here to help us.” Mr. Serebus’s expression retained its yogi serenity.
“There was no DHS officer outside when I left.”
“I ran into Officer Rodriguez and she kindly offered to post a watch.”
Rodriguez? “His weapons will come in useful if anything untoward transpires.” By Heaven, if the terrorists attacked the Armory as they had Taraval Station, Albin would take his chances sheltering in a culvert.
“Albin,” Mr. Serebus murmured, “life will never be the same.”
Albin sighed as he settled onto the edge of his cot, elbows on knees, fingers steepled before his lips.
“The best time to buy is when blood is in the streets.” Mr. Serebus grinned at the ceiling, obviously envisioning the glories that awaited.
Blood in the streets might also mark the best time to evacuate the city. “Ordo Ab Chao, sir.”
“Then, E Pluribus Unum. The Masons were no fools.” Their mottos proved as much.
++++++++++++
Nathan turned his head to eye Albin. “Speaking of Unum, you’re aware I didn’t mean anything I said before you shot me.”
The adviser removed his glasses to meet Nathan’s gaze unobstructed. “Nor did I.”
“Thank you.”
Albin toyed with his glasses but maintained eye contact, his pupils dilating to the point of almost overwhelming the icy blue. “Tell me, sir, what was more rewarding? Killing your enemies, or saving the hostages?”
Nathan went still. “Both actions are two phases of the same goal: keeping the wolves from taking more life.”
“Are the wolves what you were talking about . . . in the car after the encounter at Hotel Fusion?”
This again? The ceiling received Nathan’s glare. “We already discussed this—”
“Are you able to answer my question during that discussion now?”
“Why I saved Kate?” Able, yes. Willing, no.
“Was it guilt, perhaps? Yet in the past, you stated you do not feel guilt.”
“Guilt?” Snow, darkness, and golden eyes clouded the edges of Nathan’s vision, poured through his mind to blot out all other thought. Sacrifice. Anyone? Anyone. Guilt for the decision? “I—”
Albin held up a hand to forestall argument. “Instead of feeling guilt or regret, you immediately implement steps to avoid a reoccurrence of the situation. Do you feel secure in your actions?”
Nathan gazed up. Ceiling tiles disappeared behind flashes of the past. His jaw clenched as he pressed his hand against the incision in his side. The pain grounded him, returned him to the present. “Do you think I risked our lives for Kate because I subconsciously felt guilty for . . .”
“Why, sir?”
A chill passed over Nathan like the Arctic wind.
Chapter 104
Ice
Lost In the Echo – Linkin Park
Mr. Serebus fidgeted as if trying to burrow into the cot. Then he turned his head to fix Albin with a gaze that harkened from the depths of the Abyss. “I promised you years ago that I would be honest with family. You are family. Above that, you . . . are my closest friend other than Janine.” He paused. The words had caught him by surprise?
Closest friend. Hearing the previously unspoken understanding made Albin want to look away in respect for the forthrightness. Instead, he inclined his head in acknowledgement.
“I haven’t been as honest as I should’ve with you or with Janine. I can’t do anything about her right now, but . . .” He sighed, splinting his chest. “I helped Kate out of defiance.” His tone crackled with the force of the revelation to come. “They . . . It might have been the stress of the moment, but it was as if the wolves dangled her in front of me, taunting me for my weakness, for my inability to face them.” His gaze slid to meet Albin’s. “Katerina? Danish? They couldn’t have been more direct if they’d sent me a subpoena.”
“A subpoena for what, precisely?”
“For defying them for so many years.” Mr. Serebus squeezed his eyes shut, his face drawn.
“You mentioned the wolves when you . . . were with the bodyguard.” At last, an explanation.
“When I was sixteen, my friends and I did something utterly stupid. We snuck out at night hours to one of the islands closer to the mainland. We wanted to see the wolves. We didn’t tell anybody where we were going. Some idiots from Anchorage had called us cowards for never seeing the animals up close. One of my friends, Aguta, said he knew where to find a pack. He failed to mention the pack was drawn to that location because poachers discarded the remains of their kills there. The pack was bigger than we anticipated. It was hungrier, too.”
He swallowed, eyes glazing for a second before snapping back into focus. “They surrounded us. My friends ran one way, I ran another. In the confusion, I dropped the rifle we’d brought. We were at an abandoned broadcasting station, and I climbed the radio tower. But the wolves knew they could freeze me out. I . . . I prayed to God to save me.”
Albin remained impassive. “But your emergency was not God’s.”
“Then I prayed to the darkness. It was hypothermia setting in, I know, but I thought I saw an . . . amarok. I spoke to it and promised it . . . a sacrifice of life if it spared me. It agreed, I thought. A caribou came out of the darkness and the pack left me to kill it.”
Ragnar and the Wolves. It made sense now.
“I can’t remember much after that. There were people yelling, then a ride in a vehicle. I woke up at home. At first I was afraid my dad would mete out justice for my stupidity, but . . .” Paling, he closed his eyes.
“Your mother,” Albin murmured.
“My father was out on the boat, so she drove out to look for me. She never found me; she died in a wreck. She died after I made . . . after I thought I made the bargain. Part of me has always felt the amarok took her as the sacrifice. That’s why what I did for Kate was defiance: I refused to sacrifice anyone else.”
“Instead of guilt, you feel a duty to fight the darkness.”
“Guilt killed me, Albin.”
People used the term killed often, but the word now meant more. “You seem to have recovered admirably.”
Mr. Serebus smiled, turned back to the ceiling. “Maybe. After my mom’s funeral, I was told by a family friend that my father blamed me for her death. I’d beaten him to it, though. The guilt was overwhelming, like a monster smothering me. That night I wanted nothing more than to die and join her. I sat with the hunting rifle for a long time, but I couldn’t pull the trigger.”
The dark man paused, then forged ahead. “I did the next best thing: I broke into the liquor cabinet and drank everything. They tell me I aspirated my vomit and went into respiratory arrest. My father found me and dragged my carcass to the hospital. Cardiac arrest followed, but they managed to resuscitate me. They airlifted me to the mainland due to aspiration pneumonia.”
He took a deep, slow breath. “The next thing I remember after passing out with a vodka bottle is waking up on a ventilator and in restraints. I was alone.” His eyes unfocused as he went still.
The panic earlier—in the Tavaral interrogation room, in the van, on the stretcher—took on new significance. Restrained, unable to breathe—anyone would struggle, but with a history like Mr. Serebus’s it came as a surprise that he didn’t thrash even more.
“All I remember is feeling like I was suffocating. I panicked. I fought until I had extubated myself. Half the hospital descended on me. I had to spend another week there. After that, I left for college. I never went back to Unalaska.”
“Did you attempt suicide again?”
“I considered it that week, but I decided the wolves didn’t want my life as a sacrifice, at least not yet or not that way. They did want me to hurt, however. It was a way of dra
ining my life. They knew how much my mom meant to me. That’s why they took her instead of my father.” He snorted, adding, “I’d have thanked them if they took him.”
A pause, then, “They used my love against me. I saw then it was a weakness. I decided to spite the wolves by living a life with as little weakness as possible. I cut ties with my friends and relatives. More importantly, my exile might protect the people I cared about. The wolves picked off a few of my relatives, my classmates, and Aguta’s brother, but I felt nothing.”
“Picked off?”
Mr. Serebus shrugged. “At the time, I attributed every death in my circle of acquaintances to be the wolves’ work.”
“I see.”
“I buried myself in study and work. I couldn’t control the wolves, but I could control so many other aspects of life.” A harsh laugh escaped him. “No wonder Janine calls me a ‘control-freak on steroids.’”
He shifted. “As time went by, the idea of a mystic power faded. But I never felt comfortable developing close relationships. Then . . . I met you.” He met Albin’s stare. “If anyone could avoid the wolves, it was you. You seemed . . . above them.
“Then you introduced me to Janine,” he continued with a grin. “For the first time in a decade, I let myself . . .”
“Yes?”
“Have weakness.”
“Love.”
Mr. Serebus sighed. “It was a thrill on its own, but the idea that I was spiting the wolves made it even sweeter.” His right thumb idly rubbed the depression around his left ring finger. “Then David came along. If anything would bring the beasts out of the woods, it was him. He had a few close calls like every other kid, but nothing serious. I started to believe the wolves were powerless, just all in my head. In a show of triumph, I told Davie the story of Ragnar and the Wolves.”
“His favorite.”
A grunt in reply. “If I had known he would love it so much, I never would have told him.”
“Yet the . . . wolves have left your family unmolested.” Albin spread his hands in question.
“I thought so.” Mr. Serebus glowered at the ceiling. “Then Crevan’s seizure ruined everything.”
Albin fidgeted with his glasses, forcing his mind off the event.
Clearing his throat, Mr. Serebus pressed ahead. “When it happened and I saw how Janine and David reacted, I knew the wolves were back. By singling out Crevan, they would hurt me through Janine and David . . . and you.”
“Sir, his death would not affect me—”
“He was like an uncle to you growing up.”
Albin pushed a hand through his hair in frustration. As Mr. Serebus stated, relationships caused pain, acting as vulnerabilities in an otherwise flawless defense.
“I know how you feel about my file copying—”
“File snooping,” Albin corrected automatically. His stomach edged against his spine at the thought of the fallout if Mr. Serebus’s acts came to light.
Waving it off, the man continued, “I found research from the new Doorway servers that could slow or even reverse Crevan’s condition, and those like his.”
“Dr. Birk was to help you.” The researcher’s reference to neural regrowth echoed in Albin’s mind. “You could have simply waited for Doorway Pharmaceuticals to finish—”
A growl cut him off. “Too slow.”
“Ah, yes.” Albin gave a bitter smile. “And I suppose it would lack satisfaction.”
“The satisfaction of discovering how the cannibals function will be even greater.”
Silence settled for a moment, then Mr. Serebus sighed. “What did you say to me when I was so ably trying to help myself and you were holding me down?” He tapped his left side, over the bandage.
“Ah.” Albin paused. He had said them to Mr. Serebus twice today already.
“You had every right to say whatever you wanted.”
“I simply said, ‘Control yourself. That’s the key.’ I also added the repercussions of failing to do so.”
Mr. Serebus grunted. “Easier said . . .”
“Most things are.”
The Alaskan lifted his left hand, studying the bandages. “Pain can be a goad or a roadblock. I know now my mother’s death made me stronger.”
“It forced you to leave home and take your place in the world.”
With a sigh, Mr. Serebus returned to supporting his ribs. “At the time, I thought the wolves chose me because of my pride. Then I decided it was because they knew I would sacrifice almost anything to save my own skin.”
“‘Skin for skin. Yea, all that a man has will he give for his life,’” Albin quoted.
The veins on the other man’s hands stood out with the force of his clenched fists.
Albin found himself placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. The touch made Mr. Serebus glance toward him. Albin gave a pat of reassurance, then leaned back.
In reality, the wolves held no supernatural power. They had wanted meat, and the teenagers would have provided it. Yet for seventeen years Mr. Serebus allowed the belief to rule his life. Thus, the wolves held immense psychological power.
With a grunt, the other man sat up, swinging his legs over the cot edge so he faced Albin. “Before you met me at Hallidie Park, when we were separated, I faced the wolves and gave them the sacrifice they wanted.” The ice in Mr. Serebus’s tone sent tendrils of cold down Albin’s back. The dark man opened his hands, his gaze on his palms. “To look into the eyes of a wolf is to see your own soul, it’s said. Understanding yourself is a sacrifice.”
“When a sacrifice is acceptable, it is an investment.”
“You’re right, as always.” A spark of pride lit Mr. Serebus’s eyes.
Weary, Albin nodded. “I have had ample experience.”
Chapter 105
Fire
If I Ever Feel Better – Phoenix
“How so?” Nathan asked. One honest turn deserved another.
Albin stiffened. “I strive to keep people from offering themselves as sacrifices.”
“That explains your aversion to my helping Kate. Now that you know the reason for my choices, do I get a reason for your noble goal?” Curiosity, not derision, asked. “If you don’t feel comfortable, I won’t press the issue.” Some scars still ached.
“No, you are correct. You were open; it’s only proper I return the courtesy.” Albin’s shoulders rose as he took a breath, prepared himself. “I despise horror movies, as you are well aware.”
“Unfortunately.”
“My father was MI6, as you are also aware. Due to this, our family spent some years abroad. One such short-term residence placed us in Libya. One day, my parents went into town, leaving myself alone save for the servants and another boy. He was the son of a distant relative who owned a domicile nearby and occasionally assisted MI6. It was the dead of summer and no one was about. No one, that is, except local dissidents who knew my father’s position and sought to find leverage against him. They decided that destroying his residence and killing his people would make a fine start.” Albin paused, looking down at his Adidas.
“They failed, obviously,” Nathan blurted.
“Partly, yes.” Albin cleared his throat. “They ambushed the compound. Two servants were dead before I could reach the rifle my father kept for defense. When I did secure the weapon, the terrorists had taken the other boy’s caretaker hostage. They demanded we show ourselves and lay down our arms. I tried to stop the boy, but . . .” Albin’s jaw tensed.
“He went out to his guardian.” Nathan gritted his teeth as he pushed to stand, pivoted to lower himself onto the edge of Albin’s cot, beside his friend.
“He didn’t listen.” No emotion in his tone. “The terrorists seized him and demanded I surrender. They also offered the option of revealing my father’s location and plans for travel. Instead, I slipped through a window and crawled along the shrub line to the terrorists’ flank. My hope was to locate a vantage for a sniper shot.
However . . .”
Nathan’s gaze dropped to the same section of floor Albin pondered. “What did they do?”
Albin wore a tight smile of scorn. “The Middle East retains a blade culture. One cut or chop or stab for every ten seconds I delayed. In the end, he more resembled a mutilated pile of meat than a boy.”
Bile rose in Nathan’s throat. “Did you get your shot?”
“A troop of militia members arrived. They had learned of the raid by monitoring the radio transmissions. Even so, I took my shot. I missed the leader who had mutilated the other boy. The bullet killed a terrorist all the same.”
“Did the militia kill the leader?”
Albin gave a derisive grunt. “Anyone who is anyone there owes debts, or they desire someone to owe them.”
The magma of rage surged in Nathan. “Didn’t the government or your father hunt him down?”
Albin shook his head. “The life of one person wasn’t worth starting an international incident over.”
“Was the other boy . . . Did he survive?”
“Unfortunately.”
Nathan gulped.
Taking a breath, the adviser continued: “He survived just long enough to curse me when I visited him in the hospital. I felt guilty, but it was his fault for playing the hero. I warned him of his chances and his fate, but he refused to listen. No one was saved by his courage. Far from it.” Albin snorted.
“How old were you?”
“Eleven years of age.” Albin tapped his glasses against his knee, not looking up.
“Eleven. I believe you win the childhood traumatic event contest,” Nathan decided with a wry smile.
“Lovely.”
Nathan put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I challenge you to find any Conrad who would condemn you for acting as you did against those odds.”
