by John Conroe
"Well, he could certainly wipe out the politicians. As far as other powers I don’t know. But he showed me images of bombed out government buildings, so maybe he could attack in a different manner.”
“So you see my point? General Creek will have reported up his chain of command. The whole thing will have been made ultra secret and enormous resources are, most likely, being brought to bear. Oh dear, no pun intended!”
“Chris, your movements from here on out will be tracked by every asset the government has. You, and your god-bear are as dangerous as those backpack nuclear weapons that terrorists are so interested in. The humans will be racking their brains, trying to come up with counters to the threat you pose. How could they control you?” She turned her head to look squarely at Tanya.
My stomach dropped below my feet. Grabbing Tanya would be almost impossible, but what if they put everything behind it? To stop a threat to the entire country? Or control me and therefore, Okwari, as a weapon against whomever they chose.
“So Chris, you can see why we will need to disappear, why you can’t be with Tanya? You do, don’t you?”
“NO! I won’t allow it!” Tanya yelled, her eyes flickering between blue and total jet black.
But I did see the problem. They were right. I would be the subject of whole teams of agents, hell, they might re-task a satellite to watch my movements.
Tanya was on her feet and facing off against her mother, Senka and Tzao. Nika and Lydia were standing to one side, looking very unsure. It may have been the only time I have seen the spikey-haired little vampire speechless. The two males were wisely hanging back.
Before the situation devolved completely, I spoke the worst words of my life.
“They’re right, “I said, barely above a whisper.
Tanya spun to me.
“What?” her eyes incredulous.
“I think they are right. Not about me hurting you, but about me being front and center on the Homeland Security hotplate. If they find you….” I shook my head, unable to finish the sentence.
“So what? I’ll fight them! Bastards won’t know what hit them!”
That was another ugly mental image. She would kill them by the score.
“Tanya, this is the US government we’re talking about. Their resources are ridiculous. But what if they don’t grab you? What if they grab Lydia, Nika or your mother? They’ll come in the daytime. Most vamps won’t be functional.” I shook my head again. “Senka is right. You have to disappear!
Leave the country! Anything but stay near me!”
“Lydia? Tell them!” Tanya begged.
Lydia’s eyes were huge and very sad. “Tanya, I ... I can’t think of a way around this. We need to hide ... at least temporarily! With some time, we can figure something out! But now we need to leave.”
“You two have tonight, but then we’re gone. Chris, Arkady still has your phone?” Senka asked.
I nodded. I had understood when Arkady had requested that he hold on to my phone and keep driving the Mercedes limo, after dropping us off at this new (and soon to be old) residence. My cell number was undoubtedly being tracked and the GPS locator inside it would just show a constantly moving target. The Coven had enormous assets, buried inside of twisted trails of corporations, trusts and partnerships, spread across the globe. I had no doubt they could successfully disappear, but where would that leave me, I wondered as Tanya led me to her room.
Chapter 25
I got back to my place somewhere in the vicinity of three AM. Tanya and I had spent the night, our last for an unforeseeable time, making love and holding each other. There wasn’t a whole lot to say, although I told her I loved her about a thousand times.
One of the security vamps dropped me near my apartment and moments later, Arkady tossed me my cell phone from the driver’s window of his car. My place seemed unbearably empty and cold, even as I smelled her lilac and jasmine scent on my shirt. She had kept the shirt I had been wearing and I had swapped it for her sleep shirt (which was also one of mine). She had a thing for my clothes, ones that were saturated with my scent. I was beginning to understand that concept.
Sleep was almost impossible, but I finally drifted into an uneasy slumber only to hear a heavy pounding on my door.
I went from drowsy and on my stomach to wide awake and standing next to my bed in the blink of vampire’s eye. Ready to fight.
Then I heard a familiar voice – “Chris, get up!” Chet’s voice demanded.
I yanked the door open and he stormed in, heading right to my closet and grabbing my tac bag.
“What the hell Chet?” I asked.
He started throwing clothes, black combat pants and a long-sleeve black tee, in my direction.
“C’mon, we gotta fly! Your skills are needed!”
“What happened?” I asked.
Instead of answering, he flicked on the TV and found a morning news channel.
‘-the Mayor’s office has not responded to questions at this time but our on scene reporter, Jennifer Nadu, is live outside Intermediate School 341 in Brooklyn. Jennifer, what can you tell us?’
‘Good morning, Harry, we don’t know a great deal at this time, but what we do know is that police were called to four schools across the city this morning. Witnesses claim to have heard shots fired in three of the four, and one of those was stormed by NYPD Special Operations teams. At least one small explosion was heard. Here at IS 341, local and federal law enforcement have sealed the access streets and have the school on lockdown’-
“Terrorists?” I asked, already knowing the answer in my gut. This was exactly the type of scenario that had been war-gamed by Homeland Security and NYPD since Nine-eleven occurred.
“Yeah, what we know so far is that four groups of terrorists began simultaneous operations at about seven-o-five AM. In-school police officers almost immediately foiled two of the attempts, although at least three officers were killed. The third school was being assaulted when Special Ops got there and finished the job. The fourth team was entirely successful and has locked down IS 341. Based on what we know from the other three, they have booby trapped every entrance and egress with explosives. The feds and our guys are trying to get a plan in place, but the fear is that the terrorists are just gonna blow everything any way.”
“Chet, I can get in and disable the explosives!”
“No shit, Sherlock! That’s what I’m here for. Takata and Sommers are on the team securing 341 and they think you can get in through a roof mounted heating and cooling system.”
I moved, dressing in the space of several seconds, then grabbed Chet’s arm (gently) and raced out of the building.
He had a patrol car waiting out front, its lights dancing in multicolor strobes on every surface around us. The two officers in the front turned to look as we came flying out of the building. Scott Henderson and Jim Pella, my old Sixty-Eighth precinct squad mates. Old as in, about seven and a half months ago. Felt like a lifetime.
“Hey Chris, hop in. Special delivery service at your beck and call,” Henderson said, his tone light, but his eyes tight with tension.
The squad car wove through traffic, siren blaring, with the occasional angry honk from Henderson at some particularly uncooperative New York driver.
I had barely nodded to the two in the front, when Chet grabbed my attention and started to dump info in my direction.
“Okay, listen up. Intermediate 341 has approximately 895 students, grades six through eighth, fifty or so teachers and another thirty-five administrative and custodial staff. As near as we can figure, a group of between six and eight individuals with full automatic weapons took over the building during the morning announcements. Based on what we know from the other three attempts, plus what they have told negotiators, they’ve wired the building with explosives. Any entry attempt will blow up the entire school. Plus they have command detonation ability, according to the leader, who is broadcasting live on the web.”
“What kind of explosive?” I asked. I
needed to know in order to transmute it. Each explosive had a different formula and what I did was to change that formula enough to render it harmless. Not that I understood the chemistry of what I did, I just somehow felt my way through it. Chemistry was not my best subject in school.
“Military grade, C-4,” he answered.
“U.S. stuff?”
“Chris, it is likely that these guys are homegrown. U.S. citizens that have trained in camps in Iran or Afghanistan, then come home to wreak havoc,” he said, carefully, his eyes watching mine for reaction.
“Really? Well I guess I don’t really give a shit. Domestic, foreign, Muslim, Catholic, male or female; doesn’t matter. Take kids hostage in my city and you will learn about terror!” I said in a tight whisper, clamping down on the berserker inside. Something must have peeked out of my eyes because Chet went pale, at least as pale as his dark skin would allow. He busied himself with his laptop, pulling up floorplans of the school. IS 341 was an old multi-storied brick school, that occupied the corner of Grand Ave and Park Street. The rhomboid shaped building had a neighbor on the front left(Grand) and one on the rear (Park Street) side. Chet’s plans showed a large combination gymnasium and auditorium where the bulk of the hostages had been herded by the terrorists. The building behind, on Park, was four stories high, about the same height at the school, giving me a jumping point to reach the roof. Climbing the outside of the school was out, as I would be exposed to the FBI and NYPD personnel surrounding the school. My involvement was entirely unofficial and unsanctioned .
Chet informed that Sommers had the sniper spot on the four story neighboring building, where he would be expecting me. Nice to be able to concentrate on the assault without worrying about getting shot by my own sniper.
The section of roof over the gym had a mass of HVAC equipment mounted almost in its center. It was considered to be wired with explosives, but if I could transmute the plastic explosives around it, I could gain entry.
Chet next showed me footage from the in-school cameras, as well as some provided by the terrorists themselves, ostensibly to convince authorities of the futility of attempting a rescue. As near as anyone could tell, the leader was holed up with the school principal in the office at the front of the building, along with one or two other scumbags to help. The remaining goons were keeping the teachers and students under the gun, in and around the gym. If I could enter through the gym roof, defuse the bombs, kill the terrorists with the kids, I could then head to the office and clean up the leader and his lackeys.
Piece of cake. As long as old Mr. Murphy and his law stayed quiet, everything could work out.
* * *
I pulled on patrol gloves, a black balaclava and tinted eye goggles to hide my very unique peepers, continuing to study the plans as we went careening through the city streets. Chet handed me a Motorola radio tuned to a side channel that Sommers and Takata were monitoring. Two blocks from the school, Henderson slowed down and killed the siren, approaching from the street that ran behind and parallel to Grand Ave. I would approach by roof top to avoid the rest of my law enforcement coworkers. Just before I left the car, Chet leaned over and gave me one last piece of information.
“Chris, IS 341 is Roy Velasquez’s school. He’s one of the assistant principals. Just so as you know,” he said, his tone a little bleak.
No pressure there, just the husband of one of my only friends. Great!
Looking around, I found an alley between the buildings, worked my way to a slightly less open spot, and after a quick check for observers, climbed the building.
Vampires can just about run up a sheer wall, using the Cling technique to anchor their feet and hands. It takes some practice to get the anchor and release pattern down, but I had spent countless nights playing follower to Tanya’s leader around the Big Apple.
The building I was on was three back from the the school. Flashing lights and swarms of FBI raid jackets and blue NYPD uniforms filled the streets and alleys around the school. Moving to the edge of my building I looked down and around for anyone who might see me jump. Not spotting anyone, I jumped the forty feet to the next building, moving just about as fast as I could to avoid detection. This building was closer and much busier. I keyed the mike on my radio,
“Almond and Rice, this is Barbarian, are we clear? Over,”
Chet had nick names for all three of us. Takata was an ‘almond-eyed bastard’, Sommers was ‘whiter than rice’ and I was an ‘ignorant barbarian from the north’. Chet had assigned our call signs, and they were ones unlikely for outsiders to recognize.
“Barbarian, this is Almond, we’re clear and expecting your company. Over.” Takata’s voice was tinny over the radio.
I waited for a few moments, gauging the activity below, and especially keeping an eye on the police helicopters that were circling the area. Those were keeping a pretty good distance, probably a combination of terrorist demand for back off, and keeping the airspace clear of the media choppers that were patrolling an invisible line about a block back in every direction. When everything seemed clear, I moved, jumping to Sommers’s and Takata’s building. This one had a raised brick edge all around its roof , with a water tank, heating equipment and elevator motor housing on top. The highest point was the water tank, and as I saw a black-clad arm waving at me from on top of it, I couldn’t help remembering Chet’s enthusiastic description of neutrino detectors made from water tanks. This time I climbed the ladder set against the back of the tank like a normal human would and found my two squad mates hunkered in a makeshift sniper blind.
Takata was spotting for Sommers, who was flat on his stomach with his McMillian stocked, Remington 700 ,heavy barreled, .308 caliber sniper rifle. A 7 to 20 power Schmidt and Bender scope that seemed half the length of the rifle, provided him with an intimate view of the school, its roofline, as well as the side and rear of the building.
Sommers stayed on scope, consummate professional that he is, and threw in side comments while Takata gave me the run down.
“Okay, here’s what we’ve come up with. That shiny aluminum heating and cooling pod on the roof over there is directly over the gym. If you can cut your way in, after defusing the explosives that are attached to the gym ceiling, you’ll have a straight drop into the hostage holding area,” Takata lectured, raising his eyebrows in question at my ability and, more importantly, confidence.
I was slightly nervous, although I hadn’t had enough time yet for the whole thing to really hit me. But the dark destroyer under my skin was completely confident and eager to be set free. Oddly, that part of me was perhaps the most incensed at the idea of kids being held by explosive wielding terrorists.
“Here is some gear,” Takata said, handing me a gear bag. Peering inside I found rope, an NYPD raid jacket, battery powered saw, and some first aid stuff.
“You need a weapon?” Takata asked, after looking me over. I hadn’t actually thought about that. But the answer popped into my brain instantly. The fighter side of me had already figured it out.
“No, I don’t want any bullets flying and I won’t need a gun for these guys,” I answered.
He raised his eyebrows in question, but when I didn’t answer he just nodded and looked at Steve.
“Okay, it sounds like a fed negotiator type is arriving on scene,” Sommers said, pointing at his earpiece. “That’s gonna provide some distraction. Get ready, I’ll count you down!”
I jumped lightly down the eight-foot drop to the roof, then moved into position for a running start. Ignoring everything else, I concentrated on two things; where I was going to land on the school, and building up the pool of aura in the center of my body. I would need every bit of my power to defuse the massive amount of explosives that were thought to be inside.
“On my count! Three, two, one..go!”
I pushed off my left foot, automatically Clinging with each step to keep traction on the dirty surface of the roof. Six fast steps brought me to the edge, where I sprang out of my sprint.
Time slowed to a crawl. Glancing down I could see an ant hill of activity on the street level; flashing squad cars, black SUVs, Special Ops vans, raid jackets, blue uniforms, balaclava clad SWAT.
Both feet touched down and I Clung, arresting my forward motion, then dropped to my knee and sent a focused arc of aura into the roof of the school. Setting down the backpack of mostly unneeded gear, I approached the big silver shape of the air conditioner unit. It sat off- center on the roof, a blocky square of aluminum, covered with arcane grills and ducts. The side that interested me was all of three and a half feet tall, and Takata had shown me a computer generated blueprint of the thing, so I knew if I cut my way in it would lead me into a short run before taking a ninety-degree turn straight down. The unit pulled hot air from the ceiling of the gym and that intake was right below the ninety-degree downturn.
I pulled on my balaclava, yellow tinted goggles and gloves, then closed my eyes and focused inward. Pooling my aura, I pushed it into the roof below me, feeling for the unique flavor of Composition 4 or more commonly C-4. The lump I could feel attached to the grill below me had changed with my first aural burst, becoming just different enough to be harmless. But I could sense more explosives further away. I pushed another band of aura, then a third. Satisfied that I had done what I could for now, I formed a mono edge on my right hand and tentatively sliced the metal box open. I say tentatively because while my ability to render C-4 harmless was pretty well established under lab conditions, doing it here, for real, with over 800 children’s lives hanging in the balance was different.
I gently peeled down the rectangular piece of duct work and peered inside the AC unit. A thick coating of dust greeted my hands and the air was hard to breath, but it had a quieting effect on my movements, as I dealt with the choking clouds of particles. I tried to Lighten myself to prevent the aluminum under my hands and knees from popping as I shuffled forward to the downturn in the duct.
