Department 18 [02] Night Souls

by Maynard Sims

  The minivan engine started immediately and they drove the short distance to the airfield where transfer to the airplane was done wordlessly and efficiently.

  Only when they were airborne did the leader make the call.

  The connection was instantaneous, as if the call was eagerly awaited.

  “It’s in the bag.”

  A low sound that may have been a chuckle, but knowing the man was probably not. “Most amusing. I await delivery.”

  The flight passed without further comment.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Krakow, Poland

  Krakow is Poland’s second largest city; it was the capital of Poland until 1596, when Warsaw took over. When Poland joined the European Union in 2004, there began a slow but steady increase in foreigners and tourists visiting and exploring. Even then, economic wealth was slow to materialize, and many Poles moved to other parts of Europe for work.

  Visitors go to the Wawel Castle to hear tales of a dangerous dragon, or to the Market Square to listen to the famous hejnal bugle call. Many go farther afield to discover the Salt Mines and Ojcow National Park and the horrors of Auschwitz.

  Few tourists choose the outskirts of the city where poverty and the past go hand in hand.

  In the shadows of the car park opposite Jacek Czerwinski’s apartment building, Jason Pike waited in his hired Audi. It had been more than two hours since he’d left Jacek at the restaurant, and there was still no sign of him. Something had happened. Where the hell was he?

  When the black Fiat pulled up outside the block, Pike got his answer. Jacek stepped out, exchanged a few terse words with the driver, then turned away and walked up the steps to the apartments.

  As the Fiat pulled away, Pike emerged from the shadows and crossed the street.

  “Jacek,” he called softly.

  In the doorway Jacek turned, anger flashing in his eyes. “You knew, you son of a bitch. You knew Julia was still alive.”

  “Yes,” Pike said quietly. “I knew.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Jacek said again, spinning around and punching the wall.

  “We need to talk about this,” Pike said.

  “Fuck that! I’m through talking. Talking to you, talking to her. What’s the difference? You’re both liars.”

  “By her, I suppose you mean Rachel Grey?”

  “You know damned well who I mean.”

  “Well, as it was Carl Schwab who dropped you off, it couldn’t be anyone else. Schwab is Rachel’s lieutenant. She never travels without him. It was also Schwab and his cronies who trashed your apartment earlier today.”

  Jacek was breathing hard. “That’s funny. She said you did it.”

  Pike shrugged. “Well, she would, wouldn’t she?”

  “Would she? How the hell would I know? Though I know now what she wants from me. But what about you? Why me? Why have you come all the way to Poland to see me?”

  “Shall we go inside?” Pike said. “This is a bit public.”

  Jacek looked beyond him. An elderly man out walking his dog had stopped a few yards away and was openly listening to their conversation. Jacek glared at him. “Okay. Come in.”

  The apartment building was surprisingly quiet as they made their way up the stone staircases. Even the cooking smells had abated. Jacek checked his watch. Just after midnight. The evening had passed by in a blur.

  He unlocked his front door and ushered Pike inside. He then went to the old plywood desk in the corner and pulled open the drawer. When he turned back to Pike, he had the Beretta in his hand.

  A look of surprise flashed in Pike’s eyes, and then it was gone.

  “Sit down,” Jacek said. “There on the couch.”

  Pike frowned but sat obediently. “Is the gun really necessary?”

  “If Rachel Grey was telling the truth, then yes, it is.”

  “But you’ve already said she was lying to you.”

  “She was. About Julia she was lying through her teeth.”

  “They’re lovers, you know.”

  Something flickered in Jacek’s eyes. Surprise? Pain? Even he wasn’t sure what he felt.

  “The woman showed me photographs of Julia. She said she’d been sedated in some way, and from the look on Julia’s face I may have been convinced…if I didn’t know her so well. But it was a look I recognized. She used to use the same expression when she was in trouble with her parents.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face and sat down heavily on the hard wooden chair.

  “Understand, I love Julia as I would my own daughter, but I’m under no illusions about her. Julia is a vain, self-centered little bitch who made her parents’ lives a misery. Do you know, when she first disappeared her husband spoke of his relief that she’d gone. That’s a terrible thing for someone to say about his wife, but I couldn’t really blame him. Julia danced to her own tune and, as far as everyone else was concerned…well, they could go to hell.

  “Julia was play-acting in those photographs, which means not only was she there by choice, but also she did not want to be found. She’d always been looking for an escape, to get away from home, her family. From Poland. I think in Rachel Grey she found it.”

  “Well, let’s hope she doesn’t get more than she bargained for,” Pike said shaking his head.

  “Rachel Grey told me that if I ever want to see Julia alive again I have to drop my investigations. Apparently I’m getting too close to certain people.”

  “And will you?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “And do you believe she’ll be true to her word?”

  “I believe Julia is lost to me forever.” Jacek lowered his head. Tears were pressing at his eyes, but he fought them back. The sad thing was that he believed what he had just said. There was a slim possibility that he might liberate his niece, but he knew that his relationship with her was over.

  “I’m sorry,” Pike said.

  Jacek lapsed into silence. The pain was almost too much to bear. Months of searching had come to an end. He’d found Julia, and now he wished he hadn’t. He looked across at Pike. “Rachel Grey told me about you. About what you are,” he said.

  Pike leaned back on the couch with a sigh. “What did she tell you?”

  “That you’re the same as her. Do you deny it?”

  Pike shook his head. “I would have told you…eventually. But there is a difference between them and me. They were born as they are. I was born human. They made me this way. I was born in Africa, in a small shanty town just outside Nairobi, Kenya. These creatures came to my town. They killed my mother, and I was given to one of them as a pet. Did Grey tell you about pets?”

  Jacek nodded.

  “The one who took me was Abe Holly. In some ways he wasn’t as bad as the others, but in some ways he was worse. He stole my humanity from me and turned me into the same kind of creature as him. Their main weakness is their hunger for the human soul. Keeping them from humans, preventing them from feeding, is one way you can kill them. You injure them and they often revert to their true selves. Not a pretty sight. The way they feed is not attractive either. Talons in their fingers can pierce the flesh easily. Usually they feed during the act of sex. It’s the way they attract their prey.”

  “Why keep saying they and them if they’re the same as you?”

  “Abe changed my body, but he couldn’t touch my mind…or my soul. I feel no affinity for them. The hunger that drives them to prey on humankind is controllable, it can be managed. They choose not to control it. I do. That is the difference.”

  Jacek moved the gun from hand to hand. “When you sent Cyril Adamczyk to see me, did you really think I could help him?”

  “Karolina Adamczyk is no longer in Poland. They flew her to England the day after she was taken. But I believe she is still alive. My contacts tell me she’s been taken as a pet for a woman called Alice Spur.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Adamczyk this? Why send him to me?”

  “Do you honestly think he would believe
me? It would have only distressed him further. I sent him to you to pique your interest. So you might be more receptive to my request,” Pike said candidly.

  “So it’s as I thought. You’re playing me.”

  “Come to England with me, Jacek. There are people there who can help us destroy these bastards. Grey is dangerous, but she’s a walk in the park compared to Abe’s son. John Holly is the reason there is the infighting between his people and Grey’s. Holly has perfected the trafficking of their food. He calls them candidates, and arranges places where his people can feed undisturbed, restaurants he calls them.”

  Jacek laid the gun down and looked at him steadily. There were still questions with no satisfactory answers. He wasn’t going to get the answers here and now, but there was integrity about Pike. It emanated from him, radiating from his eyes, from his words.

  Jacek reached into his pocket, took out a cell phone and tossed it across to Pike. The big man’s expression begged the question.

  “Rachel Grey’s hired thug gave it to me. It’s a direct line to her.”

  “And when were you to use it?”

  “They wanted me to spy on you. That was the second part of the deal. I was to report your movements to them, tell them what you were planning.”

  Pike looked down at the phone nestled in the palm of his hand. “So you trust me,” he said.

  “I don’t trust her.”

  “That’s good enough.”

  “What do you think she’ll do to Julia once she realizes I’m not going to play her game?”

  Pike sighed. “You know the answer to that. She’ll feed from her. She’ll take too much.”

  “Can we stop her?”

  “We can buy Julia some time. Call Rachel Grey and tell her I’m going to London. It will show her you’re honoring your side of the deal. But, Jacek, don’t kid yourself that Grey will ever let your niece go. She was lost to you the moment Rachel got her hands on her.”

  Jacek regarded him steadily for a moment, then reached out and took the cell phone back, and put in the number he’d been given.

  He finished the call and handed the phone back to Pike.

  “You sounded convincing enough,” Pike said.

  “I wasn’t lying. You’re going to London. I am going with you.”

  Day Two

  These, as successive generations bloom,

  New powers acquire and larger limbs assume;

  Whence countless groups of vegetation spring,

  And breathing realms of fin and feet and wing.

  —Erasmus Darwin

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Breath is Spirit. The act of breathing is Living.

  —Author Unknown

  Dunkerry, Republic of Ireland

  The Republican Arms was on the main road running through the picturesque village of Dunkerry. It was nothing to look at from the outside, a fairly simple brick structure with a tiled roof and an ugly glass conservatory latched on to the side of it.

  In fact it was the ugliest building in the entire village, but as he stepped through the door, Simon Crozier’s spirits lifted. Inside was the epitome of an Irish pub.

  The walls were lined with autographed photographs. Some of the faces and names he recognized—the Dubliners, Pierce Brosnan, The Corrs—some he didn’t. All the photographs were dedicated to Patrick and Aoife; obviously the licensees. A set of uilean pipes hung above the bar, to the right of them an Irish drum, the bodhran. The brick-built fireplace was huge, and Crozier could imagine great blocks of peat burning there, while the jigs and reels of a céilí filled the smoky air.

  Behind the bar hung a Republican flag, the orange, green, and white panels faded and stained, the edges slightly motheaten. What looked suspiciously like bloodstains in the corner. Standing in front of the flag was a large man with black curly hair, a ruddy complexion, and liquid blue eyes. He nodded at them as they entered. “And what’ll you two gentlemen be having?” he asked in a lilting Irish brogue.

  A few minutes later they were seated at a table in the far corner of the pub with two pints of Guinness. Crozier checked his watch. “We’re early,” he said.

  As he said it, the door opened and Michael Dylan walked in. He stood no more than five foot six, slim but hard muscled with haunted green eyes set in a pale face. He saw them sitting there, swept a curtain of fair hair away from his forehead, nodded a greeting, and went to the bar. Crozier watched him order a drink from the barman and felt the usual wave of apprehension. There was something about Dylan that back-footed him. He was never quite sure how to take the man. He felt Bailey tug his sleeve.

  “So that’s Dylan, is it?”

  “It is,” Crozier responded.

  And then Michael Dylan was walking across to where they sat. He put his orange juice down next to the pints of Guinness and sat.

  “This had better be good to rouse me from my bed at this ungodly hour,” he said to Crozier, inclining his head toward Bailey. “Who’s this?”

  “Harry Bailey,” Bailey said, stretching out a hand.

  Dylan shook the hand and sat back in his seat, giving Bailey a look of appraisal. “I’ve heard of you.”

  “And me you,” Bailey said.

  Dylan turned to Crozier. “If he’s here, why do you need me?”

  “I need you both,” Crozier said. “When I explain what this is all about, you’ll understand why.”

  “I’m listening,” Dylan said.

  Cozier moved Guinness around his mouth and swallowed it. “The night before last I had dinner at The Ivy. On the way out, I was approached by a young man…”

  “Your lucky night,” Bailey interrupted

  Crozier was used to Harry’s acidic barbs regarding his personal life and didn’t bite, but he was slightly irritated to see a smile flicker briefly on Dylan’s lips. Common knowledge, he thought. Rise above it and move on. He continued, “I thought he was a beggar. He was scruffy as hell, and he looked like he hadn’t eaten for a week. He told me his name was Daniel Milton and had something to tell me. I don’t know how he tracked me down or how he knew I’d be there that evening, but he’d obviously done his homework. He knew my name and knew about Department 18 and what we do. He even started quoting case files at me. I must admit, at first I thought he was a crank, but there was something about him, a kind of quiet desperation I found compelling. So I took him to my club and fed him, and for the next couple of hours he told me a story so extraordinary that I felt it warranted further investigation.” He turned to Harry Bailey. “Does the name Jason Pike mean anything to you?”

  Bailey’s drink was an inch away from his lips, but he paused and set his glass back down on the table. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard for a good many years. He was quite high profile, a kind of Uri Geller figure.”

  “Guru to the stars,” Crozier put in.

  Bailey continued, “I only crossed his path once, but it left a lasting impression. He immediately recognized me for what I was and started playing mind games with me. I realize now he was testing me, to see if I was any good. It took all I had to keep him out of my thoughts.” Bailey sipped his drink. “Not that there was any malice there. Quite the contrary. He was enjoying playing with me, but only because I was enjoying the challenge myself. I’m sure he would have backed off if I hadn’t been willing.”

  “He’s genuine then,” Michael Dylan said.

  “Oh yes,” Bailey said. “And one of the most extraordinary minds I’ve ever come across.” He looked across at Crozier. “I’m just wondering how Pike figures in all this. Simon?”

  “There was an incident in Cambridge, a car accident. Daniel Milton’s girlfriend, Alice Spur, was driving. A man called Abe Holly was killed. Nasty business. It was ruled an accident. Abe was the father of businessman John Holly.”

  “Holly Industries?” Dylan said.

  “The same. Well, it happened that the girl, Alice, disappeared from her hospital bed and hasn’t been seen since. Until recently, when a young woman called Alic
e Spur took a job as John Holly’s PA.”

  “The purpose of all this is, of course, what you’re going to tell us,” Dylan said.

  “You know Simon,” Bailey said. “He knows how to spin out a story.”

  Crozier ignored him. “Daniel Milton’s investigation into his girlfriend’s disappearance took him to Hertfordshire, which is where John Holly has his country house, a place called Faircroft Manor. Holly had taken Alice Spur down there for reasons unknown. It was while he was in the area that he met Jason Pike.” Crozier took a mouthful of Guinness and let the taste of the dark brown beer fill his mouth.

  “So what’s so dangerous about John Holly?” Dylan said.

  “Well, for one, John Holly has very powerful psychic powers. It would seem he is a very advanced empath. According to Milton, he has the ability to bend the will of others to his own, making them do things to suit his own purpose. His other kink is sexual vampirism,” Crozier said. “And we’ve come across that before.”

  “I haven’t,” Dylan said flatly.

  “But Harry has. Which is why I want him in on this.”

  “Jay Cavanagh,” Harry Bailey said.

  “Indeed. One of the department’s failures. Perhaps you could sketch it out for Dylan’s benefit, Harry. After all, it was primarily your case.”

  Harry Bailey sighed. He wasn’t one for reliving the past, and he was reluctant to revisit this particular case. “Okay,” he said. “Jay Cavanagh was responsible for the deaths of at least eight women, back in the 1990s. He was a good-looking man, apparently in his thirties, the type to snap his fingers and have women panting for him. The department was called in when a young woman went missing after being on a date with him. Sally Bronson. Sally had no family, but she did have a wide circle of friends, and it was one of her friends, a girl called Jenny Marshall, who contacted us, albeit in a roundabout way. She’d tried the police and got nowhere. But then her story seemed so far-fetched it was totally reasonable for the police to dismiss it.” Bailey paused to take a mouthful of his drink.