by Mark Henwick
This is taking too long.
At the penthouse level, we had to change to another elevator that went up to the helipad.
“Don’t like this,” Yelena muttered, jerking her head up to indicate where we were going.
I nodded. The detective suddenly not being available. Harper suddenly deciding to go up to the helipad. The feeling we were still one step behind Forsythe.
The feeling of menace.
We took out our guns and prepped them.
The doors opened.
A short set of stairs with subdued floor lights led up to the darkened helipad. There was no one in sight.
The sense of threat got worse.
Not just threat. A feeling of bleakness seemed to be seeping into me.
I shook my head to clear it.
Yelena and I shared a look, peering carefully around the sides and holding the doors open.
“You go left, I go right,” I said.
We split and ran from the elevator, ducking behind the elevated section that held the helipad.
“Mrs. Harper?” I called. “You’re in danger. We’re here to help.”
Some small noises. The elevator going back down. A slight squeal from the helipad windsock as it turned. The wind itself.
A shoe scuffing?
I strained my wolf senses. The wind shifted again. I breathed in. There was someone here, but…
Death.
There was a body on the far side of the roof.
The elevator pinged again.
Damn.
Reed had caught up. He walked straight out of the elevator.
A shadow on the far side of the landing pad emerged from behind air conditioning vents. There was a muffled bang and the reduced muzzle flare of a gun with a suppressor.
I rose to a crouch and fired low—two quick shots as Reed was dropping to the floor.
There was a scream.
Yelena leaped up and sprinted over the helipad.
I crabbed across to Reed and got myself in front of him while watching for movement from whoever was firing at us.
“I have him,” shouted Yelena.
“Safeties please, gentlemen,” I said to Reed’s colleagues, who were still inside the elevator. “You okay, Lieutenant?”
He grunted and sat up gingerly.
There was a tear in his coat. The bullet had ruined it and maybe his jacket as well, but left him untouched. Lucky man, in some things, Lieutenant Reed. I had a suspicion the bullet was a .22, but even that small a caliber in the wrong place could be fatal.
“Cuff that bastard,” he growled, and the uniform trotted quickly to where Yelena crouched over the shooter.
“We’re too late,” I said.
Reed swiveled around. “What? Where?”
“Mrs. Harper’s body will be over there.”
Another suspicious look. Another question stored up. How did I know all these things?
Reed was running out of patience with me, but I was running out of time for Dante and Tamanny.
The bleakness was spreading through me now.
I had to check my suspicions that Mrs. Harper was dead, but then Yelena and I were going to have to sneak away.
To where, though?
This had been my last vague lead on Forsythe. The shooter wouldn’t know anything about Forsythe, let alone the location of the auction. That I could guarantee. He was a gun for hire, and Forsythe would never have had any dealings directly with him.
Which left me with Diakon Huang, who just might have the information I needed.
At a price.
Which I might not be able to pay.
They dragged the hitman to the elevator. It was the same man we’d caught on camera near Judge Veringen’s house, and his weapon of choice, already in an evidence bag, was a Czech CZ .22 Kadet with a custom suppressor.
I’d taken his knee out with one of the shots I fired from the HK, and he was in shock. I didn’t care; it was better than he deserved.
Mrs. Harper was behind the air conditioning vents, her eyes staring unseeingly out into the night toward the ridges of San Gabriel. The body next to her was a guy I assumed to be the detective who was supposed to be watching her.
Bleakness edged toward despair. What the hell was happening to me? I needed to shake off this feeling and come up with another way forward.
Reed took a call from his captain. “What? Seriously?”
He was pissed.
Yelena and I shifted toward the elevator.
Reed swung around. “You! Both of you. You stand right there. Do not move.”
“Under arrest?”
“If necessary,” he said, but he was looking up into the night sky.
A jet-black helicopter came thudding down out of the darkness, landing lights stabbing onto the pad, the amplified voice of the pilot warning people to stand back.
Europcopter, said a small voice in my head. Light military model. Fennec AS500. Not a helicopter I’d have wanted to travel in, back in my Ops 4-10 days. Too slow, too vulnerable.
But perfect for the FBI.
Chapter 63
“Lieutenant Reed,” Ingram said. “Ms. Farrell, Ms. Vylkove.” His hand twitched as if he wanted to touch the brim of a Stetson he wasn’t wearing. Instead he held it out to Reed, who shook it reluctantly.
“That’s me,” Reed said.
“Special Agent Ingram.” He presented his badge. “I do dislike having to do this, Lieutenant, but I am relieving you and taking this case under FBI jurisdiction. I believe your captain has called you and my superiors have informed the commissioner.”
Ingram handed him a folded paper.
“What grounds?” Reed said, his voice tight.
“Well, Lieutenant, kidnapping and human trafficking is our jurisdiction,” Ingram said. He turned and surveyed the scene, including the bodies. “We’ve had Mr. Forsythe on our radar for some time and I am led to believe, by new information, that this investigation will expand nationwide. And I am also led to believe there may be internal problems in your department.”
Reed wanted to fight it, but the comment about internal problems took the wind out of his sails.
“I am in no way suggesting all your men are under suspicion,” Ingram went on, taking another fat fold of paper from his jacket. “Quite the opposite. These here are federal warrants to cover searches at all listed properties linked directly to Mr. Forsythe, or through his association with his lawyer, Ms. Spiegel. I would appreciate it if you, and those members of your team that you vouch for, would accompany my colleagues to begin to execute those warrants.”
Ingram nodded at a group of FBI agents who were emerging from the helicopter.
“Agent Ingram,” I said. “Daniels…I mean Spiegler; you missed her. She flew out of Santa Monica half an hour ago.”
He looked grim. “Where to?”
“Her pilot doesn’t file flight plans, but I’m almost certain she’s heading to Vegas. I have a colleague at the airfield there…” I saw Ingram’s face change and pulled back on what I wanted to say. “He’s waiting for your instructions.”
Dangerous ground here. Tarez and Naryn had brought Ingram up to speed and gotten him involved with Forsythe’s network. But Ingram wasn’t exactly on our side. He had taken the Ops 4 group apart on the basis that it was a military force with no legitimate, authorized government overview. He probably wouldn’t look any more kindly at Athanate security, or Lynch for that matter, doing things like arresting Daniels and investigating federal cases.
I’d just walked into a minefield.
Without warning, I was overcome by a crushing wave of despair. It’s all over. There’s no point to any of this.
I leaned against the wall. What was wrong with me? Was this some aftereffect from the therapy? I had to get it together; there was no question of giving up. Dante and Tammany needed me.
Ingram stalled. “Mr. Tarez has advised me that I am able to use your…resources.”
“Forsythe is in Vegas?” R
eed interrupted.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “But there’s something there that’s so important, Spiegler is diverting to collect it, or destroy it. My bet is that whatever is found there will open up the whole Southwest Division of this network. You’re too late to get people in position, Agent.”
Ingram glowered.
“One colleague?” he asked.
I got out my cell. “I can get Mr. Bazhir to assign others.”
I hope. Is there time?
I knew little about the Athanate House in Vegas, but they were my only hope. From what Lynch had said, I couldn’t expect help from the local Were pack. At least the Athanate House was a sub-House of Altau. Naryn could order them to help.
Ingram rocked on his toes. “Do it, Ms. Farrell, but strictly under these conditions: I will deputize your colleagues in order to detain Ms. Spiegler until my agents arrive on the scene. Nothing else. Your colleagues will do nothing other than detain her discreetly and out of view of the public. They will obey my commands relayed by cellphone and immediately hand her over to my agents, who will identify themselves appropriately. There will be no extension of other powers.”
“Understood.”
I walked away and called Naryn.
We got lucky. The Vegas Athanate House was based not far from the airfield, and Naryn was confident they’d follow instructions. He called them while I was still on the line. I passed Lynch’s contact information along while Yelena called him on her cell to explain what was happening.
Naryn spoke to Ingram, who was going to fly straight back to LAX and take the FBI jet waiting there to Vegas.
In five minutes, we had it organized.
“Naryn…thank you.” I ended the call.
One small win. Why didn’t I feel any sense of achievement?
Yelena was right alongside me. Throughout the day, just knowing my Diakon was there had lifted me, but not now.
Another wave of despair rolled over me, tinged with deep grief. As if I’d lost something treasured and irreplaceable.
I shook my head, trying to clear it.
Agent Ingram paused before returning to his helicopter.
“Ms. Farrell, Mr. Tarez appears to have been having difficulty getting through to you. I have a message to pass along. He requests you to return to him immediately. Most strongly.”
“Uh, yeah.”
That was an order, not a request.
And I had nowhere else to go anyway. I guessed it all came down to the last card on the table. Did Huang know where the auction was, and could we match his price?
“He’s sent Mr. Gayle to collect you. I guess that might be him there.” Ingram pointed up to where another helicopter’s lights showed Victor orbiting, waiting for the FBI helicopter to leave.
I’d mentioned to Jen that having Victor Gayle down here with a helicopter might be useful, and it appeared she’d taken it seriously.
Even the thought of seeing Victor failed to lift my spirits. The gray fog of depression swirled around my head, making everything else seem far away and unimportant. I hadn’t felt like this since I’d lost my whole team in South America.
Or when my dad died.
Ingram didn’t know what was wrong with me any more than I did, but he was sensing it. He touched my arm before ducking down and disappearing back into his helicopter, which took off immediately.
Reed was on his cell, coordinating detectives from his department to pair up with the FBI agents as Victor came in to land.
Not Jen’s Bell 407 helicopter; Victor had managed to acquire an ex-military Gazelle helicopter, faster and more maneuverable than the Bell. He didn’t cut the engines; he just waved at us to board.
Yelena and I ducked and started forward.
Reed paused his cellphone conversation and grabbed my arm.
“Just who the hell are you?” Reed hissed at me.
“Someday, I may tell you, Lieutenant. Not today.”
He managed half a smile and let me go.
We climbed on board and Victor was lifting off before we strapped in.
“We’re heading back to Bembridge Studios. Double quick.” Victor’s growl was loud in my ears as I put headphones on.
“What’s up, big man?” I put an effort into sounding upbeat, but I failed.
“Mr. Tarez mighty upset about something, Amber.”
“Me?”
“Don’t think so.”
Victor wasn’t kin. Tarez wouldn’t have explained much to him and there wasn’t any point in questioning him.
The Gazelle had turned west. The pretty lights of skyscrapers and downtown swung behind us, and already we were sinking down towards the studios. LA was much smaller at a thousand feet in the air.
Yelena was shaking her head. She looked as grim as I felt—and as unsettled by it.
I reached out to her with my eukori and found the same dark despair as I felt. Something was very wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what, or with whom.
Bembridge Studios had been lit up like an airfield. In fact, it was an airfield. The wide lawns in front held two huge Sikorsky S-92 helicopters with just enough room left over for us. Altau security vans stood in rows along the drive.
All caused by the attack on the conference center? Another attack?
No, that didn’t feel right.
It wasn’t just me and Yelena. Something else was wrong. Unoiled-squealing-hinge, nails-on-a-blackboard wrong. Worse. Twisting its way around my body like razor wire.
Yelena leaned over and pulled my headphones off to speak directly into my ear.
“Problem,” she said, slipping back deeply into her Ukrainian accent. “Big problem. Is not good.”
“What is it?” I twisted like a gaffed fish, unable to shed the sense of despair.
“Don’t know. This is eukori. A lot of powerful Athanate in small place. Like when we work together: the eukori from each person, it builds on the next person, again and again. Something very bad happen. All Athanate near here feel it.”
We sank down to land on the lawn.
Chapter 64
Altau had taken over the entire studios. Security were everywhere, commsets on their heads and weapons ready.
“Straight down the corridor. Main hall.” They spoke quietly. No one met my eyes.
Yelena and I ran.
The reduction in the number of Athanate representatives in LA had made it possible to fit all of them, with their security, into the main hall at the heart of the complex.
The crowd seethed. Whatever had happened, this was where it was centered.
I looked for the flashpoints, clusters of Panethus or Hidden Path, arguments, but it wasn’t like that.
It wasn’t like that at all.
“Make way for her.” Eugenie, House Passau, was suddenly at my shoulder, hand gripping my arm, guiding me along gently and shoving Athanate out of the way.
“I am so sorry, Amber,” she whispered.
“What?”
It was difficult to focus. The pressure of the emotion kept ratcheting up until I got angry and pushed back at it.
And then, finally, the last of the crowd parted.
A bier draped in gold cloth, like you would have for someone famous to lie in state. Alex standing beside it. Skylur. Tarez. Huang. Correia. Stanbrigge. Prowser.
On the bier. A body. Hands crossed on her stomach. Great dark eyes closed.
“No!”
Diana Ionache looked serene, at peace, the one quiet center in this whirlpool of shocked and disbelieving Athanate. The one finally beyond our strife.
“No!” I shouted. I looked around, frantic. “She was all right. She was all right.”
Alex was beside me, his arms comforting me.
“The damage done by the Taos Adepts,” he said. “They think it was just too much for her to recover. Trying to heal herself…something went wrong.”
“No.”
She had been fine. She’d been recovering.
Oh, my God. What was it she h
ad said that night when she visited me?
I will go on and wait for you, beloved, however long you may be.
She’d known she was dying, that she couldn’t honor her oath to be with me. Not in the flesh.
The Tuareg say the khamsin brings dreams and fevers, she’d said. That spirits talk across the veil of death when the khamsin sings.
I shuddered. No. She’d been real. It hadn’t been a dream and she hadn’t been a spirit.
I fell to my knees beside the bier.
My mentor. The Kumemnon, as Huang had called her, the title echoing with awe.
I could almost hear her voice. When we’d first spoken of her being my mentor, what had she said? The way is dark, and long.
It was darker now. Much, much darker.
All around us, Athanate grieved, Panethus and Hidden Path both. Our own word for ourselves meant immortal, and when one of the eldest died, that proud boast shrank. The truly eternal night pressed in. It touched all equally, every one of us, and we were diminished by it.
I leaned against the bier, my hand over Diana’s. It seemed impossible that she was gone. I looked at Skylur, whose face looked as if it had been carved in stone. How long had they known each other? Centuries? Millenia? His loss must be incalculable.
He didn’t meet my eyes.
Huang was speaking. “I greatly regret this, but if we are to avoid a second calamity for House Farrell, then we must proceed with some urgency.”
A second calamity. Tamanny. Dante. Focus on the living.
I dragged myself back to my feet.
“You know where the auction is?” I asked.
Skylur held up a hand for silence and guided some of us toward a separate room. His face looked empty, like a mask had been settled over his features. A mask of iron.
There were fifteen in that room: Skylur, Tarez, Alex, Yelena and me, Huang and three of his Adepts, Correia and three Hidden Path I didn’t know, Houses Stanbrigge and Ó Ruairc representing the Midnight Empire.
The door closed behind us, shutting out the sight of the bier with its press of mourners.
Outside, someone began to speak softly in Athanate. I recognized the rhythms of the Lamentation of Arunne. Others joined in, and my vision blurred at the sound.
