THE FIRST THING I did after reading Jordan’s note was turn her phone back on and check the last outgoing call. There was just one in the last twenty-four hours—to Lauren at seven-thirty. I dialed her number and waited with bated breath for her to pick up.
A sleepy voice greeted me. “Hello?”
“Hey, Lauren. It’s Michael,” I said, doing my best to hide the worry in my voice. “Sorry to wake you. This is silly, but Jordan left her phone at the apartment and I don’t know where she went. Did she tell you?”
“No, she just said she wouldn’t be able to pick up Lily from school this week because she’d be busy. Is everything okay?”
I tried to quell the guilt that rose in my gut. Lauren was Jordan’s best friend, and even she didn’t know what was going on. I wanted to tell her the truth, but I couldn’t. I knew nothing at this point so there was no reason to make the girl worry.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Just a little mix up, that’s all. I’ll talk to you later.”
I was about to hang up when she stopped me. “Michael.”
“Yeah?”
She sighed. “Look, you don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but I know something’s wrong. There was something in her voice when she called me. She sounded…miserable. The last time I heard her sound like that was when you two separated last year. Just make sure you take care of her, okay?”
“I will. I promise. Bye, Lauren.”
“Bye.”
I hung up and the panic tripled inside me. Think, Michael. Where could she have gone and why? You’ve been married to the woman for almost a year—you had damn well better know her habits.
I opened her laptop, logging in and checking her bank account. We’d only been married a short time so it would be a while before we would get a joint one, but I knew her password and brought up her recent purchases. My face paled. She had taken five hundred dollars out of an ATM at the same time she called Lauren. I checked the address of the ATM and scribbled it on a nearby notepad for safekeeping, then called Gabriel.
“This is so unlike her,” my brother said. “She always tells one of us where she’s going. Do you think she’s relapsing?”
“No. She hasn’t had a drink in months and she hasn’t shown any signs of needing one. Tell me exactly what she said after you and Raph showed her the page.”
“We discussed the events on the map and that she’d have to stay guarded until the 31st passed by just to be safe. She suggested trying to contact the rogue angel before he served his first sentence in prison, but I told her we were under orders to kill him on sight.”
I froze. “Wait. She suggested that?”
“Yes. Why?”
“What if she’s gone off to try and talk to him herself? Without either of us to get in the way?”
“That’s impossible. She doesn’t have the influence to get a conference with him. Besides, isn’t he en route to Lexington as we speak? She’d have no way to organize something like that without…help…”
He stopped talking as if he’d realized something. When he spoke again, his voice was as hard and cold as ice. “Call Belial. Now. Try every number you know for him. I’ll do the same. If he doesn’t pick up, we are definitely in trouble.”
“Got it.”
I hung up and called Belial’s cell phone, praying for the first time in my life that I would hear that dry, supercilious voice of his. An automated voice answered instead and told me the number had been disconnected.
“Damn it, Jordan.” I pressed my hands against the kitchen counter until my knuckles blanched. She couldn’t do something like this to us—to me. She loved me. I knew that. How could she betray my trust only hours after we’d been together?
I called every other number we had on file for Belial’s human alias, James Brennan. All of them reported him as ‘indisposed.’ I tried to sense him as well, but he was nowhere in the city, just like Jordan. We had boarded the same plane in Brazil and after we got back to Albany, he said he would call when he got confirmation of the rogue angel leaving São Paulo. He hadn’t led me to think he would act on his own because of our agreement. Still, all the signs pointed to one terrible thought that I didn’t want to face. My wife was working with the enemy behind my back. Just like Zora. Just like I had always feared.
Jordan’s phone rang. Her ringtone for Gabriel was “Well Respected Man” by the Kinks. Under normal circumstances, I would have laughed. Instead, I just answered it.
“Yeah?”
“Any luck?” Gabriel asked.
“No. You?”
“No. What did her bank account show?”
“Five hundred dollars taken out. Her checkbook’s gone too. I got the location of the ATM, but it isn’t near any major airports or Greyhound stations so we’re basically back to square one.”
I rubbed my sinuses, pushing past my anger to analyze the facts. “Okay, let’s think about this. She knows the FBI has me under surveillance so she wouldn’t go to an airport, and she wouldn’t book anything online because they’d be able to trace it. That leaves a bus or a car, right?”
“Possibly, but you also have to consider that Belial is just as wealthy as I am so he could have chartered a jet for her. Especially since he’s an expert in illegal transportation.”
“Then that would be the way to go since they’re pressed for time. It takes about five and a half hours to get to Lexington from Albany so she’s in the air right now. How long before your jet’s ready?”
“I can have it at the airstrip in an hour. In the meantime, follow up on all the basics. Check the areas around that ATM and see if anyone spotted her getting a cab or doing anything else before she left the city. We’ll assume she took a jet out until proven otherwise. I’ll call you when I’m at the airport. Be careful, brother.”
“You too.”
I hung up and grabbed my jacket from the closet, running out the door and into the rain.
* * *
JORDAN WAS ALWAYS good at being inconspicuous. In fact, it was a skill. She had spent the two years after accidentally killing Andrew Bethsaida blending into the crowd so no one would notice her seemingly strange behavior when she talked to ghosts. Her average height and moderate attractiveness worked in her favor in that regard.
Most of the shops near the ATM she used were closed because it was nearly two in the morning, but I got lucky with a 24-hour gas station down the street. She had bought some water and a protein bar before hopping into a cab headed away from the main highway out of Albany.
If she took a jet, she would need an airstrip instead of an airport because the airport would have around-the-clock security. Most airstrips did too, but Belial bought people like they were nothing and so it would be easy to get them to look the other way while he snuck her out of town.
I stood outside the gas station just beneath the ledge so the rain wouldn’t drip onto my head as I searched for nearby airstrips on my phone. There was bound to be someone still there, even at this hour, especially if they were of the crooked persuasion. A little aggressive interrogation would get me the information I needed. Once it was confirmed, Gabriel and I could head to Lexington and stop this thing before it got out of hand.
There was only one airstrip within a decent range of the city. Better start there. I shoved my phone back in my pocket and stepped out into the cold rain, shivering as it doused my hair and the back of my neck. The streets weren’t crowded, but there were still people out and about—mostly teenagers, insomniacs, and the homeless. I walked to the corner to hail a cab and got lucky when one pulled up a couple of minutes later.
I climbed in and told him the address. He shifted gears and headed into the street, weaving through the light traffic towards my destination. I smoothed my wet hair back and closed my eyes, already shifting through my mind to remain focused on my next task. My thoughts halted when I felt the car come to a stop, but not at a light like I’d thought. I opened my eyes to see that we had pulled into a parking garage.
Immediately
, I switched to warrior-mode. I’d heard of guys who stole cabs and kidnapped or mugged people after they got in. If he was one of them, he was in for an extremely unpleasant surprise.
“Hey, what the hell is going on?” I snapped, slamming my fist against the smudged glass, hard enough that the entire pane shivered.
The locks on the cab clicked.
Oh, this guy was about to get the shit beaten out of him.
The panel slid back, revealing a white man in his late forties with a receding hairline and a disturbingly pleasant smile on his face.
“Mr. O’Brien, we need to talk.”
I glared. “How d’you know my name?”
The smile on his thin lips didn’t falter. “It’s my job.”
He raised one hand and flashed me a badge. FBI. I sighed, not bothering to stifle the irritation in my tone. “You guys must have one hell of a budget to disguise yourselves as cabbies.”
“We do what we can. May I ask where you’re heading, Mr. O’Brien?”
“You just did.”
He chuckled. “Sorry. Let me rephrase that. Why are you going to an airstrip?”
“To catch a plane,” I deadpanned. “Don’t you need probable cause to abduct a citizen of the United States?”
“Oh, we’ve got that. Your wife’s in Lexington. She landed about half an hour ago.”
I kept my face blank. “Why does that matter?”
“We’re not stupid. Edmond Saraf’s set to land there for his trial at seven o’clock in the morning. Are you going to tell me it’s just a coincidence that your wife and Mr. James Brennan are in the same town?”
“Look, what do you want from me? Clearly, you already have the information. Why are you wasting my time?”
“We lost sight of Ms. Amador shortly after she landed and we didn’t have the resources to track her down. We’re guessing that you do.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’ve read your files, Mr. O’Brien. We don’t know why your name keeps coming up in bizarre instances, although we’re certain there’s a reason for it. Right now, we need results. We want to avoid an incident that would make your life infinitely harder.”
“Are you offering me a deal or an ultimatum?”
“A little of both, really. Find your wife and Mr. Brennan and bring them both back to Albany. If you do, we’ll drop the investigation on your end. Mr. Solberg is still a person of interest, but you and Jordan will be left alone. If you don’t, then the Bureau has no choice but to tag you both as potential threats. You will be detained and questioned and it will reflect on your permanent records. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” I said through my teeth. “Can I go now?”
He paused. “Want a ride home?”
“No, thanks. I’ll walk.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
The lock on my door clicked a second time and I got out. The agent turned the car around and drove back into the rain, leaving me dripping wet and pissed off in the inky darkness. I grabbed my phone and hit the speed-dial. Gabriel answered on the first ring.
“Fire up the jet. We’re on the clock now.”
“How bad?”
“You remember Budapest, right?”
“Sadly, yes. I never did get my Porsche back. I’ll meet you there in two shakes.”
I hung up and left the garage, taking the storm with me as I went.
Chapter 24
Jordan
AT FIRST, MY job felt easy.
To be honest, I had expected to be in the belly of the beast when the ruckus started, but Belial had plans for me, in more ways than one. I didn’t expect to be crouching on top of a closed-down auto-repair shop with an assault rifle clutched in my gloved hands, its muzzle pointing down at the street. Waiting. I hated waiting.
Sunlight had crept across the sky, but it hadn’t chased the night away quite yet. I found my eyes wandering upward often, watching the navy blanket as it loosened its hold over the horizon, giving way to gold. It made me think about how the world kept spinning anyway, even when my life had gotten as bad as it could get. It was the same with the early risers down the street from here. None of them knew what would be happening in just a few minutes. Lucky sons of bitches.
The link in my ear beeped, jostling me out of my solemn thoughts. “Truck’s in full view. ETA two minutes.”
“Got it,” I said, hoping he couldn’t hear the slight waver in my voice. I craned my neck to the right to scan the adjacent street. Lexington hadn’t quite stretched its legs for the day. There were plenty of cars, but nothing rivaling the Albany traffic I saw every morning. The sidewalks were largely empty except for joggers and people headed to work.
I checked my watch. 7:15 a.m. I strained my ears and could hear the distant whoop of police sirens. “How many cop cars?”
“Four. Two up front, two behind.”
“Roger that.” I tried not to think about the officers escorting the rogue angel and FBI agents to the courthouse, but my mind still wandered. Had they been the type of officers who had never been in a firefight? Never drawn their guns? Never killed a suspect? Who were these men before we reached into their lives and upended them?
“They’ve crossed the checkpoint. Hitting the charges.”
I heard a click over the receiver and then flinched as I spotted a huge plume of flames erupt one block away, courtesy of an empty fire truck Belial had stolen an hour earlier. Tires screeched and metal crunched—telltale signs that we had successfully created a roadblock.
“Taking the shot. Get ready.”
I braced myself, returning my gaze to the street below. Gunshots bit through the crisp morning air, followed by screams of civilians and another round of screeching tires. He’d taken out the wheels of the police cars from his perch, forcing the armored vehicle to continue towards the courthouse on its own.
My pulse raced as I focused on the end of the street, waiting for the truck to come around the corner. My stomach lurched with nausea and anxiety, but I swallowed hard and ignored the painful twisting in my gut. At last, a large black truck swerved around the corner into view. I set it in my sights, let it drive past me, and then squeezed the trigger.
Bullets tore into the side of the truck, causing the driver to try and maneuver farther away from my building, but it was far too late by then. The back tires punctured, slamming the vehicle to an immediate halt.
I stood, touching the link in my ear. “Truck’s down.”
“Good. Pop smoke.”
I set the M16 aside and retrieved the grenade launcher at my feet, aiming underneath the carriage of the truck. I fired. The canister hit the street, engulfing the entire truck and half the street with tear gas. Go time.
I pulled on my gas mask and slung the assault rifle around my shoulders before climbing down the ladder on the side of the building. The driver scrambled out of the truck, shouting orders to his companion—nothing but muffled sounds through my mask. As soon as my boots hit the ground, I opened fire, aiming in their general direction to force them to take cover on the opposite side of the truck.
I walked straight into the cloud of tear gas, sliding the gun to the small of my back. I could hear the scrape of their boots against the asphalt and let it beckon me closer until they were in full view—crouching near the tires waiting for me to show my face.
The first agent didn’t see me until I was right in front of him. I slammed my forearm into his wrists, sending the gun spinning away into the gas, and blocked as he tried to punch me in the face. I jammed my knee into his stomach, but hit the Kevlar vest instead of actual flesh. He recovered and kicked my legs out from under me, forcing me to go into a back roll. I came up on my feet just as he drew his backup gun from his boot. I dove to the side as he opened fire, missing me by mere inches.
I took cover behind a dumpster in the alley beside us, cursing my mistake. I should have gone for his head, not the body armor. Belial was keeping the police busy, but if I didn’t get rid of these agents soon, we�
��d be overwhelmed. I peeked around the edge of the dumpster to see that the gas had started to clear, giving me a better view of the FBI agent. Six-foot-two, lanky, goatee, probably early thirties. His partner, a stocky Hispanic guy, stood by the front of the truck, calling for reinforcements. Just one chance. Better not blow it.
I reached into my pocket and withdrew a flash grenade, pulling the pin and throwing it over my shoulder. I squeezed my eyes shut as I heard it hit the street, exploding. Pained cries reached my ears. I opened my eyes again to the agents stumbling around with their hands over their faces.
I darted around the dumpster and lowered my head, throwing myself at the first agent as hard as I could. The force knocked him into the side of the truck. He slumped over, out cold. I turned to attack the other agent only to take two bullets to the chest.
I hit the pavement with a cry of agony as pain spread through my chest in tiny electric shocks. I couldn’t breathe for a handful of seconds. The world spun in front of my eyes as I gasped for air, writhing on the ground. No, I couldn’t fail. Those people needed me. Get up, Amador. Dammit, get up!
The FBI agent stood over me with red eyes and tears streaming down his face, but his expression was cold and professional. I could see his lips moving, but I couldn’t hear much through the ringing in my ears. It looked like he was telling to put my hands up. As if I could really move after getting two right in the vest.
I managed to raise both hands to shoulder level and his posture shifted, as if he felt more confident with me on the ground. Perfect.
I locked both legs around one of his ankles and jerked them towards me as hard as I could, knocking him off his feet. He didn’t fall all the way, only hitting his knees, but it was enough. I pounced on his back, smashing his head on the ground. He went limp underneath me. I hovered over him, panting hard, half-amazed and half-horrified by what I’d done. A weak giggle flooded through me as I realized I sounded like Darth Vader with this stupid gas mask on. Yep. Hysteria had finally set in.
I touched the link in my ear. “The agents are neutralized. Going for the rogue angel. Where are you?”
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