by Heskett, Jim
Marcus frowned at Gabe, the bedspread around him flooded with red. “We need to do something about this dead body, though.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
WELLNER
David Wellner signed the last of the paperwork and leaned back in his desk chair, stretching his aching back. He had slept wrong about a week ago, and each night since then had seemed to aggravate the pain. He tended to sleep on his stomach, which he knew was making it worse, but it’s not as if he could upend a lifetime’s worth of sleep habits on a whim. Plus, this extra bulk around his midsection was not helping matters, either.
Or, maybe the back pain came from sublimating the guilt over executing three suspected members of Jules’ gang the day before yesterday. Word about that had not yet become public knowledge.
He still needed to figure out how to deal with Jules first. He still had to give the order to have her removed from power in a way that was clean, efficient, and made sense to the general DAC public.
But he would have it make sense after she was gone, not before. The old “ask for forgiveness instead of permission” trick. It seemed to be the only way to come out clean.
The last thing Wellner wanted was to be seen as a dictator. There had to be a way to spin it so he could look like a hero, as the protector of the Club. Because that was how he felt.
Jules’ existence threatened not only him but the functioning of the group as a whole. As such, she needed to be excised from the situation.
He needed real dirt on Jules, not a grainy video of her passing something unverifiable to a member of a Branch. Wellner needed her red-handed. The kid in the basement the other day had said Jules was trying to do something with cocaine. Wellner hadn’t believed it at the time, but it was maybe worth investigating.
He crossed the room to the coatrack to retrieve his coat and hat when the intercom on his phone buzzed. His secretary Naomi was the only person who had direct access to this line.
“Sir?” she asked.
He walked over and tapped the button to talk. “What’s up?”
“There’s someone here to see you. Fagan, from Boulder Branch?”
With his coat in one hand, he paused. He'd wanted to scoot out the door twenty minutes ago, not hang around to deal with Branch matters past five o'clock. But, this was a consequence of having an open-door policy.
He groaned and said, “Send her in. Hopefully, this won’t take long.”
A moment later, the door opened, and there stood the older woman Fagan, the burned half of her face looking shiny and moisturized under the harsh lights of his office. It always freaked him out a little bit, especially if he hadn’t seen her in a while.
“Good evening, Mr. President,” she said.
“Hello, Fagan. Would you like to have a seat?”
She shook her head. “I don’t plan on staying for more than a couple minutes.”
"Well," he said as he slipped back into his chair with a grunt, "I'm going to sit because my shoes have been murder on my toes today. What can I do for you?"
“First, I thought you should know Ember Clarke is alive. She escaped from Veronica Acevedo’s basement earlier today.”
Wellner nodded. "So, Ms. Acevedo is dead?"
“Yes, but Ember didn’t kill her.”
“How so?”
“There was a third-party at her house. A hitman of some sort intervened and created a way for Ember to escape, but she didn’t get a chance to question him. The hitter killed Veronica plus a civilian, and then Ember killed the hitter.”
“What civilian?”
“Ember thinks it was Veronica’s brother.”
Wellner grunted. Veronica should have known better than to invite a non-member into her home with Club business on her docket. But, she was gone now, so it didn’t matter.
“And the hitter? Anything on him?”
Fagan shook her head. “No ID. Ember said she’d never seen him before, but she was certain he wasn’t a DAC member.”
Wellner adjusted his glasses and tented his fingers. Interesting. Someone else trying to meddle with the trial by combat? Could Jules have sent this person in an attempt to sew chaos? Maybe it was a retaliation for killing her cronies in the basement.
Fagan dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Ember is on her way to the Oracle in Lyons right now.”
Wellner’s hands fell into his lap. “Are you serious? Why on earth would she do that?”
“She’s willing to risk it because we need information. It’s what I’ve come to talk to you about today, actually.”
Wellner nodded and glanced at the wall clock. He'd hoped to be on his way home already, to be ready with a bowl of candy for the trick-or-treaters making the rounds tonight. Enough of the snow had cleared away; he figured Halloween was back on. Or, if not, more candy for him.
“Go on.”
“Last week, Ember uncovered some documents in the Parker archives. A couple of boxes were misfiled, and there is new information about the last black spot, the one from 1971.”
A tingle hit the back of Wellner’s spine, but he didn’t know why. “Who okay’ed a trip to Parker to search the archives?”
Fagan frowned, pausing. “Sir, it’s not against any rules to visit the archives.”
“I know, but it is unusual. Given her circumstances.”
“The circumstances are exactly why she went.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. What did she learn?”
“The last black spot variety of trial by combat was given to a man named Ted Banks in 1971 for multiple murder of Branch members.”
“I know that already.”
"What maybe you didn't know is the chaos the black spot caused. A civil war broke out in the aftermath, and at least twenty-five Club members died in ensuing squabbles."
“What?”
Fagan kept her stoic face neutral, and she answered with a single nod.
Wellner felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Brow knitted, he stared at the floor. Twenty-five Club members killed after the last black spot? Could it be true? Why hadn't he heard about this?
“You didn’t know, did you?” Fagan said.
He shook his head. “I had no idea.”
How could this have happened? He seemed to remember reading about the black spot a few months ago, but nothing about any of this resulting havoc. Who had first briefed him about 1971? Kunjal? One of the other Review Board members?
No, it had to be Jules. Kunjal had been too new to know anything then.
Jules had wanted this. She’d wanted to put his presidency in turmoil. Somehow, Jules had put this black spot notion in his head, and, like a puppet, he had handed it out to Ember. He remembered her even faking uncertainty about it when they had discussed it amongst themselves in the Review Board meeting. Such a conniving woman.
Jules’ dirty deals would now seal Wellner’s fate in the process.
“Why is info missing from all the Branch archives?” Fagan asked.
"I don't know. I'm trying to process all this in real-time, just like you. At some point, someone must have scrubbed old records."
“And?”
“And, it’s terrible that happened way back then, but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with this information.”
Fagan leaned over, putting her hands on his desk. “Cancel it. Ember has already lasted four weeks. Don’t make her go through two more and especially don’t make her face Five Points. You know how savage they are.”
Wellner pursed his lips, feeling his heart bump against his rib cage. Above all, he wanted this conversation to end. “Thank you for coming to see me, Fagan. I’ll take it under consideration and ask that you not discuss this meeting with anyone. I have to figure out what the right course of action is here.”
Fagan didn’t look happy, but she never looked happy. With a scowl, she dipped her head and said, “Mr. President, have a good evening.”
The older woman turned and walked out of the office. Wellner looked down and realized he
was still holding his coat in his hand. His back ached, sweat pooled underneath his shirt collar, and his tie felt almost tight enough to choke him.
What a mess.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
EMBER
Ember wasn’t used to driving a Mercedes Benz, but she definitely liked it. The thing handled like butter sliding across warm pancakes, even in the mucky aftermath of this blizzard. Of course, she was driving a dead woman’s car, but it had to be done. She didn’t want to call a taxi or a Thum from a house where she’d been kidnapped and held captive in a basement for almost a week. She still had the cuffs on her wrists and around her neck.
Maybe the Oracle would have something to help her out of these if she didn't shoot Ember on sight for being four days late to her appointment. Ember still wasn't a hundred percent sure the assassin who'd caused all the havoc at Veronica's house hadn't been one of the Oracle's minions.
Or something else entirely.
Ember drove north of Boulder, headed for Lyons. This tiny town nestled in the mountains was home to fall bluegrass festivals, rattlesnakes in the summer, floods in the spring, and bear sightings year-round. It was also home to this near-mythical creature known as the Oracle, a woman who was related to the Club but not actually a part of the Club. The Oracle was some grand keeper of knowledge who received few guests because she had a habit of killing people who offended or annoyed her. That was the story, anyway.
Ember still wasn’t sure if she believed this person existed. Either way, she would find out soon enough.
Ember snatched her phone from the passenger seat. That, her watch, and the clothes she had arrived in had been the only items she'd managed to locate. She had to hope her pistols were back at her condo because they'd been nowhere to be found.
With two dead bodies bleeding onto expensive rugs in the sitting room—or "day room," or whatever rich people called a room that served no purpose—Ember had not wanted to linger there too long. Only a quick run-through to wipe down places where she had left obvious fingerprints. It might not be possible to get them all, but she had to balance care with speed.
She dialed and he picked up on the first ring.
“Hey,” Zach said, with a blunted and flat quality to his voice. “Where have you been?”
Even though his tone sounded inhospitable, hearing his voice still made a little rush bloom in her stomach. Those old butterflies, back again.
“I’m so sorry. It’s a long story, but it’s going to have to wait. I have to do something critical, then I will be right on my way over to you. Sit tight. I promise I will be there as soon as I can.”
Zach sighed. “I thought you’d maybe given up on me and split town.”
"I know. I'm really sorry. It was a work thing, and it's not going to happen again. Everything that happened over the last few days was out of my control. You know how work is."
“Work thing,” he said in a suspiciously musing tone.
Ember knew her story wouldn’t hold up to much scrutiny, but she didn’t see that she had another choice. Later, she could tell Zach whatever he needed to hear, but not right now.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”
“I have, too.”
“I’m almost done with work, for today, at least. I know you’re probably mad about the disappearing act, but I can’t wait to see you.”
“Your assistant is here. Young guy, brown hair.”
“Gabe? He’s there, now?”
“No, not right now. I haven’t seen him today, actually. But he’s been staying here at the motel. We talked a few times.”
Ember pursed her lips. That was odd, since she hadn’t told Gabe to actually make contact with him. Or had she? The events of a few days ago were all blurry now.
“But you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I promise. I know you want answers, and if you can hold out a little longer, I can give them to you.”
He mumbled a reply and ended the call. Ember didn’t feel great about the conversation, but it was natural for him to be upset after everything he’d been through. Told to hide out in a motel room and then abandoned for nearly a week? Yeah, she would be upset too.
She tried Gabe’s cell to discuss what he’d been doing the last few days, but he didn’t answer. When Ember had talked to Fagan before, her mentor had said she hadn’t heard from Gabe yet today, but that he had been working on finding Ember by hunting down leads from the Golden message boards. Her wily recruit had actually broken into the Golden Branch and stolen hard drives. Not the most conventional way to get a name, and Fagan hadn’t found out if Gabe had actually completed his search.
Either way, Fagan had said that his actions were good enough to move him onto the next phase of his membership test. Now, if they could only find him to unleash the good news.
Ember slid into the neighborhood and checked the address on the slip of paper clutched in her right hand. She dropped the Benz to a crawl since this neighborhood was flooded with kids trick-or-treating as the sun set behind the mountains. Pirates, witches, ghosts, superheroes (lots of superheroes), and the occasional red devil. Ember spotted the house on the right side of Stone Canyon Drive. A very normal thing, two stories of brick and blue siding butting up to a hill.
Ember parked on the street and shuffled through the snow to the house as a miniature Spider-Man and Batman carrying plastic buckets crossed in front of her. She waited for them to pass, then she hurried up the steps of the house and knocked. She waved to a security camera above the door, pointed at her. A little red light blinked in the corner.
The mail slot at her waist flipped up, and a pair of eyes appeared in the rectangular opening. They were narrowed, hovering beneath bushy eyebrows.
“Can I help you?” said a man’s voice.
“Ember Clarke. I had an appointment a few days ago, but I missed it because I was being held captive in a basement in Golden. Not my fault. If you let me in, I can explain everything.”
The mail slot closed, and she waited there, her eyes drifting back up to the security camera. She gave it a shrug, then pointed at her wrist and mouthed, I’m sorry.
A moment later, the door opened. Ember stepped inside to one of the most suburban houses she had ever seen. Family pictures on the walls, a bucket of shoes next to the front door, a living room with a couch and chairs, and a TV mounted to the wall. Ember studied one of those pictures of a man, woman, two kids, and a golden retriever sitting on a blanket somewhere in a grassy field. It looked like one of the stock pictures that would come with the frame.
On that couch in the living room sat the woman Ember had to assume was the Oracle. White, about fifty, with braided silver hair. She was wearing a pink dashiki with fuzzy brown house slippers. If this was the Oracle, she’d stolen her fashion sense from the late Veronica Acevedo.
Also in the room were half a dozen men with automatic weapons in slings over their shoulders. Two of them stood on opposite ends of the couch. All of them hovered near the Oracle as if they were on leashes.
“You’re late,” the Oracle said, then she twirled a finger in the air. All six of those automatic rifles pointed in Ember’s direction.
Ember raised her hands. “Do you guys happen to have bolt cutters?”
Chapter Forty
ISABEL
She spotted Serena Rojas in Lyons. The assassin hired by Marcus Lonsdale had been aware Isabel was following her. She had claimed as much when they’d met face to face, despite how cautious Isabel had been.
So, since that uncomfortable meeting with Serena and Layne Parrish in the snow in Boulder, Isabel had taken great care to maintain her distance. If Serena still knew she was being followed, she hadn’t given any sign. Surveillance wasn’t Isabel’s strong suit, so she had deliberated every move. It had been an exhausting twenty-four hours.
Serena parked her rental car on Stone Canyon Drive, where a row of houses butted up to t
he hillside. Children in costumes and heavy coats shuffled along, carrying buckets and sacks for candy. The sun was disappearing behind the mountains, with purplish light fading as porch lights flicked on.
Serena was dressed as the superhero Black Panther, with a tight leather bodysuit and her hair tucked up into the mask. But Isabel saw a pistol in an armpit sling as Serena exited her car before she put on her coat. Just a flash, but there was no mistaking it.
Isabel parked across the street and watched as Serena crouched behind her car door and studied the row of houses. Was Ember in one of them? Isabel didn’t see her car anywhere.
But, she had to be here, or else Serena wouldn’t be carrying her gun, with eyes on this street. This assassin from a nameless spy agency was one of the most skilled hunters Isabel had ever seen. She always seemed to be one step ahead.
Still, Isabel didn’t like seeing that concealed pistol. There were children here. Even if Serena was the best of the best, there was still a chance one of these kids could catch a stray bullet. What sort of code did this Serena woman live by? Was she okay with collateral damage, as long as she met her mission criteria?
Isabel couldn’t take that chance. She whipped out her phone and placed a call.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I’m on Stone Canyon Drive. There’s a woman dressed as the Black Panther, and she’s carrying a gun. She’s looking at the houses, and I think she’s going to start shooting. Please hurry, there are children all around here. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Ma’am, if you could—”
Isabel ended the call and reached into her purse for her stun gun.
With the sun now gone and darkness flooding the street, Isabel knew Serena had chosen her costume not only because she had the long and slender frame to pull it off, but also because it would make her nearly invisible in the darkness.
