Salvage: A Shadow Files Novel

by A. J. Scudiere

  She now had to bring him in. In handcuffs.

  "Shray," she said, "I'm one of the FBI agents".

  32

  He stared at her hard, his eyes unblinking for all of ten full seconds while she waited. Then he laughed.

  "That's very funny, GJ. You may like these people. You may have thought some of them were your friends, but they're not. You don't know what they can do."

  "Yes, I do know," she argued back. "I've been studying them as long as you and grandfather have, I just didn’t fully understand until recently." That first part was bullshit and she knew it, but she didn’t correct it. She hadn’t been alive as long as Shray and grandfather had been studying these people, but she wasn't going to waste breath over a simple error like that. “I do know what they can do. I've seen it, and if you wondered where I was for the past five months, I was at Quantico training to become an FBI agent.”

  As she said it, she pulled the badge out of her back pocket, and felt the very satisfying feeling of flicking it open with a practiced wrist. Shray stared again, but this time he didn't laugh.

  “You've have got to be fucking kidding me,” he responded when at last he found his voice. Then, he thought about it for a moment, pointed at the badge, and said, "That's fake."

  "No, it's not. I got recruited. I went to Quantico, and I trained. I am agent Arabella Jade Janson, and you are under arrest."

  "No," he said in simple but firm protest. He held his hands up, palms out, backing away from her. He'd holstered his own weapon. He'd come here to kill, and he'd gotten the shock of a lifetime. She was glad she could deliver it and hoped she could make it work in her favor. "When your grandfather finds out ...He's not going to—"

  She interrupted. "You can bet I'm going to tell him. You can also bet you're not going anywhere.”

  She held up the zip-tie handcuffs she’d pulled out of her back pocket. She’d come prepared for this. She had twenty sets of zip-cuffs tucked at various points around her person, ready to tie up any of these motherfuckers she could get.

  Though she’d initially only been interviewing Will Little, Burt de Gottardi, and his cousin Art, she'd grown to like them. They probably didn't think of her as a friend, merely as the FBI agent who invaded their property to help save them from people poaching on their land. But she was starting to think of them as friends. She was not letting anybody come in and run a raid on their compound, including her own family.

  "Shray, you're under arrest," she repeated. "Put your hands behind your back. I'm going to cuff you."

  "No, you're not," he repeated firmly as though he still didn’t believe she was licensed or capable or both. He continued backing slowly away.

  GJ inched forward, matching him step for step, not letting the distance between them grow. She knew this from Quantico. She didn't want to rush, didn't want to make him run. She wanted this to go down as simply as possible, but she already knew, it wasn't going to be simple.

  "GJ, you can't do this. You can't let this plague fester. We've been working for decades to eradicate these people."

  "I know," she said. "They are people. You've been killing human beings for decades, Shray."

  "They aren't human."

  "They are," she replied, as adamant as he. "And you're under arrest for the murder of Randall Standish.”

  "I didn't murder anyone."

  "Well, his body was found in your laboratory. If you want to get nitpicky about it, you know he wasn't even like them. He was human, even by your twisted definition. He wasn't related to this family. He couldn’t have carried the genetics. You killed a plain, normal man, Shray."

  "I'm not the one who shot him."

  "Oh, so that makes it okay? It’s fine to go out and shoot at people if you're bad at it? Because you missed," she asked, slowly inching her way forward. By millimeters, she was closing the gap between them. Though she wanted him to initiate this final showdown, though she wanted him to make the first move, she knew she would have to.

  That was when she heard the first bullet fired. Having no idea who fired it, she kept her training and stayed calm. It was time. "Three, two, one," she counted to herself. Then, she jumped, tackling Shray to the ground.

  33

  Walter had fired every bullet in every magazine she had. She'd had six packed completely full, plus a round in the chamber, ready to go.

  She’d been trading them out as needed, the slick movements returning easily from her Marine days, despite the mechanical hand. She’d dropped to the ground and rolled backward into the foliage by the house. The bushes were crappy at stopping bullets but excellent at concealing her location. She shot at the figures who passed her as they attempted to get through the front door. She aimed at the ones who climbed through the windows with their rifles aimed. And she shot at them a handful of times before she saw their Kevlar and understood she was bruising but not even stopping them.

  When the first shot had been fired, she didn't know who fired it, but she knew—as a fighter always did—that the first shot was an “open fire” signal for everyone, and so she did. She took out several of their people and felt not one bit guilty about it. They'd come here hunting humans. She was fighting back.

  Burt, who’d come around the side of the small home to crouch beside her, had made not one noise. He’d simply appeared next to her with the butt of his rifle tucked into his shoulder, as he too had carefully taken aim and fired alongside her. She expected him to grunt from the pain of his bullet wound, but he didn’t make a sound other than high speed bullets leaving the bore of his gun. As she looked more closely in the dark, she saw he was bleeding.

  Understanding the question she asked with her eyes, he only shook his head and mouthed three words. “Ripped the stitches.”

  She nodded, and they kept going. It was what Marines did. What concerned her was that GJ was out there, and Walter didn’t know where. Walter and Christina had been in the open on the front lawns, and they had dropped immediately to their knees, quickly firing and finding cover. Burt had come out just a moment behind her, not seeming to remember or act as if he was already injured. She guessed he figured he already had one hole, so what was another? He was an amazing soldier, though, staying low, and managing to avoid fire.

  Luckily, his task wasn't too difficult, given that many of the hunters had put their rifles through the windows, leaving them trapped with Walter’s gunmen now outside and behind them able to fire on them before they could turn around.

  However, Walter was still meeting the fire in front of her. Despite the greenery they crouched in, they were sitting ducks. It wasn't long though before she saw something that was going to end this gunfight.

  She almost dropped her jaw open at the sight, but then decided it was not a good look. GJ was heading back with someone in front of her. She was steering him by his hands, which were cuffed behind him, pushing him along as he purposefully stumbled in front of her. All the while, she managed to use the man as a human shield. She shouted over the sound of bullets, Walter was not sure how she managed it.

  GJ yelled to the cuffed man. It was the man GJ had first spotted then run after. Walter had gotten the distinct impression GJ knew him, but now she was returning with him clearly handcuffed. Walter would need to get the story later, but right now, she holstered her handgun and picked up the shotgun Burt had brought. She cocked it, aimed at the intruder, and squeezed off a shot. All she was doing was protecting herself and Burt now. Burt had distance covered with his rifle, she was blasting at anyone who came close, and they’d finally gotten some of the others running scared. She was just starting to think they might come out of this alive.

  "Hold your fire," GJ yelled, her voice somehow booming from that tiny body. "I've got your guy."

  But they didn't stop. The rate of fire slowed a little, but it seemed that, in the dark, when no one could see what GJ had done, nobody decided to follow the firm command and actually stop firing. Walter cocked the shotgun again and blew away another person standing nea
r her.

  Unfortunately, she watched as he twitched on the ground. She hadn't gotten a good enough shot. Maybe he’d gotten close enough but his Kevlar still protected his vital organs. She’d likely busted him backward without enough damage to kill. She would need to keep an eye on him. Walter cocked the gun as GJ yelled again.

  "I have Shray Menon."

  GJ knew the man's full name. Interesting.

  "I have my gun aimed at his head, and I will take out your leader if you do not stop firing now."

  The words didn't work until Shray yelled, "Do as she says!"

  At that point, the gunfire slowly died down. One last shot echoed in the distance at the other house as they seemed to get the message over there, too.

  "I'm holding him here at the house," GJ said. Then she commanded them all. "The rest of you need to turn yourself in to the FBI agents on the property."

  But it was too late. Walter already heard the sounds of rapid footfalls. As they turned and ran away, Walter pulled the rifle from Burt's hands and took her own aim, watching as one of them fell as he ran. It was shamefully satisfying.

  GJ turned sharply then, aiming a shot loosely behind her as she yanked on Shray, keeping him off balance, keeping him from striking out and taking advantage of her altered attention.

  Good move, Walter thought, and quickly GJ—whether she'd hit her target or not—was back in place with her gun at the man's temple. He jerked away from the heat of it, but GJ didn’t seem to care.

  She said something to him, but from this distance, Walter couldn't hear it. She probably wouldn’t have been able to even if her ears weren’t ringing with the unshed sounds of gunfire still singing in her head. She could only sit and watch as the remaining people on foot did not turn themselves in. They, too, took off, running into the distance or disappearing between the trees.

  GJ force-marched the man, who was almost a foot taller than her. Though thin and wiry, she looked strong. Walter was proud of GJ for commanding the situation as she came closer and closer to the front of the house.

  Moving the gun, GJ jammed it into the middle of his back. Now near enough for Walter to hear, the words were crisp and mean.

  "I know anatomy better than you do, Shray. This is going straight through your heart.” GJ threatened him like a champ. “If you like, I'll go straight through your lungs. I'll take them out without hitting anything else vital, and you can die suffering. So you're going to walk into this house without any fuss, and you're going to call your people off."

  "They're already gone," he said. "You won't find them."

  GJ didn't respond. She just pushed him up the three short, wooden steps, and through the door, bringing the enemy right into the de Gottardi- Little home.

  34

  Walter followed GJ back, watching as she pushed the zip-tied man through the front door and into the house. Walter, right on her heels, noted the expressions of the de Gottardi and Little family members as this killer entered their home.

  “GJ,” she whispered harshly, “what are you doing?”

  GJ stopped for a moment, her hands still on the zip tie cuff, still controlling her perp—just the way they'd been taught. “Where else am I going to take him, Walter?”

  It was a good point. They couldn't leave him outside. The hills were crawling with his own people. There was no way that leaving him outside would not get him rescued. They couldn't even leave him on the front steps, as there was every possibility one of his own people might just take a shot at him to keep him from talking. Walter knew; she'd paid attention that day in class—and she understood as a Marine—the need for protecting people whether you like them or not.

  Once through the doorway, GJ turned away from her and looked to Will Little without removing her gun from the man’s back. “Where can I put him?”

  With only a small nod and a point, Will directed them back into the dining room. This room was relatively centrally located, and with the curtains pulled and the lights off, hopefully no one outside would be able to see in and take a head shot at Shray Menon.

  When asked, GJ replied she wasn't too sure how likely it was that that would happen. Given that this man was her grandfather's assistant, he was likely relatively high up in the organization. Hopefully it meant they wouldn’t try, but he wouldn’t be any less dead if she and GJ were wrong. Walter voted to protect him while they tried to figure out just what information they might get out of him.

  With GJ’s hostage still standing there, they were only able to communicate through simple sentences and motions behind his back. GJ set him roughly at the table and pushed the chair under him. In tandem, she and Walter, without a word, began zip tying his ankles to the legs of the chair. These chairs were not made for this. Unlike the hotel chairs, these weren't designed to withstand rough use. This was a family's home, not a war zone, although it had become one.

  When he was secured, Walter didn't even try to count the number of zip ties they'd used in the last 24 hours. Walter looked at GJ with her eyebrows up.

  "This," GJ said, "is Shray Menon. He’s my grandfather's assistant. And the one on the bull horn."

  He only scowled at them, but Walter had another idea. Before they dove into this, they needed a plan. She motioned to Will and Art, but not to Burt, as he was already injured. She suggested that the two keep tabs on the man at the table. Several others stepped up to join them, and they circled Menon cautiously. Though guns raised initially to aim at the man, Walter motioned for them to keep their barrels down, and they did. Guns kept in firm grips, they left their fingers resting on the trigger guards. That was the right way, Walter knew. If Shray made any sudden moves, these people wouldn't hesitate to kill him. And though GJ and Walter might lose their star witness, Walter figured that was likely the way it had to be.

  With their suspect covered, Walter motioned GJ away. Christina came through the door to join them from her position at the other home and Walter beckoned her as well.

  Eyebrows up, Walter looked to the senior FBI agent. "You left people on guard?"

  "Absolutely," Christina replied firmly, clearly not offended that she'd been asked. Without hesitation she added, "We need to get back to our posts if we can.”

  It wasn't safe here. It wasn’t safe inside or outside, and there was nowhere left to go. Walter thought of those she’d sent out. "Somebody has to get Alicia and bring the children back. I don't know where they are and I don't know how many went with her," she commented.

  Though they had two items already on their plan, they hadn't yet begun to talk about Shray.

  "We need more guards," GJ said. "There were even more people out there than we thought and since we've got him, it's entirely possible they'll be coming back for a rescue. This may not be the end of it, not even for tonight."

  Walter nodded. GJ was right.

  Number three on the agenda, more guards. Number four, "What do we do with him?"

  "I don't know, really," GJ shrugged. "I can't shoot him. He's the leader, so hopefully this helps call off the dogs." She was keeping her voice low. Her quarry was in the other room and they did not want him to hear what they had to say.

  "We should take advantage and question him," Walter said.

  GJ nodded. "About my grandfather most likely, as clearly there's some level of organization here and it's bigger than three people poaching humans with some guns."

  "Do you want to do it?" Walter asked.

  Christina was hanging back, staying out of it as the two newest agents batted ideas back and forth about who should ask what and how. A few moments later, Christina inserted herself into the conversation. "I can make him tell you."

  Walter turned and looked at the other woman. "I'm sorry. I didn't get much of a chance to catch up on what it was that you could do. I thought you could make people see or do things. But now you’re saying you can be, like, a truth serum?"

  "Almost," Christina replied, the lack of emotion in her voice disturbing. But Walter let her go on. "I could make him be
lieve he's talking to your grandfather, GJ."

  "What?" Walter watched as GJ’s face exploded in a surprised expression and Walter was sure hers did the same. It only lasted a moment until she put it together that making people see things should include the ability to make them see specific people.

  Christina offered a half smile. "I can make him believe that he's sitting at the table with your grandfather. Is there any reason he wouldn’t tell your grandfather the truth?” She sighed as she clearly thought through logistics Walter and GJ knew nothing about. “It's easier if I have something to work with, if I'm not trying to create a person out of thin air."

  "Don't you have to know what my grandfather looks like?" GJ frowned.

  "No. He does, but I don't. As long as he knows what your grandfather looks like and as long as he believes your grandfather is sitting across the table from him, then that’s what he’ll see. It helps if you know your grandfather too, so that when you ask a question—when he hears your grandfather's voice—he doesn't hear things that take him out of the moment. Like things that wouldn’t make sense or things your grandfather would never say. Any of those things might make him question what he was seeing. It’s best to avoid that."

  Christina looked around, a little left, a little right, and Walter looked, too. There were none of the de Gottardi-Little family members present. Although why Christina might be worried about werewolves listening in, understanding that she was apparently relatively psychic—and a disturbing level of psychic at that—Walter didn't know.

  "So GJ needs to go sit across from him and when GJ walks into the room, Shray will see Murray Marks," Walter clarified. Christina nodded. "So you, GJ—" Walter was beginning to pick up on what needed to happen, "—should ask questions and talk to him as though you are your grandfather."

  "Exactly." Christina nodded. "You'll probably make minor errors, but he’ll excuse that because he sees your grandfather. He'll think everything is okay and hopefully he'll answer accordingly.”