ONSET: My Enemy's Enemy

by Glynn Stewart

  David had seen children with a new puppy less excited than Alston. She was all but bouncing on her heels, a laptop case clutched in her grip. There was no way he was getting her to do anything except tear directly into the Familias’s computers.

  “This way,” he told her, gesturing toward the main hall.

  After all, she was right. And he wanted to see what she and Charles could extract.

  Chapter 35

  Midnight came quietly, the middle of a long night.

  David stood next to the original gate, looking out into the woods around the compound, the trees stark and threatening in the light of the waxing moon. The starkness of the forest wasn’t helped by the several floodlights Zelenko’s men had set up, massive bright white beams managing to both make the compound safer and make the forest look more threatening.

  With no storm to cover their attack, any attempt by the Romanov Family to retake the compound would run headlong into the four heavy machine guns the squad had also set up. Inhumanly fast or not, they wouldn’t clear the killing zone before the silver-loaded fifty-cals ripped them apart.

  The hole they’d ripped in the berm on the other side had the same setup, and two Pendragons now circled the compound, their searchlights cutting through the darkness like glowing swords.

  No one there tonight was prepared to take any more chances, least of all David himself. The computers and prisoners at the Night Stallions compound were the last chance ONSET had of delivering the true masterminds behind the Conclave attack to the Elfin.

  Without those masterminds, David wasn’t sure they’d have a deal, and without that deal, he wasn’t sure his country could withstand the storm the Church of the Black Sun had unleashed.

  “White, it’s Alston,” a voice snapped in his ear. “We’ve got something.”

  “Good. What?”

  “Not sure how useful it’s going to be, but Charles has pulled and cross-referenced a bunch of the emails. Meet me in the main hall; I’ll let the lizard explain.”

  #

  Alston’s people had set up a temporary command post in the middle of the Night Stallions’ great hall, with a slew of monitors and computers. Each of the laptops, servers and other devices they found in the underground complex was brought up there and hooked up to the collection of hardware and software that tore out everything they knew.

  “Their security is good,” the forensics expert told David. “Not as good as ours, but definitely thaumaturgically enhanced code. Without hard access, we would never have even been able to find the VPN, let alone crack them open.”

  “But crack them open we have,” Charles responded from one of the computer screens, his long, scaled face showing a disturbing amount of teeth as the dragon smiled. “Not as helpful, perhaps, as we hoped, but we know who we were dealing with now.”

  “Brief me,” David ordered, grabbing one of the folding chairs and taking a seat facing Charles’s monitor.

  “Ye just took out the Familias Romanov’s third—maybe even second—largest facility in the United States,” the dragon told him. “Run by Tatiana and Ekaterina Romanova, only children of Petrov Romanov, the patriarch of the Romanov Family and one of the faction leaders in the Familias’s little civil war.”

  “Daughters we’ve now killed,” David concluded.

  “Daughters ye killed,” Charles pointed out. “There will be consequences for that, Ai’m afraid. Ye, Commander White, have now moved to the top of Petrov Romanov’s list, possibly even ahead of Caleb Dresden.”

  “Wonderful. Do you have anything for me other than that both of the most powerful vampires alive right now probably want me dead?”

  “Ekaterina and Tatiana appear to have been close confidantes of their father,” Alston told him. “They were heavily involved in the long-term planning and day-to-day operations of the Family. I don’t think Tatiana expected to lose when she came up against you.”

  “And if she hadn’t, the strike on Talon would have been a clean sweep,” David said grimly. “She knew we were there?”

  “An email sent to all three Romanovs from an anonymous, one-shot address—used on a display computer in an Apple shop in Seattle—detailed your evidence, exact strength, and plan,” Charles replied. “It was sent as you were seizing the building.”

  “Not many people had that information. Who would have sent it?” the Commander demanded.

  “A good third of Conclave could have put most of it together, as could several dozen of our own people,” Alston explained. “Give any of those people an eyewitness on the scene and they could have written the entire email. About the only data point we have to narrow it down from is the name it was signed with: Saruman.”

  David sighed.

  “I haven’t read those books, but I watched the movies,” he pointed out. “Even I know that’s one of the bad guys from The Lord of the Rings.”

  “The Wizard who betrays everyone and goes crazy, yes,” Alston confirmed. “Obviously not someone’s actual name, but a code that the Romanovs used to identify a specific contact.”

  “We cross-referenced all of their emails looking for the name,” Charles explained. “Once we’d excluded several arguments about the movies—Tatiana has apparently had a crush on Christopher Lee since World War Two—we discovered a series of communications with similarly sanitized one-shot email addresses and discussions of the contact they refer to exclusively as ‘Saruman.’”

  “Nobody slipped and used a real name, I take it?”

  “No,” the dragon replied. “From the discussions the Romanovs had with and about Saruman, he—or potentially she—is either an Elfin Lord or one of their Seconds. Most of Saruman’s emails to the Romanovs were informational, providing extremely detailed information on the preparations for the Conclave and our own response to the attack.

  “There are no details on what the deal for the attack was. There were at least two meetings in person between Saruman and one of the sisters, and clearly any actual negotiations took place at those meetings.”

  “So, the Elfin definitely have a traitor,” David said grimly. “One who dealt with the vampires to attack the Conclave.” He shook his head. “I feel like we’re missing something. What does one of the Elfin Lords gain by betraying the Conclave?”

  “They kill the deal with Omicron?” Alston suggested. “I get the impression there are some Lords dead set against the deal.”

  “Everyone keeps telling me that won’t happen,” David replied. “So, what am I missing? Is there anything in the data that’s actually going to help us nail someone to the wall?”

  “There’s a lot of data in here,” Alston warned him. “Without some kind of data point to search on, we’re looking at weeks to sift through it all. Once we’re done, we’ll have enough data to crush the Romanov Family, but it will take time.”

  “And so we win Dresden’s civil war for him,” David said. “And I can’t even justify not acting on the data.”

  “Indeed. There is one moar piece in the Saruman emails, though,” Charles pointed out. “He wasn’t going to have the opportunity t’ send a properly cleaned email with the seating arrangements of the Conclave. He had to send a messenger. One he trusted.”

  “Their targeting was that precise?”

  “Apparently,” the dragon confirmed. “But most importantly, it appears that messenger was sent here, Commander White.”

  “So, it’s quite possible some of the Night Stallions saw him.” David smiled and tapped a command, connecting his radio to de Bergen.

  “Inspector, how are the interrogations coming?”

  “Slowly,” she replied. “What do you need, Commander?”

  “I want to talk to Casey Reynolds. I think I know what questions to ask now.”

  #

  The Anti-Paranormal troopers had turned the main floor of the dormitory into a security post, with all of the prisoners being locked on the top two floors. The interrogators and lawyers had taken over the main-floor rooms, throwing most of the
beds into one room to use the rest as impromptu interview rooms.

  With only the one set of stairs, they’d set up a serious-looking security post with another heavy machine gun. Not least of all, Michael O’Brien and Ix were leaning against the wall, supervising the entire process as the prisoners were brought down and taken to interrogation rooms individually.

  “Got a minute, Michael?” David asked. “The local sheriff recommended one of the prisoners specifically for interrogation, and Charles and Alston pulled some data that gives us a starting point. Want to sit in?”

  “Need some looming, do you?” the big werewolf asked with a chuckle. “Sure. Sounds like fun.”

  A moment later, de Bergen emerged from one of the interrogation rooms.

  “Mulroney’s running Reynolds through the drill,” she told them. “The lawyers seem to get twitchy when ONSET is doing the interrogating. I think they figure you guys are going to be rougher on the prisoners than we are.”

  “I have the same training you do,” David pointed out. “Nobody’s getting rough on my watch.”

  “And someday the lawyers will believe the cops when we say that,” de Bergen said fatalistically. “She said five more minutes. Let’s give her the time.”

  “I can wait,” David said calmly. “It’s not like any of us—including Mr. Reynolds—have got any sleep.”

  #

  David wasn’t watching the time, but he was pretty sure it was more than five minutes before Reanna Mulroney finally stepped out of the interrogation room and looked at him and de Bergen. Her glare settled on David and she sighed.

  “He’s as ready as he’s going to be,” she said. “Sounds like someone did their best to scare the crap out of him already.”

  “You know what they’re all on the docket for,” David reminded her. “If any of them aren’t terrified, the magnitude of what they got wrapped up in hasn’t sunk in yet.”

  Mulroney shook her head.

  “You’re not wrong,” she admitted, “but they do have rights, Commander, and it’s my job to make sure they’re respected.”

  “And, frankly, you’re doing your job better than these idiots deserve,” David told her. “And I appreciate your work, even if they have no clue how lucky they are.”

  That got him a somewhat-appreciative snort, then Mulroney gestured for them to follow her into the interrogation room.

  It looked like it had started the day as a TV lounge, one of the larger rooms on the dormitory’s main floor. The couches and TV had been removed in favor of a folding table and five chairs, but the TV stand remained, a forlorn reminder of the room’s better days.

  Casey Reynolds sat behind the table in one of the folding chairs. The hours since his capture had done him no favors, his fatigues visibly stained with sweat and his hair and beard turned to unruly messes. There was a nervous energy to the man that hadn’t been there before, his gaze darting around the room like a caged animal.

  “Mr. Casey Reynolds,” David greeted him as Mulroney took the chair next to him. “While we met earlier, I don’t think I was introduced. I am David White, the Commander of ONSET Strike Team Thirteen. This is Michael O’Brien, Commander of ONSET Strike Team Nine, and Catherine de Bergen, Chief Inspector for the OSPI Seattle office.

  “I am legally obliged to inform you that I am a registered aura reader, and that my assessment of your honesty and emotional state is admissible evidence in a supernatural court of law,” he continued. “Has Miss Mulroney explained the charges and your position with regards to the US Supernatural Criminal Code and your Miranda and other rights under that Code?”

  “She has,” Reynolds got out with a cough.

  “Now, according to Sheriff Donnelly, you’d told people in the local town that you were, and I quote the sheriff here, ‘a big deal’ in the Night Stallions,” David began. “How about you begin by telling us what exactly your role with the Stallions was?”

  Reynolds glanced at Mulroney.

  “I’ll tell you everything,” he said slowly. “Everything I know, at least. But I want guarantees.”

  “I can guarantee that any assistance you give us will be taken account in sentencing,” David told him. “From what I understand of your involvement, you’re not facing the death penalty, in any case. More than that depends on the value of what you can give us.

  “As Miss Mulroney has presumably told you, I can’t force you to answer my questions,” he continued. “But I can tell you that the situation remains…fluid. Honest answers tonight may save lives tomorrow or down the line.

  “I think that despite everything that’s happened here, everything you’ve enabled, that still matters to you.”

  There was a long moment of silence, then Reynolds inhaled sharply and some of the nervousness faded as he straightened and faced them all.

  “It’s no shock to anyone, including Sheriff Donnelly, I’m sure, that I’m not the big deal I put myself out as,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t one of Broadman’s top officers and I barely interacted with the Romanovs at all.

  “But I ran surface security. Wrote the schedules for who was in the pillboxes, backed up for anyone who was sick, walked the perimeter half a dozen times a day. I wasn’t one of the trusted troopers or one of the top officers, but I helped run this place. Had my eyes on everything.”

  “So, you saw most of who came and went?” David asked.

  “I did,” he agreed.

  “Did a pair of helicopters come here and get kitted out with weapon pods a week ago?”

  “Came in nine days ago, stayed for three,” Reynolds confirmed. “Bunch of mercs from South Africa, told good jokes, but damn good at not saying shit about themselves.”

  “Where did the weapon pods come from?”

  “Underground,” he replied. “Not sure when they came in; a lot of boxes of various sizes just showed up and went into the complex. We didn’t ask questions. Broadman told us not to, and…”

  “And everyone always did what Broadman said,” David said.

  “Exactly. It’s funny,” Reynolds said slowly. “It never seemed odd before, but now he’s dead…it just don’t add up.”

  “The helicopters,” David brought the militiaman back to the subject. “They left basically a week ago now?”

  “Early morning,” Reynolds confirmed. “Didn’t know for where, didn’t even put it together with the attack in Seattle until you started talking terrorism charges. Broadman had to have known, but most of the boys didn’t. We just…”

  “Did what you were told.”

  “Yeah.” The militiaman’s voice was small and confused.

  “Did someone come to give more orders to the mercs?” David asked. “A messenger of some kind? Might have been wearing a strange-looking cloak or a silver leaf pin?”

  Reynolds’s confusion was growing as dark sparks of Broadman’s power flickered through the man’s aura. There was something, but the dead Speaker’s power was fighting the militiaman.

  “Please, Casey,” David said slowly. “It’s important.”

  “Important…” Reynolds repeated, then blinked as if something popped into place. “That’s what it was!”

  “What?”

  “He was important; he was famous,” Reynolds said in a rush. “Couple of the guys recognized him, from football—something about the Super Bowl. They tried to get his autograph.

  “Broadman was furious; he ordered them to forget they ever saw him.”

  David inhaled sharply, a chill settling into his chest. It couldn’t be.

  “How do you remember him if Broadman ordered you to forget?” he asked.

  “Don’t,” Reynolds admitted in a confused tone after a moment. “I remember them bugging him for his autograph, and Broadman yelling at them to forget they ever saw him.”

  “Did they say he was a Super Bowl winner?” David asked gently.

  “Think so? I’m a hockey guy, not a football fan.”

  David typed a name into his phone, bringing up an image.
<
br />   “Was this him?” he asked, showing the phone to Reynolds.

  He saw the last grasp of Broadman’s power shatter.

  “Yes!” Reynolds said excitedly. “Exactly! Big black guy, short hair—wasn’t wearing cloak or anything, just a suit, but his lapel pin was a big silver leaf and he wore a Super Bowl ring, I think. He didn’t give a name, but that’s definitely him.”

  Wordlessly, David turned his phone to O’Brien, showing him the picture of Sharif Paulson.

  Lord Dominic Langley’s sworn aide and Second.

  Chapter 36

  David followed Michael O’Brien out of the dormitory into the night, both of them relying on their Empowered vision not to trip as they walked into the darkness. Despite the lights set up to protect the exterior of the Night Stallions compound, the inside of the compound was a shadowy mix of darkness and light spilling from the building windows.

  “This makes no sense,” O’Brien declared. “Langley has been pushing this whole deal from the beginning—hell, I didn’t tell you this, but he came to us, not the other way around.”

  “I think,” David said slowly, turning the whole situation over and around in his head. “I think we’ve been looking at this the wrong way all along.”

  O’Brien stopped and turned to face him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everyone keeps telling me that the deal can’t fail,” David pointed out. “That there are concessions that the Committee hasn’t offered yet that the Conclave would accept.”

  “Which is why the whole situation makes no sense,” O’Brien objected. “No one’s going to kill this deal forever—and Langley is its strongest partisan! Paulson might have been acting on his own, but he’s close enough to Langley to know that the deal can’t be stopped.”

  “No one’s trying to kill the deal,” David told him. “No one’s ever been trying to kill the deal. That’s what we’ve been missing, Michael. Paulson gave the helicopters detailed targeting instructions. That wasn’t ‘hit the hall in the middle of the conference center.’ Those had to be ‘hit these specific seats.’”