Iron Angels

by Eric Flint

  The brown haze drifted through the door, the incense and musty scents battling.

  “I’ll go straight in, you buttonhook to the left. I saw nothing right in front of me, so I’m assuming the girl must be in the back of the room. Very little furniture, so we shouldn’t have any real surprises. I also noticed what appear to be a few basins or small tubs. Hard to tell in the dim lighting.”

  Pete shook his head. “You got all that from a quick peek?”

  “Let’s go.” Jasper moved with purpose into the room. “Police, hands up! Let’s see ’em!”

  Pete moved in gun raised at eye level on Jasper’s left. “Hands up, now!”

  Both of the unsubs stood. They’d been huddled in the corner. Average height, both had dark hair cut in the same manner, and remarkably similar looks. Their odd choice of clothing, however, didn’t make sense—they both wore what looked like checkered shirts beneath a knee-length robe. The material was thick, like the canvas of a martial arts gi, and similarly fastened with a belt. An odd fold created a pocket of sorts in front of their stomachs. Both men stood shoulder to shoulder with their arms hanging at their sides.

  “Put your hands up, fingers spread and way over your head! Come on, now,” Pete said.

  Jasper kept his mouth shut and eyes on the men. If either of them reached into those odd pockets he’d have no option but to shoot.

  The men stepped toward the middle of the room in unison, as if they shared a hive mind.

  Jasper glanced about, looking for a reason for their odd behavior, but the room was otherwise empty.

  “Stop right there!” Pete said, and took a step toward them. “See this?” He waved his gun. “That means you stop when I say stop and you do what I say. We’re police, and we’re looking for a little girl. It’s simple. Speak English? Either of you?” After a moment he added, “Habla Español?”

  The men stared back blankly.

  “You think they’re on something?” Pete asked.

  “This whole situation is on drugs if you ask me,” Jasper said. “We need to get them under control, and fast.”

  The two men had paused at Pete’s last command, but now they took steps sideways. They had an odd-looking way of moving. Jasper glanced over, noticing unpolished stone basins, like the sort someone might have washed clothes in, or if they’d been metal, had at a picnic filled with ice and beer. Jasper kept his Glock up and moved toward the basins. The two men halted.

  “That’s right,” Jasper said. “What’s in those basins that you’re so eager to get to? Huh?”

  The two men looked at each other and then at Jasper.

  Pete triangulated with Jasper on the two men, weapon raised. His face was red and rivulets of sweat wended down his cheeks. The mustache riding his upper lip glistened.

  “You okay?” Jasper asked.

  “Just tired of this bullshit.” Pete never took his eyes from the men. “You two, separate from each other slowly. You need to be two paces apart from one another. If you don’t have the girl then this shouldn’t be a big deal, but we heard a whimper.”

  “A girl’s whimper,” Jasper said.

  “Yes,” Pete said, “and if you cooperate this whole deal will go much easier for you.”

  Heaven forbid some hidden camera was filming this and Pete lost control or Jasper shot one of them and the two men were unarmed. Jasper shivered. It was still damned cold in this basement.

  “No. Please.” A little girl’s voice came from the back of the room. He couldn’t see her, though. Was there a closet he couldn’t make out? Or another room?

  “Where is she?” Jasper asked. “You two are heading for trouble. Answer me.”

  Pete moved for the men. “Get down. On your knees, and interlock your fingers atop your heads, and lace those fingers into your hair.”

  The men stared, faces blank and devoid of emotion.

  “What do we do?” Pete asked.

  The men continued edging for the basins. Jasper glanced in. White powder, apparently a pretty thick layer, filled the basin about halfway. Cocaine or drugs of some sort? A bath mat, glistening as if it were wet, rested before each basin. Jasper stepped away from the basins. A sick feeling overtook him. If any of them came into contact with a drug like PCP, this mess would become a lot messier and a lot more dangerous.

  “What is that?” Jasper asked. “Drugs?”

  Both men shook their heads.

  “You two can speak, can’t you?” Jasper asked.

  The two men now stood roughly three feet from the basins and were still inching forward. Jasper raised his weapon.

  “Stop, or I’ll assume what is in those basins is a weapon of mass destruction.” Perhaps that would get their attention. For all he knew, the basins’ contents were a concoction aimed at destruction.

  The men each stepped onto one of the mats with an audible squish. A clear liquid oozed between their toes, coating them and the sides of their feet.

  “Don’t take another step, or—”

  In unison, each man hopped into a basin with both feet.

  Two cones of white flame erupted, shooting up each man’s body. One of them screamed. Jasper fell backward, not from a blast, but from the intense heat thrown off by the men. Pete ran forward, but about ten feet away he threw his arms up to cover his face.

  “Don’t!” Jasper shouted. “It’s too late.” He glanced up at the ceiling, scanning for scorch marks, but the flames were confined to the men. The one on the right dropped to his knees, or perhaps the lower part of his legs had been incinerated. A foul scent of seared flesh mixed with acrid smoke and sulfur smacked his nose.

  Except for that one short scream, the two men hadn’t cried out or shown any emotion; but then, they hadn’t had any time for such. Jasper wasn’t positive, but he thought he was seeing thermite at work. They’d been trained in the Marines to use thermite grenades to disable artillery. The thermite he was familiar with hadn’t looked like the stuff the men had jumped into, but if he remembered right, thermite came in several different varieties.

  Jasper watched as the two men glowed white, their forms barely discernible now, melting or disintegrating as the heat intensified. He was reminded of the scene toward the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark when the Nazis’ skin and flesh melted away, exposing the skeletons beneath. Only this reaction tore these two men down to a pile of atoms in the bottom of stone basins.

  He’d never witnessed such a thing before. They hadn’t worked that much with thermite in the Marines, and never against humans. The sad part was that this wasn’t even gruesome or gory. The two men had lit up like human sparklers.

  “What the fuck?” Pete laid a hand on Jasper’s shoulder, and he realized he hadn’t gotten up off the ground.

  “Yeah,” Jasper said. “What. The. Fuck.”

  What was left of the two men sank into the now disintegrating basins, a shower of white-hot flame and the heat rippling the air like some twisted mirage. The white flames turned yellow and dwindled. Smoke hung in the air, acrid and mingling with incense. The smell of burning flesh and singed hair barely touched his nose. The destruction of the men had been too rapid. The flame feasted on them like some ravenous predator, disposing of the bodies within seconds.

  The girl.

  “Pete,” Jasper said. “Teresa Ramirez. She’s close by.”

  “There might be a trap back there.”

  “Yeah, I know. But we’ve got to look for her.” Jasper squinted through swirling smoke. Was he breathing in dust from the dead men? He coughed and brought a hand to his mouth.

  “You okay?” Pete asked.

  “Yeah, it’s nothing. Let’s go.” Jasper pointed with his gun hand toward the back wall.

  Chapter 3

  As he approached the back, what he thought was the back wall appeared to separate, almost like one of those pictures that used to be popular way back when—the ones where if you stared at them in a certain way, a different sort of picture or image would emerge. In this case, the wall was ju
st a partition, but it was made of the same cinder blocks as the rest of the basement. The subdued lighting, mixed with the smoke, added to the illusion. So did the image of human sparklers indelibly stamped upon his mind’s eye.

  A five-foot gap on either end of the partition provided access to whatever lay behind. Jasper and Pete pressed against it near the right-side gap. The familiar pressure of Pete’s hand fell on Jasper’s shoulder. He took a deep breath and poked his head around the wall.

  The quick peek revealed a rectangular room, not as large as expected, but of the same dark gray rock comprising the rest of the basement. In the center of the room, upon a bleached stone slab, lay the girl, her hands and feet lashed to metal stakes punched through the slab. The slab itself rested upon what appeared to be a bed of smoldering coals. The room was thick with the smell of incense.

  He pulled his head back. No one else was in the room.

  “She’s in there,” Jasper said.

  Without a word, Pete moved. Before Jasper could react and depress his weapon, he was already around the wall and through the gap.

  “So much for avoiding traps,” Jasper muttered.

  Jasper entered the room, gun at low ready, and scanning for any other threats. Another basin stood in the back left corner. Scorch marks crisscrossed the back wall, and the stones there had odd shapes, as if they’d been warped. Had someone else lit themselves up like a sparkler too close to that wall?

  Jasper’s gaze fell upon the girl. Pete was there, listening for a breath or a heartbeat. The girl’s black hair lay matted to her head, a few strings plastered to her pale face. Her eyes fluttered, but she wasn’t awake.

  Pete lifted his head and turned toward Jasper. The East Chicago police officer looked as if he’d aged a decade in a few minutes.

  “At least she’s alive,” Jasper said.

  “Who would do such a thing?”

  Jasper sighed, not out of impatience, but of weariness and agreement. “Two men who didn’t want to go to jail, apparently.”

  The girl’s knee-length skirt, at one time white but now smeared with ash and dirt and grime and soaked through with sweat, clung to her legs. Her top had once been light blue, and it too clung to the unconscious girl. No outward or obvious signs of abuse presented themselves, but depending on her memories, she could be scarred for life after this sort of ordeal.

  Wailing and yelping sirens reached into the basement.

  “Pete,” Jasper said, but he remained focused on the little girl. “Pete,” he said again with a little more force.

  Pete raised his head.

  “Does she appear to have any wounds?” Jasper asked.

  “None that I can see.”

  The girl’s eyes fluttered and opened. Confusion filled her eyes, which flicked back and forth as she tried moving her arms and legs.

  “Shhh, it’s going to be all right,” Pete said, pulling out a knife and cutting her bonds.

  The girl’s eyes widened and her mouth opened in a large circle, but no scream issued. She sat straight up as if some puppet master had yanked her strings.

  “We’re police,” Jasper said, displaying his badge. Most people didn’t recognize the tiny gold FBI shield. Pete stepped back and displayed his large silver badge to the girl. She collapsed back onto the slab, though her chest rose and fell both rapidly and shallowly.

  “Are you hurt?” Pete asked.

  The girl shook her head. She opened her mouth, but then swallowed and licked her lips. “My head hurts.”

  “But your back and neck are okay?” Jasper asked.

  The girl turned her head and gazed up at him.

  “I guess that’s a ‘yes,’” Jasper said, and smiled. “Do you remember anything? Anything at all? Even the smallest detail or most insignificant tidbit could mean something.”

  “I want to go home,” the little girl said.

  “Soon. But a doctor will have to see you first,” Pete said.

  She grimaced. “Do I have to?”

  Pete nodded. “Do you remember your name?”

  “Teresa. Teresa Ramirez.”

  “Where do you live?”

  She recited her address, phone number, and not only her parents’ names, but also her brothers’ and sisters’ names. But she could not recall any details of how she ended up in the basement of the Euclid Hotel. Perhaps after she’d had some water and food in more comforting surroundings she’d remember something. Though, at this stage, it appeared as if the two men who had abducted her had been the only men involved. But, why had they killed themselves, and in such a spectacular manner? Too many questions, but they’d likely never be answered since the girl had been rescued and the perpetrators were dead by their own hands, or rather—he shook his head—by their own feet. Feet coated with whatever had drenched the mats. They’d have to get an evidence team in here, but since the girl was saved, it’d wait until tomorrow if it ever happened. Maybe the CSIs of Pete’s department would get to it quicker. Honestly, he didn’t want to call in Morris Chan and the FBI’s ERT for this.

  Pete carried the girl out of the basement as uniformed police flooded the place. The Euclid hadn’t seen this much activity in decades. Hopefully, Teresa would see a victim witness specialist in a few minutes. They’d had one on standby ever since the search began. The specialist was likely racing toward the hotel or already outside.

  Jasper decided on one more look around the basement for any obvious evidence. Jasper leaned over the third basin, the one he’d seen as they entered the back room of the basement, and saw that it contained the same substance as the two used by the men when they committed suicide. Or something that looked like it, at any rate.

  More police entered. He told them to steer clear of the basins and the slab upon which the girl had been lashed—and the bath mats the men had stepped on. As far as he was concerned, the police could ransack the rest of the place searching for evidence, but he knew that the crimes had taken place down here, in seclusion and away from prying eyes.

  His eyes went once more upon the back wall of the basement and the scorch marks there. He stepped toward the wall and ran his fingers down the stone. Rippled and charred, distorted—and surprisingly hot. He pulled back his hand. Odd. His fingers tingled. But then, his entire body was shaking a little, probably from the adrenaline.

  Jasper ascended from the dungeon, trading the foul stench of the incense mixed with the thermite reaction and a hint of burnt flesh for the heavy chemical-laden air of the streets. Even in the dark, with street lamps casting their sharp light, the tank farm’s big white cylinders to the southeast were easily visible. He sucked in a lungful of air, attempting to cleanse the Euclid’s death smell from his lungs with a slightly less offensive odor.

  During his first few years in the area, he’d worried about cancer and respiratory issues, and he’d actively sought a transfer. But one good case led to another and he’d never escaped northwestern Indiana, and now he wasn’t sure he ever would. Chicago loomed, and that’d be a fairly easy transfer to pull off, but there was something about working in a smaller office and the variety of hats forced upon agents working in them that he really liked. And as time passed, he’d grown fond of the people who lived there. Well, most of them. Northern Lake County was a working-class area, a lot like the one he’d grown up in, except this area was racially mixed. But once he’d gotten used to that he’d come to like it also.

  Police cruisers and unmarked cars now lined Euclid and Chicago Avenues, and in their midst was an idling ambulance. A few onlookers stood around, curious over the scene, but it was by no means a mob. There just weren’t that many people who lived in the area.

  “What’s going on?” Jasper asked.

  Pete stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the Euclid’s brick wall. “Looks like your victim specialist is here, she’s speaking with the girl now. You know her well?”

  Jasper shook his head. “No. She transferred in a couple of months ago. She’s a contract employee, not full Bureau.�
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  Pete grinned. “She single?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care. Not right now. Not after what we’ve seen tonight.” Jasper took a deep breath. “And I’m not ready, not after, well, you know. It wouldn’t be fair to Shelly, even assuming she was interested herself.”

  “Who’s Shelly?”

  “The victim specialist.”

  “So you know her name.” Pete rocked on his heels. “It’s a start.”

  Jasper tilted his head and stared at Pete until his grin faded.

  “All right. All right,” Pete said, holding up his hands with the forefingers and middle fingers spread into a V. “Peace, brother. Don’t get upset. Just trying to give us something else to think about, is all.” He rubbed the top of his head, the short graying hair poking through his fingers. “All that shit down there, a fireworks display and that poor girl. I’m a little shook up and not afraid to admit it.”

  “Me too.” Jasper let the words hang, and sighed. “How long’s Shelly been with the girl?”

  “Ten minutes, maybe?” Pete shrugged. “Ambulance is waiting. The EMTs gave her a quick once over, but they still need to take her to St. Catherine’s for the usual workup.”

  St. Catherine Hospital was just a few minutes away. Jasper leaned against the nearest police cruiser, facing Pete and the Euclid Hotel. A block to the north, barricades came down to block Euclid, flashing their red lamps. A train was coming.

  That happened so regularly that Jasper paid little attention. It was often said that Chicago was the nation’s rail hub, but most of that constant freight traffic passed south of the city—and just about all of it came through the northern Lake County towns of Hammond, East Chicago, and Gary.

  A line of police emerged from the alley. The one in front announced they’d cleared the building and buttoned it up for later evidence collection.

  “They’re calling it early, don’t you think?” Jasper asked. Bureau personnel would have been more thorough during the initial examination.

  “The bad guys are dead, so what else is there to do?” Pete asked.

  “What if there are others out there?” Jasper spoke more loudly because the train was passing through the intersection now. It was moving slowly; not more than twenty miles an hour, but a mile-long freight train makes a lot of noise.