The King of Plagues jl-3

by Jonathan Maberry

  The shooter must not have liked that smile, because after a few seconds the contemptuous grin he wore dimmed and then faded completely. And he looked very appropriately afraid.

  Interlude Forty

  Aboard the Delta of Venus

  The St. Lawrence River

  December 19, 6:17 P.M. EST

  Sebastian Gault sat on the edge of the sofa, bent forward with his elbows on his thighs, watching as Eris worked her magic on the computer. The boat rocked gently with the cross-waves of the choppy St. Lawrence River as the captain steered it away from Crown Island.

  All day she had been seeding the Net with vague comments about the wrath of the Goddess striking down the firstborn of the wicked. That sort of thing. She crafted original posts and sent them to her team, who kept the social media engines revving hour after hour. Online speculation as to who these firstborn were was spreading like wildfire. In the wake of the London bombing and what was now being called a terrorist attack in Southampton, Pennsylvania, these posts were having a measurable effect on the world market. The President had ordered Wall Street shut down for another day, but other markets around the world were staggering.

  Gault got up and strolled over to the wet bar to make drinks. “I wish there was a way you could aim your virtual hate arrows at the real world.”

  “At Joe Ledger,” she said with a laugh.

  “Yes. I want his balls nailed to my trophy wall.”

  “You’re even talking like a King now. How delightful, lovely boy.”

  Gault laughed and sat down to watch her magic turn to dark sorcery.

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  The Crime Scene

  Southampton, Pennsylvania

  December 19, 6:09 P.M. EST

  I stepped outside the TacV and called Church.

  “Santoro?” He tasted the name. “Could be our Spaniard. I’ll have Bug run that. You get anything else from him?”

  “Not as much as I will get.”

  “He needs to have a pulse when he gets to the Hangar, Captain.”

  “Don’t sweat that, Boss. He’ll be alive and kicking. Can’t say he’ll be enjoying life, but that’s the breaks.”

  “Tragic. What else do you need?”

  “We have to roll, which means I’m going to lose control of this scene. If the shooters met with Santoro, then there is a chance, however small, that we can pick up some DNA or hair and fibers from their gear and vehicles. I need you to talk to someone who will in turn call Southampton PD and impress upon them the importance of not touching a goddamn thing.”

  “Not a problem. Jerry Spencer touched down at Philly International eight minutes ago. I had Fran Kirsch drive up from the Warehouse with a full team and all the gear Jerry will need.”

  Fran was a forensic photographer and Jerry’s right hand. She had all of the warmth and personality he lacked. She also had a degree in psychology, which helped with profiling while collecting and analyzing the evidence.

  “Good. You get anything more out of the two survivors from Jenkintown?”

  “No. They’re both Chosen—too low-level to be of any use.”

  “Damn.”

  “I want you and Dr. Sanchez up here at the Hangar ASAP. Bring Dr. O’Tree as well.” He paused. “How is she handling this?”

  I was surprised he cared enough to ask. “She’s pretty rattled. First time she’s dropped someone. It leaves a mark.”

  “Yes,” he said, and I could hear the whisper of ghosts in his voice.

  THE PARK WAS a few miles away. We loaded Rudy and the shooter into the waiting Chinook. I detailed DeeDee and John Smith to drive Black Bess to Brooklyn. The rest of us piled into the bird. Once we were airborne I told Ghost to lie down and stay; then I checked on Rudy. Since he’d been shot, Circe seemed to have claimed the role of mother hen. She got him situated in as much comfort as the transport helicopter would allow and heaped blankets on him to prevent shock. She hooked an IV bag to a clip on the wall.

  I saw that his eyes were open and he was looking around trying to make sense of where he was.

  “Hey, Rude,” I said, squatting in front of him, “how you doing, buddy? Are you comfortable? Anything I can—”

  “Vete a la verga, pendejo,” he snarled with as much venom as morphine would allow.

  “All righty then, I can see you need your rest.” I turned to Circe. “Say, Doc, can you give him another dose of morphine?”

  “He’s already had enough.”

  “No, he hasn’t.”

  Circe gave me a withering look and tucked the blankets in under Rudy’s chin.

  I MADE MY way aft to where Khalid was watching over the prisoner.

  “Joe …”

  I turned to see Circe hurrying after me. She looked fierce and angry.

  “Doc, are you going to tell me to go fuck myself, too?”

  “Is that what he said?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “He’s never been shot before.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry that he’s joined the club.”

  “Look,” she said. “I know you’re going to interrogate the prisoner and—”

  “Doc, if you’re winding up to give me a speech about human rights and civil liberties, then save—”

  “No,” she said, cutting me off. “I just spent the last forty minutes doing patch jobs on men, women, and children. Children, Joe. Every person in that place was wounded. Eight are dead. Four will lose limbs and at least one fifteen-year-old girl is going to be a quadriplegic and—”

  “I was there, Doc. What’s your point?”

  She stepped close and looked up at me with eyes that were as black and merciless as the twin holes of a double-barreled shotgun. She jabbed the hard nail of a stiffened index finger into my chest and in a fierce voice she said, “If that son of a bitch in there knows something that might stop this from happening, then you go and fucking get it.”

  I’ve seldom heard anyone put as much venom in a single sentence. I stepped back, reassessing everything about this woman. For just a second her tone of voice and ferocity of personality reminded me of Mr. Church. No wonder he respected her. I smiled.

  “This isn’t something to smile about, Captain. I didn’t say to enjoy it. Just get it done.”

  “Hooah, Doc.”

  She held her ground for a moment, her eyes full of challenge and aggression; then she whirled and stomped back through the cabin and sat down next to Rudy. I saw her take his hand. She did not look at me again.

  After a moment I turned and went aft. Jersey Boy watched me come, and he glared a “do your worst” look at me.

  “He’s a jumped-up street punk,” murmured Khalid. “He may not know much.”

  “We’ll see.”

  As it turns out, he knew a lot. Not as much as I wanted to know, but more than we already knew. And more than he wanted to give.

  Interlude Forty-one

  New York City

  December 19, 7:26 P.M. EST

  Toys sat in the American’s office, the bottle of tequila nearly empty and resting against his crotch. He was in the big man’s chair, watching the iron gray clouds scrape their way across the winter sky and thinking some of the darkest thoughts he owned. The first time his cell phone rang he ignored it. And the second. Finally, when it began ringing for the third time in five minutes he snatched it up, expecting it to be Gault, expecting this to be the call that would end with his oldest friend telling him to sod off … but it was not Gault.

  Toys punched the button. “Hello?”

  “How’s the mouth?” asked the American.

  “Less dreadful.”

  “Any tequila left?”

  “Not much.”

  “Finish the bottle if you want. Good for whatever ails you.”

  “This is why you’ve been calling?”

  “Hardly. I wanted you to know that Mommy Dearest and her boy toy have launched phase two of the Initiative. The bodies are already dropping.”

  Toys sighed. “Gue
ss there’s no turning back now.”

  “Nope. On the upside, Joe Ledger is still sucking air.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, the crew Santoro hired screwed the pooch. It’s on the news. The rest of the Kings aren’t going to love Gault for this. It makes us look clumsy.”

  “How’d Ledger escape? I thought Santoro was sending a whole team. Did you do something?”

  “Me? No. Ledger slipped the punch all by himself. Well, he had his crew of goons. Echo Team. And … you’ll dig this … Circe O’Tree was there. She apparently capped one of Santoro’s shooters.”

  Toys started to laugh, but it hurt his mouth. “Maybe Eris will finally have that stroke I keep hoping for,” he said.

  “Hey now … that’s my mother,” said the American, but he was laughing, too.

  Their laughter faded into a thoughtful silence. Finally, Toys said, “Isn’t there any way to stop the second phase?”

  The American grunted. “Not a chance. It’s already too late.”

  “Damn.”

  “You worry too much, kiddo, and you’re looking at the wrong end of the timetable. Who gives a flying fuck if some of the Bonesmen spawn bite it? You need to decide if you want to let Gault’s showpiece play itself out.”

  “He closed me out of that whole thing. What can I do?”

  The American was quiet for a moment. “Maybe something will occur to you,” he said at last, and then he hung up.

  Toys set the phone down on the desk. He placed it next to the other phone, the one the American had dropped. Toys leaned forward on his elbows and considered that other phone for a long time.

  Something did, in fact, occur to him.

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  In Flight

  December 19, 7:43 P.M. EST

  For most of the flight I sat alone, processing what I’d learned from the shooter—whose name was Sarducci—and seeing if any of these new pieces fit the weird puzzle that was the Seven Kings. The fact of there being so many crucial employees in secure facilities kept shouting in the darkness of my thoughts, but I couldn’t yet understand what it was trying to tell me. Abstract thinking is like that. You gather facts and then throw them into a bag with guesses and bits of the unknown, and either a picture leaps out or it doesn’t. I kept shaking the bag and reaching in for a new fistful of Scrabble pieces.

  When my phone rang I expected it to be Church, but the caller ID was blank, which was weird, because I have a DMS account. Nobody’s supposed to be an “unknown caller” to us.

  “Yeah,” I said neutrally.

  There was nothing. No … I could hear someone breathing.

  “Bad time for an obscene phone call, sport,” I said.

  “Joe Ledger?”

  A male voice. Soft, a trace of an accent.

  “I’ll see if he’s in. Who’s calling?”

  “Don’t be clever,” he said. “We don’t have that kind of time.”

  I was sure it was a voice I hadn’t heard before. He was trying to speak with an American accent, but it was a fake. I was sure of it. I pressed the three-digit code to initiate a trace.

  “It’s your dime,” I said.

  “You’re looking for the Seven Kings.”

  Ah. “Who are you?”

  “Don’t be daft,” he said. “And don’t bother to trace this call. It’s routed through a dozen networks on five continents.”

  “Are you the person who’s been calling Mr. Church?”

  “No. But—”

  “Are you calling to screw around or—?”

  “No, I’m calling to collect my thirty pieces of silver,” he said. He sighed and I waited. “I am not going to tell you who the Kings are or where to find them. Not all of them. I am not going to reveal all of their plans or give you the intelligence necessary to bring down the entire operation. That really would be a betrayal.”

  Even with the scrambler I could hear the turmoil in his voice. It made him sound hysterical and even a little drunk. Either way, it was clear that this was someone who absolutely did not want to make this call.

  “I am, however, going to offer you a deal.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “This isn’t for me,” he said, “and I want your word.”

  “I can’t give any word unless I know what I’m swearing to.”

  He paused and he was probably chewing his nails.

  “I am going to say a name. It’s all I can give you, but you should be able to put two and two together to figure where to be to stop what the Seven Kings are really doing. You’ll save a lot of lives. You’ll be a hero.”

  “I’m not looking to be a hero, sport. If you have information that can save lives, then let me have it.”

  “I want your word. That’s the price.”

  “My word on what?”

  “That you won’t kill him.”

  “Kill who? The person whose name you’re going to give me?”

  “Yes. Swear to me that you won’t kill him and I’ll tell you.”

  “How can I guarantee that?”

  “You’re smart, Ledger. You’ll figure out a way. Do I have your word?”

  I hesitated.

  “Or,” he said, “I could hang up right now and you can watch the world burn. You think that what’s on the telly is the real news? Believe me, mate, this is the warm-up act. I want you to do something about it.”

  “You have a lot of faith in me.”

  “I should. I already have scars because of you,” he snarled.

  “Whoa, slow down. Do I know you?”

  His snarl turned into a laugh. “No … I doubt you even know my name. But you know his. You’re almost as much to blame as she is. Him and that slut Amirah.”

  And that fast someone sucked all the air out of the chopper’s cabin. Amirah.

  Holy Mother of God.

  I knew the name he was going to give me. I knew it and I prayed like hell that I was wrong.

  “Okay,” I said quietly, hardly trusting my voice not to crack, “tell me.”

  “Give me your word.”

  What could I do? I could lie, and it probably would be a lie. He would have to know that. So, what value did my word have to this man? On the other hand, what did I have to lose?

  “Very well,” I said. “I give you my word that if I can take him alive and unharmed, I will.”

  “Swear it.”

  I did. I actually did.

  There was a muffled sound. It wasn’t a laugh; I was sure of it. I think it was a sob.

  He said, “There are Seven Kings. Gold, Fear, Lies, Plagues, Famine, War, and Thieves.” He took a breath. “Sebastian Gault is the King of Plagues. If he isn’t stopped, he’ll wipe them all out. And I know—I know—that he won’t stop there. She’ll keep pushing him and pushing him, filling his head with dreams of godhood until he creates another doomsday plague. I know he’ll do it … unless you stop him.”

  I closed my eyes. God.

  Sebastian Gault.

  The man who tried to release the Seif Al Din pathogen. The man who came close—so very close—to destroying everything. It was because of him that I was sought out and recruited into the DMS. The last guy to hold my job had been killed. Slaughtered along with his entire team.

  Sebastian Gault. If I had a personal bogeyman, then he was it.

  After we stopped the release of Gault’s pathogen, a worldwide manhunt was launched. As large and as aggressive as the search for Osama bin Laden—and so far, just as futile. We’d begun to suspect that Gault was dead, his body burned in the same geothermal meltdown that had destroyed the lab where Seif Al Din was created. But now … Gault and the Seven Kings.

  I felt as if I was falling through space. I pressed my back against the cold metal skin of the Chinook.

  “Gault is responsible for the Hospital … for Area 51? Gault’s part of the Seven Kings?”

  “Only for a few months. We were brought into this after … after …”

  “After the Seif Al Din. A
lot of people thought Gault died in Afghanistan.”

  The man laughed. A small, sad sound. “Maybe he should have. Maybe we both should have.”

  And that’s when I knew who the caller was.

  “You said that what’s happening now was part of something else, something bigger?”

  “Yes. Gault and the bitch. They’ve taken this whole thing away from the Kings and they’re going to bury us all with it.”

  “Who is the woman? What’s her name?”

  I knew that it couldn’t be Amirah, Gault’s former partner and the designer of the Seif Al Din pathogen. I knew for sure that she was dead. I’d pulled the trigger.

  “No,” he said. “You don’t get that.”

  “Then give me something else,” I said. “Give me Santoro.”

  “Christ! How do you even know that name?”

  “Give him to me.”

  “Why?”

  “If you know him, then you know why. Give me him and I’ll move heaven and earth to protect Gault.”

  He was quiet for a moment. My cell had been running the trace for almost two minutes now and it hadn’t beeped the signal that alerted me to a successful hit. Must be the same technology Deep Throat used.

  “Find Gault and you’ll find Santoro. That psycho prick will be in the thick of it. He wouldn’t miss an opportunity to see that much pain. Now, I’m sorry, I have to g—”

  I took a risk. “Toys!”

  I expected a scream or a yell of denial or a theatrical attempt to pretend ignorance. Instead he gave a small laugh. The risk had paid off. Gault’s best friend, valet, personal assistant, and maybe more. Alexander Chismer.

  Toys.

  “See?” Toys said shakily. “I said you were smart. That’s why they tried to kill you today. I’ll give you one more thing and you have to remember it; otherwise all of this goes to shit.”

  “Tell me.”

  “They are everywhere. The Kings, their agents, Santoro’s people. They’re everywhere. Even some of the people you work with and some of the people you’re going to try and rescue. Some belong to the Kings, and some will do anything to keep Santoro out of their lives. You understand what I mean? You can’t trust anyone. Or anything. Nothing is what it seems. It never is with the Kings. That’s it, that’s all I can tell you. Now figure out the rest.”