The Seraphim Sequence: The Fifth Column 2

by Nathan M. Farrugia

  The walk uptown was a little more comfortable with the jacket. It was fairly similar to what others were wearing so it helped Jay blend in. He had his daypack and its contents, which fortunately included his MP7 and one full mag. Other than that, he carried one of Sophia’s Interceptors, three access cards, some first-aid supplies, stationery items, lockpicks, his watch and compass, double-edged knife, a hundred in US notes, his false passport and lingering jetlag.

  A UN 4WD rattled past—hard to miss with its gleaming white body and blue lettering. Jay turned right onto Delancey. His arm burned and he could still taste blood in the back of his throat. He checked his smartphone again. The battery was already half gone. He had the US charger in his daypack and a backup battery; hopefully he wouldn’t need it. He looked for Damien’s beacon. It was gone. He turned the phone off and on again, toggled GPS and waited. The beacon didn’t appear. He checked on Sophia’s and DC’s location. They were on the coast of Miami now, their beacons still alive and well. Damien’s was nowhere to be seen.

  Jay was standing right where he’d seen the beacon last. He looked down at the pavement. There were only two ways the beacon could disappear: Damien’s receiver was switched off or destroyed, or he was underground where the receiver would struggle to get a fix on satellites. Kevin was right: Damien was underground.

  Jay’s stomach groaned and he realized he hadn’t eaten since the packet of beef jerky he’d inhaled during the flight, however many hours ago that was. There was a diner across the road that looked especially inviting. He reasoned he could sit at the window and maintain surveillance while stuffing his face with food and thinking through his plan of action. He wasn’t going to have much luck finding Damien without the right fuel.

  He picked out a window-facing seat near the door, then started analyzing the passers-by for visual identifiers and behavioral patterns, anything out of baseline. Nothing had jumped out at him by the time his bacon, eggs over medium and bottomless coffee arrived. He shoved the bacon into his mouth with one hand and kept an eye on the street. The television above him, muted with teletext, covered the crashed Antonov, shot down by terrorists apparently. No mention of survivors recovered except the pilot. So far, this wasn’t going so well. They’d crash-landed, he’d lost Damien and his radio, and here he was wandering around Manhattan in a daze, looking for blue fucking feathers in place of GPS coordinates.

  He slurped the last of his coffee. A cluster of four young men materialized on the opposite side of the street. He’d seen them pass by ten minutes ago. They were dressed in dark hoodies and dark jeans, black boots. Nothing suspicious, but the attention to all dark colors and the boots unnerved him. Anyone else might consider white sneakers or something to break up the color. And these guys, they moved a little too discreetly, too aware of their formation. Their training betrayed them.

  Jay left the bill and money on the counter and exited the diner. The men were moving east on the north side of the street. He crossed east on his side to keep them in sight. They were likely thieves or vandals, but he knew he had to check it out. Through his peripheral, he watched as one of them looked over his shoulder, checking traffic. Jay crossed the street so he was behind them and switched to infrared. What he saw nearly stopped him in his tracks. Two of them wore sword-shaped objects concealed along their backs, wide like a plank of wood, with jagged edges. The jagged bits were cold against their furnace-like bodies.

  Jay kept his head down, never looking directly at them, and maintained a generous distance. They shuffled down the steps to a subway station. He waited a minute, checking to see if they popped up at another corner to shake any tails, but they didn’t surface. Satisfied, he followed them in, taking every corner as wide as possible, hands out of his pockets. The last thing he needed was to be ambushed.

  He found them at the end of the platform, laughing and joking. The smell of weed drifted toward him. He cleared his throat and walked to the middle of the platform, a flight of stairs separating him from them. As long as he could hear them, he would stay right here. He tried to listen in to their conversation but could only make out the occasional word in Spanish. Damien’s attuned hearing would’ve been good right now; he might’ve even been able to pinpoint their accent.

  A downtown train pulled in. Jay stepped out just enough to see if the men boarded. The doors closed and the train moved onward. He could hear them talking, they were still there. He considered taking them all down and interrogating one with his knife. Damien could be dead or severely injured somewhere. He was running out of patience, but right now he was riding on little more than suspicion. He didn’t want to fuck up his first lead.

  A loose string of commuters walked down the stairs and passed him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look as bored as everyone else. He couldn’t hear the men any more. He didn’t want to jump out just yet, so he forced himself to stay put for a minute. Still no sound. Fuck it. He had to move. Casually, he approached the edge of the platform and let his peripheral vision widen. He spotted movement, but it came from the tunnel, not the platform. He turned slightly to get a better look. The men had disappeared.

  He blinked to infrared. Immediately he was rewarded with four orange-red blobs in the depths of the subway tunnel.

  ‘Shit,’ he said.

  He moved quickly for the edge of the platform. There was a rusted iron ladder bolted to the wall. He checked behind him, saw headlights in the distance. A train was approaching the platform. If he waited for the train to pass he’d risk losing them altogether. He had to move now.

  Climbing down the ladder, he hit rocky ground. He was in the tunnel, his night-vision just enough to make out the tracks and walls. There were loose rocks underfoot so it was difficult to run. He kept to one side of the tunnel and moved as fast as he could. He switched to infrared and checked on the blobs in the distance. He caught the last one disappearing somewhere into the left wall ahead.

  Infrared wasn’t much good when there were no heat sources to bounce heat off walls. All Jay could see now was a prickle of light in the distance. The headlights from the train brought some light into the tunnel, just enough that he could make out the opening up ahead, on the left. He heard the train doors open on the platform. He was running out of time. He could barely see the ground beneath him as he ran. All he could hear was his own heavy breathing and the crunch of rocks underfoot. Headlights splashed the tunnel walls. The train was accelerating right toward him. He tracked the walls, kept running. The alcove appeared on his left. He ducked inside.

  The train punched through the tunnel. Jay hugged the alcove and caught his breath, watching the blur of windows fly past, carriage by carriage, and then the train was gone. He switched to infrared and found nothing but a long maintenance tunnel. Checking the ground, he was pleased to find smooth concrete underfoot. He made it to the other end of the tunnel and found himself at a triple intersection buffered by graffiti-scrawled archways. Taking the MP7 from his daypack, he moved across the tunnels, careful to step over the third rail and not electrocute himself.

  The right-hand tunnel was disused, littered with mattresses and mountains of forgotten junk. Above him, through the metal grates, he heard people on the street talking about inappropriate Facebook requests. Moving in and out of infrared, Jay caught sight of burning hot figures in the distance, in the far left tunnel. He stepped through the archway into the tunnel and kept his eyes on the spark of light ahead.

  It sounded like an incoming wave. As it grew louder and louder he realized it was a train. Headlights painted the tunnel ahead. It was coming straight for him.

  ‘Not again,’ he groaned.

  He legged it over the tracks and through the archway into the center tunnel. Another train, this time coming from behind him. He almost tripped over his MP7 as he scrambled back to the archway and tucked his arms in over his weapon. The first train rattled past, inches from his elbow and leg. He didn’t move. The other train shot past on his other side, trapping him between the tw
o. He held still and shut his eyes to keep the light from destroying his night-vision.

  Almost as quickly as the trains had arrived, they disappeared. In their place, silence.

  He checked his pockets and his belt. Knife, passport, money, his pouch of useful bits, his emergency sachet sewn into his jeans. All still intact. Stepping back out into the left tunnel, MP7 in one hand, he switched to infrared again. The men were nowhere to be seen. He had some catching up to do.

  He covered a good half mile in near-darkness, his night-vision struggling. The triple tunnels converged into a large hangar before they split off again. It was open ground, lit by the occasional green, red or purple light. As far as he was concerned, it may as well be lit like a stadium. He could be spotted in the open, but there wasn’t much choice. He moved fast, tracing a flat concrete path to the next split and hugging the divide between the left and center tunnels.

  He could hear the faint announcement of train times from a platform in the distance. Peering into the left tunnel, he switched to infrared and caught a sliver of warmth as someone moved. The sliver disappeared into a haze of hot white light, which looked to be a brightly lit section of tunnel. It wasn’t until he got closer that he realized it was another subway station.

  He moved carefully over the rocks, as soundlessly as possible. The platform was deserted. He stuffed his MP7 in his daypack and climbed the ladder extremely slowly, eyes on the platform the whole time. His hands came away black. The platform was lit end to end by still-active fluorescent tubes, but was coated in a fine layer of grime and powdered plaster. The tunnel walls on either side were adorned in brilliantly colorful graffiti, the likes of which he’d never seen topside.

  Jay hugged the wall and worked his way to the center of the platform. He wiped his hands on his jeans and reached for his MP7 again. Keeping each step as quiet as possible, his finger wavered over the trigger. He negotiated the empty takeout boxes and decades-old newspaper pages and reached a flight of stairs barricaded by iron gates. Naked light bulbs hissed to ward him away. He reached out with his free hand to open the gate.

  Something struck his shoulder, blunt and painful. His hand involuntarily released the MP7. He twisted to face his attacker—or lack thereof. An oval-shaped rock lay at his feet. It had punched so hard into his shoulder that it had crushed bone and made his fingers numb. He crouched quickly to collect his MP7 with his good arm while at the same time searching the platform for the hidden attacker.

  He didn’t have to wait long. He sensed movement on his left, around the cage. A dark, angular sword came slicing for his throat. He ducked. The sword clanged against the cage. The sound rang in his ears and echoed down the tunnels. Jay moved under the arm and smashed the butt of his MP7 across the hand. The sword clattered to the ground, taking the MP7 with it. The sword was four foot long and fashioned from hardwood. Its edges seemed to be embedded with fragments of dark volcanic glass—obsidian. It looked more like an ancient chainsaw than a broadsword.

  Jay barely had time to follow through with his attack. Someone moved behind him. Another obsidian sword swept in low, intent on dismembering him at his legs. He jumped, tucking his knees to his chest and leaned backward. His jump delivered him back and over the attacker’s arm. He landed behind the attacker—another of the hooded men. Only this man wasn’t hooded. He wore an ornamental headband with white and blue feathers. His hoodie was unzipped to reveal a tactical vest, possibly kevlar, possibly blade-resistant.

  Jaguar knights. Armed with what Jay now recognized to be maquahuitl swords.

  The second maquahuitl returned for another sweep across his chest. He leaped back to avoid the strike. The obsidian fragments glinted under the fluorescent lighting. The knight before him moved lightly, always balanced. He wasn’t dealing with street kids here, they knew how to fight. A third slice came in, this time diagonally cutting down his chest to his intestines. He shifted to one side. The obsidian slipped through his puffy jacket like cotton candy. The jacket spewed stuffing to the floor.

  The edge of the maquahuitl was beyond razor sharp, it was scalpel sharp. For a plank of wood, it was starting to seem more deadly than DC’s tachi blade—a weapon Jay was starting to wish he had right now. He ducked another strike and moved around a concrete column. The maquahuitl struck the corner of the concrete, sending bits of obsidian across the subway platform. Jay covered his eyes. When he opened them, two more knights had emerged from behind the stairs and were circling around. He needed to move quickly to avoid them boxing him in.

  Jay pulled his knife from his pocket and moved across the dusty platform. One of the knights closed in behind him. The maquahuitl sliced in his direction. He weaved to one side as both maquahuitls slashed into him. They struck together, their jagged super-sharp obsidian digging into each other’s hardwood. Jay drove a foot into the rear knight’s stomach, knocking him clear. At the same time, he slipped a punch under the ribs of the front knight. Their swords buckled, dangled before him.

  Fuck it, he thought. He dropped the knife and—with his only functioning hand—grabbed the loose maquahuitl by the hilt and tore it free. Instead of freeing it from the other sword, the movement threw the knight onto his back. Now Jay was holding two maquahuitls, one attached to the other midway down the blade. He glanced down and noticed blood pouring from his hand. An obsidian fragment had cut deep.

  He swung his double-maquahuitl around to a third knight, the hilt of the attached sword smashing against the knight’s head and stunning him. The attached maquahuitl came free. Jay considered grabbing it, but the knights closed on him fast. He bent down to scoop up his knife, sticking to just that and the one maquahuitl for now.

  One of the knights got to his feet and retrieved the other fallen maquahuitl. Jay sidestepped as two of the young men advanced as a pair. He took the outer left one, using his maquahuitl to negotiate the strikes. Wood and obsidian smashed together. He wasn’t used to the weight distribution of the maquahuitl and his wielding was clumsy and slower than their practiced, well-oiled movements.

  Another knight moved around him. He didn’t want anyone behind him, so he dragged the encounter sideways, across the edge of the platform. He felt his rear leg hit another concrete column. He moved around it, exchanging blows while doing so. Another knight cut him off and went for a quick slice. Jay ducked under it and came up with his own strike. The guy deflected it with ease. Jay brought his maquahuitl to his front again, just in time to stop the foremost knight from taking advantage of the distraction.

  The other two moved in blurs around the stairs again, encircling him for a better opportunity.

  ‘Mátalo. Nadie puede saber que estamos aquí,’ one of them hissed. Kill him, no one can know we’re here.

  Jay turned in time to see the knight before him blink. A butterfly sword rested on his shoulder, the blade facing his neck.

  ‘Drop your sword,’ a woman said. ‘Now.’

  Jay recognized the voice. Grace shimmered into view behind the knight, her cloak powering down.

  ‘Can you stop doing that?’ Jay said.

  ‘Saving your life, you mean?’ she said.

  ‘Tiren sus armas,’ the knight said to the others. ‘Dé un paso atrás.’

  They did as he said, lowering their maquahuitls to the platform and stepping away.

  ‘And your daggers,’ Grace said. ‘All weapons.’

  Begrudgingly, they removed small ten-inch daggers, the blades also made from obsidian, and placed them on the ground. One of the knights dropped a sling used to hurl stones—the same one that had disabled Jay’s arm.

  ‘Good,’ Grace said, withdrawing her butterfly sword just halfway and brandishing her Vector. ‘Now I’m going to ask you a few questions and you’re going to answer them.’

  ‘You took someone from that plane crash!’ Jay yelled, his maquahuitl poised at the knight’s neck. ‘Where is he?’

  Grace sighed. ‘Jay, this isn’t good cop bad cop. Let me do the talking.’

  The knight sho
ok his head. ‘What crash? We didn’t take anyone.’

  ‘I saw them take Damien!’ Jay said to Grace.

  It wasn’t entirely true, the pilot had seen men dressed like them take Damien.

  ‘Your base of operations,’ Grace said to the knight. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘There are many of us.’ The knight curled his lips at the thought of saying nothing, then dropped his chin to his chest. ‘Others among us might have your friend.’

  ‘Where’s Damien?’ Jay said.

  ‘I don’t know!’ the knight snapped back.

  Grace indicated with her butterfly sword. ‘You know exactly where. Lead the way, gentlemen.’

  Chapter Forty

  The knights, unarmed after caching their maquahuitl swords at the subway platform, their daggers loaned out to Grace and Jay, led them south through the tunnel. They ducked behind a low wall as another train barreled through. Once they reached a certain distance, they halted and said they needed to get the timing right if they were going to make it through the next section. Immediately after another train shot past, the knights began to run, gesturing for both Grace and Jay to follow.

  Jay shrugged and ran. He heard Grace’s footsteps fall into line behind him. At least the knights carried torches. Soon, they reached a long, narrow tunnel. Jay followed hesitantly, realizing that there were no archways or alcoves to duck into here if a train approached. The knights stuck to the left, running on smooth concrete. They switched their torches off; the tunnel already shimmered with evenly spaced tungsten and blue lights.

  And then Jay heard it. An approaching train.

  He looked over his shoulder. Grace was five paces behind, her breathing measured and slow. She didn’t look all that pleased. She shoved him to run faster. He increased his speed, forcing the knights to pick up their pace. Ahead, he could see a platform along a bend in the tunnel. The first knight climbed the ladder, followed by the second. Light splashed the tunnel behind Jay.