Evangelina

by MaryJanice Davidson

  Both detectives drew again. "Mercy!" she heard Art cry out. How sweet.

  And unnecessary. She had used the distraction of Lue and Art to pull out her second weapon--a Paxarms Mark 24B dart gun. Each of the four darts she had preloaded contained a single drop of etorphine hydrochloride, also known as M99. A single drop, she knew, risked death for an average-sized human.

  She shot directly into the dark corona, heard a grunt of outrage, and stepped back as Evangelina kept charging.

  It's going to take a few seconds you have to wait a few seconds don't fire again unless you absolutely have to because you want her alive okay raise the gun again and aim just in case because she's not slowing down

  She fired again. This time, Evangelina shrieked, stumbled, moaned, and crumpled to the ground, inches away from Mercy's feet.

  No one moved for some time. Mercy shook, Art lowered his gun as he stared at Mercy, Lue kept his own gun drawn on Evangelina, and the chief stayed frozen on the lawn with a confused look. Behind her, the house continued to burn, and small bits of flaming debris began to spill out the windows above. Approaching sirens suggested the arrival of fire and rescue personnel, among others.

  On the grass, Evangelina's shape continued to react to the paralytic agent. The shadows and wings and mandibles melted away, replaced once more by the woman Mercy had seen revive Chief Smiling Bear.

  Mercy looked up at Art with tears in her eyes. "I'm a Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation," she told them. "I'm also a special operative of the Regiment, a global organization dedicated to the eradication of all quasi-human species. I was born into it, really. This is my first assignment as a hunter agent. I think I'm really good at it, but I don't know if I can do it anymore."

  She dropped her tranquilizer gun and raised her cell phone. "I texted my chain of command as we took position. They're on the way. I can't stop them from taking her away, but I can arrange for you and Lue to come with us. I know you've been hunting Evangelina for a long time. I want you to be satisfied, too, I swear. I won't shut you out. Please don't shut me out. I know what you are, too, Art. You're a beaststalker. You're not Regiment, but you hunt these things, too. Like me. We all had our secrets but it's all out there now. I'm sorry I lied to you and Lue. Please, Art."

  "Son of a bitch," she heard Lue mutter, but she didn't look at him. She could only look at Art McMahon.

  Art stepped forward, around the chief and Evangelina. A kerosene tank somewhere on the other end of the enormous house exploded, followed by the sounds of shouting and more sirens, but none of this distracted him.

  He was close now, and she bit her lip in worry. He was squinting, wasn't he? He wiped his face with a corduroy sleeve, then his hands on his jeans, and took a step toward her. She set her teeth and didn't take a step back. He raised his hands--oh, no, was he going to hit her in front of Lue and the chief? She deserved it, and she didn't want to cry, but was he really going to do that, allow that loss of control and mark her face with his fists, his hands?

  He had her by the shoulders. He was pulling her in, reeling her in, like a fish. Keeping her close. She smelled his tension and sweat. Here it came. Don't cry don't cry but you can hit him back don't cry and don't let this get back to Mom

  His face, so close it was out of focus. His fingers--no, they were too soft for fingers, they were lips, they were his lips, they were--

  Art kissed her on the forehead.

  Then let go of her arms and stepped back. Then he crouched down over the body of Evangelina, checked her pulse, and looked back up. "Your prize is still alive."

  Thrilled, she touched the spot where his lips had been, that sweet, still warm spot.

  A dozen federal agents swarmed around the corner of the house at that moment, demanding everyone freeze.

  CHAPTER 40

  Mercy didn't realize the magnitude of what she had accomplished until she saw the size of the convoy she was in. She got her own town car in front, with Director Jorstad himself and a driver. Art and Lue got their own town car, directly behind them--Art seemed shell-shocked by the pomp of it all, but Lue seemed game enough. Behind them was the small truck that carried Evangelina.

  Mercy had seen at least four agents in lab coats and six in body armor load up the unconscious Scales woman in back. Director Jorstad promised they'd pack enough tranquilizer in her to last the trip, and maybe a couple hours after that. Behind the truck was another truck--this one was full of agents in body armor--and behind that truck were two Humvees with mounted M2s.

  All around the convoy, state patrol (some of whom might be Art's buddies, she surmised) kept motorcycles flashing back and forth, screaming to the front to shut off intersections on the state highways until they hit Interstate 94, at which point they kept two fore and two aft.

  Also, there were at least three Kiowa gunships floating about a quarter mile behind them the entire way.

  Mercy thought briefly of the chief, who was headed for the hospital, and her house, most of which was headed for the woodpile. She won't stay in Moorston for long now, she mused. It won't take long for the Regiment to come after her again. I hope she knows that.

  I hope she gets away okay, she realized.

  After some initial warm congratulations, Director Jorstad returned to his formal self, letting Mercy give a quick verbal debrief and only asking one or two questions where her breathlessness left out important detail. At the end, he looked for a moment like he might clap her on the shoulder or even hug her; but then his face grew suddenly tired.

  "If you'll excuse me, Agent. I haven't slept for three days. Your reports have kept us all on edge." He looked at her meaningfully. "I could really use the next two hours."

  "Of--of course," she stammered as he took off his suit jacket, folded it up, and leaned his head against the window away from her. Within seconds, he was lightly snoring.

  Once she was sure it wouldn't be rude, she pulled out her smart phone and sent a message to her mother:

  You awake?

  Her heart sank upon reading the response a minute later:

  Of course I'm awake.What mother doesn't wake up when her daughter texts at 3AM?

  Sorry, Mom. I'm fine.We got Evangelina!!!

  Terrific. Now make sure the FBI doesn't lose her. I'm tired, honey. Lecture tomorrow. Can I go back to sleep?

  Mercy typed furiously:

  Sure, you can go back to sleep, Mom. I mean, it's only the biggest day of my career, and a major threat to international public safety is neutralized because of ME, and the branch director is sleeping comfortably next to ME in a town car at the head of an armed convoy, secure in the knowledge that I have everything under control, and I think I may be falling in love, and the guy's a beaststalker who faced down mortal danger at MY side, and I'm going to take him out to dinner tonight and then maybe to a hotel, but you don't need to hear all this petty crap, just go get your beauty sleep, you ugly hag, because you need it at your age.Tell your superimportant British friends they should be on American time, the overcolonizing jackasses.

  Then, after letting her finger linger over "send" for a good twenty seconds, she hit "delete" and sent this instead:

  Sure, Mom. Sorry again to wake you. Bye.

  Someday, she promised herself. Maybe tomorrow.

  She darkened her phone and took in the western Minnesota autumn for a good fifty seconds. The driver looked up into the rearview mirror.

  "Hey. Big day, eh?"

  "That's what I thought."

  "You impressed Jorstad big-time. You should have heard him on the way up here. Between calls to the military, he was talking about you. Up-and-comer, credit to the agency . . . stuff like that. You're the next big thing, Agent March."

  "Thanks." She tried a warm smile, but she wasn't sure if she pulled it off. Maybe more wan than warm.

  "Remember the little people, when you're a big shot." He winked.

  "I will. Excuse me."

  Her phone buzzed, and she looked down:

 
; Mom mumbled the news before falling asleep. Congratulations, peanut. I told you you'd win!

  She smiled and typed:

  Thanks, Dad.You can go back to sleep now, too. Love you.

  Love you too, sweethearzzzzzzz ...

  She couldn't help giggling. As she wiped a tear off her face (what was that doing there?!), she chastised herself for thinking of him as the weak one.

  It took strength to move your family to a foreign country for the love of your wife, strength to support that woman and let her get all the glory and never complain, strength to put up with the same eternal stream of overjudgmental bull that Mercy had tolerated growing up . . . all for love. Love was strength.

  Dad's strong. He's in love. With a bitch, sure: but in love. That's what counts.

  She cleared her throat and looked back up at the driver. "You're not going to think I'm forgetting you if I text someone for a while, are you?"

  "Not at all, Agent March."

  Art.Thank you.

  You don't need to thank me, Mercy.

  Yes I do. Couldn't have done it without you.

  Very kind. Lue wants to know who's texting me.

  So tell him.

  He has questions.What happens next? Where are we going?

  Secure HQ in Minneapolis.We'll debrief her and find out what we can.

  How secure?

  Don't worry, silly. It's FBI.

  You mean Regiment.

  Yes. Sorry again. Regiment.Three levels below ground.

  Armed checkpoints, tear gas, all the other stuff we went into law enforcement for.

  Speak for yourself. I'm in law enforcement for love.

  You're sweet. Is Lue still reading over your shoulder?

  No. He's drifting off.

  Good. I have a plan for tonight.You free?

  Thought not.Wouldn't we guard Evangelina?

  She's not invited. Lue can watch her.We'll finish paperwork and head out.

  Out where?

  Wouldn't you like to know?

  Actually, I would.

  Leave it to me. I'll reward your trust.

  As you wish.You're the agent in charge.

  Exactly the right thing to say. Ciao.

  She snickered to herself as she darkened her phone, put it in her pocket, and made her own jacket pillow. I am in charge. And with me in charge, tonight's going to be spectacular.

  CHAPTER 41

  Mercy woke up as the car banked right to follow the interstate as it veered south, so it could skirt downtown along its western and southern edges. Her first action was to turn and make sure the rest of the convoy was there; she half expected it to be in flames, with the gunships gone and a sky full of dragons in pursuit.

  The convoy was intact, from the state patrol motorcycles and town cars to the armored trucks and Humvees to the hovering Kiowas. It was difficult to see if Art was asleep in the back of his town car, but Mercy couldn't imagine the man falling asleep at all.

  He'll sleep good tonight.

  She blushed at the thought, and then remembered to make restaurant and hotel reservations. Even as quiet as she kept her voice, and with her boss still sleeping and the driver presumably focused on the road, she couldn't help feeling a bit embarrassed.

  She straightened her spine and decided it was none of their business, anyway. Who could blame her for wanting to celebrate? And who knew if it would really get that far, anyway? They'd known each other for less than a week.

  But what a week!

  Jorstad woke up a few minutes after she finished making the reservations. They were at the downtown exit now, and soon maneuvering through the streets of Minneapolis.

  "Thanks," he told her, rubbing his eyes. "I needed that."

  "No problem, sir. I napped myself."

  "I assume you and the detectives will want to be present for the suspect's debrief."

  "Yes, sir."

  "That's fine. We've got some processing of the suspect beforehand--security protocol, medical procedures, and so forth. Leave that to me. Take the time and show the detectives around. Most cops don't get a look inside this building. It's good to give them the chance when we can, for agency relations."

  Agency relations, she thought wryly, are not going to be a problem. She stifled a chuckle.

  "She'll be in Interrogation Room C-3, starting in . . ." He checked his watch. "An hour. You know where that is? You have keycard access?"

  "Yes and yes, sir."

  "Great. I probably don't have to tell you, Agent March, but I will anyway: this likely isn't going to go down pretty. Evangelina Scales is . . . well, you know what that thing is. There'll be little cooperation, I suspect."

  "I understand, sir."

  "I'm letting you and the detectives watch because you've earned the right to be part of this. I'm trusting you not to interfere."

  "Not at all, sir."

  "Good." Jorstad sat back and stretched his legs. "Once again, Agent March. Outstanding work. You should be proud."

  An hour and five minutes later, Mercy didn't know how proud she actually felt. All thoughts of restaurants and hotels had fled her mind, and all she could focus on was Interrogation Room C-3, which lay on the other side of the one-way mirror that separated it from this small observation and control room.

  The scene through the one-way was disturbing. Only one person was in the steel room, even though it could easily hold one hundred in classroom seating. Evangelina was awake in the center of the room.

  She was sitting on a minimalist plastic stool and cuffed to the small steel table in the center of the room, stripped to the waist, hands spread and fastened to bars on opposite ends.

  She had been shaved; her long dark hair was curled uselessly around her ankles. What looked like a steel collar kept her from tucking in her chin. Attached to the collar were two gleaming metal strips--one that traced down her spine, and a shorter one that went partway up the back of her skull. Wires poked out from both ends; some ended in electrodes stuck to her vitals, while others came together in a bundle that someone had duct taped hastily to the floor.

  The bundle snaked across the floor until it entered a port in the wall that separated them from her. Similarly colored wires, Mercy noticed, flowed from a port on their side of the wall, into the computer array where a thin, handsome man who had introduced himself as Zarubin sat. He wore a pine green suit and a nervous smile as he checked the equipment.

  Mercy forced back the rising bile in her throat. This was the security and medical processing Jorstad was talking about? Jorstad himself was nowhere to be seen.

  "What is that thing?" Lue asked.

  Zarubin took a few moments to respond; he was preoccupied with the readings on the screens. "Experimental device. Some of our research into Winoka's military history suggested some success in manipulating the spine of the creature. Slice the spine just so, and it can't change to its true form ever again. Attributed to the second to last mayor of that town, a certain late Glorianna Seabright. She had a brutal but effective method of neutering these things, and there are many in the Regiment who would be perfectly happy to take a page from her book. There are others who'd just as soon slaughter whatever we find."

  "I think we may have met one or two of those," Lue observed dryly. "It seemed to us they had more to do with those murders, than the woman you have in there."

  "Detective, please." This isn't making it any easier, Mercy decided.

  Zarubin sniffed. "My job is the recovery of information, not the plotting of assassinations, which may or may not have happened and/or been authorized by my superiors in the Regiment."

  "You sound wonderfully convincing. Did you read that all by yourself?"

  "They have their role, Special Agent March has hers, and I have mine."

  Jorstad chose that moment to enter the room. He had a single piece of paper in his hand. "Excellent. You're all here. Here's your protocol." He handed the paper to Zarubin.

  "Are you kidding me with this interrogation?" Lue asked. He mo
tioned at the half-naked, shorn woman chained to the table. "What you are doing here will never stand up in court."

  Jorstad sized up Lue with a raised eyebrow. "You're one of those idealists that Agent March gravitates towards, aren't you, Detective Vue?"

  "I like to think of myself as a strict constitutionalist, more than anything else. And with all due respect, Director, there is no such word as 'towards.' The 's' is unnecessary."

  "Hmmm." Jorstad turned to Mercy, who was watching Art, who was staring through the glass. "Do you two have any additional editorial feedback for me, or shall I have Zarubin get started?"

  Without looking at him, she asked a question that had been bothering her since before they captured Evangelina. "Director, how many agents did you have assigned to Moorston?"

  He shook his head. "I don't follow, Agent March . . ."

  Lue snorted.

  She looked at him. "Well there was me, of course. And the late Agent Pride. And whoever Evangelina poleaxed at Smiling Bear's house. And of course you would have sent the standard cover pair. And that's not even counting the swarm of agents who were suddenly available on a moment's notice to join us for the military convoy--which by the way was lovely, thank you very much."

  "Agent March, why does the number matter? You're the one who took down Evangelina Scales. You're the one who gets the credit. No one's disputing that."

  "Agreed. So the number was, what? Three? Six? Twenty?"