by Bob Mayer
Riley stood. “No.” He handed her the card that Lewis had given him. This is my number. Call me if anything happens.”
“Uh-huh.”
9:04 P.M.
“We’ve got two unmarked panel trucks downstairs at our disposal,” Lewis said. “We’ve got eight portable phone lines. It’s just a question of waiting.”
“Waiting until the Synbats kill someone,” Riley replied.
“Or get spotted.”
“What about reaction from the police when we open fire in the city?” Riley asked as he watched the members of his team lay out their sleeping bags on the wood floor. Their weapons were racked against the wall ready for use. They were occupying a warehouse in south Chicago that was used by federal agencies such as the DEA and the FBI whenever they conducted operations in the area. The other personnel from Riley’s team had arrived several hours ago, all looking uncomfortable in their civilian clothes. They’d all been issued papers and cards identifying them as federal agents.
“Don’t worry about the police. That’s my job,” Lewis said. A half dozen of his men were also in the building, ready to react. They had a command post set up not only to man the phones, but also to listen in with scanners to all emergency frequencies.
Riley shrugged. It was Lewis’s problem, and as far as Riley was concerned, he hoped the lid did blow off this whole operation. He was concerned for the safety of his men.
Doc Seay was the acting team sergeant; he’d taken Riley aside a half hour ago to brief him on the close-out down in Tennessee. The local media had bought the story of escaped prisoners. The deaths of Knutz and T-bone had been explained away by placing them on board the helicopter, which had been described as crashing during a training exercise. Seay said that Colonel Hossey was more than a little upset with the DIA, but the commander of the Special Operations Command at Fort Bragg had personally flown up and intervened between Hossey and General Trailers.
Another mess had been swept under the rug in the name of national security. Riley preferred to think of it more as career security for most of the people involved.
“I want your men ready to move out with five minutes’ notice,” Lewis ordered Riley. “If we get anything off the scanners, we’re going in right away.”
“Yes, sir.”
11:35 P.M.
Holly’s nose was buried in a cardboard box of rotting vegetables thrown away by a produce truck on its way out of the city. The dog ate ravenously, teeth crunching on some carrots, when she suddenly paused and lifted her head. She looked from side to side, eyes training to penetrate the shadows in the deserted street. A lone streetlight more than a hundred meters away cast a feeble glow, reflecting off broken glass. The roar of traffic from the more populated part of the city was muted here.
It wasn’t the noise or the light that had caught Holly’s attention, though. Above the smell of her decaying meal, she’d caught a whiff of something else, something that her mind said was danger. She slunk farther into the darkness near a dumpster and crouched down, peering out. Then she heard the noise of glass breaking. Something was moving, coming closer from the dark end of the street. Deep, raspy breathing echoed off the warehouse walls.
Holly’s head twitched from side to side. A low whimper started deep in her throat but her mouth clamped shut in an instinctive sense of self-preservation.
A figure lurched into the dim light, thirty meters away. The sight of the drunk relaxed Holly slightly. But in a second she was tense again as two figures appeared behind the man, moving fast. She barely had time to register their presence before they were on the hapless human. He uttered one brief yelp of surprise before his throat was torn out. The figures began dragging the body away toward the darkness.
Suddenly, one of the creatures halted and turned, golden eyes peering back up the street, searching. Holly froze, her breathing halted, instinctively knowing that she was in danger. The blood-covered muzzle of the creature turned in Holly’s direction and bared large fangs as it growled.
Holly bolted for the opposite end of the street, deep-throated howls following her escape.
Chapter Twenty
Friday, 10 April
CHICAGO 7:04 A.M.
“Anything?” Merrit asked.
“Nothing,” Riley replied as he slid his 9mm pistol in the shoulder holster under his denim jacket.
“What’s the plan for today?”
Riley pointed to the desk where Lewis was sitting, going through the reports gleaned from all sources. “We’re going to the area where the Synbats left the rig and start searching outward, checking all the abandoned buildings. It’s a shot in the dark, but it beats sitting here all day.”
Merrit looked over at Riley’s men, who were eating fast food brought in by one of the DIA agents. “How are you going to do that?”
“Civilian clothes. Armed only with pistols. We’ve got our FBI IDs, and Lewis will take care of the locals.”
“It might work.” Merrit pointed at the city map posted on an easel. “I don’t think they’ve gone far from where they got out of the rig. If the timing on the brothers’ deaths is correct, the Synbats had only a few hours at best before the pods activated. Once that happened they had to find a place to hide.”
“How long before the young Synbats are able to move about?” Riley asked.
“Two to three days,” Merrit answered. “A week before they’ll have any chance at self-sufficiency by killing small game, such as rats, dogs, or cats, and scavenging garbage. They’ll be eighty percent grown in a month. Able to mate in two months. Full grown at four months.”
“When will they be a threat to humans?”
Merrit shrugged. “That’s hard to say. Individually I would say in a month. But I’d hate to run into a pack of week-old Synbats working in concert.”
“If we stumble onto their lair in the next four or five days, then we ought to get all the young ones, right?”
“We should, unless they’ve split forces and have more than one hiding place.”
That stopped Riley for a second. It’s what he would do if he were in the Synbats’ position. “You think they’d do that?”
“I hope not, but they split up in Tennessee in order to survive,” Merrit reminded him. ‘There’s no reason why they wouldn’t do it again.”
Riley backtracked. “If we get all three adults in the next four days and eliminate them, the young would starve?”
“Unless the old ones have left an adequate supply of food for the young ones.”
“Damn,” Riley cursed. “They already tried that once with the horses back in the LBL, so I guess they’ll do it again.”
Merrit nodded. “Now you’re beginning to see the magnitude of the problem. Not only that, but don’t forget that the adults are capable of breeding again. With only a ten-day gestation period, we could see another generation of Synbats born early in the week after next.”
“I know all that,” Riley remarked irritably. “I’m more worried about the fact that they always seem to be one step ahead of us. We need them to make a mistake, or we need a hell of a lot of luck, and I don’t like working that way. The problem I’m having with all this—” He paused as Colonel Lewis strode up.
“Lieutenant Giannini just called. She says she has something you might be interested in. I’ll take your men and start the search while you go downtown.” He tossed a portable phone to Riley. “Stay in touch. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.” He turned to Merrit. “Let’s roll.”
8:55 A.M.
Giannini was dipping a doughnut in a cup of coffee when Riley and Merrit appeared at her door. She waved the dripping pastry at them, gesturing for them to come in. “Grab a seat.”
Riley glanced around, then stepped back out to drag in an extra chair, while Merrit took the only one available. A silence ensued, broken only by the sound of the detective eating her breakfast. Riley looked around, taking in the files piled here and there and the overflowing garbage can. There were a few plaques on the
wall and Riley read the nearest, a commendation for bravery while breaking up a bank robbery. Riley returned his gaze to Giannini and she was looking at him. Their eyes locked for a long second.
Giannini broke contact first, pointing at the grungy coffeepot sitting on top of her filing cabinet. “Want some?”
Merrit shook her head, but Riley stood and poured himself a plastic cup full of the dark liquid. He took a sip and grimaced at the gritty taste. “What have you got?”
Giannini kicked back in her seat, sipping out of a cracked mug. “Nothing solid. Just been wandering around the station house that covers the district where your killers disappeared. I was there earlier this morning when the shifts changed.” She grinned, laugh lines appearing around her dark eyes. “You want to find out what’s happening on the streets, you just hang around the locker room.”
“The locker room?” Merrit asked.
“Yeah,” Giannini said. She smiled again. “Don’t worry, they ain’t got nothing in there I haven’t seen before.” She put down the mug. Merrit didn’t react to the remark. “Anyway. There were two guys talking about some old bum who’d been nagging them when they were trying to walk their beat. He was all upset cause his shopping cart got stolen.”
“So?” Riley prompted.
“Well, the bum said that he’d left it parked near his ‘home’ — some of these people are very territorial — and a — get this — a ‘gorilla’ — that was his word — stole his cart.”
Riley sat forward. “A gorilla? What did it look like?”
Giannini shrugged. “That was all they had.”
“Can we find this bum?” Riley asked.
She shook her head. “I doubt it. There’s probably dozens of homeless in that area, and the two guys didn’t remember much about what the fellow looked like. I know the place they were talking about, though. It’s about eight blocks from where the truck was left.”
“Can we go there?”
Giannini stood up, strapping on a large-caliber revolver in a shoulder holster.
FORT CAMPBELL
9:00 A.M.
Sergeant Major Powers read the latest message from Riley, then tore it into little pieces and burned it in his trashcan. The other members of the battalion headquarters staff were just arriving after having spent the last several hours conducting physical training, getting cleaned up, and eating breakfast.
With a slight limp, Powers went to the door and made his way to the Group headquarters building. He knocked once on the commander’s door and entered. Stopping the appropriate two paces in front of the desk, he saluted and waited.
Colonel Hossey looked up from the papers spread across his desk. “What’s the latest?”
“They’re set up in Chicago. Riley thinks the Synbats have holed up there in an abandoned building. He feels they will most likely not find them until the Synbats themselves make contact.”
“Shit,” Hossey muttered. “Anything else?”
“No, sir. I know where Riley and his men are located and the phone number at that location.”
“All right. I want you to keep two teams on alert status, ready to roll with fifteen minutes’ notice. Live ammunition, civilian clothes — you know the deal.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll have a Blackhawk from the aviation platoon ready to fly. You call out to the airfield and talk to the pilot in command. Make sure you can get hold of him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Carry on.”
CHICAGO
9:30 A.M.
“This was the street the two officers were walking,” Giannini said as she pulled the unmarked car over to the curb, next to a hydrant. “The homeless person could have come out of any of these side streets.”
Riley looked around. It reminded him of the South Bronx, his home. There were numerous small shops on the ground floors of the buildings, just opening to greet the day’s customers. The upper floors contained apartments. The side streets led to other apartment buildings and businesses. Several of the buildings were abandoned, some burned out.
“Let’s take a walk,” Riley said as he opened his door. Giannini and Merrit followed.
As he walked the sidewalks and filthy alleyways, Riley lost hope of ever tracking down the Synbats. There were just too many places for them to hide. He looked up at all the broken windows peering over his head like so many eyes; the creatures could be hiding behind any one of them.
Even if he did stumble across the Synbats, Riley was none too sure that he and his men could stop them. Knutz’s and T-bones’s M16s hadn’t been found, which meant that the Synbats most likely still had them, along with the combat vests containing extra ammunition. Despite Ward’s claims that the Synbats had not been taught to reload, Riley didn’t want to test them on that.
After two hours of wandering, Riley could sense Giannini’s impatience. They’d exchanged barely twenty words the entire time.
Finally, Giannini halted outside a local delicatessen. “Let’s get some lunch.”
Riley acquiesced, and they went into the small store. He was surprised when Giannini spoke in Italian to the proprietor. The two seemed to know each other and conversed rapidly as the old man sliced the meat and cheese for the sandwiches they had ordered. When the three large submarines were laid on the countertop, Riley insisted on paying, and Giannini didn’t even pretend to argue. They took a table near the front window as the lunchtime crowd started to surge in.
“You from around here?” Riley asked.
“No. I used to work this area, though, when I was first assigned to the force.” Giannini took a large bite of her sandwich. Riley was amused to see Merrit dubiously eyeing the massive amount of bread and cold cuts.
“How long have you been a cop?” Riley asked.
“Fourteen years.”
“Like it?”
Giannini cocked an eyebrow at Riley and answered with her mouth full. “You writing a book or what? It’s a job.” She swallowed. “Yeah, I like it. Makes each day interesting. I’d go crazy if I had to get up every morning and do the same shit every single day.” She turned to Merrit. “So, Doc. Any idea where your killers might have gone? You’ve been awfully quiet.”
“They’ve found a place to hide,” Merrit said.
“Yeah?” Giannini shook her head. “Doing what? They got to eat, don’t they? And what’re they waiting for? Do they need money? Maybe they’re looking for a job. Maybe they’re ripping people off. You haven’t given us shit to work with. All you want us to do is tell you if anything unusual happens. Yet we just wasted a morning walking around the streets looking for God knows what. You must have some idea what you’re looking for.” She turned back to Riley. “How about giving us a description of your suspects other than that they’re wearing animal skins.”
For the briefest moment, Riley was tempted to chuck it all and tell her. He remembered his bitterness about not being told himself, yet here he was doing the exact same thing.
“We don’t have anything more than that,” he said quietly.
“Bullshit!” Giannini spat out, slamming her sandwich on the table. “Then what the hell is she doing?” she asked, pointing at Merrit. “Making a psych profile out of thin air?”
“I’m ... I’m basing it on the crime scenes,” Merrit stammered. “I’m tracking their actions and trying to get an idea of who we’re after.”
“I told you I’ve been on this job for fourteen years, and I’ve never been involved with something as weird as this,” Giannini said. “The chief may have bought off on all this crap for his own reasons, and that’s fine and dandy, but that don’t mean I have to. I checked with my source in the FBI and he says there’s no Special Agent Riley listed in his computer. I called the coroner’s office and they told me the bodies of the Sattler brothers were taken away by people from the federal government and they have no idea where they are now. There wasn’t even an autopsy.”
Giannini leaned forward. “So who are you and what’s going on? And don
’t give me any of your super-secret federal bullshit. That stuff only works in the movies. I’m a cop and this is my city and you’re fucking with it.”
Riley hadn’t moved the entire time she was speaking. When she ran out of steam he leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I’m not going to give you any bullshit, all right? If I tell you what’s really going on, if s not going to be like in the movies, because the people you’re dealing with don’t play games and don’t make speeches. They could kill us both. You’ve got fourteen years being a cop; well, I’ve got quite a few years playing another game altogether and it’s got its own set of rules. I didn’t make the goddamn rules and I don’t like them and sometimes I don’t even see a reason for them, but that doesn’t mean I can just do whatever I please.
“There’s a price to everything. You should know that — you’re a cop. You break the law and you pay the price. If I tell you what’s really going on — since you obviously know that the cover story is bullshit — then you’d damn well better be ready to pay the price when the hammer comes down.” He opened his denim jacket and pulled up his T-shirt, briefly exposing the puckered skin where high-velocity bullets had exited his body. “I’ve paid the price before. Are you willing? Are you really willing?”
Giannini’s voice was flat. “I’m willing.”
Riley stood. “Let’s go to the car.” They threw the remains of their lunch in the garbage and made their way to the police car. A cable TV van had blocked them in while the workers were playing out cable into an open manhole. Giannini had to get the truck to move before they could pull into the traffic.
“Find someplace to park and Doctor Merrit will tell you about what we’re after.”
Giannini parked underneath the elevated highway and, with the roar of traffic overhead, Merrit begin relating in a monotone the story of the Synbats from inception to breakout. Riley picked up the action from there until arriving in Chicago. When he was done, Giannini stared at him. “If it wasn’t for seeing those bodies in that trailer, I’d be looking around for Candid Camera right now. This is the craziest stuff I’ve ever heard.” She blinked. “You’re not bullshitting me, are you?”
