Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers

by Diane Capri

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “The front door was open and—”

  “You!” Lito said, lowering the gun.

  “I wasn’t breaking in, you know.”

  “Of course not, you’re an angel.” Lito slipped the gun behind his belt and reached out his hand. Nick took it.

  To his surprise, Lito kept hold of his hand and pulled him into a one-armed man hug. The wound from the bullet graze had stopped bleeding but it still ached a bit.

  “Now I know I’m doing the right thing.”

  There was no mistaking the sincerity in his eyes.

  “What do you mean, Lito?”

  “If being rescued by an angel isn’t a sign from heaven that it’s time to turn my life around, I don’t know what is. And now, here you are again. This isn’t just another sign, it’s a confirmation.”

  “I just came to tell you...” How best to put it?

  “I’ll do anything you ask.”

  “You need to be careful. You’re in a great deal of danger.”

  “Obviously.” He smiled. “But you’ll protect me, right?”

  Awkward.

  “Well, you see...” What good would it do to explain that in a little while he’d no longer be an angel but a human just like Lito? Better just finish what he came to do and leave. “I’m no longer assigned to you,” he said. “Not sure anyone is, actually.”

  “What?”

  Just tell the poor bloke.

  “There’s a bull’s eye painted on your back.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “I’m here to warn you, because you’re on your own now. I can’t protect you anymore.”

  “Just like that, you’re checking out?”

  He gave Nick a thoughtful look, held his gaze for a moment, then sighed.

  “Guess this is goodbye, then.”

  “I’m afraid so. You’d better get to London as fast as you can.”

  “I just have one last thing to do before I go.”

  “Be careful, Lito. I mean it.”

  “Don’t worry.” Lito patted the gun behind his back and mustered a brave smile. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Take every possible precaution.” Nick put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. Lito’s eyes brightened. He stood taller, looked stronger. If only Nick could protect him a bit longer...

  “I’d best be going now, my friend.” One last handshake.

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  “What for?” Nick said.

  Lito smiled. “My life.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  NICK LEFT THE WAY A HUMAN WOULD, through the front door and out to the sidewalk. Concealed by the shadow of a camphor tree, he focused on the Coronado Bridge until he felt the concrete vanish from beneath his feet.

  A cool blast of air rushed over his face and raked through his hair. It wasn’t teleporting but he was flying at superhuman speeds. He looked down to make sure he wasn’t casting a shadow over the bridge.

  As he approached the bridge, a sharp pain stabbed his head—the effect of his supernatural powers draining away. Losing balance, he gripped his head between his hands.

  The landscape spun as he hurtled down to the water below.

  #

  He felt no impact, no splash, no suffocating water in his lungs, but Nick knew he’d plunged beneath the bridge. When he regained his bearings, it became abundantly clear that he was between realms.

  Sort of.

  He wasn’t drowning, but his clothes felt damp. The water seemed neither cold, warm, nor heavy. He drifted in it but didn’t sink or float, the only sensation was the pain now gripping his skull like a vise. It overwhelmed him every time he tried to teleport to dry land.

  Large shadows passed over as did the sound of motors and a cruise ship’s horn. The briny dampness became tangible in his mouth, his nose, and pressed against the surface of his whole body. He was slipping through into the physical realm and uncertain he could control it.

  He thought he heard someone calling him. The voice itself wasn’t audible, but in his mind the earnest cry evoked images of Clara, Sophia...and Hope.

  He turned his head, hit a concrete post. Before he could react, the darkness engulfed him utterly.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  WITHIN THE BOWELS OF CABRILLO STADIUM, Yuri crimped the final wire to arm the second of two nuclear devices strategically placed under the stands of the plaza level on the north and south sides.

  “There.” He handed the remote detonators to Dan and Gunther, the two hulking men who’d overseen the activation. “After retina scan, use this button to arm, this one to begin countdown. Scan retina again, then press blue button to abort—”

  “Abort?” Dan glowered at him.

  “Just in case. I made very simple, even child could—”

  “That’ll be all,” Gunther said. He and Dan lifted him up as if he were made of straw.

  “Hey!” Yuri struggled, but it was no use. In a few seconds he was in the locker room being slammed against the doors.

  “What the hell? I make delivery, set up configuration. Why—”

  Gunther opened the door next to Yuri’s right ear, pulled out some neatly wound cord, and started tying Yuri’s wrists behind his back.

  “After delivery I get paid! I had deal with Lena Walker!”

  “These are Lena’s orders,” Gunther said.

  Dan got a roll of duct tape from the locker and wrapped it twice around Yuri’s head, tightly sealing his mouth. Just when Yuri thought it couldn’t get any worse, Gunther fashioned a noose around his neck and threw the other end of the rope over a pipe high above them. He started pulling on the rope.

  Screams choked off, eyes bulging, heart about to explode, Yuri dared not move as the rope grew tighter.

  Didn’t matter.

  He knew what was coming.

  He shut his eyes.

  Heard Sascha say You’ll never amount to anything.

  Heard himself say I’m sorry, Mommochka.

  The last thing Yuri heard was the sound his neck made when it snapped.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  THE IMPACT THAT CAUSED THE DARKNESS eventually ended it. At first a flash of white light, then the dancing flecks that swam around Nick’s head, then the realization that he was mostly in the physical realm but not to the point that he couldn’t exist under water without drowning.

  The damage from that concrete pillar felt real enough, though. As he drifted in the depths, a sharp throbbing pain from the bump surpassed all other sensation, which meant the pain of his draining angelic powers had subsided.

  For the moment.

  Right above his head, a trio of sea creatures swam past him. From their horizontal tail flukes, he could tell they were mammals—dolphins or some other sort of porpoise.

  How long had he been unconscious?

  Judging by the scant trickles of light that made it to the murky depths, evening had fallen. He’d spent several hours submerged at the bottom of the bay which Hope had almost made her grave.

  Time to find that pendant.

  With the sand barely registering the presence of his feet, Nick trudged toward the spot closest to where he believed Hope had attempted her fatal swan dive.

  He knew the prospect of finding anything but debris and fish muck in those dark depths was about as good as finding a diamond in a junkyard.

  He had to try.

  Even if it brought on more daggers to the skull. He focused on the image of Hope touching the place on her neck where her pendant had been. Sure enough, a skewer of pain impaled his left eye socket, which throbbed exquisitely.

  A dark gray harbor porpoise swam over to watch him. Just past the sleek frame of the porpoise, he saw something shining in the distance. It looked almost like a penlight lodged in some kelp around one of the bridge’s pillars.

  Pushing through the ever roiling water and ever increasing pain, Nick slogged over to the flickering light, glad the porpoise was
following. He was exhausted, the pain now so intense he almost released the mental image of Hope.

  The porpoise swam closer to the light.

  Nick took a deep breath—and a few more steps.

  Just enough:

  The jade pendant hung on a gold chain dangling from a barnacle. Its design was a traditionally entwined dragon and phoenix, but there was nothing else traditional about it. The pendant glowed—with a golden light that cast no physical rays, nor did it glint onto the face of the porpoise clicking joyfully while she remained close at Nick’s side.

  He reached out and let the pendant float up under his hand. In order to take hold of it, he’d have to become fully physical—his hand, at least. He wasn’t sure he had the ability or coordination to do that now.

  But he wasn’t about to give up, now.

  As he released the image of Hope, the pain lessened if only marginally. He slipped his hand into the physical layer, lifted the pendant, closed his fingers around it, and pushed it into his pocket. But the sudden compression in his chest and the saturation of frigid water in his clothes alerted him to a troubling realization: He had not been able to control his entrance into the physical realm.

  He couldn’t retreat to the safety of the spiritual layer without losing the pendant. Nor could he swim to physical safety if he remained in his current state. Already the pressure of the watery depths was crushing him. His eyes felt like they were bulging out of his head, his lungs were desperate for air.

  He looked over to the porpoise, projected his need for help as best he could.

  She swam over and presented her dorsal fin. Nick grabbed it with both hands.

  // THANK YOU //

  When they finally broke through the surface, the porpoise sent a heavy mist through its blowhole and swam toward shore.

  Nick held on like a man on a self-propelled boogie-board.

  “I suppose I’m going to have to learn how to swim, one of these days,” he called out.

  The porpoise clicked and chattered.

  Five minutes later Nick stood on the sandy shore bidding farewell to his aquatic friend. Despite the pains he’d taken, the lingering aches and nausea, the teeth-chattering chill that ran like ice through his drenched body, he felt grateful. And amazed at his good fortune in surviving the plunge and retrieving Hope’s pendant.

  He couldn’t wait to see her face when he returned it to her. He fished the smartphone out of his pocket, unaffected by the water because it was phasing out of the physical realm.

  An artifact of his final days as an angel.

  Just before it vanished he made a note of the time: 6:17 PM.

  Less than an hour until the Cabrillo Stadium event.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  THE AUDITORS COULD BE ANYWHERE. Disguised as humans, invisible to all but those to whom they chose to appear. There was no way Lena could tell where in the stadium they were, but Morloch never failed to deploy them.

  The last rays of sunlight painted the sky red. She had once found such conflagrations beautiful, but now the scarlet streaks in the sky were bleeding out a languid death into the tomb of nightfall.

  Having discreetly dispatched one of Hartwell’s staff members and taken on her appearance, she stood at the west side of the stadium shading her eyes from the blazing white stadium lights. In just half an hour, some fifteen thousand people would pour into the arena like cattle into the slaughterhouse.

  Serena, Dan, Gunther, and Johann joined her. With their black business suits, sunglasses, and expressionless faces, they looked like secret service agents. But they were nothing so trivial. They were Nephilim, strong and proud, and like Lena, ready to change the course of history.

  “The packages are in place,” Serena said, her tone as colorless as her features. “Timer’s set. Yuri’s been dealt with. Sniper’s ready.”

  “Isn’t this overkill?” Johann said. “Taking out your targets with a sniper rifle, only to have them fried when the nukes go off?”

  “Just do your jobs, all right?” Lena gave them a reassuring smile. “Contingency plans are our friend.” A pair of 2.5 kiloton suitcase bombs would more than suffice, but it was all about the spectacle. The bullets were to ensure that Hope Matheson was terminated while people could see it happen, the bombs to impress not only Morloch but his entire command chain. “Any questions?”

  None.

  “Keep on the lookout for Nikolai. He’s fallen, but we can’t be certain how much of his supernatural powers he still retains.”

  Lena watched with pride as they dispersed to their positions. Although none of them possessed the superior intellect for leadership, they were some of the strongest Nephilim she’d found over the years and the most effective at enforcing her will—muscle to her brains. And like her, they could withstand the blast of a nuclear warhead or better yet, slip out of the physical layer into the spiritual.

  Lena headed for the secure entrance onto the field. At the gate, a security guard with a walkie-talkie in hand stopped her.

  “Ms. Wright?” he said. “I’ve got a group here—DCM Security, they with you?”

  “They’re late, go ahead and let them into VIP lounge six,” Lena said in the voice of the dead staff member whose likeness she’d pilfered. “I’ll meet them there.”

  Five minutes later, she was unlocking the door of the lounge with Ms. Wright’s magnetized badge and letting in four deeply tanned men in black suits with black ties and dark sunglasses.

  “We don’t have much time.” Lena pointed to each of them in turn. “You’re Number One, Number Two...Three...Four.” She then pointed to the cabinet and told Number Three to distribute the in-ear transmitter/receivers. “Which one of you is the sharpshooter?”

  Number Four raised his hand.

  “Over there.” She nodded toward the closet. Number Four went over and took out a black bag whose contents he dumped onto the coffee table. Four Glock .38s. “Grab one each,” Lena said, then led the sniper over to the window.

  On the ground beneath it lay a footlocker. She unlocked it and motioned for him to pick up the Remington 700 bolt-action rifle, a case of rounds, and a pair of binoculars. Then she slid the window open over the vacant section of the stadium all the way to the stage.

  “This entire part of the stadium has been cordoned off, for security measures. You’ll keep the lights off and take your shot from here—the duck blind, so to speak. Your target Hope Matheson will be in the front row. She’ll be speaking right after Hartwell. Make sure she doesn’t get far into her speech. Afterwards, you’ll wait here and we’ll facilitate your getaway. Any questions?”

  The sniper shook his head.

  “The rest of you have seen the photos of the other targets. If any of them try to escape, they’re your priority. Communicate and cover the different sections of the stadium. No one gets out. Number One, are the parking lot exits covered?”

  He slid the gun behind his back and faced her.

  “All according to Miguel’s orders. We got twenty-five armed and standing by on their cell phones ready to jump. A lot of trouble just to keep people trapped inside the stadium to watch an assassination.”

  Lena glided over to the door, then stopped.

  “This needs to be a high visibility kill, for a big audience. It all has to be done by seven-thirty, not a second later, understand? The bigger the spectacle the better.” As far as Morloch is concerned. As for Lena, she cared more about the resources promised for accomplishing this mission than the faith of millions that would be shattered as a result.

  “What are you?” the sniper said, “some kind of terrorist?”

  “Terrorist?” What were terrorists, in the grand scheme of things? Simply means to an end. What Lena and the Nephilim under her command were about to do could not even be mentioned in the same breath. “You think too small.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

  EVENING HAD FALLEN AND ALONG WITH IT the temperature. Beneath the floodlights illuminating entrances into the packed st
adium, a few stragglers walked toward the gates.

  Nick climbed out of the taxi, his clothes still wet, his shoes sloshing with each irritating step. Teleporting had been intermittent, only taking him a few blocks at a time. Flying made him nauseous. Hence the cab.

  Now he was late. Hope might have tried calling or texting, but the smartphone from Lena had given up the ghost. As will my powers, he thought, but then pushed it from his mind. Still groggy from his plunge into the bay, Nick hurried to the nearest entrance.

  Along the way, he noticed a few men eyeing him. One of them spoke into a cell phone while never taking his eyes off him. As an angel, Nick wouldn’t have given them a second thought. But now, becoming ever more human by the moment, he felt vulnerable.

  He quickened his pace to a light jog all the way to the will-call ticket window. No one was there.

  “Hello?”

  No answer.

  Over the speakers he heard the band finishing a number. The crowd cheered. Someone made an announcement. More cheers. In just a few minutes, Hope would step onto the stage to address the thousands filling the stadium and the millions watching on television.

  “Anyone there?” Nick started to imagine himself at Hope’s side, wherever she might be. But no—better not try teleporting. It was starting to feel like a thing of the past, the way amputees experienced phantom sensations in their missing limbs. Probably for the best. It would be awkward if he were to appear by her side out of thin air on live television.

  He banged his fist against the window.

  “I need some help here!” Another round of applause went up through the speakers.

  A pair of men smoking cigarettes approached. Not far from Nick yet not too close, they looked as though they were just loitering around the ticket booths.

  Or were they?

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

  MARIA SAT IN SECTION 23 SEAT B, waiting for Lito. The plan was to feign a migraine after he sat with her a while, then ask him to bring the Ibuprofen from her car. Joey Hernandez would see to it that he never came back. That was what she wanted, right?