FBI badges allowed us passage past the police cordon and a telepathic suggestion from Jessica convinced the Fire Captain to let us by the sweaty, tired firefighters.
Picking our way through the jumble of fire hoses, safety barriers, pools of water and foam, we stepped into the thermal ruins. Destruction was rampant. Great slabs of concrete were piled atop each other, bits of furniture smoldered with flame. Glancing up, I could faintly see the stars through the thick smoke rising from a thousand small blazes still crackling. The heat was intense, the cloying smoke thick enough to chew. Raul regulated the temperature and Katrina cleaned the air. Father Donaher did a blessing and George kept guard with his banjo. I cursed. The building was gutted to the walls.
"Our home,” Katrina sniffed.
As a crumbling wall collapsed, a smoking timber fell from the sky directly toward us.
"Yeck. What a mess,” Mindy said, irritably batting the hundred pounds of charcoal away with her sword. The neatly twained pieces hit a pile of wet foam to expose the red embers underneath.
Ed, Jess sent.
"Yes?” I asked aloud, using my shoe to push about an unbroken dinner plate on the soiled terrazzo. Wow. Must be that Corel style.
Pirate Pete is gone.
"Really can't blame him,” George commented, nudging a charred section of flooring with the muzzle of his M60. “What self-respecting ghost would want to stay in a dump like this?"
"No,” Father Donaher said, his body stiff with rage. “There has been an exorcism."
I started to ask why, but the reason was obvious. We wanted prisoners to talk and they wanted the same. But I would bet good money that the old buccaneer who lived in our cellar had probably put up a magnificent fight before the Scion finally drove him into the Great Abyss from which nobody ever returns.
Obviously, the Scion telepath had gotten more from us in Hadleyville than we had ever imagined. Okay, that agent would be the first to die.
"Another score to settle with these brigands,” Mindy growled, closing both fists making her knuckles crack.
Her long hair fanning in the smoky breeze, Katrina agreed, bolts of lightning playing about her partially recharged staff. I gave her a nudge and made her stop that. Too many witnesses.
With a gasp of delight, Raul pulled an undamaged volume from a pile of embers. Promptly, the book disintegrated into ash.
"Enough searching for physical clues,” I commanded, dusting off my hand. “Let's do a full globular sweep. Psionics, ethereal, mystic and EM scan."
Devices were activated, spells unleashed, and wands waved to the grand sum total result of nothing. The Scion covered their tracks well.
Pocketing my scanner, I sighed in resignation. “Let's go."
As we departed the burnt shell of a building, George retrieved a broken closet door from a pile of bed frames and jimmied it into a sagging doorway. Without looking back, Team Tunafish left home for the very last time.
Weary and angry, we moved resolutely through the crowd of puzzled people trying to shove uncooperative film back into cameras. Heading uptown, the team hung a right. No sense getting a cab for seven when the Sears Tower was only a few blocks away.
Once past the hubbub, the streets of Chi were almost entirely deserted at this hour. Elsewhere, the joints may be jumping, but we Mid-Westerners like to get our sleep. In the far distance, a lonely Pace bus was rumbling along its Night Owl route. Wisps of steam rose from the manhole covers dotting the street and you could hear the streetlights click as they went from red to green.
"Holy jamoke!” a voice cried out in the night. “Look! It's them!"
We spun about. Across the street was a delivery truck with its rear flap rolled up and a score of men and women lifting boxes into the vehicle. The crowd turned away. Their auras were human so I relaxed. Oh, hell. What now? A news team?
"Jamoke?” Mindy asked with a quizzical smile.
Rising to his full height, Father Donaher scowled. “Faith, that's a mining term!"
"I can't sense them,” Jess said with a touch of urgency.
Then the group across the street pivoted towards us with machine guns blazing. Tracer rounds filled the air with burning specks. Donaher was slammed against the wall, blood sprayed from Katrina's left arm and something punched me in the stomach. Reaching upward, Mindy grabbed my belt and yanked me to the pavement behind a parked car. The sidewalk felt rough and cool against my cheek.
Windows exploded. Ricochets blew stone chips off the brick wall behind us. Parked cars bucked from the multiple impacts of heavy caliber bullets. Rolling onto my knees, I drew both Magnums and paused as I smelled gasoline.
"Hut! Hut! Hut!” I cried, in a battle phrase inspired by some old foes who were thankfully dead and buried.
Rolling to new positions, the first car whoofed into flames. We waited the standard six seconds, then popped up and returned the gunplay in an orchestrated attack pattern. Six of the people shooting at us hit the ground in a manner to highly suggest that they were going to definitely stay there. But the rest stood brazen and uncaring of the lead and silver fusillade slamming into them.
Then they started to grow in size. Seams split as limbs expanded. Coats of hair sprouted, and toothy snouts extended. Ears went pointed. Hands became paws.
In seconds, the remnants of their shirts and dresses were fluttering to the ground. But instead of being naked, each creature was wearing a SWAT, full body, flak jacket.
Aiming with extreme care, I pumped six rounds into the chest of one of the werewolves. The manbeast didn't even stagger from the triphammer blows of the .357 slugs. Our rounds can't penetrate their body armor. Hoo boy. Not SWAT body armor, but NATO Red Class military bodyarmor. Bad, this was very bad.
With a bow twang, Mindy put an arrow into the left eye of a werewolf. Startled, the man paused and yanked the shaft free, snapping the hard wood between hoary talons. Raul sent a Lighting Bolt their way and a werewolf crackled into ash. But another took her place. George added a concentrated burst from the M60 making their delivery van detonate.
Dripping flame, they continued towards us. What the hell?
They're coated with Cosmoline, sent Jess. A thermal resistant chemical compound that stage magician use so they can hold burning coals in the palm of their hand.
"Limitations?” Father Donaher asked, ramming fresh shells into his shotgun. The rosary wrapped around his hand clinked with every round. Bureau body armor showed through the hole in his cassock.
It'll wear off in about an hour, and there's a good chance of cancer within five years.
"We're in trouble!” I announced to the rest of the team in case they had not been paying close attention. I swallowed and commanded myself not to barf. Geez, my stomach hurt!
Store windows were gone. Alarms were clanging. Lights were coming on in a hundred windows. A crowd was starting to gather. The police would be here in about thirty seconds.
"If we had some explosives, we could blow the flak jackets off and then shoot'em,” George stated loudly, peppering a werewolf with .30 silver bullets. The soft metal rounds simply flattened against the military flak jackets and stayed there. The linked belt of ammo dangling from his machine rifle was shrinking fast.
Her hands clenched into trembling fists, Jessica was staring at the monsters. Whether she was trying to Brain Blast them, steal information, redirect the police, or shoo away civilians, I didn't know. Hopefully, all four, and maybe a fifth.
"Any grenades?” Katrina asked, casting a Death Spell. The chosen target went stiff and keeled over with a lily in its paws. Nice touch.
Everybody patted pockets.
"No,” Raul said, casting a Death Spell.
"Used mine already,” Father Donaher, through clenched teeth.
"Yes!” Mindy cried. Ripping at her wrist, she removed her watch and buckled the strap tight around the shaft of an arrow. Setting the self-destruct, she stood, released the shaft and ducked again.
With a meaty smack, the arrow went deep i
nto the exposed armpit of a charging werewolf. Terrified, the man-beast stopped and was trying to pull the shaft free when it exploded. When the smoke cleared, I saw his chest was bare of fur. Yowsa! I gave him three silver hollow-points smack in the aorta. Coughing blood, he stumbled backwards, turned into a human and died.
Six more watches were thrust at Mindy, and the rest of the werewolves started running.
"Your momma was a Pekinese!” George shouted as a taunt.
Quickly reloading, I stood with my twin Magnums at the ready. Wild shadows danced everywhere from the burning vehicles, making it hard to see. But Mindy got two additional werewolves before they disappeared down a dark alleyway.
"George, on cover!” I snapped, reloading my weapon. “Donaher bandage Katrina. Raul, teleport them out of here! Jess and Mindy with me!"
The team split. Dashing across the littered street, I jumped over a smoking tire and dodged round a naked corpse. We were going to get one of these bastards alive. Or die trying.
"On point,” I called, as we reached the other sidewalk. Mindy and Jess separated, each going to a side of the alley. I stood in the middle of the entrance, and then slowly walked in. Jess and Mindy slipped round the corners and hugged the walls.
As befitting a center city alley, it was wide, filled with garbage and should have been well illuminated. Had the Scion removed the bulbs to establish a retreat? They were good, but were they that good?
With each passing minute, the werewolves could be getting further and further away. I would have loved to simply chase right after them like the idiots in the movies. But that was how cops got their name in granite.
"Fresh blood,” whispered a shadow the size and shape of Mindy.
As she gave no additional information, that meant we were headed in the correct direction.
Jessica? I asked in my head.
They're psi-shielded, she responded. I can't even detect their physical presence. But I'm trying to probe around and locate a dead spot where I can't sense anything.
I understood that. A mental shield is 100% effective or it's not there at all.
We passed a favorite Chinese restaurant, the rich smells completely masking the pungent aromas of the alley. Not a single beam of light reached the dark alleyway from the boisterous establishment.
Hey, since when do restaurants paint their rear windows over?
"Alert,” I said.
Danger, Jess sent.
"Incoming,” Mindy warned.
In a practiced move, we took refuge behind garbage cans and dumpsters. A tiny pinprick of light appeared in the distant blackness, which rapidly swelled in size until a glaring ring of exhaust painfully washed over us as a HAFLA missile streaked close by overhead.
Bracing for the blast, I counted to three and a strident explosion illuminated the alley behind us, burning garbage spewed into the sky like trashy fireworks! However, the brief flash showed a dozen more werewolves ahead of us entrenched atop a law office.
Okay, so it was a trap. My gun swung on the memory of the brief vision and I pumped a few rounds that way, with Jessica's Uzi also saying hello. A chattering barrage of machine gun bullets answered our question.
Suddenly, the door to the Chinese restaurant opened a crack, bathing us in brilliant light. Jessica barked something in Mandarin. The door slammed shut, was bolted, and I heard scraping noises as if a piece of furniture was being shoved against the portal.
"What the hell did you say?” I asked, reloading again.
Tong war.
Ah. Good choice. That would scare the crap out of anybody.
There sounded a twang alongside me, and something on the dark roof ahead exploded into flame and fur. I emptied both pistols at that locale and got a death howl as a reward.
Another rocket came streaking in to impact slightly in front of us. The blast knocked me off my feet and I couldn't feel my left arm. That meant a bad wound.
Ed, I don't think taking them as prisoners is an option anymore.
"Why?” I demanded, struggling to my knees and holding a Magnum in my armpit so I could slip in the last speedloader of silver bullets. “Not that I disagree, but why do you say so?"
There is a helicopter parked on the roof. I have already killed the pilot, but the co-pilot is one of them. There was a short pause as she slammed a fresh clip into the Uzi and pulled the bolt. Plus it has a 40mm Vulcan mini-cannon.
Oh fudge.
There was a scattering of reddish light from the missile hits ahead and behind our dumpster. Darkness had lured us to this location and we were bracketed with deadly illumination. Already it was possible to faintly discern us. The next rocket would be the last.
"Saigon bug out!” I ordered, getting ready to make a run for safety. What the heck, we can't win ‘em all.
"No frigging way,” Mindy grimly announced loud and clear.
As she stepped into the middle of the alleyway, the distant fires bathed her in flickering illumination. Bullets starting to chew the alley apart, filling the air with flying lead, but Mindy just stood there, bow in hand. With a revving whine, I heard the helicopter gunship start to spin its rotor blades preparing for takeoff and a strafing run. Oh hell. Then my Bureau sunglasses came alive, the whole edge of the roof of the law office plainly highlighted in the infrared spectrum by the massive thermal outpouring from the big helicopter engines.
Indomitable, Mindy notched an arrow in her bow and waited. The black outlines of two werewolves started angling their machine guns in an overlapping figure-eight pattern, while another outline blatantly stood with a squat tube in its paws. He flipped the sights, zeroed the port and aimed the gaping end of the tube in our direction.
Calmly as a summer breeze, Mindy released her shaft. There was a double explosion as the wristwatch on the arrow detonated the LAW still in its launching tube. The results of the combination were spectacular. A thundering fireball engulfed the howling werewolves, blowing body pieces off the building in a grisly rain. As the chopper tried for a take off it blew apart, adding the destructive power of its fuel and ammunition to the brewing hellstorm on the roof. Yeah, who wanted prisoners? Too much paperwork anyway.
Watching the mushroom cloud of smoke rise into the starry sky, I felt the normally high level of my confidence slip a notch. Werewolves with flak jackets and military weapons. This was beyond serious. Perhaps these bozos actually were going to try and destroy Chicago, and maybe they might succeed.
"Ed, we need help,” Mindy said, hobbling close.
Accepting a wristwatch, I heartily agreed.
"An who ya gonna call?” Jess asked, with a weak grin.
Sheathing her sword, Mindy started to speak, then stopped. Nyah. Besides, they only worked the East Coast.
Activating my watch, I began the procedure to relay a priority one call to Bureau HQ. Who was I going to summon for assistance?
Everybody.
[Back to Table of Contents]
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Who the hell are you?” the grizzled police captain demanded, as I entered the conference room of City Hall.
"In charge,” I retorted, settling the matter at once.
Grimly resolute, I strode up the center aisle between a sea of folding chairs filled with law enforcement personnel from a dozen federal, state and city organizations. Tucked in my shirt pocket was written permission from the President to tell these people anything necessary. Including, the awful truth.
When we arrived at the Sears Tower, Horace Gordon himself was waiting for us. Doc Robertson and his field forensic team analyzed the remains of the people who attacked us on State Street, and the results were most interesting. The humans who died so easily from our bullets were local gangsters who dealt in stolen munitions and military weapons. No shit. The pilot in the illegally armed helicopter was Jim ‘Mad Dog’ Kerigan, a professional mercenary. News that cheered nobody. The Scion was hitting us with everything they had. I debated on requesting the Chicago PD to keep an extra special watch on the import or
sales of any kitchen sinks.
The most disturbing news was that the alarms on the synchronized digital wristwatches of everybody, human and in-, had been set for exactly five minutes till midnight. Giving them just enough time to do what, leave town? Ominous.
Most of my team stayed to brief the other Bureau 13 teams called in on this emergency, and I was given the honor of lying to six thousand trained observers. Whee, what fun.
Taking the podium on the raised speaker's platform, I opened my attaché case and glanced at the wall clock; 9:10. Two hours and fifty minutes to doomsday.
Before me was a resolute battalion of grim faces. There was a neatly pressed platoon of suits with flesh-colored wires snaking out of their ears and down into the stiff shirt collars: US Secret Service. Smart and tough, although slightly fanatical about America, they were the best pistol marksmen in the world.
Nearby was a gang of FBI agents wearing our official blue suit and matching tie. I even had the regulation sidearm in a regulation holster. We nodded at each other. I had dealt with Stan and his people before. Their only knowledge of me was as the-guy-who-showed-up-when-the-shit-hit-the-fan. How true.
Filling the front of each quarter area of chairs were the representatives of the military: the stiffly formal operatives in full dress uniforms; Army Intelligence, Air Force Intelligence and Naval Intelligence.
Sitting alone were the field commanders of the Green Berets, Navy SEALS, Delta Force and Air Force Rangers. The three men and woman seemed entirely at ease, but that was normal. These folk were trained never to get nervous or frightened. Nothing could rattle them. In a crashing plane full of dynamite, they would finish their card game and then jump naked into enemy territory. Ice. They were made of solid ice.
By the window was a lone woman in a plain dress and wearing a governmental pass identifying her as CIA. Legally the Company was not allowed to operate within the continental boundaries of the Unites States, but that had never stopped them before.
Full Moonster [BUREAU 13 Book Three] Page 12
