by R. D. Brady
Hanz nodded.
“We’re coming out,” Jake said into his mike.
“Roger,” Henry replied. “How’s he look?”
“Not good.”
Two men headed out, and another two fell in step behind Jake and Hanz. Jake looked at Cain. His chest was moving agonizingly slowly, and blood soaked the front of his jumpsuit.
“Any issues?” he asked Hanz.
“No. I’m fine.”
“Then let’s pick up the pace. I don’t think he has much time.”
CHAPTER 37
WASHINGTON, DC
Moses stepped out of the office of the director of Homeland Security. He’d been ordered to the DC office to discuss the treatment of the inmates. Somehow word of their “rehabilitation” had gotten out. Moses had of course denied any knowledge of mistreatment, and promised to punish anyone treating the inmates unfairly.
Bunch of idiot paper pushers. They had no idea what was necessary to actually fight these people. They still thought the old rules applied. But as far as Moses was concerned, when it came to the Fallen, there were no rules.
His aide, Gavin Dryden, hustled down the hallway toward him. Dryden had done only a two-year stint with the FBI before transferring to Homeland. In Seward’s opinion, the kid was as green as they came. But he was loyal and earnest—that counted for something.
“Thank God,” Dryden said.
“What?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“They made me surrender my cell phone.”
“I know. I called the director’s office and told his aide it was an emergency, but he wouldn’t put my call through.”
For the first time, Moses noticed the sweat that had broken out along Dryden’s forehead and the stress lining his face. “What happened?”
“The facility’s been breached.”
“What? When?”
“An hour ago. I’ve been trying to reach you ever since.”
Moses picked up his pace, forgoing the elevator for the stairs. He swung open the door. “What happened?”
“A force of twelve, no identifying marks, infiltrated at 9:07. They were—some were enhanced.”
In his mind, Seward reviewed all the inmates. It had to be someone aligned with one or more of them. There was probably some kind of leader on the outside calling the shots, trying to get his minions free. “How many were freed?”
“Uh, one, sir.”
Moses stopped and turned to Dryden. “One? Were they stopped before they could free the others?”
“No, sir. In fact, they used tranqs and took out the entire staff. All of our people were unconscious for about a half hour. They could have released every single inmate easily.”
“So who did they take?”
“Inmate 23.”
Cain. Of course. “It’s the Chandler Group. They’re behind this.”
“I agree they’re the most likely subjects.”
From all reports, Jake Rogan was the point man for these kind of activities. But Henry Chandler… Moses had a feeling he’d be in on it as well.
And he realized, as they reached the first floor, that the Chandler Group had finally screwed up. No doubt they had been behind his recall to DC—but that had only brought him closer to the Chandler estate in Baltimore.
Dryden held open the door. “Orders, sir?”
“Tell the men we’re heading to the Chandler estate.”
CHAPTER 38
GALETON, PENNSYLVANIA
Patrick paced along the front porch, waiting for Cain. He’d been told Cain had been injured and that his condition was critical. Patrick was still trying to wrap his mind around that.
The rain poured down and the wind howled, making a mockery of the porch roof’s attempt to provide cover. But Patrick didn’t head inside. He didn’t even think about it. Instead he moved closer to the railing. The rain slapped against his face and his raincoat as he stared at the sky and prayed the weather didn’t interfere with the chopper.
This cabin had belonged to Victoria. It had been one of many properties she’d held in trust. Henry had received a box three months after Victoria died telling him and Laney about all her properties. But Victoria warned them to keep them in the utmost confidence.
And this place was special. It was the place where Victoria had told Laney she was her daughter.
A speck appeared in the distance, and Patrick held his breath as it grew larger. Finally. He ran to the front door and yelled inside, “They’re coming.”
The doctor and two nurses hurried outside and waited at the edge of the porch as the chopper landed. Patrick ran for the chopper, ducking to avoid the blades. Jordan hopped out of the cockpit and slid the side door open. “He’s in bad shape, Father.”
Patrick said nothing; he just reached for one of the handles of the stretcher as Jordan grabbed the other. They pulled it out far enough for the doctor to grab the handles at the other end. Patrick took a quick glance at Cain’s face, then made sure to not look again, keeping his eyes on the doctor. He saw her blanch too, although she tried to hide it. That was not a good sign.
The doctor nodded. “Let’s move.”
Together they hustled to the cabin, quickly but carefully mounting the steps and carrying the stretcher inside. A hospital bed had been set up in the living room.
“Okay, gently everybody,” the doctor said. And for the first time, Patrick noticed the saline bag on the stretcher. “You got a line in him?”
“Apparently, helping him has no effect,” Jordan said. “The curse must only kick in when you intend him harm.”
Patrick said a quick thanks for that. He had been terrified that they would be unable to help him without harming those who were giving him aid.
Steeling himself, he took his first good look at Cain. His knees went weak, and he gripped the side of the stretcher. Cain was unrecognizable. His cheeks were swollen. His jaw was crooked. One eye was swollen shut. Blood had been wiped from his face, but Patrick could still see traces. “My God.”
The doctor was professional enough to not let the horror of Cain’s injuries affect her. “Father, please back away. We need room to work.”
He nodded, and stumbled away from the stretcher, his hand to his mouth. He stared at Cain as the doctors examined him.
Cain had been one of the first humans, and according to Victoria, humans had been nearly immortal in Cain’s time. Diseases, violence—these were not part of their lives. Only through a horrible accident could they die. And then Victoria, as Lilith, made her decision. She condemned mankind to a mortal life, one that no matter how well you lived it, would end in your death. But Cain had been exempt. His punishment was to live forever, to pay for being the world’s first murderer.
Now Patrick stared at the world’s first murderer and prayed for God to have compassion and let him live. It was partly selfish; he wanted to keep Cain in his life. But it was also for Cain. The man deserved to be part of a family. After all these years, he finally had that chance with Patrick, and with Laney. And goddammit, Cain deserved that kindness. After all he had suffered, didn’t he deserve a shot at happiness?
The doctor examined Cain, speaking without emotion. “Dislocated shoulder, broken ribs, fractured wrist, internal bleeding, possible ruptured spleen. We need to open him up.”
Jordan put an arm around Patrick’s shoulder. “Come on, Father. Let’s let them work.”
Patrick nodded numbly. Jordan steered him into the living room and deposited him on the couch before mumbling something about making some coffee.
Patrick rose, crossed to the window and stared out at the rain lashing against it. The trees swayed under the onslaught, and once again, he felt so very tired, so without hope. A picture of Cain’s battered face stayed in the back of his mind, the face of a man who had been reviled for thousands of years. A man Patrick now thought of as a friend. And he could not get past one simple thought.
The good guys did this to him. How have we come to this?
CHAP
TER 39
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
Moses slammed on the brakes of the black Suburban, barely avoiding ramming into the back of the Suburban ahead of them, which had stopped at the closed gates of the Chandler estate. “What the hell?”
He stormed out of the driver seat and up to the Chandler security guard, who was speaking with Dryden, the driver of the other vehicle.
“Get these gates opened immediately,” Moses demanded.
The guard turned slowly to Moses. He was tall, athletically slim, with large brown eyes and sharp cheekbones. His nametag read, “Fricano.” “And you are?”
Moses narrowed his eyes. “The man about to shove his boot up your ass if you don’t open these gates.”
Fricano clicked his pen, then stood with it poised over his clipboard. “I see. And would that be your first name or your last?”
“How dare—”
Dryden jumped out of the car. “This is Moses Seward, the head of the ETF.”
Fricano didn’t look up from his clipboard as he wrote. “I see. And what is the nature of your business with the Chandler Group?”
Seward gestured angrily to the gates. “The nature? The nature? They’re criminals! They just stole an inmate from my facility!”
Fricano made a note on the clipboard. “Hm. Well, I’ll just put down here—legal.”
Moses took a step forward, planning on showing the man exactly what he could do with his clipboard.
Fricano didn’t even look up as he spoke. “Just so you know, all the entrances are fully equipped with cameras. Everything is recorded—audio, too.” He finally looked up at Moses and smiled. “So, I take it you don’t have an appointment.”
“We don’t need one. We are the United States—”
Fricano shook his head. “Sorry, but you must have missed that lesson in civics class. You cannot, as a government agent, simply storm in without probable cause.”
“We have probable cause!”
Fricano grinned even more broadly. “Great! Now just go explain that to a judge, bring me a search warrant, and I will happily—well, maybe not happily, because honestly you’ve been a little rude—but I will open the gates. Now. Have a nice evening, gentlemen.”
“I am invoking the PATRIOT Act,” Moses snapped. “Stand aside or you will be—”
Fricano held up a finger. “Hold on one second. Hey, Dylan.”
A blond guard popped his head from the security hut. “Yeah?”
“Agent…” Fricano paused and looked back at Seward. “Seward, was it?”
Moses just growled, but Dryden nodded.
“Ah, good, I got that right. Agent Seward here of the ETF is claiming the PATRIOT Act allows him access to the estate without a warrant. Thoughts?”
“Well, I have Judge Sheila Appleby of the Fifth Circuit on the line, and she assures me that that is not how the PATRIOT Act works. Agent Sewer is going to have to go get a warrant. Wait—hold on.” Dylan placed his ear near the phone. “Judge Appleby says he could go to one of those secret courts. But regardless, at the end of the day, he still needs a warrant.”
“That’s what I thought.” Fricano smiled. “Is there anything else I can do for you fellas tonight?”
Moses glared. “This isn’t over.”
“Of course it’s not. Like I said, get me a warrant and I’ll open the gates. Now, I am going to have to ask you gentlemen to move your cars? Because you’re blocking the exit. And that, I believe, is a fire hazard. Dylan, is that a fire hazard?” He yelled back over his shoulder.
“Sure is,” Dylan called from inside the hut.
Fricano nodded, looking sympathetic. “See? Well, have a good night.” He stepped back and shooed the men away.
Moses took a step toward him, but Dryden grabbed his arm. “Cameras,” he whispered.
Moses shook him off. “Fine. Get me a fricking warrant. And find out who these two assholes are.”
CHAPTER 40
It took almost an hour to get the warrant, and Moses was beyond angry by the time it came through. He also got the background on the two guards at the front gate. Mark Fricano and Dylan Jenkins—both former Navy SEALs, highly decorated. They had gone to work with Chandler shortly after they left the service and had served with Jake Rogan for years. He knew they would not be easily intimidated. Damn it.
“We’re good,” Dryden said over the phone.
“Finally,” Moses growled as he put the car into gear.
The gates to the Chandler estate opened slowly—incredibly slowly. It took a full five minutes for them to open wide enough for the SUVs to get past.
As soon as they were open, though, Dryden’s SUV headed in. Moses was right behind him. Fricano and Jenkins stood by the hut, waving. Moses promised to find a way to make the men’s lives hell.
They spent the next two hours searching the main house of the estate while another team went through the houses down on Sharecroppers Lane. And they found nothing. No sign of Cain, and also no sign of Henry Chandler or Jake Rogan. In fact, the only people they did see were the video crew that had shown up to record the search, and the fleet of lawyers who had magically appeared as soon as they had gotten out of their SUVs, two per search team. The Chandler Group chopper was sitting quietly on its helipad.
Moses called Dryden as he headed down the stairs from Henry Chandler’s office. “Go to the front gate. Find out where the hell everybody is.” He disconnected the call without waiting for a reply.
He stopped and whirled around to the lawyer behind him. “Where are Henry Chandler and Jake Rogan?”
The woman showed not an ounce of fear at his close proximity. “I’m afraid I do not know. As I explained, we are on retainer for whenever a government agency shows up at the estate. We are simply here to make sure you do not step beyond the bounds of the warrant.”
Curling his lip, Moses headed back down the stairs. Bottom feeders.
As he stepped out of the main doors, his phone rang. “What?”
“Um, Henry Chandler and Jake Rogan are on the estate. They’re in the bomb shelter.”
“What? Why the hell didn’t they tell us that to begin with?”
Dryden hesitated. “Um, sir, we never asked them.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. He growled, “What the hell are they doing in a bomb shelter? Hiding?”
“Um, no. According to these guys, they go there every two weeks.”
“For what? Survivalist training?”
“Um, no. Poker.”
MOSES STORMED down the path toward the bomb shelter. He’d forgotten the stupid thing was even here. Who the hell builds a bomb shelter in this day and age?
Dryden jogged up to him. “Sir.”
“Report.”
“Um, the shelter was built about fifteen years ago when Dr. Dominic Salvatore joined the Chandler Group.”
“What is it? A research lab?”
“Yes, but it’s also where Dr. Salvatore lives. He’s apparently an agoraphobe. He doesn’t leave the shelter—ever.”
Moses stopped short. “Are you kidding?”
Dryden shook his head. “No. From all reports, he’s really close to Henry Chandler and his son, as well as Jake Rogan.” A utility shed came into view up ahead. “That’s it,” Dryden said.
Moses stopped at the front door and looked around. There was no handle. “How the hell do you get in?”
“Um, I think it’s this.” Dryden pushed a button to the left of the door.
A piece of metal slid away from the left of the door at their eye line. It remained black for a second, then flicked to life, showing a bald man staring back at them. “Yo.”
“Who the hell are you?” Moses demanded.
“Who the hell are you?” the man answered.
“I am Agent Moses Seward of the ETF. I have a warrant to search the premises. Now identify yourself.”
“Can I see a badge?”
Seward dug in his jacket pocket for his badge, then held it up.
“Can you hold it
closer to the camera?”
Moses looked around, but didn’t see a camera. Dryden pointed to a small device directly above the door. “Um, I think that’s it, sir.”
Seward glared at him before holding the badge up.
“A little closer.”
Seward reached higher.
“Great. Thanks. Let me just check this and I’ll get right back to you.” The screen blinked off.
“Goddamn—” Moses punched the button again. He continued punching it, but the screen stayed blank.
Fifteen minutes later, the man reappeared. “Good news! You are who you said you are.”
“I know that. Now. Open. The. Door.”
“First, I’m going to need to see a warrant.”
Moses gestured to the lawyer who had followed him. “She’s already seen it. She can verify that we have permission.”
“Um, lawyer, could you step up to the camera?”
Moses stepped back, allowing the woman to be within the camera’s range. “There. Satisfied?”
The bald man shook his head. “’Fraid not. I don’t know her. She could be one of your agents playing the part of a lawyer. I’m gonna need the warrant.”
Dryden stepped forward, pushing the paper close to the camera. “Here.”
“Uh-huh. Give me just another few minutes.”
The screen blinked off again.
“What the hell is wrong with these people?” Moses demanded.
“I’m guessing they like to make sure their constitutional rights are being protected,” the lawyer said.
“Who the hell asked you?”
She raised an eyebrow, looking like a bored Sunday school teacher. “You did. The next time you don’t want a question answered, you should just keep it to yourself.”
Moses imagined arresting the woman and tossing her in a cell for a nice long time, but honestly, lawyers were the worst. She’d no doubt have him tied up in courts for weeks, if not longer. It wasn’t worth it. But it was fun to think about.
He paced along the front of the shelter, punching the button every few minutes and demanding someone let them in. He always received the same response—an automated one. I’m sorry. No one is available to take your call right now. Please try again later.
