Deliverance

by Dakota Banks

  “The skin can be replaced, by the new artificial skin if necessary, but I’m worried about infection. If he’s not being cared for by professionals in a sterile environment, when we find him, it could be too late.”

  “What fucking professional would do this to him?”

  “Maybe one whose life is threatened.”

  They rejoined the others. The note inside the box said, MRS. PAGE’S DINER, 9 A.M. THE GRILLED CHEESE WITH HAM AND ONIONS IS TO DIE FOR.

  “I don’t think we need to watch the hall overnight,” Amaro said.

  “You’re just saying that to get out of your shift,” Maliha said. Her attempt to lighten things up fell flat.

  All four of them settled in the living room and looked at Maliha expectantly. She filled them in on everything she’d learned recently about Jake, including her suspicion that he could have been the one who killed Abiyram.

  “It seems to me that we’re talking about Jake’s missing years one minute and the next, Abiyram’s killed by a sniper. I know Jake’s an expert shot, and he was traveling and out of touch with me at the time. Come on, guys, tell me I’m being paranoid,” Maliha said.

  “I thought you loved Jake,” Amaro said. “How does that fit in?”

  “I don’t know. There’s always been something about him. He keeps me at arm’s length with these secrets of his. I don’t expect a perfect past—how could I? But he’s so slippery about this moral code of his.”

  “Jake’s back in Chicago. Why don’t you confront him with what you learned and see where that gets you? If he’s not one of the bad guys, we could use his help,” Hound said. “I have to say, though, you seem too easily swayed by Jake. When you’re away from him, you think more rationally. But the minute he, well, you know, you lose your perspective.”

  House in the mountains. Kids. He’s all my dreams in one very nice basket.

  “You have a lot of nerve,” Maliha said. Her voice started to rise. “That’s not true.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Amaro said. “That’s the thing. You can’t see it like we can from the outside. Is the sex that—”

  “Stop it! You don’t know him the way I do. How could you? He’s Ageless. I have some . . . issues to resolve, that’s all.”

  “As long as you’ve got your eyes wide open,” Hound said. “Why aren’t you bringing up the things you’re doubtful about? That’s what people in love do. They talk things over honestly.”

  Maliha sighed. “You’re right. I desperately need to clear the air with him. I’ll put that on the schedule—right after breakfast at Mrs. Page’s.”

  The diner was on the southwest side, in Garfield Ridge. It was a family place, with lots of booths, coloring books for the kiddies, and a counter complete with chrome stools. There was a lot of all-American décor, from flags to signed baseballs. It was full of sunshine from sparkling-clean windows and nearly deserted at this hour. The working-class patrons, many of whom had jobs at Midway Airport, had already come and gone.

  Maliha chose a booth near the back, close to the rear exit and with a good view of the front door. She was well armed, but no weapons showed. She didn’t want to alarm Mrs. Page and have the police called. She arrived fifteen minutes early and ordered the recommended grilled cheese sandwich with orange juice.

  Why not? I’m cooperating.

  At nine, three men came in the door. Two took seats at the counter, and the third slid into the booth with her. He made a point of taking a photo out of his pocket and comparing it to her face. She smiled for his approval.

  A waitress came over to take the man’s order, but he waved her away. Each of the men at the counter ordered coffee.

  “I hear the last guy who met up with you didn’t end up so good,” he said.

  “You heard right.”

  “That’s why I got Curly and Larry over there. I’m Moe. All I have to do is give you this envelope”—he put an envelope on the table in front of him—“and leave. We don’t want any trouble in this nice family establishment.”

  “I don’t want trouble either, Moe.”

  What I’d like to do is behead all three of you with one sword strike.

  “Good girl.” He left the booth and the three men walked out together.

  “Hound,” Maliha said. Hound was parked across the street, listening to everything.

  “Here.”

  “The main one is wearing a dark green jacket.”

  “You heard her. I’ll take green jacket. Don’t lose them.” He had investigators waiting to tail anyone who met with Maliha.

  Maliha took the Orange Line back downtown and stretched her legs with a jog to her home. Inside her condo, everything was quiet. Eliu and Amaro were probably sleeping, or at least resting in their rooms. Maliha sat at the kitchen table and spread the contents of the folder out in front of her.

  It was another assignment, as she’d feared. The dossier was extensive.

  Maliha’s second target—she had to think of someone she was forced to assassinate as a target, as in the time when she was a demon’s slave—was not a black-and-white situation. A Kentucky senator, Carlton Plait, had had an affair and a child out of wedlock early in his career but had since been a loving husband and family man. Floating around him were rumors of accepting monetary bribes for pushing legislation, but the rumors hadn’t crystallized into facts yet, and possibly never would.

  An investigative journalist, Camila Reyes, was hot on the senator’s trail and had uncovered hush money that the senator was still paying to the mother of his bastard son. If the information was released, plus if the pay-to-play story gathered steam, either the senator would resign or his political strength would be severely damaged in his conservative state. He probably wouldn’t be reelected. If the story was published, the journalist stood to gain in prestige and promotions. It would be a turning point in her career.

  It wasn’t the kind of case Maliha would consider taking on.

  Besides, who is the villain here? A journalist prepared to rake a man’s career and private life over the coals because “the public must know the truth” or just for a juicy byline? Or a senator who, cynically speaking, is no worse than many of his colleagues?

  Her designated target was Camila Reyes, the journalist.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Maliha speed-dialed Jake’s work phone number and he answered immediately.

  “I missed you,” he said. “Did you like the flowers?”

  “Yes, they were great. I’d like to get together as soon as we can, Jake, away from your office.”

  “Whoa, woman, you must have really missed me. How about this evening?”

  “What about in an hour at your apartment?”

  “See you then.”

  She took a cab to McKinley Park and walked a couple of blocks. He lived on the second floor of a building with four apartments. She’d arrived early, so she kept walking past his building. Watching his arrival from half a block away, she noted nothing unusual about it or about him. He looked as handsome as ever, lean, broad-shouldered, curly black hair falling over his forehead. She gave him a few minutes, and then buzzed his doorbell. He told her to come up.

  When he opened the door, his blue eyes caught and held hers. She saw only love and desire in them.

  He couldn’t be involved. No way. Maybe . . .

  Jake had changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants, and there was a fire going that looked inviting. He swept her into his arms and kissed her, then nuzzled her neck.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said. “I can’t get enough of you.”

  She pushed him back, smiling. “Are we going to do this in the hall, or do I get to come in and take off my coat?”

  “Of course. Please come in.” He stood aside and waved her in with a bow.

  His place was decorated with antiques mixed with modern furniture. The antiques blended right in and had a comfortable, worn look to them—they hadn’t been refinished, and they were meant to be used. No velvet ropes to keep them on display.


  He bought them new.

  Jake settled her on the couch and brought out a package of Oreo Double Stuf cookies and two glasses of milk.

  “You remembered,” she said.

  “Yeah.” He gave her a big smile that warmed her and released a smile of her own. “After you said they were your favorites, I started keeping a package in case you came over. Of course, I couldn’t have them get stale, so I started eating them.” He patted his hard abdomen. “Gotta watch my waistline, so I stopped. These might be stale.”

  They weren’t. She ate two, twisting their tops off and licking the icing from the middle.

  “Okay, I’ve had my comfort food and I’m a pliable ball of emotions.”

  “You’re never a pliable anything.”

  Not with you. I need some answers.

  “Hey, I brought back something for you.” He disappeared into his bedroom and came out with a small crystal jar, just an inch high. He handed it to her and she looked at it, puzzled. “Any guesses?”

  “Looks like beach sand.”

  “Close, but off by six point eight miles straight down. It’s diatomaceous sediment from Challenger Deep, the lowest part of the Mariana Trench. I wanted you to know I was thinking about you even when I was working.”

  So much for the candy.

  “Uh, thanks. How did you get your hands on it?”

  “Friends in low places?”

  She smiled, but wondered what a Drug Enforcement Administration agent had to do with deep-sea exploration.

  I’ll never know.

  She examined the sediment in the jar. “It’s fabulous. I’ll treasure it.”

  He took the jar out of her hands and moved closer on the couch. His hands began roaming her body. It was time to act, or he’d find her hardware. She slid against him, rotated one of his shoulders, and in a fraction of a second had his back to her and a knife at his throat. Her leg wrapped around his, pinning them in place. This was the riskiest moment. He was Ageless and the situation wasn’t going to be in her favor for long. Only surprise had made it possible.

  She sliced deeply into his throat.

  He slumped on the couch. She leaped up and fastened his wrists and ankles in handcuffs. She ran to the kitchen, retrieved some clean towels, and pressed them to his throat. The bleeding was already beginning to stop on its own, due to the nearly instantaneous healing of the Ageless. Then she subdued him with an injection of curare.

  It was a delicate balance to give enough to keep him immobile without paralyzing his diaphragm and stopping his breathing. It was a technique Maliha had learned at the feet of a shaman of the Piaroa Indians, natives of Venezuela living along the Orinoco River, long before most of them became Christian. They hunted with curare-tipped darts shot from blowguns and were experts in its effects. Chick had processed her rush custom order with true professionalism. She was starting to like the man.

  The small dose she’d given Jake would last about fifteen minutes for an ordinary man. For Jake, she estimated it would be three to five minutes, so she didn’t have any time to lose. She threw the rest of her glass of milk into his face, backed away, and pointed a gun at him. He sputtered and opened his eyes.

  “Hey! Ouch! What . . .” His voice was synced with his breathing, like a person with a tracheotomy. He looked down at his body, which wasn’t responding to his calls for action. “What did you do to me?” Then he glimpsed the blood.

  “You tried to kill me!” he said. “You know that won’t work unless . . .” He shut his mouth, not wanting to give her any ideas if she hadn’t already thought of them. A sure way to kill the Ageless was decapitation, making sure that the head and body were far enough apart that they couldn’t grow back together.

  “Pay attention! I only have a few minutes,” Maliha said. “Did you kill Abiyram Heber? Or Arnie Henshaw?”

  “What? No!”

  She viewed his aura. It was familiar to her. A black base hovered near his body and extended spikes inches farther. That reflected the evil he’d done in the service of his demon Idiptu. It wasn’t surprising. Her aura was the same. There was no way to tell if the blackness was centuries old or acquired recently. Wisps of red indicated that he was angry but trying to control it, and she could understand that. Her behavior hadn’t met his expectations, to put it mildly. Splotches of blue showed that he did have a desire to help others, and that fit with what he’d told her at the beginning of their relationship.

  “I love my work. Remember the Justice League comics?” Without waiting for an answer, Jake went on. “I used to get them used. Never did get my hands on the 1960 debut. Anyway, I knew that’s what I wanted to be part of. I couldn’t be a superhero, but I could still bring the bad guys to justice. Sounds sappy, huh?”

  She shook her head. “What’s sappy about saving lives?”

  He pointed at her. “See, you get it. Lots of women out there don’t. Can’t cope with a guy whose life doesn’t revolve around them.”

  His aura showed no sign of deception. Maliha had never known anyone who could significantly alter an aura, only manage it a bit, and then she could usually detect the deception.

  Yanmeng would know about altering auras. Too bad I can’t ask him.

  “What is your involvement with the secret blood gold program?”

  He said nothing.

  “I know where your swords are kept,” she said, alluding to decapitation.

  “All right. How did you find out about the gold program?” he said, with his voice in the odd cadence of puffs of breath.

  “I’m asking. You’re answering.”

  “It was during the years I haven’t wanted to talk about. Everything I did, D.R. Congo, Venezuela, the Philippines, Sudan, Indonesia—all of them. I did it to save lives.”

  “You could twist it to see it that way. Makes you sound like a hero. Is gold from those countries smuggled out and used to support dictatorships?”

  “I was . . .”

  “Yes or no?” she said.

  “Yes. But I didn’t mean for that to happen and I’ve been working to dismantle it. It’s not like I can just wave my hand and turn off the tap.”

  Jake’s aura didn’t waver. He was telling the truth. She had only a minute left. He was beginning to shuffle his feet. She remembered what Abiyram had told her about the blood gold. At no time were Jake’s actions unknown to a few in the U.S. government. A few at the top. Jake could have done all the grunt work and then been betrayed by the people at the top.

  Jake started moving his feet sooner than Maliha had expected. Keeping the gun pointed at his head, she moved in and gave him another injection.

  “Damn. Stop that,” he said.

  Maliha didn’t want to mention that she’d used her last injection. When he began to recover this time, there would be a serious problem.

  “There’s more,” he said. “Abiyram got the basic facts right, but he made sure you thought I was responsible for the blood gold. I wasn’t, I swear. Abiyram had another motive. Since you came back into his life, he wanted you for himself. He approached me and tried to bribe me to get me to leave you alone. When that didn’t work, he sent an assassin after me. He doesn’t know about the Ageless and how hard we are to kill. I sent his assassin back in pieces. He’s left me alone since then. When that route didn’t work, he made things up that he knew would alienate you from me.”

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” she said. “I know Abiyram. He would never do anything like that!”

  “How well can you know anyone like that? He was a man accustomed to a lifetime of lying and manipulation. You told your team you were considering him as a new member. He desperately wanted that, and wanted you. You slept with him, didn’t you?”

  Maliha sighed. “Yes. Once.”

  “He was old, Maliha, and he thought there was some secret process to make him young again. You showed up on his doorstep looking the same as you did thirty years ago and never explained it. He took you to bed and became obsessed with the idea o
f being young again—with you.”

  “I told him there was no process.”

  “He would think you were lying, because that’s exactly what he would have done in your position.”

  “He was my friend. My old friend,” Maliha said.

  “Exactly. Your old friend from thirty years ago. Did you ever try to confirm a word he said about me?” Jake sounded bitter. He shifted his body so he was sitting up straight on the couch. Tensing his arms and shoulders, he snapped the chain of the handcuffs behind his back.

  Right now, right this instant, I can still pull the trigger. A head wound would slow him enough for me to get out of here.

  He pulled his hands forward, the metal bracelets still in place, then reached down and bent open one of the links of the chain on his ankles, freeing his feet to move.

  Maliha’s time was up. She kept the gun pointed at him but she knew that now, with his Ageless speed, he could disarm her and she wouldn’t even see him do it.

  He stayed on the couch, patting the towel against his neck. The knife wound was almost closed. “Did you confirm anything he said, or just take his word over mine? I’m the man who loves you.” His breathing was back to normal, but there was a hurt tone in his voice.

  “I . . . I trusted him.”

  “And you didn’t trust me? Did you ever check his aura?”

  Maliha thought back and then lowered her eyes. “No.”

  When humility hits, it’s a knockout blow.

  “Why didn’t you tell me all of this?” she said.

  “Abiyram was involved in the blood gold project, deeply involved. That’s why he knew so much about it in the first place. I have that setup ready to tumble, and when I do, I’ll be cleaning house. Abiyram would have been dead in a matter of weeks.”

  “So you wanted to spare me knowing about him.”

  “Yes, and I guess that was a bad idea. Look at what it’s done to us.” He pointed down to the pillows of the blood-soaked couch.

  Maliha sat down on the couch across from him. She was defenseless, physically and emotionally. “I made a mistake.”

  “Put that gun down and get these cuffs off me. You have to remember that Abiyram was an expert at manipulation. It’s not your fault.”