“Tomorrow is Black Friday. While everyone is trampling each other to save five dollars on an overpriced toaster, five state-of-the-art skiffs with AMG electric motors will pull into Eloi Bay where another five very heavy-duty pickup trucks will offload the cargo of hundred-dollar bills and drive them to a bank in Downtown New Orleans. This entire operation will take less than two hours. It happens twice a month. Dirty money goes out, clean money comes in.”
Bill couldn’t believe his ears. “How? How in the world could you possibly know all of this?”
“Are you good at your job, Master Sergeant Farrel?” she asked sweetly.
“Yes,” he replied automatically.
“So am I. Can you explain, in twenty words or less, why you are good at your job?”
He thought about it for a long, silent minute. “Okay. Point taken. What do you want in exchange?”
“Nothing amazing. I want to go with you, and I want access to the super-secret hi-tech drones you use to record all the action.”
He opened his mouth to ask her how she knew about those, then immediately closed his lips tight. “You really should work for Army Intelligence,” he said.
She shook her head. “Regular pay and three squares aren’t for me. Besides,” she said with a wink, “someone would expect to tell me what to do. And let’s be honest; I’m not great with ‘no’ or ‘stop’.” She placed her hand on his leg. “How about you?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Vaas stumbled backward into his plush hotel chair; his mind registered what he was seeing, but his intellect couldn’t believe it. How had someone burned down Baptist’s mansion, killed all the men, and allowed the cops to seize the drug shipment, outing Baptist as part of ISO in the process, they also killed all three Regulators.
“I thought Azael was an F3 invulnerable type—bullets shouldn’t have hurt him,” Miguel said quietly.
Vaas nodded dumbly. More than that, Azael, Riot, and String were the top three enforcers for ISO… in the whole world. There was no hiding this. When word got back to the council… and I don’t even know who or what is doing this to us.
“Any word from the street on who’s behind this?” he asked.
Miguel shook his head. “Nothing, hombre. Which is something.”
“Explain?”
Miguel walked over to the bar and poured himself a tequila. Vaas noted that his chief lieutenant seemed supremely calm. Of course, it wasn’t his neck on the line, was it?
After he downed the shot he turned and leaned against the bar. “Normally the smaller gangs are all too eager to talk to us. Tell us all kinds of stuff in the hope that we’ll take out a rival— you know, gang politics.”
Vaas was indeed familiar with it. After all, that was how he and Peter grew up. “And?”
“They’re not saying anything to anyone. Not a word. We had to go in and bust up some south side enforcers just to find out what was going on. There’s a new player in town. No one is saying who, but it’s not the feds or a rival gang—they seem to kill without mercy. Whoever they are, they’ve got the street gangs terrified of their own shadows.”
“At least that is something. We need to set a trap. Has Peter returned from wherever he ran off too after the C4 buy went south?”
Miguel shook his head. “No. I checked his usual safe houses, women, and a few bars—nothing. He’s probably lying low until he thinks it safe to return. He’ll turn up in a bar or brothel here in the next week.”
It did sound like the man. Sometimes Vaas wondered if he’d made the right decision for his little brother. Maybe he could have sent him off to school or the military; anything to keep him out of this life. The thought of his little brother in the army made him chuckle. Peter was such a screw up he wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in the army.
“What do you want to do about tomorrow?” Miguel asked.
“Bring everyone in, every gang that will work with us, everyone who can be here by noon. Bring them all in. One-million dollars to whoever finds or stops the person or people responsible. Two-million if they bring them to me alive. No matter what, Miguel, that shipment from Belize has got to come through. If it doesn’t…” Vaas unconsciously rubbed his throat. Losing drugs and merchandise was one thing… but losing laundered cash would get him killed.
“I’m on it.”
“Don’t be on it, get it done. Or we’re both of us dead men.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I was up early after a good night’s sleep. Concern about Mach and everything else had faded when I returned to my little apartment. A box of food, fresh clothes (including a new red scarf), and a handwritten thank you note from Jahaira had greeted me.
As a model I had hated Black Friday. All the clothing outlets were scraping together every single ad they could to maximize their profits, which meant lower than usual wages that time of year. After all, there was always a younger, prettier model who would work for “exposure” just to get her foot in the door… regardless of who it hurt.
I was one such model, once. I glanced at the mirror. It boggled my mind. Why did Joseph look so much older than he actually was, yet I look like I did at eighteen? Flawless skin, no lines, no sign of aging? Joseph had the bearing of an old man; he was fit and tough for his sixties, but he was old. Then to find out he wasn’t… what did these powers do to him?”
“Joseph was tired of the killing. It’s why he stopped. You won’t stop, right Madi?” Spice asked me from the passenger seat of the Hellcat as I drove in the pre-dawn hours toward my next destination, Eloi bay.
This time I barely jerked the wheel from the sudden intrusion. I glanced at her. She was every inch my sister, the spitting image of Sara from the last time I saw her… but she wasn’t. Sara wasn’t cruel, or bloodthirsty. I stayed silent for a moment, chewing on these thoughts.
“I don’t like being ignored, Madisun.”
“I’m not ignoring you, just formulating my thoughts. Are you my sister?” I asked point blank. I wanted to know what was going on. Was I crazy? Or was it something else.
She shrugged. “Sure.”
I shook my head. I had to focus for a second as I passed a box van on the two-lane highway. Lucky for me the Hellcat had enough power to pass a hundred such vans. After I was back in my lane I spoke. “That’s not an answer.” I wasn’t going to look at her this time. “What are you, really?” But I couldn’t help myself.
She smiled, so much like Spice it hurt. But now that I knew it wasn’t her I could sense something behind the smile—a malice Sara never had.
“Does it matter? I’m here, I’m real. I could be anything or anyone, but Sara is why you do this so Sara is who I am. As long as you remember why you do this, and who hurt you, everything will be fine.”
My spine shivered at the implied threat. “Why did Joseph age like that? If he stopped using the powers…”
“I don’t like this conversation. I liked you much better when you were willing to do anything to kill the people who hurt you. Get back there, Madisun. You’ll be much happier if you do.”
I wasn’t angry when I made the decisions I made; scared for sure, but not angry. I wanted justice for my family, and I was willing to do whatever it took to get it. I still was. “I’m not wavering if that is what you mean. Justice will come for the people who killed my family. Not blind rage, but justice.” Suddenly I sensed a satisfaction, an agreement from Sara—but there was more. I cocked my head to the side trying to pin it down.
“For now, yes,” she said. When I looked over, she was gone… again. I hated that she pulled that trick.
My next step required some extra work on my part. My stash of guns was running low; I was down to a brand-new Beretta 9mm Storm. Not my favorite caliber but it would do in a pinch. I had five mags for that, plus my knives and sword. And two pounds of C4 I took from the shipment the other day. No silencers, no shotguns, no rifles. Whatever I did after this would need to involve finding some new hardware. My plan was to blow up all the money, less m
y cut, of course. Maybe this time I could hang around long enough to scavenge some goodies. Or maybe just take enough money that it won’t matter.
The rain started a few minutes later and I smiled as I turned on the wipers. Rain and clouds meant darkness; I liked the dark. My prey wouldn’t. Not that they would live to fear it in the future.
***
“Nice car,” Zim commented from the front seat. Krisan looked up to see the muscle car speed by them. A smile slowly spread on her lips. She knew who that was, even if no one else did. If they knew the truth about how she got her information they’d probably throw her in jail. But after six years as a reporter in Detroit she was tired of using her abilities to maintain the status quo. Because the status wasn’t quo.
She reached up and touched Master Sergeant Farrel on the shoulder. “What do I do with this?” she asked, holding up a bulletproof vest.
“You wear it…”
She sighed. “Clearly. But how, you dork?”
He smiled. “Sorry. Used to dealing with idiot Privates—”
“Hey,” Sandy said from his position at the rear door. With Krisan along there wasn’t an extra seat. As the only guy invulnerable to physical harm, he didn’t need a seatbelt.
Present company included, of course,” Bill said with a smirk at the Private.
“Join the Army, they said, see the world, they said. Instead, it’s, ‘Sandy, stand there and get shot at. Sandy, stand there and let them hit you. Sandy, go there and jump in the volcano.’”
“Really?” Krisan asked her mind perking up at the thought.
“No, to the volcano, yes to everything else,” Bill said.
“I could, though, theoretically,” Sandy replied.
“Private, how many times do I have to explain your powers to you,” Sergeant Zim said. “You are invulnerable to physical harm. You still need to breathe, eat, piss, and bathe. Bullets and knives can’t hurt you, sure. But you can still drown, suffocate, be poisoned… the list goes on. It’s what makes you invaluable to us and useless to everyone else.”
“Right, yeah, it’s a lot to remember,” Sandy said.
“Just remember to do what you are told, Sandy,” Bill said. He’d softened his tone and the invulnerable soldier looked properly appeased.
“Yes, Sergeant!”
Krisan typed away on her phone, chronicling the conversation and little bits of info she picked up. She didn’t need to record conversations; she had a photographic memory for them, she literally saw words in the air. She used it in conjunction with her other abilities to record anything of pertinence. Sure, she couldn’t write a story about the special CID unit right then. But someday?
Bill turned his attention back to her and pulled the Velcro on the vest, showing her how it went on around her torso. “The trauma plate will stop anything short of a battle rifle, so don’t go thinking you are Sandy here. You stay in the rear and watch the feed. You won’t have access to comms, just video and external audio.”
“I’d really like to be able to warn you if I see something,” she said.
He shook his head. “No way. The risk of you distracting us at a crucial moment is too great.”
“Hopedale, two minutes,” Zim said from the driver’s seat.
“Wake up Felix,” Rico said from behind the passenger seat. The medium-build man with the perpetual five o’clock shadow and the dangerous demeanor stirred instantly alert. He didn’t miss a beat, unbuckling and loading up as he moved to the back of the van. He gave Krisan a nod as he passed her.
From what she could tell, he was their sniper—the only pure combat person on the team. They were all outfitted in digicamos for swamps and jungles. Their tactical gear, backpacks, even their weapons blended in together. On the street, they would stand out like a sore thumb but she imagined that in a swamp or jungle they’d be practically invisible.
“Why are we stopping here?” she asked.
“Airboat. We don’t know the trail they’re taking to get to the spot you told us about, so we have to go the old-fashioned way. Besides, this hunk of junk,” he said hitting the side of the van, “would get stuck in two minutes flat. Don’t worry, old Zim can drive anything made by man… or otherwise,” Zim said.
Bill shot him a look. Krisan had seen that look from many a superior. It was the “shut up” look.
“You were involved in the Th’un invasion?” she asked innocently.
“Zim talks too much,” Bill answered. “He also has an overactive imagination.”
Krisan nodded. “I’ll drop it, for now. But I want to hear that story at some point.”
“Not going to happen,” Bill replied.
“Now Master Sergeant Farrel, you know how I feel about ‘no.’”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Absent access to camo, I opted for all black and my usual red scarf—which right then was around my neck. Thankfully, I had the foresight to order some mesh ones, silk in the swamp would be a nightmare. The one I wore at the moment was moisture wicking and easy to breathe through, almost as if it were made for me.
I parked the Hellcat in a little town called Hopedale, thirty miles northwest of where I was heading. Most people could only get into this part of the swamp via air boat or helicopter. I wasn’t most people.
I also knew the secret route the specially modified four-wheel drive trucks ISO used would be taking. I needed to hoof it but I could make it there in time, especially since the sun wasn’t up yet, I could just teleport and bingo bango. I already carried everything I was taking.
A change of clothes, a gallon of gas, and a plastic bag waited in the trunk for me to dispose of any evidence when I returned.
I wanted to make sure no one saw me, so I took off in a jog, heading for the darkest part of the swamp. Signs abounded warning of alligators and not to proceed on foot. Gators were a fact of life in Louisiana, like bears were in Alaska. However, I can see in the dark, teleport, and regenerate from gunshots; this won’t be a problem.
Once I was shielded from what little light there was I stopped and crouched down. Reaching inside me I triggered my powers; allowing me to see in the dark and pick my target for shadow step… except nothing happened. What the frell?
I tried again. Nothing. This isn’t freaking funny.
I tried again. Still nothing.
I checked my cell phone, I had two hours to travel ten miles in order to intercept the trucks on their secret road. Another hour after that the boats would arrive with all the clean money. According to Peter, anyway. So far, everything he had told me before he died panned out one-hundred percent.
None of that helped me, of course, since my powers were refusing to work. Did it have to do with the conversation I had with Spice? Are they even powers? I shook my head, trying one more time to access them.
Nothing.
“Okay, fine. I didn’t go through hell with Joseph just to give up the moment my powers were on the fritz.” I took off running, right past the warning signs and into the swamp. I had a map on my phone telling me exactly where to go, even if there wasn’t a clear path. On even ground, I could cover ten miles in fifty minutes. Double that for the swamp and I would still make it with a whole ten minutes to spare.
Despite the cloud cover and occasional torrential downpours, the temp hit seventy as the sun rose above the trees. I was drenched in sweat and feeling my muscles in a way I hadn’t in a while.
A quick check of the time told me I was on schedule; I just had to keep pushing myself. Having lived half my life with the threat of alligator attacks, I appreciated the signs of their passage—slightly disturbed water, sudden movement—and how to avoid the places they were likely to attack. Including soft, sandy beaches exactly like the one stretching out in front of me.
“You really going to make me do this, Spice?”
She didn’t answer. Not that I expected her too. The river here was a hundred feet across. I didn’t see any gators, but that didn’t mean anything with the muddy water. The shores were line
d with trees, leaves, and logs. Nothing stretched over the water; it was swim or run upstream and hope I found a better crossing.
The way the river bent and how the road ran through the swamp meant that if I had to go up or downstream I would move away from my intended target; I didn’t have the time for that. The best bet would be to swim across as fast as humanly possible and hope for luck.
Luck isn’t a plan.
“Shut up. It’s all I have right now.” I ran forward into the water up to my thighs before I dove in and swam my heart out. I hoped that being early morning meant the gators were still sleeping off the night before—they tended to be active the most after dusk.
No such luck.
I felt it before I heard it, a rush of water hitting me from behind. I rolled over on my back drawing my sword just in the nick of time as a massive gator bore down on me. I kicked at it with my feet, hitting the open maw as it tried to swallow me whole. I managed to push off it and escape the snapping jaws but it was back on me in a heartbeat. I jabbed the blade into the roof of his mouth as he attacked again. If he felt anything, he didn’t show it; he just recoiled, taking my sword with him. At least he wouldn’t be able to close his mouth for a while.
I turned and swam faster. Each second I was in the water I imagined those teeth rending me limb from limb. That is the stuff of my nightmares. I reached the opposite shore and dragged my weary limbs up the beach until I was a good twenty feet from the water. I stopped and leaned against a tree to catch my breath.
“Okay, okay, lesson learned. I won’t stop anytime soon,” I said. I shouldn’t have expected a response. Whatever was pulling my strings didn’t seem the talkative type. “Great,” I muttered. “A finicky spirit controls my powers. What next? Am I going to turn in to a werewolf?”
A few more deep breaths and I was ready to go again. This was tiring, for sure, but I had trained for this before I knew I would have powers and this didn’t change the situation. If anything, it just meant I had to plan better and outwit the bastards.
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