“Why are we stopping here?” I asked, a little suspicious.
“Tyler's the sheriff,” said Terry. “Did nobody mention that?”
“And he kept his job when the humans found out he was a werewolf?” I asked. “Or do they not know yet?”
“Neither,” said Terry. “He's been known as a werewolf around here for four or five years, and two years back they elected him by a landslide. As a result this is one of the most crime free areas of America. Most areas that have some werewolves in law enforcement are the same. Interesting that the vampires work by taking control of the media and telling people we can all be friends, but werewolves go out and actually help people.”
That, I realized, was exactly what Liam was doing. He'd carved out a little area and made it the safest place in England.
“Wait a minute,” I said as we pulled into a parking space. “Sheriffs are elected over here?”
“Sure they are,” said Kyle. “Aren't they elected officials in England?”
“Well, we don't really have sheriffs any more, but no, law enforcement isn't an elected office in England.”
“Well, whatever works, I suppose,” said Kyle.
We climbed out of Kyle's Mustang and followed Natasha and Aiden through a door which warned unauthorized personnel to keep out. I just had to assume we were authorized. I also had to hope that my speculations about the sheriff were wrong.
They were dead wrong as it turned out.
Tyler—sheriff Tyler MacKenzie—was a huge male but there didn't seem to be any fat on him. Big, wide-shouldered, dark-skinned, bald-headed, and with a grin which was as friendly as it was infectious. When he spoke it was with a deep, intelligent voice.
“Good morning, ma'am,” he said. “Welcome to our home. I only wish it could have been under more pleasant circumstances.
“Kyle, Terry,” he said, nodding to each in turn.
Terry took a deep breath and then spoke quietly, “Tyler, when I left, I said some things. I was angry. I just wanted to say I didn't mean them—well, not all of them.”
Tyler broke into a broad grin.
“Don't worry, man. Things got heated, things got said. The past is the past.”
Terry let out a breath and smiled.
“Now, Ms … Hennessy?”
“It's Marie, sheriff.”
“Please, call me Tyler,” he replied with a pleasant smile. “I think I got most of the story from Perry. I understand the vampires have brought a whole pile of trouble to our sleepy corner of the world.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Someone had me kidnapped. I don't know why, I don't know who. If it's someone over here then they have a lot of money and a lot of power. I've been thinking about this. They knew which hotel we were staying at. They had a drug that knocked me out and prevented me from changing. I didn't even know a drug like that existed. They got me from England to the States without anyone raising a fuss over an unconscious werewolf. I'm guessing they bypassed immigration and passport control.
“When I escaped I crashed a car and a truck on a big, wide public road, killed some vampires and beat some humans into the nearest hospital and we get two guys in State Police uniforms shaking hands with doorknobs and telling a fugitive story? What the hell?”
“You are a cop,” said Tyler, a note of approval in his tone.
“I'm learning to be a suspicious bastard,” I said with a smile. “And this stinks like week-old fish.”
“You're right. Some vampire wants you for something and is using whatever they have to keep it quiet.”
“The guy in the video said it was something to do with new pro-vampire laws in England,” said Terry. “Your government is keeping very quiet about that. It's all 'no comment' and 'a statement will be released in due time' and all that.”
“Naah, that's rubbish,” I said. “We knew about those months ago, before they were even introduced. There's no chance of them passing any way you look at it.”
“Well, whatever,” said Tyler. “We'll protect you until we can get you back to your people. We can arrange to get you to the consulate in Atlanta if you want.”
“You just happened to know that the British have a consulate in Atlanta?” asked Natasha with a smile.
“It's amazing what you can look up on Wikipedia,” said Tyler with a wink.
“Wouldn't the embassy in DC be better?” asked Terry.
“I don't think it matters,” said Tyler. “Besides, we just need to keep—”
“Tyler,” said Aiden, coming into the office, a cellphone in his hand. “A state police cruiser just came into town. Donnie says it looks like it's heading here.”
“Probably our friends come looking,” said Natasha.
“Yeah?” Aiden was talking to his phone again. “Got it.” He closed the phone with a snap and nodded, “They're pulling into the parking lot.”
Tyler glanced around.
“You two,” he said, pointing at Terry and Kyle, “stay here. Aiden, ask Stephanie to join us. Marie, come with me.”
He opened a door at the back of his office and motioned me inside. There was a small room with a big leather couch and a big old tube TV. On a rickety desk was a dusty desktop computer and a coffee machine. The sheriff, I decided, probably used this as a bolt hole on long nights, a place to get his head down when he was working on something tricky.
“I'm gonna need the shirt,” he said.
I glanced down. Oh, the orange sports jersey. I put two and two together as I pulled it off.
“I suppose—uh—Stephanie just happens to be about my size and blonde? Just in case our fake friends found out that Kyle and Terry were seen with someone fitting my description?”
“Excellent deduction,” he said.
“Elementary, my dear sheriff.”
Tyler grinned his infectious grin as he took the shirt and turned to leave.
“Keep your head down,” he said as he closed the door.
I thought for a moment how best to approach this. I didn't have any guns but since when did that slow a werewolf down? I quickly stripped off the shirt and jeans I'd borrowed from Kyle's house and let go of my human form, changing form as quietly as I could.
Outside in the Tyler's office I heard talking. Kyle was chatting about some game. Apparently he was looking forward to seeing the Vols play the Wildcats, whatever that meant. Tyler was saying he wished he could go with them. Then there was a new voice.
“Sheriff MacKenzie, these two officers want to speak to you.”
“Officers,” said Tyler. “What can we do for you?”
“Actually we had some questions for the owner of that blue Mustang outside,” said another voice. Male, deep and certain.
“That's mine,” said Kyle. “What's up?”
“Have you seen this woman?” another male, sightly higher pitched. Less sure of himself. “She's a werewolf. She was seen near your parent's house last night.”
“Don't recognize her,” said Kyle. “I didn't see anyone last night.”
“Well, we have a report from some hunters who were attacked by a werewolf last night.”
“Attacked? Those motherfuckers were shooting at me!” Kyle's voice was indignant.
“That's why Kyle stopped by,” Tyler's voice this time. “We've had a number of incidents of hunters taking potshots at law abiding citizens just because they happen to look a bit different. As you can imagine, I take a dim view of that kind of thing. We had enough of that bullshit in the sixties.”
“There's no need to take on like that, Sheriff,” said the first cop. “We're just trying to recapture a fugitive.”
“I understand that, Officer,” said Tyler, “However, to my certain knowledge no less than twenty reports of parties hunting werewolf pelts have been sent to your department over the last year, yet the first time we see any of you pursuing anyone in my jurisdiction, it's a werewolf. You can see why I don't find this comforting. You can understand why I don't feel that the full weight of the State's laws are behind us
ol' boys.”
“That's unfair, Sheriff,” said the first cop. “The law protects everybody equally and—”
“The law does what the law always does, what it's always done, everywhere and everywhen,” said Terry hotly. “It protects the privileged and keeps the poor out of sight. It's the Golden Rule: He who has the gold makes the rules.”
“Oh, a civics lesson from a guy barely old enough to shave,” said the younger officer.
“Terry has a point,” said the Sheriff. “I've personally reported three different incidents of people traveling here to hunt United States citizens and here you are harassing the victims.”
“We're just doing the job we were assigned,” protested the older officer.
“And where did this fugitive come from?” asked the Sheriff.
“She was awaiting trial in Georgia,” said the older officer promptly. “She killed two guards and made an escape—”
“Then she's the jurisdiction of the US Marshals Service and their Special Fugitives Group, true?” said the Sheriff. “I mean, what makes you think you have the chops to hunt down a werewolf?”
“For your information, Sheriff, we're liaising with the US Marshals and when we pick up a lead we'll call them in. And—”
“Well, if we hear anything we'll be sure to give them a call. There's no sense in delaying you, is there?”
There were a few more muttered comments that I couldn't hear, then someone slammed a door. I wasn't dumb enough to go to the window. Even in a dark room looking out at bright sunshine, all it would take would be a casual glance and I'd be made. But even through the half-lowered blinds I could see the row of shops across the road. Reflected in one shop window was the alleged police officers' car. The two cops climbed in and slowly pulled away.
The door to the back office opened and Tyler stepped through with not a flicker of surprise at my shape.
“They're gone,” he said simply.
Tyler left me alone to change and get dressed. I hate changing back when I'm keyed up. When a werewolf has exerted themselves, changing back is a relief. It's like letting go of tension. When you haven't it's like bottling that tension up. Humans have a similar response when the fight-or-flight instinct is denied. They call it stress. There isn't a werewolf word for it but it sets your teeth on edge and makes you fidgety as all of the energy from the change gets dumped back into your blood. 'An adrenaline rush on steroids' is the way one halfbreed put it.
I rode it, trying to stop the shakes as I pulled my clothes back on.
“Hey, we got a reply to your email,” said Terry from the doorway.
“Yeah? What's it say?” I asked.
“It's just a phone number,” he said.
CHAPTER
42
It was nearing midday. For vampires it was the lowest ebb and the house was correspondingly quiet. The perfect time for us to be skulking around.
We had gathered in our rooms and, after sweeping the place again for bugs and listeners, planned our attack.
“The 'ouse guard is tiny,” said Loki with a snort. “Nine guards total, includin'—quote—one fat bastard who never leaves the office 'cept t' piss 'n' smoke—unquote.”
“Could just be really dedicated to watching the security cameras,” said Anna. “And if he's quick to phone the police it could mean trouble for us.”
“Naah,” said Loki. “Accordin' t' the guards I spoke to the only thing he's dedicated to in there is watchin' porno.”
“Weapons?” I asked.
“They carry pistols. Glocks. There's an armory in the office, a small number of AR-15s an' plenty of ammunition. Nothin' terribly impressive.”
“Patrols?”
“Two guards on the gate, rotated every twelve 'ours. Two guards patrollin' the grounds, also rotated every twelve 'ours. Four guards on downtime but on call, and the fat guy in the security office. 'E usually manages eight or so 'ours a night before 'e slopes off to the livin' quarters. 'Bout the only one who could be a problem is the guy name of Carl. 'E's an ex college linebacker, built like a bull with brains to match. Only bin here for a few months and 'e's still takin' it seriously. Patrols regular-like and careful to boot. Other than 'im the others are skivin' as much as 'umanly possible.”
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. Steph gave voice to my concerns.
“It doesn't add up,” she said. “The kidnapping took serious muscle and a lot of organization. It doesn't fit with this setup. The guy's a businessman who is either legit or is playing real hard at faking it.”
“That's true,” I replied. “This lot look like they couldn't manage a piss-up in a brewery either way. So what's going on?”
“Someone else involved, you think?” asked Anna. “Someone helping them out?”
“Possibly. Or someone else did it entirely. Possibly mine host is nothing more than a patsy. Much as I'm itching to shoot the place up I think the softly-softly approach might work better.”
“Saints preserve us,” muttered Anna.
“But just in case the brown smelly stuff hits the fan,” I went on, ignoring the jibe. “We need an exit strategy.”
“Kill everyone and leave,” said Cam, not a hint of a smile on his lupine features. “Set fire to the place on the way out.”
“We have to see about getting you transferred to another team,” said John. “You're picking up some bad habits being on this one.”
“Still, not a bad plan,” I said. “I want the cars warmed up.”
“Sure thing, boss,” said John. “And on that note I think you might find this interesting.”
He picked up a big plastic case and sat it on a table.
“I was checking the boot of the patrol cars we borrowed from our friends at KnightStar,” he explained. “Despite the signs on the cars that say 'armed officers' there isn't much in the way of firepower about those vehicles. In each boot were a couple of shotguns and a couple of MP5s with two spare mags each. KnightStar Security officers carry sidearms, Actually, they carry these.”
He pulled a pistol out of his pocket. It looked like a cut-down version of a Colt M1911. It had a shorter barrel and a slightly thicker grip which hinted at a double-stack magazine. It was gleaming silver—probably nickel-plated—with black rubber grips.
“Nice,” I said.
“KnightStar Armaments makes these, sells them on the civilian market. In the boot there was also this case.”
He opened the case and threw the lid back. In the foam-lined interior were a half-dozen weapons which looked like bulky, oversized pistols.
“These,” he said, pulling one of the weapons out of the case, “are electrolasers. KnightStar Armaments KSM-12s to be precise. It works like a stun-gun but instead of using wires attached to prongs to deliver the charge it uses a laser. The laser creates a path of ionized gas and the electrical discharge follows the gas. You get a loud crack like a tiny sonic boom and your target goes down for a while.”
He tilted the gun over and indicated the bulge on top. He pushed a switch with his thumb and slid the entire rear of the weapon off.
“This is the battery for the laser,” he said. “Fully charged it's good for fifty shots. When you're down to less than ten shots a little LED flashes orange each time you pull the trigger.”
He snapped the battery back on the top. He tilted the weapon upright and repeated the procedure with a bulge under the front of the weapon.
“And this is the battery for the stun-gun itself. Here's the bad news, it only holds enough for eight shots. The good news is that they had somebody with a brain design this. In the handle is a backup battery. Even with both batteries dead or removed you flip this switch and you get two more shots. Smart people at KnightStar.”
“So, any use in our current predicament?”
“No, not a lot,” he said with a shrug. “But seeing as we're not supposed to be here I thought it might not be a bad idea to minimize the deaths we cause.”
“I suppose so,” I said without enthusiasm. �
�Well, hand them out anyway, they might be useful. Steph, Loki, Jason, I want you on the front door. Just loiter for a while, see if you can pin down where the guards are. If it comes down to fighting I'll want to know where they are.
“Bolt, you go with John and Anna. I want all three cars running. We can pile in two if necessary but I want to be prepared.”
“Yes, boss,” said Bolt.
“And where will we be, boss?” said Cam.
“You and I will go pay a little visit to Mr. DeClerc. See what he has to say for himself.”
Cam and I checked our weapons before we left, his big ARWEN 37 looking like a slightly large revolver in his fist.
“Tell me you're carrying rubber bullets in that thing, Cam,” I asked.
“Yeah, 'course, boss,” he replied. “Got some tear gas rounds too.”
“Yeah, okay, let's go.”
The mansion was quiet and almost deserted. We moved as quietly as we could towards the vampires' quarters. One of the guards had naively provided the location in response to Bolt's innocently-worded questions. DeClerc occupied four rooms near the middle of the mansion. At this time of the day he would, according to the security guard, be in his office. DeClerc liked to maintain the image of the driven, successful businessman, working long into the 'night' and sleeping little. Hell, maybe I was being unfair. Maybe he did work hard for long hours. And maybe he was going to give up sucking necks and start a course of monthly hemoglobin injections instead.
We found his offices in short order and met the final obstacle in our way, the last guardian of DeClerc's inner sanctum.
His secretary.
She was a pretty blonde vampire with large breasts, a narrow waist, wide hips, and a little pug nose. I realized that this had been the woman by the pool from earlier. If she had reached her twentieth birthday before she was turned I would be surprised.
“Hello?” she said with the kind of cutesy lilt which makes every sentence a question and the listener feel like they'd willingly punch a baby if it would shut her up. “Is Mr. DeClerc expecting you?”
“No,” I replied, “but we were hoping he might give us a moment of his time.”
Renegade (Ministry of Paranormal Research & Defence) Page 14
