The Ebony Finches: A Transition Magic Thriller

by J. E. Hopkins

  Toledo, Ohio

  GT lay on the cot in the small bedroom, staring at the ceiling. Tessie had kept her promise, allowing him only enough time to scarf down a ham sandwich and go pee before locking him into the closet-sized space. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but it didn’t matter. He was exhausted.

  He was also excited. This was the first time he’d been away from Asshole since they’d left Denton. GT wanted to use magic to send himself back home and was trying to remember the words, but his tired mind was playing keep-away.

  I invoke my birthright to the Power granted by Transition. I ask this Power to grant my request. I honor the requirements of Transition.

  He pounded his fist against his thigh in frustration.

  “Ask” isn’t right. Why didn’t I pay attention?

  He jumped. A soft scraping sound came from somewhere near the door. He felt the blood drain from his face.

  Who is messing with the lock?

  The door opened half-way and a blinding shaft of light stabbed into the room, flickering across the ceiling.

  “You awake buddy boy?” Tessie’s whispered voice was calm, almost soothing. The door swung open. She pinned GT to the cot with the light, stepped into the room, and closed the door behind her. “We need to have a little talk.”

  “Where’s Robert Lee?”

  Tessie chuckled. “Out like the damned. Nothing like a long drive and a good fuck to put a man down. That, and a dose of valium sprinkled on his ham sandwich. Just wish I’d had more pills.”

  She killed him?

  “You want out of here, buddy boy?”

  What kind of a trick is this?

  He sat up and tried to look behind her to see if Robert Lee was standing in the shadows, but couldn’t see past the flashlight’s glare.

  “I’m going to help you get away from that bastard. You do a little magic for me and I’ll help you get back to your mama.” She flicked on the ceiling dome light and snickered. “You can’t go in your tighty-whities.”

  She kept staring at his underwear. GT’s face got hot, like he was sitting naked in front of this disgusting stranger.

  “Who knows? If you behave, maybe I’ll make you a man.”

  GT cringed and moved back against the trailer wall. “I don’t want anything from you.”

  “We’ll see. Put your clothes on, but be quiet about it.” She stepped closer to the cot.

  A voice that had been whispering in the back of GT’s mind started screaming at him.

  out Out OUT!

  He leaped from the cot, dodged around the ponderous woman, and ran through the door into the trailer’s long, skinny hallway. A door to his right slammed open. Robert Lee was leaning against the door jamb, looking so drunk that he could barely stand. A pistol in his right hand dangled by his side.

  “Wherethehellyougoing?”

  GT flew down the hallway, spun out through the trailer’s back door, and into the night.

  27

  Toledo, Ohio

  Stony held her breath as Ron Hammer's guy reached for the front door knob and gave it a slow twist.

  She'd felt comforted by the lousy weather as the small assault team had crept into position. All the windows along the front of the double-wide trailer were dark.

  Her heart pounded so loud she wondered if the others could hear it. She held her Glock firmly in her sweaty right hand, finger outside the trigger guard.

  I'll be so happy when we get this shit over with.

  The agent shook his head. Locked.

  All hell broke loose.

  She heard a crash of metal on metal from out back, like a door banging open against the wall of the trailer. A instant later, a heavy caliber pistol roared inside the dwelling.

  Stony screamed at Hammer, "Get inside! Jennings and I’ll check the back." She bent low, below the windows, and scrambled along the front of the trailer, Jennings close behind.

  The agent behind the trailer yelled through the radio, “A kid coming out the back. POLICE! FREEZE! Down on the Ground!"

  A second later, another gunshot reverberated, this one outside, behind the trailer. Silence.

  Stony could hear the sound of the ram beating against the front door as she and the Toledo officer turned the front corner of the trailer and sprinted toward the back.

  Hammer barked over the radio, “Door’s open.”

  The blast of a flash bang rattled the trailer's windows.

  Stony spotted a form just beyond the reach of the light spilling from the open rear door. She moved the Glock to a two-handed grip. “Person down in back."

  Jennings had moved to her right, her firearm pointed at the prostrate body.

  Stony advanced and recognized the tactical gear of the man crumpled on the ground, blood pooling around his head. "Officer down. Repeat. Officer Down.”

  She bent to check for a pulse and realized the agent’s throat had been obliterated by the shot that had killed him. Somehow he was still alive, his breathing ragged and wet. She sat, cradled his head, and plunged her hand into the sticky-slippery tissue, trying to stop the bleeding. There was nothing to find, no arteries to press. The struggling man gave one last gasp and relaxed in her arms.

  A burst of static assaulted Stony’s ears, followed by Hammer’s voice. “I’ve got a dead woman inside the trailer. No sign of Wells or the kid."

  She gently laid the man’s head on the ground, stood, and looked for GT and Robert Lee. Nothing moved in the commercial district to the west. The woods to the east were a wall, blacker than the night. The only thing she could hear were the sounds of the sirens from the approaching police cars.

  Two shots. One that killed the woman. One that killed Ron’s agent. What a fuck-up.

  28

  Birir Valley, Pakistan

  The day after Tareef found the message scribed on the face of the cliff, he packed clothes, food, and water into an old canvas bag and began hiking down the mountain, toward the city of Ayun that nestled at the foot of the Birir Valley.

  The message had not been difficult to interpret. Earlier in the year he’d traveled with his father to Islamabad, where the tribal elder had been taken prisoner and later killed by the government’s secret police, the ISI. The carved words “return to the city where your father’s spirit departed” demanded that he return to Pakistan’s capitol.

  They would have killed me, too, if I hadn’t gotten away.

  The ISI had launched a manhunt for him. With the help of a taxi driver who had befriended him, he’d fled the city and hiked most of the way to the Birir Valley. For the last, most dangerous part of the journey, he’d been fortunate to get a ride in the back of a truck, driven by an older Kalash boy named AC.

  Tareef remembered their first meeting and smiled. AC had mocked his own name and that of his brother, DC. Their father had followed an increasingly common practice among the Kalash, naming his children after the fascinating new machines that were finding their way into their remote valleys. They had a cousin named Laptop.

  AC and his family lived on a farm outside Ayun; he’d been returning home with supplies when he stopped and offered to help Tareef. They’d since become close friends, each hiking to the other’s home for visits once or twice a month.

  AC helped me then and he’ll help me now.

  Tareef didn’t think the ISI was still looking for him, but he didn’t want to find out. If AC’s father would permit it, he could again ride in their truck and avoid having to hitch rides.

  It would be more difficult to comply with the final part of the message: “seek the man who once sought you.” Tareef remembered the man and the small woman who had come to the high mountain valley seeking him. He doubted he would ever forget them. They were Americans and would have returned home by now.

  He postponed that worry for another day. He would follow his father’s teaching, “Solve the problem in front of you. Tomorrow’s problems will wait.”

  The sun had been up an hour, but hadn’t yet risen above th
e high peaks that watched over their tribe. The few people he saw as he picked his way down Grambet Gol offered no greeting and asked no questions, averting their eyes as he passed. They feared him, feared his eyes, which had remained lavender after he completed his Transition. Even though he was respected as the son of an Elder, they believed he brought the attention of the power that rules Transition upon his people and that such attention was a dangerous thing.

  Maybe they’re right.

  29

  Toledo, Ohio

  GT threw the back door open so hard that it bounced off the metal outside wall of the trailer. He bounded down the three steps and landed on the gravel pad. Sharp stones cut into his feet; he flinched and kept going. The cold drizzle wicked into his underwear and T-shirt, making him shiver.

  A gun blast from inside the trailer shattered his wits.

  Asshole killed Tessie!

  He looked around in wild desperation, unable to focus, trying to decide what to do.

  “A kid coming out the back. Police! Freeze! Down on the ground!" The command came from a dark shape twenty or thirty feet away.

  I’m saved!

  He dropped to his knees, wincing from the sharp rocks, arms held high. “Help me. I’m—”

  Another gunshot, from just behind him, deafening. The cop who’d ordered him to freeze slumped to the ground, a misshapen mass.

  Pincers seized his neck and dragged him to his feet.

  "Get up! Go! The car is at the gas station!" Robert Lee's voice was slurred and hoarse.

  He shoved GT toward the distant glow of light above the trees. "Move, or I swear to God, I'll end you right here."

  GT stumbled into the mist, away from the trailer, away from the gravel, and into the woods. The smooth dirt eased the pain in his feet. Fear drove him to move, but he was panting and felt like he had a weight tied to each leg.

  “Faster, goddammit”

  He followed Robert Lee, dodging around the dim silhouette of the trees. The glow from the gas station grew brighter as they moved. He jumped around a short evergreen, tripped, and fell head-first into a thorny bush. The stabbing pain in his face made walking on the gravel seem like a stroll across a spring lawn. Warm liquid seeped from a dozen cuts, obscuring his vision. He rolled off the bush, sat up, and wiped his eyes. He wanted so much to cry.

  Robert Lee jerked him to his feet and shoved him toward the light. The two lurched onward, weaving a drunken path. He couldn’t hear anyone following them, but the sound of police sirens was growing louder.

  The only cop who saw us is dead.

  They broke free. The car, its hood propped open, was parked a few feet away, behind the small block building that sat across from the gas pumps. GT got into the passenger seat as Robert Lee leaned into the engine compartment, started the car, slammed the hood, ran to the door, and jumped into the driver’s seat.

  GT looked back over his shoulder, back toward the trailer.

  Asshole is too messed up to catch me.

  “They can’t save you.” Robert Lee’s voice was a low growl, like a pissed off drunk. He leaned against the steering wheel. But he held the pistol in his right hand, pointed at GT.

  A sob broke past GT’s lips.

  I am so tired. I can’t do this anymore.

  He leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes.

  30

  Toledo, Ohio

  John’s trip to Toledo took as a long as Akina had warned. Two flights, both delayed due to weather, both on regional jets with no Internet service. He’d tried to sleep, but all he could manage in the small seats were fitful naps. He’d spent most of his time in the forced isolation of air travel replaying his vision at the Rock Creek cemetery. He would have been better off sleeping.

  Grumpy and tired, he stomped down the gangway, across the tarmac, and up the stairs into the nearly empty Toledo Express Airport. He stepped to the side to avoid blocking the passengers behind him and took his phone from his pocket. The device seemed confused by his change in location and took a minute to find a cell tower so that it could rejoin the modern world.

  “Never thought I’d see the day when John Benoit couldn’t wait to get off a plane so that he could use his phone. Unnatural, that’s what it is.”

  John jumped, startled, and turned around to find Stony standing a couple feet behind him. Her complexion was pasty, the muscles in her face slack. She wore black pants with a wrinkled purple T-shirt emblazoned with the word ASS in dark green letters. He raised his eyebrows and made a spinning motion with his hand. She turned enough for him to read the back: “The Avocado Shit Storm” and under it, “2010 One-Stop Tour.”

  “We made a quick change in the bathrooms once we got to the airport.”

  “We?”

  She nodded toward a slender man with blond hair sitting by himself, slumped in a bright blue plastic seat at a nearby gate. He wore a faded black polo shirt and wrinkled khaki pants.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” John asked. “I thought you’d be out picking up Wells and GT.”

  “That’s a long, ugly story.” She sighed. “And something we need to talk about.”

  They walked over and the man stood, hand extended. His eyes and face were tight, like he was in pain, but John couldn’t see any sign of injury.

  “Ron Hammer.”

  “Ron’s the senior agent with the secret service team I’ve been working with,” Stony said. “We three have a conference call scheduled in an hour at the local DTS office.”

  “With whom?” John asked.

  “Akina, Ron’s boss, and God-knows who else.”

  She turned and led the two men out of the main terminal to a cabstand, where they grabbed the only cab for the trip into Toledo.

  John’s patience ran out. “You going to tell me what’s going on?” He asked. The three of them were squashed into the back seat and neither Stony nor Hammer looked like they wanted to talk.

  Stony shook her head. “I’ve been thinking about how I’d explain the situation to you for the last couple of hours and I still don’t know. Give me a few more minutes.”

  It was more like twenty-five minutes. They rode in silence to 420 Madison in downtown Toledo, leaving the cab in front of an ornate three story, World War Two-vintage building. The entrance was a thirty-foot high archway of carved and beautifully preserved marble that surrounded a wall of glass. Four brass and glass doors stretched from one side of the arch to the other.

  “We’ve got time,” Stony said. “Let’s walk around the building before we go in and I’ll bring you up to date.”

  “I’ll wait for you in the lobby,” Hammer said. He turned, pushed through a revolving door, and left them alone on the sidewalk.

  John fell in beside Stony as she unloaded the story; the preparation for the assault; the assistance of the local police; how it had gone sour just before they entered the trailer.

  “So you’re thinking that Wells killed the woman, Tess, then shot the secret service agent posted at the rear of the trailer?” John asked. “How’d Wells even know the agent was out there? Why’d he go out the back door?”

  “He could have heard us approaching. Or GT could’ve made a break out the back and Wells went after him. Either way, Wells saw the agent and killed him.”

  “Any patterns in the dirt to help sort out what happened?”

  “The trailer was surround by gravel, so no. Techs are still at the scene looking for other trace. Daylight will make their job a lot easier.”

  “What about GT? Are you sure he was there?”

  “We found some boy’s clothes in the trailer,” Stony said. “Confirmed with the mother that they were GT’s and that they’re missing from the home in Texas. He was there.”

  “How’d they get away?”

  “An old Mustang parked at a nearby gas station not too far from the trailer. The attendant saw the car peel out of the lot, but that’s it. The guy was stoned out of his mind when we interviewed him.”

  “And neit
her you nor any of the others on the scene saw the car or heard them leave?”

  Stony sighed and shook her head. “No excuses, but there’s a woods between the trailer and the gas station and scene was chaos. Local cops converged immediately, enough sirens and lights to wake the dead.”

  John knew from hard experience that crime scenes were never clear cut. Pieces to the puzzle were always missing and motivations were guesswork, but Stony’s analysis was logical and fit the known facts.

  We’re back to square one. Worse, because we have no idea where Wells is headed.

  “I fucked up, Dish. Hammer told me we didn’t have enough men and I rolled right over him.”

  “How would more men have saved the agent’s life?”

  Stony shrugged. “Wouldn’t have, not the way things went down. But we might’ve caught Wells.”

  “Might have,” John said. “The bigger problem is that we’ve underestimated the man. What he’s willing and capable of doing. All of us, not just you.”

  “Whatever.” She sounded exhausted, defeated.

  They were back in front of the building Stony glanced at her watch. “I’ve made us late.”

  Between them, the DTS and the FBI had ten agents in Toledo who shared a bullpen on the northwestern corner at the top of the Madison Building. The office admin had the secure coms up and running by the time John, Stony, and Hammer took seats in the joint conference room.

  Akina Pearl filled the flat panel display screen across from them, punching the buttons on a small remote. The camera in the DC conference room pulled back and revealed Adam Sly, the Secret Service director. His expression was grim.

  “Good morning, Director Pearl,” John said. “I don’t believe you’ve met Ron Hammer, Stony’s secret service partner.”

  Akina nodded. “Agent Hammer.”

  Adam Sly leaned forward. “You look like shit, Ron.”