by Sam Ferguson
“That sounds like an actual interrogation,” I said.
Dan nodded and shrugged. “Your father stole the engine from Twin Turbo, right?”
I nodded. “That’s what they say,” I replied.
“And the drakkul, what was his name again?”
“Drendarin,” I said.
“Right,” Dan said. “Drendarin said that it was his grandfather who created the engine.”
“With the help of Taragoth the Quick,” I supplied.
“And once they discovered the engine was too powerful, they wanted to destroy it, but Taragoth’s family started fighting for it, killing Taragoth.” Dan tapped his forehead. “What year did your father steal the engine?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I was in kindergarten maybe so…”
“That’s right, I remember your file now. So about twenty, maybe thirty-two years ago.”
I sat back in the chair and folded my arms. This seemed to be going nowhere to me, and I was finding it more than a little bothersome to be sitting in some mock interrogation while my ankle was throbbing and aching. “I thought you said you were going to help with my dreams?” I asked.
Dan held up a finger and kept staring at the floor while he paced back and forth. “Drendarin came to you while the others went to Moscow. He wasn’t just pumping you for information, he was trying to buy them time. But why? What were they after?”
“After?” I echoed.
Dan nodded. “They attacked one of our best teams,” Dan replied. “As far as I know, there isn’t anything over there that would be of…” Dan broke off and snapped his fingers. He turned suddenly and slapped his palms on the table. “Of course! Twenty-one years ago! I should have seen it! I have to talk with Katya.”
“Want to clue me in?”
Dan smiled. “Remember who provided the safe house in Moscow? We have only been using it for the last five or six years. Before that, it was a base for Russian Intelligence. The Russians are excellent at spy craft. Corporate espionage is one of their strong suits. Think about it- a massive engine that promises sustained speeds the likes of which no one has ever attempted before? Of course they would have sought the plans. I bet the Russians knew where to find the engine. The drakkul went to Moscow to look for the files!” Dan moved for the door and motioned for me to follow.
“And my dreams?” I asked. The door squealed as its old hinges were pried open and Dan left the room, practically running down the corridor. It took me several minutes to catch him, what with my ankle crippling me and all. By the time I reached Dan, he was in the middle of a conversation with Katya and the two were absolutely ecstatic.
“Then that would mean the files were there all along!” Dan said happily.
“Mack, run a search on the third subfloor of the safe house,” Katya instructed. “Focus on the western hallways.”
Mack sighed and cracked his knuckles before plunging into his keyboard and clicking out a series of commands. In less than three minutes, he turned his laptop around and set it on the table. Katya smiled coyly and Dan clapped his hands together. I walked around to see the static image of a camera showing a hole blown into a wall. Beyond the blast site was an archive of sorts. Tall, green metal safes and file cabinets were pried and cut open. Papers were strewn about the floor as well.
“They were after the engine’s location,” Dan said.
Flint spoke up then. “But any intel they had on it would be out of date by now. Surely the vampires have it in a secure location that not even the Russians could get to.”
Katya shook her head. “Russia is known for many things, but ask any soldier who has fought against Russia and they will all tell you the same things. Moscow winters are darker and colder than any place on earth, and vodka is the only thing that staves off the cold.”
“Meaning?” Flint pressed impatiently.
“Meaning the long and dark winters create a wonderland for vampires,” Katya said.
“Not to mention the plentiful feeding options,” Dan said.
Katya nodded. “In winter, drunk men can be seen walking the streets, or passed out on dark roads. Sometimes you will see others kick them to wake them up enough so they don’t freeze, but a vampire could easily take them in.”
“Scratch Moscow off my bucket list,” Flint said decisively.
“I thought Brent Rathison was in California?” I said. “Aren’t we going to hit his mansion there?”
Katya shook her head. “By nationality, he is British.”
“He summers in St. Petersburg,” Dan said. “He has a stretch of five hundred acres along the seashore just thirty miles to the west of the city. He collects big statues there. You know, old fifty-foot tall Lenins and massive granite structures that symbolize the worker’s party.”
“The perfect place to move a large engine to, and hide it,” Flint said. “But we have to be sure that’s where the engine is before we go off gallivanting to Russia. They may give us a bit of discretion given what we do, but they still aren’t the greatest hosts to foreign paramilitary operators.”
“I thought you only fought in the Middle East,” Mack said.
Flint shrugged and let the thread die unanswered.
Dan turned to Katya. “Do you have any friends who could look into it before we go in? Flint’s right, we have to be sure the engine is there before we move. It could just as easily be in Rathison’s Argentinian ranch for all we know.”
“Hank was pretty sure it was here on U.S. soil,” Mack said. “I have the schematics for a large structure that could be used to house the engine.”
Katya waved her hand and everyone fell silent. “It would be smart to have a lab here. Rathison has access to money and equipment that are second to none, but to launch the rocket, he will need a host country that is… how you say, lax in their administration of space and air laws.”
“So, with NASA defunded, and the strict FAA rules here, that leaves Russia as the best launching position,” Flint guessed.
“Or one of the ‘stans,” Dan cut in. “Russia might be a great staging spot for assembling materials and conducting additional pre-launch research, but Kazakhstan or Uzbekistan might be better for a rogue rocket launch. It puts them farther out of reach of various organizations that might be opposed to it. Plus, it makes for good publicity for the Rathison brand.”
“So, I thought Hank was going to have us storm the mansion in California,” I said, trying to wrap my head around what seemed like a pretty sudden shift away from Hank’s plans.
Dan shook his head. “Hank wanted you to infiltrate Rathison himself, while we staked out the mansion,” he explained. “He wanted you to use your dream walking magic to get into the billionaire’s head and dig for more information. The reason he was intent on the mansion was because there is a gala there next week. Rathison is throwing a final pre-launch party before announcing the details of his operation.”
“I heard it’s ten thousand per plate,” Flint said.
“Naw, it’s twenty,” Mack corrected. “Ten thousand is just for entrance to the after party.”
“Dang, I couldn’t even throw a proper birthday party as a teenager, let alone get people to pay me to come to my house.” Everyone turned and looked at me as if expecting more of an explanation for my comment. I shrugged and offered a sheepish smile. “As a Mormon, I couldn’t offer alcohol, so my parties were pretty lame. Just music, video games, and maybe a pizza or two.”
Mack started snickering and the others turned back to the image on the laptop.
“Katya, can you call this in?”
Katya nodded. “Give me twenty minutes. I know a guy who… owes me a favor.” She patted Dan on the back and then walked out of the room as she pulled an old flip phone from a hidden pocket in her waistband.
“Heaven help any man that owes her a favor,” Dan muttered.
Flint and Mack shared a look, and then did their best to hide their smirks. I understood immediately that I was missing some great inside joke. The
pain in my leg became unbearable, so I hobbled to sit down on a large crate and lean back against the wall. I rubbed my lower thigh and a bit down below my knee, but I didn’t dare get closer than that to the bulging mass throbbing beneath the bloodied gauze.
“Hank would have been proud of how you fought,” Flint said to me as he approached. “Going hand to hand against a werewolf is a bit on the insane side of things, but it’s impressive nonetheless.”
“Well, you know, I figured I already crossed swords with a drakkul and tackled a harbinger wolf so…” I offered a cock-sure smile that Flint wasn’t buying. The hardened man pulled out his 1911 and turned it over in his hands. Seeing the weapon made me think of how Flint had pointed it at Briggs just the day before.
“What do you think Briggs will do?” I asked quietly as Dan and Mack carried on trying to analyze the secret room that had been hidden in the Moscow safe house.
“He’ll survive,” Flint said coldly. “Look, if you’re trying to have a bonding moment by digging into my personal life, you can forget it.” Flint holstered the weapon and then stomped out of the room, slamming the door on his way out.
“Did you try to preach to him?” Mack called out over his shoulder. Dan sniggered at the joke but kept pointing at something on the screen.
“No, I just asked him about Briggs, that’s all,” I replied.
Mack and Dan turned on me. Dan whistled through his teeth and slapped Mack on the back. “You can handle this alone yeah?”
Mack nodded.
“I’ll go after Flint,” Dan said.
Mack came and sat next to me, but kept quiet until Dan had left and closed the door once more. “Probably would have been better if you had tried to convert Flint to Mormonism,” Mack started.
“Why?”
“Flint didn’t come directly to us after his… incident. He went to Section Four first.” Mack rubbed the bruise that was forming on his forehead and sighed. “I don’t like spreading gossip or talking about others behind their backs, but let’s just say that Briggs is a sensitive subject with Flint. You can talk about the man insofar as he is a Section Four agent and we might bump into him, but try to dig up their past dealings with each other, and you may as well go digging for honey badgers with your bare hands. The honey badger will leave more of you behind after he has finished than Flint will if you push too hard.”
I could tell Mack was serious, but, unlike Mack, I was always up for digging in the dirt. Besides, if I was supposed to trust Flint with my life, then I wanted to know who the man really was. “So you tell me then,” I probed.
“No.”
“I see, so you can dig up my file, read my life story as if it’s some comic book, but I am not allowed to ask any questions about any of you?”
“There isn’t much to tell…” Mack started.
“Sure, nothing to tell about a midget hacker, a bunch of ex-special forces guys, a former Russian spy that even Dan, our resident FBI guy doesn’t trust, and a frickin sasquatch that fetches me milk when I ask for it. Let’s not even mention the elf king and his daughters.”
“Actually, I can tell you something about Indyrith’s daughters,” Mack said. I stopped in my rant and looked to the short man. He smiled at me mischievously. “They’re smokin’ hot!” His smile widened and I couldn’t help myself. My resolve was busted and I broke out laughing.
“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” I said.
“But it would be good to have Nick out here. I could go for a beer right about now. I doubt there’s anything here except stale M.R.E.s and a bunch of canned water that tastes a bit more metallic than it should.”
“Yeah, I could use a good drink too,” I said.
“Let me guess, you need something hard, like a chocolate milk right?” Mack quipped.
“Bite me,” I said through a chuckle. “But seriously, Mack. I have done everything you guys have asked. I even had my memory wiped and lived as a freakin bum on the street. I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“Ah, that may be true, but I bet there is a part of you that loves the adventure of it all. Think about it, cosmic monsters that come to earth and the only people in their way are a bunch of rag-tag has-beens. There is no cooler job out there.”
“Yeah, I guess it’d be hard to sell gym memberships now,” I said. Even with my swollen leg and mashed up ankle I had to admit he was right. I missed my wife and son to death, but other than that, there was nothing I missed from my former life. In fact, this was the first time I could recall when I truly felt like I belonged. “So, you aren’t gonna tell me about Flint and Briggs?”
“Not a word,” Mack replied. “The envelope isn’t just sealed on that file, it’s on fire. So just let it go.”
“Can you at least point me to a bed?” I asked. I was tired.
Mack shrugged. “I think Dan had someone working on a room for you.”
The two of us pushed up to our feet and Mack opened the door for me. We turned down a side passage and walked to a small room that had a single cot. You know the kind. Bare steel frame and a thick bit of fabric the color of old, faded fatigues stretched in the middle. A white blanket was folded at one end, with a small travel pillow set atop.
“What’s the desk for?” I asked, pointing to a table and chair set next to the bed. It wasn’t so much the table that was weird, but rather what was on it. There was some sort of contraption with knobs and wires spewing out from it and dangling all over the table.
“It’s a dream regulator,” Mack said proudly.
I looked under the table and saw an old car battery hooked up to a pair of thick cords. “You sure it isn’t a torture device?” I asked.
Mack shrugged. “Don’t worry. Katya and Dan won’t be running the machine while you sleep. I will. But, yes it is designed to give you a bit of a shock if needed.”
“Electric shock therapy went out of style a few decades ago,” I said sarcastically as I limped my way to the cot.
“No, the machine will monitor your sleep cycle. I won’t bore you with the details but—”
“Oh, no, if you are going to hook something up to me that is going to shock the hell out of me, I think you can ‘bore’ me with the details.” I smiled. “Or you can tell me about Briggs.”
“Let it go, Mills,” Mack said. “So, the machine will monitor your brain activity during sleep. I’ll be able to tell once you hit your R.E.M. cycles. If it looks like you are having an intense nightmare, I’ll wake you up. I’ll try shaking you first, followed by that Nose Tork crap that Marcus used earlier. If those don’t work, then I’ll administer a shock that will hopefully disrupt your brain activity enough to pull you out of the dream.”
“Sounds pleasant,” I said.
“Things are heating up pretty quickly,” Mack said. “If it were me, I’d rather have a safety net like this so I didn’t die in my dreams.”
“Sure, sure, much better to die in the real world by werewolves than in a nightmare,” I quipped.
“Sarcasm doesn’t win many friends,” Mack pointed out as he took his seat at the table.
“You’re going to stay awake all night?” I asked as I slowly let myself down onto the cot.
“I am a master of my craft,” Mack said. “Part of that art is staying awake to dial into things when others are asleep and less able to defend themselves.”
“Great, while you’re at it, can you conjure me up a nice dream, you know, like from the Matrix? Shoot, I’ll just settle for a nice boring dream in a steak restaurant somewhere.”
“Right, so you can tell Agent Smith where to find us? I don’t think so, Cypher.”
“No, just, I’d rather have a good last meal, that’s all,” I said.
“Just relax. Get some rest.”
Sure. Get some rest. Nothing about dream walking was restful. At this point, the title was more a curse than a blessing. I had no way of knowing how to initiate my own assaults on others. I was helplessly at the mercy of those creatures that lived in the shadows and lurk
ed in the dark corners of our minds. I was in my early thirties, and I was starting to intimately fear the dark.
CHAPTER 15
Drums sounded in the darkness. I turned to look for them, but the fog of the dream world was thick, almost too dense to penetrate. The rhythm was both familiar and foreign. It sounded like the same kind of drums that had played in my mind before, but they were playing something new. Thump-ta-thump, thump-ta-thump-ta-thump. It played over and over, growing louder as an orange glow appeared in the distance. I walked toward the light, crossing miles in a matter of seconds. An old man with long, gray hair sat on the other side of the fire. His shoulders were wrapped in a hide of some sort with colored drawings of men with spears riding horses. In his left hand he held a large spear that had a bit of fur wrapped around the shaft just under the spear-head. Attached to that was a long leather cord from which a pair of feathers waved lazily in the shifting air. In front of him was a strange leather shield that had a drawing of a buffalo with a crescent moon above it on one side, and was painted black on the other side.
The old man looked at me and waved for me to join him at the fire.
I moved in closer, and was going to sit at the man’s side to speak with him, but another man appeared from the darkness, standing in my way. This man was dressed similarly, with a hide draped over his left shoulder. His neck and the visible parts of his chest were tattooed with various designs, and his face was painted red from the eyes up. A single black feather was tied into his hair, which was fashioned into a Mohawk. Instead of a spear, this warrior held an old muzzle-loaded rifle. He pointed in the dirt a few feet away and grunted something that I didn’t understand. I assumed he was telling me where to sit, so I shifted to the side and sat down. The whole time I moved the second man stared at me. Twice, he spoke to the first man while watching me. I had no way of knowing what he was saying, but it didn’t seem to be approving.
Two more men came from the darkness to sit near the fire. One was dressed in a white tunic of sorts with blue beads woven into it. A leather pouch hung from his shoulder, and he held a strange, mace-like object with a single spike protruding out from the front. The other was dressed similarly, except the only color on his otherwise brown attire was a necklace of silver dangling over his chest and red beads woven into his hair.
