“You believe!” Hanover bellowed. “I’ll tell you what to think and when, Bellamy! I don’t give a rat’s ass why Leann and the others were targeted. That’s history. I want to know which security agency fucked up.” He leaned toward Bellamy. “And right now, all fingers are pointing in the Orion Sector’s direction.”
Nick’s simmering blood came to a full boil. “In all respect, Mr. President, all our information concerning the recent Florida events indicates some larger, worldwide conspiracy that threatens our own existence as human beings. Playing the blame game won’t get us anywhere but behind the eight ball. On top of all that, we’ve got a supernatural killer on the loose that appears to be unstoppable. It’s extremely possible that your wife might be one of its next victims,” Nick retorted.
Hanover was apoplectic; a singular blue vein split his scarlet forehead.
“Listen, you dumb fuck!” he shouted. “I’m calling the shots, and with the information I have received from the best minds in the world, I don’t feel there’s any far-reaching conspiracy at work, Bellamy. You have a history of reckless behavior with the Bureau where your insubordination and imagination have skirted the law you were hired to uphold and wasted precious tax dollars in the process.”
“Shelton, Nick’s imagination, or as I prefer to label it, instinct, has been an asset to the Bureau. It has enabled us to solve unbelievable crimes against citizens of the United States as well as humanity in general,” Rance interjected angrily. “You will apologize this instant or this meeting is adjourned.”
“Watch your step, Rance,” Hanover warned.
“If that was a threat, Shelton, then this meeting is over.” Rance stood stiffly, favoring his bum knee that took a bullet years ago in San Francisco. “Go cool down.”
Hanover and Larry Winnows stood.
“I will personally recommend that Congress begin its own investigation into the FBI’s inefficiency in this matter, and when the facts are known, there’ll be new faces at every level,” Hanover said, then stormed past Nick.
“Mr. President, you’d better take me seriously. You and your wife are in grave danger,” Nick shouted after them, but his warning was met with stony silence.
The door slammed, and Nick and Rance were alone.
“What’s his problem?” Nick grumbled.
“He’s got a bug up his ass over the whole incident. Leann can be quite the shrew, sometimes, and I’m certain that she’s been nagging him to find someone to fry to pacify what she perceives as public humiliation.”
“An eye for an eye.”
“Something like that.”
“Who in hell pronounced Leann free of the virus?”
“The White House physician, Dr. Leo Hart.”
“He’s crazy. It’s still there, trust me.”
Rance raised his brows. “Really?”
“Her body’s a ticking time bomb, and when it goes off, there’s no turning back from what she will become.”
“And that is . . . ?”
“A deformed, inhuman killer.”
“Jesus! Inhuman?”
“From the ancient bones discovered in Florida and Blossom Smith’s story about the physically mutated terrorist who attempted to murder her while she was held captive, I’d say the chances are near one hundred percent that Leann Hanover will achieve that altered state.”
“And the terrorists knew this?”
Nick nodded bleakly. “More than that, I think they’re counting on these transformations.”
There was a long stretch before either spoke again.
“Officially, I wasn’t pleased by the way our security teams performed in Tampa; but off the record, I understand that you and Neo didn’t have sufficient manpower to do the job right. Consider your hand slapped, Nick,” Rance said, with a gleam in his eyes.
“I appreciate your understanding, but you know how I hate failure.”
“Sometimes the cards are stacked against us. You and Neo did the best you could with the hand you were dealt.”
Nick scooted his chair closer to the driftwood desk and drummed his fingers anxiously on the desktop. “The Florida National Guard’s standing watch over the fountain of youth site, Neo’s tracking Walkingman, and Crow has Blossom and Clay covered. Dr. Anders is working with our people downstairs to identify and classify the bones discovered at the Charlotte County construction site. This frees me up to take a sabbatical and get back into the field to do what I do best. I’m no good to you rotting in that office downstairs. I need to get to the bottom of this damn case, and that means getting my ass out there in the real and surreal world where I can dig up critical information.”
Rance sat and considered Nick’s request for several moments.
“Then you believe that all those Florida events are connected?” Rance said.
“I do.”
“Explain.”
“I strongly feel that we’re in the middle of something that started long ago, maybe centuries ago. If I can identify that singular event, it might shed some light on the recent occurrences that we’ve been dealing with.” He ran his hand through his ash hair. “But if I can’t isolate that beginning point, then we’re all up shit creek.”
Rance roamed Nick’s ardent blue eyes. “Not the human race again?”
“That’s about the size of it, Rance.”
“And what about this demon the press is raving about that has mutilated all those people?”
“That’s another loose end. From what I know about demons, I just can’t figure out how it moves through this world without being seen. They’re supposed to be restricted to visible travel in this dimension, or they disappear until conjured again, like a genie in a bottle.”
“Maybe somebody’s conjuring it each time,” Rance proposed.
Nick sighed. “Could be, but I’ve got to get out of this building if I have any hope of finding out.”
“Point taken. Go ahead, Nick. Hit the street and do your thing. I’ll run point for you, Neo, and Crow like the old days.” Rance stood again. “But I will not become the permanent Orion Sector director. That’s yours to reclaim when you’ve solved this case. Deal?”
“Deal. What about Hanover and his threats? His congressional committee is going to be counterproductive to our efforts.”
Rance smiled humorlessly. “I’ll handle him. I always do.”
They shook hands.
“Report back to me on a regular basis,” Rance said.
“Count on it. And one more thing. Can you get the Secret Service to keep a very close eye on Leann Hanover’s condition?”
He smiled. “I think that can be arranged.”
“Good. If they notice any physical change in her at all, no matter how trivial, order them to contact you immediately.”
“I’ll set the wheels in motion as soon as you leave.”
Nick’s gaze dropped to the glistening wood floor.
“Anything else on that nefarious mind of yours, Nick?”
“I’ve got a really bad feeling about this one, Rance.”
“How bad is really bad?” Rance demanded.
Nick folded his arms across his broad chest. “End-of-the-world bad.”
34
L
inton Pines was nestled amidst a copse of tall, dense pines outside West New York, New Jersey, along the banks of the Hudson River. The four-story, ramshackle building had been a lunatic asylum in the 1940s before the state laws were revised during that decade. The new laws had stipulated that all the patients in this and similar facilities be released from such inhumane confinement. The new laws had been a travesty. Most freed inmates had been unable to cope with the demands of freedom and had been quickly incarcerated in prisons for vagrancy and petty crimes, while others simply ended their social confusion with a thick noose or a single bullet to their addled brains. Despite the once beautiful structure’s historical relevance, the state government allowed it to slip into ruin.
The shattered windows and all but the pair of o
ak front doors were crisscrossed with rotten, warped boards. The wood shingles were thick with green moss and walnut patches of wet rot, and the gray tile roof was pockmarked with vacancies. The eight gables remained defiant against the ravages of age and neglect, staring like blind, beetle-browed eyes out onto the Hudson. The overgrown, gravelly ribbons snaking from the main road to the front entrance resembled withered twin serpents.
An obscure subsidiary of Aspirations, Inc. purchased Linton Pines seven years ago. It proved to be the ideal secluded site for illegal experimentation with their age-defying products on human subjects. Grant Donovan was responsible for the research and development branch of the company, and he relished his role in that callous operation.
A black Hummer H2 crunched to a stop on the loose gravel at the entrance to the nine thousand square foot facility, and two men emerged and strode briskly through heavy shade to the old smoking veranda. The unseen sun sat on the edge of the western horizon beyond the pines and cast an orange and purple mantle across the piebald sky. Grant Donovan unlocked the oak doors, opened them, and then punched in the security code that opened the heavily armored steel door hidden beyond the decaying threshold.
Grant and Tobias Simpkins made their way through the dusky, dimly lit foyer to another steel door inside. After entering another security code, the men entered a sterile room awash in brilliant white light. Computer stations bordered two of the laboratory’s walls, while a bank of color surveillance monitors displayed the activity in the basement and at the asylum’s perimeter. The technologically advanced security system continuously recorded all activities on DVD in real time. The fourth wall of the long, rectangular room contained a sophisticated chemical laboratory where compounds were formulated, mixed, examined, and tested.
Tobias slipped into a white lab coat, printed the latest readouts on the seven subjects confined in the basement, and perused the voluminous data. Grant reclined in a plush chair at one of the three desks and inspected the time-lapse digital video of their basement test subjects. Twenty minutes later, Tobias dropped the final report on the stack and looked up at Grant who had finished moments earlier.
“I think you’ve done it,” Tobias said in a weary voice. “The last three subjects have reacted in a favorable manner.”
Grant smiled. “We’re in business,” he replied, rubbing his dry palms together. “The enzyme has been completely absorbed into their systems, leaving no trace that the feds can find with their crude testing.”
“I can’t believe you succeeded so soon. Those three women show no signs of mutating.”
Grant nodded. “I told you not to sweat it. We’ll rake in megabucks that will fund our worldwide, terrorist operation. And, once the wives of those powerful, government heads of state mutate and do their thing, the free world will be thrown into social and economic chaos. Small investors will panic at the news and lose their asses in the world markets, large investors will predictably hoard their fortunes, and the world’s financial systems will take a major hit.”
“Meanwhile, we’ll put our own people in those vacated leadership positions so that we can dictate the world’s social and monetary policies in our favor. Our subsidiaries will grow fat while our competitors founder,” Tobias added.
“We’ll rule the frightened humans with social and economic power. Everything is in place.”
Tobias leaned back in the chair, his expression analogous to the cat that swallowed a canary. “We’ll accomplish what Senator Hollis Danforth and others of our kind have failed to do—rule the world and destroy the half-breed humans.”
“Once we have the power, we can methodically eliminate the humans by adding the elixir enzyme into our companies’ various products, such as cosmetics, bottled water, canned vegetables and fruits, and our worldwide fast-food restaurant chains. Tobhor’s enzyme will transform them into cannibal mutants, and they’ll feed on each other until they’re extinct. There’ll be no escape. No place to hide. No defense. Only the super-rich will survive.”
“Just the wealthy people who are willing to recognize us as the dominant species and fully cooperate, you mean.”
“Precisely. Until we no longer need them.”
They laughed.
Tobias sobered suddenly. “There are only a couple flies in the ointment, so to speak.”
“Sloan?”
“He’s one.”
“Who’s the other?”
“The witches of Duneden. Remember, Gabriella Wolfe is the most powerful witch in our dimension, and she has the power to shut us down.”
“But she’s been exiled to our former dimension.”
“Temporarily. But she could return any time.”
“By then, it’ll be too late.” Grant threw his partner a chilling glance. “Don’t go paranoid on me. Having Sloan around is bad enough.”
Tobias reddened. “No, no. I’m only trying to prepare for all contingencies.”
“I have a big surprise for the Duneden witches, so you can forget about them.”
“What kind of surprise?”
Grant folded his hands behind his head and leaned back. “If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
Tobias scowled. “I don’t like surprises, Grant. Not this close to success.”
“You’ll like this one.”
Tobias was clearly troubled by Grant’s reluctance to reveal his surprise, especially one that could easily backfire and ruin their plans. He stood and paced the confined area. “There might be one more variable.”
“Who?”
“Danforth’s son – Nick Bellamy, the FBI agent who took down both the Creeper and Danforth a year ago.”
“With help from Gabriella. She’s not around this time.”
“But he’s an unknown. Danforth was a Destroyer and powerful mage in his own right. We don’t know what powers Bellamy has inherited.”
“From what I’ve heard, none. Don’t forget, his mother was human.”
“I think we should eliminate him.”
“We will when I hit Duneden with my surprise.”
Frustration pinched Tobias’s features. “I’ll trust you on this secret, Grant; but this is the last thing we keep from each other. Agreed?”
Grant nodded. In a week or so, he wouldn’t need any partners. “Agreed, but as I said, don’t worry, Tobias.” I promise, you’ll love it.”
Tobias checked one of the outer perimeter monitors and nodded at the closing darkness. “It’s time to dispose of our latest test subjects.”
Grant stood, stretched, and jangled his building keys. “An excellent idea.”
35
D
uring the thirty hours following the Tampa fiasco, Neo arduously followed Walkingman’s zigzag trail of stolen breadcrumbs through the Southeast and Middle Atlantic states with the help of each state’s highway patrol and local law enforcement agencies, and although the terrorist had a sizable head start that would make him extremely difficult to locate, Walkingman made a momentous mistake. The elusive Lady Luck finally made a play for Neo, and he readily welcomed her advances.
He snatched his satellite phone off the black seat of the speeding Tampa PD cruiser and contacted Nick, who answered on the first ring.
“We caught a break,” Neo said enthusiastically.
“Neo?” Nick replied absently, his mind on the other components of their investigation.
“Yeah. Listen. Our boy Walkingman just stole a car in Pompona, New Jersey, equipped with – get this – a GPS burglary system.”
Nick perked up at the news. “Where’s he heading?”
“North, up the Garden State Parkway toward New York.”
“The city?”
“I don’t know yet, but our boys in Washington are tracking him by satellite. I’m on my way to the airport to catch a charter to New York City. I should land at La Guardia in a couple of hours.”
“As it so happens, I also have some business to conduct in New York. I’ll take one of our choppers to La Guardia and
meet you there,” Nick said.
Neo grinned. “Just like old times, partner.”
“Just like old times, Neo. Rance cut me loose to work the field on this one; so it appears that you, Crow, and I will be busting our chops to bring down the bad guys again,” he explained with the first hint of excitement in his voice in a long, long while.
Neo unleashed a thunderous laugh. “I roger that. See you in the Big Apple.”
The ocean of shimmering lights that was the heart and soul of nighttime New York stretched as far as Neo could see from the descending plane, and the extravagant reception from his former hometown warmed him. He spent many happy, glorious years there as a kid growing up in New Hyde Park out on Long Island, and as a New York Giants defensive tackle. Though DC was his current residence, New York City would always be his home.
Nick, wearing a navy blue polo shirt, faded blue jeans, and white, New Balance running shoes, met Neo outside the crowded baggage-claim area. Shouts, loud greetings, blaring horns, and ceaseless chatter filled the unseasonably crisp June air. Neo slipped the overnight bag from his shoulder and pumped Nick’s proffered hand fervently.
“We’ve got to hurry,” Nick said earnestly as he sliced through the throng to a black Navigator double-parked fifty feet from the baggage claim exit.
Neo threw his carry-on in the back and slipped his large frame into the SUV beside Nick. Within minutes of leaving the airport, they were speeding toward the Queens Midtown Tunnel.
“Where’s Walkingman heading?” Neo asked, removing his 9 mm gun from his holster and checking the clip. It was full.
“Not New York City,” Nick replied. “He left the Garden State at the Secaucus exit and headed east.”
“East? He still might be headed into the city.”
“Kind of a roundabout approach if he’s not taking a ferry.”
“Maybe he’s just being cautious.”
Nick stared into the sea of red lights beyond the windshield. “Maybe not.”
The Ancient Breed Page 22
