The King of Plagues

by Jonathan Maberry

  “Feel free to kiss my ass,” I said pleasantly.

  “You got your full and complete share of mouth, don’t you?”

  Beside me I heard Dietrich murmur, “Oh boy.”

  Aunt Sallie turned to Church. “Give us a minute?”

  Without waiting for a reply, she took me by the elbow and led me twenty paces away. The placement of her fingers on the nerve clusters was very precise. It hurt and she knew it hurt, but I didn’t let so much as a flicker show on my face. She knew that, too.

  When we were out of earshot she said, “Okay, Ledger, here’s the deal. Marty Hanler was a good friend of Church’s, and more important, he was a good friend of mine. We’d been through fire together. You let someone put him on their trophy wall, and that means you lost all points on my scorecard. Mr. Church may think you piss rainbows and shit little gold coins, but as far as I’m concerned you’re a reckless field agent and a psychological basket of worms.”

  “We were ambushed by ten shooters with automatic weapons in a professional cross-fire attack. Let’s see you do better.”

  “I have done better, and even at my age I can run your ass all over a live-fire combat range.”

  “Do you want to blame me for the four thousand dead at the London just because I was in England? How about Hurricane Katrina? I went to Mardi Gras once. Do I look good for that?”

  “Don’t try to be smart, Ledger; you don’t have the tools for it.”

  “You’re a charming lady. So happy to make your acquaintance.”

  She let that pass. “Before Church hired you, all you did was some penny ante police bullshit and an Army tour during which all you did was jerk off. Before the DMS you had zero field time.”

  “And since then, ma’am, I—”

  “Call me Aunt Sallie or Auntie,” she snapped. “Call me ma’am again and I’ll kneecap you. Don’t think that’s a joke.”

  “Whatever. If I’m supposed to be impressed by all this, I’m not. You don’t like how I handle things? Too fucking bad. Church scouted me, so if you have any problems with my qualifications then you can take ’em and shove ’em where the sun don’t shine. But let’s be real clear on one point, Auntie: I don’t give a rat’s hairy ass what you think of me. Honestly. I really don’t. I don’t know you well enough to dislike you, but I could put some effort into that.”

  “Nice speech. Here’s the bottom line: I read your psych profiles and I think you’re a danger to our cause. Sure, you racked up some wins, but a lot of good people seem to die around you, and that marks you with a permanent red flag in my book.”

  “You finished?”

  “For now.”

  “Fuck you,” I said.

  She smiled, then turned and walked back to Church and the others. I took a breath and followed.

  “You two kiss and make up?” Church asked.

  “Sure. I promised him a blow job later if he buys me dinner.”

  “Looking forward to it,” I said.

  Church said nothing. He carefully unwrapped a stick of gum and put it in his mouth, then folded the silver wrapper into a neat little square. We all watched him do it and I saw Dietrich’s eyes flick from Church, to Aunt Sallie, then to me, and then he stared past me into the middle distance. He was having a very hard time keeping a straight face.

  Finally Church said, “Captain Ledger, I would like you, Dr. O’Tree, Dr. Hu, and Aunt Sallie to join me for a brainstorming session. Let’s convene in fifteen minutes. It’s been a long, bad day for everyone, but we need to be sharp for this.”

  Auntie nodded and headed off to set things up, throwing me a short and pointedly dismissive look as she went.

  Dietrich turned to follow, but I leaned in to whisper to him.

  “Is she always like this?”

  “Nah, you caught her on a good day. She’s usually pretty cranky.”

  Church said, “Captain, you might use that time to clean up.”

  I nodded. My clothes were dark with dried blood and I still hadn’t looked at the damage to my thigh, which hurt like a son of a bitch. I turned to go, but Church touched my arm.

  “Hold on,” he said quietly. We walked out of earshot of the rest of the staff. After the reaming from Auntie I thought I was going to get fried by him, too, but instead he offered his hand. “You did good work today, Captain.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it,” I said honestly.

  “Anyone can be ambushed. It’s the nature of war.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “No,” he agreed. He adjusted his glasses. “However, if the call you received is good intel then it’s probably a game changer.”

  “You know, Boss,” I said, “I listened to the tapes of your conversation with Deep Throat, and Toys isn’t the guy who has been calling you.”

  “Same anti-trace technology, though.”

  “Yeah, which brings up its own set of questions. If Toys and Gault are part of the Kings organization, then can we continue to believe that Deep Throat is not also part of the Kings?”

  Church nodded. “I’ve been giving that considerable thought, Captain, and I tend to agree with you. Either he’s a mole who shares his phone with another mole or we’re not seeing a conflict between organizations. I think this is an internal matter.”

  “Which explains why Deep Throat was so cagey about giving you much information.”

  “Yes. If two groups within the Kings are pursuing different agendas, or—more likely—if two operations within their organization have come into conflict with one another, then using the DMS to injure the other party can be viewed as a clever strategic move.”

  “It’s pretty damn devious.”

  He spread his hands. “Secret society.”

  “Yeah, okay, but what does that mean? Are Deep Throat and Toys calling from different ends of the playground? Or are they working together?”

  “Impossible to tell at this point. What would your guess be?”

  “My gut tells me that they’re on the same side.”

  He nodded.

  “But,” I added, “considering that we know that every move in the Seven Kings playbook is built around deception and misdirection, I’m not sure we can trust any guess.”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  “Toys said that the Kings had agents among the people I trust, and among the people we have to rescue.”

  “Feeling paranoid?”

  “Yep.”

  “Welcome to my world. I’ve long considered paranoia to be a job requirement.”

  “Is there anyone in our ranks we should be looking at?”

  “I’m looking at everyone.”

  “Isn’t there anyone you trust completely?”

  Church gave me his tiny fraction of a smile. “Everyone I trust is in this building,” he said.

  “But not everyone in this building has your trust.”

  “No.”

  “Where do I stand?” I asked.

  “Where do I?”

  Before I could answer, he patted me on the arm.

  “Get cleaned up and we’ll talk more at the conference.”

  Church turned and walked away.

  Chapter Sixty-three

  The Hangar

  Floyd Bennett Field, Brooklyn

  December 19, 8:33 P.M. EST

  We gathered in a large conference room with a table into which were built computer workstations. There were plasma screens on all the walls and a multipanel central computer screen for teleconferencing. Everything was tomorrow’s idea of state of the art. Aunt Sallie, Church, Dietrich, and Dr. Hu were there. Bug peered at everyone from one of the view screens. The last to arrive was Circe O’Tree, and she pushed a wheelchair in which sat a disgruntled and deeply embarrassed Rudy Sanchez.

  I smiled at him, but he held up a stern finger. “One word, Cowboy, and I will find a way to kick your ass.”

  “Just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re feeling up to this. Can’t be easy.” He gave me an evil look.
“Really? I find getting shot to be so invigorating.”

  Circe left his wheelchair with me and ran over to give Aunt Sallie a hug. For me it was a real WTF moment. And not just because I couldn’t imagine anyone liking Aunt Sallie. It just seemed like such a surreal occurrence.

  When Circe stepped back from Aunt Sallie, she saw that Church was there. Circe froze and her face went blank. No hugs there, just a formal handshake and a few words privately exchanged.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  Church signaled for everyone to take their seats. I helped Rudy out of the wheelchair and into a seat next to mine at the table. Circe came and sat on Rudy’s other side.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “I’ll live,” she said. “Where’s your dog?”

  “In my room eating his way through most of a large cow. At least that’s what I think the kitchen staff delivered. Might be an elephant. Ghost was in monkey heaven.”

  “Glad someone’s in a good mood. I’m not, and I’m having a hard time processing all of this.”

  “Doc … before this whole thing gets started, I wanted to say that I respect and appreciate everything you did today. You put your ass on the line twice. You may have saved my life and you definitely saved Rudy’s. That van would have run him over if you hadn’t fired on it.”

  “I already thanked her, Cowboy,” Rudy said, but I ignored him.

  Circe’s eyes glistened. “Does that mean I get to curse, get a tattoo, and say ‘hooah’?”

  There was just the hint of a smile as she said it.

  I grinned. “Yes, you do.”

  “Hooah,” she said with dry irony.

  “Hooah.”

  We traded a fist bump.

  “Dios mio,” Rudy breathed.

  “Are you children done playing?” snapped Aunt Sallie from across the table. Circe and I whipped our hands back like we were caught going into a cookie jar.

  On the central display, a dozen screens came to life showing the faces of directors of the various DMS field offices, most of whom I knew by sight or reputation. Church took his chair, but before he spoke he raised a small remote and pointed it at the door. There was a hiss of hydraulics and the clang of heavy locks.

  “We are in full lockdown,” he announced. “I am hereby initiating a Class One security protocol. You are all hereby bound by Executive Order A-9166/DMS. All participating stations are to activate protocol Deacon Alpha Ten. Verify.”

  One by one the DMS field commanders gave their verification. This was only the second time since I’d been with the DMS that we had gone to our highest security status. I understood why, but from the confused and concerned looks on the faces of everyone else they didn’t. Even Aunt Sallie frowned at Church.

  “What’s going on, Deacon?” she asked, eyes narrowed. “We get something hot?”

  “Red-hot,” Church murmured to her, but to everyone else he said, “I will say this, and I want each of you to understand why I’m saying it. It is possible that the Seven Kings have infiltrated the DMS. If this is so, then we will discover the name or names of whoever is on their leash. If any of you are under coercion from the Kings, now is the time to let me know. This is a closed conference. The secret will be safe and we will act immediately to protect you and your family. If you have been the victim of coercion, then I offer a complete amnesty as long as you tell me now. That offer expires in thirty seconds.”

  We waited out those thirty seconds. Church’s face was as hard as granite. I could see several people begin to sweat. There was a plate of vanilla wafers on the table in front of him. Church selected one, bit off a piece, and munched it thoughtfully. His eyes were invisible behind the tinted lenses of his glasses. Everyone waited. Except for the crunch of Church’s strong white teeth on the cookie there was no sound.

  “Time’s up,” said Church. “I direct each team leader to spread the word to their staff members. Same offer. Come to me directly and I will protect them. Failure to do so would be … unfortunate.”

  Considering the circumstances, the statement was almost bizarrely dry and formal. Except that we all knew what lay beneath the calm surface of Church’s words. No one spoke. We watched him finish his NILLA wafer and wash it down with a sip of water. I cut a look at Rudy, who raised his eyebrows at me.

  “Very well,” said Church. It was impossible to read his expression. It was somewhere between one of those giant rock faces on Easter Island and Darth Vader. “I’m going to play a recording of a phone conversation that occurred less than an hour ago. The call was made to Captain Ledger’s phone using the same anti-trace technology used by the confidential informant who has tipped us off to the Kings. I’ll play it twice. Listen without comment first, and then the floor is open to speculation afterward.”

  He used the same remote to start the playback.

  He need not have cautioned everyone to silence. Every mouth was slack with shock; every set of eyes stared in absolute horror.

  Finally it was Rudy who broke the silence.

  “Madre de Dios!” he said. “Gault?”

  “Sebastian Gault,” agreed Church gravely. “The King of Plagues.”

  Dr. Hu smiled like a kid on Christmas morning. “That’s soooo cool.” Everyone stared at him, but he gave an unapologetic shrug. “Hey, without guys like him this job would be booooring. That guy rocks.”

  “Can I kill him?” I asked Church.

  “Maybe later,” Church said. He sounded so convincing that Hu’s smile faltered. To the group Church said, “I want to review all of the pertinent information. You’re on point for this, Captain. Bring everyone up to speed.”

  “Okay,” I said, “here’s the short course. We know for sure that the Seven Kings are behind this entire crisis. We know that Sebastian Gault has the designation within the Kings organization as the ‘King of Plagues.’ We know that there are also Kings of Fear, Famine, Gold, War, Lies, and Thieves. Beyond that, we don’t know anything else about the nature of their organization, including whether they are an ancient or modern secret society. We know that they use campaigns of disinformation and information manipulation, and in a minute I’d like Dr. O’Tree to talk more about that.”

  She nodded.

  I continued, “One of the methods used by the Kings is coercion, most or all of it perpetrated by a man named Santoro, who we’ve been calling ‘the Spaniard.’”

  “Hold on a minute,” interrupted Hu. “Extortion? Not blackmail?”

  “No,” I replied. “Blackmail is messy and it leaves a trail. MindReader would have tripped over that in at least one or two of our background searches. We’ve been constantly updating the search arguments for the victims, and we’ve hacked everything from their e-mails to their tax records. People are never completely pristine about their own wrongdoing; otherwise no one could blackmail them. Besides, it’s hard as hell to blackmail someone into murder and suicide. Death pretty much cancels the leverage, so some of the vics would have fessed up. No … each of the victims had a family, right? What better leverage is there than a direct threat to loved ones? The victims are told that if they don’t do it, then something far worse is going to happen. With that kind of pressure, people will definitely kill … or die.”

  Church said, “The threat would have to be made in a way that leaves no doubt as to whether the extortionist would follow through.”

  “Absolutely,” I agreed. “They would need to really mind-fuck their victims.”

  “It’s hard to imagine that working,” Hu said.

  “Really?” I said. “If someone told you to murder a co-worker or they’ll kill your whole family, you wouldn’t pop a cap in one of your lab assistants?”

  “No way. My folks are in China, and my brother is a total asshole.”

  “Okay, imagine if you had a soul instead of a big empty place in your chest.”

  Hu actually smiled at this. “Sure. But how do you make a leap to that scenario?”

  “Let me read the note I found at Plympton’s ap
artment.” I dipped into the shared case files and sent it to the main screens. I read the note aloud and then reread a few key lines. “‘I know that what I have done is unforgivable … . But at least what I have done here in our home will save you both from greater horrors.’ That’s significant.”

  “I agree,” said Rudy. “And it’s reinforced by the last line: ‘I am only the monster they made me.’ This is a man driven to extremes. He’s guilty, certainly, but only after the fact. He’s not apologizing for anything done prior to what he clearly considered a mercy killing.”

  Hu thought about it for a moment and gave a grudging nod.

  I said, “We see similar things in the case of Dr. Grey and the staff at Fair Isle. And we know for sure from the deposition of Amber Taylor. The extortionist has to bring a lot to the game, though. He’d have to already know something about how staffing and procedures work at facilities of this kind. You can’t just Google that. On the flight from Pennsylvania I had the opportunity to interrogate the surviving shooter from the Starbucks hit. His name is Danny Sarducci.”

  I uploaded his military ID photo and Sarducci looked every bit the punk he was.

  “Twenty-nine, from Trenton, New Jersey. Lot of stuff in his jacket. Four arrests for armed robbery as a juvenile. A judge let him join the Army instead of going to jail, which means the Army taught him how to fight and use better weapons. He was brought up on charges of sex with a minor in Afghanistan. The girl’s family didn’t call it rape, though from his commanding officer’s report that’s what it was. After Sarducci was kicked out, he was picked up by Blue Diamond Security.”

  “Ugh,” said Dietrich. “Those assholes.”

  Blue Diamond had made the papers as often as Blackwater and had been the first mercenary group thrown out of Iraq for a laundry list of offenses.

  “Yeah, those assholes,” I agreed. “Sarducci went off the radar six years ago. Now jump to this morning and he was crew chief of a team of well-equipped shooters assigned to kill Mrs. Ledger’s favorite son.”

  Aunt Sallie and Hu both snorted at that.

  “Sarducci gave us the names of the other shooters, and they all have similar backgrounds. Low-level muscle who went off the public radar a few years ago. Half of them have military backgrounds, but it was mostly one tour and out. One deserter who ran to keep from getting recycled by ‘stop-loss.’ I asked Bug to hack Blue Diamond’s records.”