Circle of Death, page 12
As I ease the door closed, I see Maddy lie back down again. Margo slides onto the bed and folds herself around her, like a mother around her baby.
I walk across to the other side of the hallway. My throat is burning from the brandy—and the anger. I agree with Maddy. I want payback. I’m standing in front of the hall window that overlooks the front of the house. The only light outside is from the lamps near the front door, and from the sliver of moon overhead. The air is still. No movement in the trees.
That’s when I spot them.
Two figures rustling a row of juniper bushes.
In a split second, my drowsiness evaporates. My bloodstream spikes with adrenaline and my vision sharpens. I look again. No mistake. There’s somebody out there.
I take the stairs three at a time. I head down the back hallway and down into the basement. When I reach the exit to the front lawn, I open the door slowly and slip outside. Invisible.
The figures haven’t moved. Two of them. Maybe looking for a clear shot through one of the windows, or getting ready to detonate a bomb. Whichever it is, they picked the wrong night.
I move quickly along the hedgerow until I’m close enough to feel them breathing. Then I reach through with both arms. My hands close around their collars and I pull both intruders through the branches to my side, landing them on their backs.
“What the fuck?” one of them shouts.
The other one whips his head side to side. But there’s nothing to see.
They’re military types, dressed in camo from head to toe. Their faces are painted in broad strokes of gray and green. They’re looking at each other with wide eyes, not understanding what’s happening. There’s no one to fight.
They both scramble to their feet, but I take them down again with kicks behind the knees. The guy on the right gets up again and takes an aimless swing. I pound my fist into his solar plexus and he goes down again. His partner pulls a knife from his belt and slices the empty air in front of him. I kick the knife out of his hand and then deliver a roundhouse to his temple. He drops next to his buddy. They’re both alive, but barely conscious.
I grab their chins and turn their faces toward the light. Then my heart freezes. I take a step back, breathing hard.
The two men lying on my lawn are Tapper and Hawkeye.
CHAPTER 53
BY THE TIME their senses start to come back, I’ve got them both tied to chairs in the parlor. I roused Jericho and Burbank and they’re standing alongside me, staring.
“Gentlemen, meet Hawkeye—and Tapper.”
“Holy shit,” says Jericho.
“The missing links,” says Burbank.
I start pacing the room, furious and fuming. “I invited them to join our team, but they apparently decided to come after us instead.” I lean into the prisoners’ faces. “I caught them outside the house. My house!” I’m so raw from losing Moe, I could snap their necks with my bare hands.
“Hold on,” says Tapper, straining against the ropes. “We got your goddamn invite.”
Hawkeye twists in his chair. “We weren’t in a position to reply.”
I lean in. “So what were you doing in my bushes with high-powered rifles?”
“Waiting for daylight,” says Tapper. “We figured you had the place trip-wired.”
“We should have,” says Jericho.
“So where have you been?” I ask. “I tracked you both to Zurich.”
“Right. We were there,” says Hawkeye. “Spying on the Command.”
“From the inside,” adds Tapper. “Switzerland. Then Tibet. Saudi Arabia. Senegal. Working our way up. Gaining their trust. Getting the assignment to kill you. The Command sent us. They think we’re mercenaries, out for a buck.”
I reach over and grab him by the hair. “How do I know you’re not?” I jerk his head around toward the mantle, where the single brandy snifter is still sitting. “See that? It’s a memorial. One of us got blown to bits yesterday. And I’m ready to kill both of you right now. I won’t like it. But I’ll do it.”
“Moe Shrevnitz,” says Tapper. “We know. Look. We’ve lost people, too. Buddies, relatives. We understand what the Command is doing. We’ve seen it. Smelled it. That’s why we’re in this fight. We’re with you. Not against you.”
I catch Hawkeye looking over my shoulder. I turn. Margo is standing in the entryway. She walks across the room slowly in her bare feet, stopping right in front of the prisoners.
“Holy shit, it’s her,” mutters Tapper.
“Hello, Margo,” says Hawkeye.
Margo reaches out and places two fingers under Hawkeye’s chin. She tilts his face up to the light. Then she does the same with Tapper. “Amazing,” she says. “You’re carbon copies of your ancestors.”
I pull her back by the arm. “One big difference. I knew I could trust the originals.”
Margo stares at the prisoners for a few seconds. I can see her taking command of their minds. “My husband sometimes jumps to conclusions,” she says. “If you’re telling the truth, prove it.”
Tapper nods. “My vest. Inside pocket.”
Margo reaches in with two fingers and pulls out a video stick.
I nod to Jericho and Burbank. The three of us herd Hawkeye and Tapper upstairs to the comms center after untying them. I slide the stick into the console. Burbank takes over the controls. The first few scenes are of men in ratty uniforms stacking piles of ammunition.
Another scene shows a row of dust-covered military vehicles under camo netting. The next shot is sunny bright, like a vacation photo.
“Freeze it,” says Hawkeye.
This is no war scene. It looks like paradise. We’re looking at a gorgeous villa with marble columns and a massive fountain in front. Seventeenth-century vintage or earlier. Stately. Magnificent. It looks twice as big as my house. Maybe three times.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Headquarters,” says Hawkeye. “For the Command.”
Tapper nods at the screen. “That’s where the Destroyer of Worlds is hiding out. It’s as close as we could get.”
Burbank extracts the coordinates from the image and converts them to a map.
In a second, we’re looking at a satellite view of France.
“It’s in the countryside near Chartres,” says Hawkeye. “Security is unbreachable.”
I glance at Margo. I can tell she already knows what I’m thinking. So do Hawkeye and Tapper.
“Look,” says Hawkeye. “We can get you a plane.”
“And I can fly it,” says Tapper.
Based on what I know about their skills, it could all be true. Or it could be a trap.
It’s possible the Command has managed to warp their minds—to make fiction seem like fact.
I look over. Margo nods. Decision made. We’re going.
I grab Tapper by the throat. “If I find out you’re double-crossing us…”
Tapper twists away. “You’re the goddamn Shadow,” he says. “If we’re not on the level, you’ve got plenty of ways to kill us.”
I relax my hand and let it drop to my side.
“You’re right. I do.”
CHAPTER 54
VERY EARLY THE next morning, Maddy is walking north on Morningside Avenue, closing in on the City College campus. Sunlight is just starting to peek between the buildings, painting bright stripes on the sidewalk.
Maddy is alone. She managed to get out of the house before anybody else woke up, and before Lamont could insist on escorting her. The last thing she wants today is to be shadowed by the Shadow.
She’s already missed the last two days of school, and at the moment classes don’t feel that important. Going in today is just a means to an end. She just wants to see Deva, and school is where they always meet. She needs to tell her about Moe, and about the World’s Fair killer. But mostly, she needs to talk about the other night.
A lot has happened since that kiss on the porch, but Maddy’s mind is still in a swirl about it. She’s not clear about what it meant, or what she wants it to mean. She knows that she truly loves Deva. Her best friend. Probably her only friend. But that’s a scary thought. Right now, it feels dangerous to be close to anybody.
A few minutes later, Maddy walks into the amphitheater-style classroom for the Principles of Forensics lecture. She’s the first one there by a mile. No problem. She sits by herself, eyes closed, enjoying the silence.
Maddy thinks back to the first day of class. She was sitting in the aisle seat when a pretty girl with long black hair walked up and introduced herself. “Hi. I’m Deva Keane. Do you mind switching places?” Maddy shifted one seat over. “Tiny bladder,” Deva whispered. “Sometimes I need a quick exit.” They’ve occupied those same seats ever since.
Gradually, other students start filtering in to the classroom, filling the long, banked rows that rise from the front. At exactly one minute before the hour, the instructor walks to the lectern and sets down his binder. He clicks on the mic with a gentle pop.
But no Deva. Strange. She’s never missed a class—not once. As Maddy pulls out her notebook, her temples start to throb. She fumbles with her pen. Almost drops it.
“Quiet, please!” calls the instructor, a reedy man with a nasal voice. He leans forward with both hands on the lectern, his nose an inch from the slender mic. The murmur in the class fades. Maddy keeps one eye on the door, expecting Deva to burst through at any minute, hair flying.
“Who can tell us the Golden Rule of crime scene preservation?” asks the instructor. He rakes his gaze across the long rows of groggy students. No answer. He slaps his hand down hard on the lectern right under the mic, making a sound like a gunshot.
Maddy jumps in her seat. Everybody’s awake now.
“Don’t touch anything,” a man calls out from the back.
“Thank you,” says the instructor. “That is correct. Leave everything as it is until it can be catalogued, marked, and photographed.”
“What about bodies?” asks a woman near the front of the room.
“Especially bodies,” says the instructor.
“What if you’re not sure they’re dead?”
“Fair question,” says the instructor. “Put on your gloves and check for a pulse. If you see signs of life, look for injuries or wounds. Call for medical and render any necessary treatment in the meantime. If the subject is deceased, leave them in peace and wait for the ME. Make a note of how and where you touched the body.”
The instructor taps a button on the lectern. The large screen in front of the room lights up. “Okay. What’s wrong with this picture?” The photo on the screen is grim. It shows a man’s body lying at the bottom of a staircase. His neck is bent at an unnatural angle and blood from a gash in his head forms a dark, irregular puddle on the floor. Three male investigators are leaning over the splayed figure.
“The tall guy isn’t wearing gloves!” comes a shout from the back.
“True,” says the instructor. “What else? Look closer.”
“The shoe!” somebody shouts.
Maddy leans forward. Sure enough. The tip of one of the investigator’s wingtips is resting on the outer margin of the pooling blood, a few inches from the victim’s cracked skull. The instructor zooms in on the infraction.
Suddenly, Maddy feels a sheen of perspiration on her forehead. Her chest tightens and her belly heaves. She lurches out of her seat and runs down the aisle to the door, saliva pooling in her mouth. She shoves the door open and lunges at a trash can on the other side of the hall. It feels like it’s a mile away.
She gets there just in time to vomit her guts out.
CHAPTER 55
MADDY STRAIGHTENS UP slowly, wiping her lips as she gasps for air. She feels dizzy and weak. Her mind is spinning. She staggers outside and sits down on the curb at the edge of the parking lot.
Her heart is racing. What’s going on? God knows she’s seen dead bodies. She passed them on the street every day when she was growing up. Why should the image of a corpse on a classroom screen set her off? Why today?
She grinds her fists against her temples, irritated and anxious. She needs to talk to Deva. Right now! Where the hell is she? Why did she pick this morning to ditch school? Was she out late last night? Did something happen at home?
Maddy’s out of patience. She wants an answer. And she knows just how to get it.
Chuanghu. She sits up straight, closes her eyes, and gets ready to look into the past, just like Dache taught her. She doesn’t care how dangerous it is. She just needs to go back about twelve hours. To wherever Deva was last night.
Maddy folds her hands in her lap and shuts down all nonessential parts of her awareness. She blocks out the warmth of the sun on her cheek, the sounds of cars moving through the parking lot, the smell of the lawn behind her. She breathes deep into her belly. Suddenly, the vision fires up, like her own private movie.
She’s walking through a ribbon of lights. The image is blurry. She feels heavy, not herself. She’s surrounded by people. Men, women, children. But she doesn’t recognize any of them. Then a figure blows past her, black hair waving.
Maddy follows, but not too close. She’s weaving through crowds and past flashing lights, like a nightclub. But outdoors. Maddy feels her pulse thumping.
The vision is like a dream, foggy and imperfect, like her visit to Lamont and Margo’s party. Maddy knows she’s not in her body. She’s trapped in somebody else’s memory. That person now doesn’t know Deva, but follows her anyway. Drawn to her. Excited by her.
Deva walks through an entryway. Maddy is a few yards behind, seeing through the follower’s eyes. The space inside is dark. Maddy blinks. Deva’s body is gone. Only her skeleton remains. But the skeleton is upright. Still walking! Another pulse of light. Then total darkness again.
Maddy hears footsteps. Her own. Running. Chasing. There’s a flash in her brain. Then the sound of a scream.
Light returns in a series of flashes. Deva is directly beneath her now—on the ground and still. The flesh is back on her bones, but there’s no breath inside her body. Her skull is crushed. Her features are contorted and coated in fresh green paint. Like the face of a grisly, broken doll.
Maddy gasps and falls forward. Her knees hit the hard pavement of the parking lot. She gags but nothing comes up. A tingle shoots through her. She’s fully back in the present—and someone is watching her.
She looks up and sees Dache standing on the other side of the parking lot, his hands folded in front of him. His face is impassive, his body relaxed.
Maddy struggles to her feet and jabs her finger at him, shouting furiously across the space between them. “You! You see everything! You know everything! You could have stopped it!”
“Not my place,” says Dache calmly. “I observe. I don’t control.”
“The hell you don’t! You control me!”
“No. I teach you to control yourself. At least I try.”
Maddy is frantic with fear and anger. The vision felt like a nightmare, but she knows it was real. Deva is dead. Murdered. Mutilated. And she wasn’t the first.
“Get out!” shouts Maddy. “Go!”
“Go where, Madeline?” asks Dache calmly.
“The past! The future! Or to hell! I don’t care! Just… leave me alone!”
Maddy thrusts her hand forward. A fireball blasts from her palm. It shoots across the parking lot and explodes into a pillar of flame, engulfing Dache. The blast knocks Maddy back onto the grass. When she looks up, Dache is gone.
Maddy pounds her fists against her forehead, not sure what’s real anymore.
Was he ever really there?
CHAPTER 56
“FAIR WARNING. THE coffee is pretty strong.”
Margo carries a huge carafe over to the table as the team settles in for breakfast—Jericho, Burbank, and our two latest arrivals. Margo made scrambled eggs. I fried the bacon. Enough for a small army. Which is what we are, I guess. I’m just hoping that what we lack in numbers, we make up for in determination.
Tapper and Hawkeye grab for the platters and start piling food onto their plates. Jericho and Burbank sit back politely and wait their turn. I can tell they’re not entirely sold on the new members of the team. I can’t blame them for being a little wary. I am, too. But the proof will come soon enough.
I hear panting and scratching from outside. When the back door opens, Jessica breezes in with Bando. She stops short when she sees the two muscular strangers.
“More company, Lamont? I didn’t realize we were running a barracks.”
I lift partway out of my chair to make the introductions. “Jessica, this is Tapper, and this is Hawkeye, two more associates of mine.”
“The two we’ve been waiting for,” adds Margo.
Jessica pulls up a chair. “Strange,” she says, “I didn’t hear you gentlemen arrive.”
“We came in late,” says Tapper, his mouth full of bacon and eggs.
“We didn’t want to ring the doorbell,” adds Hawkeye. The side of his face is still purple from my punch.
“So what’s the plan?” asks Jessica, boring in on them. “How do you intend to catch the criminals who killed Mr. Shrevnitz? I assume that’s why you’re here?”
I lift the carafe and fill Jessica’s cup. “Tapper and Hawkeye brought us some valuable intelligence on the Command. A specific target.”
“As a matter of fact,” says Margo. “Lamont and I are on our way to France tomorrow.”
“France?” says Jessica. “How?”
“By air,” says Margo. “Tapper says he’s a flyer.”
Jessica leans across the table toward Tapper and narrows her eyes. “How many hours?”
“To France?” replies Tapper, spooning another helping onto his plate. “It depends on the type of plane my friend Hawkeye steals for us.”
“No,” says Jessica. “I mean how many flying hours do you have?”
