Circle of Death, page 17
For the past hour, the German artillery has been mercifully silent. But the lieutenant knows that it’s only a temporary reprieve. A parachute flare lights the sky over the trench for a few seconds before fizzling out. The kid fumbles with his Springfield rifle.
The lieutenant snaps at him. “Don’t drop that.”
The kid tightens his grip. “No, sir.”
The officer pulls out a cigarette, lights it. Passes it over. The greenhorn is even younger than he is. The only thing to do now is to keep him talking, keep him thinking, keep him sane until the relief column shows up. Or until the next shell ends them both. Whichever comes first.
“You from New York, Private?” Easy guess, based on the accent.
The private nods. “Yessir.” He takes a deep, grateful drag on the cigarette.
The lieutenant eases his back against the wall of the trench. “Me, too.”
“Manhattan?” the private asks.
“Upper East Side.”
The private grins nervously, exposing crooked teeth. “You a rich kid, sir?”
“Black sheep,” says the lieutenant. He plucks the cigarette back.
“So that’s why you’re here, sir? Instead of at some debutante ball?”
“Never cared for debutantes,” says the lieutenant. “No sense of adventure.”
For a few moments, the trench is quiet, except for the echo of gunfire crackling in the distance.
The private clears his throat and pipes up again. “Hey, Lieutenant. If you get back, you should look up my big brother. Moe Shrevnitz. From Brooklyn. He drives a cab.”
The lieutenant sucks down one last drag and flicks the butt away. “It’s a big city, Private,” he says. “And I don’t take many cabs.” He cocks his ear toward the top of the trench, then yanks the kid back tight against the dirt wall.
The sounds are coming from the field above. Jangling metal and heavy boots. Men muttering in German. Getting closer. The lieutenant unshoulders his rifle and turns to tighten his bayonet.
When he looks back, the private is halfway up a wooden ladder, climbing toward the lip of the trench.
“Get down!” the lieutenant mutters, his jaw clenched.
“I’ll see how many there are, sir,” the private whispers back, moving up another rung. The lieutenant grabs for the private’s belt just as he pokes his chin over the edge. A sharp crack. The private falls back off the ladder, arms wide, helmet flying. He lands hard in the bottom of the trench. The right half of his head is gone.
The lieutenant turns. He hears the slosh of boots from the north side of the trench. Reinforcements? No. Enemy. He raises his rifle and shoots the first attacker in line. He hears movement from behind him. He whips around. More gray uniforms. He fires again. The trigger just clicks. The Germans move in slowly from both sides, rifles pointed at his chest.
It’s over. There’s nothing more he can do here.
The lieutenant drops his gun, takes off his helmet—and disappears.
CHAPTER 78
“LAMONT. WHAT ARE we doing here?”
The cemetery is smaller than I expected—just a few hundred white crosses on a neat lawn surrounded by green hedges. I realize that a graveyard is a strange place to visit when you’re running for your life, but it’s on our way, and I probably won’t get this chance again.
We haven’t slept for twenty-four hours. Margo and I hid out in the park overnight and picked up some secondhand clothes this morning. We hopped the train from Paris to Ypres, then another from Ypres to Kortrijk, then rented bikes for the final leg to the pickup point. I insisted on this one extra stop. It’s important to me.
Margo doesn’t get it. Not yet. “What is this place? Where’s the airstrip?”
I can hear the frustration in her voice. She thinks I’ve gone nuts.
“Hold on,” I tell her. “I’m looking for something.”
I move down the line of crosses, checking each one as I go. My vision is blurry from lack of sleep. It’s hard to focus. And I know we’re short on time.
There! Last man in the row. The lettering is etched deep into the marble: Leo Shrevnitz / Pvt / 106 Inf / 27 Div / Sept 25, 1918
Margo comes up alongside me. “Who’s this? Did you know him?”
“I did. A long time ago. For about twelve hours.”
I run my hand over the name. Margo leans forward and squints for a better look. “Wait. Shrevnitz?” She steps back. “Is that a coincidence?”
“Coincidence?” I hold on to the top of the cross for a few moments. “No. I’d call it fate.”
There’s a low whistle and a rumble from overhead. We both look up. It’s Tapper’s jet, swooping in low on its approach. We hop on our bikes and start pedaling like crazy toward a place I remember from over a hundred years ago.
It only takes a few minutes to find it, off a dirt lane past an old windmill. There’s no tower. Not even a proper runway. Just a bare grassy strip in the middle of the Belgian countryside.
When we ride up, I see Tapper crouched under the fuselage. He peeks out, then stands up slowly. He walks toward us, looking stunned. “Margo? Jesus Christ! You’re alive?”
Margo lays her bike down and pulls off her cap. “I am. Minus a few hairs.”
Tapper looks over at me. “What the hell happened here?”
I drop my bike next to Margo’s. “You and Hawkeye were right about the villa. The Destroyer was there. And the intelligence from Diaz was solid, too. There’s some kind of super-weapon in the works. She pretty much bragged about it.”
Tapper nods, then cocks his head. “Hold on,” he says. “She? She who?”
“I’ll explain in the air.”
Tapper pulls a jumpsuit from the cockpit. Just one. He’s embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says. “I thought…”
I grab the yellow outfit and toss it to Margo. “You take it. I’ll use the body bag.”
Margo steps into the leg holes and zips the suit up. Tapper helps her into the plane, then climbs into the cockpit. I settle into my seat in front of Margo and strap in. I spread the thick black vinyl bag across my torso and tuck it in around my waist. Not the most comfortable blanket, but better to be under it than in it.
Tapper looks back at me as we start to taxi. “Hey, boss. How did you even know this strip was here?”
I gaze out the window as the rutted field rolls by. “I spent some time in Flanders.”
It’s a short runway. It was built for biplanes, not jets. But Tapper doesn’t need a lot of running room. The takeoff is as explosive as the first time. In a few seconds, we’re thousands of feet up. I look down at the green fields and tidy towns as we climb. When I close my eyes, I see the same landscape. But now it’s blackened with craters and strung with barbed wire.
Like most people in the world, I thought the Armistice would bring an end to the insanity once and for all. After the Great War, humans would never be that careless or cruel again.
Clearly, I was wrong.
We all were.
CHAPTER 79
WE TOUCH DOWN on the runway in New York just as the sun comes up. On the way, Tapper managed to transmit the good news about Margo. I can already see the happy welcoming committee at the end of the runway. Maddy and Jessica are standing arm in arm on the apron. Jericho and Hawkeye are waiting by a huge military-style Humvee.
As soon as the canopies pop open, I see Maddy running toward us. Margo barely has her feet on the ground when Maddy grabs her in a tight hug. They hold each other for a long time. “I thought you were gone,” says Maddy, her face pressed against Margo’s shoulder. “I really did.”
“Don’t worry,” says Margo. “I’m only a fashion casualty.” She steps back and uses Maddy’s shoulder for support as she unzips her jumpsuit. “Hold still while I climb out of this damn thing.” She extracts her arms and legs and drops the outfit in a heap. “Good riddance.”
While Tapper sets the chocks on the jet wheels, I walk over to Hawkeye and Jericho. They’re not the hugging type, but I can tell that they’re both relieved to see us all home and still breathing.
“You gave us a little scare there, boss,” says Hawkeye.
Jericho shakes his head slowly. “We thought Margo was…”
I nod. “I know. She almost was.”
Hawkeye leans forward. “Is it true, what Tapper radioed? The Destroyer is a female?”
Before I can answer, Margo steps up beside me. “That’s right. She is. And she’s one green-eyed bitch.”
Jericho looks confused. “Green? Like a cat?”
“Green, like envy,” says Margo. “She has some perverse fascination with Lamont, and she wants me out of the way.”
Jericho pats the massive vehicle. “In that case, I’d say the best place for you is inside an armored-plated chariot.”
He opens the door to the electric Humvee and climbs behind the wheel. Hawkeye takes the front passenger seat. Margo and I scoot into the middle row. Maddy and Jessica slide into the back. We’re just waiting for Tapper to finish securing the jet.
Jericho’s right. The vehicle is a beast. The doors and sides are reinforced with thick steel, and the windows are bulletproof. “Found this baby in Khan’s garage,” he says, pressing the ignition. “All it needed was a charge.”
Hawkeye turns from the front seat. “More news, boss.”
Just what I need. “About what?”
“Toor Bayani is in New York.”
“That murdering thug?” It’s Jessica from the backseat. Strong opinion, as usual.
“What’s he doing here?” I ask. “He’s a homebody.”
“Not sure,” says Hawkeye. “All we got was a glimpse. We think maybe…”
I cut him off. “We should be tracking him. Every move.”
“There’s something else, boss,” says Jericho, catching my eye in the rearview mirror.
Something else? At the moment, all I want to think about is a soft bed and a warm shower. I can see that Jericho is nervous. He glances back at Maddy. “You want to tell him, or should I?”
Maddy leans forward until her chin almost touches the back of our seat. “The murderer at the World’s Fair,” she says. “I found him the other night. I almost had him.”
I feel myself flushing with anger. “Maddy! For Christ’s sake, what the hell were you doing there at the fair by yourself?”
“We talked about this!” says Margo. She’s furious, too.
Maddy looks right at me. “I wasn’t by myself. Which you know perfectly well. Because you’re the one who told Jericho to tail me!” Her voice rises. “That’s why the killer got away. If I’d been on my own, I would have nailed him.”
I kick the back of Jericho’s seat. “You saw him?”
Jericho looks back. “You want a description? Tall, strong, and ugly as shit.”
Tapper hops onto the running board, then squeezes into the back with Maddy and Jessica. As soon as he shuts the door, Jericho hits Forward and heads for the airport exit. The heavy Humvee rattles and shakes. It’s no cushy limo, that’s for sure. More like riding in a tank.
Suddenly, there’s a huge blast behind us. The whole inside of the vehicle lights up. A concussion wave rocks us to the side. I jerk my head around to where the jet was sitting. All that’s left is a column of flame, with shreds of metal raining back down through black smoke.
“Jesus!” says Jericho. He hits the power and cranks the Humvee onto the main road. In a few seconds, we’re doing sixty. I look around for attack drones. But the sky is empty. What was it? Bomb? Missile? Lightning strike?
I look over at Margo. I can tell she’s way ahead of me.
“That was a welcome,” she says. “Your girlfriend’s in town.”
CHAPTER 80
AS WE PULL into the driveway, Bando runs out to meet the Humvee, wagging his tail like crazy and jumping up against the side panel. I can see Burbank waiting outside the front door of the house. When Margo slides out of the vehicle, she walks right up and gives him a big hug. He flinches. Awkward to watch.
“Thanks for keeping track of us,” says Margo, squeezing him tight.
“You’re welcome,” says Burbank, his voice strained and anxious. He gives Margo a tentative pat on the back. “I’m glad you’re both okay.” His expression says, Please let me go.
We all gather in the front parlor for a crisis meeting. Except for Burbank. He skitters back upstairs to the privacy of his comms room. Enough close human contact for one morning, I guess. Maddy kneels on the floor to give Bando some attention. Everybody else is looking at me.
“What now, boss?” Tapper is still in his bright red jumpsuit, practically bouncing on his toes. After two hours in a cramped cockpit, he’s clearly ready for action. I am, too. But the question is, which problem to attack first? Too many to choose from.
The Destroyer of Worlds is clearly in New York, and gunning for Margo. And somewhere, her scientists are working on some kind of super-weapon. The dictator of Chinasia is lurking nearby, too. If the Destroyer and Toor Bayani are planning an alliance, we’re looking at a partnership made in hell. These two are bad enough operating separately. Who knows what horrors they could bring down on humanity if they team up?
And then there’s the World’s Fair killer. Not just a serial murderer, but an actual monster—a monster who almost took Maddy’s life, even with the mighty Jericho Druke watching over her. Who knows how many more young people have been murdered in the past few days? The cops will never tell, that’s for sure.
I decide to split my forces. I nod to Tapper and Hawkeye. “I need you two to find Bayani. Track him down and see what he’s up to, who he’s meeting with. Stay quiet and keep low. Remember, the Destroyer knows you’re the ones who gave up her location.”
“Right,” says Hawkeye. “If she catches us, we’re dead.”
“Or worse,” says Tapper.
I know what he means. I imagine the Destroyer would be very creative in her payback methods. I’m betting she could make a man beg to die.
“I don’t suppose you can teach us how to turn invisible,” says Hawkeye. He wiggles his fingers in front of his face, like performing a magic trick.
“Sorry. There’s no crash course for that.”
On the other side of the room, Jericho raises his hand. “I’ll go. This Destroyer bitch doesn’t know me from the hole in her ass. Never saw me.”
I shake my head. “Sorry. I’m counting on you to guard the home front. I’m leaving Burbank and Jessica in your hands.”
“And Bando,” adds Jessica.
“Right,” I say. “And Bando.”
Maddy perks up at this. “Does that mean I won’t have somebody following my every move?”
I give her a stern look. “Guess what? I’m your bodyguard now. You stick with me like glue. No more personal adventures, got it?”
“What about school?” Maddy asks. “I haven’t been to class all week.”
“School can wait.”
Suddenly, I hear footsteps pounding down the back staircase, fast. Burbank rounds the corner into the parlor, breathing hard. He looks straight at me. “I’ve got a connection coming in upstairs on the secure video line.”
“Who the hell is it?” It’s not like our contact info is public. Somebody must’ve broken through Burbank’s firewall.
“It’s Lucian Diaz.”
Terrific. We’ve been hacked by the president of the Americas.
CHAPTER 81
WE ALL RUSH up the back stairs and crowd into the comms closet. Sure enough, the handsome face of President Diaz fills the larges screen above the console. The image is grainy, but the audio is clear. Burbank sits down at the controls, trying to improve the video reception.
“Cranston? That you?” asks Diaz. The video must be muddy on his end, too.
“Present, Sir. The whole team is here.”
“That’s some setup you’ve got,” he says. “It took my techies an hour to figure out how to connect.”
“Home-grown equipment, Sir. It’s a little patchy.” Burbank looks up. I think I just offended him.
“Listen,” says Diaz. “My spooks think they’ve located the Destroyer’s build site.”
“Okay. That’s a start,” I reply. “So what the hell is she building?”
A long pause, then, “What do you mean—she?”
Margo leans in toward the console. “The Destroyer is a female, sir.” She looks over at me and adds, “A beautiful, clever, devious, spiteful, evil female.”
“I’ll be damned,” says Diaz.
“Where’s the target?” I ask.
“Mongolia,” says Diaz. “The Kharkhorin region. Do you know it?”
Do I know it? Hell. I lived there. “Yes, sir. Very well.” I neglect to mention that I haven’t been back for ten thousand years.
“Hold on,” says Margo. “If you know where the build site is, why don’t you just blow it up?”
“Not that easy,” says Diaz. “My people say it’s powered by a nuclear plant. A missile strike would send a radiation cloud halfway across the continent. We need to be surgical on this. Cranston, I was told that this is what you do—get into places nobody else can without being seen. Am I wrong?”
“No, sir. You’re not wrong. Not being seen is my specialty.”
“Good. So when can you leave?”
I look at Margo, then at Maddy. “Tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow?” asks Diaz, clearly irritated. “Why not now? I can have transport at your location in fifteen minutes.”
“Sorry, Mr. President. I have a little problem at home I need to deal with first.”
“What kind of problem? What could be bigger than this?”
“It’s local, sir. But trust me, it needs to be handled. We’ll be in touch.”
I reach over and cut the feed. The screen goes dark. Burbank looks shocked.
“Did you just blow off the most powerful man in the western hemisphere?”
Maddy looks at me. “We’re going back to the fair, right?”
