Deadly Weakness (Gray Spear Society) (38 page)

He peeked around the corner. There was still no movement among the debris except for his mindless shadows. He stared for a long moment to be sure it was safe.

He took another step and his shoe became stuck. He looked down. There was black tar on the ground.
Jennifer is here,
he realized.
It's a trap.

Xavier yanked his foot out of his shoe and threw himself flat behind the trailer. A storm of bullets ripped through the rusty metal walls. The wheels of the trailer protected him from the initial barrage. He tossed the grenade in the direction of the attack. The instant the grenade exploded, he was on his feet and running.

He had had enough excitement for tonight. Pride and reputation be damned. A swarm of flashing police lights was on his left. He turned in that direction.

Using the homes as cover, he approached a mix of highway patrol cars and ambulances parked in a line. The lights were on and the engines were running. Most of the state troopers had run off, but there was one left who might give him trouble. Xavier quietly put a bullet in his skull.

His bare foot was freezing as he jogged over to the car at the back of the line. Sitting in the warm interior came as a great relief. He turned off the flashing lights on top and drove away. He found a major road in a few minutes. He wasn't sure where it would take him, but as long as it took him to a different place, he was happy for now. He listened to the chatter on the police radio as he drove. It didn't sound like anybody had noticed his departure.

He couldn't avoid the fact it had been a bad night. He had come uncomfortably close to death a couple of times. He didn't know if he had killed any of the enemy, but he was doubtful. He had glimpsed the body armor they wore, and it had looked very advanced.

He realized he needed a new plan. Just wandering around alone wasn't working. Inevitably, he would be killed, no matter how careful he was. He certainly couldn't pursue justice for Rhiannon if he were always running for his life. Somehow, he had to find allies. He had to make contact with people who might still be on his side. That would be terribly risky, but the alternative was being terribly dead.

* * *

Marina coughed, pushed debris off her chest, and sat up.
That sucked,
she thought. She pulled off her face mask.

"Freeze!" a man bellowed. "Put your hands up! Now!"

Blinking, she looked forward. A dozen state troopers were pointing guns at her.

"Calm down guys," she said in a gentle tone. "I'm from the FBI. We all are."

The rest of her squad was crawling out of their hiding places. The cops backed away and tried to point their guns in several directions at once.

Marina checked herself for injuries. She would have bruises in the morning, but the new body armor had done its job. Not a single grenade fragment had reached her skin. Without the armor, she certainly would've died.

"You don't look like FBI!" the leader of the troopers yelled.

"We're from the Special Missions Unit," she said calmly. "We fight terrorists."

"What are those clothes?"

"Body armor."

"I've never seen armor like that," he said.

"And you never will again." She got to her feet and turned to her squad. "Is anybody hurt?"

Except for Carl, they shook their heads.

Carl was holding his left hand with his right. "I broke my finger," he said. "It really stings."

"We'll get a splint on that right away," Marina said.

"Show me some ID," the lead cop said.

All the squad members had wallets attached to their utility belts. They took out identification and handed it over. The troopers carefully inspected the cards using flashlights. Finally, they relaxed and the guns were put away.

Marina pointed at Zach. "Go back to the barn. Bring the teammate we left behind to the park entrance. I think we're done for tonight."

"Yes, ma'am." He ran off.

She walked over to the spot where Xavier had briefly stood. A leather shoe was still stuck to the ground.
So close,
she thought. If the traitor had stood still for another split second, he would be dead now.

Marina faced the police. "Where are the paramedics?"

They pointed east.

"Come on." She gestured for her squad to follow.

They walked through the darkness towards a cluster of flashing police lights. When they got close, Marina saw the body of a cop on the side of the road. He had been shot through an eye. Marks in the snow showed where a car had turned around and had driven off. She yelled to get the attention of a couple of nearby paramedics in blue uniforms.

While the rest of the squad was getting medical attention, Marina walked off a short distance.

She called Aaron. "It's over," she told him. "Xavier got away."

"Did you give him a hard time?" he said.

"Definitely, and none of us died."

"I should never have doubted you. You'll be a fine commander."

Marina smiled. Even though Aaron wasn't her boss anymore, it still felt great to receive compliments from him.

"You can tell the twins they can go to sleep," she said. "We'll lick our wounds tonight, get some rest, and resume the search tomorrow. How is your plan for catching Xavier coming along?"

"The real work begins in the morning."

* * *

Aaron looked up at the massive building. It was five stories tall and hundreds of feet wide. The exterior was made of red bricks and concrete pillars. Decades of pollution had stained the bricks almost black. Thick plywood covered every window, and on the first two floors, steel bars were bolted across the plywood like prison bars.

He turned around. He was standing in an industrial area in the south side of Chicago. Other, smaller factories were nearby. The road led to an old bridge made of iron girders riveted together. A concrete counterweight suspended above probably weighed hundreds of tons.

"Tell me about this building," Aaron said.

He faced a real estate agent in a golden business suit. His brown hair was perfectly groomed, and his face was so clean it almost shined.

"It was built in 1942 as a weapons factory," the agent said. "After World War II ended, it was converted to a chemical plant. Until 2003, the main product was specialty plastics. That's when the Environmental Protection Agency shut down the company for leaking toxic waste into the river. I guess some workers died of cancer, too. The building has been abandoned since."

"Why? It looks perfectly good."

"There is still a lot of highly toxic material on the property. Before you can move in, that mess has to be cleaned up. It will be a very costly project. You may get tax credits though and the location is fantastic. Five minutes from Chinatown and ten minutes from the Loop."

Aaron nodded. "How much are they asking?"

"Three million dollars, but it will be worth at least ten times as much once it's cleaned up. You could turn it into condos."

"I'll take it."

"What?" The agent's eyes opened wide. "You don't want to negotiate?"

"No need. Let's go back to your office so I can sign the paperwork and write the check for the full amount. I'll wave the inspection. I want this transaction done tomorrow."

"You're kidding."

Aaron stared at him. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"No, sir." The agent swallowed.

"I need to make a private call. Be somewhere else for a few minutes."

The agent walked away at a quick pace.

Aaron took out his phone and called Bethany.

"Yes, sir?" she said.

"This place is perfect. I'm buying it. Start tweaking the county records immediately."

"Leanna and I know what to do, sir. It won't be a problem."

He smiled. "Good." He looked up at the brick building again. "It's pretty cool, actually. Big and sturdy. Made to last. We'll do something else with it after this is over."

"We don't need another headquarters."

"It doesn't hurt to have a bolt hole for emergencies, and this place is like a fortress. I have to go sign a bunch of stupid forms now. I'll visit you later. Bye."

* * *

Dew swirled his coffee in his mug. It was too cold to drink, but staring into the black liquid gave him something to do besides going to work.

He was sitting at his kitchen table in his tiny house in Houston. The walls were yellow and the décor was generic. It was just a place where he slept. Normally, he went straight to headquarters after waking up every day. The forgotten subway station was his true home. All his favorite people and his favorite toys were there.

Dew sighed. This week, headquarters was a place of misery and fear. For the first time ever, he didn't want to leave the house. It was a terrible feeling.

A knock on the front door startled him. There was no good reason for him to have a visitor. Dew took a revolver from the top of the refrigerator and made sure it was loaded. Quietly, he went to the front door.

Through a peep hole, he saw a man standing on the porch. The visitor had a scrappy gray beard and wrinkled skin. His thin hair was stuck to his scalp. He wore a filthy plaid shirt with torn seams.

Dew cracked open the door. "Yes?"

"I have a message for you," the old man said.

"Huh? What is it?"

"A good friend is going to call you in five minutes."

Dew's eyes widened. "Where should I take the call?"

"The pay phone at the Zippee Mart. Your friend said you would give me a hundred bucks if I delivered the message."

"A hundred? Really?"

The old man lowered his gaze. "Fifty."

"OK." Dew gave him fifty dollars. "Now go away."

The old man eagerly walked off.

Dew put on a leather jacket and slid the revolver into a pocket. He went outside. The air was pleasantly cool and dry. It was a great day to be outdoors in Houston.

He jogged along a wide street towards the local convenience store. His neighborhood was all small, single-story homes. Large families lived in some of them, but he couldn't imagine how. They would have to sleep three people to a room.

Dew had been expecting a call like this. He was the closest friend Xavier had. In a way Dew felt proud of the fact Xavier was turning to him for help when his life was on the line. At the same time though, it made Dew sad. A great man had fallen very far.

He only needed a couple of minutes to reach the Zippee Mart. The walls were white stucco and the sign above was a dull green. There was a pay phone on the wall out front.

The phone started to ring just as Dew reached it. He grabbed the receiver and said, "Hello?"

"It's good to hear your voice," Xavier said.

"It's a miracle you're still alive, sir! Do you have any idea what kind of resources the legate is using to find you?"

"Tell me."

"Your face is on a wanted poster in every police station on the continent," Dew said. "She has the FBI, the CIA, the NSA, the TSA, and every other three letter acronym searching for you. Every cell is participating fully. Every kind of electronic surveillance is being used. We have eyes in the sky and in space. I even have a daily conference call with all the other computer experts in the division. And the twins..."

"The twins what?" Xavier said.

"Are fucking scary smart. You were right about them hacking the tracking system. I finally figured out how they did it, and it's unbelievable. Listen. Stay away from airports, bus stations, train stations, and any other kind of station. If you see a video camera, go the other way. Stay off the grid. Don't be identified!"

"I'll try. What's your situation?"

"Awful, sir," Dew said in a depressed tone. "The legate moved into our headquarters. She's sleeping in your room and working in your office. She intends to stay a while."

"What is she doing?"

"Talking to us all day long. The interviews never end. She wants to know who knew what, when they knew it, who they told it to, and what was said. She's digging into our personal lives. I had to go through every phone call I made in the last year and explain each one."

Xavier sighed. "Sounds rough. I'm sorry."

"What's really going on? I can't believe the stories they're telling about you."

"I'm trying to prove my innocence. I just need more time. How is Sampson holding up? This situation must be especially tough for him."

"The legate killed him before he left Wisconsin," Dew said.

Xavier grunted. "More injustice. He wasn't involved at all."

"Guilt by association. At least we'll get a short break in three days. The legate is going to Chicago to deal with other business. I guess the quality of the construction of the new headquarters isn't meeting her expectations."

"New headquarters?"

"You didn't hear, sir?" Dew looked around to make sure nobody was nearby. "The old Chicago headquarters was destroyed almost a year ago. That team has been using a temporary headquarters ever since. The twins complained about it a couple of times. The place sounds like a big, ugly dump."