Generation 18: The Spook Squad 2 (10 page)

“Consider it done, sweetie.”

“And check out a car from the pool for me.”

Izzy tapped a chicken-like foot for several moments. “Car nineteen on standby.”

“Thanks, Izzy.”

“Have a nice day,” Izzy said, before the screen went blank.

Sam snagged her bag off the back of the chair and headed down to the car pool. An attendant handed her the keys and a pass-out to sign. She scrawled her signature across the bottom, then threw her bag into the back of the car and climbed in.

After joining the late morning traffic, she cruised through the city streets, headed for Kensington. Roy Benson, like his other three friends, lived in a suburb befitting the image of an independently wealthy retiree. Only Peter Lyle had made an attempt to hide his wealth—though not very successfully, given he had million-dollar paintings all over his walls.

It took her twenty minutes to get to Kensington. She stopped under the shade of an old plane tree, then climbed out and studied the two-story building across the road. It wasn’t, as she’d expected, a house, but rather a retirement home—and an expensive one at that, if the gold fittings on the front door were anything to go by.

She collected her bag, slammed the car door closed, and walked across the road. She’d barely reached the steps when heat flashed across her skin—a white-hot rush that exploded her senses outward.

A kite was close—so close its evil itched at her skin and turned her stomach.

Her gaze darted upward. The kite was on the roof somewhere, moving to the left. She’d have to find the stairs and get up there…But the thought was cut off as glass shattered.

A second later, the screaming began.

G
ABRIEL GLANCED IMPATIENTLY AT HIS
watch. Joan Hartwell, the postwoman who’d delivered the mail to the doctor thirteen minutes before she’d been murdered, should have been back from her rounds by now. He hoped she was just late and not the victim of some careful after-the-event cleanup by the murderer.

He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. Around him, machines hummed, sorting through the mail, watched by disinterested men and women of various ages. No one talked—probably they couldn’t be bothered, given the noise and the fact that they all wore ear protection. A lonely job, and not one he ever would have opted for. The lack of human interaction would have driven him crazy. Despite what his twin seemed to think, he wasn’t a loner. Not by a long shot.

“Oi! Agent Stern!” He glanced around. A big man in a sweat-stained brown shirt pointed toward the back door. “Joannie just came in.”

Gabriel waved his thanks and headed toward the back. Joan Hartwell was a weedy-looking woman with short black hair and pockmarked skin.

“Heard you were looking for me,” she said, opening a locker that had seen better days. “What can I do for you, Agent Stern?”

“Just a routine follow-up. You heard about Dr. Brandon being murdered yesterday?”

Joan nodded. “Yeah, shame that. She was a nice lady.”

“When you delivered the mail yesterday, did you see or hear anything suspicious?”

The woman shook her head. “I wasn’t even at work yesterday, so I didn’t deliver anything.”

Gabriel frowned. “The security tapes very clearly show you delivering the mail.”

“Then your security tapes have been tampered with. I was home all day. Ask the husband—that useless bit of manhood took the day off to look after me.”

“Do you know who took over your mail run, then?”

“Ask the boss.” She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the offices.

“Thanks for the help,” Gabriel said, unable to keep the slight edge of frustration out of his voice.

Joan nodded. “No prob.”

Gabriel headed up the stairs and found Joan’s boss—a small, harried-looking man who gave him the name of Joan’s replacement, then blithely informed him that she hadn’t been seen since her shift yesterday. Gabriel swore softly and went back to his car. After punching in the code for auto-drive, he set the course for SIU headquarters. Then he leaned an arm against the window, blindly watching the traffic slide by. The killer was a multi-shifter; that much was obvious. But maybe, just maybe, she was also a rare shifter-changer hybrid.

He scrubbed a hand across his jaw and then reached across to the onboard computer.

“Access the sweep report for Emma Pierce.”

“Identification required.”

“Assistant Director Stern. Badge number 5019.”

“Voice patterns correct. Report online.”

Emma Pierce had died of a massive heart attack. There was no evidence that the attack was anything but natural. Interestingly, the autopsy also showed that Emma had no ovaries. Tests indicated they’d been surgically removed somewhere between twenty-five and thirty years ago.

Which was when Emma was still a part of Hopeworth. Maybe the killer knew Emma. Maybe she knew the reasons behind the removal of Emma’s ovaries. Maybe these killings were some form of revenge.

Though why attack four people who were barely a gleam in their mothers’ eyes twenty-five years ago?

Unless, of course, their parents were somehow connected to Hopeworth and what had been done to Emma Pierce. Though that didn’t make much sense, given that with the first two victims, at least, Emma Pierce was listed as their birth mother…unless, of course, those four people had come from eggs harvested from Emma’s ovaries.

He read through the rest of the report. Cellular and DNA samples taken from clothes and other personal items in the second bedroom indicated that the boarder was closely related to Emma. Probably her sister, her mother, or even her daughter. Yet Emma was reportedly an only child, and both her parents died in a car crash when she was three months old. Her ovaries had been removed at some point in her late twenties, and while she certainly
could
have had children before that happened, there was no record of it. And certainly no record of any implant procedure later on in her life that would account for her being listed as the mother of all four victims. Which didn’t, of course, preclude the possibility of Emma’s eggs having been harvested before their removal and implanted into a surrogate.

But what did Hopeworth have to do with it all? What he needed was someone who knew a whole lot more about that place—someone like Mark Allars, who wasn’t only a childhood friend of his father’s as well as one of the names listed on Sam’s certificate, but also a man who’d spent thirty-five years working at Hopeworth.

And it might be damn interesting to see the old man’s reaction to Sam.

He reset the auto control for Kensington, then got out the wristcom and dialed Sam’s number.

The screams were coming from the second floor. Sam flashed her ID at security and ran for the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. By the time she reached the second floor, all the nursing home’s residents seemed to be milling in the corridor. Many more screams had joined the first, and the sound was almost deafening.

“SIU, folks. Please clear the area!” She had to shout to be heard above the din, and even then it did no good. Everyone ignored her—or perhaps they had their hearing aids turned down to cut out all that noise.

She pushed her way through until she reached the room at the far end of the corridor. Inside, the kite had sheeted its victim. Two nurses were gamely attacking the creature with brooms, alternatively sobbing and screaming for help.

“SIU, ladies. Step away!”

The two women looked up, relief etched across their faces when they spotted her. When both stepped away, she fired the stun gun at the creature’s head.

It looked up and snarled, but she kept firing. The creature rose, shaking its head as it backed toward the window. Then it turned and jumped out. She ran over. The creature was fleeing for the nearest tree, white flesh billowing in the breeze.

There was a fire escape to the left of the window. She clambered out, then hesitated, glancing back. The nurses, their faces still white, were beginning respiration on the victim. Given the bloody condition of his face and chest, she didn’t hold out much hope, but at least they were trying, no matter how gruesome the task was.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” she said, and immediately did so.

“Thank you,” one nurse said. Her expression said it all; for all intents and purposes, the victim was dead. But that wouldn’t stop her from at least trying. Sam nodded and ran down the rusting metal stairs. Her wristcom vibrated, indicating an incoming call. She glanced at it, saw it was Gabriel and groaned inwardly. The man had a knack for catching her at the wrong moment. She hit the answer button.

“What?” She jumped past the remaining five steps and hit the ground running. The kite had taken to the treetops, jumping from one to the other like some great white bat.

“What’s wrong?” Gabriel’s voice, instantly on edge.

“A kite just attacked one of the four men in the photograph I took from Lyle’s.”

“Where is it now?”

“Heading west up Racecourse Road.”

“Where are you?” His voice had a resigned note. He obviously had a pretty good idea of where she was.

“Right on its tail, figuratively speaking.”

“I see you now.”

He did? Why the hell was he in Kensington? A gray Ford slowed to a stop beside her and the door flung open.

“Get in,” he ordered.

She did. After securing her seat belt, she leaned forward and watched the kite jump across the treetops. “It appears to be heading for the racecourse.”

“It probably has some type of escape route there.”

“I thought you said these things were brainless. And that they were only active at night.”

“Obviously, we were wrong—on both counts.”

“Are you admitting that the SIU doesn’t know everything?” she said, slipping a note of shock into her voice.

His quick glance suggested he was not amused. She grinned and continued to watch the kite. If any of the pedestrians noticed the monster above their heads, they gave little indication. Nor did the passing traffic seem to see it. Maybe such monsters had become an everyday event, or maybe people simply thought it was a sheet tumbling in the breeze.

The creature leapt over the race ground’s fence and disappeared from sight. Gabriel swore, then spun the wheel and aimed the car straight at the nearby gates.

“Hang on,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

The engine roared as the car accelerated. As the gates loomed close, Sam closed her eyes, braced her feet and hung on grimly to her seat belt. The car slammed through the gates, the impact smashing the front of the car and throwing her forward, then back, as the air bags popped. Gabriel swore as the car skidded sideways and came to a jarring halt. “Can you still see it?”

She couldn’t see a damn thing above the white balloon of the air bag. Sam opened the door and climbed out. The kite was still running through the trees, its white body dappled with shadows.

“I see it.”

“Good. Catch.”

She looked around in time to see him toss a laser rifle her way, then slam the trunk shut.

“Aim for its neck,” he said. “Cutting its head off is the only way to kill it.”

Just like a vampire,
she thought bleakly. Maybe they
were
some sort of vampire offshoot.

They tracked the kite through the parking lot. The creature was running on all fours, and it was amazingly fast. She ran flat out, but she could barely keep up with Gabriel, let alone the creature.

“Listen,” he said. “Can you hear that?”

Who could hear anything past her labored breathing and pounding footsteps? But she frowned, concentrating, and after a few seconds, caught it—the soft
whump, whump
of rotor blades. A helicopter, approaching fast. “Sounds like someone’s coming to collect their pet.”

“Maybe we should let them, then.”

“I thought SIU policy was to kill on sight.”

“It is, but these things keep appearing. I think it’s about time we learned from where.”

The kite stopped and stared skyward. Gabriel halted behind the cover of several old elms. She stopped beside him and tried to catch her breath. So much for thinking she was fit. Maybe she’d better start heading back to the gym.

The helicopter came into sight—a long red and silver bird that gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. She shaded her eyes and stared up at it. Was that some sort of cannon hanging out the side of the helicopter?

“Fuck, they’re going to shoot it.” Fear burned through Gabriel’s voice. He flung an arm around Sam’s waist and pushed her to the ground, holding her tight as he covered her body with his.

Behind them, all hell broke loose. Asphalt and dirt fired into the air, and then a wave of heat burned over them, thick with the smell of burned flesh. Sam threw her arms over her head and cowered under the protection of Gabriel’s warm body. Another bomb exploded, closer this time. Huge clumps of black asphalt rained around them. Gabriel’s shudder ran right through her, then she gasped as a sharp twist of pain ran along her calf.

Then nothing. For several long minutes, they simply lay there. The sound of the helicopter faded into the distance. All she could hear was the crackle of flames as they licked through the trees behind them, and the thunder of her heart, beating in rapid time with Gabriel’s.

“You okay?” he whispered, his breath tickling warmth past her ear.

“I think so. You?”

“A rock has torn a hole in my jacket, but other than that, I’m fine.”

She smiled. He sounded more aggrieved about the jacket than he did about the fact that he was probably cut as well. He rolled to one side, allowing her to sit up. Obviously, beheading wasn’t the only way to kill kites. Blowing the shit out of them worked fairly well, too. Two gaping wounds now marred the parking lot—one where the kite had stood, and the other just before their row of trees. The old elms had no doubt saved their lives.