GHOST_4_Kindle_V2 (45 page)

When the tirade was over, Rez put the phone back to her ear. “Think what you want, Sir, but if you want to catch the Smiling Jack killers, if you want to get the guys who put down our team, you need to listen.” Remarkably, Rez paused, making sure she had a respectful audience. Gutsy move, considering who she was likely talking to.
 

When she spoke again, I was two seconds too slow to react. “Sir, the two killers are on a ship in the Gulf. I got the coordinates from the Coast Guard, and—”

I took hold of Rez’s wrist. I gently removed the phone from her hand, and then, not so gently, I heaved it far out into the water.

“What…Ghost?” Rez said, blinking like a startled doe. “Why did you—”

“We’re going after Smiling Jack and the doctor,” I said. “But we aren’t going there to arrest them.”

Chapter 38

It had taken us half an hour to hail a cab and another fifteen to drive to the Four Seasons Marina. We jogged passed the gatehouse. Rez had flashed her badge, but neither the Slickster or Redbuzz or anyone else seemed to be there. The gatehouse was dark. I guess the marina cared about their patrons up to a point but definitely not at o-dark thirty.
 

“Wait, the reason you ditched my phone,” Rez blurted breathlessly, as she raced a step ahead and tried to cut me off. “You…you’re going to just kill them?”

I sidestepped her and kept going.

“I thought angels protect people,” she continued, unfazed by my silence. “Guardian angels, right? You’ve heard of those?”

“I am quite familiar with Guardians,” I said, glancing over her shoulder at the flicker of heat lightning on the horizon. “But I am not that kind.”

“So, what kind are you, then? Are you like God’s hitman?”

That stopped me in my tracks. “If you had any concept of holiness,” I said. “Even the faintest glimmer of understanding of pure, untainted good, you would not even begin to suggest anything like that about the Most High. We don’t have time for me to explain.”

“I’ve heard that kind of thing before,” Rez said. And in that moment, I got a read on her that suggested several reasons for her skepticism and anger. “It’s like what a lot of those Bible thumpers say when they get caught doing something they shouldn’t be doing.”

“No,” I said gently. “That is not what this is like. In the Most High, there is no darkness at all.”

“Right, no darkness,” she said, her knuckles burrowing into her hips. “Explain this to me then: you said you work for God, right?”

“I serve, yes.”

“And by ‘serve,’ you mean you take people out…right?”

“That is not always my mission,” I replied. “But there are times such—”

“You can’t have it both ways,” Rez said indignantly. “What kind of God sends angels to kill people?”

I replied, “A patient God.”

“Patient?” Rez scoffed. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. If God wants to rid the world of a few serial killers, more power to Him. But to call it patience is a mockery of the word. You—”

“
You
are finite,” I said firmly. “You see through blurred glass and weigh right and wrong on a broken scale. Understand, there is no one so patient as the Most High. Every breath of mankind is a grace gift of patience. If your standards were put to ultimate use by the Most High, there would be no choice for the beings of this world, no hope, and no love.”

Agent Rezvani’s flare of anger diminished to an amber glow. “I…I don’t understand,” she said. “But wouldn’t it be more patient to let the police get these guys? Let us take them into custody, put them on trial, and see it through?”

“The Most High allows your authorities power to weigh and measure,” I explained. “He gives your authorities the sword. But there are times when your authorities are overmatched, times when your authorities turn away, times when your authorities forget their charge. In those times, I—and others of my kind—take missions of singular importance.”
 

“IF that’s the truth,” Rez said bitterly, “then God has a lot to explain about Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, and the rest of history’s villains.”

“Or, perhaps, history has a lot to explain,” I said.

“Come again?”

“Where and when have these vile men come to power?” I asked. When Rez didn’t answer, I finished the thought. “I will tell you. They came to power wherever and whenever mankind abandoned the Most High. But can you say for certain how each of those villains met their end?”

Rez stared at me hard, and I could see the gears and tumblers spinning. When they clicked into place, her eyes widened. “Are you trying to tell me—”

“Agent Rezvani…Rez, I will say this and then nothing more: what you have seen…what you have learned, it changes everything. Your world just expanded by dimensions, and you will be disoriented for a time. But even once you’ve adjusted, you will still see only the faintest hint of all there is to know. Trust for now in the infinite mind of the Most High. And trust me.”

Rez blinked at me for several seconds. “I…I don’t know if I can,” she said at last. “But…if there’s a chance we might still save those women…I’ll try.”

I felt sure that was the best I was going to get from Agent Rezvani, and that would have to do. But as I turned away from her to tread up the dock, I caught the faintest glimmer of something in her eyes. Clinically described, her lids closed a bit, her pupils grew, and a slight crinkle appeared between her brows. The net result was a thoughtful expression that bordered on cunning.
 

I turned my thoughts to other matters and scrambled on. We came to berth 22A, the Adderlys’ berth, and I held my breath as we climbed aboard the
The Sirocco
. This was more than a long shot. This was desperation.

The yacht looked as still and silent and unoccupied as I thought possible. The cabin had a security door, and it looked like it was hermetically sealed.
 

Rez rapped on the door. “Mr. Adderly, this is Agent Rezvani of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Please answer the door.”

I thought I heard a hint of pleading in Rez’s voice. Or maybe, it was just how I felt. We waited in empty silence. Not quite empty. I thought I heard a very low growl of thunder off in the distance. Maybe it wasn’t heat lightning after all.
 

Rez rapped again. And we waited again. I’d already considered my options if this didn’t pan out. And they paraded through my mind again, each one with a lesser chance of succeeding than the other.
 

I could go airborne, but in my still-depleted state, I wouldn’t make it far without plummeting into the Gulf. Saltwater never rejuvenates as fully as freshwater, and after the pummeling I’d taken at the hands of the Nephilim, I just wouldn’t have enough in the tank to find Smiling Jack.
 

We could call in the FBI cavalry. Or, we could go directly to the Coast Guard ourselves. But the time required for either to be effective frightened me. Whatever Jack had planned for his remaining victims, it wouldn’t keep much longer. And, of course, bringing in the FBI or the Coast Guard would complicate the mission in other ways.

Rez sighed audibly, and I saw her shoulders slump. “Looks like they’re out,” she said. “Probably just do the sailing thing on weekend—”

Something muffled and unintelligible came from the other side of the door. We heard a metallic clicking, and the door opened. There stood Darcy, rubbing her owlish blue eyes and looking pretty, in a sleepy kind of way. Her hair was bed-tossed, and she wore little or no makeup. She had on cutoff shorts and a lopsided sweatshirt that scarcely covered her midriff and slid off one shoulder. She smiled when she saw us. But I bet her smile wasn’t nearly as broad as mine.
 

“FBI, you’re back,” she mumbled. “Hey, Paul, the FBI guys are back.”

She was joined at the door by the thin man with the captain’s beard. Adderly beamed. “Well, I did not expect to see you all again,” he said. “What’s up? Got a drug lord for us to hunt down on the Gulf?”

Rez and I took turns explaining what we needed. “But understand the danger involved,” Rez said. “This—”

Adderly held up a hand. “Are you kidding me?” he asked, tugging Darcy close to his side. “We wouldn’t miss this for the world. Helping you get those La Familia guys…most exciting night of my life.”

“We can’t go in a club around here without someone buying us a round,” Darcy said.

“That’s something too,” Adderly added. “With all the bloated windbags yachting around out here, spouting off about regattas and all that, ha! They’ll never top my stories. Let’s cast off!”

* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *

“They’re ready,” Jack said.
 

Dr. Gary watched Midge and Carrie. Their eyes were open, seeing but not seeing. The anthenol-laced patches had done their work. “How about it, Carrie? Midge? Are you ready to make your movie?”

“Moo-vee,” Carrie mumbled lazily.
 

Midge stretched like a cat in a sunbeam. “I’m ready…ready, ready, me.”

Dr. Gary swung around to the main camera. “Satellite uplink is strong,” he said, gazing warmly at Jack. “Initiate the protocol. Let’s release our Manifesto.”

Jack woke the sleeping laptop. The Manifesto file had been preloaded into the encryption breaking virus. The remote servers had been busy for more than a year, cycling through the government’s cyber-warfare security systems, adding hitchhiker data and withdrawing bits of code for emulation. Jack had field tested the delivery agent a week prior.
 

It was just a rudimentary thing to confirm that the hack would work for the Manifesto release. It had caused a relatively minute percentage of government employees to receive an email that made it appear as if the last email sent from that account had bounced, returned to sender. It had worked like a charm. And no one noticed. No cyber watchdog caught the code or even attempted to block it.
   

Jack took a deep breath. So much had led to this night. He knew…no, wait. No more masquerade. No more being forced into the mold.
She
would send the Manifesto as
she
really was.
 

She looked down at the screen, the blinking connect button. One click, and the Manifesto would go forth. It would bind to ten thousand government email accounts. Then a million. It would flood the Internet’s most popular servers, and it would establish a pathway for the video uplink.
 

It would set the web on fire.

* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *
   
* * *

Adderly called the travel time forty-five minutes to the Coast Guard’s nearest yacht-sized contact. Within ten or twelve miles, he’d explained, we’d pick up the contact ourselves…if it was still there.
 

Rez and I sat below, and I felt the weight of her stare heavy on my shoulders. It wasn’t the only weight.

The Nephilim.
It had found me twice. It could find me again, and I had no idea how it was tracking me. I shook my head at my own inadequacy. Forneus the Felriven, the Nephilim, and the entire FBI…I’d really outdone myself this time.
 

“I saw your website,” Rez said.

The comment hit me like a foam sledgehammer. “My…website?” I said. “I don’t have a website.”

“Yes, you do,” she said. “Dozens of them. But one in particular seems to be a kind of hub. I read some of the articles. You’re a folk hero, you know that?”

“Don’t believe everything you read.”

“I don’t,” she said. “But there were too many stories, from too diverse an audience to discount. You’ve helped a lot of people.”

“I’ve failed more than I’ve helped,” I said.
 

“Not from what I’ve read,” she said. “That’s why I’m still here. That’s why I didn’t run to the nearest phone and call down FBI fire and brimstone on you.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

“Sorry,” she said. She paused a breath. “On those websites, there were photos of you.”

I knew where she was headed.

“And on the closed circuit monitor back at the police station,” she said, “I could see you, but your face, your flesh was distorted. Did you do that?”

“Not on purpose,” I said. “It’s actually a beneficial byproduct of my kind. It’s a little hard to explain, but because I am knit together of…otherworldly flesh and blood, cameras can’t cope. Even with the ultra-high speed shutters, they just can’t reconcile the strange light reflections. It’s called dimensional blurring. It’s how I got my nickname.”

“We’ve got the contact!” Paul Adderly’s voice, made tinny by the intercom. “Took longer than I thought. We’re seven miles out.”

“Almost there,” I said.
 

“What about the nickname?” Rez persisted. “Blurry photos?”

“Ghost,” I said. “The first time I used the alias John Spector, a guy I helped out took my picture with his young son. When he saw it, he said, ‘Man, this looks like a ghost pic.’ The name just stuck.”

I watched the wheels turning in Rez’s expression. “You…wait,” she said, “you mean to tell me that…all the ghost pictures, all that paranormal stuff—”

I nodded and said, “Angels: my side, and the Fallen. There are other things out there as well, but not ghosts anyway. That reminds me…Rez, something you should know. If things go badly, don’t hesitate to shoot, and I mean shoot to kill. When we were at the surgeon’s dinner, when we confronted Doctor Lacy and Jack: I felt sure they were taken.”

“Taken?” she echoed.

“Overcome,” I said. “When a person dwells so deeply and so often in darkness, a crack can form in his mind. That crack can be exploited by the Fallen. People can become…well almost like puppets.”

“You mean like…possessed?”

I nodded. “That is the common phrase, yes,” I said. “But it is vastly overused and almost completely misunderstood. But, in this case, I believe Jack and Dr. Gary are taken. If I’m right, that will make them very strong. It’ll raise their tolerance for pain. It’ll make them absolutely ruthless. If all goes well, you won’t have to deal with them. But if not, if you find yourself standing against them, don’t bother with rights and speeches. Kill them.”