God Touched - 01 (23 page)

“When you exorcised that little girl's home, everyone outside felt it.  We all
knew
that you had banished it.  Didn't you know that people could sense what you do?”

I shook my head.  No one had ever mentioned it before.

“Well
,
let me tell you about it.  Every time I had been to that house right up till you went in, it felt
wrong.  Evil.
It m
ade my skin crawl.  Then you walked in and after a minute, I felt a...vibration.  Like the thrum of a guita
r or a note on a harp.  Crystal-
clear, pure.  It wasn't a sound, but a feeling.  Then a sharp snap or a pop. Like pressure released.  And the wrongness was gone.  I looked around and I could tell that everyone else held felt it.  I could read it in their faces.  But no one said a thing, reluctant to speak, like we were not suppose
d
to talk about it.  Like we shouldn't. It wasn't something you could put into words and even now, I haven't done a good job of it.  But I'll tell you this,
every one
of us felt instantly better.  I, for one, felt like God was nearby and watching over us.” She said.

For once I had nothing to say, dumbfounded at this revelation.

“Now, I have a lot of work to do, so if you'll excuse me, I believe you are scheduled to meet next with Brian.”

   And just like that she ushered me out of her office and shut the door.

     My time with Brian was much more straightforward.  He hadn't said a word about my outburst in Gina's office, but took me into his little dojo and asked me about my martial arts background.

So I gave him my background, but he surprised me by asking for details, instructor’s names, years of study, belt rank, dojo names.  I had never thought about my training in that manner and it made me defensive.  I hadn't studied for belt rank, but for survival.

  Next he had me change into sweatpants and a tee shirt and he began to test my knowledge, by sparring.  I held my speed and strength back for a couple of reasons.  First, the team was just starting to accept me a little.  Being more of a freak than I already was wouldn't help that. The second reason was my promise to Dr. Singh and third, Brian Takata knew a lot more about practical technique than anyone I had ever met. I figured the best way to learn was to push him enough to make it a challenge and see what he brought to the mat.  He didn't disappoint.  I learned more in twenty minutes than I had in the last year.  I also learned that had I exerted my full strength and speed, I could have beaten him. He showed me a flying arm bar I hadn't come across before, a version that was purely functional, stripped of all glitz.  Arm bars are basic joint locks that work by exerting leverage on frail human joints.  A flying arm bar uses the body weight of the person employing it to bring down the person who is the recipient of this less than gentle treatment.  Had I chosen, I was certain I could have held his full bodyweight
and
flexed my arm through the lock.  While that gave me confidence, it also told me that many of these techniques would be worthless against vampires, weres and other supernaturally strong critters.

     After an hour with Brian, Steve Sommers, who had watched much of the sparring, laid claim to me and we were off to the range.  Located in the same vast building but seemingly half a county away, the range was mostly empty and we had one end all to ourselves.

“First, let's see how you handle your issue sidearm,” he said.

So I drew my Glock 19 and worked through a couple of qualification targets.  It had been awhile since I had been to a range, but my enhanced vision and reflexes handed me perfect scores.

“Excellent shooting!  Let me guess, you've been shooting long before the academy?”

“Actually, since I was twelve.”  I filled him in on my teenage training years.

He just looked at me for a moment, then grinned.  “We're gonna skip all the basic crap and get right to the good stuff!” he said with enthusiasm.  He pulled out a molded plastic handgun case and opened it up.  Inside was another Glock, this one looking almost identical to a Glock 17, the larger service model of my 19.  But this gun had a small circular switch on the left side of the rear slide, and that one difference told me all I needed.

“That's a Glock 18!” I said, as excited as he was.  He nodded and pulled a loaded thirty-three round magazine from another bag.  Locking the extended mag into the gun's grip, he racked a round into the chamber and handed it to me.   “The selector is on full auto.  Show me what you can do.” he said.

The Glock 18 is a select fire full automatic pistol originally developed for Austrian counter terrorist forces.  In semi auto mode it fires just like the model 17, but in full auto mode it will fire at rates of up to twelve hundred rounds per minute.  A two second pull of the trigger will empty a thirty-three round magazine.  I'm pretty sure that's what Steve expected me to do.  But my childhood instructors had given me a good grounding in full auto technique.  Instead of spraying the mag empty, I tapped the trigger for a series of five-and ten-round bursts, keeping all the rounds on target.  The gun was ridiculously easy to control and I had a huge grin on my face when the slide locked back on an empty chamber.  Seeing the results of my first attempt, Sommers took the gun back, placed it back in its case, packed up his stuff and said simply, “Come on!”.  He led me through short series of doors till we came to another range, this one open without shooting lanes.  A control panel sat on a desk at the back and as he powered up the range systems he instructed me to retrieve the Glock and several mags of ammo.  Shooting glasses and earmuffs on and I was on the firing line. What followed was a full hour of action shooting on automated popup targets.  It was the most fun I'd had at work since I started with the NYPD.  When we finished, I cleaned the 18 to his satisfaction, packed it away and we headed back to the squad's offices.

Roma greeted us as we entered.  “How he do?” he asked.

“He cleared the first four simulations almost perfectly.  We ran outta time for the other two, but I'm ready to issue him the 18 right now!” Sommers answered.

“Really?  Well, by all means proceed.  Chris, when you’re done I’d like to see you.”

“Sure thing Inspector.”

Sommers had a small forest worth of papers for me to sign, formally issuing the Glock 18 to me.  He pulled out a kydex holster, double mag carrier, three twenty round mags and three thirty-three round mags.  Then he went to closet door next to his gun safe, unlocked it and pulled out a metal GI ammo can.  Popping it open, he showed me the contents, six fifty round blocks of nine
millimeter
ammunition.  He plucked a round out of its individual slot and offered it to me for inspection.  Viewed from the side, it looked like a standard hollowpoint round.  A look at the business end revealed that the hollow cavity was filled with silver.  “Silver itself is hard enough to make a decent bullet, but casting them is a bitch.  The melting point is ridiculously high, and the metal cools so fast that there are almost always serious flaws with the finished bullet. So, we’ve opted to fill standard copper jackets with silver instead.  They fly true and are quite effective on impact.  They behave more like a flatnose solid, with little expansion, but penetrating heavy muscle is usually of more concern than anything else.” He said.

“So silver really is effective against weres?” I asked.

“Yes, as well as on vamps and most other supernaturals.  Something about the metal is poisonous to them.”

I knew from personal experience that silver worked on vampires -- my introduction to Tatiana had demonstrated that.  I was also aware that silver killed most viruses and bacteria on contact as well.

“Conventional rounds will eventually kill weres and vamps too.  Just takes a ton of them on target to get the job done.  Not likely with the speed they both can move at.  As it is, we have to shoot the crap out of them with the silver.  They’re friggin’ tough!”

“How many have you shot?” I asked.

“I shot one vamp in Dallas.  I used to be a feddie, but Roma recruited me.  But shootings happen very rarely.  Mostly, they take care of their own problems for us.  We just sometimes have to show them that we’re aware of an issue.” He said.  “Tomorrow, we’ll run the other two scenarios.  Both are run at a much faster speed than the four you did today.  I’ll be interested to see how you handle them.  You pretty much cleaned house today!”

I thanked Steve, grabbed the gun bag he had given me and headed out to find Roma.

     The Inspector was in his office with the door open, when I knocked. 

“Come in Chris.”  He said.

He pushed a small, tidy stack of files across his desk top to me as I took a chair.

“It occurred to me that we come from very different backgrounds and experiences in the supernatural world.  Gina helped me understand that you deal with the worst of the worst – the demons.  As such, it’s natural for you to view the others as more…benign, maybe?”

Not sure where he was going, I just nodded my head.

“Right, well, as you indicated the last night, they’re not all the same.  Some might be relatively okay—“ He frowned as he spoke, “ and others are very, very malignant indeed.”

I opened the first file and found a table listing missing person statistics for the United States over the past decade. A second table showed unsolved murder statistics in the U.S. for the same time frame.  The files that followed were all homicide cases that a quick glance showed to be horrifically violent.  Roma continued when I looked back up at him.

“Each year well over one hundred thousand people go missing without being found.  Each year there are thousands of murder cases that go unsolved.  Those are just the reported cases.  It is fairly safe to assume that thousands of other missing person cases go unreported.  That first file works through the numbers and you’ll see a close correspondence with the kill ratios that scientists have observed in natural predator prey relationships.  Some are the work of humans, but, as you’ll see from the rest of the files, some are the work of supernatural predators, vampires and weres.”  He rubbed his temples for a moment before continuing.

“Chris, I want you to read through these files tonight with an open mind.  My goal is to make sure you have the proper….respect for these predators.  We run various shifts as needed here, but why don’t you come in tomorrow at nine.  That way, you can make it to that important party tomorrow night.  Good night.” He said, in obvious dismissal.

Chapter 16

  When I got home, I threw a frozen macaroni and cheese dinner into the microwave, then sat down to load pistol mags with silver filled rounds.  I was hungry, but not as bad as the last few days.  Maybe Dr. Singh was right and my metabolism would slow from its current crazy pace.  Thinking of the doctor reminded me of the Hance protein image that I had folded in my jacket pocket.  It only took a moment or two to scan it into my laptop and then fire off an email to the doctor requesting his opin
ion of the molecule.  That done
  I cracked a cold beer and started my homework. 

The homicide files were enlightening.  Roma had a point, as the amount and kind of damage the victims exhibited would have been very difficult for a standard human maniac to achieve.  Some had been torn apart with obviously superhuman strength.  Some had bite and tear wounds that were strongly indicative of large wild carnivores, in geographic locations that had no native examples of said carnivores.  Tracks disappeared into thin air, doors and other human obstacles were breached with hands, not force and at least one attack occurred high up in an apartment building where the murderer came through a fourteenth floor window to rip out the victims' throat and a large portion of the blood supply was gone.

Taken together with the missing person and homicide statistics, the overall picture was fairly alarming.  The human race had its own predators, just as folklore and mythology had faithfully reported all along.  Only today's
enlightened
world ignored the fact that we weren't top of the food chain.

     I had a lot to think about as I ate the entire family-sized mac and cheese.  I really only had regular contact with Tanya and Lydia.  My experience with other vampires had been meager. I kept Roma's lesson in mind as I got ready to visit the Demidova residence.  My new Glock went on my hip, a twenty round mag in place and one round chambered.  Two more twenty rounders went in the mag holder on my belt, and after a moment’s hesitation, I slipped a thirty-three rounder into the inside document pocket of my leather jacket.  Wearing jeans and a long sleeve black tee, I hopped into the Xterra and headed out.

The night was cold and windy, the moon overhead almost full, as I trudged up the sidewalk to Galina's front door.  The dead, dry leaves swirled around the street, each gust causing me to bring my Sight to bear, looking for a green, red, purple image.  I rang the bell and waited, wondering at the truly strange nature of my life as I waited to see the vampire girl I was still infatuated with.  After a minute, the door opened to reveal the blonde Nika.  Not saying a word, she slid back out of the doorway, her expression blank. She was wearing a rather formal gown of soft yellow.  I tried to keep my thoughts bland as I entered the brightly lit mansion.  Classical music played on hidden speakers and the air was scented heavily by the numerous floral arrangements spread throughout the front foyer and formal living room.  A dozen or so formally attired vampires were present, standing in eerie stillness, staring at me.  There was nothing remotely human or friendly on those pale frozen faces and I felt like a bug looking up as the giant shoe descends.  A small, spiky haired form in a black lace trimmed top and matching black tights blurred down the stairs and right up to me. “Chris, come on.  I'll take you to her.” Lydia said in a quiet voice. But as we turned to the stairs, a tall lean form floated into our path, effectively blocking the route.  Movie star handsome, in a pale, severe sort of way, he was wearing a charcoal gray suit of expensive cut.  The word dapper popped into my head as I watched him approach, a cold smile on his face.