Seven Deadly Sons (3 page)

"Good timing," he said, grabbing onto a seatback to steady himself.

"You know me—always picking up strange men!"

Despite the fact that the van was larger and less nimble than the small convertible, Keegan was managing to keep up. Kenslir was impressed, even if the van was heavily modified for detachment use and had far more under the hood than it had when it rolled off the factory assembly line.

"We've got to end this, before someone gets hurt," Kenslir said. "Command, can we get a chopper up?"

"Look!" Keegan shouted.

The little convertible was running out of downtown now. The driver swerved onto an onramp and sent the car racing onto the freeway. She might be able to lose them now—what the car lacked in horsepower it made up for with its small size. It would be able to weave through traffic and leave the van behind.

"Pull me alongside!" Kenslir shouted.

Keegan nodded and gunned the engine. The van surged ahead, closing the distance then finally drawing alongside the tiny car.

The Colonel leapt from the van without any hesitation, landing heavily across the rear trunklid. He grabbed at the folded top, lowered in an accordion-like bundle. But the driver was quicker.

The tiny car's tires locked up, the driver standing on the brake pedal and jerking at the parking brake. Rubber screeched as the car slid to a stop, decelerating so suddenly that Kenslir was thrown forward, still clinging to the convertible rooftop. It tore free in his grasp, fluttering along after him.

But even as the Colonel landed roughly on the pavement ahead of the convertible, the tiny car was struck by another car that couldn't stop as quickly. The mystery woman's car was savagely rear-ended and propelled forward.

Kenslir had rolled with the impact when he struck the ground, trying to regain his footing. Before he could, the convertible slammed into him and he crashed down onto the hood of the car. This time he was ready—he dug his fingers into the thin metal, punching holes in it that he used to keep a grip.

But the driver was in no shape to do anymore swerving. The impact had triggered the airbags in the car and it careened out of control, glancing off the concrete wall on the right before finally skidding to a halt.

Kenslir released his grip and climbed off the hood. He could feel a multitude of cuts and scrapes on his body. His clothes were torn in several places from his tumble along the road.

He crossed quickly to the driver's side, ignoring his injuries. With an easy pull, he tore the door free from its hinges and pitched it aside. Then he turned to the driver.

And she shot him.

This time, the mystery woman didn't aim for a disabling shot. She fired multiple rounds into Kenslir's chest. He felt the bullets thud into his dense flesh, several flattening against his bones.

He smacked the gun aside, then frowned and punched the woman in the face, knocking her unconscious.

CHAPTER FOUR

"Her name's Javan Wallach," a man said.

Javan, or Javi as her friends called her, winced at the sound of her name. It was the first thing she'd heard since coming to, and it wasn't good news. She'd been identified. There'd be hell to pay back home. Assuming she made it back home.

"She's awake," a woman's voice said.

Suddenly, the hood covering Javi's head was pulled free and her eyes were flooded with bright light that was almost as painful as her broken nose. She squinted and tried to make out her captors' faces.

"You!" she exclaimed, genuinely surprised.

Colonel Mark Kenslir stood there silently, watching Javi—who was handcuffed and tied to a chair. They were in a large, concrete-walled room. Beside the Colonel was a black woman—thin, with high cheekbones, her hair cut down almost to her scalp and wearing an expensive business suit.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Wallach," Kenslir said, leaning in closer. To Javi's astonishment, the Colonel's face was unmarred by the cuts and scrapes she had seen right before she shot him. And he seemed completely uninjured by the many bullets she had pumped into his chest.

"How long have I been out?" she asked.

"About two hours," Kenslir replied.

A look of contempt and disgust passed over Wallach's face as she looked from Kenslir to his companion and back again.

"She's wondering if we're both parahumans," the woman said. "And she doesn't like us very much."

Javi spit. "Stay out of my head, witch!"

"No witches here, Ms. Wallach," Kenslir said. "This is Gloria, and she's a telepath."

"Another word for witch."

Kenslir sighed. "Let's skip past the whole
Mossad-doesn't-trust-paras
thing. She can read your mind, so there's no point in not cooperating."

Javi set her jaw and glared.

"She's thinking about her national anthem," Gloria said. "Almost subvocalizing it."

"Why are you in Miami? Why were you at Mr. Katz's home?"

Javi remained silent, repeating the song in her head.

"Still trying to block me," Gloria said. "But she was supposed to be watching the old man—protecting him. But she didn't get there in time."

"Protect him from what?" Kenslir asked.

A phone on the wall rang. Kenslir walked to it, then pulled a wireless handset free, listened to it then held it up to Javi's head. "It's for you."

Javi swallowed nervously when she heard the voice on the other end. Her section supervisor. In Israel.

"Yes, sir," Javi said, briefly wondering if this was a trick. "I understand. Yes. Yes, sir."

The call continued for several minutes as Javi's superior scolded her and she responded with many a "yes, sir". At last, the line went dead.

Kenslir put the phone back on the wall station and moved around behind Javi's chair.

"Who are you people?" Javi demanded. "How did you get ahold of Tel Aviv?"

Colonel Kenslir unlocked the handcuffs and untied the woman. "When you've been doing this job as long as I have, you make connections."

Javi rubbed her wrists, watching the telepath suspiciously. "And what job is it you do?"

The door to the vault-like room slowly cycled inward, revealing a tiled hallway beyond. Kenslir gestured for Javi to come with him.

"We hunt monsters."

Javi glared at Kenslir and Gloria as she walked out of the room. She touched her face briefly and discovered her nose had been set and cleaned up.

"Monsters hunting monsters—how American."

"I believe you were supposed to tell me some things," Kenslir said, leading the way down the hall. It was a long corridor, set with many other vault-like doors. At the far end, a large freight elevator sat waiting, the door open.

Javi frowned, glancing back at the quiet telepath behind her. "Yes, I was sent here to keep an eye on Mr. Katz."

"Because there have been other murders?"

"Six before Miami," Javi admitted.

"All Mossad?"

Javi hesitated. "All Nazi hunters."

Kenslir raised an eyebrow in surprise. "And no clue as to the murderer's identity?"

They had reached the elevator now. Javi could see they were below ground. Kenslir pushed the button for the fifteenth floor and the doors slid quietly shut.

"No."

"And you didn't see anything?"

"No, I wasn't there. I was watching someone else."

Kenslir again showed surprise. "Another Nazi hunter in Miami?"

"Quid pro quo," Javi said. "What have you got?"

"Possibly a witness."

CHAPTER FIVE

"This is it," Deb Harris said, putting the big sedan in park. Jimmy Kane was seated up front with her, while Alvarro Sierra and Josie Winters were in the back seat. Jimmy was in a fresh pair of gray pants with a loose black t-shirt and bright, white sneakers. Josie was wearing tan slacks, blue polo shirt and a blue, government windbreaker.

When Deb reached for her door, Alvarro laid a hand on her shoulder. "Let's not overdo it, Deb. Me and Ms. Winters will take this one."

Deb glared at her partner, but said nothing.

Alvarro and Josie exited the car and walked up the sidewalk to an unremarkable one story house in the suburbs.

"You look kind of young to be an agent," Sierra said.

Josie just smiled at the detective, her green-black eyes, strangely similar to the Colonel's, twinkling. "I hear that a lot."

They walked up onto the porch together, but before Josie could knock on the door, Alvarro spoke up.

"For the record, I think this is a dead end. The guards were already interviewed."

Josie knocked on the door. "Mark's been doing this a lot longer than you'd think, Detective. If he thinks this security guard might have seen more than he said he did, it's worth checking out. Besides, I thought you and your partner would appreciate being included in this."

"I thought that was just so you people could keep an eye on us."

Josie smiled and said nothing.

The door finally opened, revealing a sweaty, disheveled man in a security guard uniform.

"Eric Mosley?" Alvarro asked, showing his badge.

"Yeah," Mosley said, eyeing the pair suspiciously.

"I'm Detective Sierra and this is Agent Winters. We'd like to talk to you about last night's murder."

Mosley rubbed his chin with his right hand—which was wrapped in bandages. "I already gave my statement this morning."

"What happened to your hand?" Josie asked.

Mosley bristled for a moment. "It's nothing."

Alvarro smiled. "Can we come in?"

"Sure," Mosley said, opening the outer screen door and stepping back out of the way.

***

"So, how'd you become a werewolf?" Deb asked. She was staring intently at Jimmy, who was watching the house while they waited in the parked unmarked police car.

"Uh, I volunteered."

Deb laughed. "What kind of an idiot volunteers to become a werewolf?"

Jimmy glared at her, finally tearing his eyes off the house. "It's complicated."

"So what, you got injected? Or maybe they threw you in a room with one and let it bite you?"

"Not quite."

"So what's it like? Changing, I mean."

Jimmy didn't like the way Deb was looking at him. It made him uncomfortable. "I dunno," he shrugged. "I just change. It's a little painful at first, but it goes away."

"And you're you? While you're changed? I mean, you remember who you are?"

"Yeah."

"Can you talk?"

"Listen, can we talk about something else?" Jimmy said. He didn't like being the center of attention.

"You can change whenever you want?" Deb asked, not giving up.

"You're taking this in pretty easy."

Deb shrugged. "If the government thinks it's not a big deal, why should I?"

"You aren't scared? Most people are scared when they find out about this stuff."

Deb laughed again—almost a snort of derision. "Nothing to be scared of when I'm packing this." She patted the gun on her hip.

Jimmy frowned. "I hate to break it to you, but those don't always work."

"Really?" Deb asked, suddenly dropping a hand on Jimmy's thigh.

***

"How long was it after you heard the shots before you entered?" Josie asked. They were seated in Mosley's living room, Josie and Alvarro on a couch, the nervous security guard in a recliner next to the couch. The home was a typical bachelor's, with little furniture and a lot of dust.

"Coupla minutes."

"And Mr. Katz was already dead?"

"Yeah. That's what I already said."

"What about your partner?" Josie asked, flipping back through her small notebook. "Mr. Harlan? When did he arrive."

Mosley fidgeted in his seat, looking back and forth between Alvarro and Josie. "Why am I being asked all these questions?"

"Well," Alvarro started to say.

"Did you see anything unusual in the apartment?" Josie interrupted.

"Like a dismembered corpse?" Mosley answered, a bit angry.

"No. Something... something you might not want to talk about."

"Look, there was no one there!" Mosley said, scratching at his bandaged hand.

"How'd you get that again?" Alvarro asked. He didn't remember the guard having his hand wrapped earlier when he'd cleared him from the scene.

"I got bit."

"In the apartment?" Josie asked. Mark had been right. She could feel it in her gut. Mosley was hiding something.

Mosley looked down at the floor and started laughing. "You just won't let it go, will you?"

Alvarro and Josie exchanged surprised looks.

"You're just going to keep on asking, aren't you?"

"We just want to know what you saw, Mr. Mosley," Josie said.

"How about I show you?" Eric Mosley said, raising his head suddenly, his mouth open wide. His eyes turned black and his teeth elongated into fangs.

***

Deb Harris was now in the middle of the sedan's front seat, pressed up against Jimmy, who was pressed against the door of the car, face pale and sweating.

"So everything gets bigger?" Deb asked, running a fingernail down the front of his chest over the t-shirt he was wearing.

"Uh, look, me and Josie..."

Two gunshots rang out from the house. Then two more.

Jimmy's fear at the Detective's advances evaporated and his eyes went all black. Hair erupted from every pore of his body and his muscles and skeleton bulged and swelled as he expanded in size. His gray slacks split and tore as his legs thickened, and the tennis shoes he was wearing ripped apart as his feet lengthened into long paws.

The door of the sedan tore loose from the car with relative ease as Jimmy, now in his werewolf form, exploded out. He bounded up to the house and crashed through the door like it was paper.

Inside, Alvarro Sierra was on the floor, on his back, trying to keep the security guard from biting him. Furniture was overturned and the home bore the signs of an intense fight.

Josie was standing behind the security guard, a broken table leg raised high. As Mosley struggled with Alvarro, trying to bite him, she plunged the table leg into the guard's back—right through his heart.

Mosley turned, backhanding Josie and sending her flying across the room.

Still laying on his back, Alvarro grabbed at his backup pistol, strapped to his ankle, then fired it into the guard. Three bullets ripped into Mosley's side and back.

Mosley turned back to the detective, apparently unharmed, and bared his fangs.

Then Jimmy was on him.

The huge, brown werewolf crashed into Mosley like a freight train, tackling him and carrying him crashing through a wall. Plaster and wood exploded in all directions as the two made a new opening into the home's kitchen.

Somehow, Mosley broke free of Jimmy, then raked long claws across the werewolf's chest. Similar to Jimmy's own lengthened nails, the sharp claws sliced through fur and flesh, cutting Jimmy to the bone. But the werewolf ignored the pain and slashed back.

Mosley hissed, exposing his long fangs and somehow ducked beneath the werewolf's attack. Then he wasn't there anymore.

Moving with blinding speed, Mosley circled around behind Jimmy, grabbing at his refrigerator and tearing the door off with one quick pull. As Jimmy spun in place to face the guard, the door swung around in an uppercut, catching the werewolf in the jaw and breaking bone.

Jimmy staggered backwards into a countertop, splintering laminate. Before he could recover, Mosley was on him, driving both sets of clawed hands into Jimmy's stomach. Claw-tipped fingers pierced the werewolf's flesh, gouging deep into his intestines.

Jimmy threw back his head and howled in pain.

"Freeze!" Deb Harris yelled, firing her gun at the same time from the living room. She fired off a volley of shots from her pistol, each of six rounds punching into the back of the guard trying to disembowel the werewolf.

Mosley turned toward Detective Harris, baring his fangs and growling.

Harris fired again, this time trying to empty her magazine. Despite a marksmanship rating with the department and hours on the range every month, the Detective couldn't seem to hit Mosley. Her bullets seemed to pass through him, smashing into the walls of the kitchen instead of the fanged monster she now faced.

Mosley raced forward, his movement so fast he was literally a blur to the Detective. He backhanded her, his long nails slicing her face in the process.

Harris was unconscious from the bone-breaking blow as her body flew backwards through the air like a ragdoll, flipping end over end before crashing down on the floor of the home, limp and unmoving.

Jimmy again pounced, encircling the guard with both arms and driving his own mouthful of impressive teeth into Mosley's right shoulder.

The guard screamed in agony as great gouts of blood erupted from his shoulder and bone splintered from the crushing force of Jimmy's bite. Then he turned in place and impossibly pushed free of the werewolf.

Jimmy ignored the pain in his own wounds, which were not yet fully healed and dashed back in, once more tackling Mosley. But this time when he grabbed the guard, he kept on running.

Mosley pummeled the werewolf about the head as they ran through the living room, then smashed through a wall, out into the bright sunlight. Jimmy adjusted his course, driving Mosley into a palmtree planted in his front yard. He felt a satisfying crunch of bones as the guard's rib cage partially collapsed from the impact.

Mosley kneed Jimmy in the groin and drove his hands into Jimmy's sides. Even with his arms pinned, the guard was able to dig his clawed fingers deep into Jimmy's torso, past fur and muscle and into his kidneys.

Jimmy tried to howl in pain, but the pain was just too much and his mouth hung open and silent.

Mosley kicked the werewolf away, eyes squinting in the bright sun. He looked up, finally realizing where he was, and a look of fear spread over on his face. He looked down at his exposed skin.

Instead of bursting into flames or even smoking as he imagined it would, Mosley was surprised to see his skin turning a frosty white. It took his altered brain a moment to realize what was happening. Ice was forming on his arm.

Mosley looked up and saw Josie on the front porch, holding her side and leaning against a support post. She had a weird look on her face and was glaring at the guard.

Mosley tried to rush forward. Where before he had possessed inhuman speed, now his limbs were sluggish and slow. He barely made three steps, then had to stop.

His brain at last seemed to recognize the numbness now filling his limbs. His clothes were frosted now, crunching and breaking from the thick layer of ice that had formed on them.

Josie began to tremble, her jaw clenched tight. Blood trickled out of her nose.

Mosley opened his mouth to scream in pain, but only thick, white vapor came out, chilled to arctic temperature. He tried to move his feet, but they were firmly held to the ground, a thick layer of ice spreading out around them.

It was becoming harder and harder to move, his whole body was stiffening. In the back of his mind, he knew he should be dead—that he would be dead if he were still just a man. He was being flash frozen alive.

Movement came from the corner of his eye. Eric Mosley tried to turn his head to look, but he was frozen solid now. His vision was even clouding as the intense cold overcame the healing power of his new body.

Something hard slammed into his head.

Jimmy let loose a growl of triumph as his clawed hand smashed into and through the guard's head, exploding it into a thousand shards of icy debris. He followed this up with another blow to the frozen guard's chest, exploding his entire body across the front yard.

On the porch, Josie gasped and fell to her knees. Her own vision was swimming and she was dangerously close to passing out.

"We need help," Josie gasped.

Jimmy Kane turned back into a human, his wounds healed as he reverted from his werewolf form. He ran to Josie, catching her just before she passed out.