Summoner of Storms (14 page)

The AC units kicked on, and a breath of
fresher air stirred John’s hair. “Okay,” Liu said. “We won’t roast
now. Follow me back, and we’ll get what you came for.”

* * *

Since most of the agents left at five, Caleb
found a parking spot not far from the elevator in the underground
garage.

Caleb had never gotten around to asking John
if he knew what sort of special engineering it took to bury most of
SPECTR-HQ deep in the earth this close to sea level. It seemed like
the sort of thing John would know. Hell, he could probably recite
the name of the architect and the construction firm that built
it.

The elevator pinged open softly and Sean
stepped inside. Caleb hesitated. He’d hated elevators even before
all this started. After being confined in the underground bunker at
RD, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about taking another ride down to a
place with only one point of egress. Especially not with Sean.

But if this was some elaborate trap, they
were all screwed anyway. Caleb stepped on the elevator and stood at
the opposite corner from Sean. Just in case.

Neither of them spoke on the ride down. The
elevator opened onto the deserted lobby, the security checkpoint
familiar from the dozens of times Caleb went through it while
working beside John.

According to Sean, Forsyth had all kinds of
new people coming in and out this week. An unfamiliar agent
shouldn’t rouse as much curiosity in the security guards as he
would have before.

He hoped Sean was right. Even more, he hoped
no one examined his face too closely.

Nothing for it now but to push straight ahead
and hope. He strolled up, badge already out. The guard inspected it
and gestured for him to sign in. “Name, title, and business on the
premises, Agent Jenkins.”

Carson Jenkins, Agent SPECTR RD, meeting
with Special Agent McNamara concerning details of recent cases.
If the guard got nosy and actually read the check-in sheet, he’d
assume Forsyth sent “Agent Jenkins” to get more dirt on Gray.
Hopefully Caleb managed to make the scrawl different enough from
his ordinary handwriting that it wouldn’t strike the guard as
familiar.

Sean started up a conversation, maybe hoping
to distract the guy. Something about the latest NASCAR race and
whether Dale Jr. had a chance at the cup this year. It seemed to
work, and the guard waved them through cheerfully a minute
later.

“What now?” Caleb asked once they passed
within the maze of bland, beige halls that made up the general
offices.

“Now we go to my office and wait for as many
people to finish clearing out as possible.” Sean glanced at him.
“You’ve got super-hearing, right?”

“Better than the average person’s, yeah.”

They entered Sean’s office and shut the door
behind them. Sean went to his desk and sat down, fiddling with his
computer to pass the time. Caleb stood near the door for a few
minutes, listening. There came the muffled thump of footsteps on
carpet, and the click of office doors shutting. Someone ran the
copier in the cube farm a short distance away. A computer streamed
country music.

Well, this was going to get boring damn fast.
He wandered around behind Sean to peer at the computer. The
pictures on the desk caught his attention, and he leaned forward
and inspected them. “Are those your parents?”

Sean’s lips pressed together. “Yes. My
sister. Her kids.”

Caleb nodded. “They didn’t give up custody,
like John’s family did.”

“Not everyone has bigoted assholes for
parents.” Sean’s brows drew down and his eyes darkened with old
memories. “Dad’s job was in Beaufort. The state school was up here.
It made sense for me to board at the school instead of uprooting
the whole family.”

“What about in the summer?”

“I went home. Once John came along, I took
him with me.” Sean spun his chair around and stared up at Caleb.
“What, you thought I’d just leave him there, all alone? With the
other poor bastards whose parents disowned them? We went home and
swam in the ocean, and mowed the lawn, and did all the other things
normal kids do. Hell, I think Mom hoped he’d hook up with Sarah—my
sister—until I told her she was barking up the wrong tree.”

Fuck. Why did Caleb have to go and ask? He
wanted to hate Sean for what he’d done, not be grateful he’d taken
John home all those lonely summers and treated him like a
brother.

“We love him,” Caleb said, and he didn’t give
a damn what Sean thought about the pronoun. “You can believe it or
not, I don’t care. We thought John would hate us for letting the
possession become permanent, and we still chose it. For him.”

Sean looked back at the pictures on his desk.
“I hope John can live with that.”

Caleb’s fist curled, but he turned to the
door. Listening. No copier, no country music. Just silence. “I
think we’re clear. Come on and let’s get this the hell over
with.”

* * *

John and Tiffany followed Liu down a hall lit
only by a red exit sign. John’s nerves drew tight—the shuttered
office struck him as oddly creepy. Most of the desks in the cube
farm they passed were empty, but one or two still had cartoons
pinned on the wall, or a crumpled post-it by the phone. Condiments
sat on the break room table—did anyone empty out the refrigerator,
or was it full of moldy sandwiches and leftover takeout? Despite
the efforts of the AC, the air hadn’t cooled down yet, and the
stuffy heat added to the sensation of wrongness.

“Here we are,” Liu said, switching on the
lights of the mailroom. Empty mail slots covered one wall, and the
counter held scales and blank shipping forms, alongside an older
model computer hooked up to a printer. Packaging material of every
type lay scattered about, as if the workers left with the last box
and didn’t bother to clean up behind them.

Weird.

“Ugh, it’s hot in here,” Tiffany said,
fanning herself and giving John a pointed look.

What? Oh.

“I’m about to sweat to death in this suit,”
John agreed. He casually removed his coat and hung it up on the hat
stand by the desk. He did the same with his tie, before unbuttoning
the top few buttons on his shirt and rolling up his sleeves. “Whew.
Much better.”

“I’ll say,” Liu agreed. He leaned against the
doorframe, watching John with a small grin.

Tiffany played the part of dutiful partner
and went to the computer. John returned Liu’s smile and rested his
hip against the desk. “Have you lived in Atlanta long, Jeff?”

“About five years. I’m a transplant from
Pennsylvania. Are you local?”

The clatter of keys and click of the mouse
came from behind him. John resisted the urge to glance over his
shoulder. No need to draw attention to what Tiffany was doing,
after all. “Nope. Down from South Carolina. But I visit Atlanta
pretty regularly. Sometimes even overnight.”

Liu happily offered suggestions for
entertainment. He didn’t quite come right out and offer to show
John a good time, but they were both on the clock. Instead, he
listed a few gay clubs, one of which John had visited a couple of
years back, when he and Will stayed with some friends in the
city.

It felt a little weird to stand around and
flirt with some random guy, even in service to the mission. His
thoughts strayed to Caleb, and Gray—who, being painfully honest,
might not be sanguine with John chatting Liu up. Maybe he’d just
leave this bit out later.

How were Caleb and Gray? What was going on
with them now? Had Sean stayed true, or...

No. Focus.

“Got it,” Tiffany said, shutting the computer
back down. “Somebody on our end wrote down a nine instead of a
seven.”

Liu winced sympathetically. “And they made
you run all the way down here for that?”

“Beats the office any day,” John said,
shooting the other man a wink.

“I hear you,” Liu said. “I’ve worked some
boring-ass jobs, but I got to tell you, this one takes the cake.
I’m stuck out in the back forty all day, driving the cart back and
forth. I brought some binoculars with me to get some bird watching
in.”

“Sounds worse than a stake out,” John
agreed.

As they followed Liu out, Tiffany leaned in
close to John’s ear. “Get rid of your friend for a few minutes. I
want a peek inside the hanger.”

They stepped back out into the spring
evening. “Damn, it’s almost as hot out here,” John said as Liu
locked up behind them. “Wish we’d pick up some bottled water when
we stopped for gas.”

Liu obliged by taking the bait. “I’ve got
some in my security hut. And a coffee maker—it might take a few
minutes to brew, though.”

“Did you say coffee?” John notched up the
wattage on his smile. “Jeff, you are an angel straight from
heaven.”

A few seconds later, Liu zoomed off in his
golf cart, headed back the way he had come. “I can’t believe men
really fall for that bullshit,” Tiffany said.

“Critique my lines later. What did you find
in the office?”

Tiffany’s expression turned grim, and she
beckoned him toward the hanger. “I found an address. Sullivan’s
Island.”

Damn. Sullivan’s Island was right outside of
Charleston. “Could you tell how many bottles they shipped
there?”

She shook her head. “It was the only address,
though, and there were a shitload of records. I’m guessing they
sent a
lot
of NHEs there over the last couple of weeks. I
want to see how many are left in the hanger. That might give us an
estimate of how many are missing.”

The hanger sported a line of three big
roll-up doors on the end. Padlocks hung on all of them. Even Liu
would notice if they cut one, not that they’d brought bolt cutters
with them in the first place.

Tiffany led the way around to a side door.
“Locked,” she said.

“And a deadbolt.” He might jiggle open a
regular doorknob using a credit card, but not a deadbolt. “Crap.
Maybe there’s another way in?”

Tiffany snorted. “Watch and learn, Boy Scout.
Some of us come prepared.”

She opened her jacket and slipped out a slim
wallet of folded cloth. “Are those lock picks?” he asked in
disbelief.

“You spent your childhood playing soccer or
t-ball, or whatever the hell ordinary kids do.” She crouched in
front of the door and went to work on the lock. “I spent mine
studying covert operations and learning to field strip an
AK-47.”

The lock clicked within seconds. Casting a
glance over her shoulder, she swung it open. “Come on. Let’s see
what Forsyth left for us.”

* * *

Caleb knew the way to Kaniyar’s—now
Forsyth’s—office from here. He walked in front of Sean, past the
cooling copier, the empty offices. Most of the main lights had been
shut off, leaving the corridors shrouded in darkness between the
occasional island of illumination.

He’d strolled these halls a dozen times
before, but they’d been brightly lit and full of people. Now he
felt a little like he walked through a haunted house, somewhere
once filled with life but now only holding the echoes of the
dead.

“
I have never seen a ghost. I do not
believe they exist.”

Considering Gray’s first memories consisted
of mud-brick ziggurats, and he’d spent most of the intervening
centuries hanging around in tombs and graveyards, he’d probably
know.
So this life is it, huh?

“
Unless mortals pass elsewhere. They do
not linger here.”

The soft hiss of shoes on industrial beige
carpet came from somewhere ahead.

Caleb stopped. “Someone’s coming,” he
whispered. “We aren’t anywhere we’re not supposed to be yet—should
we keep going?”

Sean shook his head. “If it’s an exorcist,
we’re screwed. Come on.”

They were just passing the cube farm where
the rank and file agents worked. Sean stepped off to the side.
“Find someplace to hide.”

Caleb didn’t have to be told twice. As the
footsteps grew closer, he ducked into a random cubicle and pulled
out the desk chair. His body barely fit under the desk, his knees
jammed against his chest. He tugged the chair as far in as it would
go, hoping it would conceal him from a casual glance.

The footsteps stopped. Turned. Began coming
his way.

Fuck.

Now he could hear breathing, the rustle of
papers. Damn it, why did the Specs hire go-getters with nothing
better to do than work late on a Friday night? Didn’t any of these
people have lives?

The steps slowed outside the cubicle he
crouched in. Had he been seen? Sensed?

“Hey, Jim,” Sean called. “I didn’t realize
anyone was still working late but me.”

“Yeah, I had to finish up a report for
Rodriguez. What about you?”

“Stupid cold laid me up for the last few
days. Now I’m way behind on everything. I’ll be here for several
hours yet. You want me to drop those files off for you?”

“Nah, it’s okay.”

“No, really.” Tension strained Sean’s voice,
and Caleb hoped the other agent didn’t notice. “You’ve got a wife
and kids waiting for you at home.”

“It’ll just take a few seconds.”

“Is that the excuse you’re going to use on
Sally, after she holds dinner up waiting on your sorry ass, and now
it’s cold?”

A pause, then a laugh. “Dinner ain’t the only
thing that will be cold if I’m late again. Thanks, Sean. I owe you
one.”

The steps receded, and Caleb let out the
breath he’d held. A few seconds later, Sean tossed papers on the
desk over Caleb’s head and pulled on the chair. As Caleb scrambled
out, Sean reached to help him to his feet. Caleb took his hand
automatically, and the other man levered him up.

Realizing what he’d done, Caleb snatched his
hand back. “Let’s get this over with before anything really goes
wrong.”