The Ancient Breed (45 page)

54

N

eo paused on the marble steps outside Aspirations, flicked a piece of fuzz from his suit coat sleeve, and phoned Rance on his private
Orion Sector
line. He rolled the tension from his stiff neck as he waited for Rance’s secretary to find her boss. He had had enough of Sloan McGrath. After twenty minutes with the scumbag, Neo’s bullshit detector was fried, and his patience was worn as thin as his college football socks.

Neo made his decision whether to interview the test subjects or not on the way down from McGrath’s office. If McGrath believed that Neo was actually going to stroll into his two-broad ambush and let them shred him into black confetti, then he was the biggest fool Neo had ever met.

“Yeah?” Rance grumbled.

Neo cleared his throat, described his visit with Sloan McGrath, and requested backup support. “Send Carter and Lomax. They’re here in New York doing some undercover work on an official FBI case, anyway,” he suggested.

“Another case? Explain.” Rance demanded curtly.

“Terrorists.”

“That all?”

“That’s all, boss.”

“Are Crow and Nick there?”

Neo bit his tongue as he watched the steady flow of customers enter and exit Starbucks. “No.”

“Goddammit!” Rance exploded. “I expressly ordered them to get their asses to New York and back you up.”

Neo chuckled silently despite the gravity of his own situation. “I’m sure they’ll be here any minute, but in the meantime . . .”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll contact Carter and Lomax and have them report to you at Aspirations, on the double.”

“Have them meet me across the street from the Aspirations building at Starbucks.”

“Don’t you dare go into Starbucks before your backup arrives!”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Neo paused. “Tell ‘em Starbucks,” he said quickly and disconnected the call before Rance could fly off the handle.

Neo shielded the sun from his eyes as he examined Starbucks. Rance was such a mother hen. Those two flesh-eaters across the street wouldn’t dare start anything in a public place; besides, at 6 feet 6 inches and weighing in at 265 pounds, he was more than a match for a couple of mini-beasts.

The captivating coffee aroma tantalized his nostrils and aroused his taste buds before he even entered Starbucks. A classical concerto drifted outside and mingled with the droning chatter of the streaming crowd. Neo took a nerve-cleansing breath, pushed against the sparkling glass doors, and entered.

Whatever Neo had expected, it wasn’t the sight that greeted him inside. He stood there, stunned. The seemingly busy Starbucks was empty, except for two young women seated on stools at a table to his right. No employees. No customers.
What the hell was going on!

He glanced up at the ceiling. Some kind of blue, electrical web snapped and sizzled overhead. He reached for his 9 mm, but one of the blue strands zapped the gun from his hand like a lightning bolt, launching it across the white tile floor.

Neo flexed his tingling fingers and slowly backed toward the door. He was immediately zapped by another bolt of blue.

“Goddammit, knock it off!” he shouted at no one in particular. It was fairly obvious that the women weren’t responsible for the massive stun gun. But then again . . .

He watched the women finish their coffees, scoot off the stools, and motion to him seductively with their curled forefingers.

“Time to go, lover,” Mindy announced evenly.

“We ain’t got all day, Sugar. You wanta git a move on?” Lurdene drawled impatiently.

Neo doubled his hands into lethal fists. “I’m not budging.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Mindy scolded him, seductively shoving a single spaghetti strap of her coral tank top off her right shoulder.

“You ain’t got no choice, Mr. FBI man,” Lurdene added, pulling her teal tank top over her head, exposing her ivory breasts and petrified nipples. She licked her glossy, garnet lips. “We’re gonna eat you alive, big boy.”

“And you’re going to love it, you tall, dark drink-of-water,” Mindy purred.

“Back off, bitches!” he growled. “We ain’t doin’ anything. You comprende?”

The blue network overhead intensified as a figure appeared behind Neo.

“Oh, but I think you’re wrong, Neo.”

Neo swung around, ready for action. “McGrath!”

He grinned and raised his flat palms toward the ceiling. “Thanks for being so obliging. I would’ve figured you for more intellect, but . . .”

Neo lunged for McGrath, but a more powerful energy bolt knocked him to the floor.

He sneered at Neo. “Stupid half-breed.”

With a monumental effort, Neo rose to his knees. Tendrils of smoke curled from his legs where the charge had struck him, and every inch of his skin felt like one smoldering blister.

McGrath approached Neo and planted a karate kick squarely on his fallen prisoner’s jaw. The FBI supervisor’s head snapped back, and he slumped to his side, unconscious and bleeding.

McGrath glanced at his watch, and then at the girls. “Time to go, dear ladies. I’ve got to drop off a little friend at the White House, and after that, we’ll show Agent Doss one helluva good time,” he said. Faster than a blink, Starbuck’s four occupants and the blue energy field vanished, replaced by dozens of angry, confused customers who demanded to know what had just happened to them, and why had they completely lost thirty minutes in their hectic schedules.

Two men dressed as street punks, wearing tight black jeans, chain belts, painted tattoos, and black sleeveless sweatshirts, burst into the coffee house and searched for Neo. After roaming the entire interior, including the maintenance closet, both urine-scented restrooms, the cramped employee lounge, loading area, and storeroom, they retreated outside.

“Rance isn’t going to like this,” the short, wiry one said anxiously to the other.

“Damn
Orion Sector
agents. They all think their shit don’t stink. You know what I mean, Lomax?” the carrot-topped “punk” grumbled.

“Bitch all you want, but it’s our asses in the sling if we don’t find Doss.”

“Shit!” Carter spat on the sidewalk. “Hold off on that call to Osborne. Okay?”

“Sure. Let’s hang around here and see if the dumb shit comes back to meet us.”

Carter chuckled nervously. “He’d kick your ass if he ever heard you call him that.”

“Yeah, well he ain’t here now, is he?”

Carter spat again, as he scrutinized the area. “Yeah. I just wonder where the hell
he is
.”

55

C

row recognized there was something vastly different about his second wind-walking trip. He had traveled through swirling, gray mists on his initial passage that landed him in the backseat of Nick’s Cherokee. He had also heard Grandfather’s faraway voice soothing his uneasiness. During this disparate journey with Lisa Anders, however, a silent white mist enveloped them and occasionally thinned to reveal a mountainous, red-sun world. Crow was stumped. Maybe he’d recited the chant the wrong way, but he didn’t know how that was possible. Grandfather had only taught him one chant.

Their magical, surreal voyage ended abruptly. Crow and Lisa materialized in a dark, confined space and found themselves face-to-face with a closed door. A ribbon of light spilled across the threshold and revealed mops, buckets, paper supplies, cleaning chemicals, open cabinets, and a large, deep sink behind them. A maintenance closet! Muted voices drifted in and out, and Lisa and Crow listened to the soft, hurried padding of footsteps on the other side of the door.

“Do you have any idea where we are?” she asked quietly.

There was no apprehension in her tone, a stark contrast to Crow’s welling anxiety. “Not a clue,” he replied briefly so as not to reveal his angst.

“I wonder why we ended up in this closet?” she murmured, more to herself than Crow.

Crow hoped it was a rhetorical question that didn’t require a response. They stood silently, attempting to find answers to disquieting questions about their current situation. Finally they threw in the towel, realizing that they were in the dark in more than just the literal sense.

“Do you think it’s possible for Neo to be around here somewhere?” she asked.

Crow shrugged. “Anything’s possible, but I think we ought to take a peek outside before we strain our brains for nothing,” he suggested.

“Good thinking. Hold on a minute.”

Lisa dropped to her hands and knees and lowered an ear to the opening beneath the door. There wasn’t enough space for both of them down there, so Crow remained standing. The passing voices sounded like so much mumbo jumbo to Crow through the solid door; but, as indicated by Lisa’s occasional “mmm’s” or “huh’s,” it was evident that she could hear some of the conversations clearly.

At last, she stood. “I think I know where we are, and it doesn’t make sense,” she said, displaying concern for the first time.

“Okay, where are we?”

“Inside the White House.”

It took several moments for the implications of Lisa’s statement to penetrate his trepidation.

“Holy wampum!” he exclaimed.

“Shhhh!” she warned him.

They stood perfectly still, expecting a group of Secret Service Agents to come charging in, guns drawn. Seconds ticked into minutes. Blood thumped in their ears, and perspiration welled like cold springs from their pores.

But there were no running footfalls. No alarmed shouts. No clicks of cocked hammers. After their prolonged vigilance, they breathed a collective sigh of relief. They were safe.

For now.

“Let’s wind walk the hell out of here,” Crow proposed.

“No,” Lisa disagreed.

Crow was visibly agitated. “You got a better idea, Lisa?”

“Look, Crow, we were directed here for a reason.”

“Look, we came here to find Neo and missed him. End of story. Don’t read anything else into it.”

“Let’s say for argument’s sake that Neo isn’t here.”

“I’ll buy that.”

“So if Neo’s not at the White House, then why did we materialize here?”

“Good question. I’ve been trying to answer it ever since we arrived in this stinking closet.”

“I think I know what happened. We were deliberately sidetracked.”

Crow rubbed his palms together nervously. Lisa just didn’t give up. “All right, I’m game. Why?”

“Your assumption is as good as mine, Chief,” she said. “After all, this magic stuff is your specialty.”

“Oh yeah? How do you figure that?”

“Isn’t that
Orion Sector’s
specialty?”

“Not lately,” Crow answered evasively. “Now can we vamoose?”

“NO!” she hissed. “I told you; I think we’re here for a reason. Can you just be patient for a while?”

“If your theory’s correct, and I’m not saying it is, the one who blew our wind walk off course must be damned powerful. I’m not aware of anyone like that who’s mixed up in our investigation. So . . . that presents us with the distinct possibility of mission sabotage. If that’s the case,” he continued, “that unknown person probably landed us smack-dab in the middle of a trap.”

“You sound more like a stoned lawyer than a rational computer whiz. Your investigation has been full of traps, and yet you’ve all managed to escape. How about that fireball, for starters? Talk about traps in that warehouse,” she argued. “Tell you what, Crow, you take off, and I’ll hang around here to see who’s right. Okay?”

Lisa dropped him squarely between a rock and a hard place. If he left, he’d never forgive himself if anything happened to Lisa. If he stayed, it could well be his last mission.

“Well?” she demanded defiantly. “You walking or staying?”

“Okay, you win, super-squaw. What’s the plan?”

“Still got your gun?”

Crow’s hand slapped its holster. “You bet.”

“Then take it out and be ready to use it.”

Crow did as she asked. “You sound pretty sure that we’re going to need it.”

Lisa sighed. “Anything can happen. We’re inside the White House, remember?”

“So?” Nothing about their presence at the White House made a lick of sense to Crow, and to make matters worse, Lisa Anders seemed to know more than he did. But how could she? She wasn’t a Wiccan. Was she? He dismissed that wild notion despite his nagging, Indian sixth sense that hinted that there was more to this hot-looking archeologist than met the eye.

Lisa moved close to Crow. “Let me refresh your memory with two words:
Leann Hanover
.”

That name struck a perilous chord in his memory. “Oh, yeah. A potential assassin,” he muttered sheepishly.

“A potential
monster
,” she corrected him.

Crow clamped his lips together and waited with her in complete silence. He wished he had access to Geronimo. The supercomputer would supply him with rational theories about their predicament based on logic and reason, not feminine fantasy.

Lisa appeared convinced that their wind walk malfunction had a purpose: They were sent on a secret mission to protect President Hanover from his carnivorous wife. Crow rolled his eyes. It was too outrageous to even consider, and yet here he was, babysitting the President from a White House closet. And to think that he voluntarily placed his life in the inexperienced hands of an unreasonable female civilian when he could have bailed. If Nick and Neo ever caught wind of this, he’d be the laughingstock of
Orion Sector
.

Suddenly, all hell broke loose on the other side of the door. Panicked screams, savage snarls, and sporadic gunfire dispelled the silence inside the maintenance closet. Something thumped and splashed against the closet door like a heavy water balloon. Blood washed under the door and puddled at their feet.

Lisa reached for the door handle. “Showtime!” she declared and burst into the hallway.

Crow followed her lead but stopped immediately. His iron stomach churned and tumbled at the sickening bloodbath outside the closet. The hallway resembled a battlefield graveyard.