Legend of the Ir'Indicti 5 - Destroyer Page 11

  * * *

  Kid, I don't know how you do this. I'm not arguing, though. Tony waved a hand to keep Ashe from defending himself. He, Ashe and Gavin stood across the street from a house in Dublin, a narrow, cobbled lane lying in between. Inside the house, dim lights shone from behind heavy curtains. You're sure they're here?

  Yeah. With humans. Women, Ashe added, swallowing nervously.

  "I think they're engaged in sex," Tony breathed softly to Gavin, who nodded and gripped Ashe's arm.

  "Young one, stay outside unless you are needed," Gavin whispered next to Ashe's ear.

  No problem, Ashe agreed mentally. Gavin nodded. Ashe watched as Gavin and Tony approached the house. Surprisingly, Tony drew a lock-picking kit from a pocket and went to work on the door. The faintest of ticks sounded and Ashe nodded respectfully when Tony had the door open in seconds. Gavin led the way inside the house, Tony close behind.

  * * *

  "I can meet with you tomorrow night. You can choose the place," Peyton spoke into his cell. He'd been more than surprised that William Winkler called him back. It didn't matter that he might be walking into a trap—Peyton had spent the last twenty-four hours evading Zeke Tanner's trackers. Not for the first time did he wonder why the trackers didn't go after Winkler, but shoved that thought aside. Winkler was on the phone, asking for a meeting.

  "Come to the house. I'm sure you know where it is anyway," Winkler said.

  "I'm being followed," Peyton admitted.

  "No surprise. Know where those followers might be?"

  "They're here in Corpus Christi," Peyton said. "I managed to lose them last night, but they're here. I figure they'll catch up with me soon enough."

  "How about letting them follow you here?" Peyton could almost hear the grim smile in Winkler's voice. "I think we can arrange to give them a traditional, rogue welcome."

  "That would be mighty fine, Mr. Winkler," Peyton released a sigh. "I'll give you every bit of information on Zeke Tanner I have. He doesn't tell me everything, but I know enough."

  "Just telling me where his compound is will go a long way," Winkler muttered.

  "I can do that, but if I know Zeke, he may be making a move. He does that a lot, if he thinks somebody might come to visit."

  "Know anything about that nutjob, Wildrif?" Winkler asked.

  "Yeah. Scary as hell," Peyton shuddered. "I think Zeke's been in contact with him all along."

  "That's what I was afraid of," Winkler replied.

  "I was mighty surprised when Zeke sent him to Obediah, but that was probably Wildrif's doing," Peyton said.

  "Not surprised about that, either," Winkler agreed. "How long have you worked for Tanner?"

  "Since I was twelve, so that makes it twenty-three years. Said he found me when I was a baby, abandoned by my parents. Now, I don't know how well you know Zeke, but I haven't believed that lie for a long time. He had some of his raise me, so most manners I know I learned from books. At least one of 'em taught me to read before Zeke took him down."

  "Know anything about your parents?"

  "No. I was too little to know anything, I guess."

  "Where were you when that mess happened here?"

  "Going after a rival dealer outside Chihuahua."

  "Ever hear Zeke talk about a contact in D.C.?"

  "Yeah, but I never got a name. Look, I can explain what I know when I get there, if that's okay."

  "That's fine. I may have a couple of others here with me. They might have questions, too."

  "Sounds good. If the Grand Master wants an execution after that, well, I'd appreciate it if he made it quick."

  "I'll mention that to him."

  "Thanks."

  * * *

  "Weldon, he's coming tomorrow night and he may have Zeke's trackers on his tail. I had Matt connected to the call—he was in Chicago, so he's flying down. Matt's ears perked right up when Peyton said he had information on that contact in D.C." Winkler toyed with a pen on his desk while he spoke with the Grand Master.

  "I can be there in no time—I'm in Dallas, now, waiting on a flight."

  "I'll make a call and have my pilots warm up the jet," Winkler said.

  "Sounds good. I'll see about getting my bags off the plane."

  * * *

  "Kid, we'll place compulsion and send these to the nearest hospital. That's all we can do."

  Ashe stare at the bloody cuts on two women—both huddled against a wall inside the house. Addison and Kline were dead, their ash scattered across the floor where Gavin and Tony had surprised them and taken them down.

  "They meant to kill them. After." Ashe's mouth was set.

  "Yeah. Don't think about it. We found them in time."

  "Addison and Kline did this before. Those other women didn't live."

  "Yeah. We figured that out." Tony kept the sarcasm from his words.

  "Do the compulsion thing. I'll get them to the hospital," Ashe muttered, hunching his shoulders.

  "Come back immediately, young one," Gavin said gently. Ashe's head jerked up as Tony knelt before the two women.

  "You will not recall the events of this night. You were attacked by an animal. Say that to the hospital employees. You did not get a good look at the animal, only that it was dark and you were walking down the street. You will not recall how you arrived at the hospital either. You will tell the hospital employees that a kind driver dropped you off."

  The women nodded their compliance. Ashe skipped them to the nearest hospital, located three miles away.

  * * *

  "The Grand Master and Matthew Michaels will come. William Winkler thinks to take our bait," Wildrif giggled.

  Zeke Tanner frowned at Wildrif. Was it his imagination, or did the seer seem crazier than when he'd seen him last? It didn't matter. Zeke had fifteen trackers, all poised to follow Peyton straight to Winkler's beach house. If he were lucky, he could take out the Grand Master and Matt Michaels, too. Curtis would certainly be happy with that news—Matt Michaels was a straight shooter and often got under Curtis Roberts' skin.

  "Glad you told me that Peyton was ready to run," Zeke said, causing Wildrif to stop his wild chuckling. "At least he never found out what really happened to his parents."

  "It won't matter what happened to anyone. Not anymore." Wildrif's wild chuckling began again as he brushed past the stuffed white buffalo in Zeke's study. Zeke's eyebrows lifted in alarm.

  * * *

  "I need a word with the President." Curtis settled into a comfortable, plush chair inside Congressman Arthur Vaine's office.

  "Are you sure?" Arthur Vaine, Head of the Special Committee on National Security, steepled his fingers and studied Curtis Roberts. "Keeping you out of the President's line of sight has worked pretty well, so far." Arthur looked the part of senior statesman; he was tall and handsome, with carefully styled thick, dark hair sprinkled with gray at the temples.

  "But I never got information like this, before." Curtis tossed a folder onto Arthur's desk. "I have it on good authority that the President and that wanna-be Matt Michaels knew all about this, and the intel wasn't shared."

  "What is this?" Arthur opened the folder. The first image was that of a boy—perhaps fifteen or sixteen, standing with Matt Michaels and two other men he didn't recognize, behind a barrier of crime scene tape. Six special agents were nearby, seemingly waiting for Matt Michaels' orders. The British Embassy was in the background—Arthur recognized that, easily enough.

  "Well, Arthur, tell me why a boy needed to be at the scene—this photograph was taken with a high-power Telephoto lens from a long way off on the day the British Embassy was overtaken by terrorists. You see the time and date stamp there at the bottom?" Curtis, whose sharp blue eyes studied Arthur's reaction, smoothed back thinning brown hair as he waited for Arthur's response.

  "There's no reason for a boy to be there," Arthur lifted the photograph for a better look. "The media and everybody else was held back from that location by security. How did he slip past the poli
ce?"

  "What if I told you that Matt Michaels brought the boy in? That's William Winkler, of Winkler Security, there with them. You know how many government contracts we have with him. What if I told you that the boy is one of Winkler's employees? I have tax records to prove it. What if I told you that Winkler is paying the boy a hundred grand a year, for undisclosed services?"

  "Undisclosed services?" Arthur lifted his gaze to stare at Curtis.

  "Yeah. And what if I told you that the second photograph was taken only a couple of seconds later? Take a look and tell me what's missing."

  Arthur set the first photograph down and lifted the second. Just as Curtis said, the time and date stamp indicated that only two seconds had passed. His eyes widened in surprise—the boy, the tallest man and the six agents had disappeared. Even if they'd walked away from the scene, they would still be in the photograph somewhere. That wasn't the case.

  "Explain this." Arthur flipped the photograph around, then held up the first one.

  "I can't. Think hard—you know what happened shortly after the time stated on that photograph—hostages were rescued from the British Embassy, just before it conveniently blew up. I don't know how that was accomplished because frankly, the times don't sync with the official report. I know somebody who might be able to explain it, though. I'd prefer to put the President on the hot seat."

  "And I'd prefer to keep the President out of the loop. For obvious reasons."

  "Then I'll get the information from one of my informants. He said he might be willing, for the right price."

  "Who?"

  "One of my informants." Curtis wasn't willing to release any names—Arthur wasn't aware of everyone on his payroll and he wanted to keep it that way.

  "Some of your informants could ruin us," Arthur placed both photographs in the folder and slapped it shut. "It's damn difficult to keep attributing those expenses to other—let's say legitimate—sources."

  "You think they'd say anything? We can ruin them, remember? I can find them, remember? These relationships are based on mutual trust."

  "We're not married to them. I hope you remember that," Arthur muttered dryly.

  "But we've gotten good intel from them. All of them think they're the only ones on my payroll, and when it's advantageous, they pass information on their rivals straight to me."

  Arthur sighed. Curtis was becoming a liability, in his opinion. The U.S. Intelligence and Foreign Relations Division was supposed to be actively hunting and arresting criminals, not paying them and keeping them in power. During his tenure, Curtis had managed to arrest many lower and a few midlevel criminals, but the bosses—the ones who kept the criminal activities going across the globe—were not only still in power, but growing fatter from secret payments funneled through Curtis' department.

  "Nothing like job security," Arthur mumbled.

  "What's that?" Curtis asked.

  "Good work. Investigate this further with your source and let me know what you find." Arthur dismissed Curtis with a nod.

  "Sure." Curtis took the folder and slipped it inside his briefcase. "I'll keep you posted."

  * * *

  "It's a Friday night and my target manages a restaurant," the voice complained over the phone. "That means she won't be home until after midnight at the earliest. There is another person who is with her most of the time. He may be there as well."

  "Then get them both. Make it look good, like you need help or something. Those darts you have will kill quickly, according to my source. Four others will appear to kill the boy when he arrives, and he will arrive. I'll bet money on it."

  "What am I supposed to do, then?" The question was almost a wail.

  "Get the hell away. Turn and run. I don't give a damn what you do."

  "Are we done if I do this?"

  "Sure. We're done after you do this," Zeke Tanner laughed and hung up.

  * * *

  "I'll call when everything is in place," Wildrif assured Friesianna. "Once the original target has been hit by our agent, the boy will arrive. Yours can come then and take him."

  "We don't intend to take him. We intend to kill him."

  "I know that," Wildrif snapped.

  "I remind you that you speak to royalty, Dark Seer."

  "Of course, my Bright Queen." Wildrif's voice sounded contrite.

  "Do not forget it."

  "I will not."

  * * *

  Ashe sighed as he stared at the tall pyramid in San Francisco. He wanted to see it during the day. At least the fog was light and only obscured the city skyline a little.

  "Young one, we cannot sightsee," Gavin pulled Ashe away.

  "Yeah. How good are you guys with bullets?"

  "Bullets?" Tony's one-word question held worry.

  "He's waiting for us. Ellis Kline was supposed to check in. Kieran Ormonde knows he's dead. Thinks the Council is coming for him, now. He's right. He's also ready. Has two humans with him. Thinks machine guns will slow you down enough so he can get away."

  "We need your misting ability, then. Is it possible to carry us behind the humans—we can dispatch them easily and then go after Ormonde." Gavin sounded grim.

  "I can do that." Ashe nodded. "Ormonde is in the basement of an old store near the wharf. The humans with guns are positioned at the bottom of the stairs. Ormonde is waiting in the back near a high window. If he hears anything, he's gone and we'll have to chase after him. My worry is he'll head for the most crowded place he can find, and at this time of night, that's a bar."

  "Not good," Tony muttered.

  "We do not need that many witnesses," Gavin agreed. "Compulsion is difficult to place on so many."

  "Then let's do this," Ashe said. "I drop you behind Ormonde," Ashe nodded at Gavin. "I'll take Tony to the humans and help him take them."

  "In what way are you going to help me?" Tony asked.

  "I'll gather them in my mist, one at a time, and then dump them in the same spot. Right now, they're at different positions at the bottom of the stairs, hiding behind brick columns. Hard for you to get both without getting shot. I can bring them together," Ashe explained.

  "Yeah. That's feasible," Tony agreed. "Gavin?"

  "I agree," Gavin nodded slightly.

  "Ready?" Ashe asked.

  "Ready," Tony said.

  Dropping Gavin behind Kieran Ormonde went without a hitch. Ashe left Gavin only a few feet behind Ormonde and then flew his mist toward the steps leading into Ormonde's basement. That might have gone without a hitch, too; Ashe gathered both gunmen inside his mist, leaving their machine guns behind. He then dumped the gunmen in a corner, where Tony removed both heads quickly.

  Neither Ashe nor Tony expected a third gunman, who seemingly appeared from nothing and shot both of them from behind. Ashe cried out as he was hit and Tony, even wounded, moved like the wind to remove a third head before hauling the body and head toward the first two. Dropping both parts amid the others, he spared a pain-filled glance for Ashe.

  Ashe had taken a bullet in his right arm and Tony had been hit twice in his left shoulder. Ashe and Tony pressed hands to bullet wounds and stared at the headless bodies lying on the floor.

  "What are we going to do with the bodies?" Tony's breaths were short and labored.

  "I'll take care of it," Ashe muttered before lifting his left hand and turning three bodies to flying sparks.

  Tony, bleeding and in pain, dropped to his knees in shocked reverence as three bodies winked out of existence.

  Chapter 10

  "Hold still, I will remove the bullet." Gavin's claw was at least a foot long as he carefully inserted it in Ashe's wound. Ashe had insisted that Tony be tended first—his wounds were worse.

  "Ow." The pain of the removal was nothing next to the pain Ashe was already experiencing. He watched, fascinated, as Tony snaked out a hand and neatly caught the bullet Gavin flipped out of his arm.

  "Leave no evidence behind," Tony mumbled, stuffing the bullet in a pants pocket.

 
"Child, I hope you weren't overly fond of this shirt." Gavin ripped the sleeve and tied a strip of it above the bullet wound in Ashe's arm.

  "I have others," Ashe attempted a grin. It failed—he was in too much pain.

  "Can you still get us home?" Tony asked. His bullet wounds were already closing.

  "Yeah. Too bad I don't heal as fast as you guys. Ready?" Ashe asked, working to keep his concentration. Gavin was now stanching blood from the wound with the rest of Ashe's torn sleeve.

  "Yes," Gavin growled. Ashe skipped his passengers to Texas.

  * * *

  "What the hell happened?" Winkler snarled while Trajan phoned the werewolf nurse. Blood was all over Ashe and Tony's clothing. Winkler wasn't worried about Tony—he could replenish what he'd lost easily enough—Gavin and Tony's fridge in the basement was packed with bagged blood. Ashe didn't heal as swiftly as the vamps. He'd be down for a day or two at least.

  "Miscalculation," Ashe grimaced as Trace moved Gavin aside, ripped the rest of Ashe's shirt in half and pulled it off as he sat on a barstool in Winkler's kitchen. "On my part," Ashe added, as Loren and Andy walked in with Marco. "Somebody showed up that I wasn't expecting and didn't see."

  "Damn, Ashe, what did you do?" Marco muttered.

  "Got shot with a nine millimeter. Lived over it. End of story," Ashe whispered.

  "He's going down," Trace snapped.

  "I've got him," Gavin moved in before Ashe could drop off the barstool.

  The last thing Ashe saw before he fainted was Gavin's worried face above his.

  * * *

  "He's sixteen," Winkler sighed. "He's bound to miscalculate, now and then."

  "I'm surprised. He's very intelligent."

  Winkler nodded at Gavin's words.

  "Grand Master's here," Trajan tapped on Winkler's study door.

  "Send him in," Winkler sighed. It was nearly four a.m. and Weldon had gone to Star Cove to talk with Bear Wright before driving his rental to Winkler's beach house. Everybody was having a late night. Matt Michaels was spending the night in Austin before flying in the following morning.

  "Grand Master," Gavin rose and shook Weldon's hand.

  "Gavin, good to see you," Weldon nodded to the Assassin. "How's Anthony?"

  "Anthony will recover," Gavin replied dryly. "He is sleeping and his wounds are already closed. I regret the child's wound."