M
aliha didn’t relax until she received the phone call from her safe house on a secure phone.She didn’t know all about Project CESR yet, but what she knew was alarming: It involved power stations and national security, and a minimum of five people had already died as a direct result of their knowledge. An Ageless servant was protecting Greg Shale, which meant that one of the seven demons had a strong interest in seeing Project CESR succeed.
She needed to stop the project and take out Subedei. To get Subedei to show up, all she had to do was threaten Greg, and that meant getting into the ShaleTech compound.
She doubted that she’d be invited in for lunch and a few rounds on the mat again.
Everything revolved around getting back into a place she had every reason to think would be heavily fortified this time around.
Maliha made and discarded plans. She ate a meal, made a decision, and called Hound on the landline in her condo.
“This isn’t your usual phone number,” he said when he picked up.
“This isn’t a usual situation. Meet me at the big oak at one P.M. I have a mission for you.”
“Aha, the game’s afoot.”
“In a big way. Hound, don’t be followed.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll take that under advisement.”
She turned out the lights and slept for a couple of hours, until it was time to leave.
The big oak was a tree that didn’t live up to its name; it was neither big nor an oak. It was a code word for a location near a flowering crabapple tree in the Brookfield Zoo. Maliha arrived and sat in the open on a bench near the Roosevelt Fountain, observing the bare tree from a distance. No one else was paying any attention to the tree. Determined mothers pushed strollers under a brilliant blue cloudless sky, their visible breath streaming behind them like thin ghostly balloons. The strollers’ pink-cheeked occupants were asleep at this time of day and tucked into enough coats and blankets to make sleeping comfortable in arctic climes.
Hound arrived not long after Maliha got there, and he sat on the other side of the fountain. He was reading a book, but behind the sunglasses, she was sure his eyes were doing the same thing as hers. He wasn’t wearing his hat. He had on a sweatshirt with a zippered down vest over it against the cold, and a hood pulled up to keep his ears warm.
After several casual iterations of changing locations, they ended up crossing paths next to the flowering crab tree and then sitting on opposite ends of a bench.
“Haven’t done this in a while,” Hound said. “Almost forgot how.”
“Sure, like you’d forget your middle name.”
“Don’t have one.”
She blinked. “Just testing to see if that’s you behind those shades.”
“Un-huh. You’re too tensed up. Relax a little. We’re just enjoying a sunny day in the zoo.”
He was right. Her body language was giving away more than she intended. She let herself relax until she was draped easily on the bench, as if she’d been poured there from the tree branches above them.
“Damn, you look good like that. Gonna jump your bones.”
She laughed, in spite of the circumstances. Hound was good for her.
She kept the smile on her face and talked through it. “I’m working on something big. I need a copter for a few hours tonight, a NOTAR, and a pilot to go with it.”
A NOTAR—no tail rotor—helicopter design minimized noise by replacing the tail rotor with fins, like miniature airplane wings. It wasn’t a true stealth machine, but at least it was better than the usual loud whomp, whomp.
“Sounds like you’ll be dropping in on somebody quietly, without an invitation.”
“Good description. You have somebody reliable, a guy who can keep his mouth shut?”
“Or what, you’re going to have to kill him?”
She didn’t say anything.
“You are doing something big. Yeah, I got somebody for that kind of thing. I need some money to rent the copter.”
She passed him a bag from the zoo’s gift shop that contained a stuffed tiger and some cash. “Twenty thousand, for the copter rental and the pilot. If you need more, I’ll get it. I’ll pay you your fee later.”
Hound raised his eyebrows—the one he had left at least—at the suggestion of later payment. He tucked the bag under his arm. “This should do it.”
“We might be taking fire on the way out. I need somebody who’s cool with that.”
Hound didn’t say anything, just nodded. They set up a place and time for her to meet the copter that night.
“One last thing. I don’t want you in that bird.”
He got up and limped away. The ears of the stuffed tiger that was on top of the money stuck out of the bag and bounced along with his awkward gait.
“Where are you?” Jake said. “I tried to reach you at home.”
Impulsively, she’d called Jake after her meeting with Hound.
“You could have followed me if you wanted to know where I was. Aren’t the Feds good at that?”
“Yeah, I could have. But I didn’t want to crowd you, after…”
“I’m going to be out of touch for a while. I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t hiding from you or something.”
“Why would you be avoiding me?” His voice warmed. He knew what she was talking about, but he wasn’t making it easy. She played it straight.
“Because I don’t know what to think yet.” She’d called because she worried that with what she was heading into, she’d never see Jake again, and she wanted to hear the sound of his voice. Then she worried that she should never see him again anyway, and finally that she cared enough to worry.
She was unwilling to open up and talk to him. How could she? Her story wasn’t typical. There was a tremor in her voice that reflected her ambiguity, and he picked up on it.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“Something you’re regretting, about us?”
“No.”
“Why don’t we get together and talk about it?”
“I have something to do first. I told you I’d be out of touch. It could be a few days.”
“You’re making me worried. You’re not going to do something stupid, are you? Like confront Greg about the drugs?”
“I’m not going after Greg about the drugs.”
True, as far as it goes.
“Good, because I want to see you again. I think I…”
“See you later.” She cut him off. She threw her cell phone into a trash can down the block from the pub. Her call might have generated enough curiosity that he’d try to track her with it.
A
near-freezing rain fell as Maliha walked through the Ned Brown Forest Preserve, near I–90 and Illinois Highway 53. She was heading for the model airplane flying field, which had ample room for a helicopter’s pinpoint landing.Nearly twelve hours had passed since Maliha’s impromptu phone call to Jake. Hound had told her that the pilot was a woman in her forties who went by the nickname “Glass.” Maliha didn’t question it; if Hound trusted the woman for her piloting skills under fire and her ability to remain quiet, then she did, too.
Crossing a rise in the land, she got a good view of I–90. Traffic was light, but her eye was caught by a blanket-wrapped bundle lying on the white line between two southeast-bound lanes. Something inside the blanket moved weakly.
Her sense of urgency pulled her toward the rendezvous point with the helicopter, but the blanket moved again, riveting her eyes to the spot. The bundle was large enough to contain an older child, a small woman, a large dog, or just trash blown by the wind that simulated movement.
A car zoomed by, swerving a little, just missing the bundle.
Shit. Shit! Not now! There couldn’t be a worse time for this. A helicopter on the way that I paid big bucks for, my friends squirreled away in the safe house…everything’s set. I’m on a timetable here.
She continued past the rise and got under the shelter of the trees, blocking the image from her mind. Then she heard a horn honk and the squeal of a car’s tires swerving.
The situation on the interstate wasn’t going to let go of her. If she didn’t go check it out, she’d read about some poor person smeared all over the road in tomorrow’s paper, and she could have stopped it. Even if the bundle contained a discarded pet, she would go out of her way to prevent such a cruel death.
Maliha took a deep breath and yanked her attention from the mission. She dropped the gear she was carrying and sped toward the highway. Several cars went by, just missing the bundle. She judged the approach time of more cars and dashed onto the pavement, a black figure slipping a little on a small patch of ice. She snatched up the bundle and made a rapid U-turn just in time to be missed by a truck in the far lane.
Frogger. I’m in a damn game of Frogger.
A horn blast from the truck and the wind of its passing beat at her. Facing the shoulder she came from, she could see a string of cars coming. Whatever was in the bundle struggled hard against her, nearly tipping her over.
“Hold still! I’m helping!”
The squirming stopped immediately, and the bundle was dead weight on her shoulder.
A chunk of pavement flew up at Maliha’s feet, and she realized someone was shooting at her. The shots came from the forest preserve.
No fair. There’s no shooting in Frogger.
Maliha took off running as bullets pinged the pavement around her, and cleared the traffic lanes just before the string of cars passed over the position she’d been in. She was off balance when she hit the grass and she rolled, clutching the bundle. She maneuvered to break the fall with her hip and side, sparing the bundle the brunt of the impact.
She took the bundle out of sight of the interstate. Her heart fell when she discovered that it was warm and wet on one side—whoever or whatever was inside had been hit, by bullet or vehicle. Maliha slit the blanket open with a knife. Inside was a teenage girl, nude, with her mouth closed with duct tape and her hands and feet tied. She’d been shot in the side and blood was flowing, but not enough for her to bleed out.
The girl had been left to become road kill, with someone watching with a rifle to finish the job if the traffic didn’t. Maliha cut the rope around the girl’s feet, and then she removed the duct tape.
“Fuck you, Eddie!” the teenager screamed. “You hear me, you rotten—”
Maliha slapped the tape back onto the girl’s mouth and she squirmed in anger. Wood cracked as a bullet split off a piece of tree trunk inches from Maliha’s head.
A shout followed the bullet. “I hate you, Cindy, you bitch! You’re a lying slut! You’re going to die!”
I knew it. I should have kept going. Now I’ve wandered into a foul-mouthed soap opera.
“Shut up, Cindy. Eddie’s got a gun,” Maliha whispered. “I’m going to cut the rope on your hands and I swear if you cause any more trouble, I’ll kill you myself.”
Cindy snorted but held still.
Sleet pelted down the back of Maliha’s neck as she leaned over and cut the ropes. She hauled the girl to her feet, trying to assess the seriousness of the wound.
The girl yanked the tape off her own mouth and shouted. “If you even look at Jennifer again, I’ll cut your dick off!”
Maliha punched her. The girl collapsed like an over-cooked strand of spaghetti.
With Cindy slung over her shoulder, Maliha slipped farther into the woods until she came to the place where she’d dropped the supplies.
Let’s see. Take the supplies and leave, or take care of the girl. It’s a tough choice.
She left her gear and made her way toward the model-airplane field. A mixture of rain and sleet was falling now and she was worried about slipping. Even worse, she had to turn her back on the location where she thought the shooter was, and expected any second to get a bullet in the back or head. If the shooter was good, he’d have figured their general path and would be circling around to get in front of them. She could see the clearing up ahead. That would be their most dangerous time, when they stepped out from the cover of the woods.
She dumped her limp burden at the edge of the woods and ran to the center of the paved flying field. The downdraft and the somewhat muffled sound of the rotor told her that the helicopter was hovering, waiting for the signal to land. Maliha pointed a bright flashlight up in the air and blinked it twice. Sleet caught in the flashing beam seemed halted in midair. Then she got out of the way. The helicopter settled in the spot the flashlight indicated.
Maliha scooped up the teenager and took her to the copter, expecting to be dodging bullets or taking one. The copter was an obvious target that would attract the shooter’s attention. Nothing happened, though. She wondered if Eddie had been frightened off by the thought of ending up dickless.
C’mere, Eddie, and I’ll take care of that for you. Mentally she tested the edge of one of her knives.
The sleet let up into a cold, light drizzle. Maliha’s braided hair lay on her back like a heavy, wet rope. She was pleased to see that Hound had taken her request seriously and hadn’t shown up. The copter was a black Vietnam-era MD500 with its characteristic teardrop cabin shape.
“My name’s Glass. You’re late,” the pilot said, irritation in her voice. Then she got a look at the nude, bleeding girl. “What the fuck?”
“Shooter’s trying to kill her, if I don’t do it first.”
She boosted the girl into the door opening, and then got in herself. There were two seats in the cabin, and a modest amount of cargo space. Mounded along one side was a jumble of supplies. Maliha extracted a couple of blankets. Spreading one on the floor, she put Cindy on it and covered her with a second one. It was all she could do for now.
“Her name’s Cindy. She’s unconscious and wounded. If she wakes up, expect an earful. She’s mad at her boyfriend.”
“You mean the shooter?”
“Yeah, Eddie. She’s jealous. He’s been lusting after Jennifer. Just get her to a hospital somehow.”
Maliha spotted several pairs of night-vision goggles in the supply corner, took one, and slipped it over her head. “Then come back for me. I’ve got some hunting to do here.”
Glass gave her a thumbs-up, then she was on the radio, arranging for someone to meet her, someone who’d take the girl to the hospital. Glass couldn’t just show up on the hospital helipad, shove her passenger out the door, and leave. If Hound was on the other end of that radio call, the wounded girl would be in good hands.
Once a medic, always a medic.
Maliha went to the door and hopped out, slapping the door closed behind her. She took off for the woods as the helicopter ascended. A bullet smashed into a tree seconds after she passed it.
Amateur. He’s not correcting for my actual speed, which he’s had a chance to observe, only the speed he thinks an ordinary runner at night should be going. Didn’t try to take out the pilot, or he didn’t get here until Glass took off. Either way he’s too slow and inexperienced.
She thought about the setup with the girl-bundle on the interstate.
Sick, too. Really, really sick.
Maliha tossed a branch into the clearing. The shooter fired at it, and she picked up the muzzle flash of his rifle, intensely bright in her goggles, about a hundred feet to her right and fifteen feet off the ground. He’d gone up in a tree, and had his belly flat on a large branch and his thighs squeezing it.
The goggles she was wearing used the small amount of light that filtered through the forest from the headlights on nearby roads and multiplied it. The view wasn’t as clear as it could have been because the fine raindrops in the air scattered light like tiny mirrors. Still, she saw everything well enough, from the rocks under her feet to the roll of duct tape on the shooter’s belt to the fact that Eddie wasn’t wearing night-vision goggles. He’d been expecting to shoot at the interstate, not look for his prey in the woods. She had the advantage.
Maliha crept through the trees, keeping an eye on the location of the shooter to make sure he didn’t climb down and take a new position. He didn’t, even after his muzzle flash had been made. He should have known his position had been marked.
She got close to the tree and put a spike in each of his thighs in rapid succession.
He screamed and fell from the tree. It was an inelegant fall, smacking into other tree branches with the sound of breaking wood, and rolling into the bushes. She hoped it was enough to finish him.
Eddie was still alive when she approached. She pulled away the rifle he was still gripping and yanked out her spikes, eliciting howls of pain. She fastened him to a tree with his own duct tape, his back to the flying field so he couldn’t see what went on there. He had some serious internal injuries, she was sure, but he’d have to wait awhile for medical help. She had other priorities, such as getting on with the night’s mission. If the Grim Reaper arrived during that time, well, it saved the expense of a trial. Eddie was too brutal to go on living. If he’d succeeded in killing Cindy, it would just be easier for him when his next girlfriend gave him some excuse. Or maybe Cindy wasn’t the first.
Maliha backtracked to the spot where she’d dropped her supplies, retrieved them, and went back to the flying field. When she felt the downdraft, she blinked her flashlight. Right then, the carving on her stomach began to move, the balance began to shift, and she bent over in pain. A small figure made its way from one pan to the other. She had to get out of the way of the helicopter, so she forced herself to move while the footprints burned their way across her abdomen. She was panting with the effort by the time she reached the edge of the flying field.
Cindy was going to live. A goal scored, with assists by Glass and Hound.