Banshee Hunt (14 page)

A detonator! The word surprised James. He hadn't expected it. And yet it made perfect sense in its own bizarre way. Gifts were categorised in many ways. Physical, chemical, mental, biological, social and so forth. And they could be cast in many ways too. With words and a spell, or a gesture or a thought. It all depended on the person and the nature of the gift. Detonators as their name implied had a strange sort of physical gift. One of the most dangerous. They could shape and reshape chemical bonds. Others could do the same of course, creating new substances out of old. Transmutation magic was common enough. Detonators though were slightly different in that they turned substances – blood or bone for example – into unstable analogues of what they had been. And then they exploded.

It was in James' view a perfect example of an almost completely useless gift. There was almost no chance for a detonator to make money from it. No career prospects. No real use at all. The closest he'd heard of someone finding a use for the gift were a few who'd taken up operating private mines and saved on the cost of explosives. But it was also one of the most dangerous gifts around, and one that could never become publicly known no matter what. Magic would scare people. The ability to simply blow people up would terrify them. But it explained the crime scene.

No wonder they had no residue. No body pieces either. The man himself had been the bomb.

James turned to the computer and started going through the list of known detonators in North America. They had detailed files on every one of the known gifted – keeping track of them was something the Illuminati took very seriously – but after a couple of minutes he knew that his attacker wasn't among them. But then why would he be? He could have come from further afield – outside of North America. Or he could have been an unrecognised wizard. But the likelihood was that he'd been blown up, not that he'd blown himself up. The giant wasn't the detonator.

Still, they had a lead. Finally. And it was a good one. Thankfully detonation was a rare gift. Even so, he was left with ninety three names and faces to consider. The chances were that one of them had been somewhere at the scene. But more than that the understanding that there was a detonator involved, someone who wasn't the shooter, crystallised some of the thoughts he'd had over the previous couple of days. Ideas he hadn't given voice to. But now he knew he would have to.

“Alright people,” James said, looking up from his computer to face the others. “There are ninety three known detonators in North America on the database. Let’s see if we can do some facial recognition for them on the videos from the day. You need to look at any video footage you can find that pans across the attack on me and the final crime scene. Also, pay careful attention to the crowd scenes, both before and after the person detonated. Follow up with anyone who seems to be taking a particular interest in what was happening at the time.”

Was it his place to give them orders? James didn't really know. Will was technically the boss though he was hardly ever in the office. And in his absence it seemed a lot of things fell to the hunter to lead. But even if it wasn't these people knew their jobs.

“Already on it Iceman.” Daniels smiled at him, setting James to grinding his teeth in annoyance. “IT are going through the videos frame by frame as we speak, preparing them for facial recognition. We should have an answer in a few hours.”

Iceman! Was that any better than caveman? And when had people suddenly started graduating to openly calling him names James wondered? Still, he kept his thoughts to himself. In the end it was his own doing. Word of what he'd done to Francis was all over the building and he couldn't exactly pretend it hadn't happened. He had done the crime as they said, now he guessed he would just have to do the time. What mattered for the moment was what was being done; not any perceived slights he had to suffer from the others. And there was more to do.

“Good, then here's something else they can do while they're working on that. If the shooter was blown up by someone else, then we have a conspiracy by definition. We have a shooter and a detonator. And what I remember of the shooter was that he was unnaturally strong and determined. Possibly a mega. If we have two people in a conspiracy, why can't we have three? And say number three is a fascinator. Someone who can persuade one person to commit a murder and then another to blow him up when things went wrong. So when IT go through the videos looking for detonators, have them also look for known fascinators.”

“And while they're at it, they should look out for anyone who might be associated with the Illuminati, especially with this office. The shooter after all knew my name. And he knew my schedule. He knew where I'd be and when. That strongly suggests we have a mole. So let’s take a think about that too. About anyone who would have known where I'd be that day. Draw up a list of names. And start doing backgrounds on everyone.”

As he’d expected, the last drew a round of upset stares, though no one said anything. James had expected that. Just as he'd also known that it had to be true. But someone needed to have told the shooter where and when to be. And perhaps even where and when he'd be vulnerable – unarmed because of the German's rules about patients carrying guns. It had been the perfect place for an ambush and he doubted that was accidental.

“You can't be serious!” Yasmin was the first to break the silence. “You think one of us is involved?” She did not sound at all happy. Nor did she look it. But then she'd already been unhappy with him before he'd said that.

“Yasmin, you're supposed to be a cop – whatever any of our titles actually are. And every cop, every detective is taught one thing from the outset. Follow the evidence. This man knew my name. He knew I'd be at the German's clinic. Someone told him that. That's evidence. You can't ignore it simply because you don't like where it may lead.”

James did his best to sound confident and reasonable – but he wasn't certain that that was getting through. The decorative house plant crack had obviously earned him no favours with her. Had he actually said that?

“You must be the most suspicious man alive.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied him.

“Maybe I am. But I'm also extremely good at what I do. And part of the reason for that is that I always stick to my training. I trust no one, and I verify everything. If some of you want to become hunters one day, you're going to have to learn to do the same.”

“There's one basic rule to follow to become a true detective. Accept that everyone lies. It might be a small lie or it might be a huge one. It may seem irrelevant. But it may still be crucial. So record everything. Don’t take anything at face value. Verify it first.”

“That's sick!” Although Yasmin was the only one to say anything, looking around the room James could see that her opinion was shared by them all. It was obvious from their faces.

“True.” James saw no reason to deny it. “But being a detective is about more than catching people and having certain skills. It's a mind-set. Unfortunately that mind-set contaminates everything. Trust me, if you want to have a good life and a happy marriage and all that, becoming a detective is not the career choice for you.”

As he looked across the quite spacious office to the others sitting at their desks staring back at him unhappily, James knew he was in the right. He had been a detective and he had seen what the work had done to his colleagues over the years. Hunting was just as tough and it required the same mind-set. In fact it was so tough that even among those who were born with the gift of the hunt, there were few that would actually make good hunters. They were trackers, not detectives, and only a little of what he did involved tracking.

Though of course he suspected, his explanation of how he had become the man he was today wouldn't win him any brownie points. James knew that when he saw the others all turn away from him, choosing instead to bury themselves in their work. What he was telling them wasn't something they wanted to hear.

He wasn't surprised by that. In the police force so many officers aspired to become detectives. They saw the plain clothes and the regular hours, and they imagined it was the rock star career. The truth was that the rate of burn outs, addictions, suicides and divorces was far worse among detectives than the rest of the force. And the same held true for hunters he guessed. Nor did a hunter get paid any more than the others who worked here. His workmates were actually better off remaining in the positions they were in. He had no doubt though that he had just reinforced in their minds how appropriate his nickname of Iceman truly was. And given that he had indicated that they too weren’t above suspicion he suspected some of them might never want to talk to him again. Not when he was casting suspicion on their own.

Still, he thought, that might have some advantages. When the dreaded day finally arrived that someone higher up decided he did need a partner and set about arranging it – a day that was probably coming sooner rather than later thanks to his little prison stunt – there might well be no volunteers!

And that was something to think on as he set about studying the profiles of all the detonators and fascinators in the database, trying to see if he recognised any of them. There was always a chance that something good could come out of this mess.

Chapter Eight

It was the end of a long day – an unsuccessful one – and James was tired. He'd hoped to have some results by now. But apparently it took time to prepare images for facial recognition. A lot of time so Daniels said. Especially when they were dealing with crowd scenes.

The technicians were analysing every video image they had frame by frame, enlarging and sharpening every face as far as possible and then running them through the facial recognition programme. It turned out there were thousands of faces to check. Should they find a match – even a partial one – the next step was to go through the rest of the video looking for better video captures of those same faces.

The end result was that this was going to take days, not hours. Daniels had come in several times to explain that. It was almost as if he thought this was some sort of failure he had to apologise for. He had no reason to feel that way though. As far as James was concerned he and the rest of Intelligence were doing an excellent job, and he'd told him that several times. If it took time, it took time. Of course Daniels had assumed he was mocking him in some way, and his responses hadn't been positive. Trying to be supportive of his colleagues as the German had told him he had to be wasn't going well so far.

But the waiting was still frustrating. So James had decided when seven o'clock rolled around that he'd had enough for the day. He was going home to his crappy apartment. He was going to cook something or order something, and then he was going to spend the rest of his night drinking beer and watching whatever rubbish was on the idiot box. He needed to turn off for a few hours.

Unfortunately Yasmin had apparently decided to join him as he left for the day, her high heels clicking on the concrete stairs just behind him. And she was sticking uncomfortably close. He wasn't sure why. He'd tried again to apologise to her for his house plant crack, but she hadn't seemed convinced.

“Are you following me Yasmin?” He decided to ask.

“Of course. Have to.”

“Says who? Why?”

“William of course. He says we are to see you make it home safely. And that you get into work safely as well.” She sounded serious.

“Really, you're going to protect me? From what? A fashion crime? Wearing plaid?” He probably shouldn't be so dismissive of her he knew, but James was tired. It had already been a long day, and the two of them had been snapping at each other all day. He wasn't sure why that was. Some days they were good – relatively speaking. Some days they just clashed.

“No, from having a six inch stiletto rammed up your backside!”

“Fine – I apologise. But I can see to my own safety thank you. Go back to the office or go home.” James was too tired for this sort of stupidity.

“Really?” She let the sarcasm flow. “Some of us have orders that we actually obey. Now get a move on Iceman. I'd like to get home too and I can't do that until you get home.”

James sighed. He would have argued, but he suspected he would lose. She was not in the mood to compromise and he was too tired to argue. So he turned and carried on down the stairs, heading for the basement car park and his ride home. He could have taken the lift but years ago he'd decided that he needed to always work on his fitness. James just hoped he was going to be allowed to drive himself home and not be ferried around like an invalid. Though he soon realised he might have a passenger.

At least she was prettier than the witch, he thought, though her personality was just as sour.

Three flights down he pushed open the door that led to the parking garage and then stopped hurriedly as his instincts told him something bad was ahead. So hurriedly that Yasmin bumped into him.

“What's –?”

“Shush. Don't know, but something's wrong.”

He knew it from the instant he saw the nearly empty car park. He didn't know what was wrong but every hair on his body was standing on edge. It was the same feeling he knew every time he entered another rogue's home, and the same feeling he'd known when he'd bumped into the giant in the street. He trusted that feeling. But this time it was much stronger.

“Stay here, keep watch and report upstairs when you see something.”

If Yasmin had even thought about arguing she stopped immediately he drew his weapon She even stayed where she was as he slipped into the garage and let the door close behind him. It was the first time all day that she hadn't argued with him.

The garage was dimly lit. They usually were – people didn't waste money on providing light for cars. And that wouldn't help him. In fact it would help to hide whoever was waiting for him in the shadows. But it was also late and there weren't many cars in it, which made it harder for someone to find something to hide behind. That evened things out a little. Still, James had no thought whether the scene favoured him or whoever was hiding. His best guess was that it favoured neither of them.

But he did have an edge. Two actually. First he was a police officer. He had been trained specifically to deal with concealed intruders. Unfortunately when his first response should have been to call for back up he'd sent her away, and his second was to try and talk to the guy but he didn't know who he was. It seemed his training was going to be of limited use.

His second advantage might be more important. He'd spent five years training in mixed martial arts. Ever since he'd taken this job and he'd realised he was alone against God knew what sort of enemy. That would give him the edge. People thought the martial arts was all about violence and blood – and in truth there was plenty of that. But it was also about discipline; about keeping a cool head and learning to use all of your senses. It was about knowing where your enemy was at all times, and what he'd be coming at you with. That was what he needed here.

James went low – every officer was taught to find cover and assess the scene before entering – taking shelter behind a pick up that was parked close to the door. He wasn't sure whose it was, but it looked good and solid – more than capable of stopping a bullet if his enemy was aiming a gun at him. Then he went lower still, getting down on his hands and knees and looking for feet. He couldn't see any – but for some reason that just made him more convinced that someone was there.

Unable to see anyone James concentrated on his other senses – mostly his hearing. The car park was quiet, allowing him to hear even someone doing their best to be silent. But what he heard when he concentrated wasn't what he expected. He heard breathing. And it didn't sound right. It sounded too loud and too rapid. In fact it was almost as though someone was panting. But unfortunately he couldn't place where it was coming from. The car park was too filled with echoes for that.

There was a smell too. Something slightly musty and almost animalistic. Like a combination of wet fur and bad breath.

Could it be a dog he wondered? But if it was he quickly realised, it was no poodle. It was too big for that.

Unable to find his enemy James got back up into a crouch and edged his way to the back of the pick up so that he could peek around it. Looking across the empty garage space James spied his own car sitting on the opposite side of the row barely twenty yards away. It was there he guessed that his enemy would be. Partly because there were few other vehicles in the car park to hide behind. And partly because it was his car, and whoever was waiting for him would have known he'd be heading towards it. If he'd come to kill him, that was the place to do it. But either he was doing the same thing as James, staying low and hidden, or he'd found another ambush position.

It was time to turn the tables James decided, and flush out his hunter. Because his enemy's entire attack was predicated on the premise that he could strike from concealment. James' hope lay in exposing him. Making him give himself away. Which was why James aimed his weapon at the concrete just behind his car and squeezed off a round.

The sound of the gun in the enclosed parking garage was like thunder, and the sparks as the bullet bounced off the floor and the wall behind it were startling. But James had expected those things – his enemy hadn't. Neither of them. There was a startled howl that James knew was a hound of some sort, and also a small shriek of surprise. A woman's shriek. The sounds gave him a position. As expected they were behind his car. He had found his enemies.

“Show yourselves!” James yelled it in their direction, thinking to take control of the situation. But one of his attackers panicked and attacked. The first he knew of it was when he heard claws scrabbling for purchase on the concrete floor and more howling as the hound came running for him.

That shocked him, but not as much as the fact that he couldn't see the dog. It was a ghost dog.

Fortunately if he couldn't see the dog itself, he could see the place where it was. The magic that concealed the creature wasn't perfect, and as it ran, even in the dimness he could see the air around it ripple and shimmer. That gave him a target, and James didn't waste any time as he put a couple of bullets into it.

The dog howled in pain and hit the ground in front of him, leaving a trail of blood to help him spot it as it slid by. But he didn't need the blood to find it as in a heartbeat it suddenly appeared on the floor, its concealment gone. That was when he realised it wasn't a dog at all. It was a wolf. It was big and shaggy and had a mouth full of daggers. It was also dying. He was grateful for that.

Ghost creatures were dangerous predators, and a ghost wolf had to be more so. But their ability to remain concealed only worked when they were hunting. It was an instinctive talent. Once they forgot about the hunt they revealed themselves. This one was no longer thinking about the hunt at all. It was lying on the floor, breathing its last; blood pouring from its wounds.

It's master though – or rather its mistress – wasn't out in the open. Not yet. But she would be soon he knew as her magic was intimately connected to that of the animal.

“The wolf’s down, lady. It'll be dead soon. And when it dies, you'll be exposed too. You are a wolf mistress after all. So how about making this easier on both of us and showing yourself? Surrender and I won't shoot you.”

She didn't of course. She was frightened. For a creature master or mistress, her creature was everything. The bond they shared was tight. It allowed them to share everything, even magic – which was why he couldn't see her. While her creature lived she too had the wolf's ability to remain concealed. But now her creature – her wolf in this case – was dying. She'd been disarmed and soon she'd be exposed. But he hadn’t been trying to get her to surrender. Rather he was shattering her confidence. Because at the end of the day she, like all the gifted, had to concentrate to use her talent. Fear would break her concentration.

“Bastard!” She screamed at him from behind the car, angry and frightened.

“Me? You're the one who came to kill me remember. I just defended myself.”

“You should have died!” She screamed at him, panic and pain in her voice. She knew how badly injured her companion was. She could probably feel his injuries almost as her own. And her every instinct was probably telling her to run to her wolf and do anything she could to save him.

“I had other plans,” James told her coolly. He knew he had to remain in control. And even though her ghostly companion was down, she could still have a gun or similar.

“Besides, you have bigger problems. The last person who tried to kill me blew up. His partner or boss was a detonator. His ashes are probably even now blowing around the city. Would your partner or boss be that same detonator?”

“He wouldn't!” The woman screamed it at him, but even as she did so she flickered into vision. Terror was robbing her of her gift.

She was younger than he thought. He would have put her at thirty perhaps, though it was difficult to be certain in the dim light when she was hiding behind his car and he could only catch glimpses of her through the glass. She had long dark hair and a face that looked far too pale. She also had an accent; Slavic perhaps. But all that mattered to him was that she was too scared to think. Too scared to concentrate and use her magic. He had to keep her that way, at least until the ghost dog died.

“Really? Here's how it went. He had some sort of gift – speed, strength, size, that sort of thing. Maybe the giant was a mega. He attacked me and he lost. A fascinator we think had got to him first to make him want to attack me. And then when he failed the detonator cleaned up, making sure there was no evidence remaining. He killed him and two paramedics. Injured half a dozen others. It was all over the news.”