Dog Warrior (17 page)

Was this where they had been taking Ukiah? Had the victims been other family members Atticus now would never meet? Or had they been humans who fell prey to the cult insanity?

Since they were operating on the assumption that their cover was blown, they gave her their business cards and asked her to call them if she remembered anything, or—in the way of a mild warning—noticed any new activity at the site.

The smell of coffee pulled Atticus out of the memory. Kyle had opened up a bag of instant coffee and poured it out into the filter of the hotel room's coffeemaker. The rich, dark
aroma blossomed to fill the small room as few things could; it was a good thing that he liked the smell of coffee, if not the taste. Atticus shifted his attention to his room—Ru was up and in the shower.

“The police have apparently identified some of the victims of the cult,” Atticus told Kyle. “Do you have the records on that?”

“Of course.” Kyle transferred the water from the carafe to the coffeemaker, and started the coffee brewing. “But I haven't really done anything with them.”

“Unless Zheng's come up with new leads, we're running out of options.”

After the burn site, he and Ru worked their way south, hitting a house gutted by fire, an empty town house, and finally an empty storefront in Kendall Square that once housed the cult's recruitment center for Harvard and MIT students. The cult had only leased the last and the landlord more than willingly let them search the dusty interior. They found neither Zheng's supposed alien doomsday devices nor any leads to the cult's current location.

“There's a possibility, though, knowing the cult is behind the murders,” Atticus said. “That we might be able to find a common factor among the victims which might pinpoint something not on Zheng's list.”

Ru padded in from the adjoining room. He was naked except for the towel cinched around his slender waist, and a bejeweling of water. “You know, I was thinking in the shower,” he said while scrubbing his fingers through his thick black hair, spiking it on end. He smelled of everything right and wonderful in Atticus's life. “It was listening to the boat horns this morning—we're on the coast.”

“Doh,” Kyle muttered at the keyboard.

“Salem is a harbor. What if Ice was going to meet them there with a boat, load Ukiah onto it, and abandon the car?”

They glanced at each other, weighing the idea.

“Yeah,” Atticus said.

Kyle opened a search window and a moment later had a map and satellite photo for Salem displayed. “Bingo. This triangle here is the parking lot for the train station.” He slid his finger over to a featureless gray area. “And this is open water.”

“Deep enough for a boat?”

“Maybe; there are little pierlike things,” Kyle murmured, tapping man-made structures jutting into the water. He zoomed in as much as the software allowed and panned northward from the train station. After a moment of fiddling, he swore, minimized that window, and started to call up others, quickly running through Salem Harbor Channel and then Danver River Channel and finally Collins Cove. “It would help if I knew anything about boating.”

He hadn't minimized the lingerie ads, and they peeked around the edges of the other windows as he filtered through the massive information on the Internet, looking for the grain of data.

“What's with the panties and bras?” Ru whispered to Atticus.

“Our little boy is in love,” Atticus whispered back.

“With who?”

“Agent Zheng.”

Showing that Ru had heard Atticus singing earlier, he sang, “I want to love you madly; I want to love you now.”

Atticus laughed. “You know, when I was growing up, I thought there was some weird affliction that made humans burst into song whenever they were in love.”

“
Kaiwaii!
” Ru cried, which was Japanese for “cute.” “Is this why you're so into karaoke?”

Was it?

Kyle sighed, apparently deciding that he had reached the balance point of time invested to payoff. “It's possible, but unlikely. Look at this chart. It shows the channels in and out of this river area. None of them point into this cove—although there are several rocks indicated. This document
here talks about mooring field A located at the convergence of this channel and Collins Cove—which is the body of water beside the train station. It says there are roughly a hundred and eighty moorings—but that's up here at the mouth of the cove, and the train station is down here, but we're only talking . . . feet.”

“Assuming there is a boat,” Atticus said, “where did they get it, and where is it now? It's not on the list of purchases that Zheng had.”

“And where were they going to take Ukiah?” Ru said.

“Legend has it that vampires can't cross running water,” Kyle said.

Atticus looked at him with horrified dismay. “No, don't add vampires to this.”

“I thought we might as well cover all bases.”

“Don't even go there.”

“But the cult might lump demons and vampires together,” Ru said.

Kyle's laptop played a sound clip from a Japanese anime film; “Ringu, ringu, wakey, wakey.”

“Ack.” Kyle started to save information and close windows. “I still need to shower and shave before we meet with Indigo!”

 

At a quarter to eight, Atticus called time for heading downstairs to meet with Zheng. Kyle, for once, had his five-o'clock shadow in check and borrowed some of Ru's cologne.

“Are you sure this isn't going to . . . you know . . . weird you out?” Kyle asked as he dabbed it on. “I mean, me smelling like Ru?”

“It combines differently with your body chemistry.” Atticus shrugged into his shoulder holster and then his leather jacket to hide his pistol. “You don't smell the same.”

“Really?” Kyle sniffed himself. “Not in a bad way? I smell good, right?”

“Better smell good, considering what I pay for that.” Like Atticus, Ru had on his leather jacket with his shoulder holster underneath. He filled his pockets with his wallet, DEA ID, keys, change, PDA, and the team's backup cell phone.

“Cell phone!” Atticus snapped his fingers. “I forgot!” Which earned him a look from his partners. No, perfect recall wasn't the same as perfect memory. “Let me borrow your phone, Kyle.” Atticus glanced at the hotel room's phone to memorize the number. “After breakfast, get hold of Darcy and have her FedEx us two new phones.”

“Geesh, she's going to love that.” Kyle handed over his phone. “Don't play any of the games, okay? Don't mess with the settings—it took me forever to download the various rings—and don't break it.”

Atticus took it. “Can I at least set it to silent ring?”

Kyle took it, changed the ring, and handed it back.

They'd been prepping the rooms so all of them could leave at once. Ru had the bag with the money. Kyle had his laptop. Atticus had a heavier bag with all their most expensive equipment. They locked up the connecting doors, scanned the hall through the spyhole, and, seeing the way was clear, undid the dead bolts and security chain, and left.

It was nearly a perfect break.

When the elevator door opened, however, Sumpter stepped out, folder in hand. He nearly brushed past them before realizing who they were. He jerked to a surprised stop. “Where are you going?”

So much for arriving at the meeting site before their adversary.

“We've got a meeting with the FBI.” Atticus let the elevator doors close. They'd found that Sumpter would follow them at great lengths to merely to finish a conversation. They would have to brush him off before getting on the elevator, or they'd have him at the meeting.

“Since when?” Sumpter asked.

“The background check on us was FBI stumbling over our sting,” Atticus said.

“Johnston told me.” Sumpter ignored the fact that Kyle was standing beside him. “But it's still not clear to me where they popped up. You didn't mention any Chinese men earlier.”

Kyle chose the wrong moment to speak up. “Indigo's a woman. A real babe.”

“Hmm?” Sumpter said with interest. “Where are you meeting?”

Atticus tried to be truthful with Sumpter, to save lying for important dodges. “Downstairs.”

“Okay.” Sumpter punched the down button. “Shall
we
see what the FBI has to say?”

Riding with Sumpter was like riding with a stranger, only worse. Sumpter stood watching the numbers count down as Atticus and his team silently communicated.

I called her first.
Kyle's face plainly said.

What do we do?
Ru asked subtly with a nervous glance to Sumpter and a slight twitch of his upraised palms.

Fake a call,
Atticus told them, thumb and pinkie extended to form a receiver, with a slight shake as if it vibrated with a silent ring.

Kyle started to sulk, as he was the one who normally set up such a ploy.

Ru took pity on him. He used the Japanese hand signal of pointing to his nose to indicate himself, a habit he got off his mother and grandparents.
I'll do it.

Atticus nodded. Ru was more devious than Kyle, by far.

How soon?
Ru asked by raising his left wrist and giving Atticus a querying look.

Atticus flashed all ten fingers and then repeated the phone sign. A time delay would keep suspicion off of Ru.

They hit the lobby and got off the elevator.

Ru made a show of searching his pockets. “Shoot,” he
said aloud for Sumpter's sake. “I think I left my phone and PDA upstairs.”

“Lax, Takahashi.” Sumpter sighed.

Ru handed Atticus the money. “I'm going to run back upstairs for it. I'll be back down in a couple of minutes.”

Atticus urged Kyle toward the restaurant with a look. “Go see if Zheng is here yet.” Atticus handed the money to Sumpter. “Could you put this in the hotel safe?” And then, to give him a little nudge, “Sir. We won't need it until Saturday.”

A sharp glance from Sumpter indicated that the “sir” might have been over the top, but he took the bag without a word.

Having delayed Sumpter, Atticus felt he should make sure that Kyle had given the heads-up to Agent Zheng that Sumpter was outside the loop. Normally Kyle could be trusted to keep his eyes on the ball, but this time his eyes would be likely elsewhere.

A prickling awareness made Atticus check his stride. He focused and found he perceived a presence beyond the wall of the hotel, pretending to be relaxed, watching and waiting.

Pack.

“Good morning, Boy.”
Another's thoughts brushed against Atticus's mind with the impression of grizzled fur and a curious working nose. Atticus struggled to put a face to the psyche.
“I'm Murray.”
And a face was supplied, picked from a perfect memory, created by a glance into a mirror: an unruly head of salt-and-pepper curls, a neatly trimmed beard, and dark eyes framed a nose formed by Jewish ancestry.
“They call me Mouthpiece. Onetime lawyer, public defender, now Pack member. Going from one necessary evil to another.”

A Jewish space alien?

“What are we?”
Atticus wondered if he could trust Murray's answer any more than that of the Iron Horses or Agent Zheng.
“Werewolves, space aliens, demon, or angel?”

“Angel is new.”
While the idea seemed to amuse Murray, there was no indication it was correct.

“Any of them true?”

“What we did to you on the beach, we did because you can't lie mind to mind. You can't create a believable memory any more than you can have a fully textured dream.”

“So?”

“If you want the unassailable truth, you can examine our memories. See how our kind came to this world.”

“Yeah, right.”
He wasn't about to let them back into his head. This casual intimacy—a stranger's emotions raw and honest—grated like sandpaper against his sense of privacy. It had been barely tolerable with Ukiah; despite everything, he had to admit—reluctantly—he'd been excited about finding his brother.

“You're the one who has to live in ignorance.”
Murray gave a mental shrug.
“If you change your mind, we are denning tonight at Ponkapoag Camp, outside of Randolph.”

How did you shut someone out of your mind? Atticus had never learned the trick of not listening that humans seemed to easily achieve. He stalked across the hotel lobby, hoping that distance could block Murray out.

The hotel had two restaurants. Breakfast was being served at the one named—ironically enough—the Intrigue Café. Kyle was hovering nervously by the door.

“I thought I would be able to recognize her.” Kyle motioned at the various businesswomen already seated. “She's not one of these, right?”

“Not even close.” Atticus took out his—Kyle's—phone and found the time was five minutes after. He dialed Zheng's number and was dropped immediately into voice mail. Her phone was either busy or off.