Homecoming (22 page)

“Yes, but what he’d lose by doing so—”

“He does not care!” Now it was Rufus’ turn to come to his feet. “We had better pray that he has not turned revenant or even you will have no sway over him.”

Paul felt suddenly very ill. “I’m sorry, brother. I didn’t know he had gone this far.”

Rufus took a deep breath and purposely calmed himself. “It is not your fault. If he lost his mind as you say, there was nothing you could do to prevent it.”

“I could have killed him,” Paul murmured. “I should have killed him. It is the right thing to do.”

“He was your child, brother. You could no more kill him than I could kill you.”

Paul said nothing as a myriad of thoughts jockeyed for position in his mind. He simply shook his head. “I should have staked him as soon as he ate of the flesh the first time.”

Rufus patted his brother’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have known. Besides, we can’t be certain that your child has gone the way of the revenant. For now, we stick to the plan.”

“And if he has?” Paul asked, panic rising in his voice. “What if I have no sway over him? What if he’s eaten from enough of our kind that his power surpasses my own?”

“Then I shall stake him, and he shall no longer be a problem. Either way, the Council shall have their pound of flesh, and we will both be free of the edict.”

*****

Little John stood at the tall metal table at the back of the armory cleaning his weapons when Spalding entered. “Don’t trust the armorers to do that for you?”

Little John didn’t even look up, and he continued to scrub each individual component with a toothbrush and Teflon infused gun oil. “It’s therapy.”

Spalding took a seat and watched the man as he expertly worked each piece from the weapon and scrubbed it within an inch of its life then wiped it down with a clean cloth and cotton swabs. “Therapy, huh?” He braced his elbows on the table and continued to watch the man work. “You realize you’re putting two very well trained people out of work, don’t you?” He gave John his best smile, but it was completely lost as the man continued to clean his weapons.

Spalding sighed and sat upright. “So, what gives? What’s eating you?”

John paused a moment then shook his head. “Nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing. We came back, everybody was upset over the losses. You’re obviously upset, but you don’t—”

“I’m not upset.” Little John slipped the piece back into the receiver and picked up another.

“Really? Not upset? You sure don’t seem very happy for somebody who isn’t upset.” Spalding decided to push a little harder. “You know, I really want you to become a permanent part of the team and…”

John suddenly snapped upright and looked him in the eye. “If you decide you don’t want me on your team, that’s your choice. If you want me to keep cycling through teams, I’m okay with that too.”

“No, John, that isn’t what I want.” Spalding lowered his voice. “I’d just like you to vent a little. In a non-violent, productive, way.”

“Keeping my weapon clean isn’t a non-violent and productive way of venting?”

Spalding gave him a deadpan stare. “You know what I mean. Just talk to me a little.”

“I’ve nothing to say.”

“Whose picture is it that you carry with you?”

Little John froze and Spalding feared he may have said the wrong thing or pushed the wrong button. The large man slowly lowered the piece he was working back on to the table and set the blackened toothbrush beside it. He slowly raised his face to meet Darren’s. “What picture?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“The one in your blouse pocket.”

John sat silently for far longer than Darren’s comfort level allowed. Slowly his hand reached for the pocket and he pulled a crumpled photograph from it. “She was my sister.”

“Was?”

John handed the photo to Darren who studied the face. He could see similarities between John and the woman in the picture around the eyes, the shape of the mouth, but she was a far more beautiful and feminine portrayal of the family gene pool. “She’s pretty.”

“She was.” John reached for the photo and gently placed it back into his pocket.

“What happened to her, John?”

Sullivan sat quietly for a moment longer. Darren noticed that his hands were shaking just slightly as his mind raced back in time. The images he continued to replay were just as fresh today as they were the night it happened. Eventually John sighed and raised his eyes to his Team Leader. “When I first signed on here, I had no problem believing in monsters. I had already been exposed to them.”

Spalding’s eyes widened. “Your sister?”

John nodded. “When I was ten. She was nineteen. Home from college. She let me stay in her room with her. I was dead asleep, but something woke me up. I don’t remember what it was that actually woke me, but I saw something.”

Darren motioned him on. “Go on.”

“I was just a kid, boss. Nobody believed me.” His eyes were red and misting. “We lived in a two-story house. Her room was upstairs. No way to get in or out of the window. But…
he
did. He picked her up and carried her out and >poof< he was gone.”

“What was it, John?”

Little John shook his head. “I don’t know. Not really. But I think now that it was a vampire.”

“Why?”

“There was just a little bit of blood up by her pillow. And she never made a sound.” He lowered his eyes and Darren could almost imagine the mountain of a man before him was ten years old again. “He jumped from the window and…there were no footprints in the yard.”

“Did you tell anybody?”

John’s head snapped up. “I told everybody. My parents, the cops, her friends…everybody. Nobody believed me. Said I was watching too many movies or something. But I know what I saw.”

“I believe you.” Darren patted his arm.

John nodded slightly. “Ever since I came on here…I just…”

“What?”

“I look for her, ya know? If we run into vamps, I’m searching for her face in the crowd to see if maybe she’s one of them.”

Darren sat back, the numerous dots suddenly connecting. Cautiously, he treaded into unknown waters. “John, what would you do if you did see her out there? I mean, if we were on an op and you saw your sister running around with a bunch of vamps, what do you think you’d do?”

“I’d put the crosshairs on her chest and blow a silver jacketed hole through her undead heart.”

*****

Damien awoke with the bumping and scraping from the rough handling of the crate. He could feel that it was still daylight outside, but he could also feel that the crate was being tossed around as though its contents were of no value. The fragile stickers he had placed on all sides were being totally dismissed.

Grinding his teeth, he rode out the rough treatment until the crates were eventually stacked beside a loading dock next to a warehouse along the pier. The rest was simply a waiting game.

Once the sun was down, he used the screw gun and quickly removed the screws holding the top to the sides and pushed the top away. Rachel’s crate had been stacked atop his and both the top from his crate and her own slid to the side and fell to the ground. Thankfully, nobody was working the docks at this time of night and his exit went unnoticed. He found the third crate and pushed it aside, then pulled the top from Rachel’s crate. She came out of the box wild eyed and clawing at him.

He pulled her from the box and dragged her, growling and clawing away from her own remains and gave her enough time to calm down.

“I’m sorry, lover. I-I don’t know what came over me.”

“The small crate was packed too close to yours during the ride over. Next time, we’ll just take a pleasure boat and stay indoors until dark.”

She gave him a wan smile. “I thought you tried that and nobody had evening departures?”

He pulled her close and squeezed her. “We’ll figure something else out then. No more shipping ourselves like so much furniture.”

“It beats a coffin.” She lifted her smile to him and fought back a laugh.

“True enough. But those damned boxes might as well be one.” He got her settled in for a short time so that she could catch her breath while he went to retrieve the artifacts. When he returned, they were sealed in a metal case. “Let’s see about getting some type of transportation.”

Damien scanned the surrounding areas and came up short. There simply wasn’t much around the piers at night worth stealing. At least nothing that would make their journey a safe one should they be caught out and about when the sun threatened to rise again.

“Just take whatever is easiest. We can find something else later.” She pointed to an old, beat up Ford Scorpio parked beside the office. “Surely that will work for now.”

“If I can hotwire it.” Damien approached the car, ensuring that truly nobody was around. He peered inside the car and found the door unlocked. Slipping behind the wheel he scanned the interior for a key.

“Check under the mat.”

He shook his head as he continued to dig through the meager interior. “Nobody actually sticks the keys under the mat. They leave too big of a bulge.” He flipped the sun visor down, checked the ashtray, the cup holder, the glove box and was about to rip the plastic away from under the dash when she reached past him and pulled the matt away. A single ignition key lay dull and lackluster in the dirt below. He gave her a defeated look as he picked it up. “Still no guarantee the car will even start.”

“True.” She leaned against the car and watched into the distance for any unwanted visitors. When she heard the starter turn the engine over and heard the familiar rattle of the small diesel, she hid her smile.

Damien quickly slipped out and tossed the metal case into the back seat. “Let’s go then. No sense in being late.”

“Of course not.”

Rachel kept her eyes low, but her mind continued to race. She didn’t like the changes that were taking place in herself and she feared the result of their quest. She knew that he wouldn’t be stopped. Not now that he was so close. But she also knew that since she allowed herself to inhabit this body, she had taken on a lot of the previous occupants attributes. And she liked them.

As Damien drove them to the city she looked to the landscape and didn’t recognize anything. He was right. So much had changed since she had last been here. But she didn’t really care about that right now. Her mind kept bringing her back to what was to come.

The collection of desiccated body parts in the back seat were having more of an effect on her than she was letting on, and she was truly beginning to fear the ritual that he was looking forward to. She feared what she might do, not only to him, but to anybody else once it was completed. The cost of the ritual was high enough. The heart of an elder, the blood of virgins? Enough to fill a vessel large enough to submerge her remains and saturate them? That would take a lot of virgins. And just to make sure the blood wasn’t tainted, they’d have to hit the maternity ward of a hospital…the very thought made her shiver.

Rachel contemplated her fate. As Lilith, the idea of sacrificing newborns would never have fazed her. She would have gladly sacrificed them all and simply skipped a generation of humans if it would have pleased her. But this body she had taken…it was soft. Soft in the curves, soft in the heart, soft toward others. It was really starting to seep into who she was.

She wiped at her cheek and was surprised to find it wet. She continued to stare out the window so that Damien couldn’t see her shed any more tears for children that haven’t been harmed in her name yet. As she watched the countryside go by, she silently said a prayer for the little ones that he might choose and also prayed that something…anything, would come up to prevent it from happening.

12

“The plan is in place. It’s not the best of plans, but for right now, it’s the only one we have.” Mark sat next to Dr. Peters at the workbench in his lab. “We have a small group of guys who are going to help Jack on some private op he has going on. We’re going to make sure that a handful of them have the lowdown on what we’re looking for.”

“Why not all of them?” Dr. Peters’ eyes widened at the idea that only a few would be searching for his lost notebook.

“We can’t risk having all of them look for it. If they’re all distracted…let’s just say that’s the type of stuff that can get a squad killed. Too many people with secondary objectives on their mind.”

Evan nodded as if he followed the line of thought, but to him, getting those plans back should be primary to any other objective. “And if they find nothing?”

“Matt and I talked that over. We decided to go straight to Jack.” Mark shifted in his chair and tried to get more comfortable. “I know, you must think that’s a stupid idea, but Jack is still Jack. If there’s a chance that Thorn stole those, he’ll find out. And if Thorn
did
steal those plans…” he trailed off.

“There will be hell to pay.” Evan nodded. “I’m not so sure that bringing Mr. Thompson in on this is such a good idea.”

Mark was surprised. “Why’s that?”

“He’s a shoot first ask questions later kind of guy. If Thorn admits to having stolen the plans and Jack ‘loses’ it, we may never find out where those plans are.”

Mark considered the possibility. “True, but if Thorn is dead, then I don’t guess we have to worry about him building your Doomsday weapon either, do we?”

Evan sighed and shook his head. “But anybody else who finds the plans will be able to.”

Mark threw his hands up in disgust. “Jesus, doc. What do you want me to do here?” He stood up and slowly paced the small lab. “This is the best I can come up with short of storming the place, guns blazing.”

Evan put his hands up in surrender. “No, I wouldn’t want that either.”

“Then what?”

“Just, maybe you could explain to Mr. Thompson that we really need Thorn alive. To give us back the plans. So that they can’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Mark gave him a ‘duh’ stare. “Well, why didn’t I think of that?”

Evan smiled. “Maybe because I have a PhD in—”

“That was sarcasm, Doc,” Mark interrupted.

“Oh.” Evan squirmed in his chair. “It would seem that I’m not only ‘not so good’ with women, but I also lack the social skills to…”

“TMI, Doc!” Mark turned and headed for the door. “I swear to God, if you start telling me what you and Laura do in the bedroom, I’m gonna start walking Hank down here to do his business. And you do
not
want to have to try to work while avoiding doggy landmines.”

*****

“I have spoken to our mutual friends and they are most eager to work with you again, Chief Jack.” Loren’s image glimmered in the reflection of the rock.

Jack smiled at her and nodded his thanks in return. “I truly appreciate you going to them for me like this. I owe you one.”

She held up a hand and shook her head. “Consider the debt paid in full, Chief Jack. My warriors spoke of your bravery in dealing with the Sicarii. Your people are part of our tribe now. One heart, one mind, one soul, one purpose.”

Jack bowed slightly. “If there is ever anything I can do for you, Loren, you need only ask.”

“I’ve known this, Chief Jack. And it is much appreciated.” She looked to her side and nodded to somebody he couldn’t see. “I must go for now, but I was asked to pass on a message.” Her image fought not to smile, and Jack could tell that she found something humorous.

“Yes?”

“While our friends are looking forward to working with you again, they aren’t entirely sure they can control themselves once they are in the presence of the vampires. They said, ‘we may have to take a few heads home as trophies, just because’.” She broke into a toothy smile and Jack found it contagious.

“I’ll keep that in mind when we reach Geneva.”

“Peace be with you, Chief Jack.”

“And with you, Loren.” Jack watched as the rock dimmed and returned to its original lusterless color. He quickly wrapped it and placed it back in the box.

Things were finally starting to come together. He had his tactical force to strong arm the council if need be. He had trained tactical forces that could cover the roof access. He had wolves that could storm the main corridors and clear a path of egress. He had air support and ground support. No matter how he looked at this operation, he felt he had all the bases covered. Now all he had to do was pray that the council didn’t have an ace up their sleeve that he hadn’t accounted for.

*****

Rufus poured over the books in front of him while Paul pulled more from the stack. “I never realized you had so much research material on such a wide variety of topics.”

“Have you watched television?” Rufus asked. “Then you know why I have so many books.”

Paul considered his comment and had to agree. “I believe this is all that concern both revenants and Lilith.” He placed the last of the titles on the table and stepped back to look at the pile. “How are we supposed to find the truth in all of this?”

Rufus lifted his head and stretched his neck. “It isn’t so much finding any one truth as it is finding commonalities in the stories.” He turned the book around to face Paul. “If you’ll look here, you’ll see how this one tells how Lilith was cast from the garden and given a mark from God.” He pulled another title over from another small stack. “This one says basically the same thing.”

“Okay, but what is this ‘mark’?”

“Ah, that is the question, isn’t it?” Rufus sat down and pulled his cognac to his chest. “Some say that it is the same mark as was placed upon Cain. Others say that it is an entirely different mark.”

Paul fell into his chair ungraciously. “What difference does it make to us?”

“The difference is, the mark is what protects her. It prevents her from being truly killed.” Rufus sipped at the cognac and allowed his statement to sink in. “Lilith was drawn, quartered and her pieces cut into smaller pieces and scattered about the known world,
oui
?”

“Okay, I’m following you.”

“But she was not truly dead,
non
?”

Paul shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“If she is somehow manipulating your Damien, then she is not dead. I assure you.” Rufus pulled another title closer and opened the pages. “This one tells us that she was a ‘drinker of blood’, a ‘sucker of souls’.”

Paul shrugged. “So? Does that make her a vampire or a succubus?”

“I do not know.” Rufus pulled another tome to him and opened the book. “This one states that she was a ‘demon spawned from the depths of Hell itself’. What does that sound like?”

Paul sat back and considered the three descriptors. “Nothing I’ve ever heard of.”

“Precisely. We must be cautious in dealing with this one.”

“That’s considering that he’s even in his right mind, brother. He may have heard an older vampire speak of Lilith and allowed the fantasy to grow in what was left of his mind.”

Rufus nodded. “This is true as well. But we cannot be sure. And we have the photos of him travelling with a female.”

“If Lilith is Middle Eastern in origin, she wouldn’t have strawberry hair.”

Rufus gave him a deadpan stare. “Have you never heard of hair dye? Women are vain creatures. Easily bored, always looking to try to improve upon what God gave them.”

“Thank God for that.” Paul raised his own glass of cognac in toast as Rufus simply stared at him. “What? I appreciate a woman who likes to improve herself.”

“You are…” Rufus sighed. “Never mind, keep looking.”

“I still don’t understand what we are looking
for
.”

“Commonalities. If we find enough stories with the same things in common, then we can assume there is some truth to it. With that truth, we may find a weakness we can exploit.” He jabbed his finger toward the books. “Continue.”

Paul sighed and flipped open another book. “Fine, but I think we’re wasting our time. When we find Damien, we stake the bitch that he’s dragging around with him, and if she’s Lilith and doesn’t die, then we do what the Romans did millennia ago, we draw and quarter her ancient ass and drop the bits and pieces in the ocean.” He looked up from the book and gave Rufus an evil smile. “Or into a volcano.”

*****

“You’re a were-
what
?” Laura’s eyes narrowed as she studied the man in front of her.

He gave her another wink before he turned and checked the gauge on the charging unit. “I’m a cat, love. As in big, whiskered tabby.” He stood and unhooked the charging unit from the plane and began wrapping the cords up. “No worries, though, I don’t chase mice or scratch up the furniture. Unlike my canine counterparts, I don’t lose my ever loving mind when I shift. And I’m not controlled by the moon either.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I’m afraid he’s not.” Jennifer stepped out from the shadows and slowly approached Laura. “Mickey’s a cat. That’s just one more reason my father hates him.”

“And why you’re such good friends with him? Anything to tick off daddy?” Laura didn’t mean to sound so pissy when she said that, but the tone of her voice made it obvious what she truly thought of Jennifer.

Jennifer lowered her face and turned from her. “Mickey and I have been friends for decades.”

“Well, all except for the ten years or so you dropped off the map,” he shouted as he wheeled the charging unit out of the way. “You never did tell me where the hell you ran off to.”

Jennifer gave Laura a furtive glance then quickly changed the subject. “My father and I haven’t always seen eye-to-eye on a lot of things, but that doesn’t make me an unappreciative rebellious daughter.”

“Of course it does,” Mickey tossed in as he stepped back from around the rear of the plane. “Anything to get the old man’s goat, right, Squeak?”

“Why does he keep calling you ‘Squeak’?”

Jennifer smiled broadly as Mickey wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I started calling her that when we were little. When we first met, I gave her a bit of a start and she squealed. It was this high-pitched little squeak. And she was always sort of a pip, so the two came together and she’s been Pipsqueak ever since. I just shortened it to Squeak.”

Jennifer elbowed him in the ribs playfully. “He knows it aggravates me.”

Laura nodded. “I can tell.” She pointed to the plane, “So are we ready now?”

“Right as rain.” Mickey turned and opened the door to the plane, ushering the women inside. “It’s not as large as a jet, but she’s quite roomy for a Beech. This twin prop will get us there plenty quick enough.”

“What’s the top speed on a small plane like this?” Laura asked.

“Small? Well, I guess technically it is a small craft. It’s one of the larger of its class though.” Mickey’s voice sounded defensive as he spoke. “But she’ll hit two hundred knots. Depending on the winds, that is.”

“And we’ll have to stop for fuel? Is that safe? I mean, are there safe places to stop between here and there?” Laura was tired of feeling scared all of the time. She was ready to be in friendly territory and surrounded by allies.

“Oh yeah, I’ve landed at just about every backwater airport there is in these parts. We should be good just about anywhere.” He pulled the seatbelt up and latched it then went through the pre-take off sequence.

Laura sat back in her seat and tried to relax. She knew that it was just a matter of moments before they’d be in the air and away from Jennifer’s crazy father. She could almost feel his men climbing the mountain trying to get to them and her skin crawled at the thought.
A chew toy.
She had imagined her life ending in many different ways, but never that one.

She opened her eyes when Mickey turned over the engines and she felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders as the large wing-mounted engines roared to life. Mickey continued through his steps then his hands moved to the throttles and eased them forward. She felt the craft ease from its resting spot and start rolling forward as the noise from the propellers increased in volume.

Laura saw dirt and detritus from the shop floor blow past the fuselage as the craft rolled past the huge doors and into the bright South American sunlight. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked past the front seats and saw that the end of the runway ended in a drop off. “What’s at the end of the runway?”

“Nothing,” Mickey explained as he continued pushing the throttles forward, allowing the engines to pick up speed, his foot holding the brake.

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” She felt her mouth go dry as the craft began to shake and she swore the wings were trying to rip themselves from the sides of the plane.

“Just what I said. Nothing. It’s a sheer drop.”