Night's Favour (52 page)

“Sure.
 
Put your hands in the air.”
 
John thought he could hear a grim chuckle, the sort any bully might make.
 
He looked at the rings at his feet, then at the belt of now live grenades.
 
How long did you wait before you threw them?
 
That’s probably important stuff to know.
 
Hell with it.
 
He whipped his hand around the edge of the building, tossing the belt, then pulling his hand back.

The explosion knocked a chunk of the building corner loose, the force knocking him back like he’d been kicked by a horse.
 
He lay on the ground for a moment, seeing nothing but sky, his ears ringing.
 
He drew a shuddering breath in, then levered himself up onto one elbow.
 
The corner of the building was gone, a great crater blown into the side of it and into the ground.
 
He couldn’t see any sign of the five soldiers.
 
He whooped, laughing out loud, then clambered to his feet.

Carlisle said something.

“What?”
 
John gestured to his ears.
 
“I can’t hear so well right now.
 
Speak up!”

“I said, are you fucking crazy?”
 
Carlisle was shouting at him.

“Ok.
 
Got it.
 
Not quite so loud.”
 
John felt one of his ears, his hand coming away red.
 
“Christ.
 
I think I’ve burst an eardrum.”

Carlisle’s face was grim.
 
“You could have been killed.”

“Yeah, but I’m not.
 
Dead, I mean.”
 
John turned on the megawatt smile.
 
“And I’m up five.”

“Five?”

“Yeah.
 
The score.
 
Danny has one, you’ve got two, and I’ve got five.”
 
He held up his hand, four fingers and thumb stretched out.
 
“I’m winning.”

Carlisle stared at him for a moment, then a grin cracked across her face.
 
“Your five don’t count.
 
Grenades are a negative score.”

“Says who?”
 
John rotated his shoulder in the socket, wincing.
 
“That was a hell of a blast.
 
I should get a few style points at least.”

“You get one point.
 
One —”
 
she held up a hand, stopping him, “For killing something without dying yourself.
 
You get another point for style.
 
So we’re even.
 
Two for two.”

“What are you guys talking about?”
 
Danny said.

“We’re keeping score.”
 
Carlisle walked back towards her.
 
“Miles thought he was in the lead, but I’ve corrected him.”

“Score?”
 
Danny thought for a moment.
 
“I’m guessing I’ve got just one point?”

“Yeah.
 
Sorry.”

“It’s ok.
 
The day is young.”
 
Danny nodded at the door.
 
There was a woman in a lab coat on the other side, looking nervously through the glass.
 
“She won’t open the door.”

John walked up to the glass, putting on his best megawatt smile.
 
“Hello there!”
 
he said.
 
“Could you open the door?”

The woman looked at the gun in his hands, then shook her head.

John looked down at the gun, starting as if he’d seen it for the first time.
 
He handed it to Danny.
 
“Hey, look, my bad.
 
See, no gun.
 
You want to come out, right?”

The woman nodded, saying nothing.

“Ok.
 
We want to come in!
 
This is a great win-win.
 
Say, can you fly a helicopter?”

She shook her head.

“Too bad.
 
Look,”
 
and he peered at her name badge through the glass, “Millicent, could you open the door?
 
There’s a lot of guys out here who want to kill us, and, well, I haven’t had lunch yet.
 
I figure it’s bad form to die on an empty stomach.
 
What do you say?”

Millicent’s face quirked.
 
“I —”

“Look, take your time.
 
Have a think about it.”
 
John shrugged at her.

“What?”
 
Danny tugged at his vest.
 
“We’re —”

“Hey.”
 
John shushed her.
 
“If she needs some time, she can take all the time she needs.”

“Ma’am.”
 
Carlisle stepped up to the glass, pushing her ID up against it.
 
“I’m a police officer.”

Millicent looked at John and Danny.
 
“Who are they, then?”

“These people?”
 
Carlisle looked at them.
 
“That’s a good question, ma’am.
 
They’re…
 
They’re, ah —”

“We’re helping her with some inquiries,” said John.
 
“So, what about it?”

“I’m not supposed to —”

“Let anyone in?”
 
John examined his hands.

“No.
 
I mean, yes.
 
I mean, that’s right.”

“I get it.
 
But we’re the good guys.”
 
John looked back up, beaming at her.
 
Chicks couldn’t resist the smile.
 
“Seriously.
 
Also, there’s a bunch of assholes coming in the front who are going to kill everyone.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.
 
It’s probably best if you just open the door.”

Millicent nodded, swiping her card against the lock.
 
It beeped, and the door opened.
 
John smiled at her.
 
“Thanks a bunch.”

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

John stared at her.
 
“Shit no.
 
Why would we do that?”

“It’s just — the guns.”

“I bet you didn’t think today would be like this when you were having your morning coffee.”

The woman cracked a nervous grin as the three of them filed in.
 
John held the door for her, and she took a cautious step outside.
 
“Say, Millicent.”

“Yes.”

“Be careful, ok?”
 
John nodded towards the forest at the back of the complex.
 
“I’d make a bee line for those trees.
 
Lose yourself in there for a while.
 
It’s not safe here.”

Millicent looked at the trees, then back at John.
 
“Thanks.
 
Say.”

“Yes?”

“It’s about the girl, isn’t it?”

“What girl?”
 
John kept his voice casual.

“The little girl.
 
They brought her here a couple days ago —”

Danny rushed forward, grabbing the woman by her lab coat, slamming her up against the wall.
 
“Where is she!”

“I — I —”

A snarl twisted Danny's face.
 
“I swear to God, I will tear it from you!”

John put a hand on her shoulder, very gently.
 
“Danny.”
 
She was panting, he could feel her shoulders heave with the force of it.
 
“Danny.
 
Put her down.”

Danny turned her head back at him, her face still twisted, then she turned back towards Millicent.
 
She was holding her up against the wall, the woman’s shoes a good foot off the ground.
 
Danny relaxed her shoulders slowly, Millicent sliding to the ground.
 
“Sorry,”
 
she said.

John stepped between the two of them, hands out.
 
“Say, that was intense.”
 
He beamed.
 
“I’m real sorry about that, Milly.
 
But the thing is, that little girl?
 
Well, Danny here —”

“She’s my daughter.”
 
Danny's voice was steady.

“I —”
 
Millicent cleared her throat, then started again.
 
“I’m sorry, I had no idea.
 
She’s on the top floor.”

“You’ve seen her?”
 
Carlisle’s question was sharp, professional.

“Uh, no.
 
But the other floors are empty.
 
They always have been.
 
It’s just the top floor.”

John nodded.
 
“Thanks.
 
Now get out of here.”
 
He nodded at the tree line.
 
Millicent broke into a run, her lab coat flashing white behind her.

Carlisle shrugged.
 
“That was unorthodox, but we got what we needed.
 
Top floor it is.”

“You think she’s telling the truth?”
 
John looked after the running woman.
 
“I mean, you know.
 
What’s her motive?”

Danny sighed.
 
“Does it matter?
 
Top or bottom, we’ve got to start somewhere.”

“You’re right.”
 
John closed the door behind them.
 
“I guess we’ll start from the top.”

He waited until Carlisle and Danny had walked into the back foyer, watching Danny.
 
John sighed, then punched a button on the lock.
 
It clicked, then lit red.
 
If Val was here, he’d probably have thought to get the woman’s card from her.
 
That’d have made things easier.

Where was Val anyway?
 
John was sure he should have seen some sign of him by now.
 
He jogged after the women as they headed into the core of the building.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Spencer watched the battle unfold.
 
He’d planned for this, but plans rarely survived contact with the enemy.
 
Still, the ace in the hole for his side was Volk.
 
The man stood to his side, grinning at the gunfire, and actually laughed out loud when a man screamed up ahead.
 
He looked like a child, face alive with glee — he even clapped his hands like an excited schoolgirl at one point.
 
Spencer would have tried to put him down already if he didn’t need what he had.

That, and Spencer wasn’t sure if he could put Volk down.
 
He was aware of his many flaws, and self-delusion wasn’t one of them.

Regardless, having a man without fear in a heated battle was a solid asset.
 
He was confident Volk wouldn’t fold under pressure.
 
Hell, he’d seen the man provoke one of his soldiers into unloading a grenade into him.
 
Spencer didn’t care which side of the tracks you came from, that took balls.
 
Even if you knew you couldn’t die, there’d have to be some nagging doubt in a man’s mind that this would be the last time.

Wouldn’t there?

A bullet whispered past his face.
 
That one almost had his name on it.
 
Hunkering down, he shouldered his rifle, aimed through the scope, and fired three shots in quick succession.
 
All three hit.

Of course.

He didn’t notice the noise of battle anymore.
 
You didn’t get through two tours in Afghanistan without picking up a thicker skin.
 
Weaker men, less deserving men, had cracked, gone back home with PTSD, crying to their mothers, unable to hold down a job.
 
One of his comrades had even killed himself once he got back Stateside.
 
That kind of weakness turned Spencer’s stomach.
 
It’s what he admired most about Volk; the man was a force of nature, unshakable.
 
He did what he wanted.

Spencer wanted a little piece of that.
 
He’d not really done what he wanted for a long time; it was always at someone else’s behest.
 
This little engagement was a good example.
 
If he had his way, his men would have the gift, and they’d be unstoppable.
 
They wouldn’t have all died, falling like tin soldiers as they’d thrown themselves against an enemy they couldn’t be prepared for.

No use whining about it.
 
Time to muscle up and take charge.
 
That’s what he’d done: take charge.
 
After he’d run Volk to ground, he’d found the man bleeding out in a gutter and made him a deal, trading life for life.
 
If there was one small wrinkle in the plan, a fly in the ointment, it was that he didn’t trust Volk.
 
Not one bit.

The schism at Ebonlake hadn’t helped.
 
He’d tried to explain the tremendous potential asset to the chain of command, but they simply weren’t visionaries.
 
They thought he’d cracked, for God’s sake.
 
It’d take more than an unexpected encounter to crack Tim Spencer; his mother hadn’t raised a limp-wristed faggot.
 
Ebonlake had told him to take some leave, get some distance, some
perspective
back.

He had all the distance he needed at the end of his rifle.

It was a shame, really — some of his men, aware of the rewards that Volk could give them, had left Ebonlake.
 
They had his back, but Ebonlake was still cashing checks from Biomne and that bitch Morgan at the top.
 
He’d wanted to throw her out a window the first time he’d met her; she was cosseted inside the cosy walls of law and rule, and thought to give him commands.
 
No
.
 
It wasn’t commands he didn’t like.
 
He needed to be honest: he’d taken orders all his life from people he didn’t much like, so that wasn’t it.
 
It was that she’d thought to play him.
 
He couldn’t abide that, that lack of respect.