The Endangered (28 page)

“Our base has been compromised. But we’ll deal with that when we return from Los Angeles.” Marcus looks equal parts determined and defeated. I think I spot some graying hairs protruding from his dark ponytail.

“The City of Angels.”

Chapter 34

The veil has been lifted. Striden had developed a “revolutionary” flu vaccine. Not only would it make him a fortune, but it would also turn millions of humans into werewolves.

If it worked.

Judging by what we’d found that dreadful night in New York, it certainly did appear something cruel and heinous had been developed.

The Saviors were meant to distract us. If not eliminate us as a threat altogether. Instead they’d merely served to confirm what we already suspected. And give us precise locations on where the serum was being produced and stored.

I think about Vega’s speech. How he surmised Striden’s ego would get the best of him as he would never overcome the human population.

The game had changed. Striden had indeed found a way to infect the masses, a way to make a fortune and elevate his own persona, in a controlled and calculated way that required little risk for exposure until it was too late.

Ravaging bloodthirsty beasts. It wouldn’t be long before hundreds became thousands, thousands millions…utter chaos would erupt.

Vega had been right about a lot.

And that in itself was a frightening realization. 

Every move Striden made was planned out well in advance. He was nothing if not diligent. Thus, it stood to reason that he would not take any unnecessary risks in preparation to ship out the vaccine to hospitals and pharmacies across the country. And based on his previous pattern, he’d create a diversion to keep us distracted and then he would destroy any remaining evidence of his true motives before we caught up to his trail.

But not this time.

***

Marcus calls Dade and Quinn off their current assignment and dispatches them to the storage facility on the East Coast that is leased under the BeyondBio name. We suspect maybe some of the supply will be stored there, but the traitor indicated Striden was in LA, so the rest of us head farther west. We arrive in Los Angeles just before dawn the following night. Marcus rents out the top floor of an ostentatiously decorated hotel in the heart of downtown. We are determined not to let LA become another dead end.

We study maps and unload equipment we’d paid a pair of bellboys handsomely to carry up from the van that’d accompanied us from the airport including coolers of blood and crates of military grade artillery with enough ammo to support a small combat unit—more importantly, our small combat unit.

Even Jiro makes the journey. It is his first venture outside the confines of the mansion since he’d moved there nearly three decades ago. The hotel suite alone overwhelms him; he spins his wheel chair nervously from room to room. Once his computers are up and running, his anxiety subsides.

Night finally comes. We suit up. On the way to California, we’d made a pit stop in Chicago so I could retrieve Catch’s sword from the pawn shop I’d left it in, having needed cash to return home. I’ve spent the better part of the day polishing and sharpening its silver blade. Then Dade calls in with news.

We are already gathered around the desk, so Marcus puts him on speaker phone.

“We’re all listening, Dade; what did you find?”

“Affirmative. The warehouse was full of crates of the vaccine. They were packing them up for shipping. All the vaccines have been destroyed.”

“Are you certain of this?” 

“Affirmative, boss. They had a warehouse stocked with crates of the stuff. We burned it to the ground. All destroyed.”

“Great work. Was it an active site? Did you face much opposition?”

“Yes. The facility was well guarded. We were prepared, well armed, but outnumbered…”

He falls silent, then speaks slow, pain-laced words. “Quinn didn’t make it, boss. She went out like a true warrior.”

A door slams behind us.

We can hear Trent breaking things in the other room.

***

Crina and I take on the rather challenging task of calming an inconsolable Trent.     

“Quinn was a hell of a fighter. Mercurial as she was, she was as valiant as they come. Would you want her to see you like this? You have a chance to avenge her death, to chase down the vermin that did this to her,” I encourage.

“She wouldn’t want you to grieve for her, Trent. She would want you to fight. You have a chance here to do the right thing. In her name. Don’t blow it,” Crina adds.

Empathy is not her strong point so it is a pretty impressive attempt.

I feel a hypocritical pang of guilt in my stomach.

While they are busy moving forward, deciphering the notes Adrian left my name on, I fled, disappearing in a black hole of mournful self-indulgence.

“We all have something to fight for.”

After a moment a subdued Trent pulls himself together.

“Okay, you’re right.” He raises his head, brushing back blonde hair from sedated eyes. “Let’s do this.”

Crina hands him a pair of guns.

Chapter 35

The night air is warm and acrid. Xan drives us from site to site in the van we’d rented to move our supplies. You know those vans you see cops use on stake-outs? That is us.

The biotech firm sits in the heart of downtown LA, resting between Exposition Park and USC’s campus. The modern monstrosity dwarfs the gorgeous museum that stands under it surrounded by rose gardens. Its stained glass dome and marble columns hold its ground next to the ultra-modern glass eyesore that is BeyondBio. 

We pull the van to a stop a few blocks from the mammoth construct and all eyes fall on Jiro who fidgets with the equipment he’d managed to cram onboard. Several screens come to life as he switches on the exterior camera. He jostles a joystick to adjust the lens while simultaneously reading lines of code off his laptop with unwavering concentration. We are readying our own equipment in preparation. Marcus slips out to take a closer look

“Hey guys.” Jiro peels his eyes from the screen to make sure he has our attention. “I think we found them. This place is loaded with video cameras but none are active. My scanners are picking up almost no frequency; means power’s pretty much down except for maybe a few lights or computers. If they are bottling the vaccine, they aren’t doing it here.”

“But you think they are here? Despite the lack of activity?”

“Yeah because even an office building at night would register more than this. This blackout is intentional; it’s suspicious.”

Xan pulls away from the rear window, lowering his scope. “And there’s a pair of security guards in uniforms much too small for their linebacker physique.”

“Wolves?”

“They are registering on the scope so human or wolf, they are definitely warm-blooded. My guess is wolf.”

The driver’s door opens and Marcus slips in and quickly confirms our suspicions.

“There are some big men loading a van with crates in the back. We have to move fast. Xan, get the sniper ready. Slip around the east side and setup from the roof of the adjacent building. I need you to get a bead on the two guards without blowing our cover.”

Xan nods. “Aye, aye, chief. I’ll take them out before they realize what hit ’em.”

“And don’t alert the ones in the back. Just clear an entrance.”

Xan shoulders the rifle and takes off down the street.

“Jiro, how much of the interior can you access from in here?”

“Not much. I’m pulling up the blueprints. Should have schematics in a few. Cameras are down, but I’m trying to get them back online.”

After a moment, blueprints begin to appear on several monitors.

“We’ll take out the guards and walk in through the front door,” announces a decisive Marcus. “Jiro, run point with the interiors. Better listen to the police scanner for any human interference.”

“The front door. Just march right in?” Crina’s tone was skeptical.

“Why not? Once Xan takes out the guards, it becomes our clearest entrance.”

“Okay, fine,” Crina relents as he pushes the van’s back doors apart and we inch cautiously around to the entrance.

From across the street, we watch as Xan shoots the first guard through the heart, then the second before he can realize what is happening. Xan is an excellent marksman.

The front doors are not locked. The building is dark and quiet.

Trent goes back outside to sniff the guards.

“We’ve crashed the right party.” He throws a thumbs-up in Xan’s direction.

Once inside we have a lot of choices to make. I find a directory.

“Do we head to the loading dock?” Trent looks over my shoulder.

“They have a couple big storage facilities on the lower levels and a bunch of R&D labs throughout. There are two floors below us and about eight above us.”

“We clear the building first, get what we can while they are occupied out back,” Marcus orders. We break off into pairs. Divide and conquer.

Marcus takes Trent and heads west. Crina and I make for the east wing, then break at the stairwell.

The hallways smell of chemical cleaners. Human scents can be picked up in waves. Nothing supernatural. I shut my eyes and try to put Catch’s teachings to use. A door slams from the stairwell and I move for the entrance. I hunch down and trigger on my comm.

“Jiro, I’m at the stairwell. Second floor. East side. I think. Where will the stairs take me?”

“Okay, found you. Those stairs go from the basement level to the roof. All access.”

“Ask Xan to check the roof for activity.”

“Roger. But I think he’s already making his way inside.”

Damn. Oh well, onward and upward.

I bring the sword down on Deacon’s thick neck, stopping right as the edge begins to draw blood. He is hunched over and I manage to walk right up to him undetected. He freezes. I look over his shoulder to see what has him so preoccupied. “Disarm it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Damn it, Deacon, don’t be a fool.” My eyes go to the bomb.

9:21.

When I came upon Deacon, he was playing with some gadget at the far end of the building’s roof. I’d managed to catch him completely off guard, but not before he’d armed the device.

“This seems a moot point at the moment, but wouldn’t the bomb be more effective on ground level?”

He moves his hand slowly away from the bomb and to the gun holstered at his side. The blade goes deeper. His hand stops.

“Who says there isn’t one down there? This one’s just insurance,” he smirks, his voice hoarse, blood dripping steadily from his neck. My nostrils flare.               

I eye the contraption, a cylinder of wires complete with a nice, bright digital display resting on top.

8:56.

“Why destroy this place? Isn’t this where you’re housing the serum?”

“Not anymore. Shipped it all out. You’re too late. We’re just destroying evidence at this point.”

“It’s a pretty bold move. Blowing a place this size. Especially after the explosions in New York. Pretty dumb.”

Deacon shakes his head. “We’re creating a pattern. There’s a terrorist group overseas we’re setting up to take the fall. You may have heard about their raid on King’s College?”

“So there is a method to your madness.” I press the sword deeper.

“You know what I regret?” His eyes lock with mine. “Not crossing the roof to finish you off after dusting lover boy.”

I’d always assumed Gavin the culprit. He’d been the first I’d come across, sporting a crossbow, why suspect otherwise?

Now I know the truth.

Deacon looks over his shoulder, opening the wound further, but he just has to relish in my reaction. Expecting those to be his last words. His face registers surprise as I step back, raising my sword.

“Get up.”

“You are one crazy bitch.” He slowly gets to his feet.

“You stabbed Catch in the back. You are a coward. I will show you how a real warrior fights.”

8:31.

I retreat as he rights himself, standing on the balls of his feet, claws ripping away his boots.

“A chance to finish what I started that fateful night in New York? A gift like that—must be my birthday.”

Moonlight reflects off of Catch’s sword as I draw it across my body. Fully transformed, Deacon lets out a howl and charges.

7:54.

I swing left, strike his side. He spins and I jump to avoid his massive claws.

My feet catch his back, but he stands upright and flings me forward before I can strike.

Foam froths from his mouth, gums curled back revealing a full set of fangs. I focus on them as he dives at me. I charge, then drop to the ground.

He easily clears me, landing in the spot I’d been standing seconds ago. I skewer his leg as I slide under his dive.

Deacon whines and rips the sword free, tossing it over the roof. I bolt after it, clutching its leather handle in midair. Deacon launches after me. His injured leg gives a little under his weight, causing him to loose traction. I land on the edge of the roof waving my arms inward, hoping the added heft of the sword will throw my center of gravity inward. Not that this fall is anything compared to the thirty stories I’d nearly plunged the last time Deacon was present.

5:59.

Deacon reaches the ledge and chomps down on my shoulder. I fall to my knees, but the extra millisecond granted by his injury gives me time to leverage the sword under him. I grip it tightly with my left arm—the one not being used as a chew toy—and thrust the blade upward.

There isn’t enough space between us for me to drive a fatal blow, but I catch part of his lower torso and he instinctively cries out and releases my arm.

5:01.

My fist jabs at his long snout and I scramble out from under him. He staggers, then swings around in time to glimpse the sight of his blood dripping from the blade’s tip as it pierces through his left eye.

I pull the sword free, blood, puss, and skin torn from around his eyeball dripping down his face as he screams with rage and pain. I ready for a second strike. This wolf is proving impossible to kill.

4:24.

“A quick slash through your jugular would have been too easy.”

I level the sword at his chest.

“This is for Catch.”

He paws at his wounded face, then lowers his body to meet my attack. His new handicap works to my advantage. Had he stepped to the right or even just leapt off the roof, he’d have escaped my strike.

But instead he moves left to overcompensate for his blind spot and encounters my blow head-on.

I drill the sword through his heart.

He gasps, whines, then falls on his left side. I watch the breath drain from his body as he reverts to human form.

I allow a small victorious smile as I reach for my comm.

“Jiro, you there?”

“Roger.”

“What do you know about bombs?”

“…”

I run over to examine the cylinder more closely.

3:11

“…not a whole lot. Is it hot?”

“’Fraid so. And the timer is down to three minutes and counting.”

“How many wires?”

“Like 20.”

“Colors?”

“All are fairly well represented. If this is a ‘cut the red one’ scenario, I’m looking at about five to choose from.”

I try to pick it up. Several wires running through holes in the roof went taut.

Deacon wasn’t bluffing.

“And there are others rigged to this timer.”

“Lori?”

“Yeah, Jiro?”

“Run.”

I make for the stairwell. Deacon’s body lies near its entrance and I stop to retrieve Catch’s sword.

“Alert the others!”

“On it.”

Something rattles overhead. A haze of bullets rain down. I duck and scurry to the side of the stairwell entrance for cover.

A bee stings my back, then my insides burn and my stomach feels warm and wet. The shot penetrates my lower back and makes a clean pass. It’ll heal fast. More shots ring out behind me. I survey the sky and spot the helicopter approaching in the distance. The door to the stairs flings open. I cran my neck to see who emerges.

“Hold your fire!” I hear Striden yell into the transceiver he is holding.

He trips over Deacon’s body as he backs from the stairwell, his attention on the sky. Shots ring out from the stairwell. Striden drops to the ground, having turned to see what he’d stumbled over and made the gruesome discovery.

1:36.

Crouching, I scamper around the stairwell in time to see Striden meet eyes with his dead brother. Crina appears in the doorway, taking advantage of his shocked state, edging slowly toward him, her gun leveled at his head.

“This is where it ends, Striden. Too long has Dominique’s death gone unanswered.”

More gunfire.

The helicopter circles overhead, a ladder dropping from its hull. Shots land inches from Crina. One strikes her leg. She doesn’t retreat. Instead she squeezes the trigger. Nothing.

I sprint over and pull her down as bullets zip passed. At least one lands in my shoulder. I drag her to a nearby vent.

“You trying to get dusted?”

“Worth it if he goes, too. Besides, they’re just bullets.”

She fumbles with the empty chamber of her gun. “Nice work eliminating Deacon. The look on Striden’s face was priceless.”

We peer around the air duct. A recovered Striden is jogging over to where the chopper hovers just yards away. Pinned down, we are well within its line of fire.

Crina checks her pockets for a full clip. “I’m out of ammo. You armed?”

I slide my gun from its ankle holster. “Yeah, but the bomb—”

Striden mounts the ladder as the chopper passes across the roof.