The Huntsman (8 page)
Authors: Rafael
Larry
Chen drew a slow puff from the cigarette between his middle and ring fingers. A
slower exhale formed a cloud around his head. Narrowed eyes stared at the ID.
He wondered what the hell the CIA wanted. A hand wave motioned for the agents
to sit. “How do I know that ID isn’t fake? I’ve never seen one.” Cross returned
it inside his jacket.
“Believe
me, Mr. Chen. It’s as real as we are.”
“I’m
not stupid and I’m not illegal. You have no domestic jurisdiction and I don’t
have to answer your questions. You’re not allowed to operate on American soil.
Last I heard Hawaii is America.” Dawkins’ tone took on a hard edge.
“It’s
only one question, Mr. Chen. You’ll never hear from us or anyone else again.
But if you don’t answer it, we’ll be back in an hour with the FBI. I assure
you. They’ll have a lot of questions.
Chen
leaned away from his desk. Legitimate business accounted for 40% of L&C
Movers’ revenue. It paid the bills. His underworld links made up the other 60%.
It made him wealthy. He had to be careful. It could also make him dead. “What’s
your question?”
“About
five weeks ago, June 11
th
to be exact, your company arrived at the
home of a Dr. Joshua Ang to remove scientific equipment. Where did you take it,
Mr. Chen?” Larry made to protest. Cross cut him off.
“Don’t
try to deny it, Chen. It took us a while. We had to get court orders for the
telephone calls made through the neighboring towers. Then we had to sift
through a ton of data. The order came to your office. Another call from your
office confirmed the dispatch. Where did you take the equipment, Chen? Give us
an address and like my partner said, you’ll never hear from us again.”
Larry
drew a slower, deeper puff. Somehow a job no different than a thousand others,
had put his balls in a vise. He leaned forward to poke a finger at them. “I
remember this job because the people behind it are big, real big. If you’re
sniffing around their operations you’re going to find your noses cut off.” He
leaned over to tap on a computer screen. Moments later printer rollers whirred.
“It’s a warehouse in Tacoma, Washington.” Chen extended a printout across the
desk. When Cross reached for it, he didn’t let go.
“By
the way. Security cameras captured your arrival. If you try any funny business
with me, I’ll send your pictures to them. I guarantee you when your next birthdays
roll around, no one will know where you’re buried.” Cross rose and leaned
across the desk.
“Wherever
it is, it’ll be right next to whatever goons you send after us.” Larry stared
at the door when it closed. A minute made up his mind. He couldn’t take the
chance. Even in a jail cell he’d be a sitting duck. Chen lifted the hand set
and punched in an internal number.
“Yeah,
boss.”
“A
man and woman just left my office. Put a tail on them they can’t shake. If they
get on a flight, I want to know its destination and arrival time. Without
waiting for a response, he hung up and pressed “priority call” on his mobile. A
smile grew at the thought another twenty grand had just dropped on his lap.
“Hello,
Chen. What can I do for you?”
“I
just got a visit from two CIA agents. They were asking questions about the
Tacoma shipment.”
“CIA?
What the hell?”
“Yeah.
That was my reaction too. Maybe you need to move that equipment. I can have
trucks there within the hour. I’m sending you their pictures and let you know
when they board a flight.”
“Do
that. Good work, Chen.”
*
* *
On
a quiet side street behind a warehouse on Tacoma’s Commencement Bay, Cross
listened to a guitar’s moans as a blues song wept from the radio. Beside him
Dawkins dozed in the rental they’d driven the fifteen miles from Seattle-Tacoma
Aerospace Center. Like their police cousins, espionage had its dull, boring,
tedious moments. Lots of them. It made breakthroughs possible. Headquarters had
them in intelligence-gathering mode, wanting to know who came and went from the
building they suspected held Dr. Ang’s equipment.
Cross
yawned. Right now no one, he thought. The vehicle’s navigator displayed 2:32am,
Sunday morning. Four more hours until the next shift relieved them. Nothing
moved and the sprawling port facility lay dormant. A huge freighter moored to
the loading dock on the building’s other side, floated rock still despite the
harbor’s incoming tide. Dawkins stirred. A brief snore gave way to a deeper
snooze. Out on the water, a distant fog horn blared. Another yawn welled. Cross
folded his arms and scrunched deeper into the seat. The navigator clicked.
2:33am.
From
down the road two armed security guards turned onto East D Street. They checked
fence locks and shone flashlights into windows. Their shift must have started,
Cross thought. Neither matched an earlier patrol that happened by. As they
neared, the two stared through the windshield and separated to approach the car
on either side. He powered his window open. A guard leaned down. Cross’ brow
furrowed. Air filters plugged the man’s nostrils, gave his voice a nasal tone.
“ID, please. Everything alright?” Dawkins’ eyes opened. A small pellet sailed
into the car, exploded before landing. Gas filled the enclosed space. Both
agents blacked out.
*
* *
Annoyance
crept over Cross as he wakened before the alarm sounded. A thick tongue tried
to wash the bitter, acidic taste rotting his mouth. Sluggish synapses refused
to fire. He tried to roll over and return to the deep slumber he’d emerged
from. His arms and legs wouldn’t move. A heavy thud carried to his ears
followed by a groan from a familiar voice. His eyes fluttered open. A bright,
overhead light made them blink and tear. His head twisted left and right. He
lay naked, spread-eagled on a concrete floor. Ropes lashed his limbs to
embedded eye-bolts. His eyes focused on a nude Dawkins just as a huge Asian
landed a blow to her stomach. Cuts and bruises marked her upper body. He barely
recognized the bloodied face with cracked lips and one eye swollen shut. She
sank to her knees and heaved clear bile and thick blood.
The
giant pulled her up by the hair, slammed her over a horizontal drum barrel, then
dropped his pants to penetrate her. Only his brutal, vicious thrusts made her
move. Barely conscious, she didn’t struggle. Three other sumo-size men watched.
Cross twisted his head upward. Behind him two smaller thugs leered in
anticipation. He yanked and strained to free himself, found his voice and
screamed. “Don’t touch her you animal.”
One
goon stepped from behind to face him. “Good morning, Agent Cross.” He reared
back and slapped him so hard the air vibrated. Blows rained down from every
direction. The floor had no give as his head smashed against it again and
again. His ribs made audible cracks under the relentless punishment. Pain,
without end or beginning, suffused his body and made him gasp. His tormentor
leaned down. “Why are you here?”
Cross
glanced toward Dawkins. Another sumo took his turn, her broken, inert body
unable to resist. Realization grew. The end had come. He wondered if his family
would have anything to grieve over. All he had left was to give them nothing.
Cross turned back with a blood-stained smile gapped by missing teeth. He
managed only a wheeze. The thug leaned closer. “What?” Iron-will sprayed the
face with spittle, blood, and dentine. He wiped his face. A murderous rage
fired his eyes. Cross’ expression stopped him cold. He turned his head to see
why.
A
shimmering circle dissolved the warehouse wall. A huge, feathered creature
emerged from its center. Black, dead eyes stared from a rounded head. Folded
wings with black-skinned, fisted hands enveloped its torso. A long, sharp,
black beak opened and hissed. For a moment, stunned silence quieted the
building.
Six
automatics unleashed a fusillade that ended with clicks echoing across the
cavernous warehouse. Shock grew at the realization every shot had passed
through the monstrosity. It opened its beak and hissed again. Without warning
an identical creature popped out of thin air alongside the four sumos. A clear
liquid streamed from its mouth then another. Two sumos fell, their heads
covered with a goo that quickly solidified like facial masks. Cross watched as
they flopped and writhed in the throes of suffocation. They tried to rip the substance
off and their hands stuck. The second creature disappeared.
Without
moving its legs, the first creature shifted closer to the two remaining sumos.
Like linebackers closing on a runner, they charged. Both passed through the
bird and smashed into the wall. The second monster reappeared, wings flapping
above the dazed sumos. Its clawed feet ripped one open then latched onto the
other’s shoulders. Ungodly screams echoed and re-echoed as it lifted him ten,
fifteen, twenty feet. Bones crunched and the man fell, his arms still dangling
from the thing’s feet. His torn shoulders left twin blood streams in their
wake. Body and arms thudded to the ground. The fiend disappeared.
Fear-fueled
panic gripped the remaining goons. They raced for the door. Between them and
life both creatures appeared. The two birds moved in tandem, perfectly
synchronized. With a start, Cross understood one had to be an image of the
other. The Asians turned on their heels and sped for another exit. Above them
one bird appeared, gliding in silence. It swooped down burying its claws in one
goon then the other, lifting both flailing men into the air. Their horrified
shrieks filled the spacious building. It flapped hard to the forty-foot ceiling
then dropped them.
A
loud crack broke the silent fall. Agonized wails followed a shattered tibia
that sliced through shin and pants. His partner lay in a crumpled heap with a
broken neck. The winged monster soared and swooped, screeched in palpable
triumph. It flew to one end of the huge building then banked to return. Above
its two victims the bird braked to alight graceful as a swan.
Through
pain-clouded eyes, Cross watched the nightmare flap its forty-foot wingspan
once, twice. Three fingers plus a thumb, eerily human in form, flexed then
balled into fists before the wings folded closed. As if wearied of the pitiable
moans, it screeched at the man terrified of the demon come to life. Cross
watched in horror as the creature leaned back. With a mighty thrust, it powered
its beak through the man’s face. He felt no satisfaction at his tormentor’s
convulsions. After some seconds they stilled forever. The thing straightened.
Viscera and blood dripped from its beak. Its mouth oozed a clear liquid on the
dead man’s punctured face.
From
half-opened wings, its freakish hands tore off clothes. It puzzled over the
man’s belt before slicing it with its beak. Despite the pain wracking his body,
horror and a visceral fear overcame Cross. The creature tore off the man’s
arms, carried the body to a wall, then glued the corpse to it. Beyond any
rational explanation, it pasted the severed limbs onto the shoulder blades. One
by one, as if mounting trophies, the creature hung its victims by the face.
Lashed
to the floor, he remained helpless as the creature approached Dawkins. Short,
shallow breaths forced by his broken ribs prevented even a shout. It paused to
stare at her body, look up to the others, then stare again. A pattern it
repeated until Dawkins’ body jerked. She voiced a soft moan. The bird grabbed
her and ripped an arm from its mooring. Cross wondered if a severe beating
caused hallucinations. He closed his eyes to squeeze the tears welling within.
Her screams rang in his ears until the nightmare reached for his arms.
Janesh grew cold and his nerves stilled.
He turned away from studying Miranda’s case notes. She napped beside him and
her beauty radiated an angelic peace. They flew from the Washington hotel
Dawkins had booked for them. In the hallway where they opened separate rooms, Miranda
had turned to him. “Do you sleepwalk, Janesh?” He shook his head.
“Not at all.”
“Oh.”
Her tone and smile indicated too bad.
They’d
barely had time to recover from India’s jet lag when Cross summoned them to
Tacoma, Washington. He looked back at the photo her communicator displayed. He
hadn’t known their names but he knew the dead men. Their cultured manners and
exteriors hid two brutal thugs who murdered at Nicholas Koh’s behest. He leaned
back against the head rest. A held breath hissed away as his eyes closed.
It
no longer pained Janesh to think of Marian. She had long since passed from
emotion into memory. Nor did he allow maturity and distance to dismiss what
he’d experienced. At that time, at that place, at that moment, the love he’d
felt had been as real as the heart it dwelled within. But time and space did
permit him to appreciate the liaison’s irony. Marian had played the wiser,
older role men usually did. How often had she lamented her unhappiness? That
she wanted to leave and divorce him? He had played the role of a young, naïve
woman who believed her every word. Until the day Cambridge’s Vice-Chancellor
entered his home to shatter the fantasy.
Janesh
had waited three agonizing days for any call or message. He waited three more
in the park where she took her 6am jog. Her expression and words long haunted
his nights. “What are you doing here? It’s over. Get away from me.”
It
might have ended there but vicious rumors began to circulate on the campus
messaging board he’d been her paid lover. Only later did he learn Marian had
had another paramour,
one
older, more cunning—Nicholas Koh. He had alerted the Dean to his wife’s
assignations then paid students to spread whispers and gossip. Amid the
heartache and torment, Janesh left the school.
More
years passed before he came face-to-face with Feng Tan and Wei Xuan Chan. He
had arranged the meeting to soothe the feathers a client had ruffled among
Nicholas Koh’s colleagues. Though no longer young and naïve, he believed the
matter settled when he passed the two a suitcase containing two million in
cash. Janesh had collected his million when the police came to announce they’d
found his client’s mutilated body inside a sewer hole. Even among thieves,
honor no longer prevailed. He opened his eyes and looked at their distended
faces hanging from a wall. Besides Koh himself, no two individuals had earned a
more deserving fate.
Miranda,
overcome by a deeper sleep, began to lean over until her head rested gently on
his shoulder. Janesh struggled with himself. The women since Marian had
received his affection and company but not his trust. That remained locked deep
within. And yet, as he gazed at her sleeping face, he wanted it to be the last
thing he saw as his eyes closed and the first thing when he woke. A tissue-thin
dam strained against the emotional tidal wave welling within. Did he dare trust
again? And what of the peril closing on them? At that moment he’d never felt
more protective of anyone. How safe could he keep her?
“Ladies and gentlemen. Two minutes to
reentry.” Miranda stirred. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her. A
dreamy smile widened before they closed again. Her brow furrowed and they
reopened. “What’s wrong?” He held out her communicator’s display.
“Your case has just taken a very dangerous
turn. I know these two. Not by the names in your notes but when I opened the
accompanying photos I made the connection.”
“Are they friends of yours?”
“No,
but our paths have crossed. They’re brutish thugs employed by Nicholas Koh. He
rose from Singapore’s streets to become a powerful industrialist with worldwide
tentacles. He’s a ruthless sociopath driven to make everyone else lose if he
can’t win. His involvement in this case means there’s more to it than we know.
That ignorance could be fatal. I’m not sure what good your continuance in it
serves.”
Miranda
straightened in her seat and adjusted the restraints. She stared at the view
screen where the preceding flight formed a fiery ball deep in the atmosphere.
Their craft began to buck and rock. “And your path crossed with these men?”
Hurt laced her low voice. “Who are you, Janesh McKenzie?”
* * *
A
bubble formed around Janesh as he walked through Tacoma-Seattle Aerospace
Center’s bustling crowds. Duncan and Ronan caused travelers to gape as they
gave the two a wide berth. Though Rhodesian lion hunters did not belong in
zero-g harnesses, neither looked the worse for wear. They pranced and nipped at
their leashes, eager to run and exercise.
Over
the sea of bobbing heads, he spotted Miranda’s red hair faced away from him.
Rather than accompany him to claim the dogs she’d remained before the Arrivals
entrance to meet their contact. Now he saw why. A man approached. Hands on her
shoulders, he leaned down to kiss her cheek. They chatted a moment before he wrapped
his arms around in a tight hug. The stranger’s expression left no doubt he
enjoyed the moment. Janesh went cold. Heart frozen and emotions stilled, he
squatted down to pat and scratch the dogs. Sensing his need, they pressed
closer and licked his face.
“Janesh.
Janesh. I’m over here.” Janesh rose, his expression a lifeless mask, eyes flat,
unreadable. “Janesh, this is Ben Wolford our contact. Ben, this is Janesh
McKenzie.” Ben extended a hand, tried to crush his in its grip. Janesh fixed
his eyes on Ben but did not press back. His hand gave no indication of the
strength holding it stiff.
Miranda
wiped a tear away. “Dawkins and Cross are dead, Janesh. I can’t believe it.
This is horrible.” Janesh remained impassive but he felt the peril surrounding
them inch closer. Ben looked down.
“Wow.
They told me you were bringing dogs not horses.” He reached toward Duncan’s
head. The placid Ridgeback disappeared. He pulled back and crouched. Menace
growled from its barrel chest. A snarling Ronan joined him. “Whoa, whoa. Easy
boys. I’m a good guy.” Janesh remained still. Miranda looked at Ben then
squatted between him and the dogs.
“Hey. What’s that about?” She stroked
and scratched. The two quieted, greeted her with face licks. “I know, I know.
You didn’t like being cooped up. But that’s no reason to misbehave.”
“Well.
I guess you are a zoologist.” Ben exclaimed. He picked up Miranda’s bags.
“C’mon. I’m under orders to bring you right to the site.”
They
weaved their way through the Center’s teeming crowds to the parking lot where a
Job Utility Vehicle flashed and chirped at their approach. Its doors unlocked
along with the rear hatch. Ben guided Miranda into the passenger seat, threw
her bags in the rear storage area. When Janesh and the dogs settled into the
cramped back seat, he turned the ignition and resumed the weave through the
local traffic. Once on the highway, he threw his arm around Miranda’s seat. She
gave him a side-long glance. Icy stares emanated from the rear.
“We’re
about ten miles north of Tacoma’s port facility on Commencement Bay. I’ve been
here a week turning shifts on a warehouse we had under surveillance. Cross and
Dawkins’ relief discovered them early this morning inside the building along
with six others we’re still trying to identify.” Ben rubbed Miranda’s shoulder.
“Are you alright?” She gave him a side-long glance and nodded. Icy stares
continued from the rear.
“It’s
been chaotic since this morning when they made me site Agent-in-Charge and
right now you two may know more than I do. I had no need-to-know and until the
Washington bureaucrats process the paperwork giving me access to Dawkins and
Cross’ encrypted files I won’t know. Two members of the Agency’s forensic team
who want to consult with you are at the warehouse. Tacoma PD has no idea what
happened. We want to keep it that way so we’re keeping a low profile around the
warehouse. We’d like to wrap up our investigations by tonight so we can remove
the bodies before the port workers return tomorrow morning.”
Wolford
exited the highway and at a red light again placed a hand on Miranda’s
shoulder. “I came to meet your arrival and haven’t been to this warehouse yet.
From the initial reports it’s worse than Honolulu. You had a tough time dealing
with that. Maybe you shouldn’t be alone afterwards? How about I take you to
dinner?”
Miranda
shuddered before giving him a mirthless smile. She hadn’t known Cross and
Dawkins long enough to form bonds but her mind held clear images filled with
life. Her head turned toward the passenger window. Eyes that saw no traffic
stared out. Life had gone from fretting over hippos giving birth to murder and
brutality. Violence had fallen on two people she knew by name. Now she had to
examine their death masks. Whatever her reluctance, whatever her disgust, she
would not allow those responsible to escape. Her jaw set. She spoke without
turning around. “Thanks, but I’ll eat in my room. I’ll be fine.”
Turning
onto East D Street, four vans marred the otherwise empty street. Without
uniforms, flashing lights, crime scene tape, or frenetic activity, the
warehouse gave no hint it housed corpses. Miranda stepped out to an overcast
sky that deadened everything it draped over. Salt hung heavy on the harbor
breeze. Two gulls glided overhead. An occasional flap kept their lazy flight
aloft. From the harbor a ship’s horn warned unwary boaters. She looked down to
find Janesh stroking the dogs. They stood stiff, rock still. Both had stares
that drilled through the warehouse wall. The namesake ridges along their spines
bristled. Janesh met her gaze with a questioning look. She nodded, gave him a
weak smile, and followed Ben past the two guards.
Inside,
high along the walls, frigid air had fogged the windows against the outside
humidity. Miranda shivered at the nightmare Dante could not have imagined. She
picked out Dawkins and Cross from the six nudes hung by their faces. Rage
welled at their indignity. Bowels and bladders had created piles and pools
beneath each body. She recognized Dawkins’ female shape but not her swollen,
black and blue face. Nasty bruises along her upper thighs and buttocks gave
clear evidence she’d endured unspeakable acts.
Miranda
turned away, a hand pressed against her mouth. She struggled not to vomit and
add to the general stench. Ben Wolford, rushing to her side, stopped in his
tracks. The dogs reached her first. Ronan stood up, paws on her shoulders,
looked in her eyes. Even the aloof and indifferent Duncan rubbed his head
against her leg. In the same breath, she sobbed and laughed. Sinking to one
knee, Miranda hugged and petted as they pressed their warm bodies and cold
noses. For every ounce of love she gave they returned a pound. Her sense of
exposure and endangerment dimmed.
She
looked around to find Janesh watching them, his face expressionless. He stood
implacable, impervious, invulnerable. She rose to lock eyes with him. At that
moment she wanted nothing more than to rush over and melt against his body. She
wanted his arms wrapped around her, to reassure her, to make her feel protected
and safe. A gentle cough stopped her. “Dr. Logan?”
She
turned to find a tall, pleasant-looking man somewhat unnerved by the gigantic
dogs. He extended a hand. “I’m Ragnar Derksjold, head of the forensics team.
We’ve communicated electronically. It’s an honor to meet you at last.” Miranda
pushed her hair back with one hand, shook his with the other, and managed a
smile. “Are these your dogs?”
“Actually,
they’re his companions.” She turned to wave Janesh over. “This is Ragnar Der…”
she stumbled and hesitated.
“Derksjold
but please call me Ragnar.”
“Janesh
McKenzie but please call me Janesh.”
“Well
I’m not going to be left out. I much prefer Miranda.”
Ragnar
turned to walk back toward the hung bodies. “Let me introduce you to the rest
of the team. We’re all a bit frustrated right now. I knew Bob and Fran well.
The three of us came up from the farm together. Right now we have more
questions than when we arrived. The MO makes it clear we’re dealing with the
same killer or killers. Our initial field tests indicate the paste on their shoulders
and faces has the same genetic signature as the previous samples. But beyond a
few feathers, which have some remarkable properties, we’ve got nothing. No
fingerprints, physical evidence, witnesses, or anyone left alive. Nothing.”
At
their approach, the other team members stopped the examinations, note taking,
and sample gathering. Introductions complete, Ragnar led Janesh and Miranda to
an area where eight feathers lay scattered amid large blood splotches. He
picked one up and the three watched as his hand movements caused it to appear
and reappear. “Anything you can tell us about this extraordinary feather,
Miranda?”
“I
have a source examining it right now. We have yet to form a final conclusion
but I’ve received interim reports. I emphasize however, our analysis is
tentative and incomplete. Either that feather is natural or it’s genetically
engineered. We’ve learned it has the identical genetic sequence the paste does.
No creature exists in the natural world with such a DNA marker. If it’s genetically
engineered it represents a technological advance beyond anything known today.
Only a handful of individuals throughout the world have the ability. My contact
is making discreet inquiries and the process of elimination should reveal who.