Apocalypse Cult (Gray Spear Society) (21 page)

He looked around the large apartment. There were two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room. The walls were painted a uniform pale yellow. Tan carpet was everywhere except in the kitchen, which had speckled yellow tile. All the furniture was cheap, plain, and dull, the kind usually found at discount furniture outlets. Even the few prints hung on the walls seemed entirely generic.

"You look disappointed," Marina said.

"I was expecting something more... exotic."

"The blandness is intentional. There are no documents here, no family photos, no heirlooms, no mementos. Even the furniture is uninteresting. This is just a place where I eat, sleep, and get dressed. I can abandon it without a second thought."

"I get it," Aaron said, "but it's a shame. I wanted to learn more about you."

"You already know too much about me. I can show you my special closet. You might find that interesting."

"A 'special' closet?"

He followed her into the living room. Huge mirrors covered one wall, creating the illusion of a space twice as large as it actually was. She used her keys to tap on one of the mirrors in a complex, irregular beat.

"What are you doing?"

"Sonic lock," Marina said. "Edward built it for me. The man is a genius."

Aaron heard something go thunk behind the mirror. She pulled on the edge, and it swung out silently, revealing a huge, secret closet.

It contained several long racks of clothes. There were hundreds of outfits, ranging from formal dresses to skimpy bikinis and everything in between. A wall of cubby holes held at least fifty pairs of shoes and other accessories. A make-up table with a lighted mirror and several wigs stood against the opposite wall.

"What happened to intentional blandness?" Aaron asked.

"This is for work, not pleasure. I change my identity all the time, which means I change my clothes all the time."

"For work? Right." He winked at her. "Most women I know would kill for a closet like this."

He noticed guns hanging on the back wall, and he approached for a closer look. Marina possessed a nice collection of weapons. The smallest was a derringer that could fit in the palm of a woman's hand, and the largest was a .308 caliber sniper rifle. She also had a great variety of edged weapons which included a real Japanese katana. Some of the daggers looked like antiques.

"Don't we have enough guns back at headquarters?" he said.

"Sure, but sometimes I need a weapon right
now
. Besides, these are my personal favorites." She stroked the very short barrel of a revolver that had a shockingly huge muzzle bore. It looked capable of killing big game, although it probably had a hellacious kick.

One of the clothes racks had an entire section dedicated to lingerie. He brushed the tips of his fingers across sheer black material that was almost transparent.

"Sparkle wears that item," Marina said.

"Your exotic dancer identity?" He smiled. "Nice."

She contemplated the lingerie for a long moment. "I could put it on for you."

"Really?" He stared at her.

She nodded.

"Um." He swallowed. "Is that a good idea?"

"What's wrong? My body is unattractive?"

"You're beautiful. Perfect. That's the problem. If you wear this outfit, I'll get very excited." His pants were already getting tight from the thought.

"I'm sure a responsible gentleman like you wouldn't lose control."

"I just don't like to be frustrated. I mean, we're alone in your apartment. A man gets ideas."

She moved closer to him. In a sultry voice she said, "What ideas, exactly?"

"You told me you don't want a relationship. I'm trying to respect that."

"Who mentioned a relationship? We're just talking about lingerie. Don't make it so complicated."

"It's already complicated." He looked into her lustrous green eyes. "Very."

"Actually, I'm warming up to the idea of being with you. You've seen what kind of woman I really am, what kind of life I lead, what risks I take, and you still want me. That means something."

"You changed your mind about us?"

"In my world, love is a dangerous luxury, but in your case I might be willing to gamble on it. Either way, I need you to hold me now. I'm feeling... lonely."

She put her arms around his waist and her head against his chest. Her hair had a faint aroma of apples. He hugged her, and her body felt right pressed against his.

"This is crazy," she said softly. "We can't do this. You were right to be reluctant. A relationship between
legionnaires
always creates a mess."

She didn't let go of him, and he didn't let go of her. For a minute they just stood in that intimate position. Then he felt tears on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" he whispered.

"I can't remember the last time I felt like this. It's scary."

He squeezed her gently. "It's OK."

"No, it's not." She pushed him away. "Go back to headquarters and let me wallow in self-pity. By morning I'll be fresh and ready to work like a professional. I'm no good for you anyway. I'm a horrible person."

"What are you talking about? You're the strongest, bravest, most talented woman I've ever met."

She looked down. "I'm the cruelest, most vicious woman you've ever met. I've done things that would make you throw up. Even my own teammates are afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid." He put a hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged off his hand. "Just go, please, before I make a fool of myself."

With great regret, he turned and walked towards the door of the apartment.

"Wait!" she said. "Just, wait. But don't look at me."

He heard her moving around behind him. It sounded like she was changing her clothes.

"What are you doing?" he said.

"I don't know anymore." After a moment she added, "Now you can look."

He turned to discover she had put on the black lingerie. The sheer material concealed very little of her slim, athletic figure, and it didn't cover her breasts at all. Instead, the outfit emphasized her feminine curves, making her even sexier than if she had worn nothing at all.

The only response he could utter was an incoherent grunt.

She took his hand and pulled him towards her bedroom. "Come on. Show me the ideas a man gets."

Chapter Fifteen

A loud knock on a door woke Aaron from a deep sleep. He found himself in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar bedroom, but then he remembered his night of passion.
Marina.
She was already getting out of bed.

"Shit," she muttered. "We overslept. Move!"

A clock on a nightstand showed 7:00 AM. They were supposed to meet Agent Hoskins at 8:00, and preparations for that meeting were still incomplete.

Marina threw on a bathrobe and rushed out of the bedroom. Aaron's clothes were scattered across the floor where they had fallen last night. He got out of bed to collect them.

Soreness in his back made him stiffen. The night had turned into an adventurous exploration of unusual sexual positions and techniques with Marina as his enthusiastic tour guide. The strength and flexibility of Aaron's body had been tested to its limits. He couldn't say he had completely enjoyed every part of the experience, but he had certainly learned some new tricks.

He heard the front door of the apartment open. Ethel barked a few sharp words at Marina. A moment later, Ethel entered the bedroom with a paper grocery bag in hand. Still naked, Aaron froze.

She tossed the bag to him. "Put these on." She didn't sound happy.

The bag contained fresh clothes. "Yes, ma'am," he said. "Can I have a little privacy?"

"No." She closed the bedroom door but remained with him. Her dark eyes glared at him. "We'll talk while you get dressed."

With as much dignity as he could muster, he dressed himself in a blue business suit made of cheap, thin cotton. The black shoes were already scuffed and worn, a nice touch of authenticity. He would look just like an underpaid, overworked government agent.

"The Gray Spear Society has many rules," Ethel said, "and they include restrictions on personal relationships. Now seems like an excellent time to review the main points."

"I'm not allowed to love Marina?"

"Love is tolerated, barely, and only on the condition that it doesn't interfere with a mission. However, you may
not
marry or have children. The Lord demands total obedience and commitment from us. There is no accommodation for a family."

Aaron raised his eyebrows. "I understand that children would be a problem. Marina and I can't be good parents if we're always risking our lives. I don't want to be a father, anyway. But what's wrong with marriage?"

"What if I order her to sleep with another man as part of a mission? Or you to sleep with another woman? You'll violate your marriage vows."

"Technically," he said, "but..."

"What if Marina becomes a liability? It may become your duty to kill her."

"That's not a good example, ma'am." He shook his head. "It would never happen."

"Oh? Life in the Society can be very stressful, particularly for
legionnaires
like you and her. Breakdowns happen."

"Marina is too strong."

"Not really," Ethel said. "In fact, her mental stability is doubtful. She has a long history of psychopathic behavior. If you want an even better example, look at Yvonne. She used to be as tough as anybody, one of the Society's most elite operatives. Now she's afraid to leave headquarters alone."

"The cook?"

"She's an ongoing reclamation project. But sometimes the case is hopeless, and a life must be taken."

"That's cold."

"We can't have crazy people telling our secrets to the world. Either you're a trustworthy member in good standing who
follows the rules
or you're dead. That is our law. I hope my message is clear."

"It is, ma'am." He nodded sadly.

She walked up to him. "You and Marina are walking down a dangerous road together. It's all kisses and hugs now, but I expect it to end in tears. Situations like this always do. That's all I have to say." She opened the bedroom door and called out, "Marina? Come in here. We need to go over some mission details, and we don't have much time."

* * *

Aaron and Marina stood on the sidewalk in front of Cook County Jail, Division 11. Even though it was still morning, the sun felt very warm on his face. He was glad his suit was made of thin cloth that let his skin breathe.

She wore a gray vest over a pleated, white shirt that had too much starch in it. A gray skirt went down to her calves. Pins held her hair back in a tight bun.

He checked his watch. "8:20. He's late."

"I doubt it," she said. "I'm sure Hoskins has been watching us since we got here."

He surreptitiously glanced in all directions. Tall, white walls and impressive fences surrounded the jail. To get inside, visitors had to walk a long path that led to the central structure. The path narrowed as it went so that the angled walls closed in on incoming visitors. The effect was intimidating, but it didn't stop a steady stream of foot traffic in both directions.

"I don't see him," he said, "but there is so much activity, it would be easy for him to hide."

"Speaking of activity," she said, "did you notice the cops setting up a perimeter?"

They were near the Cook County Criminal Courts Building, so Aaron expected police in the area and wasn't paying enough attention. However, now that Marina had made him aware, he could see the pattern clearly. Two officers on bicycles had taken a position about a hundred yards to the north, and a couple more were blocking the southern escape route. A cruiser was idling on the far side of California Avenue to the west. Finally, to the east lay the huge jail.

"We're boxed in," he said. "Good thing we have a plan."

"Now we just have to hope the plan works. I hate going to jail."

"How many times have you been arrested?"

"Dozens," she said. "It's just an annoyance. Ethel always gets us out and makes sure the records are destroyed."

Agent Hoskins approached, and he wore body armor over his blue suit. He was armed with a large handgun that hung from his belt in a holster.

"He looks ready for a fight," Aaron whispered.

"Just let me do the talking," Marina said.

Hoskins smiled. "I'm sorry I'm late. I was held up at the office. I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"No harm done," Marina said. She held a metal briefcase in one hand and the cult book in the other. She gave the book to Hoskins. "The transmitter is activated. We just have to follow the signal and see where Brimstone leads us."

"How?"

She gave him the briefcase. "All the tracking equipment is in there, already calibrated and ready to go. Just turn it on."

"Good, good. Are you coming into the jail with me?"

"No, thanks." She shook her head. "We'll wait here."

"Oh, I have some new information." With a tight smile he took several sheets of paper out of his pocket. "Your name is Aaron Glade."

Aaron was shocked at hearing his real name. He was already growing accustomed to living a secret life.
This is bad
, he thought.

"A police officer recognized your face from a photo," Hoskins said, "and the rest was easy. I discovered the Chicago PD threw you out a year ago. Conduct unbecoming an officer. Falsifying evidence. Shameful." He shook his head.

Aaron crossed his arms and remained silent.

"Funny thing about it," Hoskins said, "the department lost your file. There are no official records of you anywhere. Somebody erased your identity, but you can't erase people's memories, can you?"

"I guess not," Aaron said.

Hoskins turned to Marina. "You were a much tougher case to crack. I kept hitting dead ends until a little birdie at the CIA sent me a very interesting e-mail. Marina Pavlova. It's a pretty name. You should use it more often."

"The CIA gave me up?" she said without emotion.

"Yes. You must have enemies in Washington."

"Not for long." She narrowed her eyes and rubbed her fingernails.