Brooklyn Knight (30 page)

But
, he asked himself,
would any of that have helped that police station? They had men and guns there, too. Doesn’t seem to have helped them any.

The major general was perfectly willing to believe that this Morand character wanted this Dream Thing, needed it for some reason that made some bizarre sort of perfect sense to him and his kind. That meant, most likely, that he or his agents would be on their way soon. To men like Morand, dying in an attempt to acquire this thing was considered as good as, if not better than, succeeding. It was something Harris had learned through bitter experience—you do not underestimate the resolve of a fanatic.

In fact
, the part of his brain he had relied upon the heaviest over the years reminded him,
if you’re smart, you count on it.

Pursing his lips, allowing them to make a slight “tsking” sound, the general raised his head slightly so that his eyes were aligned with the FBI agent’s once more. Then, giving the man enough of a smile to let him know he was willing to work with him, Harris said;

“So tell me, Mr. Klein, just what kind of sci-fi defenses do you think might help kick this sorry bastard’s ass?”

LaRaja’s eyes went painfully wide as the specter first enveloped him. He did not seem to notice the fact that the professor had been taken inside the shimmering form as well, was not aware that Knight had gripped his shoulder, that the professor’s fingers were digging into his flesh with a force far stronger than any of which he would have imagined the academic capable. No, too much of LaRaja’s brain was frozen in primal panic to take note of such things.

Get hold of yourself, you old fool
, a sliver of his mind snapped, desperate for him to regain control.
A girl said it was nothing, for Christ’s sake—a
girl!
Deal with it!

Still, the detective’s initial fears continued to spiral wildly out of control. Despite the defensive preparations Knight had tried to install within LaRaja’s mind, the experience was proving too far beyond the realities the man knew or could understand. It was simply too much for him.

Panic threw itself into the detective’s veins, ancestral
terrors pummeling him, screaming to him that he was not dreaming, that he was in contact with exactly that with which he thought he was in contact, and that he should be running as far away as he could as fast as possible. Garbled shrieks of horror filled his mind, clawing at him, ordering, begging, cajoling—slamming the detective with every assault they could find to start him moving and then keep him that way.

But just as the last braces his resolve possessed were beginning to actually crack, at the moment he found his heels starting to rise from the ground, his eyes scanning for the best direction in which to make his retreat, suddenly he felt something that calmed a vital portion of his nerves. Something he understood.

Something familiar.

“J-Jimmy?”

The hue of the glow around LaRaja and the professor shimmered brightly in response to the question, the strongest of the gleaming motes swarming around the detective. LaRaja’s eyes went wide as multiple emotions raced through his system. His nerves screeched at him, still wanting him to run. But, deep within the man his instincts began to war among themselves.

It is Jimmy
, the back of his mind told him.
Or at least, it’s Jimmy’s ghost. It has to be!
And then, just as LaRaja blurted;

“Piers—it’s Jimmy, back from the dead. It’s his ghost, right?”

That was the moment when the cloudless sky roared and a massively thick column of tremendous energy blasted downward, striking the two men and the enveloping spirit of Jimmy Dollins with the force of a crashing jetliner. Once more the ground was split and burned, the grass charred in a reeking circle that rushed to spread twenty yards in every direction. Flames slathered across the faces of the surrounding gravestones, blackening their edges, filling the cut marks of their engraved names and dates with a crackling soot, leaving them scorched and steaming.

“Nooooooooo!”

Bridget’s voice shattered the still of the evening with every bit as much force as the lightning blast, its mingled fear and pain equally as piercing as its predecessor. Throwing herself out of the detective’s car, she raced forward across the burning grass, uncaring of whatever might befall her.

“Professor,” she screamed, clambering up the small hillock, unable to find a trace of either Knight or LaRaja through the acrid smoke. “Where are you?”

“We’re here, my dear.”

Spinning around, Bridget stopped where she was as she found the professor coming across the cemetery lawn toward her. Behind him, farther back, she could see the detective, whole and hale as Knight, still enshrouded by the spirit of his late partner. Her eyes wide, she stopped before her employer, staring at him, her mind thrown into confusion at the sight of the man unharmed—unscorched, even—as if nothing had happened.

“I, I … ,” she stammered, her thought processes still not quite capable of explaining with any adequacy what she was seeing, “I don’t understand. You were just … you were hit—again. But you’re all right. The detective …”

“We’re both fine,” said Knight in a quiet voice. The side of his mouth curling into his trademark half smile, he told Bridget gently, “Come now, you didn’t think I’d return here, to the same spot, looking to re-create what happened before and not bring along something to assure a different result—did you?” His mouth surrendering to the desire to turn itself into a complete smile, Knight added humorously;

“Ahhhh, youth, you just think everyone over thirty is senile, don’t you?”

As the girl simply stared, her mind once again trying to keep pace with things that a few days previous she could never have
imagined, the professor reached into his pocket and withdrew a small piece of carved wood. Showing it to her, placing the object in her hand, Knight explained;

“White oak—it’s from our good friends the Druids. They knew quite a bit when it came to the manipulation of the forces of nature. As a sect they did not possess any real magic, per se, but they did understand how to use one force to channel another.”

“And this, this thing …”

“It’s a runic symbol, meant to give one control over the staggering might of the storm, specifically high winds and lightning. I filched it from the Dark Ages display earlier today. I had a feeling it would come in handy.” As Bridget simply stared, Knight continued his academic drone, telling her;

“It absorbs energy; well, no, it doesn’t actually absorb it—more redirects it. Moves it around until it can be harnessed—stored. Of course, it’s not as simple to use as just, say, carrying around a rabbit’s foot for luck, or something along those lines. I had to make several offerings during the afternoon, actually, a bit of mantra chanting as well… . You wouldn’t believe what it takes to get a live rabbit delivered to you these days, no questions asked … but it all seems to have worked out well. Don’t you think?”

“You miserable son of a bitch,” Bridget snapped. Giving her employer a harsh glance, she added, “I was worried about you—I thought you were dead! Give a girl a little warning when you pull this kind of crap, why don’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” the professor whispered, “but I thought if you knew I was preparing defenses against lightning you’d spend the entire day worrying about what would happen. I, I suppose I believed it would be easier on you somehow.”

Although Bridget seemed to be holding things together, Knight
suddenly realized the inordinate amount of stress the night’s events had to be putting her under. Looking directly into her eyes, he told her sincerely; “I’m sorry, my dear. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you along. But if I hadn’t, I thought that then I’d just be worried about you, and I knew you would worry if you weren’t with me, and …” Pausing, the professor sighed deeply, shaking his head sadly as he whispered;

“God. I really have made a mess of things for you, haven’t I? You come to New York looking for a new life, a career, and what does meeting me get you? You’d have been better off—”

“No,” came Bridget’s voice sharply, cutting him off. Her eyes boring into Knight’s, she told him, “Don’t say it. Don’t tell me anything about being ‘better off’ somewhere else or with someone else.”

Deciding to allow Bridget the moment to get things out of her system, Knight merely nodded, allowing her to continue without interruption.

“I’m sorry I got so emotional. I apologize, and don’t start in with any nonsense about there being no need to do so. I’m your assistant—I’m supposed to be, anyway. I’m supposed to be a help to you, not a burden. But some of …” She paused for a moment, then put her hands out before herself in a gesture of confused futility, adding, “… all
this
, all of this insanity I never expected … it’s just taking me a bit of getting used to it all, if you know what I mean.”

Half his mouth returning to a smile, Knight tilted his head and answered the young woman warmly, telling her;

“Yes, my dear. I know exactly what you mean. And as I think over my days and years learning the things I take for granted now, I remember a great number of moments of pure and overwhelming terror that might not have been quite so overwhelming if those acting
as my instructors had shown a bit more compassion.” Holding out one hand to his assistant, he asked;

“My dear young Bridget, do you think you can forgive me?” Taking his hand, Bridget squeezed it gently, saying;

“I’ll think about it, but I’m telling you right now, come September all of this better get me one hell of a reference.”

Hearing her make a joke, Knight’s smile widened. Once again his assistant was proving to be possessed of a remarkable resilience. Feeling a touch self-conscious still holding Bridget’s hand, he released it with an embarrassed suddenness, just about to make a further comment when LaRaja walked up to the pair. Not even acknowledging Bridget’s presence, he said to the professor;

“It was him. It was Jimmy.”

“I know. I knew it when I was here the other evening, when he approached me. He was trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t quite understand what he was attempting to get across to me. And then, like tonight, there was a lightning burst, his essence was dispersed, and I was almost killed.”

“And yet,” said the detective, “the same thing happened tonight and we’re none the worse for wear.”

“This time I came prepared. Both to hopefully thwart the possible lightning with this,” he said, presenting LaRaja the wooden rune he had shown his assistant a moment earlier, “and to find out what Detective Dollins wanted to tell me, by having available someone he could talk to without any problems whatsoever.” The two men stared at each other, neither speaking. After a moment, Knight finally asked;

“So, was I correct? Were you able to decipher his message?”

“Oh yes,” responded LaRaja. His eyes boring into the professor’s, he said, “That thing in the property room, as Denny fought it, something about a ring you gave him, it allowed him to contain
it.” The detective stopped to catch his breath, then added excitedly;

“Anyway, I know exactly what we need to do now.” To which a disturbingly sinister voice from behind the trio asked;

“Really, do you now? Is that not most fortunate?”

“How’s everything coming with the preparations,” asked Harris as he studied the map spread out on the table before him. “Especially in grid areas 37 through 48?”

“Everything is moving according to plan, sir.”

Klein watched the major general as he worked with his staff, clearly impressed with the officer and his abilities. For the first time in days the FBI man was actually feeling as if he might be able to finally relax. Indeed, despite his bureau-born dread of working with the military, Klein was finding himself more than slightly amazed with the smooth way things had progressed for him so far at Fort Drum. Of course, he told himself, it was not as if he had not had ample reason to be apprehensive. Over the years more than one joint FBI–Armed Forces operation had ended in failure, recriminations, and even fisticuffs.

This is
, he thought wryly, working to keep his face passive as he did so,
certainly a new and different experience. And I have to admit, I’m kind of enjoying it.

Unlike a number of career military men and women circumstances had forced him to collaborate with in the past, Harris had proved to be not only a competent professional but also a man of no little imagination. The FBI agent was certain that the major general suspected more was going on than he was being told, but he also seemed to realize, or at least be willing to believe, that Klein himself did not know anything more than he had related to him. Harris had also shown a marked aptitude for adaptability far beyond that to be found in the other military leaders the agent had met in his time, a thing Klein was finding himself extremely grateful for at that moment.

Thank God this is the guy in charge here
, thought the FBI man, watching Harris as he continued to efficiently mobilize his troops.
Not that I’m looking to put a jinx on things, but I’m beginning to believe this may actually turn out okay after all
.

What Klein appreciated most was the fact that the major general did not simply dispatch subordinate officers to get the ball rolling. Harris, of course, realized the necessity of utilizing his chain of command to not only facilitate getting a number of operations started but also keep them moving—he was not the usual micro-managing marionette with no idea how to delegate authority. But beyond that, Harris also seemed to understand the urgency of keeping the Dream Stone safely out of Morand’s hands. Thus the officer threw himself completely into every aspect of the defenses being mounted to drive home the urgency of their situation to his men.

“Lead by example,” the major general said to Klein in a moment when he noted the FBI man watching him. “You want men to understand something’s important, let them see you getting your own hands dirty. They’ll get the idea.”