Monster Hunter Legion-eARC (17 page)

“No. Glorified tough zombie on ice.”

Now I was really confused. It hadn’t come down the ladder. It had appeared out of thin air, jumped on me, got the hell beat out of it, then disappeared. “I’ve never even heard of those before.”

“Rare. Haven’t seen one since…” Franks trailed off. “Interesting…”

“What?”

“Classified.”

After all that…
“Screw you, Franks! You rotten son of a bitch! Take your stupid ‘classified’ and shove it up your—”

“Everything okay, Agent?” the major had waddled back to the circle.

“We’re done here.”

“And the containment unit?”

Franks took one last look at the hole. “Bury it.”

Chapter 9

I had been taken in the back of the pickup to a portable shower, sprayed with foam, scrubbed with brushes, then taken out of my suit, sprayed with hot soapy water, then sprayed with freezing water, then given my clothing, armor, and weapons back. Since there was no indication of any actual chemical or biological agents in that particular containment unit, and there was no sign that any of the surrounding units had been breached, it was probably overkill, but I liked not puking blood or having brain damage, and wanted to keep it that way.

While I was getting washed, rinsed, and repeated, my mind was on the symbol. No matter how much I’d hoped otherwise, I’d known this day was going to come. Everything my father had lived for was to prepare me for this. He had drawn that symbol in the dirt of the Cazador compound to show me what to look for and given me a letter to fill me in and absolve him of his last responsibilities. The letter was still unopened, sitting in one of my gun safes back in Alabama. He was certain that as soon as I read it, his borrowed time would be up. Dad thought I hadn’t read it because I was a coward. Maybe he was right, but I didn’t want to just murder the stubborn old bastard. How would it happen? Would he keel over the minute I read it? That was a hell of a thought, because I didn’t have much choice now.

Franks met me at the Blackhawk. It was all warmed up and ready to go. “I’ve been ordered back to Las Vegas.”

I climbed in after him. “Any new word on the attack?”

“Grimm Berlin got the bounty. MHI got the assist. Congratulations.” Franks actually sounded bitter. “Case closed.”

A few minutes later we were in the air. By that point I was too tired to even try wheedling any further information out of Franks. I knew it wouldn’t do any good. He seemed even more reclusive than normal. I used the rest of the flight back to get in another nap. Hunters get so used to working stupid hours and being exhausted that most of us develop the ability to sleep the instant the opportunity presents itself.

“Wake up.”

The neon brilliance of Las Vegas was outside the window. I stretched. That had been a solid power nap. Franks was holding something out for me. It took me a second to realize it was an open laptop. He pressed it into my hands, took the audio line out of his headset and plugged it into mine. I flipped it around so I could see the screen.

Special Agent Dwayne Myers, former interim head of the Monster Control Bureau, had aged a lot over the last year. His hair had thinned further and turned whiter. He’d lost some weight, and it wasn’t like Myers could afford to lose much weight to begin with. Thin, tired, face lined with stress, and dark circles under his eyes, Myers was looking haggard. “Pitt. This is a secure video conference, but I need to keep this brief. I will deny this conversation ever took place.”

There was a short list of people I trusted. Myers wasn’t on it and never would be. This man had been prepared to nuke Alabama in order to do his duty. He had ruined thousands of lives in his mission to keep monsters secret from the public, including my own brother. Myers wasn’t the type to let things like collateral damage get in the way of doing his job. He’d used me before and would burn me the second that it became convenient. “What do you want?”

“I take it you’re aware of my demotion.”

“I’ll admit, I cheered a little when I heard. I haven’t got the invitations made up for the party yet, but I did order the cake.”

“Amusing, but I wouldn’t be so quick to celebrate. I take it you haven’t dealt with my replacement yet. No? Well, you are in for a real treat, and I don’t mean the cake. This is a courtesy call. Agent Franks has made me aware of what you’ve discovered—”

“Oh, good. Maybe you can fill me in, because he hasn’t made me aware of shit.” I looked over the top of the monitor as I said that. Franks ignored me.

“I’m afraid that there are some certain specifics which can’t be shared relating to government programs—”

“Like Nemesis?” It never hurt to go fishing.

Myers frowned. “For one. Regardless of what unfounded rumors you’ve heard about that, just be aware that as long as I or Agent Franks are in any sort of position of authority, that project will never be implemented.”

“Because I’ll kill anyone who tries…” Franks muttered under his breath.

“As to our current business, I have no more information about today’s case than you do. That is not why I’m talking to you now. I need you to deliver a message to Earl Harbinger.”

Myers hated Earl. I’d be surprised if the message was anything other than
drop dead.
“What’s the deal?”

“Tell him that what we spoke about in Copper Lake, I believe it’s happening now. I don’t know what’s coming, but MHI and everyone like you out there needs to be prepared. If I learn of anything that may help, I will pass it on. MHI must be ready to act.”

“Myers, we were born ready. Our greatest impediment to actually doing our jobs is you assholes screwing with us and keeping us in the dark. Franks told you about the symbol we found?” The image of Myers nodded. “Do you know who it belongs to?”

“No, we do not.”

That felt like the truth. “Have you seen it before?”

Myers didn’t answer.

“I thought so. Where?”

“Everywhere. It has been showing up over the last few years with ever-increasing frequency. My sources told me that the Hunters at the conference were talking about many of those same instances today.”

I swallowed hard. My father’s symbol and the pattern of new monster appearances were related. “Myers, listen—”

“I’m out of time, Pitt. Just know that things aren’t what they seem. Changes are being made in how the government does things, about how we combat the forces of the unnatural. I did not…
agree
with some of these new policies. No matter what you think of me, you know everything I’ve done has been to protect America. I took a solemn oath to defend this country. I will continue doing that to the best of my abilities, no matter how dark things become, no matter what, I will fulfill that oath or I will gladly die trying.”

Myers was beginning to scare me. “I’ll tell Earl.”

“Good luck, Mr. Pitt.” The image went black.

Franks snatched his laptop back and immediately began scrubbing files.

I called Julie from the airport. She was glad to hear that I was back safe, but I was afraid to tell her anything specific over the phone.

“That thing my Dad wanted us to watch for? It’s here. And tell everybody that it’s involved in what we figured out earlier.”

There was a long silence. “That’s not good…”

“We’ll make it work.”

“We always do.”

All of this secret squirrel nonsense was making me even more paranoid than usual. I told her I’d catch everyone up when I got back to the hotel, but there was something else that I needed to take care of first. I ended the call with a heavy heart and a nervous stomach.

My greatest worry was what to do about my father. My opportunity for procrastination was over. I needed to learn what he knew. His letter was safe at the Shackleford mansion. I could call him on the phone, but I needed to do this in person. Mom and Dad lived hundreds of miles from here, and the selfish, weak, human part of me was thankful that seeing them right this minute was impossible. I’d faced all manner of evil, but I didn’t know if I had the guts to do this one simple task.

I needed to talk to someone who would understand. I needed to talk to family.

The hazardous materials folks at Dugway had given me a large nylon bag to put my armor and weapons in, which enabled me to make it through the airport to hail a cab without causing any freak-outs or calls to the police. I’d already gotten one tour of the Clark County jail, didn’t particularly want another. I gave the cabbie Mosh’s address and then went back to wondering how I was going to tell my little brother that I had to end our father’s life.

Las Vegas was a nocturnal city by nature, so despite it being late, the traffic still sucked. The cab ride gave me even more time to think, which was the last thing I had wanted to do.

My brother was on the opposite end of the strip from where MHI was staying. This casino was older, more run-down, but he was living there for free as long as he played a few solo shows every week. There was a huge publicity shot poster of him at the entrance, looking all steely-eyed, with his shaved head and really long goatee, wearing a leather vest that showed off his muscular arms and intricate tats. The interior of this casino was dim, smelled like cigarette smoke, and was filled with old people playing nickel slot machines. I asked a cocktail waitress who was too worn down by life to be wearing an outfit that skimpy for directions. Tonight’s show was almost over.

The stage was in a bar in the back of the casino. Once I got past the pings and whistles of the electronic slots, I followed the sounds of a guitar. I paid the cover charge and got my hand stamped by a fat man at the door. I was glad to see there was still a pretty good-sized crowd. It was nothing like the mob he had been able to draw before, but the hardcore loyal fans hadn’t abandoned him. I made my way in, squeezing past a lot of men wearing spikes and chains and women with too little clothing and lots of extra piercings.

The song was a new one. Low key…
sad.
I didn’t think I’d ever heard him sound like that before. I’d heard him play loud, boisterous, frantic, often angry, but never depressed. This was a new development.

I spotted Mosh in the back, on the stage, all alone except for a stool, some pedals, a microphone, and his guitar. I was glad that it was dark and the lights were shining in his eyes. I was worried seeing me in the audience might have screwed him up.

My brother looked rough, worn down, tired. I was used to seeing him with a certain boundless enthusiasm, especially when he was playing. The look on his face was one of concentration, of frustration, not that zen look of
this is what I love
that he used to have. He’d been the best in the world at something, only that had been ripped away and stolen. The fun was gone.

He still sounded great. He’d never been proud of his vocals, but I’d always thought he had a good voice. Considering that he’d lost most of the feeling and dexterity in his fret hand, his playing sounded remarkably solid. It took me a second to realize what was different. He’d switched sides. He was playing the frets with his right hand. He’d re-taught himself how to play as a left-hander.

Mosh finished his sad song, looked up from his guitar, said “Thank you, Las Vegas.” And then walked off the stage before anyone even realized they were supposed to clap. There were cheers and a chant for an encore, but there weren’t going to be any encores tonight. My brother was done. Life had kicked his ass. When the lights came back on over the disappointed crowd, the stage was empty.

It was a real bummer of a finale.

A security guard wouldn’t let me backstage. There was no need to complicate things so I didn’t push it. I knew where he was staying. It had taken Melvin less than five minutes to get the room number for me.

There was another poster of Mosh in the elevator. This one was more recent than the older publicity poster in the entrance. I know it isn’t cool for rock stars to smile in pictures, but here he just looked grim. No surprise. This was the best job he could find after getting kicked out of the band that he’d founded and dragged to the top. They’d said they didn’t need his baggage. They were idiots. Sure, I was biased, but Mosh was a musical genius, brilliant performer, and sharp businessman. He had built Cabbage Point Killing Machine. They were nothing without him.

“Quit staring at me,” I muttered at the poster.

Even though they’d been surgically reattached with
relative
success, having his fingers cut off by the cultists had ruined him. His guitar playing had gone to hell, and his life had followed along. Myers’ cover-up had pinned the blame for the destruction in Montgomery on my brother’s supposedly drug-addled misadventures. His name was mud, even by rock-star standards. Trashing a place was one thing, having several innocent people die because you’d gone crazy with the special effects and crashed a tour bus into a fuel tanker was something else entirely. He’d avoided criminal charges—only because the MCB didn’t want anyone saying anything too crazy in court about two rampaging oni—but the avalanche of lawsuits had bankrupted him. Their record label had gotten sick of the bad publicity, and now CPKM was floundering along with a new guitarist who couldn’t hold a candle to my brother.

So Mosh was reduced to washed-up celebrity status, playing at a shitty casino to pay the bills, and it was entirely my fault. When they couldn’t get at me, the Condition had targeted my family instead. I was the one they’d wanted, but Mosh had paid my price. It made me wish that I could bring Hood back from the dead so that I could kill him over again. Only this time I would make it hurt more.

I got off the elevator at the penthouse suite, still going over what I was going to say.
Hey, dude. Sorry knowing me absolutely ruined your totally awesome life. Oh yeah, and now I’ve got to kill Dad. So how you been?

The hotel had probably been very nice when Sinatra was still singing here, but it hadn’t been remodeled since then. The carpets were dingy. The wallpaper was cracked. I’d heard they were talking about knocking it down and putting up a new casino on the valuable real estate. Many of the traditionalists wanted to save this place out of a sense of nostalgia. Those people probably hadn’t been inside recently, because this dump was ready for the wrecking ball. I knocked. Nobody answered the door. He probably wasn’t back yet, so I settled in to wait.