The Ancient Breed (31 page)

“Just the wealthy people who are willing to recognize us as the dominant species and fully cooperate, you mean.”

“Precisely. Until we no longer need them.”

They laughed.

Tobias sobered suddenly. “There are only a couple flies in the ointment, so to speak.”

“Sloan?”

“He’s one.”

“Who’s the other?”

“The witches of Duneden. Remember, Gabriella Wolfe is the most powerful witch in our dimension, and she has the power to shut us down.”

“But she’s been exiled to our former dimension.”

“Temporarily. But she could return any time.”

“By then, it’ll be too late.” Grant threw his partner a chilling glance. “Don’t go paranoid on me. Having Sloan around is bad enough.”

Tobias reddened. “No, no. I’m only trying to prepare for all contingencies.”

“I have a big surprise for the Duneden witches, so you can forget about them.”

“What kind of surprise?”

Grant folded his hands behind his head and leaned back. “If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

Tobias scowled. “I don’t like surprises, Grant. Not this close to success.”

“You’ll like this one.”

Tobias was clearly troubled by Grant’s reluctance to reveal his surprise, especially one that could easily backfire and ruin their plans. He stood and paced the confined area. “There might be one more variable.”

“Who?”

“Danforth’s son – Nick Bellamy, the FBI agent who took down both the
Creeper
and Danforth a year ago.”

“With help from Gabriella. She’s not around this time.”

“But he’s an unknown. Danforth was a Destroyer and powerful mage in his own right. We don’t know what powers Bellamy has inherited.”

“From what I’ve heard, none. Don’t forget, his mother was human.”

“I think we should eliminate him.”

“We will when I hit Duneden with my surprise.”

Frustration pinched Tobias’s features. “I’ll trust you on this secret, Grant; but this is the last thing we keep from each other. Agreed?”

Grant nodded. In a week or so, he wouldn’t need any partners. “Agreed, but as I said, don’t worry, Tobias.” I promise, you’ll love it.”

Tobias checked one of the outer perimeter monitors and nodded at the closing darkness. “It’s time to dispose of our latest test subjects.”

Grant stood, stretched, and jangled his building keys. “An excellent idea.”

35

D

uring the thirty hours following the Tampa fiasco, Neo arduously followed Walkingman’s zigzag trail of stolen breadcrumbs through the Southeast and Middle Atlantic states with the help of each state’s highway patrol and local law enforcement agencies, and although the terrorist had a sizable head start that would make him extremely difficult to locate, Walkingman made a momentous mistake. The elusive Lady Luck finally made a play for Neo, and he readily welcomed her advances.

He snatched his satellite phone off the black seat of the speeding Tampa PD cruiser and contacted Nick, who answered on the first ring.

“We caught a break,” Neo said enthusiastically.

“Neo?” Nick replied absently, his mind on the other components of their investigation.

“Yeah. Listen. Our boy Walkingman just stole a car in Pompona, New Jersey, equipped with – get this – a GPS burglary system.”

Nick perked up at the news. “Where’s he heading?”

“North, up the Garden State Parkway toward New York.”

“The city?”

“I don’t know yet, but our boys in Washington are tracking him by satellite. I’m on my way to the airport to catch a charter to New York City. I should land at La Guardia in a couple of hours.”

“As it so happens, I also have some business to conduct in New York. I’ll take one of our choppers to La Guardia and meet you there,” Nick said.

Neo grinned. “Just like old times,
partner
.”

“Just like old times, Neo. Rance cut me loose to work the field on this one; so it appears that you, Crow, and I will be busting our chops to bring down the bad guys again,” he explained with the first hint of excitement in his voice in a long, long while.

Neo unleashed a thunderous laugh. “I roger that. See you in the Big Apple.”

The ocean of shimmering lights that was the heart and soul of nighttime New York stretched as far as Neo could see from the descending plane, and the extravagant reception from his former hometown warmed him. He spent many happy, glorious years there as a kid growing up in New Hyde Park out on Long Island, and as a New York Giants defensive tackle. Though DC was his current residence, New York City would always be his
home
.

Nick, wearing a navy blue polo shirt, faded blue jeans, and white, New Balance running shoes, met Neo outside the crowded baggage-claim area. Shouts, loud greetings, blaring horns, and ceaseless chatter filled the unseasonably crisp June air. Neo slipped the overnight bag from his shoulder and pumped Nick’s proffered hand fervently.

“We’ve got to hurry,” Nick said earnestly as he sliced through the throng to a black Navigator double-parked fifty feet from the baggage claim exit.

Neo threw his carry-on in the back and slipped his large frame into the SUV beside Nick. Within minutes of leaving the airport, they were speeding toward the Queens Midtown Tunnel.

“Where’s Walkingman heading?” Neo asked, removing his 9 mm gun from his holster and checking the clip. It was full.

“Not New York City,” Nick replied. “He left the Garden State at the Secaucus exit and headed east.”

“East? He still might be headed into the city.”

“Kind of a roundabout approach if he’s not taking a ferry.”

“Maybe he’s just being cautious.”

Nick stared into the sea of red lights beyond the windshield. “Maybe not.”

Neo’s phone rang, and he snatched it from his belt. After a couple of grunts and a “yeah,” he ended the conversation. “
Maybe not
is right,” he agreed. “Walkingman’s parked east of West New York along the river.”

“Then let’s go.” Nick flicked on the strobing blue flashers and screaming siren and flattened the accelerator as they entered the Midtown Tunnel. It would be a hair-raising trip across Manhattan to Jersey.

Nick missed the gated entrance twice before Neo located it in the gloom of the substantial pines flanking the road. Nick switched off the Navigator’s lights, eased between the rusted, crumbling gates in the impenetrable blackness, and followed the crushed grass and gravel lane toward the river. The monstrous, baleful pines towered above the Navigator like ominous sentries awaiting the command to strike. Neo placed the phone to his ear and listened to the instructions from the FBI command center.

He glanced at Nick. “About sixty feet to Walkingman’s car,” he whispered and disconnected the transmission. “There’s an old asylum ahead. The boys say it’s been abandoned for fifty plus years.”

Nick nodded and slowly depressed the brake pedal to effect a silent stop. They waited noiselessly inside the SUV and listened through the open windows but heard nothing but the shrill cacophony of crickets and tree frogs, small animals crunching their way through the dry underbrush, and an occasional yelp from a distant dog.

“Time to move,” Nick said quietly. He swung a small black rucksack over his left shoulder and motioned for Neo to get out.

After drawing their guns and raking the slides, they exited from the Navigator and made their way warily down the narrow lane beneath a moonless, overcast sky. Neo clung to the dark cover of the pines hugging the left side of the drive, while Nick stealthily crept along the right.

Neo grinned. The sweet scent of the pine sap recalled pleasant childhood memories of the annual Doss family pilgrimage to an upstate New York Christmas tree farm where they would select and cut their own tree. It was always cold as hell, but somehow he never felt the stinging wind or the chilling wetness of the snow. There was just something about being together as a family at that special time of year that insulated him from nature’s worst.

Suddenly, something heavy dropped on Neo’s back with a startling slap; he spun in circles, desperately groping for his mysterious attacker, but it remained out of his reach.

Nick noted Neo’s agitation; he swiftly crossed the drive, grabbed Neo’s forearm, and hissed, “Stop.”

Neo froze as Nick examined his back and plucked a large tree frog from his shirt. Nick held it in front of Neo’s drawn face, careful to direct its urine spray toward the woods. The former NFL All-Pro grinned sheepishly at the bloated, squirming critter with the twiggy, suction-cup fingers. Neo was enveloped by an embarrassed flush at his panic over a harmless tree frog.

Nick flipped the frightened creature onto a pine bough, patted Neo on the shoulder, and resumed his position across the drive. He listened closely for any telltale signs of Walkingman before advancing toward the Hudson again.

Even though the surveillance team back in Washington had declared this place abandoned, Nick remained alert for security devices and booby traps. He intermittently utilized his hooded flashlight to scan the copper pine needles on the ground for pressure and trip sensors, and then to inspect the pine boughs for laser motion sensors.

The trees parted abruptly, and the daunting shadow of the boarded-up asylum blocked the softly lit eastern horizon and sent chills streaking across their flesh. The four gables facing the west were scowling brows above eyeless sockets. The peeling gray floor and roof of the immense smoking veranda resembled a pair of pale, malevolent lips, with the derelict railing akin to a mouthful of broken teeth. The freighters meandering along the Hudson River released mournful wails that heightened their edginess.

The stolen Mercedes with the GPS burglary system was parked to the left of the veranda on the unkempt circular drive. Its warm engine ticked in the cool night.

They wordlessly split up, a familiar tactic learned from years of field teamwork. Neo slipped into the tangled undergrowth to the south to begin his perimeter check, while Nick approached the front door. He tried the corroded brass doorknob, but it wouldn’t turn.
Locked or frozen from age?
The answer would be palpable in a minute.

Nick withdrew a small packet of lock-picking tools from the rucksack and quickly defeated the lock. After returning the tools to the rucksack, he drew his gun and opened the door.

Blackness. Silence.

Nick took a small step forward, then another. He flipped up the hood of his flashlight just as something heavy collided with the back of his skull. He bounced on the tile floor once before succumbing to utter darkness.

Nick blinked repeatedly as he tried to regain full consciousness. After the dizziness passed, he found his wrists and ankles shackled to a thick wooden chair in what appeared to be the asylum’s basement. His chair was bolted to the floor in a three-sided, plywood cubicle. He strained against the stout manacles, but they held firm.

His head ached as if split by Paul Bunyan’s axe, and the putrid stench of human decay certainly did nothing to subdue his queasiness. Somewhere in a distant, cobwebbed corner, a fifteen-watt bulb glowed just brightly enough to cast an aura of fear. It revealed the horrible pile of human bones ahead but cloaked the far recesses of the basement. Nick ignored his occasional eruptions of panic. Fear was counterproductive. He needed to stay calm and alert. And most of all, he needed to find a way out of there.

He gazed at the rank bone pile again. It was obvious that there had been many other prisoners down there, and they hadn’t survived the experience. From the condition of the corpses, it appeared as if their bones were broken before they were eaten alive. After its meal, the barbaric beast tossed their bloody remains against the cement block wall facing his cubicle. Now, it looked like he was on tonight’s menu.

Well, Nick had some bad news for his hostile host. He planned to walk out of there alive. All his bones intact.

A scuffling of feet interrupted his reverie and launched vicious waves of pain inside his tender skull. Nick attempted to refocus his thoughts – his resolve
–
before confronting his captor, but it was a tough challenge.

Two men appeared before his cubicle. The first man he immediately recognized as Jay Walkingman, but the other concealed his identity beneath a black hood. Nick noticed that Walkingman’s hands were cuffed behind his back, and a rag had been stuffed into his gaping mouth. The terrorist’s black eyes were ablaze with fear and anger.

“Good evening, Nick,” the muscular, hooded man said in a pleasant voice. “I hope you’re comfortable.”

“Thanks, I am,” Nick shot back in an equally, amicable tone.

“This is the terrorist you have been searching for, I believe. A Mister Jay Walkingman.”

Walkingman struggled, but the Hood retained his crushing grip on the Indian’s biceps.

“While we’re making polite introductions here, may I ask who you are?” Nick asked.

“You may, but I’m afraid I can’t grace you with an answer.”

“How convenient.”

“So is this your fugitive or not?” Hood asked again.

Nick nodded.

“Well then, since I was the one who arrested this sleazy terrorist, I should be the one to mete out his punishment. Don’t you agree, Nick?” Hood waited for a response, but Nick remained silent. “So, here’s my proposal. I have injected Mr. Walkingman with a full-strength dose of what he refers to as water from the infamous fountain of youth. He should begin his transformation within thirty minutes, I should imagine. Meanwhile, you will have a front-row seat from which to witness this extraordinary spectacle. You’ll see things that haven’t occurred in hundreds of years, Nick. It should be rather exciting, I should think.”

“Yeah, Jay and I’ll have a real swinging time down here.”

“Yes, until Mr. Walkingman completes his transformation. Then, I’m afraid that he – or should I say it – will eat you alive, Nick. Once your frail, human body is history, then it will proceed to eat itself. Nasty little creatures, really.”

“Sounds like a barrel of laughs. But, hey, since I’m about to be the main course here, I have a last request.”

Hood bowed slightly. “Within reason, of course.”

“I’d like you to explain the mysterious demon guardian that protects the fountain of youth and what that water is used for.”

“Demon guardian? Are you referring to the Zyloux that protects Tobhor’s little fortress?”

“That’s the one. I have a feeling that what I’ve seen so far is just the tip of the iceberg,” Nick said, stalling while he tried to think of a way out of this unpleasant mess.

“It
is
a fountain of youth, Nick, but not for
your
kind. And yes, there is much more that you don’t know, but I fear that with your diluted heritage, you couldn’t begin to grasp it. Let me just add that Gabriella isn’t here to rescue you this time around, and that your friends in Duneden are in for a bit of a surprise.”

The
diluted heritage
insult rankled Nick. “What kind of a surprise?”

“Revenge for a murder that happened a long time ago where justice was not served.”

“Who was the victim?”

Walkingman moaned and twisted in Hood’s grip, but to no avail.

“Let me just say that Gabriella’s father, Yorick Wolfe, was responsible for the death of someone close to me, and leave it like that.” Suddenly, Hood sucker punched Walkingman in the temple, and the small-time terrorist crumpled to the dank stone floor. Hood cuffed Walkingman’s ankles and stood.

Nick was puzzled by Hood’s actions.

Hood noticed Nick’s bewilderment “When Walkingman transforms, he will become much smaller. The cuffs will fall away easily, so it can find its way to the Bellamy buffet.”

Nick glowered at him. “Don’t count me out so soon, asshole. When I get out of here, I’ll look you up and make you as dead as your old friend.”