Authors: C.J. Barry

Body Thief (36 page)

BOOK: Body Thief

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“This place is a lot bigger than I expected,” Cam noted.

Griffin lowered the binoculars. “Harding can’t run an operation this large by himself without leaving tracks.”

“Ernest can’t find any connection,” Cam said.

“That’s because someone else is running it,” Griffin noted, and read the information off his phone. “According to Aristotle’s inside people, a man named Nick Braxton is in charge. Former military.” He scrolled through the pages of notes, and something caught his eye. “Braxton was on the original XCEL committee that was disbanded last year.”

Cam asked, “So?”

He couldn’t believe it. He knew what the connection was. “Harding was on that committee.”

“Oh my God. They’re in this together,” Cam said quickly.

Griffin sent a note to Ernest. “Let’s see what kind of magic Ernest can do with that.”

Cam studied the building. “Should we bother to try talking to Braxton?”

“No. If we’re wanted by XCEL, he knows it.” Griffin glanced up at the formidable facility. “But I wonder how hard it would be to get inside.”

Cam wrinkled her nose. “I knew you were going to say that.”

“Chickening out on me?”

She cut him a glare. “Please. I was
made
for sneaking around, remember? However, there’s also a gas in there that can melt us. Not too excited about that part.”

He wasn’t either, but there might not be another way.

“You don’t need to do this,” he said.

Cam turned to him. “If you go in, I go in.”

“No.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

He turned to look at her. God, she was beautiful. But she wasn’t coming with him. He had nothing left to lose. He’d put himself in this position. She shouldn’t even be here.

“This is my idea,” he said. “I’ll go in alone.”

“While I what? Crochet?” she returned. “Do you think you’re the only one with a stake here? These are my people.”

Her people. He wondered when she’d decided that. He wondered if she even realized it. Whatever that case, he wasn’t going to change her mind now.

“So don’t even try to stop me, Mercer,” she added. “I’m your damned partner. And I don’t care how you feel about that.”

He’d grown to hate that word—partner. Except when she said it. “I don’t like it.”

“Good thing no one asked you then,” she said. “Besides, we don’t have a choice, do we?”

They really didn’t. All the answers lay in that building. He lifted the binoculars. “I’ll see what Ernest can do about the security systems.”

“We pulled that stunt once at the detention center. I don’t think they will fall for it again,” she said. “Can we use Aristotle’s insiders?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “Either way, it’s going to get messy.”

“That works for me,” she said and stretched her arms. “Haven’t killed anyone all day.”

Dewey looked damned old, Aristotle decided as he sat next to his friend. They’d ducked ammunition together. Fought over women. Done every illegal drug they could find. Ran from trouble more than a time or two. They’d gotten married and started families just months apart. And then they’d lost everything, escaping from a hellish world that was determined to wipe them out.

Where did time go?
he wondered. Shifter bodies aged slowly, and they could live to be well over a hundred and twenty-five years. Not so with humans. These bodies weren’t made for a hundred years. They were complex and fragile with too few redundant parts. One heart. Who decided on that?

Regardless, Aristotle liked this body. It was better than some he’d worn. He wished he could remember the others, but those memories were lost to the past. There were days when he couldn’t conjure up his son’s face or remember which tunnel he needed to follow.

Growing old was a crime. He’d rather die in battle than waste away one memory at a time. It was no way for a man to depart his life, and he’d decided long ago that he wouldn’t allow it to happen to him. His time, however, was drawing near. The battle cries were getting louder and closer.

Before this week was out, he’d meet the enemy on the field. He’d saved every spare ounce of energy for that moment, and he planned to leave nothing behind.

Dewey opened his eyes slowly and gazed around him without any hint of fear. Aristotle knew why. He was simply too tired to care. His gaze settled on Aristotle, and he smiled.

“You look like hell,” Dewey said.

“I’m not the one lying in bed all day,” Aristotle said and reached out to shake his friend’s hand. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” Dewey said, giving him a weak handshake. “Didn’t think I’d live long enough to run into you again.”

“It’s a small world,” he said. They all were. “How do you feel?”

“Excellent. You?” Dewey was lying through his teeth. He’d been asleep for most of the past day.

“Excellent,” Aristotle lied back. Old men and their pride.

“Where are we?”

Aristotle grinned and spread his arms out. “Welcome to my humble abode. Seven levels under the city.”

Dewey glanced around. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Where’s Camille?”

Aristotle filled him in on the details. “They’ll be back soon.”

His old friend closed his eyes. For a moment, Aristotle thought he might have fallen asleep. Then he said, “How bad is it?”

He took a deep breath. “As bad as it gets, old friend.”

Dewey opened his eyes. “Can we win?”

“Yes,” Aristotle said.

“Is it worth it?”

“Yes.”

Dewey met his gaze. “Keep her safe.”

Aristotle put his hand on Dewey’s. “I’ll do my best.”

Cam felt safer underground again. As they’d come back from the facility, they had run into several demonstrations in the streets. The media had the humans whipped into a frenzy over the Shifter attacks.

Next thing you know, they’d be accusing each other of being witches and burning people at the stake.

She and Griffin were heading to one of many meeting rooms in the underground labyrinth. Aristotle’s Shifters had taken over a big chunk of the tunnels that ran under Manhattan. Alcoves had become meeting rooms; corridors fashioned into cubes of living spaces. It was a city beneath a city, guarded by Shifters on a mission.

Red met them at the door.

“Glad you found us okay,” he said and ushered them into the small room that Ernest had commandeered for his high-tech geekdom. Metal piping had been opened up and clips taped onto the bundles of wiring. Thick power cords fed a wall of monitors and computers.

“Made yourself at home, I see,” Griffin observed. “How’s the reception down here?”

Ernest peered at him, happy as a geek could get. “I may move here permanently. See this pipe right here?” He pointed to one of ten pipes. “Lifeline to the best Internet you can buy. And this one.” He nodded toward a robust pipe with a slew of clips sticking out of it. “That’s the cyber tower to the surface. I can get you anything you want.”

“World peace,” Cam said.

Ernest rolled his eyes. “Please. Like that’s ever going to happen. But, I did manage to call the next attack. Aristotle’s men took care of it and left the goons for the media to find too. Hung’em right out the windows so everyone could see who exactly was trying to blow up the place.”

Red crossed his arms. “Until Harding cleaned it up. Told the media it was us.”

Griffin cast Cam a quick look. “We need proof.”

She was afraid he was going to say that. Despite her bravado, she wasn’t looking forward to getting inside the death zone. At least not until she had Harding’s throat in her hands.

Griffin asked Ernest, “Did you get the photos I sent you of the exterior of the facility?”

“Got ’em,” Ernest said.

“Good. So how do we get inside?” Griffin asked.

Ernest gaped at him. “You know, this isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“We know,” Cam said. “We also know you’re the best.”

“That’s true,” Ernest said, turning to his computers. “I’ll see what I can come up with. Plus now I have intel from our spies inside.”

Griffin asked Red, “How many people do you have inside?”

“Two technicians,” he said. “Humans. Both understand what Harding is trying to do.”

Cam could only imagine the danger they faced. “How do they check in with you?”

Red held up his smartphone. “I get reports once or twice a week. I downloaded everything to Ernest’s computer.”

“And I took everything and created an information matrix on the facility,” Ernest said, tapping away. “Here we go.”

They all leaned over Ernest to view the monitors. Cam noted floor plans, research notes, photos of workers—everything except a way inside.

“Workers have to go through a series of automated gates that use X-rays, human Scouts, and every scanner known to man. Like airport security on steroids,” Ernest summarized. “Nothing goes in, nothing comes out that’s not supposed to. I’ll need to analyze everything to formulate an acceptable plan of attack. Give me a few hours.”

“Anything on Harding?” Cam asked.

“Nothing to tie him to any of this,” Ernest said. “Oh, and he put out a contract to kill all of us. But you probably already knew that.”

Really, she should have killed him.

“When’s Harding’s next attack?” Griffin asked.

“Tonight. A dance club in Harlem. Aristotle is getting his team together,” Ernest said. “Why, you interested in joining them?”

“It could be a setup,” Red reminded them.

Yes, it could, but could they chance not following up?
she thought. A night attack in a crowded dance club. That would put the nail in the coffin for Shifters everywhere.

Griffin eyed Cam, waiting for her answer.

Oh, what the hell? It was better than hanging around geeks all day. “Time to put on my dancing shoes,” she said.

“You might want to bring your running shoes,” Ernest said. “These guys are trying to kill us, remember?”

As if she could forget.