Body Thief (40 page)

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Authors: C.J. Barry

BOOK: Body Thief
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“We have their bombs,” Griffin suggested.
Ernest eyed him. “And if we screw it up, any toxin they’ve got gets blown into the atmosphere and everyone’s turning to jelly.”
That was true. The bombs weren’t going to do them any good, as much as Griffin was tempted to use them. If for nothing else than the poetic justice of it all.
Ernest stared at the computer screen and shook his head. “There’s no underground level that we can access. However, there are guards and guns aplenty. This place is like a fortress.”
“We have the security keys from Aristotle’s insiders,” Griffin said.
“As of today, but the keys change weekly. That leaves us two days to plan and execute an attack.”
Griffin frowned. Was he missing something? “Can’t you get the new keys next week?”
Ernest rubbed his eyes. “Our two insiders went silent yesterday.”
“And you’re just telling me this now?” Griffin said.
“Hey, I’ve been a little busy here,” Ernest replied testily. “It’s not like I’m sitting here playing solitaire, you know?”
He couldn’t blame Ernest. They were all edgy. “Sorry.”
Ernest relaxed in his chair. “Naw, I should have told you. Christ, my life is a goddamned mess.”
He commiserated. “Sorry about that too.”
“It was my choice. Did you ever imagine that you’d be in cahoots with the Shifters?” Ernest asked.
Griffin eyed him. “
Cahoots?
Really?”
Ernest grinned and then laughed. “Cahoots. And fuck you.”
Griffin slapped him on the back. “Go get a few hours sleep, bud. Before you fall over.”
“Can’t, too much to do,” Ernest said. “Like figure out a plan of attack.”
Griffin studied the monitor. If they couldn’t sneak in, maybe they should try something more obvious. “What if we made a special delivery?”
“What’d you have in mind?” Ernest asked.
He smiled at Ernest. “Everyone needs toilet paper.”
 
Parker had failed.
“You said this would be easy,” Harding told him on the phone. “You said you’d have them in one day. What happened?”
“What
happened
?” Parker said, sounding surprisingly shaken. “Griffin happened. Since when does he have the power to take out Shifters single-handed?”
Harding opened the curtains in his home office as dawn etched rooftops in his upscale neighborhood. “What are you talking about?”
“He froze me,” Parker said. “He grabbed my arm, and I couldn’t move. Couldn’t shift, couldn’t do anything. Almost killed me.”
Harding sat down in his chair and tried to decide if Parker was lying to cover his ass or if he was telling the truth. Working with criminals did have its downside. “You’re sure it was
him
? It wasn’t some drug he gave you or some weapon—”
“Trust me. One hand,” Parker said, and actually stuttered. “He zapped me or something. I don’t know where it came from, but it totally incapacitated me. You got any weapons in your arsenal that can do that?”
XCEL had nothing like that. Which meant that Parker was telling the truth, or at least he thought so. Could someone—a human, at that—really have that kind of effect on Shifters? It suddenly all made sense why Mercer was so good at his job. Not only could he see them, he could stop them.
Parker blathered on. “And don’t even ask me to go back down there. You can keep your money. I’m out of here.”
Harding said, “I protected you—”
“I don’t need your protection,” Parker snapped.
Harding pursed his lips. They both knew that Parker could disappear at will and no one would ever find him. There was no point in threatening him anymore. “Did you at least find where they operate out of?”
“What’s it worth to you?” Parker asked, getting his balls back.
Harding bluffed. “You get the satisfaction of knowing that Mercer will die.”
“Deal. I’ll text you the location, and that’s the end. We’re even, and we’re done.” Then he hung up.
Harding pressed the End Call key, feeling better than he had in days. He could get rid of his last obstacle and move forward with no one standing in his way. He held his breath as the incoming text from Parker downloaded—directions to the location. Parker must really want Mercer dead to actually follow through without money or something equally valuable.
Harding viewed the location and felt a wave of victory. All the trouble had been worth it for this one moment. He logged into the computer on his desk and ran the directions through the underground maps he had. Then he traced a trail to the surface— streets, buildings, sewers—until he found what he was looking for. Two manholes fed the tunnels that the Shifters were holed up in.
He dialed Braxton’s cell phone. The man answered far too awake for five A.M. “I already told you everything was set, Harding.”
“Do you ever sleep?” Harding asked.
“No. Now what do you want?”
Harding leaned back, enjoying himself immensely. “It’s time. I’m sending you the coordinates for two manholes in Manhattan. Fill them with gas.”
There was a long pause. “Are you fucking serious? You know it’s not ready. We haven’t even tested the last batch. It could kill everyone.”
“Make sure our sewer trucks are perfect replicates. We don’t want anything that looks suspicious,” he continued. “Every detail has to be right.”
“Jesus,” Braxton said. “There are humans living down there.”
Drug addicts and homeless people. “They’re already worthless.”
That didn’t pacify Braxton. “And what if it leaks out? What if Shifters start dropping dead on the street? What if
we
start dropping?”
“If you do it right, you won’t have to worry about it. The gas is heavy. It’ll find its way to the lowest point and settle. And it can do something we can’t—get in the nooks and crannies where they hide.”
Braxton gave a loud sigh. “The underground is a big area, Harding. Miles upon miles. We’ve got about twenty gallons of this formula. It’s not like we’re cranking this stuff out yet.”
That would be enough to wipe out his Shifters, and if he was lucky, Mercer too. “Then it’s a good thing you only have two manholes to cover. As soon as possible, Braxton.”
“
I’ll
say when,” Braxton said. “I’m not risking my men so you can get your breaking news story for the press. We’ll do it at night. Less traffic, fewer people, even fewer cops, and no headaches for me.”
Harding hated waiting, but he’d have to. Braxton was right. No one could know about this. If the senate committee got wind of anything done without their approval, his hands would be tied for months. He wouldn’t risk that.
“I want to be online when you do it,” he said.
“I know this is your big moment,” Braxton said belligerently.
“No,” Harding replied. “My big moment will be when they’re all dead.”
He hung up, feeling powerful and in control.
 
“He went into a coma this morning. I’m sorry,” Aristotle said to her, but Cam was still reeling from the news. Her father lay in a cot before her, unmoving and barely breathing.
She knew he was sick, and he didn’t have long to live. But to actually see it, to watch it happen—that was something she was unprepared for.
“What does a coma mean for a Shifter?” Ernest asked, standing next to her.
“If he was in Shifter form, it’d mean he’d go into a state of stasis. He could survive for quite a while like that,” Aristotle answered. “But in human form—”
He didn’t finish, and he didn’t need to.
“Crap,” Ernest said with panic and sympathy in his eyes. “I need more time to find Thaniel. I’m not getting anything on my searches. I need more time.”
She put her hand on his arm. “It’s okay. Really.”
Ernest appeared ready to cry. He gave a mighty sniffle and left the room. She watched him go, tears filling her eyes. There had to be a way. She turned to Aristotle. “I’ll give him all my blood.”
Aristotle shook his head. “No, Camille.”
“Then some of it. It might give Ernest the time he needs,” she insisted.
Aristotle replied, “It won’t. You know that.”
She closed her eyes and felt the tears burn down her face. Her heart ached. She couldn’t lose him. “I didn’t get to say good-bye.”
“He knows,” Aristotle said. “Griffin, take her.”
She opened her eyes to find Griffin standing with them. His expression was concerned and sad. She could blame him for this, and she was tempted. But he wasn’t to blame. No one was. Time was her enemy.
“I’m not leaving,” she said, staring down Griffin.
“Aristotle, ask your medic to keep a watch on him,” Griffin said as he walked toward her. “If you need any medical supplies, let me know.” Then he turned to her and his voice was rough. “I’m sorry, Cam.”
She hated them all. She hated the pain. It had happened too many times. To her and to her people. All this time, everything she’d done, she’d done it to save her father. For nothing. It would never change. Nothing she did would ever make it better. She’d die too—either by Harding’s gas or some other horrible weapon he came up with. They’d all die. Every Shifter on this planet was doomed.
Cam pushed by him and ran out of the room. The tunnels felt claustrophobic and dark, like a prison cell. And it was. This is where her people had been relegated to. A place for rats and the unwanted fringes of society.
Griffin caught up with her, and she swung at him in an attempt to get away. He ducked and wrapped her up tight in his arms. She let out a shuddering cry and felt her heart rip open and spill out. She sobbed until her chest hurt. Griffin held her and whispered in her ear that it would be okay.
But he didn’t know it would be okay. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, any more than she did. She didn’t have any more tricks up her sleeve, no more luck left. She’d played herself out.
Griffin stroked her hair. “I promise you that I will do everything in my power to keep him alive.”
She appreciated his attempt to make her feel better, and tears pooled in her eyes. “Wishing doesn’t make it so, Griffin. If it did, I’d be with my family.”
“I guess we’ll have to do for now,” he said.
She leaned into him, letting him support her. It felt scary and good at the same time. She wanted to remind him that they were being hunted down, that the odds of any of them surviving were next to nothing. But he felt strong and safe, and for the moment, so did she.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
 
“I
am so not ready for this,” Ernest said, looking nervous—and, therefore, frighteningly dangerous—holding a rifle in his hands.
Griffin reached over and repositioned Ernest’s trigger finger. “Straight along the barrel until you need it, remember?”
“I’m going to kill somebody,” he murmured.
Cam said, “As long as you don’t aim it toward any of us.”
The three of them were huddled together along with six of Aristotle’s best men in the back of a delivery truck. Ernest had managed to locate an incoming shipment of supplies, and they’d nabbed the truck along its route. The driver was locked up safe underground.

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