Ghost Soldiers (38 page)

“I'll do one job for you,” he answered at last. “But I'll investigate your alphas on my own. If they're righteous, deal's off, even if you've held up your end. Also on the hit, you ride along.” He smiled without humor. “Just to avoid sparking off a war.”

“That's it? Nothing about ending our protection payments? No deal. A werewolf still paying off humans? You don't know what you just turned down.” Tyrell turned and began to walk away. Karl jerked his head, and Maria and Bailey started to climb into the car.

Tyrell wheeled back to them again, clearly annoyed. “All right, fine. Shit. We help you. You help us. You drive a hard fucking bargain.”

“You're bringing five werewolves,” Maria said. “Not the entire Chinese army. Don't get greedy.”

“Yeah, I'm always greedy when my furry ass is on the line.”

Karl kept his voice flat, inflectionless. “If you're lying about your alphas, I'll kill you instead.”

Tyrell smiled, but his eyes were like chips of onyx. Karl didn't particularly like that smile. “I guess we understand each other. When you need us?”

“Soon,” Karl replied. “We'll call you.” They exchanged cell numbers, and Tyrell walked off, not looking back, his head up and scanning the cars in the underground parking garage with restless predator eyes.

“You think he'll deliver?” Maria asked as they drove out of the parking garage.

“We'll see.”

“Better watch that guy. He talks that ghetto shit so people think he's stupid.”

Karl nodded, watching the skyscrapers loom over them as they drove north along Federal Street and cut over to Congress to head southeast again, back to the warehouse. Tyrell, with his street-thug smokescreen and Sun Tzu's
Art of War
quoting ways, might just turn out to be a formidable werewolf indeed.

Xiesha spoke from the backseat. “If you kill those two alphas and clear the way for him to seize power, it might start a war between the Blackstone Clan and us, especially if he uses us as a scapegoat to secure his powerbase.”

Maria nodded. “He'd be a fool not to try and play it that way.”

“None of it matters if we don't kill Cojocaru,” Karl said.

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Both Barrels

Twilight died into full night, violet to purple to black in a sky void of a single cloud. Three hours after sunset, and they were nearly ready. Almost time to lure Cojocaru and give him both barrels point-blank.

His clothes still stank of arc welding fumes and so did the warehouse where Xiesha had finished welding the caltrops—metal spikes designed to rip apart tires and pierce feet. She'd left some of them iron, others she'd dipped in molten silver, and scattered them across the flanking roads and access points. Karl had set out the pallet stacks and scrap metal over the propane tanks they'd been stealing from forklifts and storage depots since he'd laid out his attack plan. He had fifteen 43-pound tanks in all. Claymore mines would've been better, but they were short on explosives with no time to track down more. No rockets for the RPG launcher, down to one incendiary grenade and one concussion grenade, so it was time to improvise.

He was dressed for work, black fatigues, black long sleeve shirt and black combat boots. Shoulder holster, his SIG-Sauer P-226 9mm loaded with silver hollow points. He wore more webbing, rigged to hold extra clips and his silver knife—the one he'd used in the fight with Delgado. The knife sheath lay over his heart, hilt downward and strapped military-style, so he could reach up and easily draw the blade. Xiesha had modified the harness so he could carry Bailey's long sword on his back in a sheath she'd insulated with lead strips to reduce the burn of the silver's aura. He carried a lot of silver between the sword blade and all the ammunition. The feel of it buzzed in his mind without ceasing, an angry hornet hovering through all his thoughts.

Even worse than the grating hornet buzz was the dark miasma of shadow pulsing from the flintlock pistol in a sling holster by his side. Xiesha had loaded it at exactly noon, at the sun's zenith. The black pistol held its own breed of malevolent awareness, and had ever since he'd pried it from the severed fingers of a demon he'd killed in old town Porto in Portugal a long time ago. A weapon he thought Sorin Cojocaru might appreciate, right before he killed him with it.

He lifted a prepaid cell phone and speed-dialed Maria's prepaid cell. “What's your status?”

“We're setting down the last barricades and spikes,” she said. “On our way back in less than five.”

He disconnected. The barricades were nothing more than sawhorses they'd stolen and duct taped
Hazard No Entry
signs on. The plan was for Bailey and Maria to set out the barriers across the roads along with the ad hoc scrap metal caltrops in hopes of preventing some innocent human from wandering through their kill zone. He didn't want any civilian in the line of fire once things got hot and heavy. They'd have maybe ten to fifteen minutes or so of unrestrained full-bore combat before a police response. The caltrops would work as spike strips, preventing the cops from driving their cruisers in quickly. On the main street, they'd duct taped pipes and wiring together in a mock bomb—Bailey had even spray painted
BOMB!
on a plywood sign with a neon arrow, just in case some adrenalized rookie cop missed it. It would take more time to call in the bomb squad, and the longer he kept the humans away, the better the chance he could finish this without any of them dying.

“We should take our position.” Xiesha loaded silver slugs into her twelve gauge, racked the slide and loaded a final shell. “They'll be back soon.”

He looked at her. “What the hell are you wearing, Xie?”

“Since when did you care, oh Master of Monochrome?”

For some reason she'd left off with the Japanese themes—no more cherry blossoms on silk kimonos or Happi coats with
monsho
heraldic designs. She wore hiking boots, jeans and a brown poncho, something straight out of a Clint Eastwood movie. Her brown hair was drawn back in a tight braid. Two bandoliers full of shotgun shells crossed her chest. The only thing missing was a cowboy hat. He didn't want to give her any ideas.

He shook his head and dialed Tyrell's cell. “We're on the move. What's your status?”

The werewolf had come through with four other wolves as promised—his crew, he called them. All were of low rank in the Blackstone Clan, but they seemed loyal to Tyrell. Just how loyal remained to be seen.

Tyrell's voice came over the speaker, all business. “Spilling out all the oil—roofs and streets, like you said. On our way back soon.”

“Good.” He disconnected and glanced at Xiesha. “We always end up playing with fire.”

 

Maria raced along the narrow access road, past warehouses on one side, a fence topped in barbwire and the dark water of the harbor on the other. A glance in the rearview mirror showed her the barricade of sawhorses she'd just set up and the scattering of silvered-iron caltrops. The fake bomb rig, if it worked, would probably buy them the most time. After the attack on the containership, the harbor police had increased security and it wouldn't take long for cops to come running. She'd left only one street clear of barricades, but it was guarded by a spell matrix Xiesha had hidden in the concrete like a land mine. Their only escape route should things go bad.

“So what do you think?” Bailey bit at a claw tip.

“I think we should get back before they start the show without us.”

“No, about our chances. Can we win this?”

“Never underestimate the element of surprise. And never underestimate Karl.”

“Surprise?” Bailey shook her head. “They'll smell the oil and the propane. And we spelled out
bomb
in neon orange. They might still come, but I don't think they'll be
surprised
.”

Maria didn't bother to answer. She could see the back of their warehouse, and she parked next to Tyrell's Lincoln. The SUV smelled of wolves, a scent that flickered images in her mind of forests and rocky crags painted in moonlight. Alien landscape for an urban girl like her.

The plan was simple. Lure Cojocaru here, hammer him with an ambush, kill the fucker and scatter his lackeys. If things went to hell in a mini-cooler, they'd stage a fighting retreat to the warehouse and bug out. Either way, they'd burn down a chunk of the harbor tonight. Couldn't be helped. At least there were insurance companies.

“He's worried about us.” Bailey's eyes glowed a mellow red. “Worried about bringing you into this. He hides it, but I caught a glimpse in his mind when he let it slip.”

“You stay out of his mind or I'll break your fangs.”

“Jesus, Maria, I'm not trying to piss you off.”

“I'm
already
dealing with a third wheel with me, Xie and Karl, so I don't need to hear shit like that. Keep your mouth shut and do your job and maybe we can be best girlfriends forever later on. Right now, I'm ready to kick some ass and keep a list for posterity, so don't get in my fucking way. Understand me?”

Bailey's gaze hardened, and her eyes flashed a deeper red. Her spirit wolf, Smoke, growled from the backseat. Bailey gave her a cold smile. “Then let's go do it.”

Maria climbed out of the car, feeling the weight of the Glock 9mm in the shoulder holster Xiesha had rigged up for her. Feeling the unpleasant aura-hum of the brass core hollow-point silvered rounds inside the clip pulsing against her ribs. She leaned in and lifted out a classic little specimen from Karl's weapon collection—a Browning Automatic Rifle Xiesha had loaded with alternating silver-encased and incendiary .30-06 rounds. Serious fucking business.

She glanced at the cloudless sky. No moon. The occasional push of wind off the water. The far-off clang of buoy bells sang a haunting song over the slosh of the waves, the guttural rumble of ship engines and the distant whine of lifts and cranes. Sounds she'd grown used to hearing, but tonight they held an ominous, threatening cast.

She worked the rifle bolt and went to find Karl.

 

Karl turned as Maria and Bailey ducked out of the warehouse's half-open bay door. Maria carried the long BAR rifle in her hands, her skin very pale against her black clothes and her dark hair tied back from her face. Bailey followed behind in her white coat, short blue hair standing in ragged spikes, Dead Kennedys T-shirt, and holding a newly cut down Remington SPR double-barrel shotgun. Her coat pockets bulged with shells. Smoke walked silently by her side.

Maria stopped in front of him. “We're good to go. Barriers in place and traps are down.”

“Good.” He looked off toward the east warehouses where he'd positioned Tyrell and the wolves to hold the flank, set off that area's propane tanks and light the oil fires. If they held, then the plan was to have the werewolves flank Cojocaru's people and slam into them from the side or the rear, hopefully provoking a rout. Tactically simple, as far as it went, but once the bullets started flying and the claws were out, plans tended to fall apart in a swirling chaos of melee, confusion and fog of war.

And Karl planned to add fire to the whole mad endeavor. God be with them.

He caught sight of Tyrell moving along the roof of another warehouse, in human form, carrying his Tech 9 machine pistol. He had to stay unshifted so he could communicate with Karl, but another massive werewolf in wolfbreed form loped behind him.

He pulled his cell and called Tyrell. “What's your status?”

“The rest of my crew's in place,” Tyrell said. “Propane tanks set. We dumped all the flammable shit. I gotta say though, this fool walks into the middle of it, he deserves to fry.”

“Let me worry about that.” The goal of the fires and explosions was to force the enemy into the kill box. “Thirty seconds. Take your positions.”

“Aight, let's do this shit.”

Karl disconnected and glanced at Xiesha. “Set the last matrix.”

Xiesha walked forward and knelt, setting the 12 gauge down beside her. She began to whisper, words that slipped through his ears and into his mind and gone again like sleek gray fish. Her hands danced in a rapid series of contortions, almost a sign language. He could feel her feeding arc streams into the pavement, which glowed in a strange fractal pattern of purple and red light. The illumination shone against Xiesha's face and skin, making her seem bathed in the light of a liquid sunset.

“Done.” Xie stepped back from her work. The light had died and the design vanished, but he could sense it lingering like an echo of sound in an empty theater.

Maria walked up beside him. He shifted the flintlock pistol safely away from her. She saw the motion and frowned at the gun, then settled her free hand on his chest, loosely gripping his shirt. He leaned down and kissed her. Tasting her. Searing the feel and scent of her into his memory.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

He nodded, and she let go slowly, until she finally turned and walked toward her position without looking back.

Chapter Forty: Ignition

“Here in the heart of Hell to work in Fire…”

—Milton,
Paradise Lost

 

“Drop shields and light it up,” Karl said.

He felt it instantly, the sensation of Maria, Bailey and himself all fixed in three dimensional space, beacons of dark energy, flares that swallowed light instead of giving it off. It might be enough to attract Cojocaru's attention, especially if the sorcerer were searching for them. Still, he wasn't about to risk Cojocaru missing the bait.

Xiesha began her strange rapid sign language again. Energy gathered around her and a searing pulse of light burst from her and shot into the sky. He threw up a hand to shield his eyes from the glare. The light rose like a pure white spear tip, perhaps twenty feet wide, stretching fifty or sixty stories into the air, and it unfurled like a sail in a sudden gust of wind. A huge white bat-shape flared open for fifteen seconds and then vanished, leaving its brilliant afterimage fading in his eyes.