Hunting Will (6 page)

Aramis glanced up from the book he was perusing. “What language is
that
?” he asked.

Porthos finished chewing and swallowed. “Where’s my cloak? I’m not leaving without it.”

Aramis sighed. “Really? Why do you insist on wearing that thing? It’s so… many, many centuries out of style.” He donned his top hat, grabbed his book, and stood to leave.

Porthos sniffed. “It’s a practical garment for protecting against the elements and concealing my handsome face from the masses, unlike an attention-gathering old silk top hat. You don’t want us being recognized, do you, snowman?”

Aramis wrinkled his face. “Snowman?”

Porthos shook his head. “One day, you will learn to appreciate the amusement and entertainment value of the humans. Ask Athos. I’m certain
he’s
read the human book that gave us our names.”

Athos, who was still seated and marking down the exact coordinates tracked by Porthos, did not look up. “I seem to have misplaced it.”

Porthos raised his arms in exasperation. “Where did you have it last?”

“Near a large trash incinerator.”

“Pearls before swine,” Porthos muttered. “I’ll see you uncultured rubes at the ship.” He vanished.

Ten minutes later, the aircraft hurtled down the runway, carrying the three Hunters toward their target.

●●●●●

The sleek aircraft blistered through the sky, traveling at the speed of sound, racing toward their destination. They normally didn’t use high speed craft for Hunts, but with the accelerated pace The Leader had set they needed to reduce travel time.

Porthos, who had donned his beloved cloak and wore it with the large hood down, tested the leather chair. “I could get used to traveling like this. In spite of the company.” He reclined it back into a sleeping position, sighing with deep contentment.

“I’ve identified the charges as including the first two Oaths, four laws — most notably, that no Aliomenti are to remove their biometric implants — and several rules around being absent without permission from work. We’re looking at about forty-four years total in confinement. I don’t think Clint’s going to be happy to see us.”

“None of them ever are,” Porthos replied. He kicked off his boots and wriggled his toes.

“Porthos will need the list in hand before we land, so that he’s prepared to do his reading and I can do mine,” Athos said. Athos was able to divine the truth of any question posed to a person; he’d know if someone was lying even if they themselves did not. His talent probed the memories of their very cells, which could not be erased, modified, or hidden. They referred to his skill as Reading, for he could read the truth in anyone, regardless of the depths to which they’d gone to conceal it. As such, Athos’ proclamations were considered inviolate documentation of guilt. “Are you ready to go? Clint’s no Will Stark, but he’s a reasonably senior Aliomenti.”

Aramis scoffed. “After dealing with Stark, nothing else worries me.”

Athos nodded. “Good. We need to figure out where this man is hiding, and ascertain who may know the truth about him, or who may have learned about us through his intentional or accidental revelations. Computer, hologram screen. Display property transactions.”

A screen formed in front of them, displaying a list of buyers and sellers of property in a ten-mile radius around the target zone. Aramis put on his unneeded glasses and Porthos sat back up in his chair to look as Athos discussed the particulars of Clint’s case. “Given the circumstances, he’s going to want to be as hidden and isolated as possible, and involve few outsiders. That means he’s likely to be someone who paid cash for any property he lives in. Aliomenti bank records show he withdrew approximately one million United States dollars in the six months preceding his ‘vacation,’ which according to local real estate listings can procure a large amount of property in the target locale. I’d suspect we’re looking for large acreage, an isolated location, and a cash transaction.”

Aramis sighed. “Athos, if you’ve already figured out where he is, then just show us and stop the games.”

Athos scowled. “Fine, spoil sport. Computer, display the target’s property, please.”

The holographic screen displayed a large home, isolated from neighbors on all sides by large fields of swaying grasses and clumps of tall trees. The home looked to be well-maintained. Though the image had been taken at night, the property was well-lit both outside and inside, with many cars on the outside of the house. It appeared that their rogue Aliomenti, Clint, wanted to have privacy, but wasn’t against entertaining large crowds if the mood struck.

Porthos looked at Athos. “The Leader mentioned some indication that our friend Clint had been supplying humans with some of our medical advances. Do we have any further information on that?”

Athos nodded, and Aramis suddenly perked up, flipping his rule book open. “There are indications that he’s used Aliomenti healing techniques on a young woman. Supposedly he’s told her to keep quiet… but we heard about it anyway. At present, though, it’s likely that the humans hearing of his… talents from her think she’s exaggerating. Still, The Leader indicated sufficient concern that he’s dispatched The Assassin on a separate flight. Apparently our
next
three missions are simple desertions with no human interaction, so our red-eyed friend can take his time.”

Aramis shivered, and Porthos grimaced. “That guy gives me the creeps. And I didn’t know he
had
friends. Come to think of it, Athos, I didn’t know that
you
had any friends either.”

Athos sent a withering gaze the way of the man in the cloak, but Porthos ignored it. “In any event, we need to go at a more accelerated pace. Porthos, you’ll need to do your usual information gathering with the locals. I’ll gather floor plans of the house. Aramis, you look for any news or gossip stories about a local woman who experienced some type of medical miracle in a mysterious fashion. If you find such stories, make sure nobody
else
ever does. Both of you need to be alert for the woman’s name and description. The Assassin will require that information to do his work.”

Porthos opened his mouth to speak, and Athos held up his hand. “No, you may not ask the soon-to-be-deceased on a date. And no, nobody else either. We need to be flying out of here no later than tomorrow night; The Leader has set us on an aggressive Hunting schedule.”

Porthos looked crestfallen. “I can’t believe it. I could have told her it would be the best time she’d have the rest of her life. When will I
ever
get the chance to use that line again?”

●●●●●

Clint Jones, the rogue Aliomenti who was the subject of the present Hunt, had purchased the large house and surrounding property for cash a year earlier, just as Athos had predicted. The house had been built in the nineteenth century, and the floor plan provided exactly what he wanted in a home. With wide, open staircases, ten foot ceilings, and ornate woodwork throughout, it provided ample space for his frequent social gatherings, and the vast surrounding grounds provided privacy for his continued practice and development of his Aliomenti abilities. He could practice without detection by anyone.

Or so he thought.

The Hunters had assembled in a hotel room three miles from Clint’s house to discuss the plan for the fugitive’s capture. The plan was straightforward. Maneuver the target into an area where humans were gathered in abundant numbers, preventing the target from using Aliomenti abilities to escape. All Aliomenti, rogue or otherwise, knew the importance of avoiding attention. Even Will Stark, the greatest rule-breaker of them all, would not practice skills such as teleportation in the presence of humans. Once the target was trapped, Aramis would apply his Damper to eliminate the possibility that a desperate fugitive might attempt to escape in non-human fashion. The suspect would be walked away from the human crowds to an isolated area.

Porthos would then recite the list of charges prepared by Aramis, which would stir memories of guilt or innocence at a cellular level that Athos could Read, and Athos would pronounce judgment. Porthos would record guilt or innocence at each pronouncement. The trio would escort the Hunt’s target into the Aliomenti-designed aircraft used to travel to retrieve the subject. The guilty party would be stowed in a waiting containment cell with full dampering. The Hunters and aircraft would return with the prisoner to Headquarters for a formal proclamation of guilt and the issuing of a sentence by The Leader. At that point, the guilty party would find their cell permanently installed in the prison wing buried deep under the massive Headquarters building, until their prison term was up.

If they recanted and repented for their errors, they’d be allowed out. If not, the cell would become their permanent home.

In their respective quests, The Hunters learned that Clint’s home had two entrances, and that no one person could watch both at the same time. That meant that if Clint was inside, he wouldn’t personally be able to watch both entrances for a possible appearance by the Hunters. The trio could go in through both entrances, and at least one of them would get in undetected.

Aramis’ research had turned up columns regarding the medical story of a young woman named Eva Elizabeth Lowell who had been diagnosed with an incurable form of cancer a year ago, and who had been resigned to her fate. However, doctors reported the cancer had vanished, and the woman was suddenly in perfect health. Reports were that the woman, who had fully expected to die in mere months, was struggling to adjust to her new reality of living. Further research turned up a photo of the woman, a woman of above-average height with platinum-blonde hair (”She’s off limits to you, Aramis,” Porthos had snickered. “The hair means she could be your sister!”) who appeared to be in her late twenties.

Armed with this information, Porthos had set off into the more populated and traveled areas in the region. He came home with a good deal of useful information — and several bottles of premium bourbon. “Straight from the source!” he said. “We’ll use this for our post-Hunt celebration during the flight home. Maybe we can get our friend Clint drinking heavily and Aramis can sit this one out.”

Aramis looked scandalized. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m just looking out for you, old man. You still look rather wan from the encounter with Stark, so I figured that if you could rest up a bit longer…”

Aramis frowned. “Who uses ‘wan’ in a sentence?”

“Too many letters for you?”

Athos sighed. “Did you find anything helpful, Porthos?”

“Yes. Our friend is having a party this evening. A costume party, to be precise. It’s Halloween, you know.”

Aramis glanced at him. “And… is that supposed to mean something?”

“It’s a day when humans dress up in scary costumes and walk around to each others’ houses and collect candy. I didn’t pack a costume, but the two of you look scary enough without doing anything special. The costumes should help us… if we use masks, nobody will be able to identify our faces later.”

Athos nodded, ignoring the jibe. “If it’s a large party, we’ll be able to get inside without incident, and Aramis can likely take a walk outside with his old friend. Once we’re outside the house with him, we have options.”

“We need to be careful, though,” Aramis cautioned. “Even if we get him outside the house, there aren’t any truly secluded spots nearby where we can teleport him away, or park the transport.”

Athos nodded. “Porthos, how long do such parties last?”

“A good party
never
ends, Athos. But more than likely it will run until the early morning hours, perhaps two in the morning.”

“Aramis, do you have the sleep inducer? Preferably the type that kicks in after a few hours?”

Aramis nodded. “The transport craft is well-stocked, especially since the formula proved useful against Stark – well, at least temporarily. We won’t run out again any time soon.”

“Then that’s the plan. We’ll join the party, each armed with a mini-syringe. Walk in, say hello to a few people without any lasting conversations — no matter how attractive she might be, Porthos — and find Clint. Jab him and walk away. If the house is crowded, it should be fairly easy to get close enough without anyone noticing we’re up to something. We need to use the smaller syringes as the larger ones would be noticed. When we’ve all finished, we should have a sufficient amount of serum in Clint to knock him out later. We can come back and collect him when the crowds have left.”

The others nodded. “Boring, but effective,” Aramis said.

“And what happens if things… go wrong?” Porthos asked.

“Standard pursuit. If the dosage is perchance ineffective, then we’ll have the darkness and isolation of his home to use against him.” He looked at Porthos. “Anything new on the woman?”

“Outside the fact that’s she’s gorgeous? Not really. The gossip I managed to tease out of the humans suggests she’d mentally accepted dying, and that her recovery was something she had neither wanted nor asked for. She knows who did it, though. There were a few murmurs about her dating our friend Clint for a time, but it’s moved to the ‘just friends’ stage now. It’s still likely she’ll be at the party, though probably without a date. Such a shame. Speaking of humans needing to die, where’s our Assassin?”