Synbat (23 page)

*Chapter 19*
_Thursday, 9 April_
_Chicago, Illinois_
_6:17 A.M._
Ken Bradley was enthused about the new job waiting for him in Atlanta. He'd been out of work now for two months and things were finally looking up. He was less than enthused about this last task he had to accomplish before he and his family hit the road. In his old Ford LTD he cruised the roads to the west of Soldiers' Field, crisscrossing the numerous railroad tracks that ran through there, looking for the right location.
Ken had tried, ever since getting the job, to find someone who would take his daughter's dog, Holly, but there wasn't much demand for an eighty-pound mixed-breed mutt with a half-chewed ear. They'd picked her up as a pup at the pound and Ken had wanted to take her there to be put to sleep. When news of that plan had been overheard by Kristen, she'd thrown the tantrum to end all tantrums. He'd promised not to do it.
Ken randomly took a back alley between several warehouses, until he was out of sight of the traffic on South Indiana Avenue. Then he stopped, got out of the car, and opened the back door. He unbuckled the dog's collar and threw the strap onto the front passenger seat.
"Come on, girl."
Holly eyed him warily and didn't move.
"Come on, you dumb mutt." Ken reached in, grabbed her front paws, and pulled, but eighty pounds of reluctant black Labrador and German Shepherd can be very difficult to remove from a backseat. Finally he resorted to climbing in behind her, putting his back to the other door, and pushing her butt with his feet. Acknowledging defeat, Holly leapt out the door and stood in the garbage-strewn alley looking up at him.
Ken slammed the door and got into the driver's seat. Holly stood expectantly just outside, nose pressed up against the glass. He turned the car around and headed for South Indiana. In the rearview mirror he could see Holly following.
"Damn," he muttered, pressing harder on the accelerator. Holly disappeared as he sped around the corner.
Just before reaching his house he rolled down his window and threw her collar onto the street. Now at least he could honestly tell his daughter that he hadn't put her dog to sleep. He'd make up some story about a family with their own little girl who wanted the dog.
In the alley, Holly finally stopped and looked around. The shadows beckoned darkly on all sides. She raised her head and cautiously smelled the air. With a low whimper, she slunk off into a small opening in the wall of an abandoned warehouse.
* * * *

6:30 A.M.

Chicago police officer Billy Shields was driving down I-90 watching the rush-hour traffic start to pile up when he spotted the horse rig stopped on the side of the road. Shields pulled past the rig, noting that the back doors of the trailer were open slightly. He parked in front of the truck, called in the stop to dispatch, and got out.
The driver's door was open. Shields stepped up and poked his head in. There was no sign of anyone in the cab. He wondered if it had broken down and the driver had walked to the next exit to get assistance. Shields walked around back, boots crunching in the gravel. He grabbed the back door and swung it open.
The officer had seen more than his share of wrecks, some where the victims had to be scraped off the road, but he'd never seen anything like this. Two men lay in the straw on the floor of the rig, bodies literally torn apart. One man was completely disemboweled, his guts strewn about like strands of spaghetti. The other's neck was almost completely severed, the head lying cocked at an impossible angle.
Shields had his gun in his hand, but he couldn't remember drawing it. He scanned the rest of the interior of the trailer, the muzzle tracking with his eyes. Nothing but bales of straw and horse feed. He hurried back to his patrol car, trying to keep his breakfast from coming back up.
* * * *

Land Between the Lakes

_7:24 A.M._
"We've got them!" General Trollers exclaimed as he read the fax. "A Chicago cop found a rig with two bodies in it. Two brothers who'd been attending the reenactment. Both bodies were badly torn up."
"Where?" General Williams asked.
"The south side of Chicago, parked on the side of an interstate." He grabbed an atlas and thumbed through it, an expectant crowd looking over his shoulder. "Damn, they sure made it a long way." His finger rested on a blown-up map of Chicago. "Here  --  just before I-90 crosses I-55."
"Any sign of the Synbats themselves?" Hossey asked.
"No. The locals are treating it like a double murder."
Riley thought of his own home in the Bronx. He looked up at Colonel Hossey. "They're in the city."
The tent went silent for a minute as everyone realized the implication of the Synbats loose in a heavily populated area.
Trollers turned to Colonel Lewis. "Let's get some aircraft moving. We can get there in a couple of hours."
"And then what, sir?"
Trollers blinked at Riley's blunt interruption. "What do you mean?"
"What are you going to do when you get there, sir? You've got an urban jungle to look in. The Synbats have thousands of places to hide and millions of people to feed on. We've tried everything to find these things so far  --  dogs, helicopters, thermal sights, Spectre, vehicles, traps  --  and nothing has worked. What makes you think any of that will work now?"
Trollers threw back the challenge. "What do you suggest? Just leave them alone and let the pods initiate?"
"No, sir. I suggest we alert the local authorities about what the threat really is. We can't afford to keep it secret any longer." Riley gestured about him. "If you think we had a high body count here in this park, wait until they have some time in the middle of Chicago."
"We can't alert the local authorities." Trollers's voice was firm.
"We can't afford not to," Riley shot back. "The Synbats will be spotted sooner or later. Hopefully sooner. The longer they're out there, the more they'll kill. And once the pods activate -- " Riley glanced at his watch -- "which is right about now, we'll never be sure we got them all."
"Alerting the locals is unacceptable. We'll go up there ourselves and try to contain the problem. We'll tie into the local media and law enforcement, and at the first sight of the Synbats, we'll federalize the whole case."
Colonel Hossey shook his head. "That's illegal. Hell, even what we did here in the park is illegal. The Posse Comitatus Act forbids the use of federal troops in domestic action unless directly authorized by the president."
Lewis looked at Hossey as if the colonel had grown another head. "Get with it, man. Do you know what will happen if word of the Synbat project is leaked to the public, or even to the military affairs subcommittee in Congress?"
Lewis pointed a thick finger at Riley and Merrit. "You get your butts on up to Chicago ASAP. I'll have papers and ID waiting for you when you land. I'll make sure your cover is good. We have plans for things like this."
* * * *

En Route to Chicago

_10:34 A.M._
The pilot had the throttle wide open and the Blackhawk was shuddering along at 175 miles an hour. Riley sat in the back, uncomfortable in the civilian clothing he had rapidly donned prior to takeoff. A second Blackhawk would follow them in thirty minutes carrying Lewis, and would link up with the head police representative in Chicago. Riley and Merrit were going directly to the horse trailer.
Riley glanced across at Merrit, sitting in the jump seat opposite him. She hadn't said a word since they'd taken off. Riley had been considering the information Westland had given him for the past hour, and he finally leaned forward to talk to Merrit. "Do you think we'll find them?"
"Chicago's a terrible place to find creatures that don't want to be found," she said. "I'm worried about what will happen when they need to feed not only themselves but the embryos that do survive." Merrit shook her head. "The local authorities and the media should be alerted."
Riley had already fought that battle and lost. "I've worked in the military long enough and been on enough classified missions to know that many times the desire for security overrides common sense. Trollers's number-one concern is that word of this project doesn't leak out. He's already got a pretty substantial body count and the only thing he seems worried about is how he's going to cover it up. Nothing you or I say is going to change him on that."
"You can't give up that easily," Merrit pressed.
"Hey, _I_ didn't create these things," Riley snapped. "And I'm not giving up. Why do you think I'm on this damn helicopter? I'm the garbageman who has to come around and clean up your mess. Two of my men have died so far doing that, and I don't want to lose any more. What do you want me to do? Go to the press? Walk up to whoever's meeting us in Chicago and say  --  'Well, hey, you've got three genetically designed killing machines loose in your city and they just had a whole bunch of babies'."
Riley paused and took a deep breath, trying to control the rage that was pulsing through his veins. "It really doesn't matter much anyway, does it? At the rate they went through people in Land Between the Lakes, I have a feeling that your Synbats are going to be front-page news rather quickly."
Merrit's eyes flashed at Riley's last sentence. "They're not _mine!_"
"Hey, you made them," Riley pressed, watching her carefully.
"I was wrong to go along with what they wanted." She began to cry. "I'll pay for it. I will pay for it."
"Hey," Riley said, grabbing her shoulder. "Take it easy. We'll get them."
"It's already too late," she said, the words blown away by the whine of the turbine engines.
Riley leaned back in the web seat and rubbed his eyes. He was tired and troubled, not only about what had happened and was going to happen, but about deeper issues.
"We'll be landing in two minutes," the pilot announced over the intercom.
Riley shook his head and looked out the window. The skyscrapers of downtown Chicago loomed to the immediate north. Urban sprawl extended as far as the eye could see. Somewhere out there were the Synbats. They could be anywhere.
A police officer stood in the parking lot, directing them down. Riley could see several police cars parked around a semi with a trailer. The pilot landed on the indicated spot.
Riley leaned over and grabbed Merrit, rousing her. "Let's go!"
She looked out the door and didn't move.
"Come on," Riley yelled. "Let's move it."
She slowly got to her feet and followed him off the aircraft.
A hard-looking man with a high and tight haircut and wearing a rumpled suit was waiting for them. "I'm Sergeant Scott."
Riley extended his hand. "Special Agent Riley, and this is Doctor Merrit."
Scott nodded. "The lieutenant's waiting for you by the trailer."
"I thought it was found next to the interstate," Riley commented as they walked over.
Scott laughed. "Yeah, it was, but we had to move it. You fuck with rush-hour traffic, you fuck with the city. We towed it over here. We got photos, and forensics went all over the site, so don't sweat it. The lieutenant can show you all that stuff."
As they approached the rear of the trailer, a short, slender woman stepped out of the back. She had black hair, cut tight against her skull. She wore gray slacks, flat shoes, and a sleeveless blouse that showed off the olive skin of her arms. She reminded Riley of the girls who used to hang out behind his high school in the South Bronx and smoke cigarettes. She was as dark skinned as he was, and her face crinkled up as she came out into the bright sunlight. She eyed Riley and Merrit with little pleasure.
"You the feds?"
Riley pulled out the ID the pilot of the chopper had given him, identifying him as a special agent of the FBI. "Agent Riley. This is Doctor Merrit. She works with my team."
The woman didn't offer her hand. "I'm Lieutenant Giannini, Chicago homicide. This is a real pile of shit."
Riley stepped up next to her. "Can I take a look?"
Giannini shrugged. "Yeah. I wouldn't take the doc in, though, unless she's got a strong stomach." She pointed at a black van with Coroner stenciled on the side. "I gotta move the bodies soon. Would've had them outta here by now if the chief hadn't called and said you were coming."
They ignored Giannini's comment and climbed into the back of the trailer. Riley took in the bloody scene. He glanced at Merrit; she seemed detached, gazing at the bodies without expression. He walked through the trailer, noting the droppings near the front end among the straw. The Synbats must have ridden up there, hidden in the bales. No sign of the backpacks  --  not that Riley had expected to find them. Something had caused the two men to stop and open up the back. Had they heard something, or seen something in the rearview mirror? Maybe they spotted the Synbats trying to get out.
Riley hoped that the Chicago Police Department would assume that the feces were from horses and not investigate too thoroughly. He kicked some straw over the pile with his foot before he went out the back to rejoin the female detective. "You find anything in there?"
Giannini shook her head. "Just the two stiffs." She flipped open a notebook. "Wallets ID them as Jeremiah and Louis Sattler. The rig is Louis's." She closed the book. "The chief said you have some idea who did this and that I'm to cooperate with you." Her shoulders squared up and she looked Riley in the eye. "So what do you have, and why are the feds taking this over?"
"I work with the bureau's serial-killer task force. We've been tracking two men who we believe are responsible for some killings down in Tennessee. We think these two might have hitched a ride in this trailer and come up here."
Giannini reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. She popped two pieces in her mouth without offering any. "Quit smoking last week. It helps a little." She chomped on her gum for a few seconds. "All right. What about you, Doc? What do you do for a living?"
Merrit turned slowly and looked at the police officer. "I work with Agent Riley. I do psychological profiles on killers."
"A shrink," Giannini nodded. "OK. Well, it don't matter much to me. The chief said this is your case now. I'd prefer not to have any of the citizens of my city killed, so I'll help you as much as I can. What now?"
Riley looked around. "Where was the truck found?"
"I'll take you there." Giannini gave some orders to a few uniformed cops and then led the way to an unmarked car. Riley got in the passenger side and Merrit sat in the back.
"These two guys  --  they must be pretty damn mean. I've seen some fucked-up bodies, but these about take the cake." Giannini glanced over her shoulder at Merrit. "I hope my language doesn't offend you, Doc."
Merrit appeared not to have noticed.
"Well, anyway, the weird thing is, are these guys cannibals or what? I mean those poor stiffs in there were missing some flesh."
Riley nodded as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Our suspects have done the same thing before to other bodies."
"Uh-huh." Giannini roared down the on ramp to the freeway and expertly cut her way through traffic then she clamped a small blue bubble onto the roof and pulled off the highway. "This is it. The truck was parked off the road right here."
Riley got out of the car and looked around. Buildings pressed up on all sides of the highway. "Do you have an estimate on time of death?"
Giannini watched the cars speeding by. "Rough guess is about an hour before the bodies were found. The coroner might be able to give us a little more accurate time." She popped her gum. "Hell, your suspects might've hitched another ride and be in another state by now."
Riley thought about the backpacks and the thousands of hiding places in the city, along with the ready supply of food. "No. They're here."
Giannini frowned. "How do you know that?"
"I can feel it." The words were out before he realized what he'd said.
Giannini looked at him closely. "A fed with feelings. That's a new one on me."
Riley ignored the comment. "Let's drive around a little."
They got back in the car, and Giannini took them off the interstate and cruised the surrounding neighborhoods. With a sinking feeling Riley took in the vast number of abandoned buildings and warehouses.
"What are you looking for?" Giannini asked.
"Just taking a look," Riley replied. "I've never been here before."
"You sound like you're from New York," Giannini noted.
"Yeah. The Bronx," Riley replied, his eyes flickering over the neighborhoods as they drove through.
"You Italian?" the detective asked.
"No. Irish and Puerto Rican."
"Hmm" was Giannini's only comment.
"What's that over there?" They had almost forgotten that Merrit was in the backseat. She pointed between the two of them.
"That's Soldiers' Field, where the Bears play," Giannini told her.
"The bears?"
Giannini looked at Riley with a raised eyebrow as she turned the corner and headed toward the large stadium.
"A professional football team," Riley explained.
"Stop here," Merrit said. Giannini stopped the patrol car at the start of an overpass that crossed a Gordian knot of railroad tracks running next to the stadium. A park stretched out on the far side of the overpass, leading to Lake Michigan. The landscape was well groomed and Riley doubted that the Synbats would be able to stay hidden long in there, although it was the only open area he'd seen since landing.
"What about the park?" Merrit asked, her thoughts obviously echoing his own.
Riley winced as Giannini swung her head from Merrit to him. "You think two nutcases would try to hide out in the park after slashing a couple of people?"
"They like nature," Riley explained lamely. "But you're right. They wouldn't go in there."
"Why are you so sure they haven't moved on? You said they moved here from Tennessee. Seems to me they'd be used to moving, and if they got any brains at all they wouldn't want to hang around here."
"Maybe they have," Riley said wearily. He was tired of playing games. He needed to dump the cop  --  she was asking too many questions. "Let's go to your headquarters. My boss should have arrived by now."
Giannini pulled a tire-squealing U-turn. The rest of the drive was made in silence.
Colonel Lewis was waiting in the police chief's office, neatly attired in a three-piece suit. He had been wooing the police chief and making sure that all information on the killings was kept from the media. The chief was more than happy to have the case taken off his already overburdened officers. A gone file was a cleared file.
"Anything you need, we'll be glad to give you a hand," the chief said as the meeting broke up. "I'm assigning Lieutenant Giannini full time to be your liaison. You tell her what you want and she'll get it for you."
Riley glanced sideways at the detective and saw her jaw set in a tight line. Lewis gave Riley directions to the safe house he'd established in the city, then Lewis took Merrit with him, leaving Riley with the detective to give her the list of information they required. Giannini led the way to a small cubicle that was piled high with file folders.
"Grab a seat," she said as she slumped down behind her desk. She sat there for a long minute, her dark eyes quietly assessing Riley, then she grabbed a notepad and pen. "All right. Give me the laundry list of what you want. Your boss must have some pull to get the chief to be so cooperative."
Riley had been thinking about what he needed the entire time they were in the car. "We need to know about any killings, particularly if the circumstances are similar to what we had in the horse rig  --  mutilated bodies and all that."
"Of course," Giannini replied, making a note.
Riley ignored her sarcastic tone. "I'll be by twice a day to get all this stuff. We also need to know about missing persons, broken down by areas last seen."
Giannini frowned. "That won't be easy. People have to be missing for forty-eight hours before we list them officially. By then it's usually 'cause they don't come home and someone reports them, so it ain't like we got this long list of where they were last."
Forty-eight hours. Riley cursed silently. That was a dead end. "All right. We also need to know if anybody reports seeing something strange."
"Something strange." Giannini put down the notepad. She didn't bother masking her tone anymore. "Like what strange? This is Chicago, for chrissake. There's always something strange going on."
"These two guys were last seen wearing animal skins  --  fur and all that," Riley explained lamely. "If someone reports something like, say, a werewolf or something, I need to know ASAP."

"A _werewolf?_" Giannini took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling for half a minute. "All right, Agent Riley. Why don't you level with me? Who the hell are you? You're not FBI, that's for damn sure. They always wear three-piece suits and carry clipboards. And even _they_ know that missing persons reports are forty-eight hours old. No disrespect intended, but you don't know diddly about law enforcement. And you don't know diddly about Chicago. I can't help you if you don't help me."
Riley continued, ignoring the questions. "The fugitives will probably come out of hiding at night, if they come out at all. They won't be going to motels or bars or any of that  --  they don't like people much." He met her glare. "That's the kind of strange I'm talking about."
Giannini's lips were pursed together and her voice dropped the temperature in the room. "All right. Strange. You got it. Anything else?"
Riley stood. "No." He handed her the card that Lewis had given him. "This is my number. Call me if anything happens."
"Uh-huh."
* * * *