Miles shook his head, “There’s still the issue of how we’re going to lynch him out into the lake. We’d need a tugboat or something to provide enough pulling force to move him into deep enough water.”
I smirked, “I’ve actually got a solution to that. We use the retired North Point Marina safe house.[112] Once Voigt’s there we can just drive the boat out to the lake while Larsson keeps him distracted.”
Miles' eyes lit up, “Ooo, that’ll work. Plus, it’s just a matter of tipping him then and letting his increased biomass and density follow nature’s course.”
Increased bio….? That explained so much about Voigt, I nearly hit myself for not figuring that out sooner. Given McCoy and Larsson’s profoundly confused looks, I probably could’ve gotten away with a facepalm. Instead, I settled for a groan of comprehension. As I considered all the implications of that revelation. It probably was why he didn’t run, that much mass falling over would be probably very dangerous for his well-being.[113]
“Huh?” McCoy asked, cutting off my thoughts.
Miles looked sheepish, “Oh, I thought everyone figured that out. When he eats people, it adds to his own biomass. That’s why he’s been denting floors and causing cracks in the concrete wherever he goes. I think that it also explains his abilities. Or at least the non-werewolf ones. Instantaneous regeneration, exceptional strength, resistance to bullets, and….”
I put my hand up towards Miles to stop him, before he went on all hour. “We get the picture.”
“Do we think he acquires the weaknesses of what he eats?” Larsson cut in.
There was a collective look around the room while we all considered it. We had no precedent to work off of here and Joe’s words were too cryptic to give us a clear direction. I didn’t know what to say, and given Miles and McCoy’s faces they didn’t either.
“Put that down as a maybe then?” McCoy eventually suggested.
I made a note and then looked at the scratched and marked pad, “I think that’s about everything I can think of, minus the fact that I’m not sure how to make sure Voigt hears about Larsson and me on a boat.”
McCoy’s smile turned so wolfish I thought that she had been infected and turned into a werewolf. “Actually, about that. I think I have an answer. Something’s been bothering me for a while that might let us kill two birds with one stone.”
I let out an exasperated sigh, “Oh? Don’t we have enough on our plate?”
“Oh, shush,” she playfully admonished me before turning serious. “So, when you were in the hospital, the only people that knew we were there originally were Cross and me. We told the MCD, but no one else.”
The pain in my temples intensified as the paranoia came back in full force. As much as I wanted to dismiss this out of hand, I couldn’t. Just because it sounded crazy, didn’t mean it was wrong. “Could’ve been one of the nurses or someone like that,” I offered cautiously.
McCoy shook her head, “Maybe, but then I realized that there was also no real way for the werewolves to have found us at the fairgrounds.”
I wanted to say they could’ve been following us, but there was no way I would’ve missed a car trailing behind us on 94 for the hours it took us to get to Racine and had to concede that point and the inevitable conclusion. “There’s an information leak at the MCD?”
McCoy smiled wickedly, “And I think I know where it is too.”
✽✽✽
The conference room at the Chicago Office was in disarray. The table sat on its side and the chairs were all askew in the center of the chaos sat Jacob Danvers and a dismantled desk phone. He smiled widely at McCoy and me when we walked in, holding up a small wire and microchip.
“Found it!” he proclaimed looking very proud of himself.
McCoy scowled at him, “Weren’t you supposed to do so that the person on the other end didn’t know we had figured out there was a bug? Doesn’t yelling defeat that purpose?”
Jacob waved dismissively at her,[114] “Once I figured out what frequency it was broadcasting on it was simple to set up another signal broadcasting on the same frequency. I’ve got a loop of ambient office noises set up in my office to broadcast. There’s no chance of getting caught until we’re ready.”
I focused on the more practical reality, “Any idea how this got here?”
Jacob shrugged and waved to his laptop, “I’m not sure. I’ve been through the entrance and exit cameras for the past three months, and no sign of anyone not expected entering or leaving. Still, based on where it was, they’d need a few minutes to get into the internal workings of the phone and enough know how to do that. And given we haven’t gotten any false signals or static, they’re pretty deft on the installation.”
I sighed, “Which means that either it's someone with access who’s on the take or someone that can bypass the cameras.[115] Hell, given that Voigt can fade, might even be him.” I personally didn’t think that one likely, due to Voigt’s lack of restraint and general lack of subtlety, but I figured I should at least consider the possibility given his degree in Electrical Engineering.
McCoy shook her head, “Neither seem good, but one issue at a time.”
I nodded solemnly, filling a potential mole away as a tomorrow problem. “Right, so what’s the broadcast range?”
Jacob gave it a once over considering the object carefully, “Can’t be more than twenty-two-hundred feet before there’s a receiver or relay point. I’d guess a relay point where it’s rebroadcasting in some manner for safety concerns. I’ll work on something to locate that once I put the room back together.”
I nodded again, “Fair enough. Now just to get Slate to approve the plan.”
“What plan?” came Slate’s voice behind me.
I jumped a bit, before slowly turning around. The thin wooden door was replaced by the wall of meat that was Slate, frowning at the mess that had replaced his conference room. I felt Jacob reposition himself so he was slightly behind me. I didn’t blame him, but it certainly made the uncomfortable situation more pointed.
McCoy stepped forward, taking point. “Well, our plan to catch Voigt,” she stated in what seemed to be a confident tone. How she managed that, I don’t know.
Slate eyed the room carefully, “And that involved trashing the conference room.”
McCoy turned and snatched the bug out of Jacob’s hands presenting it to Slate, “Not quite sir. Sorry we didn’t loop you in sooner, but we needed to make sure that in house matters were dealt with first. Seems we’ve been bugged.”
Slate stared right through me at Jacob, “Danvers, are you sure the room is secure?”
“Uh, yes sir. As confident as I can be at least,” Jacob haltingly replied.
Slate nodded, pulled the door shut, and locked it. With a low rumble he ordered more than asked, “Why don’t you catch me up.”
And so, we caught Slate up on everything that had happened since Monday. And while he knew most of it, this was less about filling the gaps and more about explaining the chains of logic that had brought us to dismantling the conference room phone. When we were done, Slate looked us over and asked a single question.
“And where is the werewolf Larsson now?”
“Secure in a holding cell downstairs,” I responded, “She wouldn’t come peacefully if we didn’t at least put on the show of arresting her.”
There was a solemn nod before Slate sighed and sat down in one of the swivel chairs. It was the closest thing to an emotion I had ever seen from the man. We waited for whatever was coming next, be it reprimanding or clearance to go on with our crazy plan.
Hands folded and resting on his leg, Slate began to talk, “I want you to understand that this is going to be a bureaucratic nightmare.”
“Sir?” McCoy and I asked.
Undaunted he continued forward, “In a sane and rational world, we would call in backup from other departments in other states. People so far removed from the situation; they couldn’t leak information in a meaningful way. We’d have
an IA investigation. You’d have back up, support, and I’d be pulling every favor and string I could to get you enough firepower that Voigt couldn’t pose a credible threat to society or the people tasked with bringing him in.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, we do not live in a sane and rational world.”
I wanted to comment, or make a joke, but there was too much solemnity to the moment.
He sighed again, “So, I’m going to do the insane thing and give you everything I can to make this plan work.”
“Thank you, sir,” I responded automatically, a smile starting to bloom.
He cast a meaningful glance at me which had that smile retreating faster than I care to admit.
“You’ll be taking Carlson with you,” he stated matter of factly.
I was too cowed to comment, but McCoy wasn’t. “Sir?” she asked.
The glance shifted to her and she stepped back slightly. Satisfied, he explained his logic
“I wouldn’t risk him trying to grapple Voigt, but he’s got the strength to back him up if you can’t do it telekinetically and can haul around the harpoon and wire you’ll need. Plus, I’m positive he’s not our mole.”
There was a pause there, where he expected us to ask questions and neither of us had the confidence to do so. Eventually, he tilted his head towards me, giving me permission to speak.
“And how do you know that sir?”
“Discounting my personal opinions,” he stated raising his hand to start ticking off points, “He’s routinely out of the office which makes him a poor choice for a mole, the mole would want to have as much access to information as possible. Given his tendency to only be in the office around other people makes it exceptionally difficult for him to have planted the bug. While Chalmers and Brooks have been reporting back in, Carlson hasn’t been in the office at all since the team meeting and given the time frame didn’t know about your hospitalization until after Voigt had already shown up. Need I go on?”
Truthfully, I trusted, or was afraid of, Slate enough to have let it go at he had personal opinions, but the list of reasons didn’t hurt. It wasn’t airtight, but good enough for me. I nodded, mollified.
“Good,” he said before reaching into his pocket to produce a pad of paper and pen. He quickly scrawled on the paper before tearing it off and handing it to me. “Go to this address for your supplies. Carlson will meet you there.”
With that, he stood and left us there.
“Well,” McCoy said moving towards the door herself, “No time like the present.”
Chapter 20
Best Laid Plans
The next evening found us holed up inside the safe house waiting to ambush Voigt. Well, waiting might be the wrong word. It had been seven hours since we had set up and five since Ipsen’s arrest and the leaked information. We were starting to get restless and were killing time.
The boat gently rocked underneath me as I checked my phone for the twenty-third time, looking to see if Voigt or the werewolves had raided the Dirksen building or the Cook County Jail looking to grab Ipsen. It was unlikely, given that Voigt seemed to have some semblance of self-preservation and the werewolves would have to go through Walker territory to do so, but possible.
At the table sat McCoy who was cleaning her secondary shotgun and preparing for the coming battle. If it wasn’t a spare weapon, I might’ve critiqued her choice of calming hobbies as leaving her unprepared for when shit actually hit the fan.
Nearby was Larsson, who was sitting in a meditative position, but fidgeting. She had spent the day alternating between meditating and eating. The small cooler she had brought had at one point been stocked with smoked fish, boiled eggs, and other high calorie food, but it was mostly gone at this point.
Over the radio, Trevor Carlson’s raspy voice came in a low growl, “Minus the frat party five boats down, coast is clear. Tell me again why we aren’t getting the Navy Boys to help like they did at Lovell? Over.” He and Miles had drawn the short straws and were in an overwatch position, covering us with Miles’ small armory and the harpoon gun that Slate had provided.[116] Thin as we were on people, I was grateful to have Miles above. He was a good enough shot that I trusted him to do his job, but curious enough that having him in the boathouse asking Larsson his gamut of questions would have worn my nerves far thinner than they already were.
McCoy got to the radio first, “Because Slate’s ass is already in the fire for that stunt and we don’t want to scare Voigt off. The Navy isn’t subtle. Over.”
There was a burst of static, and then a groan, presumably from Carlson. I fired back, angrier than I probably should have been, “Keep your opinions to yourself Carlson and maintain radio discipline. We know Voigt can mess with electronics and don’t want to expose ourselves to that. Over.”
They were probably just as bored as us, though at least they had a view to keep them entertained and were outside where the temperature was surprisingly reasonable for late August. The issue was that the houseboat didn’t have an AC unit and the windows didn’t open enough to allow air flow or heat exchange at a reasonable rate turning the safe house into a safe oven. Honestly, that was probably a notable contributing factor to my temper.
McCoy shook her head, “Why did we have to bring him again?”
I avoided the bevy of logical reasons to commiserate with her for a moment, “Because Slate’s a prick who said so.” McCoy smiled at that as she moved from wiping to reassembling her shotgun.
Larsson chuckled from her lotus pose, “I should be filming this.”
There was a pair of glares shot in her direction. “Oh?” I managed.
She nodded without opening her eyes, “Yes. Show it to the pack and humanize you all. Prove you aren’t just mindless drones looking for excuses to kill us all.”
That, that was almost a sweet sentiment.
“Seems San Antonio cut both ways,” McCoy commented, calming down.
Without any real words to say, I grunted affirmatively and strolled over to the curtains, peeking outside for nominal security reasons. Really, it was to give me something to do that wasn’t just sitting and waiting. Laughter and bad part music wafted towards me from the party. I wasn’t sure if they were waiting for someone or were too sauced to leave the port, but the fact they were still here was a mite concerning. Part of me still wanted to clear them out so they wouldn’t get caught in a crossfire, but McCoy had made a good point that an empty dock would be almost too suspicious. So, we left them be.
“It did,” Larsson agreed, “Having a prominent member of your society killed over what was a miscommunication. SWAT had no reason to kick in his door, he had every reason to protest being arrested, and for that they shot him. And when he defensively shifted, it was used to justify the entire act and sweep it away. There was no justice for Miguel Hosand. It’s enough to make people scared. Make them angry.” She opened her eyes, sorrow heavy in them, “Make them stupid. A bad combination for anyone, let alone a group with hardwired anger and impulse control issues.”
“Never thought of it like that,” I confessed, turning from the window. “It’s… humanizing? Is that the right word?”
“Humanizing,” Larsson said with a laugh, closing her eyes and returning to meditations “will work. At least around me. Some werewolves will find the word demeaning. I can see the point, but I don’t have a better alternative.” There was a pause where she shifted her legs before continuing dryly. “Personizing just sounds wrong and personified would probably just make people confused.”
We all laughed at that. McCoy went to continue the conversation, but I ignored her, focusing on the radio which was buzzing with static again. Angrily, I clicked the coms on, “Could you please stay off the radio Carlson! Over.”
There was a pregnant pause before Miles, who was sitting next to Carlson, squawked, “Uh, that wasn’t him. Over.”
There wasn’t even a moment of consideration as I went from angry to gun in hand and moving towards the window. My animati
on got everyone else moving.
Larsson’s eyes snapped open and McCoy dropped the pin she had been sliding into place. By the time Larsson was standing, I was back on coms, giving orders. “Interference on our comms probably meant we were hacked and that meant our ambush was about to get screwed. Which means Voigt’s probably nearby. Assume we’re compromised and go to plan B. Combat stations people! Combat stations! Over!”[117]
Larsson started sniffing the air and listening while McCoy cocked her head to listen telepathically. I meanwhile made my way to the deck and started looking around. The dock approach points were free and clear. Even the party was keeping itself contained. “Clear. Over,” I murmured into the radio. Shortly, everyone else chimed in,
“Overwatch indicates clear. Over.”
“Not picking up any Wendigo thoughts. Clear. Over.”
“Nor his scent. Clear,” and then belatedly, “Over.”
I paused before responding, “Overwatch keep position, assume that this is a ploy to lure us out. Over.”
McCoy and Larsson joined me on the deck, armed and dangerous. In a staggered column, we prowled down the dock towards shore, eyeing every shadow skeptically.
Near the mainland, Larsson grabbed my shoulder and pointed towards the marina antenna atop the administrative office, “I smell something up there, but it’s faint, like they were here hours ago.” She sniffed again, considering, “At least one hour, no more than three.”
Her smell was starting to seem like the most bullshit power ever, “And you didn’t smell it sooner because?”
She shrugged, “Wind wasn’t blowing out towards us and the lake smells would’ve clouded it if it did.”
Definitely bullshit with arbitrary restrictions. I sighed, “Let’s check it out.”
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