Demon Driven

by John Conroe

  “Huh?” Benson asked.

  “He knocked out the father, banished the demon and the wife and kids are copasetic,” Deckert translated. No dummy, that Deckert.

  I heard two SUVs pull up outside and the distinctive voices of my team filled my ears.

  “Mr. Deckert, my team has arrived. Would you relay to Stevens to relay to them that it’s all clear up here? Please.”

  The stocky ex-Force Recon major nodded and spoke into in his throat mike. Benson was looking a little wide-eyed.

  “Mr. Benson? Would you be so kind as to cuff the father with my handcuffs and hang near him until my guys get up here?”

  He looked at me in question.

  “It’s really much better for me to disappear from the family’s sight. Less questions,” I explained.

  He nodded, took my pre-offered cuffs and slipped into the apartment. I headed downstairs, meeting Sommers and Gina on the stairwell. I paused to fill them in, then continued down to the street to hide in the tinted safety of the Mercedes. Gina would take charge, smooth over the wife’s fear, council the husband when he awoke and liaise with the beat cops when they inevitably arrived. Me, I would hide and let the victims forget me as quick as possible. The husband would be easy, he barely caught a glimpse of me. The wife got an eyeful, but the human mind is an incredible machine, capable of amazing feats of rationalization. With Gina’s considerable help, the young woman would find easy to believe reasons for everything that had happened. It’s the way we humans choose to ‘overlook’ the supernatural world. More comforting to ignore and pretend.

  As usual with these kind of things, the aftermath took longer than the action did. I told Deckert, Benson and Stevens that I was fine with my people there and not to hang around. I was holding them up from their downtime.

  None of the three were even slightly interested in leaving me alone. Part of it was their sense of professional ethics, part was knowing they would have to report to Arkady that they had left me alone after assuming responsibility for the 'Young Queen's' mate. But I think the biggest part was simply curiosity. Benson had been present when I had taken out a Hellbourne that attacked the Demidova household in broad daylight. Deckert had been in the house but not a direct witness. Stevens had heard the stories. Now they had another story to add to my mystery and they were loath to let it go. Benson wasn't shy about asking questions and Deckert did nothing to shut him up, indicating his own level of interest.

  “So where do these visions come from?” Benson asked.

  I shrugged. “I don't have a clue.”

  He looked at me for a moment, before finally speaking, “C'mon! You have to have some idea?”

  I smiled, “Well, some of my priest and rabbi associates feel the visions come from God. I like to argue that it could just as easily come from Old Scratch.”

  “The Devil? Why would he send you a vision of one of his own?” the big security agent asked.

  “I don't know, maybe, he doesn't like them roaming around on their own,” I said.

  “You really believe that?” Deckert interjected.

  “Well, truth be told, I sorta favor the Heavenly message theory, myself, but my point is that we just don't know for certain,” I admitted. “It would be bad to get suckered into believing the visions are Heaven sent only to be misdirected by Hell.”

  All three ex-military operators nodded. Deckert spoke all their thoughts aloud.

  “Yeah, lure you in with solid intelligence, then misdirect you at the last and most important moment,”

  he said.

  “If you don't mind me sayin', you don't seem like a real bible thumping type,” Stevens observed from the front seat of the car.

  “I'm not. I don't get along real well with Himself,” I said, pointing my finger skyward.

  “Well, I get what you're saying about false intelligence and all that, but frankly, the feeling I got when you did whatever it is you did to that thing upstairs, was that God was looking over our shoulders and nodding his head,” Benson said, looking a little uncomfortable, but certain.

  “You know, I don't, as a habit like to agree with army types,” Deckert said, poking his thumb in Benson's direction. “But I had the same feeling.”

  Now I was uncomfortable with the conversation. I had never thought that anyone near me during one of my experiences felt anything at all, until Gina had filled me in on the phenomenon. She had said much the same thing, which led me in the whole religious God type direction, one path I hated to go down. I hadn’t forgiven Him for sacrificing my family. Where the conversation would have gone next I'm not sure, but just then there was a knock on the window and I lowered it as fast as I could hit the button, grateful for the distraction.

  Gina's pretty features filled my view, her face reflecting fatigue, but she still had a small smile.

  “Chris, we're all done here. Why don't you head out and I'll see you in the morning,” she said.

  “Right, the Inspector's mystery meeting. Any new ideas on what that's about?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing new. Good night Chris, I gotta get home myself.” She nodded at the three men in the car and turned away, heading back into the dark.

  “She married?” Stevens asked from the front seat.

  I nodded, but Deckert spoke. “What, did you somehow miss the rings on her fingers?”

  “Frankly, boss I was too busy looking at her face to notice her hands. Pretty tough to have to work with someone who looks like that every day, ah Gordon?” he said with a wink.

  “Gina's been married for ten years, husband teaches here in one of Brooklyn's public schools. They have a four-year old daughter.” I provided.

  “A school teacher?” Benson questioned in disbelief.

  “First of all, Roy is a real good guy. Most cop marriages don't make it past the fifth year. But he's real patient, understanding about her odd hours and stable as hell. Second, Gina has an unreal ability to read people. She can tell when you're lying about ninety-eight percent of the time, Roy is fine with that.” I said.

  That sank in for a minute or two, then Stevens shuddered.

  “Right, okay, so she might not be my perfect woman with that little trait. Still a looker though.”

  Chapter 6

  Deckert and his men dropped me back at my place. Tanya would be up till dawn and I needed some sleep before the early morning meeting that Roma had called. I ate a late night snack and hit my futon. I still need sleep, but I seem to thrive on only four or five hours now, unless I’ve been hurt or used too much power. I can also offset lack of sleep with more food, but my diet is already ridiculous enough and I’m trying like hell to keep the small amount of weight that I’ve managed to put back on. It’s not much of a protection against my overwrought metabolism consuming my own body, but it’s something.

  The morning dawned bright and fresh, a classic example of spring in the Big Apple. I made it to the squad’s offices in the underground section of Police Plaza well before eight AM. The lights were already on in Roma’s office and I could hear him talking to someone but even my hearing had difficulty with his sound proofed walls. Fran DeMarco, our Medium, was already in. She waved to me through the glass wall of her office. Aikens, Sommers and Brian Takata, our close combat trainer, all filed into the conference room, helping themselves to the coffee carafe and the Dunkin’ Donuts box in the center of the table. Out of habit, Chet fired up the big LCD wall monitor and got out his wireless keyboard and mouse. At two minutes till eight, Roma's door opened and the Inspector emerged, followed closely by Briana Duclair, the head of Homeland Security's Directorate of Anomalous Activity, as well as her second in command, Eric Adler and lastly, Gina.

  Roma moved to his usual spot at the head of the table, but remained standing. Duclair stood right next to him and the flash of annoyance that slid across his face indicated that she was pressing on his personal space. Based on the aggressive federal agent's personality, this was most likely on purpose. Always keep the other guy
off game.

  His face once again resuming its professional set, the Inspector greeted us.

  “Good morning everyone!”

  Like a well practiced choir we all responded with a synchronized “Good morning boss.”

  “First of all, good job to everyone involved in the Eleventh Street incident last night. Well done!”

  Duclair raised an eyebrow as she heard this and I knew she would be tracking down the particulars of that event.

  “Secondly, I've called you in this morning as Agent Duclair has some information to share with us about a potential threat. Additionally, she has asked for our help and I have approved it in a related matter. I'll let her explain. Briana, go ahead.”

  Tall, blond and athletic, Briana Duclair moved with arrogant confidence. She stepped just slightly forward and tossed a thumb drive to Chet.

  “Good morning everyone. Chet, would you open the file marked Loki on that for me,” she said, crisply.

  While Chet slotted the drive and prepared to open the requested file, Duclair surveyed the rest of the squad, her sharp eyes lingering on me for a moment or two longer than the rest. She had been trying to recruit me to her team from the moment we met. A tad Machiavellian in her approach to obtaining her ambitious career goals, Duclair was tenacious in getting the best of everything and everyone for her team. Without knowing much about me, she had attempted to lure me to the federal group, simply on the basis of the value that Inspector Roma placed on my contributions. She had been completely unsuccessful for two reasons. One, her team traveled the country, which would play havoc with my relationship with Tanya, and two, her brassy style annoyed the crap out of me. My lack of interest did nothing to dissuade her, but only spurred her to keep trying.

  She moved around to stand under the monitor as the presentation opened.

  “The information I'm about to share with you is sensitive and not for dissemination outside of this room,” she warned. “The FBI MS-13 National Gang Task Force has been tracking a relatively new group based in New Mexico for the last four years. Their threat assessment for this gang has gone off the charts in the last year and they have lost contact with five undercover infiltrators during that time.”

  The monitor showed a photo of a group of motorcycle riders sitting and standing around their bikes somewhere in what looked like the southwest. Dressed in typical leather and torn denim, they were all markedly young. One with his back to the camera sported the outline of a wolf’s head emblem on the back of his leather vest. At least four of the seven gang members were sneering at the camera in contempt.

  “This photo of a small group of Loki's Spawn, as they call themselves, was taken by telephoto lens at approximately seven hundred yards. The photographer, a trained sniper, was completely camouflaged in a sniper blind. Yet as you can see, the gang was well aware of his presence. Odd, yet potentially explainable,” she said. “Next picture, please.”

  This shot showed in graphic detail, the bloody remains of something that might have been human at some point, but you would be hard pressed to convince anyone of that. I was still trying to figure the photo out when she continued.

  “This, believe it or not, is the pelvis and torso of one, Armand Cuirez, a rancher in Arizona. This photo, ladies and gentlemen, and seven more similar ones are the reason my team is interested in Loki's Spawn,” she paused for effect. Chet automatically flipped each of the other photos across the screen.

  “The autopsies of each killing indicate death by animal mauling. Wound marks conclusively match the fangs and claws of wolves, mountain lions and bears. And each killing showed signs of all three animals!” Duclair said.

  She let that sink in for a moment. The odds of three completely separate species of carnivore simultaneously attacking a human were astronomical. The odds of it happening eight times were crazy. I had a better chance of growing wings and flying to the moon.

  “These attacks occurred in eight different locations in four different states. The only thing in common was a group of Loki's Spawn happened to be nearby each time,” she said.

  “I haven't seen anything on the news feeds about these,” Chet commented.

  “And you won't. The Bureau squashed it and following protocol, passed the autopsies on to us as soon as the first one was conclusive,” Duclair said. “ Now that I have your attention, I don't suppose any of you are puzzled by our interest in this group?”

  “They're all weres!” Steve Sommers responded. “Which explains the first photo. They smelled the photographer.”

  “Yeah, and it explains why the Fibbies keep losing agents. Can't fool a wolf's nose!” Chet said.

  Briana nodded at each of these comments and then went on.

  “The reason we're here this morning is twofold. First, Loki's Spawn members seem to be moving in a northeastern direction, with quite a few members already visiting New Hampshire and upstate New York for various motorcycle events.”

  “Americade in Lake George and the Laconia motorcycle week in New Hampshire,” I said.

  Her eyes locked on mine as she nodded, “Exactly. Which brings us to the second reason we're here. Twenty-eight days ago an attack occurred in Southern Vermont, just outside of Bennington. The victim, George Lassiter, survived what he claimed was a wild animal attack. Mr. Lassiter has since disappeared into the Green Mountain National forest. The attack coincided with three Loki members passing through.”

  “You think they came back for him?” Fran Demarco asked.

  I answered her question, “No, they think he's infected and the moon will be full tomorrow night. He'll go rogue without another were to guide him.”

  Without the guidance of another, experienced were, infected humans invariably went berserk during their first change. A natural born were could handle the change without aid, but not so the bitten ones. The pain and terror of the transformation, along with the animal instincts of their new form were too much for an unguided human psyche.

  “Very good Chris. It's funny you should be the one to put the pieces together, because you'll be helping us track the rogue down tomorrow night,” Briana said.

  The squad looked as one to Roma for verification. The Inspector grimly nodded and addressed us all.

  “A rogue were is just too big of a problem. Chris, I have agreed that you will help the D.O.A.A. Group with tracking down the were and I have insisted that Gina accompany you, as Agent Duclair's group are unfamiliar with our protocols.”

  His gaze was serious as he said this, looking directly at me. I nodded, thinking it through. A rogue were was a nightmare for a human-only group to track and destroy. Human intelligence, animal ferocity and senses, superhuman strength and speed, all controlled by a mind driven insane.

  Briana's eyes gleamed in triumph and I felt a little queasy, despite knowing I needed to do this.

  “I'm sure we'll have no problem finding the rogue with your tracking skill,” she said, sarcastically.

  Eric Adler, a large presence against the wall, snorted.

  When we first met, I had introduced myself as a tracker, which was completely true, if woefully incomplete information. She had swiftly dug around enough to know that I was a lot more than that.

  “Ahh, anyway, Chris, you and Gina will be at the Downtown heliport tomorrow at seven-thirty AM for a joyride in a federal helicopter. I know you'll be properly prepared.”

  He nodded to Agent Duclair to continue.

  “Loki’s Spawn have grown to over eight hundred members, and while not the largest motorcycle group, they are easily the meanest. Super violent, well-armed, and completely ruthless. Since the Bureau has been aware of them, they have managed to intimidate virtually every other gang in their area of control. They have also cleaned out several smaller covens of vampires in Mexico and we think they’ve killed or driven away two large werewolf packs out west,” she added.

  I hadn’t heard anything about lost covens from Tanya or Lydia, but we didn’t always talk business, not to mention that they were reall
y only running the New York Coven. Elder Senka, on the other hand would most likely be concerned.

  “Being as they are a gang of weres, they are tough in a fight and extremely hard to kill with standard ammo. The human gangs either accede to their wishes or cease to exist,” Briana said.

  “The only information we have on their leader comes from an FBI agent who has infiltrated a human gang that has chosen to submit to the Spawn. They call him El Bastia”

  “The Beast,” Gina translated.

  “Fitting name for a were leader.” Fran remarked.

  We spent another hour on material, but there really was very little hard intelligence on Loki’s Spawn.

  Chet provided some Wikipedia background on the god Loki – a Norse god, who was among other things a shapeshifter and who fathered the Fenrir wolf. The wolf was foretold to be the killer of gods, including Odin. Not hard to see why the gang had chosen that name.

  Chapter 7

  I went to lunch with Chet, Fran, and Brian, after assuring Gina that I would meet her at the helipad by six forty-five in the morning. Chet wanted to run some experiments with me as the test subject. He had apparently designed and built some kind of charged particle detector and wanted to see if my violet aura generated any detectable particles.

  After lunch, Chet took me to the Nevis lab at Columbia University, where he had been working on a neutrino detector with some physics grad student friends of his. Security in the building was excellent, with a magnetic passcard required not only at the main entrance, but at various control points throughout the building. When he finally ushered me into the High Energy Particle Lab I was expecting something that would look like the offspring of an illicit relationship between a MRI machine and Robby the robot.

  The device he pointed at triumphantly was considerably different.

  “Dude, that's a trash can!” I said.