Keeper of the Faith: Finnegan #3 (The Midnight Defenders)

by Joey Ruff

  As I turned to look at them, I noticed the movement from the corner of my eye. A business man in a tweed suit was moving quickly, already half the length of the room from me, heading toward the stage.

  I couldn’t confirm it was the same person, but I had a feeling it was. I didn’t have time to second guess. He’d get away for sure.

  As I moved toward the front of the room, I realized that he wasn’t heading for the stage at all, but a fire exit just to the left of the stage.

  I climbed over the back of the chair in front of me, and began hurtling each consecutive row, as I moved toward the outside aisle. His lead was too big. There was no way I’d beat him to the door, but I could hit it just after him. If I could keep him in my sights, it might be enough.

  Naturally, sprinting over the tops of chairs was the perfect way to draw every eye in the room. It didn’t help my burgeoning paranoia one bit. Even worse, was when someone cried out behind me. I only half spun to see someone at the rear of the room pointing in my direction, but it was enough of a distraction that my foot caught on a chair-back and sent me toppling onto the floor in a great clatter.

  Every eye in the room was on me. Even the coeds with guitars had silenced their strings and turned their focus to me. I stood and tried to brush myself off nonchalantly. Turning to the rear of the room, I realized the woman that had been pointing at me was wearing a lanyard, signaling her position as Event Staff. While I next expected uniformed officers, the men that came from behind the staff woman were bearded men in suits.

  Templars.

  I turned to the fire exit that I’d been heading toward in time to see the businessman give a slick wave and push his way through the door. I was only a few chairs from the outside aisle, and without hesitation, I broke into a dead sprint and hit the door only seconds after.

  The door led to a stairwell. There was nothing ornate or fancy about it at all. Just cold, echoing concrete floors and stairs with the heavy, metal hand rails that led up or down. I gave pause as I stared along the upward stairs for a half second before I caught a blur of motion below me. Without thinking, I descended.

  My feet took only two steps before I was in the air, leaping onto the next landing. As I rebounded, there was a loud crash as the door at the ground floor was smashed open. I took the next run of steps the same way and was through the bottom door before it had half closed.

  I nearly collided with a steel table as I stumbled into a long, empty, commercial kitchen. Ovens lined one wall on the far side, doors to a walk-in fridge and freezer were on my left. An open hall immediately to my right led to a dishwasher and storage racks.

  The assassin was nowhere to be seen.

  A sharp rap on the door I’d just come through spun me. In the small, glass window, the green eyes twinkled and he flashed me a sinister grin. I didn’t waste time pulling the door open, but as I did, the Templars were on the stairs directly in front of me and the heavy, emergency door that led outside was squeaking closed. I’d blown past it in such a hurry on the way down, I hadn’t even noticed it.

  For a second, I considered making a break for it, but decided against it. The Templars already had their guns drawn and trained on me. They looked like standard service pieces. Glock 22. All black, just like you see in the movies.

  The door hadn’t closed behind me, just rested ajar against my pack, and I dropped back through the door, ducking as I stepped back into the kitchen. I moved behind the door as The first Templar came through with his gun out ahead of him.

  I kicked off of the wall and threw all my weight into the door, slamming the man’s hands between the heavy door and the metal frame. He screamed, dropped his weapon, and fell back into the hallway.

  I pushed the door fully closed and grabbed his gun. The door opened, and the other Templar started to come through, aiming higher than where I sat crouched on the floor. I shot him in the shoulder before he even saw me. He pulled his trigger on reflex, but the shot went wide, firing blindly into the stairwell.

  Behind me, at the far end of the kitchen, a door opened in a rush of noise, followed by the drumming of boots across the dirty tile floor. As the men came around the corner, handguns aimed and ready to fire, I took aim at the red cylinder of the fire extinguisher mounted just to the side of the last stovetop. The report of the gun echoed off the tile. White foam erupted like a geyser, immediately filling the room and killing any visibility.

  When I was in high school, one of my neighbors assaulted his friend with a fire extinguisher. It dried his throat and lungs, his eyes, and had a few patches of frostbite on his skin from the severe cold of the pressurized gas, but he was otherwise okay. I knew it would be unpleasant, but it was better than a bullet.

  I pulled the door open behind me, amid the coughing and violent hiss of the foam, but didn’t stick around to wait it out. Back in the stairwell, both guards were on the floor. The second reached for my leg as I stepped over him, catching the hem of my pants. I kicked him in the side. He lurched, letting go, and I slipped out the exterior door, finding myself in an alley beside a dumpster.

  The assassin was long gone, and no doubt, by now, had chosen a new form. I’d never find him again. He knew who I was now, knew I was after him. He’d be more careful. The only hope I had was to get to Pope Innocent before he did, and from the schedule I’d picked up at the conference, I knew he had several hours before his big speech. Chances were pretty good he’d still be at his hotel.

  I wiped my prints from the guard’s gun and tossed it into the dumpster. I dialed Cam as I ran the length of the alley. I felt bad about taking out those guards, but there just wasn’t time to be diplomatic and hash things out right now. They’d all live.

  Cam answered on the third ring. “Hey, buddy. How’s everything?”

  “I had him,” I said, breathing a little heavy. I rounded the corner onto the street and stopped for a second, catching my breath.

  “That’s it then?”

  “Not quite. He got away. There were guards and…” I took a deep breath and started walking briskly toward the parking garage. I didn’t have time to lounge around.

  “You at the gym or something? You sound out of breath.”

  “He went out a fire door behind the convention center about five minutes ago. Check the traffic cams and see if you can spot anyone coming out of the alley. Let me know what you find.”

  “Yeah, Dave. Be glad to. I should be home around 6 or so. You wanna meet up then?”

  “Dave? I… Hunter’s there, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah. Absolutely.”

  “Don’t get yourself in trouble. Text me if you get the picture.”

  “TGI Fridays is great.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Yes, definitely. See you then.”

  I shut the phone off as I rounded the corner and entered the parking garage. If Cam wasn’t able to help right now, I really was on my own. On my own and flying blind.

  As I got onto my bike, I pulled the bag around and slipped my jacket out, slipping into it. I put one of my Colts into my belt, and left the other in my bag, right next to the Codex.

  In the Hand they taught you that knowledge was often the best weapon you could have against your enemy. I was hoping to find the Naga again. Maybe there was something in the Codex that would help me with that. I just needed a quiet place to lie low and do a little research.

  * * *

  It worked out a little too perfect that the Public Library was a four minute walk through Logan Square from the Pope’s hotel. I parked in the street.

  Like so many other buildings in Philadelphia, especially those run by the government, the library was a very cryptic building. It felt like exactly what it was: something that had been built nearly a century ago. Unsurprisingly, it smelled like old books.

  I found a quiet spot at a table in the periodical section and cracked open the Codex, flipping directly to the section on Naga.

  As far back as I could remember hearing tales of mo
nsters, the one that seemed to come up more than any other was the Naga. Every hunter I knew, everyone I ever met, had a story about Naga. Not a story of a friend of a friend, but a first-hand, personal account.

  The Naga were everywhere, living below ground in subterranean caverns and catacombs, complete underground labyrinths like a colony of human-sized ants, and also like ants, they came in a variety of colors and shapes. Some Naga appeared almost completely human while others looked like a komodo dragon had learned to walk upright on his hind legs. They were as varied in appearance and ability as breeds of dog, from scales and spines, to climbing on walls and camouflaging their appearance. Most of them had claws. Some were venomous. Hell, some had wings or breathed underwater. And yes, even some of them had the ability to change their shape.

  They were known in nearly every civilization, all over the world. Some called them Reptilians, Reptiloids, lizard-people… Some even thought of them as aliens, though they weren’t. Rather, they were descendants of an ancient serpent called Echidna.

  One of the first things I always looked for when researching the Midnight was a weakness. The Naga were flesh and blood, not particularly hard to kill. However, they did have a major weakness to exploit. Like all lizards, the Naga were cold blooded. Their bodies were unable to regulate their internal temperature, which meant they needed a heat source when cold and a cooling method to keep them from overheating.

  Their answer to the first of these was an ore called Cintamani. It was extremely rare and valuable, found only deep within the earth. The ancients referred to it as the Philosopher’s stone, and it was sought for its healing properties and use in weapon making, despite being difficult to forge. As long as anyone knew, it was always kept by the Naga, who harnessed the stone’s ability to glow in the presence of the Midnight. Since the light was also accompanied by a subtle heat, it was enough that, when worn close to the skin, it helped warm them.

  To a certain degree, Cintamani protected them against the cold, but it did nothing to protect them from heat. Which meant they would be weak against fire or freezing cold, beyond what their stones could insulate against.

  After about twenty minutes, I became suddenly aware of the time and quickly hit with the feeling that I’d wasted so much of it. Instinct told me that now was the time to act.

  I didn’t know how I would gain an audience with Pope Innocent, but that was something I would have to figure out as I went. Luckily, he was staying in a hotel. People went in and out of there all day. Getting into the building wouldn’t be a problem – I could just walk straight through the front door. Getting to the Pope, however... That would be something else.

  At the center of the Square stood a fountain. As I passed by it, something caught my eye. I felt drawn to the large spray of water at the fountain’s center and the green-bronze statues that reclined against it at equal intervals. Two of the figures were naked women atop a swan, while the third looked like a Native American warrior with a fish.

  Around the outer shallows of the fountain, sculpted turtles and frogs in the same bronze were spitting water toward the center, and without thinking, I found myself in the ankle deep water beside one of the frogs. Something about the warrior statue seemed a little familiar, a look in its eye, perhaps. Or the way it was winking at me.

  A large gust of brisk, early-spring air blew against me, stinging the corners of my eyes, and forcing my face into my shoulder. On instinct, I pulled my coat tighter. When I looked again, I realized it must have been a mirage, as nothing appeared remarkable about the statue after all.

  Then, from behind me, came the laughter, loud and mirthful.

  I spun to see Coyote reclined against a nearby bench, watching me. He was laughing loud enough to be noticed, and two elderly women walking their shaggy dogs stopped and gawked at him, then both turned to me, standing in the middle of the fountain, and each gave me a dirty look.

  “You look ridiculous,” he said, catching his breath. He was wearing a pair of torn blue jeans and a t-shirt with the logo from Cheers on it.

  I rolled my eyes and trudged to the edge of the fountain, stepping out into squishy socks and shoes. I shook my head and said, “Do you enjoy harassing me?”

  “Relax,” he said. “It’s all in good fun. I wasn’t sure what you were going to do, but the look on your face…” He laughed again. “Priceless.”

  “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t going to help?”

  “I thought you were smart enough not to just walk through the front door.”

  I took a step toward him. “You have a better idea?”

  He laughed a little. “Behind the main desk in the lobby…is your photo. Well, a print-out of a screen grab from the security tape. It’s a close up shot of your face. Undercover Philadelphia police officers and FBI agents are stationed in the lobby, the pool deck, and the ice machine room on nearly every floor. And,” he said, pointing to a woman in yoga pants walking her dachshund on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. “Then there’s her. She’s police, though you might not notice, you old horn dog.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I’m paying attention, Austin. I know you feel there’s a time crunch, but now is not the time to get sloppy.”

  He was right. I took a deep breath and joined him on the bench. “So what do we do?”

  He shook his head. “There is no we. Templars are also crawling all over the place. Guys in suits with beards, little daggers tucked into their belts.”

  “I took out two at the convention center.”

  “Who told you those were Templars?”

  “I…assumed.”

  “Incorrectly. But congratulations. You managed to wound a couple FBI agents. That’s gotta be good for street cred, or something.”

  I was growing impatient. “If you didn’t come to help, why are you here?”

  “To keep you from making an ass of yourself. What’s your plan?”

  I didn’t say anything, just kind of looked away.

  “That’s kind of what I thought.” He reached down at his feet and pulled out what appeared to be a white tube about two feet long. He handed it to me. As I took it, I realized it was actually a giant roll of paper, which I opened like a scroll. I guess I’d been expecting a proclamation of some sort and was a little surprised to find that it contained blueprints. I studied them for a second, read the title at the top, and then looked at him.

  “This is the hotel.”

  He nodded. “It’s public record. Isn’t that S.O.P. for your little group?”

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to admit that I was too emotionally connected to this case and wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.

  “After you study that, we’ll have to talk about your disguise to get you in.”

  “Can’t you just snap your fingers and make me look like someone else?”

  “I can, but it won’t do you any good.”

  “Seems like it would.”

  “It would get you past the cops, but Templars see through Glamour and tricks. Illusions don’t work on them. That’s one of the things that makes them so damn terrifying.”

  I understood, then, his concern about not getting too close. Coyote was one of the best tricksters around. If you put him against an enemy that didn’t fall for his tricks, it was as good as neutering him.

  “So, what do I do?” I asked.

  He stared at me for a moment with blank eyes and then took a deep breath. “In five minutes, the Pope will leave his hotel room and sneak out the back entrance. He’s scheduled to be at the rally until six. The heaviest security will be at his side all day. All that will be left in the hotel are a few undercovers and a couple of Templars on the Pope’s floor. You’re going to want to be inside that hotel room waiting for him when he gets back. That’s your only chance.”

  I considered the plan while he eyed me curiously and added, “If you got a better idea, share it with the class.”

  “No,” I said.

 
“Alright, then.” He took a deep breath and handed me a brown paper sack.

  Reluctantly, I took it. “What is this?”

  “Open it.”

  I unrolled the top and stared down into the bag, finding a cowboy hat, fake mustache, and a western-print rockabilly shirt. I looked up at him. “Where did you get this?”

  He smiled. “There’s a costume store two blocks that way,” he said, pointing off to the right. “Put it on.”

  “Seriously?”

  “There’s a limo coming. The type of high-profile person that would normally be coming in through the back entrance, were it not for the Pope’s entourage clogging traffic that way. I’ll make a distraction to get you in, but you’ve gotta be in place in ten minutes. Get dressed.”

  I sighed, put the bag and the blueprints down on the ground and started to remove my jacket. “I don’t suppose you have any dry socks?”

  His laughter was wicked.

  Once I was dressed, he considered me a minute and nodded. “It’ll do.” He held out his right arm, and with his left hand, pulled down on a string that was suddenly dangling from his elbow. A full length mirror rolled down out of his sleeve like a window shade. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “I think I look like Ben Affleck in the movie Reindeer Games.”

  “Such an underrated movie.” He pulled the string again and the mirror rolled back up into his arm, the string vanishing along with it. “Give me your bag and jacket,” he said. “The limo’s almost here.”

  I handed them to him, picking up the blueprints again. “What are you going to do with them?”

  “Relax,” he said, taking a look into my backpack. “I’m going to put them with your bike. Oh, you’re going to need these.”

  He pulled out my Colts and handed them to me. I slipped them into the small of my back and pulled the shirt down over top of them.

  I looked up at him and said, “Look, I…”