Codename: UnSub (The Last Survivors Book 2)

by Declan Finn

  The spy turned around and picked up his bow.

  “Are you just going to leave me here, you pussy?”

  Kevin paused, then glanced back at Nero over his shoulder. “First, you’re not going anywhere. Second, the locals are probably closing in as we speak. And third…”

  The spy drifted off, his eye caught by the shadows in an alley coming to life. Five of them leapt from the alley, taking the bodies of those on the street. As they were grabbed, the kneecapped thugs awoke. They looked up at what had taken hold of them, and began to scream in anticipation as the living shadows dragged them off like damned souls, wailing in torment.

  Another shadow stopped in front of Nero, staring at the spear, halted by the predicament.

  “You heard him?” Kevin asked.

  The Child of Thanatos turned to Kevin and nodded, resembling something like the Ghost of Christmas Future, cloaked in black and as silent as the tomb.

  “Sorry about your people.” Kevin, on reflection, would have normally choked at saying those words, but it was hard to be apathetic when one’s allies had been slaughtered. “But I need you to bear this one back to his master, Alek Soubel, somewhere around Golden Gate Park. Maybe this Alek schmuck will learn something.”

  The look of terror came back into Nero’s eyes. “No, you can’t. My knee’s messed up, my shoulder’s messed up, I won’t be any good to them anymore. Alek…he’d burn me.”

  Kevin shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. He may need you to identify me. Either way, it’s not my problem.” He looked to the Child. It was an odd gift to advise the legions of darkness like the Children, but he took what fortune gave him. “All you need to do is slide him off the spear. It should be fine. If he screams too loudly, just gag him.”

  He turned and walked off into the San Francisco fog. As he strolled off, he softly sang. “Hear me now, oh that bleak and unbearable world, thou art base, and debauched as can be./ Now a knight, with his banners all bravely unfurled, now hurls down his gauntlet to thee…. I am I Don Quixote, the Lord of La Mancha, destroyer of evil am I. / I will march to the sounds of the trumpets of glory, destined to triumph or die….”

  Kevin had a few more things to do that night. To start with, he had a whole bunch of priests to bring in…

  Chapter 1: A San Francisco Christmas

  December, 2093

  The Ground Zero was a bar, plain and simple. It also operated as a gathering point for information brokers and detectives, with members of either group selling what they know to the highest bidder, and sometimes to multiple bidders.

  The dance floor was below the street, music constantly blasting from the speakers in the background, lights flashing with the beat. Tables and chairs were spread across the floor, close to the walls. The center of the room had no floor, giving a view of the dance floor. There were also a few tables near the rail, normally reserved for special customers.

  At this point, three men walked into the bar. The bouncer backed away from the three upon arrival.

  Kevin Anderson stood at 5’10”, with a strong jaw, marked with a long thin scar down the left side. His brown hair showed signs of care - well combed, though just a little long, coming down just past his ears. His dark-hazel eyes missed nothing, like his friend Kyle’s. At that moment in the bar, he wore a simple black shirt, a pair of pants and a dark leather jacket. He was not incredibly built, but it was visible he worked out.

  The man in the middle looked a little like a throwback. He was also 5’10”, but his arms were made for someone a little taller. He was a big fellow in every other measure as well, with silver hair and violet eyes. The most interesting thing about him was his black outfit – shirt, pants, suit jacket – with a clerical Roman collar around his neck

  The priest scanned over the room on the main floor, and the atmosphere was not as tense as it was outside. “Nice place you have here,” he boomed, slapping both Kevin and Kyle on the back. “Thanks for showing me around.”

  “I was already on my way here,” replied Kyle Elsen, Master Assassin. Visually, Kyle was a very plain man. Thin, and somewhere between twenty and forty years old, though the twenties were more likely. Black hair, dark eyes, mild complexion, 5’6”, someone you wouldn’t really notice even while you were looking at him.

  At the bar was a woman, approximately five-feet tall, give or take, with blue-green eyes, frazzled orange hair, and a distasteful glower that she used on about half the bar.

  Then her eyes fell on them—or, more precisely—the assassin, Elsen. After running pre-cana marriage prep for several years, Father Jack could spot a person in love at a hundred yards. And Mickie, surprisingly, was in love…with Kyle.

  Either he’s a very good actor, or he’s as thick as a concrete wall as far as romance is concerned—neither of which would surprise me, thought the priest.

  Kevin smiled and just waved towards the woman. “Mickie, a water or three, please.”

  Mickie spared him something that looked like a smile. “Always nice to see a paying customer,” she said, giving a look to Elsen. “I guess we should be grateful you at least paid your recent tab?”

  “Mickie, not now.”

  Kevin muttered quietly, “They do this all the time… pay it no mind.”

  Jack nodded. “Why water? This is a bar, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t trust the triplets all that much. Mickie drugs people for information, and Mac—her brother—might do it just for his idea of a sick joke.”

  “Triplets, you say? What about the third?”

  Kevin looked away for a moment, thoughtful. “Lotus is interesting. She keeps her mouth shut most of the time, which is odd considering the rest of the family. But I think it might come from being a computer programmer.”

  “Who’s the new guy?” Mickie asked.

  He smiled at her. “Msgr. Patrick Isaac Patel, my dear girl, but you can call me Jack.”

  She studied him a moment. “What’s a monsignor?”

  He gave her his deep, west Ireland sigh—the one that sounds like an asthma attack. “I’m a priest of the Catholic Church, monsignor is my rank—I’m only a step or two up from the bottom rung.”

  “Oh, you’re one of the new people that Kevin’s brought in.” She set out three glasses. “Are you the one who disarmed those three Burners?”

  He didn’t even blink. “Yes, I am. May I ask how you know that? It only happened a half-hour ago.”

  “It’s a small town,” she replied, sliding the glass over.

  Kyle nodded. “It’s also their job to know.”

  “Oh?” he asked, playing dumb. “Information brokers?”

  “Yup!” added another voice coming from the back room. A spry young man bounced out of the back room. His eyes were the color of Mickie’s, and his hair was reddish-gold. The priest could only presume that this was Mac. “We know about everything in San Francisco. If we don’t know about it, it didn’t happen.”

  “Truthfully?” The priest smiled and looked at Kevin. “Then that whole situation you dealt with involving an Omega Corporation plot to wipe out San Francisco to make room for a terraforming project is just a nasty rumor?” He glanced back to Mac. “Obviously, had you known about it, you would have had someone stop it, wouldn’t you?”

  Mac squirmed, his sister Mickie smiling, obviously enjoying her brother’s discomfort. He turned a slight shade of pink, and continued. “Well, we heard about that a little late, but we heard about it, so it happened!”

  The priest looked at Kevin. “So, how long after you settled the matter did you tell them about it?”

  The girl chuckled. “Mac, quit while you’re behind.”

  “Oh, shove it, Mik.” He looked back at me and said, “Excuse her, friend, my sister can be a real bitch some—”

  All Jack knew is that he heard a sound smack like a rifle shot. Mac’s head snapped back as though someone had backhanded him. I must have… accidentally… struck him.

  “It’s not respectful to refer to your sister in such a f
ashion,” the priest told Mac, “you little fu…joker.”

  He whirled back to face Jack, eyes blazing, half of his face red with a giant handprint. “That wasn’t funny!”

  “Neither are you.”

  A big beefy hand came down on Jack’s shoulder. Mickie called the owner off. “It’s all right, Leo. Mac asked for it.”

  “He always asks for it,” the bouncer replied.

  “I do not!” Mac protested. “I demand you—”

  “Oh, shut up,” Mickie replied. “He got you fair and square.” She looked back to the bouncer. “This guy saved me the trouble of doing it later. By the way, meet Msgr. Patel, he can come in anytime he likes, okay?”

  The man blinked. “Okay… but what’s a monsignor?”

  He smiled. “Look, how about I explain it a little better? Do you know St. Mary’s Basilica on Church Street?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “I’m having a little event there on the 25th of the month.”

  The bouncer nodded, shrugged, and then walked off. Jack turned back and noted that Mac had wandered away to the other end of the bar. “You’re all invited, of course, even this little tw…it,” he added, waving at Mac.

  Kyle Elsen cocked his head. “Any gathering in San Francisco is an automatic target for the Burners or Forsaken. You and your priests will be slaughtered before you even have half a chance to say your prayers.”

  “Ah, but Master Assassin, I have a few aces up my sleeve. It’s called a booby trap, and I’m not the booby. Besides, I’m also continuing a tradition—holding a Mass with the city’s most prominent citizens as guests, in the hope of influencing them for the better.”

  Kyle nodded slowly and thoughtfully, and Jack swore he could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, considering what “the new guy” might be up to, and examining the situation from all possible angles. “Do you know who you’d invite?”

  “To start with, you, Mr. Elsen.”

  Kyle blinked. “Why? Do you want me on hand in case you are visited by ill-intentioned members of the population?”

  Jack smiled. “You’re a cynic, Mr. Elsen. I like that. No, we won’t need you if things should get out of hand; I think we can manage perfectly well on our own.” He lightly put his hand on the assassin’s shoulder and nudged in just the right way. He took the hint and leaned in so that they were almost cheek-to-cheek. He still didn’t take his eyes off the priest, possibly anticipating that he would drive a knife in him or something of that sort.

  Jack whispered, “As one of our more generous benefactors, I thought I would give you the benefit of seeing what use your money is being put to.”

  Kyle tensed slightly, but that was all. “I’m going to kill one of your priests. I was told it was under the seal of the confessional.”

  A sigh. “That only works so far. He can’t tell anyone your name, but he gave us more details than he realized. Besides which, he was also supposed to post somewhere that a rather sizable amount of money was given in the name of ‘Lisa’ to the church. Don’t worry, from now on, it’s all private, no loopholes.”

  Kyle nodded slowly. “I won’t discuss it here.”

  “Well, see me later in the week, when we’re set up for visitors.”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  “Good, then that’s settled. I think I’ll also drop a letter to Kaye Wellering—it’ll probably be the only time I get to lecture at her without being turned into a newt.”

  Mac returned, carrying a glass of a dark liquid. “Here you go, Jack, on the house—no hard feelings, huh?”

  Kevin looked ready to wave it off. Jack shook his head slightly and took the stein. “Much thanks, lad, and no hard feelings. What’s in it?”

  He grinned manically. “One of my sister’s concoctions. I’ll tell you what’s in it after you’ve finished it—if you can.”

  Mickie looked at her brother with suspicion, but said nothing. Jack returned the smile. “You’re on…and if I can, you’ll be with us at Church on the 25th?”

  Mac chuckled loudly. “Of course I will.”

  “Bottoms up, then.”

  He drank about half the stein before putting it down. Mac and Mickie stared at him anxiously, while Kyle Elsen merely looked on. Kevin Anderson studied Jack as though he had a Derringer up his sleeve—he’d already seen him bluff three Burners in a game of Russian roulette with a .50 caliber, at the same stakes.

  Jack paused a moment, thinking it over. “A small touch of lithium, a dash of Prozac, a hallucinogen of some sorts, perhaps LSD, and hints of sodium pentothal and scopolamine… ah, a traditionalist. Oh, yes, and you used a splash of a Guinness to add some flavor.” He looked to Mickie. “Did I miss anything?”

  She shook her head slowly, and Mac gaped. “How…why… huh?”

  Jack slid the glass towards him. “I spent two years in a Chinese gulag with so many interrogation drugs in my system, you could pump a pharmacy into me now and I wouldn’t be adversely affected, at least not with anything more than a bad hangover. You want to try anything else, or are we done playing?”

  Mickie smiled genteelly. “Oh, he’s done. Brother mine—come with me.” She grabbed his earlobe, digging her thumbnail into his ear, twisting it as she moved, and dragged him into the back.

  “Charming,” Jack murmured. “Do they do this often?”

  “All the time,” Kevin replied. “Cute trick. Do you have a different surprise for every occasion?”

  “Heh. Spend several years as a beat cop and you learn to make your own surprises. And when you’ve handled as many domestic disturbances as I’ve had, you learn how to diffuse almost anyone.” Jack turned to the assassin. “You see, domestics are some of the most dangerous calls. You may not know anything about this, but half the time you’re not certain whose side anyone you’re dealing with is on. My first time, I found a husband beating on his wife and his mother. I arrived in time to stop any real bloodshed, but before I could slap the cuffs on him, the two of them leapt on me and started trying to beat me up.”

  Jack was about to turn it in to a humorous anecdote, but something about Elsen was…off. His face had gone complete tense, as though he was about to destroy the bar – and so fast, Kyle had to be read using microexpressions. Jack was about to continue when another girl came out of the back. She was tiny, maybe 4’11”, with the same eyes and hair as Mickie.

  “Hello,” she said, her voice soft. Her eyes scanned the bar slowly and thoughtfully, as though she could develop an algorithm from the water stains. “Hello, Kyle, Kevin, Msgr. Patel.”

  Jack smiled very gently. “Hello, Miss,” he replied in kind, “and who might you be?”

  “Lotus…should I top off your drink, sir?”

  He nodded. “Thank you kindly, Ms. Lotus.” She took the glass and poured. “You’re the programmer, aren’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m looking for someone who can make my transmissions so secure, not even the Hackers’ Union could crack them, if they tried. If I pay, do you think you could do that for me?”

  Lotus gave him a slight smile. “How much?”

  “Well, that depends on the expenses, certainly. How long would it take you to do it?”

  “Five minutes. Just give me whatever you’re transmitting from.”

  “Excellent. Two reams of paper?”

  She blinked. “You have more paper?”

  Jack nodded. When she said “more,” he took it that she knew about his deal with the Hackers. “My men slept on the reams on the way over. Most of us are used to harder surfaces in monasteries. Ninety percent of it we can literally strap to our bodies. A lot of my guys are wearing monk’s robes, which cover a multitude of sins. I’ll bring around payment and the device when we’re settled in…I’ve invited your siblings to a little gathering I’m having on the 25th, and at least your brother is coming, would you like to come as well? You can if you like.”

  She studied him like a riddle to be pondered. “I’ll think about it.”


  “Grand, that’s all that I ask.”

  He held up the glass, using it as a mirror to look behind him. “Interesting... I think he must be bait.”

  Kevin took the glass, as though smelling its contents, and then he used it in the same fashion. “I don’t believe this! That idiot is still alive?”

  “You didn’t finish someone, Anderson? Very unprofessional. We’ll have to go over the rules about not leaving an enemy mobile behind you; I still have the scars from the last time you did,” Kyle chastised him. “Who?”

  Kevin’s voice grew colder. “Excuse me for a moment.” He put down the glass and swiveled, heading as though to the washroom. Halfway there, he stopped and turned. “Nero!”

  The bald man fled, hobbling out the door as fast as he could.

  Father Jack thought for a moment. If I were going to send a tail after someone, it wouldn’t be by someone Anderson knew… which means that “Nero” is a feint. There is someone else in the bar.

  He swiveled back, and noted someone almost immediately—the back of his hands were burned. Jack smiled at Lotus. “Miss, I’m going to step away for a moment, could you inconspicuously swap my glass for that of the man at the other end of the bar?”

  She gave him a genuine smile. “I already did, Monsignor.”

  He grinned. “I’m starting to like this place.”

  She leaned forward. “Did you see Rome before…?”

  Jack nodded solemnly. “I don’t like to think about Rome much. I suspect no priest does.”

  “What was it like?” she asked.

  “Almost as beautiful as you are,” he replied, kissing her lightly on the nose.

  Kyle Elsen said, “Why did Rome burn?”

  Jack raised a brow and glanced at him. “There were certain factions within the Catholic Church that didn’t like…certain positions held in Rome… and I do not mean jobs… I mean points of view. Some thought that we should hasten the departure of some very vulnerable groups within society, and the Church opposed it.

  “In fact, we, meaning the Church, had opposed it since the 20th century. We held firm. No matter what they could do to us, we held on, and believe me when I say that they did…plenty. We had a simple position—to stand firm in the face of life, that all life is sacred. For decades, they tried to use Rome to be their puppet. After a while, they saw Rome less as a possible tool and more like an impediment to their desires.