by LC Champlin
“Sir, you’ve overcome incredible odds tonight. Janine will be proud when she hears how well her husband conducted himself. It’s the match of any Ragnar tale you tell David.”
The dead-eyed focus froze, then crumbled into a wince. “Let’s hope I don’t have to repeat it like I do those blasted stories.”
Albin let out an inward sigh of relief.
++++++++++++
Katerina, Janine, David. Clips of Nathan’s past played, now half speed, now double: his mother teaching him how to build a fire, then her ashes in the white box from the crematorium; Janine kissing him the night he proposed, then her facing down his rage with her own fury after he put his fist through the wall over a misunderstanding; Davie waving a stick around as he imitated the Viking Ragnar, then him crying and bleeding when he fell on broken glass—it had only taken an instant, when Nathan looked away to take a company call.
The high of facing fears and joining with his demons crumbled into the pain of the past, of reality. Nathan relaxed his grip on the wheel. His chest hurt. His throat hurt. But . . . the wolves no longer stalked him. They hunted alongside him.
Had he really blurted out his thoughts about facing the wolves? Without context, Albin must think him fit for the Manhattan Psych Center.
Ah, Albin . . . “You’re not too shabby yourself.” Easy smile. It felt odd, perhaps due to forcing it up while forcing nausea down.
“Thank you, sir.” Albin adjusted his glasses with thumb and fourth finger. When did he get so close to the door? “Are you . . . feeling yourself?” Cautious but feigning normalcy.
“Completely.”
Mission Street ahead at last. Six stories of parking garage looked down on the Bentley. The 5th and Mission Garage exit gaped on the left, red E lighting glowing, its black heart open. Do Not Enter signs dampened the welcome, but Nathan soldiered on over the remains of the barrier arm and into the concrete caverns.
He lowered his window and craned his neck to see around a Tundra that had channeled the Grave Digger monster truck to roll half over an Acura. “We can pick up accelerants and firewood on the way.”
“Accelerants and combustibles.” Albin rubbed his temples the way he did after enduring one of his employer’s fits of motivation. Albin called them manic episodes; Nathan called him under-caffeinated. “Are we going to light the warning beacons of Gondor?”
“Better than that,” Nathan grinned, “we’re going to summon an Eagle.”
Albin nodded as if Nathan had announced a plan to have bacon and eggs for breakfast. “An Eagle. By that you refer to a helicopter.”
“Of course. I’m not insane.” At five miles an hour the Bentley slid between a catty-cornered Sienna and the garage wall.
“No.” Neutral tone. “Forgive me if I am slightly unclear regarding why a pilot would deign to land on a roof in hostile territory, even with a fire present.”
“We give them what they want. Trust me. We’re going home.”
Impassive, Albin nodded.
Deeper into the tombs, past parked sedans and the occasional collision. Then came the end of the road: a jumble of Harley, F-150, Explorer, and Smart Car.
“End of the line,” Nathan announced, shifting to reverse and easing the Bentley between a Caravan and Tacoma. His hand lingered on the stick, over the enameled B. Such a shame to leave it . . .
Albin watched him, then exited. The rear door opened and he retrieved the VTAC. “It was never yours, Mr. Serebus.”
“True, but she’s brought us through Hell like a champion. I probably should’ve left an IOU.”
Outside, Nathan set the dumbbells and AK on the Tacoma’s hood. Now, for camouflage. The Hog’s twisted remains lay against the Smart Car. He hauled the wreckage in front of the Bentley.
Albin took his time straightening his suit jacket and adjusting the RUSH72 straps while Nathan placed twisted metal in strategic locations. Fine. Nathan would rather do it himself than hear his friend’s comments regarding why they should bother to hide a liberated vehicle.
After five minutes, Nathan stood back and brushed off his hands. “Come on.” He ducked into the rifle strap before leading the way around the pileup. Onward to the roof.
As they walked, Albin kept the 1911 ready, his flashlight chasing the murk from the garage’s corners.
Nathan let the ten-pound dumbbell swing at the end of its cord.
Chapter 28
Know Thyself
Now Is the Time – 10 Years
A dented Ranger squatted ahead. “Let’s go shopping.” Ten pounds of iron crashed into the rear window. Cracks spider-webbed across. Another blow punched a hole.
Nathan moved to the next storefront: a Ram. “Check for—”
“Accelerants. Yes, sir.” Albin reached through and around to unlock the Ranger’s door.
“And anything useful.”
Crunch. Like a skull on tile.
On the streets outside, sirens howled. All these years, he’d misunderstood the wolves. They didn’t want to take his life, they wanted to dominate and drain it. In his efforts to deny them satisfaction, he’d isolated himself, giving them exactly what they wanted. But now he ran with the pack.
Soon he would see Janine and Davie again, then he would make up for distancing himself . . . and for neglecting his family.
He paused to watch Albin rummage. “If it’s any consolation, this isn’t looting.”
The blond looked up for a moment, mingled bemusement and impatience on his face, before returning to his duty. To entertain himself in dull moments, Nathan played a game wherein he associated people with animals. Albin resembled the Himalayan snow leopard: solitary, intense, steely-eyed. If he were a snow leopard now, his ears would be lying flat and his tail would be lashing. What upset him?
“I am aware of the difference between foraging and looting, sir. But tell me, do you know the difference between mandatory and optional actions in this disaster?”
“Excuse me?” Nathan’s hackles rose and his shoulders tensed.
Albin moved to a Focus’s trunk. “I need to know what to expect from you.” No condemnation in the tone, but his glacial gaze pinned Nathan, staying the dumbbell.
Now? He wanted to do this now? “You’re doubting me? I’m sorry, I must have missed the times I failed to protect us tonight. If you want to go back to the safe zone and trust those raging idiots instead, be my guest. Find your own vehicle, though.”
“I do not doubt your ability.” Albin set a jerry can on the concrete, then slammed the trunk shut. “However . . .” Wire rims glinted red in the E lights, hiding his gaze as he stepped away from the vehicle. “I deserve an explanation regarding your choices at the St. Regis.”
“You’re referring to Kate.” Pulse ramping up, Nathan met the challenge. “I fail to understand why we’re still discussing this—”
“Do not evade my question.” The inner leopard looked ready to slash Nathan’s face off. “Never have you played the Good Samaritan.”
Cracks blossomed over a Chevy’s rear windshield. “I’m a bastard and a villain, I happily admit. I’m not interested in making the world a better place to go to Hell from.”
“Nor am I. Yet you delayed our escape, risking our lives to save a stranger.”
“Use her name. Or can’t you dignify the spa staff that much?” Nathan cocked his head, dumbbell swinging at his side.
“There were scores of injured guests and employees,” Albin pressed as he strode toward Nathan and the next vehicle. “Yet you chose Katerina.”
“I didn’t choose her. The . . .” The wolves. “The situation demanded it. Even you wouldn’t have left her.”
“My theoretical response is irrelevant.”
“It’s completely relevant.” Albin, always the attorney, never the perpetrator. “Why—”
“The gunmen were searching for high-profile targets; thus, she was in less danger than you and I. Was it due to her nationality and name?” Th
e blond drew his 1911—and used the butt to finish off the glass. “Shall I expect you to place yourself in harm’s way whenever anyone who reminds you of your late mother—”
Crash! Another windshield felt Nathan’s wrath. “Stop, Albin.”
Spine ramrod straight, Albin raised his chin like a damned Brit noble. “I shall, when you provide an explanation. We transported Katerina to safety together,” he added, tone softening. “If I do not understand your goals, I cannot advise you appropriately. Thus, I will operate under the assumption that you acted because you enjoyed the challenge and ensuing victory.”
“Did it look like I enjoyed seeing a girl almost die?” Nathan snapped, stalking over to heft the gas can. “If it did, I’m the one who should be questioning your judgment.”
“Answer the question honestly for yourself. You owe it to yourself and your family.” Albin continued to stuff a cloth bag with a pile of clothing from the Chevy. “Know thyself.”
“I already answered.” The adviser’s words chewed at the back of Nathan’s mind. He scratched his scalp as if he could dislodge them. His hair felt like fur.
“Perhaps you did, during the drive here.”
At last he broached the subject. Nathan’s hand fell from his neck to idly rub a mag pocket. Albin wouldn’t understand the wolves. How could he?
Nathan sighed, tossing the three-pounder in his palm. “I just want to get back to Janine and Davie. By now she’s stopped being annoyed at me and started being worried about us.” A smile pushed through his gloom. “Davie’s no doubt demanding to stay up until he gets his story.”
Albin swung the fire fodder over his shoulders. “Shall we go, sir? The sooner we board our flight, the sooner we can put their minds at ease.”
Chapter 29
Look to the East
On Top of the World – Imagine Dragons
To avoid splitting up, they piled their supplies at the stairs and moved in leap-frog fashion to the roof.
At each landing, they checked the cityscape beyond. Fires burned in every direction, small but hungry. Sirens howled, horns bleated. Headlights like the eyes of beasts slipped through the darkness between black cliffs.
Choppers hummed in the distance. The occasional spotlight lanced from a Bell or Eurocopter to highlight a ground scene. Media dogs slavered for story meat every day. Today the butcher had left his door open. Let them eat until they vomited their guts out, and then watch them eat it again.
At last they reached the roof. Wind ruffled Nathan’s hair and dried the sweat from his brow. The gore on his face itched. North, across the Yerba Buena Gardens, loomed the St. Regis: dark, dead, and only one goddamned block away.
Antennas jutted from the garage roof at hundred-foot intervals. Nathan strode to the center of the first set of four and set the fuel can down. Laundry bags arrived with Albin.
Nathan smiled down at the supplies, more useful than gold. Gold didn’t burn. “We’re bloody millionaires right now, Albin.”
“That differs from usual how?”
“It differs in how we’re millionaires. With cell and data networks down, the pilot can’t exactly swipe my card, even if he wanted to.”
“All the money in the world is useless if one is unable to access it.”
“But we have a prepaid ticket.” Nathan pulled a wad of clothing from the nearest bag and began laying out bits on the roof in the shape of a T.
“And what is the fee, exactly?” Albin nudged the bag with his toe. “We have a combined one hundred dollars in cash.”
“What people crave now more than ever: the truth. More specifically, TRUTH HERE.” Nathan traced the two words in the air as a pattern over the roof.
“You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free,” the attorney quoted as he picked up a jacket. “At the risk of quoting Pilate, what is the truth?”
The six-million dollar question. Philosophers wrangled with it, then made up definitions that served as rationalizations rather than answers. “What it’s always been: what happened.”
“Not what transpired, but a version that is acceptable to and welcomed by the hearers.”
“The media never wants the real truth.” Next, TRUTH’s R. “In this case, what happened is whatever gets us off this godforsaken spit of concrete.”
“Truth carries responsibilities. You believe this”—nod to the words—“will succeed, sir?” Cynicism and sarcasm, fresh daily, courtesy of Albin Conrad.
“It’s not ideal, but it’s just crazy enough to get us attention.” Nathan smiled, ignoring Albin’s veiled admonition to accept the truth and all its consequences. I already have.
“Where is our destination after securing a helicopter flight?”
“Two options: The emergency operations center to report what we’ve seen and hopefully earn a ride out from there. We ride the storm before it rides us. Next option, the nearest small airport—”
“Half Moon Bay Airport.”
“Right, thank you.” Who needed Google with Albin around? “Either way, we need to tell the authorities about the terrorists and cannibals. The police weren’t interested, but perhaps the state and federal agencies will be.”
“We can wait at Half Moon Bay Airport until the confusion subsides,” Albin suggested, on the first E of HERE, “then charter a flight once data networks become operational.”
“Failing that, between the two of us we should be able to find an aircraft. There must be a puddle jumper I can handle. If not—”
“Then I pilot a helicopter, if one is present. I advise proceeding to the airport.”
“I agree.” Nathan finished his H. “However, stopping at the emergency services headquarters might kill two birds with one stone.”
“Or two men.”
“It’s dangerous just going out your front door.”
“I understand the reasoning.” The blond laid the last of his R. “The government will shut down all air travel soon, including rotor aircraft. Government flights are exempt from the restriction, of course. I only doubt the likelihood of our securing said transport.”
“O ye of little faith.” Nathan stepped back to judge the quality of their sign: TRUTH HERE, in six-foot font. Now the final touch: gasoline. The liquid soaked fabric and bled into the concrete to connect the letters.
Albin turned to survey the rooftop. “We are able to improve on this, sir. Fire at regular intervals along the roof”—he pointed to the areas—“should improve visibility and the odds of news helicopters becoming curious.”
“Sound reasoning.”
They made six pyres, doused and connected them with accelerants.
“Is the rum gone?” Nathan smirked as they finished.
Albin scanned the sky, half paying attention. “All that remains of the alcohol is Grand Marnier.”
Nathan shook his head in disbelief. The man must try to avoid pop culture. Then Albin glanced over his shoulder and gave a sarcastic smile, drawing a laugh from his employer.
Now . . . lighter ready. “It feels almost like we’re lighting a sacrificial offering to summon the aid of the gods, eh?”
Beside Nathan, Albin produced the Zippo. “What they demand is often far beyond what we calculated. Take care in your offering lest you be burned.”
The hair on the back of Nathan’s neck and arms tingled as if lightning threatened. He rubbed his forearms. “I can afford it. And don’t worry, I’ll wear oven mitts.”
“Take care also what you summon, sir.”
Nathan turned to scan the sky. “Then let’s wait and see what answers the call.”
Chapter 30
Sacrifice by Fire
Antigravity – Starset
Choppers circled in the distance, just out of reach, like birds that knew exactly how far to stay from the hunters. Reporters and cops, never around when you needed them.
A duffel left over from the tinder-porting lay near the TRUTH HERE. Nathan retrieved it and stowed the AK
inside but left the bag unzipped. While having the AK in his hands provided security, it wouldn’t encourage the chopper to land or take them aboard.
Beside him, Albin watched the skyline with raptor focus. During this misadventure, he’d risked his life as often as Nathan had, yet emerged with hardly a scratch while still accomplishing his objectives.
Nathan leaned against the railing. “When I see your dad next, remind me to thank him for joining MI6 and teaching his son.”
“He already knows, I believe.”
“Of course he does.” Damned spies. “I’d say the same of your grandfather in the SAS, if he were still living. And, Albin?”
“Sir?”
“Good work.” Nathan backhanded his friend’s shoulder.
“Thank you.” Albin spared him a nod and a slight smile of pride, which shifted to sarcasm in the next heartbeat. “You were passable as well.”
Nathan chuckled, then sobered. In the distance rose Hotel Vitale. In thought, he ran a thumb along the edge of his goatee. “Those scumbags were after specific people at the St. Regis.”
“Including you, sir.”
“They said the ‘remote’ was high priority.”
“Could all this”—Albin nodded to the chaos below—“have been a diversion while they secured a target of some sort?”
“If it wasn’t, then it helped them along. Red Chief, as he called himself, knew of the cannibals. He said they weren’t supposed to be ‘in here.’”
“It would appear the terrorists are responsible for the cannibal phenomenon.”
“That’s a comforting thought.” Dread elbowed Nathan’s stomach.
“They administered the . . . substance or drug to people so they would act as shock troops.”