Talon of God

by Wesley Snipes

  Korigan swallowed. “Which is?”

  “Power,” St. Luke whispered. “The power to be above those who would pull you down. Power no one can ever take away.” St. Luke pointed at his chest. “My power.”

  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’d give that to me?”

  “Gladly,” St. Luke said. “I’ve been me for almost sixty years now. Frankly, it’s time for a change, and I’ve been looking for an heir for some time.”

  “An heir?” Korigan repeated, unbelieving.

  “Yes,” St. Luke said with a smile. “Someone with the experience and ruthlessness needed to take over my business concerns while I focus on more . . . spiritual matters.”

  That was a crock if Korigan had ever heard it. St. Luke didn’t have a spiritual bone in his body. But while his explanation didn’t fly, he did seem serious about the offer.

  “To be clear,” Korigan said slowly. “If I do what you want here in Chicago, you’ll make me your heir, the person who inherits this.” He swept his arms upward, indicating the mansion overhead. “All of it?”

  “All of it,” St. Luke agreed. “You won’t even have to wait until I’m dead. I’m actually planning to retire soon. Consider this operation my going-away present.”

  It was too good to be true. Korigan knew that meant he shouldn’t trust it. Hell, with that hovering darkness over his shoulder, no sane man would. But he was having trouble fighting against his desire for it to be true. After all, wasn’t he owed a stroke of good fortune? He, who’d worked so hard to pull himself out of the gutter? Who’d thrown away pride countless times to court the same billionaire who was standing in front of him, offering the impossible? No. It was past time for Victor Korigan’s ship to come in.

  That said, he couldn’t get aboard by being stupid.

  You can’t cash in wishful thinking.

  “I want it in writing,” he said, crossing his arms. “All of it.”

  “Of course,” St. Luke replied. “We’ll draw everything up nice and legal for my protection as well as yours. We both have to do our part in this agreement. And I want you to be clear: none of this is worth a dime if you can’t keep my operations going until the end. If this fails, I fail. And if I fail, you certainly fail.”

  Lincoln let out a chilling laugh at that, which Korigan ignored. “And what end is that?”

  “You’ll know,” St. Luke promised. “Believe me. When it comes, you’ll know.”

  That was a warning bell if ever Korigan heard one, but he was in too deep to care. He had no idea what St. Luke was thinking, but he was now certain the billionaire had finally passed eccentric and gone straight to mad. But that was fine with him. If the old man wanted him to play along with this Z3X scam, Victor would play the best game he’d ever seen. It’s not like he gave a damn about Chicago. This cold, windy place was just another job to him. He’d bring the whole damn city to its knees if that was what St. Luke wanted, because when the end did come, it wouldn’t matter. With St. Luke’s wealth at his disposal, Korigan could escape any hell the crazy old man brought down on their heads. St. Luke was one of the richest men in the world. Even if Korigan only managed to salvage a fraction of that, he’d still have enough money and power to finally stop worrying about finding that next job and keeping ahead of all the people who wanted him dead. With that much money, he could finally rest, finally relax.

  Maybe even have enough time to wipe off all the blood he’d gotten on his hands throughout his life . . .

  To hell with that—someone else can wash my hands for me.

  And it was almost in his grasp. He just had to keep doing what he was so good at doing.

  Winning.

  “All of your wealth,” he said again, voice shaking in eagerness. “Transferred to me. Legally. In writing. Notified and witnessed.”

  “Yes, yes,” St. Luke said, waving his hand dismissively. “All the bells and whistles. Now do I have my man or not?”

  Korigan thought it through one more time, searching madly for the catch. In the end, though, he couldn’t find one big enough to risk losing the reward. “You have a deal,” he said, holding out his hand. “I want the papers in my office first thing tomorrow, and I want full access to your illegal operations here in Chicago. As soon as I have guarantee of payment and control over all the necessary pieces, I will lock down this city so tight, there won’t be so much as a kid shoplifting without my say-so. Come hell or high water, you will have no disruptions to your Z3X operation.”

  “Spoken like a true mercenary,” St. Luke said proudly, gripping Korigan’s offered hand and shaking it for far too long. “I’ll have it to you by noon tomorrow. Lincoln will deliver it personally so he can fill you in on our Chicago narcotics operations.”

  Black did not look happy about that, but he nodded just the same, and Korigan’s stomach began to flutter. He was close. He was so close. But he had to get out of here now, before St. Luke’s apparent madness shifted and he changed his mind. “I should go, then,” he said as he finally pried his hand out of St. Luke’s. “It’s late, and we’ve much to do.”

  “Of course, of course,” St. Luke replied. “But do feel free to enjoy the party upstairs before you go. I always encourage people to make the most of their baser urges.”

  Another time, Korigan gladly would have taken him up on that, but right now he wasn’t even thinking about the pleasures upstairs. Nothing would satisfy him now other than the promise this apparent madman had just made him, and the only thing on his mind was what he was going to do to make sure he didn’t lose it. He was already making contingency plans as he said goodbye to his host and strode away, barely even noticing the horrors this time as he half walked, half ran through the zoo, back to the elevator and the work that lay beyond.

  “You’re making a mistake.”

  St. Luke glanced away from Victor Korigan’s retreating back to see Lincoln Black sitting cross-legged on top of one of the long lab tables with his sword in his lap. “How so?”

  “The police chief,” Black said. “He’s a blind idiot.”

  “You underestimate him,” St. Luke said, shaking his head. “He is blind, true, but no more than most men. Despite that, he’s as scheming and ambitious as I could ever ask, and that makes him useful.”

  The swordsman snorted. “Only if you like dull knives. What kind of fool do you have to be not to accept that there’s more going on than meets the eye after seeing that?”

  He nodded toward the black box in the center of the room, and St. Luke chuckled. “Not everyone is as open-minded as you. But it’s not that he didn’t notice it. It’s that he chose to ignore it in favor of his own goals.” He grinned. “Like I said, ambitious. And very good at his job. He’s certainly kept you out of trouble. Or did you think it just happened that no one noticed all those gang lords you decapitated and threw in the river during the takeover?”

  Black shrugged. “I figured it counted as a public service.”

  “If you ever do a public service, it really will be the end times,” St. Luke said with a laugh. “But don’t worry. We won’t have to put up with him for long.” His lips curled into a cruel smile. “Wise generals make sure that soldiers like Korigan don’t outlive their wars.”

  “I did notice you left out a few key bits of information while you were promising him all the kingdoms of the earth,” Black said, reaching down to poke the baggies of Z3X. “But are you sure about trusting him with so much? It’d be some dramatic irony if the great St. Luke got taken down by the underling he underestimated.”

  “I’d never fall prey to such melodrama,” St. Luke said in disgust. “Trust me. I know how to deal with men like Korigan. He’s learned to play it smooth, but deep down he’s still the same frightened little boy willing to do anything for the power to keep himself safe. Why do you think he jumped so fast and so high when I offered him my fortune? To a man like him, I’m the top.” St. Luke laughed out loud. “He has no idea.”

  “We don’t need him.”<
br />
  “Not technically,” St. Luke agreed, rubbing a hand on his chest like it pained him. “But we can still use him, and, it’s nice to have someone covering our backs. Federal investigations can be quite annoying when you’re on a deadline.”

  “Feds die just like anyone else,” Black pointed out. “But we’re about to have bigger problems. Ones Korigan can’t touch.”

  St. Luke’s smile faded. “What do you mean? Was there a problem with the last catalyst?”

  “Not at all,” Black said, shaking his head. “For all his protests, the veteran bum went out nice and big. Full transformation, just as predicted. The problem came later when he tried to attack a woman, some doctor who’d treated him in the past. Things were about to get nice and ironic with him ripping the arms off the very person who’d come to help him, when who should appear but our favorite Bible-quoting, sword-wielding friend.”

  The billionaire’s eyes went wide. “Are you kidding me?” When Black shook his head, St. Luke slammed his hand down on the table, denting the metal surface. “And you’re only telling me this now because?”

  “You’re the one throwing wild parties upstairs. What was I supposed to do? Not get laid?” Black scoffed. “Anyway, our friend pulled one of his vanishing stunts at the end, and I’ve hunted his kind long enough now to know it’s a waste of time to try and find him after that. But it doesn’t matter. I know where he’s going.”

  “Where?” St. Luke growled impatiently, his blue eyes so bright with anger they almost seemed to glow.

  Black smiled at the light. “Remember I told you there was a doctor?” he said casually. “Well, she was a real piece of work. She stopped him from killing the bum and managed to reverse the transformation. But it gets even better.”

  St. Luke arched an eyebrow. “Actually better, or better in that it amuses you?”

  “Both,” Lincoln said. “The doctor got some of the green junk on her hands, and wouldn’t you know, it didn’t work. Strongest crap we had, and she just shrugged it off. All she got was some burned fingers.”

  “That’s impossible,” St. Luke said. “No one can take that much concentrated sin.”

  Black spread his arms wide. “Hey, man, I’m just reporting what I saw. But what you’re missing here is that Mr. Holy Warrior saw it, too, and it got him good. He spoke more words to that girl than I’ve heard him say in decades. There’s no way he’ll let her go. Way I see it, we just got a chance to take down two birds with one stone.”

  St. Luke saw it, too, but he was already thinking bigger. “Can you?”

  “That depends,” Black said. “You’re asking me to take out our oldest enemy and the doctor who impressed him, and move your plan ahead at the same time. That’s a lot more than two birds for this one stone. I can still do it, but it’s going to make a pretty big mess.”

  “So what?” St. Luke said dismissively, turning to gaze into the black cube at the center of his lab. “Now you see why I brought Korigan in. Your ‘messes’ are his problem from tonight forward, so do what you have to do. We’ve fought too long and too hard to tolerate risks this close to the end, and a SEE warrior in the city represents a catastrophic risk. I want him dead, and I want the doctor dealt with as well. I don’t know what her story is, but anyone who can shrug off the effects of the Emerald Compound is too good for this world.” He paused, before finally looking up at Black and saying, “I don’t care how you do it, but I want both problems taken care of and all of this pushed into the next phase by tomorrow. Understood?”

  Rather than answer, Black just tucked his sword into his belt and reached down, gathering up as many boxes of Z3X—both the concentrated green liquid form and the black powder—as he could fit in his arms. When he was loaded down, he gave St. Luke a final wink and walked off, whistling a cheery tune as he made his way back toward the elevator.

  Satisfied that his predator was on the hunt, St. Luke put the matter out of his mind and returned his gaze to the black cube at the center of his lab, staring into its endless depths lovingly before yelling at his lab staff—who were still staring in horror at the massive chunk Black had taken out of their supplies—to get back to work.

  They had a city’s worth of orders to fill.

  5

  False Signs

  The coming of the lawless one is by the activity of Satan with all power and false signs and wonders.

  —2 Thessalonians 2:9

  Technically, the drive south from Mercy Hospital to her father’s home in Englewood took fifteen minutes. Thanks to the time dilation effect of awkward silences, though, Lauryn would have placed it closer to fifteen hours.

  She sat awkwardly in the passenger seat of her father’s car, staring out the window at the dark city. About halfway through, thick, wet snow started to fall, covering everything in a muffling blanket until all Lauryn could hear was the putter of the engine, the soft strains of the ever-present gospel music from the car radio, and the pointed huff of her father’s angry breathing. Even so, it wasn’t until they stopped at the light that marked the entrance to Lauryn’s childhood neighborhood that he finally said what he’d clearly been thinking since they left.

  “You should have called me.”

  The words were full of recrimination, but Lauryn was too tired to even roll her eyes. “There was no point,” she said. “Everything was under control. By the time I had a chance to call, I was already fine. It wasn’t a big deal, Dad.”

  “You were attacked,” Maxwell said, his big preacher’s voice filling the car until her ears rang. “How is that not a big deal?”

  “It was scary when it was happening,” she admitted. “But I couldn’t have called you in the middle, could I?”

  “So why didn’t you call when you got to the hospital?” he argued back. “I had to find out from someone else!” His hands tightened on the leather-wrapped steering wheel. “I’m your father. Your family. You should have told me.”

  “Why?” Lauryn demanded. “So you could be worried, too? I’m twenty-seven, Dad. I’m also a doctor. I know when to call in families, and I can definitively say that a burned hand is not a medical emergency. The only reason I was even admitted was because there was a chance I’d been exposed to narcotics, but even that turned out to be nothing. There was absolutely no medical reason for me to call you and ruin your night as well.”

  That was the logical truth, but Maxwell’s scowl just got deeper. “You still should have called,” he growled, tapping the gas as the light turned green. “Grown or not, children should have more respect for their parents.”

  Lauryn gave up after that, slumping down as far as she could into the Buick’s cushy seat. Seriously, her father could take offense at anything. The worst part was, she had actually considered calling while she’d been stuck in bed waiting for test results. The only reason she hadn’t was because it was Wednesday. Wednesdays were potluck and choir practice at the church. If she’d done as he’d asked and called, her dad would have scolded her for interrupting his work. As always, there was just no winning with her father, so Lauryn decided to stop trying. Her goal tonight was to get Maxwell off her back, get some sleep, and get back to her normal life first thing tomorrow.

  Thankfully, by the time they pulled up to the modest two-story house she’d grown up in, it was late enough to go straight to bed without the usual small talk. Lauryn popped out of the car like a cork the moment it rolled to a stop in front of her dad’s postage-stamp yard. It was a sign of how upset she was that she made it all the way to the porch steps before noticing the other car that was taking up her father’s tiny driveway: a brand-new souped-up electric-blue Dodge Charger.

  “What is that?”

  It didn’t seem possible after their previous discussion, but her father’s voice grew even more disapproving. “That’s your brother’s car.”

  Her jaw dropped. “That’s Robbie’s? But he’s only nineteen! How the hell—”

  “Language,” Maxwell barked.

  She gaped at him.
“Your son is driving around in a car there’s no way he could legally afford, and you’re worried about my language?”

  “Lauryn, that’s enough.”

  The hell it was. Twenty minutes ago, going home had been the last thing Lauryn had wanted to do. Now she was kicking herself for not checking in sooner. Robert had always loved to party, and unlike Lauryn, who’d had exams and frantic studying to keep her out of trouble, he never missed a chance to have fun. Combine this with his pathological aversion to anything resembling honest work, and she was certain that shiny new car meant no good. Growing up, if someone in the neighborhood had something this nice, it almost certainly came from working a corner. She was about to march into the house and give her derelict brother a piece of her mind when the front door slammed open, and—as if summoned—a young man in a puffy jacket and spotless white sneakers shot out like a bullet.

  “Dad!” he yelled. “Move your car! I gotta—” He stopped short, blinking in surprise as he finally registered that Maxwell wasn’t alone. “Lauryn?”

  Lauryn blinked back. The tall man in front of her looked nothing like the baby brother she remembered. Despite going to school only a few miles away, she’d been terrible about visiting her family since she’d left home . . . because she’d left home precisely so she wouldn’t have to deal with her family. She couldn’t avoid her dad—Maxwell knew where she lived, and he showed up at her door like clockwork every month no matter how much she changed her schedule—but she hadn’t been back to the house or seen her brother since Robbie’s first year of high school.