Blood Conspiracy (Brooklyn Shadows Book 2)

by Brock Deskins

  “I do like to put on a good show.”

  “Make it your greatest performance.”

  “Hey, Vincent, did you at least get a tug and tickle before they dragged you in?”

  “How did that feel?”

  I frown. “Empty, hollow, and kind of dickish. I hate you.”

  “Nothing pleases me more.”

  “Not even…oh, never mind. It’s not even worth it anymore. God I hate you.”

  Vincent has robbed me of one of my few pleasures in life. This day just continues to top out the suck-o-meter. When the time comes to pay the piper, these assclowns are going to need an unlimited line of credit. When Snow returns, I can tell he has been listening in by the shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Will you do as we tell you?”

  “Only under a formal statement of duress.”

  “Noted. I understand your desire to thwart our plans, but just because you are our best option does not mean you are our only option. Nor is Mr. Van Graff the only leverage we have on you. We are also quite aware of your involvement with Ms. Goldstein. We know she is not a vampire and, as she is a high-profile person, we would prefer not taking any actions against her to force your cooperation. Do we understand each other, Mr. Malone?”

  “Do you know the fable about the king, the mice and the cheese?”

  “I’m afraid I am not familiar.”

  “This king had a problem with mice eating his cheese, so he brought in a bunch of cats to get rid of them. Now he had a problem with cats all over his castle, so he brought in dogs. To get rid of the dogs, he brought in lions and the story continues to escalate and eventually becomes an unending loop. You’ve brought lions into your home, Agent Snow.”

  “I will keep that in mind.”

  “Where are these rogue vampires and how many are there?”

  “We were able to successfully infect three and inserted them in Yemen to hunt out and destroy Al-Qaeda cells that are beyond our conventional reach.”

  “Yemen, the birthplace of the suck-o-meter.”

  “Their last known location was near Shuqrah in Abyan. Our sources indicate a number of deaths in the region point to our rogue operatives.”

  “Who are they killing?”

  “They appear to still be hunting down suspected terrorist cells, but they have been getting progressively less covert.”

  “It sounds to me like you should just let them continue what they’re doing.”

  The agent shakes his head. “You don’t understand how sensitive and classified this operation is. If they were just killing terrorists, we might just let them go on uninterrupted. But they ceased being surgical and are creating a state of terror in the region.”

  “Terrorists being terrorized. Breaks my fucking heart.”

  “We need to control this. If any of the outside nations, hell even our own, gets wind of what those soldiers are and where they came from, there is going to be a global political shitstorm, and your people are going to be in the middle of it. This has the potential to be far more devastating for your kind than for our government. Imagine if other nations discover they have creatures feeding on their population. They won’t act with our restraint.”

  “And you think I can fix this all by myself?”

  “Lesile will go with you. She speaks Arabic and is familiar with the culture.”

  “It’s not enough. I’ll need a special tool.”

  “I will get whatever you need.”

  “This tool is a who, not a what.”

  CHAPTER 5

  I’m assigned four handlers, but only two escort me into the prison. I sit in front of the glass and wait while my two guards loom over my shoulder a few feet behind me. I’m still wearing my cuffs, but at least I’m not shackled. That will change when I get back in the car and make the return flight.

  I smile at the man in the orange jumpsuit when he sits down opposite me and presses the handset to his shaggy head. “Hey, Meat, how’s life in the dog pound?”

  “Not so bad when you’re top dog.”

  “Top or bottom you’re still banging dudes.”

  “What do you want? Conjugals are on Saturday.”

  “I need your help.”

  Meat flicks his eyes to the two suits behind me. “Who are they?”

  “That’s Heckle and Jeckle. They’re part of the problem.”

  “Why would I want to help you and get mixed up in your problems?”

  “For one, it would get you out of here. Secondly, if you haven’t figured it out yet, these guys are feds, and they know about my kind.”

  Meat’s expression grows dark. “What else?”

  “Nothing yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”

  “I knew you leeches would fuck up eventually. How bad is it?”

  “It appears to be contained, but I need your help to keep it that way.”

  “Give me a sitrep.”

  “That thing with Percy drew unwanted attention. They got ahold of the original Cure and the new version and created what they thought were going to be some super soldiers. They lost control, and they want me to clean up the mess.”

  “And I should help you because…?”

  “Because you know as well as I how fucked up this can get if word spreads, which it invariably will. How long has the government been able to keep anything secret? All it takes is one dipshit with a grudge and a thumb drive to tell the entire planet.”

  “Your friends can get me out of here?”

  “Within the hour.”

  “What’s the job?”

  “Jump into Yemen and kill three highly trained Navy SEALs made extra murderous.”

  “Yemen? Fuck me.”

  “Three lethal, special ops, extra mean killers, and Yemen is the problem in this scenario?”

  “Yeah, they’ll probably kill us, but Yemen is worse. It’s like hell’s slums.”

  “Then you’ll help?”

  Meat sighs and looks over his shoulder at the guards and the steel door leading into the visitation room. “Yeah, I’m not built for incarceration.”

  “You’re not built for dancing either, but I bet you have some sweet moves.”

  “I know I’m going to regret this.”

  “Come on, sweltering, terroristic hell, trained killers, it’s going to be a hoot.”

  I’m true to my word, or at least the feds are, and Meat and I are both shackled, hooded, and flown back to Neverland Ranch. We don’t talk much on the flight or the drive from whatever secret airstrip our private jet uses. I can tell Meat is using his senses to try to get an idea of where we are, so I don’t bother him.

  We’re guided through the building, taking so many turns and flights of stairs I’m certain they are using a circuitous route to confuse our bearings before sitting us down and removing our hoods. Agent Snow sits behind a desk, and the brain bomb bitch, Dr. Mengele I guess, is standing next to him. Six feds keep their super Tasers trained on us.

  “Margaret, please inspect Mr. Poole.”

  Margaret, Mengele, I was close. The doctor sticks a small, round puck on Meat’s forehead and uses one of those eyeball-examining scopes to look into his eyes. She pulls out a small computer tablet, looks at the display, and pulls off the puck.

  “Temperature, pulse, and blood pressure are within normal. He’s not a vampire, but he does display some unusual characteristics I would like to examine in closer detail.”

  “Interesting,” Agent Snow says and flips open a folder on his desk. “Lawrence Poole, age thirty-nine, former marine sergeant, highly decorated for services performed in both gulf wars.”

  I snort. “Lawrence?”

  “Fuck off, Leonard.”

  “Touché.”

  “Mr. Poole, I understand you are aware of what Mr. Malone is?”

  “You mean an asshole? Yeah, it’s not a secret. Everyone who has ever met him knows it. Even people who just pass idly by are instantly aware of his assholishness.”

  “I am referring to his vampir
ic nature.”

  “Oh, you mean that. Yeah, that too.”

  “He says you are something of an expert in hunting his kind. Would you care to elaborate and fill me in on the physical peculiarities Dr. Birch found?”

  I interrupt before Meat can fuck up the story I spent the last few hours concocting. “Lawrence comes from a long line of vampire hunters. Have you heard of Abraham Van Helsing?”

  “Like the movie vampire hunter?”

  “Not like, exactly, only less glorified. Meat’s great-something-or-other grandfather was Saary Tarcal until Prince Dimitrie Cantemir, the Prince of Moldavia in what is now Romania, decreed his name be changed to Saary Goatfucker after having been convicted of fucking goats. Normally, this would be grounds for execution, but the region had a vampire problem, and his was one of the few families practiced in hunting and destroying them. The prince put him on probation with the order to kill the vampires and to stop fucking goats. When the family immigrated to the United States, the kind folks at Ellis Island changed their name to Poole, likely in an ironic joke referring to the shallowness of their gene pool.” I look at Meat. “If you ever have a son, promise me you’ll name him Gene.”

  “Eat shit.”

  “Anyway, one night, Lawrence’s father climbed through his sister’s bedroom window, drunkenly mistaking it for the barn, and there they conceived him, the last of the incestuous, goat-fucking, vampire hunters. Obviously, their centuries of close contact with vampires and lack of genetic diversity has created a few minor mutations, which Dr. Birch has noted.”

  Agent Snow smiles in obvious amusement. “You are a funny man, Mr. Malone.”

  “Stick around; my eight o’clock show is different from my four o’clock.”

  “Mr. Poole, is what Mr. Malone said factual in any way?”

  Meat twitches his broad shoulders. “More or less. He left out the part where we like to brutally sodomize the vampire before cutting off its head.”

  “How many vampires have you killed, Mr. Poole?”

  “Three.”

  I turn and give Meat a surprised look. I certainly know he is capable, but I never thought he had actually done it.

  “You hunted them?”

  “Chance encounters. I never got into the family business.”

  “Do you think you could hunt them if you wanted to?”

  “Oh yeah, no problem.” Meat touches his nose with his index finger. “I know right off when I get close to one. They have a peculiar stink, at least to my nose. Some more than others.”

  Agent Snow leans back in his chair. “If you are successful in this mission, I might have a job for you. Good pay, benefits, retirement.”

  “I’ll think about it. We ex-cons can’t be too choosy when it comes to taking jobs.”

  Agent Snow smiles in a way that says agreement isn’t necessarily required. I know Meat is just playing along. There are a dozen factors in play that would ensure Meat would never work for Snow or any government agency. Besides, such an act would cause a war between weres and vampires and would reveal his people to the world. He knows the stakes, and he knows the only two possible ways for this to end.

  “Mr. Malone, I hope I can at least trust in your sense of self-preservation to work with your team whether you like them or not. I will not hesitate to set off the capsule in your head if you become a detriment to this mission.”

  “I’m as interested in putting these guys down as you are. We’ll get it done or die trying.”

  “You most certainly will. Your insertion team and equipment are already prepared for departure.”

  There is no rest for the wicked. Meat and I are hooded and shoved back into a vehicle. My best guess is we drive for about an hour before stopping. Our handlers pull us from the vehicle and guide us to wherever we’re going. I can tell from the echoing noises that we’re in some kind of enormous building, likely an aircraft hangar, and I’m right. Someone pulls my hood off and I look at what appears to be the ass end of a jet similar in size and function to a C-130 and painted flat black. My gut tells me the paint is anti-reflective to give the aircraft some crude stealth capabilities.

  I find Lesile already seated and handcuffed on the craft’s bench seat. They sit Meat beside her and chain me to a seat across from them. It seems my sparkling personality has been rewarded with special treatment.

  Lesile flashes Meat a broad smile. “Leonard, who is our burly friend?”

  Meat grins back. “My name’s Lawrence. Folks call me Lars, but my friends call me Meat. My good friends get to see why.”

  Lesile smiles even wider and leans into him. “I’m Lesile. I hope we become very good friends.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I growl from across the aisle.

  “Are you jealous, Leonard? I knew you still cared for me. No one can pretend to hate another so vocally without being in love.”

  “Call me old-fashioned, but I’m just a bit turned off by inter-species relationships.”

  Meat says, “I’ll be sure to tell Kat that next time I see her.”

  “Who is Kat?”

  “Leo’s bed buddy.”

  “She’s one of you?”

  “She’s half, but she’s a good woman. I don’t know what she sees in this prick.”

  “Go to hell, Goatfucker.”

  Lesile turns her smile toward me. “Leonard, you did not tell me you had found love. I was not sure you were even capable of it. Kat and I must have a girls’ night out and share stories.”

  Fuck me with a stick. This is going to be one hell of a long flight. The whine of hydraulics kicking on fills the compartment as the loading ramp rises into position and seals us in. The portholes are blacked out for light discipline, and the interior is thrown into pitch darkness for a moment until the interior lights kick on. I feel a slight jolt when a tow vehicle couples onto the front landing gear and pulls us out onto the runway.

  A much deeper whine fills the cabin when the engines spin up and it becomes a roar. The jet rockets down the tarmac, and my stomach sinks a bit in the split second the wheels leave the ground. I’ve never been a big fan of flying. In fact, the only time I have been on an aircraft was when one was carrying me to one war or another.

  When we level out, one of the black-fatigued agents shouts over the drone of the engines. “It’s a fifteen hour flight, so go ahead and get as comfortable as you can. With our additional fuel capacity, we’ll only have to perform a single midair refueling. Agent Snow wanted me to remind you all of our capability to set off your implants from any location in the world. My team can also trigger them if you show us any resistance. This is your only warning.”

  I spend most of the flight studying the men holding their weapons at the ready. They try to maintain perfect vigilance, but it’s a long flight, and they eventually relax. I watch for telltale body language to pick out weaknesses and, more importantly, who has the button. I’m more than a little annoyed at the fact that I seem to be the only one doing it. Lesile and Meat are too busy cozying up to one another, and I say a word of thanks for the restraints preventing them from humping on the floor.

  The hours crawl by, and I have to fall back on my sniper training to find the patience to keep from going bat shit crazy out of sheer boredom. I find myself looking forward to the life and death fight with our targets and realize I may have something of an emotional problem. I should have a talk with my shrink about this. I’m sure it can’t be healthy.

  “All right, people, we’re nearing the drop zone,” the lead agent announces. “One of my guys is going to remove your restraints. If you so much as flinch before he clears the area, we’re going to fry your brain. Got it?”

  All but one of the agents move to the front of the cargo hold and train their weapons on us while their remaining team member unlocks our shackles. Once freed, he hastens to join his group near the front of the plane.

  “In the small box near the rear of the aircraft are some electronic devices. The item looking like a wristwatch emit
s a GPS signal. The sat phones will allow you to track each of them in case you get separated. They will also allow you to send encrypted texts to apprise us of your mission status. Once we receive confirmation of your success, we will send you the location for the extraction point. Remember, we can set off your implant anytime and anywhere if you deviate from the mission.”

  “What about equipment, or are we supposed to talk them into shooting themselves in the head?” I ask.

  “We’ll drop your gear once all three of you are clear of the aircraft. This is a low altitude jump, so don’t fuck it up.”

  Low altitude means under five hundred feet to avoid radar. He’s right, there’s no second chances if there’s chute failure. I walk to the rear of the plane and retrieve the electronics package. I toss a phone and a GPS to my two teammates as the large cargo door at the rear slowly drops open. I motion to Lesile to come to me.

  I have to shout over the sound of the engines and the noise of the wind as the aircraft cuts through the air at a hundred and fifty miles per hour. “Have you ever jumped before?”

  Lesile shakes her head. “I never had a reason or desire to jump from a perfectly functioning airplane.”

  I grab a harness and guide her in putting it on. “It’s easy. The static line will deploy your chute for you, and all you have to do is glide to the ground. You can steer by pulling on the two handles just above your head. When you jump, cross your arms in front of your chest and leap straight out as if you’re jumping into the pool. It’s that easy.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  I clip the static line to a metal ring on her harness. “Trust me, you’ll love it. I know I will.”

  I take a step back and kick her in the chest as hard as I can. Lesile’s eyes widen as she flies from the back of the aircraft. Her enraged shout turns into a series of expletives when the static line snaps taut, pulls her harness’ quick release, and she freefalls the entire way to the ground. Meat leaps from his seat and stares at the packed chute flapping behind the cargo ramp at the end of its static line.

  “What the fuck did you do? She was the only one who speaks Arabic! How the fuck are we supposed to complete our mission now?”