He spun about, seeing nothing at first. Then he looked up, gasping at the sight of a huge bat zigging and zagging across the moonlit sky. It sounded like an umbrella opening and closing as the creature winged through the air, appearing even bigger than the eagle sized fruit bats he came across in Fiji on vacation several years prior.
But fruit bats didn’t live anywhere near this part of the world.
Heart beating faster Ernie looked to Owen, but he hadn’t noticed. Ernie turned his attention to the sky once more. The big bat was gone. Smaller cousins danced in the night, chasing the humid sky’s rich bounty of bugs.
Ernie glanced up again, seeing nothing and shaking his head in confusion before wandering off. Owen stared after Tanya a moment longer then turned to catch up with Ernie, neither man aware of the figure observing from the shadows of a nearby alley. Oblivious to the fact that in one way or another he had been watching them the entire evening.
Chapter 14
August 2016 – Southeast Michigan
Martin sipped his coffee, standing in front of the kitchen door. A red line on the horizon announced the impending daybreak. Strips of bacon sizzled and popped in a greasy pan on the stove. He had been up for over an hour, the same as every other morning since he first saw that God-forsaken tooth. He still couldn’t believe it. For the Bureau to have flown in their gunner from the East Coast meant something serious was going down. To make matters worse, they hadn’t been talking five minutes, and the guy nearly asked him about freaking werewolves. He was damned if he was going to have that conversation go into some file—
Something heavy and insistent pressed against his leg.
One of his big Rottweilers, Whitaker, stared up expectantly. Trammel, his other dog, padded into the room, the same look on his face. Martin glanced outside. They lived on ten acres of woodland backing up to the state park. Out here nighttime was not for pets, though he hadn’t seen many coyotes of late. However, the moon had almost sunk from view. The sky more gray than black. A persistent whining distracted him. He sighed and slid the door open. The big animals bounded past. Martin turned back to fixing breakfast, bending and grabbing the eggs from the fridge’s lower shelf—
The carton hit the floor with a splat as an explosion of growling, snarling, and barking sent his head straight into the swinging door. The cracking impact left him woozy, but adrenaline kicked in. He snatched up the Remington 870 twelve-gauge pump gun that he had taken from the safe several days ago. It was hot, four shells of buckshot in the mag and one in the chamber. He flicked off the safety as he stumbled outside onto the dew-laden grass, eyes searching.
The din of battle had moved into the woods. Orange hues spread like fingers through the sky. He squinted, there. A dark shape lay crumpled next to the small shed where he kept his riding mower. It was Trammel.
Martin slid to a knee next to his pet as a pitiful whine escaped the dog’s muzzle. One foreleg hung limp and shattered. Tears blurred Martin’s vision as he gasped at the huge parallel gashes running along Trammel’s side, oozing blood through the dog’s coat. It looked like someone had taken a sharpened rake to the poor animal. The dog struggled to raise his head.
“Easy boy,” Martin said, patting his neck, which appeared unhurt. He might survive. That left—
From down the hill came a savage snarl cut short by a keening yelp. Martin charged into the forest, the morning sun breaking free of the earth’s curvature, yellow light filtering through the trees in brilliant beams. Broken branches and a broad blood trail cut an ugly swath through the softly illuminated underbrush leading down to a small pond. He burst through the final layer of foliage, shotgun up, murder in his eyes.
Whitaker was lying on the pond’s edge.
Something had ripped him in half. The dog’s eyes stared sightlessly, blood flowing into the once peaceful pool of water. A twinge of fear tempered the veterinarian’s bloodlust. He spun in a circle, heart pounding, but whatever killed Whitaker had vanished. It was more instinct, but somehow he knew.
He lowered the shotgun and stalked back up the hill to help his surviving pet. His tear filling eyes shimmered wetly, missing the welter of abnormally large footprints.
They were human.
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November 2006 – New York City, New York
Brody gawked, trying not to let his mouth hang open as the secretary led him into the massive office. Everywhere he looked expensive Renaissance artwork worth more than he would make during his career hung on wood paneled walls. In front of him a huge picture window provided panoramic views of the Manhattan skyline. Just before the window was a hand-carved desk the size of his parent’s kitchen table. Behind that desk paced Jimmy Donnelly, the CEO of the world’s largest bank, issuing rapid-fire commands into a phone.
“Goddamn it, I don’t care,” Donnelly barked. “Just buy what I told you, and keep writing the CDS’ on the CDO’s from the pools...Huh? No, the other mortgage pools…Yes, those. I’m telling you investor demand is there,” Donnelly said, waving with one hand for Brody to sit down. “Are you kidding me? Spreads are tighter than your wife’s snatch when you married her virgin ass; of course they’ll sell… What? Yes, that’s right. The prop desk hedges the entire portfolio if it has to…What? Jesus Christ, Lew. When you get a chance to pull the trigger you take it. Don’t fuck this up.”
Donnelly flipped his cell phone shut as Brody tried to control his nerves.
“I want to start by stating that this bank is serious about meeting its compliance requirements,” Donnelly said as he eased into his chair, observing. A few months out of Quantico and Special Agent William Brody had already made his mark authoring a ground breaking report on the dangers of fraud in the real estate market. A report that had brought the agent first into a plum spot working the Wall Street beat, and now into his office for an interview. Impressive. Then again, few pleasures in life matched those attained by corrupting the true believers.
“I appreciate that, sir,” Brody said. “Given the froth in the housing market it’s more important than ever—”
“Why don’t we forget about that?” Donnelly grinned as he cut the younger man off. “I’m sponsoring a golf tournament at my club this weekend, a two-man scramble followed by a reception. All proceeds to charity, of course. Anyway, I would be delighted to have you join us.”
“I’m sorry sir, but no,” Brody said. “The Bureau’s rules on such matters strictly preclude me from—”
“Nonsense, your boss will be there, and so will the attorney general.” Donnelly’s eyes twinkled as he took in the way the agent’s shoulders filled out his jacket. Guys like this only hit the gym hard for one of two reasons. Either they were fags or pussy hounds. And nothing about this guy’s off the rack suit, Fantastic Sam’s haircut, or beat up loafers even remotely implied weekends spent pillow biting.
“Besides, one of our new hires is still seeking a partner. In fact, she just happens to be right down the hall,” Donnelly said, waving off the suddenly pale looking special agent as he pressed the button on his intercom.
Within a minute there was a knock at the mahogany office door, followed by soft footsteps on the plush carpet as Donnelly’s secretary escorted in a professional looking and attractive young woman.
“You won’t believe your luck, Julie. I’ve found you a partner for this weekend’s outing.”
“And who might that be?” Julie said.
Donnelly choked back his laughter as the FBI Agent tripped over his chair attempting to stand. But why wouldn’t he? Not only did Julie have an irresistible girl next door quality but six months prior she had graduated first in her class at Columbia Law School.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” The FBI agent said. “I’m special agent William Brody, but everyone calls me Brody.”
“I’m Julie. Julie Hannover,” She said, taking his hand, her grip firm as she held his eye contact
an extra beat. “It’s nice to meet you, Brody.”
Fifteen minutes later Donnelly gleefully watched Julie’s swaying ass escorting Brody to the elevators.
It was all too easy.
His smile faded as he returned to his office, and noticed that his eleven o’clock had already settled into the chair across from Donnelly’s desk. As the man finished adjusting the cuff on his suit Donnelly fixed him with a withering glare.
The man bolted upright.
“Goddammit George,” Donnelly hissed. “I told you months ago to shut this bitch up. So why the fuck am I still hearing about her?”
George Strieber, a managing director at the bank, wilted before his CEO, “Well sir, you see—”
“Results. That’s what I want to fucking see,” Donnelly said, slamming his fist down on his desk. “You need to understand something. This bank makes money hand over fist because of exactly what this cunt of a deal manager of yours is trying to shut down.”
“I know sir.” Strieber whispered, cowering in his chair.
“Do you? Because the mortgage market is as hot as it fucking gets. I just managed to convince Fannie and Freddy to let us in on the action. That compliance manager of yours could fuck all that up.”
“Yes sir, I—”
“Look at me Strieber,” Donnelly said.
A chill slithered through Strieber. Donnelly’s eyes appeared huge and dark, blazing at him with a barely contained reptilian fury. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what’s in the fucking mortgage securities. Nor is that my job. My job is to sell. It’s the buyer’s freaking job to know what he’s buying, and if he doesn’t then tough shit.”
“Yes, sir.” Sweat beading on his brow Strieber winced at Donnelly’s anger over the woman that had become the bane of his existence, a compliance manager who had emailed virtually the entire management team about the originator’s crappy loans.
“I don’t care if these loans are complete shit.” Donnelly’s jaw somehow remained set as he raged, “It doesn’t fucking matter. By the time we dice ‘em, package ‘em up, and sell them off to the dipshit investors it’s not our problem. Now, you fix the reports so they look good. Got me?”
“Yes sir,” Strieber said. He stood, unconsciously stepping away from Donnelly.
“Remember every loan is approved. No matter what,” Donnelly said. “Keep that in mind, and we’ll be very rich men.”
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August 2016 – New York City, New York
“It’s brilliant!” Arnold Graham exclaimed, forgetting all about the newspaper he had grabbed moments before and its headlines screaming out the sordid details of the latest banker disappearance. None of that mattered given the audacity of the deal that had been outlined for him by his new business partners.
“Without Jimmy we wouldn’t even be sitting here,” Ronald Parker said, the business tycoon dipping his spoon back into a steaming bowl of lobster bisque. Next to Parker sat Jimmy Donnelly, a man who in any other context would have been the center of Graham’s attention.
Graham, CEO of a multi-billion dollar real estate firm, couldn’t shake his amazement. Though Donnelly’s backing was crucial to getting the deal done it had been Parker’s idea. Graham took another bite of his pear gorgonzola salad, contemplating the genius arrayed around him.
Parker had proposed a new development on the Upper West Side. The idea was simple. Take advantage of a tweak in New York City’s zoning codes meant to spur the development of more affordable housing in Manhattan’s otherwise stratospheric real estate market. Their planned real estate coup revolved around an apartment high-rise featuring mostly multi-million dollar units for sale. To maximize their tax credits it would also include a section of two dozen modest rentals for middle class families. This way they could turn an even more obscene profit. However, one potential glitch loomed large. Who would deign to live in the same building as someone making less in a year than they would during this business lunch? Parker responded to Graham’s worries by explaining how the section for those people would be sealed off from the rest of the building.
Graham waved the waitress over. He could care less that it wasn’t even noon yet. Time for a glass of his favorite port. What the hell. Maybe one of the pastry chef’s delicious confections is in order as well.
None of the men knew they were being watched.
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August 2016 – Dibrovno, Western Ukraine
Owen sat down, it had been a long day and he was happy to rest. He flipped open his laptop, the lid cool to the touch. His homepage newsfeed jumped out at him: “Wall Street Bonuses Soar, Median Income for Family of Four Lower than 1998.”
He closed the laptop with a thunk, staring outside. The evening’s final rays of sunlight streamed in through the open window, a slight breeze wafting past the breakfast nook’s faded curtains; distracting him from the depressing reality of life back home. His thoughts drifted to Tanya’s long black hair, playful smile, glittering green eyes…
With a grin on his lips he reached across the kitchen table, grasping the richly bound book he had found on the pension steps earlier that morning, savoring its weight and the leather cover’s smooth caress on the pads of his fingers. A note affixed to it stated “From a friend”. An avid bibliophile, Owen delighted in the thoughtfulness of the gift.
“What’s got you looking so lively,” Ernie said as he shuffled into view, rubbing his lower back after yet another day of manual labor.
“A nineteenth century Ukrainian work about local folklore and history.”
“Who’s the author?” Ernie said, eyes fixed on his smart phone as he thumbed to his email.
“Markiian Shashkevych, Ivan Vahylevych, and Yakiv Holovats’kyi.”
“The Ruthenian Trinity,” Ernie said. “That must be The Dniester Nymph.”
“How’d you know?”
Ernie didn’t respond, sighing as he stared at his smart phone’s screen, “The research desk at The National Scientific Library in Lviv will not leave me alone.”
“Just tell them we’re done,” Owen said.
Ernie felt bad about putting fellow researchers off, but he just didn’t see how they could have helped. What’s more, Owen was right. The trucks would be arriving tomorrow morning, and in two days, maybe less, everything would be packed up. He looked up at the sound of the back door squeaking open.
“Hope I’m not too early,” Cindy said with a smile as she stepped inside.
“You look like a proctologist who just saw Nikki Minaj walk into his office,” Owen said.
“I see you were reading. That the Kim K selfie book, or maybe something a little less intellectually demanding?” Cindy shot back, welcoming the banter ever so momentarily brightening her sour mood. She detested Dibrovno, its weird medieval castle, and the smell of boiling cabbage that seemed to be everywhere she went. The dark woods and isolated valley creeped her out even more. There was nothing even remotely romantic about it. If it weren’t for the friendships she had forged with Ernie and Owen she would have already been on a flight home to California. Yet, in spite of the fact they would soon be leaving, Dibrovno had just given her another reason to dislike it.
Ernie knew why she was there. He pulled a chair out from the white kitchen table.
Owen’s smile faded as he took in Ernie’s grim expression and the light draining from Cindy’s brown eyes.
Cindy sat down. She exchanged glances with Ernie, who nodded in response.
“Have you noticed anything unusual about the remains we’ve uncovered?” Cindy said to Owen.
“Not really—” Owen started to say before falling silent as he took in once more his friend’s concerned expressions. He stared out the window for several moments before turning his attention back to Cindy, “Look, I’m no forensics expert, and wouldn’t pretend to be one. But I’m kinda surprised I haven
’t seen anything that looks even remotely like ballistic damage.”
“We think there’s a reason why,” Cindy said, casting a furtive sideward glance at Ernie.
He nodded again, encouraging her to elaborate.
“We believe claws and teeth killed these soldiers,” Cindy said.
“Animals killed a squad of armed men?” Owen’s shock pulsed hot in his chest.
“We sent DNA out for analysis.”
“DNA?” Owen said, “I damn well know—”
“You don’t,” Cindy said. “In 2005 a paleo biologist—”
“A paleo-freaking-biologist? What’s next? You discovered a mosquito in amber, extracted the DNA and lookie here— these guys were killed by dinosaurs?”
“Let her finish,” Ernie said, his voice loud in the small kitchen.
Owen shot a hard stare at his friend, but nodded his assent.
“In 2005 a paleo biologist from North Carolina State University was examining remains from a Tyrannosaurus rex. Even though DNA has a half-life of roughly five hundred years they found a chemical analogue that suggests they could potentially extract DNA remnants.” Cindy said as Owen listened attentively. “We followed similar protocols, and profiled all the samples extracted, plus matched them to short tandem repeat loci. We still need to analyze mitochondrial markers, but the labs came back. They’re a positive match for human DNA.”
Owen’s stomach knotted up. Think it through. Weigh the claim against scientific methodology, and the need to establish a chain of factual causation. His anger dissipated, curiosity taking over, “And?”
“The primary DNA results came from a piece of what must have been a six-inch fang embedded in a human arm,” Ernie said.
“Must’ve been a dude with a hell of an overbite wandering around,” Owen said. Jesus, this is crazier than a pet possum.
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