“Incoming call,” the car’s computer piped over the speakers. “Detective Lyman.”
“Answer,” Frank directed.
“Frank. We’ve got another witness. One that was in McCormick during that attack on the Warlocks. He said he spoke to the man,” Lyman chattered excitedly.
“Get outta town!” Marcus blurted.
“Honest to crap, guys,” Hank went on, “Nash Ferris, sixty years of age. He says that the man told him his name was Elliot and they exchanged ID’s via implant. This guy saw the whole thing.”
“Did Ferris call this in?” Frank asked.
“Yeah, from a hospital bed. He said he was so scared he ran from the place until his heart gave out. He’s here in County Hospital.”
“Do you have his complete statement, Hank?” Campanelli inquired as he gave his partner a glance.
“Yes, sir. Me and Davies left him to rest. He’s not in good shape.”
“Meet me at my office, pronto.”
“On the way!” Lyman agreed, and ended the call.
“Yes!” Frank exclaimed. “We’re getting closer to catching this bastard!”
***
Campanelli led the group from the parking lot of the District One Station into his office on the second floor. Lyman and Davies were there waiting. He introduced Quinne and Ruger to them. The doctor and FBI agent were invited to sit. Williams and the two homicide detectives remained standing, fanned out behind the chairs.
“Okay, Lyman,” Frank opened as he took a seat behind his desk, “give us the details of that report from this Nash Ferris fellow.”
Hank Lyman nodded and began to read off what he had entered into the statement. His implant had taken it all in via audio receptor and placed it in a text file. The statement took nearly ten minutes to get through.
“Doctor?” Campanelli prodded. “Your thoughts?”
“It checks out…it all does,” Ruger answered as his shoulders sagged in surrender of his disbelief. His eyes teared thickly. “Elliot Three-Seven is one of mine.”
“Tell us about these FROGs, Doctor,” Campanelli directly gently. “We need to stop him.”
Ruger nodded. “Yes, quite so.” The old man recovered his composure and looked over the faces of the men in the room. He was quiet for a moment before continuing.
“Well, I was part of a group of geneticists that were put into the FROG Development Group. Most did not know the end product they were working on. What I mean is, some created the ears, others the eyes, some the olfactory devices, and so on. I was in charge of the epidermis layer. Those pictures that your forensics man showed me, he’s probably perplexed over their matrix. See, the FROGs are…were…capable of changing the pigment of their skin for camouflage. This collaborates with Nash Ferris’s statement. A FROG can also heal very quickly, if he has a source of calories. This explains how he keeps walking away from incidents like the car crash and being shot. The body begins healing immediately.”
“Are you telling me that this FROG is invincible, Dr. Ruger?” Frank interjected and dropped his fedora to his desk.
“No, not at all,” Mitchell answered. “His skeletal density kept him from incurring a fatal blow during the car crash. He crawled away and healed himself. Had your Detective McLain shot him in the heart, Elliot would certainly be dead.”
“What about the head?” Williams put in. “You’re saying that the skeleton is reinforced somehow.”
“That would depend on the range and type of weapon, but the skull is bullet-resistant. The bone is made up of concentrations of everything that makes up ours. Calcium, vitamins, K, D, what-have-you, but they’re also mated with titanium.”
“Jesus,” Davies muttered from his place near the door.
“Yes, it was quite successful,” Ruger said, turning to the man’s voice. “The titanium would eventually leach into the layers of the bone and get stronger over time if it were properly managed.”
“Doctor,” Campanelli interrupted. “This is fascinating. To the task at hand, please.”
Mitchell Ruger nodded. “Yes. Well, your detective shot Elliot, but he was able to heal quickly once he got some rest and later,” he swallowed, “the protein and calories from those…poor victims.”
“So, to kill him, he has to be dealt a fatal blow from the start?” Agent Quinne asked next.
“Well, yes, Jerry,” Ruger answered. “If he were to have a major artery opened and he bled out quickly, that would kill him. Give him time to stop the bleeding, the artery could repair itself in minutes.”
“How the hell is that possible, Doctor?” Campanelli asked.
“Nanites,” Williams guessed.
“Yes! Exactly, Detective,” Ruger answered excitedly and pointed to the ex-SEAL. “But unlike the nanites that are inserted into the human body that assemble the bio-electronic devices, these are living entities. A cybernetic nanite, made of human cells with computerized brains. They move to the site of the wound and become part of the flesh. Then, the computer brain in every cell removes itself from the area and rejoins the healing collective. It was so exciting to watch in testing.”
“And the more he eats…the more protein-rich the food, the faster he can heal,” Frank surmised.
“Well, there is a point where the healing can’t progress any faster, but yes. I’ve witnessed a nine-inch long slash with a surgical knife, deep into the dermis layer, close and heal in under fifteen minutes.”
Lyman and Davies looked to one another and cussed softly.
Frank Campanelli turned his eyes to Quinne, then to Williams. Both men appeared impressed, but unsurprised. Mitchell Ruger fell silent, though his expression indicated there was much more to tell.
“His name is Elliot Three dash Seven, right?” Frank asked next.
“Correct.”
“That doesn’t mean there’s thirty-seven of these things out there, does it?”
“No, Detective,” Doctor Ruger replied with a shake of his head. “The three is the squad number and the seven indicates his place in the squad. He is the seventh member. There are ten per squad and four full squads were created.”
“Jesus,” exuded Quinne. “There are forty of these things, Professor?”
“No, not any longer, and that’s Doctor, not professor, Agent Quinne.”
“Just how many are left?” Frank inserted.
“Elliot is the last, Detective Campanelli,” Ruger answered with certainty.
“How do you know this for sure?”
Ruger took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Because I was there when the directive to eliminate the FROGs was carried out.”
Quinne and Williams shared a hard look. Both ex-military men knew what that meant.
“Explain, please,” Campanelli pressed in a quiet voice. He did not wish to, but needed to hear it.
“Well, the government decided that they were too expensive to maintain and too dangerous to let out into the population. They hadn’t been socialized with any standard human beings other than the doctors and technicians…and the Marines on the base.”
“So, you and your team were ordered to kill them,” Williams added. He was seething as he leaned against the mostly empty bookshelf behind him.
Ruger swallowed and nodded sharply. “Yes. Their barracks were sealed and flooded with ether one night as they slept. Elliot was one of the strongest and most intelligent in the group. He rarely slept and, when he did, it was never deeply. He woke a few of his squad members and they broke out of the barracks. He and two others then succeeded in leaving the base. They were chased down and killed, save for Elliot.”
“What base was this, Doctor?” Williams asked.
“I have to tell you that’s classified, Detective,” Ruger answered apologetically. “It’s also not germane to our situation.”
Williams looked to Campanelli and rolled his eyes.
“Can you at least tell us when this event occurred, Doctor?” Frank asked as he leaned forwa
rd on his desk and intertwined his fingers. He looked at the old man with a hard gaze.
“Not specifically, I’m afraid, but I can say it was within the last eight months.”
“So, these FROGs had no parents, just donors, correct?” Williams asked.
“That’s right. They are incubated and grown at an accelerated rate and awakened at a post-pubescent state. Their education and military training began immediately, and their rate of growth would continue until young adulthood. It stabilizes there.”
“Stabilizes?” Campanelli’s eyebrows lifted.
“Yes. They were not supposed to age in order to serve for an indefinite period. However, that wasn’t achievable. The best we could manage was to slow it significantly.” Ruger fell silent and looked to the Captain of Detectives.
“Okay. So, Doctor, what is your opinion of Elliot’s next moves? Where can we look for him?” Frank asked and sat back in his chair. It sighed and creaked.
“It’s difficult to say,” Mitchell Ruger answered and formed his fingers into a steeple. “He is most certainly fully healed by now, unless the biker gang was able to injure him.”
“That’s not evident in the eyewitness’s statement,” Lyman interjected. “Ferris indicated that they couldn’t lay a finger on him.”
“And he’s able to ride a motorcycle,” Campanelli added. “Two bikes left that garage. The first was Kabel’s and the second left a blood trail around the kill zone before it left.”
“How did he learn how to ride a motorcycle?” Detective Davies asked from his place at the closed door.
“All he had to do was study the machine, let his implant discover the model and show Elliot where the controls are and how to ride it,” Dr. Ruger answered. “FROGs were intended to be able to use any type of vehicle they came across nearly instantly.”
“So, Doctor, what do you think his next move is?” Campanelli asked. “Will he try to leave the city, knowing that the search for him is intensifying?”
“Detective Campanelli,” Mitchell began and shifted in the chair, “I couldn’t even have predicted his fall into psychosis. He’s turned into a serial murderer, a rapist, and a cannibal. I can’t account for any of it, let alone predict what he might do next.”
“Great,” Frank muttered and thumped his armrest with a fist.
“I will be happy to help,” Ruger added. “I mean, if I get a chance to talk to him, maybe I can get him to surrender.”
“Doctor…” Quinne shook his head doubtfully.
“Jerry, I know Elliot pretty well,” Mitchell said and turned to face the FBI man. “I knew all of those boys, quite well. Maybe I can get through to him.”
“Dr. Ruger,” Quinne interrupted and waved his hand. “This is not a man. We’re not out to arrest him.”
The four CPD detectives in the room looked to one another quickly. To Frank, Marcus appeared unsurprised. Lyman and Davies, in contrast, dropped their mouths open in shock.
“Jerry!” Ruger shouted.
“Doc!” Quinne returned. “This is a creature! A dangerous one. This is not a manhunt. We cannot put such a…murderous….thing in prison!”
“Detective Campanelli, you can’t subscribe to this,” Ruger blurted and stood.
“Dr. Ruger,” Frank shot back, “you can’t expect us to contain Elliot. It’s likely that he would be turned over to the Marines for final disposal.”
Mitchell Ruger froze with his mouth wide open and staring back into the face of Frank Campanelli as if the career policeman was a demon. All were silent for nearly half a minute while Ruger’s turmoil boiled, then seemed to simmer and cool. He sat down, sighed heavily and nodded.
“You’re right, of course, Detective,” the elderly doctor said lowly. “I guess I’ve been too close to the project to be objective.”
“Will you stay on with us and advise?” Campanelli asked him. “Now that we’ve positively identified the suspect, I suppose you could return home, if you choose.”
“I’ll remain,” Ruger said solemnly.
“Good,” Frank commended. “All right, I’m going to Chief Sebastian and recommending that SWAT be outfitted with AA-Suits. They’re not going to like it, but they need to know that this Elliot Three dash Seven is more than worthy of their discomfort.”
Williams raised his hand. “I’d like to join them. Temporarily, of course.”
Frank regarded his partner for a long moment. He knew he was more than qualified for the position, considering his military background. “What about your collarbone?” he transmitted in a voice text.
“It’s just fine, Frank. With the AA-Suit’s strength-amps, I won’t even notice,” Marcus sent back.
Campanelli nodded. “Okay, Marcus. I’ll have Frohm’s squad take you on and we’ll be the spear of the task force,” he said, then addressed the rest of the room. “Any questions?”
No one said anything. They seemed anxious to move on.
“All right,” Frank said and stood. “Lyman and Davies, I want you to spread this report to the rest of the homicide squad. I want everyone’s input on this. I’ll be meeting with Sebastian in a little while. Dr. Ruger, Agent Quinne, you’ll be coming along with me. Marcus, go find Sergeant Frohm and relay my orders.”
***
Frank walked in the door of his apartment that evening well after seven. Exhausted, he set his fedora on the kitchen counter, draped his overcoat on the back of a chair, and dropped his body upon it.
“Hi, hon,” Tam greeted. “Wow. You’re tired.”
He could only nod.
“Let me warm up a plate for you.”
“Thank you,” he mumbled. “I need to shut the implant down. It needs a recharge.”
“Okay,” she replied. She had seen the feature on the news and assumed that he was still on loan to homicide. “Is this about the Nighthunter?”
“What?” Frank answered as his vision left him. In his darkness, his police instinct told him what had occurred. “Oh. Was the McCormick Place incident on the news?”
“Oh, yeah,” she answered while placing a dish of food in front of him. She placed a fork in his hand and told him what was on the plate and where.
“Ah, thank you,” he replied, and dug in. “So, Nighthunter, huh?”
“That’s what the news people called him,” she said from the chair next to him. “Is that not what you guys are calling him?”
“We don’t give names to serial killers, Tam. That’s media hype.”
“Oh.”
Frank ate his chicken stir-fry in silent contemplation as Tamara watched him. The exhaustion on his face was apparent and, with the news of the eleven bodies that this Nighthunter had slaughtered with no trouble, her fear for Frank’s safety had known no higher peak.
“Man, this is just what I needed,” he said as he felt around for his glass of water. He downed it in one try.
“Here, let me get you another,” Billingsley said and took the empty glass to the counter. “So, I guess you’ll be napping by the phone this evening,” she said over her shoulder. It was put across as more of a question than a statement.
“Looks like it,” he answered. “We have to find this guy and quick.”
“Well, I hope you guys are calling out the National Guard or something.” She set the fresh glass of water in front of him and retook her seat.
“The Guard’s a possibility. It was brought up in our meeting with Sebastian,” he said after another gulp of water. “Superintendent Dehner rejected the idea, but will keep it in mind.”
“Well, that’s just great,” she said with disgust, and sat back hard.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got three squads of SWAT outfit with full armor and gear on standby. Marcus is one of them.”
“Really? He just got out of the hospital, Frank!” Her eyes searched the ceiling for an answer that was not, nor had ever been, there. It was a habit, nonetheless.
“I know,” Frank replied and shrugged. “He assured me he was fine. With the added
strength the armored gear can give him, he should be fine in hand to hand, if it comes to that.”
“I’d just be happy if this asshole leaves the city,” Tamara grumbled.
Campanelli had no reply to that. As much as Chicago would rejoice if that happened, Frank knew that he would just make life hell for the citizens of another town. He also believed it to be unlikely that Elliot would voluntarily leave a rich hunting ground.
He moved to the couch after he was finished eating and fell asleep within moments. Tam set the telephone within his reach and watched holovision from the recliner.
As she watched him sleep, she drifted as well.
***
That night and the next, Saturday, passed without incident. Despite this, the citizens of Chicago were terrorized by the repeated news items surrounding the mysterious killer they had dubbed the Nighthunter. As a result, the streets were nearly completely barren once the sun fell. Unable to sleep, Frank cruised the streets early Sunday morning. Empty bars and clubs had closed due to the nearly complete absence of patrons. To Frank, the city at night had become even more daunting and unwelcoming than usual, as only the street lamps lit his way. The neon signs had gone dark, sucking the life from the city.
Convinced that there was nothing left to see but other police vehicles and stray, feral animals, he returned home, parked, and crawled back into bed.
The Nighthunter had either gone to ground or Tamara Billingsley had received her wish.
***
Monday, June 9th was a warm, sunny day, but for the Chicago Police Department, it was cloaked in gloom. It was time to lay one of their own to rest, a time all too frequently experienced. Detective Kirby McLain’s casket was rolled into the hearse by several pall bearers. Frank and Marcus, along with Lyman, Davies and two other homicide detectives that had served under the man, all lent their hands.
As usual, Frank drove his cruiser in the multi-car procession to Rosehill with Marcus at his side. Both men wore their formal uniforms and caps.
“What does Dr. Ruger have to say about Elliot’s disappearance?” Marcus asked. He could no longer take the silence. Frank’s disdain for funerals always had a profound effect on the man.
Campanelli: Siege of the Nighthunter Page 17