Chapter 3
Manhattan, New York City
“You aren’t wrong, Agent Roan,” Covington said, with a smile. “Once more my reputation precedes me.”
Roan’s mind was on the spy in the office and at first he didn’t understand exactly what she was talking about. “Reputation? What? No, I’m talking about you as an outsider.” He pulled out the evidence bags and the case notes, and set them on Hernandez’s desk. “Tell me what you see.”
“A test on my first day?” Covington asked. She shrugged. “Why not.” She studied, first the notes then the test results and then the couplers. “Okay, there is a problem here. This headset thing was taken from a dead woman? A woman who had just stabbed two people to death and who was subsequently shot, and there’s no trace? No sweat, no blood, no hair, and no fingerprints?”
“Nope. And this one was supposedly worn for weeks possibly even years by a man with very questionable hygiene. No trace on it either.”
Hernandez groaned and dropped down into his chair. “Are we talking about evidence tampering? On top of everything, we got an agent on the take?”
“It may be worse than that,” Roan said. “The man who came after me today was being controlled, but the perps I dealt with last year were willing to kill on their own volition. They thought of Arching as some sort of god or messiah. It reminded me of Jim Jones and all those crazies down in Guyana.”
The people who had followed Jim Jones to Guyana hadn’t started off crazy, but within two years some had committed murdered in his name, and all nine hundred of his followers had killed themselves by drinking cyanide-laced Kool-Aide.
“Let’s not get ahead of the evidence,” Covington said. “We don’t have proof of religious mania just yet. All we have is clear proof of evidence tampering. Which tells us that our perps have a very strong desire to keep us from finding out what’s in these couplers. By the way, Roan, did you know that we’re missing one of the couplers?”
She slid the case notes back to him. He guessed right away which one she was speaking about. “If you’re talking about Magnusson’s, it was returned to him after the trial. I’ll have one of my agents go by and pick it up.”
“No, I was talking about Arching’s coupler. In your notes it says you took one from his head. After that we don’t have any reference to it.”
Roan remembered taking the coupler from him, but after that everything was hazy. He couldn’t even remember getting back to his hotel room. “I have no idea what happened to it, but I do know where we can get one that hasn’t been tampered with. My apartment.”
“We should pick it up personally,” Covington said. “The fewer hands that touch it, the better. If that’s okay with you, Director?”
“Yeah,” he said, “Do what you have to ferret out this mole.”
Covington was a surprising ball of energy. She strode out of Hernandez’s office so quickly that Roan felt like a kid hurrying to catchup with his mother. They took her car and she was no slouch behind the wheel, racing through midtown traffic as if she had lived in New York all her life.
She was fast but not fast enough. They could see the flashing lights from three blocks away. When Roan had left a few hours before, there had been two patrol cars and two FBI sedans double-parked along the street. Now there were a dozen squad cars and four ambulances positioned haphazardly from one end of the block to the other, their lights and sirens going like mad.
Covington parked and jumped out. Roan hesitated. He could picture a sniper sitting back in the shadows of a window just waiting for him, and what would he find inside his apartment? A bunch of dead bodies and who knows? Maybe a bomb? That would be easier than a sniper.
And yet, he was no one’s chicken. Once more he stepped out into a world in which he felt as though he was nothing more than a target. For a brief second, he thought about Glitch, the air elemental that had been given to him as a familiar. He never missed the little puff of air more than just then. Glitch would have been able to sniff out a sniper in no time.
“I’m being stupid,” he said to himself as he hurried after Lorrie Covington. Glitch wasn’t real and, more than likely, neither was the imagined sniper.
They found the first body just inside the front door to the apartment building. Right away, Roan saw that it was a professional hit: two rounds to the forehead meant a sure hand. Another assassination.
“We’re not going to find a coupler in there, are we?” Covington asked.
“Maybe just mine and I no longer trust it.”
She gave him an odd look. “You’ve been going online? Why? The way you talk, you make it sound dangerous.”
“It’s far less dangerous than standing in this doorway. I’m being an idiot coming back here. When you’re done, there’s a bar at the corner of 7th Avenue and 14th. I’ll be in the back.”
It took him thirty minutes and two different cab rides to go ten blocks and on the way, he stopped into an electronics store and picked up a new neuro coupler. He gave it a close inspection, but if it had been tampered with he couldn’t tell.
The bar was a hole in the wall called Nicky Finn’s. The moment he walked in, he ordered three shots of whiskey and headed to the last booth, where he could keep an eye on the door.
It was a long wait for Covington. During this time, he kept his Glock resting on his thigh, his right hand holding the familiar grip, his left curled around a shot glass, sipping at the whiskey instead of downing it.
He wanted to get drunk. He wanted to take a long nap. He wanted to clock out to Daggerland and slip into Amanda’s arms and make love to her. What he didn’t want to do just then was think about the case and its ramifications. The case was going to run into dead end after dead end on this side; that was almost a given. In his heart, he knew that if it was going to be solved it would happen in Daggerland.
Special Agent in Charge Covington practically told him so when she showed up just before six when the noise in the bar was beginning to pick up. She didn’t look happy, and the five shot glasses lined up in front of him didn’t help. He didn’t care.
“It’s not smart to get drunk,” she remarked, raising her hand to a passing waitress.
“Then it’s good that I’m not drunk. What did you get?”
She took out a notebook and sighed. “As we thought, the man’s coupler was gone. We also got zip on the bullets and shell casings that were recovered. The techs dusted everything and all they got was your fingerprints. If there was any other physical evidence, we couldn’t find it.”
Roan started to shake his head, but Covington’s look made him pause. “So, what did you get?” he asked.
“A video taken by a kid with a cell phone who was passing when the perps left the building. There were four of them. They all wore skullcaps, but we could just catch a glimpse of the edges of neuro couplers beneath them. We were able to get the name of one of them through facial recognition software. It’s a twenty-two year-old named Michael Jordan, like the basketball player. He was in the system for assault. Once we had a name, we got warrants and tracked him through his last credit card purchase to a place called Geek-naps.”
“Geek…naps? What the hell is that?”
The waitress came by before she could answer. “Cucumber mojito, please, and an ice water for him. Stop with the look. You can get drunk on your own time. Now, where was I? Right. Geek-naps is like a virtual flophouse. There are dozens of them in New York. They’re for lonely people who go online and want their bodies looked after. Thankfully, this one had video surveillance. It showed Jordan and three friends leave together about twenty minutes before they shot up your apartment.”
“Damn,” Roan whispered, seeing the dreadful implications in a place like Geek-naps. How many hundreds of potential assassins were there in New York just lying in these rooms?
“It’ll be okay, Roan. We’ll get Jordan. He’s in the wind now, but it’ll be only a matter of time before he turns up. He might think he’s a professional killer, but he�
�s just a schlub who’s seen too many movies.”
Roan needed another drink. “He’s not a professional killer. He’s not a killer at all, but whoever is controlling him is. You’re not going to find Jordan alive.”
2—
The next bar that Roan entered was just as crowded as the last. He’d been to it many times, but this was the first time he walked in his hand on his weapon. He stood just to the side of the door and stared around, trying to see who didn’t belong, who among the throng was evil.
“You’re late,” Special Agent Amanda Waterfall said, suddenly appearing next to him. She too, watched the crowd, her blue eyes, normally sweet and innocent, were now sharp with a hint of anger to them.
“Sorry, I had to meet my new boss and she was late because she was busy ‘catching’ the bad guys. I’ll tell you everything in a minute. Did you get a room?”
She took his hand and instead of leading her from the bar, she pulled him through the throng of elves to a corner booth. She wore a dress that shimmered with gold that matched her hair. “No. I don’t want you away from your body any longer than you have to be. It’s too dangerous. Now, tell me what’s going on, and don’t leave out any details. I’ll know if you do.”
If there was a downfall to dating a tenth level elven cleric it was that he couldn’t lie to her without being caught red-handed. Not that Roan was much of a liar. He preferred being straight-up…unless he was trying to protect someone.
He told her everything and she was shrewd enough to see the obvious. “Did you tell Covington that she’s hunting innocent people? That they’re being controlled?” Before Roan could even nod, Amanda went on quickly, “And they’re not going to find them alive. You and I both know that. If they’re lucky, all they’ll find is four more corpses. Whoever is doing this is going to treat them as loose ends.”
He had already considered all of this. “I suspect it’ll be three murders and a suicide. The tampered couplers will be gone and the FBI will chock it up to religious fanatics. I’m afraid I put the idea into Covington’s head.”
“You know what this means?” Amanda grabbed his hand from across the table. “You’re not going to be able to go back to work. With a mole in the New York office? No. It’s impossible. Not until after the appeal…and maybe not even then.”
She was asking him to give up his life. It was preposterous, ridiculous, it was cowardice…it was the only thing that made sense. The assassins he faced were perfect. They could not be killed so they did not fear death, they could change their identity almost at whim and they could not be tracked by any means known to the FBI.
He could not fight them and expect to win.
It felt a lot like cheating. “Two can play that game,” he muttered, causing Amanda’s eyebrow to shoot up. “I want to try something,” he told her. “Sariah?” he said in a whisper, glancing up at the ceiling. “Hello? Sariah? Arching is cheating again. Hello?”
The two waited in a pensive silence, watching the crowd of gaily dressed elves, looking for a silver-haired woman to show herself. When she didn’t, Roan hissed louder, “Sariah! Damn it, where are you? I need you.” Again, they waited; Roan did so in a growing fury. Finally, he slammed his fist down onto the table and shouted, “Sariah! Show yourself!”
Amanda looked alarmed and somewhat embarrassed as the bar grew quiet and the other elves frowned at the ruckus. Roan didn’t care. It was his ass on the line, after all.
Sariah was the face of Infinite Reality itself, or at least she had been the last time Arching had meddled with the inner workings of the game. “I guess she has more important things to do,” he griped. “Either that or these assassins are small potatoes to her.”
“If they’re not trying to destabilize the game, then maybe they are,” Amanda suggested. “To her, I mean. Oh, Roan you know what you’re going to have to do. You’re going to have to go underground. You’re going to have to go into hiding. I wouldn’t even trust witness protection.”
“And what about you?”
She shrugged. “I realized this afternoon that I shouldn’t be in any danger at all. I was never a witness against Arching and the only people who knew about our affair are dead. I’m two-thousand miles away, working on crimes completely unrelated to anything that has to do with Daggerland. Coming after me would be a waste of time and resources.”
Roan gripped the table with both hands, his frustration showing in his white knuckles. “So, I have to go into hiding like some wuss and you don’t? I-I this…this can’t be happening.”
How long did she expect him to hide? Forever? Was he supposed to become some boring nobody? Some nine-to-fiver in some podunk town, whose only goal was to crack the two-seventy mark in the Thursday night league? Was he supposed to live with a death sentence hanging over his head? Just thinking about it made it feel like his life was already falling apart.
“No, I won’t let it. I’m sorry, Amanda but I can’t just walk away. These assassins have to be stopped and the FBI can’t do it. They only deal in hard facts. They won’t be able to handle the fantasy world spilling into the real world. And if Arching gets out of prison there’s no telling what he will do.”
Amanda was so fiercely protective of his life that she would ruin it in order to save it. “If you show your face in the real world they’ll kill you. Sure, you might get lucky once or twice, like today, but they won’t stop, ever. Right now, you are the one thing keeping Arching in jail.”
“Then maybe I don’t fight them in the real world. Maybe the way to stop them is to find them here in Daggerland.”
Chapter 4
Manhattan, New York City
Roan clocked out and came awake in roach-infested, pay by the hour motel where the prostitutes were meth-heads and very few of them had a full set of teeth.
Amanda had tried to talk him out of the idea of going after Arching’s people in Daggerland. “Remember last time? Remember how we were almost trapped here? What if these disciples of Arching’s can do the same thing?”
“I think the game will step in at that point.”
“Maybe, maybe not, either way, I should be there with you. You aren’t exactly the powerful wizard you used to be.” Roan didn’t need to be reminded of that. The Roan who sat across the table from her was a first level elven fighter with only the clothes on his back as far as possessions went. He’d been forced to kill off his eight level wizard to save Amanda, who was the last survivor of the Black Hand Battle as it had become known. She had shot up two levels and could now kill him with a solid punch.
She went on, “We make a good team, you and I.”
He could only agree. “We did, but…”
“Don’t say but!” she said, hurt showing in her blue eyes.
“I have to. You’ll put yourself in danger, real danger if you come with me. These people aren’t stupid. If two elves go around asking about Arching, they’ll know you’re involved and they’ll come after you. I can’t have that.”
“Then I’ll quit being me and become a dwarf.”
He shook his head. “I’ll contact you tomorrow, probably from a burner phone. Until then keep your eyes out.” They had kissed and the deep warmth of it was still on his lips as he walked out of the motel. Catching a cab in this part of the city was next to impossible, so he walked the dark streets, his hand in his pocket gripping his Glock.
The local corner boys and street thugs didn’t normally put much of a scare into Roan, however with the constant threat of assassination hanging over his head, he gave each shadow a long look. When a cab finally came rushing down the street, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was the height of embarrassment.
“Afraid of my own damned shadow,” he said, one hand on the door handle. After a moment, he told the cabbie, “Never mind, I’ll walk.”
“What? You think I stop just for the fun of it. Stupid son of a …”
For a second, Roan felt like his wimpy first level fighter character; easily pushed around. Impulsively, he surprised
the cabbie by opening the car door. “I changed my mind. Maybe it was your sparkling personality. Take me to Rikers Island.”
“At this time of night? I don’t think so. There ain’t no fares coming back…”
Roan showed him his badge. “You’ll take me to Rikers Island right now and you’ll shut up about it.” The driver’s eyes, which had a practiced surly quality to them, went wide at the sight of the badge. He tried to smile as he turned east towards Brooklyn.
“So, what’s going on at Rikers? You going to interrogate a few prisoners?” When Roan didn’t answer, he followed up by asking, “Do you guys still beat people with rubber hoses? Or do you just use the hot lamp? Hey, I’m just busting your chops. Really, what’s at Rikers?”
“A mistake,” Roan realized. He would be wasting time trying to get anything out of Atticus. No matter what Amanda said, he had to go back to Daggerland and not as a fighter or an elf. He had to go back as an assassin. An evil assassin. Being evil was something that couldn’t be faked. On the other side, people would know. It wouldn’t be just the clerics and paladins, either. It was almost a certainty that there were nasty creatures that could sniff out the least bit of goodness in a person.
And if they found out he was a fake, they would make him regret his decision to play the game on extreme, something he knew he would have to do if he had any chance of leveling up fast enough to make any difference. He had two weeks to discover who the assassins were.
“Forget Rikers. Head towards the airport. LaGuardia.”
“Just head towards the airport? That’s what you want? You cops gotta pay too, you know. I don’t work for free. In fact, my tax dollars…”
“Shut up and head towards LaGuardia. I’ll let you know when to stop.” As the cabbie worked his way east, Roan stuck the battery back into his phone to check his messages. He had seven; four of them were from Wendell worrying about where he was. Two had to do with his current caseload: a kidnapping case that had taken a sudden turn for the better when the kid escaped, and the last was Covington.
Infinite Assassins: Daggerland Online Novel 2 A LITRPG Adventure Page 3