“He kind of sticks out a bit, don’t you think?” Crimson said as he wiped the froth from his face, ignoring the food and lowering another large, but now empty, glass. “I rather think our kind hosts just might recognise a giant green alien, don’t you?”
“That’s not the only reason you wanted to leave him out,” Jamie-Lyn said pointedly.
“Oh, do enlighten us,” Crimson sneered.
“You don’t trust him,” Link answered for her.
“I don’t trust anyone.” Crimson grinned back. “Especially newcomers,” he added pointedly
“Wow, you really haven’t changed, have you?” Jamie-Lyn said, shaking her head. “All these years later, and you’re still the world’s biggest asshole.”
“Hey, I am what daddy made me.”
“This isn’t going to get us anywhere,” Jesus interjected. “In case none of you have been paying attention, we’ve just about hit rock bottom. The attack on the prime minister is already being linked to us. By now, there will a shoot-to-kill policy by every government across Europe.”
“You think that was Cynthia too?” Jamie-Lyn asked.
“No,” Jesus replied thoughtfully. “I can’t see why she would. You’ve all seen the work she’s done to ingratiate herself back into the mainstream again – sidling up to Clermont, handshakes and photo opps. Why would she then risk her grip on power?”
“Maybe she’s planning to run in the election?” Link offered and the words fell hard on the group.
“Holy shit.” Jamie-Lyn breathed. “You think that’s it? Run for office?”
“Maybe not this cycle,” Link said thoughtfully. “Hell, I don’t think that the public would elect her, not even with the mass PR campaign she’s thrown at them, would they?”
“She’s gone from terrorist to sympathetic victim in a matter of weeks; imagine what she could do in a year or two,” Jamie-Lyn said, breathing out.
“Cynthia Arrow sitting in the big chair,” Crimson mused. “You gotta give her credit. She might be insane, but she’s got major-sized balls!” he finished with a laugh.
They all turned to look at Jesus; he was the government man here, as was his father before him.
“I don’t know,” he said finally after a very long pause. “I guess it’s possible. She already has most of the country looking at her like the victim. A woman persecuted for her religious beliefs, set upon by a corrupt government hellbent on destroying Christianity. Get that message rolling, and yes, maybe. Maybe the people will turn to her. It would be a great healing message to send to the country once Clermont was out of the way.”
“One way or the other,” Link added.
“Fucking SOUL in charge of the country!” Crimson whistled. “They really would have won if that ever happened. Everything we ever did would count for nothing – hell, less than nothing.”
A heavy silence settled over them as the implications sunk in.
“So let’s make sure that doesn’t happen,” Jamie-Lyn finally said.
“Right,” Link agreed. “And let’s not lose sight of the fact that all of this is just supposition right now. We don’t know what that woman’s ultimate plan is; all we have are pieces of a puzzle and none of us know the true picture. If we can show the people what she is really like, then we can take her power. Take that away, and she’ll be nothing.”
“That’s not good enough,” Crimson said quietly. “I want you all to know something. The whole detective mystery that you see yourselves in? It’s not my deal. I don’t give two shits about exposing her, about proving anything to the sheep out there, and I don’t care about clearing anyone’s name.”
“Well that’s a shock,” Jamie-Lyn replied bitterly.
“Let me tell you something, girlie, my name’s plenty dirty enough already. No amount of scrubbing is ever going to make it come up clean again.”
“And the rest of us?” Link demanded.
“Wake up, kid. There’s no going back, not after all this. We’re going to be stained with this forever; there’s a stink that won’t come off, no matter what. We only have one thing left, one card to play.”
“And what’s that?” Link asked.
“We kill them all.”
Another heavy silence fell on their shoulders again, and Jamie-Lyn felt a shiver run up her spine despite the crackling fire raging in the fireplace beside them.
“Well how about a plan that doesn’t appear to involve a suicidal last stand?” Jesus said, breaking the tension.
“I’m all for that.” Link laughed.
“Me too,” Jamie-Lyn agreed forcibly. “So what’s first?” she asked Link.
“Olaf Gustafson.” He nodded back. “My info says that the guy used to have a lab about 20 clicks north of here. He hasn’t published any work for a long time, but the curious thing is that the place still has – or at least up until recently, had – operating power up there. It was simple enough to hack into a few databases to find that he still holds the deeds and that the utility bills are paid up to date. So, someone is still using the place; if we’re lucky, then it’s Gustafson.”
“The guy’s got to be a fossil by now. His work in the metagene field was what…? Forty-odd years ago by now!” Jesus scoffed.
“If he’s not there, then hopefully there’s at least a lead to be found,” Link offered.
“And you’ve just happened to find him? Seems kind of simple and convenient,” Crimson said, unconvinced and a little suspicious.
“This isn’t a guy that’s been hiding,” Link replied. “Think about it. No one’s been hunting him. He’s just a scientist that retreated from public life, remember. There’s been no reason for anyone to try and track him down, until now.”
“And we really think that he’s involved in all this?” Jamie-Lyn asked.
“Maybe, maybe not.” Link shrugged. “But as far as I can tell, there’s no one else on the planet that I could find who was even working on anything like his theories. This beast, we’re certain that it’s not come from any government basement lab?” he asked the group. All eyes turned towards Jesus.
“I would have known,” he countered.
“Personally, I find it hard to place any confidence in that statement,” Crimson sneered.
“I would have known,” Jesus reiterated. “If something like that was being worked on, then I would have caught wind of it; hell, I’d have been running the programme.”
“So then we’re ruling out the whole ‘slave miner theory’ from CJ?” Jamie-Lyn enquired of the group.
“Not ruling out,” Jesus said thoughtfully. “It just doesn’t seem all that feasible, not to me at least.”
“CJ seemed pretty sure,” Link offered.
“And that concerns me,” Crimson admitted. “I really hate all this not knowing shit.”
“Look, the best way forward as far as I can tell is that we get some info on this beast, something that preferably links it to Cynthia Arrow, something that we can throw at her.” Jesus nodded.
“I’ve got that covered,” Crimson said quietly as a silver throwing dagger appeared in his hand and he made it dance across his fingers.
“We need intel, Crimson,” Jesus said warningly. “You should know that better than anyone. You saw it! It went through a bunch of highly trained mercs like they were schoolchildren, and bullets did nothing. Not to mention Bull and Marshall – they fell too, or have you forgotten that?”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” Crimson said in a low voice barely above a whisper.
“Good, because we need to work together. All of us,” Jesus added pointedly.
“I don’t trust him,” Crimson replied.
“CJ?” Link asked.
“I don’t trust him,” Crimson reiterated. “There’s something wrong here, with him, and if any of you had any brains, you’d feel it too.”
“You’re just being paranoid,” Jesus dismissed him. “Tell him,” he added, turning to Jamie-Lyn, but she didn’t answer straight away. “Oh come on
, not you too?”
“Look, I’ve been out of this for a long time, Jesus. I don’t know him anymore or even any of you, for that matter.”
“Now you’re thinking.” Crimson smiled.
“Don’t let him drag you down into the paranoia gutter with him.” Jesus implored. “You knew CJ better than anyone ever has; you know that he’s so honourable that it can make you want to throw up sometimes. The man’s practically a saint.”
“But he isn’t, is he?” Crimson said cryptically.
“A saint?” Link asked.
Jamie-Lyn nodded slowly as she understood. “A man,” she clarified.
----------
After that, the rest of the meal was left largely untouched, but the alcohol found several new homes as sorrows started to be drowned.
Lilly and Ebba cleared the table, with Ebba looking hurt at the amount of leftover food, and Jamie-Lyn had to try hard to convince her that it was not the cooking that had caused the disappearing appetites.
The snow was falling heavier outside now. The day grew into late afternoon, and the sky darkened as the hours passed and the wind started to howl.
Tucked inside the restaurant, the inhabitants sat largely in silence, any sense of good nature retreating away and dying in the corner of the room under the long, dancing shadows cast by the fire.
Outside, however, a pack of three wolves had slunk into the town searching for any scraps left uncovered by careless residents. Their white coats hid them from prying eyes and they moved with stealth amidst the falling snow, their tracks covered almost as soon as they laid them.
The wooded log restaurant attracted their senses as food aromas drifted out from the kitchen. The place was not normally operating at this time of the year, and the wolves found the darker days an easier world to operate in rather than the long days of the summer.
The alpha sent out a low growl to his companions and they slipped into an arrowhead formation as they approached the glowing lights, careful to keep to the shadows.
The wolf was about to head around to the rear of the building, but something suddenly caught its senses and it stopped in its tracks. The animals were used to being predators in the wild, but now the leader could feel that something else was out here, something dangerous.
The restaurant window was up ahead, with the wolves some 20 paces or so back, but the alpha could tell that there was something in between them.
The other two wolves started to move forwards, unaware of anything else out here; there was certainly nothing in sight and no smell in the air, but the alpha was older and wiser.
It growled out a warning, but its younger companions initially ignored him. As much as it didn’t want to announce their presence, it barked – only once, but it was enough.
The other two wolves dropped back, confused but unwilling to challenge their leader.
The snow continued to fall outside the restaurant window, but it wasn’t falling evenly. There was a patch of ground that seemed to be blocking the falling snow as though something was sitting, or indeed standing, there… something invisible.
The alpha took a wide detour around and then away from the restaurant despite the whines of its pack. It ignored the enticing food aromas and the gnawing hunger in its belly; some things were not worth dying for.
“Good doggie,” a low voice cooed, seemingly from nowhere. “Smart doggie,” the invisible CJ added before he was sure that the others had finished talking, and then he headed back towards his cabin.
----------
In the history of mankind, no good conversation probably ever started with the phrase, ‘I think that we need to talk’, but that was what Cynthia heard from her daughter as she entered her apartment that night.
It came as no real surprise to her that Number One had managed not only to track down her private quarters, but that she’d also managed to gain entry; she was her mother’s daughter, after all.
“Can this wait?” Cynthia asked as she threw her shoes across the room and walked over to the kitchen area before pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge.
“No,” Number One answered firmly.
The apartment was a far cry from the austere surroundings of Wolfbane village, but this was her own personal sanctuary and a separate life that she’d created should she ever need to blend into the background again.
Here, she was known as Mrs Diaz, a widow who’d lost her husband, Marcus, some five years ago. She had sold dear Marcus’ chain of electrical stores shortly after his sudden death, having no mind for the running of his business.
Her neighbours would tell a tale of a friendly – if somewhat shy – woman, the sort of resident who would always stop to say hello in the morning but whose timidity prevented her from fully engaging with the apartment block’s social business.
The rotating doormen downstairs would refer to her as one of their favourite residents, a warm woman who never gave the impression that the size of her bank account made her superior to the working man.
Here, she was liked but not overly well known; she was memorable but didn’t stand out. It was the perfect façade to hide behind and a well-crafted one on her behalf. No one would certainly ever picture her as a woman who was once the most sought-after terrorist in the land.
She took the wine and poured two glasses while taking off the heavy thick black wig that she wore as Mrs Diaz. The fat padding came out next from around her middle and she carefully placed the items on a stand near the apartment door for easy access should the occasion call for a quick change.
There was a monitor in the kitchen which looked like an ordinary TV screen but in fact showed live images from strategically placed cameras to give her a full view of the building’s main entrance, the parking garage and her own floor.
She could have placed her own people inside the apartment block but this was a safer option, an oasis completely separate from her other life, one that she had assumed was her own secret, until now.
She brought the two glasses into the living area and took a seat on the long lush sofa while indicating for her daughter to sit opposite on a matching armchair.
“So?” she prompted. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“This is a nice setup,” her daughter replied, looking around the large apartment appreciatively. “Mrs Diaz. Nice cover: low-key resident, liked, but somewhat reserved.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
“Nice coverage with the cameras although your parking garage one is a little too noticeable at present. I think that maybe a pigeon has been playing with it.”
“I’ll take it under advisement. Now, what the hell are you doing here?”
The two women were watching each other with pleasant enough expressions, but there was an air of tension between them. Cynthia had always known at some point that her daughter may seek to challenge her position. It was always a hard line to walk; her Number One had to be capable and well trained, but she had to keep the younger woman in her place to stave off any potential coup.
“Like I said, we need to talk.” Her daughter smiled back.
“About? And why here?”
“Couldn’t wait, I’m afraid, Mother,” Number One replied, taking a sip of the wine and nodding in appreciation. “I see that you have acquired a taste for the finer things.”
“It’s a cover,” Cynthia bristled. “Any cover worth its salt must be convincing.”
“Of course, I didn’t think anything else.” She smiled back.
Cynthia stared at her daughter hard, and for the first time in a while, she starting to evaluate just how much a threat her Number One just might be. The past few years had been entirely all-consuming for her. The planning had taken every ounce of her attention, and now she was starting to wonder what she might have missed closer to home.
“What do you want?” she demanded rather than enquired.
“This new wrinkle in your plans.”
“Wrinkle?”
“Come now, Mother, not even y
ou have control of everything.”
“And what, pray tell, is outside of my control at the present moment?”
Number One withdrew a newspaper from her bag and slid it onto the coffee table in front of Cynthia. The front page bore the headline ‘TERROR AT NUMBER 10’ with a report about the attack on the prime minister underneath.
“What is this?” Number One asked as she tapped a well-manicured fingernail on the image.
“Do you believe yourself to be worthy of every one of my plans? Should I run everything by you first now? I need your approval?”
“Don’t lie to me, Mother,” Number One said, sitting back into the chair with deliberate slowness.
“Lie?”
“I know you, Mother, don’t ever forget that. I know you better than anyone else on the planet. Whatever that is…” she said, jabbing her finger at the front page, “…it is not your doing, regardless of what you might have others believe.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, Mother, that is most definitely a fact.”
A silence settled between them as Cynthia pondered her next words. For once, she was unsure of the move to make. There was something else at play on the board here, and it went against every fibre of her being to admit that she didn’t have the answers.
“It would appear that you have forgotten your place, child,” she finally said, her voice low with menace and control.
“Not at all, Mother.” Her daughter smiled back. “I know exactly where my place is.”
Cynthia’s internal record marked her daughter up a notch as far as a potential threat went. The younger woman appeared to be confident in her position and there was little in the way of fear or even respect coming from her now.
“12 years,” Number One said.
“Excuse me?”
“That’s how long you were gone. 12 years without a peep from you. 12 long years.”
“And?”
“Well I know you’ve never exactly been mother of the year, but 12 years without so much as a postcard?”
“And what exactly did you occupy your time with during those years? Did you carry on the fight? Did you hoist up our banner and continue the war?”
“It wasn’t my war.”
Capes Page 43