by Gary Starta
Another argument I couldn’t win. She knew it. I knew it. The teen knew how to debate. Charlize leaned back in her chair and sipped her drink in victory. She had posed a question she knew I would be compelled to answer affirmatively. Of course I had put myself in danger--many times. I could only counter it with the old standby: but I’m the parent here, you’ll do as I say, not as I do. Obviously, I couldn’t say that. Only Federov possessed the power to counter her daughter. My desperate sidelong glances at the dentist told me she was not about to assist me.
Finally, Federov spoke, confirming my suspicions.
“Agent Diggs, Charlize is a Federov.” She paused to stare admiringly at her daughter and said, “And Federov’s do not quit.”
I smiled in response. Charlize took my hand, the child giving the adult assurance. I felt small at that instant, not fit to kneel at the feet of a goddess let alone be one.
A phone call interrupted. The DC PD had a positive DNA match on Tim the gym attendant. They invited me to assist in his arrest. I resisted the urge to immediately bolt from my seat, waiting to make sure Federov and Charlize had motored away in an unremarkable old sedan. Then the adrenaline seized me as I made my way to my car. Goddess or not goddess I couldn’t fight my calling to respond. I couldn’t blame Charlize for her inner resolve to respond as well. I believed the same eternal flame which had made her a singer in the first place compelled her to continue her craft, no matter the odds.
~ * ~
Oh, my stars. The wind… it’s so fierce. I’m fighting to keep my car on the road. A roar threatens from above. The ominous shadow playfully skittering about the roadside tells me I’m being hunted. I can’t even remember pulling onto this road. It’s so rural. I must have lost myself in deep reflection during the drive from the burger joint. I don’t have time to indulge in memory retrieval. Cattails, about ten feet in height, obscure my view of what’s beyond either roadside. I yell at myself to clear the cobwebs from my brain. I pull my car sharply to the right. The skidding sound warns me I might be very close to losing control. I’m dizzy from the cattails whipping by me in all directions. I right the car, now yanking the wheel in the opposite direction. Dust is clouding my vision. I seem to be still on the road. And the hunter still seems to be on my tail. A glance into my side view mirror tells me what it is. It’s a black chopper. But I can’t discern who it is. Black makes me think of black ops.
I steal another glance into the mirror. This time I see a moniker: DC PD. My heart skips a beat. They’re supposed to be on my side. On Charlize’s side… Wait, that’s it. They might be assisting in the hunt for Charlize. The girl said it herself. She’s a threat. I have a plan. I’m going to test it. This time, I jerk the car again to the extreme right. But I don’t right the wheel to compensate, because I’ve changed my path. I’ll take my chances and let the copter try to follow me into the brush. The patter of cattails along my doors tells me my car is protesting the plan. I brake several times before coming to a rest. When the car stops, I pray. I could have hit a tree. I could be stuck in mud. Before I check into that theory, I listen. No more whirring from above. I check what I can see in my mirrors, which isn’t much. Quite a bit of dust veils the area. Finally, I steady myself to push the door open…
~ * ~
“Miss… are you okay?” I looked up. How did I get on the ground?
A man in a grey tee and jeans is standing there holding the hand of what I believed to be his son.
“I’m okay,” I answered. I dusted myself off and entered my car.
The man wasn’t satisfied with my quick recovery. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call an ambulance?”
“No. I just missed my meds, that’s all. I’ll be fine, thanks.”
I left the lot with the image of the man standing there with his cell phone in his hand. He seemed to be questioning me. Unsure of just what happened.
I know how he feels. I’m confused too, but I know I must meet the police… the real DC police to assist in Tim’s arrest. One part of my brain tells me I should be relieved. I just had a full blown vision. I was never chased by any copter. The other side of my brain, the more emotional one, is not comforted. What was the purpose of the vision? I can only fathom that I must keep Charlize safe from Mollini without assistance. Some of the police can’t be trusted. That’s all I can discern from the vision. So can I divert Mollini away from Charlize without an army?
I soon found a viable answer while stopped at a red light. Because I had convinced myself the Knights of the White Temple had hired Mollini to kill Charlize, I believed Tim’s apprehension might give me one last chance to avert Mollini’s advances. I would just have to convince Tim to do the right thing and give up Mollini’s whereabouts. I had fooled Tim before. Okay with sex. I admit it. I had played dirty pool with form fitting spandex. I obviously couldn’t use the same modus operandi now. But what if there were another way to make Tim give me what I needed? I would make a pit stop at my house before proceeding.
~ * ~
Technology, not intuition led me to Tim’s apartment. I had to admit driving a car with built in GPS did have its advantages.
I made my way to the building with my secret weapon in tow.
A man in black emerged from a black van to intercede.
“Good, you’re here.” The look on his face told me nothing here was good, including my presence. I deducted he was SWAT. He told me Sergeant Fleming was waiting for me inside. He didn’t spare a drop of self-importance as he told me this. It oozed off of him while he spoke to me in the tone used with young children. Satisfied with his power trip, he popped back into his van.
Good. He didn’t see I’d brought company. Fleming had expressly stated that I was the only Bureau agent welcome at this showdown.
I don’t know what made me think of showdown--maybe gut instinct. Maybe it was the one thing that would ruin my plan. I needed Tim to talk--a lot. It goes without saying he would need to be alive to accomplish this. I didn’t want some hotshot gun happy rookie spooking Tim from peaceful surrender to a dog day afternoon. I needed to take control of this situation. I would demand Fleming let me do the talking.
When I arrived, Fleming’s face told me he wasn’t going to be easily convinced. His eyes perused my body, head to toe. But it wasn’t lust fueling the sergeant’s motivation. He winced as he looked down.
“Agent Diggs, did you bring this animal here? I expressly told you to come alone.” Bast batted her eyes at him. Most likely satisfied she had succeeded in pissing off one of DC’s finest without breaking a sweat. I could learn a lot from Bast. Fleming’s heavy breathing reminded me he was waiting for a response.
“No, Sergeant, you didn’t. You told me no other Bureau agents were welcome. Bast is not FBI.”
He spoke again this time in a whisper, but I knew he fantasized about screaming at me as sure as cops like caffeine.
“I’ve only invited you here out of gratitude for giving us this lead. In fact, I’m kind of suspicious of your relation with the perp but that will have to wait. I thought you might like the satisfaction of seeing my department at work.”
“Excuse me, Sergeant, but I’m not here for entertainment. I came to assist. In fact, I suggest you put me in charge of this operation. I do know the perp as you kindly alluded to, and it might be best if I do the talking. No. Wait a minute. I’d like to amend it. It would be best if I do all the talking.”
He wheezed. I think it was some type of angry laugh.
“You’re not here to make requests or to belittle my judgment.”
“Okay, Sergeant. We’ll share the task. You can make the announcement to your department and make yourself look all macho and then for the love of goddess you will let me take command.”
A swore I heard a chuckle from down the hall. Fleming’s face burned red. He clenched his jaw. “Well, thank you for the honor.”
We shuffled as quietly as possible up two flights of stairs. The building was a walkup leaving us no other option.
<
br /> When we reached the top, Fleming nodded to me. It was cop mime to let me know Tim’s apartment was straight ahead. I mimed a nod back.
He whispered. “He should be home. His car is parked on the side street.” He nodded his head towards a large window at the end of the hall that nearly framed the entire wall. I pictured the layout of the building. The SWAT team was in position at the front of the building, which overlooked the main road. I begrudgingly gave Fleming points for leaving the black commandos down there. I prayed their assistance would not be necessary. The ideal scenario would be Tim’s surrender, then I could unleash my secret weapon, Bast. I’m sure Tim would be happy to talk once Bast’s dark side emerged.
A knock on Tim’s door made my heart thump in triplicate.
Fleming made his announcement.
Silence followed in generous doses. It made Fleming flinch. But instead of taking his gun from his holster, he quietly spoke into a receiver hooked onto his uniform. He instructed all teams to remain on standby. I began to wonder how many officers had been called here. I could only count three others in the hallway. Excluding SWAT, Were there more? I cursed myself for not asking.
Finally, a door opened, slowly. I locked eyes with Fleming. We shared the same sentiment. Great, we were finally on the same page. But something other than Bast was now at our feet.
A uniformed officer behind me yelled. “He’s got a grenade!”
It rolled with understated terror towards us.
I began to rear my left leg back. I thought I might be able to kick it back inside Tim’s apartment. The door was still ajar. An officer grabbed me around my waist, thwarting my plan.
“No. We’ve got to evacuate!”
Fleming radioed “the team”. “Get everybody out of this building now!” His face had segued from beet red to lily white. In that nanosecond, I felt his pain. He was responsible for every life in this apartment complex. We all knew we could never get everyone out in time.
My instinct told me to shut Tim’s door. That maybe the explosion would somehow be contained within the apartment. In reality, instinct was just a pretty mask for desperation.
Then I saw sheer terror grip all the surrounding officers.
Bast had morphed.
A low grumble made them inch back. Even though we were only seconds from being blasted into smithereens, Bast’s conversion to were-panther had struck fear into their hearts. I had hoped Bast would have used that skill to get Intel from Tim. I would die wishing.
Bast interrupted my dying wish with an alternative I found totally unacceptable.
She had the grenade in her mouth. She gave me a look filled with finality, turned and scampered down the hallway, finally crashing through the huge plate glass window.
“Bast! No!” I don’t know if anybody heard my pleas over the crash of the glass, which littered the entire hall with debris. When the crystalline shower finally ended, we all cocked our heads to hear the inevitable.
The blast came about ten seconds later.
The sound of elephant-sized drum cymbals rocketing against the side of the building left us little choice but to fall to our knees. Fleming raised his hands toward my head in a protective gesture. He probably feared debris from the street might send lethal projectiles through the gaping hole that was once a window. He was correct. But fortunately, the errant shards of what I could only fathom to have been the remains of Tim’s babe-mobile flew well above our heads, making fist sized divots into the walls beside and behind us.
Silence was long in coming. A waft of smoke began filling the hall. I could still hear pieces of things coming to rest on pavement. Then I heard a rat-a-tat-tat. Gunshots accompanied by muffled shouting. I surmised the noises emanated from the front of the building with what little hearing I had left. A loud relentless buzzing noise had nested its way into my auditory canals from the initial explosion. Finally, a tiny voice spoke from Fleming’s receiver.
“We’ve engaged the perp in a firefight. He’s making his stand on the fire escape.”
Fleming crawled towards Tim’s open doorway. He would engage Tim from behind, hopefully catching the perp unawares. It was a logical tactical decision. But logic wasn’t what filled my mind. I had to check on Bast. The part of your brain that refuses to accept the initial news of a loved one’s death had already kicked into overdrive. I knew a survey of the scene would only confirm reality. Bast couldn’t have survived the explosion, even if she hadn’t died from the fall from the third story window. Another officer followed Fleming into Tim’s apartment. I turned tail and literally ran down the stairwell.
An officer said, “Agent, let SWAT handle this.”
Still running, I yelled, “I will. I’ve got to check on my cat.”
I heard some choice words echo about the stairwell, but I didn’t care. Bast reminded me so much of my Celeste I was convinced she was Celeste. She would do anything for me. She had just proved it. Consequently, I would do anything for her. As I exited the apartment from the back, I chided myself for not appreciating her love more.
I foolishly called for her. All the while, the sound of bullets echoed off the front of the building.
I saw the twisted wreckage before me, including huge green slabs of metal that I imagined was once a dumpster. Perhaps, Bast had deposited the grenade inside it, minimizing the blast. The cars immediately in front of me were totaled. But farther down the street, some of the vehicles appeared undamaged, at least from what I could see through the still swirling smoke. Could my friend possibly still be all right?
My eyes darted around the parked cars, finding no carnage.
It would be a miracle if no one had been injured. But from what I could see the side street was devoid of human or demon. I continued my search for another minute, feeling more nauseous as each second passed, sure I would find a piece of Bast to confirm the worst.
The mewling coming from behind me sent me jumping into the air.
Startled, I called out tentatively. “Bast? Bast? Is that you girl?”
It could have been another animal, but the mewling was so Tonkinese, so Bastet.
She jumped into my arms. Fortunately, she had morphed back into her true Tonkinese form. I know how foolish that must sound to be concerned about one’s appearance at a time like this. It reminded me of how strangely I reacted to Carter. Shame washed over me once again. Carter was still Carter even with demon blood coursing through his veins. And Bast was still my lovable ball of fur despite her darker half. I would have to learn to embrace both sides. And right now, I wouldn’t have cared if she smothered me in were panther kisses. She was back. She was all right. Somehow. Someway I couldn’t even fathom.
Right now I had to return to the standoff.
I could still hear yelling. That meant Tim was still alive, my one link to finding Mollini before he found Charlize.
I rounded the corner of the building with hope. One miracle had occurred. Would it be too much to ask for another?
Theologians might debate this conundrum for eternity. But I had my answer within a minute. Asking for a second miracle is akin to playing the lottery after you’ve won the billion-dollar jackpot. Lightning would not strike twice. Before I could even shout for Tim’s attention, I heard him deliver his final words. Tim said he would willingly perish so the work of the Knights might continue. He had so much as admitted his link to the terror organization. For me, it also confirmed his connection to Mollini. But neither I, nor Bastet, would ever be able to coax him to do the right thing because he had taken his own life. After slicing his neck with a sword, Tim fell to his death off of the fire escape, effectively decimating my one last hope at possibly convincing Mollini not to kill Charlize.
The blood smeared his satiny white gown. The imagery forced me to draw a conclusion. Tim had died thinking he was the good guy, because in the movies the good guys always wore white. It made me believe I might have never been able to convince Tim to believe otherwise. In any event, I couldn’t dwell on the lost opportun
ity. I had to thank the stars for the one miracle I had been granted. Later I would learn only a few people had suffered minor injuries thanks to Bastet’s courage. No one had died from the explosion.
When I got home, I cradled my lovable Tonk in my arms and cried for nearly an hour. But I wasn’t crying out of grief. I was crying out of hope. Bast’s courage forced me perceive events in a different light. I had no doubt Charlize had courage. I had to believe it would help her persevere in this time of crisis.
Twenty One
I had come to terms with the inevitable. Mollini would eventually find Charlize. No matter how many times we shifted the venue of her holi-concerts, my instinct told me he would sniff her out.
I had to believe that Tim, the deceased gym attendant/terrorist, hadn’t stumbled in the vicinity of the last concert by accident. Somehow, the Knights of the White Temple had been amassing Intel over the last week or so. I didn’t have time to investigate who else besides Tim might be involved, however. Nor could I worry about where Brahms had gone. Perhaps, he was the one leaking the information to the terrorists. I could only hazard to guess without a vision.
Nonetheless, Briana and I had concluded we must concern ourselves with defense, not offense. Consequently, we would need to find new ways to fortify those defenses, whether it be posting guards around a building or using trickery to fool Mollini. We brainstormed for hours over iced tea at Briana’s kitchen table. It didn’t get us any closer to an answer until Bastet joined us in her usual Tonkinese form.
I stared in wonder at the changeling perched on a placemat to my left. I had to ask Briana again, for what must have been the hundredth time, how she had survived the grenade.