Lang, a heavier set man than Boileau, stood up from his chair, his hand outstretched. “Detective Jarvis. A pleasure.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t return the sentiment.” Alex ignored his hand, crossing her arms and flicking a cold look at Boileau. “It’s been a long day. Let’s make this as short as possible, shall we? I’ll start us off. I’m not going to Ottawa.”
Boileau pushed back from Roberts’s desk. “You don’t even know what’s happened yet.”
“I don’t care. It won’t change anything. I’m not leaving Toronto, and I’m not chasing down your half-baked alien—”
“Alex.” Roberts’s voice stopped her.
She clamped an imaginary lid on the boil-over of impatience. Reminded herself she still wanted to work in this office. Made it as far as three in her count to ten.
“My apologies,” she growled. “But I have work to do, so whatever it is you have to show me, let’s get it over with.”
Roberts cleared his throat behind her.
“Please,” she added, rolling her eyes at him over her shoulder.
A somberness in her supervisor’s expression pulled her up short and sent a trickle of ice water through her belly. She glanced back at the monitor on the desk. Foreboding crawled over her skin. Suddenly, she didn’t think she wanted to see whatever Boileau had to show her. Roberts’s hand settled onto her shoulder, urging her forward.
Behind the desk, Boileau stepped to one side, making room for her in silent invitation.
CHAPTER 21
AS ALEX TOOK UP a position beside Stephane Boileau, the minister’s aide leaned forward to draw the computer mouse nearer to him. He clicked on an icon in the bottom taskbar and a video image sprang up on the monitor, frozen on a dark, grainy image of trees.
“How familiar are you with the city of Pripyat?” he asked.
“I’ve never been, if that’s what you mean. But I know it’s the Ukrainian city that had to be evacuated when Chernobyl blew.”
Boileau looked surprised. “Very good.”
“I didn’t realize there’d be a test,” she retorted. “Shall I go study, or can we get to the point?”
Deputy Minister Lang moved to stand on her other side, hands in his pockets. He nodded at the screen. “About a week ago, satellite images showed unauthorized activity, but—”
“Define activity.”
He frowned, obviously not a man used to being interrupted.
“People,” he said. “A lot of them. The Ukraine government had been allowing tours into the area for the past few years on a small scale, but those were discontinued recently when radiation levels spiked.”
“Spiked? Why?”
Lang and Boileau exchanged glances.
“We don’t know,” said Lang. “But, for the moment, no one is allowed within five kilometers of the city.”
“Go on.”
Boileau took over. “There were two satellites sending images of the area. We lost contact with both of them before we could take a closer look, so the Ukrainians sent in a drone.”
Alex didn’t think she liked the direction this seemed to be taking.
“The photos came back black,” said Boileau. “No images whatsoever. Not even ghosts. Then the Ukrainian government sent in two fighter jets, but those had to turn around when their onboard computers went haywire. They didn’t get close enough to see anything, either.”
She definitely didn’t like the direction this was taking. She stared at the frozen image on the screen and waited.
Beside her, Lang rocked back onto his heels. Forward onto the balls of his feet. Back again.
“Yesterday, the Ukrainians sent in a ground force to do reconnaissance,” he said quietly. “An elite force. They shared this video with other governments this morning at four a.m. eastern time.”
Roughly three hours ago. They would have had to haul the prime minister out of bed for that. The president of the U.S., too, no doubt. She herself had still been awake, of course, dealing with not one but two angels in her living room, instead of getting drunk as she’d planned. Or grieving the loss of her sister, as any normal human being would have done.
She flapped a hand at Boileau, and he clicked on the video’s play arrow. The image on the computer screen began moving.
At first, Alex saw only trees, seemingly shot with a night-vision camera that was most likely attached to a helmet. Then a shape rose from the ground a few feet ahead of the soldier with the camera, green and ghostly, automatic weapon in hand, face concealed behind a full bio-hazard mask. A smattering of words was exchanged, low and rapid, unintelligible in their foreignness. Another masked green man joined the first. The image turned wobbly as the camera-wearing soldier began to move.
Tree trunks passed by on either side, branches slapping against the lens.
Hushed voices clipped short their words. Twigs snapped underfoot. An owl hooted.
A few hundred feet on, a short, sharp warning came, its tone of delivery recognizable in any language. More words. Shouted this time. Aggressive, challenging. The camera-wearing soldier lunged sideways, and the monitor darkened as a tree blocked the view.
Warning prickled across the back of Alex’s neck.
Then another figure appeared: small, unmoving, devoid of the protective clothing worn by the soldiers…and glowing blue instead of green. Alex blinked. She’d worn night-vision gear on takedowns. She knew how the devices worked, knew that the phosphors glowed green and only green. So what the—
A second blue figure appeared behind the first, this one tall, brighter than the other—and winged. Alex inhaled sharply. The sound of automatic gunfire erupted from the computer speaker, and the monitor turned gray with static.
Then came the first scream…and the next…and the one after that. Screams that went on and on and on, ripped from the throats of some of the world’s most highly trained men, until finally, blessedly, silence descended.
Alex tried to swallow. Her throat refused to cooperate. The screams of the men in the video clip reverberated in her brain.. Boileau reached out and pulled a USB key free of its computer port.
“How many?” Her voice was hoarse.
“Five teams of five men,” said the deputy minister. “Given the outcome, the Ukrainians have requested international support.”
“And you’re telling me this because…?”
“There’s more,” Boileau said. He clicked on the Internet search tab and then began typing. “We’ve seen an unusual rise in travel to Ukraine over the last two days. Upwards of three hundred people have landed at the Boryspil and Gomel airports. On open-return tickets.”
“How does that tie into the video?”
“Fifteen of those people have been detained trying to cross the perimeter into Pripyat. Three of them were Canadians. When we questioned them, they said they were responding to this.”
Another click of the computer mouse. A website popped up on screen: a black background with a bold red header and small yellow print below. Not what one would call a professional design.
Alex scanned the header. “The end is here? There are dozens of sites claiming that right now.”
“Hundreds,” he agreed. “But only this one originates with the New Children of God.”
“New—” Her gaze went back to the screen. New Children of God? She read the header again, then the yellow print beneath it. Armageddon has begun, but there is hope! A new world order will rise from the ashes, led by the New Children of God, and a chosen few can still be saved. Are you one of them? Can you still find salvation? Eternal life? Email today for details and—Alex stopped reading.
The travelers to Ukraine.
She closed her eyes against the roll of her stomach. Holy hell. The Fallen were advertising on the Internet for help—and humanity had responded. In all of the eternity she had to look forward to, she would never have seen that one coming.
“We’ve accessed the email records of the fifteen detainees,” Lang said. “They were all
in touch with whoever is running the site.”
“And the IP address? Have you been able to track it?”
“We’re still trying. It keeps changing.”
“What exactly do you want from me?”
“The New Children of God,” he said. “Can you confirm they’re the missing children? The ones that disappeared after those bizarre pregnancies?”
“Confirm absolutely? No. But I can add my suspicions to yours.” Strong suspicions. Given the Nephilim children’s superhuman abilities, the abandoned city’s ongoing radioactivity would likely have little to no effect on them. It would be the perfect holding place for Lucifer’s army.
“And the winged alien we saw would be one of their protectors?”
Alien. Alex bit her lip against comment. She nodded. “Yes.”
“Then we need you to help us get to the children.”
She shot a look at Boileau.
“Deputy Minister Lang has read your file,” the minister’s aide said. “He knows your involvement.”
The government had a file on her?
Of course the government had a file on her.
Crossing her arms, she leaned against the window ledge behind her. “And did you include in your file that I’ve already told you everything I know?”
Lang slid his hands into his pockets again. “Detective Jarvis, these aliens possess technology we’re unfamiliar with—technology that’s capable of knocking out our own. Satellites, cameras, computers. You’ve had the most contact with them. Seen their resources. If you can just describe to us—”
“Mr. Lang, you’ve either misread my file or been misinformed,” Alex interrupted. “The only Fallen I’ve had any contact with were trying to kill me. Even if they did have the kind of resources you’re talking about, I wouldn’t have had time to notice. But they don’t, because they don’t need technology, because they’re not aliens, they’re—”
“Oh, for the love of God!” Boileau snapped. “Do you not realize we have a fucking nightmare in the making here?”
Her mouth still open to speak, Alex stared at him. Fury glared at her from behind the wire-framed glasses.
“Don’t you get it, Detective? The entire world is on the brink of utter panic. If we’re to have a hope in hell of maintaining control, we need people focused on a common goal, not some goddamned fairy tale.”
Common…
Her head snapped around to Lang. “What common goal? You can’t mean to try and attack the Fallen!”
The deputy minister shrugged. “Historically speaking, war is the single most powerful unifying event we can tap into. People still want to believe their governments. They will believe us if we stay smart and ask them to work together against the aliens.”
“But you can’t win against them. You saw what happened on that video! They’ll wipe out anything—and anyone—you send after them.” Alex looked to Staff Inspector Roberts for help, but he stood gray-faced and mute.
“In case it has escaped your notice, Detective”—Boileau waved a hand at the window—”half the bloody world is already at war. You’ve seen the news reports. There have been four military coups in the last week alone. Fatwas have been issued across the Middle East against Christian women of child-bearing age; pregnant women have been rounded up and detained in Saudi Arabia, Kazakhstan, Somalia, North Korea, and a dozen other countries you’ve probably never heard of. China is under martial law. Radical nationalism is at its highest point in Europe since the Nazis were in power. How much more at war do you need us to be?”
Alex swallowed. She hadn’t known. Hadn’t watched a news report since Nina had gone missing. Had been so focused—
But that was no excuse, because she should have expected it. Had known it was coming. She and Henderson had discussed this very scenario, the one where humanity would be the author of its own destruction.
She just hadn’t thought it would happen this soon.
Let me at least find Nina first, she thought. Let me bury Jen.
“The world needs someone to take charge of this situation before it rips itself apart,” Lang spoke again, “and before those children in Pripyat reach maturity. Have you seen the records of the ones we had a chance to study? Do you know what they’re capable of? Babies that can control their caregivers’ minds, break out of any locked room…if they’re turned against us, if they’re weaponized—” He broke off and shook his head. “God knows what they’ll be capable of once they’re grown.”
She struggled to recover. To find the words to convince him. To stop what would only hasten the deaths of who knew how many.
“Please,” she said. “Whatever you’re planning, don’t. You’ll never get to those children. The Fallen can’t be killed. Not by us.”
“Everything can be killed,” Boileau said. “You just need the right weapon.”
She could do nothing more than gape at the sheer arrogance. Across from her, Lang’s lips drew into a thin, tight line. He shook his head.
“Boileau tried to tell me about you,” he said. Contempt laced his voice. “I didn’t want to believe him, but you really are going to refuse to help, aren’t you?”
Alex’s headache throbbed behind her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to argue anymore.
“Whatever,” she said. She looked to her supervisor again. “Am I done here?”
Roberts tipped his head in the direction of the door, and she started toward it. Christ, she couldn’t get out of here fast enou—
“I can have you detained, Detective,” Boileau called. “I can make you help us.”
She stopped. She swiveled, regarded him for a moment, and then, without speaking, calmly elevated the middle finger on each hand. Boileau’s face turned the most interesting shade of scarlet she’d ever seen on a human. Lang scowled. Roberts pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, closed his eyes, and hung his head.
Alex stalked out and slammed the door.
CHAPTER 22
BOILEAU AND LANG LEFT shortly after her own exit from Roberts’s office. From behind a curtain of hair, Alex watched them wend their way between desks. She didn’t lift her head to meet Boileau’s malevolent glare. She’d already made her point. She did, however, exhale in relief when they reached the door.
The appearance of a black-winged man in their path turned the exhale into a choke.
She came up out of her chair, poised to—what, intervene? She subsided again. Maybe an up-close-and-personal encounter with one of their aliens was just what Lang and Boileau needed. Maybe—
Michael stepped aside, and the two men stalked past him, oblivious to the wings he kept hidden from the rest of the world. From everyone but lucky, lucky her.
The emerald gaze met hers. An imperious eyebrow lifted. Are we done yet? it asked. Her supervisor’s voice cut her off mid head-shake.
“Jarvis!”
Alex sighed and raised a hand to Michael, flashing thumb and fingers at him twice. Ten minutes.
Michael regarded her without expression, then, ignoring her signal to wait outside, stepped into the Homicide office, closed the door, and leaned against the wall. At the desk beside Alex, Abrams frowned, glancing between them. Alex’s jaw went tight.
Stubborn damned Archangel. If she ended up having to field a bunch of questions about who he was and what he was doing here—
“Jarvis!”
“Coming.” Alex collected the papers she needed her supervisor to sign and turned her back on Michael. Roberts closed his office door behind her.
“I’m—” she began.
He cut her off with the lift of a hand. Pushing back his jacket to rest hands on hips, he walked to the window and stared out. Alex swallowed her apology and waited.
“Twenty-four hours,” he said. “That’s how long they’ve given you to look after your sister’s details before you’re expected in Ottawa.”
Her mouth flapped twice before she found her voice. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m deadly
serious. And so are they.” Roberts turned, his face haggard, his eyes weary.
Damn her quick temper to Hell. She should have kept her hand signals to herself.
Roberts shook his head. “They would have done the same thing even if you hadn’t given them the finger,” he said, reading her mind. “They’re trying to do their jobs the same way we are.”
She snorted. “I’m pretty sure Armageddon wasn’t part of our job description when we signed on.”
Her supervisor said nothing.
“Fine. We’re all just doing our jobs,” Alex growled. She dropped into one of the chairs before his desk. The sword’s scabbard dug into her spine. “But attacking the Fallen isn’t the answer, Staff, and neither is dragging me off to Ottawa.”
“You saw the video, Alex. You know what they’re capable of. We can’t just sit back and—”
“Doug.” She kept her voice deliberately gentle. She didn’t need to be harsh. Didn’t need to yell. The use of her supervisor’s first name at work, within his office, was enough to stop him in his tracks.
Roberts’s skin grayed. In silence, he pulled his chair out from the desk and lowered himself into it. Then he leaned as far back as it would permit.
“They’re really…” His voice trailed off.
“That invincible?” she finished. “Yes. There’s nothing we can do to get at those children. We’re going to have to wait for them to come to us.”
“And then what?”
I don’t know.
She shrugged. “Whatever we can, I suppose. There are only eighty thousand of them, so as long as we—”
She broke off, clamping her lips together. Only. Did that word even apply when it referred to half-human, half-angel creatures with unknown superpowers and the potential to wipe out the planet?
“We can’t panic,” she finished lamely.
Roberts rested an elbow on the arm of his chair, fist against his mouth, clearly weighing whether he wanted to press for details. Just as clearly deciding he did not.
Sins of the Warrior Page 10