The Frenzy War

by Gregory Lamberson

  “We’re obviously a small unit,” Mace said. “Landry will man base camp in the day, Smalls at night. Congratulations on that promotion, Smalls.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “I’ll cover a swing shift except when one of them takes a day off. Lieutenant Diega, Detective Wilson, and Special Agents Shelly and Norton will work the field. I don’t intend to be landlocked, though.”

  Landry smiled. “Day shift? Night shift? We’re all going to be working long days, Tony. We should get some cots in here.”

  “Good idea. We’re all on call 24/7, and if the last two attacks are any indication, these assassins are a night crew. Every unit and agency investigating the three attacks will copy us on any developments as they occur, but as far as they’re concerned, we’re just doing deep background research. We’re to share nothing with them and obviously nothing with the press. No one knows we’re here, and I want to keep it that way.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “The department and the FBI only acknowledge the existence of people with unusual DNA who have been classified as Class L humans.”

  “Preliminary reports confirm that a RPG was used to destroy the Wilsons’ house last night,” Norton said. “Most likely, it was fired from inside a van or from the back of a truck. The scattered remains of five people were discovered.”

  “Human people?” Willy said.

  “Yes.”

  Mace focused on the female FBI agent. “Has Quantico made any determinations regarding the corpses and carcasses?”

  “Nothing conclusive,” Norton said.

  I bet. “Did they at least narrow down what type of animals they were?”

  “Nothing conclusive.”

  “The perps call themselves the Brotherhood of Torquemada, which is a secret society descended from the Spanish Inquisition.”

  “How do you know that?” Norton said.

  “You and Mint put me in charge because of my expertise in certain areas. This is one of those areas.”

  “We know the history of the Blade of Salvation,” Shelly said, “and our research shows this Brotherhood of Torquemada once existed, but you’re making quite a leap.”

  “The existence of a modern Brotherhood of Torquemada is the least fantastic aspect of this case. If you accept the existence of—”

  “Class L humans …”

  “—and you accept a connection between them and the Blade of Salvation, then it’s only logical to assume the Torquemadans are the perps.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the Torquemadans used swords. Blades of Salvation, to be precise. And Jason Lourdes and those five canines were all decapitated by swords. So there’s reason to believe at least five Torquemadans are on US soil. Historically, there were six members in the brotherhood at all times, with six apprentices waiting in the wings to take their places. It’s possible that unidentified corpse with the missing arm was one of them. If we can identify him and trace his movements, we may be able to track down the others.”

  “Unfortunately, his remains were burned to a crisp, so we don’t have prints to work with, just DNA and dental records.”

  “Two years ago, Pedro Fillipe was killed in Central Park with the other half of the Blade that we found in Terrence Glenzer’s safe. I think he brought that half of the sword with him to kill the Manhattan Werewolf. If I’m right, he was a member of the Brotherhood.”

  Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Shelly consulted his tablet. “Fillipe was Dominican, but he came from Rome.”

  “Both halves of that sword went to a monsignor in Rome. Now, I doubt our assassins traveled here together, but I’m willing to bet they’re all from overseas.” Mace looked at Shelly. “Use your resources to search for Europeans and Dominicans coming here over the last two weeks. Whether they came alone or not, I’m sure they didn’t come with families or children.”

  “Have you ever heard of looking for a needle in a haystack?”

  “I know it’s a long shot, but how many big cases have been solved by innocuous detective work?”

  As Shelly entered information into his tablet, Mace turned to Norton. “Fillipe was killed with a priest named Francis Hagen. I believe he was staying at Hagen’s church in Queens. It’s possible that our assassins are all staying at a church, near one, or in separate churches. Make up a list of every Catholic church in the five boroughs. If possible, learn which priests were close associates of Hagen’s and concentrate on them.”

  “That’s a lot of legwork,” Norton said. “I’m going to need more shoes.”

  “Make sure they’re comfortable.” Mace turned to Landry. “I know you and Candice have your hands full getting this place up and running, but I want you to go through your old research on the Blade of Salvation and follow up with this monsignor. Let’s see if he paid for any airfare to the United States.”

  Landry nodded as he scribbled on his sheet of paper.

  “Candice, the initial reports on the attack on the Lourdes house say that the alarm was shut off. I want to know if the wires were cut, if the alarm company’s computer was hacked, or if someone who works there might have given out that information.”

  “What about us?” Karol said.

  “Gabriel Domini and Raphael Domini are the key to this little war. Synful Reading is closed, but the Domini Funeral Home is still open, and that’s where Gabriel and Raphael work together. If the Brotherhood goes after them there, they can take them both out at the same time. I want the two of you to stake out that crematorium.”

  “They’ve both seen me and Karol,” Willy said. “They’ll make us.”

  “Assuming Gabriel and Raphael are Class L humans, they’ll make anyone who’s watching them.”

  “What if they leave?”

  “If they leave together, follow them. If they leave separately, follow Gabriel. And if they don’t leave at all, stay put. If necessary, we’ll relieve you. That funeral home has to be the next target. We may get a chance to end this quickly.”

  “What do you want us to do if we see a bunch of guys in robes carrying swords?”

  “Call us for backup, and if you can, don’t go in until we arrive.”

  “There’s an elephant in the room,” Karol said. “Let’s say these Class L humans turn furry and grow fangs. What are we supposed to do if we run into them?”

  “Our job is to bring in these Brotherhood members, and in so doing, protect the Class Ls. Do not engage the Class Ls.”

  Willy looked out the glass partition at the office space. “I don’t see any cells or interview rooms. What are we doing with these fanatics if we apprehend them?”

  “Dead or alive, we turn them over to the FBI. No collar, no paperwork, as if nothing ever happened.”

  “With three of our own dead, I got no problem with that.”

  Norton opened her briefcase. “There’s one more formality to take care of before we begin.” She took out a pair of scissors and a handful of paper envelopes. “I need a hair sample from each one of you.”

  Willy snorted. “Drug testing? Really?”

  “Class L testing,” Shelly said. “We have to make sure everyone in this group is what he says he is.”

  “Did you two have to give anyone a hair sample?”

  “Yes,” Norton said. “But if it will make you feel better, we’ll provide additional samples.”

  “I’ll go first,” Mace said.

  Cheryl entered the offices of Manhattan Minute News with Ryan trailing her. They had spent the morning in Bensonhurst, interviewing neighbors of the Wilsons on camera. Ryan carried his equipment down the hall to the editing suites, where he would assemble the interviews into a one-minute segment that would play in rotation on the cable channel throughout the day.

  She sat at her desk and opened her e-mail. Dozens of messages materialized on the screen, and she skimmed their subject lines, searching only for urgent items. A fresh message from Colleen appeared: See me now.

  Cheryl looked up from her monitor at the glass-faced
office. Inside, Colleen juggled a landline and a cell phone while facing her monitor. Cheryl made her way to the office door, rapped on the glass, and entered as Colleen hung up the landline and concentrated on her cell phone.

  On the wall-mounted TV, she saw a press conference in full swing at One Police Plaza. Craig Lindberg, the Commissioner of Public Information, stood at the podium addressing the reporters. “It’s certainly not impossible, or even likely, that a major illegal narcotics organization could lay its hands on this type of ordinance, but at this time we’re also investigating the possibility of terrorist activity.”

  Colleen set her cell phone down.

  “What’s on your mind, chief?” Cheryl said.

  The producer arched one eyebrow. “I’ve been on the phone all morning because of you. Or, rather, because of one of your fans.” She held out an envelope. “This came today.”

  Cheryl took the envelope in both hands and stared at the return address: Rodrigo Gomez, c/o Sing Sing Penitentiary, Ossining, New York.

  The Full Moon Killer, she thought with an involuntary shudder.

  Cheryl had met Tony while covering the serial killer’s murder spree. The attention the case brought helped both their careers, especially Tony’s, after he arrested Gomez for the murders of five women. Carl Rice, a tabloid reporter, sensationalized the case in a true crime book called Rodrigo Gomez: Tracking the Full Moon Killer, which became a surprise best seller and a cable TV movie, assuring Tony’s fame while she moved on to the next story. Unlike Tony, Cheryl had read Rice’s book, a poorly written but suspenseful story with a heroic protagonist and a twisted villain.

  She had also watched the TV movie, which was filmed in Toronto and starred a former soap opera actor as Tony Mace. Cheryl liked to tease Tony that his TV counterpart was taller than him. A former sitcom star portrayed Cheryl, and in TV movie fashion, the fictional Tony and Cheryl got together during the manhunt, when in reality Tony had waited until after the media frenzy surrounding the case had died down before asking Cheryl out on a date.

  Tony was also featured in Rice’s follow-up book, The Wolf Is Loose: The True Story of the Manhattan Werewolf, which was even more sensational. This one suffered for not having an ending, though Rice did his best to use the lack of resolution to terrify his readers. Cheryl was pleased not to be represented in its pages. The book was also a best seller, but no TV movie was produced, leaving Cheryl to wonder what had become of her former soap star husband and her sitcom star alter ego.

  Rodrigo Gomez’s letter read:

  Greetings from Sing Sing.

  Our cable doesn’t carry Manhattan Minute News, but I do follow your stories online. I so enjoy the reporting of Cheryl Mace, formerly Cheryl Chimera. We go way back. (Don’t we, Cheryl?)

  I’m writing you with good news!

  After seven years of incarceration in this hellhole, I’ve finally decided to tell my story to the world. The whole story, the real story, not just the crumbs I fed to Carl Rice. And I want you to be my conduit. On four conditions:

  1. Cheryl Mace must conduct the interview.

  2. The interview must be broadcast live, with no commercial interruptions.

  3. There will be no preinterview.

  4. Get your lawyers working on this now. My offer’s good for twenty-four hours from your receipt of this letter. I’ll consent to do a one-hour interview within forty-eight hours. After that, I approach another outlet.

  I look forward to chatting with Mrs. Mace.

  Sincerely,

  Rodrigo Gomez

  Cheryl lowered the letter, feeling a mixture of dread and excitement.

  Colleen stood. “I’ve already been in touch with the warden there, and our legal department has too. If you’re on board with this, we can make it happen: a one-hour live interview tomorrow at 8:00 PM, preceded by a special on Gomez’s crimes and followed by a panel discussion on your interview. We’ll repeat the whole block around the clock and on the weekend too. Say the word, and we’ll get started on promotion.”

  Cheryl folded the letter and stuck it back into the envelope. “Of course I’m on board. How could I say no to what you just described?”

  “I like that you’re such a team player, but don’t you need to discuss this with Tony first?”

  Cheryl considered the question. Tony would have definite concerns about her safety and would probably disapprove of the idea for a number of other reasons. Under ordinary circumstances, she would discuss such an unusual proposition with him, but he hadn’t discussed his new assignment at NYPD with her.

  “No. Let’s do this. It will be good for all of us.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mace entered the Golden Fleece restaurant a little after noon. He spotted Lou Graham sitting with his back to him and suppressed a smile. Circling the table, he looked down at the chief of detectives, who wore a light gray suit and sipped ice water. The man seemed deep in thought.

  “Hello, Lou.”

  The COD looked up, his smile warm but strained at the same time. “Tony, it’s good to see you.”

  They shook hands and Mace sat.

  “I wish it was under different circumstances.”

  “You could have looked me up anytime.”

  Lou nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I meant to see how you were doing. Then I replaced Hackley, and before I knew it, two years passed. Ah, hell, who am I kidding? We both know the score. I didn’t know what to say, and I knew the bosses wouldn’t let me reinstate you, and now I don’t know what to say again.”

  A server filled Mace’s glass with ice water.

  “Don’t sweat it. I never expected anyone to go out on a limb for me.”

  “Well, I’m sorry all the same. You know what they say: out of sight, out of mind.”

  “And now we’re sitting face-to-face.”

  “Congratulations on digging yourself out. I’ve never seen that happen before.”

  “I didn’t do anything but say yes. They came to me.” Mace opened the menu.

  “I almost wish they hadn’t.”

  “What’s got you down?”

  “You’re not in a good position, and now neither am I.”

  “We’ve known each other a long time. Speak your mind.”

  “A decapitation, a kidnapping, five dead animals, and an act of terrorism. And the worst thing is Jim Mint pulling you out of mothballs and putting you in charge of a covert operation.”

  “I’m sorry my reemergence has caused you such distress.”

  “It’s why they chose you that has me worried. You’ve been the central figure in two major cases. Rodrigo Gomez is in prison. The Manhattan Werewolf was never caught, and whoever he is, he buried a lot of careers.”

  “Are you worried about your career?”

  Lou leaned forward. “Who isn’t? This may be Jim Mint’s operation, but I’m technically responsible for you and your actions now. Who’s to say I won’t follow in the footsteps of Hackley, Chu, Stokes, and Dunegan?”

  “We all move where the chess masters put us. No one can control collateral damage.”

  The server returned, and they placed their orders.

  “Did you know Terry Wright?” Lou said after the server had left.

  Mace tried to place the name. “I don’t think so.”

  “He worked vice for ten years, made a big name for himself mopping up Times Square. He retired to Tampa and never even came back to visit as far as I know. Anyway, back in the day, when crack was doing a major number on the city, the bosses called Terry and his crew in and offered them an assignment not so different from the one you have now. They told them to clean up Forty-second Street … by any means necessary. ‘Leave no stone unturned, no body in plain sight, no paperwork to be filed.’ They had a mandate to bury bad guys and answer to no one. Terry told me they were game: they set up shop above a bar on Forty-fourth Street and selected their targets—an actual hit list. Just when they were about to pull the trigger, one of the higherups pulled the plug instead.
”

  Mace sipped his water. “What happened?”

  “Some people would call it progress. The city planners got together with some developers and mapped out the future: theme restaurants and megaplexes and trademarked cartoon characters. When the money came through, the big boys decided that a real cleansing of Forty Deuce could backfire and damage their investment. Otherwise, who knows what would have happened? It was a different time then. Fingerprints were still stored in metal filing cabinets, not on hard drives and in clouds. There were no video cameras at major intersections, no satellites studying us from afar, no twenty-four-hour news cycles, no real Internet. In other words, Terry’s gang might have pulled it off.”

  Mace smiled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “It would have been a long shot even before your perps blew up that house. Now you’ve got cops hunting cop killers, feds hunting terrorists, every news organization hunting a major story, and you and your people expect to conduct a covert operation. The opportunity for this to blow up in all our faces is astronomical. I hope you’ll exercise caution.”

  Mace hoped his expression did not betray his thoughts or emotions. “I’ve been sitting on my ass on Floyd Bennett Field for two years. Now that I’m off it, I have no intention of exercising caution, and I have every intention of getting results.”

  Valeria sat in the chair beside Eun’s bed and looked down at the wounded woman, who opened her eyes and blinked, her head wrapped in bandages like a mummy.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Hurts,” Eun said in a whispery voice.

  “I can give you more morphine.”

  Eun shook her head, which caused her to wince. “Later.” Valeria touched her comrade’s arm. “There’s no reason for you to be in pain. We can manage it with drugs.”

  Eun swallowed. “Face?”

  Valeria had dreaded this question but knew it was inevitable. “You need plastic surgery. I did what I could, but you know I’m no doctor.”

  Eun closed her eyes, and tears pooled in her lashes. Valeria knew the salt in the tears would cause Eun additional pain if they soaked through the bandage and reached her wounds, so she dabbed at her eyes with cotton balls.