The Frenzy War

by Gregory Lamberson

  Tudoro offered a patient smile. “Of course, child. This is no social visit.”

  Valeria bowed her head. “I apologize. My emotions …”

  Tudoro rubbed her arm, then moved to the security monitor. Rhonda lay unconscious on the floor, her nude body on full display. “Has she spoken yet?”

  “Nothing of consequence,” Michael said. “I don’t think she will, either.”

  The priest faced him. “Then find another use for her or kill her.”

  “I plan to do both.”

  Tudoro gave him an approving nod, then moved over to the wall where three Blades of Salvation had been mounted for display. “It’s time you shared your news with everyone.”

  Michael motioned to the tables. “Sit down, please.”

  The priest and his soldiers sat at the two tables.

  Michael remained standing. “We’ve inflicted casualties, but we’ve suffered as well. Eight beasts are dead, but so are three brothers. Myles was killed in the second battle. Henri was fatally wounded, and we had to leave him in the vehicle we destroyed last night. While we were out, our captive murdered Eun.”

  The newcomers glanced at the screen, and Tudoro gestured to the table. “Sit down, Michael.”

  Angelo watched Michael sit opposite the priest.

  “You’ve told us what you know. Now let me tell you what I’ve already shared with Reddick, Colum, Loreti, and Scioli. Monsignor Delecarte has suffered a stroke and is at death’s door.”

  Angelo stiffened and saw Michael and Valeria do the same.

  “The monsignor was not just our spiritual leader; he was also our treasurer. I don’t think I need to specify where the funds came from that have kept the Brotherhood active for the last five decades. Monsignor Delecarte had hoped to bring me into a position where I would one day succeed him. Alas, politics have prevented that from happening, and now we’re out of time. With the economy’s collapse, we’ve lost most of our savings. Upon his death, Monsignor Delecarte’s revenues and possessions will go to the church.”

  “We’re broke?” Michael said.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “What about those rich men and women who contributed to our cause in the past?”

  “They’re all based in Europe. We were too successful in purging the continent of these unholy beasts. None of our friends seem to care what happens in the Americas.”

  The disbelieving look on Michael’s face mirrored how Angelo felt.

  “Are you shutting us down?”

  Tudoro shook his head. “No. At least, not yet. But the clock is ticking.”

  “How long?”

  “I’m still trying to secure funds. I haven’t given up, but this is an expensive operation—intelligence, transportation, expenses, the modest sums we’ve banked for each of you …”

  Michael lowered his voice. “How long, Father?”

  “You have maybe one month to wrap up your assignment here, if that’s what you choose to do, then another month to go underground.”

  Eight weeks, Angelo thought. “And what will we do then? We’ve trained for this our whole lives. We don’t know how to do anything else.”

  “All good soldiers face the same predicament,” Tudoro said. “I will of course find work for everyone in this room, either with the church or with one of our satellite organizations. Safe work out of the public eye. Consider it an early retirement.”

  “I will not spend my days gardening on church property while this country is home to our enemy,” Michael said. “I pledged my life to our cause.”

  “I appreciate that,” Tudoro said. “But we have to be realistic. There is a time for everything, and the time has come for the Brotherhood to become dormant, perhaps to rise again another day.”

  “What about the money intended for Myles, Henri, and Eun? That could keep us going for a while.”

  “That money was placed in numbered Swiss bank accounts, just like yours. And just like you, each of them changed their passwords. That money is lost, never to be recovered.”

  “The Brotherhood’s existed for centuries. I can’t believe it will come to an end because of money.”

  “Michael, other than myself, you’re the oldest person here—too old to be so naïve regarding finances. Perhaps I’ll succeed in finding another benefactor one day. If that happens, I’ll issue the call for each of you to return to service. In the meantime, you must carry on with your lives. It’s not too late for you to marry and have children.”

  “Will we keep our swords?”

  Tudoro seemed to think on the question. “I’ll allow you to keep your Blades, but only on the condition that upon your deaths, they’ll be returned to a secret foundation for safekeeping.”

  Michael smiled. “This secret foundation will remain in operation, but you can’t continue to fund the war?”

  “There are always secret foundations and men to run them.”

  “Forgive me, Father,” Valeria said, “but why now? If you’d told us this even a week earlier, Myles, Henri, and Eun would still be alive.”

  “A week ago, Monsignor Delecarte was in good health,” Tudoro said. “A week ago, there was no reason to believe that the months of planning for this operation were in jeopardy.”

  “Bureaucracies,” Michael said with contempt.

  “You’re correct. Bureaucracies run the world. They rise and they fall, just like the Roman Empire. And men like you and I do as we’re told.” Tudoro looked around the table. “I didn’t expect any of you to take this news well. Colum, Reddick, and Loreti agreed to come here to provide you with necessary support for this operation.”

  “We’ve trained for this too,” Reddick said.

  “I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I never got the chance to face our enemy,” Colum said.

  Angelo glanced at Loreti, who nodded.

  “So you have your reinforcements,” Tudoro said. “But under the circumstances, I feel compelled to allow you the chance to determine your own fates, something soldiers are rarely afforded. Do you continue this battle until it can be fought no more, or do you wish to shut down now? I’ll think no less of you if that’s the case.”

  Rising, Michael turned to each of his fellows. “Thanks to Father Tudoro, I was raised with one goal in life: to slay the beasts who roam this earth. I’ve done that with relish and dedication, and I’ve risen through the ranks. I still have plenty of fight left in me. I’m not ready to lay down my sword and retire to the country. I say we fight. That bitch in there may not have provided us with the information we wanted, but we know who Gabriel and Raphael Domini are—what they are. There’s still work to be done and comrades to be avenged.”

  “Aye,” Angelo said. He looked at Valeria, expecting her to be indecisive.

  “I made a vow to Father Tudoro,” she said in a slow cadence. “I intend to keep it.”

  Michael turned to the newcomers. “We have three Blades on the wall and three apprentices who wish to serve our cause. Stand up if you’ll wield these holy weapons with honor.”

  Angelo felt pride swell his chest when Loreti rose first, followed by Colum and Reddick at almost the same time. Michael removed Myles’s Blade and presented it to Loreti with both hands, then gave Henri’s Blade to Colum and Eun’s to Reddick. Each apprentice admired his silver weapon.

  “Welcome to the Brotherhood of Torquemada,” Michael said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Emerging from Starbucks with a tall latte, Cheryl stopped and watched a pair of National Guards with M-16s climb out of a troop transport truck across the street and take up positions near the corner. She had seen other weekend warriors stationed around the neighborhood.

  “It looks familiar, doesn’t it?”

  She turned at the sound of the voice. A paunchy middle-aged man with blond hair stood a few feet away. He wore a brown shirt open at the neck and a tan corduroy sports jacket beneath a gray wool coat, a maroon scarf hanging around his neck. She knew him: Carl Rice, the author of Rodrigo G
omez: Tracking the Full Moon Killer and The Wolf Is Loose: The True Story of the Manhattan Werewolf. His hair appeared disheveled, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt that this was due to the wind rather than poor grooming.

  “Hello, Carl. Yes, it does.”

  “Two years ago. How time flies.”

  “Fancy just bumping into you on the street like this on the day I’m scheduled to interview Rodrigo Gomez.”

  “Congratulations on landing that choice assignment, by the way.” He shook a cigarette loose from a pack and lit it. “He won’t talk to me anymore.”

  “Imagine that.”

  “Yeah.” He offered her an amused smile, then a cigarette.

  “No, thank you.”

  “How did you pull it off?”

  “He asked for me.”

  Carl exhaled smoke. “It just fell into your lap?”

  “I prefer to think that Rodrigo appreciated my coverage of his exploits and trial.”

  “As opposed to my coverage?”

  Now it was Cheryl’s turn to smile. “You sensationalized everything.”

  Not only did Carl smile, but his eyes twinkled. “And I made a killing.”

  “Congratulations. It was nice seeing you again. I think I mean that.” She headed in the direction of the studio.

  Carl fell into step beside her. “So how did you like the movie?”

  “It was entertaining—for fiction.”

  “You know how they exaggerate everything for TV.”

  “Your book exaggerated everything too.”

  “Connie Roberts made you look like a babe, though, didn’t she?”

  “I bet no one has ever called you charming.”

  “No, I don’t think they have. I’ve been called a lot of other things, though.”

  Cheryl sipped her latte. “I’m sure.”

  “How’s your husband?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I saw him on TV last night at the scene of that car explosion. Last I knew, he was walking the doggies at Floyd Bennett Field. It’s weird to see him back in action, especially since the stiff in that vehicle may have been tied to the group that abducted Rhonda Wilson and toasted those two houses.”

  “I hadn’t heard that.”

  “It’s almost like they pulled Tony out of storage for some big case that only he has insight into. It’s a great angle after the Manhattan Werewolf debacle. You know, redemption and all that. People love it when a former hero makes a comeback.”

  “He’ll always be my hero. I think he’ll always be yours too. I bet you’d love to write another book with him in the lead role.”

  “Well, he did kind of let me down in the last one, but let’s get back to Rodrigo Gomez. Can you get me into Sing Sing tonight?”

  Cheryl felt amused. “Why on God’s green earth would I try?”

  “For old times’ sake?”

  “We never had old times. All I’ve ever done was turn down your interview requests.”

  ”The Wolf Is Loose sold well, but the development of the movie is stalled. The studio execs say it needs a third act, and no one can decide what that should be. One yutz they hired to write the screenplay included a real werewolf, and another had your husband solving the case instead of getting yanked from it. Hollywood’s crazy like that. Anyway, I need to make a living.”

  “I thought you made a bundle off those books, plus the TV rights to Tracking the Full Moon Killer.”

  “Hey, I’ve got alimony to pay.”

  “You were married? I’m impressed.”

  Carl raised two fingers and wiggled them. “Both times it was love at first sight over tequila.”

  “You are charming. I’m sure the tabloids will welcome you back into their fold with open arms.”

  “Can I be honest with you? I don’t want to do that. It would be a step down. But if you can get me into that interview tonight, just as an observer—”

  Cheryl stopped and faced him. “What? You’ll write a book about it?”

  “Okay, hear me out. A new book, tying Rodrigo Gomez and the Manhattan Werewolf together.”

  “I don’t see the connection.”

  “Why, Cheryl, your husband is the connection.”

  She cocked her head. “I’m flattered by your sudden reappearance in my life and your interest in me and my career and my husband and his career, but this conversation is over. I hope you enjoy my interview.” She resumed her trek.

  Carl appeared at her side again. “Okay, forget about getting me in. A guy’s got to try, right? How about asking Rodrigo one question—one question!—on my behalf? You don’t even have to give me credit. I just want to know the answer, and so will you when you hear the question.”

  Cheryl stopped. “What question?”

  “Ask Rodrigo why it was that your husband paid him a visit when he was in the heat of the Manhattan Werewolf case. What was so important that Tony Mace needed to see the Full Moon Killer when he was hunting the Manhattan Werewolf? It was on your husband’s last day in homicide before they suspended him and yanked him off the case. There’s your connection.”

  He might have still been talking, but she had tuned him out. If Tony had interviewed Gomez in connection with the Manhattan Werewolf, why had he kept it a secret from her?

  The entire task force sat around the conference room table. Landry, Shelly, and Norton worked from laptops, and Mace sat at the end of the table closest to the conference room door, facing the PowerPoint presentation screen. Digital video footage with a date and time stamp showed a man descending concrete stairs.

  “Candice obtained this security cam footage from the Thirty-third Street PATH station.” Controlling the image from his laptop, Landry froze the picture. “See the long coat?” He zoomed in on the man’s feet. “He’s also wearing combat boots.” He tabbed up to a close-up of the man. “And his nose is bandaged. The time was twenty-four minutes before that SUV exploded.”

  Landry struck a key, and the image switched to a man and a woman walking down another flight of steps. The man had his arm around the woman. “Same station, different stairway, five minutes later. These two are both wearing long coats too, similar to the first man’s, but not identical.” He zoomed in on the man’s feet. “The man is wearing combat boots.” He tabbed over to the woman’s feet. “And so is the woman.”

  “Why wear long coats?” Candice said. “Besides the obvious answer—the weather—the other one is to carry around swords without anyone seeing them.”

  Mace turned to Willy. “Do you recognize any of them?”

  Willy frowned. “I wish I could say yes, but the lights were off. All I had was a little flashlight, and they were wearing night vision goggles. The coats look right, and maybe if the woman’s hair was in a ponytail …”

  “We’re circulating screen captures to law enforcement and antiterrorist agencies around the globe,” Landry said. The image showed the first man standing alone at the far end of a train platform. “Here’s the first man.” Another image showed the man and the woman chatting at another end of the platform near stairs. “And here’s our happy couple.” The image switched back to the man. “The man with the bandaged nose boards the train.” From the second angle, the couple boarded the train as well. “And so does the couple. Different cars, same train.”

  The image changed to that of the train pulling into another platform. “Here we are in Newark, New Jersey. Same train.” The couple got off the train. “There’s our couple.” The man with the bandaged nose walked in the same direction. “And there’s our independent operator.” Another view showed all three people exiting the station.

  “We’re trying to find additional surveillance footage in Newark to point us in a more specific direction,” Shelly said.

  The image on the screen changed to a street view. “This footage was taken a block away from the PATH station on Thirty-third Street in Manhattan,” Willy said. He zoomed in on a silver SUV parked between two vehicles. “That’s our SUV.” Three figures ga
rbed in long dark coats got out, their features difficult to discern. “And here’s our trio.” The figures walked away, leaving the frame. The footage sped up, then slowed down. Willy zoomed out again. “Half an hour later …” A fireball consumed the vehicle and caused the image to flare.

  “Good work,” Mace said. “Newark seems like the place to be. But what part of Newark? As far as we know, they’ve driven a vehicle for every one of their missions. That means they passed through tollbooths.”

  “Do you want us to start looking for churches in Newark?” Norton said.

  “No, I don’t think so. They need a place where they can keep vehicles, a place that accommodates at least four people, who come and go as they please, with plenty of ordinance. Presumably, somewhere they can keep Rhonda Wilson captive without anyone knowing it.”

  “A warehouse,” Willy said. “Or an abandoned building.”

  “Outer Newark’s lousy with both,” Candice said.

  “Let’s get everyone a map of Newark and its surrounding areas,” Mace said.

  An enlarged fingerprint filled the screen.

  “This is the print Hector lifted off the hand at the scene,” Landry said. “We’re running it through international databases.”

  “Maybe I can expedite that search,” Norton said in a frosty tone.

  “That would be helpful.” Landry turned to Mace. “A secretary from the Vatican got back to me. According to him, Monsignor Delecarte purchased that broken half of the Blade of Salvation from Terrence Glenzer two years ago. It was a personal purchase and wasn’t made on behalf of the Vatican. But when Delecarte dies, all his property becomes the property of the church—and he just suffered a severe stroke. At the moment, he can’t communicate.”

  Mace grunted. “Was your contact able to confirm if that Blade is still in Delecarte’s possession?”

  “No, he didn’t have an inventory.”

  “What else?”

  No one spoke up.

  “Okay. Willy and Karol, I want you to go back to the funeral home and keep an eye on it. With Raphael lying low, Gabriel is still the Torquemadans’ only target that we know about. Now that the governor’s called in the National Guard again, we’ll see how that impacts our investigation.”