Tricks and Traps (Gray Spear Society Book 7)

by Siegel, Alex

  "We'll do our very best, sir." She gave him some vouchers and a fake smile.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sheryl stood at the reservation desk of the Favoloso restaurant. She was wearing a blue skirt and vest combination which she found adorable. She loved playing dress-up and pretending to be somebody she wasn't. It seemed being a legionnaire would give her plenty of opportunities to do so.

  A tall, handsome man with brown hair entered the restaurant. He had the chiseled features of a movie star. She recognized Cantrell but didn't let it show on her face. She just smiled vaguely.

  Four women and four men accompanied him. The women were young and beautiful. They wore dresses that fell firmly into the category of "slutty." Painfully high heels forced them to walk on their toes precariously. The only positive note was they weren't wearing too much makeup. Their expressions struck Sheryl as sad and lost.

  The men all had full beards and cheap suits. Precise gaits, straight postures, and puffed out chests marked them as soldiers. Mercenaries, Sheryl thought. Cantrell's bodyguards. Dead men.

  "Nine," Cantrell said in a grumpy tone.

  Sheryl nodded. "Follow me, sir."

  She led Cantrell's party through the restaurant. There were no other people in the place. Aaron had cleared out the customers and staff just a few minutes earlier.

  "Where is everybody?" Cantrell said. "It's a ghost town in here."

  Sheryl turned around. "It's still early, sir."

  She heard clicks and hisses, the sounds of gunshots from suppressed weapons. Three of the bodyguards went down with head wounds, but the fourth was shot in the legs. He collapsed to the carpeted floor and bled profusely. Why didn't they kill him? Sheryl wondered.

  The four women screamed and backed away from the bodies.

  Smythe, Norbert, and Tawni stood up from behind tables, holding guns with smoking barrels.

  Cantrell grabbed Sheryl by the hair, spun her around, yanked her head back, and pressed something sharp against her throat. She froze in fear.

  "Nobody move!" he yelled. "Or the girl dies!"

  Aaron walked out of the kitchen with guns in both hands.

  "You're the guy who tore up my casino!" Cantrell said.

  "And I'm the guy who burned it down," Aaron said. "Interesting knife. Is it plastic?"

  "Invisible to airport metal detectors."

  "I'll have to get one for my next flight to San Francisco. That's the problem with commercial flights. You can't travel with weapons."

  Aaron stopped about five paces away from Cantrell. Both guns were aimed steadily at Cantrell's face.

  "Sir?" Sheryl cried. "Don't just stand there. He's going to slash my throat. Save me!"

  Aaron turned up one corner of his mouth. "You got yourself into this mess. Get yourself out."

  "He grabbed me!"

  "Why did you let him?"

  "This isn't a good time for a lesson, sir," she said in a testy voice. "This is real."

  "It's a great time. Act like a legionnaire, not a victim."

  She snarled. Biggest asshole in the world.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she checked the surviving bodyguard. He was immobilized by his leg wounds, but Norbert and Tawni were covering him from two angles anyway. Why are they letting him live? Sheryl wondered.

  Smythe was near the door. His job was to make sure nobody escaped. The four young women were huddled together and whimpering with fear.

  Sheryl realized Aaron was serious. He wasn't going to lift a finger to help her, and neither would her other teammates.

  She gritted her teeth. I can do this. I'm not a helpless, little girl. I'm one of God's warriors.

  Sheryl jammed her arm between her neck and Cantrell's hand to prevent him from cutting her throat. She snapped her head back, smashing his nose. He instinctively let go of her hair. She bit his hand with all the strength in her jaw. He cried out and dropped the knife. She ducked away before he had a chance to grab her again.

  She stood back to admire her work. Blood dripped from his right hand, and he had a shocked expression.

  "You see?" Aaron said. "You don't need a knight in shining armor. Next time, kick him in the balls while you're at it. Make him squeal in pain."

  "Yes, sir." Sheryl smiled with pride.

  "What do you want from me?" Cantrell shook his injured hand.

  "Hold on," Aaron said. "You'll get your turn. Sheryl, we saved a bodyguard for you. Finish him."

  Sheryl looked at the bodyguard. He was a big guy with shaggy black hair. Blood from his leg wounds was soaking into the carpet.

  "But, sir..."

  "Your first kill," Aaron said. "A special moment. I'm very glad we could all be here to share it. That's an order."

  She swallowed. She didn't have to be told what would happen if she disobeyed a direct order in front of the team. Her commander had strong opinions about insubordination.

  She drew a gun from a holster under her vest. Even after three long sessions in the shooting range, the weight felt awkward in her hand. She didn't trust her aim, so instead of attempting a headshot, she sighted on the bodyguard's chest.

  The man shook his head. "Don't. Please."

  Sheryl's finger refused to pull the trigger. This was murder, plain and simple. His blood would be on her hands forever.

  "He has a big chest," Aaron said, "and that's just a .38 special. You'll need several shots to make sure he's dead."

  She shuddered at the brutality.

  After a little thought, she decided the mercenary had earned this death. He had traded all morality and decency for a paycheck. He was a stain that needed to be wiped away. She reached down deep and found the strength to do her job.

  She shot her gun. A surprisingly small hole appeared in the man's chest. A bloodstain spread slowly across his shirt.

  He clearly wasn't dying, so she fired again and again. Aaron was right about her gun. Next time, she would carry one with more stopping power. She wondered what Tawni used.

  Finally, the mercenary died. Sheryl expected a wave of guilt but felt relief instead. She had passed another test.

  "Messy," Aaron said, "but successful. Congratulations. Your new career is off to a promising start."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Is it my turn, yet?" Cantrell said.

  Aaron shook his head. "Not quite. Who are these women?"

  "They're mine."

  "You control them with the machines?"

  "Of course," Cantrell said. "Look at them. Wouldn't you want slaves like that?"

  Aaron curled his lips with distaste. "Smythe, get them out of here. Give them enough pills to cure their addiction. Make sure they get home safely, wherever home is."

  "Yes, sir," Smythe said.

  He ushered the women out of the restaurant. They fearfully complied with his orders.

  "Tawni and Norbert," Aaron said, "clean up this mess before the carpet is ruined."

  Tawni and Norbert went into the kitchen.

  "What pills?" Cantrell said.

  "Your old associate gave them to us," Aaron said. "Dr. Santiago."

  Cantrell raised his eyebrows. "How did you find out about him?"

  "You gave us the name during your meeting with Ford. He was wired."

  Cantrell's jaw dropped. "The cops in the corner?"

  Aaron nodded.

  Tawni came out of the kitchen pushing a heavy-duty dolly with empty body bags stacked on it. Norbert emerged with a carpet steamer.

  "Sheryl," Aaron said, "this is our enemy. Study him while you have the chance."

  Sheryl focused her attention on Cantrell. She knew he was scared, but he was hiding it well. His sneer was like a badge of courage.

  "Why did you do it?" she asked.

  "Do what?" Cantrell said.

  "All the evil shit."

  "The usual reasons. Money and power. Any other guy in my position would've done the same. That's how the real world works, babe. It's full of evil shit."

  He seemed confused
by her question. She shook her head in dismay at his insensitivity.

  Aaron still held his guns with a steady aim. Cantrell glanced at the weapons occasionally.

  "What happened to my man?" Aaron said. "Where is he?"

  "Dead. He stabbed himself in the neck," Cantrell said.

  "Did he say anything?"

  "He told me to tell Aaron he was sorry. That must be you."

  Aaron's gaze became distant. "At least he went out with honor."

  "How is suicide honorable?"

  "You'll never understand, and that's what's wrong with you."

  Cantrell furrowed his brow.

  Norbert turned on the carpet steamer and began to suck up the blood. Streaks of red mixed with white foam.

  "How did you set me up?" Cantrell said.

  "When you used your credit card this morning, we had you," Aaron said. "Then it was just a matter of hacking the airline computer. Fortunately, I employ the two best hackers in existence." He smiled a little.

  "You went to a lot of trouble to ruin my plans and capture me. Why?"

  "Sheryl," Aaron said, "explain it to him."

  Sheryl realized this was yet another test. He wanted to know if she truly understood the mission of the Gray Spear Society. He never misses an opportunity to teach.

  "It's because there are things that belong in this world," she said, "and things that don't. The monkey machines don't. You don't either."

  "According to who?" Cantrell said.

  "God. It's our job to destroy the things that don't belong."

  "Elegantly put," Aaron said.

  Sheryl had a warm feeling. She was getting a lot of compliments from him today.

  "You're some kind of religious fanatics," Cantrell said.

  Aaron snorted. "I thought that at first, too. I suppose it's true in a way."

  Sheryl checked on the progress of the cleanup. All the bodies were in bags and stacked on the dolly. Tawni was straightening the furniture while Norbert steamed away the last of the blood.

  "You seem like a reasonable man," Cantrell said. "I'm sure we can reach a mutually acceptable compromise. What if I joined your crew? A man with my skills could be very valuable to you."

  "But first, I'd have to trust you. That might be difficult. You're a sociopath with the morality of a bull shark."

  Cantrell frowned. He looked at Sheryl and narrowed his eyes. "There is something familiar about your face. I've seen you in the news."

  "I died on stage two days ago," she said.

  He blinked. "That's right! The Mistress of Mystery."

  "It's good to know I achieved fame in death, at least."

  Cantrell turned his attention back to Aaron. "Don't take the moral high ground with me. I've seen your methods. You have no problem killing people."

  "It's not the how but the why that matters," Aaron said. "I kill to keep the world safe. If there were a better way, I'd use it." He glanced at Tawni and Norbert. "It looks like we're almost done here. It's time to take you to your final resting place."

  "What does that mean?"

  Aaron walked over and kicked Cantrell in the jaw. Cantrell went down and stayed down.

  * * *

  Cantrell opened his eyes. His head was swimming.

  He was lying on a surface made of damp dirt and gravel. He spat some of it out of his mouth.

  Still feeling dizzy, he sat up. He was in a vast room with just a few work lights for illumination. Darkness shrouded most of the space. A regular grid of thick concrete pillars held up a concrete ceiling.

  Aaron was standing a few yards away, and a group of eight other people was gathered behind him.

  "You're finally awake," he said. "Welcome to my secondary headquarters. This is the basement. I apologize for the inhospitable conditions, but we're still fixing up the place. One day, it will be nice."

  Cantrell felt a heavy weight around his neck. He probed with his fingers and discovered he was wearing a tight metal collar. He looked back. A chain went from the collar to a support pillar. The collar and chain were made of thick steel and permanently welded together. He wasn't going anywhere.

  Jugs of water were stacked around the pillar. He estimated there were fifty one-gallon jugs.

  He turned back to Aaron. "What is this?"

  "Poetic justice," Aaron said, "but we'll get to that shortly. First, I want you to see something. It might help you understand where you went wrong."

  All the people were wearing formal gray robes like medieval monks. Aaron's robes were the fanciest and had braided hems. The attire created a very somber atmosphere.

  Cantrell recognized the faces of the people from the Italian restaurant, but there were others he had never seen. A pair of female twins was lurking in the shadows. The light played on their bald skulls and eyes in strange ways. Cantrell was certain he was just seeing things, but it looked like the women had robot heads.

  "Sheryl," Aaron said, "kneel before me."

  The dead magician knelt on the soft dirt and bowed her head respectfully.

  "This is the oath of membership in the Gray Spear Society," he intoned. "Violating the oath is a grave offence, and the penalty is always death. Once the oath is sworn, it can never be retracted. Sheryl Kapanina, do you understand?"

  "I do, sir."

  "Do you swear to fight the enemies of God with all the strength in your body and mind?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "If necessary, will you sacrifice your life and all you hold dear for that cause?"

  "Yes."

  "God demands we remain covert," he said. "Do you swear to conceal the Gray Spear Society at all times and in all ways? Will you take our secrets to the grave?"

  "Yes."

  "Finally, will you obey the orders of your commander and trust my judgment in all matters of importance?"

  She nodded. "Yes."

  "I hereby award you the rank of legionnaire with all the attendant rights, privileges, and responsibilities. Bring honor to the title, and welcome to our ancient Society!"

  She stood up and smiled broadly. Everybody else applauded.

  Aaron looked at Cantrell. "You see? Loyalty, honor, duty, commitment. These are the things you lack. It's why you're chained up like a rabid dog."

  Cantrell rolled his eyes. "Stop preaching. Get to the point."

  "Gladly. I wanted you to feel the pain of addiction before you died, but it was too much trouble to create a new addiction. Frankly, you're not worth that much of my time. Then it struck me. You're addicted to food. Everybody is. Without food, we die slowly and painfully. Tawni, the pallet, please."

  The black woman walked off into the shadows. When she returned, she was driving a forklift with a wooden pallet on the forks. She lowered the pallet to the dirt about ten feet away from Cantrell. The chain prevented him from getting near it.

  Canned and dried food was piled high on the pallet. The supplies even included a can opener.

  "Perfect," Aaron said. "I'm sure you already noticed the fresh water. Dehydration won't be an issue, especially in this damp, cool place. You probably have enough for three months if you ration it carefully. On the other hand, food will be a problem. I put it here so you would always see what you're missing."

  Horror filled Cantrell as he started to understand.

  Aaron continued, "I'm told a man can survive for a month on water alone. I'll come back in a month to see if that's true. I suggest you sleep as much as possible to reduce your calorie usage. You'll starve slower that way. The suffering will last longer."

  "You can't do this to me!" Cantrell yelled.

  "You'll have plenty of time to reflect on your sins. When you finally meet God, you might be ready for the conversation. After you die, the scent from your rotting corpse will infuse this building. There is no aroma more appropriate for a stronghold of the Gray Spear Society. We are all creatures of death." Aaron grinned. "What a wonderful day this is."

  "Please, let's just talk about this."

  "We'll talk when
I come back."

  "In a month?" Cantrell said.

  "Assuming I'm not too busy."

  Aaron walked off. His team followed him into the darkness.

  "Wait!" Cantrell screamed. "Come back!"

  There was no response. He yanked on his chain, and it felt very secure. Breaking it was impossible.

  "Please," he whimpered.

  * * *

  Aaron walked into the computer room. He was delighted to see the twins back at their workstations finally.

  All the keyboards and mice were gone. Bethany stared at her screens with her hands at her sides. With her native wireless capability, she didn't need clunky interfaces anymore. She could communicate with her machines in their own language at full speed.

  Her translucent black eyeballs and metallic skull still disturbed Aaron. She had become an alien in mind as well as body.

  He glanced at the computer monitors. Information was flowing across all of them at an insane rate. The words and numbers were just a flickering blur.

  "Bethany," he said, "we have to talk. The mission is over and the crisis has passed, so this is a good time to figure out how we're going to deal with each other going forward. We need to set expectations. I can't fight with you every time I need you to work on something."

  "I agree, sir," she replied in a synthetic voice.

  "What do you propose?"

  "It isn't my decision." She handed her phone to him. "Press zero and hold it down."

  He furrowed his brow. He held the zero button for several seconds and put the phone against his ear.

  "This is the Operator," a strange and distant voice answered.

  A shiver went down Aaron's spine. "Am I speaking to God?"

  "Yes."

  Aaron took a moment to get his thoughts in order. The twins have the Almighty on speed dial. I shouldn't be surprised.

  "You want to talk about Bethany and Leanna?" God said.

  "Yes, Sir. They're essential to my team. I need their help to fight Your enemies."

  "You can use them for a half-hour per day."

  "That's all?" Aaron said.

  "A half-hour of their time is a considerable amount. Be grateful."

  "Yes, Sir. But what if there is an emergency?"

  "Have other resources in place," God said. "Don't rely on the twins for help. They have more important responsibilities."