by Paul Crilley
Which just happens to be a sex shop. I head to the glass door I shot out, crouch down next to multi-coloured dildos and peer outside. Armitage is still firing off occasional volleys. I keep my eyes on the building across the street as she does so.
There are flashes from the second and third storey. Nothing from the first floor. I check the location of each attacker, then wait for a lull in the gunfire, assuming our attackers are using the time to reload.
I sprint across the street, expecting to feel bullets ripping me to shreds as I do so. I make it. Smack into the glass door of a second-hand furniture shop.
I slide along the wall until I’m standing beneath the windows that hide our attackers. I try the door. Unlocked. Push it open. Slowly. Waiting for gunfire.
Nothing. I duck my head around then jerk it back, just in case someone is waiting for me to appear. Again, nothing. An empty corridor, light from the street revealing graffiti-covered walls, stairs leading up, and an old bicycle leaning against the wall. The place looks like a disused apartment building.
I duck inside, gun swivelling, taking in all points of attack. I move to the stairs. They’re concrete, no chance of creaking. I slide up the wall, gun pointed above me. I can hear more gunfire, Armitage with another distraction. Not sure how much ammo she has, though.
It’s dark in here. No lights. I get to the second landing, peer into the corridor. Movement. I pull my head back as someone comes out of one of the rooms facing the street, heading in my direction.
I push my gun into my pants and pull out my knife. Wait for him to approach.
He turns into the stairs. I’m face to face with night vision goggles and a mouth stretched in an ‘Oh!’ of surprise. I jam the knife into his throat, silencing him before he can make a sound.
He drops. I catch him, ease him down, wait to see if anyone has been alerted.
Nothing. I pull his night-vision goggles off, strap them onto my own head. My vision turns green and black, my surroundings lighting up like a video game. I pull the dead perp down the stairs out of the way, then hurry back up to the corridor.
It’s hard to tell which of the rooms hold the shooters. I peer into the closest. Empty. Four more rooms on this floor. I check the next. This one is occupied. Another figure in black tactical gear, standing to the side of the window as he shoots what looks like a SIG MPX semi-automatic rifle at Armitage. I’m jealous. Not the shooting at Armitage part. I mean about the gun.
I want to take him down quietly too, but as I step into the deserted room he spins around and places his back against the wall as a few of Armitage’s bullets punch holes in the ceiling.
He stares at me in surprise and I yank out my Glock and shoot him in the chest. Bullet-proof vest. Fuck. I raise the gun and shoot out the night-vision goggles. His head jerks back and he slumps against the wall, drops into a sitting position.
Shit. I wonder if his mates heard? Realised it was a different type of gunfire.
I get my answer a second later when the wall to my right starts exploding, bullet holes ripping through the plaster at ankle height.
Clever bastard. Thinks I’ll drop to the floor to avoid the gunfire. The line of bullets cuts towards me and I make a leap for the window, landing on the dead perp and hopping onto the windowsill just as the bullets reach me. The dead guy jerks and rocks as the bullets thud into him. He slides over onto his face.
I reach down and grab the guy’s SIG, brace myself against the window frame, and return fire, swinging the rifle around in random patterns until I hear someone cry out.
I hop back onto the floor. Three down. How many more to go? Two? But they were one floor up, I think.
I grab the dead guy’s spare magazines from his combat vest, eject the clip in the SIG and ram the full one home. I check the landing outside. No one waiting for me. Out and heading towards the stairs.
I put my foot on the first step and someone comes hurrying down towards me. He doesn’t shoot, so he must reckon I’m one of them. I’m hoping he’ll try to pass me so I can grab him, but he realises the truth a couple of feet away and launches himself straight at me.
We sail back off the stairs and I land on my back. He scrabbles for my face, attempting to yank the goggles away. I try to hit him, but he’s kneeling on my right arm. The gun is in my left hand but it’s too long for me to get it pointed at him. I drop it, punch the guy in the head. Once. Twice. His teeth are bared in fury as he finally gets my goggles off and goes for my eyes.
His thumbs press in. I scream in pain, try to push him back. But he’s too big. Too heavy.
I can’t get to my knife or my wand either. I don’t have any other weapons so I straighten my hand and ram it as hard as I can into his throat.
He rolls off me, clutching at his throat. Gasping for air. I scramble to my feet, pick up the SIG, point it at him. No need. His face is turning blue. I can see a depression in his throat where I hit him. Must have collapsed his larynx. His eyes are wide and bulging. The sounds he’s making are terrible, pained heaving gasps that gradually trail off to nothing.
Running footsteps above me. Fuck. Nowhere to go but down.
I put my foot on the first step then realise someone’s coming up from the bottom floor. Where the fuck had he been hiding? I fire off a burst, then head back to the room where I killed the second guy. Bullets punch into the doorframe, showering me with splinters. I dive through the door, skid across the boards, then scramble up and bolt for the window.
I fire behind me, keeping them out the room. Lean over the ledge. Second floor. Fifteen-foot drop onto the roof of a car.
More gunfire behind me, cutting straight through the wall to either side of the doorway. I hunker down, return fire, spraying bullets across the room.
Nothing else for it.
I climb onto the ledge, hesitate, and glance over my shoulder. The two remaining attackers choose that moment to enter the room, guns firing.
I jump. Hit the car roof with a jolt that sends my knees hard into my chest. Tuck and roll off the car and onto the ground just as bullets pepper the vehicle. Armitage spots me and fires towards the window. The attackers jerk back, disappear from view. I give them a couple of seconds, then sprint to the car.
Armitage is pulling herself into the driver’s side. I yank the back door open and throw myself in as she fumbles with the keys.
I poke my head up to look through the rear window. The two attackers run out of the building, straight into the street. They raise their rifles.
I grab my wand. Take a deep breath and focus, drawing in the power around me, pulling in the electricity from the shops and street lights. The wand vibrates, thrumming with energy. Little arcs of electricity crawl across my hand.
I wait till all the lights around us wink out, plunging the street into darkness. Then I hold the wand up and, resisting the urge to shout out ‘Lumos’, I release the power.
Intense white light bursts into life, like a hundred flares exploding at once. Harsh, monochrome shadows slam into the street. I wince against the glare, grinning as the two remaining attackers scream in pain, their night-vision goggles multiplying the light and hopefully burning out their retinas.
They struggle to pull the goggles off. I try to see their faces as they do so, but only catch a brief glimpse of one of them as they dive behind cars. He’s in his late forties. Thin. A heavily lined face.
Armitage finally gets the car started. She pulls off, tyres screeching on the asphalt, and speeds off down the street. There’s steam billowing out from under the hood. The car isn’t going to last much longer, but as long as it gets us away from here I don’t much care.
I look out the back window. One of the attackers is back in the street, his rifle aimed at us. I fire a couple more shots at him and he dives to the side.
I flop down in the seat, my heart hammering brutally in my chest.
So who the hell were they? Who the hell have we pissed off now?
When we get back to Division I phone a contact i
n the Albert Park police station. I tell him Armitage and I were attacked while pursuing inquiries and that if they hadn’t already, they should head out to clear the body and debris.
He tells me they’d already had a call out for gunfire. Major damage to shops and cars, but no bodies.
Armitage and I decide to sleep at the Division. There’s no telling how much our attackers know about us so we can’t risk going home.
I wonder briefly if our attackers tonight are linked to Lilith, but I dismiss the thought. It didn’t seem like Kincaid’s style. He would have just sent another pack of biters after me.
No, this was someone else who wants us dead.
Chapter 13
At nine o’ clock the next morning I take my coffee and stumble into our operations room on the eighth floor. The whiteboard wall is filling up with photographs. The ramanga, the kraal where he was killed, Armitage’s body, her lounge, the killer’s face.
Down one side of the board are notes written in Parker’s neat handwriting. Red lines drawn between the photographs detail definite connections, while blue lines denote possible connections we haven’t managed to confirm yet.
Parker is already here, adding the photographs of the second sin-eater from the Oyster Box Hotel. I sit down and yawn as Armitage strolls in and glances at the board.
‘Bloody hell, people. A little empathy wouldn’t go amiss. Do I have to be on the board?’
‘You’re part of the case,’ Parker points out.
‘Well . . . cover my face or something, will you? I don’t want to stare into my own dead eyes first thing in the morning.’
‘I suppose you got enough of that looking in the mirror when you were alive,’ I say.
Armitage throws a whiteboard marker at me. I dodge but I’m not quick enough. It hits me in the ear.
She’s not upset, though. Armitage is old school. Laughter is the best medicine. Stiff upper lip. Grimace painfully and carry on, that kind of thing. I’m just doing my bit to stop her dwelling on everything. It’s a public service, really.
She approaches the board, scans it quickly, then turns to me. ‘Our attackers last night. Human?’
I nod. ‘There’s blood at the scene. Definitely human.’
Parker frowns. ‘What attack is this?’
I quickly tell her everything that happened yesterday, ending with our night-time ambush.
‘They sound like pros,’ she says.
‘They were. It was a hit squad.’
‘We don’t know that,’ snaps Armitage.
‘Of course it was. How else do you explain it? Mistaken identity?’
Armitage sighs, a habit more than anything else. It’s not as if she needs air. She waves at the board.
‘OK, fine. But let’s put a pin in the mysterious assassins for now. Let’s go back to the beginning. Start with the ramanga. Our dead sin-eater. Talk to me as if I don’t have a clue what’s going on.’ She points at me without even looking. ‘And no smart arse comments.’
‘We think he was new,’ I say. ‘Going on what the fae told us, he must have recently followed on from his own teacher. Master. Whatever they call it. Else he wouldn’t still be a local ramanga. He’d be living it up somewhere else.’
‘They don’t inherit anything from their master? Belongings?’ asks Parker.
‘No. I reckon this . . . corporation or whatever it is takes everything. The sin-eaters get to enjoy the money while they’re alive, but after that it’s sucked into the company coffers.’
Armitage nods thoughtfully. ‘Follow that up with the second victim’s records. Check her will, her bank statements that kind of thing. Where’s her laptop?’
Parker nods at the table up against the wall. A new MacBook Air and a cell phone sit there.
‘Good. What else do we know about her?’
‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘That’s on the agenda for this morning.’
‘Get on it. Search for any links between her and the ramanga. Maybe we can use them to trace more of these sin-eaters. If there are more, they’re in danger from Lilith and her attack dog.’ She’s silent for a while, then makes a tutting sound. ‘All this stuff about the first sin – I don’t like it. It stinks of religion.’
‘Which one?’
‘Lucifer. God. All that stuff. Wasn’t Lucifer the first being to sin? Pride, wasn’t it? That’s what’s supposed to have kicked the whole thing off.’
‘What – you think that’s what Lilith is after?’
‘You tell me.’
‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ I say. ‘Even if the sin-eaters have been around for that long – and we have no way of verifying that – what could they do with Lucifer’s pride? And it’s not as if a sin-eater took his sins from him anyway. He’s still reigning down below, isn’t he?’
Armitage shrugs. ‘No idea. That’s Level ultra-alpha-tip-top-super-duper-secret security clearance. They don’t let the likes of me into those files.’
‘Don’t forget that archangel you both saw,’ says Parker. ‘He’s involved somehow. That kind of implies it’s a Christian thing.’
‘Or Jewish,’ said Armitage. ‘They have angels too. So does Buddhism, Islam, and Hinduism.’
‘Yeah, but he said he was Michael, remember?’ I say.
‘Good point,’ says Armitage. She claps her hands together. ‘Righto. I see we’ve got a busy day ahead of us. I’m going to have a chat with Jaeger to see if she can do something about this hole in my chest. Her stitching’s come loose.’
Armitage pulls her shirt open to reveal the wound. Parker and I both cry out in protest and turn our heads away.
‘Oh, that’s very nice, that is,’ says Armitage. ‘And just how do you think that makes me feel, eh? Just be thankful Parker’s spell stops me decaying. Then you’d all be in the shit.’
She storms off in a huff, buttoning up her shirt as she goes.
I sigh and grab Long’s laptop while Parker focuses on the cell phone, plugging it into her own PC so she can clone the entire system before fiddling around with it.
I boot up the computer. No password. Very careless. There’s a photograph as a desktop wallpaper. The victim and two kids. I swing the laptop around to show Parker.
‘Has anyone notified next of kin?’
‘Don’t think so.’
I swivel the computer back. I’m not doing it. I hate breaking that kind of news to anyone. It brings everything back. Becca’s face when I told her about Cally. The way her features just seemed to . . . collapse with grief. I tried to hold her, but she wouldn’t let me. I could see it in her face. The blame. Why couldn’t you save her? Your own daughter. What good are you to anyone if you can’t even protect your family?
I frown and shake my head, loading up the computer’s calendar. Lots and lots of bookings. She was a busy girl, our Caitlyn Long. Only problem is, all the appointments are marked with just the initials.
I check yesterday’s date, when she arrived in Durban. Nothing there. But there is an entry for tonight at eight o’clock, Marked with the initials, MD.
I check through her emails, but there’s nothing of interest. Certainly nothing from someone with the initials MD. Family stuff. Friends getting in touch, that kind of thing. Her internet history is just as boring. Hollywood gossip sites, Facebook (logged out, can’t access it), local news sites.
No smoking gun. No emails from the head of this mysterious corporation detailing who they are and where they’re based. Typical.
‘Here’s something,’ says Parker.
I look up.
‘SMS messages,’ says Parker. ‘The first came through Wednesday night. “Can you come to me Friday?” Her response, “Why? Will see you Sat.” Next SMS, “Need you sooner. Have a feeling I might be a naughty boy.” Her response. “Double the last price.” Then he texts back, “Not a problem. See you Friday night.” ’
‘No name?’
‘Just a number.’
‘You think whoever this person is wanted her services as a sin
-eater?’ I ask.
‘Either that or she’s a hooker on the side.’
-Hey, London.-
I look around but can’t see the dog anywhere.
-What’s up?-
-You’ve got some problems down here, man. Serious ones.-
-What problems?-
-I think you’re about to get arrested for murder.-
I blink. That wasn’t something I expected to hear.
-Where are you?-
-Under your desk. I wouldn’t come down here, though. Not unless you want to get taken in by the SSA.-
SSA? The State Security Agency? Those guys are our answer to the CIA and MI6. What the hell are they doing here?
I hurry to the door and open it a crack. Look both ways. Nothing. I can hear shouting from the main office on the ground floor. I move forward and peer over the balcony.
I see them straight away. Men in suits. Five of them. And one, the leader, arguing with Armitage. He looks familiar. Cold face. Lined. Experienced.
Their voices rise up towards me from where I’m watching a few floors above.
‘You and Tau will just have to go quietly,’ snaps Ranson. He’s standing next to the lead spook and looking like he’s enjoying every minute of this.
‘We have to do no such thing,’ snaps Armitage. ‘We’re both employees of the Crime Intelligence Division. Any problems you have need to be taken up with the Divisional Commissioner—’
‘–And a warrant issued in your names,’ finishes the SSA guy. ‘We know that.’ He hands over a folded piece of paper. Armitage snatches it from him and scans it, then looks at him in amazement.
‘Murder of State Security Agency personnel? What the hell are you talking about?’
And then I realize where I’ve seen the man before. Last night. The guys shooting at us. He was the one whose face I saw when he ripped off his night-vision goggles in the street. Shit. They were SSA?
‘Last night, you and your officer Gideon Tau interfered in an operation being conducted by the SSA. You both opened fire after I clearly identified myself, killing four of my men. I’m sure the ballistics retrieved from the scene will match one of your sidearms.’