I pulled the van to a stop beside the curb. To our right, darkened houses marched down the street like good little soldiers, all of them built to similar specs, the only difference being the color scheme and the shape of the gate in the obligatory fence/wall that separated sidewalk from courtyard. I wondered what the neighbors would say when they discovered they’d been living across the street from one of the world’s most reviled terrorists. I could hear the interviews now.
“You know, maybe we should’ve been suspicious when the bomb went off in his basement. But we thought he was learning to play the bass drum. And who would we tell anyway? Half the cops on the force are scared to leave their cars and the other half are working for him!”
I looked back at the guys, sharing the smile that can grow right out of your teeth just before battle. It’s involuntary. Like breathing. Or shaking your ass to rap music. Something about the threat of death just makes you feel alive. I know I wouldn’t have chosen any other spot than the one I occupied beside these fierce, grinning men tonight.
Okay. We’re as ready as we’re going to get.
I looked a question at Vayl.
Now?
He gave me the slight tilt of his head that passed as a nod. I felt his powers rise once again, like a cool swirling breeze that encased only us.
“Where’d they go?” asked Natchez.
“I told you he was good,” said Bergman. I followed Vayl out his side of the van, slamming the door on Bergman’s monologue of my boss’s known and suspected kills despite a strong urge to crawl into the back, sit absolutely still, and listen like I might never hear again.
With Vayl’s camouflage flowing over us we walked boldly across the street, daring the cameras to record us. They might show some movement, but watchers would see it as a blur and think the lenses needed to be cleaned.
A miniscule jerk of Vayl’s head told me he wanted to head around back. I followed closely enough to stay within his sphere of influence. Reaching into the compound with my senses, I tried to pick up any information I could. I’m no Cassandra, but I can perceive intense human emotion. And somebody inside was pissed.
“Vayl,” I whispered. “We made the Wizard mad.”
“Really?” he drawled.
“I’m thinking we can use that to our advantage.”
He slanted me an amused look over his shoulder. “Jasmine, if anyone can manipulate someone else’s fury to her gain, it is you.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment,” I warned him.
He made a muffled sound that I interpreted as a chuckle. “I meant it no other way.”
The house took up half the block. We turned the corner, followed it to a private access road. It was blocked by a chained gate upon which hung a sign that might’ve spelled out why nobody but the owners were allowed to drive past that point — except I couldn’t read Farsi, so I was just guessing. For all I knew, it said,
Sick of living? Have we got a job for you! Inquire inside.
The gate itself was lower than the one in front. Also somewhat in disrepair. In fact, it looked to me like somebody had run into it with their vehicle. Hard. Leaving a buckled-in spot that made it resemble an enormous football player who’s just been kicked in the cojones. The resulting fold made a great foothold for us as we climbed to the top of the wall and then gently dropped to the other side.
The lack of outbuildings and absolute void in landscaping meant we could see the entire backyard and rear of the house from our vantage point. The only adornment the architect had given this area was a pool. But there were no lawn chairs. No potted plants. Nothing softened the stark effect of cement-encased water. It looked like a place where people are baptized. Or drowned.
If I’d been a run-of-the-mill assassin, the distance between the gate at which I stood and the back of the house would have seemed to stretch for miles. The Wizard had made it virtually impossible for anyone to sneak up on him while he was at home. But then, he’d never expected to be targeted by a vampire like Vayl.
We had our choice of entrances. As we faced the house, the garage sat to our left. It had four bays, all of them accessed by barnlike closures. A walk led from the driveway to the main door, a windowless white-painted archway with a black metal latch. To our far right, almost at the building’s edge, was another entry. A much less imposing white rectangle — definitely reserved for the servants.
Vayl motioned to my gut.
Where is it leading you?
his expression asked me.
I nodded to door number two.
We walked to the corner of the building. Despite our relative safety, it still felt eerie to cross someone’s line of sight and realize you might as well be invisible to them. Too bad we didn’t have more time. It would be such a blast to make them think they were cursed. I could just see the guards, gathered around the monitors.
“Holy crap, Khorsand!” one of them would shriek. “Look at camera five! The light fixtures have leaped off the garage and are floating around the pool like severed heads! What could it mean?”
“We are obviously being haunted by the souls of all the good men we murdered, NimA,” his partner would respond. “The only choice we have left to us is to fall upon our swords!”
I sighed.
Aah, if it were only that easy
.
We took our positions and waited for Cole’s signal.
“You smell amazing,” said Vayl, standing as close as he could get to me without touching. Apparently that was his definition of professional distance.
“Keep your mind on the job, bub.”
“Bub? Is that my new nickname?”
“Sure.”
“I hate it,” Vayl said decisively. “Give me another.”
I looked up at him, his excitement so palpable I could almost reach out and stroke it, like a luscious mink coat I’d feel guilty about petting while I totally grooved on the furry. This job necessarily brings out the worst in us, usually at the same moment. We were feeling the buzz now. That rush of God-power that precedes most kills. Lucky for us, my contrary nature drives me to poke holes in anything that seems overinflated.
“I had a parakeet named Murray once. How about that?” I asked.
His shoulders dropped. “Are you serious? When you look at me you think . . . parakeet?”
“Definitely,” I said, warming up to the idea now that I knew he hated it. “Because your eyes turn all kinds of colors like a parakeet’s feathers. And your fangs are kind of shaped like its beak. Murray crapped on newspapers. And you read the newspapers while you —” His look stopped me. “Or maybe, being a vampire, that’s not a necessary function. But since you eat, and you take the papers, I just thought —”
“Jasmine!”
“You’re right. This conversation should definitely wait until we’ve known each other a while longer.”
I didn’t catch his entire reply, but it sounded like he might’ve said, “A hundred years longer.”
“Okay,” came Cole’s voice. “I’ve had all I can stand without puking. Plus, the bad guys are coming. Repeat, Wizard henchies are on the loose.”
I took off the necklace I wore, worked the shark’s tooth into the lock, and waited while Bergman’s molten metal worked itself into the correct configuration. Within ten seconds we were inside, sans alarm, thanks to our baited TV van. I spared a moment to hope for their success. Then I brought all my concentration back to the task at hand.
We’d walked into a room that seemed too small and far too plain for the rest of the house. It was as if the architect had come to this corner and mused, “Well . . . they are going to need somewhere to throw their bloody clothes.”
In America we’d have called it a mud room. It was basically an eight-by-nine dump-your-shoes-and-shawl area, with a row of pegs on the wall opposite the door on which hung a couple of caps. Faded brown tile covered the floor. Two steps led up to another door.
I unzipped the pouch at my waist as Vayl gently inched it op
en. The dental mirror I carried reflected a large meeting room. Dark and empty, it reminded me of a church basement. Long tables. Folding chairs. And on the other end a kitchen area. Smaller rooms adjoined the large one, but we weren’t interested in those. The Wizard was brewing up a storm on one of the upper floors.
I led the way through the kitchen to an alcove that contained a wooden stairway. This led to a second-floor hallway, but it also continued to the third floor.
“He’s up there,” I whispered. “Now, remember. The idea is
not
to kill him right away. Okay?”
“That is the third time you have reminded me!” Vayl hissed. “I am a professional, you know!”
“Kill him!” Cole yelled suddenly, his voice so loud in my ear I considered removing my receiver and stomping on it.
“Cole, what are you talking about?” I demanded.
“These guys he sent out after us? They’re zombies! Our bullets are barely slowing them down. So screw the plan! Kill him!”
Shit!
I should’ve known something weird was up when I didn’t see any mahghul gathering. But I’d thought it was because our guys hadn’t begun their part of the evening with murderous intent.
As Cole related the story later, they’d all agreed that only one of them really needed to physically stay inside the van and act as bait. And they’d elected Bergman. “You look like a TV geek,” Cam had told him genially.
“Hey, Miles,” Natch asked, holding up his Manx. “Didn’t you tell us this baby has a built-in silencer?”
“Yeah,” Bergman said, trying to hang on to his newfound toughness in light of Cam’s shocking news. “Just twist the barrel to the right until it won’t turn anymore.”
Cole clapped him on the shoulder. “Looks like your adventures have already started,” he said.
“Heh. Yeah,” said Bergman.
His Manx now in stealth mode, Natch unsnapped the holster at his hip, pulled his sidearm, a silenced Beretta M9, and handed it to Bergman. “Aim careful,” he said with a big grin as Bergman took the gun and stuttered his thanks. “We don’t want anybody down tonight but the bad guys. Got it?” Bergman nodded.
“Ya scared?”
Bergman nodded again. But he said, “No, not at all. Of course, my bowels are so loose if I stood up I’d shit down both legs. But I’m sure it was just something I ate.” They looked at each other for a couple of beats. Then they both burst into laughter. Natchez clapped Bergman on the shoulder and followed Cam out of the van.
Cole, already on the sidewalk, gave Bergman thumbs-up and closed the doors. After which they made themselves scarce. While they didn’t have Vayl’s powers, these guys were damn good at disappearing. Especially when they came prepared, wearing the black body armor that usually went underneath their uniforms, and having already darkened their faces. Except for Natch, of course, who liked to say God created him for night combat. Cole ended up tucked between two cars parked a quarter block up the road. Cam and Natch faded into the shadows provided by the recessed gates of the houses nearest the van.
The Wizard’s men didn’t even try for sneaky. Almost as soon as our guys had secreted themselves they trooped out the front gate, six in all, headed straight for the van. Once he saw they’d cleared the street, Cole moved in behind them, hugging cover, making his way to the driver’s side. The men never even looked over their shoulders. They were that confident. When they realized nobody sat in either of the front seats they all went around to the side and threw open the door.
Cole had figured on getting a jump on the Wizard’s men. So when the bad guys made their move, Cole aimed his Manx through the driver’s side window and yelled, “Freeze!”
Except, as walking dead, they only heeded a single command. And that was coming from inside the house.
“Cole, they’re zombies!” screamed Bergman.
“Get out now!” Cole shouted as he saw one of them raise his weapon. He riddled the creature with bullets as Bergman grabbed one of the cameras and dove for the back door. He threw it open and jumped out, falling to his knees, but saving the equipment from harm.
“Take cover!” Cam yelled, as the zombies, three of them downed by Cole’s quick reaction, began to return fire.
As soon as Bergman was out of the way, Cam and Natch opened up from behind the zombies, ripping into the backs of their heads with rounds designed to leave only fragments in the aftermath.
Bergman joined Cole behind the van as the zombies turned on their attackers. Even though most of them could no longer see through their own eyes, their master could. Cam and Natch vaulted the nearest wall just as they opened up.
“Jasmine, haven’t you found the bastard yet?” Cole demanded as he covered his comrades’ withdrawal. “We’re in some dire straits here!”
“Moving on him now,” I whispered. We’d made it up the third flight of stairs. It had led us down a hallway, past a series of rooms clearly used for training purposes. Tables held reams of paper. Maps covered the walls. Other rooms held weights, stationary bicycles, punching bags, mats. I got the feeling not all of the Wizard’s men were zombies. Or, at least, not at first. I wondered where they’d gone. Surely he had more than the six he’d sent against our guys. But the rooms were empty.
The hall finally opened to a large circular area accented with a huge rug done in blues and reds. Silk pillows in rich, dark hues were strewn across this in groupings of twelve or fifteen. An indentation in one large red one showed where the Wizard had been resting before we showed up to disturb him.
He stood at the opposite end of the room, staring through one of a large bank of windows, clutching at the sill as if only it was keeping him from falling to his knees. If my knowledge of necromancy was correct, all we had to do was break his concentration, get his eyes off those zombies, and our guys would be able to destroy them.
I looked at Vayl. Got the nod.
“So you’re the son of a bitch who killed my brother.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
I
felt like Clint Eastwood, about to duel it out on the streets of Laredo with the gun-toting bully who’d torched my farm and shot my horse. And, like I said before, killed my brother. Only, since Dave was technically alive, I didn’t feel I was bringing quite enough emotion to the role. So I reminded myself of how I’d felt before he’d revived. There. That did it.
I stalked to the middle of the room as the Wizard turned, first his body, then his head, then his eyes. A slow-motion dance step that made him realize belatedly that he faced two attackers.
“They’re off us and coming your way!” Cole warned me. “You’ve got maybe three minutes before they’re on you.”
Just keep to the plan,
I told him silently, knowing he would despite the fact that it looked as if Vayl and I were about to be trapped between six zombies and their pissed-off master.
“I ought to kill you right now, you . . . you monster!” I cried. I kept my expression taut. Fraught with pain. But just behind my eyes calculations were whizzing through my brain like I’d just been handed my college chemistry final. The Wizard, whose resemblance to FarjAd I’d put down to coincidence, I now realized must be familial. It wasn’t just looks they shared. It was a way of moving. A sense of one’s place in the world. But where FarjAd opened up to include everyone along with him, the Wizard kept out all but a select few. You could see it in his expression, even now forbidding us access though we had him at a huge disadvantage.
“No, Jasmine!” Vayl held up his free hand. The other, holding tight to his cane, pointed at the Wizard as he spoke. “This man must pay. And there is only one way to ensure that justice is served. You promised!”
“Yes,” I said, allowing my stance to ease somewhat. “My brother made a specific request of me. And I will honor it.” I held up the bone in my right hand, my left securely tucked behind my back. “Do you see this? Do you know what it is?”
He glanced down. His left hand wasn’t even ba
ndaged, it had healed so long ago. It just lacked a pinky.
“No!” I yelled. “I destroyed yours the second I took it out of my brother’s neck!”
I whipped my left arm into the open. Let him see the fantastic bandaging job Cam had done. A hint of red showed at the “stump” where it sure looked like I’d hacked off my smallest finger.
“You are not a necromancer,” the Wizard whispered. But he sounded unsure. He stepped forward, into the pool of light provided by a standing lamp covered by a beaded red and gold shade. Here the resemblance to FarjAd faded beneath the sallow, emaciated look of a man who hadn’t slept in weeks and only ate when someone forced him. Running Dave must have taxed him to his limit. I hid my satisfaction behind a surge of anger that my brother had once been spiritually connected to this slime.
“I am
other
,” I told him hotly. “And that’s enough. Especially when all I want to do is control one. Puny. Zombie.”
Vayl slid the sheath off his cane sword. The metallic
whoosh
sent a shiver up my spine. “Just a slit to your throat,” Vayl said silkily. “Just enough for Jasmine’s ohm to be inserted.”
“And then you’re mine,” I said. “Just like Dave wanted. You’ll be my zombie servant forever. Slave to an American assassin. How do you like them apples, Kazimi? And here’s the yummiest” — I hugged myself and licked my lips ecstatically — “the most chocolate cream-filled deliciousness part. Before I set you up in my apartment, wearing a frilly white apron, baking bread, dusting, and cleaning the toilet? I’m going to use you to take down the Raptor. That’s right. I’m setting your whole network up for an Edward Samos takeover. You’re going to lure him right out of the shadows. And when he moves in, the whole network caves. Won’t that be lovely?”
As the Wizard’s stony facade started to crumble, what I’d just said about Samos and shadows triggered a memory from my trip to hell with Raoul. It was important, but not enough to warrant my attention just now. I tucked it into my Check Later pile and concentrated on the Wizard’s face. I’d seen men go gray before. Delightful, as usual.
Jennifer Rardin - Jaz Parks Book 3 - Biting The Bullet Page 28