by Domino Finn
Her emphasis on the last word was all too clear.
Maxim nodded to show he understood but too much remained unexplained. "So if none are taken alive, why aren't the monsters all dead?"
Nithya cleared her throat and fired a look of admonishment back at him. "They may be werewolves, Detective, but they are Americans and we are government employees. We do not simply target citizens with impunity."
Maxim snickered but she ignored the contempt.
"These men and women are the victims of a disease without a cure, and we afford them every opportunity to live full and productive lives. If they choose to live peacefully within society, then there is no need to hunt them. The HIDE program is the manifestation of this implicit agreement."
"Implicit or Illicit?"
She glared at him. "Hunt If Dangerous or Exposed. Safety and secrecy are the two primary public interests. If a werewolf is attacking others or irresponsibly flaunting its abilities in public, then the CDC issues an Order To Kill for it."
"Sounds like 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell.'"
"Only with much more permanent consequences for all parties involved."
Maxim pondered the ramifications of what he was hearing. "Fair enough," he conceded. "Some discretion sounds reasonable if we're talking about sick people. So these werewolves, do they need to check in with you?"
"Sometimes," answered Nithya. "In practice, my focus is much more about keeping tabs on lycanthropic populations. I let them know that they are being watched and that they are expected to behave. HIDE is just the enforcement arm of the initiative, and it gets executed whether the wolves are aware of the program or not."
"And the Seventh Sons?"
"They know me well. They are the most organized pack in the Flagstaff area and have a lot of influence, so I remain in frequent contact with them. I expect them to set the example for the others—even the ones we don't know about. These men and women are sick but have no hope for treatment; many believe it is in their best interests to keep their condition, and their identities, a secret."
Maxim still had a hard time thinking of them as victims. "How do they get infected in the first place?"
"Lycanthropy is a communicable disease," she answered. "Rabies is a Lyssavirus that, if not promptly treated with vaccine, is believed to have a fatality rate of one hundred percent. However," said Nithya, pausing to dramatic effect, "the truth is that there are outside factors, currently unknown, that propagate the condition of lycanthropy instead."
It seemed simple enough without the science. "So if you get bitten by a werewolf and don't get treatment, odds are you'll die, but there's a very small chance that you'd become a werewolf yourself."
"Exactly." The woman crossed one leg over the other and made herself comfortable. "This is a fact that works in our favor. Rabies is easy enough to stave off with contemporary techniques, while lycanthropy remains difficult to spread."
"But what of modern medicine?" interjected Maxim. "Can't we cure lycanthropy?"
"Unfortunately not. As with rabies, once the virus reaches the central nervous system and outward symptoms appear, the condition is permanent."
"The condition." Maxim said the words aloud as he pondered the meaning. "What exactly does being a werewolf entail?"
"Very much of what the urban legends speak of," replied Nithya. "Enhanced strength and constitution, physical transformation into a wolf when the sun and moon align, even the outward appearance of returning from death."
Maxim sat there and watched the marshal paying attention to his cell phone, casually disinterested in what Maxim thought was a fascinating conversation. "So they're pretty much strong and invincible—got it." The detective supposed there were worse diseases to contract. But then... "What about silver bullets?"
Nithya Rao smiled and softly stood up. She moved and sat in the stiff chair beside him. "May I see your left hand?"
Maxim breathed in her sweet perfume and met her open hand with his. When she looked down, he was taken in by her long eyelashes. "Silver," she said as her eyes snapped up to meet his, "as opposed to modern medicine, is an ancient remedy that has some effectiveness."
Maxim's gaze wavered under hers. He looked down and saw that Nithya was gripping the ring on his finger, his constant reminder of Lola. Maxim pulled his hand away.
The CDC agent had an impish look on her face and raised an eyebrow slightly, but then she sat up straight, retreating to a more professional posture. "Silver is bioactive. It kills bacteria and was used heavily for this purpose before the introduction of antibiotics."
"I thought you said rabies was a virus?"
"It is," returned Nithya, "but the presence or production of bacteria may interact with or be a side effect of the virus. What we know is that killing this bacteria inhibits the enhanced abilities of lycanthropes." Nithya looked to Boyd. "Marshal?"
The man opened a desk drawer and withdrew a magazine for Maxim's police-issue Glock. "Fifteen silver .40 caliber rounds." Marshal Boyd tossed the mag over and Maxim snatched it from the air.
"No shit."
The detective pushed out a bullet with his thumb. The jacket was made of copper but the slug was indeed the dull color of unpolished silver. Maxim played with the weight of the ammunition as he bounced it in his hands.
Nithya sat in silence for a moment as Maxim admired the novelty, then continued. "Tagging a werewolf with these will slowly cause it to lose any advantages it has in strength. Left with the same inherent biology as the rest of us, the werewolf would be just as susceptible to damage."
Marshal Boyd chimed in to translate. "It isn't the silver that kills the werewolf. It's the bullet. The silver just allows it to be killed." Maxim listened intently. "Silver solids in the blood are said to have the maximum impact. Make sure to target the heart."
Maxim took a deep breath as he let all of this new information sink in. Just two days ago he was being yelled at for monitoring Sycamore Lodge. Now, after questioning the Seventh Sons president, he was being introduced to a CDC agent overseeing them. The responses were disjointed and the detective couldn't make sense of it.
"So," he said, sliding the round back into the magazine, "what am I supposed to do with this?"
iv.
"Detective Dwyer," said Nithya, crossing her hands in her lap, "I am well aware of your motivations in this case."
Maxim looked cautiously at the woman. The last thing he needed was for the marshal to know he was looking for Lola again. In the absence of anything to say, he just stayed quiet and let Nithya keep talking.
"The Seventh Sons is a tightly knit group. They protect each other, stand by each other's actions. Because of this, they can be difficult to crack." Her eyes shifted to the marshal's as she spoke. "But in truth, your department is very similar."
The marshal smiled away her comparison. "We're the ones with the badges, Ms. Rao."
"Regardless," she said, turning back to Maxim, "you desire to punish the wolves for attacking an officer. You feel you must correct the embarrassment of allowing them to escape."
Those two things were true, Maxim couldn't deny that, but after his encounter with Diego, the crime became a pretense. Now his priority was the dangling thread of his missing wife. Since Lola was a motive the detective couldn't admit to, playing along with the case would get him close enough.
Nithya reached for a folder on the marshal's desk. "It may surprise you to think of me as an officer of the law, but this is my district, and I must enforce HIDE. To not hold the club accountable would be to invite further discrepancies like Officer Kent and Mr. Varela."
The image of Esteban Varela lying in the dirt flooded Maxim's mind. His death had been the catalyst of all the dark revelations that followed. He was a wolf, though, and ultimately, Maxim's interests lay with other victims.
"After the full moon," said Nithya, "you sent BOLOs out for two Seventh Sons."
Maxim nodded. "According to Deborah Holton, the club president, the other two bikers weren't members."<
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The CDC agent chuckled. "I am well acquainted with Ms. Holton."
Nithya leafed through the contents of the folder and handed Maxim a black and white photograph of a man lying face down in what looked to be a hotel room. "Yesterday evening, my team tracked and killed this man hiding on the Yavapai reservation." The poor image quality did not reveal many details, but the man did appear to be Native American. The local tribe was located an hour south of Flagstaff.
Maxim caught on. "You know the identities of the two escaped wolves."
"That is correct," she answered adeptly. "This is your man, Carlos Doka. We executed an Order To Kill for his part in the death of Steve Varela. In truth, it was a long time coming. He has had long ties to the criminal underworld."
"Like the Seventh Sons?"
The CDC agent paused and angled her head. "Unknown. It is likely that they were at least passingly familiar with each other just on the basis of their mutual notoriety."
She placed two printouts of IDs on the desk in front of him. The Indian man had two Arizona driver's licenses—two different names, but the same face on each card.
Maxim remembered the man lying in the clinic bed just three days before. He looked closer at the photo of the dead body and was convinced it was the same person. Except...
"His leg isn't broken."
"It very well may have been at one point," she said, "but not after he turned." When the wolves had escaped, Maxim recalled seeing their casts on the floor of the destroyed clinic room. Nithya explained further. "The wolf skin is rejuvenating for lycanthropes. They can heal most injuries during the transformation. Even back in their human form, they are as good as new. It is a vital part of their long-term health."
"So if that night hadn't been a full moon, those two would still be hurt and in custody?"
"You are looking at this the wrong way," she said with a wry expression. "It was unlucky for them to be arrested at such a sensitive time. And as for you, without the moon phase, you would still be ignorant of the truth."
It was true. It was dumb luck that everything had worked out so perfectly. Maxim had only reacted to Diego taking action, although it was possible the man had acted on the full moon intentionally.
The detective looked at the photo of the dead man again. "So Doka was executed without being interrogated?"
"He tried to escape, and we couldn't risk him getting away again," she said defensively. "At any rate, he gave us what we needed. In the standoff, he confessed to the murder of Steve Varela and implicated the other fugitive in the attack of your police officer."
"Hmm?" Maxim couldn't make sense of that. He was under the impression that Diego had killed Varela in self-defense. Someone had to be lying. "Why would he confess just like that?" And more importantly, why would he confess at all if he didn't do it?
The woman shrugged. "Unfortunately, my information is limited."
"Does it matter?" cut in Marshal Boyd. "Varela was a werewolf and a criminal, just like the others. Off the record, I'm more concerned with the assault of an officer than the club thinning themselves out." Boyd rapped his fingers on his desk matter-of-factly. "The important thing, Detective Dwyer, is that you get to close out another case for the Sanctuary Marshal's Office."
No, he couldn't wrap things up until he found Lola. He needed to investigate the Seventh Sons further. There was still an open thread.
Two suspects had escaped. Doka was dead but the woman was still out there. She was white and probably not in Yavapai territory. Hopefully she had escaped the reach of the CDC. "I can't close this out until we capture the blonde."
The marshal laughed as if the answer were obvious. "Who do you think the silver bullets are for?"
Nithya handed Maxim another paper. This was a rough photocopy of an old passport. The girl in the picture was much younger than the woman they had arrested.
"Nicola Makarova," stated Nithya. "We are lacking any more recent paper on her. Our guess is that she emigrated from Eastern Europe as a child and was sold as a bride or into prostitution. She is still at large and is being targeted under HIDE."
Interesting. Diego was chasing Doka and Makarova for a reason. The woman was marked for death, but if Maxim could find her first, then he could question her. If Nicola knew anything about Diego's sister, maybe that would also lead to Lola.
"I can get started right away," said the detective. He stood up, eager to get out of the cramped office and continue the investigation on his own.
He wasn't fast enough.
Marshal Boyd waved him back. "Just one minute," he called. "Sit down, sit down." Maxim looked at Nithya sitting next to his chair with a smirk on her face and complied. She was holding one last paper.
"I am confident that you are a resourceful detective," stated Nithya, "but I am afraid your skills would be superfluous in this matter. You see, I have already identified where Makarova is hiding."
The woman placed a picture of an extended wood cabin on the desk. Maxim had never seen the building before, but he immediately understood the implications of the line of Harleys parked to the side.
"This is the Seventh Sons clubhouse."
Nithya nodded.
"But Deborah said—"
"Ms. Holton is trying to survive, Detective." Nithya Rao put her finger on the picture. "This is her castle, and she is charged with protecting her pack within. You will find that all her truths serve that purpose."
Maxim sucked his teeth in disgust. Makarova was in the motorcycle club after all. The bitch had lied to him, and just when he'd thought they were getting somewhere. What else was Deborah hiding? Had she known Doka as well?
Marshal Boyd cocked his head towards the picture. "Tomorrow, under the command of Ms. Rao, you are going to raid the Seventh Sons clubhouse. I'll send Gutierrez with you as well."
Maxim sat dumbfounded. Everything he was hoping for was suddenly happening because of the CDC. Nithya Rao was turning out to be a valuable ally against the Sons. Still, it all seemed to come too easily.
The marshal assumed a stern voice. "It is imperative, Detective, that we remain focused on the objective. HIDE gives us jurisdiction for Makarova only. Once we get her, we get out." Boyd's blue eyes were piercing, and Maxim knew he suspected deeper motives. "Understand?" The marshal was ultimately a politician whose primary concern was the public image of the department. Boyd wouldn't be a problem as long as Maxim was smart about what rocks he overturned.
The feeling was cathartic. Maxim was thrilled about going to the clubhouse. He had been so adamant about investigating this trail further that he had been entertaining the thought of sneaking there alone anyway. Now that this was an official joint operation, however, it seemed a shame if they went in undermanned.
"Shouldn't we have a larger team?" Maxim cautioned, turning to Nithya. "You said you had agents raid the reservation. What kind of support do we have?"
"This is not a tactical operation," she answered. "We are essentially serving a warrant, and I expect peaceful compliance."
The detective scoffed. "You expect Deborah, who lied about sheltering Makarova, to let us peacefully stroll in and apprehend her?"
"Apprehend," said Boyd. "Capture. There are those words again."
Nithya looked at Maxim with her large brown eyes. "Ms. Holton understands the importance of cooperating with the CDC," she assured. "If any of her pack were to harm any of ours, that would be the unconditional end of that clubhouse." A fiery certainty burned across her sharpened features that gave the detective pause.
Maxim watched the two of them as they prepared. They seethed with overconfidence. Boyd had likely never planned an operation against a threat like this before. Nithya appeared to know what she was doing and didn't lack in conviction, but did she really plan to walk into the Seventh Sons clubhouse with an escort of two officers and have things work out?
Still, Maxim was compelled to have a look inside that cabin.
Marshal Boyd chimed in. "I know you, Detective Dwyer. You're
not backing out of this. Not after I've given you the perfect chance to get what you want."
Part 4 - The Den
i.
"He's still outside, watching us."
Nicola Makarova peered cautiously through the blinds at the movement in the trees. The man they had attacked was out there. He had been, for at least a day. He was no wolf, though, and silver knife or not, it would be suicide for him to try to enter the cabin. So instead he just hid, watched, and bided his time.
Nicola felt her wiry arms tremble slightly. This was maddening. If she were to fight or run, then she could flex her anxious muscles, but she didn't know how to handle this agonizing state of suspension.
Besides, she wished she could be outside again, let the sun warm her pale skin, feel the breeze throw her blonde hair across her face. She'd spent enough of her life cooped up like an animal; in her mind, freedom was always worth the risk.
"Nicola," said Melody, who made a point to roll her eyes so the other would notice, "you've been stressing me out with this all week." The younger girl had been sitting quietly on the comfortable den couches without, as usual, a care in the world. "Besides," she added, walking to the window to get a peek, "he's not that bad." The intruder outside wasn't in plain view, so she just shrugged and sat down with her iPad again.
The girl had a particular gift for getting under Nicola's skin. She treated everything like a game. Mom didn't want any of the Sons talking to Angie's brother, so of course Melody immediately had a crush on him. Only she could get away with that.
"I'm surprised you haven't thrown yourself at him yet," muttered Nicola. She looked back to see if her words had the intended effect, but Melody had already put her white earbuds in.
Nicola huffed. It had been a very bad week, but it wasn't the girl's fault. This was all on Carlos Doka. He was the one who had told them to surround Diego. He was the reason Steve had been killed. And he was the idiot who'd hurt the cop in the hospital. He used the wolfskin as an excuse, but Nicola knew better—he had always been a powder keg.