Deadly Weakness (Gray Spear Society)

by Siegel, Alex

  He quickly went down to his private suite. There were no cameras in the bedroom for obvious reasons.

  Aaron examined the contents of the folder. The Chicago cell had reliable contacts in every major police department in its entire territory, which stretched from northern Minnesota to southern Illinois. The folder contained the names of all those contacts. A different cover story was attached to each one. The information could've been computerized, but Aaron was old fashioned about such things. He liked paper because it could be burned.

  He found a sheet for a Chicago Police Department detective who would have access to information about the Barney Simpson murder. Aaron quickly memorized the important details.

  Then he got dressed.

  * * *

  Aaron's small sedan was parked in the huge parking lot behind the municipal court building at 5101 S Wentworth Ave in Chicago. He was sitting in the driver's seat while the engine ran. It was too cold outside to turn off the heat. Frost decorated the edges of the car windows.

  A snowstorm had struck hard a few days ago, and patches of snow still remained on the parking lot. A lot of it had been plowed into huge mounds in the corners. The surface had melted just enough to make it crusty and granular. Pollution had darkened the snow to a light gray color. Solid cloud cover made the weather even more dismal, but it matched his mood.

  A pudgy man in a heavy blue coat stepped out of the back door of the court building. His thin brown hair was combed across a large bald spot on top of his head. He carried a leather briefcase. Aaron recognized Detective Ronald Flisk from the picture on his contact sheet. Aaron honked the horn twice.

  Flisk jogged over and sat in the passenger seat. He hurriedly closed the door.

  "Whew!" he said. "I hate this fucking cold weather."

  Aaron offered his hand. "I don't think we've met. I'm James Carroll from Total Access News."

  Flisk shook his hand. "I met a woman the last time."

  "She retired. I have the Chicago beat now."

  "Same deal as before?"

  "Sure." Aaron nodded.

  Flisk stared at him. "You're a big guy for a reporter. You look strong. You ever play football?"

  "Drafted by the Bears. I lasted one series in one preseason game before I blew out my knee. Haven't played since."

  "That sucks, man."

  "Shit happens." Aaron shrugged. "Are we going to do this?"

  "Let me see the money."

  Aaron took a stack of twenty dollar bills from his coat pocket and handed it over. "Five hundred."

  Flisk quickly counted the money. Then he took some papers from his leather briefcase and gave them to Aaron.

  The papers were crime scene photos and reports. Aaron had been a Chicago detective years ago, so this kind of material was very familiar to him. He grabbed a camera from the back seat and started taking pictures of each page.

  What he saw through the eyepiece made him tremble with emotion. Simpson had been killed with a knife, but not just any knife. It had a long serrated blade with a black coating. Tight leather straps were wrapped around the handle. The edges of the guard were honed to a sharp edge, making it a useful secondary weapon. Aaron recognized the dagger as one of Marina's personal favorites.

  She had thrust the blade through the soft part of the shoulder behind the clavicle. The angle was exactly right to hit the heart. It was a technique specific to the Gray Spear Society.

  "Are you OK?" Flisk said. "You look a little spooked."

  Aaron gave him a tentative smile. "I'm not used to looking at dead bodies. I'm new at this job."

  "Just finish up. I have to get back inside. I'm a witness in a trial."

  "Sure."

  Aaron finished taking pictures. He returned all the papers to Flisk.

  "Nice doing business with you." Flisk got out of the car and ran back to the courthouse.

  Aaron sat very still for a few minutes. Tears dripped down his cheeks, but he didn't wipe them off. He had never felt so disappointed and betrayed as now. Marina had committed a crime that couldn't be forgiven. Now he would have to kill the woman he loved more than life itself. He had no choice. His duty was so obvious he couldn't even argue with himself about it. He wanted to rip out his own heart to make it stop hurting so much.

  Instead, he drove off.

  Chapter Two

  By the time Aaron arrived back at headquarters, he had cooled down enough to be merely boiling with rage. He stopped in front of the garage door and waited impatiently. It finally rose up, and he went forward until he reached an internal security barrier. The Plexiglas panels were six inches thick and reinforced with steel girders.

  Jack came out of the security booth. "Hello, sir," he said cheerfully.

  He wore straight blue jeans and a plaid, wool shirt. His bald head gleamed under the fluorescent lights. He was relatively short for a Spear, but he looked scrappy and tough. A .45 caliber revolver hung low in a holster on his thigh.

  Aaron turned his head and glared.

  "I'll raise the barrier," Jack said quickly.

  He pressed a button on a small box in his hand. Hydraulic pistons lifted the barrier, allowing Aaron to drive forward. He parked and got out.

  "Where is Marina?" he growled.

  "I think she's trying to take a nap, sir," Jack said in a nervous tone. "In your suite."

  Aaron drew a gun and jogged towards his room. He opened the door silently. Marina was sleeping peacefully on their bed. Seeing her beautiful face made his guts twist in knots.

  He pointed the gun at her heart. "Don't move," he commanded.

  Her eyes flicked open. She froze when she saw him.

  "Why?" he said. "Why did you do it? I told you not to. I ordered you."

  "Aaron..." she pleaded.

  "You flagrantly disobeyed me. You drugged me. You left our headquarters unguarded. You murdered a civilian."

  She bit her lip.

  "I don't understand," he said. "You've been so much better since Wesley healed your mind. The perfect teammate and a model legionnaire. The homicidal outbursts have stopped. Your friends aren't afraid of you anymore. You're even nice to people sometimes. I depended on you to show the others how a member of the Society should behave. I had faith in you. I love you! And now this... this stupidity."

  "I can explain," she said softly.

  "No, you can't!" he roared. "I saw the picture of your knife. There is no possible excuse. I'm going to hate myself forever, but there's only one thing I can do. The Society has rules, damn it, and it's my job to enforce them. I'm so, so sorry."

  Aaron pulled the trigger.

  Somebody took his gun away before the bullet fired. The motion was so quick he couldn't follow it with his eyes. He found himself staring at his empty hands.

  As far as he knew, only one person in the world could pull that trick. He turned around and found Ethel standing there. She was holding his gun.

  When he had first met her, strands of gray had salted her black hair. Now it was all white as snow. Her skin was still dark though, and her eyes were even darker. It was like looking into a pair of black holes of infinite depth. They weren't human eyes. She was an older woman of medium height, and a casual observer would've assumed she wasn't much of a threat. In fact the legatus legionis of North America was a creature straight out of a terrifying nightmare.

  "Hello, ma'am," Aaron said in a shaky voice. "It's good to see you. Can you please explain what's going on?"

  She cocked her head. "Guess."

  Blood was pounding in his temples. His thoughts were a tangled, emotional mess. Somehow, he managed to fish out an insight from that quagmire.

  "This was a test," he said slowly.

  She nodded. "Correct."

  "Marina didn't do anything wrong."

  "Also correct."

  "Barney Simpson doesn't exist. The whole story was faked."

  Ethel smiled. "This is one reason why you're such a great commander. You always figure things out."

  Aaron s
at on the edge of the bed. His whole body was shaking. He tasted salt and realized it was his own tears.

  Her bodyguard, Guthrum, stepped out of the shadows. Aaron had never heard him speak a word. Guthrum was tall enough to play professional basketball. Veins were clearly visible in hairless skin as white as paper. Steel gauntlets with sharp spikes covered his hands. It was difficult to guess his age, but if Aaron had to pick a number, it would be forty five.

  Marina crawled across the bed and gave Aaron a hug. "It's OK," she whispered.

  "I tried to shoot you," he murmured.

  "That's good. I'm proud of you. If you hadn't tried to kill me, Ethel would've killed you."

  "Who came up with this crazy test?"

  "I did." She grinned. "It's good to know I can still fool you when I really need to. Thanks for saying those nice things about me."

  He stared at her.

  "Aaron," Ethel said in a serious tone, "the test was necessary. I had to be absolutely certain of your loyalties. You had to show me the Society was more important to you than the life of the woman you love."

  He faced her. "You doubted me, ma'am?"

  "Unfortunately, I have to be extremely selective with my trust these days. In fact, there are only three people in the world I trust completely. All of them are in this room. We have a problem."

  "What?"

  She looked around. "Not here."

  "My bedroom isn't private enough?" He raised his eyebrows.

  "We have a huge problem."

  * * *

  Aaron, Marina, Ethel, and Guthrum were standing on the roof of the John Hancock Center in downtown Chicago. They weren't in the warm observatory with the tourists. Ethel had insisted on going all the way to the top.

  There was a reason tourists weren't allowed up here: it was dangerous. Crunchy snow and ice made the surface so treacherous that Aaron had to take slow, careful steps. A bitterly cold wind buffeted him from random directions, and there was a real chance of getting blown off the building. Gigantic radio towers emitted a disconcerting hum. He didn't want to know how much radiation was passing through his body. High voltage signs and power cables were everywhere.

  Everybody was heavily bundled with hats and gloves, but Aaron still wasn't comfortable. The wind stung every inch of exposed skin. There was no escaping its icy claws.

  The unobstructed view from a thousand feet up was extraordinary. He could see far out into Lake Michigan on one side. The city stretched for mile after mile in the other three directions. Countless buildings covered the ground completely. In the extreme distance, he could just see the trees of the Cook County Forest Preserves.

  "When I was the commander of Chicago," Ethel said, "and I had to make a really important decision, I would sneak up here. This place makes me feel closer to God. Seeing the huge city spread out below reminds me how many souls are dependent on the Society for protection. These millions of people don't know it, but their lives are in our hands. It's a spiritual experience. I'm glad I finally had a chance to share it with you."

  Aaron moved as close to the edge as he dared. The cars on the street looked like toys from this distance. The pedestrians were so small it was hard to identify them as people. He understood what Ethel was talking about. His territory included everything he could see and much more. It was a staggering responsibility.

  "Let's get down to business," Ethel said. "Did you hear about the trouble in Miami five weeks ago?"

  "I saw a note," Aaron said. "The headquarters of that cell was attacked?"

  "Correct. Four members were killed, including two legionnaires. The rest escaped unharmed, but just barely."

  "Who did it?"

  Ethel shook her head. "We don't know. The attack came without warning. The cell wasn't involved in a mission at the time. The enemy was equipped with the latest military gear, and they behaved like professional soldiers. They knew precisely where to attack and what tactics to use. They never identified themselves."

  "Hmm." Aaron frowned. "That's disturbing."

  "What happened in San Francisco two weeks ago is even more disturbing. Nobody else has heard this news. It appears the same enemy attacked the headquarters there. The entire cell was wiped out. There were no survivors."

  He stiffened. "One of your commanders is a traitor!"

  "Now you understand." She nodded. "I knew you would."

  "Excuse me, ma'am, sir," Marina said. "Maybe I missed something, but how did you reach that conclusion?"

  Aaron looked at her. "All of our headquarters are very well hidden and very well defended. It's hard enough to find them, much less successfully attack them. Yet, this enemy did it twice in a short span of time. The only possible conclusion is somebody within the Society provided the necessary intelligence."

  "But the cells don't talk to each other. I don't know where any of the other headquarters are. I couldn't give away that intelligence if I wanted to."

  "The commanders are an exception. We send handwritten notes back and forth using special couriers. There is communication at that level."

  "I knew about the notes," she said, "but I always assumed they were just for special occasions."

  "No, they're pretty frequent. I probably get a dozen a week and try to respond to each one."

  Guthrum abruptly grabbed Marina and Ethel by the shoulders. A second later, a nasty gust of wind struck. Aaron was big enough to hold his ground, but the ladies didn't have enough body mass. Guthrum kept them from being knocked off their feet. How did he anticipate the wind? Aaron wondered.

  Marina settled herself. "What are in these notes?" she asked.

  "Mostly bits of news and advice," Aaron said. "Personal observations. Philosophical debate. Sometimes, it's just whining. Being a commander is a very lonely, tough job. We commiserate with each other because there is nobody else we can turn to."

  "But you don't tell each other where you live."

  "No. That kind of sensitive information is always withheld, but sometimes clues are accidently included in the correspondence. A patient, clever commander could assemble these clues over time and combine them with his own research. I'm sure if I really wanted to know where the other cells are hiding, I could find out. It would be difficult, but it's feasible."

  Marina turned to Ethel. "What about these couriers? Could they be the traitors?"

  "No." Ethel shook her head. "We take special precautions for exactly this reason. The couriers don't know where the actual headquarters are. They always meet with the commanders at a safe location. Also, every route is served by just one courier. I personally tested the man who goes between Miami and San Francisco. He is loyal."

  Aaron didn't want to know about the details of that test. No doubt it was severe and unpleasant.

  "But a commander going bad?" Marina said. "That's really hard to believe. We're not talking about the rank and file of the Society. I only know two commanders, you and Aaron, and both of you are incredibly impressive people."

  "You're about to meet a lot more of them," Ethel said.

  "Why?"

  Ethel leaned in and lowered her voice. "I have a bold idea for how to discover the traitor. I'm going to call a convention for the entire North American division."

  "A convention?" Aaron said. "Do we have those?"

  "Rarely. The last one happened after the John F Kennedy assassination. I'm going to invite the commander and the second in command for every cell. The traitor will certainly be among the attendees, and we will find him. This event will take place in or near Chicago. You two will play the part of host and hostess."

  He stared at her. "Isn't that incredibly dangerous, ma'am? You're giving our enemy an enormous target to attack, and the traitor will tell them when and where to do it. Our security will be totally compromised from the start. Every cell on the continent could be decapitated in a single stroke! All of us will die."

  "Exactly." She put a slender hand on his shoulder. "In the words of Don Vito Corleone, it will be an invitation our enemy can't
refuse. We will certainly be attacked, which is why I came to you in particular, Aaron. I need you to apply your special genius to this problem. Come up with a plan that uncovers the traitor and keeps the rest of us alive."

  Aaron had an empty feeling. He was used to playing for high stakes, but this was crazy.

  "Now I understand why you had to test me," he said softly.

  "I'm sorry about that," Ethel said. "In case you're wondering, I never really doubted you. You and Marina are two of my best friends. I miss being with you guys." She smiled.

  He looked south across downtown Chicago. The black, boxy Willis Tower was the most prominent of the huge buildings, but there were many architectural masterpieces. The silver windows of the Trump International Tower gleamed in the diffuse sunlight. Its curved surfaces were a nice change from the rectangles and straight lines around it. Two Prudential Plaza used angles to create the appearance of a giant crystal. The roof was shaped like a sharply pointed pyramid.

  Aaron realized Ethel was right about this place being spiritual. There was no hiding from God up here. The bitter weather reminded him how cold and dangerous the universe was. Life was a very fragile thing. One slip could send it hurtling into the abyss. He promised himself he would come here again the next time he needed to make a critical decision.

  "We could use Wesley," Aaron said. "It would take him ten minutes to uncover the truth."

  "No," Ethel said. "Wesley is crucial to the future of humanity. I can't bring him into such a high risk situation. Think of something else."

  Ideas began to fill his mind. At first they were just disconnected notions, but then they began to link together like polymer chains. Slowly, a complete plan assembled, and it was one of his best.

  He turned back to Ethel. "I know exactly what we need to do. When are we having this convention?"

  "That's your decision," she said. "The sooner, the better, obviously. I don't want to lose another cell."

  "Let's schedule it for two weeks from today. That should give us just enough time to prepare."