“Which explains why Deep Throat was so cagey about giving you much information.”
“Yes. If two groups within the Kings are pursuing different agendas, or—more likely—if two operations within their organization have come into conflict with one another, then using the DMS to injure the other party can be viewed as a clever strategic move.”
“It’s pretty damn devious.”
He spread his hands. “Secret society.”
“Yeah, okay, but what does that mean? Are Deep Throat and Toys calling from different ends of the playground? Or are they working together?”
“Impossible to tell at this point. What would your guess be?”
“My gut tells me that they’re on the same side.”
He nodded.
“But,” I added, “considering that we know that every move in the Seven Kings playbook is built around deception and misdirection, I’m not sure we can trust any guess.”
“I don’t intend to.”
“Toys said that the Kings had agents among the people I trust, and among the people we have to rescue.”
“Feeling paranoid?”
“Yep.”
“Welcome to my world. I’ve long considered paranoia to be a job requirement.”
“Is there anyone in our ranks we should be looking at?”
“I’m looking at everyone.”
“Isn’t there anyone you trust completely?”
Church gave me his tiny fraction of a smile. “Everyone I trust is in this building,” he said.
“But not everyone in this building has your trust.”
“No.”
“Where do I stand?” I asked.
“Where do I?”
Before I could answer, he patted me on the arm.
“Get cleaned up and we’ll talk more at the conference.”
Church turned and walked away.
Chapter Sixty-three
The Hangar
Floyd Bennett Field, Brooklyn
December 19, 8:33 P.M. EST
We gathered in a large conference room with a table into which were built computer workstations. There were plasma screens on all the walls and a multipanel central computer screen for teleconferencing. Everything was tomorrow’s idea of state of the art. Aunt Sallie, Church, Dietrich, and Dr. Hu were there. Bug peered at everyone from one of the view screens. The last to arrive was Circe O’Tree, and she pushed a wheelchair in which sat a disgruntled and deeply embarrassed Rudy Sanchez.
I smiled at him, but he held up a stern finger. “One word, Cowboy, and I will find a way to kick your ass.”
“Just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re feeling up to this. Can’t be easy.” He gave me an evil look. “Really? I find getting shot to be so invigorating.”
Circe left his wheelchair with me and ran over to give Aunt Sallie a hug. For me it was a real WTF moment. And not just because I couldn’t imagine anyone liking Aunt Sallie. It just seemed like such a surreal occurrence.
When Circe stepped back from Aunt Sallie, she saw that Church was there. Circe froze and her face went blank. No hugs there, just a formal handshake and a few words privately exchanged.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Church signaled for everyone to take their seats. I helped Rudy out of the wheelchair and into a seat next to mine at the table. Circe came and sat on Rudy’s other side.
“How are you?” I asked.
“I’ll live,” she said. “Where’s your dog?”
“In my room eating his way through most of a large cow. At least that’s what I think the kitchen staff delivered. Might be an elephant. Ghost was in monkey heaven.”
“Glad someone’s in a good mood. I’m not, and I’m having a hard time processing all of this.”
“Doc … before this whole thing gets started, I wanted to say that I respect and appreciate everything you did today. You put your ass on the line twice. You may have saved my life and you definitely saved Rudy’s. That van would have run him over if you hadn’t fired on it.”
“I already thanked her, Cowboy,” Rudy said, but I ignored him.
Circe’s eyes glistened. “Does that mean I get to curse, get a tattoo, and say ‘hooah’?”
There was just the hint of a smile as she said it.
I grinned. “Yes, you do.”
“Hooah,” she said with dry irony.
“Hooah.”
We traded a fist bump.
“Dios mio,” Rudy breathed.
“Are you children done playing?” snapped Aunt Sallie from across the table. Circe and I whipped our hands back like we were caught going into a cookie jar.
On the central display, a dozen screens came to life showing the faces of directors of the various DMS field offices, most of whom I knew by sight or reputation. Church took his chair, but before he spoke he raised a small remote and pointed it at the door. There was a hiss of hydraulics and the clang of heavy locks.
“We are in full lockdown,” he announced. “I am hereby initiating a Class One security protocol. You are all hereby bound by Executive Order A-9166/DMS. All participating stations are to activate protocol Deacon Alpha Ten. Verify.”
One by one the DMS field commanders gave their verification. This was only the second time since I’d been with the DMS that we had gone to our highest security status. I understood why, but from the confused and concerned looks on the faces of everyone else they didn’t. Even Aunt Sallie frowned at Church.
“What’s going on, Deacon?” she asked, eyes narrowed. “We get something hot?”
“Red-hot,” Church murmured to her, but to everyone else he said, “I will say this, and I want each of you to understand why I’m saying it. It is possible that the Seven Kings have infiltrated the DMS. If this is so, then we will discover the name or names of whoever is on their leash. If any of you are under coercion from the Kings, now is the time to let me know. This is a closed conference. The secret will be safe and we will act immediately to protect you and your family. If you have been the victim of coercion, then I offer a complete amnesty as long as you tell me now. That offer expires in thirty seconds.”
We waited out those thirty seconds. Church’s face was as hard as granite. I could see several people begin to sweat. There was a plate of vanilla wafers on the table in front of him. Church selected one, bit off a piece, and munched it thoughtfully. His eyes were invisible behind the tinted lenses of his glasses. Everyone waited. Except for the crunch of Church’s strong white teeth on the cookie there was no sound.
“Time’s up,” said Church. “I direct each team leader to spread the word to their staff members. Same offer. Come to me directly and I will protect them. Failure to do so would be … unfortunate.”
Considering the circumstances, the statement was almost bizarrely dry and formal. Except that we all knew what lay beneath the calm surface of Church’s words. No one spoke. We watched him finish his NILLA wafer and wash it down with a sip of water. I cut a look at Rudy, who raised his eyebrows at me.
“Very well,” said Church. It was impossible to read his expression. It was somewhere between one of those giant rock faces on Easter Island and Darth Vader. “I’m going to play a recording of a phone conversation that occurred less than an hour ago. The call was made to Captain Ledger’s phone using the same anti-trace technology used by the confidential informant who has tipped us off to the Kings. I’ll play it twice. Listen without comment first, and then the floor is open to speculation afterward.”
He used the same remote to start the playback.
He need not have cautioned everyone to silence. Every mouth was slack with shock; every set of eyes stared in absolute horror.
Finally it was Rudy who broke the silence.
“Madre de Dios!” he said. “Gault?”
“Sebastian Gault,” agreed Church gravely. “The King of Plagues.”
Dr. Hu smiled like a kid on Christmas morning. “That’s soooo cool.” Everyone stared at him, but he gave an unapologetic shrug. �
�Hey, without guys like him this job would be booooring. That guy rocks.”
“Can I kill him?” I asked Church.
“Maybe later,” Church said. He sounded so convincing that Hu’s smile faltered. To the group Church said, “I want to review all of the pertinent information. You’re on point for this, Captain. Bring everyone up to speed.”
“Okay,” I said, “here’s the short course. We know for sure that the Seven Kings are behind this entire crisis. We know that Sebastian Gault has the designation within the Kings organization as the ‘King of Plagues.’ We know that there are also Kings of Fear, Famine, Gold, War, Lies, and Thieves. Beyond that, we don’t know anything else about the nature of their organization, including whether they are an ancient or modern secret society. We know that they use campaigns of disinformation and information manipulation, and in a minute I’d like Dr. O’Tree to talk more about that.”
She nodded.
I continued, “One of the methods used by the Kings is coercion, most or all of it perpetrated by a man named Santoro, who we’ve been calling ‘the Spaniard.’”
“Hold on a minute,” interrupted Hu. “Extortion? Not blackmail?”
“No,” I replied. “Blackmail is messy and it leaves a trail. MindReader would have tripped over that in at least one or two of our background searches. We’ve been constantly updating the search arguments for the victims, and we’ve hacked everything from their e-mails to their tax records. People are never completely pristine about their own wrongdoing; otherwise no one could blackmail them. Besides, it’s hard as hell to blackmail someone into murder and suicide. Death pretty much cancels the leverage, so some of the vics would have fessed up. No … each of the victims had a family, right? What better leverage is there than a direct threat to loved ones? The victims are told that if they don’t do it, then something far worse is going to happen. With that kind of pressure, people will definitely kill … or die.”
Church said, “The threat would have to be made in a way that leaves no doubt as to whether the extortionist would follow through.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “They would need to really mind-fuck their victims.”
“It’s hard to imagine that working,” Hu said.
“Really?” I said. “If someone told you to murder a co-worker or they’ll kill your whole family, you wouldn’t pop a cap in one of your lab assistants?”
“No way. My folks are in China, and my brother is a total asshole.”
“Okay, imagine if you had a soul instead of a big empty place in your chest.”
Hu actually smiled at this. “Sure. But how do you make a leap to that scenario?”
“Let me read the note I found at Plympton’s apartment.” I dipped into the shared case files and sent it to the main screens. I read the note aloud and then reread a few key lines. “‘I know that what I have done is unforgivable … . But at least what I have done here in our home will save you both from greater horrors.’ That’s significant.”
“I agree,” said Rudy. “And it’s reinforced by the last line: ‘I am only the monster they made me.’ This is a man driven to extremes. He’s guilty, certainly, but only after the fact. He’s not apologizing for anything done prior to what he clearly considered a mercy killing.”
Hu thought about it for a moment and gave a grudging nod.
I said, “We see similar things in the case of Dr. Grey and the staff at Fair Isle. And we know for sure from the deposition of Amber Taylor. The extortionist has to bring a lot to the game, though. He’d have to already know something about how staffing and procedures work at facilities of this kind. You can’t just Google that. On the flight from Pennsylvania I had the opportunity to interrogate the surviving shooter from the Starbucks hit. His name is Danny Sarducci.”
I uploaded his military ID photo and Sarducci looked every bit the punk he was.
“Twenty-nine, from Trenton, New Jersey. Lot of stuff in his jacket. Four arrests for armed robbery as a juvenile. A judge let him join the Army instead of going to jail, which means the Army taught him how to fight and use better weapons. He was brought up on charges of sex with a minor in Afghanistan. The girl’s family didn’t call it rape, though from his commanding officer’s report that’s what it was. After Sarducci was kicked out, he was picked up by Blue Diamond Security.”
“Ugh,” said Dietrich. “Those assholes.”
Blue Diamond had made the papers as often as Blackwater and had been the first mercenary group thrown out of Iraq for a laundry list of offenses.
“Yeah, those assholes,” I agreed. “Sarducci went off the radar six years ago. Now jump to this morning and he was crew chief of a team of well-equipped shooters assigned to kill Mrs. Ledger’s favorite son.”
Aunt Sallie and Hu both snorted at that.
“Sarducci gave us the names of the other shooters, and they all have similar backgrounds. Low-level muscle who went off the public radar a few years ago. Half of them have military backgrounds, but it was mostly one tour and out. One deserter who ran to keep from getting recycled by ‘stop-loss.’ I asked Bug to hack Blue Diamond’s records.”
“I got nothing, Joe,” said Bug. “They’ve been using a closed system. No hardlines, no Wi-Fi. Paranoid as shit. They probably know about MindReader and are taking no chances. Everything is intranet, which means we’d have to go and physically tap into their wires.”
“Maybe we should,” I said.
“That would be a bitch of a job,” said Aunt Sallie. “They’re based in Honduras and their compound is more fortress than military base. It would be easier to destroy it than infiltrate it.”
“Works for me,” muttered Dietrich.
“Who hired Sarducci?” asked Frost from the Denver office.
“Santoro. Sarducci described him as an adult Hispanic male, about forty. Slim but very fit. Looks like a wrestler. Fast hands and extremely good with a knife, which jibes with Dr. Grey’s experience. I gave the physical description to Bug and he’s running it through MindReader.”
Bug frowned. “Don’t get your hopes up, Joe. That description fits about forty million Hispanic males, but we’re cross-referencing with key words.”
“Sarducci knew that Santoro was part of the Seven Kings,” I said, “but he didn’t actually know what the Kings were beyond some rah-rah rhetoric. He said that Santoro talked about the Kings all the time. How they were going to reshape the world. How they were the personification of Chaos on earth—not his kind of phrasing, of course, so he was probably quoting Santoro. He said they pay well and in cash. Sarducci and his crew did several jobs for them, and Bug’s cross-referencing the names and dates.”
Dietrich asked, “Did he give you anything else? Like why he wanted to kill Marty Hanler?”
“They weren’t after Hanler,” I said. “They were after me. And, I think, Circe.”
Circe’s eyes flared. “What?”
I tapped a key to replay one of Sarducci’s comments. “The Seven Kings are going to rip your world apart, Ledger. You and the rest of the DMS. You, that psychopath Church, that cunt O’Tree, these ass clowns here—all of you are already dead and you just don’t know it yet.”
“Sorry for the vulgarity, Doc. His words, definitely not mine.”
Church leaned forward and looked hard at me. “Sarducci threatened Circe?”
“Yes.”
It’s weird, his expression did not really change, but somehow his blank face suddenly conveyed a degree of menace that I have seldom before experienced. The others in the room must have sensed it, too. Everyone turned to look at Church.
He sat back and brushed cookie crumbs from his sleeve.
“Interesting,” he said softly. “Please continue.”
His eyes were fixed on Circe, who colored and turned away.
“Sarducci was very forthcoming with threats.”
“Anyone else make his greatest-hits list?” asked Dietrich.
I ticked my chin toward Aunt Sallie. “Not by name, but he used a few
vulgar gender-specific racial epithets. This bozo is not a fan of Affirmative Action or women in the workplace.”
Aunt Sallie smiled thinly. “Nice to be noticed here at the back of the bus.”
“I got nothing else useful from him. He’s a lowlife piece of crap and I hope we find a hole and drop him into it.”
“Count on it,” murmured Aunt Sallie. She wrote something on a slip of paper and slid it across to Church, who read it and gave her the tiniest of nods.
“By the end he was rerunning the same stuff. The DMS is going to fall; we don’t stand a chance; the Seven Kings will rule; we’re all going to die; rivers of blood will sweep us away. That sort of thing.”
“More rivers of blood,” Dietrich said. “The fuck is it with these guys and rivers of blood?”
“Maybe they really had their hearts set on the Fair Isle cluster fuck going south on us,” said Auntie. She gave me a look that seemed to say that with me at the helm she was surprised it didn’t.
I manfully restrained myself from throwing my coffee cup at her. “There was one other thing Sarducci said,” I continued. “It came out kind of sudden and it was clear that he didn’t want to say it. He went off on a tangential rant to try and hide it.”
“What was it?” asked Church.
“He said that Santoro had a worse hard-on for the DMS than the Kings had for the Inner C.”
“The Inner C?” Dietrich frowned. “Is that a gang name?”
“No,” said Church. “And that is very interesting, Captain. It ties into something my informant told me when he called yesterday. He said that the Kings ‘want to break the bones of their enemies and suck out the marrow.’ ‘Bones’ is the operative word.”
“Wait!” said Circe suddenly. “I have something on that, too.” She gave everyone a quick recap of the Goddess posts she had been tracking for months. She scrolled through her data and then put a Twitter post on the screen. “One of her posts mentioned bones.”
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