Death and Dark Money

by Seeley James

  Jago and Hyde looked at each other with arched brows.

  “She should’ve waited until after the fight,” Koven said. “She would’ve been proud of me. I would’ve had time to give her a proper funeral.”

  He turned back to the window.

  “Our days slog by in a miserable parade until something kills us. A heart attack, a bullet, what difference does it make? Marthe chose to cut her engagement short, not that I blame her.” Koven threw his hands in the air. “Why do I struggle against the inevitable when everything that’s happened is one less thing that will? Quantum physics tells us everything is already done; we live in the reverberation of time. Our lives are nothing but shadows of the past. We’re nothing more than a video, made by MFA students, full of earth-shattering emotional revelations, posted on YouTube only to collect six likes—and those from family members.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Voices echoed in the hangar and sleet pinged off the thin metal roof as I considered how nice and safe and warm it was inside. A smart man would stay put, work up a better plan, enlist a few reinforcements, wait for the local cops to take our calls seriously. Instead, I listened as Dhanpal walked us through the castle’s layout on maps downloaded to our smartphones.

  An outer wall encased a hilltop, allowing access via a spiral pathway that led through a series of gates. Our objective was the Eifel House, one of the inner-most buildings and therefore one of the most heavily defended. Towering above it was the Keep, from which enemies could rain lead on anyone trying to reach Eifel House.

  Coming up the road from the town would take us through a series of portals designed by the medieval boys for tossing rocks and boiling oil on passersby. We would have to pass several buildings that also served as stone bunkers for the modern version of pikemen: Velox agents with assault rifles. Rather than deal with a pitched battle where Velox had a huge advantage, we would parachute in.

  Between several buildings were small courtyards. Dhanpal asked us to zoom in on the largest courtyard, between the “gambling house” and one of the “ancient squire’s houses”. This tiny patch of real estate had been chosen as our drop zone. The DZ was about 2,500 square feet, less than one percent of the recommended minimum.

  A night jump is the most dangerous of all jumps. A confined castle courtyard where the battlements above the DZ are guarded by heavily armed soldiers was the worst site in the history of jumping.

  I would’ve complained bitterly, but it was Ms. Sabel’s idea.

  ’Nuff said.

  Dhanpal continued on. We would secure the DZ, proceed past the gambling house to another courtyard, sneak past the “stronghold”—hoping Velox reinforcements wouldn’t pour out of the other two ancient squire’s houses, or the witches tower, or the primary dwelling, or the chapel, not to mention several other places—and takeover Eifel House, rescue Alan Sabel, and get the hell out before dawn.

  I picked up my assault rifle and followed Ms. Sabel across the dark tarmac to what would probably be my death.

  Just another night at the office.

  Tania, Miguel, and Dhanpal formed a line to climb aboard the de Havilland DHC-6 jump plane ahead of us. While we waited for our turn, I noticed Carlos fiddling with his gear.

  “You good there?” I asked.

  Carlos looked up and tapped his altimeter. “I’m not sure it’s working right. But it doesn’t matter, I’ll follow your lead.”

  Over my friend’s shoulder, I saw my second-hand god sitting on the wing behind the starboard engine.

  Mercury said, Your gaucho looks like he’s in line for a movie, homeboy. He must not have any idea where you’re going. Did you bother to teach him how the parachute works?

  I said, He had three jumps at Camp Sabel. We even use the same plane. He’ll be fine.

  Mercury said, Did you tell him he’s jumping into a live-fire battle this time?

  I said, Where’s your buddy?

  Mercury said, He’s not good with the altitude thing. The highest point in the Yucatan is K’awiil’s Temple in Tikal. Said he’d meet us there.

  We climbed in and took our places. The pilot went over the procedures. We checked each other’s equipment one more time. And then we were airborne.

  Jump planes have an empty area in back. When it’s time, you stand up, walk to the end, jump out the door. We sat in two rows along either side of the fuselage.

  On the way to battle, your mind wanders in search of any topic other than your immediate future. You wonder if you left the stove on, what to get Mom for her birthday, the name of that guy in that movie. Any topic that did not involve dealing with the present.

  Unless you’re a reformed drug dealer from LA.

  “Does your god help out at times like this?” Carlos asked.

  I bit the inside of my cheek and wondered if he was making fun of Mercury or genuinely interested.

  “How hard is it to shoot a guy in the eye at sixty yards, when he’s wearing a helmet and body armor?” I asked.

  “While he’s shooting at you? Pure luck.”

  “In the tunnel, I took a guy out, one shot with a Glock. Did I get some kind of cosmic help?”

  He nodded as if I’d said something profound.

  “Why’d you quit the gangs?” I asked.

  “Lousy retirement plan.” He turned to me and decided to share his story. “You know why you don’t hear about gangs anymore?”

  I shook my head.

  “Drivebys, esé. Gangs were huge in the ’90s, but went quiet in the ’00s. Nobody liked the drivebys. So, we took the business off the streets, enforced territories, tightened up relationships and supply lines—we professionalized crime. But when a dude messes you up, you still have to retaliate.”

  He rubbed his hands together and stared at the floor.

  “I never told anybody this, so you’re hearing my confession.” He twisted around to give me a hard look. This was serious to him, so I nodded. “After five years of peace between the Norteños and Sureños, Frederico moved on my guys. He failed, but I had to send him a message. We did a driveby at his safe house. We put thirty-two bullets through the living room window. Frederico died. So did a nine-year-old girl. She was sleeping on the sofa.”

  He put his head in his hands.

  “Nobody talks to you when you do something like that,” he said. “Not even your mom. No matter how tough you are, you need the respect of your peers and the love of your family. So, when nobody else talks to you, you turn to God. I prayed, but I never heard anything. Even He was mad at me.”

  He sniffled and sat up, rubbed his palms on his pants. “The cops knew I did it, but they couldn’t prove anything. I spent two years in jail on a weapons charge. I deserved the death penalty, esé.

  “I rotted in prison. But my son came to see me every week. He was the only one. He was in those special years, when he could choose the family business or find a new way. He chose to focus on college. He asked me to leave the life, to do something good.”

  He stopped talking and looked away as if he regretted letting out that much.

  “So your son told you to straighten up and you did it. And here you are with a new career.”

  He bit his lip hard before turning to me. “It’s not that simple, amigo. After the Crips shanked me, I knew I’d been resurrected from the dead for a reason. But I didn’t know what reason. Then I had that dream, the one I told you about.”

  How do you tell a guy who’s spilling his guts that you didn’t commit his dream-story to memory? We had a lot going down at the time. So I covered up the way everyone does. I said something profound enough to confuse the issue.

  “Death is inevitable, yet we taunt it every day. No matter what we do, we’ll be forgotten after the next viral video. All we can do is make the world a better place while we’re here.”

  It worked. Carlos gave me a somber look and nodded slowly. “That’s where I’m going with this, ése.”

  Mercury said, Where’s he going with this?

  I
said, Beats me. I’m only talking to him to beat the boredom.

  Mercury said, For what it’s worth, Mother Mary was talking to him before, during, and after the driveby. But like all y’all earthlings, he wasn’t listening.

  Miguel rose and rolled up the big door. He and Dhanpal took a quick look at the ground below and gave everyone the thumbs up. We lined up and waited. Carlos stood in front of me.

  I tapped his shoulder. “Nervous?”

  “Nah, I know when I’m going to die.”

  Before I could ask what the hell he meant, Miguel jumped. Each of us stepped up and leaped into the dark. I braced myself for the hard slap-in-the-face we would feel when we reached the gray-and-white clouds. They look nice and soft, but try hitting higher density air at 120 mph.

  The moonlight above didn’t shine far into the depths. We sank into them and were enveloped in absolute dark with nothing but air screaming past our ears. I switched on my thermal visor and found the group forming up. We gave each other hand signals. Dhanpal pointed down to the left. Miguel would lead the way.

  Mercury glided into the formation next to me, his toga flapping in the icy air. I love this shit, brutha! We gotta do this more often. Hang on to your drogue chute, we’re going to cut this one close.

  I said, What’re you talking about? We have a deployment plan. I’m sticking to it.

  Mercury said, Do the math, dawg. They won’t hear you coming, but your plan says Miguel lands first and when a two-hundred-twenty-pound animal lands on the ground at eighteen miles an hour, there’s going to be a big ol’ thud. Even if they don’t get him, the rest of you will be floating right to them like a carnival shooting gallery. Someone has to land first and shoot the guards off the walls.

  I said, Why me?

  Mercury said, Dude! You’re the only one who has a god on his side.

  One by one, they tossed their drogue chutes and their canopies opened. I went screaming past them, my head down, my shoulders tucked in, flying like a javelin straight for the DZ.

  Ms. Sabel was the first voice on the comm link urging me to deploy my drogue. Then they all chimed in with rapidly increasing anxiety.

  Mercury said, Don’t listen to them, dawg. I got this. Hang on tight.

  It occurred to me that my last shred of sanity had checked out and I was going to die because the Romans were wrong, there is no messenger god. But once you’ve committed to a plan, why not live or die by it?

  I hurtled to Earth, watching with rising panic as the odd shapes on the ground became identifiable. First the quilted land became defined farm fields with fallow rows. Trees turned from dark blobs to scratchy lines. The castle loomed larger and larger.

  I was in a hurry to land well before them so I could take out as many defenders as possible before dying a horrible and painful death—because the voice in my head told me to.

  I screamed at Mercury. Now?

  My team screamed back in unison, “Yes!”

  Mercury said, Not yet, bro. Hang in there!

  Panic redlined near the mental-shutdown stage as I determined the weather vane on top of the castle Keep was a bronze rooster. The slate roof tiles were close enough to count. Freezing cold air numbed my ears and nose. My whole body was cooling rapidly. Hypothermia could kill me, sparing me the pain of impact.

  “Jacob, pull the drogue!”

  I had no idea whose voice was screaming into my comm link due to the rushing wind.

  Terminal velocity is calculated for a jumper with his arms and legs spread out, creating as much drag as possible. Sane people keep their speed around 120 mph. Sky diving champion Marco Wiederkehr set the world record for speed sky diving at 330 mph. I was closing in on his numbers.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  Mercury lined up next to me. I can’t remember if I carried the six when I worked out my calculations. Guess we’ll find out. Hey, dude, are we having crazy fun or what?

  I said, Now?

  My team screamed, “Yes!”

  Mercury said, Don’t listen to them. But do get into the box man position. Slow it down a little. We’re getting close.

  With great difficulty, my arms and legs formed the X-shape of standard sky divers. My speed scrubbed a little. But the Keep’s towers were far too close, the DZ, far too small. I was close enough to read the artist’s signature on the gargoyles. I closed my eyes.

  Mercury said, OK, drop the drogue and land in the corner.

  I deployed the chute and started breathing again when the chute opened. I brushed against the Keep’s bricks, which should have collapsed my canopy, but Mercury held the whole thing together. My feet touched down six inches from a stone wall.

  I gasped for air repeatedly.

  Mercury said, Hey, get that rifle off your shoulder, you’ve got some work to do.

  I said, They’re behind stone walls, I can’t see them with my thermal imaging.

  Mercury said, Make you a deal. You aim and I’ll take it from there.

  I said, What’s the deal?

  Mercury said, You take your religion public. Make a statement.

  That was a tough one. Crooning about a mythological god was less appealing than letting my friends float through a hail of gunfire. I could only imagine how popular I’d be with the ladies after advocating for a return to the pagan pantheon. Maybe there was a circus somewhere that needed a sideshow.

  Of course, I could do what every other desperate guy does when he’s praying for salvation: promise anything then ignore my end of the bargain later.

  I pulled my rifle around and aimed at a window. My body was still shaking from the ride down and the barrel shook like a leaf in a storm.

  Mercury said, Chill, dude. You’re golden.

  He aimed my barrel at an empty window and I squeezed one off.

  Mercury said, One down, thirty-one to go. High five me, bro!

  The castle had inner and outer walls. We targeted the inner courtyard for our DZ, not because it was smallest and most likely to kill us, but because it would be where they least expected anyone to initiate an attack. The theory was holding true. I could only find three more thermal signatures anywhere near the courtyard.

  Mercury held the muzzle while I squeezed off six shots. You nailed ’em, bro. The DZ is all clear.

  I crossed my fingers and hoped he wasn’t lying.

  As the others dropped closer to the courtyard, Mercury pushed each of them off the wall of the Keep, grabbed their lines when they were about to tangle up on the gargoyles, and basically kept them from the most likely fate: shredding a chute on a sharp spire sixty feet up and falling the rest of the way. Miguel hit the ground, with the predicted thud, and cleared the space just in time for Dhanpal. Tania and Ms. Sabel landed in relative silence. Carlos arrived last. We set aside our weapons to shrug out of our rigs.

  An alarm blasted our eardrums.

  CHAPTER 42

  With the klaxon shaking her insides, Pia stepped out of her harness and tossed her gear aside. Everyone formed up near the old well and slapped their helmets back on. A soft snow began to fall. She looked around, surprised at the lack of gunfire.

  To her right, the giant central tower loomed above them, backlit by the soft glow of light from the city of Cochem. She raised her arm and charged toward the gambling house. The castle’s fourth concentric gate was a small arch stretched between two stone buildings. She pressed her back to the wall, followed by her agents. They waited and listened.

  “Damn.” Tania stared up at the roof line. “We could’ve been impaled on those spires.”

  “Where are the guards?” Pia whispered.

  Dhanpal and Miguel shrugged.

  Tania pointed. “I’ll take point.”

  “I’ll take the narrow by the squire’s house,” Miguel said.

  He turned to take up his position when Pia grabbed his collar. “Carlos will take that.”

  “I know the plan, but he can barely carry the SAW.” Miguel referred to the squad machine gun.

  Heavy as it w
as, Carlos cradled it in his arm and headed to his assignment.

  “Carlos takes it.” She yanked on the big man. “That’s an order.”

  “I can take that post.” Jacob leaned in next to Miguel. “It’s a suicide mission. He’s got a better chance at sainthood than surviving the night. Besides, the guy has a son. I don’t.”

  “Stick to the plan.” She shoved them both forward.

  The alarm stopped as suddenly as it had started, leaving her ears aching in an eerie silence. Heading for the arch, they crunched over ice on the cobblestones.

  “They’re dead.” Tania stood with her back against gambling house, pointing to a body hanging out a window.

  Pia looked at Jacob, shaded an eerie orange in her thermal visor. “How the hell did you do that?”

  “They’re wearing a lot of body armor,” Jacob said. “Don’t assume they’re all dead.”

  Pia went left with Dhanpal and took up covering positions. Miguel and Jacob scurried into the narrow archway and knelt in firing positions.

  Nothing moved. Nothing showed on their thermal imaging.

  Miguel gave the signal. Tania ran through the space.

  An unsilenced weapon opened up from above.

  Tania rolled up to the wall beneath the shooter.

  Miguel and Jacob fired at a gunman they couldn’t see. Jacob moved right a few paces to get a better angle but still couldn’t find a target.

  Everyone waited and listened. They could hear boots clomping toward them.

  Around the corner, a hundred yards behind them, Carlos opened up with the SAW. He reported over the comm link. “Twelve coming my way.”

  Pia ran through the archway as bullets raked the ground behind her. She squatted behind a planter with Miguel. Jacob opened up from ten yards away.

  Jacob updated everyone. “Shooter’s using an arrow slit.”

  “No wonder we can’t see him on thermal,” Pia said. “Tania’s pinned.”

  Miguel ran to the next cover, a short stone wall, and rolled in behind it. He popped up and fired. His bullets ricocheted off the stone, sending sparks into the night.