Cold Spectrum

by Craig Schaefer

  The answer was written in Kevin’s eyes. “Once,” he said.

  “Once. Out of how many missions? That one—I guarantee he pissed off people he shouldn’t have. You were doing pest control for the courts of hell.”

  “We’ve done good work,” Jessie said. “We’ve helped people. Saved people.”

  Aselia shrugged. “I’m sure you have. Doesn’t change the tune you were dancing to, same as us. The purpose of this program is simple: weaken the western courts, strengthen the eastern coalition, take out anything that might cause trouble down the line. Human sorcerers who don’t toe the line, independent factions—”

  “The Network,” I said. “Linder’s obsessed with getting an inside man. We’ve even got a no-kill order on Bobby Diehl, in the hopes they can use him as a wedge.”

  “They’re not demons,” Aselia said. “I don’t know what they are, but these Kings the Network serves are something on a whole different level. And the powers of hell are piss-scared of ’em.”

  “Your last mission. What did you find?” I asked.

  The door opened. Waiters swirled in with plates and steaming trays, laying it all out across the emerald tablecloth. Louisiana gulf oysters served in tomato sauce with specks of bacon, crawfish tails in white-wine sauce, basted and baked snails drizzled with bread crumbs and cheese. The mingled aromas filled the air, savory and rich, but my stomach rebelled at the idea of eating right now.

  They brought us another bottle of wine. That, I could have. I refreshed my glass and waited for the waiters to leave.

  “The ‘cult’ was a faction of separatists calling themselves the Redemption Choir,” Aselia said. “Half-breeds who believed they were born damned, and could be redeemed by fighting the powers of hell.”

  I sat up in my chair. “Redemption Choir? Wait a second, I crossed paths with them out in Nevada. Their leader, Sullivan—he was the first incarnate demon I ever faced.”

  “And I know about Sullivan,” Aselia said. “Major whack job. The rank and file were a lot more reasonable, trust me. Well, as reasonable as fanatics get. This particular group had hived off from the main Choir: they thought Sullivan had gone around the bend and was going to get them all killed. Again, didn’t know any of this until later. As part of the briefing, Linder gave us a dossier of their ‘victims.’ Once we dug in, we learned the truth: every last one of the dead was an agent for the eastern coalition. Half of ’em weren’t even human. The Redemption Choir was innocent. They didn’t hunt humans—they hunted monsters. Hell, they were doing our job better than we were.”

  “And you sanctioned them,” Jessie said.

  Aselia’s voice dropped. Faint, distant, carrying the weight of memory.

  “We murdered them. Bang, bang, bang. Shot first and asked questions later, just like we were trained to.” She raised her wineglass, staring into it. “Just following orders, ma’am. And later, we found out just what we’d done. A big chunk of this splinter group—these guys were half magicians, half scientists. Eggheads working on their magnum opus. They called it Archangel.”

  Jessie squinted at her. “What was it supposed to do?”

  “Kill incarnates. They were creating a weapon capable of destroying an incarnate demon. And it was going to work. That was the ‘terrorist attack’ they were planning: they were going to assassinate a hound. And me and Douglas and Houston and the others . . . we stormed into that farmhouse, and we gunned them down before they could do it. They could have built a tool to swing the fight against hell in humanity’s favor for the first time in history. They could have saved the world. And we killed them for it.”

  The room fell into a dismal silence. The appetizers grew cold, untouched.

  “So what happens now?” Kevin asked. The question hung in the air like the blade of a guillotine.

  “Well, my cover’s blown,” Aselia said. “I’m in the same bag you are. We can run. We can hide. I’d love to give you a pep talk, kid, but I’m a realist. What happens now? We’re probably all gonna die.”

  “No,” April said.

  It was the first thing she’d said since the meal began. She’d spent the entire time in rapt concentration, taking in every word, calculating. She laid her hands on the table.

  “No,” she said. “Now we fight.”

  Aselia’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you kidding me? Look, every demon on the East Coast and all their human toadies want us dead. Washington wants us dead. They can send the cops after us. They can send the entire FBI. They can probably send the goddamn marines. If there’s any way out of this rat trap, there’s an entire army standing between us and the door.”

  Jessie looked to April. She nodded slowly, sharing her resolve. “I’ll take those odds.”

  “We have avenues of information you never did,” April told Aselia. “For instance, we know one of the men Linder reports to. Benjamin Crohn.”

  “The director of the FBI?” Aselia said. “Oh, even better.”

  “He’s only a man,” April said. “He can be manipulated. He can be turned. We also have allies. There’s another Vigilant team, Beach Cell, embedded inside Diehl Innovations. If these eastern courts are so concerned about the Network . . . perhaps we can give them a fight to be afraid of. Or the appearance of one.”

  “We’ve also got a private military contractor in our back pocket,” Jessie said, looking my way. “Assuming he’s a man of his word—flip a coin and pray—Angus Caine owes us a favor for letting him walk last time we crossed paths. Xerxes is a shadow of what it used to be, but I bet they can still bring a little thunder.”

  “And then there’s Senator Roth,” I said. “We know his presidential campaign is being backed by demonic patrons, and we’ve still got that blackmail file hanging over his head. Maybe we could use it to pull some influence in DC.”

  Kevin nodded, fast. His fear giving way to nervous energy and the ghost of a smile.

  “What about the western courts? I mean, if we could prove what Vigilant Lock really is, wouldn’t that blow this whole thing up? God, we might be able to start another civil war. Demons fighting demons. That means humanity wins.”

  Aselia blinked. She shook her head, glancing from face to face, her lips slightly parted. “This is crazy—you’re all crazy—but . . . this is the kind of crazy I can get behind. Fuck it, I’m on board. Let’s do it.”

  “We need intel,” Jessie said, “the inside scoop on the people at the top. And there’s one place to find it.”

  She slapped her phone down on the table. She’d pulled up the picture of Linder from Bredford’s photographs. Our former taskmaster surrounded by suits on the steps of the Capitol Building, his face circled by a bloodred bull’s-eye.

  “As of right now, we’re starting a brand-new Hostile Entities list,” Jessie said, “and our good buddy Linder is number one with a bullet.”

  She looked across the table and locked eyes with me.

  “Let’s get this motherfucker.”

  FIFTEEN

  Kevin stared down at the phone. “Get him. Like . . . ?” He ran a finger across his throat.

  Jessie folded her arms and shook her head.

  “Alive. We kidnap him, we take him someplace nice and private, and we squeeze him dry. He’s the middleman. He has to know the names of everybody at the top. Who they are, where they are, how we can take them out.”

  Jessie pushed her chair back. She stood, looming over the table. Her outstretched fingertips pressed against the emerald cloth as she leaned in.

  “So we got hoodwinked. So we got used. I’ll tell you something: I still believe in Vigilant Lock. The men behind the curtain might be full of shit, but the mission’s true. So let’s snatch Linder, force him to clear our names, and then clean house. We can take over Vigilant from the inside. We can turn it into the organization we believed it was.”

  “Linder’s mobile,” I said, “always. He never stands still, never stays in one place for more than a night. We’ll have to lure him into a trap.”

  “
He keeps telling us to turn ourselves in,” Kevin said. “What if we do? I mean, what if we pretend to? Would he fall for it?”

  April steepled her fingers, brow furrowed in thought.

  “No. At this point it’s obvious we’re chasing the Cold Spectrum survivors and may have learned the truth. That makes us threats. Have you ever known Linder to react to a threat with anything less than overwhelming and deadly force? That said . . .” Her gaze drifted across the table, to Aselia. “It was dark, out on the bayou. Gunfire in all directions.”

  Aselia followed her lead. “I could have been shot. Killed. Meaning you don’t know anything at all.”

  “We need to consider all of our primary actors.” April ticked them off on her fingertips. “Linder will act out of self-preservation, above anything else. He’s well trained, a seasoned covert operative and analyst, but predictable. Mikki is not. She’s a narcissistic psychopath who kills for pleasure, meaning we can only trust that someone has her on a firm enough leash. If not, we’ll be counting on Harmony to counter her magic.”

  “I’ve got it handled,” I said. I hoped I wouldn’t have to prove it.

  April adjusted her bifocals. “The members of Panic Cell are either actively compromised, knowing they’re working in hell’s service, or they’re indoctrinated to the point that it doesn’t matter. They’ll follow the orders they’re given. They also have no qualms about civilian casualties, something we’ll need to keep in mind when it comes to a direct confrontation. Which brings us to their master, Benjamin Crohn. Our most dangerous opponent and our most valuable potential prize. We have an edge, there. Me.”

  “Yeah,” Jessie said, “what is it with you and Crohn? I know you didn’t want to talk about it, but I think it’s time to put all the cards on the table.”

  April reached for her wineglass. “He was my mentor. My partner.”

  “We got that part,” Jessie said.

  “He was also my lover. Until our . . . falling-out.”

  “So we’ve got Mikki, Crohn . . .” Kevin looked my way. “If you or Jessie have an evil ex, you should probably tell us about it right now before they come back for revenge. I’m sensing a theme here.”

  “Not evil,” April said. “Vain. Greedy for the spotlight. As shortsighted as he was proud. We worked a case together: Otto Mars, the so-called Englewood Impaler.”

  “Heard about that,” Jessie said. “Ugly business.”

  “A bit of ugly business who almost went free on a technicality. The arresting officers overreached. Critical evidence was obtained on a warrantless search and insufficient probable cause. Mars’s lawyer had it thrown out—as well as all the evidence that followed. Fruit of the poisonous tree.”

  Jessie shook her head. “But he didn’t walk, right? I thought that guy was still in a super-max, locked down until the second coming.”

  “He is. Because Ben followed up on his own and investigated a storage locker rented in Mars’s name, with a scrapbook containing photographs of the crime scenes. All the suppressed evidence was allowed back in under the doctrine of inevitable discovery, and the conviction was a cakewalk.” April sipped her wine. “Only one problem. I’d already seen that scrapbook. In Mars’s bedroom.”

  “Crohn tampered with evidence?” I asked.

  “Otto Mars didn’t rent a storage locker,” April said. “His signature on the lease was a forgery. A good one. The employee who rented it developed an amazing strain of selective amnesia as well. Ben took the scrapbook from the sealed house, planted it in the locker, and used it to get a conviction.”

  Jessie winced. “Skeevy move, but still. I mean, we do some skeevy stuff, too. When you’ve gotta get the bad guy, you’ve gotta get the bad guy. At least Otto didn’t go free.”

  “No. But I asked myself . . . Otto Mars was guilty as sin, but was he the only person Ben had done this to?”

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t,” I said.

  “I couldn’t prove it,” April said. “If I could have proved it, I’d have arrested him myself. But a long string of suspicious evidence tainted at least a dozen of Ben’s arrests. His ‘miraculously insightful profiles’ bearing out as absolutely correct, thanks to some key clues he personally found . . . in already-searched crime scenes.”

  “Hell of a coincidence,” Aselia said.

  “Isn’t it? And unlike Mars, none of those people—all of whom were tried and convicted on the strength of Ben’s findings—were slam-dunk cases. Any number of them could have been innocent. I couldn’t prove it, though. And I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering.”

  “So what’d you do?” Jessie asked.

  “I told him we were through. And I told him he was through. I gave him a choice: leave the Bureau of his own free will, or I’d go public with what I knew. I couldn’t prove he’d committed any crimes, but the sheer weight of circumstantial evidence would destroy his reputation.” April sank in her chair. “Granting that man any mercy at all was the greatest mistake of my entire life. I still had feelings for him, even then. So he resigned. He became a political animal after that. Two successful Senate runs, and eventually he wormed his way into a presidential appointment. Returning to the FBI in victory laurels.”

  “Running the whole show this time,” Jessie said.

  “With Vigilant Lock at his disposal, an entire black-ops unit to do his bidding, and the powers of hell at his back, it would appear. But he never forgave me. Fieldwork, that was his passion and his pride. I took that away from him.”

  “If he’s still holding a grudge after all these years,” Kevin asked, “why would he let Linder recruit you in the first place?”

  “An excellent question, and one I look forward to asking in person.” April offered a subtle nod. “I’m prepared to deliver my analysis.”

  “Please do,” I said.

  “Linder will accept an offer to meet. It will be a trap, a pretext to have us all killed. At this point—with Benjamin taking the field personally, racking up civilian casualties in Atlantic City, drawing potential attention to the program—Linder will be on the edge of panic. Also, the stress in his voice betrayed that Mikki really was freed against his objections; he’s not that good of an actor. He’s losing control of the situation, which is the one thing Linder absolutely cannot tolerate. It’s his pressure point.”

  “Wipe us all out,” Jessie said, “Crohn stops rampaging all over the place, Mikki goes back to prison, everything’s nice and peaceful again.”

  April nodded. “Precisely. He’ll take the most direct path to equilibrium, just as he always does. But. Director Crohn is in the field now. He didn’t have to do that; Panic Cell could take their briefing via a long-distance video call, just as we usually do. They’re obviously more than capable.”

  “He’s making this personal,” I said.

  “Precisely. Mikki was released as a weapon against us, on Benjamin’s orders. Specifically against me. His behavior is reckless. Blind to consequences. And I know what he wants.” April raised her wineglass. “He wants what he’s always wanted. To prove that he’s better than me.”

  Aselia shook her head, not following. “Better? Better how?”

  “We were always competitive, even when we were sharing a bed. Struggling to see who could follow a chain of evidence faster. Who could write the more accurate profile. Who could close the case first. You should have seen us play chess. And now he’s seen the opportunity for the best and final game. Two teams, out in the field. His resources against ours, moving in the shadows, angling for the perfect attack. His mind against mine. And only the winner survives. How could he resist?”

  “This isn’t chess,” Jessie said. “It’s Battleship.”

  “Whatever the game,” April replied, “he won’t let it end without a chance to gloat. Benjamin will need to look in my eyes before he pulls the trigger. He’ll need me to know that he beat me. That’s our sole advantage: if I stay in hiding and you and Jessie go to meet with Linder, Ben’s people won’t be looking to kill you. Th
ey’ll want to take you alive so they can force you to reveal my location.”

  Jessie tilted her head. “Oh. So they’ll want to torture us, then kill us. Great.”

  “It’s your window of opportunity. It also means we won’t have a repeat of Atlantic City: they’ll be aiming for a quiet takedown, not a massacre. We can pick the venue of our choice without worrying about civilian casualties—at least, at the onset. You’ll need to apprehend Linder and move him to a safer location quickly.”

  “So,” Jessie said, “we need a place to meet, a plan to nab him, and a safe house to stash him in. We need transportation and guns—”

  Aselia raised her hand. “Hello? That’s what I do.”

  “We’ll need an escape route,” I said. “They’re not going to let us just walk him out of there. I still want to focus on civilian safety: no matter what Director Crohn wants, there’s no telling if or when Mikki might snap and start killing people just for the thrill of it. A distraction would be good: something nice and big to keep Crohn and his team busy while we make our getaway. Something like . . .”

  I fell silent. Mentally assessing the pieces on the game board. Shuffling them this way and that.

  Jessie pointed at me and looked to Aselia. “Just so you know? That’s Harmony’s ‘got an idea’ face. Get used to that.”

  “Alton Roth,” I said. “Senator Roth is gearing up for a presidential run, and he’s got demons on his side. His campaign manager, Webster Scratch—Calypso—he’s holding Roth’s leash. And Nadine is funneling money into his war chest.”

  “We’ve still got that blackmail file,” Jessie said. “Proof that Roth was involved in Glass Predator. Just haven’t figured out how to use it yet.”

  I smiled for the first time all night.

  “I think we just did. Picture this: You’re Roth. You get a call from us, demanding money, help clearing our names, whatever, doesn’t matter. We want something, and if we don’t get it, we’ll release the Glass Predator file to the media. What do you do?”

  April chuckled. She gave me a nod of approval. “I arrange a meeting. And then I call my powerful patrons for help.”