by Rawlyns, Nya
The driver complied, letting the limo idle past the clutter of rust buckets lining the street.
Reese spoke out loud, sharing what both she and the warrior hunched over the GPS console could see but the others could not.
“The canal runs roughly north, south. There’s a street paralleling the canal but it’s got a break between the subdivisions.” She looked to Magda and asked, “Too wet to build, swamp maybe?”
Magda ran a fingernail across the screen. Agreeing with the Captain’s assessment, she said, “Most likely. They’re smart. Smarter ’n I’d give them credit for.” She cringed as Samuel’s and Rinj’s ire practically seered her through the leather jerkin.
Tough shit, they need to know what they’re up against…
Rinj backed off but the Council head continued to stroke her flesh with the promise of punishment for her impertinence.
Reese turned in the seat and explained their dilemma to the faces barely illuminated in the weak ambient light.
“There’s two blocks of housing, probably vacation or fishing cottages, both separated by open space. We can’t know exactly which one has our target, except…”
Magda interrupted, “There’s a bridge going across the canal and another road on the east side that stops,” she moved the display down, following the thin line running back north, “…here, at a small inlet canal, a feeder, whatever. It’s a dead end. No other access point, just the canal. That’s where they are.”
One of the mercs asked, “How can you be so sure?”
Catrina finally spoke up, “You’re right, Mags, that’s where he is. But the trace is weak and getting weaker.”
Both Reese and Magda said, “Shit,” in unison.
Into the silence, Rinj offered the obvious, “It’s a trap.” Magda and the Captain exchanged a look of ‘no shit, Dick Tracey’ but continued to explore what they could of the surrounding terrain, looking for all possible access and egress points.
The driver eased into an intersection and stopped, waiting for further instructions.
Catrina jostled her way forward as the mercs moved to allow her space to sit and look over the Captain’s shoulder.
“Mags, Captain, do you see that driveway up on the left?” The women nodded. “Okay, pull in there. Nobody’s home.”
Reese raised an eyebrow as Magda mouthed ‘witch’. The spot was a good catch, the short driveway shrouded with swamp maple and palmetto that would afford them some shelter. As the driver maneuvered along the narrow length, Catrina and Magda exchanged a silent communication.
Gab’s dead, Mags.
I know, baby. He was dead the minute they took him.
Damien’s hurting. I can’t tell how much longer he’s got. We need to hurry…
Magda winced. They were close enough she could feel her Sire’s agony as a distant ache. How Catrina managed was beyond her. The only thing saving him was the flood of morphine coursing through his veins. At some point he’d give in, his system would shut down and Trinity would think they’d lost their bargaining chip. That should lead to panic, and panicked vamps, especially young ones, often made poor choices.
All they needed to do was spring the trap without too much loss of life.
Magda guided Catrina to the rear of the vehicle while Reese explained to her people what needed to be done. She dispatched a man to the south end of the canal off a short spur below the bridge. He would be the fallback position should the Trinity people opt to head south, although she explained that was unlikely.
Rinj asked why, so Reese elaborated. “The canal runs roughly north, northwest with a dogleg a half mile or so from here. Eventually it picks up and parallels Forty Arpent Canal Road and dead-ends at route 49…” she paused for effect, then said, “…at an Enterprise Rent-a-Car place.”
Rinj mouthed an ‘oh’ of understanding, gave Samuels a considered look, shrugged and jumped out of the vehicle to join the knot of vampire assassins awaiting his orders.
As Magda, Samuels and Catrina spilled out of the transport, one of Reese’s men offered each of them a Sig Sauer in a holster slung carelessly over his broad shoulder. They all declined, although Catrina paused to consider a twelve gauge shotgun leaning against a tree trunk. Magda nodded approval. The girl was not going in as part of the strike force. She would remain behind, with the driver, and monitor communications. A shotgun, loaded with birdshot, would seriously slow down anyone coming up from the highway side. She hadn’t forgotten about those ‘eyes’ the driver had picked up on their way into the subdivision.
The girl was deadly accurate with firearms, and with her superior night vision she was the logical choice to watch all their backs.
Still not satisfied that she’d covered all contingencies, Magda muttered, “A boat. I need a fucking boat.”
She knew there was no way in hell they were going to surround, let alone penetrate, Trinity’s stronghold without massive casualties. And at the first hint of gunfire, Damien would be offloaded to whatever high speed watercraft they had, and the first tier of insurgents would be in the wind, leaving their less competent gang members to deal with the assault team.
While there was no doubt in her mind that Samuels was the real target, with Damien as the lure and Gabriel serving merely to get their attention, the fact remained that her Sire made for a very satisfactory consolation prize, one they could parlay into future concessions, trading on his unique bloodlines, independent of whoever was in power on the Council.
There was no way in hell a scenario with Samuels alive and happily granting concessions to a splinter group flaunting every rule of vamp law, as well as the near religious belief in the sanctity of anonymity for survival of their species, was going to happen, ever. Samuels dead was another matter. Cut off the head of the hydra and another might regenerate, maybe even two. But there was no guarantee that new leadership would hold to the same level of commitment to vampire political and philosophical beliefs as the current Council head had managed for more than two hundred and fifty some odd years.
Magda peered at Rinj out of the corner of her eye, a thought forming about the makeup of the Council board. And the real reason behind why Samuels had conscripted Damien to join him at the center of Gotham power. Her Sire was very, very good at satisfying human and supernatural proclivities for the mystique of the Goth and BDSM lifestyles, pushing boundaries and acquiring obscene amounts of cash in the process. However, cash cows did not necessarily make for good leaders. Damien was still brash, egotistical and self-indulgent—hardly the type of temperament suited to the high stakes game of politics Samuels engaged in for sport.
Magda desperately needed more time to work through the combinations and permutations swarming through her head.
‘The Council only summoned. They did not make personal visits. Ever.’
Right. So why were they here now? Why was Trinity making a move now? And then there was the small matter of Catrina and the Roma and Damien’s pact with the devil. Exactly who pulled what strings… and for what purpose?
Was Samuels the devil? Or had she yet to meet that mythic figure?
Something was rotten in Denmark and the stink of betrayal sat heavy in the fetid night air.
Javier took Magda’s elbow and guided her down the driveway to a point where they could hide behind some palmetto fronds while he pointed out a speedboat on a trailer, hitched to an old Ford, parked on the street a long half-block up from their position.
“Twin mercs on that Velocity, Ma’am. That bitch’s got power to spare. Will that do you?”
Magda grinned and said, “Fuckin’ A, Javiar. Go jump ’er and take that rig to the canal. We’ll meet you there and figure out how to get that thing into the water.” Javier ghosted away while she raced back to the group assembling at the head of the driveway to deliver the good news.
Reese was busy deploying her men in groups of two, stretching them out to widen the footprint and make them less of a convenient target. It was going to be a footrace past dozens of pot
ential enemy bunkers, but their choices were limited. If they assumed they were facing a disciplined army rather than a small group of hotshot gang members, it would keep the humans on their toes enough to get across the canal and onto the feeder road leading to whatever building sat at the dead end.
The problem was… it was a half-mile long potential kill zone, on an elevated stretch of sand road with a deep water canal on their left and swampland with no bottom on their right. The humans would need to stay on the solid surface. The vamps had other choices.
Javiar had solved the little problem of launching their new craft by driving the rig straight into the canal. He’d managed to keep truck and trailer straddling the width of the channel with the potential to snag any speedboat props should one of the Trinity brain trust decide going south was a better option.
By the time Magda, Samuels and their team arrived at the emersion site, Javiar had cut through the restraints and freed the speedboat from the trailer to float upstream of the cab of the truck. Samuels motioned for one of his men to jump into the cockpit and throw a line so they could bring the boat closer to shore and assess how many bodies would fit in the small craft.
One of the men groused, “Couldn’t you find something bigger? That’s what… eighteen foot?” Javier let loose with rapid fire Spanglish that Magda couldn’t follow but it left the men smirking, their fangs gleaming white in the inky darkness.
Samuels quietly asked, “Okay, Pet, how do you want to play this?”
Captain Reese had gone ahead with her human contingent, sending out scouts to acquire intel on the structure and any unusual topographic features. She was well-aware of the risks and would follow Magda’s instructions to the letter. Rinj and one of Reese’s men moved into flanking positions to the east and north, using the swamp to mask their approach. Two humans, with assault rifles and shoulder-mounted grenade launchers, would hang back until Reese could assess whether or not the structure and its occupants could be secured. Even then she would not use that ace in the hole unless Magda, or Samuels, gave her a direct order to do so.
Damien dead was not an acceptable end game. At least not for Magda. She counted on Trinity making a run for it, with her Sire in tow. And her hot on their heels.
If none of that transpired, and Damien was truly collateral damage…
That’s not going to happen. Not on my watch.
Or mine, Pet. I promise you that.
Shaking off her apprehension, Magda jumped into the boat and waved Samuels back. It was clear he still wanted to object but after a great deal of argument he had finally agreed that separating all the potential high value targets was the smarter play. She would take one of the assassin squad vamps with her, leaving Samuels to back up the humans and Rinj’s team.
If something happened to her, she hoped the Council head would choose in favor of salvaging Damien’s life, because if he didn’t, if he sacrificed her Sire, he would have to deal with Catrina.
That was an end game that didn’t bear thinking about.
CHAPTER SIX
Canal
Catrina stalked around the limo, the shotgun cradled loosely in the crook of her elbow, clearly irritated.
The driver, Walkens, leaned out the window and whispered, “Uh, Ma’am?”
Catrina hissed,“Vait,” her accent thick. She paused to listen, head cocked in the direction of the road. “Is company comes. You. Stay here.” And then she was gone.
Walkens eased his PPK out of the holster at his hip and slipped through the gap between the seats, working his way rearward to where the sliding doors remained open, staying low. Vamps could detect even the slightest movement and he knew he was nowhere near fast enough to overcome that handicap.
He exited near the clapboard bungalow and circled around it, edging into the dense brush. The din of insects and scurrying of small rodents, distant laughter, a shout, glass shattering, muffled curses… all masked his passage. There had been two of them, at least. He’d guess more, likely two each to a vehicle. One pair would draw the woman off toward the street. The others had to approach from the north, winding through the neighborhood on foot, dodging palmetto and soggy footing.
Walkens’ boots squished through a stagnant pool of brackish water, the sound loud, even to his ears. They would scent him, hear him coming. That was the point. He would draw the stalkers to him, force them to follow, using the thick growth to impede their speed.
He was counting on city boys, be they vamps or human, not liking wading through swampland. That was to his advantage, a Georgia cracker, raised in the lowlands. He shifted his revolver to his right hand and withdrew the Ka-Bar blade strapped to his thigh, the steel coated with black epoxy. Scent and sound gave a general idea but nothing pinpointed a location like light reflecting off a metal surface. He wasn’t looking to engage, not just yet.
Blue light glinted and wavered off to his right, a bug zapper doing its job. He and his pursuers neared a collection of sheds flanking a one story cabin. The back door was open to the porch, the screen hanging in tatters, backlit from a lamp located somewhere towards the front of the building. Two shapes lounged on chairs outside, one smoking, the tip glowing bright for a millisecond. Walkens could almost taste the tang of tobacco on the back of his throat.
Still angling toward Catrina and her quarry, he crouched low, sticking to the shadows, and bolted past the cabin, diving once more into the dense brush, the knife doubling as a machete when the going got too thick. If he was right, he was two driveways down from where they’d hidden the limo.
A shout, a string of curses, most unintelligible, a single shot, then silence. He’d gained thirty seconds, maybe more. It had to be enough.
The boat yawed as Magda and her companion shipped the long poles someone had fashioned from deadfall discovered in a backyard. She didn’t ask how or where. To her surprise Samuels had been the one to caution against firing up the outboards. Someone else suggested poling the craft up the canal until they were closer to their objective.
A silent approach. Not exactly her style. She was more a full frontal assault type. Let sneak attacks come from Rinj and his ninja buddies. She wanted Damien and she wanted him now. The Council head reminded her that their prime directive was to eradicate Trinity, down to its last member, as an object lesson to all other splinter groups that such insurrection would not be tolerated. Having them scatter to the four winds was not an option. The last thing they needed was for even the hint of victory to come out of this encounter.
Magda understood Samuels’ reasoning, his commitment to a scorched earth policy. He needed a win, a big one, to legitimize his position on the Council and to put a stop to the incessant challenges that had been plaguing him for years. If she were in his position she’d do no more, no less. What she feared he didn’t fully comprehend was how that policy could also be counter-productive—that even the whiff of martyrdom could inspire hope and resolve with other like-minded cells. The problem with the vampire species… they always had time on their side.
Samuels and Rinj trod a slippery slope, made even more slippery with Damien being held hostage. She had to hold to the illusion that her Sire was not expendable, but despite Samuels’ assurances to the contrary she knew the man would act in his own best interests, even if that meant sacrificing a valuable asset.
Damien was her priority—not Samuels, not the Council, not the rule of law, not even the survival of her race.
Damien.
By the time they’d reached the center of the canal and begun the arduous task of pushing the craft through oily, brackish water, Samuels and the rest of the group had dispersed into the night. Thin high clouds streaked across the sky. Up to the northwest the lights of the city haloed over the horizon but here, at one of the last outposts to the maze that was the Mississippi Delta, only darkness and cloying humidity ruled the night.
The nameless vamp on the starboard side of the speedboat matched her stride-for-stride as they paced forward, the poles jammed into the squishy
bottom, shoulder muscles bunched tight as they angled the poles, shoving hard as the narrow vee of the keel cut through floating vegetation, yanking the makeshift poles out of deep sucky mud, carrying them forward, then repeating. She bit her lip to keep from grunting but there was no way to mask the soft flup of the poles releasing from the mud and the stereo sound of wavelets impacting the bank.
She motioned to her cohort to ease back. He nodded in understanding. They pushed and paused, allowing the weak current to carry them along. A fish or a toad jumped, the splash loud. The man turned to look at Magda, flashing fangs, fully extended. She wasn’t the only one ready to jump out of her skin.
Flup, shush… Silence.
The road on her left butted up against the canal with a small levee hindering her view. There was no way to count off the intersecting streets, nothing so much as a landmark by which to judge how far they’d come. And she wasn’t gifted with eidetic memory. The details on the map slipped away with each pole stroke.
Their objective was not situated directly on the canal but on an offshoot, an inlet of sorts, to the right. But just before it, no more than fifty yards away, a longer extension that paralleled the subdivision should be visible from the port side. They could slide in there and wait for word from Rinj and Reese’s group. If they were lucky they’d see and hear gunfire.
If they were lucky…
Reese fell back to speak with Samuels. The road stretched ahead of them, light colored against the inky black of the canal on their left and the mottled shades of light and shadow that wavered like ghostly apparitions over the swamp. There was a twenty foot clearance with firm footing on the side opposite the canal, the sandy bottom one or two feet below the road surface. Not much shelter for a man walking but at least it provided some protection for when the shooting started.