"Like I said," Felix continued, still watching out the window, "Nosferatu is derived from an Old Slavonic word." Since shortly after their take-off, he had been sharing random bits of vampire lore with the other two. Diomedes, of course, hadn't cared to even appear interested, but Flynn seemed attentive enough. "The actual word it came from was nosufer-atu, more or less borrowed from the Greek nosophoros, meaning 'plague carrier.' Back then, vampires were thought to be connected with the spread of tuberculosis and other wholesome treats. They didn't know the entire truth then, of course, so, as is human nature, they filled in the gaps in the truth, and that all led to the idea of spreading vampirism with a bite. I've read that although the word has been in use for quite a few centuries in Romania, it's not actually in any dictionaries, although that seems odd." Felix knew he was rambling. Rambling was fun! "Can't believe everything you read, I suppose. When Bram Stoker wrote Dracula, a character based of a rather morbid gentleman named Vlad Tepes, he incorrectly gave the word the meaning of 'undead.' But as to how—"
"You don't shut up, do you?" Diomedes grumbled from the pilot's seat.
"Dio, if I don't keep talking, poor Flynn here's liable to fall asleep from your deafening silence." Felix turned to Flynn with a smile. "It's getting to where I can't get a word in edgewise with this guy."
The sudden ring of Felix's phone broke into the minor argument. He pulled it out. "This is Felix—coming to you from thousands of miles below the Earth's crust!" He covered the mouthpiece for a moment and leaned forward to Diomedes. "I didn't figure you'd want me giving away our position."
"Good," Diomedes said. Felix honestly wasn't sure if he picked up on the joke or not. Without commenting further, he leaned back and listened to the voice on the other end.
"Below the earth's crust, eh?" the voice said. "Right, how is it down there?"
"Dark," Felix said. "But no Morlocks."
The voice belonged to a contact of his at the fire department involved in investigating unknown burns. A while ago Felix had helped him with a bit of free information that had led to the capture of an arsonist responsible for seven separate fires. Felix had traded favors with the man ever since. Felix would go to him if he needed to find out some sensitive information, and in turn he'd keep his own ears to the ground for anything that might help with any new investigations. He had called the man shortly after they had arrived at the storage facility. He hoped he was calling back with good news. "What've you got for me, Albert?"
"A little info I think you'll thank me for. From a quick check, I've found out a bit for you on what the arsonist used to start the warehouse blazes."
"So it's verified as arson."
"You bet. The fire was intentional. An explosive was used—preliminaries are that it wasn't fancy—probably something homemade."
Felix nodded his understanding. "That's certainly interesting. What about the apartment building on the edge of The Dirge?"
"The seventh just got that one out a short while ago. Too soon to know anything, Dirge or not. You said you needed what I got ASAP, so what I could dig out of the files in a few minutes is what you're hearing."
"I know, I know," Felix said. "Just thought I'd check."
"Uh, huh. So why such a hurry, anyway?"
Felix looked out the window again and down at the moonlit ground below. "I'm going somewhere foolish and I wanted to find out what I could before I got there. So is that it for now, then?"
"Not quite. I took the liberty of looking up who owned those warehouses. Figured I'd save you the trouble of asking."
"Let's hear it." Felix only knew that the first one was owned by a clothing manufacturer.
Albert confirmed the clothing warehouse and then continued. "The second was Oranni Shipping. That one was a hoot, let me tell you. The biggest of the three. They were just barely able to contain it before it spread to the place next door."
"Uh huh, uh huh," Felix said, trying to hurry the other along. They were nearing the stadium and Diomedes was starting to take them in for a landing.
"The third was a warehouse used by Raven Defense Technologies. Wasn't quite as big as the second, but that one had the added danger of exploding ammunition stored there. Wasn't as bad as it might've been, though. That's all I've got for you just now."
"RavenTech? Thanks, Albert, I appreciate it. If you get a chance, let me know anything else you can manage. I'd better get going here myself."
"No problem. Does this bring us back to even, or do you owe me now?"
Felix smiled. "I think it makes us even, but who's counting? Give me a call if you need anything yourself."
After a few more friendly words of parting, Felix hung up the phone and put it back in his coat. He quickly relayed what Albert had told him to the others.
"The interesting thing," he continued, "is the explosive used. What do you think that tells us, Flynn?"
"Whoever did it didn't have access to anything fancier," Flynn answered. "Or," he added after a moment of thought, "he did, but he didn't see a need to use it—or didn't want to?"
Felix nodded slightly. "That's true, although I might add that the important thing for us to remember that 'or.' But I was actually getting at something else." Felix watched him, wondering if he knew enough about this sort of thing to know. Felix could tell that he was pondering the question; he seemed to care about his answer. That was a good sign.
Diomedes banked the floater around the stadium, searching for a landing area. Felix held onto his seat while Flynn braced himself against the dash.
Flynn snapped his fingers. "It was premeditated. He planned it."
"Another good point, which begs the question: did he, or she, or they, plan to burn that particular building, or just to do one in general? Usually arsonists who burn for the sheer thrill of it will use whatever's available. They'll see an opportunity for fire and take it. Pyromaniacs might carry around lighters, but not bombs. I'd bet money that these buildings were hit for a reason. We need to find out that reason."
"You'd bet, but you're not completely sure, are you?" Flynn asked with a glance to Diomedes. The floater leveled out and hovered, then descended slowly, engines whining.
Felix looked Flynn straight in the eye to be sure the kid knew he was serious. "I try very hard not to let myself get completely sure about anything. Closes the mind to possibilities." After a moment of letting the statement sink in, he suddenly produced a wide-eyed, maniacal grin and shouted gleefully, "And possibilities are our friends!"
Flynn burst out with a chortle that Felix could tell he tried to suppress. Before either of them could say anything, the floater bumped the ground in landing. Without a word, Diomedes shut down the engine completely and got out of the pilot's seat. He moved in a crouch under the floater's low ceiling toward the back of the vehicle.
Extending six feet to the rear wall from the back seat where Felix sat was an open space where this particular style of floater could be outfitted with various option modules, depending on its intended use. He had once seen first-hand the bio-medical module that was used in most floater ambulances, but he knew there were others. That there was none in this one meant it was either previously used for cargo transport, or one had simply not been attached when Diomedes had acquired it. What it did have were storage compartments rising up from the floor and built into the back wall. Diomedes went to one on the floor and opened it.
As the freelancer rummaged through the compartment, Felix glanced out the window. They were on one side of a wide alley. Ahead of them and to the north, framed by dirty brick walls, the stadium rose out of the concrete parking lot just across the street. The buildings on either side were tall, allowing only a reflected glow from the unseen streetlights to penetrate a few feet into the alley. Even the Moon, now blocked from view by the building tops, barely managed to illuminate only the upper portion of the alley, leaving the lower parts covered in an eerie half-darkness where bits of trash, scattered by the descending floater's engines, lay strewn about the ground a
nd on top of a set of dumpsters. All in all, Felix thought to himself, your basic dark alley.
"They're in the sewers," Diomedes said behind him. It was more of a statement than a question.
Felix nodded anyway. "Right." He assumed Diomedes was referring to the Nosferatu. They were most active around the stadium. Rumor held it that they lived in the sewer and electrical tunnels beneath it.
Diomedes was busy strapping a gas mask to his face. "Romulus and me will go in." His baroque voice echoed through the mask in what Felix found to be an amusingly familiar way. "You wait here."
They had already gone over this when they were leaving the storage facility. Felix guessed the freelancer felt the need to reassert his plan. "Yeah, I know. Just watch that you don't go nuts down there. It's always convenient when the person you bring back for questioning still has the ability to answer."
"Leave that to me," Diomedes assured him through the mask.
Felix almost laughed out loud. He couldn't resist. "Diomedes, are you up on classic films from the twentieth century?"
"What?" Diomedes's tone indicated that not only did he not know what Felix was talking about, but that he also had absolutely no desire to deal with it.
Felix couldn't help but grin. "It's just that, well, with that mask, and your voice, you. . ." He trailed off, still smiling as Diomedes glared at him impatiently. Felix shook his head with a grin. "Forget it. I doubt you'd appreciate it anyway. You see any lava floes down there, though, you come right back, huh?"
The freelancer only rolled his eyes and moved for the side door. Flynn followed, adjusting his own mask that Diomedes had lent him. They opened the door and stepped outside. Flynn gave him a quick glance.
"Hey, Flynn," Felix said. "Watch yourself down there."
Flynn nodded. They closed the door. Felix watched them go. Wearing gas masks and body armor, carrying auto-pistols and gas grenades, they opened up a manhole, pitched a grenade down, and, when the hiss of the gas had stopped, lowered themselves down after it.
Brian stepped from the taxi and checked his watch: ten after nine. He was probably a little behind the three men in the floater, but ground traffic had been reasonably light, and he had made fair time. He glanced around the area in front of the stadium; there was no sign of them. On the other hand, it was a large area with any number of alleys and side streets to land in. He'd overheard them talking about both the stadium and the Nosferatu. They had to be headed here.
Brian began to stroll the perimeter of the stadium parking lot, alert for both the floater and any sign of trouble. It was only a matter of time before he found them.
Unless they had known he was listening and intentionally let him hear the wrong information? No, that was impossible. Or, at least, highly improbable. They were talking about the Nosferatu when they were still in the bar, and what kind of idiot didn't know that those gothic freaks hung out in this area?
He had trailed them after they had left, unseen and unnoticed. While he wasn't as able to hear the men, it didn't appear that they were saying much while in the open anyway. Brian surmised that they were wary of being heard by anyone on the street. If they only knew, he thought. He'd been ready for a trick, some kind of test the men might try to see if they were being followed. He had even come up with a few strategies if they simply decided to run. As it turned out, they were either oblivious, over-confident, or both. Except for one backward glance by the smallest of the men, they did nothing. For a moment, Brian feared he had been seen, but the short man with the mirror shades said nothing to his companions, and no attempt was made to try to shake any pursuit.
When they arrived at the public storage facility, Brian hid himself behind an adjacent building while they opened the door to their garage locker and busied themselves within. Disappointingly, most of their movement was blocked from his vision by the building itself or the unmarked floater that was inside—Brian himself was a little surprised at seeing that. From what he could tell, they were loading some amount of equipment onto the floater, an idea later supported by the fact that the space was completely empty after they left save for a few rectangular outlines of dust on the floor.
They had spoken briefly, however, and the bit that Brian overheard again supported the stadium as their first destination. There was also something about arson then, and he didn't know what to make of that. His information said absolutely nothing about The Wraith being involved in any arson. Either they knew something he didn't, or they were planning something of that nature themselves.
It made Brian wonder just what he'd stumbled into. He thought of all of the movies he'd seen where a reporter ends up getting caught in some sinister corporate plot or criminal scheme. If only he were so lucky. This didn't sound too corporate, but he might still have something.
It had hit him then that perhaps his imagination was getting a little too active. He resolved to concentrate on the task at hand before getting carried away. After the men had taken off, he hailed the taxi that had taken him here.
A stretch of the East Side Viaduct ran over the parking area on the west side of the stadium. Brian walked beneath it, deciding to follow it until it curved off towards the rest of the city. From there he would check the street to the south of the stadium and stay only at the edge of the parking areas until he'd completed a full walk around the streets that framed them. If he hadn't found anything by that point, he would explore the lots closer to the stadium itself. There were fewer places there that one could conceal a floater, and the stadium's floater lots were secured from unauthorized use. Brian thought it more likely they would simply choose an alley.
He continued on through the lot under the viaduct, keeping to the better-lit areas when he could and staying alert for anything or anyone in the shadows. Not all of the lights were working. A few flickered erratically; others did not shine at all. He was doing his best to be as silent as possible, but when his feet weren't crunching on the graveled areas, his hard-soled footfalls echoed off the supports of the viaduct. Other sounds drifted to him as well: the partially muted car engines passing on the viaduct overhead, a trace of music from a nearby bar, the occasional rustling of movement nearby. . . Brian looked toward the mysterious noises whenever he heard them, half expecting to find any number of things looking back at him. He saw nothing. Most likely rats, he hoped.
He could see the headline now: "Reporter killed by lunatic street gang on assignment." No, he thought: passive, and possibly ambiguous. "Lunatic street gang kills reporter on assignment." Better. They'd find his body the next day in a pool of blood under the viaduct. Or maybe his body wouldn't be found at all, dragged underground for God-knows-what purpose by the Nosferatu or whatever else was out there. He doubted the story would make the front page, of course. Probably they'd put it somewhere in the back near the personals. At least his boss wouldn't have to put up with him anymore. Brian smiled despite the thought.
Besides, he reminded himself, he was wary. He was careful. He'd be able to hear anything dangerous coming, and he wasn't completely without protection. He'd be fine.
A bright light to the right caught his peripheral. He spun. A ground car had turned down an alley across the street, heading for the road that ran beside the stadium. He zoomed his vision to check the occupants in case it was one or more of them trying to double back, but it was only a taxi. Brian continued on.
Exactly what kind of men were those he was following? Brian pondered the question as he neared where the viaduct passed over the cross street ahead of him. He'd only caught one of their names: The quiet one had told the smaller man his name was Flynn. Flynn wasn't as large as the one with the shaved head, but he still looked to have some bulk to him. He was pretty sure the larger man was a freelancer, so it made sense for Flynn to be one as well. Brian wasn't certain, though. The man hadn't said much. Probably he was either the strong, silent type, or just the stupid type. Given his near total lack of participation in the bar discussion, it was clear that the larger man, whom Brian had cons
idered the leader, was not including him in the decision-making process. This Flynn was probably just a hired thug. Whether he really was stupid or not was still up in the air, but there was definitely something out of place about the man. Perhaps that was it.
Brian was less sure about the other two. Though large man was likely the leader, he had less of an idea of the purpose of the smaller man with the mirror shades. From what Brian had been able to filter out of the intentionally masking ambiance of the bar, “Shades” seemed to have a lot of information—at least about the Nosferatu. Was he some kind of consultant? Brian doubted the possibility. Brian had heard enough to know the man was against the idea of visiting the Nosferatu, yet the leader had ignored him. If he were a consultant, wouldn't the leader have listened to him more? So what was his part in all of this? If he wasn't a consultant, then he must have his own agenda. Perhaps the two had been partnered in some way by someone else.
Brian looked up at the Moon as he walked and remembered again about the subject of arson that Shades mentioned. He considered again the two possibilities that either they knew of some connection between The Wraith and the arsons, or that they were more directly involved with the fires themselves. Yet if they had started the fires, what did that have to do with the vigilante?
Unless, he thought suddenly, they plan—or at least Shades did—to somehow try to pin the fires that they were responsible for on the vigilante! Brian scowled. Then why are they trying to find him? Was there more than one purpose that the men both kept, or did each have a separate objective? That would certainly explain the reason behind their arguing. It was obvious the two men didn't get along.
The answer, Brian realized, must lie with the leader.
"So what the hell are you going to do,” Brian muttered to himself, “just walk up and ask him?" Trying to answer his own question, he continued in silence along the south edge of the parking lot, keeping watch in the alleys across the street for the floater. The shadows were less abundant now that he was out from under the viaduct, yet dark places still lurked beneath the landscaped trees. Places, Brian cautioned himself, that could still conceal unwanted surprises.
A Shadow in the Flames (The New Aeneid Cycle) Page 6