by Marc Daniel
It was two o’clock now, and there was still no sign of Clemens. Karl Wilson was getting nervous and the other wolves could sense it. In the absence of Clemens, Wilson was in charge and they were all looking at him for guidance. Under normal circumstances, a few minutes delay wouldn’t have worried anyone. They would have simply waited it out chatting around. The pack had recently suffered severe losses, however. It had been reduced to a quarter of its size, and these weren’t normal circumstances.
Thompkins pressed the Send key on his phone, and his hand was immediately gratified with a vibration acknowledging the command had been executed. He only had a few seconds to wait now.
“I don’t like this,” said Wilson suddenly. “We’re out of here. Now!” he added to get the pack’s attention. He turned to Thompkins who an instant earlier had been standing by the ladder leading from the loft part of the warehouse to the ground level, but Axel was gone. Before he had a chance to go after him, canisters began to land on the hard wood floor of the loft. They seemed to come from all directions and emitted a bluish acrid smoke into the air as they landed. The atmosphere of the warehouse quickly turned toxic.
Sensing immediate danger, the majority of the pack began morphing into their wolf form, but morphing required taking large breaths and breathing meant sucking in the noxious fumes. As the vaporized wolfsbane went to work, their breathing slowed down and eventually stopped. Most of them were in cardiac arrest before they had fully morphed into their wolf form. A few of them managed to fully change, but the fumes were as toxic to their wolf selves as they were to their human counterparts and the beasts collapsed to the ground before they even got a glimpse of their assailants.
Only three wolves, including Wilson, had had the sense to hold their breath and jump to the ground level in search of fresher air, or at least someone to sink their teeth into. They were werewolves, but they did not have to be in their wolf form to be lethal.
The smoke canisters having landed mostly on the loft level, the visibility on the ground level was slightly better. Wilson, still holding his breath, could distinguish at least five aggressors, all wearing military grade gas masks. Some of them looked as if they had some sort of guns in their hands, but some weren’t holding any weapons. Fools, he thought, rushing towards one of them, ready to drive his bare fist through the man’s chest.
The man anticipated his charge and caught Wilson under the jaw with a punch that sent the Beta to the ground.
The impact drove his breath from his body and Wilson finally had to inhale the smoke-laced air. His lungs immediately began to burn as if someone had filled them with vitriol. The Beta did not consider himself beaten just yet, though. In an instant, he was back on his feet, swinging at the other man who clearly wasn’t a mere human. After a few minutes of struggle, Wilson managed to knock his opponent out. He then took a circular look at the battleground and quickly realized this was a lost cause. Aside from himself, Rachel was the only pack member still standing, and she was surrounded by three men who were giving her the beating of a lifetime… which meant they weren’t human either. Two other thugs had just finished off a wolf named Chris and were now turning their attention towards Wilson. They were still a good twenty yards away, however, and Wilson was only a few feet from his Corvette. In an instant, he was behind the wheel starting the engine. He briefly considered using the car as a weapon to try and rescue Rachel, but he wasn’t sure he could survive another breath of the lethal atmosphere. Finally, he decided to do the only sensible thing and he drove full speed through the warehouse garage door.
He floored the gas pedal as he entered the freeway a minute later, windows wide open to take in the fresh air. His lungs were still on fire, but thankfully he wasn’t dying. At least, he didn’t think so. He needed to warn Clemens and give him the news that the remainder of the pack had been eliminated. They were the only survivors. He reached for his phone, but found his jacket pocket empty. He had lost his cell phone in the battle.
Chapter 151
“What the fuck was this?” asked a furious Clemens. On the other end of the line, Katia Olveda attempted to sound calm.
“I didn’t get a chance to warn you, Peter. I assure you. When I learned about it, they were already on their way to pick you up,” she replied in an uneasy voice.
Clemens had been shocked to find Katia waiting for him at the police station when Lewis and Salazar had brought him in for questioning. In her capacity as assistant DA, she had been present for the entire interrogation, sometimes asking her own questions. The interview had gone nowhere and after a couple of hours he had finally been released.
“If you had called me as soon as you had heard about it, I would have had a chance to leave the house!” he retorted, practically screaming.
“I was never alone, I simply didn’t get—”
“Shut up!” he interrupted. “I need to see you now. I suggest you make it to Wilson’s within the next thirty minutes or you are as good as dead,” he said, before hanging up on her.
Chapter 152
“You were right!” announced Sheila triumphantly, putting her phone down on the coffee table in front of her.
“Right about what?” asked Michael.
“Right about Shatwell. It hadn’t been made official yet but Captain Brad Shatwell was about to be promoted to the rank of assistant chief of police when he was murdered,” explained Sheila enthusiastically. “Which means, except for Steve Harrington, all gunned-down officers held high-ranking positions.”
This was what Michael had been suspecting for some time now, but he still couldn’t see a motive for killing his friend… let alone his wife. It was likely Marge had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“I can see how Steve and David suspected the mob of being involved in the assassinations,” started Michael thoughtfully. “Cut the head of the beast and the legs don’t know where to go… Murdering high-ranking police officers would disrupt the functioning of the targeted law-enforcement agencies. And disruption in those organizations could potentially benefit organized crime.”
Michael did not really believe in this explanation, however. It seemed too simplistic, too much of a long shot. The officers would quickly be replaced, and things would be back to normal before long. The risks seemed to exceed the benefits. A bad business decision, and organized crime was all about business.
“But if Steve was murdered because he was getting too close to the answer,” mused Sheila, “that would also explain why David was attacked. They were working the case together, weren’t they?”
Michael nodded but did not reply, still absorbed by his own train of thoughts.
“What happened to the assistant chief of police Shatwell was supposed to replace?” he asked after a while.
“He retired. Why?”
“Do you know who replaced him?”
Sheila glanced at the notepad she’d written on while on the phone with her source. “Thomas Maxwell. What do you have in mind?”
Once again Michael didn’t reply. Sheila could see he was lost in thought and was not likely to give an answer in the near future. Her curiosity had been piqued. She grabbed her laptop and settled back down onto the couch to dig up more information on Thomas Maxwell.
The first article she opened immediately raised her curiosity. The article didn’t refer to the man as Assistant Chief but as Executive Assistant Chief. After another ten minutes of fierce browsing, she found an answer to Michael’s unformulated question.
“Now that’s interesting,” she said in a mysterious voice aimed at drawing a reaction from Michael. She was satisfied to see him raising an eyebrow.
“What is?” he asked.
“This thing I just found about Thomas Maxwell,” she answered casually, without actually telling him what it was.
Michael waited for her to go on for a few seconds before saying, “Fine, you have my undivided attention. You can tell me now!”
She gave him a playful smirk. “Thomas Maxwell is
no longer Assistant Chief. He was promoted to Executive Assistant Chief of police in less than two years. He was named to his new position two weeks after Matt Wilkinson’s assassination…”
“Are you telling me that Maxwell benefited from the death of both Shatwell and Wilkinson?” asked Michael, visibly excited by her revelation.
“It sure looks like it!”
Chapter 153
It had taken Katia thirty-four minutes to make it to Karl Wilson’s house. Exactly four minutes longer than she had been given, but Clemens had not mentioned anything about it.
Pacing the room back and forth like a caged animal, Clemens looked exceptionally nervous. Katia wished she were somewhere else, or at least not alone with the man. She knew exactly how dangerous he could be, and the fact he held her responsible for his morning spent at the police station did nothing to ease her anxiety. She did not have a choice, however. The Alpha wanted her here and she was not about to cross him, not now, not so close to the goal.
“I can’t reach any of my wolves, not even Karl,” stated Clemens, but Katia wasn’t sure whether he was talking to himself or to her.
“Do you know anything about it? Did you have them arrested as well?” he asked in a threatening voice. His eyes, intently trained on hers, were watching for any sign of guilt.
“Of course not, Peter,” she replied, quivering and trying her best not to make eye contact. “Do you think I’d be standing in front of you if I had? I have no death wish, I can assure you.”
He stopped his pacing and came to stand directly in front of her. His face was so close to hers she could feel his warm breath on her forehead. He grabbed her by the shoulders and effortlessly lifted her from the ground so that her eyes were at his level.
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” he asked in a soft voice, which somehow sounded even more threatening than his angry tone.
“No! Of course I wouldn’t,” whimpered Katia, vehemently shaking her head.
“Liar!” he replied, flinging her across the room like a used towel. She landed on her feet, but not before colliding with one of the living room’s walls.
She was scared, truly scared as Clemens started walking towards her. She shot a quick glance at her purse where she had left it on the couch and decided she could not reach it before he got to her. As Clemens was closing the distance, the front door opened and a disheveled Karl Wilson entered the room.
Momentarily forgetting about Katia, Clemens asked Wilson, “Where were you? I’ve been calling you for thirty minutes.” Eventually registering the untidy look of his second he added, “What in heaven happened to you?”
“It was a trap, and I fell for it,” answered Wilson as he started relating what had happened at the warehouse.
“I never asked Thompkins to gather the pack,” said Clemens angrily once Wilson concluded his recount of the events.
“I figured as much… but a little too late.” Wilson remained sheepishly in the entryway. Although he could never forgive himself for what had happened to the pack under his watch, the knowledge he had let his Alpha down was even harder to bear.
“What about the girl?” asked Clemens.
“What girl?”
“The cop’s daughter. She was at the warehouse, wasn’t she?”
Wilson tried to remember seeing Olivia, but could not. In the mayhem he had completely forgotten about her. She had been kept sedated and tied up to a pillar on the warehouse ground level, but he had not noticed her while fighting his way out of the poisonous atmosphere of the warehouse.
“I don’t know,” he replied finally. “I didn’t get a chance to check on her. I suppose she’s still attached to her pillar… dead by now.”
He seemed to notice Katia for the first time. The woman was now standing behind the couch, her purse within hand’s reach.
Chapter 154
Sheila was once again surfing the internet in search of more clues to support Michael’s theory. Sitting close to her, Michael had pulled out his now thoroughly beaten-up list of facts and was intently peering at the piece of paper as if he could will the answers to jump out of the sheet directly into his brain.
There were still many unanswered questions, but he had a feeling they were now on the right track. Someone was infiltrating the various law-enforcement agencies operating in Houston. Strategically placing agents in high-level positions, and murdering if necessary to get their puppets in powerful seats. The million-dollar question was: who was pulling the strings behind the curtain? Who was the puppet master?
The fact that Ivanov’s organization had been essentially eradicated while waging an all-out war against the Houston pack seemed to testify against its involvement. If the mobster had had the decision makers of three different state and local law enforcement agencies on his payroll, he could probably have found a more discreet way to deal with Clemens than sending an army to his cabin.
Clemens was also an unlikely suspect. If the Alpha had the cops in his pocket, Michael would never have been called in to help with the case in the first place. Even if Clemens had not been able to prevent Michael’s involvement, the cops he had in his pocket could have easily made the ranger’s life so miserable that leaving the city would have been his only option.
“Does the name Paul Garber mean anything to you?” asked Sheila, turning her computer screen towards Michael to show him the picture of a middle-aged man with grayish hair and round spectacles.
Michael glanced at it an instant before saying, “No, never seen the man, and the name isn’t familiar either. Why? Who is he?”
“Sullivan’s replacement. If your theory is correct, he should be one of the bad guys.”
Michael nodded in agreement.
“Interestingly,” continued Sheila, “Garber wasn’t the favorite for the position. The papers quoted several police officials expressing their surprise at his nomination. Apparently a certain James Fanning had been foreseen as the logical replacement for Sullivan. Maybe our puppeteer pulled a few strings to have Garber named in place of Fanning…”
“Or maybe he hadn’t seen it coming and Garber’s nomination threw a wrench in his plan. In which case, James Fanning would actually be one of the bad guys, not Garber,” replied Michael pensively.
Seeing Michael once again absorbed by his list, Sheila returned to her research. An instant later, she startled him with her scream. “Oh-My-Gooosh! Look at this.”
On her screen was the picture of an African American, the very same man who had been in charge of watching her while the rest of the pack battled Michael in the heart of Yellowstone.
“Where did you find this?” asked Michael, showing more enthusiasm than Sheila had ever seen him display before.
“On the Texas Rangers website. His name is Axel Thompkins, and guess what his rank is.”
“Captain?” answered Michael who had caught her drift.
“Bingo! He is Elaine Blent’s replacement! Promoted one week after her assassination.”
She gave Michael a minute to grasp the implication of the news. Not only did they have serious proof supporting their theory, they also had established the wolves’ involvement.
“I guess Clemens is behind the whole thing after all…” said Sheila.
“I suppose you’re right.” Michael sounded almost regretful.
“What’s the problem?” asked Sheila.
“Nothing. It’s just that somehow I never truly believed he was behind it.”
“The man’s a psychopath, Michael. He tried to kill us both repeatedly. He kidnapped Olivia. What more do you need to be convinced of his culpability?”
The thought of Olivia threatened to drag him back to his self-deprecatory state of mind, but he forced himself to snap out of it.
“Clemens is a dangerous killer, but he is not a psychopath,” he replied finally. Somewhere in the back of Michael’s mind, something was nagging at him. There was an element he was missing and its importance, he was convinced, was essential in seeing the full pictu
re, in breaking the case open and finally seeing it for what it was. Instead, he felt they were peering inside a box through different pinholes, each only showing a unique distorted view of what the box really contained.
Sheila was looking at him trying to comprehend his reluctance at finding the Alpha guilty. She failed to come up with a sensible explanation and decided to get back to work on her computer.
It had been an hour since Sheila had discovered Axel Thompkins’ identity and the excitement had now receded. She was searching for more connections linking Clemens to the murders when she landed on a page about John Macfly. Macfly was the assistant DA who had been gunned down on his way to work a couple weeks earlier. He had been slated to replace the soon to retire district attorney. With him out of the picture, Katia Olveda was likely to land the highly coveted position.
When Sheila suddenly realized Macfly had also been executed by an assassin on a motorcycle, she started connecting the dots. She jumped on the notes she had taken about Wilkinson and began reviewing them frantically. The two murders were a perfect match.
“I believe we can add David’s girlfriend to our list of suspects,” she told Michael enigmatically.
“Meaning?”
She explained how both Macfly and Wilkinson had been executed using the exact same modus operandi, and how Katia was the one benefiting the most from Macfly’s death.
Michael listened carefully before finally agreeing with Sheila’s convincing arguments.
“I guess David should choose his girlfriends more carefully, or at least keep better tabs on them,” she added jokingly.
“What did you just say?” interjected Michael.
Sheila repeated herself, but Michael was no longer listening. He had grabbed his precious list from the table and was avidly reading it line by line.
After checking every single point on the list against his new theory he announced, “I believe I know who is behind the curtain. It explains everything, including Steve’s death and David’s attack.”