Daniel crossed the room in broad strides, for him at least, and snatched the precious papers out of the man’s hands. He leafed through the folder to check; one never knew how sneaky the Feds could be under their rather blatant displays of authority. This Wer might be the alpha in his pack, but WerRats looked to no one but themselves for help or rules, or anything.
The assumed fed smiled sheepishly and, at Stefan’s invite, entered Daniel’s office.
He noted the magnificent pieces of glass that covered the surfaces of Daniel’s office. Not all Wers had such symbols of rank within their own arcane hierarchy, but for the WerRat, glass was gold. He paused to admire the display of glass fountain pens standing neatly in their back-lit case of deep, dark mahogany. A collection such as this might have once represented the WerRat equivalent of a crown, but in truth, eBay was the source of more of the collection than royal birth. There were a few gifts from hero-worshipping underlings, but only a few.
The assumed Fed, having paid appropriate homage to the collection, abruptly turned to face the most powerful man in the law firm: Daniel, the man who controlled the check book. “I apologize, Mr. Rathbone,” his eyes flickered to Stefan, “I meant no dishonor. But your kind are rare and I have to know the depth of your abilities.”
The flickering glance told Daniel the true source of the apology. A warm flush of annoyance rose.
“Dishonor?” he said, and locked his glare on the man. “How can you dishonor something you do not know well enough to honor?”
The probable Fed seemed taken aback. Daniel gave him no quarter. “Do you know that in Africa, my kind are heroes for our work sniffing out landmines? We have saved thousands of children, farmers, and others who would otherwise have been killed or maimed. We do this as part of the covenant made with the gods thousands of years ago, to contribute to the survival of humans. Something other Wer forget.”
“Your work in the minefields of the world is indeed heroic. You among all the Wer have honored our purpose and our past well.” The presumed Fed placed a clenched fist against his heart and nodded his head, a gesture of respect and conciliation. “Which is why I have come today.” He held out a hand. “My name is Joe Bradbury, and the city needs your help.”
He reached under his suit jacket and pulled out an oblong box. “A token of respect and an acknowledgement that we need your service.” He lifted the top off of the box and held it toward Daniel.
Daniel didn’t need to look at the empty spot in his prized collection of pens to identify the slim blue glass object in the box. It was the one pen he did not have. It had been one of the pens used to sign the ill-fated agreement that led to the League of Nations. He could smell the horrifying memories of war that had driven the world to see the need for peace.
“I do not need to be bribed to assist the FBI,” he said as he reached out and took the pen.
He set the small box on the desk and held the pen up to the light, then lifted the glass cover on the case and slipped the pen into the vacant slot, relishing the moment of satisfaction that warmed his chest as he closed the case. The pen gleamed in the light.
“What exactly do you need? Does your errand have something to do with the odd smells in the street I sensed this morning?” He pushed down the sudden eagerness to serve, to please, that pushed at his gut. He wanted to be involved, to be on the inside of a true Wer job.
“Possibly,” Joe said cautiously. “We know that an anti-Wer terrorist group has put together a powerful bomb. Evidence tells us that Portland is the target.”
Daniel wrinkled his nose. The odd scent forced itself to the forefront of his mind. “Portland is big.”
The confirmed Fed looked at Stefan and then to Daniel. “The WerCourt Headquarters is in Old Town.”
Stefan blanched, turning his already pale skin to a bleached leather sheet. “The Shanghai tunnels converge under the WerCourt. The network is extensive, running from the harbor up into the West Hills. A bomb there would collapse the foundations of every building for blocks.”
“And we have a time,” the Fed said. “Whatever it is, it happens at noon today.”
Daniel checked his calendar. Noon today, October 18. He couldn’t think of any historical event to commemorate today. Except...
“Who would know that eighty-five thousand years ago today a super volcano in Indonesia blew enough particulate matter into the atmosphere to cause a ten year winter? Who would know, besides the Wer, that this event triggered the beginning of the Wer?”
Now it was his concern.
“Our history has been passed down among my people, word for word, since the beginning. In each village, the strongest and best hunter was given the ability to shift into the shape of the apex predator of the region, to hunt for his people so that humanity might survive the endless winter, but only on the three nights of the full moon can we shift so that the prey might recover from the chase and survive too,” Stefan chanted.
“How do you know the exact day?” Joe asked. “It’s not like documentation exists. It is our legend and our religion to be sure. But I’ve never heard a specific date mentioned.”
“My people remember and commemorate the day each year with rituals and fasting,” Daniel said solemnly. “The calendar changes, the ways of keeping time change, but we know the importance of remembering. Our terrorist also knows the significance of today. His…no, her target is important to the Wer.”
“Her?” Joe asked. “You’ve already seen her?”
“I smelled her as I came into the building this morning.”
“Not my building,” Stefan gasped. “I have things to do, papers and computer records that must be secured.” He fled the office. In seconds, Daniel heard the antique elevator engage.
“What do you need?” Joe asked, leaning forward with his hands flat on Daniel’s desk.
“Someone to disable the bomb, once I find it. I know nothing of these things.”
“Done.”
Daniel heaved himself upward from his chair, discarded his jacket in an untidy heap, and placed three glass pebbles in his pants pocket. His left hand caressed them, sliding fingertips over their smooth surface, tumbling them together.
His mind began sliding sideways.
He dropped the pebbles and freed his hand. Outside. He must be less exposed before he dropped into a hunting trance.
“Will they attack the WerCourt?” Daniel asked.
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t need you,” Joe snarled. His wolf was very close to the surface and the full moon was still twelve days away.
Daniel tumbled the glass pebbles in his pocket again for reassurance. Three. Still three of them. None had gone missing.
Joe calmed himself. “The WerCourt Headquarters is the only thing that makes sense.”
“Send your bomb squad to follow me.”
“Rathbone,” Joe said.
Daniel stopped at the exit from his office.
“I’ve lost two teams already on this. One came back dazed and disoriented. They breathed a hallucinogenic gas engineered specifically for Wer. The other team is missing entirely.”
Daniel nodded. “I know how to do this.” He slipped off his shoes, then, with a tug, his socks. His toes curled against the cool, hardwood flooring. He felt as if his whole body breathed for the first time in hours.
“Call me when you know something. Anything.”
Daniel was already scuttling for the elevator. He wanted desperately to drop to all fours and shift. But the moon was wrong. The process would take too long—even though he was a born Wer, a true Wer, and could shift anytime. Unlike the bitten, dependent upon the moon for assistance, he had alternatives.
Instead of departing the elevator at the ground floor lobby, he punched the button for B2 and slid a key card into an innocuous slot. The doors closed. The car did not stop at B2, but continued downward.
When the doors opened, the immediate scent of damp, earthy air filled the elevator. He could hear pumps working in the background. Only
ten feet of cement and rebar separated him from the water table. Blocks away, the river lapped at the sea wall.
His nose crinkled in distaste. A WerWolf had been here recently. He sniffed again. A female. The skateboarder.
Was she part of the ant-Wer clan?
No time to ponder the implications. For the first time in his life, he regretted the absence of a cell phone, not that it would be much use in the subterranean maze. The elevator emergency phone normally connected directly to building maintenance, but he tapped in the override code and dialed the Fed’s number. He didn’t need to look at the card. He remembered.
Daniel spat his terse warnings into the phone even as he shed his clothing. He cast a brief glance to where he knew the camera focused on him, wondering for a moment if there were any information to be gleaned from the potential records. Joe would know and deal with it.
He dropped to the ground, leaving the phone dangling and the line still open.
His bones ground into new conformations. Slowly; too slowly this far away from the full moon. His ears extended. His body hair became a smooth black pelt. Whiskers sprang free as if spring loaded beneath his skin and eager to twitch as they filled his brain with new sensations.
In one leap he cleared the safe confines of the elevator and landed in the crude tunnel that led north, toward Old Town. The bomb smell sharpened. And something else he didn’t remember from his first encounter with it on the street: glass. The bomb contained glass. Lethal shrapnel. A weapon against any who tried to disarm it and failed.
He loped less than a block in the lightless tunnel. His nose twitched in offense with every step across broken ground. Something new tugged at his nose and whiskers. Gas. The Fed had said his people had been attacked by a hallucinogenic gas. A lesser nose would not detect this pocket of altered air. He took to the walls, clinging to tiny ledges and pipes that ran along the curve of the ceiling. The air was lighter and cleaner here.
But...
Wriggling his nose once more, he realized that the something under the chemical smells was natural gas. It had probably been leaking from the pipes under the street, or from one of the old buildings, for a long time.
A very long time.
Gas at these levels, plus even a tiny flame, meant a huge boom rushing through the tunnels, undermining many, many buildings. How many would collapse? He calculated the force of the blast. The bomb could be tiny and still deadly.
He hurried his pace.
A branch westward to his left he ignored. At the next juncture he knew the straightforward tunnel looped around and headed back south within a few meters. In the darkness, the unwary would not notice the curving path.
He veered sharply right. The smell of the river slammed into him, blinding his nose to all else.
He paused and took the time to sort through the myriad watery scents. Plain water, algae, fish, garbage, drugs. That was the river. Crumbling mortar, baked clay in the bricks, minerals from the earth, and…and that ever-present natural gas. He’d passed beyond the concentration of the hallucinogens.
His whiskers picked up the brick arches supporting the tunnel roof. His paws felt the smooth rectangles separated by crumbling mortar.
Dim, dangling lightbulbs showed him how the space opened into a “courtyard” with several choices of direction. This section was part of the public tour. He had to pause and remember the scent he followed. He sorted through a century and a half of the odors of fear and despair when these tunnels were used by sea captains and pimps to restrain the latest crop of desperate humanity they sought to enslave aboard ships bound for the Orient or brothels throughout the world. Many captives had died here. Their ghosts lingered, distorting everything.
And the pervasive scent of the river added chill to the awfulness.
He forgot to use his nose.
His instincts told him to turn around and run back to safety, but his folk had overcome their fears to sniff out landmines for humans to disable. He had to overcome his own sense of impending doom. If that bomb went off, nowhere in downtown Portland was safe. Thousands of innocents depended upon him to find that bomb so the Feds could disarm it. If they had time. His gut felt the tug of the sun’s gravity. Noon approached.
Something unnatural with an underlying petroleum base crept through his fearful shivers. He forced his senses awake again and clamped down on his instinct to run.
He caught the after-scent of many humans and their liquor from the antique saloon with access to the tunnels. Not that way. The bitch would not want to take a chance on being seen.
Angle left, north by northwest, toward the west hills. But not that far. Just away from the river and the docks.
He crept along, hugging the left hand curve where wall met ceiling. His whiskers twitched and his nose cringed. Not far now.
If he’d still been in human form he’d have broken out in a sweat.
Two more steps. He’d passed the source.
He dropped to the floor and backed up. A slight angle to the right and one step forward. He lifted his snout and his whiskers bristled. It was here.
An inch forward, then another one. He let his snout circle. Tight at first, then wider. There!
The bitch had removed a brick and stuffed the explosive into its place. The brick was…was…there on the floor, three paces to the right.
Daniel allowed himself a hysterical chuckle. If he’d traveled the floor, he’d have stumbled over it and discounted it as insignificant, along with all the other debris.
Back to work. He lifted his snout and sniffed for a trace of the bomb squad. Nothing. He was the only creature down here. The Fed was late.
And Daniel was out of time.
He needed his hands to remove the bomb from its niche and to disable it.
He willed a surge of adrenaline to begin shifting.
Three long minutes later, chilled air brushed against naked skin. He lost the tactile sensors in his whiskers.
But his nose remained offended.
His eyesight, always weak, had trouble picking out details from the dusty low-watt bulbs yards behind him. Tentatively, he reached out and touched the plastic-wrapped brick of explosives. Four wires dangled from the end, tucked tight against the adjoining bricks.
Gently, he traced the wires down. One was a bit pale. Yellow he guessed. The others would be red, blue, and green, each with a different purpose. He didn’t know which did what. The few crime dramas he’d watched indicated that if he pulled the wrong one, he’d get automatic detonation.
A red LED light flashed on from another brick-sized device on the floor. Sixty, fifty-nine...
“Oh crap!”
He didn’t know if he had disturbed the mechanism by tracing the wires, or if the bitch had found a safe haven and triggered it.
Either way he was out of time.
Thirty-two, thirty-one...
What should he do?
Before panic set in, he scrabbled the brick from its resting place, yanking all four of the wires loose at the same time.
“I am a hero rat, worthy of my people,” he proclaimed loudly.
As the echoes faded, he folded himself around the brick and dropped to the floor. Less than one heartbeat later a sharp burn pierced his chest and darkness folded around and through him.
Complete darkness. His awareness faded with the muffled sound of a small explosion.
* * *
“Daniel?”
A muffled whisper penetrated the blackness.
“Daniel?”
The voice sounded a little louder and more precise, but so distant. And there was something between him and the sound.
He wriggled his nose and caught a whiff of blessed oxygen. More than a whiff. Someone pressed a plastic mask over his nose and mouth.
“It’s me. Joe.”
That explained a lot.
Then memory and pain slammed into him, took over his mind and emotions. There was nothing but the pain, centered in his chest.
Pain and glas
s. The bomb had contained glass beads as a form of shrapnel and seven of them had lodged in his chest. How fitting that he’d absorbed some precious glass in his final act.
“You need to change, Daniel. I brought your epi-pen to help.”
Daniel cracked open an eye; the other seemed swollen shut.
Change! That’s what he needed. The discomfort of shifting, then shifting back was nothing compared to the overwhelming pain. And there was a numbness around his nose.
“I brought help,” Joe said.
Three bulky shadows paced behind him, between them and the light at the “courtyard.” They each carried a powerful flashlight. Since Joe was a Wolf, he’d bring WerWolves. Their constant pacing, bulky bodies, and slightly hunched posture told him what they were, even without smelling them. Their distressed jeans and plaid flannel shirts over dingy T shirts identified them even more. “No bomb squad?”
“They fell to the hallucinogen. It was dissipating, but not fast enough. I watched them either drop or wander off, so we held our breath as long as we could and made it past the pocket. Now, I’ve put all the scattered body parts I could find close by. As you change, they should reattach in their proper places.” He shone his flashlight on a small pile of gory bits, including a severed arm. “Make sure you remember to hold your left arm in place for a couple minutes, even after you change.”
Daniel forced himself to nod acceptance, rather than slink back into gibbering horror or blind oblivion.
“You did good, Daniel. Here’s the epi-pen. The adrenaline rush will help you change. But you have to will it to happen.”
Even through his damaged nose, Daniel smelled something. Something wrong.
“Gas,” he croaked.
Joe looked away from him, working his own nose. “Crap. The perp didn’t need much in the way of explosives. The gas would have ignited and burned the entire tunnel system. Good thing for you it was such a small bomb. A bigger one and we wouldn’t be able to save you. But we’ll have to hurry and get you out of here. Marcus, find a cell signal and get some help down here. And shut off the gas mains!” Then he removed the mask from Daniel’s face.
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