The Dragon Conspiracy

by Lisa Shearin

  Until last night, Ben Sadler had been blissfully ignorant that the three largest populations in New York weren’t humans, pigeons, and rats. Within a few hours of finding out that monsters were real, he’d been kidnapped by three of them.

  Last night was supposed to have been fun for him. Get dressed up, go to a museum gala, size up some diamonds for a client, have a few drinks, maybe meet a nice girl—a normal, human one, like a lawyer, stockbroker, actress, advertising exec—anything but three reanimated harpies.

  Why the hell couldn’t he have run away like every other human in the room with a lick of good sense?

  I hadn’t run, but crap like that was my job, as was protecting people like him who should’ve escaped outside, jumped in a cab with the cute lawyer he’d just met, hit the nearest bar, and tried to convince each other that their eyes and the lighting had been playing tricks on them, or the museum sure did pull out all the stops with the special effects. Then maybe end up back at her place—not unconscious in the back of a Suburban with a werewolf outside kicking a harpy’s ass who ten seconds before was trying to drag you out a back window she’d bashed in with one punch.

  Ben had wanted to hear for himself what Sebastian du Beckett knew about him. He’d insisted on going with us. We were armed, we had backup, and it still hadn’t been enough.

  I ran what had happened over and over in my head, searching for a missed opportunity, or an action I could have done better to change the outcome.

  Nada.

  I was still relatively new and untrained. I had an excuse, even if I didn’t want to take it.

  Ian and Alain Moreau were seasoned veterans of monster combat, and this morning, a man under their protection had been taken. Pissed didn’t even begin to describe what I’d seen burning in their eyes. They wanted a rematch, they were going to have one, and the outcome would be different.

  Ian’s desk was next to mine in the bull pen. He’d been on the phone since we’d gotten back. One of his calls sounded like he’d finally gotten in touch with his black market art guy.

  Moreau had gone to check on progress with Sebastian du Beckett’s remains in the lab, and then it was to the boss’s office to tell her about Ben and fill her in on our visit with Rake Danescu.

  “They will not hurt him.” Yasha put his big hand on my shoulder. It was warm and reassuring. “They need him.”

  The Russian was six five in his bare feet, and well over seven feet tall in his bare paw pads, but that didn’t keep him from moving like ninja.

  “Thank you, Yasha.”

  He was right. The thief or thieves wouldn’t hurt Ben as long as he was useful to them. Whatever the Dragon Eggs were capable of, they needed Ben to wake them up and put them to work. But it didn’t mean they’d say “please” while asking him to do whatever it was they needed him to do.

  That’s why they’re called bad guys, Mac. They’re not nice.

  With Ben’s left arm being broken, half of their job would be done for them. I’d had a broken arm before, and until it’d been set, I’d scream if the wind blew the wrong way. “Hurt like hell” didn’t even begin to describe how it’d felt when those broken bits of bone had shifted.

  Ben was new to his gift. What if he couldn’t do what the thieves wanted?

  Then they wouldn’t need him.

  Ian got off the phone and rolled his chair over to us.

  “So where do harpies roost?” I asked them. “Obviously they don’t have a problem with sunlight. Do they leave a trail a werewolf can follow? What do they eat? Are pigeon brains a delicacy? Maybe Midtown’s having a rash of mangled pigeon corpses with the heads bitten off—I don’t know. There’s got to be something we can do.”

  “We’ve put out an APB.”

  I damned near jumped out of my skin. Again.

  Alain Moreau. Right behind me. At least Yasha had the consideration to displace air when he moved.

  “Sir, don’t take this the wrong way,” I said, “but could you walk louder? At least when you’re coming up behind me?”

  My vampire manager almost smiled. “I will make every effort, Agent Fraser. The APB is for Monsieur Sadler, the harpies, and any trace of gorgon activity. Normally we would not want to frighten the city’s supernatural population unnecessarily, but Madame Sagadraco has just learned that the disturbance that was felt by the supernaturals in the museum when Monsieur Sadler made contact with the harpy and the Dragon Eggs was felt by every supernatural and magic sensitive on the island of Manhattan and two of the other boroughs.”

  Holy crap.

  Ian and Yasha’s stunned expressions told me they were thinking pretty much the same thing.

  “Madame agrees with Rake Danescu’s theory that the thief is on a schedule,” Moreau continued. “Whatever the Dragon Eggs are capable of doing, the best time to use them will be midnight tonight. That leaves us only twelve hours to find the diamonds and Monsieur Sandler.” He paused. “He will be unharmed until at least after midnight—and perhaps longer, depending on what use the thief has for the diamonds. A gem mage of his ability is rare, and the thief went to a great deal of trouble to abduct him.”

  “How far can harpies fly?” I asked him.

  One corner of his lips quirked in amusement. “And how am I supposed to know that, Agent Fraser?”

  “You’re . . . you know . . .”

  His pale blue eyes glittered. “Old?”

  “I wouldn’t have used that word. I was going to go with ‘experienced’.”

  “Of course,” he said smoothly. “I do not know what a comfortable flight distance for a harpy would be. But if I had to make a guess based on their performance in Monsieur du Beckett’s office, I would say that a harpy, even with an injured wing or laden with the weight of a human, could fly as far as she needed to go. I would guess their destination would be within the five boroughs, which leaves us with entirely too many possibilities. Madame Sagadraco is having Agent Hayashi and his team monitor both human and supernatural news sources for reports of any winged creatures. Perhaps one good thing that came from the harpies appearing before the human public is that the people of this city are now alert to the unusual.”

  “And who is searching?” I asked.

  “Every agent we can spare.”

  Ian leaned back in his chair. “Viktor Kain wouldn’t have brought the Dragon Eggs to Ms. Sagadraco’s doorstep unless he intended to not only use them against her, but against the city as well. He has to know how protective she is of this place. If he wanted to hurt her, hurt her city.”

  Moreau nodded. “She is aware of this. Until we know the threat, we do not know what precautions to take.”

  “If we knew what the diamonds could do,” I said, “and what the thief plans to do with them, we could at least narrow down possible hideouts, lair—”

  “Nests,” Moreau said. “Harpies have nests. But your other word choices would be the correct ones for their master. Harpies do not act of their own initiative. They are but tools for whoever is behind this.”

  Ian scowled. “For someone who threw a public tantrum, Viktor Kain must be a happy man right now. Still think his hands are clean?”

  Moreau gave a haughty sniff of derision. “They never have been. I do not think that has now changed. However, Madame believes that he is not directly responsible; indirect involvement is another thing altogether.”

  “Ms. Sagadraco said that Viktor Kain’s real motive for coming to New York wasn’t to sell those diamonds,” I said. “That he could have done that a lot easier from home. Does this mean that whatever Kain planned to do with the diamonds is what the thief will try to do, now that they have Ben? I don’t know how this kind of thing works. Can two gem mages do something completely different with the same set of stones? Or is it dependent on the stones what kind of magic is worked, and the mage is just the switch to get them started?”

  �
��The latter, Agent Fraser,” Moreau replied.

  “If Kain hasn’t left town yet, then whatever the thief plans to have Ben do with those diamonds must not be too bad.” I stopped. “Kain hasn’t left town, has he?”

  “No,” Moreau replied. “He hasn’t. He and his entourage are staying on the top two floors of the Mandarin Oriental. Kain himself is in the Presidential Suite.”

  “Central Park,” Ian noted. “High enough so he can survey Vivienne Sagadraco’s domain, and only a diamond’s throw from her penthouse—and Rake Danescu’s.”

  “Do we have anybody other than Ms. Sagadraco who could stand a chance of getting Kain to talk?” I asked.

  “No.” Moreau’s response was blunt and not what I wanted to hear, and from the tightness of his voice, it wasn’t the response he wanted to give. “If he came here with lethal intent, nothing will get it out of him, unless he’s certain that she or we won’t be able to stop him. Then he’d probably be only too happy to tell us everything.”

  “Whatever it is the Dragon Eggs can do, it must be something that Kain wanted done in or to New York,” I said. “Hopefully the thief isn’t planning the same thing, but I’m not gonna hold my breath. Kain’s pissed at the boss; that’s his motive. Revenge. What are the chances the thief wants the same thing? Or same thing but with a different motive?”

  “When you have lived for as long as Madame Sagadraco, you accumulate enemies along with those years. Powerful enemies. That is the first possibility Madame considered. She’s cross-referencing them with any known association with harpies.”

  I couldn’t imagine living so long as to have accumulated enough enemies to cross-reference. Made me glad I was human.

  As the head of an international crime cartel, Viktor Kain and his organization thrived on chaos and fear. Through SPI, Vivienne Sagadraco had given those in the supernatural world a place to turn to for help against supernatural criminals. It wasn’t like they could go to the human authorities. If humans ever got confirmation that supernaturals lived among them, there would be monster hunters and vigilantes everywhere. Supernaturals would either be constantly on the run, or decide to stand and fight. Many of the vampire covens and more than a few of the goblins and elves were fed up with hiding, and thought it was high time they made themselves known to humans, whom the vamps considered food, and the goblins and elves thought were beneath them.

  Vivienne Sagadraco didn’t think that way. Compared to her, humans had the life expectancy of fruit flies. That she didn’t think of earth as a giant petri dish said a lot about her, all of it good.

  “I know people in Russia,” Yasha said. “Well, people part of time, werewolves rest of time. One of them is a friend. Mercenary, but with honor. Will only work for those who also have honor.”

  “I take it this means he has not worked for Viktor Kain,” Moreau said.

  “No, he has not. He has worked for men who were destroyed by Kain.”

  “Sounds like a survivor,” Ian noted.

  Yasha gave us a sad smile. “Werewolves are good survivors. Men pay my friend for work, not to die. Russians are practical people.” He looked at Moreau. “When you learned that Viktor Kain would be coming here and bringing the Dragon Eggs with him, I called my friend in St. Petersburg for information. He calls friends he trusts—friends inside Kain’s organization. Not high in organization; he only accepts werewolves as outer circle guards.” Yasha grinned. “But we have big ears, very good for hearing. Some consider guards like furniture. They are there, but not there. Last year, Viktor Kain tries to buy red diamond from businessman in Berlin. Price is too low, businessman did not want to sell. Viktor makes another offer. Not much higher than first. Man still refuses. Kain orders man’s family taken. Ransom is red diamond plus ten million dollars for refusing to sell when first asked. Businessman is to deliver it himself. He brings diamond and money, and Kain has the man’s family shot through their heads one by one. Then after this poor man sees his wife and children murdered, Viktor Kain burns him to a crisp. When he locates the owner of the black diamond and makes offer, owner takes first offer made.” Yasha paused, and I could hear the clock ticking on the wall. “Word gets around.”

  “So it would seem,” Moreau said quietly.

  “Sir, would be a great favor to entire world if Viktor Kain could be . . . what is fitting word . . . exterminated.”

  “That is the perfect word, Agent Kazakov. Attempts have been made and those attempts have failed. There are many beings who agree with you, myself and Madame included, and those efforts will not cease until there is success.”

  “So within a month of getting his hands on all seven diamonds,” Ian said, “the first thing he does is bring them here, in Ms. Sagadraco’s territory, for show-and-tell and sets loose a rumor about an inter-dimensional auction to sell the lot.”

  “It seems odd to say it,” I began, “but those harpies busting out those museum windows and taking those diamonds with them is sounding more and more like a good thing. I mean, what are the odds that someone worse than Viktor Kain is in town?”

  As soon as I said it, I realized I really should’ve kept my mouth shut.

  12

  “KENJI, we need you to check the database—”

  “For gorgons,” the elf finished for him. “Just sent the report to your phones.”

  We looked down. Sure enough.

  The elf knew it was us without even looking away from his screen. His fingers never slowed from flying across the keyboard. Kenji Hayashi was a wizard with anything computerized or electronic, but that was it. To the best of my knowledge, he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head—some of SPI’s employees actually did.

  “Gorgons,” he continued. “Gaze turns you to stone, poisonous touch, snake hair. Though that last one’s not politically correct nowadays.”

  “And physiologically incorrect,” Ian said.

  “That, too. Though that’s too bad, because the snakes were the coolest feature.”

  “Not sure the guy upstairs would agree,” I told him.

  That made Kenji’s fingers stop clicking keys. “God?”

  “Sebastian du Beckett. On a slab up in the lab.”

  He winced. “Oh, right. The dragon lady herself asked for the report, and wanted it quick.”

  “How did you know it was us?” I asked. “You don’t have any of those little rearview mirrors on your monitor.”

  Kenji spun his chair to face us, smiling, quite obviously pleased with himself. “I have something infinitely more effective. I got tired of having The Shining twins over there sneaking up on me.”

  Agents Calri and Gormi Dorgan looked up from their desks and grinned evilly. Oh jeez. Dwarves and elves had never gotten along. It was a cruel twist of fate—or boneheaded mistake of HSR (Human and Supernatural Resources)—that put twin dwarves directly across the aisle and just out of an elf’s peripheral vision. The twins kind of reminded me of Shrek’s pint-sized, ugly cousins after a weekend bender. Most agents didn’t bother to use any spells to hide what they were while they were in the office. Calri and Gormi, in particular, had always enjoyed strolling up beside people and then just standing there, staring at them. It didn’t matter what species you were; glancing up to find a pair of identical and identically dressed twins staring at you was creepy as hell. We all have Stephen King to thank for that.

  That being said, they were the best at what they did. The Dorgan family—in their human disguises—were involved in just about every city excavation project, going back to when the first sewer and subway lines were carved out under Manhattan. The twins knew the eight hundred miles of subway tracks and the thousands of miles of sewer tunnels running under the city like the backs of their hands. More than a few of the supernatural baddies SPI ended up going after took to the darkness under the city in an attempt to elude capture. The twin Dorgan agents were our bloodhounds, bloodhounds that had a te
ndency to become annoying when they were bored. And when dwarves were bored, any elf in their immediate vicinity was going to get a double dose of obnoxious.

  I had news for the boys; they were messing with the wrong elf.

  “I wrote a little program,” Kenji was saying, “installed some sensors under the floor tiles, and rigged a few of the security cameras to scroll across the bottom of my monitor the name of anyone who comes inside my perimeter.”

  “Perimeter?” Ian asked. “That sounds paranoid.”

  Kenji raised a finger in dispute. “Sounds smart. Keeps Agents Fun ’n’ Games over there from shaving five years off my life twice a day. I’m running out of years, and I’ve long been out of patience.” He shot the twins a dirty look. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll put collars on the little bastards and install one of those invisible fences—right after I tweak the system to quadruple the voltage.”

  I opened the e-mail on my phone. “So we’ve got a list of gorgons in the tristate area? That was fast.”

  “It’s a short list. Though it only covers the registered or suspected gorgons.”

  “Registered?”

  “Any supernatural that is on a list of those considered dangerous to humans are requested to register with us,” Ian said.

  “It’s not a requirement?”

  “It’s a strongly worded request. We can’t make them.”

  “But if they don’t,” Kenji added, “and we find out about them, they get a star by their name, and it’s not for good behavior.”

  “Meaning they can find themselves at the top of a suspect list when a violent crime is committed by one of their species,” Ian said.

  I opened the e-mail and keyed in my password to unencrypt the file with the list.

  Three names and brief bios.

  That was all.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said it was a short list,” I told Kenji.

  “Like I said, those are the registered and suspected gorgons. One registered and two suspected.”

  “If they’re not planning to go on a crime spree, why not just register? Yeah, it’s an invasion of privacy, but—”