“Lopez? What the hell are you doing here?”
Lopez swallowed. “Following some leads.”
Powell holstered his weapon and moved across to her. Lopez realized that she’d never before noticed how powerfully built he was.
“What part of being off duty are you failing to understand?” Powell asked.
“If the case is closed, then what the hell are you doing here?”
Lopez saw the captain’s larynx rise and fall as he swallowed, and above his voice the sound of two turbofan jet engines whined as a jet taxied toward them.
“You did the right thing telling me about Tyrell and the senator, but now’s not the time to get all smart-ass. Are the FBI on their way?”
Lopez knew that it wouldn’t take Axel Cain long to find out from Larry Pitt where she was, and when he did he’d bring half of the Bureau’s manpower down here with him.
“Axel Cain’s leading a boarding team,” she lied. “Just waiting on the paperwork. He’s been in contact with you about this?”
Powell nodded slowly, still not looking at her. Alarm bells rang like claxons in Lopez’s head, and she edged slightly farther away from Powell. Powell turned, jabbing a leather-gloved finger at her.
“If you two are so sure that there’s something in all of this, then where’s Tyrell now?”
For a moment, Lopez thought that she’d gotten it all terribly wrong, and that Powell really was trying to get to the bottom of the case. She opened her mouth to speak, and then her heart stopped beating in her chest. Beneath the soft black leather of Powell’s glove, the cuffs of his shirt were thickly stained with blood.
Powell’s expression wavered with concern as he caught the direction of her gaze. Lopez jerked her pistol up to point at the captain, but Powell’s arm smashed her weapon aside. A chunky fist slammed into her stomach and she gagged and folded over the blow, the strength leaving her legs as Powell hurled her against the steel wall of a shipping container.
A crack reverberated through her head as it struck the hard metal, her vision blurring as Powell tore her pistol from her grip. She felt the barrel jammed against her face, saw Powell’s features loom before her as the sound of the approaching jet reached deafening proportions.
“Move!” Powell shouted.
Lopez was shoved toward the Gulfstream V550 that had parked within twenty meters of them.
“You’ll never get away with this shit,” Lopez shouted above the engine noise.
Powell didn’t respond as he manhandled her alongside the Gulfstream. As the engines wound down, she saw the fuselage entrance door open and a set of steps unfold with a mechanical buzz. As soon as it touched the tarmac Powell propelled her up the steps, the pistol still wedged against her head.
As she reached the doorway, a tall man blocked her way. A pair of clear, cold eyes locked onto hers, narrow irises floating in gray discs. They took in the pistol at her neck and Powell holding her before the man stepped back and out of the way.
“We’ve been compromised,” Powell snapped as he shoved Lopez into the aircraft. “Get the consignment off but leave the crate on.”
“That wasn’t part of the plan,” the man said, Lopez detecting a hint of a Chicago accent.
“The plan’s over!” Powell boomed, and shoved Lopez toward the man. “Empty the crate and get those remains out of here. When you’re done, put her inside the crate.”
Lopez was caught in the man’s iron grip as he looked at Powell.
“What are you going to do to her?”
Captain Powell looked down at Lopez. “You’re the last remaining link, Nicola. Once you’re out of the picture everything goes back to normal. I’ll make it quick, but I’m afraid you’re going out to sea.”
Lopez felt acid seething through her veins as an image of Lucas Tyrell lying dead in the apartment filled her mind.
“Just as gutless as I thought you were.”
Powell’s eyes flared and he struck out at her with the back of his hand.
Lopez flinched, but was surprised to see the hand of the man holding her flick out and block Powell’s blow easily. Even before she had registered what was happening, she felt herself being spun away as the man with the cold gray eyes rushed forward, gripping Powell’s gun hand in his own while driving the points of his fingers into Powell’s eyes. Powell growled and stumbled back, trying to swipe the hand away. In an instant, Lopez’s savior stomped on the inside of Powell’s left leg while twisting his gun arm up and away from his torso.
Powell’s gag became a brief scream as his shoulder dislocated, and Lopez heard a popping sound as the tendons snapped in his wrist, the pistol dropping onto the Gulfstream’s carpeted floor.
Lopez scrambled to her feet as the man grabbed the pistol and stood back from Powell’s crumpled form.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked.
“Ethan Warner,” the man replied, keeping the weapon trained on Powell. “You?”
“Nicola Lopez, MPD. What the hell’s going on?”
“You need to call Doug Jarvis at the DIA and tell him that—”
“I spoke to him an hour ago, he’s the one that got me into this,” Lopez said briskly. “You came here from Israel?”
“Direct,” Ethan confirmed. “Who’s this?” he asked, gesturing to Powell.
“Your worst nightmare,” Powell snarled, struggling to his feet. “You’ve no jurisdiction and have entered the country illegally. I’ll have the both of you in a cell within—”
Lopez stepped forward and swung a roundhouse punch that connected to Powell’s jaw with a crack that seemed to echo through the aircraft. Powell’s two-hundred-pound frame spun 180 degrees and plunged facefirst onto one of the couches.
Ethan Warner looked at her in surprise as he lowered the pistol.
“Bad day at the office?”
“You have no idea,” Lopez said bitterly, massaging her knuckles. “Now, I need you to tell me everything that’s happened in Israel.”
Your fiancée?”
Nicola Lopez seemed genuinely appalled at Ethan’s loss.
“No worse than you losing your partner,” Ethan replied. “At least my fiancée may still be alive. If I’d put everything together out there sooner, none of this would have happened.”
“Wasn’t your fault,” Aaron Luckov said from beside Safiya. “We all did what we could.”
Lopez shook her head, swiping a strand of black hair from her face.
“Wouldn’t have changed much anyway, not with this asshole protecting everything that MACE has been doing,” she said, pointing to where Powell now sat gagged and bound against the couch. “Those remains, they’re the ones that Patterson’s been after?”
Ethan glanced briefly at the crate lashed to the rear bulkhead.
“He’s been after the DNA in the bones, some crackpot campaign to bring angels back to life. He either has no idea or doesn’t want to entertain the fact that the remains aren’t of an angel, they’re of some kind of alien humanoid.”
Lopez stared at him blankly.
“Alien? You’re shitting me.”
“Afraid not,” Ethan said. “Look in the box if you don’t believe me.”
“Then what’s with all the experiments, the dead drug addicts over here?”
“This guy Patterson is the brains behind everything,” Ethan explained. “They wanted to conduct blood transfusions using the bone marrow of the supposed angels to genetically alter the human population, something to do with fulfilling a biblical covenant between man and God. Sheviz was taking it one step further and trying to impregnate women with Nephilim eggs created from embryonic stem cells extracted from the remains.”
Lopez winced.
“Gruesome. He get anywhere?”
“No,” Ethan said.
“You want Patterson,” Lopez guessed.
Ethan nodded once, and she shook her head.
“Powell’s a worthless piece of shit, but he’s right, you’re in the country illegally, and if the FB
I finds you, it’s game over. There’s enough evidence here to convict Patterson without you running around playing the Lone Ranger.”
“He’s not done yet,” Ethan insisted. “Whatever he’s planned, it’s likely to go down soon. He’ll know by now that MACE is dead in the water and that his precious DNA is beyond his grasp. Whatever he’s got left, he’ll know that he’s got to use it now before it’s too late.”
“The Bureau won’t let you out of this aircraft, let alone loose in the city.”
“Then you can help me get to him,” Ethan said.
“The hell d’you think I am, the mayor?”
Ethan looked at her strangely as a thought occurred to him.
“No, as it happens. And where’s your backup? Where’s the FBI?”
Lopez sighed.
“It’s a long story, but we’re both screwed. The FBI’s been trying to shut this investigation down since yesterday. Boarding this jet was illegal and is likely to cost me my badge.”
Ethan nodded.
“Then you’ve got no more to lose than me. We can be utterly worthless together.”
Lopez chuckled bitterly. “No use getting cute with me.”
Ethan leveled her with what he hoped was an honest look.
“If we’re going to lose what little we’ve got left, why not bring that sanctimonious bastard Patterson down with us and make it worthwhile?”
Lopez glanced at Powell lying nearby, and an image of Lucas Tyrell drifted in front of her mind’s eye.
“Come with me.”
The sudden screech of car tires and a blizzard of flashing lights reflected off the Gulftsream’s fuselage as the sound of a loudspeaker blasted Special Agent Axel Cain’s ears almost clean off.
“Police, nobody move!”
Cain sprinted from his vehicle and followed four heavily armed FBI agents as they plunged into the fuselage of the Gulfstream, weapons sweeping the interior and finding Powell.
Cain strode to Powell’s side, squatting down and tearing the gag from his face.
“About time,” Powell spat.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Cain asked, looking at the crate nearby, the bearded man, and the Palestinian woman standing near the cockpit of the jet with their hands in the air.
“Detective Lopez has gone off the range,” Powell said. “We need to arrest her and the man she’s with, some guy called Ethan Warner. He’s here illegally from Israel and could be a suspect in one of our investigations.”
“Where the hell are they?”
“They took off, not more than ten minutes ago,” Powell said. “Most likely they’ll head for the District, probably the New Covenant Church.”
Cain looked at the crate again. “What’s in that?”
“I’ve no idea,” Powell snapped. “Cut me loose.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said the bearded, barrel-chested man near the cockpit.
“Who the hell are you?” Cain muttered.
“My name’s Aaron Luckov, and there’s something on that crate you should see.”
Cain ignored him and reached for a Swiss army knife he carried. He was about to cut Powell’s bonds when one of the FBI agents called over.
“Sir, this guy’s right. I think you should see this right now.”
Cain got up, and the agent gestured to a piece of paper that had been hastily scribbled upon and tacked to the big crate.
Powell killed Tyrell. Treat the blood on his sleeves as evidence of homicide and use ballistics to match it to the crime scene in Anacostia. Doug Jarvis at the DIA will confirm the origin of the remains in the crate in the aircraft, as will the commander-in-chief of the Israeli Defense Force, General Benjamin Aydan. Hurry, there isn’t much time.
NL
Cain moved back to Powell and looked at the captain’s sleeves. The whites of his cuffs were speckled with dark bloodstains, and a thin rim of black spots lined the edges of the fabric. Cain slowly put his knife away before producing a set of steel handcuffs.
“What the hell are you doing?” Powell stammered.
Cain smiled coldly. “Hedging my bets.”
Cain cuffed Powell, and then looked at the FBI agents standing around him.
“Send everything we’ve got to the New Covenant Church in DC. I want Detective Nicola Lopez in custody within the hour, understood?”
NEW COVENANT CHURCH
WASHINGTON DC
The church glowed in the light from powerful lamps set into the lawns that cast their beams across the facade as Lopez drove Ethan into the parking lot.
“It’s huge,” Ethan said as they pulled up and Lopez killed the engine.
“Biggest in the District,” Lopez agreed, climbing out. “Patterson’s property portfolio is worth millions of dollars alone.”
Ethan fought down a surge of fury at the opulence of the church as he envisioned Joanna, a genuine messenger of truth, either dead or abducted and held beneath ground in a hot, dusty chamber in some obscure derelict building in Gaza City.
“Looks like there’s a few people inside,” he said.
“Which bothers me,” Lopez said. “Patterson was endorsing Senator Black’s presidential campaign. Thought he’d be at the rally by now.”
Ethan peered into the foyer and saw a pair of heavily built men in suits standing with their hands clasped before them, talking to another smaller man.
“That’s him,” Lopez said urgently, pointing at the small man, who turned and walked out of sight down a corridor away from the foyer.
“You ever heard of a church needing door security?” Ethan asked.
“No,” Lopez said. “Maybe we should find another way in. Patterson may know we’re coming.”
“They’ll have locked every other entrance if they’re expecting visitors,” Ethan said, the fury still coursing through his veins. “You look to see where Patterson’s gone. Leave the guards to me.”
Lopez threw Ethan a mock salute as she followed him.
Ethan made his way to the two huge glass double doors and eased his way inside. One of the two guards lumbered over to intercept him in the foyer.
“Have I come at a bad time?” Ethan muttered.
“The church is closed,” the guard said, reaching out and grabbing Ethan’s arm.
As the guard yanked him back toward the doors, Ethan turned and pushed him off balance before slamming the palm of his right hand under the guard’s jaw. The heavily built man staggered backward and crashed down across a table that snapped in half beneath his weight with a crackle of splintered wood.
Ethan turned as the second security guard rushed him and a meaty shoulder ploughed into his belly. Ethan felt himself hurled onto his back on the thick carpet, the security guard pinning him down before reaching out to grab his wrists. Ethan waited until the guard got hold of them and pushed them toward the ground, before he arched his back and butted his head forward. His skull impacted the guard’s nose, shattering the nasal bridge with a crunch. Ethan thumped his knee into the man’s groin, and the guard rolled off him with a strangled groan.
Ethan leaped to his feet to see the other guard draw a pistol and aim it at him.
“Stay where you are, hands on your head.”
Ethan obeyed as the guard edged closer, the gun never wavering from Ethan’s face.
“On your knees.”
“Go to hell.”
The second guard staggered to his feet before slamming a fist deep into Ethan’s flank. Ethan gasped as pain erupted across his side and he sank to his knees. The guard was about to speak when Lopez pushed through the glass doors with her pistol in one hand and her badge in the other.
“Metro PD, drop your weapon now!”
The guards turned in surprise and Ethan jerked upright and backward onto his feet, slamming into the man behind him. The guard staggered backward into the wall as Ethan turned and grabbed his pistol wrist before the guard could bring his weapon to bear. Ethan yanked the arm toward him, turning and throwing the man o
ver his shoulder before twisting his wrist away from the direction of the fall and stomping down on his armpit.
The tendons in the guard’s shoulder rippled as they parted under the sudden unbearable pressure, a gargled scream issuing from his mouth as the pistol was ripped from his grasp. Ethan lifted his boot and delivered a sharp blow to the guard’s temple, abruptly cutting the scream off.
Lopez looked at the remaining guard, who had turned to point his gun at Ethan.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said. “Drop it.”
The guard obeyed, and Ethan strode across to him and smashed the butt of his pistol across his temple, the man collapsing instantly onto his side.
Lopez picked up the guard’s pistol. “Didn’t fancy talking it over with them then.”
“Where’d Patterson go?” Ethan asked.
“Leave the guards to me,” Lopez echoed. “You think you’re Russell Crowe or something?”
“Patterson,” Ethan said sternly. Lopez watched him silently for a moment. “I’m not going to kill him,” Ethan promised.
“Sure,” Lopez murmured.
“Unless he tries to kill us.”
Lopez said nothing, leading him in the direction Patterson had vanished. Ethan followed her down a long corridor until they reached a large door at the end bearing Patterson’s name.
Lopez tried the door handle.
“Locked.”
Ethan stood back. This would be the moment to heroically kick the door down, but in truth doors couldn’t be opened easily in that way.
“If we use guns and he’s here, he’ll hear us,” Lopez said.
Ethan looked around and saw a seat with velvet cushions back down the corridor. He strolled across and picked the cushions up before returning to the door. Lopez understood immediately, aiming at the door as Ethan pressed the cushions against the lock. Lopez buried the muzzle of her pistol into the cushions and fired three times.
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