The Nephilim

by Greg Curtis

  His old home and his people had been attacked. People he knew were dead or in the hospital. And everyone else was in danger of being exposed to the world as freaks. The annoying girl Katarinka had been kidnapped by Benedict and he knew it was his job to get her back. It had to be because no one else could do it. And strangely he felt responsible for the kid. As if she was something to him other than just a nuisance.

  Everyone he knew and cared about was in danger too. If he didn’t stop Armando he and all the rest of the nephilim would be exposed and he had no idea what would happen after that. And all his close friends were nephilim.

  His nice, comfortable world had suddenly become a very worrying place. And Garrick knew that it wasn't just his world that was falling apart. It wasn’t just the nephilim and the Choir who were worried. It seemed that the entire country was nervous.

  The attack on the academy was also all over the news. How could it not be? Another attack on a school by someone with automatic weapons. But this time it was no student that had gone postal. It was an outside force. The media were saying it was an attack by terrorists. And everyone was afraid of terrorists. Terrorists attacking schools in America? That was just a thousand times worse. And now people were talking about having armed guards at the gates of schools across the country.

  The news was also carrying stories about Benedict around the clock. About his operation being rapidly torn apart in the previous forty eight hours. Fifty something people had been caught and were facing charges. Forty operations had been wound up. Millions of dollars in equipment had been seized. And all of it was being directly linked to the ageing thief. But he was still somewhere in the wind, Katarinka with him, and in the morning Garrick knew he'd have to start the hunt all over again.

  No one had yet connected the attack on the school with Benedict – not in the press anyway – but they knew that a girl had been kidnapped and her name and description was being broadcast everywhere. They even had a photo. The attack was being labelled as a terrorist act, the kidnap simply a new variation on the theme.

  But what the news said didn't matter. The agencies only told the media what they wanted them to report. And by now every agency knew that Katarinka was connected to Benedict. That was going to be a problem. But for the moment the only thing that mattered was that with Katarinka's photo out there, plastered on every television in the state, it would limit Benedict's ability to move her about. So he had gone to ground somewhere as he planned his next move. And while he was pinned down, that gave Garrick the time he needed to hunt him down. He needed that time.

  When he heard the men outside the door though, Garrick knew that the next stage in his hunt had begun and he grinned. It was a little sooner than he'd expected.

  Garrick had been learning Benedict's scent. He knew how he worked, how he thought. Which way he'd jump. And he'd quickly guessed that Benedict would send someone after him. It had only been a matter of time, and not a long one. Benedict would recognise him as a threat. With his intel, however he got it, he would soon realise that it was Garrick hunting him down. And he would know that the longer Garrick was hunting him the greater the chance that he would be caught. Benedict wanted him dead quickly. Painfully if possible but quickly above all. Before Garrick caught him.

  Benedict might pretend to be white collar, but Garrick now knew he was no such thing. He was a monster. He was utterly ruthless and completely without conscience. His nature was to win by whatever means necessary. And he would act precipitously if it would serve his purposes. He would enjoy it too. While he liked subtlety and cleverness – and above all proving himself smarter than his opponents – he also liked direct action and to use overwhelming force when the occasion warranted it. Garrick's imminent death by overwhelming force would suit him perfectly.

  It was because of that that Garrick had had Maricia check in to another room in the motel under another name. It was why he'd used his own name at the check in. And it was why he was currently trying to sleep in the bathtub. It wasn't comfortable, especially with his damaged leg, but with the door open it gave him a good view of the main room and it even offered a little protection should any bullets come his way. He'd expected the attack and prepared for it.

  Garrick raised his weapon and waited for the front door to swing open. He had to wait a surprisingly long time. The men might be good with their weapons, but apparently they weren't so good at picking locks. Meanwhile he was annoyed that he didn't have his normal piece. That gun had been taken off him after the shoot out with Newman which had gone so horribly wrong. The bureau had replaced it, and with another Sig 226 as well which was good. But it wasn't the same. He'd had his old gun modified slightly to suit his grip. This new one wasn't as comfortable.

  Eventually the men succeeded and the door swung inwards, and two men crept in to the darkened room heading straight for the bed. When they reached it they raised their weapons and took aim at the mass underneath the covers. It was only cushions that he'd specifically arranged to vaguely look like a body, but in the darkness it was convincing enough.

  Then they started shooting, pumping slug after slug into the bed from their silenced weapons, and probably thinking they'd caught him completely by surprise. Obviously they weren't the cream of assassins. They were probably all Benedict could find at short notice. Meanwhile Garrick lay there, waiting for them to finish. The more shots they fired he figured, the less they would have left in their clips when the real fight began. But he knew it was time to act when they stopped firing and one of them reached out with a hand to check if he was dead.

  Feeling strangely calm Garrick squeezed the trigger of his own weapon, and sent the first bullets directly into the legs of the two men. He was aiming low intentionally, because he wanted them alive. But he also wanted them down fast, and he knew that when their legs went out from under them they would collapse backwards and from that position it would be hard to mount a defence. It was hard to take aim while lying on your back. He remembered the feeling of helplessness it had left him with distinctly.

  His plan worked perfectly and the two men collapsed by the bed almost immediately, yelling in pain as he fired more bullets into their legs. Garrick didn't stop until his first clip was empty. By then each man had at least four bullets in him, and while both were still alive, neither was able to put up much of a defence. One was shooting blindly at the walls and ceiling; the other had dropped his gun completely and was hugging his injured legs and begging for him to stop shooting. Garrick's plan had worked almost perfectly. But then he felt the unexpected sting as a ricochet cut into his left hand and he knew he'd been shot again. A minor injury but still a reminder that people with guns were dangerous even when they were down.

  Meanwhile outside people were waking up, lights were turning on, and soon he knew, the police would be on the scene. The two hit men's guns might be silenced but his wasn't.

  Moments later Garrick had slotted the next clip home in his gun and he knew it was time to end the fight. Before the two men fainted from blood loss.

  “FBI! Drop the weapons!” He used his loudest, most commanding voice as he'd been trained to, and it seemed to work. He watched one man toss his weapon away. The other had already dropped his as he concentrated on his injuries. That was enough to give Garrick the chance he needed to lever his way out of the bath tub and on to his feet. After that it was just a short hobble over to them, and a quick, awkward kick to knock the guns out of their reach.

  The battle was over. It had ended almost before it had begun.

  “Well you two must be feeling really pleased with yourselves,” Garrick told them cheerfully, as he took a seat on the edge of the bed looking down over them both, and then pulled out his ID, ready for the police when they arrived. That wouldn't be long he guessed. At this time of night, with traffic almost non-existent, it would be a matter of only a few minutes. But that would hopefully be long enough.

  “You know Benedict's going to be pissed. And he has a very bad temper.”


  Garrick wasn't telling them that to get them to admit anything. Nor to frighten them. Not even as casual conversation. In fact it wasn't for any reason they would understand. It was simply because by mentioning the thief's name he'd got them thinking about him – and more importantly about their last meeting with him. That was the scent he needed. These two had been the ones who had most recently had contact with Benedict, when he had sent them after him. The scent was fresh.

  “So who wants to be the one to tell me where he is?”

  Neither of them did of course and they both protested. But he didn't need them to tell him. He only needed them to concentrate on Benedict. On their memories of him. Of the meeting they'd had with him. He needed to get the freshest scent of his prey from them. And it was getting stronger all the time.

  “Really. Caught red handed trying to murder a federal agent and with no hope of beating the wrap? And neither of you wants to try and get a few years knocked off your sentences? I mean the one that does talk might get to walk the city streets before he retires. The other one clearly won't. He'll die in jail. Probably with Armando Benedict in the cell next to his. So where is he?”

  “No way.”

  One of the men refused him again. The other one sort of waved him away half-heartedly. Blood loss was getting to him Garrick guessed, and he didn't really know what he was doing. But that didn't matter when he had a direction and an image of an abandoned garment factory already. The longer the two of them kept thinking of his quarry the more he would get from them.

  “You know he was never going to pay you, don't you? Benedict never pays anyone. He betrays instead. He sent you here to get caught.”

  The last wasn't true. Benedict really had wanted them to kill him. He wouldn't have minded if they got caught, but not until after they'd murdered him. But sooner or later it would have been true. Once the thief no longer had any use for them. After all, he had no plans for splitting any of his gold with them. Or with anyone else.

  “He wouldn't.”

  But the man who said it was half out of it as he denied him. His mind was working almost on automatic. The other man was already unconscious. That didn't matter though. What mattered was that Garrick had Benedict's scent clean and sharp. And he knew it was fresh. He could almost see the factory in his thoughts, and he knew where it was. That was all he wanted.

  After that he let the silence take hold as he waited for the police and planned his story for them. Something about staying in a cheap motel to avoid the press who were still camped outside his home. About having rushed to the bathroom the moment he'd heard the men at the lock, and then having to open fire as they realised he wasn't in the bed. That he had put the cushions in the bed because he had to sleep with his leg elevated. That he had not called the police immediately he'd heard them at the door because he'd left his phone on the other side of the room. And that one of the two would be assassins had told him that Benedict had paid them to kill him. That it was him who had tried and failed to kill him before. And where to find Benedict. It should work. After all both men were unconscious. Neither would be able to say the other hadn't said anything. And if he knew criminals and the complete lack of honour they had, each would shortly be trying to claim it was him that had volunteered the information. Whatever they needed to do to earn a shorter sentence.

  Then it would be up to Garrick to send the police on their way to the factory. He doubted they would catch the thief. Benedict would have a back door already prepared. But the chances of him being able to escape with Katarinka in tow were small. Especially when he'd panicked and rushed to have him killed and would surely be even now sitting in his factory waiting for a phone call giving him the good news. He simply hadn't had the time to prepare as well as he normally did.

  To add to his woes, in fleeing Benedict would leave behind more clues as to his plans. He would end up running through more of his associates, using up more money and resources, and no doubt a few more of his aliases would have been expended.

  But perhaps more importantly, he would be losing credibility. That would hurt him badly. Benedict could always draw top shelf associates because he had an established reputation as a successful bank robber. Even if too often his associates ended up in the slammer because of him. Most would assume that was just the hazard of the job. And Benedict was a successful thief and criminals valued that. They would willingly work with someone who had got away with his crimes. And most didn't know that so many of his confederates ended up in jail – let alone that it was because of him. But now he was being hunted. His operations were falling apart one by one. And he was being slowly turned from a successful thief into a fugitive living on borrowed time. No one would want to be near him. They wouldn't help him. They wouldn't deal with him. They would abandon him.

  This, Garrick decided, had been a bad night for the thief. But as his hand dripped blood on to the carpet he wondered if it had really been such a good day for him? He also worried that it would turn out to be a very bad day for the kid.

  He knew she would still be alive for the moment. Benedict hadn't gone to all that trouble to kidnap her simply to kill her. Her gift was valuable to him and he had plans for her. Or he had had plans until everything had fallen apart. Still even now he would be planning another burglary in which he would use her. That was his way. He always had back up plans and she made difficult robberies that much easier. Alternatively he could be planning on selling her. The girl was a key and she had value in certain circles. A lot of value. Killing her for the moment would be a mistake.

  But when the police turned up in force? When Benedict realised he was going to lose her? Then her value to him became nothing. Worse, she was a witness against him. Garrick hated the thought of what Benedict might then do. But he knew it was a possibility that the kid wouldn't make it out alive. Unfortunately it was a certainty that she would be killed if he didn't try and rescue her. Benedict would kill her when he was done with her. And if she was sold to a syndicate they would do the same. Criminals were not good people. So he had to rescue her and hope she survived.

  But the most terrible thing of all was that Garrick knew he had to make sure the thief escaped. He hated the idea. It ran against everything he believed in. Everything he lived for. But in the end the thief still had information. He had a sword dangling over the heads of the nephilim and Diogenes. And if he was caught he would use it. The only way they were safe from it was if he was in the wind but not clear. Then he would hold it back because it was a deterrent. Until he was free and clear and filthy rich it was Benedict's best weapon against the nephilim and he knew they were a danger to him. But it was also a weapon he couldn't use, because the instant he did, he no longer had any way of holding them back and he knew they would come for him. He certainly knew Garrick would come for him.

  The situation reminded him of the cold war when America and Russia had played a game of détente with their nuclear weapons. Mutually assured destruction. While they each held weapons against the other's head they were, ironically enough, completely safe. No one could pull the trigger. But the instant one side no longer had reason to fear the other, everything fell to pieces. And in Benedict's case that could happen for one of two reasons. The first was if he got away. Found himself an island paradise beyond the reach of the law. Then he had nothing to fear from them and he would undoubtedly release whatever he had simply out of a sense of revenge. The second of course was if he was caught. Then again he would have nothing more to fear from them because he was already screwed.

  The entire mess had become a giant twisted game of Russian Roulette. Or maybe a Mexican stand off. Both of them were holding weapons at each other's heads, and neither of them was able to pull the trigger. If Benedict was caught, the nephilim were exposed. So they couldn't let him be caught. But they couldn't let him go completely free either. Because then Benedict would pull the trigger. Meanwhile Garrick had to use all his skill to keep the ageing thief from either being caught or getting away. He needed
him on the run and desperate – for as long as possible.

  But it couldn't be forever. He knew that. This was a game that ultimately had to end. And when it did it would end badly. All Garrick could do was play for time and hope that some form of miracle happened.

  The whole thing made Garrick sick. But more than that, it frightened him. There was so much riding on how well he played this game. So many lives were hanging in the balance.

  It almost came as a relief when he heard the sirens outside and the sound of people in the hallway outside his room. When he could finally call out who he was and have the officers take his prisoners away. When he could go with them to the factory. Because if he could do nothing about the larger problem his people faced, at least he could try and rescue the girl. And maybe he could get his hand bandaged up.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Katz was still locked in her prison cell when she heard the sirens, and the sound filled her with hope. She didn't understand how, but somehow the police had found her.

  Excited, she rushed to the window hoping to see a thousand police cars barrelling down the road to rescue her.

  But there were only four. Still four, was better than nothing. It was a chance. Then someone inside the building started shooting at them and her excitement turned to terror. Katz hit the floor, hoping that nothing would come her way. But she knew it would. The police weren't going to just sit there and be shot at.