The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two

by Barry Reese

  The door suddenly swung inwards with incredible force, striking Hochmuller on the forehead and driving him to the floor. A trickle of blood sprang up almost immediately and he raised a hand to his wound, groaning in surprise and pain. Raptor surged forward, teeth bared, but he drew up short when he saw that the newcomer was armed with a very large handgun. The woman had dark hair that curled over one eye and she wore khaki slacks and a loose-fitting blouse that hung open to reveal ample cleavage. As Hochmuller stared up at her, his first thoughts were about what in the world was keeping her breasts from spilling out into view… but then his eyes drifted upwards and he recognized her face.

  “Hjörþrimul” he hissed, using her codename from the days of Hitler’s Occult Forces Project. Genetically altered to use sixty percent of her brain capacity, as opposed to most people’s ten percent, Eva van der Vaart had been named after one of the Valkyries. She had superhuman eye-hand coordination and a photographic memory. She’d served well until vanishing from sight back in ’44. Rumor had it that she’d run afoul of the Peregrine.

  “I’m pleased to see that you remember me,” Eva answered in German. She flicked her gaze in Raptor’s direction. “Tell the doggy to back off or I’m going to shoot you in the head.”

  Raptor took a few steps back, his growling taking on a deeper tone. He bared his fangs and a long string of saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth.

  “What do you want? What are you doing here?” Hochmuller demanded, trying to hide his fear. The smell of fresh urine emanating from his pants didn’t help, however.

  “You have it, don’t you? The Ivory Machine?”

  Hochmuller considered lying but thought better of it. Eva was not known as a woman who hesitated to kill. “Yes.”

  “I want it.”

  A nervous twitch developed on the left side of Hochmuller’s temple. “Are you working for someone? Perhaps we can come to an agreement of some kind.”

  Eva straddled the scientist’s chest, pinning his arms down with her knees. The barrel of her gun came to rest between Hochmuller’s eyes. “I’m not here to negotiate.”

  Hochmuller swallowed. “It’s in my laboratory down the hall. The door is open.”

  Eva smiled, and had his interests lay in the direction of women, Hochmuller would have been quite distracted by the ample amount of cleavage that was on display. “Thank you, Doctor. Now I think it would be best for everyone if you took a little nap.”

  Hochmuller started to open his mouth but he never managed to get a word out. Eva raised her arm and swung the butt of her gun savagely across his cheek, tearing his flesh and knocking him out. A fresh trickle of blood began to ooze down his face.

  Raptor had seen enough by this point, but he knew that the girl was more than a match for him. He, too, recognized her and knew her reputation. The dog trotted off into the shadows, content to watch and observe. He wished he could call Garibaldi and let him know what was happening, but there was no way to reach the man.

  Eva stood up and took a quick glance around the apartment. She saw the German Shepherd watching her but didn’t think much about him beyond noting his massive size. The dog seemed smart enough to avoid her and she was fine with that. She marched down the hallway and found the Ivory Machine straightaway.

  She strode past the fallen Hochmuller with the Machine in her hands. She thought about killing him, but held off on this. Though she was loath to admit it, she missed the Reich and all those associated with the Occult Forces Project. It had been a period of her life when she’d been treated as special, as someone part of something that was going to change the world. Now that it was gone and its chief architects either on trial or dead—or deep in hiding—there was something about the past that seemed almost charming to her. So she left Hochmuller alive, out of recognition for his past associations.

  Outside in the hallway, she pulled forth a small radio transceiver. Unaware that Raptor was eavesdropping, she began speaking in English. “I have the machine and am transporting it to you now.”

  A man’s voice came through the radio, sounding glacial in its coolness. “Good. You’ll be richly rewarded for this.”

  Eva turned off the radio and smiled. Money was all she craved now: Money to begin her life anew, with a new identity and new papers to back it up.

  And if a few hundred thousand people had to die, she was more than fine with that.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Questions and Answers

  The two-story building that had been dubbed the Aerie was registered in the name of Max Davies, but it was home to the Claws team. Located on Peachtree Street in downtown Atlanta, the Aerie was a sprawling residence with five bedrooms, a fully stocked kitchen, a museum/trophy room and a basement meeting room. It also contained direct lines to both the Peregrine’s portable radio and to the police station.

  Gary Preston leaned against the basement wall and found himself admiring not only the place itself, but also those men and women who resided in it. The past few years had brought him very close to both Miss Masque and Tim, but they’d found very little in common with the residents of the lost city. All of them were desperate for companionship again, and the Flame was readily seeing that the Claws of the Peregrine were the closest to his peers that he might ever find.

  Miss Masque was seated at the meeting room table, laughing gaily at something Esper had just said. Tim was openly admiring Revenant’s weaponry, which she’d spread out on the table for his enjoyment. The rest of the Claws team—Catalyst and Frankenstein’s monster—were quietly talking to each other. Only the Peregrine was missing. The famous vigilante had said something about having to feed his demon, which made Gary wonder if the Peregrine suffered from an addiction of some sort.

  Suddenly the Flame realized that he was forgetting someone—the last member of their little group, the man who had missed out on his opportunity to join their mission years ago: the Black Terror.

  The Flame found the black-garbed hero just outside the meeting room, sitting on the flight of stairs leading to the upper levels. Bob Benton looked tired but happy.

  “Mind a little company?” the Flame asked.

  “Not at all. I’ve been meaning to thank you and Diana.”

  “For what?”

  “For taking care of Tim.”

  Gary laughed. “He didn’t need much in the way of taking care of. He’s practically a grown man. He was very brave. After the Nazis came, he fought just as hard, if not harder, than Diana and I did.”

  Bob looked thoughtful. “This Ivory Machine… why was it built? It’s obviously a weapon, but you made it sound like those natives were peaceful.”

  “They are. Now. But that wasn’t always the case. Once, they were far more advanced and they had many enemies. I suspect that the Ivory Machine was a means of protecting themselves.”

  “And your book from the future says we’re all to become members of this group?”

  “Yes. And truth be told, I think we could all use it. There’s not a whole lot of Mystery Men out there and normal folks don’t always understand what we go through. We need to spend some time in our own community.”

  Bob thought about his own failed relationships and had to agree with that. After losing Tim, he’d alienated everyone close to him with his single-mindedness.

  Diana and Tim stepped out at this point, chatting amiably. Bob felt a twinge of jealousy when he realized how close Tim was to Diana and Gary. The boy had grown up a lot in the past few years and Bob knew those were days he would never get back. Having no children of his own, he’d come to love Tim as a son and every day spent without him had chipped away at his heart.

  Tim, however, had the resiliency of youth. He looked positively thrilled. “Bob, Sally says we can stay as long as we like. Heck, she said they could use the help. We’re Claws, if we wanna be!”

  “Do they have room for us all?”

  Diana came to stand at Gary’s side. Her trim figure was quite eye-catching in her crimson dress, and Bob realiz
ed it had been a long time since he’d even thought about romance. “Well, they have five bedrooms—Vincent and Sally have one each, then the Caines share one. That leaves two rooms free. If you and Tim don’t mind bunking up, that would leave one for Gary and myself.”

  Bob’s eyes widened. Too late on this one, he realized. “So you two are a couple?”

  The Flame actually blushed, eliciting a giggle from Diana. “Not that I know of…”

  Miss Masque playfully nudged the Flame’s shoulder. “Sally said I could sleep in her room for now.” She shook her head at Bob. “Gary and I are just friends. He’s like a brother to me.”

  “Oh.” Bob realized this news made him very happy. Jean Starr had finally moved on with her life, and Bob doubted she’d welcome him back into it. So maybe he should take the Flame’s advice and seek companionship from someone who would understand his life as a vigilante.

  Tim noticed the way his mentor was eyeing Diana and he made a note to poke some fun at Bob later on. Diana was a definitely a beauty. He’d imagined several scenarios in which she’d realize that despite their age difference, she was madly in love with young Tim Roland. But Tim knew they were just fantasies.

  Diana smiled at Bob. “I love your suit. Very eye-catching.”

  “Thanks. I like yours, too.”

  Tim couldn’t contain himself any longer. He snickered and stepped back into the meeting room, wondering where the Peregrine had gone. As soon as he was back, the group could plan what they were going to do next.

  * * *

  The Peregrine stood over the blood-spattered thug, panting with something akin to lust. He’d left the Aerie, intent on finding something to soothe the hunger that had been rising up within him. He’d found that something when he’d heard a woman scream. He’d spotted a man running from the scene, a stolen handbag clutched tightly in one hand. The Peregrine had caught up to him in an alleyway and ripped open the man’s throat before he’d even thought about his deeds.

  The Peregrine now crouched and checked the man’s vitals, making sure that he was still alive. The wounds were enough to cause an ugly scene but shouldn’t prove fatal. Max cleaned himself up as best he could, but he knew it would be unmistakable that he bore bloodstains on his clothing.

  Max branded the man’s forehead and gave a quick call to police headquarters, using the special miniature radio he carried always. Then he returned to the Aerie, wondering how long he could stand having a demon inside him. In some ways, it made him view the monsters of the past differently: many of them had been bonded to demons or turned into vampires. Now that he himself was housing such a dark spirit, he felt he understood them a bit better. He still thought they deserved punishment, however. He was holding his bloodlust in check, refusing to kill. That was a hell of a lot more than most of his enemies had done.

  He was about to slip inside a rear entrance to the Aerie when he heard the familiar rustle of wings. He spun about and saw the Flock perched in the trees surrounding the Aerie. They watched him with their beady black eyes and strangely intelligent manner.

  “Garibaldi’s at the police station now… and I’m working to bring him to justice.”

  The Flock did nothing in response at first, but then a half dozen of their number dropped to the ground in front of him, marching towards him in formation. In unison, the birds began to speak, the unearthly voice emanating from each. “The threat grows ever more powerful. You have misunderstood our meaning.”

  Max stared at them for a moment, wondering what they might mean. He thought back to their prior warning: The source of your danger is at your house now. You know him. He has been marked.

  “Wait. Are you trying to tell me that it’s not Garibaldi that I was supposed to be looking out for? But he was the one who hired the assassin… and I think he’s the one behind this Rainman nonsense.”

  The Flock’s words were the same as before, though this time they seemed laced with sadness that he had not heeded them before. “Death is stalking you. It hangs invisibly in the air around you, seeping into your lungs. Do you not hear its steady breathing? Or the rhythmic march of its feet? Do you not shudder at its ghostly touch?”

  The Peregrine stood there for a moment, trying to make sense of it all. Could there have been someone else at the party that night? Someone who was hiding in plain sight?

  “Please,” Max said, lowering his voice. “I’ve had enough enigmatic warnings to last me four or five lifetimes. Just tell me: what’s going on? What’s the threat?”

  The Flock began to scatter then, taking to the air in a flurry of wings. Max raised a hand to his eyes, shielding them from the cascade of feathers that seemed to fall from the sky like snow. He heard their voices, fading into the distance, and their words chilled him to the bone: “It comes for you, and it will not be satisfied until vengeance has been claimed.”

  * * *

  Garibaldi sauntered out of the police station, well aware that two out-of-uniform officers were tailing him. The questioning had been intense but in the end, they had nothing to hold him on and even Chief McKenzie had to admit it.

  Garibaldi lit a cigar as he hailed a cab and slid into the back seat. After order the driver to head back to Century Tower, Garibaldi made sure to give a jaunty wave to the policeman assigned to follow him. Chuckling to himself, Garibaldi noticed the fearful looks on the faces of almost everyone they passed. Men, women, and children all hurried along, ducking under awnings whenever possible. All cast concerned looks skyward, afraid that the Crimson Rain would begin to fall again.

  It did bother him a bit that the police were already on his trail. It had to be the Peregrine… but that didn’t dissuade him from the path he’d set for himself. He’d always craved power and money, and after his stint in prison, he’d decided that he’d never again be a flunky for someone else. He was going to extort the President of the United States himself and then set himself up as a wealthy dictator in South America. Men would tremble before him and women would fall to their knees, eager to service his needs.

  The cab dropped him off at Century Tower and Garibaldi hurried in, ignoring the unmarked police vehicle that pulled to a stop across the street. He was whistling the Bing Crosby hit “Don’t Fence Me In” when he reached his apartment door. Immediately, his good humor vanished. The door had been kicked inwards and Hochmuller lay on the ground, bleeding from several mild wounds.

  As Garibaldi knelt and lifted the groaning German to his feet, Raptor emerged from the shadows. Much to Garibaldi’s surprise, the dog launched into a detailed recounting of what had happened, including the fact that Eva had taken the Ivory Machine.

  When Raptor’s report was over, Hochmuller was sitting on the couch, slowly regaining his senses. Garibaldi stared at Raptor in amazement. “Since when can you talk?”

  “My genius,” Hochmuller muttered. “I gave him a collar that allows him to speak.”

  “That is brilliant,” Garibaldi admitted. “But I wish you’d come up with something to protect the Ivory Machine instead of tinkering on something that lets dogs talk!”

  The vehemence in Garibaldi’s voice made both Raptor and Hochmuller shrink away.

  Garibaldi stalked around the apartment, the brand on his forehead darkening as his blood raced. “This ruins everything! Everything! What if she takes it to the cops? Then they’d have proof! And if she sells it to somebody else, what the hell are we going to do then? That machine was our meal ticket!”

  Garibaldi kicked out with a foot, knocking over a small table and lamp. “Damn it!” he roared.

  “We should track her down. I have her scent.” Raptor bared his teeth and growled. “I want to make her scream.”

  Taking several deep breaths, Garibaldi nodded. “You said she was gorgeous, with her breasts practically hanging out of her shirt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then she couldn’t be hard to miss. I’ll check downstairs and see if she left on foot or in a car. Then I’ll have every one of my agents in the city fan
out until we find her.” Garibaldi seemed energized by the plan, but he paused long enough to cast a warning glare at Hochmuller. “You and this Nazi bitch aren’t trying to run a scam, are you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean… are you working with her? Setting me up so I don’t think you’re in on it. Or maybe she broke your deal and left you here. Which is it?”

  “Neither! I am loyal to you. We have been partners from the beginning, and our relationship is mutually beneficial. I would be a fool to betray you!”

  “Yes. You would be.” Garibaldi turned away, moving quickly towards the phone.

  Hochmuller stood up on rubbery legs and looked balefully at Raptor. They seemed to communicate silently, each confirming to the other that the time might indeed be coming when they had to be loyal to each other above all. They were arguably all that was left of the Third Reich’s brilliance, after all.

  * * *

  Eva van der Vaart groaned as the water cascaded down her back. She felt the tension fading from her muscles, steam encasing her nude form as she relaxed in the shower. Baths were far more popular than standing upright in a shower stall, but Eva loved this. It reminded her of bathing beneath a natural waterfall, as she had done several times in her life. There was something both soothing and erotic about it.

  When she finally managed to force herself from the shower, she dried off with a fluffy towel and then wrapped it around her curvaceous form. She knew that her employer was busy studying the Ivory Machine in the other room and she was in no real hurry to join him. He paid well but there was no chemistry between them. In fact, he was downright creepy.

  Stepping out of the bathroom, Eva’s suspicions were confirmed. Her employer was standing beside a mahogany table, the Ivory Machine before him. He wore a black suit, complete with dark gloves, and stood a little over six feet in height. He was handsome enough, though his eyes were like chips of ice and his voice was perpetually emotionless.

  Eva dropped her towel, the sound of it hitting the carpet more than enough to have stirred the interests of any red-blooded male. But her employer didn’t even turn. Eva began pulling on her clothes, dressing in boots, jodhpurs, and a white blouse whose plunging neckline never failed to distract both men and women.