by R. D. Brady
Patrick shot Cain a quick look before he started putting the chess pieces back in the box. To have seen so much history. Patrick was not ashamed to admit to a twinge of jealousy at all that Cain had witnessed. But perhaps the cost, always separating yourself from others, was not worth it.
Cain took the chairs and pushed them against the wall, then took the box from Patrick and placed it on a shelf above his bed. Patrick pushed the table back against the wall. This was their cleanup routine. They didn’t discuss who would clean up what, they just each played their role, like a well-known dance.
The game put away, Patrick looked around Cain’s cell. Over the last few months, the restrictions on Cain had been eased so it was a more confortable room. A bright blue comforter was on the bed, and a Monet print, Madame Monet and Child, was on one wall. Not for the first time, Patrick wondered at the choice. The print depicted the wife of Claude Monet sewing in a garden with a small child playing at her feet. Patrick thought perhaps it was more revealing than Cain intended—a longing for the sense of family and love that the picture conveyed.
Books lined the shelves above Cain’s bed. Two comfortable club chairs had even been moved in and put in front of the TV. Patrick knew that in part, that luxury was due to him. He and Cain had spent hours sitting in those chairs speaking about days long gone.
Patrick glanced toward the door where the FBI agents stood. He knew that he should get going, but honestly, there was nothing waiting for him back at the estate. He could go to the school; he loved the kids. But he was on his own there for the most part. He was the kids’ parental figure, not their friend. Here, he had companionship. And until he became friends with Cain, he’d never realized how much he’d missed it.
“Say, you wouldn’t have been in Scotland before the rule of Bruce, were you?” he asked.
“You mean did I know William Wallace?”
Patrick nodded.
“I spent some time with him. He was a fascinating man.”
Patrick grinned. “Any interest in watching Braveheart, and you can tell me where they went wrong?”
“Dinner from the Secret Garden?” Cain asked. The Secret Garden was a Korean barbecue place nearby.
“Absolutely.”
“Well, I think my schedule’s clear.”
Footsteps hurrying toward Cain’s cell caused both of them to turn. The FBI agent who stood outside the cell was joined by six other agents—except all of the new agents had a different patch on their black uniforms. Patrick squinted, trying to make it out. The ETF? Who on earth are they?
One man stepped forward. There was cruelty in the narrowing of his eyes as he leered at Patrick and Cain in the cell.
The FBI agent nodded at the newcomer. “Agent Seward.”
“You’re dismissed,” Seward said, never taking his gaze from Patrick and Cain. There was no hint of kindness in the man, and he only strengthened Patrick’s doubts in any government who would give this type of man any authority.
Patrick frowned. “What’s going on?”
“I think you should go, Patrick,” Cain said quietly.
Seward stepped up to the glass wall of the cell. “Patrick Delaney, you are ordered to exit the cell immediately.”
“It’s Father Patrick. And what is the meaning of this?”
Seward narrowed his already small eyes. “Exit the cell immediately, or you will be charged with obstruction.”
“Obstruction?” Patrick asked.
“Last warning. If you do not remove yourself, we will remove you.”
Patrick turned his bewildered gaze to Cain.
Cain nodded back at him, although Patrick could sense his confusion. “It’s all right, Patrick. Go on. They probably just want to interview me again.”
Patrick curled his hands into fists, knowing Cain was wrong. Something was off here. He noted the shackles one of the agents in the back held. And from the way the agents were tensing, he also knew that whatever was about to happen was wrong.
“I’ll tell Henry and Jake,” he said. “We’ll find out what’s going on.”
“Thank you, Patrick. For everything.” Cain extended his hand.
Patrick shook it without hesitation. “I’ll see you soon.”
Cain just smiled in response.
“Now, Father Patrick,” Seward barked.
With one last glance at Cain, Patrick made his way to the door.
An agent pointed at Cain and yelled. “Stand against the far wall.”
Another agent stepped up to the door and glared at Patrick. “Move.”
Patrick knew surprise was splashed across his face. He had been in and out of this prison a few times a week for months, and no one had ever spoken to him like this. His anger began to simmer. There was no reason for him to be spoken to this way.
Cain put up hands and walked backward to the far wall. The door in front of Patrick slid open, and he was grabbed roughly and pulled from the cell.
“What are you doing?” Patrick yelled as Seward threw him to the floor.
“Patrick!” Cain yelled, stepping forward.
“Fire,” Seward ordered.
Two agents stepped into the doorway and shot darts into Cain. Both men dropped to the ground. Cain stumbled; whatever drugs were in those darts were taking effect quickly. The downed agents were pulled out of the way as four others moved into the cell and surrounded Cain.
Patrick started to get to his feet, but a knee in his back forced him back down. “Stay down,” Seward growled.
“What is wrong with you people? This isn’t necessary.”
The agent didn’t answer him.
Inside the cell, Cain dropped to his knees before pitching forward. The agents moved in warily before turning him over and placing cuffs on his legs and wrists.
Patrick watched in horror as they put a bag over Cain’s head, then rolled in a dolly and laid it flat. Cain was lifted onto the dolly and strapped to it.
“Where are you taking him?” Patrick demanded.
The knee in his back pushed down harder, and Patrick winced. “You don’t get to ask questions. Seen your niece lately, Father?” Seward grabbed one of Patrick’s wrists and yanked it behind him. Pain shot up Patrick’s arm and through his shoulder. His other arm was grabbed just as roughly, and zip ties were wrapped around his wrists.
“I’m being arrested?”
Patrick was hauled to his feet as the four guards walked past with Cain.
Seward leaned down toward Patrick and glared. Spittle flew onto Patrick’s face as the man spoke. “If it were up to me, you’d be tossed in a cell with the rest of these animals. So don’t tempt me.” He turned Patrick around and shoved him forward.
Patrick stumbled and crashed into the wall. He used his shoulder to straighten up, anger burning through him—anger at the treatment of him, at the treatment of Cain, and at the attitude of the guards.
Seward grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him toward another agent. “Put him with the others.”
The agent took Patrick by the arm. Patrick started to look back.
“Don’t,” the agent holding him warned.
Patrick swallowed and let himself be pulled forward. What on earth is going on?
CHAPTER 9
Jake flew the Chandler helicopter himself to West Virginia. As they approached the facility, he turned to Henry. “Do we have permission to land? Or is someone going to take a shot at us?”
“Hold on.” Henry pulled out his phone and made a call while Jake glanced at the silver-haired man in the back seat. Brett Hanover, the head of the Chandler Group’s legal department, sat there, his eyes wide.
“You all right, Brett?”
Brett swallowed. “Um, yes. This is only my second time in a helicopter, and the last time, it was a little slower.”
“Oh? What was the first time?” Jake asked.
“Um, honeymoon in Maui.”
“Must have been nice.”
Brett grabbed on to the straps holding him to the se
at in the back. “Honestly? I didn’t really enjoy it. Turns out I don’t like riding in helicopters.”
“Well, we’ll be down in just another few minutes.”
Brett nodded but didn’t seem comforted by the time assessment.
Henry disconnected his call, and Jake raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
“With a great deal of unhappiness, we have been granted access to land.”
“Great.”
Jake all but nosedived the chopper toward the ground. Brett gave out a little yelp, but Jake didn’t slow the approach.
The agents who had been looking into Laney had been growing more and more frustrated at their lack of progress. In fact, the whole US government was beginning to look foolish at their inability to find her. Jake was pretty sure that was why the ETF had been placed in charge of the facility. As the ETF worked under the auspices of Homeland Security, and by extension the PATRIOT Act, they had been given a great deal of leeway with rules and oversight. Putting them in charge was like letting a fox guard the chicken coop. With the pressure mounting to show something, a group with a long leash and little oversight didn’t seem like the best choice.
Jake knew that the pressure to do something would be pushing down to all aspects of the government associated with this debacle. Which meant anyone caught in the crosshairs would not be treated well.
And Patrick… he was tough, but the idea of him being pushed around by agents didn’t sit well with Jake. Patrick had taken on the role of father, or kindly uncle, to all of them. If Jake couldn’t protect Laney, he was damn well going to make sure Patrick was okay.
CHAPTER 10
The sky was gray as Patrick was pushed through the front doors of the facility, his wrists still restrained behind his back. The first agent had passed him off to someone else, but not before Patrick overheard them talking. They weren’t just moving Cain. They were moving all the inmates.
The elevator dinged behind him, and Patrick glanced over his shoulder as four ETF guards stepped off and surveyed the lobby. One guard pushed the dolly holding Cain. They wheeled him outside, and Patrick watched as Cain was taken to a waiting armored truck.
“Where are you taking him?”
“None of your business.” The agent grabbed Patrick roughly by the arm and pushed him to a small area surrounded by temporary fencing. A group of about forty people was inside—all staff from the facility, all with zip ties around their wrists.
Mustafa pushed through the crowd, his eyes large. “Patrick.”
The agent pushed Patrick against the fence and glared at the group inside. “Back up.”
His mouth tight, Mustafa backed away, keeping his eyes on the agent. The guard by the gate unlocked it, and Patrick was shoved inside. The gate shut behind him.
Mustafa rushed to his side. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, fine. But they took Cain.”
Mustafa nodded. “They’re taking all the prisoners.”
“Where?”
“No idea. But they started with Cain, after they escorted all of us here. Now they’re going for the rest.”
Patrick glanced at the tall towering man in the back: Hanz, Cain’s former guard. Patrick lowered his voice. “Do they know some of the guards are, uh, different?”
Mustafa shook his head. “No. Matt never put it in any of their files.”
“Good. Where is Matt?”
“He’s in DC, meeting with the DOJ. I’m guessing getting him to DC was part of the plan to make sure this went off without a hitch.”
Hanz moved closer to them, nudging his chin in the direction of the east lawn. “Someone’s coming.”
Patrick tensed. Hanz was a Fallen, which meant he could only be sensing a Fallen or nephilim heading their way. Oh, please, be the good guys.
And then a familiar face appeared from around the side of the building, followed by two more familiar faces. Henry, Jake, and Brett.
Henry scanned the area, then nudged Jake, pointing him toward the fenced-in area. The three men hurried over.
Henry reached the area first. “Are you all right?”
An agent stormed up to them. “What are you doing? Get away from there.”
Henry glared down at the man. “Are these men under arrest?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” the agent sneered. “And unless you want to suffer the same fate—”
Brett stepped forward. “Actually, due to the fact that you have both cuffed them and locked them in a secured area, you have legally arrested them.” He turned to Mustafa and Patrick. “Have you been read your rights?”
Patrick shook his head.
“No,” Mustafa said.
“I see.” Brett turned back to the agent. “So you are unlawfully holding these men.”
“According to the PATRIOT Act, I can.”
“Really? You’re saying you believe these men were involved in terrorist activities?”
“Damn straight. This one”—the agent gestured to Patrick—“has a friendship with one.”
“And what evidence do you have besides friendship?”
“He’s also related to Delaney McPhearson. That should be enough.”
Patrick glared. “My niece has done nothing wrong.”
“Yeah, sure.” The agent walked off, Brett hurrying after him.
“Don’t worry, Patrick,” Henry said. “We’ll get you out—all of you. Are you all right?”
Patrick nodded. “They took Cain and are gathering the rest right now.”
Two choppers appeared in the sky, coming at the facility from different directions. Mustafa frowned. “Who’s that?”
“Are they with you?” Patrick asked.
Jake shook his head. “No.”
No one spoke as the choppers flew closer. Soon, the names of two different news stations could be seen on them.
“Great,” Jake growled.
Patrick shared his sentiment. After the treatment of Laney, neither of them was particularly fond of the news media.
The doors to the facility opened, and federal agents marched out. An outer layer of agents held weapons at the ready while an inner layer escorted several individuals attached to stretchers, a drip attached to each of their arms.
“At least they were smart enough to drug them for transport,” Jake said.
Henry nodded.
It took an hour for the Fallen to be removed from the building and loaded into waiting vans. Finally the stream of stretchers and agents dried up. Patrick and the rest of the SIA staff remained in the fenced-in area throughout, and Jake and Henry stood with them. Brett argued with someone on the phone for almost the entire hour.
“That’s not right,” Mustafa said quietly, watching the doors to the facility close behind the last stretcher.
“What’s not right?” Patrick asked.
“They’re missing one.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you miscounted,” Henry said.
Mustafa shook his head. “I didn’t.”
“Who’s missing?” Jake asked.
Mustafa opened his mouth—then his gaze flicked to the doors, his relief obvious. “Wait. Someone else is coming.”
Two agents stepped out, a woman held between them. But unlike the others, she was not bound or drugged. Tears trailed down her face, and she looked around fearfully.
“Son of a bitch,” Jake said.
The former ruler of Honu Keiki—Xia, but known to the world as “the priestess”—looked small and fragile between the two large agents. Her dark hair hung down to her waist, and her eyes looked smaller, older, without the makeup she normally wore. She held on to the agents, playing up the damsel in distress.
“Those idiots,” Henry hissed.
“Why isn’t she restrained?” Mustafa asked.
One of the agents leaned down and whispered to her, seemingly needing to encourage her to move. She looked up at him and nodded, taking a deep breath. Then she started to walk with trembling legs.
The agents accompanied her slowly, an
d the priestess continually looked around. To anyone else, she probably looked like she was terrified of her surroundings. But Patrick had the feeling she was scanning for threats.
Then the priestess’s gaze fell on Jake and Henry. Her lip curled in distaste. Before anyone could yell a warning, she grabbed the heads of the two agents that held her and slammed them together with a heart-stopping crack.
“Oh my God,” Patrick said.
Hanz and three other Fallen guards stepped in front of Patrick and Mustafa. “Get back,” Hanz ordered, as Henry and Jake took off toward the priestess at a run.
The FBI agents didn’t respond as quickly, seemingly shocked by the transformation of the priestess from helpless victim to violent predator. And that was their undoing. The priestess leapt on one agent and twisted his neck before he could even pull his weapon. She was on another as he pulled his weapon, turned him so that he was her shield, and bulldozed him into the three agents across from her.
Jake dove for agent that had been killed, wrenching his shotgun from around his arm. He unloaded it at the priestess, catching her in the ribs. She whirled around. But Henry caught her from the other side with another borrowed weapon.
Patrick held his breath as they advanced on the woman. The remaining ETF agents seemed to gather themselves and joined in, all weapons trained on the priestess.
All weapons except two. Those were aimed at Henry and Jake. “Drop it! Drop your weapons!”
With a muttered curse, Jake dropped his weapon to the ground. Henry did the same.
“On the ground! Face down on the ground!” the agents ordered.
Jake and Henry did as they were told.
But Patrick kept his gaze on the priestess. None of the other agents had fired, and Patrick knew she would already be healing. “What are you waiting for?” he whispered.
“They don’t understand what she is,” Mustafa replied, his gaze also glued to the drama in front of them.
The priestess reached up with blinding speed and grabbed the barrel of the gun closest to her, wrenching it from the man’s grasp.