Divine Fraud

by Thomas Green

  Time to start working. I turned my gaze toward the plane. I was two hundred feet away and watching through the terminal’s windows. There wasn’t much I could do to get inside. But I needed something to start with.

  I fished the phone out of the front pocket of my jeans and called Katherine O’Connor. She was the Church’s paladin in charge of the New York. We were partners, once, but then I started working for the Devil and we never quite rebuilt the trust we once had. Yeah, that was my fault and it made my chest tighten.

  She picked up a phone after two rings, so she wasn’t sleeping despite the late hour. “Lucaaaaaassssss!” she said into the phone and I knew she was at John’s, downing one Guinness after another.

  “Hey, how’s the beer?”

  “Cold.” She exploded into laughter.

  I let her laugh for a bit and then said, “I’m at the JFK private jet terminal, and there are ten cars worth of cops swarming around a jet of the same Yakuza that has moved into the neighborhood. Do you know anything about this?”

  She stopped laughing. “No, why should I?”

  “Because Lucielle put me on this.”

  “I’ll be right there.” She hung up. As the paladin, Katherine was something like a special agent of the Secret Societies’ part of the Church, so anything supernatural-world-related was her business. There was nothing in the mundane world for which Lucielle would hire me.

  Until she arrived, I had little to do. I pulled out a cigarette and lit the tip. How did Lucielle know the statuette was stolen? That the Yakuza called the police meant they couldn’t hide what happened. The only real control a private jet would go through was the country-entrance passports and visa check. What could stop them from passing that?

  I took a drag. A murder, most likely. Private jets had lists of passengers made before leaving the original country. With a person dead, the airport staff would start asking questions, which would lead to them calling police anyway.

  I stood alone, so the police must have closed the terminal and sent everyone home. That was consistent with a murder. Was the victim one of Lucielle’s people? Possibly, but unlikely, given her territory was Europe with New York being her only branch outside of the old continent. The statuette wasn’t hers, was it? Did she know about it because she was planning to steal it herself, but someone snatched it before she could?

  But then where were Lucielle’s operatives? If she had people on this to steal a statuette from Yakuza, then she would use those to hunt it down. The cigarette finished burning and I tossed away the butt. This didn’t make sense, meaning I didn’t know facts crucial to paint the full picture. I picked up my phone and typed in a message: How do you know the statuette was stolen? L and sent it to six-six-six, Lucielle’s number.

  A second later, my phone buzzed as I received the reply, which said: I know everything and a laughing devil emoji.

  Great. Except that she wouldn’t have hired me if she knew where the statuette was now. She either knew about the theft through some bullshit-tier magic or an information channel I wasn’t supposed to know about. Typical.

  In my peripheral vision, I noticed a dark green Mazda with a grass-green cross on the hood. Katherine drove here herself? Sure, she functioned perfectly when drunk and standard laws like driving under influence didn’t exactly apply to high-ranked paladins. The Church had its own courts, which cared little for earthly matters.

  But where the hell was her team?

  The last time I checked, she had over a hundred subordinates, out of whom four were her personal squad. So, why was she driving herself? Come to think of it, Lucielle wouldn’t have halted Vivian’s punishment if she had anyone else to send on the job. What was going on that nobody had people to spare?

  The car stopped and Katherine stepped out. She wore a trench coat, leather pants, and high boots, all dark green. Her ginger hair lay in waves on her shoulders and her silver cross shone above her chest.

  I waited where I stood. Katherine’s discussion with the guards was her usual. They told her she wasn’t allowed to enter, she showed the badge, they said they didn’t know what that meant, she told them to call their boss, they did, and then they apologized, cleared her way and wished her good luck. I’ve never found out how exactly the Church ranks related to those of the standard police, but I once saw Katherine send away a van full of FBI agents because they pissed her off.

  She reached me in a few seconds.

  I nodded in a greeting. “Where’s your squad?”

  “Sleeping,” she said with a smirk.

  I laughed, happy to see her. We haven’t worked together in a long time and for a moment, I got the feeling I was doing something right. “Last Sunday, the priest spent an hour preaching about the sin of lying. What happened to that?”

  “None of your business.” She stopped next to me, eyeing the plane. “What do you have?”

  “That this looks like a murder and there is a broader context I need to know and nobody is telling me.”

  She nodded, said, “I’ll see it up closer,” and stepped forward.

  I followed her.

  But she stopped a second later and turned. “Which part of what I said implied you could tag along?”

  “The one where I could help you figure out the crime scene.” I sighed. “Free of charge.”

  “Fine.” She stomped ahead and I followed.

  ‘Why did you not attempt to woo her?’ Lucifer asked, his tone annoyed.

  What’s your problem with my private life?

  ‘We are one, so your private life is mine as well. And it is an utter disgrace. Katherine is a woman of principles and unshakeable faith, a true champion of righteousness. She is a worthy partner who would bear us healthy children. But not only you do not court her, you play around with a bloodsucking corpse instead. You disgust me.’

  Piss off. I banished him from my mind, a snarl playing on my face. Oh, how I wished I could punch him. But hitting myself in front of a mirror didn’t feel smart.

  I followed Katherine’s lead to the plane. She held her badge up in front of her and I had mine by the belt. The man in charge already stood waiting for us, his phone at his ear. His superior was most likely explaining the situation to him, and who exactly was approaching. The man was a shade paler than the others but stood straight.

  Impressive. I acknowledged the man’s spine and let Katherine do the talking.

  “Have you been briefed by your superior?” Katherine asked the second the man put down his phone.

  “Yes. I am Lieutenant Wilders of the NYPD. Me and my men are fully at your disposal, ma’am.”

  Madam? Would Katherine forgive me faster if I started calling her that? That could be been worth trying.

  “Tell me what you’ve got,” she ordered in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “The victim is a Japanese man, age forty-two. Given his severed arm and leg, the murder weapon was a long, bladed weapon, likely a Japanese sword, which we have yet to find. My men are collecting the forensic evidence and we will have the witnesses interrogated later today.”

  How did someone kill a man on a private jet with a katana? That sounded like an inside job where the murderer boarded the plane, killed the victim mid-flight and then left with the others. But that would provide a short list of suspects and I doubted this would be so easy. Also, couldn’t they do this at home?

  “Do we know any specifics about the victim?” Katherine asked.

  “He was supposedly the CEO of Honuzawa Industries, named Miyamoto Musashi.”

  He continued talking, but my brain couldn’t process the words. The supernatural world was split into five regions. Each region had a ruler and those rulers formed the Hand of God. These five rulers were the most powerful beings in the world, each commanding territories made of multiple countries.

  Miyamoto Musashi was a member of the Hand of God, the ruler of Japan, south-east Asia, Australia and New Zealand. His death was unthinkable.

  Katherine and I were staring at him with our
mouths gaping open.

  He stopped and raised an eyebrow. “Did something happen?”

  I snapped back to reality and exchanged a glance with Katherine.

  “We need to see the crime scene, now,” she said.

  The lieutenant scratched the back of his neck and shifted his weight a few times. “I don’t have any more spare protective suits.”

  “Get your men out of there and we will borrow theirs. Feel free to send someone with us to verify we don’t touch anything.” Katherine paused for a moment. “What did you mean by any more spare? Because that sounds like someone’s inside who shouldn’t be there.”

  The lieutenant frowned. “An investigator from the Japanese Public Security Intelligence Agency, the PSIA, arrived half an hour ago. He had all the correct paperwork.”

  “Get him out.” Katherine sneered and glared at the lieutenant for a moment. I understood why he didn’t like being trampled on like this. But she had the higher rank and, in the end, the trouble he could get into wasn’t worth fighting her over this.

  The lieutenant sighed and recalled his men, including the Japanese investigator. While we waited for them to get out of the protective suits, we whipped out our phones. I searched the Honuzawa Industries website, Katherine the Church’s intranet. Oh, how I wished they would give me access to that, especially to the top-secret parts. I found the picture of the Miyamoto Musashi and so did she. They matched.

  Well, fuck. I drew my mind away and fuelled my sight with aether, focusing on the Japanese investigator. He was smaller than me, but lean and muscular with short, black hair and a sharp gaze. Azure aether filled his body and was arranged into a complex pattern.

  Great. A minute later, the lieutenant’s men helped us put on the protective suits—white overalls with hoods, face masks and boot covers. We donned rubber gloves and entered the plane.

  The private jet looked pretty much like one would expect. Everything was as luxurious as it could be—golden handles, wooden doors, chairs and tables, thick carpet, the usual set. But blood covered everything, and a chopped-up corpse lay on the ground. The man wore the classic, samurai outfit of a kimono and a hakama. The original colors were white and gray, but everything was dark red now. His left arm was cleanly severed at the biceps and his right leg was cut off under the knee. He had a dark spot on the left side of his chest, likely a stab wound. A wakizashi, a Japanese short sword, lay by his side while his right hand still held a katana. The blood was dark red, the stench was tolerable, the skin color pale but not green and I saw no sign of bloating. This corpse was hours old, at most.

  Pain had contorted his face, and to our horror, his features matched the pictures we found with our phones. I gulped and fuelled aether into my eyes. The bowels of the plane looked like an explosion in a crayon factory. I had never seen this much residual aether lying around. The body itself contained remnants of dark blue aether, which was swiftly fading away. That matched how aether-wielder’s corpses usually looked. The second most dominant color was azure, undoubtedly from the Japanese investigator prowling around. He just had to contaminate the crime scene, didn’t he?

  “Everything fits,” I whispered.

  She nodded and her tone hardened. “What exactly did Lucielle send you to do?”

  “I’ll trade that information for you telling me what the hell is going on that everyone’s so busy.”

  She sighed. “We used to be partners, remember?”

  Oh, now she wanted to play the former partners card? But yes, I did remember that, and I wasn’t happy about the current situation. Yet I have already taken the devil’s offer and had to deliver my part. “My offer stands.”

  Katherine shook her head and kicked a chair. “Fine.”

  “She sent me to find a statuette he was bringing.”

  Her mouth gaped open. “A member of the Hand of God was murdered, and she sent you to find a statuette?”

  “He was probably bringing her the statuette as a gift and due to his death, he cannot give it to her anymore. But she still wants it, so yeah… I’m going to be looking for that.” This was standard Lucielle behavior. She was able to put an excessive amount of resources into getting whatever she wanted while simply ignoring everything else. And she loved her statue collection. “So, what’s going on?”

  “The annual Summit of the Hand of God starts Monday morning at Lucielle’s tower.”

  Which was in three days. That explained what Vivian was busy with… aside from murdering everyone who pissed her off in the past year, of course. And this also explained Lucielle’s lack of interest in Musashi’s death. The Summit was likely going to discuss how she, the ruler of Europe, moved to New York, which was Azrael’s territory together with the rest of both American continents. A distraction like a member of the Hand of God, possibly her political rival, being dead could only help her.

  And for the statuette she wanted, she hired an unconnected investigator—me—to be able to wash her hands at any time, possibly sacrificing me at her convenience. Typical Lucielle.

  “Whoever stole the statuette knows who did the murder, so I suggest we cooperate on this,” I said.

  “Not a chance.” Katherine smirked. “You’d screw me over the second it’d suit you.”

  True. Job first, everything else second, that was how my line of business worked. She let me access the crime scene so I could confirm large amount of aether was used inside with my magical sight. But my usefulness to her ended there, or well, the risk started outweighing the benefits. “Fair enough. I need ten minutes around the baggage area.”

  “You have two. Then I don’t want to see your face until after the Summit.”

  There was something chilling in her voice. We were friends, yes, but not when working. I headed to the baggage area, not wanting to waste any time. I had no illusion Katherine would force me out after the two minutes.

  Torn luggage lay scattered in the baggage area. Most contained clothes. Someone searched through this. By the opened golfing bag, the culprit had no idea where the statuette was. That meant he wasn’t a part of the original crew. The next likely scenario was that the perpetrator entered the plane long before the flight and hid. The Summit must have been planned long in advance, so the perpetrator had enough time to prepare.

  Luckily, I didn’t need to know how the person got here, only where he went. As a bonus, it became clear the perpetrator had the ability to hide since the murder likely happened mid-flight and there were no other corpses. Or it may have been two people, one doing the killing and the other one handling the concealment. From the mundane look, I couldn’t figure out anything. Only one thing attracted my attention. There was a straight line in the carpet passing from the baggage area. There was no way a normal boot made that.

  I fuelled my gaze with aether. There were too many colors around. The most common colors were azure, misty gray, and dark blue. Dark blue aether was Musashi’s, azure aether belonged to the Japanese investigator, and so I focused on the misty gray one.

  The trail of the misty gray color led outside. The Japanese investigator was already gone. I returned the protective suit to the lieutenant, wished him luck and used the good-bye handshake to peek at the papers the Japanese investigator gave him. I understood little from the lawyer talk but remembered the investigator’s name: Sora Yamato, a senior operative of the PSIA. That rung no bell, so I headed out to follow the misty gray trail.

  Chapter 4

  THE MISTY GRAY AETHER was annoying to follow, at best. Whoever was leaving the tracks had at least three abilities: to conceal himself, to scale any surface, and to move fast. The tracks went up buildings, across them, and down them without a pattern. One thing became clear though. He had the time to sightsee. He went up the Statue of Liberty, had a meal atop the Tear Drop Memorial, and visited Grant’s Tomb, among others.

  I spent the entire day roaming through NYC, searching for the owner of this power. Normally, I would comb through camera feeds, ask around the Dewin Institute and check in wi
th my informants. The problem was that NYPD would be all over the public camera records, the Dewin Institute was bound to be preparing for the Summit, and my informants were also Katherine’s informants.

  Since none of the three parties would be willing to help me, I was left to the one thing none of the others could do, tracking aether. Luckily, I had my full set of GPS trackers in the inner pockets of my coat, so all I needed was to get close to the target for a second.

  The problem was that I just downed the fourth energy drink of the day. Two nights ago, I slept in the Yakuza vault and this night, I slept in the FBSI confinement chair. That didn’t leave me well-rested. The sun dove beyond the horizon and I was still following the trail. Fortune finally smiled upon me and the trail entered a club in Queens.

  The night club, Taracas, was at Atlantic Avenue in a brown, low, square building. Black shades covered the windows, and the door was made of steel. A bouncer stood by the door. The tall, bulky man wore jeans and a tight, black t-shirt that made it clear he spent most of his free time in a gym.

  I scanned the area for any posters that would hint of any event tonight. I saw nothing, so I approached with a smile. “Hi,” I said and motioned at the door.

  He measured me with his eyes. “What’s with those clothes?”

  “I’m a surprise birthday stripper for Emma.”

  He spat out in a chuckle and motioned to the door. Yeah, this always worked. I mean, who other than a stripper would wear what would pass for a cowboy outfit? One day, someone might call me on it and I’d have to do the stripping part. But future problems could be left to future solutions. I tipped my hat to him and entered.

  The place was full. The lights inside the club were low and the music loud. My knowledge of music ended with Nirvana, so I had no idea what was playing. Though it was every bit as terrible as what usually played in clubs.

  The people inside were much less a mixture than I expected. Almost nobody wore a suit or a dress, so I didn’t fit in with my tie. I weaved through the head-bobbing crowds and followed the misty gray trail. On the plus side, the flashing lights concealed me well. Though I could do without the intense stench of booze and sweat.