The Ebony Finches: A Transition Magic Thriller

by J. E. Hopkins

  “There would have been a handful of French trappers around even then,” John said. “Not to mention some native American settlements.”

  “I didn’t say I thought the city had actually been sent back in time,” Akina said. “Just that the ecology resembles that era, only with no people.”

  “Yeah,” Director Sly said. “No people. Based on the diameter of the affected area, the Centers for Disease Control is estimating that at least a million people have been killed.”

  A stifled sob came from the back seat.

  “When is the president going to address the country?” John asked. “I’m guessing that his desire to maintain confidentiality has been overcome by events.” He tried and failed to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

  The two directors were silent for several seconds. “You’re in a randomly selected rental car, right John?” Akina’s voice had lost its earlier assurance. “Our call is encrypted, but I need to be damn sure that your environment is secure.”

  “Affirmative,” John said. “We’re on I-75 south in a car that I picked from a lot that had hundreds of other cars. So, what do you have to tell us?”

  “The president hasn’t changed his position on confidentiality,” Akina said. “He will be announcing that Detroit has been overcome by deadly, rapidly spreading variant of the H1N1 virus. He will say that he’s declared martial law and ordered the area to be cordoned off. He’s ordered the military to establish a five mile zone around the affected area—no one in or out. Full news embargo, other than what the White House releases.”

  “Jesus,” Hammer said. “He’s gotta lock down a boundary that’s what, thirty miles long?”

  “More like a circumference of fifty miles when you include the five mile ‘no go’ zone,” Director Sly said. “And some of that is over water.”

  “He’s a fool,” John said. Blood pounded in his ears. “There’s no way he can make that airtight. How’s he going to explain the loss of communication?”

  “Blocking communication is an essential measure to control rumors and minimize panic,” Akina said.

  John’s temples throbbed, each beat of his heart sent a pain lancing into his eyes. “But the Internet—”

  Akina cut him off. “Has been shut down in a two-hundred mile radius of the affected area, also essential to control panic.”

  “Canada is going along with this?” Hammer asked. “Twenty-five percent of the dead have to be from Windsor and the surrounding area.”

  Director Sly answered his agent’s question. “The Canadian prime minister has agreed to this approach, at least for now.” He paused. “Look. The president is genuinely convinced that the truth—that magic destroyed two cities and that the perpetrator is still out there—will cost far more lives than trying to keep the lid on.”

  A soft voice spoke from the back of the car. “He’s probably right.”

  “Agree or not, the president is trying to buy time,” Akina said. “And I have to tell you that he is pissed as hell that Wells got away. He knows that if he replaces you, he’ll lose time. But if and when this story starts to leak, he’ll bench us all and pull in the FBI to hunt Wells down.”

  “He’s welcome to do that any old time,” Stony said.

  Her voice was growing louder. John was pretty sure that Akina and Director Sly heard her comment, but neither reacted to it.

  “Don’t know what to tell you, Director,” John said. “We’re doing the best we can, which I’m certain is true for everyone on this case.”

  “Not looking for you to do magic, John,” Akina said. “But I am looking for you to stop magic before it kills millions more and changes the face of the planet.”

  “Yeah. Until we do that, make sure the president and key government officials are relocated to the proverbial undisclosed location, way outside DC. Can’t wait to see how he spins that.”

  They were halfway to Cleveland before John took a deep breath and launched an attempt to pull his partner out of hole she’d dug for herself . “Stony?”

  “Yeah? You want to gripe about my comments from the peanut gallery during your call?”

  “No. I want to gripe about your attitude. You’re sitting back there feeling sorry for yourself, thinking you’re the reason a million people are dead. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “Shut up, Dish. I don’t need you trying to cheer me up.”

  John’s laugh was derisive. “You think I’m trying to make you happy? Guess I need to be more clear. I’m pissed at you, Stony, and disappointed.”

  “John—” She sounded tired and defeated.

  “Your grandiosity is beyond belief. There are hundreds of people working on this case by now, but you, such a superwoman, think that you alone are responsible for what’s happened. Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, get over yourself and move on.”

  He’d turned and screamed the last sentence at her, filling the air between them with spittle. He swung back and stared at the window. He wasn’t done.

  “I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re upset. You should be. So should I, and Ron, and Akina, and Adam Sly and anyone else who’s touched this goddamned case.”

  He paused and forced calm back into his voice. “I love you like a daughter, kiddo. Always will. But you have until we touch down in Washington to get your shit together. Or, so help me god, I’ll fire you.”

  Please, God, send her back to us. I need her.

  38

  In Route to Washington, DC

  The Canadair Regional Jet sported a two and one seating arrangement, each row two seats across a narrow aisle from a single. John and Stony sat next to each other in the last row; Ron Hammer sat in a single seat up front, behind the bulkhead.

  He’d kept his sunglasses on, but no one had even glanced at him.

  Stony hadn’t said a word since John’s impassioned appeal in the car. She looked more reflective than pissed, which he took as a hopeful sign. He resisted the temptation to say something else to her, leaned back in the ass-pinching seat, and closed his eyes. He had a lot to think about and none of it had anything to do with their pursuit of Robert Wells or Stony’s state of mind.

  My restored memory is as real as my bond with her. As real as Transition. And T-Plague is as real as death. So what do I do now?

  After fifteen minutes of considering alternatives, he turned to Stony.

  “You awake?”

  “Just because my eyes were closed and I was drooling? Nah.”

  “I need your help.” He took off his sunglasses and looked at her.

  She was about to make some smart-ass remark when she saw his lavender irises and stopped. “What the fuck, John? Did you pick up some sort of residual magic from the disaster zone? Have my eyes changed too? Maybe the same thing happened to Ron.” She started to get out of her seat.

  “Sit tight. I’m pretty sure this has nothing to do with Detroit. Not directly, anyway.” He told her about his visit to Rock Creek and his new memory from his childhood.

  She sat back in her seat and was quiet for a several minutes. “I’ve been thinking that I couldn’t handle Wells getting away and the murder of a million people.” She was staring in the distance, her eyes unfocused. “But you know what, you going all Transitiony actually helps me pull myself together. It forces me to remember the magnitude of what we’re dealing with. I have to keep going. There is no other choice.” She turned her head and focused an intense gaze on John. “You have no choice but to respect the messages and memories you’ve been given and act on them.”

  “What I said in the car…” John’s voice trailed off as he considered what to say.

  Stony shook her head, her eyes glittering. “Can we agree not to talk about that? I wasn’t thinking clearly, as you so succinctly pointed out. I had a damn good reason for being upset. But that’s no excuse for tossing in the towel, which is what I was ready to do. Don’t embarrass me or yourself by trying to soften your wake-up call.”

  “Soften it, hell. I was just trying to think of another way
to kick your ass.”

  Her mouth tilted in a wistful smile. She reached over and brushed the corners of his eyes. “You’d make a good shrink, if your patients didn’t off themselves before they got better.”

  “Maybe I’ll get a card printed,” John said. “Personal Growth Consultant. Caveat Emptor.”

  “Will you do me a favor?” Stony asked.

  “Name it.”

  “Put your fucking glasses back on. Your iridescent peepers are weirding me out.”

  He smiled and complied.

  “Appreciate that,” Stony said, shivering for effect. “I think I just got an idea. We already have teams knocking on the doors of Wells’ known associates, right? But Tess Blankenship, the woman in the trailer who was killed when Wells got away, wasn’t a known associate. He got to know her through his buddy in Telford prison. We need to get each person on the known associates list to tell us who their friends are. We can cross-reference for people who show up multiple times. Maybe Wells is looking for help from a friend of a friend.”

  “That’s going to be a massive job,” John said, “but the DTS and the secret service should be able to pull together the manpower that we need. Good thinking.”

  “It’s better than sitting around and waiting until DC disappears or someone spots the Mustang, which Wells has probably ditched by now anyway.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Which leaves us with one massive, festering question. What do we do about your conversations with God?”

  “I have a plan for that,” John said. “It’s simple. You grab Wells while I go to Islamabad and find Tareef.”

  Stunned silence.

  “I know I said you had to act on your ghostly advice, but you’d leave the investigation after what happened in Detroit? No way Akina would approve that. Even if she did, how in the hell would you find one Kalash boy in a hostile country? And why, for God’s sake? What are you going to do when you find him? Get real.”

  “Is this your way of saying that you think my Rock Creek experience and my newly-discovered childhood memories are bogus?” John asked.

  “No, I’m not saying that. But—”

  “Can’t have it both ways, Stony. Either they’re real and I have to act on them, or I’m as mad as a hatter. Which is it?”

  “Shit.” Stony leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and was quiet for several moments. “You are a pain in my ass, but you’re one of the least crazy people I know. So. What are we going to tell Akina?”

  As soon as they got off the plane, Stony took Ron Hammer to an empty gate to explain how she wanted to broaden the net around Wells and to put her plan into action, while John found another quiet spot and called Akina on her personal cell.

  “Dish?”

  “Yeah. We’re at Reagan and will be in a cab in a couple of minutes. Are you still at the office? We have several things we need to discuss.”

  “I’ll be here.” She hung up.

  “Dish, it’s dark out here,” Akina said. “What’s with the sunglasses? You look ridiculous.”

  “I’ll explain in a bit.”

  She stared at him for several seconds. “First my news, then yours.” Her voice was tired, but strong.

  She, John, and Stony were sitting around her patio table in the courtyard of the DTS headquarters. Ron Hammer had gone from the airport to his boss’s office to provide a briefing.

  Dark clouds swirled against an indigo sky behind the high glasshouse-style cover of the building’s atrium. The dancing gold light from the Victorian gas lamps scattered around the courtyard reminded John of the back streets of New Orleans.

  “The disease is in thirty states and twenty countries that we know of. Four-thousand kids are affected, with one hundred and ten deaths. On the good news front, the task force has traced the apparent origin back to a physics experiment at the CERN particle collider near Geneva.”

  John leaned toward the DTS director. “CERN?”

  “Dr. Julie Angst from Stanford University was running an experimental program at CERN to confirm the identity of a new sub-atomic particle. During one of her experimental runs, her project was shut down by an apparent radiation leak. She returned to California when a post-event physical didn’t identify any health effects. The CERN docs didn’t know to ask at the time, but our task force tracked her down and learned that she’d experienced the telltale red eyes just after the collider shut itself down.”

  “How the hell did the team identify her as the source?” Stony asked.

  “The earliest known case of T-Plague killed the child of a water bottle vendor who was at the facility during the incident. Dr. Angst recalled meeting the vendor. We’ve done hundreds of interviews and cross-checking, but the disease timeline starts there, with the good doctor and the vendor.”

  “We need to go way deeper than a cursory physical. DNA maps, genetic mutation analysis, the works,” John said.

  “Underway, but we probably won’t get results for weeks,” Akina said.

  “Shit,” Stony said. “Even after we have results, we might not learn anything that’s actionable. Meanwhile, Wells is running amok. He could kill millions, destroy the country, do whatever his fucking twisted heart wants.”

  They sat staring at each other for several moments in an uneasy silence.

  Akina took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Not surprisingly, the disease is making headlines worldwide, in spite of our government’s attempt to keep the lid on. People are starting to hoard food and keep their kids at home. That’s starting to put a strain on global commerce, but it may work to our advantage.”

  “Any hints about magic being used?” The deaths of the world’s children was John’s greatest fear. Right behind that was random T-Plague magic.

  “Minor stuff that may or may not be related to magic,” Akina said. “A footbridge gone missing in the Alps. A family in Amsterdam that claims to have found a gold mine where there shouldn’t be one. The Swiss and Dutch governments have slapped a lid on both while they investigate.”

  Akina sighed. “The Detroit nightmare is getting out of hand. A couple of Reuters journalists managed to get past the military’s perimeter. They were picked up and thrown into a holding cell where they’re being held incommunicado. Reuters’ lawyers are pitching a fit and have asked a judge to order their release. The army is saying they never heard of the guys and don’t know what Reuters is talking about.”

  “That can only get worse,” John said. “The vice president had it right when he warned the president that his actions would cost him his presidency. Not because of his decisions, but because of the coverup. Nixon learned that in the sixties, but it seems politicians never change.”

  “The Greeks called it hubris,” Akina said. “Okay, that’s all I have for now. You go.”

  Stony described the scope of the hunt for Wells, the failure to develop any solid leads, and her plan to expand the scope of the investigation.

  “Your idea is a good one,” Akina said. “Let me know what you need from me. But the bottom line is that Wells has disappeared, with every apparent intention of killing the president and destroying Washington.” She paused. “We’ve got to protect as much of our investigation as we can, so I want the two of you to get out of DC tonight and stay away until this is resolved. Sly is doing the same with his key people. But it’s not practical for our agencies to pack up and leave, so you’d better damn well find this guy before he can—”

  Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen and took the call. “Director Pearl.” She listened for a minute. “Adam, I’m going to put you on hold for a moment so that I can move inside and transfer the call to my speaker phone. John and Stony are with me and I want them to hear the conversation.”

  She put the call on hold. “Let’s go. It’s Sly and special agent Hammer. We may have a break.”

  They sat down next to each other at the conference table while Akina punched buttons on her phone. The black, upside-down frisbee in the middle of the table rang a
nd Akina tapped a button on its base. “We’re here.”

  “Ron Hammer, Director. Apparently the chief of police in Dundee, Ohio got a call from a local gas station attendant. The—”

  “Where is Dundee?” Akina asked.

  “A few miles south of Cleveland.”

  John formed a rough mental map spanning from Toledo to DC.

  Any reasonably direct route would skirt around the bottom of Lake Erie and pass through Cleveland.

  “Anyway, the attendant said that he found a candy wrapper on the floor in the men’s room, with a message written on the inside. I have a fax of the message and we have agents on the way there now to get the original and secure the scene. It’ll take them about—”

  “Come on, Ron,” Stony said. “don’t make us beg. What did the fucking message say?”

  The secret service agent coughed. “Sorry. It’s tough to read a couple of the words, but my best guess is ‘Rusty old Camaro to Mount Vernon. GT’”

  “Before I jump up and down,” Stony said, “did the attendant say if he’d noticed a man with a boy among his customers?”

  “Yeah. He called the chief because he found the wrapper an hour or so after a guy and a kid traveling together used the store’s bathroom. He noticed them because the guy took the kid into the bathroom with him. The kid was older, maybe twelve or so.”

  “Bingo,” Stony said. “I’m on my way to your office. Start plotting all the routes from the station to Mount Vernon and get a BOLO out for old rusty Camaros.”

  “I think I know how to do that, Stony,” Ron said. If a voice could smile, his was. “Get here as fast as you can.”

  Akina disconnected the call and looked at the two of them. “Get going, but don’t forget what I said. Stay out of the District of Columbia. Run your investigation from the road.”

  “Hang on a second,” John said. “Stony has to go without me. I’m going to Pakistan and see if I can find Tareef.”

  Akina looked at him like he’d sprouted a second head, then turned to Stony. “Go. John will catch up with you a little later.”