Ghost Moon

by Rebecca York

  JACOB glanced down the hall for probably the sixth time. The bedroom door was still closed.

  Too restless to sit and wait for a message from the psychic world, he said, “I’m going to see if I can get onto Flagstaff Farm.”

  Ross gave him a sharp look. “That could be dangerous.”

  “But with no life mate, I’m the logical one to do it.”

  His cousin nodded, and Jacob couldn’t stop himself from resenting the gesture. He could go out there if he wanted. He didn’t need Ross’s permission.

  “Can I give you some advice?”

  Jacob considered the offer. He didn’t like taking advice from another werewolf. But in this case, it made sense becauseRoss was a private detective. “Okay,” he allowed.

  “Wait until dark. And park at least a quarter mile from the farm.”

  “Yeah. But I’ll start out now. Maybe I can get some informationin town before I invade the militia compound. The troops may have rubbed some of the residents the wrong way.”

  Ross nodded. “Keep in cell phone communication—so we know you’re okay.”

  “I will, until I change to a wolf.”

  CALEB swung his legs off the bed and stood up as Quinn hurried from the room. Bracing himself, he watched her returnwith Ross.

  “I understand you came up with the name of Wyatt Reynolds’ boss,” the private detective said.

  “Yeah. But what good does that do?” Caleb asked, hearingthe harsh quality of his own voice. “What are we supposedto do, look him up in the phone book?”

  “Not the phone book. The Web.”

  “Which is?”

  “The greatest source of information since the smoke signalwas invented.”

  Was this guy putting him on? “Smoke signal?” he asked. “Do they use them now?”

  “No. I was just trying for dramatic effect. Come in the other room and I’ll show you.”

  Everyone crowded into Logan’s office. Ross sat down at a very strange machine. It had a keyboard that looked somethinglike a typewriter. The numbers and letters were the same, only all the keys were on the same horizontal surface instead of being raised in tiers. And they were square instead of round.

  But there was no roller at the top. And Ross didn’t put in any paper. Instead, when he typed, words appeared on somethinglike a little movie screen.

  “Like a television?” he asked. “I saw one at the hunting lodge where we were hiding out. They had a lot of stations.”

  “With television, they’re called channels. But you’re right, it’s like your radio. Companies broadcast programs— or send them out on cable channels, using underground wires.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Let me see if I can give you the short course in a couple of minutes. This is a computer, and it’s connected to other computers in the United States and around the world.”

  “Connected? Like a telephone exchange?”

  “Something like that. But there’s no operator. You do it yourself. And it’s also like going to a library catalogue and looking up a book, then taking it off the shelf. And you can search in ways that you couldn’t with a book or a catalogue. You can put in a name or a word and go right to the informationyou want. I’ll show you.” He laughed. “It’s like the post office, too. You can send a kind of mail called e-mail that comes to your machine. Well, to your address. I’m using Logan’s computer now, but I can use my own accounts.”

  Caleb’s head was spinning. Struggling not to sound overwhelmed,he asked, “One machine does all that?”

  “Yeah. And more. Let me type in my name and password. The password will show as a bunch of dots, so nobody else can use my account.”

  When he had done what he called “login,” he said, “What’s the guy’s name?”

  “Jerry Ruckleman,” Caleb supplied.

  “Not a common name. That should help. Of course, his real name could be Jerome.”

  AN afternoon in Frederick had yielded little information about the group at Flagstaff Farm—except that they weren’t well liked.

  After driving past, Jacob kept going to a patch of woods, where he climbed out of his car, then stepped into the shadowsand began to say the chant that his ancestors had said back into the dawn of time.

  In moments, he was down on all fours—a wolf in his element,the woods. He sniffed the air, taking in the scents of the night, then started off at a fast trot for the militia compound.

  He easily climbed through the rails of the wooden fence. Fifty yards farther on, he found out why access to the propertywas so easy.

  Two large Rottweilers came bounding toward him, barkingloudly, ready to tear the intruder to pieces. They were both wearing what he recognized as electric collars. So if he beat it back to the fence, he would be safe.

  JIM Bowie had seen a T-shirt once with the legend, “The United States—conceived by geniuses to be run by morons.”

  That was how he felt about it. The current government leaders weren’t even up to the moron level. They were idiots. And they needed shaking up to put them back on the right track. He was going to do it in just a few days.

  He was contemplating the feeling of power and glory when he realized that the dogs had started barking again.

  He stood in his quarters, listening intently.

  As abruptly as it had started, the barking stopped.

  Earlier, the handler had said they’d gone after the vegetabledelivery truck from town. Maybe this time it was a deer. There were plenty of them in the area, and it was hard for even a well-disciplined dog to resist chasing fresh game.

  After a moment, he reholstered his sidearm, then sat back down in his easy chair, took another bite of his ham sandwich,and shuffled through the books on the table next to him.

  The Founding Fathers had always been a source of wisdom.But he also liked to read the autobiographies of the modern generals. Patton was especially inspiring. He had a sense of history. And he knew how to rally his men to give that last full measure of devotion.

  He’d inspired them with the ancient Greek battle of Thermopylae—without telling them that all of the Spartans had been killed defending the pass. The Spartans had been prepared to die. His men weren’t. But that didn’t make their demise any less glorious.

  The analogy was so perfect. He knew his decision was the right one, yet he felt a sliver of uneasiness working its way through his skin, like an infected splinter.

  He’d set his timetable for Operation Eagle’s Flight weeks ago.

  And he’d decided to do the unexpected. Hit right before a day when the D.C. police would be on high alert.

  But maybe the universe was giving him a message. Maybe he’d better not sit here reading history books.

  Standing, he walked to the door of his quarters. His room was on the first floor. When he reached the porch, he looked around at his domain.

  Across the quadrangle, lights blazed in the recreation hall. Most of the men were there—except the two who were on guard duty with the dogs.

  He’d just take a tour around the grounds, then go back inside.

  Were the men ready for the big day?

  He couldn’t believe otherwise. They’d been training for this one mission for months. They functioned as a well-oiled machine.

  Most of the time.

  But perhaps he’d better increase their readiness over the next few days.

  JACOB went very still, making a soothing sound low in his throat, like a song.

  The two dogs cocked their heads to the side, staring at him. He kept making the sound, sending out a signal to the two animals, telling them that he was no threat, that he meant them no harm, that he was their friend.

  It was a talent he had discovered years earlier—even before the first time he had changed from frightened teenager to wolf. On the way to school, he’d had to walk past a yard with a chain-linkfence. And inside the fence was a Doberman that scared all the kids. Everybody ran past that yard. But one day, when someone left the driveway gate open, the dog got out and
cornereda little girl named Katie on the steps of the next house.

  Jacob could have run. But he couldn’t leave the girl. The problem was, he didn’t have an idea in hell how to save her. Still, he ran toward the dog, calling at him to leave the girl alone. And the dog changed its focus, turning and rushing toward him, teeth bared.

  He yelled at Katie to get out of there, but she only crouched on the steps, whimpering.

  Jacob started talking to the dog, telling it that he was a friend. That he meant it no harm. That they were brothers. And to his astonishment the dog slowed down, cocking its head to the side and looking at him.

  By that time, the dog’s owner had come running, shouting,“Klingon, stay. Klingon, stay.”

  The man grabbed the animal by the collar and snapped on a leash. The dog went home quietly. And after that, Jacob stopped every day at the chain-link fence, talking to his new friend, trying to understand Klingon.

  That had been the start of his knowledge that there was something inside him that allowed him to communicate with animals. He’d used that skill many times in the years since. In fact, it was now his job. He evaluated animals being held at shelters and animals being considered for special training. Sometimes he also helped with the training.

  He could reach out to animals as a man. And he could do it as a wolf, although not as effectively, because he had no spoken words as a wolf. But even without real words, his message of brotherhood got across to other species.

  He trotted along beside his two new friends, still humminghis song of fellowship. And the two Rottweilers stayed on either side of him, allowing him free access to the militia compound.

  Just as he figured he was home free, something moved to his right.

  A guard—with a machine gun.

  His eyes fixed on the weapon, Jacob froze in place.

  CALEB clenched his fists at his sides as Ross typed in both variations. He didn’t know how this was going to work, but he could see Ross had faith in the method.

  “There are only two hits,” he said after a few moment.

  “Hits?”

  “I found two men with that name. There’s a Jerome Ruckleman who’s an art museum director in Pennsylvania.” He pointed to several lines of writing on the screen. “There are articles and biographies on him. But he’s probably not the right one, unless Wyatt Reynolds was investigating a bunch of militiamen who are also art forgers.”

  The observation earned Ross nervous laughter around the room.

  “The other is Jerome Ruckleman who works for the Departmentof Homeland Security.”

  Ross switched to another screen. “Apparently, he runs an elite counterterrorism unit.”

  Logan whistled through his teeth, then looked at Caleb. “Counterterrorism. Does that ring any bells?”

  A sudden sick feeling shot through Caleb as a piece of informationzinged into his head. “I think I know what the colonelis planning to do,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  THE guard walked past, and Jacob let out the breath he was holding, then moved cautiously toward a cluster of buildings,noting their locations. He could see a farmhouse and long low structures ahead of him. Barracks?

  Wary of more security forces, he crept closer to the hub of activity, coming to what must be a recreation room, where he heard the sounds of men’s cheerful voices. He inched towardthe light spilling from the doorway, listening to the conversation. It was ordinary, and he gathered from the relaxedatmosphere that they would be there for a while.

  When he looked toward the farmhouse, he saw a man standing under the porch light. A man with gray hair cut short, a lined face that matched the mug shot Ross had showed him on the Web, and a neatly pressed camouflage uniform.

  Colonel Bowie. In the flesh.

  From the shadows, Jacob watched him walk down the steps and head toward the recreation hall.

  He’d left the door open a crack. Was there time to get insidethe farmhouse and look around? Or was that taking too much of a chance?

  Making a split-second decision, he ran across the open space, then through the door. He was in a comfortably furnishedliving room or lounge. He saw a kitchen off to his right. And down the hall, a light burned. He headed for the back of the house and stepped into a bedroom.

  The blanket on the single bed was so tightly tucked in that you could have bounced a coin on it. The desk blotter was clear of everything—not a paper or even a paper clip. In the entire room, nothing was out of place, except a pile of books and papers beside an easy chair in the corner.

  Jacob spotted a calendar hanging above the desk. A date was circled in red.

  After looking at the calendar, he took a step closer to the table, scanning the top page of the papers. It seemed to be some kind of political statement that the colonel wanted to deliver to the U.S. Government.

  He was pawing at the top page, trying to move it aside, when he heard footsteps in the hall.

  CALEB felt all eyes on him. Moistening his lips, he said, “Colonel Bowie is planning to set off something called a dirty bomb in Washington, D.C. I assume that’s something bad.”

  Around the room, some of the people drew in a startled breath.

  “Yeah, a dirty bomb is bad. Very bad,” Ross muttered. “Do you know about radioactive elements?”

  “You mean like radium? Didn’t Madame Curie discover it?”

  “Right. She was excited about the medical applications. Radium is only one of the radioactive elements, and she didn’t know they were dangerous. Military men were more interested in the weapons applications. Uranium and plutoniumare also radioactive, and they’re used in certain kinds of deadly weapons. What we call weapons of mass destructionbecause they kill a lot of people at once.”

  “Something they developed after the world war?”

  “Yeah.” Ross made a harsh sound. “The leaders of countriesaround the world hoped World War One would be the last war. But it didn’t work out that way. We had another world war about twenty-five years later. Only there were big advances in killing ability. What ended the war was one of those weapons of mass destruction. An atomic bomb. It explodeswhen radioactive elements are slammed together so that they reach critical mass.”

  Caleb nodded slowly, although he didn’t understand perfectly.

  Seeing his expression, Ross said, “You don’t have to know how it works. You just need to know that radioactivity in large amounts is extremely damaging to animal and plant life. Depending on how much you absorb, it can kill quickly or cause illnesses like cancer and leukemia years later.”

  “He’s got that kind of bomb?”

  “Not exactly. Atomic bombs and hydrogen bombs rely on sophisticated technology. But it’s possible to put radioactive material into a conventional bomb. When the explosives go off, the radioactivity is spread over a wide area. And it lingers there for a long time. So if Bowie’s gang set off a bomb like that in Washington, D.C., it would be horrendous.”

  “You mean thousands of people could die?” Caleb asked.

  “Yes. And part of the city would be contaminated—and unusable, because it takes a long time for radioactivity to decay.”

  Ross let that sink in, then looked at Caleb. “Do you know where they’re going to do it?”

  Caleb closed his eyes, trying to bring back words that Reynolds had spoken to him. “The Kennedy Center . . . or the Capitol.”

  He heard Rinna draw in a quick breath.

  “Or both,” he added, then clenched his teeth in frustration.“It’s not clear which.”

  “But doing both makes sense,” Ross said. “If they started with the Kennedy Center, rescue efforts would converge there. Then when they did the Capitol, it would be a very nasty surprise. You have a time frame?”

  Again Caleb closed his eyes, desperate to dredge up the information. But all he could confirm was, “Soon.”

  “Too bad we can’t just phone 911 and tell them about it,” Logan muttered. “Because we don’t have enough informationto be credible.”


  “You mean the emergency number?” Quinn asked.

  “Yes,” Ross answered. “The phone number you dial when you need the police or the fire department.”

  “We could raid the militia compound,” Logan said.

  "Kind of risky to try and take them on their own turf,” Ross answered.

  They were silent for several moments, then Logan cleared his throat. “Homeland Security could stop them. An anonymous tip? Like when those guys wanted to bomb JFK airport and someone in the neighborhood turned them in?”

  Caleb didn’t get the reference, but he didn’t interrupt the exchange.

  “No. They couldn’t just charge into the compound on the strength of a tip. They’d have to investigate. And then it might be too late—if the framework is tight,” Ross said.

  Logan looked at Caleb. “But what if Wyatt Reynolds went to his boss and told him he knew for sure that an attack was in the works?”

  “You mean have Caleb impersonate Reynolds?” Ross asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Quinn immediately looked upset. “That’s too risky. Caleb doesn’t know enough about Reynolds’ boss—or about Reynolds, either.”

  Caleb silently conceded the point, but he wasn’t going to let her dictate what he did or didn’t do. In fact, while he was standing here, he had been working his way into a startling conclusion. He had stayed on earth for seventy-five years afterhe’d died because he thought he had a mission—to avenge his own death. Now he was starting to think there was another reason. He had stayed on earth because he had a more important mission—to prevent the deaths of thousands of people. When he turned it over in his mind, it sounded highfalutin. Something he couldn’t say aloud to anyone else.

  But he felt a commitment deep inside himself. He took a moment to catch his breath, then gestured toward the monitor.“If you can find out things about Jerome Ruckleman, you can find out about Wyatt Reynolds, too.”

  “Maybe not enough,” Ross said.

  CORNERED in the bedroom, Jacob looked wildly around. The closet door was slightly ajar. He could hide in there. But then he’d be trapped in the room. And what if the guy decidedto hang his clothes in the closet? Or conduct a search of the room?

  The only other option was the double-hung window. It was open, but a screen covered the opening.