The Entity Game: An Aurora Donati Novel

by Lisa Shearin

  “Who is he?” My voice was a clipped whisper. “I want a name, and I want it now.”

  “So you can be his next victim? You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

  “A psychokinetic assassin. The thing my grandfather said should be impossible exists, and it was lying in wait for him. At. Our. Home.”

  Silence.

  “You weren’t the first Donati to go into that men’s room today,” Marshall said. “Your grandfather was. And on Thursday morning, the FBI agent downstairs at the Russell Building had a list of people to allow into the building. “A. Donati” appears on your consultant’s ID—and your grandfather’s. Elements in the intelligence community know about his ability. They didn’t know about you until very recently.”

  “And now you’re one of them.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s me he wanted to kill. That should be me in that bed, hooked up to those machines.”

  “He’ll know soon if he doesn’t already that you are the most dangerous to him. Your skill goes deeper than your grandfather’s. He’ll be coming after you now. You need to stop. Stay here. Be with your grandfather. He won’t come after you if you stay here.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You’re not his mission.”

  “Then who is?”

  “That’s classified.”

  “Bullshit,” I spat.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. You have no clue who’s next. You’re no closer to knowing than you were before Julian was killed, and it’s eating you up. Dammit, that was supposed to be me in there. I was the A. Donati on the list the night Pierce was killed. I was the one he saw coming out of that restroom after throwing up after what I’d seen him do. He was there. Watching. The witness said he was wearing a long coat and hat. No one saw what he looked like, and he could have been wearing anything under that coat. Probably a Capitol Police uniform. They were everywhere yesterday. The bastard was probably standing there in plain sight. He could have taken me, but for some reason, he thought Grandad was the bigger threat.”

  “He was mistaken.”

  “Damn right, he was.” I was shaking with rage. “And I’m not going to let him get away with it.”

  “Are you carrying?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” Marshall put his foot on the chair and removed his gun, holster and all, from his ankle. “This will do until you can get home and get your own gun. You do have one, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I rarely need it.”

  “You need it now. If you see him before he sees you, put a bullet through his head. It’s the only way to stop him.”

  Rees had said the same thing.

  “I don’t know what he looks like.”

  “Neither do I. He’s had surgery. But you’ll know him. You’ll sense him if he gets close, and he’ll want to be close now. When he comes after you—and if you leave this hospital and keep coming after him, he will come after you—when he finds you, he’ll want it to be up close and personal.”

  He put the gun on the altar, and it slid, seemingly by itself, across the wood to me and stopped.

  There it was, out in the open. He wanted me to know his power if I didn’t already.

  “I knew,” I told him.

  “I suspected. I also want you to know you can trust me. I know your secret, you know mine.”

  “It’s going to take more than that. You’re a killer.” I left “just like the man we’re both after” unsaid.

  “I’m nothing like him. I don’t know what Berta told you, but—”

  “The truth. Unlike you, she’s never lied to me or kept things from me.”

  “It’s for your own good.”

  “Let me decide that.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then I can’t trust you.”

  Marshall hesitated, then held out a flash drive with an OTG cable. “This will show you what you’re up against.”

  I cautiously took it from him.

  “It’s just a video,” he assured me. “I’m not trying to do anything to your phone. You need to see it before you even think about leaving this hospital.”

  I kept my eyes on him as I felt in my bag for my phone, only glancing down long enough to unlock my phone and plug it in.

  The video’s resolution was grainy and green. A night vision camera. The height and unsteadiness of the video told me it was helmet mounted. Whoever was wearing the helmet appeared to be in a cave.

  From somewhere ahead came men speaking Arabic. I couldn’t understand it, but I could recognize it when I heard it. The cave narrowed into a tunnel, and I could just make out what appeared to be a sentry up ahead. The man wearing the camera paused, and seconds later, the sentry gasped and started to fall. The man caught him, silently easing him to the floor.

  A second, then a third sentry met the same fate.

  Exactly what he had done to Simmons’s guards yesterday at the town house.

  Through it all, I heard the man’s breathing. Regular and steady as he brought death on silent feet, the Grim Reaper out for stroll.

  This was the man I had sensed in Julian’s office, and yesterday in the Hart Building’s men’s room.

  This was what we were hunting.

  This was what would be hunting me—if Gabriel Marshall was to be believed.

  The tunnel emptied into a cave with five men that I could see, two manning computer stations, two cleaning weapons, and one asleep in a corner.

  He took the sleeper first.

  Then the two cleaning weapons. One of the men managed to cry out before he died, alerting the remaining two. They leapt to their feet, turned toward their killer, and went for their guns. They were dead before they could draw.

  Three sentries and five insurgents dead within two minutes.

  Not one shot was fired.

  All he did was look at them and kill.

  I looked up from my phone. I had so many questions that—

  Gabriel Marshall was gone.

  CHAPTER 28

  I put my phone down and pulled up the leg of my jeans. My combat boots had a tactical accessory strap that would accommodate a holster, sheath, or cuffs. I started to thread the strap through the holster, then stopped.

  Always be suspicious of CIA assassins disguised as priests bearing gifts.

  Gabriel Marshall had only said he wasn’t doing anything to my phone.

  I believed him when he’d said he was sorry about what had happened to Grandad. I even believed that he wanted me to be careful. But I wasn’t buying for a second that he gave me his gun only to protect myself with.

  I needed to examine my present.

  The magazine of the little Beretta was fully loaded, and it didn’t appear that anything had been modified to conceal a tracking chip.

  That left the holster.

  It looked like all the seams were intact, but I tugged and pulled my way around the holster anyway. If I hadn’t been so thorough, I’d have missed it.

  Wedged tightly between the leather layers of the holster was a tiny chip.

  Nice try, Marshall. I’m not going to be your bait for a psychic psycho.

  “An unusual room in which to arm yourself,” Rees said from the doorway. “Though considering the circumstances, I can’t say I disapprove.”

  I pulled down the leg of my jeans. “It’s not mine, and I don’t believe I’ll be carrying it.” I told him about my visitor, then showed him the video. While he watched it, I watched him, and saw something I’d never seen on Samuel Rees. Fear. Not for himself, but for us all.

  “Marshall’s not just trying to clean up a CIA embarrassment,” Rees said. “This is a black ops project gone rogue—or worse, exactly according to plan. This is a national security emergency. I’ll call Hudson. He needs to escalate this. With Gabriel Marshall, what’s important is what he doesn’t say. He wanted you to see this, and he d
idn’t stay to take it back. He knew you’d show it to me. He advised you to stay away. He knows it’s my job not to.”

  “What does that make Gabriel Marshall? Friend or foe?”

  “I wouldn’t call him a friend, but he has yet to cross the line into foe. We’ll keep our eyes and options open. Pete found another piece of the puzzle—a call to Julian Pierce’s burner from a place called MRT in Triment Industrial Park, Bethesda. MRT stands for Medical Research Technology.”

  Jackpot.

  “We have response and forensics teams on the way there now,” Rees added.

  “Are you going?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I’m going. Berta can—”

  “Keep both you and Ambrose safe.”

  I just looked at him. “Listen to yourself. Who better to tell you what’s really been going on in this place than me? Medical Research Technology. Even the name screams ‘we’re hiding something.’”

  Rees was looking at Marshall’s Beretta in my hand. “If you insist on going, keep that and wear it.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “I need to talk to Gabriel Marshall. Now. If you leave here, he’ll be following you. I want him to.”

  We took the same SUV we had taken to Julian’s house yesterday morning, only now I was sitting in the backseat alone, the early morning sun in my eyes. Granddad was in the ICCU fighting for his life. Rees had enough agents guarding him now that even I felt he would be safe.

  On the way to MRT, I added my sunglasses to the FBI ballcap and windbreaker Berta had given me to complete my excuse for a disguise.

  Like Gabriel Marshall had said, blend in with your surroundings. I was about to be surrounded by FBI response and forensics teams. If the assassin was following us, we were going to make him work to find his target.

  Every metropolitan area was peppered with industrial parks bearing generic names. Some were built in areas along interstates for easy access, others made use of warehouse space or buildings that had fallen into disuse in sketchy parts of a city with desirable (aka cheap) rent. Businesses used the money they saved in rent to buy themselves enough security to persuade the local criminal elements to go elsewhere.

  Medical Research Technology was a suitably generic company in an unassuming industrial park. MRT’s purpose was as unknown as its history, which apparently did not exist. Rees had people digging to find every scrap of information, from who owned it down to the blood type and favorite color of the guy who’d come up with the name.

  MRT was near the back of the industrial park in the last cluster of buildings.

  When we arrived, there were two black SUVs and a black sedan waiting.

  They were the only vehicles in the parking lot.

  “Your people?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Rees didn’t like the looks of this either.

  It was Saturday morning. There’d been a light snow overnight, and the only tire tracks in the parking lot belonged to the three FBI vehicles.

  Walking up to one of the agents was a man whose khaki uniform shouted private security guard. The agent showed the guard his badge.

  Rees got out and went over to them. I scooted across the seat to follow.

  “Stay,” Berta told me in no uncertain terms. “When it’s clear, we’ll drive you right up to the front door. Until this is over, you’re going to be seeing as little open sky as possible.”

  Then Berta stayed to make sure I stayed. She had her window partially rolled down so we could hear most of what was being said.

  “They moved out Tuesday night,” the guard was saying. “One of those corporate moving companies brought a semi to the loading dock around back and started loading it up.”

  “Did you receive a notification about the move?” an agent asked.

  “My supervisor said he did and assured us everything was on the up-and-up.”

  Rees stepped forward. “Do you have the name of the moving company and the tag number of the truck?”

  “No, sir.” The guard smiled. “But I think I can do you one better. I can get you the video from the camera that’s aimed at MRT’s loading dock. You can watch ’em drive in, load it, and leave.”

  Rees returned the smile. “That would be most helpful. Thank you.”

  The response team had a warrant, but there was no one at MRT to show it to. No one was home, and we didn’t have a key, but one of the agents was gifted in all the right ways for a little breaking and entering. Or since they had a warrant, maybe it was just entering.

  Rees pulled the SUV as close to MRT’s door as he could get it, Berta held the door open, and I darted inside.

  Inside Medical Research Technology was a whole lot of nothing.

  The place had been stripped to the walls. All that was left was a nearly overpowering smell of bleach. No pleasant pine scent here, this was industrial-grade cleaner, and it’d been used recently.

  After a search by the muscle contingency of the team to ensure it was safe, the forensics half got to work. It didn’t take them too long to report that there wasn’t a single fingerprint to be found on any doorknob, drawer pull, faucet, or toilet handle. Every surface had been wiped clean.

  The agents Hudson had dispatched had their jobs to do and they were doing them.

  I went from room to room, doing mine.

  I got an overall sense of controlled chaos. This hadn’t been planned. This location had been compromised, and they’d evacuated. Yes, that was exactly the word to describe it. An evacuation. Whether the catalyst had been Barrington’s text to Julian, or something else, I didn’t know. I didn’t get an indication as to the reason, just the need to get out as fast as possible.

  There were no phones, no reception area, just four cubicles near the front, and two offices and a small conference room with doors.

  The back half of the space Medical Research Technology had occupied lived up to its name. There had been a laboratory here. All the equipment had been removed, but the tables, cabinets, and lab sinks that had been attached to the floor or wall had been left behind. Toward the rear of the lab was what looked like an animal pen, about ten by ten, with a smaller separate pen with a gate nearby.

  There was an underlying smell that the bleach couldn’t hide.

  “Pigs,” Rees said with certainty.

  Berta and I did a double take.

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  The agent shrugged. “My uncle raised pigs. That’s a stink you don’t forget.”

  “A noble occupation,” I said. “Anyone who raises bacon has my undying gratitude. I wouldn’t want to live in a world without it.”

  Pigs in a lab in Bethesda.

  “What kind of lab would need pigs?” I continued. “Better yet, what kind of lab would wipe all their prints?”

  “A lab that didn’t want the people who worked here identified,” Berta said. “I’m thinking this was a government lab.”

  “Here?”

  “Anonymity,” Rees said. “Government employees who need security clearances get fingerprinted. All those fingerprints are on file with their respective agencies. Whoever was here wouldn’t have done such a thorough housekeeping job unless those prints were on file, and they didn’t want anyone to know who they were—including the people in their own agency.”

  One of the other agents called for Rees. I continued exploring, and Berta gave me the space I needed without letting me out of her sight.

  Off the lab was another room accessed through swinging doors with small windows at eye height that looked like hospital doors. I pushed the right door open with my elbow even though the techs were already inside and had dusted it for prints.

  Inside was an airlock, and beyond was an operating room, complete with a high-intensity, adjustable light mounted to the ceiling directly above an operating table.

  A table outfitted with thick, leather straps where the wrists, ankles, chest, thighs, and head on a human would be. A tech wa
s dusting the straps for prints.

  I went absolutely still as my vision narrowed to the head of the table.

  They were awake. The people who had been strapped to that table had been awake while they’d undergone whatever surgery they’d endured.

  No, worse than that, they had needed to be awake. The leather straps weren’t because these people were being held against their will. It was to keep them still during the operation.

  They had volunteered.

  They’d wanted this.

  The medical team surrounding the patient appeared to me as pale blurs, but I could tell that the surgery centered on the patient’s head.

  “Are you getting something?” Berta asked quietly from beside me.

  I nearly jumped out of my boots.

  “I’m sorry, I thought you were finished.”

  “I was, but next time make some noise.”

  “I’ll try to breathe louder. What did you get?”

  I told her what I’d seen—and my conclusion.

  She spat a single word.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I told her.

  Rees met us outside the operating room. “Your visitor is back.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Rees had his phone in his hand. “Gabriel Marshall just called and wants to meet.”

  “Where?”

  “The loading dock. Now.”

  Just before we reached the loading dock door, Berta stepped in front of me.

  “I’m going first,” she said.

  “So you can punch him first?”

  “Something like that.” She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it over the pig pen gate.

  Berta wore a holster and gun under each arm. She was a deadly shot with either hand.

  Rees stopped at the door. “Berta?”

  “Yes?”

  “Stay alert to any movement behind Marshall in the unlikely event he was followed. He’s not the danger, not this time.”

  “If you say so.”

  Berta didn’t like it, but she’d do it. We all knew she could undo it in an instant. Just because Rees didn’t think it’d be necessary, didn’t mean he wasn’t in favor of her being overprotective. I agreed.