Madison Mosby and the Moonmilk Wars

by Jason Winn

  ***

  Shelby made her way past the officers assigned to guard the back door of Preen’s shop. Inside, she noticed bullet holes where she’d shot at the suspect. Preen lay next to a large table strewn with flowers and ribbon.

  The top of his head was missing, surrounded by a stew that was once his brains and scalp. Normally, a scene like that would set off a wave of remorse for the victim, but he was a part of Trask’s world and probably had it coming. She didn’t feel a thing for him. All she wanted to do was get to the person that shot him and subsequently shot at her to see what leads she could pull out of them.

  A quick pat down of his pockets revealed nothing. She stepped over him and out into the store. Next to the cash register lay a cell phone. Saying a silent prayer, Shelby hit the home button. The screen lit up with all the icons staring back at her. The idiot had failed to put a passcode on his phone.

  Jackpot.

  Shelby went to the text messages and found one from yesterday, from a person named “Contessa.” She opened it and almost dropped the phone when she read the message. It noted that the Rose Widow had a storage building and that she would be there tomorrow night. The address was only a few miles from the Preens’ floral shop.

  She pocketed the phone and darted from the store. As she jumped into her car, Shelby dialed the number for the strike team. It was time to bring in the heavies.

  Chapter 79

  Madison’s breaths came in short heaves. Her eyes were still watering from the pepper spray.

  What the fuck had Shelby been doing at the Preens?

  She poured herself a drink, looked at it and decided better. This wasn’t a time to start throwing them back, although she needed one like, right goddamned now.

  Graves. Oh, shit.

  Before she could finish congratulating herself, Madison was punching in his number on her phone.

  Graves answered on the first ring. “Yeah-low. Hold on, Madison, let me turn the TV down.”

  The booming television reminded her of Reese and his video games. She noticed it didn’t feel so bad anymore to think about him. That made her feel like a bad person, but then she considered that she needed to eventually move on. And having the trigger of the television and her not start bawling was a good thing.

  Sorry, Reese. I got to move on.

  “All right, I’m back. What’s up?”

  “I need you to check on my sister.”

  “Okie dokie. Which one?”

  “Shelby.”

  “Just a checkup, or do we need to have her run some errands?”

  “No.” Madison wondered what “run some errands” meant. She would ask him when they were face-to-face. “I just want to know why she was at a certain location earlier tonight.”

  “Easy enough.”

  “Can you…” Madison paused. She hadn’t really considered how Graves cast spells. Fuck, she was stupid. She’d just paid him enough money to buy a small country, and she hadn’t even asked him what all he could do.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you um, do that,” she felt her face scrunch up, “do it, like, remotely?” She braced for him to call her stupid and hang up.

  “I wish.” Graves broke out into laughter. “That would be something, right? Hey, President Dick Face, stop bombing brown people and while you’re at it, send over some of those Presidential whores, chop, chop.” He busted out laughing at his own joke.

  Madison rolled her eyes at the mention of whores.

  “So, what then? How do we do this?”

  “I need to be able to see her, and preferably no more than a hundred yards away. Any further and I’m going to get wiped out pretty quick.”

  Madison thought for a moment. “All right, shit. She and I are long overdue to go out and catch up. I’ll set something up and you can be there. She doesn’t know you. So you just get close and see what’s up.”

  Graves didn’t respond.

  Madison broke the silence. “Does that work for you?”

  “Sure. What exactly are we looking for?”

  “I need you to figure out why she was at the Preen’s Floral Shop tonight.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “Yeah, it’s a big deal.”

  “I’ll say. She’s FBI, right?”

  “How did you know that?”

  Another pause.

  Madison broke the silence again. “Look, I’m not going to pull teeth with you. What the fuck?”

  “Okay, I may have put some bad things in her head to get you to call Trask. I, uh, I gave her the phone you called him on.”

  Holy fucking hell, she thought.

  Madison’s stomach went into free fall. Visions of Shelby pointing a gun at her in their mother’s storage room came flooding back. Shelby was bawling her eyes out screaming about her twins burning alive. Mascara running down her cheeks. She could barely stand.

  Madison’s voice fell to a whisper. “That was you?”

  The room around her disappeared and she was holding that phone again, with the video feed of Reese and Dana in the chairs with duct tape over their mouths. Caymen shooting Reese in the head. Those fuckers had played her. Graves had set the whole thing up. And now she was having to ask him to go back into the same sister’s head to see why Shelby had shot her a few hours ago.

  The drink she’d poured called out to her.

  “Look, Madison, I’m not a good guy. I’m a mercenary. Right now I am your mercenary.”

  What happens when you’re not mine anymore? she wondered.

  Madison picked up the glass of vodka and downed it in one gulp. She poured another and downed it, for Reese.

  “Water under the bridge,” she said. The words burned more than the vodka. “Stay by your phone. I’ll text you the details.”

  Madison ended the call, threw the phone on the table next to the empty glass and punched a hole in the wall.

  Chapter 80

  Shelby stood on Pennsylvania Avenue, a few doors down the street from the address on Preen’s phone. She remembered the building once housed a Marriott Hotel, before it was bought up by an international firm and was slowly being converted into office space.

  Her voice trembled as she spoke into her phone. “I’m sure my concerns are unfounded, but the White House is within spitting distance of this place.”

  “Not to worry, Agent Painter, the appropriate parties have been notified and have cleared the airspace for us,” said Colonel Baker. She could hear the drone of the operations center behind him. People talking in low voices, almost like a call center. “Our aircraft have urban stealth capabilities, and this flight is listed as a training mission, on civilian radar in the event someone starts asking questions.”

  “Um, okay. I mean if you fly this close, then someone will see you, right?”

  “Doubt it. We’re prepared for all battle theaters.”

  Cars sped up to the office building. Heavy-looking men got out and shuffled inside. Two stayed by the cars, hands under leather jackets. “Targets are on site,” said Shelby. She took another look over toward the White House. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that the President was in Modesto at a fund-raiser.

  A cop car slowed on the street near the cars. Shelby’s heart skipped a beat. She took a deep breath, but before she could tell Baker to hold, the car’s lights came on, the siren blared and it sped off down the street. She let out her breath.

  “Look up,” said Baker. His voice was calm and confident, the tenor of a man in complete control, like he’d done this a million times before.

  Shelby did. She could make out the faintest blur of the helicopter above the office building. There was no sound of rotors or gust of wind, just the noise of the city, cars and busses trundling along. Ropes fell from the blur, followed by men in black, sliding down like water droplets.

  “I see them. Remember, I need as many of the suspects alive as possible.”

  “Understood. Stand by, one.”

  “There’s two by the front door.”
<
br />   Colonel Baker didn’t respond.

  The world slowed. The blurs in the sky disappeared. Shelby realized that she must be looking at a pair of those black ops helicopters she’d heard about. The same ones the SEALs used to fly in and take out Bin Laden. The technology on those things had to be unreal, to make them so quiet.

  She wondered if she needed to be doing anything. Colonel Baker would probably tell her if she did. Instead, Shelby looked up at the building. Faint flashes of light appeared in random windows. Muzzle flashes?

  Shelby desperately wanted to ask if everything was okay. The wait was tearing at her stomach. But, she kept quiet and let the team do their job.

  A city bus pulled up next to her with the lights out. The route sign at the top of the thing read “out of service.” The driver wore all black and hunched over the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the office building. What the hell was he doing? Did the driver see something that caught his attention? Shelby returned her attention to the building. Two men exited the cars that pulled up and walked inside, probably wondering what was taking the others so long. Then Shelby wondered if they were waiting for Preen to show up.

  You’re in for a disappointment if that’s the case. Truth be told, they were in for disappointment either way. Shelby smiled. But there was still frustration. She couldn’t help but dwell on the Switzerland connection. Even if some intel was taken from these people, whoever they were, she feared she’d be no closer to Trask’s motives or the connection with her family.

  And then there was the Rose Widow herself. Where was she? Was she supposed to be at this meeting? If she got killed in a crossfire, would that be good enough for Connolly?

  The front door of the building swung open. Shelby heard two clicks and the men fell to the ground. A different pair of men, in black tactical gear, crept up behind the bodies, and dragged them back inside. One of them looked over at her and the bus next to her.

  The bus started up and pulled up in front of the building. The doors flipped open and Shelby could barely make out a line of men, paired up, carrying long black bags, scurrying onto the bus. The last person in the line threw something that looked like an assault rifle inside. Then he pulled off a tactical vest, and that followed the rifle into the bus. Two men exited the bus and got into the cars the men had shown up in. The cars started.

  With that, the doors of the bus closed and it took off down the street, turned a corner and disappeared. The pair of cars followed. Shelby estimated the whole operation had taken no more than three minutes.

  Jesus, these guys are good.

  The man who’d tossed his weapon into the bus donned a baseball cap, jogged across the street and walked up to Shelby. He had a boyish face, with messy brown hair under his cap. He looked like any random tourist, wearing a Capital City Brew Pub T-shirt.

  “You Shelby?” he asked in a low voice. His eyes darted up and down the street.

  “Yes.”

  “Captain Lomax.” He reached out to shake her hand. She shook it. “All clear. Like they were never there.”

  “Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say. “Wait, none of them are still alive?”

  Lomax threw her a squeamish look. “They weren’t going to go quietly, I’m afraid. Opened up on us as soon as we made our presence known. They were FSB. Russian special forces, I’d wager.”

  The words hit her like a slap to the face. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Spetsnaz. You can tell from their tats. They were wearing all American clothing and carrying US weapons, but they still have the tattoos.” He waved to someone down the street. “Plus, a few of them were definitely management, older, fatter than the trigger pullers.”

  “What now? Can I go in there?” She nodded toward the building.

  “I figured you would want to. Cleanup team is holding back for thirty minutes to give you some time.”

  “Cleanup?”

  His voice went lower. “Blood. There isn’t too much, but we clean up after ourselves when possible.”

  “Oh.” The thought hadn’t occurred to her that the walls might be pock-marked with bullet holes and splattered with blood.

  “Colonel will be calling you in a few.”

  A car pulled up next to them. “See you around,” said Lomax as he got into the passenger seat and sped off.

  ***

  Shelby stepped over toppled crates and barrels. Blood splatter dotted the floors and walls. Not enough for the casual observer to think there had just been a covert ops sweep of the building, but enough to tell a forensics professional that people had just died here. And for what?

  The crates were rough plastic Pelican cases. The kind of containers that could take punishment and keep contents safe. The lock on one of them had been shot through. Shelby opened it to find it full of thick plastic bags, similar to ones used for blood transfusions. The color was off though: instead of burgundy, these were filled with a purple liquid. She produced a pocket knife and slit one of them open. Aromas of cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves filled her nose. The scent was familiar, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  Her phone rang. It was Colonel Baker. She answered the call.

  “Agent Painter.”

  “Yes.”

  “Captain Lomax tells me he did a quick debrief with you.”

  Shelby got to her feet; she held a bag in her hand. Squeezing the thick liquid inside, it felt almost like Jell-O. “He said they were Russian special forces.”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  “What the hell were they doing here?”

  “Agent Painter, we don’t question things like that. We respond to orders.”

  “I understand that, but what the hell do you think they were doing here? How the hell are Spetsnaz roaming through an office building, in view of the White House? How. The. Fuck. Does. That. Happen. Colonel, sir?”

  “Agent Painter, I can sense you’re upset, if...”

  She cut him off. “I’m a little more than upset. I am out of my fucking mind right now. This is world changing. I got thrown into this thing, by mistake. My sisters were in that dossier. Why were they in there?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t...”

  “Two days ago I found a dead man being eaten by a fucking crocodile. Then I touched a rock that knocked me out for eight hours. That’s not normal. Right? Do you know Senator Connolly?”

  “I do.”

  “Yeah well, he got me mixed up into some shit I don’t even want to think about. Do you know about the Ajax Project?”

  “I have been briefed that it is of the highest level of national security. That’s all.”

  “You have no fucking idea.”

  Shelby felt the world unravel. The magic rocks. The explosion in Camp Peterson. The Rose Widow. This world of magic where people burned metal with their minds. It was as if God was testing her core faith and then laughing at her, every time she got an answer wrong. And at that moment, she thought about walking away. Walking away from all of this. She would pack up her family and move to some piss-ant town in Oregon, become a schoolteacher and forget that she ever heard of Senator Connolly, or the FBI, or magic, or whatever the hell she was holding.

  “Agent Painter, take a breath.”

  “No. You weren’t supposed to kill any of them. Remember that?”

  “I do. But when faced with a threat, my men are the ones that go home. That’s the way of things.” He said this with a parental tone.

  Shelby tried to calm herself, but the situation was cracking her soul. “Your man said they were Russian Special Forces. Jesus, what happens when their people find out about this slaughter? Are they going to come after me or my family? Oh god.”

  The weight of the situation yanked the strength from her legs and Shelby fell onto a crate next to her. She put her head in her hands and felt the tears come.

  “Please calm down.” The voice came from inside the room. Shelby dropped her phone and jerked her pistol from the holster.

  A shor
t man emerged from the shadows.

  Shelby trained the barrel of her service pistol at the man. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m Colonel Baker. Recognize the voice?”

  She did. It had the same Midwest timbre as the man she’d been talking with. She lowered her weapon. He was kind-looking, with sympathetic eyes and a gentle smile. At the moment, it was the face she needed to see: someone that wanted to calm her down.

  “Looks like you made a mess there,” he said.

  Shelby looked down to see she’d squeezed the bag, until it popped in her hand. Purple goo covered her pants and shirt sleeve.

  “Oh, jeez.” She dropped the limp plastic bag and rubbed her hand clean on her jeans. She felt embarrassed.

  “You’ll forgive me—we were parked in a command vehicle a few blocks away. You sounded like you needed to be with someone.”

  Shelby wanted to hug him, but her professionalism straightened her back and stiffened her chin.

  “Look,” he said as he found a crate to sit on. “I know what you’re going through. You feel overwhelmed by the situation. This happens to people in combat all the time. Men die around you, you somehow make it out of a situation you thought you’d die in, and your mind is going in a million different directions at once. The human brain isn’t meant to process trauma at this speed. Just take a breath and assess the situation. You’re safe. The bad guys are no longer a threat. You’re going home tonight.”

  Shelby took a deep breath and thought about that for a moment.

  Colonel Baker folded his hands in his lap. “Now, you need to plan for your next move. One step at a time. Don’t look at what happened to you but what you can change.”

  He was right. Everything that had happened in the last two days was insane, but she needed to think about how she was safe for now and figure out her next move.

  “You’re right,” she finally said. “I need to take a step back.”

  He nodded like a teacher watching a student figuring out a problem.

  “You got a family?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She felt a knot building in her throat.