by S. C. Stokes
He lifted one of the rifles, fitted a magazine, and pointed it at a mannequin wearing a vest and standing in front of a crate about thirty feet away. Before anyone could react, he fired off a three round burst. The modified barrel seemed to act as a silencer, muffling much of the blast. The rounds slammed into the mannequin, pummeling its midsection. What was left of the mannequin teetered before collapsing to the ground. Two small craters pockmarked the crate behind where it had been standing, and splinters littered the floor around it.
Placing the rifle down, Lance pointed at the mannequin. “See for yourself.”
Together, Vincent, Red, and I made our way down range to the mannequin. My eyes bulged as I studied the lightweight tactical vest strapped over the mannequin's torso. The first round seemed to have been absorbed, but the second and third had drilled straight through the mannequin’s body, blossoming outward as they passed through the rear of the vest.
Lance looked at the ruined mannequin with pride. “Enough to ruin a man's day.”
As Vincent eyed the carnage, there was a gleam in his eye. Like a child on Christmas morning. “Yes. These will do nicely.”
“Excellent,” Red replied. “There is just the small matter of payment for this shipment, and of course my fee, and you can be disturbing the peace with the finest merchandise this side of the Atlantic Ocean. I dare say you'll be making a killing.”
“Yes, I dare say we shall. How many did you bring with you?” Vincent asked, his eyes never leaving the weapon in Lance’s hands.
Lance grinned and lowered the weapon. “The first shipment is a hundred. Once you make payment, they’re all yours.”
“Yes, those will do nicely.” Vincent reached behind his back and pulled a pistol out of his waistband, leveling it at Lance. “Hand over the weapon.”
The arms dealer went to raise the rifle but Vincent had the drop on him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Now, now, Vincent,” Red chided. “You know how business is done. You can’t just help yourself to the merchandise without payment.”
“Shut up, Red,” Vincent said. “I know you're responsible for Adam getting nicked. Anonymous tip, my arse. A friend in the department played us the tape. It was you.”
Red wrinkled up his nose.
“Sell out a client? I would never, Vincent, and you should know better. What reason would I have for getting junior nicked? It makes no sense. Someone's played you for a fool. Now put that gun down before this afternoon grows rather unpleasant.”
“I think not.” Vincent moved the pistol from Lance to Red.
Tan’s arm rose and a flash of silver whistled past me. Before Vincent could draw a bead on Red, a knife plunged through his forearm.
Vincent's remaining thugs reached the polymer case and grabbed rifles of their own. Charity dove into the back of the truck. Lance fired twice. The shots slammed through Vincent’s chest, sending him down in a gurgling heap.
Charity scrambled deeper into the truck, which was loaded with more of the same polymer carry cases. The remaining Churchmen loaded magazines into their weapons and opened fire. Tan, pistol in hand, let off a few covering shots as Lance, Red, and I scurried behind the wall of crates. No fewer than half a dozen of the silenced weapons opened up.
The Churchmen let out a withering hail of fire that shredded the pallets as we hunkered behind them. Lance squeezed off the occasional round added to by Tan, but we were overwhelmingly outgunned and running out of time. As I thought about the string of terrible decisions that had led me here, I found myself wondering just how shortsighted I'd been to think any brief appointment with Edward Knight would be something that I would want a part of.
Crouching behind the crate, I didn't dare poke my head around it for a better look.
“Seth,” Red called, “care to lend a hand?”
The lad is unarmed,” Lance said. “He'll be cut down.
Red flashed him a grin. “He doesn't need a weapon. He is a weapon.”
Lance furrowed his brows as he looked me up and down. Cowering behind the crate as I was, I didn't look like much and if the steady fusillade continued to pick away at the crate, it was going to turn us all into a fine red mist. The rounds had made short work of the vest. Tony and his friends had us dead to rights.
Lance glanced around the crate. “They’re fanning out. If we don't do something soon, they will flank us. We’ll be as good as dead.”
I risked a glance around the crate to find one of the Churchmen making his way towards us, rifle at his shoulder steadily picking away at the crate.
“If I stick my head back out there, it's as good as gone,” I replied. “Besides I'm not one of your thugs, Red. You got us into this mess--you get us out.”
Red placed a hand on his chest. “I might have set the meeting, but Vincent's greed got us into this mess, and I dare say you have a vested interest in getting out of here alive. So if you wouldn't mind, dispense with the Boy Scout routine and help get us out of here, preferably in one piece.”
More rounds slammed into the crate we were sheltering behind.
Lance shouted over the din, “Charity, a little cover, please, dear.”
The staccato of another assault rifle joined the fray and the flanking Churchman went down. As he fell, I leaned around the crate, focusing on the massive form of Tony, and bellowed, “Fuerza!”
The fist of power slammed into Tony like a rampaging bull that he never saw coming. The spell sent him flying fifteen feet before he slammed into the crate of assault rifles. Lance took down another, before Red, pistol in hand, rounded the crate, dropping a third.
One of the Churchmen turned his weapon on Charity who was standing in the back of the truck, pinning their reinforcements behind the SUVs.
“That’s my wife!” Lance shouted over the chaos. He fired a three round burst that tore the thug’s chest apart.
Two thugs snapped off rounds as Tony scrambled to his feet. Reaching into the crate, he snatched up an armload of rifles and magazines and legged it for the SUVs.
Charity unleashed a withering salvo after them that shattered the vehicle’s rear windshield.
The SUV’s engine started and there was a squeal of rubber on concrete as the SUV drove straight through one of the warehouse’s closed garage doors and out into the street.
The garage went still, and Charity climbed down from the truck, making her way over to us.
One of the Churchmen lay bleeding where Charity’s round had taken him in the shoulder.
Red drew his pistol.
“You should know better,” he muttered, and then pulled the trigger.
The Churchman went still, and the warehouse was quiet once more.
Lance wrapped a protective arm around Charity as he surveyed the chaos. “Never a dull moment with you, Red.”
Red holstered his pistol. “Lance, Charity, my apologies for the failed introduction. Vincent was as short sighted as his stupid brother.”
“Those arses stole our rifles,” Charity said, shaking her head. “They’re lucky we are on a schedule.”
“You needn’t worry about them,” Red replied. “I’ll clean this up. You have my most sincere assurance that the lost portion of your shipment will be recovered. Rest assured, I'll make payment for the entire load. I'll find a new buyer for these, and those that will follow.”
“When you say deal with them?” Lance asked.
Red straightened his suit. “They should know better than to break faith with me. Tony will meet with a terrible accident and we’ll see to it that the rest of their organization is disbanded, with prejudice. As for the weapons, Tan will process payment before you are back in the air.”
Red nodded at his bodyguard. “Tan, see to it that the rest of the shipment is safely stored and paid for, along with a little something for the inconvenience.”
Charity beamed. “Such a gentleman. Red, it's a shame you don't make it to New York more often.”
“If only.” Red nodded, surveyin
g the warehouse. “What a mess. Tan will accompany you to ensure you make your plane safely.”
Lance wrapped his arm around his wife and escorted her back to the truck.
Tan looked at Red.
“Oh, don't worry, Tan. I'll be perfectly safe with Mr. Caldwell. We have an understanding, and I dare say he wouldn’t be foolish enough to repeat the mistakes he's witnessed today.”
I brushed some dust off my suit. “I am a man of my word. Your boss will be safe with me.”
Tan slipped his pistol back into its holster and followed Lance and Charity back to their truck.
As they left the warehouse, Red looked at the truck. “Such a lovely couple. Dangerous but lovely, and utterly infatuated with each other. You should look them up if you’re ever back in New York. They’ll show you a marvelous time. Take Lara. It will be a hoot.”
I stopped, my eyes lingering on Knight. Hers was the last name I’d expected to hear out of his mouth. He knew far more about my life than I’d given him credit for. He’d done his research, and the none too subtle reminder that his deadly colleagues resided in the same place as my fiancée was no accident.
Red cracked a small grin as he opened the door of the sedan. “We best be going too. The police will be here any minute.”
I climbed into the backseat of the vehicle and in no time, we were heading south toward Albert Hall.
After several miles, I turned to Red. “How can you sell weapons to people like that?”
Red took a deep breath. “In the spectrum of criminals in this world, Seth, the Churchmen are positively tame. Your upbringing has kept you from seeing the worst the world has to offer. If I don't buy the guns, they will be sold elsewhere. At least this way I know that they’re not going to African warlords or Jihadis in the Middle East.”
“You'd have me believe you do it for the greater good?” I asked, looking him in the eye.
“I'm a businessman, not a saint,” he said, returning my gaze. “But I do have principles. I’m sure you understand. I believe you operate by a code of your own. You take things that don’t belong to you, and you don’t do it for the money, so either you like the rush, or you have a code. I sincerely doubt it’s the former.”
I looked out the window. I certainly did have a code, though I had made more compromises than I would have liked in the past twenty-four hours. I wanted to cure the curse, but I didn’t want to sell my soul to get there.
I’d always been proud of who I was. Sure, I’d taken things that didn’t belong to me, but I was working to make the world a better place. I could look at myself in the mirror and be happy with what I saw.
I needed to make sure that didn’t change.
“I can’t help but notice that you seemed to pull your punches with Tony. He was shooting at us, could well have killed any or all of us. Why not hit him with something a little more, well, terminal. Your neck was on the line just like ours. Why not put him down for the count?”
“I’m a thief, not an assassin,” I said.
“Fascinating. Just fascinating.” Red rested his head on his hand. “You'll be glad to know I've reconsidered my earlier position.”
I craned my head to get a better look at him. “What position is that?”
“The information you're after. I think we can come to an arrangement after all.”
I wrung my hands. “Why the change of heart?”
“I've never seen magic done up close before,” he said, a little giddy. “That was a real treat. It’s difficult to believe it without seeing it with your own eyes. Maybe it’s the child in me, but I feel positively delighted. I think we can work something out.”
“What about your clients? They’ll know someone told me where to find them. They’ll certainly suspect you,” I countered.
“Let me worry about that.” He waved a hand. “Besides, they seem far more interested in you than me.”
“I'm aware. One of their hit squads was waiting for me at the airfield this morning.”
The car wove effortlessly through the London traffic.
Red’s eyes widened. “They loath wizards on the best of days but they seem to have an especial hatred for you. What did you do to enrage them so?”
“I have something they want,” I replied, not looking to give Red anything he might use against me. “Someone stole it from them, and I liberated it recently.”
“Ah, that’s why you were so popular yesterday? You stole it from the Americans.”
I leaned back in the seat. “It has always been ours. Now it’s back where it belongs.”
Red smiled, that same wide grin that showed his top row of teeth. “I have no doubt. It was a brazen heist, Seth. You have a gift. One I may have need of one day. I’ll tell you what. I'll tell you the location I delivered the Inquisition’s goods in exchange for you doing me a favor.”
“I won't kill for you, Red,” I replied. “I’m not going to be your wizard for hire.”
Red laughed openly. “Nothing so sinister, Seth. You seem to be good at taking things. One day I may need you to take something for me. You grant me this favor and I'll give you the location of your lost temple.”
I had to fight to stop my jaw from drooping open.
“Yes, Seth, I know exactly what you're after and the Inquisition have a week's head start on you. Do we have a deal?”
If the Inquisition were already at the temple, I didn’t really see that I had any choice in the matter. A week was already too much of a head start. With their hatred for all things arcane, I'd be lucky if there was anything left. There might be artifacts being destroyed that could hold the secrets to lifting my curse.
On the other hand, owing a favor to Edward Knight was a deadly proposition. He might appear to be a gentleman, but I’d seen the cold calculating killer that rested just beneath his cheery disposition. He’d shown with the Churchmen he was more than willing to get his hands dirty when things didn't go his way.
Try as I might, I didn't see that I had any other choice in the matter. I reached out and took his offered hand.
“Excellent!” Red replied. “I think this is going to be the start of a wonderful relationship.”
The driver put on his blinker and pulled over to the side of the road. We were back at Albert Hall.
Red pulled out a card from his pocket, scribbled on the back of it, and handed it to me. “Those are the coordinates where I delivered the Inquisition's shipment. Excavation equipment and enough manpower to start a coup. If you’re swift, perhaps you can find what you're looking for.”
I took the card and slipped it into my inner coat pocket.
“Do be careful, Seth. You owe me a favor and I plan to collect on it. Don’t go getting yourself killed on me, please.”
I reached for the door handle. “I’ll do my best not to die on you.”
Charles waited less than a dozen paces from where I’d left him, relief evident on his face as I emerged from the sedan.
I headed straight for the car, my mind racing. I had the location of the lost temple of the Brujas de Sangre. I’d made a deal with the devil, granted a devil in a three-piece suit, but a devil nonetheless.
The origin of my curse was finally within my grasp, but what price was the Red Knight going to extract from me?
12
The timber shed at Weybridge Manor was one of the least frequented structures on the property. Practically abandoned, it housed some lawn care equipment and some wood turning machinery. It seemed the manor’s previous owner had a healthy appreciation of handmade timber furniture, some of which could still be found throughout the property.
I couldn’t help but imagine what it must be like to have that sort of time to spare, but something about knowing your days were numbered really got in the way of being able to take a load off and enjoy a quiet day wood turning.
I always found death hugely motivating.
I paused at the dour old timber structure. The only thing new about it was the reinforced door and deadbolt I’d insta
lled. The fact the building was largely abandoned and seldom trafficked drew me to it in the first place. No one wanted to rummage around in a sawdust laden shed when they could be spending time in the well-appointed Manor or its sprawling gardens.
So I’d made it my own, and used it to stash my supplies when I was operating from home. With the Manor’s security and a few precautions I had taken, it made a perfect vault for some of my less than legal accoutrements.
I slid my key into the door and turned it.
The well-oiled lock clicked and the door swung outward, soundlessly. Glancing over my shoulder, I found myself alone. I slipped into the shed and pulled the door shut behind me.
The scent of the timber shed greeted me, a heady mixture of sawdust and mower fuel.
I flicked on the lights and made my way through the shed, looking for any indication that it had been disturbed since my last visit. Beyond some worn out lawn equipment and a rusty old tractor was the workshop. There was a bandsaw, a handful of lathes, and an old table saw that had seen better days. Most of it hadn’t seen much use in a decade.
Weaving my way past the tools, I headed deeper into the structure. The meeting with Edward Knight kept playing through my head. I had just traded a favor with one of the world's criminal elite. The gravity of that choice was starting to weigh on my mind. I was almost certain to regret it, if I lived long enough, but it had got the job done. I now held in my hand the coordinates to the lost temple: the shrine of my ancestors and the key to the curse that held my father and me in its death grip.
I had already punched the coordinates into my phone and discovered they led to a location thirty miles south of Portobelo.
The seaside town had been there for centuries. It was where Francis Drake had faked his death. After supposedly dying of dysentery, he’d been pushed over the side of his ship in a lead coffin. I’d always suspected the site of Francis’ fake death had something to do with the temple, but I’d never been able to prove it, until now.