Psychological Damage (Gray Spear Society) Page 3

  "No, sir," she said. "I'm here to help you. The Captain sent me. He thought you could use some assistance."

  "That's nice of him, but I don't..."

  "You want me to leave?"

  In her experience few men were capable of telling her to leave. They were too mesmerized by her beauty.

  "No," he said. "Stay here if you want. I just don't need anything yet."

  "I could help you find clues, sir. I have very good eyes. What should I look for?"

  He put his notebook in his pocket. "Right now I'm working on motive. Eye witnesses reported that a lone man and woman killed thirteen guys before they died."

  "This man and woman are dead, sir?" she said.

  "Yes, and they didn't go down easily. We counted fourteen critical injuries on the woman alone. The man looked like a grizzly bear had mauled him. What makes people keep fighting when they should be dying instead?"

  Marina felt very sad for Wesley. She hoped she wouldn't be the one to deliver the news about his parents.

  "Look around if you want," the detective said, "Just don't touch anything."

  Marina knelt over one of the bodies. It was a young, Hispanic man with neatly trimmed, black hair. His plaid shirt and mismatched brown slacks didn't fit him well. His right middle finger had a large callus on the spot where he would hold a pen. He also had black ink stains on his fingertips. A calligrapher? she wondered.

  She checked another body. This one also had a callus and ink stains in the same places.

  "What do you see?" the detective said.

  "Not much, sir," she replied. "They look like ordinary guys."

  "They didn't fight like ordinary guys. They had guns and knives, and they knew how to use them. This wasn't a chance encounter. These people wanted to kill each other in the worst possible way."

  She stepped back and studied how the corpses were arranged on the ground. She tried to imagine how the fight had proceeded. Punch, kick, punch, stab...

  Wesley's parents had fought exceptionally well despite being badly outnumbered and surrounded. Perhaps Aaron and Marina, working as a team, could have done as well, but she wasn't sure. Some of the injuries looked like the handiwork of a master.

  One body still had a knife stuck in it. The blade was angled to pass behind the clavicle and into the top of the heart. The technique was very specific, and as far as Marina knew, it was only taught within the Gray Spear Society. Interesting, she thought.

  She noticed one of the dead men wore a crucifix on a necklace. It had an odd, bulbous shape. She wanted to take it back to headquarters for analysis, but she couldn't grab it without being seen.

  It was almost time to meet with Aaron and Smythe.

  "Sir, look at this." She pointed to the shoes on one of the bodies.

  The detective came over and crouched down for a close look. She leaned over him.

  "What do you see?" he said.

  She fell on him as if she had lost her balance. "Sorry, sir!"

  While they were tangled together, she stole his notebook from his pocket and stuffed it in her pants. He pushed her off.

  "That was clumsy." She straightened her uniform. "Sorry again, sir."

  "No harm done," he said.

  "I don't think I'm helping you much. Why don't I go buy a bottle of water for you? It's a little warm today. You could probably use a drink."

  "Water? That's sounds great."

  She smiled. "Be right back."

  She hurried off to rejoin her friends.

  * * *

  Aaron was waiting when Marina returned to him. A couple of minutes later Smythe arrived. They moved to a relatively quiet corner of the park to talk privately.

  "I scored," Aaron said. "I have pockets full of evidence and a camera full of pictures." He patted the camera in his hand. "And it sounds like the police are just as clueless as us."

  Smythe nodded. "I got inside the coroner's van and spent some quality time with two corpses. I think these men are traditional Catholic monks."

  "Why?"

  "They had bruises on their knees from kneeling. Their fingers had calluses and ink stains. Monks like to meditate by transcribing the Bible."

  "I noticed that too," Marina said. "One of the men was wearing an interesting crucifix. The pattern was all circles."

  "Did you steal it?" Smythe said.

  She shook her head. "No, but I can draw it."

  "Good. That might be important."

  She looked down. "I also confirmed that Wesley's parents are dead. They fought like Spears. I mean that literally."

  Everybody was quiet for a moment.

  "I'll call Ethel," Aaron said. "She may want us to come back. We've been gone a while."

  He took out his phone and typed Ethel's number.

  She answered quickly, "Yes?"

  "We performed a preliminary reconnaissance and made a few interesting discoveries. I also have some evidence that needs analysis."

  "Very good. I'm back at headquarters. I want all of you to meet me here right away."

  "What about Wesley?" Aaron said.

  "He's with me."

  "Huh?" He raised his eyebrows. "But the boy isn't a Spear! He can't be in our headquarters."

  "These are exceptional circumstances. Hurry! An important guest is coming." She sounded a little frantic.

  "Yes, ma'am." Aaron closed his phone and faced Marina. "Apparently, Wesley is at headquarters."

  She shook her head. "Not possible. It's completely against the rules."

  "And Ethel sounded freaked out about some visitor."

  "Now you really are full of shit." She rolled her eyes. "Nothing can spook her."

  Chapter Three

  Brother Norbert eagerly dialed his phone. He waited impatiently for Father to answer. Despite a pleasant, steady breeze, Norbert could feel the bright sunlight burning his scalp.

  He was standing on the roof of One Prudential Plaza, across Randolph Street from Millennium Park. He had a bird's eye view of the crowd in the park, six hundred feet below. There were so many people it was hard to even estimate the number. The police were struggling to maintain order.

  "Hello?" Father said.

  "This is Brother Norbert. I promised good news and here it is. We spotted that strange man and woman who caused us so much trouble earlier. The fools returned to Millennium Park. They were dressed as police officers, but our sharp-eyed monks saw through the disguises."

  "What about the Luciferian Child?"

  "No sign," Norbert said, "but it is just a matter of time now. My brethren are following the man and woman as we speak. They should lead us straight to the Child."

  "Are you being careful?" Father said.

  "Extremely," Norbert replied emphatically. "I'm using multiple pursuit teams and leap frog tactics to avoid detection. I also posted plenty of spotters. All available resources are dedicated to this one task."

  "Excellent work," Father said. "I also have news for you. I'm coming to Chicago on the next available flight."

  "Sir? But you're so..."

  "Old and feeble?" Father sighed. "I know, but I have enough life left in me to witness the culmination of our dreams. I've sacrificed too much for too long to miss it."

  Norbert furrowed his brow. "Yes, sir. When will you be here?"

  "Tonight."

  "I'll arrange accommodations for you."

  "No!" Father said. "Focus on the task at hand. Lead our men to victory. My attendants will care for me. That's why I have them. Good bye."

  "Have a pleasant trip, sir." Norbert closed his phone. Father is coming here? Damn.

  * * *

  Aaron, Marina, and Smythe were walking along Lower Wacker Drive towards the garage entrance of headquarters. Technically, the street wasn't a tunnel, but darkness, dirt, and echoes made it seem like one. Concrete pillars and rusty, steel beams supported Upper Wacker Drive, which ran overhead and blocked out the sunlight. Some of the grime was so ancient it probably had historical significance. Aaron could jus
t see the brown waters of the Chicago River on his left.

  He glanced backwards. A couple of times he had suspected they were being followed, but then the tail had disappeared. He didn't see anybody now, but Lower Wacker offered many deep shadows to hide in. He tried to listen for footsteps, but all he heard was a steady stream of cars and trucks rumbling over pavement.

  "Stop." Aaron held up his hand.

  Marina and Smythe stopped walking. For a long moment they just listened to the sounds of the city. Aaron turned his head as he searched for signs of pursuit. He had to be sure it was safe.

  "Ethel didn't tell you anything else?" Marina said softly.

  He shook his head. "Only that Wesley is there, and she's expecting an important guest. By the way, what happened between you and the boy?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You know what I mean."

  She raised her chin. "I'm a woman. I'm allowed to have maternal feelings."

  Smythe snorted. She gave him a dirty look.

  "Seriously," Aaron said, "what happened?"

  "I honestly don't know." She shrugged. "I looked into his eyes and my instincts just took control. He seemed so vulnerable."

  "I've seen you with other children. You didn't react like that at all."

  "He's different."

  An old man came around a corner. He was very tall and thin, and his hair was the color of frost. He wore a sharply tailored, gray business suit. He used a silver cane, but Aaron couldn't detect any limp. Maybe he just liked how it looked.

  Marina stared at the man. "Holy shit." Her eyes widened.

  "You know him?" Aaron said.

  "That's the Legatus Legionis of North America."

  "Ethel's boss?"

  She nodded. "The big cheese. Master of the entire continent. He must be the guest. And my hair is a mess!"

  Aaron studied the legate with greater interest. He had a long, swift stride. His tie was red, and his shirt was brilliant white.

  A woman followed a couple of paces behind. She appeared to be Japanese, but she was unusually tall for her ethnicity. Dense, black hair flowed over her shoulders and was braided into ropes. She wore gray sweatpants and a shirt that was loose enough to hide plenty of weapons and maybe a light vest. Aaron guessed she was forty years old.

  "Who is with him?" he said.

  "Atalanta," Marina said. "The legate's personal bodyguard. She's the toughest bitch you'll ever meet. My God! Wesley must be really important."

  "The guy is classy dresser," Smythe said.

  She glared at him. "I strongly recommend you keep your ears open and your mouth shut. If he cares about your opinion, he'll ask for it."

  "I was in the Army. I know how to deal with VIPs."

  "We're not talking about an empty suit." She grabbed him by the shoulders and spoke in a low, angry tone. "He is the fucking legate. There isn't a place he can't go, a person he can't have killed. If you try to bullshit him, he'll destroy you. He makes Ethel look like a school girl."

  He gently pushed her away. "OK. I get it. Calm down."

  The legate spotted Marina and walked over. Aaron had trouble focusing his eyes on the legate. It was like watching a movie with bad editing. Aaron kept looking the wrong way and getting confused. He had an instant headache.

  The legate took Marina's hand and kissed it. "Marina, as lovely as ever."

  She blushed. "Thank you, sir."

  The legate faced Aaron and shook his hand with very firm grip. "We haven't met before. Aaron, is it?"

  "That's right, sir."

  "Ethel told me good things about you. Intelligent, brave, and reliable. A valuable asset for the Society."

  "Thank you, sir," Aaron said. Ethel really told him that?

  Atalanta stood a few paces away. Her head swiveled back and forth as she scanned her surroundings. She looked eager for a fight even though there was no apparent threat. Every part of her body, from her fingertips to her toes, was positioned for maximum combat readiness. Aaron couldn't find the smallest flaw in her stance.

  "And you must be the rookie." The legate shook Smythe's hand. "I heard you're a doctor, a scientist, and a warrior. A true renaissance man. It's Timothy, right?"

  "Most people call me Smythe, sir. It's what I'm used to."

  "As you wish. Gentlemen, ladies, let's get inside. We have a lot to talk about."

  Everybody except Atalanta started moving. She stared across the river at a building.

  "Is something wrong?" the legate said.

  "I saw a shadow." Her voice was soft and raspy.

  "Do you want to stay out here and look around?"

  "No, sir. I need to protect you."

  "Then let's go."

  Lower Wacker Drive connected to the basements of many large buildings. Trucks were always stopping to deliver goods through service entrances, and sliding doors were as common as regular doors. This road was a main artery of the city, one that tourists never saw.

  Aaron walked over to a very grimy garage door. A nearby street lamp flickered like a strobe light. There was a dumpster overflowing with garbage, and it reeked.

  He grabbed the handle on the garage door and twisted it like the dial on a safe. After a couple of turns he felt a click, and he pushed up the door. There was just an empty, concrete room beyond with cobwebs in the corners.

  Everybody went inside. He closed the door, and for a moment it was completely dark. Then the floor descended. Aaron heard the hiss of a hydraulic lift. They were lowered into a large garage with more than a dozen parked cars and trucks.

  The legate pointed to a classic Ford Mustang in the corner. "What's that?"

  The car had iridescent blue paint and chromed, flared tailpipes.

  "Mine, sir," Aaron said. "It has bulletproof glass, armor, and weapons."

  "But it's useless. You can't drive it without attracting attention."

  Aaron had no good answer, so he just said, "Yes, sir. It hasn't left that spot since it was finished."

  "Let's move on."

  Aaron studied the legate as they walked. Aaron's gaze kept sliding off him as if the legate were covered with visual grease. The effect was very unsettling.

  "Is something wrong?" the legate said.

  "Sir, when I look at you..."

  "Yes." The legate nodded. "I have psychological camouflage. I can be very hard to see if I choose. God granted me this gift."

  "I don't understand," Aaron said.

  "This isn't the time for an explanation."

  They entered a white room lit by too many fluorescent lights. The head of security, Jack, sat at his control console behind a thick sheet of glass. The light gleamed from his bald head.

  His blue eyes were wide open. "Mr. Legate, Sir, you got here much faster than we expected." His voice came through overhead speakers. "Please, meet Ethel in the conference room."

  A side door buzzed, and everybody went through.

  The interior of headquarters had a black and white tile floor and gray walls. Thick pipes and electrical ducts hung from a bare, concrete ceiling. As usual the air was cool and damp. They were below the level of the river, and water was always dripping somewhere despite perpetual efforts to patch cracks.

  Aaron led the way into the conference room. There was a large oak table and antique chairs upholstered with purple velvet. Bookshelves full of books covered all the walls.

  Ethel and Wesley were already there. The boy seemed surprisingly calm considering the strange circumstances. His eyes gleamed like twin sapphires.

  Aaron put the camera he had taken from the police onto the table. He also emptied his pockets of evidence.

  Everybody sat down except for Atalanta. She stood in the corner and watched the doors.

  The legate studied Wesley from across the table. For a minute there was silence.

  Finally, the legate spoke, "Hello, Wesley. I'm the old man who spoke to you on the phone."

  "You must be a very mean man," Wesley said.

  "Why?"

 
; "Everybody is scared of you."

  Aaron looked at the faces in the room but didn't see any fear.

  "That's respect," the legate said.

  "No," Wesley said. "I know the difference."

  The legate sat back and crossed his arms.

  "Where is my mommy and daddy?" Wesley said.

  Marina sighed, and Aaron turned away.

  "They're dead," Wesley said.

  In a soft voice Marina said, "They did their best to protect you. They fought until the end. They must've loved you very, very much."

  He wiped his eyes and sniffled.

  "You're with us now," the legate said, "and we'll protect you even better. You don't need to be scared."

  "Why are you helping me?"

  "We help all children."

  "You're lying," Wesley said calmly.

  The room became dead quiet. Ethel had an expression of shock.

  "No fooling you, eh?" The legate winked. "Do you always know when people are lying?"

  Wesley nodded. "Every time."

  "How do you detect a lie? Is it in the voice? The expression on the person's face? Body language?"

  "Yes. I can see and hear a lie. Sometimes I smell it, too."

  "Interesting," the legate said. "I'm going to do a trick. Let's see if you can figure it out. It's a very special trick. Are you ready?"

  "Yes."

  Something impossible happened. Suddenly, the legate wasn't there, or at least Aaron couldn't see him. Aaron rubbed his eyes and stared at the chair where the legate had sat. Aaron knew for a fact the legate hadn't moved, and something was still there, but the image in his eyes made no sense. Aaron's brain simply refused to process the information. The harder he looked the more dizzy and confused he became.

  He turned to Marina. Her expression showed irritation but not surprise.

  "Can you see me?" the legate asked.

  Aaron heard the voice clearly but couldn't locate the source. He tried to focus on the legate's chair again, but the effort just made his head hurt. He was forced to glance away.

  "That's cool." Wesley smiled slightly. "You're all covered with sparkles and rainbows. It's like a party."

  "Oh?" the legate said. "You can actually see me? What am I doing now?"

  "Touching your nose."

  The legate was suddenly back in his chair in exactly the same position as before, except his finger was on his nose now. Aaron's strange dizziness went away. That was crazy, he thought.