Psychological Damage (Gray Spear Society) Page 4

  "Amazing," the legate said. "I think the grownups need to talk now. Are you hungry? You can get a snack in the kitchen. Marina?"

  "Yes, sir." Marina walked around the table and took Wesley's hand. "Come with me, please. I'll get you some ice cream. Do you like chocolate syrup?"

  They left the room.

  The legate pointed at the camera on the table. "Where did that come from?"

  "The crime scene," Aaron said. "I stole it from an evidence technician."

  The legate took the camera. Using the display on the back, he clicked through the pictures, occasionally stopping to study one.

  "Sir," Aaron said, "What just happened? You seemed to disappear."

  "I told you before. Psychological camouflage."

  "I still don't understand, sir."

  The legate kept his eyes on the camera. "You're an intelligent man. Figure it out."

  Aaron closed his mouth.

  After going through a few hundred pictures, the legate gasped. "Oh, my!"

  "Sir?" Ethel said.

  He passed the camera around the table so the whole team could look at the picture. When it was Aaron's turn, he saw a man and woman lying on the ground together. Their bodies were a bloody mess but the faces were still recognizable. The woman had Wesley's blue eyes, and the man had the boy's brown hair.

  "The parents," the legate said. "I know them well."

  "Who were they?" Ethel said.

  "Former members of the Gray Spear Society and very respected legionnaires. Barbara and Stephen, if I recall correctly. They loved each other passionately. They were in Los Angeles. Nine years ago they died in an explosion but the bodies were never recovered. The circumstances were suspicious. I realize now they faked their own deaths. I assume she became pregnant with Wesley and didn't want an abortion. They must've been living in exile ever since."

  Aaron understood. It was forbidden for members of the Gray Spear Society to have children. Kids were a distraction from dangerous duties that required absolute, unwavering commitment.

  "That would explain their tremendous fighting skills," Aaron said.

  The legate nodded. "Shortly after the parents disappeared, God sent us a messenger. We were told to look for a very special child. His ears shall be deaf to the lies of men, and his eyes shall be blind to their artifices. Compassion shall be his armor and truth shall be his blazing sword. He shall walk the golden path at all times."

  "Is Wesley a prophet?"

  "I don't know. However, it is clear God wants him protected at all costs. Wesley is a key part of His master plan. I must carefully consider how to proceed. Let me consult with Ethel alone. Everybody else is dismissed."

  Aaron hurried out of the conference room. He walked through the large, underground headquarters to the kitchen. It was a spacious room with long, black granite countertops. There were two industrial refrigerators made of stainless steel. Wooden cabinets and drawers provided a huge amount of storage space for dry goods.

  A rectangular table made of glass occupied the center of the room. Wesley sat there with a big bowl of strawberry ice cream. Marina was watching him eat with a dreamy smile on her face.

  Aaron noticed Yvonne sitting in the corner by herself. She was a thin woman with frizzy, blonde hair sticking out in odd directions. Her small nose was bent in the middle. She held herself tightly as if she were cold even though the temperature was pleasant. She was staring at her own feet.

  Aaron waved for Marina to come to him.

  She walked across the kitchen. "What did I miss?"

  He quickly summarized, whispering so Wesley wouldn't hear.

  "Wow, a real live prophet," Marina said.

  "Maybe. Let's not jump to conclusions."

  "What is the legate going to do?"

  "I have no idea." Aaron shrugged. "This kind of thing isn't covered in the operations manual."

  Atalanta walked into the kitchen. "The legate is hungry," she announced in her soft voice. "Prepare food for him."

  Yvonne moved quickly to comply.

  Atalanta was as tall as Aaron, and her proud stance seemed to add a few more inches to her height. Her eyebrows were so dense and dark they appeared painted on her face.

  He walked up to her and offered his hand. "Hi. Nice to meet you."

  She stared at him for a moment before giving his hand a quick shake. Her skin was as hard as stone, which startled him. It was like holding hands with a living statue. He tried not to appear ruffled.

  "So, you're the legate's bodyguard," he said. "That must be an interesting job."

  "I enjoy the challenge," she replied in a cool voice.

  "I'd love to hear about it."

  She furrowed her brow. "Why are you talking to me?"

  "I was being friendly."

  "Most people don't talk to me."

  "Oh?" he said.

  "It's because I'm number seven."

  "Seven of what?"

  "Seventh on the list of deadliest fighters in the world," she said, "and the second ranked female."

  "I didn't know there was a list."

  She nodded. "It's unofficial, but we keep track."

  "I see." He smiled politely. In other words it's a giant pissing match. "Still, that's no reason for me to be rude to you. I spend my days with women who can kill me. It doesn't bother me. Is Ethel on the list?"

  "I believe her ranking is around twenty now. That's very respectable for a woman of her advanced years."

  He couldn't imagine how nineteen other people could defeat Ethel. Her supernatural speed made her practically unstoppable. She could literally run circles around any opponent.

  "Where would I rank?"

  Atalanta snorted softly. "You wouldn't."

  "Ouch," he said. "What about the legate?"

  "His vanishing trick is useful but limited. Once you understand how it works, it becomes less effective. Without that advantage he is just a good fighter. Even you might be able to defeat him."

  "It doesn't sound like you respect him."

  "I respect his profound intelligence and wisdom," she said. "He is one of the great leaders of our day, and it's an honor to serve him."

  Yvonne ran over carrying a plate with a sandwich on it. "I made ham and cheese on rye," she said in a timid voice. "Will that do?"

  "We'll see." Atalanta took the plate but continued to stare at Yvonne.

  Yvonne lowered her gaze. "Is there a problem, ma'am?"

  "Is there a problem?" Atalanta blew air through her lips. "Yes, I think there is, Yvonne. Most certainly. It's you!"

  Yvonne cowered.

  Atalanta shook her head. "Look at you. Nothing more than a maid now. It's hard to believe there was a time when I respected you. You were one of the elite. When you walked onto the battlefield, the enemy fled in terror. What did we call you in those days? The Lord's Executioner."

  "That was a long time ago, ma'am."

  "Just five years. You're still young enough to get back most of what you lost. You're not crippled."

  Yvonne's eyes became watery.

  "This is embarrassing. Do you still train at least? You don't look like you do. Why does Ethel even let you live? Because you scrub her toilet? Out of pity?" Atalanta rolled her eyes.

  "I'm a good cook," Yvonne said softly.

  "A good..." Atalanta grimaced. "We are fighting an eternal war against the enemies of the Almighty! Cosmic forces are contending for supremacy over the Earth. The fate of the human race, and maybe the entire universe, hangs in balance. And you make ham and cheese on rye. I'm so glad you're on my team. At least we won't die on an empty stomach."

  Tears rolled down Yvonne's cheeks.

  Atalanta raised her hand as if to slap Yvonne across the face. Then, Atalanta abruptly turned and left.

  Aaron quickly gave Yvonne a hug. She was so thin he could feel all of her ribs.

  "Calm down," he said. "It's OK. She was just being cruel."

  She looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. "No, she was right. She was a
bsolutely right. I'm a failed piece of shit!"

  She ran out of the kitchen.

  Stunned, Aaron turned to Marina and said, "This day just keeps getting more interesting."

  Marina shrugged.

  "Did you know Yvonne before she lost her will to fight?"

  "Yes," Marina said, "and Atalanta nailed it. Yvonne was hell on wheels back then. The first time I saw her in action, I almost crapped my pants. She was that scary. Then one bad mission completely ruined her."

  Aaron had heard that much of the story before, but nobody had ever given him the details.

  Instead of elaborating, Marina went back to Wesley and smiled warmly at him. "Still hungry? Do you want to eat anything else?"

  "Could I have a hot dog?" he said.

  "Sure. I'll make you one Chicago style."

  Chapter Four

  Brother Norbert peered through a telescope at a filthy garage door. He was standing in an empty office on the north side of the Chicago River. All the blinds were closed except for a single, narrow crack, just enough for the telescope to peek through. The lights were off.

  The garage door was on Lower Wacker Drive on the south side of the river. There were plenty of similar doors along the road. Nothing about this one marked it as special. A tiny parking area near the door held just one car: a rusty, blue sedan missing its hubcaps. Norbert could believe the car had been abandoned. A flickering street lamp cast yellow light that created dark shadows in the back corners.

  Norbert stepped back and allowed another monk to take over the telescope. He had four men from the Brotherhood with him. Two were cleaning their guns, and the last was reading the Bible. They still wore the odd assortment of street clothes from the battle in Millennium Park that morning. Nobody had gone back to the hotel to change.

  The door opened, and an old man in a wheelchair rolled in. Two attendants followed closely behind.

  "Father!" Norbert said. "You're finally here. It's good to see you out with the rest of us."

  He knelt and kissed an ornate ring on Father's finger.

  "It's good to see you, too, Brother Norbert," Father said with a smile. "What's the situation? Give me the latest report."

  Age spots covered Father's scalp instead of hair. His withered arms could barely push his own wheelchair. Arthritis had twisted the fingers on his left hand. His green eyes were still clear and bright, though. His mind was outliving his body. He wore a plain brown cassock that went down to his ankles.

  "We followed the man and woman to their destination," Norbert said. "Three others joined them. Here are pictures." He handed over a short stack of printed photographs.

  Father's two attendants stayed close at hand. They were big, brawny men who served double duty as bodyguards, although Norbert didn't understand why the precaution was necessary. Father was beloved by all who knew him. The attendants had shaved themselves completely bald. They wore the traditional, brown robes of medieval monks, which allowed plenty of space for concealed guns. Stylized crucifixes hung from their necks. They frowned and scowled whenever anybody got close to Father.

  Father was examining one picture that showed a very tall, Japanese woman. She stood like a soldier. Her long hair formed solid, black ropes.

  He flipped to the next picture. It showed a burly man with reddish hair. He had a strong, square jaw.

  "I was expecting pictures of five people," Father said. "I only see four here."

  "We failed to take a good photo of the last one," Norbert said. "It was a tall man in a gray suit. He had silver hair. A very distinguished looking gentleman."

  "So now we have five new enemies."

  "We know exactly where they are, sir," Norbert said. "Please take a look, if you can."

  With great difficulty Father climbed out of his wheelchair and peered through the telescope. "The garage door?"

  "Yes, sir. We saw all of them go in, and nobody has come out."

  "Where does it lead?"

  "That's an interesting mystery," Norbert said. "I sent some men to City Hall to check the architectural records. That door doesn't exist officially. It shouldn't lead anywhere, but obviously it does. Hopefully, straight to the Child."

  "A secret underground lair. How appropriate for Satan's servants." Father sat on his wheelchair and sighed with obvious relief.

  "I have lookouts posted all around the block, in case there is another exit."

  "Good," Father said. "You've done well. I'm glad I put my faith in you."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "I have more good news. I called some old friends in the Vatican and convinced them to send us reinforcements. Fifty more men will be here in a day or two. We'll be well prepared for the next and hopefully final battle."

  "What kind of reinforcements?" Norbert said.

  "Vatican security."

  "Swiss guards?" Norbert's eyes opened wide. "Professional soldiers?"

  "Yes, and they're bringing their own weapons." Father beamed. "Assault rifles, not the little pistols you have here. We should have enough firepower to destroy anything we find behind that dark door."

  "May I suggest caution, sir. We got thrashed pretty badly today. I'd like to avoid repeating that experience."

  Father drew back. "Where is your valor, Norbert? God is with us in this fight."

  "Yes, sir, but we're facing an unknown number of adversaries, and we're attacking their home base." Norbert leaned forward for emphasis. "We can expect all of the devil's tricks and traps to be waiting for us."

  "You're right, I suppose." Father frowned. "We will prepare as best we can. Still, we can't afford to be timid. After the Swiss guards get here, we'll attack at the earliest opportunity."

  "Yes, sir. I'll personally lead the assault. I suggest we perform Last Rites before the battle."

  "That is an unnecessary precaution."

  Norbert sighed uneasily. "I fear this fight will get ugly now that the enemy is aware of us. Very ugly. I hope the Vatican isn't expecting all fifty Swiss guards to come home."

  * * *

  Aaron, Marina, and Smythe stood together in the workout room in headquarters. All three of them wore white karate uniforms and gray belts. Atalanta stood a few yards away and wore similar attire. Padded, blue mats covered the floor in between them.

  "This is going to suck," Marina said in a low voice.

  "Relax," Aaron said. "She just wants to spar."

  "You don't just spar with Atalanta. She teaches you lessons, painful lessons, and if you're lucky, she doesn't break any of your bones."

  "All we need is a plan," Smythe said. "We are three extremely skilled and experienced fighters. We should be able to defeat one, lone woman."

  Marina shook her head. "Not a chance."

  "Just tell us what to expect."

  "God hardened her skin, muscles, and bones. It's like she's wearing armor plate. If you try to hit her, you'll just hurt yourself."

  "Fine," Smythe said casually. "We'll use grapples and throws. What else?"

  "Her toughness isn't even her greatest ability," Marina said. "The real magic is her incredible focus and technique. Every attack is perfect. It's like fighting a robot."

  "She can't be invincible. Does she have a weakness?"

  Marina frowned. "I guess she's not insanely strong. If you two can get her on the ground and pin her arms, I might be able to put her to sleep." She showed him her black, needle sharp fingernails.

  "That's cheating," Aaron said. "No venom."

  She glared at him. "We're fighting Atalanta, damn it. Number seven. We'll use every trick we got and make up some new ones if we have time."

  "Fine," Aaron said. "Smythe and I will rush her, and you'll come in for the finish. Nice and simple."

  "Are you ready, yet?" Atalanta called out from across the room. "This is taking too long."

  Aaron glanced at the audience around them. Most of the Chicago team had come to watch the show. Jack and Edward stood on one side of the room. Nancy, Yvonne, and Kamal stood on the other side.
Wesley was pressing buttons on a stationary bike.

  "Let's get this circus of pain over with," Marina said glumly. "Attack when I give the signal."

  The three of them spread out and faced Atalanta. Aaron used an aggressive stance with his hands in front. Atalanta slid one foot back and settled into a graceful pose. He didn't recognize her technique.

  "Go!" Marina yelled.

  Aaron sprinted forward. A kick flew towards his face, but he reacted automatically and blocked the attack with his forearms. Still, the blow felt like Atalanta had hit him with a baseball bat, and his whole body shuddered. He grabbed her exposed ankle with both his hands.

  Smythe attacked from the other side, and Atalanta repelled him a straight punch to the chest. Then, she turned her attention back to Aaron. Demonstrating amazing agility, she flipped upside-down and swept his feet with her arm. Again, the hard impact on his flesh was brutal. He let go of her as desperately tried to control his fall.

  Smythe came at her with a jumping back kick. The technique was skillfully executed, but Atalanta had the perfect counter. She dropped onto her belly and grabbed his trailing foot as he flew over her. He crashed awkwardly into the mat.

  Aaron saw his opening. He struck Atalanta with a vertical axe kick. It was like striking solid stone, and the blow seemed to have no effect on her. She rolled to her feet. When he looked up, she kicked him in the face, stunning him.

  Marina screamed like a banshee and recklessly hurled herself across the room. Atalanta stepped back and attempted a hip throw, but Marina countered by wrapping her legs around Atalanta's waist. Marina tried to sink her fingernails into Atalanta's tough neck. Aaron forced himself to rejoin the match even though his head was still spinning. He couldn't let Marina fight alone.

  He managed to get a good grip on one of Atalanta's arms, but she just twisted around. Marina's head slammed into Aaron's stomach, and both of them dropped to the floor.

  Smythe came at Atalanta from behind. She backhanded him across the face, and the blow sounded like a gunshot. He collapsed as all his muscles went slack at once.

  Atalanta straightened her uniform. Clearly, the fight was over.