Psychological Damage (Gray Spear Society) Page 7

  Father turned his wheelchair around, rolled over to the telescope, and pushed himself to his feet with great difficulty. He peered through the telescope.

  "I suppose that's wise," he said. "The Swiss guards will arrive soon, and hopefully, those reinforcements will allow us to regain the initiative. In the meantime make sure our observers are well concealed. The enemy will search for them." He sat heavily in his wheelchair.

  "Yes, sir," Norbert said. "With your permission I'd like to be an observer. It's the least I can do under the circumstances."

  "As you wish."

  Norbert walked over and stood near his mentor. "Sir, what are we trying to accomplish here? The Child is gone."

  "But the enemy knows where he is," Father said. "We will enter Lucifer's lair by force and extract that information from whomever we find there."

  "These aren't amateurs. Their base will be heavily fortified, and they know we're here. A direct assault will be very hazardous. Let's be patient and plan this carefully."

  Father made a sour face. "I've been patient for years."

  "Then another few days won't matter, sir," Norbert said.

  "You're right, of course." Father sighed. "As David said to Solomon, be strong and courageous, and do the work. Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord God, my God, is with you."

  * * *

  Smythe stood on a hill overlooking the crime scene at DuSable Harbor. Around thirty police officers, evidence technicians, and detectives were working there. A multitude of flashing red and blue lights gave a surreal edge to the night. Lake Michigan was as black as ink, but Smythe could hear the invisible waves hitting the shore.

  He was dressed in a standard police uniform. When he had arrived, the real cops had accepted him as one of their own without question.

  He opened his phone and called Ethel.

  "Yes?" she said.

  "I talked to the police and I have great news. There were five casualties but none of them were ours. Our speedboat is gone, too. It seems our people escaped."

  "The legate will be very happy to hear that."

  "Two of the Brotherhood survived," Smythe said. "They're in the hospital. We should question them."

  "Let's give the doctors a chance to stabilize their condition first. Go home. Sleep."

  "You don't want me to come back to headquarters?"

  "You'd have to come through the garage," Ethel said, "and that could be dangerous right now. Just stay out until we get our security tightened up. Enjoy sleeping in your own bed. One more thing. Atalanta wants to search the area around headquarters tomorrow morning. You'll be her partner."

  Smythe frowned. "I think my time would be better spent at the hospital."

  "After you're done helping her."

  "I don't understand what she hopes to accomplish. We're in the middle of downtown Chicago. There must be ten thousand good places to hide. She can't search all of them."

  "She intends to try," Ethel said, "and I want you to help her. Those are my orders."

  "Yes, ma'am." He sighed.

  "Don't sound so gloomy. After spending a little time with Atalanta, you'll appreciate how warm and loving I am by comparison. That will be good for me. Sleep well."

  "Night." He closed his phone and walked off.

  * * *

  Aaron looked at the horizon in the East. The dawn hadn't quite arrived yet, but the sky was lighter in that direction. He expected some of the high, thin clouds to turn pink soon.

  The southern shore of Lake Michigan was directly ahead. Even though it was still dark, he could see beaches, sand dunes, and homes. He throttled the engine and allowed the boat to putter towards the shore at minimum speed.

  Marina was sitting in the passenger's seat with her feet up on the dashboard. Her eyes were closed. He wondered if she were asleep, but when he touched her thigh, she reacted immediately.

  "What?" she said.

  "We all need sleep, including me. A lot of those beach houses are vacation homes, and I bet some of them are unoccupied. I want you to swim ashore and find a good one for us."

  She furrowed her brow. "You want me to get in the water? It's freezing!"

  "Sorry." He shrugged. "I'll move the boat as close to shore as possible without getting stuck."

  "Why can't you get wet? I'll drive the boat."

  "You're the expert at the sneaking around like a ninja. And of course, if you run into trouble, you can knock people out with your venom. I'm more of a frontal assault, guns blazing, blow shit up type of guy."

  She snarled at the lake. "I guess so, but next time it's your turn to suffer."

  "Oh, I need to tell you something." He put a hand on her shoulder. "The legate made me the commander of this mission."

  "What?" She glared at him. "You've been a Spear for less than two years, and he wants me to take orders from you? I should be in charge."

  "He made the decision."

  She rubbed her black fingernails. "It's because he thinks I'm crazy."

  "I was hoping we wouldn't get into this." He took her hand. "But the facts are what they are. Your behavior is still erratic. You can become a homicidal lunatic at times. You almost slashed Wesley's face for God's sake."

  "Shut up. I don't want your analysis or your pity."

  She unbuckled her body armor, kicked off her shoes, and jumped in the water. Her splashing sounded angry as she swam towards the shore. He sighed.

  He looked towards the rear of the boat. Wesley was sleeping on the deck with a life vest as a pillow. He still wore all his clothes, so he was warm enough despite the cool morning air. Yvonne watched over him like a doting mother.

  The relationship between those two caused vague unease in Aaron. Yvonne was supposed to be Wesley's bodyguard and nothing more. Her strong emotional attachment to him could become problematic in a crisis, when critical decisions had to be made quickly.

  Aaron looked at the boy's beautiful face and wondered about his future. It was obvious Wesley had an important destiny waiting for him, but important didn't imply pleasant or nice. Aaron had firsthand experience with the fact that God didn't mind teaching a lesson the hard way. Sometimes pain was the best way to get people's attention.

  Aaron drove the boat in small, slow circles while he waited for Marina. The eastern sky grew slowly brighter which worried him. Darkness was his ally. After about twenty minutes he spotted her on the beach, waving her arms. He moved the boat as close to her as he dared.

  They had brought a big pile of gray duffle bags and luggage, a total of about four hundred pounds of gear. There were clothes, weapons, cash, fake identification, and anything else they might need. He had to get all that stuff onto the beach.

  Only one way, he thought.

  He took off his shoes and body armor. Then, he dropped the boat's small anchor and lowered himself over the side. The frigid water made his entire body clench. Damn, Marina was right! The water was shallow enough that he was just able to keep his face above it.

  "Yvonne!" he said. "Give me a bag."

  Yvonne put a duffle bag in his hands, and holding it out of the water, he walked to the shore.

  Marina was smiling as he reached the yellow sand, dripping wet. "Refreshing?"

  "Delightfully so," he replied though chattering teeth.

  He went back for the next bag, while she carried the first one up to the house.

  It took a while to get all the gear off the boat. True dawn had begun when they were finishing. Aaron finally carried Wesley off while Yvonne swam to shore.

  Aaron went back out one last time. He set the autopilot so the boat would drive north on its own. He jumped off, and by the time he got back to the beach, the boat was already disappearing from sight. A shame, he thought.

  Everybody went up to the house that Marina had found. It was a single-story home made of white brick. The interior was clean and furnished. Aaron checked the refrigerator and found it empty. The cupboards held some boxes of cereal and other nonperishable goods. It will do.<
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  "Dry off and sleep," he told everybody. "Don't get settled. We won't stay for long. I'll lay down by the front door, and Marina, you guard the back. Yvonne, find the safest spot in the house and keep Wesley with you. Don't let him out of your sight. Understood?"

  Everybody nodded.

  * * *

  Smythe watched the cloudy green waters of the Chicago River. The slow, steady flow carried bits of garbage and the odd bird feather. Theoretically, there were fish in the water, but he would never eat one for fear of mercury poisoning.

  He stood in a maintenance bay beneath one of the bridges. Enormous gears, electrical motors, and counterweights were inside a steel cage. He wished he could see the impressive mechanism in operation, but the bridges in Chicago were only raised at night if at all.

  He spotted ripples in the water. Atalanta silently raised her head out of the river and looked around. She wore goggles and a mask with a small air tank attached.

  Smythe offered his hand, but she got out of the river without his help. She wore a bikini that showed off her intimidating musculature. He liked strong women, but Atalanta was too heavily built for his taste.

  "What do you think of our emergency exit?" he said. "Have you ever used an underwater hatch before?"

  "It is certainly covert," she said, "and wet."

  She carried a black, plastic garbage bag, which was tightly sealed with electrical tape. She ripped open the bag and pulled out fresh clothes and a towel. She dried off quickly. Then, without a word of warning, she took off her bikini and began to dress. Smythe politely turned aside.

  "You don't have to come with me," she said. "I can search for spies by myself."

  "Ethel ordered me to join you," he said.

  "You'll slow me down."

  "My boss says we're a team."

  She made a guttural noise. "Then try to keep up."

  "What's our cover story?"

  "We're city health inspectors," she said. "We're investigating reports of a black widow spider infestation in this area."

  She handed him a white coat and a wallet containing fake identification. She wore a similar coat. Underneath she had a baggy, knit shirt and a long skirt. A blond wig covered her naturally black hair.

  "Are you armed?" she asked.

  He nodded. "Three guns. One under my shirt, one on my ankle, and a derringer up my sleeve. You?"

  "I have two machine pistols and a short sword."

  "A real sword?"

  She lifted her skirt to reveal a katana in a scabbard strapped to her chunky thigh. The blade was roughly two feet long.

  "Nice," he said.

  "Not just nice. It is a superb weapon, made by the greatest blacksmith in Japan. Take the lead."

  She followed him up a flight of stairs to street level. They walked through a small plaza between the river and Upper Wacker Drive. There was a bronze statue of three men in historic garb. Traffic rumbled continuously over streets with plenty of cracks and patches. The City of Chicago seemed to have a policy of not fixing roads until they crumbled completely.

  Smythe looked around. The Trump International Tower was ninety-two stories of stainless steel and tinted glass. It had four sections stacked vertically with each narrower than the one below. The tallest and skinniest section was on top. Rounded corners distinguished the Tower from the buildings around it.

  "You really want to search the city?" he asked.

  "You have a better idea?" Atalanta said.

  "I think we should go to the hospital and talk to the Brotherhood survivors from last night. We're much more likely to accomplish something useful."

  "First, let's see what we can do here."

  They walked along the busy sidewalk. Smythe tried to look into as many windows as he could. He was hoping to spot the tell-tale flash of sunlight reflecting from a sniper scope or binoculars. However, he saw flashes all around as light bounced off a thousand shiny surfaces. This is hopeless, he thought.

  He focused on Marina City since it had such dramatic architecture. The two cylindrical towers had almost no straight lines. The bottom stories were a spiral parking garage, and the forty stories above housed offices and residences. Built in 1964, they were the tallest concrete structures in the world at the time. Not a drop of paint covered the great masses of gray concrete. Unfortunately, the hundreds of prominent, curved balconies provided perfect vantage points for a sniper.

  "The legate mentioned you're a doctor," Atalanta said.

  "Yes. I'm a pathologist by training, and I'm also a pretty good trauma surgeon."

  "But you're a soldier, too."

  "That's right. The Army sent me to some of the worst shitholes in Afghanistan," Smythe said. "I fought in more than my share of battles. I'm as good with a gun as I am with a scalpel."

  "You weren't so impressive last night."

  "That wasn't a fair fight. I'm normal. You're a..."

  "Freak?" She glanced at him.

  "Something like that."

  "My body was crafted by God for the purpose of destroying His enemies. I sometimes think of myself as a Nephilim: half human and half angel."

  "How tough are you?" he asked. "Are you bulletproof?"

  "Not completely, but a light round will bounce off my skin. Mostly, I'm durable. One time I fell out of an airplane without a parachute and survived. I've had car accidents that killed everybody but me."

  "What's your background? You weren't always like this."

  She furrowed her brow and looked across the river at a red brick building. It had seven floors, and the windows on the top floor were arched. A clock tower in the center gave the building some character. Smythe realized it was yet another great spot for a sniper.

  "I don't remember much of my life before my transformation," Atalanta said. "When God enhanced my body, He also cleansed my mind of distracting memories."

  "Why?"

  "A warrior must think clearly in battle. Her spirit must be unyielding. God eliminated the clutter in my head to help me stay focused."

  "He gave you amnesia?" he said.

  "Not completely. I just don't remember my childhood."

  Smythe shook his head slightly. In the process of making her a perfect killer, God had taken away a chunk of her humanity. In his opinion she had paid too high a price.

  "Well," he said, "I'm obviously not a pure warrior like you, but I contribute to the team in other ways. Could you analyze a blood sample or treat a bullet wound? Could you devise an antidote for a poison? Ethel seems happy with my work, and her opinion is the one that counts."

  Atalanta sniffed.

  She abruptly turned around and headed east, retracing their steps. Smythe tried to look at everything without seeming to look at anything.

  "What's that building?" She nodded towards a white building with a prominent clock tower.

  Excluding the tower, the building was about twenty stories tall. The baroque architecture featured many small windows. Terra cotta cladding embellished the exterior, particularly along the roof line. The building was divided into two sections with a high bridge connecting them.

  "The Wrigley Building," he said. "It's very famous."

  "I saw movement on the roof."

  "You have sharp eyes. Let's see if we can get up there."

  They crossed the river and approached the Wrigley Building. The revolving doors were covered in brass. They went inside and found a lobby made of white marble. A sign warned that all persons needed a badge to get through security.

  "This could get a little messy," Smythe said.

  Atalanta shook her head.

  She walked right past the sign. A guard came out to challenge her, but before he could speak, she punched him in the jaw. He dropped to the floor like a sack of rocks. She grabbed his badge and kept going at a quick trot.

  Smythe followed her to an elevator. The guard's badge unlocked it, and they went to the highest floor.

  They soon found a stairway leading to the roof. Except for the occasional bird dropp
ing, the gray, cement surface was fairly clean. Smythe and Atalanta were standing on the section of the building without the clock tower. He looked across the gap at the tower, which extended another ten stories up. It was an impressive piece of architecture.

  "Stay here," she whispered.

  He nodded.

  She crept across the roof. There weren't many good places for a spy to hide up here. Taller buildings looked down on the roof on all sides. Exposure to the weather was also a problem for sustained surveillance. On the other hand it was an excellent observation platform. Smythe had a clear view of the garage entrance of headquarters. He could see the river all the way out to the lake.

  "Damn!" Atalanta called out. "Come over here."

  He followed her voice to the edge of the roof. She was kneeling beside a blue air conditioning unit with slotted grills on all sides. When he got closer, he realized the unit was just an empty, metal box made to seem like an air conditioner. He looked through the wide slots. There was some snack food and water bottles inside. One of the bottles was full of urine.

  "The spy must've seen us coming and escaped," he said.

  She kicked the box, denting the side.

  "This is a waste of time. We won't catch these guys by just wandering around, and we're exposing ourselves to sniper fire. You admitted you're not completely bulletproof. I think we should go to the hospital now."

  She snarled. "I don't like giving up so quickly."

  "Call it a tactical digression." He started walking. "Come on. Let's find a cab. The hospital isn't far." He heard approaching police sirens. "Uh, oh. I think they found the guard you knocked out."

  "We'll go out the back door."

  * * *

  Brother Norbert watched the enemy through a pair of binoculars. He was on the thirtieth floor of the Equitable Building, and he had a direct view of the roof of the Wrigley Building. He recognized the tall Japanese woman and the burly man with reddish hair from the other night. The woman wore a wig, but her body and face were unmistakable. They stood near the false air conditioner that Brother Albertus had been using as a blind.