Hardbingers rj-10 Read online

  "Let's just call it off, okay?"

  "Call it off? We can't call it off! It was an Alarm, an order straight from the top."

  "You sure about that?"

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "I mean, it doesn't feel right. Something's wrong, Miller. It felt wrong when she got the bull's-eye put on her the first time, and it feels even more wrong now. And December—I don't even want to think about December."

  Miller's features hardened. "We're soldiers, Davis. We've sworn to follow orders."

  "Which means we'd make good little Nazis, right?"

  "Don't try that hot-button shit on me."

  "Well, why don't we grab her, take her to one of the safe houses, and grill her about her connection to the Otherness?"

  "Did the 0 see us grilling her? No, he saw us offing her. So that's what we're gonna do."

  "What if there's been a mistake?"

  "Shit, Davis. The Ally don't make mistakes. We see only a tiny piece of the picture. These orders come from a source that's got the widescreen view and knows and sees a helluva lot more than we do. We do what needs to be done and we move on. No looking back."

  Cal shook his head. "I'm saying it feels wrong."

  "Don't matter what you feel. We've got to trust that what's good for the Ally is good for us. We can't do that, we might as well go Home and gather everyone together for a Kool-Aid party."

  In the rational part of his mind Cal knew Miller was right: If they started second-guessing the higher wisdom that had recruited them, they'd be ineffective against the Otherness. But emotionally he felt as if he should be protecting that woman and child, not plotting their deaths.

  Cal shook his head again. "I can't do it."

  Miller leaned into him and spoke through bared teeth. "Then I guess it's up to me, just like it was in December. And if I'd been behind the wheel in November we wouldn't be having this argument. It would have been a done deal. But the 0 said he'd seen Zeklos behind the wheel, so the pussy got the gig. And fucked it up. Well, no more fuck-ups. I'll take the truck, you drive getaway."

  He stomped off, leaving Cal standing on the corner.

  Cal didn't want to drive getaway either, didn't want to have anything to do with this. In fact, he wanted to go back to that deli and tell the woman to stay put, or stay away from 58th Street, or call an armored car to take her home.

  But he didn't.

  14

  After Jack pressed Zeklos's call button for the second time, a tiny voice came through the mini speaker.

  "Who is there?"

  Good. He was home.

  "Jack. You know, the Heir head. We need to talk."

  The door buzzed open and Jack pushed through. Upstairs, on the second floor, he found Zeklos waiting in his apartment doorway.

  "I am surprised to see you. Davis told me you were going away."

  "Change of plans." He held up a grease-stained White Castle bag. "Hope you're hungry. Burgers and coffee. Best burgers in the world."

  Jack meant that. He'd come over by way of the Manhattan Bridge so he could stop at the White Castle on Willoughby. Only about half a dozen stores in the city and Jack knew them all. Gia called them ratburgers, but he loved them. Figured they might be a treat for Zeklos. Nothing like sharing food to lull someone into opening up.

  And Jack needed him to open up. What he really wanted to do was hog-tie him and grill him, but he'd learned last Friday night that Zeklos wasn't easily pried. He'd have to be teased open.

  Zeklos gave him a wary look. "Why do you bring me food?"

  Jack was close enough now to smell the scotch on his breath. Going on another bender?

  "Because I'm hungry and I don't like to eat alone. You telling me you've had lunch already?"

  Zeklos shook his head. "No. No lunch. 1 have no appetite." jack pushed past him and headed toward the kitchenette.

  "Cool. That means more for me. I could eat these suckers all day."

  He set the sack on the counter next to a bottle of Dewar's scotch.

  "Liquid lunch? Did I come at a bad time?"

  Zeklos closed the door and waved his hands.

  "No-no. I am just mashing the potato of happiness."

  Huh?

  Jack decided not to ask. He unpacked the sack as he spoke.

  "You mean about being moved down to the minors?"

  More suspicion in his eyes. "How do you know this?"

  "Miller was laughing about it."

  Not exactly true, but it worked. The suspicion retreated, replaced by a fearful resentment.

  "Miller is glad to see me go. He hates me."

  "I'd look on being hated by a jerk as a badge of honor." He held out a burger in its stiff-paper squarepants container. "Here. Try one."

  The combination of hearing Miller called a jerk and the aroma of a White Castle burger seemed to do it. Jack saw the tension go out of his shoulders as he examined the burger.

  "So small."

  "Yep. That's why you buy lots of them. Bet you can't eat just one."

  Zeklos took a bite. Then another. A third bite finished it.

  He spoke around a mouthful. "This is good. This is very good."

  "Have another. I bought plenty. And here's a coffee."

  As they ate Jack debated his next step. Too early to bring up cyanide-tipped bullets. Better to stick with Zeklos himself.

  "You know, one thing you never told me is why Miller's got it in for you."

  Zeklos swallowed a big bite. "I do not think I should talk about that."

  "Why not? I'm the Heir, aren't I? You heard Doc Oc say so himself."

  Zeklos frowned. "Doc…?"

  "The Oculus. The 0."

  "Oh, yes, I see. But—"

  "But nothing. They want me to hook up with the MV. Before I do that I need to know what I'm getting into. So come on. Give."

  "I don't know…"

  "Look. Maybe I'll become the Sentinel one day, maybe I won't. But if I do, I'll remember those who helped me when I was the Heir. And believe me, they won't be languishing in some training camp."

  Jack couldn't believe the crap he was spewing, but he wanted answers and he'd take them any way he could.

  And the crap seemed to be working.

  Zeklos thought a moment, then said, "Very well. Since you are the Heir… I will tell you that I am in disgrace." His eyes flashed at Jack. "Partly because of you."

  "You mean because I got the jump on you Friday night?" He shrugged. "Don't take it personally. I'd have done the same to Davis or Miller."

  "Yes-yes, I know. But I was already in disgrace because I did not complete a duty given to me by the 0."

  "Which was…?"

  He looked away. "I was to kill a woman."

  "When?"

  "Last November. The Ally said she was to be struck by a truck."

  That didn't sound very Ally-ish. It disturbed him that the Ally would send a yeniceri out to run down a woman… disturbed him a lot more than he would have expected.

  "Did the 0 tell you why?"

  Zeklos shook his head. "He is never told. He sees only visions of what must be done or what must be prevented."

  "I take it you missed her."

  Zeklos nodded but kept his gaze averted. "Yes. I told them I hit the curb and lost control, but in truth I… I could not do it. And my brothers know that." Finally he looked up and locked eyes with Jack. "Do you too believe that I should be eating the corn of humiliation?"

  "I don't know about the corn of humiliation"—whatever that was—"but I think—"

  "What make my failure worse is that Ally has sent second Alarm about this woman. Because of me, it must be tried again."

  Sounded like the Ally really had it in for this lady.

  "Maybe you're just too human to make a good… hit man."

  His own word sucker-punched him. He'd said it without forethought, without calculation, and yet here it was… here was the connection.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Star
fire. He set it upright on the counter between them.

  "What do you know about this?"

  "I've never seen—"

  "The hollow point here is filled with cyanide. That mean anything to you?"

  Zeklos didn't have to answer. His expression said it all. Yeah, it meant something. Meant a whole lot of something.

  Joey's dying words re-echoed…

  "Something else going on."

  Jack grabbed Zeklos by the throat and squeezed.

  "Did the MV have anything to do with LaGuardia?"

  Zeklos's features hardened as he struggled to get free.

  "No! Let me go!"

  Jack couldn't read his eyes so he tightened his grip.

  "You're lying! You—"

  He would have said more but another thought slammed its way to the forefront, pushing everything else aside.

  Gia… a couple of months ago she'd mentioned how a truck had come within inches of hitting her.

  He let Zeklos go.

  "This woman… the one you were supposed to run down… what did she look like?"

  Zeklos rubbed his throat and looked at him as if he'd gone nuts. He hadn't. Not yet.

  Jack leaned into his face and shouted. 'What did she look like?"

  Zeklos backed away as he spoke. "She had short blond hair and—"

  A blast of cold shot through him.

  "Where did you almost run her down?"

  "Fifty-eighth and Second Avenue. Why do you want to know this?"

  "You said the same woman is targeted. When?"

  "Today. At one-thirty."

  Jack's voice locked. The words wouldn't come. He glanced at Zeklos's kitchen clock: 1:14.

  Oh shit, oh hell, oh—

  Finally he found the words. "Where?"

  "Same place. Fifty-eighth and Second. Why do you care?"

  Jack jumped to the door, pelted down the steps, and ran for his car. Along the way he yanked his phone from his pocket.

  He stopped at his car door and called her home.

  Please answer, Gi. Please.

  Four rings and then Vicky's voice came on with her leave-a-message routine.

  Praying that she'd check her voice mail, he said, "Gi! If you get this, go inside. I mean that. No matter where you are, step into the nearest doorway and call me back. I'm not kidding! This is life or death!"

  He slipped behind the Vic's steering wheel and started her up. As he got rolling he dialed her cell number. Maybe she'd come home and retrieved it. But the cell rang and rang until a canned voice-mail message came on.

  'You have reached 212 …"

  With his heart battering against his ribs he left the identical message and gunned the car toward the highways. Which way to go? The BQE to the Man-hattan Bridge or jump into the Battery tunnel? His dashboard clock read 1:25.

  Either way he'd never make it. Even if he could fly.

  Wanted to cry, wanted to vomit. Pounded his steering wheel and screamed at his windshield. So helpless, so goddamn helpless.

  Where was she? What could—?

  Lunch—lunch time. If she'd stopped to eat… where…?

  Kosher Nosh.

  Jack thumbed 411 and asked for the number. The operator offered to dial it for him.

  "Do-it-do-it-do-it!"

  Two rings and a man's voice announced that he'd reached the Kosher Nosh. Jack remembered the name of the owner, the guy who ran the cash register.

  "Is this Dov?"

  "Who else should it be?"

  "Listen, do you know Gia, the woman with short blond hair who comes there a lot? You know who I mean?"

  "Know? Of course I know. Pickled herring with sour cream she had. A whole plate." He laughed. "These pregnant wo—"

  "Is she still there?"

  Say-yes-say-yes-say-yes.

  "She and her little girl just walked out."

  Little girl? Wasn't Vicky in school?

  "Stop them!"

  "Already they're gone."

  "Go get them! Call them back! I'm begging you! It's an emergency! Life or death! I've got to speak to her right now!"

  "Okay. I'll see if I can catch her."

  Jack heard the phone hit the counter, heard the voice say, "Aviva. I'm running out for a minute and you shouldn't hang up the phone."

  Jack drove on, dying by inches as he waited for Gia's voice to come on the line.

  15

  Cal idled his stolen Camry on 58th, downstream from Second, and watched the street corner in his rearview mirror.

  Hursey and Jolliff waited down near First in their stolen cars. They'd pull out in Cal and Miller's wake and run interference should anyone come in pursuit.

  He fidgeted in his seat. Hard to sit still. Hell, he could barely breathe. Inside his gloves, his palms were slick with sweat under his death grip on the steering wheel.

  This shouldn't be happening. The yeniceri were warriors—trained to fight evil. Usually that meant men. He had no illusions that males had a lock on Otherness-related activity, but executing a pregnant woman and her daughter…

  He knew the Ally wasn't good, per se, but these days—especially after last month—its ends and means seemed indistinguishable from the Other-ness's. He'd begun to wonder if good existed.

  Take this woman. Yeah, yeah, he'd be the first to admit that looks could deceive, but he'd seen the way she smiled, the way her eyes sparkled as she listened to her little girl reading to her. He didn't give a damn what the Ally said, this woman was not evil.

  He needed a bathroom.

  16

  Miller idled the truck in an empty fire hydrant space west of Second Avenue. He had the last spot on the corner and an unobstructed view of the intersection. Second ran uptown, moving from his right to his left.

  He shifted his attention between his watch and the traffic light. He'd been timing the sequence. The green came in consistently at an even sixty seconds, followed by five seconds of amber. He'd have to time this perfectly. Wouldn't be easy, but it could be done.

  And he could do it.

  Shit, he hoped so. One thing to play hard guy with Davis, but something else entirely to have to live up to your own press and—

  Suddenly she was there—short blond hair just as the 0 had described—and heading for the corner, guiding a kid.

  Why'd there have to be a kid along? Kids were noncombatants as far as he was concerned, but the 0 said the Ally wanted them both. Miller trusted the Ally. He had to. Without that trust, he had nothing. His life would mean nothing.

  He watched the light switch from red to green and began timing. He put the truck in gear and waited. He noticed he'd broken out in a sweat. What was wrong with him?

  He watched her standing at the curb, waiting for permission to walk. Miller always ignored those signals—wasn't going to wait for anyone's permission to cross a street—but he guessed it was a different story with a kid along. Set a good example and all that.

  At the fifty-five-second mark he started inching the truck forward. He waited for the amber, then counted down. With a second left to go he hit the gas and roared into action, picking up speed as the light turned red. He saw the woman and the kid step off the curb.

  The only thing that could stop him now was some asshole getting a jackrabbit start on the green.

  17

  The Oculus was sitting at his desk, taking a break from schooling Diana, whe1n the room darkened.

  His head snapped up as he realized this wasn't simply a fluctuation in the current—this dimness originated in the room, in the air around him.

  As the darkness deepened he reached for his call buzzer to summon a yenigeri but found he could not move. His hands had rooted to his desktop, his body to the chair, his feet to the floor. He opened his mouth to shout for help but his throat locked before he could utter a sound.

  He watched in helpless terror as the darkness enveloped him. It didn't block the light, it absorbed it.

  In half a minute, perhaps less, the formless darkness became complete. No
up, no down, just fathomless blackness.

  And then he knew he was not alone in the room.

  A pair of eyes appeared before him, floating in the otherwise featureless void. His mind, desperate for orientation of any sort, grasped at them, then recoiled.

  The whites were cold and hard as crystal, the irises dark, verging on black. But the pupils… the pupils were windows into a writhing, hungry chaos, inviting him in.

  Why not go? Why not leave behind this weight of responsibility? It would be so easy… so easy…

  He shook it off.

  And then he heard the music… if it could be called that. A choir screaming a discordant cacophony. But no human voices had ever made sounds like these.

  "So," said a soft voice, "you are the local Oculus. I'd introduce myself, but I believe you've figured out who I am."

  The Oculus knew and the realization threatened to empty his bladder.

  Rasalom… the Adversary.

  "I've put off meeting you because I wanted to wait until certain events had transpired. 1 was about to pay a call last November but plans went awry, didn't they. This time, however, all will go as planned—no second reprieve for this woman."

  He spoke so casually, with no more emotion than someone ordering cold cuts at a deli. Yet the Oculus sensed a mix of hunger and malicious glee bubbling beneath the fagade.

  But he had no time to wonder why. His brain buzzed with the question of how Rasalom knew about the woman and that the Ally had marked her for death.

  Unless…

  His mind reeled at the possibility that the Otherness had sent those Alarms. The idea had occurred to him this morning but he'd discarded it as impossible. He had a direct link to the Ally, a dedicated line, so to speak.

  But what if the Otherness had tapped in and sent a false Alarm?

  What if this woman was being run down not at the Ally's behest, but at its expense?

  And he had been the instrument.

  Why me?

  "I'm sure you have a thousand questions," Rasalom said. "We have some time, so why not pass it with a few explanations. Not a Q and A, I fear. More of a soliloquy. What I'm going to tell you will upset you, make you doubt yourself and your calling, but that's all to the good. It will serve as an appetizer to what is to come."