Body Thief, page 23
The plans were already forming in his head. This was perfect. He could prove without a doubt that the Shifters were out to kill humans.
“Well?” Braxton asked. “Does that solve your problem?”
It did. He didn’t need to worry about Mercer or Camille now that they’d joined the underground. They were part of the problem. “It’ll do.”
He was about to cut the call when Braxton said, “You should have figured that out yourself.”
Harding glared at him. “I was busy.”
“No, you lost control of your emotions,” Braxton said and pointed a finger at him like a gun. “Told you so.”
“Fuck you,” Harding said, and hung up.
It felt good to have her father close by again, even if he did look deathly ill. Cam squeezed his hand on the table, and he gave her a smile.
Aristotle was seated next to him along with Griffin, Red, Ernest, and a few of Aristotle’s men. They were hunkered down in a dark, dank room over a makeshift table. It was like a secret society, and in reality, they were exactly that.
“They are developing a biological weapon. We believe it will be lethal to Shifters but not affect humans,” Aristotle said.
Cam felt her stomach drop. It shouldn’t surprise her, but the simple gall of it all did. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “We have people inside the facility. They aren’t privy to all the information, but they have provided enough of it for us to be certain.”
Griffin leaned forward. “If you know where it is, why didn’t you just destroy the facility?”
Red piped up. “I know, right?”
Aristotle shook his head. “Harding would just cover it up, or blame it on the Shifters like he did all the other attacks. Then he’d build another facility, this time with all the blessings of a terrified government and society. We’d never be able to come back from that. And if we destroy the evidence, we can’t prove anything.”
“That’s if you want to follow the proper channels,” Red grumbled.
Aristotle told him, “We do. We need to do this right. If we don’t, we are no different than Harding.”
“So you tried to impede the development by attacking the distribution line into the facility,” Griffin said.
“Exactly. Although, that ended up backfiring on us,” Aristotle admitted. “Harding used our strategy to wipe out businesses and people who support us.”
Cam tapped her fingers nervously on the table. “How close is the weapon for use?”
Aristotle slid a photo over to her. “Very.”
She studied the two dead men—one a human and the other a Shifter—lying on tables. The Shifter’s skin was waxy, and his body strangely flat. Like all his insides were mush contained inside his skin. His features were molded together, making him nearly indistinguishable, but she knew who he had been.
She slid it over to Griffin. “It’s our captive.”
“What the hell?” Griffin said and took the photo to view closer. “What happened to him? He looks melted.”
Aristotle nodded. “We think he was. The weapon, probably a gas, dissolves the part of our molecules that allows us to shift. That’s why the body looks like it’s filled with gelatin. It is. That picture was taken a few days ago.”
Ernest leaned over and grimaced at the photo. “Jesus. I thought you guys healed fast.”
Aristotle said, “Not fast enough to counter the damage from this toxin.”
“Who’s the other guy?” Ernest asked, squinting at the photo.
“A human,” Aristotle said.
Cam studied the man. He was covered in his own blood. “I thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt humans.”
“Trust me, by the time they get done with testing, it won’t,” Aristotle said.
“Which means we have a little time,” Griffin said. “Any idea how or when they plan to deploy it?”
Heads shook.
“All we know is that they will. Were you aware that Harding is working on a report to a special senate committee?” Aristotle asked. “It is supposed to outline the findings of our investigation on the Shifter attacks.”
“Senate? Our senate?” Ernest asked.
Cam ignored Ernest and frowned at Griffin. “I had no idea. Did you know?”
“Yes.” Then Griffin cut her a look. “It was just about the attacks.”
“By Shifters,” she corrected. “So Harding could spring his diabolical scheme on us with full congressional support.”
“I had no idea he was plotting anything more,” Griffin said, his expression unreadable.
Of course you didn’t, she thought. And you didn’t ask. Just one more thing he neglected to tell her. And why would he? It’d just be a reason to piss her off, and he couldn’t risk that if he wanted her cooperation. Would she ever be able to trust him?
“When is the report due?” Aristotle asked Griffin.
“As soon as possible. He may have already sent it in,” Griffin said. “He will blame all attacks on you and your men. He will push to use the weapon—”
The door opened, and another one of Aristotle’s men came in. He walked over to the old man and handed him a sheet of paper. Aristotle read it silently, frowning.
“Now wait a minute,” Ernest said. “Do you really think that our government would go for that?”
“They might now,” Aristotle said and passed Ernest the sheet of paper. “A building exploded in South Queens. Killed twelve people, including two children. XCEL is blaming it on Shifters.”
Cam’s stomach sunk. “Oh God. He’s playing to the media. We’re dead.”
It was quiet around the table for a few long moments while everyone digested the new development. Her father reached for and held her hand. His eyes met hers, full of sorrow. It was happening all over again. Just like it had on the last planet. The memory of her mother’s murdered body flickered in her mind. It had been years ago, but it felt like yesterday. Or tomorrow.
“We need to pin this on Harding,” Griffin said, breaking the silence. “It’s the only way to make this right.”
Ernest shook his head. “It ain’t gonna happen. If there’s one person in the world who knows how to cover his ass, it’s Harding.”
“There must be something,” Griffin said. “Cell phone records, e-mails, something.”
“His cell phone is private and secure. I’d need to do some serious digging to access his records,” Ernest said. Then he waved the photo. “But, I haven’t tried to tie him to this facility yet.”
“Give Ernest everything you have,” Griffin said to Aristotle. “If Harding is pulling the strings, then he has to have some kind of contact with them.”
“What about us?” Red asked. “We can’t just sit here and let them kill people and blame it on us.”
“Agreed,” Griffin said. “Ernest—”
“I know, I know. Next target,” he said with a sigh. “I’m going to need more bandwidth for this.”
“Not a problem,” Red said, grinning at Ernest. “What do you think all these cables down here are for?”
“You two figure that out,” Griffin said. Then he cut Cam a look and said, “I think we’ll do a little surveillance.”
She turned to Griffin. “How much time do we have?”
He didn’t answer her, but she could see it in his eyes. Not enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Griffin used his binoculars to scan the facility. The sign by the front gate read Goodman Research and Development. The facility consisted of several rectangular buildings attached to each other, two tall smoke stacks, and four delivery docks—all surrounded by barbwire-topped chain-link fencing. A guard sat in the entrance—armed, no doubt.
“This place is a lot bigger than I expected,” Cam noted.
Griffin lowered the binoculars. “Harding can’t run an operation this large by himself without leaving tracks.”
“Ernest can’t find any connection,” Cam said.
“That’s because someone else is running it,” Griffin noted, and read the information off his phone. “According to Aristotle’s inside people, a man named Nick Braxton is in charge. Former military.” He scrolled through the pages of notes, and something caught his eye. “Braxton was on the original XCEL committee that was disbanded last year.”
Cam asked, “So?”
He couldn’t believe it. He knew what the connection was. “Harding was on that committee.”
“Oh my God. They’re in this together,” Cam said quickly.
Griffin sent a note to Ernest. “Let’s see what kind of magic Ernest can do with that.”
Cam studied the building. “Should we bother to try talking to Braxton?”
“No. If we’re wanted by XCEL, he knows it.” Griffin glanced up at the formidable facility. “But I wonder how hard it would be to get inside.”
Cam wrinkled her nose. “I knew you were going to say that.”
“Chickening out on me?”
She cut him a glare. “Please. I was made for sneaking around, remember? However, there’s also a gas in there that can melt us. Not too excited about that part.”
He wasn’t either, but there might not be another way.
“You don’t need to do this,” he said.
Cam turned to him. “If you go in, I go in.”
“No.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
He turned to look at her. God, she was beautiful. But she wasn’t coming with him. He had nothing left to lose. He’d put himself in this position. She shouldn’t even be here.
“This is my idea,” he said. “I’ll go in alone.”
“While I what? Crochet?” she returned. “Do you think you’re the only one with a stake here? These are my people.”
Her people. He wondered when she’d decided that. He wondered if she even realized it. Whatever that case, he wasn’t going to change her mind now.
“So don’t even try to stop me, Mercer,” she added. “I’m your damned partner. And I don’t care how you feel about that.”
He’d grown to hate that word—partner. Except when she said it. “I don’t like it.”
“Good thing no one asked you then,” she said. “Besides, we don’t have a choice, do we?”
They really didn’t. All the answers lay in that building. He lifted the binoculars. “I’ll see what Ernest can do about the security systems.”
“We pulled that stunt once at the detention center. I don’t think they will fall for it again,” she said. “Can we use Aristotle’s insiders?”
“Perhaps,” he said. “Either way, it’s going to get messy.”
“That works for me,” she said and stretched her arms. “Haven’t killed anyone all day.”
Dewey looked damned old, Aristotle decided as he sat next to his friend. They’d ducked ammunition together. Fought over women. Done every illegal drug they could find. Ran from trouble more than a time or two. They’d gotten married and started families just months apart. And then they’d lost everything, escaping from a hellish world that was determined to wipe them out.
Where did time go? he wondered. Shifter bodies aged slowly, and they could live to be well over a hundred and twenty-five years. Not so with humans. These bodies weren’t made for a hundred years. They were complex and fragile with too few redundant parts. One heart. Who decided on that?
Regardless, Aristotle liked this body. It was better than some he’d worn. He wished he could remember the others, but those memories were lost to the past. There were days when he couldn’t conjure up his son’s face or remember which tunnel he needed to follow.
Growing old was a crime. He’d rather die in battle than waste away one memory at a time. It was no way for a man to depart his life, and he’d decided long ago that he wouldn’t allow it to happen to him. His time, however, was drawing near. The battle cries were getting louder and closer.
Before this week was out, he’d meet the enemy on the field. He’d saved every spare ounce of energy for that moment, and he planned to leave nothing behind.
Dewey opened his eyes slowly and gazed around him without any hint of fear. Aristotle knew why. He was simply too tired to care. His gaze settled on Aristotle, and he smiled.
“You look like hell,” Dewey said.
“I’m not the one lying in bed all day,” Aristotle said and reached out to shake his friend’s hand. “Good to see you.”
“You too,” Dewey said, giving him a weak handshake. “Didn’t think I’d live long enough to run into you again.”
“It’s a small world,” he said. They all were. “How do you feel?”
“Excellent. You?” Dewey was lying through his teeth. He’d been asleep for most of the past day.
“Excellent,” Aristotle lied back. Old men and their pride.
“Where are we?”
Aristotle grinned and spread his arms out. “Welcome to my humble abode. Seven levels under the city.”
Dewey glanced around. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Where’s Camille?”
Aristotle filled him in on the details. “They’ll be back soon.”
His old friend closed his eyes. For a moment, Aristotle thought he might have fallen asleep. Then he said, “How bad is it?”
He took a deep breath. “As bad as it gets, old friend.”
Dewey opened his eyes. “Can we win?”
“Yes,” Aristotle said.
“Is it worth it?”
“Yes.”
Dewey met his gaze. “Keep her safe.”
Aristotle put his hand on Dewey’s. “I’ll do my best.”
Cam felt safer underground again. As they’d come back from the facility, they had run into several demonstrations in the streets. The media had the humans whipped into a frenzy over the Shifter attacks.
Next thing you know, they’d be accusing each other of being witches and burning people at the stake.
She and Griffin were heading to one of many meeting rooms in the underground labyrinth. Aristotle’s Shifters had taken over a big chunk of the tunnels that ran under Manhattan. Alcoves had become meeting rooms; corridors fashioned into cubes of living spaces. It was a city beneath a city, guarded by Shifters on a mission.
Red met them at the door.
“Glad you found us okay,” he said and ushered them into the small room that Ernest had commandeered for his high-tech geekdom. Metal piping had been opened up and clips taped onto the bundles of wiring. Thick power cords fed a wall of monitors and computers.
“Made yourself at home, I see,” Griffin observed. “How’s the reception down here?”
Ernest peered at him, happy as a geek could get. “I may move here permanently. See this pipe right here?” He pointed to one of ten pipes. “Lifeline to the best Internet you can buy. And this one.” He nodded toward a robust pipe with a slew of clips sticking out of it. “That’s the cyber tower to the surface. I can get you anything you want.”
“World peace,” Cam said.
Ernest rolled his eyes. “Please. Like that’s ever going to happen. But, I did manage to call the next attack. Aristotle’s men took care of it and left the goons for the media to find too. Hung’em right out the windows so everyone could see who exactly was trying to blow up the place.”
Red crossed his arms. “Until Harding cleaned it up. Told the media it was us.”
Griffin cast Cam a quick look. “We need proof.”
She was afraid he was going to say that. Despite her bravado, she wasn’t looking forward to getting inside the death zone. At least not until she had Harding’s throat in her hands.
Griffin asked Ernest, “Did you get the photos I sent you of the exterior of the facility?”
“Got ’em,” Ernest said.
“Good. So how do we get inside?” Griffin asked.
Ernest gaped at him. “You know, this isn’t as easy as it looks.”
“We know,” Cam said. “We also know you’re the best.”
“That’s true,” Ernest said, turning to his computers. “I’ll see what I can come up with. Plus now I have intel from our spies inside.”
Griffin asked Red, “How many people do you have inside?”
“Two technicians,” he said. “Humans. Both understand what Harding is trying to do.”
Cam could only imagine the danger they faced. “How do they check in with you?”
Red held up his smartphone. “I get reports once or twice a week. I downloaded everything to Ernest’s computer.”
“And I took everything and created an information matrix on the facility,” Ernest said, tapping away. “Here we go.”
They all leaned over Ernest to view the monitors. Cam noted floor plans, research notes, photos of workers—everything except a way inside.
“Workers have to go through a series of automated gates that use X-rays, human Scouts, and every scanner known to man. Like airport security on steroids,” Ernest summarized. “Nothing goes in, nothing comes out that’s not supposed to. I’ll need to analyze everything to formulate an acceptable plan of attack. Give me a few hours.”
“Anything on Harding?” Cam asked.
“Nothing to tie him to any of this,” Ernest said. “Oh, and he put out a contract to kill all of us. But you probably already knew that.”
Really, she should have killed him.
“When’s Harding’s next attack?” Griffin asked.
“Tonight. A dance club in Harlem. Aristotle is getting his team together,” Ernest said. “Why, you interested in joining them?”
“It could be a setup,” Red reminded them.
Yes, it could, but could they chance not following up? she thought. A night attack in a crowded dance club. That would put the nail in the coffin for Shifters everywhere.
Griffin eyed Cam, waiting for her answer.
Oh, what the hell? It was better than hanging around geeks all day. “Time to put on my dancing shoes,” she said.
“You might want to bring your running shoes,” Ernest said. “These guys are trying to kill us, remember?”
As if she could forget.
“I feel a little overdressed,” Cam yelled to him.
A group of scantily clad women walked by them wearing strategically placed rhinestones. The thump-thump-thump of music piped through speakers, and the noise level was barely tolerable. The joint was jumping.
