Justice Keepers Saga--Books 1-3, page 27
CRACK!
The air before him rippled, the image blurred and stretched as though something had refracted the light. Through the shimmering curtain, he saw a single bullet spiralling toward him, mere feet away.
He ducked.
Gritting his teeth, Jack squeezed his eyes shut. He felt sweat matting bangs to his forehead. “Well, this is new,” he said, trying to ignore the pain in his temples. “I think I could get used to it though.”
He let the bubble pop.
A bullet zipped over his head.
Running forward, Jack seized one of the wooden chairs. He flung it and watched it tumble through the air, striking Mr. Moustache in the face before he could reorient his aim. The other man fell backward.
Lifting his chin to stare down his nose at the fallen man, Jack stepped forward. “I hope we've learned something,” he said, eyebrows rising. “Boys shouldn't play with their daddy's guns.”
He felt more than saw three other men stand up from tables on the far side of the room. They each drew pistols, raising their guns to point at Jack. Apprehension from his Nassai told him that he couldn't outmaneuver all of them at once.
Biting his lower lip, Jack winced. “And I shouldn't pick a fight in a bar full of criminals,” he said. “Okay, boys, let's not do anything that we will regret in the morning.”
The front and back doors swung open, each releasing half a dozen agents in black tactical gear into the room. Armed with assault rifles, they dropped to one knee to point weapons at the criminals.
One by one, each of the three men dropped to a crouch and set his gun down on the floor. Only then did Jack realize that his heart was pounding so hard it might just burst right out of his chest. “None of us should underestimate Anna,” he said.
As if drawn by the sound of her name, she stepped through the front door, dressed in black pants and body armour. For some reason, she hadn't bothered with a helmet. She likely didn't need one.
Anna shut her eyes and nodded to him. “You did very well,” she said, striding into the room. “Now, let's round up these low-lives and escort them all to one of our nice, cozy detention cells.”
“How…” one man in the back asked. “How do you move like that?”
Jack grinned, sheepishly bowing his head. “What can I say?” he muttered with a shrug of his shoulders. “Fabulous secret powers were revealed to me the day I held aloft my magic sword and said, 'By the Power of Grayskull!' ”
Five minutes later, half a dozen men were on their way to jail.
The battering ram slammed into a door that led to the basement of a small house, forcing it right off its hinges. Inside, Harry saw a small room with linoleum floor tiles and white plastered walls.
Two women in TAC gear leaped through before him, both dropping to their knees and lifting assault rifles. “FREEZE!” one bellowed. “Do not move! I will fire; so you just stay where you are.”
Harry stepped inside.
He found David Hutchinson sitting on an old brown sofa with a can of beer raised halfway to his mouth. The man was bone white, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Um…hello, Detective Carlson.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “So, here you are,” he said, shaking his head. “You'd think Pennfield would spring for a five-star hotel after everything you've done.”
Hutchinson closed his eyes and let his head hang. The sheen on his brow seemed to thicken. Or maybe it was just the light. “Look, Harry, it wasn't personal,” he said. “I like you fine, but-”
Harry bared his teeth, his face suddenly on fire. He felt as though he might explode from the rage boiling inside him. “Do not give me your excuses!” he growled. “We were never friends, Dave, but I never thought you'd try to bash my skull in.”
Maintaining a professional composure was going to be difficult. He would prefer to set an example for the TAC Team – some of them might one day climb the ranks – but at the moment, he just wanted to throttle Hutchinson. “Get on the floor, David,” he ordered. “Hands behind your head.”
The other man dropped to his knees, lacing fingers over the back of his skull. He flinched and let out a groan. “What are you gonna do, Harry?” he asked. “You arrest me, and it will mean exposing all this stuff you want to keep secret.”
“I'll deal with it. Cuff 'em.”
A third TAC officer – this one a tall man in a black helmet that hid his face – went over to Hutchinson and dropped to one knee behind him. He seized Hutchinson's wrists, placing a cuff on each.
“Get him out of here,” Harry spat. “Is the car ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Harry replied. “Let's get him to the airport.”
He couldn't wait to usher the other man into a nice, comfortable interrogation room where they could learn everything he knew about Wesley Pennfield. They would need a confession from Hutchinson if they wanted to put that bastard in prison. If they could get Hutchinson to admit that Pennfield told him to shoot Jack…well, that was Murder One. That would stick.
Harry felt very much like a cat hankering to sharpen his claws on a juicy, tender piece of fresh meat.
25
The first thing Anna saw when she woke was the distant highrise behind the blinds of her bedroom window. A few puffy clouds were floating through the clear blue sky. Just enough for picturesque scenery.
Anna sat up, pressing fists to her eye sockets. She rubbed them and let out a groan. “I hate late nights,” she muttered to herself. “If criminals could confine themselves to the afternoons, I'd be very appreciative.”
Gritting her teeth, Anna winced. She tossed her head about to shake out the early morning fog. “Very appreciative,” she whispered. “I might even let a couple go just to prove my point.”
The flight back from Halifax had been taxing, and though she had been seated the entire time, her muscles ached worse than they would after a long workout. It was a miracle that she didn't throw up. She had been making a point to keep complaints to herself, but how these people survived with such primitive technology was beyond her. Next she'd be traveling by horseback!
A few moments later, she was pacing down the hallway in beige khaki pants and a gray t-shirt with laces over its deep V-neck. Her hair was tied back, but she could feel a few flyaway strands.
At the end of the hall, she found the small kitchen on her right with a pot of coffee already brewing on the counter. Odd. Jack usually slept later than she did. She hadn't expected to see him for another half hour.
Anna found him standing in the living room with a mug of hot chocolate in hand, staring out the window behind the small television. “Morning!” she said in a chipper tone. “Thanks for making coffee.”
Jack just stood there with the mug raised halfway to his mouth, still as a statue with his back turned. What exactly was passing through his head just then? Concern dampened her otherwise good mood. “Jack?”
“Hmm?”
“Is everything alright?” she asked, brushing hair out of her face. “You look like that bald space-ship captain just before he launches into a speech about the burdens of command.”
He took a sip of his hot chocolate, then lowered the mug again, staring straight out the window. “Just thinking,” he said. “I woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep. Too many thoughts racing through my mind.”
“Wanna tell me about them?”
Anna moved up beside him, resting a hand on his back. The gesture felt so natural, she didn't even consider the implications until he stirred. Snatching her hand away, she gave herself a silent reprimand. She was his mentor; these feelings were not appropriate. When he turned, she almost cringed in embarrassment.
Jack stared at her with a blank expression, blinking as he chose his words. “Just a mix of feelings,” he murmured. “At first, I was thrilled – I faced down men with pistols, and I survived – but then…”
“But then?”
“Well, I woke up feeling like I could take on the world, but then it occurred to me that I was celebrating that I just beat up three guys. How can I possibly feel proud of that?”
“Those feelings sound perfectly natural to me,” she said. “You should be proud, and you should be scared.”
Bending over with a hand on his stomach, Jack shook his head. “I know I need to keep this under control,” he said. “I know these feelings get in the way of doing our job.”
Anna frowned, then lowered her eyes to the floor. How exactly was she supposed to explain this? “You've got it all wrong,” she said, shaking her head. “Emotions don't get in the way of doing our job. They make it possible for us to do our job.”
“But if we hesitate,” he said, “it could get us killed.”
“But you didn't hesitate, Jack,” she replied. “You did what was necessary when it was necessary. That you feel remorse for doing harm to another human being is a sign that you understand the burden of the power you've been given. You care about people; so you will use that power wisely.”
“And mope like a toddler?” He turned away from her, marching over to the wall, and stood there for a very long while. “Hell, I actually teared up this morning. Everyone always told me I was soft.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Anna scowled down at the floor. She hunched up her shoulders in a shrug. “I'm not saying it will be easy,” she began. “But you'll learn how to manage these feelings once you stop lying to yourself.”
“And what lie am I telling myself?”
Anger welled up when she considered her words, white-hot magma that burned in her veins. How could someone as noble as Jack not see the truth for what it was? “The lie that strength is the absence of emotion,” Anna said, surprised by the gentleness in her voice. Her anger was not with him, she realized, but with the people who had taught him to equate empathy with weakness. “You have a right to your tears, Jack; we all do, men and women alike.
He shuddered, huddling in on himself and moving closer to the wall. The poor guy was really quite upset. “Turn around,” Anna said softly. “You don't have to hide what you feel from me.”
He whirled around to face her.
Jack closed his eyes tight, tears glistening on his cheeks. He shook his head with a shuddering breath. I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I don't mean to dump all this on you; I just don't know what to make-”
Anna stepped forward, slipping her arms around his waist. She buried her head in his chest. “You don't have to be sorry,” she said. “Having emotions is a good thing, and I want you to share them with me.”
Face tight with anxiety, Jack went red. “So how do you do it?” he asked, squeezing her tight. A surge of affection made her return the embrace. Those damned feelings were popping up again. “How do you live with the knowledge that you've done violence?”
Anna looked up at him with wide eyes, blinking as she chose her words. “It takes time,” she said, nodding. “But eventually you accept that it was necessary and that your actions protected the lives of innocents.”
“Just like that?”
“Jack, believe me,” she whispered. “The fact that you're upset says volumes about the quality of your character. Which is top-notch in my opinion.”
He shuddered, wiping tears off his face with the back of his hand. “Has anybody ever told you you're a wonderful mentor?” he asked. “It's going to take a little while for me to learn to be as open with my emotions as you are.”
His words hit her like a slap to the face.
Closing her eyes, Anna let her head hang. She reached up to brush a lock of hair out of her face. “Physician heal thyself,” she mumbled. “Jack, there's something I have to tell you…and it won't be easy.”
Every instinct told her to clamp her mouth shut or come up with something else that might follow her last statement – something that did not involve expressing her romantic feelings – but she had insisted on openness. If they were on her world, Jack would have a more experienced teacher, and she would be free to snuggle him up into a big warm blanket and fall asleep in his arms. But there were only two Keepers on this world. Perhaps that meant it was time to rethink the rules. “I think I'm falling in love with you.”
Sniffling, Jack smiled at her. Had anyone ever told him he had such beautiful blue eyes. “Yeah, I kind of figured,” he said softly. “And I feel the same way. So, what do you want to do about it?”
She turned away from him, pacing across the room with arms folded. “Well, that is a tough one,” she said, stopping in front of the couch. “I'm your mentor. Indulging these feelings could create a conflict of interest.”
“Normally, I would agree,” he began. “But I think this case is different. Anna, you sometimes have to struggle just to be tactful. I have a hard time believing that you would ever lie to spare my feelings.”
“A fair point.”
“So…”
“So it seems to me there's only one logical thing to do.”
In her mind's eye, she saw him standing behind her with hands clasped behind his back, his eyes glued to the floor. “Oh, really,” he said through soft laughter. “Well, as long as we're being logical. How do you want to syllogism our way out of this one?”
Glancing over her shoulder, Anna flashed a wicked grin. “How 'bout you meet me downtown tonight?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Say, at the corner of Bank and Queen around eight-thirty?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “But-”
“No, no,” she cut in. “No questions. It'll spoil the surprise.”
Hunching over, Harry slammed his hands down on the metal table and snarled at his prisoner. “Let's go over this one more time,” he grumbled. “What do you know about Pennfield's plans?”
David Hutchinson sat across from him, frowning into his lap. Sweat glistened on the other man's face. “I already told you, Harry,” he whispered. “Pennfield never shared his deepest secrets with me.”
Harry trembled, shaking his head in contempt. “The guy was paying you to take care of his dirty work,” he said, straightening. “I have a hard time believing you never made a few educated guesses.”
The interrogation room in the CSIS office was very much like the one down at the station: bland and devoid of furnishings of any kind. A rectangular mirror on the wall to his left was actually a window that Patel could use to keep an eye on things. Someone had to keep Harry from throttling the other man.
Hunter and Lenai had been excluded from these proceedings. In his opinion, that was for the best. Though this alliance had served them all well, Lenai was an unknown element, and Hunter had made it clear that his first loyalty was to her. It was no good trying to reason with him. No young man of that age would see sense when he was in love. Harry hadn't.
“What's your answer?”
Hutchinson placed an elbow on the table's metal surface, then planted his face in his hand. “I already told you, Harry,” he mumbled. “He ordered me to kill Hunter and bring that device to him. You've got my confession. That's enough to go after him.”
“I want more.”
Leaning back in his chair, Hutchinson folded his arms. He looked up to fix a dark-eyed gaze on Harry. “What are you gonna do?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Torture it out of me?”
Harry closed his eyes, tilting his head back. He took a deep, calming breath. “This is getting us nowhere,” he said. “Look, Dave, we both know that Pennfield is dangerous. If you give me some useful information-”
“Pennfield will kill me!”
Resting both elbows on the table's surface, Hutchinson grabbed clumps of his own hair. “I can't help you!” he said, his voice muffled by his own arms. “Pennfield wouldn't tell me something if he thought it might harm him.”
A knock at the door came before Harry could reply, and a good thing too. He had been on the verge of screaming at the other man. An officer of the law took an oath to protect the innocent. Only the worst kind of scum would betray that oath for cash, debts or no debts. Perhaps that was why Lenai was so volatile. The young woman had an oath of her own to keep.
When he stepped out into the hallway, he found Aamani Patel leaning against the wall with arms folded, scowling down at herself. “You need to ease off,” she said. “Look at that man. He's afraid for his life.”
“He should be.”
Patel frowned, her face twisting in disgust. “I understand your frustration, Detective,” she began. “But terrorizing that man won't get us anywhere.”
“What do you propose?”
“If you listen carefully, you'll realize that we've already learned much of what we need to know,” she said. “Hutchinson is afraid that Pennfield will kill him even while he serves his time in prison. That suggests connections to the underworld.”
“It suggests a lot more than that,” Harry said. “But we already knew as much. He's been in contact with aliens, Aamani. We know the SlipGate is his means of doing so. It's a variable that we need to remove from the equation.”
With a heavy sigh, Patel studied the floor. She nodded, though the gesture came with some reluctance. “My superiors agree,” she said. “I'll contact Hunter and Lenai. We should include them in this.”
Bill let the body drop.
Elora Sempressa's corpse landed face-down on the floor, her hair dishevelled, her black dress rumpled. The poor woman hadn't even expected him to come up behind her and snap her neck with a quick twist.
“I can't say I like this, Boss,” Bill muttered. “Mom always told me never to hit a woman, and now I killed one.”
Lights flickered in the ceiling of the cramped underground bunker, shining down on wooden crates that were spaced out on the concrete floor. Wesley Pennfield stood there in jeans and a leather jacket, smiling down at the body. “She thought she could dictate terms to me,” he said.
“You are a ruthless man, Pennfield.”
A portly man in jeans and a sweatshirt stood across from Bill's boss, his beard so scraggly that Bill half expected to see flies buzzing around his head. “I will not miss Elora,” Raolan Carso went on. “But I had not expected her to die quite so violently.”
