Chimera (25 page)

No. This guy had been expecting an assassin for years. He had no idea that this time the assassin was real—but not human.

“Weird thing about this latest guy. He couldn't stop laughing, the whole time he was plugging away at me. He came back in 2009—it must have taken him that long to track down my newest identity. I saw him coming in time. Then in 2010—”

“Wait,” Chapel said. “Hold on. Laughing? He was laughing the whole time?”

“It was creepy as hell. I don't know who you really are, Captain Chapel, but at least you
look
normal.”

“I know that guy,” Chapel said. “The laughing guy. He is CIA, that's true. And he's definitely a killer.”

“Mm-hmm. Do you still think I'm crazy, then?”

Absolutely,
Chapel thought.
But maybe not delusional
. It was possible that the CIA really was trying to assassinate Funt. The fact they'd failed so many times was a little hard to accept—but then again, how many times had they tried to kill Fidel Castro and never got him? “You said you knew too much,” Chapel said. “That's why they're after you. I think I have an idea what it is you know, and why it's so sensitive.”

“Figures. They would've briefed you on me when they sent you down here to kill me.” Funt raised the clacker so Chapel could see it again.

“Wait! It's what I wanted to talk to you about. It's why I was sent here, yes, but to protect you!”

“Choose your next words carefully,” Funt told him.

“It's about the chimeras, isn't it? That's what you know about. The chimeras they were holding in some prison camp up in the Catskills. You need to know something, Special Agent Funt. You need to know they escaped. They escaped, and one of them is in Atlanta right now, coming for you.”

Funt looked like an electric shock had run through him. Chapel thought he could see the hair standing up on the man's knuckles.

“Malcolm got loose?” Funt asked. “Oh crap.”

ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+27:15

“That's right,” Chapel bluffed. “Malcolm. Malcolm the chimera. He had your name and address and I came here to make sure he didn't kill you.”

Funt stared at Chapel. “No offense, guy, but you're not up to this. I don't know what kind of training you've had, but Malcolm—he'll be all grown up now. He'll be more than a match for anything you bring to the table.”

“I can handle him,” Chapel promised.

“They must not have told you anything about the chimeras. They're tougher than you can imagine, faster than anything human. They're also meaner and more—”

“I killed one in New York, yesterday,” Chapel said, because he needed Funt to trust him.

“If that's true—and I doubt it,” Funt said, “then you got extremely lucky. When I first saw Malcolm, he was ten years old. Even then he left me in the hospital for months. No, if he's coming here . . . I'm as good as dead. Damn, damn, damn. I've got to think. I've got to think about this.”

“I can help,” Chapel pleaded.

“I'll need to lay some more traps. I'll need to get a gun . . . damn. Damn! Malcolm, after all this time—he won't stop. The CIA goons, they lose their nerve after a while, but Malcolm . . . he's got good reason to kill me. And they never even need a reason. Damn!”

“Funt,” Chapel said, softly, “you must realize you stand a better chance if you work with me. If you want to live through this, you can't afford to turn down any help.”

Funt stared at him through the sliding hatch in the steel door. He reached up with his free hand and scratched at his eyebrows. He looked like he was about to start screaming in panic. “Not here,” he said.

“Special Agent Funt—”

“I didn't live this long by being dumb! I need to think. I need to make some plans. Damn!”

“Just come with me, I'll take you someplace safe,” Chapel promised.

“No,” Funt said. “No. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. I'll assume you are who you say you are. And I'll meet with you so we can figure some things out together. But not here, not now. Oh my God—what if he's already on his way? What if he's coming here right now?”

“Funt—”

“Stone Mountain. The top of Stone Mountain, eight hours from now. Just be there, and I'll find you. We'll talk.”

“Please,” Chapel begged.

“Not now! Not here!”

Funt slid the panel in his door shut with a clang. Chapel grabbed at it and tried to force it back open, tried pushing it with his fingers. Eventually it slid back a fraction of an inch. He pried it open the rest of the way and peered through, even though he knew what he would find.

The room beyond was empty. Funt was gone.

ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+27:21

There were a dozen stores in Underground Atlanta that sold the same ugly T-shirts and schlocky merchandise. Julia picked the nearest one and ducked inside, bending low as she flicked through a rack of cheap clothing.

“Souvenir for your trip?” the clerk asked.

Julia gave her the best smile she could manage. “I like this hoodie,” she said, holding up a bright pink sweatshirt with a graphic of jazz musicians printed on the back. The musicians were picked out with glitter and sequins. “And these hats,” she said, picking up an Atlanta Braves baseball cap.

“That's official Braves merchandise. See the hologram?” the clerk asked, not moving from where she leaned against her counter. “It's not a knockoff or anything.”

“Perfect. Just ring these up, okay?” Julia stared through the windows of the shop, looking for any sign of Laughing Boy.

Julia had never been so frightened in her life. Even when the chimera had jumped in the cab with her, she'd been too shocked to be scared like this.

“Wait,” she said, as the clerk started bagging up her purchases. “I'm going to wear these out.”

“You got it,” the clerk said.

Julia pulled on the cap first. It hid most of her red hair. The hood of the sweatshirt covered the rest and zipped up easily over her black sweater. The jeans she was wearing were common enough they shouldn't make a difference. When she was finished putting on her new purchases, she looked in the mirror and barely recognized herself.

“Wow,” the clerk said, and clicked her tongue. “You look like a genuine hoodrat.” She laughed. “When you came in here, I made you out for some kind of lawyer or doctor or something. This makes you look ten years younger.”

Julia gave her another smile. “Perfect.”

She stepped out of the store trying her best to keep her head down so the brim of the cap shaded her eyes. She desperately wanted to scan the crowd and look for any sign of Laughing Boy, but Angel had been very clear—if she was going to live through this, she needed to keep a low profile.

There was an exit from the Underground straight ahead. Julia could see sunlight filtering down from the streets above. It wasn't more than a hundred yards away. She moved in that direction, forcing herself not to run. Forcing herself to act natural. It was so hard not to panic and just make a break for it.

On her left a group of boys whistled at her, but she didn't look up. On her right was a store that looked like it had been closed for years, judging by the dust that had collected in the display windows. She caught her reflection in the grease-smeared glass and saw that she was fidgeting with her hands. She forced herself to shove them into the pockets of her new hoodie.

Fifty yards to the exit. She let herself walk a little faster.

Twenty yards.

Fifteen.

“Nice try,” Laughing Boy said, stepping out from behind a cart that sold cell-phone accessories.

She squeaked a little in panic and turned around, intending to run back the way she'd come as fast as her legs would carry her. Before she'd taken a step Laughing Boy grabbed her arm. He squeezed hard enough on her bicep to make her squeal again.

“Maybe you think I won't do anything out here in public,” he told her, his voice little more than a whisper. He giggled every time he stopped for breath, a raspy sound like his constant laughing had dried out his mouth. “So help me God, I will shoot you in front of a hundred witnesses if you try to fight me or run.”

“Just don't hurt me, please,” she begged.

“Really? Are you that stupid? I have no idea what Chapel sees in you. Come on. Walk at a normal pace. You were doing a pretty good job for a while there. The clothes might have thrown me off if I didn't watch you buy them.”

“You saw me the whole time?”

“Sweetheart, I've got eyes in the back of my head. You'd do well to remember that. Now come on. We're headed over there.” He pointed her toward the closed-up store. “I've got a nice little place in the back all ready for you.”

“Who the hell are you?” she asked.

“Exactly what you think. The guy who's going to kill you.” He chuckled at the thought.

“But the laughing—what's that about?” she asked.

“It's a medical condition, and I'll thank you not to be rude about it,” he told her. “I'd expect better from the likes of you. It's called hebephrenia.”

“That's a kind of schizophrenia, isn't it?” she asked.

“That's right, I forgot you were a doctor of some kind. No, this is different. It's neurological, not psychological. I took a metal fragment in the head a while back, in Iraq. Messed up the wiring. I've been laughing ever since and I can't stop. I have drugs to stop the laughing, but when I take them I can't drive or shoot straight. And today I need to shoot.”

Julia bit her lip and tried not to scream. “I-Iraq,” she forced herself to say, instead. “So you're a veteran, like Chapel?”

“Chapel was in the army. I was a civilian consultant. This is the place.”

They had reached the closed store. The teenaged boys lounging across the way watched her as she was marched up to the doors. What would happen if she screamed for them to help? Would Laughing Boy shoot them? Could he shoot them all before they overpowered him?

Or would they just run off as soon as he drew his gun?

“Go on,” Laughing Boy said. “It's not locked.”

Julia's body was very close to freezing in fear. She could barely move her arms. “You want me to go in there,” she said, as if clarifying an order.

“Yep,” Laughing Boy said, giggling.

“Why are you doing this?” she demanded. “I don't know anything!”

“Chapel didn't tell you about the virus? Come on. I don't have all day. I've got lots of other people to round up.”

Julia reached out and touched the handle of the door. It opened outward. She pulled it toward her and looked inside to see the interior of the shop, which was dark and stank of mildew. What a horrible place to die.

“Walk inside and turn around to face me. Then put your hands behind your neck and lace your fingers together.” He laughed. “Seriously, I just want to get this over with. I don't get any thrill from killing people. It's just my job.” He chuckled again.

She felt like her legs were made of wood. She couldn't feel her toes.

She did what he said. To the letter.

“Good,” he told her, taking a step inside the store. He let the door swing shut behind him. “Now—”

“Now!” Julia shouted.

The drunk vet who'd been waiting for her inside the store did exactly as she'd told him to. He had a length of iron rebar in his hands, and he swung it at Laughing Boy's head with all his strength.

ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+27:23

Julia wasn't there when Chapel came back up through the hatch. He panicked for a second and then he called for Angel, hoping she might know where Julia might have gone.

“Hold it together, sugar,” she told him. “Just head to your left. Now, up ahead—see that abandoned store?”

“Just tell me if she's all right, Angel,” Chapel pleaded.

“Just fine. Door's open.”

Chapel shoved open the door and pushed through into the store beyond.

He could not have expected what he saw.

Laughing Boy was sprawled out on the floor, his arms above his head and his wrists tied together around a support pillar. He was chuckling softly to himself, though he wasn't smiling. There was a nasty-looking bruise on the side of his head.

Julia had been hiding behind the pillar. She came out into the open, and Chapel saw she was holding a silenced pistol. It had to be Laughing Boy's.

Perhaps strangest of all, the drunk guy in the army coat was standing up against one wall, holding a length of rebar like a club.

“You—” Chapel started.

“Name's Rudy, not that you asked,” the drunk told him. “You did ask about my service record. First Battalion, Third Marines.”

Chapel nodded slowly. “Army Rangers,” he said.

“A grunt, huh? I guess I can forgive you for being an asshole, then. Since it comes with the branch.”

Chapel found himself smiling. “You rescued Julia?” he asked.

“Not exactly.” Rudy nodded at her. “Just came in for the assist, really, right at the end of the whole thing.”

Julia was watching Laughing Boy. She wouldn't take her eyes off him. “Angel and I worked together on this. Rudy was a big part of it. You were too busy playing James Bond to get involved.”

Chapel's smile died on his face. “I'm just glad you're okay.”

Laughing Boy's whole body shook with mirth. “Okay? Okay. Yeah, we're all okay in here. Too bad it can't last.”

Julia kicked him in the ribs. “It won't last for you, that's for sure,” she said.

Chapel put the scene together in his mind. Laughing Boy must have been following them this whole time, waiting for a time when Chapel and Julia weren't in the same place. He'd moved in when he got his chance, but Julia, working with Angel and Rudy, had somehow lured Laughing Boy in here and gotten the better of him. His first thought was one of immense relief that it had worked out like that—that Julia was still alive.