Do Not Go Gentle (49 page)

Jamie peered intently at the windows, seeking any clue as to whether they had been spotted. As Eileen slowed to a crawl, Jamie spoke. “Any warning bells?”

In response to the straggled chorus of “no's,” Jamie nodded. “Okay then, let's keep moving. We'll find places to park on the far side of Copp's Burial Ground.”

“What if there's no open spots?” Darcelle asked. They had not seen any open parking spaces so far. People were already home from their New Year's Eve revels.

“We'll double park and slide “Police Business” cards onto the dash of each car.”

“Plus, I'll be with the cars,” Eileen added.

“Yeah, but how's she gonna know when to call in the troops?” Louie asked.

“We're going in with my cell phone on speaker, connected to Eileen's,” Jamie replied. “Plus, once you start laying down fire with your peashooter, I think everyone in the North End will hear.”

“Make fun of it if you want, Mick. It may save your skinny Irish ass.”

“Stop lookin' at my ass,” Jamie replied in mock horror.

Louie just grunted in response.

As they reached the north side of the cemetery, across from Copp's Hill Terrace, Jamie chuckled. “Well, I'll take good signs wherever I can find them.” He pointed to several empty spots just before the alley at the eastern edge of the terrace. “Pull in there:
—
the cars won't be visible from Sedecla's townhouse.” Eileen and Darcelle pulled to the curb, parked the cars, and turned off the engines.

“Final checks, people,” Jamie said in a soft, commanding voice.

Everyone silently checked their weapons and magical accoutrements. After a couple of minutes, Jamie spoke again. “Okay, here's how we're going to approach
—
just past this building,” he said, pointing across the street, “are some trees. I'm pretty sure if we zigzag our way through the cemetery, we can stay out of sight most of the way by keeping to the tree cover.”

“You make this sound like a military operation,” Ríordán scoffed.

“Most police assaults are conducted in a military fashion because you are engaging an enemy, just like an attack force. If you don't think Sedecla has sentries posted, you're a fool. I'm not going to give them any more warning than absolutely necessary.” Hearing no more comments, Jamie continued. “We cross to Hull Street in the same order I described for our search inside. Everyone wait in the stand of trees on the north side of Hull, across from Sedecla's townhouse.”

“Wunnerful,” Louie groused, “and what are we gonna do once we get there other than stand around and freeze our asses off?”

“I voted for some C4 or dynamite,” Darcelle chimed in over the cell phone link.

“That would sure announce our presence,” Daphné added.

“Yeah, and probably eliminate our presence as well,” Jamie replied. “None of us are explosive experts, and no matter what you've seen in the movies, you don't screw around with that stuff.”

“So what's your plan?” Darcelle asked.

Jamie reached into a small duffel bag and pulled out a steel device that resembled a staple gun. “From what I recall, the outer door to Sedecla's townhouse is secured with a standard mechanical deadbolt lock. If that's still the case, I've got a Lockaid.”

“What if Sedecla has changed the lock?” Lucy asked.

“The Lockaid will pick any mechanical lock,” Jamie replied. “If she's changed to an electronic lock
—
and I saw a door in the entryway with an electronic keypad
—
I've got several options.”

He took out some wires, a small box, and a plastic case. For the benefit of those in the other car, Jamie described each item. “There are several methods for getting past electronic locks. One method is ‘spiking.' You remove the keypad, fish inside until you find the internal wires that control the lock, pull those wires out, and short the lock into opening. Another method involves using a super-strong magnet.” Jamie held up the box, which had skull and crossbones on the side. “This magnet is so strong, it's dangerous to use around any electronics, including pacemakers. You slap it against a magnetic lock and trick the lock's magnetics into opening.”

Finally, Jamie took out a small sledgehammer. “If all else fails, there's the low-tech approach
—
you can smash most lock panels with this, reach in, and open the lock manually.”

“Shit,” Louie swore. “I thought those locks were supposed to be foolproof.”

“Nothing's foolproof, Lombardi. Someone always finds a way to get past any security system.”

“And once we're inside?” asked Hanrahan.

“Once we're inside, you're in charge of any of the hocus-pocus stuff,” Jamie replied. “We fight our way to Sedecla, destroy her power source, and see what happens next.”

“Once I hear all hell breaking loose,” Eileen said, “I call 911 and tell them to get Sully.”

“Right,” Jamie agreed. “He'll contact Hamilton and Da.”

“Yeah, but we're in Boston now, not Dorchester,” Louie objected.

“Dorchester has primary responsibility, but the closest units will respond.” Jamie paused for any more questions or comments. “Okay, boys and girls—let's do this.” Doors opened in both vehicles, and Jamie felt the frigid air rush into the car.

Eileen pulled him back and kissed him. “You watch yourself, Séamus Edward Griffin.”

“Aye, ma'am. That's the plan.” Jamie kissed her back and then got out and closed the door.

Eileen waited a minute, and then her phone rang. “I'm here, love,” she told Jamie.

“Be seeing you soon lass.”

Eileen said nothing. She just watched the seven figures disappear into the snowy night.

* * * *

Sedecla staggered from her ritual chamber and allowed her maidservant to help her to a small couch. “Kaffeh,” she croaked. Zahava murmured her assent and hurried to comply. “Fruit and cheese as well,” Sedecla called to the retreating form.

Having completed Shaligu, the penultimate path in the Qliphotic Tunnel, Sedecla was forced to rest and take nourishment. The effort was costing her in many ways—her complexion, normally smooth and tanned, was becoming grainy and sallow. Overlapping, dark circles sagged beneath her large hazel eyes. She had lost weight, which made her look almost skeletal. She was sleeping little, and what sleep she did get was unrefreshing. Her hair, normally glossy black, was dull and lifeless. Nonetheless, she glowed from the power that was now at her disposal.

In her delicate hands, Sedecla clutched the small basalt statue, the physical representation of her
shedim
, the demon who assisted her efforts. Normally dark black, with a fine, grainy texture, the statue was now smoother, shiny, and laced with veins of burgundy, as if it recalled the ancient lava from which it had emerged. The reddish streaks pulsed rhythmically, as if the inanimate statue now possessed a beating heart. The
shedim's
eyes, once just small hollows of grey, now emerged blacker than the surrounding stone, with flecks of gold that swirled and twisted. Although the statue usually stayed on her altar, over the past two days, Sedecla had never let it out of her grasp and suffered no other to touch it.

At the sound of Zahava setting a tray on the table beside her, Sedecla opened her eyes. The acrid smell of hot coffee and the tang of fresh fruit made her sit up. Without comment, she took the steaming mug of strong, black coffee, gulped two scalding drinks in quick succession, and then wolfed down chunks of pineapple, mango, and pears. Dates, figs and cheese rested on the plate with the fruit, and after several moments of devouring much of the food on the plate, followed by more gulps of coffee, Sedecla felt less volatile, less like every fiber of her being was vibrating. She then took notice of the Hispanic man standing in attentive silence at the end of the couch. He was of average height and weight. From his stance, Sedecla could tell he was a cop, which made her think of her missing lieutenant, Timothy O'Neill. She pulled the man's name from her mental database. “No word from O'Neill then, Gonzalez?”

Still at parade rest, Emilio Gonzalez shook his head. “No,
Qedesh
. He does not answer his phones nor the door at his home. My men cannot determine if he is home without breaking in, which I did not wish to order without your permission.”

Anger flashed across Sedecla's face, echoing the rage she felt at O'Neill's absence.
First da Silva, now O'Neill?
Sedecla did not believe that O'Neill would openly defy her, but she knew that he was not a traitor. O'Neill was too involved in her operations to make any sort of deal with Griffin. Nor, unless she was badly mistaken, was he the type of man to do so.
He might have cut and run, however.
Sedecla knew far more about Timothy O'Neill than he suspected—she knew of his fake identities, his emergency cash, and his preparations, but she did not believe he had run out on her, not yet.

“No,” she finally said, finishing her coffee and holding out her cup for Zahava to refill. “We have enough to do right now. Am I correct in assuming that you have taken command in his absence, Emilio?”

A brief spasm of fear and ambition lit Gonzalez's eyes as he replied. “Yes,
Qedesh
. It seemed the correct thing to do until you were available to inform us of your wishes.”

Bold, but cautious.
Sedecla took a moment to assess her situation. It would be at least a day before she could dare to attempt Thantifaxath, the final Qliphotic tunnel. Maintaining security until then was the only other activity that mattered. “You did well, Gonzalez. Are ibn Ezra and his men here? Are they performing the duties as O'Neill had detailed in his security plan?”

“Yes. We had a,” Gonzalez hesitated, “discussion about who was in charge in O'Neill's absence.”

“What was decided in that ‘discussion'?” Sedecla asked with a small smile.

“I was able to persuade ibn Ezra that security was the purview of the Mazzimah and that, as O'Neill's second in command, I would take charge in his absence.”

“Well done, Gonzalez,” Sedecla said, gazing at the man, not hiding the fact that she was appraising him. “Well done. Be careful not to overstep your authority, but I approve of your decisiveness. Maintaining security is currently the most important task for everyone here. Send in ibn Ezra. I will confirm your status as acting commander.”

Sedecla had just begun drinking her third cup of coffee when Gonzalez returned, accompanied by Achan ibn Ezra and Rufus Choate. ibn Ezra's tunic was rumpled, and his black velvet kippa askew on his head. Clearly, he had been rousted from sleep. Choate moved liquidly and surprisingly nimble for such a large man. As always, he looked immaculate—if he had been sleeping, you could not tell it from his appearance.

ibn Ezra immediately began fawning. “Holy
Qedesh
. Our prayers for your continued success have been answered.” He knelt before her, bowing his head to the floor.

“Get up, Achan,” Sedecla replied, irritation evident. “I do not have time for your obsequience.”

“
Qedesh
?” the cleric asked, with fear and dismay as he quickly stood.

“I understand that you had a discussion with Mister Gonzalez here about who would be in charge of security in Timothy's absence.”

Achan ibn Ezra had not been in charge of the Disciples of Endor for twenty years without being able to sense the direction of his mistress' mood. “Just so,
Qedesh
. I thought that since O'Neill is missing, one of your lieutenants should be in charge of security.”

“That is
definitely
not one of my areas of expertise,” Choate rumbled. Rufus Choate couldn't care less about power or Sedecla's quest for power—unless it cost him money.

“Nor is it yours, ibn Ezra,” Sedecla said in a calm, even voice. This voice worried Sedecla's followers much more than displays of anger. People often died when addressed in this tone of voice.

ibn Ezra's black eyes glittered, but he bowed repeatedly, speaking quickly. “My apologies,
Qedesh,
my apologies. My primary concern is your safety and the success of your quest.”

“As it should be,” Sedecla purred. “Very good then—Emilio is in charge unless Timothy makes an appearance. Now leave me,” she said, waving a hand in dismissal. “You too, Zahava,” she added. Once she was alone again, Sedecla closed her eyes and lay back on the couch. At times like this, she felt every one of the hundreds of thousands of days she had lived. After a few moments of meditation and rest, Sedecla opened her eyes and looked at the small statue upon her lap. Not only had the appearance of the
shedim
changed, so had its weight, texture, and smell. It was much heavier—far too heavy for a simple basalt statue. Its texture was now smooth, as if polished marble. Previously odorless, an unpleasant odor now hung about it—a musky animal odor suffused with a whiff of decay.