Doomsday Exam [BUREAU 13 Book Two] (25 page)

"Never heard of him,” Raul stated, glancing at the picture.

As if that meant anything, 90% of the bad guys we fight are unknowns. The rest are major historical figures.

"Raul, Katrina, how long do we have before LaRue can perform the conjure again?” Father Donaher asked, sliding a new clean collar about his neck. As always, when dealing with vampires, his priestly dogcollar was lined with steel.

In response, Katrina shrugged and turned to Raul. This must be out of her league as a beginner mage.

"Normally, it should take a person a couple of hours to recover from the systemic shock of having the spell disrupted,” Raul started, scratching at a bite on his cheek. “But as Mystery Man is in actuality three people, we had better operate in the assumption that it will only take him, say, forty minutes."

Giving Mr. LaRue twenty minutes for him to try and conqueror the world once more. We were down ten minutes already, leaving only 30 minutes for us to search the entire continental Unites States and locate this crazy bastard. Then blow him to hell in nine pieces.

Going to the computer terminal, I annexed the telephone modem and dialed 1-8-0-0-B-U-R-E-A-U-1-3. It was time to bring in the big guns. There was a hum, a click and then nothing. I tried again and got the same. As we murmured among ourselves, Raul and Katrina held a fast conference.

"When LaRue started the Big Drain, he caused major disruptions in the ethereal dimension,” Raul said scowling.

"First things to go would be highest magiks,” Katrina added, her thick accent noticeably absent.

"Like pocket universes,” Jess postulated.

They nodded.

So the Bureau was temporarily trapped in another dimension. Oh swell. We were totally alone on this one, with literally everything riding on our decisions. I sighed. So be it. Because unlike LaRue, I had a contingency plan. That was how we kept winning against the monsters. Usually.

Rummaging in my locker, I unearthed a codebook given to me years ago by the president as a reward and dialed a number so secret I couldn't even let the rest of team see what it was.

"CIA Information Center,” a calm female voice said from the monitor. There was no picture. “How can I help you Mr. Alvarez?"

Most impressive. My mouth started to ask a hundred questions, but we were in a hurry. “This is a priority one request. There is nothing more important."

"Accepted,” she replied. “I am ready. Go."

"I need a full personal read-out on a Wilson C. LaRue. Most importantly, any land or property that he has legal access to."

There came the faint sound of tapping. “Working,” the voice said. “Wilson Charles LaRue, the only child of Brian and Willma LaRue. Father was professional magician; stage name ‘The Amazing LaRue'. Mother a carnival Tarot reader; ‘Wondrous Wilma'. Both deceased. Wilson was born in Dayton Ohio, October 23, 1948, Dayton General Hospital. Graduated from Cambridge Elementary School 1964, Dayton High School 1968. No criminal record. Served four years in the U.S. Navy stationed at Fort Hamilton as an assistant librarian. Discharged with honor. Currently a member of the Naval reserve. Owns and operates an occult bookstore in Cincinnati, Ohio, ***435 North 8th Street. LaRue Books. Owns a 1989 red Toyota Corolla, vanity license plate: Matthew Adam George Ink Charles. Has leased a post office box ***666 for his mail order business at the main branch of the Cincinnati Post Office. Rents a 10 by 6 storage locker at You-Store-It, Mulberry Drive, Cincinnati. Contents unknown. Had a safety Deposit box at People's Federal Bank. Lease expired and he withdrew the contents eight days ago. Rents with an option to buy a house, 2842 West Morris Avenue.” She gave a pause. “No other listed properties in either the IRS, state land registry, post office, FBI, Federal Banking Reserve, Justice Department, Pentagon, or CIA computer files."

She hadn't listed the Bureau. But that was because we didn't exist. “You sure that's everything?"

"Are there any other questions?"

Damn! “No. Thanks."

"Good luck,” she said, and the line went dead.

The unremarkable story on an ordinary man living an unspecial life. The safety deposit box was where he probably kept the cash receipts from his business. Raul had already said that buying the ingredients for the alchemist spell would cost a small fortune. The occult book business was a natural after learning what his parents used to do for a living. Apparently, Wilson had simply gotten his hands on the wrong book, one that contained real alchemical potions, and the rest is a sad story of power addiction and murder.

"Three places to search,” Ken noted with a frown. “Sir, should we split into smaller teams?"

"Faith, lad, we're not sure that we can take this guy as a group,” Father Donaher countered. “Smaller teams are just asking for a disaster."

"We've got to hit him as a unit,” Mindy agreed, brandishing a scarred fist. “But where? At which location?"

"All of them,” I answered, buckling my seatbelt. “George, do your stuff!"

Jumping behind the wheel, George hit the gas and I swear to god that our fourteen ton van did a wheely pulling away from the curb.

"Sir, I mean, Ed,” Katrina said hesitantly, as we rocketed through the empty streets. “Might not LaRue have another legal name?"

"Explain,” I demanded.

"In Russia, actors can have stage name and it is their second legal name. Your John Wayne could write checks under that pseudonym, but born as Marion M. Morrison."

"No good,” I countered. “Everybody's name is listed with the IRS. If he had another, we'd know it."

"A question, sir?” Ken asked, scratching an armpit.

"Yeah?"

"Since LaRue has absorbed the powers of Tanner and Rasamor Hoto, might it be possible that he has some nebulous legal claim on their property?"

Seven jaws sagged.

"Jesus H. Tap Dancing Christ!” I cried. “Yes!"

Father Donaher smacked me on the head and I apologized.

Scrambling for the phone, I sit redial and quickly explained. Tanner was an alien machine and thus of highly questionable legal status, so it couldn't own any property. However, Rasamor Hoto was filthy rich.

"Negative,” I announced replacing the receiver. “Hoto has been in our custody for ten years and thus has been declared legally dead. As a foreign national, his property was been confiscated by the Japanese government and resold."

As Jessica loaded her taser and Raul consulted his crystal ball, Mindy ripped open a jumbo bag of dried fruit snacks. Instantly alert at the sound of food, Amigo was by her side, forked tongue lagging, scaly tail wagging.

"You know, I didn't see any coffins in that store,” Ken said, thoughtfully rubbing the scar on his cheek.

Father Donaher dismissed that idea. “A vampire needs a dirt filled coffin to rest in when they're not in their homeland. An American vampire, in American, can sleep at the Holiday Inn with impunity."

"Fascinating,” he said, sounding impressed.

"Sure makes'em a bitch to find, though” Mindy munched.

Ain't it the truth.

We hit the storage place first. Nada. Just old furniture and mementos of his parents, family photos, pressed flowers in albums, a big box of eight track tapes. Guess everybody had some of those around somewhere gathering dust. As the team took its leave, Donaher blessed the metal cubicle, Katrina spot-welded the door shut and then Jessica sealed it as a criminal scene. Just in case Wilson did a surprise return. Twenty four minutes to go.

The post office box was empty. LaRue had not shrunk himself to an inch in height and hidden inside, but I sealed it anyway. We were leaving nothing to chance.

There remained his house and 18 minutes.

The neighborhood was quiet and clean, as most were in Cincinnati. His house was a two story Cape Cod with bricking, a white picket fence and a smiling lawn jockey. Whew. This fiend would stop at nothing. His car was parked in front, but my sunglasses, binoculars, radar and infrared thermal scan showed the vehicle unoccupied.

Parking on the corner, I spotted a group of young adults singing in the backyard of a neighboring house. At midnight? They didn't sound drunk.

Rabbinical students from Hebrew Union College
, sent Jessica.

Great. The innocent bystanders were also highly trained observers and just over the fence of a possible major battle. On the other hand, we might be able to use the seminary students to aid us against LaRue and his unholy slaves. Blood drinking vampires were the absolute archenemy of the Orthodox Jews.

The yard directly behind LaRue's home was empty, just grass and the house on the right had an above ground swimming pool full of water. An inflatable raft and a purple unicorn floated serenely in the calm chlorine. Mentally, I logged the position of the pool. It also could come in handy.

"Suggestions?” I asked.

"Blow the place to tinder with the Amsterdam missiles in the launching pod of the van,” Ken offered eagerly.

George grinned approval. He would.

"We go in silent,” I stated, because Katrina was drained. “Raul, how's the magic?"

Bending an ear, the mage listened to his staff, obviously not pleased with the answer. “One, maybe two, major spells then I'm kaput."

"Dome of Silence?” Donaher asked hopefully.

I nodded.

"Done,” Raul said gesturing, his staff leaving sparkle trails in the air. Tongue between lips, Katrina hastily scribbled notes into her mostly blank book of spells.

Totally silent to any outside observer, we exited the RV and dashed across the street, pausing only to slap a criminal evidence sticker on the car, before scampering up the front walk and kicking down the front door to the house. Almost instantly, our weapons, hell, everything metal on us began to grow warm, hot, hotter, scalding!

"Huey, Dewey and Louie!” George shouted, triggering the M60.

Already on the floor, I grabbed a puzzled Sanders by the arm and yanked him down with the rest of us who had ducked.

Steadily firing, George rotated in a neat circle, the .30 rifle bullets chewing a path of destruction along both walls. Then he flipped the flame-spiting muzzle upwards and executed a vertical loop getting a wall, the ceiling, wall and the floor. In a searing spray of sparks, something under the floorboards shorted and our weapons cooled with astonishing speed.

"How did you know?” Father Donaher asked, rising and dusting off his pants.

"Induction fields have only a short range,” George calmly stated, unwrapping a fresh beef stick expertly with one hand. “Didn't know where it was, but it had to be close."

Just then the chandelier released from the ceiling and crashed onto the spot we had vacated. Sanders frowned and then chuckled. Geez, was it that an old trick?

"Suggestions?” I asked, watching the closet. That should be the next origin of danger.

Even as I spoke, the door began to silently swing open. In a smooth move, Mindy drew her sword and plunged it into the door and whatever was on the other side. There came a soft whispery gasp of pain and the door closed.

"LaRue has been here,” Jessica reported succinctly, releasing her forehead. “But he is gone now."

Raul and Katrina agreed.

Damn, missed him by minutes. “Okay, but what did he do while he was here? Grab a book? Make a call? Get supplies?"

"Leave,” she replied succinctly

So much for that.

"But what about these traps?” Sanders asked, gesturing with his weapon.

Mindy gave a half-smile. “These aren't traps. This is where LaRue lives. What we've encountered are simply his home defenses."

Softly in the living room, a telephone began to dial 9-1-1 entirely by itself. Before the police could be contacted, I pumped a .44 slug into the jingling Ameche blowing it to pieces.

"Great stuff for burglars, but laughable against us,” I said, glancing at my watch, 11:29. In sixteen minutes the world would be his to play with and the game would not be fun for anybody else. Blink. Now 15 minutes.

Priestly robes billowing about his legs, Father Donaher started to pace. “Okay, LaRue didn't stay here because he knew we could do the same thing again to him."

Currying thoughts, I rubbed a fist on my chin. “Then he must have gone someplace where we can't confiscate his property. Ideally, it would be a location where we have no authority."

"With no psychological data about him, we lack any way to postulate his possible modus operandi."

"He use disguise,” Katrina contributed, tugging on a lock of her hair.

"True,” I noted. “But he also exhibits extreme intelligence and thus is unlikely to repeat a gimmick."

"Anything to go on from the robbery across the country?"

"Nope. Straight smash-and-garb runs. No finesse."

"That's not like him."

"Exactly,” I explained. “This time we area dealing with highly motivated, intelligent enemy, who has at his resource magic and technology equal to our own."

Cradling the M60, George tapped my shoulder. “Ed, did I ever make that request for transfer to Clerical?"

"Sorry, it was refused. Not enough people in Clerical to process the form."

Fourteen minutes.

On a hunch, I went to the kitchen telephone and hit the button for automatic redial. With any luck, it would be a friend, or maybe even his lover.

"Pizza-Pizza!” sang out a happy voice. “Today's special is a medium double pepperoni with extra anchovies for $10.99. What is your order, please?"

Sounded good, but this was no time for a snack so I hung up. “Jess, any other phones in the house?"

"No."

"Car?"

"No."

Double damn! LaRue knew we were hot on his trail and how we had last beaten him. Was there any place he had legal access to where we couldn't pull the same trick twice? What did he have, that we didn't? Son of a stage magician. Hmm, a union hall? Carnival? Nyah. Bookstore owner, National Book convention? Librarian for the ... what service was that?

"Navy!” I cried aloud.

George and Sanders understood at once. “He's a member of the Naval reserves!” George cried out, smacking himself in the head. “And federal agents have no authority on a military base unless they are in the direct pursuit of a known felon, or they get authorization from the base CO!"