Forsaken: A Fallen Siren Novella (6 page)

Torres speaks up. “No. Not yet. He’ll snap out of it. He’s not a stranger to pressure. He knows what’s at stake.”

“You’re right, boss,” says Perez, “Target’s jogging south again. Toward Seventh Avenue. Wait. There’s some kind of demonstration going on. I’m losing sight of him.”

Zack’s strikes the wall with his fist.

Torres’ eyes are fixed on the screen. “He just moved past the Seventh Street entrance. He’s headed for Broadway. Get through the crowd, try to catch up.”

I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until it catches in my throat. “They’re playing with him,” I whisper. “Playing with us. How long can Perez keep this up?”

“She’s a marathon runner,” replies Torres. “I’m more worried about Maitlan.”

“His adrenaline’s got to be through the roof,” adds Zack.

The tension in the room builds along with the pressure in my chest. All the optimism I felt about the carousel being the natural place to make an exchange is gone. If I’m right, Robby won’t be waiting for him at the next location, either.

“Target’s slowing down. Looks like he’s pausing to catch his breath. Another call just came in. He’s doing a three-sixty. Something they said must have given him the impression they’re close. Watching. I’ve been with him for quite a while. I think I should break away.”

“We have a car close to Columbus Circle. An agent’s being dropped off, Bao Nguyen, do you see him?” asks Torres.

“Not yet. Target’s crossing the Circle. I’ll cross with him then move past to the café across the street. Is Nguyen close?”

A new man’s voice comes across. “I’m in position.”

“You should see him across the circle at twelve o’clock, dark suit and overcoat, shopping bags in hand,” Torres replies.

“Looking very metro-sexual, Nguyen,” Perez teases.

“Bite me.”

“Target’s waiting for a break in the traffic.” Perez’s tone is once again focused, professional. “I’m approaching. I’ll head over to the coffee shop after we cross.”

“Boy or girl?” Suddenly we recognize Maitlan’s voice.

“Girl,” replies Perez. “Trying to run off that baby fat.”

They must be jogging side by side. The red and blue dots are moving in tandem across the screen. The fountain and Columbus Monument is ahead of them.

“How old?” asks Maitland, sounding a little breathless.

“Four months.”

Torres breaks in. “Wave toward the coffee chop as if you see someone you’re planning on meeting, then head in that direction.”

We watch Perez break to the left. The dots separate.

Nguyen picks up the narrative. “Target’s on the phone again. He’s on the walkway that leads over the fountain to the monument. He’s looking back at Perez. I’m going to get a bit closer.”

We wait. For a moment or two there’s nothing but silence.

“Target’s removing the backpack. Holding it. He’s approaching a trash receptacle by the wall. Looks like this is the drop.”

We hear the ringing of a cell phone as the two dots on the map converge, then Nguyen’s moves past. “Wait, he’s looking back at Perez again. Maybe he made her. Shit! Target is running toward the coffee shop.”

Maitlan doesn’t get far.

A blast rips through the line, filling the room with a sound loud enough to rattle all of us.

“Nguyen? Perez?” Torres yells. “What the fuck just happened?”

We hear sirens, screaming. We watch as the dot representing Perez runs toward the chaos. Her breathing is heavy, erratic. “Are you all right?” she yells over the din.

Maitlan’s voice comes through. “What?”

“Don’t move,” she says, then she’s on the run again. “He’s shaken, got tossed from the force of the blast, but he seems all right. I’m checking on Nguyen.”

Suddenly her voice cuts off. There’s just the sound of ragged breaths and sirens, then sobs. Perez pulls herself together. “Agent down. He’s unconscious but alive.”

“Thank god,” Torres whispers.

“Looks like Target’s on the move. Intercept,” Zack orders.

“Too late, He’s in a Taxi,” Perez replies. “Shall I pursue?”

“Stay with Nguyen.” Zack tells her. Then, to Torres, “Get the chopper up. With the explosion, there’s bound to be several around the area already.” Whatever else Zack was going to say is interrupted by the ring of his phone.

“What cell are you on?” His tone is abrupt, all business. “Good. Toss the one they gave you out the window.” He turns to Torres, “It’s Maitlan. He’s in a taxi. Can the guys in the chopper see if he’s being followed?”

She speaks into her headset, listens, then shakes her head. “Too early to tell. We should pick him up.”

Zack nods. “Have Ahmed drive you to MoMa. I’ll meet you there in five.” He hangs up, heads for the door. “Be back in fifteen.”

“Zack!” I call out. “Do you think they wanted Maitlan dead?”

He turns back, expression grim. “Either that, or they wanted him to know it’s not about the money,” he replies before taking off.

Torres’ voice is husky with anger. A member of her team is injured. The seriousness of his condition, unknown. “There was never going to be an exchange. What the hell do these fuckers want?”

“An eye for an eye,” I murmur to myself.

Chapter Five

Torres and I are there to meet Zack and Maitlan when they step out of the elevator. Maitlan has one scrape on his chin and another on his left cheek from being thrown to the ground during the blast. Despite having had time to recover in the taxi, his breathing is still a bit labored.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

“No.” His tone is clipped, angry. “I’m not all right.”

Maitlan moves past us and down the stairs. Seconds later I hear a door slam.

“He needs a little space,” says Zack, motioning us toward the kitchen. “And we need to talk.”

“Shouldn’t we be debriefing with the entire team?” asks Torres.

“Not yet. Maybe not ever,” Zack replies. “Roger wasn’t looking at Perez. Right before the trash can blew, he saw a woman he recognized in the coffee shop across the street.”

“That’s why he started running toward the café?” Torres asks.

He nods. “Maitlan and this woman have a history.”

Torres’ expression says she’s trying to work a puzzle with missing pieces. “The kind of history that might motivate her to kidnap his son?”

Zack doesn’t hesitate. “Possibly. By the time Maitlan recovered from the blast she was gone.”

Torres’ voice rises. “Why the hell wasn’t she on the list?”

“Were there any women on the list he gave you?”

“No.”

Zack shrugs. “Man like Roger Maitlan, I’m sure he’s made enemies of dozens of women. He probably just dismissed them out of hand, not seeing them as…”

“A valid threat,” Torres finishes, her exasperation growing. I recognize the signs—tense jaw, stiff shoulders. “Misogynistic prick.”

Zack says nothing to alter her impression. “The circumstances are delicate.”

She throws each word at him like she’s hurling a knife. “Delicate? Is that what I’m supposed to tell Nguyen’s wife? Not to mention the others who were injured?”

The tension in the room is mounting. “Whatever Roger Maitlan may be, he’s a victim, a father whose son’s life is in danger. Let’s not forget that.” I turn to Torres, “I realize you almost lost an agent today, and I’m sorry for that. If this woman is responsible, then let’s nail her ass. You’re angry, I understand that, too. But channel that anger. Let’s keep things professional.”

After a long moment of silence Torres nods. “You’re right.” She turns to Zack, “I want to know everything he told you about this woman. Who is she? What does she have against Maitlan?”

Zack turns to me. Our eyes lock. He doesn’t have to ask. I know what he wants. Zack wants me to use my gift to find out if we can trust Torres, if it’s safe to reveal Maitlan’s suspicions about Devlin to her.

“Maybe you should go check on Mr. Maitlan,” I suggest. “Then we can regroup in the conference room for a debriefing in five.”

“How about we begin the debriefing now?” Torres is feeling impatient. I can’t blame her. We all are.

Zack makes no motion to leave. If I lower my shields enough to extract the truth, my other innate magic will also seep through—my powers of seduction. Zack knows it. He’s experienced it. I vowed he’d never be subjected to that temptation again. I may not like the tension between Zack and me, but at least now he’s alive.

And what of Demeter? Finding the missing is my penance. Doing it well, my promised salvation. But using my gifts? Risking attention? That comes at a price, a knowing reduction of whatever good will I’ve managed to build with the vindictive goddess.

“Have you ever heard of Elysium?” Zack asks.

He’s looking at me when he asks the question. It’s the question he wants me to ask Torres.

I’ve been playing this game of scales for so long, I don’t know how to keep track anymore. Last night, before it all unraveled, I thought I was closer than I’d ever been to ending my sentence. Now? If Eve really is involved with Robby’s kidnapping, we need to go after her. We need to know if we can trust Torres. Seems the decision is out of my hands. All I can think of is the little boy who is missing.

“Elysium?” I repeat. “I don’t believe so”

Torres frowns. “I take it we’re not talking about the Matt Damon movie?”

I begin the process of lowering my shields and tapping into my power. The temperature in the room climbs a few degrees. A wind rises up within me. I tamp it down. Emotions in the room are already running high. I need to stay in control, work my magic with calculated measure. Zack’s nostrils flare, undoubtedly detecting my change in scent, the subtle, perfumed breeze that always accompanies exposure of my true self. A delicate yet complex blend of white floral layered atop citrus begins to permeate the room. The scent is what betrayed me, or should I say revealed me, two nights ago.

It had been six months since I’d carelessly left a shirt I’d worn behind at Zack’s beach house. It smelled of sex and something else. Something that even with his training and his beast Zack couldn’t recognize or reconcile—until we made love. Until, unguarded, I once again broke free. That’s when he put it together, that we’d been lovers before. That I was the one, who had worn his shirt, slept in his bed. And that somehow I’d taken those memories from him.

Zack doesn’t glance my way. Instead he stays focused on Torres. “No, we’re talking about a place, here, in New York.”

I push what happened between Zack and me to the back of my mind. Concentrate on where we are, the here and now. On what our goal is. On finding a little boy. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment to regain focus.

Maitlan’s kitchen is an homage to stainless steel and granite. The air around me stirs, but there’s little evidence of it in this room. No drapes fluttering. No papers ruffling. A strand of hair escapes the coil at the nape of my neck and drifts in front of my eyes. I quickly tuck it back behind my ear. There’s no need to draw this out. All I need to do is repeat the question. “You’re a local. Do
you
know anything about a place, here, in New York, called Elysium?”

Torres blinks. Her face is flush, her pupils expand. “No, but the Big Apple’s a big place.”

“Might Bradley or O’Neill?”

“I doubt it. O’Neill’s lived in DC since he graduated from high school. Bradley’s from Philly.”

We have our answer, the chance that any of our team members could be linked to Elysium or Eve Devlin are essentially nil. I rein in my magic and rebuild the walls before turning to Zack. Our eyes meet for only a fraction of a second before he turns away. But in that moment I see a flash of blue, the eyes of his beast.

Zack goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a coke. He takes a long draw, as if swallowing down whatever effect being exposed once again to my powers awakened in him. 

I fill in the moment of silence by asking a question. “So, what is this Elysium?”

Zack buries his hands in his pockets. “It’s a… club owned by a woman named Eve Devlin. Mr. Maitlan was a member of that club. Two weeks ago Eve’s daughter, Amanda, committed suicide there. Eve blames him for Amanda’s death.”

Torres’ eyes narrow. “So, this isn’t about money.”

“It’s about revenge.” Maitlan’s standing in the doorway. He looks every bit as worn and defeated as his tone indicates. “You’ve told
everyone
.”

“Only the people in this room know, Roger.”

“And what we know is precious little,” Torres snaps.

Maitlan rubs his hand over his face. “Do any of you honestly think my son is still alive?”

“We have no reason to believe otherwise.” I tell him, and I believe it. “If this is about revenge, then Devlin has nothing against your son. It’s you she wants to hurt, right? If Robby was dead, she’d want you to know it, see you suffer.”

“An eye for an eye—a daughter for a son,” Zack says quietly.

Torres folds her arms in front of her chest. “Mr. Maitlan, I think it’s time you fill us in on everything you know.”

Maitlan looks to Zack.

Zack gives him a nod of encouragement. “It’s your story and it’s time to tell it. And Roger? Don’t leave anything out.”

 Maitlan has gone upstairs to shower and change. We’re all sitting around the conference table turned command center. Bradley and O’Neill have been debriefed. Torres checks her watch. “I need to go to the hospital. Speak to Nguyen’s wife.”

“How is he?” I ask.

“Still in a comma,” she says.

Bradley winces. “Kids?”

“Three.” Torres slides on her coat. “The ATF has taken over the scene at the park. If there’s anything there to find, they’ll find it.”

“But will they find it in time?” asks O’Neill.

I turn my attention to the large screen, where there’s a photo of Eve, and rub my temples. I’m tired and hungry and frustrated. “Considering the distance between Maitlan and the café and the fact that it was only Maitlan who saw her, do you think we could get a warrant for surveillance? Obviously, she’s not working alone. Best-case scenario, we get evidence that she’s behind a sizable conspiracy. Minimally we can build a case for the host of other crimes being committed at Elysium.”

“You’re suggesting we bring in a tact team to plant bugs?” asks Bradley.