Full Moonster [BUREAU 13 Book Three] (15 page)

A reasonable question. Since the Slaughter of ‘77, when an unknown enemy destroyed most of the Bureau, not even its own agents knew where headquarters is located. I thought we had found it once in Manhattan, but by the next business day, it was gone.

"That doesn't matter,” Jessica said, in that sad voice.

"What?"

"Eh?"

"Nonsense!"

"Why?” I demanded, getting to heart of the matter.

"The exact location of the Bureau isn't pertinent to the attack,” she wearily explained in a monotone. “Now that the Scion knows we come from Chicago, they plan to totally destroy the city. All of it. Every building, person, rock and tree. That way they're sure of getting our hidden main base."

Dead silence filled the motel room, only the dripping of the shower could be faintly heard in the background.

"But HQ may not even be in Chi!” George suddenly stormed. “It moves around, so this sort of thing can't happen!"

Running a palm along his face, Raul scowled. “Try telling them that."

"When is the attack?” I asked breathlessly.

"Midnight."

Her bade feet padding softly on the carpet, stark naked Katrina walked into the room toweling her long hair dry. “Tomorrow midnight?” she asked, rubbing vigorously. “Next week?"

"Tonight,” sighed Jess, gazing at the clock on the motel wall. “In less than four hours."

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After placing a telephone call to the local FBI office, within minutes a commandeered Bell Air Ambulance helicopter retrieved us from the Lazy Eight Motel. Violating federal and civilian air traffic laws, the chopper ferried my team to the Lake City National Guard Arsenal where a sleek USAF supersonic transport flew us back to Chicago. Traveling at Mach Two, we arrived almost as fast as Mr. George could drive.

En route we telephoned a travel agency and made reservations in our own names for a railroad to New York and chartered a plane to London, England. That was to throw the Scion off the trail. Underestimating these people was fast becoming a sure way to die.

Also, I sent a coded, scrambled, radio message to our hidden headquarters detailing our discovery and the possible threat to Chicago. A special meeting was arranged at the downtown Sears Tower at 9 o'clock; which would give us twenty minutes to examine the ruins of our apartment building for any clues or Scion survivors. Telepathic impressions were good, but if we could secure a prisoner and make the bum talk, we might bust this plan before fruition.

That is, if winged hordes of flying Mack trucks didn't try to ram the plane in flight. Luckily, there were no attacks and we arrive on schedule. It made me nervous.

There was a big crowd of reporters at the main terminal, so we chatted with the O'Hare security and took a side route through the hangars and called a cab from there.

We saw the crowds from a block away. Police cars with flashing lights, fire truck spewing streams of water the crackling ruin of our decimated home. Parking at the corner, we paid off the car and proceed on foot. Nobody said a word.

The marble outside of the building was black with soot. Every window was gone, the roof was missing and it was painfully obvious that the structure was now hollow.

Strong shoulder and grim determination got us through the bustling crowd of curious onlookers. A TV station was here filming the destruction and maybe a dozen people in the crowd had cameras. Raul gestured with an empty hand and the TV camera shot out a geyser of sparks. Katrina sub-vocalized an unintelligible word and every chemical camera in the crowd popped open, spilling rolls of film onto the ground. The digital cameras simply fell apart. A city ambulance was nearby and I saw our tenants getting treatment for smoke inhalation. But otherwise, everybody seemed fine. Our Bureau issued insurance would cover medical expenses, replace their stuff and pay ample punitive damages for relocating. But even if we survived this night and rebuilt the place, I made a solemn vow never to have tenants again. It was too damn dangerous.

FBI badges allowed us passage past the police cordon and a telepathic suggestion from Jessica convinced the Fire Captain to let us by the sweaty, tired firefighters.

Picking our way through the jumble of fire hoses, safety barriers, pools of water and foam, we stepped into the thermal ruins. Destruction was rampant. Great slabs of concrete were piled atop each other, bits of furniture smoldered with flame. Glancing up, I could faintly see the stars through the thick smoke rising from a thousand small blazes still crackling. The heat was intense, the cloying smoke thick enough to chew. Raul regulated the temperature and Katrina cleaned the air. Father Donaher did a blessing and George kept guard with his banjo. I cursed. The building was gutted to the walls.

"Our home,” Katrina sniffed.

As a crumbling wall collapsed, a smoking timber fell from the sky directly toward us.

"Yeck. What a mess,” Mindy said, irritably batting the hundred pounds of charcoal away with her sword. The neatly twained pieces hit a pile of wet foam to expose the red embers underneath.

Ed
, Jess sent.

"Yes?” I asked aloud, using my shoe to push about an unbroken dinner plate on the soiled terrazzo. Wow. Must be that Corel style.

Pirate Pete is gone.

"Really can't blame him,” George commented, nudging a charred section of flooring with the muzzle of his M60. “What self-respecting ghost would want to stay in a dump like this?"

"No,” Father Donaher said, his body stiff with rage. “There has been an exorcism."

I started to ask why, but the reason was obvious. We wanted prisoners to talk and they wanted the same. But I would bet good money that the old buccaneer who lived in our cellar had probably put up a magnificent fight before the Scion finally drove him into the Great Abyss from which nobody ever returns.

Obviously, the Scion telepath had gotten more from us in Hadleyville than we had ever imagined. Okay, that agent would be the first to die.

"Another score to settle with these brigands,” Mindy growled, closing both fists making her knuckles crack.

Her long hair fanning in the smoky breeze, Katrina agreed, bolts of lightning playing about her partially recharged staff. I gave her a nudge and made her stop that. Too many witnesses.

With a gasp of delight, Raul pulled an undamaged volume from a pile of embers. Promptly, the book disintegrated into ash.

"Enough searching for physical clues,” I commanded, dusting off my hand. “Let's do a full globular sweep. Psionics, ethereal, mystic and EM scan."

Devices were activated, spells unleashed, and wands waved to the grand sum total result of nothing. The Scion covered their tracks well.

Pocketing my scanner, I sighed in resignation. “Let's go."

As we departed the burnt shell of a building, George retrieved a broken closet door from a pile of bed frames and jimmied it into a sagging doorway. Without looking back, Team Tunafish left home for the very last time.

Weary and angry, we moved resolutely through the crowd of puzzled people trying to shove uncooperative film back into cameras. Heading uptown, the team hung a right. No sense getting a cab for seven when the Sears Tower was only a few blocks away.

Once past the hubbub, the streets of Chi were almost entirely deserted at this hour. Elsewhere, the joints may be jumping, but we Mid-Westerners like to get our sleep. In the far distance, a lonely Pace bus was rumbling along its Night Owl route. Wisps of steam rose from the manhole covers dotting the street and you could hear the streetlights click as they went from red to green.

"Holy jamoke!” a voice cried out in the night. “Look! It's them!"

We spun about. Across the street was a delivery truck with its rear flap rolled up and a score of men and women lifting boxes into the vehicle. The crowd turned away. Their auras were human so I relaxed. Oh, hell. What now? A news team?

"Jamoke?” Mindy asked with a quizzical smile.

Rising to his full height, Father Donaher scowled. “Faith, that's a mining term!"

"I can't sense them,” Jess said with a touch of urgency.

Then the group across the street pivoted towards us with machine guns blazing. Tracer rounds filled the air with burning specks. Donaher was slammed against the wall, blood sprayed from Katrina's left arm and something punched me in the stomach. Reaching upward, Mindy grabbed my belt and yanked me to the pavement behind a parked car. The sidewalk felt rough and cool against my cheek.

Windows exploded. Ricochets blew stone chips off the brick wall behind us. Parked cars bucked from the multiple impacts of heavy caliber bullets. Rolling onto my knees, I drew both Magnums and paused as I smelled gasoline.

"Hut! Hut! Hut!” I cried, in a battle phrase inspired by some old foes who were thankfully dead and buried.

Rolling to new positions, the first car whoofed into flames. We waited the standard six seconds, then popped up and returned the gunplay in an orchestrated attack pattern. Six of the people shooting at us hit the ground in a manner to highly suggest that they were going to definitely stay there. But the rest stood brazen and uncaring of the lead and silver fusillade slamming into them.

Then they started to grow in size. Seams split as limbs expanded. Coats of hair sprouted, and toothy snouts extended. Ears went pointed. Hands became paws.

In seconds, the remnants of their shirts and dresses were fluttering to the ground. But instead of being naked, each creature was wearing a SWAT, full body, flak jacket.

Aiming with extreme care, I pumped six rounds into the chest of one of the werewolves. The manbeast didn't even stagger from the triphammer blows of the .357 slugs. Our rounds can't penetrate their body armor. Hoo boy. Not SWAT body armor, but NATO Red Class military bodyarmor. Bad, this was very bad.

With a bow twang, Mindy put an arrow into the left eye of a werewolf. Startled, the man paused and yanked the shaft free, snapping the hard wood between hoary talons. Raul sent a Lighting Bolt their way and a werewolf crackled into ash. But another took her place. George added a concentrated burst from the M60 making their delivery van detonate.

Dripping flame, they continued towards us. What the hell?

They're coated with Cosmoline
, sent Jess.
A thermal resistant chemical compound that stage magician use so they can hold burning coals in the palm of their hand.

"Limitations?” Father Donaher asked, ramming fresh shells into his shotgun. The rosary wrapped around his hand clinked with every round. Bureau body armor showed through the hole in his cassock.

It'll wear off in about an hour, and there's a good chance of cancer within five years.

"We're in trouble!” I announced to the rest of the team in case they had not been paying close attention. I swallowed and commanded myself not to barf. Geez, my stomach hurt!

Store windows were gone. Alarms were clanging. Lights were coming on in a hundred windows. A crowd was starting to gather. The police would be here in about thirty seconds.

"If we had some explosives, we could blow the flak jackets off and then shoot'em,” George stated loudly, peppering a werewolf with .30 silver bullets. The soft metal rounds simply flattened against the military flak jackets and stayed there. The linked belt of ammo dangling from his machine rifle was shrinking fast.

Her hands clenched into trembling fists, Jessica was staring at the monsters. Whether she was trying to Brain Blast them, steal information, redirect the police, or shoo away civilians, I didn't know. Hopefully, all four, and maybe a fifth.

"Any grenades?” Katrina asked, casting a Death Spell. The chosen target went stiff and keeled over with a lily in its paws. Nice touch.

Everybody patted pockets.

"No,” Raul said, casting a Death Spell.

"Used mine already,” Father Donaher, through clenched teeth.

"Yes!” Mindy cried. Ripping at her wrist, she removed her watch and buckled the strap tight around the shaft of an arrow. Setting the self-destruct, she stood, released the shaft and ducked again.

With a meaty smack, the arrow went deep into the exposed armpit of a charging werewolf. Terrified, the man-beast stopped and was trying to pull the shaft free when it exploded. When the smoke cleared, I saw his chest was bare of fur. Yowsa! I gave him three silver hollow-points smack in the aorta. Coughing blood, he stumbled backwards, turned into a human and died.

Six more watches were thrust at Mindy, and the rest of the werewolves started running.

"Your momma was a Pekinese!” George shouted as a taunt.

Quickly reloading, I stood with my twin Magnums at the ready. Wild shadows danced everywhere from the burning vehicles, making it hard to see. But Mindy got two additional werewolves before they disappeared down a dark alleyway.

"George, on cover!” I snapped, reloading my weapon. “Donaher bandage Katrina. Raul, teleport them out of here! Jess and Mindy with me!"

The team split. Dashing across the littered street, I jumped over a smoking tire and dodged round a naked corpse. We were going to get one of these bastards alive. Or die trying.

"On point,” I called, as we reached the other sidewalk. Mindy and Jess separated, each going to a side of the alley. I stood in the middle of the entrance, and then slowly walked in. Jess and Mindy slipped round the corners and hugged the walls.

As befitting a center city alley, it was wide, filled with garbage and should have been well illuminated. Had the Scion removed the bulbs to establish a retreat? They were good, but were they that good?

With each passing minute, the werewolves could be getting further and further away. I would have loved to simply chase right after them like the idiots in the movies. But that was how cops got their name in granite.

"Fresh blood,” whispered a shadow the size and shape of Mindy.

As she gave no additional information, that meant we were headed in the correct direction.

Jessica
? I asked in my head.

They're psi-shielded
, she responded.
I can't even detect their physical presence. But I'm trying to probe around and locate a dead spot where I can't sense anything.