Politics of Blood (Gray Spear Society Book 8) (27 page)

"That's brilliant."

"Text the information to Smythe. I'll send him to the bank immediately." Aaron looked up at the ceiling. "Jack, where is Smythe?"

"The shooting range, sir," Jack replied in the voice of a dead man.

Aaron hurried back across headquarters to the shooting range. He heard gunshots as he approached. He slipped on a pair of protective earmuffs and went inside.

The range had three lanes which were fifty yards long. Sheryl was standing at the center lane with a 9 mm pistol in her hands. She was concentrating fiercely as she aimed at a man-shaped target at the far end. Smythe was coaching her on the fine points of stance.

Sheryl's gun skills had improved dramatically since she had joined the Society. Aaron wouldn't call her accurate, but he no longer feared her shooting a teammate in the back accidently. She could hold a gun without looking uncomfortable and awkward. Sometimes, she even hit what she was aiming at.

Smythe faced Aaron. "What happened in the basement, sir?"

"A man wanted the truth," Aaron said. "He's dead now."

Smythe's face fell.

"I've decided we have to move to Chinatown. Not immediately, but soon. It's too hard to keep our presence here a secret."

"Unfortunately, I have to agree." Smythe sighed. "It's a terrible shame. I really like this place, and we spent a ton of money building it. Nancy put her heart and soul into the design."

"We might still find a use for it. You never know what the future will bring. I have an assignment for you and Sheryl. The fictional Jed Parker made a withdrawal from a bank this morning. I want the surveillance video. Maybe we can identify him. You should have the information on your phone."

Smythe grabbed his phone and checked the display. "We'll change clothes and leave immediately."

"Hurry," Aaron said. "Every minute that passes puts the President's life at greater risk."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Tawni was really excited. She was out on an assignment with the
legatus legionis
, a living legend if there ever was one. Ethel was the definition of dangerous and cool. Even the mighty Aaron bowed his head to her. Nobody dared to give her the least bit of shit. Ethel was everything Tawni wanted to be.

Ethel was leading the way through thick brush, Tawni was following close behind, and Boreas was bringing up the rear. All three of them wore the gray and black camouflage that was traditional in the Society. Vests and combat helmets served as basic armor.

Everybody wore their weapons openly. Ethel's machetes were strapped across her back, and Tawni desperately wanted to see those famous blades put to good use. Ethel also had two knives and a small-caliber target pistol. In Tawni's opinion, Ethel was too lightly equipped, but Tawni certainly wasn't going to make that criticism out loud.

Tawni had four guns. Two were fully automatic machine pistols, and one of the others was a .45 caliber brute loaded with explosive bullets. Aaron preached it was impossible to be overly prepared for a fight. She hadn't bothered with a knife. Instead, a katana was strapped to her thigh, her favorite weapon for killing at close range.

Boreas hadn't bothered with the small stuff, either. He carried a M27 Infantry Automatic Rifle and enough spare magazines to hold off an army. As if that wasn't enough, a M320 grenade launcher was hanging on his back. Tawni couldn't stop grinning.
Let the bad guys come,
she thought.
We're ready for them.

The small team reached the edge of the brush. They stopped, crouched, and looked at the vacation home of Bernard Templeton.

It was all white, and the architecture was like a traditional Midwest farmhouse, but it was much bigger than any normal farmhouse. At three stories tall, it towered over the flat landscape all around. It was massive even by mansion standards. Tawni had lived in smaller apartment buildings.
This is how billionaires get away from the city.

Secret Service agents in black stood guard all around the house. They wore body armor and carried compact assault rifles. More agents looked out from some of the windows. Two men with sniper rifles were lying in a precarious position on the sloped roof.

Ethel silently backed away. Tawni and Boreas followed her through the brush. The legate eventually stopped in a tiny clearing surrounded by trees where shadows blended with their camouflage.

"Now, we wait," Ethel whispered.

"Wait for what, ma'am?" Tawni said.

"For Aaron to solve the mystery."

"You think he will?"

"I have faith in three people," Ethel said. "God, Aaron, and Marina. Let me see you use that sword. I heard you have some skill with it."

"I've been practicing every day for hours."

Tawni drew her katana and stepped into a basic stance. She took a deep breath to help her focus. She performed a quick series of lunging attacks against the air.

"Not bad," Ethel said. "You certainly have a natural aptitude for that weapon. What inspired you to take up the sword?"

"I saw Atalanta fight, ma'am. She's amazing."

"A good role model. She's one of the finest swordsmen on Earth, if not
the
finest. But it looks like you missed the most important lesson. A sword isn't just a weapon. It's an extension of your body and soul."

Ethel drew her machetes from sheathes on her back. She leapt and twirled with so much speed the blades were invisible. She performed a double forward somersault in the air before landing. The unearthly grace in her movements left Tawni speechless.

"You see," Ethel said. "My machetes aren't just a tool I use to kill. They help define me. They
are
me. Try the sword again, but this time, extend your awareness into the blade."

Tawni nodded. The order didn't make much sense, but she would try.

"And use your gift," Ethel added. "A
legionnaire's
gift is a bridge to the divine."

Tawni called upon the darkness inside her. It swirled around her hands like tiny, black storm clouds. When she moved, the shadows left a smoky trail in the air.

She attacked with her sword again and felt stronger this time. Using her gift really was an advantage. She performed a long combination of lunges through the closely spaced trees. Shafts of sunlight dazzled her eyes. Uneven footing forced her to concentrate even harder. She wanted to look good for the legate.

"Forget you're holding a sword," Ethel said. "It's just you and your enemy. Let the desire to kill become your sole focus. A great warrior does not allow other thoughts to enter her mind."

Tawni imagined an enemy in front of her. She remembered the faces of men who had treated her badly and others who had abused her mother. She thought about Roger Gains and Neville Cantrell.

Her shadows started to flow down the blade, but this time she didn't pull back. She pushed herself to go even faster. The edge whistled through the air as she struck invisible enemies again and again. Soon, she was wielding a weapon made entirely of darkness. It really felt like it was part of her. She didn't know where her flesh ended and the steel began, and it didn't matter.

She slashed a thick branch, and the sword cut straight through. Six inches of solid wood offered no resistance to an edge sharpened by God's smoldering rage. She could've cut six inches of steel as easily. The huge branch crashed to the ground with a shocking amount of noise. The stump was covered with smoking, gray ash.

"Climb!" Ethel hissed.

The old woman scampered up a tree like a giant, black squirrel. Tawni and Boreas followed at a more human pace.

They were about thirty feet up when several Secret Service agents entered the woods. Tawni froze. The men looked around with their guns in hand. One examined the fallen branch with a puzzled expression. Eventually, they wandered off in separate directions.

Ethel whispered to Tawni, "Well done. You learned a new trick."

"Was it cool, ma'am?" Tawni grinned.

"Very cool. Next time you meet Atalanta, I think you might impress her."

Tawni squeaked with joy.

* * *

Smythe and Sheryl walked into the Third Bank of Illinois. They were wearing the blue suits of FBI agents again. They had worn these costumes so much lately, Smythe was starting to feel like he had actually joined the FBI.

Working undercover was essential to being a Spear, but he had never grown comfortable with that part of the job. He wasn't a natural liar. Honesty and integrity were too important to him. He had forced himself to become a competent actor out of necessity, but he would be the first to admit his performances weren't stellar.

Sheryl was exactly the opposite. She embraced each new role with relish. Fooling people was her greatest pleasure. Smythe found her attitude incomprehensible.

She stepped forward and took the lead as soon as they entered the bank. Even though he had every kind of seniority over her, he didn't complain.

Marble panels covered the interior walls of the bank. The tellers were behind a long counter on the left. Sharply dressed men and women sat behind desks on the right. Smythe assumed they were mostly loan officers, but he didn't know. He had little experience with banking. He had never been rich enough to need anything more exotic than a savings account and a small retirement fund.

Sheryl went straight to the man with the best looking suit. She flashed her badge and said, "We're from the FBI. We need to speak to whoever is in charge of security right away." She barked the words in a compelling manner.

Smythe and Sheryl were immediately shown to a back office in the bank. The employees couldn't get them away from the customers fast enough.

The head of security wore a green uniform which seemed tailored to fit his pudgy body. His white mustache was trimmed straight across. Scattered strands of white hair lay across his scalp. He would've looked better if he had worn his green cap which was lying on his desk.

"I'm Mr. Hersey," he said. "What can I do for you?"

Sheryl shook his hand. Smythe remained aloof and vaguely menacing.

"We need to look at the surveillance video from this morning," she said. "Somebody made a large cash withdrawal at exactly 9:01 AM, immediately after you opened. We have the account number if that helps."

"You don't know what the customer looks like?"

"That's why we need to see the damn video."

Hersey went to a computer on his desk. He used some software to select a camera and a time. After a few minutes of clicking, he eventually picked out a particular video sequence.

Smythe came around the desk for a closer look at the computer screen. The image quality was excellent. He watched a beefy man with red hair receive a thick stack of hundred dollar bills. The man stuffed the money in his pocket and walked off.

"He's military," Smythe said.

"How can you tell?" Sheryl said.

"Because I was military for a lot of years. This guy stands and walks like a soldier. He let his hair grow out, but it was a buzz cut not too long ago." Smythe turned to Hersey. "Switch to the parking lot. I want to see the car he drives."

Hersey spent another minute finding the right footage. It showed "Jed Parker" getting into a big, black SUV. There was a clear shot of the license plate.

Smythe grabbed a sheet of paper from the desk and wrote careful notes while the images were still fresh in his mind.

"This is great," he said. "Now I just need you to copy this video to a DVD, and we can get out of here."

Hersey furrowed his brow. "Don't I need to see a search warrant or something?"

"Hey," Sheryl yelled, "this mother-fucker kidnapped a twelve year-old right out of school! God knows what that poor girl is going through right now. And you want to see our paperwork?"

"Sorry." He blushed.

He put a blank DVD in his computer. It took about five minutes to copy all the relevant video segments.

Smythe grabbed the finished disc. He and Sheryl hurried out of the bank.

When he was in the parking lot, he called his boss.

Aaron answered, "Yes?"

"We have some good information, sir," Smythe said.

"Let me go to my office. Perry needs to hear this." There was a long pause. When Aaron spoke again, it sounded like he had put the phone into speaker mode. "Go on."

Smythe referred to his notes. "Male, late thirties, red hair. About five foot ten or eleven. Two hundred twenty pounds. Muscular. He's either in the military or has a strong military background. Drives a black SUV." He read the license plate number.

"Let me check that plate," Perry said. He was silent for a moment. "It's a rental under a fake name. He dropped it off at Midway Airport this morning."

"Which means he flew out of there," Aaron said. "We just have to match the airline records against the military records and find a soldier with the right description."

"I have the video," Smythe said. "I'll bring it to headquarters, and you can look for yourself."

"Good. Hurry back."

Chapter Fourteen

Aaron looked down at the big oak table in the conference room. About thirty sheets of paper were lying on the table in neat rows. They showed pictures of men with red hair, and each had a short text description below.