The Nephilim (27 page)

Shoot her mother! Katarinka almost screamed when she heard him say that. And then she did screamed. A wordless sound of horror and fear that made him laugh. And hearing him laugh just made things worse. The only thing she wanted to do was kill him. She wanted to beat him to death over and over again. But she guessed she wasn't going to get the chance.

It was a long time before she calmed down enough think. To master her anger and speak. “And if I do what you want?”

“Then you can go. After your work is done of course. I'll have no more need of you. And who knows – I might even send you away with a little gold in your pocket.”

But he wouldn't. She knew that. He was lying through his teeth. He was being obvious about it too because he knew he had all the cards. But the worst of it was that he didn't even care that she guessed it. In fact he was enjoying her fear. He was going to kill her and there was nothing she could do about it.

She had to find some way to hurt him. Some way to break through that smugness.

“You know that Garrick is going to hunt you down and kill you!” It was the only thing she could think to hurt him with, and somehow it seemed to work.

“You have a foul mouth on you girl.” Armando snapped at her, his laughter suddenly done with. “I'd keep it firmly shut if I were you. That miserable prick is causing me no end of problems at the moment. But he's been lucky so far. And his luck is about to run out. Permanently.”

All she could think was that if Garrick was being a pain in the arse for him that had to be a good thing. But she also knew he was in danger. It was no mere threat her ex-grandfather was making. He was telling her exactly what he intended to do, and it suddenly brought to mind the fact that the last time she had seen the hunter he had been in a full leg cast. He had claimed at the time that it was something to do with Armando though she hadn’t believed him. That he had tried to kill him. Now she knew that Garrick had been telling the truth. And if Armando had managed to catch him once and break his leg the chances were he could do it again. Maybe he could do worse. Maybe he could kill him. After all, he had already killed her school master.

Katz shivered a little, unable to control her fear and horror. Her grandfather, save that he wasn't her grandfather at all, was a murderer. A monster. He was going to kill her and if she wasn't lucky everyone else she knew. And there was nothing she could do.

Katz suddenly felt very small and alone. In fact for the first time in a very long time she felt the urge to pray as she hadn't since her mother had dragged her to church. But now she knew no one would answer. The big guy would just send his angels and they would do absolutely nothing.

No wonder her people hated the Choir! She was beginning to hate them too.

Chapter Fifteen

Garrick was trying to sleep when the men came for him. After the long days he'd spent shutting Benedict's operation down he needed his rest. Not that sleep was coming easily to him. Not when he was so worried.

His old home and his people had been attacked. People he knew were dead or in the hospital. And everyone else was in danger of being exposed to the world as freaks. The annoying girl Katarinka had been kidnapped by Benedict and he knew it was his job to get her back. It had to be because no one else could do it. And strangely he felt responsible for the kid. As if she was something to him other than just a nuisance.

Everyone he knew and cared about was in danger too. If he didn’t stop Armando he and all the rest of the nephilim would be exposed and he had no idea what would happen after that. And all his close friends were nephilim.

His nice, comfortable world had suddenly become a very worrying place. And Garrick knew that it wasn't just his world that was falling apart. It wasn’t just the nephilim and the Choir who were worried. It seemed that the entire country was nervous.

The attack on the academy was also all over the news. How could it not be? Another attack on a school by someone with automatic weapons. But this time it was no student that had gone postal. It was an outside force. The media were saying it was an attack by terrorists. And everyone was afraid of terrorists. Terrorists attacking schools in America? That was just a thousand times worse. And now people were talking about having armed guards at the gates of schools across the country.

The news was also carrying stories about Benedict around the clock. About his operation being rapidly torn apart in the previous forty eight hours. Fifty something people had been caught and were facing charges. Forty operations had been wound up. Millions of dollars in equipment had been seized. And all of it was being directly linked to the ageing thief. But he was still somewhere in the wind, Katarinka with him, and in the morning Garrick knew he'd have to start the hunt all over again.

No one had yet connected the attack on the school with Benedict – not in the press anyway – but they knew that a girl had been kidnapped and her name and description was being broadcast everywhere. They even had a photo. The attack was being labelled as a terrorist act, the kidnap simply a new variation on the theme.

But what the news said didn't matter. The agencies only told the media what they wanted them to report. And by now every agency knew that Katarinka was connected to Benedict. That was going to be a problem. But for the moment the only thing that mattered was that with Katarinka's photo out there, plastered on every television in the state, it would limit Benedict's ability to move her about. So he had gone to ground somewhere as he planned his next move. And while he was pinned down, that gave Garrick the time he needed to hunt him down. He needed that time.

When he heard the men outside the door though, Garrick knew that the next stage in his hunt had begun and he grinned.  It was a little sooner than he'd expected.

Garrick had been learning Benedict's scent. He knew how he worked, how he thought. Which way he'd jump. And he'd quickly guessed that Benedict would send someone after him. It had only been a matter of time, and not a long one. Benedict would recognise him as a threat. With his intel, however he got it, he would soon realise that it was Garrick hunting him down. And he would know that the longer Garrick was hunting him the greater the chance that he would be caught. Benedict wanted him dead quickly. Painfully if possible but quickly above all. Before Garrick caught him.

Benedict might pretend to be white collar, but Garrick now knew he was no such thing. He was a monster. He was utterly ruthless and completely without conscience. His nature was to win by whatever means necessary. And he would act precipitously if it would serve his purposes. He would enjoy it too. While he liked subtlety and cleverness – and above all proving himself smarter than his opponents – he also liked direct action and to use overwhelming force when the occasion warranted it. Garrick's imminent death by overwhelming force would suit him perfectly.

It was because of that that Garrick had had Maricia check in to another room in the motel under another name. It was why he'd used his own name at the check in. And it was why he was currently trying to sleep in the bathtub. It wasn't comfortable, especially with his damaged leg, but with the door open it gave him a good view of the main room and it even offered a little protection should any bullets come his way. He'd expected the attack and prepared for it.

Garrick raised his weapon and waited for the front door to swing open. He had to wait a surprisingly long time. The men might be good with their weapons, but apparently they weren't so good at picking locks. Meanwhile he was annoyed that he didn't have his normal piece. That gun had been taken off him after the shoot out with Newman which had gone so horribly wrong. The bureau had replaced it, and with another Sig 226 as well which was good. But it wasn't the same. He'd had his old gun modified slightly to suit his grip. This new one wasn't as comfortable.

Eventually the men succeeded and the door swung inwards, and two men crept in to the darkened room heading straight for the bed. When they reached it they raised their weapons and took aim at the mass underneath the covers. It was only cushions that he'd specifically arranged to vaguely look like a body, but in the darkness it was convincing enough.

Then they started shooting, pumping slug after slug into the bed from their silenced weapons, and probably thinking they'd caught him completely by surprise. Obviously they weren't the cream of assassins. They were probably all Benedict could find at short notice. Meanwhile Garrick lay there, waiting for them to finish. The more shots they fired he figured, the less they would have left in their clips when the real fight began. But he knew it was time to act when they stopped firing and one of them reached out with a hand to check if he was dead.

Feeling strangely calm Garrick squeezed the trigger of his own weapon, and sent the first bullets directly into the legs of the two men. He was aiming low intentionally, because he wanted them alive. But he also wanted them down fast, and he knew that when their legs went out from under them they would collapse backwards and from that position it would be hard to mount a defence. It was hard to take aim while lying on your back. He remembered the feeling of helplessness it had left him with distinctly.

His plan worked perfectly and the two men collapsed by the bed almost immediately, yelling in pain as he fired more bullets into their legs. Garrick didn't stop until his first clip was empty. By then each man had at least four bullets in him, and while both were still alive, neither was able to put up much of a defence. One was shooting blindly at the walls and ceiling; the other had dropped his gun completely and was hugging his injured legs and begging for him to stop shooting. Garrick's plan had worked almost perfectly. But then he felt the unexpected sting as a ricochet cut into his left hand and he knew he'd been shot again. A minor injury but still a reminder that people with guns were dangerous even when they were down.

Meanwhile outside people were waking up, lights were turning on, and soon he knew, the police would be on the scene. The two hit men's guns might be silenced but his wasn't.

Moments later Garrick had slotted the next clip home in his gun and he knew it was time to end the fight. Before the two men fainted from blood loss.

“FBI! Drop the weapons!” He used his loudest, most commanding voice as he'd been trained to, and it seemed to work. He watched one man toss his weapon away. The other had already dropped his as he concentrated on his injuries. That was enough to give Garrick the chance he needed to lever his way out of the bath tub and on to his feet. After that it was just a short hobble over to them, and a quick, awkward kick to knock the guns out of their reach.

The battle was over. It had ended almost before it had begun.

“Well you two must be feeling really pleased with yourselves,” Garrick told them cheerfully, as he took a seat on the edge of the bed looking down over them both, and then pulled out his ID, ready for the police when they arrived. That wouldn't be long he guessed. At this time of night, with traffic almost non-existent, it would be a matter of only a few minutes. But that would hopefully be long enough.

“You know Benedict's going to be pissed. And he has a very bad temper.”

Garrick wasn't telling them that to get them to admit anything. Nor to frighten them. Not even as casual conversation. In fact it wasn't for any reason they would understand. It was simply because by mentioning the thief's name he'd got them thinking about him – and more importantly about their last meeting with him. That was the scent he needed. These two had been the ones who had most recently had contact with Benedict, when he had sent them after him. The scent was fresh.

“So who wants to be the one to tell me where he is?”

Neither of them did of course and they both protested. But he didn't need them to tell him. He only needed them to concentrate on Benedict. On their memories of him. Of the meeting they'd had with him. He needed to get the freshest scent of his prey from them. And it was getting stronger all the time.

“Really. Caught red handed trying to murder a federal agent and with no hope of beating the wrap? And neither of you wants to try and get a few years knocked off your sentences? I mean the one that does talk might get to walk the city streets before he retires. The other one clearly won't. He'll die in jail. Probably with Armando Benedict in the cell next to his. So where is he?”

“No way.”

One of the men refused him again. The other one sort of waved him away half-heartedly. Blood loss was getting to him Garrick guessed, and he didn't really know what he was doing. But that didn't matter when he had a direction and an image of an abandoned garment factory already. The longer the two of them kept thinking of his quarry the more he would get from them.