White Winter (The Black Year Series Book 2) (22 page)

Jonas heard the blast in the van, like fireworks in the distance.

“Jesus! Jonas, what’s happening?”

Flames passed through him, but they didn’t touch him, just like when the priest showed him the prophecy. Madoc shifted the view to the street. Windows were shattered. Car alarms were going off. The two cars parked in front of the store were riddled with holes, and one of them was on fire. Two soldiers were lying in the street, dead or unconscious. One of the cops was dragging Micah away from the flames. The vampire was missing a hand and his left leg below the knee. “There are two, maybe three survivors. The others were inside when the bomb went off.”

Micah’s whole body spasmed and the cop dropped him.

Madoc?

Micah’s body turned translucent. There was a piece of shrapnel the size of two fingers lodged in his heart. The cop bent down to grab Micah again, and Jonas dove into his mind.

♘

Jonas, what are you doing?
Madoc asked, alarmed.

Trying something,
Jonas said. The cop was fighting him hard, and he didn’t have anywhere the amount of control at this distance. He also couldn’t hear Frank anymore.
Okay, I need to stop him from burning up,
he thought. He snapped his fingers, and a ball of flame appeared above the cop’s hand. He linked it to the heat building in Micah’s chest, and it flared like he’d poured gas on it.

Jonas!
Madoc shouted.

Jonas ignored him. The cop was flipping out, but Jonas still had control. He let the flame drift over Micah’s shoulder and pulled a pocketknife from the cop’s belt pouch. He undid the shoulder snaps on Micah’s plate carrier, slid the knife under the buttons of his top, and cut his shirt open. There was bright red blood everywhere. Micah spasmed again, and the flame flared so brightly Jonas had to squint.

Jonas, I have a werewolf fleeing the scene.

Great. Follow him.

Her! And I can’t, because you’re putting too much power through the phylactery. It’s going to break.

Jonas reached into Micah’s chest. The cop’s teeth were clamped so hard it hurt, and he tried to pull his arm back.

Jonas, I’m going to lose the target if you don’t stop this now!

The blood was burning his hands. Jonas’ fingers closed around something sharp and he pulled, sharp edges biting into the cop’s fingers. He lost control, the cop scrambled back, the flame went out, and the wound in Micah’s chest cauterized shut.

♘

Jonas gasped. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears.

Frank had a hand on his shoulder. “You okay kid? You went limp like a rag doll for a minute.”

“I need blood,” he croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper, and he was seeing spots. “Madoc’s tracking the woman who did this. Tell the driver to head north.” He grabbed the blood pack Jim handed him, pulled the tab, and sucked it down. He exhaled. “God, that’s good.” His head was pounding.

“Want another one?” Jim asked.

Jonas nodded and held up two fingers. He leaned forward and held his head, panting. “I think I saved Micah.”

“Who?” Frank said.

“One of the enforcers.”

“That’s great kid.”

Jim closed the cooler and handed him the blood packs. Jonas almost dropped them as the van swerved.

“Everybody strap in!” Frank said.

Madoc?
Jonas asked.

Talking to the driver, leave me alone,
the specter answered.

Jonas fumbled with his belt while he drank the second pack. Frank reached over and connected his left shoulder and side clips, leaving Jonas to do the right side strap and the lap belt. “Thanks,” Jonas said, pulling the third pack’s heating strip.

“No problem,” Frank said.

The van veered again. Jonas fumbled for the pendant. Madoc showed him the view outside the van just before they T-boned into a car.

CHAPTER 23

“Is everyone okay?” Frank said.

There was a general chorus of assent.

“What did we just hit?” Jim asked.

“The person who triggered the bomb,” Jonas answered.

“Well, hell! Let’s get out there!” Billy said, unstrapping himself.

Outside, the werewolf clawed through the steering wheel and lateral airbags of her car, kicked out the driver side door, and launched herself out.

“She’s running!” Jonas said.

“You two,” Frank said, pointing at the soldiers nearest to the door, “Process the scene, see if there’s any evidence we can grab, I’ll send someone to pick you up.”

“Yes, sir!” they said, getting out and closing the door behind them.

“Is Madoc tracking her?”

“He’s already talking to the driver,” Jonas answered.

Frank banged the steel partition between the cab and the driver twice, and the van started moving. “Where’s she headed, kid?”

The werewolf had transformed and was running northwest on Clarkson Avenue, a dark shape managing 20 to 25 miles per hour over and around traffic. Even with the siren, the van was barely keeping up. “She’s running toward Brownsville and Van Dyke,” Jonas said.

Frank got on the radio and started talking with Chief Grady.

Billy was tapping his rifle with his index finger. After a minute, he said, “Isn’t Van Dyke that place Eugene said to avoid?”

“Eugene told us to never go there, period. What’s the plan, Frank?” Jim said, his face serious.

Frank gave him a sharp look. “Why are you asking?”

“Because this reminds me of that time we chased that Nigerian into a basement in Mogadishu.”

“Is there any war you two
haven’t
been in?” Jonas asked.

Jim shrugged. “He’s got an inflated sense of duty, and I’m crazy,” he said. He turned back to Frank. “But not Mogadishu crazy, Frank. How ’bout it?”

“Say again, Ops?” Frank said, putting his hand to his ear.

Billy tapped his rifle. The driver hit the siren again.

“She just climbed into a window on the 12th floor of 325 Blake Avenue,” Jonas said.

Jim leaned forward. “Frank-”

“She killed five of our guys, maybe more.”

“Better than twelve,” Jim said.

Jonas could see Frank’s knuckles turning white around the handset. He exhaled. “We set a perimeter, wait for backup.”

“Because it’d be stupid to go in after her.”

“Yeah, who would do that?” Frank said, giving Jim a tight smile.

Billy took his hand off his rifle and pulled out a can of dip.

♘

The neighborhood was watchful. Jonas didn’t know a better way to describe it. The sidewalks were empty, partly because it was after dark and partly because the average temperature had dropped 25 degrees in three days. It was cold enough to kill, but people - kids younger than him sometimes - sat on the front steps of buildings in heavy coats and gloves or looked through the glass of entryways, watching and weighing what they saw.

They double-parked in the bike lane on Mother Gaston Boulevard, in front of an empty playground with several basketball hoops. They’d opened the steel shutters on the left side of the van. Billy, Jim, and the soldier called Carlyle had turned around in their seats; Jonas was still seeing things through Madoc; everyone else could see from where they were.

“Is that it?” Frank asked.

“No, it’s the tall one behind and to the right,” Jonas answered. The view jumped to a room in the building. “There are ten of them in there, gearing up to-”

“What?”

Jonas blinked, fully back in the van again. “I just lost the picture. Madoc?”

They put a ward up. Smaller version of the one they used under the Agency. I’m blind.

Who’s they?
Jonas asked.

The Order. If we weren’t sure it was them before, we are now.

Jonas looked at Frank. “I can’t get it back; the Order just activated a ward in the building.”

Frank clenched his jaw, looked at Jim, then stood up. “Bravo team, comm checks. One!”

Everyone counted up. Jonas said, “Four!” when it was his turn.

“Comm checks good. All right, everyone out of the van.”

“Frank?” Jim said.

“This is not a discussion anymore, Jim.”

“Bravo team, what’s your status?” Jonas heard in his earpiece.

Frank tapped his earpiece. “This is Bravo; we have lost surveillance and are moving to engage.”

“Negative, Bravo,” Chief Grady said. “Reinforcements will reach you in less than 10 minutes, advise… standby.”

There was a moment’s pause, then Alice’s voice sounded on the radio. “This is the Director. Mr. Mitchell, what is your assessment?”

“I think we’re going to lose them, ma’am, or they’re going to start setting off more bombs.”

“And do you have a reasonable certainty of pulling this off?”

“I do, ma’am,” Frank answered.

“Mr. Black, as the on-scene enforcer, do you concur?”

Jonas felt a weight in the back of his throat. He looked at Jim, then Frank; Jim shook his head, and Frank nodded slightly. “We can do it, ma’am.”

“Very well. I take full responsibility for this mission. We let them do this to us, and everyone will think they can as well. I want them, Mr. Mitchell. Dead or alive, understood? Try to limit civilian casualties if possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jonas stuffed three blood packs into his drop pouch. The others grabbed what they needed and started getting out of the van. Carlyle was the first, and Billy was the last. He spat his dip out on the snow, muttering.

“You all right, Jimmy?” Frank asked, his voice low as they jogged toward the building.

Jim shrugged and grinned. “Let’s go do something stupid.”

♘

“Mr. Black?”

Jonas tapped his earpiece. “Yes, Chief?”

“This is a discrete channel; only you can hear me. The Director told me to offer you tactical support on the mission. Mr. Mitchell is an excellent operator, but he’s not used to having our resources at his disposal.”

“I’ll take any help I can get, Chief,” Jonas said.

Frank looked back at him. Jonas shook his head.

“The building you’re going to is 14 stories tall and has over 100 units. The lookouts will have a phone tree to warn the people inside. Expect 500 to 600 inhabitants, 5 to 10 percent of which will be hardened criminals. They will cluster together, so expect to be outnumbered at least three to one if they decide to shoot at you.”

Jonas swallowed. “You said ‘if’?”

“They’re career criminals, Mr. Black, not soldiers. If they believe you’re the police, and you don’t threaten them, they will stay out of your way.”

“Okay, got it,” Jonas said.

One of the teens on the front steps of 325 Blake pulled one of his gloves off and started dialing. Jonas moved forward in three quick shifts, putting himself behind the lookouts. Trash crinkled under his feet. He touched the first one’s face as he turned around, putting him to sleep, then grabbed the second one’s hand as he raised the phone to his ear.

“Yo, man, it’s the cops. Naw, they feds. There’s cops everywhere, so don’t try nuthin’. No, man, just chill! They’re here for the 12th floor. Aight, peace.” He hung up, handed Jonas the keys to the heavy steel front door, and slumped over.

“A little warning, next time, Jonas?” Frank said, running up, his breath fogging.

“Sorry.” He tapped his earpiece. “Chief? I convinced the lookouts we were cops. Lots of cops.”

“Well done, sir. If you’ll tell your driver to turn on the music, there’s a cellphone jammer in the van. It won’t help with landlines, but it should slow the flow of information and any attempts to trigger explosives.”

Jonas double tapped his earpiece to change channels, then said, “Bravo-7, turn on the music.”

“You got it, sir,” the driver said.

Jonas switched back to the tactical frequency and looked back at his team. Jim was grinning. Frank looked bemused. “We should probably drag them inside, so they don’t freeze to death.”

“You got it, boss,” Jim said. He opened his hands like he was catching a football, and Jonas pitched him the keys. He opened the front door while Billy and Carlyle dragged the two kids inside.

“So what’s the plan, kid?” Frank said.

“Same plan, Frank. You’re still in charge.”

“Doesn’t feel that way.”

Jonas shrugged. “You’re the expert, my mom’s responsible, and I’m somewhere in the middle. Chief says we should have a few minutes of no one shooting at us if we don’t look too threatening.”

Frank wiped his face with his hand. “This is what it must feel like to be enlisted. Okay, boys, we do this nice and quiet. Don’t point a gun at anyone who doesn’t need shooting until we’re committed.”

Jonas followed Frank inside.

It smelled like weed. Not weed like a stoner’s clothes, but weed like someone had exhaled in his face. Billy snickered. Jim punched him in the arm. Jonas wrinkled his nose and blinked. It was like burnt rubber and fresh cut grass, but sweeter.