Witches Protection Program (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

W
es jumped out of the replacement car before it even stopped, the gravel of the dock spewing as the tires squealed. His badge hanging from his neck, he surveyed the scene. Black cars surrounded the warehouse in Red Hook, red and blue lights flashing. Uniformed men holding assault rifles crouched in the darkness. His driver pointed to a van with the doors
open
—an impromptu command post. Three men stood together, consulting blueprints of the building, their backs to Wes.

Wes couldn’t miss the bald head of his father anywhere. Harris Rockville stood in the center, listening intently to another man with a peaked hat. He nodded, his hand on his large jaw, his eyes intense.

“Dad?” Wes ran up.

Harris nodded, but spoke to the other man. “I want that corner locked down. Make sure the snipers have a clear shot.” He pointed to a building across the way. “Four snipers up there. We’ll go with three teams inside.”

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

The two men ran off, leaving father and son alone. “We’ll take over from here.”

“Like hell you will!” Wes answered hotly.

“One screwup on the job is enough. You lost the girl.”

“No, I didn’t. She’s here, and I’ll get her out!” Wes shouted, pointing to the warehouse.

Harris gestured his second in command to approach him, then pointed to Wes. “Get him off the premises.”

“Excuse me,” a female voice trilled, interruppting the unfolding drama. “I need to find Agent Rockville.”

Both Wes and his father turned to see Junie approach them from the darkness.

“Who let you in here?” Harris demanded rudely.

“Nobody. I have a card,” Junie smiled sweetly, showing her entry ID for the gate. “Hi, Wes,” she said, eyeing the bruise on his forehead. “Oh, nasty bump there. I have something for it.” She reached into her large carpetbag.

“You know this person?” His father turned to him, his face furious.

“Yes.” Wes was breathing hard. “This is Junie ‘Baby Fat’ Meadows. Junie, this is my father, Agent Harris Rockville.”

Harris faced her, a smile spreading across his face. He held out his hand. “Junie ‘Baby Fat’ Meadows, an honor. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“The honor is mine,” Junie said coyly. “Well, I can certainly see where those big blue eyes come from.”

“We have to get in there and cancel the Pendragon shipment,” Wes told Junie. He turned to his father. “She knows where the manifests are.”

Harris spoke to his team. “Get ready to move in.”

“You can’t go in there guns blazing. Morgan is being held there!”

“Stand down, Agent Rockville!” his father ordered.

“With all due respect, sir, this is a
category
-seven witch we are dealing with,” Wes informed him.

“Son.” Harris looked at him intently. “I’ve been dealing with witches since before you were born. Everything I know, I learned in the Witches Protection Program. Alastair was my first partner. Why do you think I placed you there? But now it’s time for you to stand down and let me take over.”

“Dad…”

“Good night, Wes.” He spun to his agents. “Team six, move! Junie, after you.” Junie followed them in. The shadow of a cat trailed unnoticed behind her.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

A
lastair, clad all in black, entered the the Pendragon tower through the basement where the trash was collected. Dashing up six levels, he sprinted through the silent lobby, his feet barely touching the marble. He moved stealthily to the service elevator, pressing the button, waiting patiently to reach the penthouse.

The door opened to the back of Bernadette’s pitch office, the city skyline illuminating her pale face. Bernadette faced the window. Her eyes were on the distant ports, the large ships weighted down with containers of her face cream.

“You’re too late, Alastair,” she said without turning around.

“Better late than never,” Alastair responded quietly.

Bernadette turned. She was smoking a cigarette. The ember was long, hanging like an orange inchworm glowing in the dark. “Where’s Morgan?” she asked wearily.

“I don’t know. Ask Scarlett.” He walked into the room.

Bernadette turned, her face shocked. “Scarlett? What are you talking about?”

“Scarlett kidnapped her. She probably has her in a container heading for Timbuktu, by now.”

“Stupid, stupid girls.” Bernadette ground out her cigarette. “They don’t know how to do anything these days. And they call themselves witches?” She laughed hollowly. “Anyway, Morgan probably deserves it. She hasn’t done anything right.” She walked languidly to her desk, picking up the largest red stone. She hefted it from hand to hand.

“And you have?”

“You dare to question me!” Bernadette placed both her hands on her desk, the stone underneath her palm.

Alastair shrugged. “This has got to stop,” he said simply.

“Here you go again, always trying to right the wrong. Well, who says I was wrong?” It was clear they weren’t talking about anything taking place now.

“Catarina did.”

Bernadette walked around her desk to come face to face with him, her hands fisted by her side. “Catarina was a coward.”

“You’ll have to live a thousand lifetimes to catch up to her bravery and loyalty.”

“Spare me the Lifetime movie lines!” Bernadette shouted.

Alastair held up a sheaf of papers. “I have a warrant for your arrest.”

Bernadette stared hard at the papers, her eyes turning into yellow blazes of light. Flames burst out on the papers, licking Alastair’s fingers. He dropped them onto the carpet, stamping on them. “Don’t show off.”

“I loved you!” Bernadette wailed.

“And I loved your sister,” Alastair answered quickly.

Bernadette approached him, her face stark. “Why didn’t you want me?” She tried to take his hand, but he pulled away.

Alastair looked her full in the face. “Because you are pure, unadulterated evil.”

“There is a fine line between good and evil, Alastair,” Bernadette told him coldly. “It’s called perspective.”

“You have no soul,” Alastair said sadly.

“Stop blaming me! It was not my fault!” Bernadette screamed. “The accident was not my fault.” She took the rock and threw it at the window, shattering glass everywhere.

“It’s over, Bernadette,” Alastair told her.

Bernadette spun, holding a small gun in her thin, white hand. “It’s not over until I say so.”

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

J
unie stood in Dominic’s office, surrounded by Harris’s team. They poured through files, boxing the documents they ripped from the drawers. She typed her password, opening the manifests, and muttering, “Shit.”

Tapping again at the keyboard, she repeated her profanity, causing Harris to come over and gaze over her shoulder to read her screen.

Junie shook her head. “It’s too late. The ships left port hours ago. They hid the manifests under different names.”

Harris’s blue eyes scanned the documents. “It still says the containers are here.”

“That’s what I’m telling you. It’s an old trick.” Junie paused at his expression. “Well, it is. See?” She pointed her bony finger at a list. “These five ships all have the products.” She typed again. “They’ve put it under Comstock Industries, which is…” She typed some more. “A shell for Pendragon.” Junie turned to look at the agent. “She must have smelled something. They really had to hustle to get that stuff out of here.”

Harris punched the keyboard, combing the manifests.

Luna meowed loudly and jumped on the desk. Junie rubbed her face into the dark fur affectionately. She opened her carpet bag for the cat to slide in.

“Rockville, you need to see this.” A uniformed agent poked his head in the office.

Harris turned to his second in command. “Get the coast guard involved. Call Washington. I’ll be right back.”

He rushed down the steps, following his man to a container that had been pried open. Four longshoremen and an overweight office worker sat on the floor, blankets covering them, water bottles in their hands. One man was propped against the wall of the metal container, clearly in distress. Misshapen shotguns, their barrels twisted upward, lay on the floor next to them.

“Dominic Cerillo, manager of the building,” the agent relayed.

“Are they hurt?”

The man shrugged. “Dehydrated, scared. I don’t know if they are more terrified of that blond witch or us.”

“What’d you get?” Harris asked his associate.

“They were here since yesterday, pushing out the Pendragon order on the downlow. It’s gone, sir, and I don’t think we are going to be able to intercept. According to Dominic here.” He pointed to the man who seemed to shrink before his eyes. “They are probably in international waters already.”

Harris cursed. “What else?”

“This way.” They left the container to move to one farther down the lane. “A girl. She was tied up. I’ve got a
medic
—”

“I get the picture,” Harris said, approaching Morgan.

She was rubbing her reddened wrist. The girl paused, holding out a hand to Harris. “Morgan Pendragon. I wish I could say it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Harris took her cold hand in his own. “Are you all right?”

“No thanks to that stupid agent Wes Rockville. I’ve seen keystone cops that are more professional,” she spat.

Harris winced, grinding his teeth. “Sorry, miss. What did he do, exactly?”

“The man’s an idiot. He doesn’t follow orders, thinks he knows everything…oh, never mind. You should be looking for that woman Scarlett. She did this to me, and he let her!”

“Fan out!” Harris ordered. “Colon, Hornik, take that corridor.” He pointed to a dimly lit passageway. “Glass, Wasserman, you take the left. Can you tell us what she looks like?”

“She’s beautiful. Tall, blond, and very lethal,” Morgan responded.

The men turned sideways, walking slowly, guns drawn, looking for the blond perpetrator.

“Follow me, if you don’t mind, Miss Pendragon. I need to fill out a report.” Harris took her by the elbow, guiding her toward the front of the building, his mind on his incompetent son.
Jeez,
he thought,
where did I go wrong with that one?
As if he’d conjured him up, he heard his Wes’s rising voice.

“I told you to leave,” Harris said angrily. “Wes!” Harris pointed to an officer. “I told you to take him out of here.”

The officer pulled his gun as he walked purposefully toward Wes.

Wes looked at Morgan, his eyes narrowing. His face closed up, his smile vanishing, his expression hostile. He abruptly turned to run down a narrow corridor, his breathing harsh, his face wet with sweat. His father’s gruff voice called after him, but he concentrated on separating the different sounds echoing in the warehouse. He paused at an intersection, listening to the scuffle of feet. He screamed, “Morgan!” His heart raced. A faint sound, metal against metal, traveled down the passage. Wes ran, his feet flying, stopping at corners to gauge the direction. “Left, left…no, right, right,” he whispered. “Morgan!” he called out again, the answering clatter pushing him to the last row. He banged hard on the metal walls, his fists stinging. Pulling open the first giant box, he found it stacked with product. He called her name again, relieved when he heard the rap of her response. It was the next one. He yanked it open. Morgan fell into his arms, breathless. He pushed the hair back from her damp face, kissing her full on the lips. Hot tears bathed her face. She pressed it against his shoulder, relief making her weak. Her slight body sagged against him. Holding her away, he asked, “Can you walk?”

“We’ve got to get out of here. Scarlett, she’s deranged.”

Wes took her hand, walking briskly back to the entrance. Pulling out his cell, he pressed his father’s number. It went directly to voice mail. “Dad, call me.”

He punched it again, but this time there was no service. Panic started to well in his chest. Picking up his pace, he started running, Morgan dragging behind him.

Relief flooded Wes as they broke out into the entrance. His father stood in the frame of the big doors, his face livid. “Just what in the hell…” The words died on Harris’s lips when he realized his son held the hand of a very winded Morgan Pendragon. Twisting, he registered Wes’s shout as bullets exploded from a gun, snatched from the officer next to the very fake Morgan. Wes screamed but grabbed his Morgan, rolling with her on the filthy floor, then covering her with his body.

Scarlett shot wildly, her face in a feral snarl. “You!” she sneered, walking toward Wes. Aiming directly at his head, she squeezed the trigger, hearing nothing but a click. Before Wes could look up, she flew over him, disappearing into the darkness of the warehouse. A few shots were fired from the startled police. Wes waved at them to halt.

“Stop. You’re not equipped correctly. Those won’t do anything to her.” He ran to his father’s prone body, but the sound of distant gunfire called. Saying a silent farewell, he exchanged a pained look with Morgan, who struggled to her feet. “Stay here,” he ordered, then took off into the darkness behind them.

Wes pulled his Steampunk revolver, his thumb flicking open the lever that warmed the glowing liquid in the ammunition chamber. The weapon hummed with heat, a
high
-pitched whine letting him know it was ready.

His back hugging the corrugated metal, he walked slowly, his eyes scanning the top for the blond witch. Something dropped. He rushed into the next aisle to find nothing but a black corridor yawning before him. A door opened with a creak, then slammed. Wes turned around to see Scarlett standing in front of him, hands on her hips.

“Hello, handsome. Dump the bitch?”

Wes extended his arm, pointing the gun directly at her.

“Go ahead, shoot an unarmed woman.”

Wes squeezed the trigger, recoiling at the impact, a stream of green foam shooting toward his target. Scarlett’s laughter filled the void.

“Didn’t you practice with that thing?”

Wes spun, finding her behind him. Aiming again, he pointed, the gun flying from his hands to land on the concrete in front of her.

“You can’t hurt me with that pop gun.”

“What about this one?” Harris yelled, pointing an Aether cannon directly at her. “Down, Wes!” he shouted. Wes dove, but Scarlett spun into a starburst that disintegrated into a glittering explosion.

“Dad!” Wes rose, running to him. “Are you OK?”

Harris lifted his shirt, showing his bulletproof vest. “What happened to her?”

“Not sure, but you didn’t get off a shot.”

They heard a scuffle toward the front of the building. They both took off, only to find the entrance floor littered with dazed police.

“Morgan?” Wes called.

“She took her. She swooped in and flew off with her.”

“Where did she go?” Harris asked.

“I know. I know where she took her,” Wes said.

Harris looked at his son. “Then go get her.”