Beyond The Pale Part 16

"Then not a problem. People!" she yelled. "Don't step on the corpse when you go in."

"Right on," they yelled back.

"Dear, I think you need to let us in. We can't stay in the hall," she said softly, as if I were five years old.

I widened the door and grabbed my clothes from her hands. "Come on in. Don't touch anything!" I yelled to the troops. "Just wait by the door. I have to talk to your fearless leader."

"You silly," Mar-Mar said. "We aren't a hierarchy. We vote on everything."

"Whatever! Ma, I need to talk with you. Alone," I whispered.

Mar-Mar and her gang of six came into the loft. They stayed bunched together and glanced around the huge s.p.a.ce. "Nice place, dude," one gray-haired pothead with a ponytail said. "Love the industrial look."

"It's not mine." I glared at him. I thought he looked vaguely familiar. I must have met him at one of Mar-Mar's "dos." He was eminently forgettable. I pulled my mother off to the side.

"Look, Ma, I can't explain everything right now, but the short version is this. This guy was into witchcraft. He has some really bad stuff, masks and statues, in crates stashed in here. They need to be buried or burned ASAP. Don't keep them. Don't stay around them too long. Don't dump them anywhere. No one should get their hands on them ever again."

Mar-Mar again was diplomatic and unquestioning. "I know what to do, dear. Don't worry about it for a minute. I'll figure something out. With witchcraft items, burning is preferable, but an open fire without a permit presents difficulties." She paused for a moment, thinking. "Hmm, I have a funeral director friend with access to a crematorium. Well, just don't worry. I understand. We have a truck, and these nice strong boys can take the crates on downstairs. Do you want us to take the body too?"

"No! I'll call nine-one-one tomorrow morning. He died a natural death. I'm just worried about his art collection. And Mar-Mar, I need you to hang onto these. It's very important." I handed her the brown envelope containing the diamond mine papers and the suitcase containing the diamonds.

She put the envelope into her backpack and took the valise with one hand while she handed me her paper bag with the other. "I don't think you'll need these now," she said.

I peeked in. The grocery bag contained the clothes she had picked out for me: an L.L. Bean insulated royal blue turtleneck, a Pendleton wool s.h.i.+rt of red and black plaid, a black velvet peasant skirt, and a pair of old snow boots that I had left at her house a decade ago. I fervently hoped I wouldn't ever need to wear them. Thank G.o.d n.o.body had taken the clothes I left downstairs. "Thanks, yeah, but I've got my own clothes to put back on." I handed the bag back to her.

"Where are the crates?" she said.

I pointed toward the back of the loft. "Just walk between those lathes and the drill press, and you can't miss them," I told her.

Mar-Mar nodded, pulled her shoulders back, and turned to her helpers. She reminded me of that old Sally Field movie, when Norma Rae gets up on a table in the factory to address the striking workers. "Okay, people, listen up!" Mar-Mar bellowed. "We've got a bunch of crates to get into the truck. They contain really bad mojo, so whoever brought the sage smudge pots, be prepared to get them out. Set them up in the back of the truck while we're loading. And people, we're working under security level Red Alert. When you take the crates down to the truck, leave one person to guard everything. I mean it; this is evil s.h.i.+t. Let's get this done as fast as possible. The briefer our contact with these things, the better. We'll plan a sweat lodge cleansing ceremony for tomorrow. Before we start, does anyone feel they shouldn't touch them at all?"

A skinny guy in a Dracula cape, his eyebrows and lower lip pierced, raised his hand. "I'm dealing with hep C."

"Right, Norman. You do the guard duty and try to stay at least ten feet from the crates. Everybody else okay?"

They all nodded, and except for Norman, who vanished out the front door, the remaining five followed Mar-Mar to the back of the loft. Mr. Ponytail pa.s.sed me and said, "Bodacious toga. Are you a disciple of Isis?"

"No, it's a Kabbalah thing." I said.

"Cool," he said, and followed Mar-Mar into the gloom. He waved at me as he went, and I noticed part of his index finger was missing. Very briefly I tried to remember someone else I'd seen with the same deformity recently, but it didn't seem very important. Of greater urgency was getting back into my own clothes, so I hurried into the bathroom to change.

I shouldn't have even bothered. I had just reemerged from the bathroom, happily in my jeans again and having applied some fresh lipstick and mascara, when my cell phone rang. The guys had already gotten one load of crates out in the hall, and they were going down the stairs making enough noise to wake the dead, although Bockerie still lay there like a stone. I turned my back to the door and answered the call.

"h.e.l.lo?" I said, my heart starting to speed up. I knew it had to be J.

"Hermes?" he said quickly. "Ringmaster here. It's a go. Move it."

"Right," I said, uncertainty plain in my voice.

There was silence on the other end of the line. I could picture J trying not to lose his temper. When he spoke again, his voice was tight and controlled. "Hermes? Is there a problem?"

I hemmed and hawed for a second before blurting out the truth: "Um, well, I'm not exactly sure how to get to New Jersey from here."

There was something like an exasperated sigh. "Where are you?"

"Ah, Brooklyn," I confessed.

Another heavy sigh came through the phone. "I won't ask why. Look, fly toward the lower tip of Manhattan. You'll see a narrow strip of water between Manhattan and Staten Island; that's the Kill van Kull. Follow it west until it opens into Newark Bay. You'll be going northwest at that point. Call me on the cell and I'll guide you in. Will you remember all that?" He sounded majorly annoyed.

"Yeah, sure," I said.

"And Hermes, move it!" he barked, and hung up.

s.h.i.+t, I thought, I'd better not screw this up I'd better not screw this up. I had to find the container facility in a hurry, because I didn't have a lot of confidence that my old pal Cormac would get there on time. Maybe I was selling the guy short, but he had been late for everything as long as I've known him-and that's been for more than two hundred years. I wouldn't be surprised if he got lost somewhere over New Jersey. This was a job for Superman, all right. Or should I say Superwoman.

I turned around. My mother was standing there staring at me. I wondered if she could hear what I had been saving to J. "Ma," I said. "I've got a little emergency here. I've got to transform. Can you keep your guys in the hall for a couple of minutes?"

She looked serious as cancer when I told her that, but she didn't ask me one single thing. Mar-Mar's always been there when I needed her, and this wasn't the first time. "Sure, sweetheart," she said. "You go ahead. I'll peek through the door before I let them in to finish." With that, she went out into the hall and closed the door behind her.

I stripped down again and left my clothes neatly folded on the chair. I hoped Mar-Mar picked them up, or I might as well say good-bye to them for good this time. d.a.m.n, I really loved that motorcycle jacket. Then with a whoosh and a flash of light, I changed into the vampire I am. I slung my purse over my head and made sure I had my cell phone. With that, I hopped up onto the windowsill and leaped out into the sky.

Chapter 15.

Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.

-John Keats

A sou'easter was blowing in from the Atlantic, making flying difficult and churning up the water beneath me into angry whitecaps and choppy waves. A cold, heavy rainfall slowed my progress. The wind pushed me back and forth. This was not a night for flying, even for a vampire with superhuman powers. My fur kept me dry, but the leather of my purse was ruined. I should have taken a cab.

I was swooping well out over Newark Bay when I managed to get my cell phone out and call J. Rain was streaming into my eyes. I give him credit; he did manage to "talk me in" to Port Newark. The facility was huge and lit up with sodium vapor lamps, giving the whole place a glow like a low-burning fire. I landed inside the facility by the service road leading from Kellogg Street. There were security cameras everywhere. I a.s.sumed someone was watching me come in.

As I touched down, I could see I was the only vampire there. The original plan was for all three of the Team Darkwing vampires to rendezvous at this entrance to the port after getting the "go" signal from J. I hoped Cormac would be flying in any minute because I knew Benny wasn't going to make it. J said his men were set up throughout the facility with the main contingent near the exit portal. He gave an ETA for the car full of terrorists of about ten minutes. The rain was coming down in sheets. I lurked in the shadows and tried not to listen to my gut, which was telling me that this was a snafu waiting to happen. Somewhere out there in the rows of thousands of containers was a weapon of horrifying power. If dread was a living thing, it was worming its way up into my throat.

My attention was riveted on the service road. It was raining hard, and the drops striking the pavement made a drumming sound, drowning out anything that could have alerted me to movement around me. I never heard a thing when something big and hard hit me from behind and knocked me over. Before I could scramble back up on my feet, a huge tarp was thrown over me, and I was wrapped up in it so tightly I couldn't move. Then I felt something rigid and metallic being tied around the outside of the tarp. No matter how hard I struggled, I couldn't break free. Whoever thought this operation was airtight and under control was dead wrong. The terrorists coming down from Englewood Cliffs must have had people waiting to meet them-and they sure as h.e.l.l had met me.

Trussed up like a turkey, I felt myself being lifted up by two or three men. They were speaking in Arabic and they sounded scared as s.h.i.+t. They were asking each other what to do with me. They decided to dump me in the water. That was an alternative that held no appeal to me at all, but I was being carried along at a jog. I intensified my efforts to wriggle out of the tarp and was almost free when I felt myself falling a long, long way. I landed with a splash in the cold, oil-drenched waters of Newark Bay.

I sank like a stone. The water was so frigid it took my breath away. I felt as if I had fallen into liquid ice. I went downward, descending into a nightmare. I hit bottom. The tarp was loose enough that I didn't have to break the rigid wrapping, which turned out to be a chain. I was able to wriggle free. The effort left me needing oxygen, and my body was screaming for it. I fought my instincts to take a deep breath. I had to use tremendous willpower to keep from inhaling. I won't go into all the particulars of immortality, but while I can regenerate from injury pretty quickly, I would be out of commission while doing so. Two lungs filled with dirty seawater would knock me out of the ballgame for tonight and possibly for a great many nights.

Kicking free of the last of the tarp, I tumbled along the bottom with the current. Swim up Swim up, I told myself, and surged toward the surface. When I finally broke through into the night, the rain was coming down so hard I could barely breathe even above the water. As I pushed my head up as far as possible, I gulped down air, then flopped about trying to get my bearings. Waves. .h.i.t me in the face as I was swept laterally along the sh.o.r.eline. I realized that I couldn't take off from the water, and my only hope was to get back up on a dock somehow.

But the currents in Newark Bay were strong and treacherous, and they were carrying me away from the spot where I had been thrown in at a pretty good clip. Oil and debris from the dozens of container s.h.i.+ps anch.o.r.ed here made the water smelly and viscous, and it was making me gag and cough. Above me the docks were lit up by the pinkish orange of the sodium vapor lamps. They were high, a good fifteen feet above the surface, and should have had emergency ladders somewhere. After all, if there's a dock, people sooner or later are going to fall off. I concentrated on finding one of them.

I had survived for five hundred years on intelligence and luck, and I hoped my luck didn't run out tonight. Pre-cious minutes were ticking away as I swam diagonally toward sh.o.r.e, going in with the waves and getting tugged out again by the tide. Finally a spit of land and a long dock loomed up before me. As the current swept me under the wharf, I was battered against cement pilings until I was finally able to cling to one. It was slippery with slime, and barnacles made it sharp and treacherous beneath the surface. I couldn't hold on long without cutting myself to ribbons, and to make things worse, the cold was making my hands numb.

Soon hypothermia was inching through me, making me feel light-headed and slow-thinking. I couldn't feel my hands or feet. I started to wonder in a dreamy way if this was what death felt like when I got knocked against another cement piling. The sharp pain and the surge of adrenaline that shot through me brought me back from my drift into oblivion. Swiveling my head around I could see the outlines of a ladder extending down from the dock above. It was about twenty feet away. I struck out for it with all my might, giving powerful kicks with my feet and using my wings like great oars. I hit another piling and caromed off. If I wasn't careful I'd be swept completely through the underside of the dock and out into the bay. This was my last chance at getting back to the container facility in time to stop the terrorists.

I swam forward with every ounce of strength I possessed. I reached out with one hand and managed to grab a rung as the waves pulled me past. I felt the force yank my shoulder, but I tightened my claws around the metal and held on. I pulled myself closer to the ladder and finally got my other hand around the rungs. I began to drag myself upward.

My fur was sodden and my wings heavy. I couldn't feel my feet at all. The metal rungs were slippery and I was cold to the bone. I took heaving breaths. I had no choice but to push myself to get to the top, which loomed about fifteen feet above me. I didn't dare let go. One slip back into the water and I could drift until dawn. I might not die, but I wouldn't be conscious of life either. This was it; I couldn't fail.

I could only imagine what it might have looked like, this huge bat shape, dripping with salt water, slowly pulling itself up the vertical metal ladder one step at a time-a true monster from the deep. My progress upward felt as if it took hours, but probably wasn't more than a few minutes. I was nearly to the top, two rungs away from the deck, when my nearly frozen foot slipped on the smooth, wet metal. I fell downward with my feet swinging into air, but I held on to the ladder with one hand. The yank on my arm socket sent shocks of pain through my body. I screamed. I was dangling by one hand, trying to get my feet back into the rungs, bouncing against the ladder and unable to get a grip with my other hand. By that time I was chattering loudly, making whistling bat noises, which happens when I get stressed.

I was clenching my teeth and hanging on with every bit of strength I had when a hand reached down and grabbed the fur at the back of my neck. Then another hand grasped under my armpit. The lift gave me enough of an a.s.sist to get my foot back on the rung. Pulled from above, I was able to give a mighty heave and throw myself full length on the top of the dock, knocking my rescuer aside as I did. I lay there gasping, barely able to turn my head to see the good Samaritan who had landed a few feet away. A human in military garb was already scrambling to get up, and as I lifted my head to say thanks, my rescuer turned around and looked at me.

It was my mother.

I thought I was delirious. I must be hallucinating. Had she followed me? Why was she here? How did she get here? It didn't make any sense at all. I started to raise up on my knees when I saw moving spotlights begin crisscrossing the dock, and men's voices were yelling, "Where are you? Did you get her?"

Mar-Mar answered, "Over here!" She clicked on a flashlight, sweeping it up and down as a signal.

Before I knew it, J stood above me, running the light from a large torch back and forth over my body.

"Hey, get that thing out of my eyes," I yelled, and put my arm over my face.

"Are you okay?" my mother whispered close to my ear.

"I'm fine, but what-"

"We'll talk about this later," she whispered, then stood up.

"Can you take it from here, Captain?" she said crisply to J.

"Yes, m'am," he answered, and stood ramrod straight. Then he saluted her. I thought I was dreaming-or having a nightmare. It all washed over me in a moment of sickening realization. I had been manipulated. I had been duped. My mother had engineered everything-my recruitment, the Darkwing squad, the vampire-spy approach to saving the world. I should have known. How long she'd been working in U.S. intelligence, I didn't know, but I did know she was always playing with the big boys. My mind spun in a dizzying whirl of thoughts, and I felt the beginnings of the mother of all headaches.

"Carry on," she said to J, then brushed herself off and ran off into the night with several of the men.

J turned to me. "Are you hurt? Are you able to stand?"

"I'm fine," I said as I got to my feet. I shook myself off like a dog does, sending a spray of water in all directions. Warmth began to flow back into my veins. My breathing returned to normal. Within seconds I was feeling s.h.i.+pshape, so to speak. "What's going on?" I asked J.

"The terrorists are in the facility. Our men have a tracking device on a car that came down from Englewood Cliffs and are sticking with it, but there are at least two other groups of four or five men each rendezvousing with them. One cadre attacked you, and all of them are somewhere in the port. We think they are heading for the container. You need to get airborne to see if you can spot them. Here's a walkie-talkie to replace your cell phone. I think it is probably out of commission after being submerged."

"Right," I said, and took the device. "What about the other Darkwing members?"

"Cormac got blown off course, but he's here," J said, pointing upward. "He's flying around looking for the mavericks we didn't expect. I don't know where Benny is. She hasn't called in. She may just show up."

"I hope with all my heart she does," I said sadly, knowing it just couldn't be.

J began to sound rushed. "Right. I'm rejoining my squad that's tracking the car. You get airborne."

"What do you want to do if I spot anyone?" I asked quickly.

J was already jogging toward a jeep when he said, "Radio the information to me. Knock 'em down and hold them. Make sure no one has a detonator."

"Is that it?" I said sarcastically.

"You can handle it, Miss Urban," J said, and smiled at me.

"Roger," I said as I leaped skyward with a great bound, swooping gracefully higher on bat wings until I was a huge, dark silhouette against the orange of the sodium lamps. There was something like awe on J's face when I looked back.

Once airborne I quickly spotted Cormac and flew over to him. He gave me a mock salute and shouted above the wind and rain, "Hey, Daphy, want to buddy up?"

"Good idea," I said. "Are you doing a methodical search?" I asked, figuring Cormac was just swooping around w.i.l.l.y-nilly, leaving everything to chance or serendipity, as he usually did.

"Never thought of it."

"Let's do a grid. Ten rows, ten containers each row per swoop; use echolocation," I screamed at him, my cry sounding like a whistle in the wind.

"Righto," he squeaked back.

We began swooping one grid at a time as I felt the urgency of the situation squeezing my brain. Working quickly and efficiently, we sent out inaudible signals that bounced back better than any radar man has ever created. One group was pinpointed within thirty seconds. As we descended I saw them fighting with a soldier who was getting the c.r.a.p beat out of him, but holding his own. One of the terrorists was down on the ground, moaning. Four others were closing in on the lone fighter.

We landed, and our winged bodies cast long shadows across the men. The terrorists looked up and screamed. Distracted by our appearance, they forgot their opponent, who moved in from behind and slit the throat of one terrorist. Blood poured down the man's s.h.i.+rt. When he slid to the ground, the blood poured onto the macadam, mingling with the rain.

The soldier was dressed in camouflage fatigues, a black ski mask covering his face, a commando knife in his hand, and a semiautomatic rifle slung over his shoulder. He grabbed another terrorist by the hair and screamed at him, asking him what container held the weapon. Pus.h.i.+ng the man's face toward the dead man, the soldier was screaming, "Give me the number! Give me the f.u.c.king number, you miserable b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Now. or you die!"

The terrorist looked at him with stark terror, but he didn't utter a sound. He merely shook his head no. He, like his brethren, was ready and willing to die for his cause.

True to his word, the soldier coolly slit the terrorist's throat and threw the body to the ground. Then he looked directly up at me. He pulled off his ski mask. It was Darius.

Mixed feelings washed through me-love, hate, sadness, anger. The look he gave me was easier to read. It was Berserker rage. Darius was the archetype of a warrior on the battlefield, who throughout the ages has always been consumed with a determination to beat the enemy or go down fighting.

I could have gotten my revenge right then, knocked him down and slit his throat with my claws, no knife needed. I wanted to pay him back for Benny's death. But I didn't want him dead by my hand. I was still looking at him when he arrogantly turned his back on me. He was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He was bleeding from his shoulder, but he stuck his commando knife in his belt and put his ski mask back on. Then he ran off down a row of containers and disappeared into the night.

Cormac and I grabbed the last two men standing. They trembled in our claws, falling to their knees and crying to Allah for salvation. I radioed to J, and within seconds black-clad figures slipped into sight and retrieved them. I knew they would try to get them to talk, but I didn't hold out much hope.

Cormac and I got airborne again and resumed our grid-by-grid search. Seconds ticked past. We had miles of containers to go. Even working fast it would take hours to cover the entire facility. We needed luck, and we needed it now.

We didn't get it. Instead the sound of automatic rifle fire began a terrific racket nearby, and a ball of fire blazed against the night sky, followed by a great bang. The explosion wasn't the mushroom cloud of a nuclear weapon, but something else. We two vampires zoomed over to the site. A car was engulfed in flames.

I landed next to J. We stood there in the pouring rain, our faces lit by the fire. J was drenched to the skin. His face was as rigid as iron, his brows knit with anxiety, his tension like a wire pulled taut. He looked at me with his agate blue eyes. He was a man running out of time. I could see right into his thoughts as if I were peering into clear water.