Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (208 page)

He looked over to the porpoise, projected his need for help as best he could.

She swam over and presented her dorsal fin. Nick grabbed it with both hands.

// THANK YOU //

When they finally broke through the surface, the porpoise sent a heavy mist through its blowhole and swam toward shore.

Nick held on like a man on a self-propelled boogie-board.

“I suppose I’m going to have to learn how to swim, one of these days,” he called out.

The porpoise clicked and chattered.

Five minutes later Nick stood on the sandy shore bidding farewell to his aquatic friend. Despite the pains he’d taken, the lingering aches and nausea, the teeth-chattering chill that ran like ice through his drenched body, he felt grateful. And amazed at his good fortune in surviving the plunge
and
retrieving Hope’s pendant.

He couldn’t wait to see her face when he returned it to her. He fished the smartphone out of his pocket, unaffected by the water because it was phasing out of the physical realm.

An artifact of his final days as an angel.

Just before it vanished he made a note of the time: 6:17 PM.

Less than an hour until the Cabrillo Stadium event.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

THE AUDITORS COULD BE ANYWHERE. Disguised as humans, invisible to all but those to whom they chose to appear. There was no way Lena could tell where in the stadium they were, but Morloch never failed to deploy them.

The last rays of sunlight painted the sky red. She had once found such conflagrations beautiful, but now the scarlet streaks in the sky were bleeding out a languid death into the tomb of nightfall.

Having discreetly dispatched one of Hartwell’s staff members and taken on her appearance, she stood at the west side of the stadium shading her eyes from the blazing white stadium lights. In just half an hour, some fifteen thousand people would pour into the arena like cattle into the slaughterhouse.

Serena, Dan, Gunther, and Johann joined her. With their black business suits, sunglasses, and expressionless faces, they looked like secret service agents. But they were nothing so trivial. They were Nephilim, strong and proud, and like Lena, ready to change the course of history.

“The packages are in place,” Serena said, her tone as colorless as her features. “Timer’s set. Yuri’s been dealt with. Sniper’s ready.”

“Isn’t this overkill?” Johann said. “Taking out your targets with a sniper rifle, only to have them fried when the nukes go off?”

“Just do your jobs, all right?” Lena gave them a reassuring smile. “Contingency plans are our friend.” A pair of 2.5 kiloton suitcase bombs would more than suffice, but it was all about the spectacle. The bullets were to ensure that Hope Matheson was terminated while people could see it happen, the bombs to impress not only Morloch but his entire command chain. “Any questions?”

None.

“Keep on the lookout for Nikolai. He’s fallen, but we can’t be certain how much of his supernatural powers he still retains.”

Lena watched with pride as they dispersed to their positions. Although none of them possessed the superior intellect for leadership, they were some of the strongest Nephilim she’d found over the years and the most effective at enforcing her will—muscle to her brains. And like her, they could withstand the blast of a nuclear warhead or better yet, slip out of the physical layer into the spiritual.

Lena headed for the secure entrance onto the field. At the gate, a security guard with a walkie-talkie in hand stopped her.

“Ms. Wright?” he said. “I’ve got a group here—DCM Security, they with you?”

“They’re late, go ahead and let them into VIP lounge six,” Lena said in the voice of the dead staff member whose likeness she’d pilfered. “I’ll meet them there.”

Five minutes later, she was unlocking the door of the lounge with Ms. Wright’s magnetized badge and letting in four deeply tanned men in black suits with black ties and dark sunglasses.

“We don’t have much time.” Lena pointed to each of them in turn. “You’re Number One, Number Two...Three...Four.” She then pointed to the cabinet and told Number Three to distribute the in-ear transmitter/receivers. “Which one of you is the sharpshooter?”

Number Four raised his hand.

“Over there.” She nodded toward the closet. Number Four went over and took out a black bag whose contents he dumped onto the coffee table. Four Glock .38s. “Grab one each,” Lena said, then led the sniper over to the window.

On the ground beneath it lay a footlocker. She unlocked it and motioned for him to pick up the Remington 700 bolt-action rifle, a case of rounds, and a pair of binoculars. Then she slid the window open over the vacant section of the stadium all the way to the stage.

“This entire part of the stadium has been cordoned off, for security measures. You’ll keep the lights off and take your shot from here—the duck blind, so to speak. Your target Hope Matheson will be in the front row. She’ll be speaking right after Hartwell. Make sure she doesn’t get far into her speech. Afterwards, you’ll wait here and we’ll facilitate your getaway. Any questions?”

The sniper shook his head.

“The rest of you have seen the photos of the other targets. If any of them try to escape, they’re your priority. Communicate and cover the different sections of the stadium. No one gets out. Number One, are the parking lot exits covered?”

He slid the gun behind his back and faced her.

“All according to Miguel’s orders. We got twenty-five armed and standing by on their cell phones ready to jump. A lot of trouble just to keep people trapped inside the stadium to watch an assassination.”

Lena glided over to the door, then stopped.

“This needs to be a high visibility kill, for a big audience. It all has to be done by seven-thirty, not a second later, understand? The bigger the spectacle the better.”
As far as Morloch is concerned
. As for Lena, she cared more about the resources promised for accomplishing this mission than the faith of millions that would be shattered as a result.

“What are you?” the sniper said, “some kind of terrorist?”

“Terrorist?” What were terrorists, in the grand scheme of things? Simply means to an end. What Lena and the Nephilim under her command were about to do could not even be mentioned in the same breath. “You think too small.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

EVENING HAD FALLEN AND ALONG WITH IT the temperature. Beneath the floodlights illuminating entrances into the packed stadium, a few stragglers walked toward the gates.

Nick climbed out of the taxi, his clothes still wet, his shoes sloshing with each irritating step. Teleporting had been intermittent, only taking him a few blocks at a time. Flying made him nauseous. Hence the cab.

Now he was late. Hope might have tried calling or texting, but the smartphone from Lena had given up the ghost.
As will my powers,
he thought, but then pushed it from his mind. Still groggy from his plunge into the bay, Nick hurried to the nearest entrance.

Along the way, he noticed a few men eyeing him. One of them spoke into a cell phone while never taking his eyes off him. As an angel, Nick wouldn’t have given them a second thought. But now, becoming ever more human by the moment, he felt vulnerable.

He quickened his pace to a light jog all the way to the will-call ticket window. No one was there.

“Hello?”

No answer.

Over the speakers he heard the band finishing a number. The crowd cheered. Someone made an announcement. More cheers. In just a few minutes, Hope would step onto the stage to address the thousands filling the stadium and the millions watching on television.

“Anyone there?” Nick started to imagine himself at Hope’s side, wherever she might be. But no—better not try teleporting. It was starting to feel like a thing of the past, the way amputees experienced phantom sensations in their missing limbs. Probably for the best. It would be awkward if he were to appear by her side out of thin air on live television.

He banged his fist against the window.

“I need some help here!” Another round of applause went up through the speakers.

A pair of men smoking cigarettes approached. Not far from Nick yet not too close, they looked as though they were just loitering around the ticket booths.

Or were they?

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

MARIA SAT IN SECTION 23 SEAT B, waiting for Lito. The plan was to feign a migraine after he sat with her a while, then ask him to bring the Ibuprofen from her car. Joey Hernandez would see to it that he never came back. That was what she wanted, right?

But on the phone that afternoon, Lito had sounded so different. None of that put-on machismo, but instead, the gentleness he’d shown when they were kids—she the shy sister, he the protective brother. Memories of those happier days stuck to her mind like tiny barbs, no matter how many times she reminded herself that he and the entire Guzman family were dangerous strangers who’d lied to her, all her life. Nevertheless, the more she thought about her brother getting killed, the worse she felt.

No matter what happened when she was just a baby, Lito had always been her big brother.

A good one, most of the time.

“This seat taken?”

Without thinking, she stood and threw her arms around him.

“Lito!”

“It’s so good to see you, Maria.”

She held him close and didn’t want to let go.

“We’re making a scene,” he said, smiling wide. “Let’s sit down.”

She nodded and sank into her seat, Lito to her left.

“Maria, before you say anything, I want to tell you something.”

He reached over and held her hand like he used to when they were little and the wicked witch showed her ugly green face in The Wizard of Oz.

“Alfonso did make some threats against me, but the bottom line? He was using you and was eventually going to hurt you, even kill you.”

The sincerity in his eyes was absolute. She believed him.

“Then why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“You were both so secretive—I only found out that day.” He gave her a poignant look. “And if I
had
talked to you, would you have listened? By the time I found out, there was no choice. He had to be stopped right there and then.”

He was probably right. Part of the reason she never told him about dating Alfonso was because she knew what he would say. But she could see it herself every time they went out, the way Alfonso’s eyes wandered to any girl that passed by. He hadn’t loved her. If she were to be completely honest with herself—which she was right now—she’d have to admit that she hadn’t really loved Alfonso either. She was more in love with the idea of being in love, the idea of showing Lito he wasn’t the boss of her.

“I have something else to tell you, Maria.”

“What is it?”

He’d never had the slightest difficulty speaking his mind, but now he seemed worried.

The audience broke into applause as the band finished another song. Lito took his time to answer, Maria’s anxiety increasing by the second.

“Something much deeper, much worse,” he said finally. “I need to tell you now because after tonight I might not get another chance.”