The Frenzy War (39 page)

Mace studied a map of Newark when Landry entered.

“Tony, can you step into the conference room? Shelly and Norton have something on that print.”

Mace rose and followed Landry into the conference room, where Candice waited with the federal agents. The face of a black man with a shaved head filled the screen.

“Meet Henrique Marcellus,” Norton said. “The owner of the hand you found last night and presumably the corpse that burned in the explosion. Mr. Marcellus was twenty-eight. He was born in Saint-Gaultier, a village in France. When he was seven, his parents died of drug overdoses on the same night—bad heroin. Henrique was made a ward of the church, which placed him in a foster home until he
was old enough for boarding school. After graduating high school, he went largely off the grid: no additional education, no jobs … but a lot of traveling. He spent a great deal of time in Rome, France, and Greece. He arrived here three weeks ago … and hasn't turned up since.”

“His story seems similar to Pedro Fillipe's,” Mace said. “Run a comparison check on them.”

“We already did,” Shelly said. “The priest who placed Marcellus in foster care and boarding school was named Jonas Tudoro. He also placed Fillipe with
his
foster parents and boarding school.”

“What else?”

“Tudoro has an extensive travel history. He's some sort of floating ambassador for the Vatican … assigned to Monsignor Delecarte.”

“Can we find out how many other orphans Tudoro placed with foster families and in boarding schools?”

“We're already working on it,” Candice said.

“And we'll keep digging,” Norton said.

Mace glanced at his watch. It was already almost 4:00 P
M.

Only four more hours until Cheryl's interview,
he thought.

W
illy sat watching the funeral home from the passenger seat of Karol's SUV, which Karol had parked closer than they had been the day before. A thick man in a leather jacket exited the business, and a few minutes later a woman in a purple coat entered. People had visited Gabriel inside one at a time, staying for less than half an hour. Karol identified each person to Willy as a member of the council for the Greater Pack of New York City: Wolves.

“Why is he meeting with them one-on-one? It's taking ‘iall day.”

“I don't know. I'm not a council member, and I'm not Gabriel's confidante.”

No, you're just his spy,
Willy thought.

“I imagine he's reassuring them. Word on the grapevine is that Raphael's got his eyes on the seat at the head of the table.”

“Like the mafia.”

“Only we're not criminals.”

“What about babies?”

“What about them?”

“Could I get you pregnant?”

“It's possible but unlikely—as long as I'm human when we mate.”

Willy grunted. “You'd better always
be
human when we do it. A surprise like that could traumatize me for life. There are laws against that kind of thing too. So, how would the baby come out looking? Normal?”

“If you mean like you, then yes. I was born in human form, like my mother before me and her mother before her. It's my natural state, so any cubs I birth will appear human. That's one of the reasons why we have laws against interspecies procreation: we're an endangered species, so our women are supposed to produce Wolves. As unlikely as it is that you and I could produce, it's even less likely that a child of ours will be able to Change.”

“I'm sorry to disappoint you.”

She slid her hand onto his leg. “You can't help it that you're only human.”

“Yeah, I'm just as God made me. What about you? Do you believe in heaven?”

Karol looked at him. “I'm an atheist. Does that bother you?”

“No, I can deal. Are all of your people going to hell?”

She smiled. “Do all ofyour people believe the same thing?”

“No.”

“The most common religion among my people—I'm

talking about American Wolves—is that there's a spirit world and a grand creator. We don't believe we're created in the creator's image because he
has
no image. Many of us believe that we're descended from gods, we'll be reunited with our ancestors when we pass on, and we'll be treated like gods when we arrive.”

“Wow, talk about a superiority complex.”

“The Indians worshipped us. That sort of thing can go to your head.”

“I could buy you as a goddess.”

“Thank you.”

“Why don't you follow that religion if it's so common?”

“My parents believe it. So does my sister. I guess every family has a dissenting member.”

“What makes you so special?”

“I guess because I think I'm
not
special.”

“Lady, you turned into a werewolf and saved my life from another werewolf. That makes you the most unique person I've ever met.”

Karol looked at the funeral home. “I've been Changing ever since I got my first period. It was a pretty scary time. I'm no different from any other female of my species. If we were gods, we wouldn't have to hide among your people. If the European Wolves were gods, they'd still be alive today. And if a creator exists, why would he allow us to face genocide?”

Willy sighed. “Those are deep thoughts.”

“My people are vanishing. All of us face fertility issues. It's a matter of evolution.”

“And if you have my baby?”

“It will be one more step toward our eventual disappearance.”

“You're dour, you know that? I'm talking about a little baby, the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“I'd love to have your baby. If I do, I'll be happy. But a baby from you would likely continue your species, not mine, if we can produce one at all.”

Willy's cell phone went off. He checked the phone's display, then took the call. “What is it, Ken?”

“Get downtown right away. Synful Reading just blew up.”

“4y,
caramba.
Copy that.” Hanging up, he turned to Karol. “Put on your siren, kid. It looks like another brick-and-mortar bookstore went down for the count.”

Karol's expression slackened. “Synful Reading?”

“Yeah.”

She picked up her magnetized strobe light and rolled down her window, then hesitated. “What's wrong? Let's roll.”

“What if it's a setup? We go to a crime scene where we can't do anything anyway, and the Brotherhood marches in here and takes out Gabriel.”

Willy glanced at the funeral home. “Shit.”

Setting down the strobe, Karol took out her cell phone.

“Now what are you doing?”

“I'm warning Gabriel.”

“The hell you are.”

“It's not violating protocol to tell the man his bookstore just blew up.”

Willy watched her face grow concerned as she waited for Gabriel to answer.

“Come on; come on.”

Then the ground shook, and the windows and glass doors of the funeral home shattered.

“Get down!” Willy threw himself over Karol, shielding her from the blast. He pulled the lever between the seat and the door, and the seat dropped into the reclining position. Unable to see the explosion, Willy heard a deafening roar. The alarm in the SUV went off even before its windows shattered and debris rained down on the vehicle, denting it and shaking it from side to side. Outside, other alarms went off, a cacophony of electronic screams that drowned out the shrieks of men and women. Within seconds, brownish-gray smoke enveloped the SUV.

Warden Strand and two uniformed corrections officers led Cheryl, Colleen, Stan, Ryan, Paul, and Alex down a windowless corridor of the prison. They passed other guards holding rifles and numerous security cameras before Strand punched a code into a keypad and unlocked a door. “After you,” the man said.

Although the warden had waived several security precautions in giving them the VIP treatment, Cheryl still found the experience unsettling. She thought the thick walls and steel bars of Sing Sing were far more oppressive than she had ever imagined.

Maximum security,
she reminded herself.

They entered a wide room with a low ceiling. A single table with two chairs occupied the center of the room, with two more tables pushed against the walls. A Plexiglas window

five feet high stretched from one end of the far wall to the other, offering a view of a room with several unoccupied chairs. A shudder ran down Cheryl's arms as she realized where they stood.

“This is where they kept the electric chair until ‘72,” Strand said. “Six hundred and fourteen people were executed here, including Julius and Ethel Rosenberg. Did you know New York was the first state to use an electric chair?”

“No, I didn't,” Cheryl said.

“We rank third in the nation in terms of the highest number of executions since 1608. I bet you can guess who ranks first.”

“Don't mess with Texas,” Colleen said.

“Fifty years ago, this interview would have been impossible.”

Cheryl looked through the viewing window. “What's Gomez like as an inmate, Warden?”

“This is a maximum security prison, so there's no such thing as a model prisoner. They're all worse than animals. Gomez is no different in that respect. In other ways … well, he's more disturbing. He's a small man, but it's safe to say the other inmates are frightened of him. He keeps to himself and reads a lot, but the others give him a wide berth. He's been involved in many incidents during the time he's been here, usually because someone challenged him. If there's a Wild West mentality here, he's the meanest gun-slinger we have.”

“Will you repeat that on camera?” Colleen said.

“I'd be happy to.”

He probably rehearsed that,
Cheryl thought. Still, Colleen

knew to keep him enthused. “Is there a room I can use to make myself up?”

“There's a small office down the hall. The guards will have to escort you.”

“That's fine.”

The sound of the old RKO radio signal filled the room, and Colleen answered her phone. “What? You've got to be fucking kidding me. Have we got both locations covered? … All right, let me know when we have it on the air. I'll watch it on my phone.” She faced Cheryl. “Two separate explosions in Manhattan: the Synful Reading bookstore and the Domini Funeral Home.”

“Oh, shit.” Cheryl took out her cell phone.

Candice drove her SUV out of the Fifth Precinct parking lot with its strobes flashing and siren wailing. Sitting beside her, Mace called Cheryl, who answered on the first ring.

“Are you all right?” she said. “I was just calling you.”

“I'm fine. I take it you found out.” He had to shout to be heard over the siren.

“Just now. Was anyone hurt?”

“I don't have any details yet. I'm heading to the bookstore now.”

“This is insane. What fucking country do we live in?”

“Take it easy. You've probably already guessed, but there's no way I can make it out there.”

A pause. “That's okay. I didn't want you here anyway.”

“Is Warden Strand with you, by any chance?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Put him on, please.” Mace heard Cheryl say something away from the phone.

A moment later, Warden Strand came on. “Yes, Captain Mace?”

“Warden, I assume you'll be present when my wife interviews Gomez?”

“I'll be watching from the adjacent viewing room, but I'll have two armed guards in here, and Gomez will be secured to his chair.”

“Make it four armed guards.”

“As you wish.”

“I know Gomez better than anyone.”
Maybe better than he knows himself.
“He's a sick fuck, and he's full of surprises. I want you to tell your men that if he makes one wrong move, they're to shoot him in the head.”