Authors: Nic Widhalm
“Yeah,” Russ said, then heard a soft, sleepy voice on the other side of the room ask, “Baby? Everything okay?”
Russ saw his wife’s feathery blond hair shift on the pillow, and covered the phone. “Yeah, sweetie, just work stuff. Go back to sleep.”
“’K, be safe,” she mumbled, then a moment later Russ heard her breathing slip back into a heavy, muffled rhythm.
He uncovered the phone. “Sorry.”
Jackie was silent on the other line. “It’s alright,” she finally said. “I haven’t heard Paula’s voice in a long time. How’s she been?”
Russ shrugged uncomfortably, forgetting that Jackie wasn’t there to see. “Okay, I guess. It’s been a little weird the past six months, but we’re figuring it out. She moved back in, so that’s something.”
Jackie was silent again, then, “I guess we should talk about that at some point. I probably should have brought it up sooner, it’s just…”
“It’s okay. I know what you mean.” And Russ did. He understood that in her own, straight-shooting, bull-shitting way, Jackie was sorry. Russ knew she wished she could take it back, the night she spent with him. And realizing that she couldn’t, chose instead to pretend it never happened. Russ understood, and knew that if he ever brought that night up he would lose a partner. So he stayed silent, hoping one day Jackie would broach the subject herself.
He only wished she hadn’t chosen this moment.
“Look, Jack, you said you needed help. What can I do?”
Jackie told him, and Russ’ eyebrows rose higher and higher as he listened first in confusion, then concern. But he owed her, so he kissed his wife on the forehead, checked to make sure the kids were still asleep, then slipped out the door to meet the woman who had almost cost him his marriage.
Valdis shivered in the early morning chill, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso, hands rubbing frantically at his shoulders. The priest was used to early mornings, but had never enjoyed the cold. It had been years since he last experienced the deep chill of a dawning, winter morning. Now, circumstances being what they were, he wished he had brought a larger coat.
Valdis wished for a lot of things.
Standing alone under a single, fluttering streetlight, the yellowed grass of a forgotten city park at his feet, the priest wished he had chosen another area of study. He wished he had ignored the cries that brought him to Hunter that fateful night. Most of all, Valdis wished he had never seen what his father had opened in his study, those many, many years ago. The act that had lit a fire in the boy, leading him through the town library, the university archives, and finally, his hunger still unquenched, to the priesthood.
Too late for that now, old man
, he told himself, shivering violently. Valdis stamped his feet, his hands rubbing frantically at his arms. He looked around, straining in the early morning light to find the slim, balding man that Jackie had described.
You know it isn’t true
. Valdis shook his head, trying to ignore the voice.
You wouldn’t change a thing.
Valdis frowned.
Maybe
, he told the voice,
but if I had it to do over again, I would never have quit jogging.
He looked down at his sagging gut and winced. He’d almost died fleeing the Apkallu battle earlier that night, and not just because of the angels. He had almost died because his heart had threatened to explode half a dozen times in their flight from the outskirts of Denver to the heart of the city. It hadn’t, luckily—the priest’s current, freezing circumstances proved that—but it made him realize he wasn’t a young man anymore. He needed to join a gym.
“I’m guessing you’re the priest,” a voice said. Valdis jumped, turning to see a thin, balding man of medium size and height standing on the other side of the street lamp. The man watched, his eyes crinkling in amusement as Valdis tried to cover his shock. The priest stepped back, then forward, then back again, his eyes examining everything but the balding man.
“Sorry,” the thin man said with a slight grin. “This time of day is a bitch. Easy to get disoriented.” His voice was gentle, which made Valdis even further embarrassed.
“Detective Hasfeld?” Valdis asked.
The thin man nodded, still grinning.
“Detective Riese said to tell you she’s extremely grateful for your help, and that you’re a true friend and confidant.”
“Yeah,” Hasfeld laughed. “’Confidant.’ If I know Riese it was something like ‘If he shows just grab the stuff and get rid of him.’”
Valdis squirmed, trying to keep his face blank. In fact, Detective Riese had said something very similar: “Russ is probably going to make a scene, so tell him I’m fine, get the supplies and lose him before he decides to play white knight.”
“She said nothing of the sort,” Valdis said, pleased with the steadiness of his voice.
“Sure,” Hasfeld rolled his eyes. “Look, you seem like a nice guy, Father, trying to hide how much I annoy you and all, but I don’t give two shits about what Jack said. Either I talk to her
right now,
or I leave and take
this
,” Russ raised a large backpack, “the hell out of here. First thing I’ll do is organize a full city sweep; coordinate with the other districts, get the feds involved, shit—if I need to I’ll go to the fucking Pope. I’ll find her, and you, and whatever kind of trouble you guys have stirred up. Or Jack can grow a pair and talk to me face-to-face. I’d prefer the latter, as it’s a hell of a lot less paperwork, but it’s your call.”
“Detective,” Valdis said, drawing himself up. “I assure you, I am authorized by Detective Riese to—”
“Forget it, Father,” Jackie’s voice cut through the night as she stepped out of a copse of trees a few feet away, and joined the priest in the flickering light of the street-lamp. “I know Russ, and when he gets like this you have a better chance of the Israelis and Palestinians sitting down for a nice ham dinner than getting him to change his mind.”
“Riese,” Russ said in way of greeting.
Jackie sighed, shaking her head. “Dammit, Russ. I was trying to keep you out of this. Or, at least far enough away to give you plausible deniability.”
“I’m a big boy.”
“Sure you are. And that’s why I’m not losing any sleep asking you to do something that could land you more than just a ‘suspension.’”
Russ sagged a little, dropping the grin, but he didn’t leave. He tossed the backpack at Jackie’s feet. “Passports for three, 20,000 in shekels, a King James Bible with Apocrypha, a Book of Mormon, a Qur’an, The Zend Avesta, a set of Waite Tarot Cards and some Dramamine.”
Jackie stepped further into the light and retrieved the bag. Unzipping, she looked inside, rummaged for a few seconds, then closed the zipper and gave Russ a tight smile. “Thank you.”
Russ shrugged. “On the list of difficult, stupid shit you’ve made me do, this was easy.”
“Still,” Jackie said, placing a hand on Hasfeld’s shoulder. “It means a lot.”
Valdis cleared his throat and Jackie turned, glowering at him. “Sorry,” the priest said, happy the early morning light didn’t reveal his red cheeks. “But it’s getting late. Er…early, I mean. Perhaps we should be going?”
Jackie sighed, her shoulders slumping, and nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks again, Russ, I owe you a beer.” She turned to leave, but was stopped by Russ’ hand. He yanked her around to face him.
“Slow down a minute.”
Valdis took an involuntary step forward, thinking to help the detective, but stopped himself before he could reach the thin man. What was he going to do, attack a police officer? Even if he was dumb enough to try, he wouldn’t have any success—Detective Hasfeld might be slight, but he carried himself with the same confident, deadly grace that Valdis saw in Jackie. If it came to a fight there was no doubt who would be victorious. So Valdis watched, trying hard not to wring his hands.
“Let go,” Jackie said quietly, her eyes fixed on Hasfeld.
The thin man shook his head, shoulders set. “No, Jack. Not till you show me where he is.”
“I don’t know what the fu—”
“Cut the crap. I’m not an idiot, so don’t piss on my foot and tell me it’s raining. You march into the precinct a month ago, storm into the captain’s office, spin some ridiculous conspiracy shit about Friskin, then leave in a huff. Next thing I know you’re suspended, and you don’t have a thing to say about it. Nothing.”
“I had other things on my mind,” Jackie said, twisting against Hasfeld’s hand.
“What does this guy have on you, Jack?” Russ leaned forward, trying to catch her eye. “What does he have that you’re willing to throw away your job, your
career
, just to catch him? You call me to some shit-hole park to deliver a bunch of holy mumbo-jumbo, a bucket of cash—which you better pay me back for—and fake passports? Don’t tell me this doesn’t have something to do with Friskin.”
Hasfeld paused, dropping his arm and shrugging again. “If you don’t want to tell me, whatever, that’s your choice. But Friskin’s
here
, and I’m betting he’s got your ass tied up in something you can’t get out of. You’re my
partner,
” Hasfeld’s voice broke on the word, and his eyes softened.
“Don’t ask me,” Jackie pleaded, her voice a whisper. “Just let me go, Russ.”
“I’m not going anywhere till I see him.”
Jackie looked at Valdis, her eyes wide and desperate. The priest thought again about what would happen if he tried to stop the cop, then spread his hands in resignation. Jackie turned back to Russ, her face tightening. Valdis had spent the last five weeks with the detective plotting to free Hunter, had studied her closely when they met Bath and proposed their plan—and watching her now, Jackie’s face told Valdis one thing: the detective was going to make a run for it. And the priest knew if they ran, Russ would pursue, and he wouldn’t stop until he caught them. And when he did, he wouldn’t give Jackie a chance to talk him out of it; he would lock them up and let the courts work it out.
“No—” Valdis started to say, stepping forward to block Jackie, but before he could complete his sentence Hunter was suddenly standing beside him.
Valdis stepped back from the large man in shock.
How is he doing that? The speed…
“You must be Russ,” Hunter said, extending his hand. He smiled in an awkward attempt at civility, but it fell flat. Valdis grimaced. Hunter was as experienced with charm as he was bio-chemistry.
Russ eyed him suspiciously, looked down at Hunter’s hand, and crossed his arms. “Friskin,” he said, his voice cold and clipped.
Hunter withdrew his hand. “Yeah. My friend’s call me Hunter.”
“I’m not your friend,
Friskin
, and neither is Jackie, no matter what she’s told you. I don’t know what kind of weird cult shit you’ve gotten her into, but it ends tonight. I was a good sport, I brought your supplies,” Russ nudged the bag with contempt. “Just take it and get out of here. I should bring you in—I’ll serve some time if they find out I didn’t—but just take the bag and go.” The thin man looked at Jackie, his eyes softening again. “Let her go.”
“I…” Hunter looked back and forth between Valdis and Jackie. “I think I need them. Both of them. Listen,” Hunter ran a hand through his brown hair, his eyes resting on Hasfeld’s feet. “I’m not sure what’s going on, and even if I told you you’d think I’m crazy—er,
crazier—
and, well…the father here’s been about the only one who’s given more than two-shits about me, and the detective…” Hunter’s mouth hung open, his words drying up. Finally, after almost thirty seconds of waiting for the large man to continue, Jackie rolled her eyes and turned back to Russ.
“It’s sweet and all, Russ but I’ve got my big girl panties on. You’re not my father, brother, husband or high-school math teacher. I promise one day I’ll explain all of this, no matter how crazy it sounds, but right now, this second…?” Jackie gave Russ a tight smile. “Fuck off.”
“At least tell me where you’re going.”
“Anywhere but here,” Hunter said, relief flooding his face as he thought of something to say.
Valdis rubbed his hands together. “Well then, if we’re all…uh…ready?” He looked at Jackie imploringly, relieved beyond measure when she stepped away from Hasfeld. She gave the thin man a wave, shrugged, and followed Hunter back into the night.
Russ watched her go, frustration plain on his face, but he didn’t follow, and the last glimpse Valdis got of the thin man was of him standing alone in the dimming light of the last street lamp.
A hundred miles away, at the same moment Hunter was declaring his intention to go “Anywhere but here,” Mika’il was sequestered in her room.
She had informed her secretary, a mousy little Angel named Phaleg, that she was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. To be certain, Mika’il issued a Command and watched as Phaleg’s eyes grew momentarily glassy. Closing the heavy, oaken door of her chamber, Mika’il considered her options.
Hash had delivered his unfortunate news an hour previous, communicated instantly in Phaleg’s warbly tenor. She had insisted the Angel stay in direct communication with the retrieval team, despite the exhaustion such a prolonged link would exact, and had discovered the exact moment Hash and his soldiers had lost the Power.