Hardbingers

6

Almost eleven o'clock and Jack hadn't seen one damn person enter or leave.

Between calls to the trauma unit—no change in either of his ladies—he received an incoming call at quarter to eight: Abe. He'd seen the papers and was almost speechless with grief. Anything he could do, any way he could help, just ask. But Jack had known that. He'd said he'd get back to him.

To kill time he scanned the FM and AM bands. Heard a lot of crummy music and learned the weather forecast by heart: Big storm in the south, coming up the coast, scheduled to slam the city with a blizzard late Thursday or early Friday.

Yeah, well, so what? Couldn't come close to the winter in his heart.

During the wait he'd realized that Gia's folks out in Iowa didn't know about any of this. And Jack didn't know how to get in touch with them. He'd have to go back to her place and see if she'd written down their number somewhere. Most likely not. She talked to her mom a couple times a week, so she didn't need it on paper.

Part of him hoped he'd never find it. Calling her folks… telling them what had happened to their daughter and grandchild… and how grim the prognosis…

The prospect made him ill.

Call me a coward, he thought, but I'd rather go mano a mano with Miller than have to relay that kind of news.

And worse, his husband-and-father cover would be blown at the hospital.

He refocused on the warehouse. Still no sign of life. The yeniceri had either taken off, were entering and exiting by a different route, or knew he was out here and were waiting for him to make a move.

The second possibility seemed remote—from what he'd seen they'd focused all their security on the front door. The third seemed equally remote—unless they'd all spent the night there.

All of which left him with no recourse but to make a close reconnoiter on foot.

He grabbed Zeklos's keychain from the passenger seat. He'd found it in the dead man's pockets and had brought it along for the ride not knowing whether or not it would come in handy. If the rats had jumped ship, it would.

He removed the Glock from its SOB holster, chambered a round, and slipped it into his jacket pocket. With the grip in his hand and his finger on the trigger, he stepped out onto the sidewalk. He blinked as his eyes teared in the icy wind. Bundled into anonymity, he kept to the opposite side of the street as he walked past the three-story building. He looked for the same itching, burning sensation across his chest as before. No show.

At the end of the block he crossed the street and walked back until he came to the door. Even now, standing directly in front of it, his scars remained impassive.

This was risky—maybe stupidly so—but his gut told him the place was empty, and he'd learned to trust his gut. So he kept the Glock in his pocket aimed toward the door as he rang the bell once, twice, three times. No answer.

He pounded on the steel door. Same response.

Okay. Time for the keys. About a dozen of them on the ring. He began trying one after the other in the top lock. Number four fit and turned. Inside, an alarm bell began to clang. Only inside. Nothing outside. That meant the alarm was to warn the inhabitants, not bring help. Which meant it wouldn't be hooked up to a monitoring service. He couldn't see the MV getting involved with outside security.

After that it was quick and simple since all three were neighbors.

Now…

He stood to the side, turned the knob and pushed the door open. He peeked in. Nothing moving.

He stepped inside. As he did a quick four-wall scan he saw the smashed computers on the floor. Either someone had tossed the place or the yeniceri were burning bridges.

The space smelled strange and felt empty. And cold. The heating had failed, or maybe been turned off.

Didn't look like they were planning on coming back. He closed the door and, keeping his eyes on the ransacked room, keyed the three dead bolts shut.

No sense in letting someone surprise him from behind.

The ringing of the damn bell was getting to him. He stepped to the monitoring console to look for a button or a toggle labeled BELL OFF or KILL THE GOD-

DAMN BELL but stopped when he spotted the smears of dried blood. He spotted more on the floor near his feet.

What the hell had happened here?

Before finding out, he had to stop that bell. He found nothing that mentioned "Bell" but did find a RESET button. He jabbed it.

Silence… the blessed silence of a…

He turned and spotted the sheet-draped figures lined up against the far wall.

… tomb.

Zeklos hadn't mentioned any other deaths beside the Oculus. Looked like the yenigeri had wound up on the wrong side of a massacre.

Jack's first impulse was to check out the bodies, but he made himself search the lounge area and upper floors first. The building might feel empty, but it never hurt to be sure.

The O's office stank of dried blood. It splattered all four walls, but was especially heavy behind the desk. It pooled so thick on the desktop that it wasn't completely dry yet.

He checked the personal quarters and found two closets. One full of men's clothes—the Oculus's, no doubt. The other was mostly empty except for a couple of feminine shorts and a halter top.

The third floor sported its share of blood too, but no corpses.

He relaxed a little. He was the only living person in the building. No one around to catch him by surprise.

He hurried down to the first floor and approached the sheet-wrapped figures. He squatted and uncovered the first one. Despite the blood-spattered face, Jack recognized him. Didn't know his name but had seen him around.

Where had the blood come from?

He pulled the sheet farther down and swallowed when he saw the hole in the man's chest. Yeah, he had a heart, but it had been ripped from all its vessels.

Who the hell had done that? And how?

He had a pretty good idea.

He pulled the sheet down to knee level. He'd intended to search the clothing for some hint as to where the surviving yenieeri had fled, but when he saw the out-turned pockets, he realized someone had preempted him.

He worked down the row and found each corpse in the same condition. By the time he reached the last he'd grown used to the human carnage, but the eighth was something else again: the Oculus—with an empty inch between his head and the base of his neck. He'd been savagely decapitated, not by a blade… his head had been ripped off.

Jack walked a meandering path through the carnage, stepping around the smashed computers as he looked for something, anything that might offer a hint as to where they'd gone. He picked up a battered hard drive that had been all but flattened across its middle. He didn't know much about computers, but he couldn't see this giving up anything.

But he collected all the drives he could find anyway. He'd give them to Russ Tuit and see what he could do. Russ was something of a cybergenius but Jack doubted even he could squeeze anything out of these.

He turned in a slow circle and wondered where in hell they'd gone. He combed his memory for some dropped remark that might offer a clue, but came up with nothing but Idaho, and that seemed unlikely. They'd want to keep their Oculus in the Northeast.

Their Oculus… Diana. He had an idea… the thinnest shred of a hope… but if it was to come to anything he'd have to find her.

How? A secret organization, used to clandestine operation, on the run. They wouldn't leave a trail. Maybe the FBI could track them, maybe not. Jack knew he couldn't.

What to do? Gia and Vicky would be safe until the yeniceri realized Zeklos had failed. Then they'd try again. Jack knew he might not be so lucky next time.

He saw only one option: Divert them from Gia and Vicky by giving them another target they'd want to hit even more.

Him.

And Jack knew just how to do it.