Avenger of Sins (SPECTR Series 3, #6)

Chapter 2

TWO

“Thank you, Director Kaniyar,” Reid Harlow said into the telephone on his desk. “Yes. Of course I’ll be careful. You don’t have to worry about me.”

The call ended. Harlow sat back in his chair and contemplated his mahogany desk.

So. One of the Operation Mephisto subjects—Fifteen, the telepath—had a mental breakdown and was now out looking for revenge against anyone involved in the project.

The complacency that had allowed Fifteen to escape was one of his great regrets. What they could have done with him, if they’d only been successful at controlling him. If they’d been able to inspire a patriotic attitude, he would have been useful outside the lab. But unfortunately no amount of drugs or audiovisual reprogramming had worked.

Instead, all the time they’d been working on him, Fifteen had been working on those studying him in return. Until one day, the people in charge of the facility simply let him walk free.

God, what they could have done with his talent.

Harlow rose to his feet and walked across his spacious office to a shelf decorated with service awards. Distinguished Public Service, National Security Medal, half a dozen others…there would be even more if Operation Mephisto had continued.

They’d been doing good work. If the subjects had just cooperated, national security would be leaps and bounds beyond what it was now. Soldiers with paranormal abilities, enhanced by controlled Non-Human Entities…the United States would have the most fearsome army in the world.

Instead, things had ended up with Executive Assistant Director for the Non-Human Entity Research Division, Graham Forsyth, trying to field a demon army without any guardrails. Of course it had ended up messy; what had Graham expected?

But that was all in the past. Harlow turned away from his awards and wandered past the two women sitting side by side on a couch discreetly tucked in one corner. Demon armies weren’t the way to go now, after Graham’s debacle. Armaros Corporate Solutions pursued a much more subtle approach, funded generously by the Pentagon.

His instincts suggested there was something more to the situation with Fifteen. Things Director Kaniyar wasn’t going to tell him, as they had no political ties.

A shame—but hardly an obstacle. There were always ways of finding whatever information he required. Any security system was only as good as the humans embedded in it, and social engineering was painfully simple. He already had friends within SPECTR who would pass along information, either for old time’s sake or for a magnanimous payout.

Something had set off Fifteen’s killing spree. Something had enabled him to carry it out. His telepathic ability had been impressive, but when it came to manipulating other people, it took time to change their thinking. Years, in the case of the lab he’d escaped from.

The only time he’d been able to do more, faster, was when he’d been in Operation Mephisto. Possessed.

Was he possessed now? Or was something else going on?

Well, Harlow would find out soon enough. Kaniyar had offered to send SPECTR agents for security, but he had no intention of allowing her to pry into his business.

After all, the army was funding Project Solomon, not SPECTR. And if he was careful, and clever, he could recapture Fifteen and make him a part of the project.

It was doubtful Fifteen would see reason and become a willing participant…but that detail had never stopped Harlow before. It certainly wouldn’t now.

“I don’t know precisely,” John said. “It wasn’t…that sort of relationship anymore.”

Kaniyar studied him carefully. He made certain to keep his attention on her instead of…what was his name? They’d met briefly during the rougarou outbreak.

Andy Bertin, that was it. Empath. So either Kaniyar didn’t trust him to tell the truth, or she didn’t trust herself to spot a lie.

That thought gave him pause. Kaniyar had moved through the world with Pittman at her side for as long as he’d known her. To the point, maybe, where she no longer felt comfortable without an empath present, silently observing every conversation, then dissecting it with her after.

“You’ve already asked that,” Caleb said to Kaniyar, and Goddess, John was grateful to have him there. To have someone he could trust implicitly, with no questions, no doubts. “I think it’s our turn to ask a few questions. Such as, Pittman claimed you didn’t know about Operation Mephisto, but I’m not sure I believe that.”

“You can believe whatever you want, Mr. Gris,” she shot back, emphasizing the name she’d invented for him. A reminder: the only reason they were free, walking around, was because of her tolerance.

She’d misjudged Caleb if she thought that would be enough to shut him down. “The state school knew,” he said with absolute certainty. “Or at least some of them did. They had to.”

Kaniyar’s mouth tightened. “I suspect you’re right. I haven’t exactly had the time to do a thorough investigation into a project that was shut down over a decade ago. Nor do I have time now to humor you. Lives are at stake.”

Caleb bristled. “So why are you in here harassing John, when?—”

“Caleb,” he said, and though he didn’t raise his voice, Caleb instantly fell silent. “Let me handle this.”

Caleb slouched back in his seat, arms folded over his chest. The movement hid most of the blood and gunshot wounds on his torso. Wounds John had put there.

He hadn’t even seen Caleb—well, Gray at the time—as someone he knew. Just an NHE between him and his objective, Kaniyar.

John cleared his throat, pushing down the keen sense of betrayal that cut through every other emotion. “As we speak, Ryan is probably pulling names out of Pittman’s mind. Assembling a kill list. I can’t tell you who they are, obviously.”

“Does he have a safehouse?” Kaniyar asked.

A part of John wanted to laugh. “Where can he go to be safe? To get away from SPECTR? We tried when we were kids. But it didn’t work. None of us escaped, except maybe Megan, and she turned into a fucking naga.”

He touched the necklace he’d taken from her rotting body, and now wore around his own neck. A simple crescent moon with a zircon chip of a star, the sort of jewelry worn by teenage girls everywhere, because that’s what she’d been. Just a fucking ordinary kid, who had the misfortune of being born to parents whose love had conditions on it.

An expression of discomfort passed over Kaniyar’s face. “I didn’t know,” she said, and it was the only time he’d ever heard her try to justify herself, her actions, to someone else.

“Nowhere is safe, and Ryan knows that,” John went on. “He’ll move as fast as possible and take out as many of the bastards as he can. What other choice does he have?”

Kaniyar arched a brow. “He could choose not to kill them.”

“They could have chosen not to torture us in an underground bunker. But here we are.”

Kaniyar’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t like his answer.

A part of him longed to give her what she wanted. Murdering people in cold blood wasn’t the answer, or at least, he didn’t want to believe it was.

But he no longer trusted his own judgment. Not because of anything Ryan had done, but because of SPECTR. They’d kept him in the fold, let him believe a lie about his past, given him a state-sponsored education, then sent him to their academy to have his views of the world further shaped by their carefully chosen curriculum.

He’d been a true believer. Made SPECTR his whole identity, because he thought they’d saved him.

Lies, all of it lies. He was a lie.

“Will he hurt Agent Pittman?” she asked, and he noted a flash of fear in her eyes, a tremor in her voice, there and gone. “Or the pyrokinetic?”

“He’d never hurt Jo. Physically, I mean.” Ryan had done plenty of damage by controlling them, but John doubted he’d see it that way. “As for Pittman…I don’t know. He might.”

“He beat an old man to death,” Kaniyar said heavily.

“An old man who shot us up with chemicals with his own hands,” John cut in sharply. “One who had no remorse for what he’d done.”

Her nostrils flared. “You sound sympathetic, Starkweather.”

“Don’t,” Caleb said, and Gray’s rumble underlay the word. “SPECTR created this mess, not John. Your lapdog is in danger, and so are other people, so why don’t you tell us what you’re going to do about it?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t push back. That alone told John how worried she was.

“Agent Pittman was privy to some of the information I uncovered about Operation Mephisto in the last few days,” she said instead. “Some of the names associated with it are still employed by the agency. All of them are currently en route to various safehouses across the country, their assigned locations randomized to make them harder to find.”

So some of the people who’d been okay with illegally and unethically experimenting on children were still within SPECTR. Were technically his co-workers.

But why shouldn’t they be? There had been no repercussions. A few had probably been disciplined or passed over for promotion when the project failed, but on the whole they’d performed the duties they’d been assigned.

Goddess.

“And the others?” he asked.

“There are three names Agent Pittman knows, who might be vulnerable targets: Carrie Lydell, Reid Harlow, and Dr. Ted Foster. Lydell lives in Atlanta now; I’m heading there next. Harlow works for a private military contractor and says he can handle his own security. Foster retired to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere in Alabama, Thomasville. That’s where you’re going.”

“Why us?” Caleb asked.

Kaniyar folded her arms over her chest. “Foster is the closest, reachable by a relatively short drive. It seems logical that Ryan would go there first. And you, Mr. Gris, have the best chance of ending this without further loss of life. The telepath passed up the chance to control you and Night, which hopefully means that he can’t do so, for whatever reason.”

“He still altered our perceptions. I didn’t see John gunning for you until Ryan got distracted and his concentration slipped.” Caleb paused for a moment, no doubt in conversation with Gray. “But you’re right—we’re probably the best shot at stopping him. Unless he traps us somehow and opens up a vein or two.” He paused again. “But as Gray points out, we weren’t expecting that.”

“Then I hope you’ll be on your guards this time, because as of right now, you and Night are the only offensive players we have on the field.” Kaniyar paced a few feet, then back to where she began. “The rest of us just have to try and guard the targets as best we can.”

No doubt that didn’t sit well with her—Kaniyar was a woman of action. Caleb shot John a questioning look, and he nodded slightly.

“All right,” John said aloud. “We’ll need a car and some new phones. And I need information.” He met Kaniyar’s gaze. “These people we’re trying to save—I want to know what they did to us. To me.”

She wavered for an instant, then shrugged. “I’ll send you the files. You can read them on the way to Alabama. Now, if that’s all, I have a plane to catch.”

The sunset turned the winter sky bloody as Caleb drove them out of town. He sat at the wheel of a black SUV, breathing in its new car smell. His motorcycle rode on a trailer towed behind them; that had been the one demand he’d put on Kaniyar. John rode in the passenger seat, and Zahira and Night in the back. Night looked like a typical agent now, with a white blouse and black pantsuit. The exception was the sunglasses she wore despite the growing dark; no need to terrify some poor truck driver glancing inside the car.

The drive would only take a little over four hours, in a car that he knew for damn sure was being tracked by SPECTR. With brand new phones that looked straight out of the box, but without question already had spyware loaded and ready to go. No doubt his motorcycle had a brand new tracker as well, better hidden than the last one.

Fuck SPECTR, and fuck Kaniyar, and double-fuck this Foster asshole they were supposed to keep alive. His blood boiled at the thought; how dare Kaniyar send John to save the life of one of the people who’d tortured him?

“Because she wishes us to capture Ryan,” Gray rumbled within the shared space of their brain. “ And we could not leave John alone with her.”

Caleb shook his head, but not in disagreement. You’re right.

The movement must have caught John’s attention, because he asked, “Caleb?”

“Nothing, sorry. Just that drakul aren’t exactly the world’s greatest thinkers, but sometimes Gray surprises me.”

“Humans overcomplicate things with their nonsense. We simply prefer to get to the point.”

Unable to argue with that, Caleb asked John, “Found anything yet?”

“Some.” Christ, John sounded tired; Caleb wished he’d just put his seat back and nap until they reached their destination. “Everything is redacted to hell and back, and none of the files are full reports, just selected pages.”

“Oh, of course they are,” Caleb muttered. “You have the right to know who these assholes are. No redactions, no holding back.”

“This is still classified information,” Zahira said from the back seat. Night, as usual, had no opinion. Caleb almost envied her.

Caleb bit back what he really wanted to say, which was that John had the right to know every last detail about what had been done to him and the other kids. None of this was Zahira’s fault, after all. “Yeah, I get it. Anything on this Foster guy, sweetheart?”

“Dr. Theodore Foster was the lead chemist. From what I can tell, it was his job to come up with pharmaceuticals that would help control the NHEs and blunt the possession-induced psychosis in us.” John’s voice rasped slightly, and Caleb’s fingers tightened on the wheel until the plastic creaked in protest.

A growl seemed to thrum along his nerves. “What if we allow Ryan to act first, then capture him?” Gray suggested.

I’d love to. But John and Zahira would feel bad about it. And deep down, Caleb didn’t think he could just stand by while Ryan casually murdered this dude, no matter how evil he was.

But at the same time, it was probably a good idea to head off temptation.

John cleared his throat and went on. “Foster was an older man even at the time, and he retired almost immediately after the Center was shut down. His extended family was still in Thomasville, so he moved back here to be closer to them.” He swiped through files on his phone. “Carrie Lydell was the lead exorcist.”

The one in charge of stuffing demons into children, then yanking them back out. Caleb ground his teeth together.

“Her husband is high up the ladder in a Fortune 500 corporation, and a couple of years ago she quit her job at SPECTR to become a lobbyist. So it sounds like she’s doing pretty well for herself.”

“Of course she is.” Caleb hated these assholes more with every passing minute. “What about the last guy—Kaniyar said he works for a private military contractor, right?”

“Reid Harlow.” John swallowed audibly. “He was the man at the top, the one in charge of Operation Mephisto. Going by what isn’t blacked out, it looks like he was fairly hands-off, just gave the orders and left it to his subordinates to carry them out.”

“Typical,” Caleb muttered.

John ignored the remark. “He’s a telekinetic, though not a strong one. Harlow now works for Armaros Corporate Solutions, a private military contractor located in western Virginia. Close enough to Washington to pop in for a quick chat with the top brass, far enough away for plausible deniability.” He let out a sigh and lowered the phone. “And that’s it. Anything else is redacted or withheld.”

“I’m sorry, John,” Zahira said gently. “I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

John managed to give her a small smile, turning halfway toward the back seats. “Thanks, Zahira. It’s…a lot.”

It was, so Caleb kept his next thought to himself. The one about all the others who had been involved, who were still in SPECTR. Kaniyar was protecting them, sending them to safehouses under her orders, where they’d stay in comfort until all this was over.

Then they’d return to their jobs, sit at their desks, go to their homes after work. Live their lives, like nothing had ever happened. As though they hadn’t committed atrocities.

Justice would never find them. Kaniyar hated wasting “assets.” That attitude had worked in their favor, and it felt a little hypocritical to criticize it when it applied to someone else.

“Mortals often hold contradictory beliefs,” Gray informed him. “But I do not like this either. It feels…wrong.”

It sure does. But there was nothing he could do about it, so he focused on the road in front of them and drove into the night.