Hunters in the Night (15 page)

So
I decided to chill out in Times Square for a while, and watch the pretty lights
until somebody came to save me.

* * *

I
wanted to shop.

It
was an odd compulsion. I had just been freed from days of captivity, and most
likely being watched by nightcrafters waiting to capture me again along with my
friends. But the hours I spent staring at the huge, bright digital signs in
Times Square still made me want to spend money like a billionaire’s wife. I
guess all that advertising works.

I
resisted the urge to go window shopping, and settled on a trip to McDonald’s
instead. I’d left my wallet on my dining room table before the nightcrafters
nabbed me, but I was lucky to have a spare five dollar bill in a small side
pocket in my jeans. I ordered some cheap crap off of the value menu and a small
drink. I hadn’t eaten much in the past three days, and that Coke tasted like
the nectar of the gods.

I
nervously watched the hours pass, and there was no sign of my cavalry. I
considered leaving Times Square, but that seemed too dangerous. This place was
nice and public, and the light from the bright signs would hinder the other
nightcrafters just as much as it would limit my magic. Staying here was my best
chance at staying alive.

After
a while, my patience ran out and I started to wonder if my message even got
through. I stepped outside the McDonald’s for some fresh air to clear my head,
and immediately encountered a haggard homeless fellow. He was dressed in dirty
rags, and he had a beard littered with various things I didn’t care to identify
— especially right after I’d eaten.

“Got
any change, bro?” the derelict said to me.

“Nope,”
I said. It was true. I’d spent all my money on my value meal feast. “I thought
the city got rid of all the homeless people in this area.”

“They
did,” the bum said. Then he winked at me.

For
a moment I wondered if my life was deteriorating so badly that a vagrant
hitting on me would be the highlight of my day. Then I realized this man’s
voice sounded familiar.

“That’s
all right, man,” he said. “I hear the best spot to find what I’m looking for is
in front of the Italian restaurant down there.” He winked at me again, and this
time I noticed something familiar in his clear blue eyes.

That’s
when the light bulb went off in my head. This wasn’t some random bum.

This
was Newton.

I
had no idea what the hell Newton was up to, or what convinced him to try the
disguise, but I could tell by the twinkle in his eye and the giggle in his
voice that he enjoyed it. I, however, was not so happy about the situation. It
must have taken him quite some time to create a disguise that convincing. That
was time that could have been used to figure a way to get my ass out of my
current predicament.

Once
I got over my irritation, I realized two things. One, the cavalry was near.
Two, Newton had given me a clue. So I headed to the Italian restaurant a couple
blocks down.

The
digital signage in Times Square told me it was just past midnight on a
Saturday, and the area was full of locals and tourists enjoying their weekends.
I tried to use my eyes to pick out possible nightcrafters in the crowd, but I
wasn’t having any luck. I made an attempt to access the Rift but, as expected,
had no luck.

I
made it to the spot that Newton mentioned, and found nothing out of place. I
didn’t even see Newton. My casual calm was starting to wear off. I had a
feeling something big was about to happen, but I had no clues and no magic to
help me. While I was figuring out what to do next, the shit hit the fan.

First,
I heard the sirens. They seemed to come from everywhere at once, assaulting the
ears of everyone on the street. A few seconds later, a cacophony of tire
screeches joined the sirens as speeding police vehicles came to a grinding
halt. Cops flooded into the area. Behind me, a fire truck’s horn blasted a deep
note. The scene was filled with ear-splitting noise and frantic energy.

A
pale, pot-bellied police officer popped out of his squad car and shouted, “We
need everybody outta here, now!”

“What’s
going on?” a frightened woman in the crowd asked.

The
cop didn’t even look at her as he pushed her forward. “No time for questions,”
he said. “Just move! Go go go!” The officer was abrasive, to say the least. But
I could tell from the look on his face that he wasn’t being a dick because he
was mad. He was terrified.

I
gave the group of policemen a thorough visual analysis. Most of them looked
like old NYPD vets who had seen plenty of crowd control situations. They
reacted with practiced precision, despite their obvious nervousness. But a
jittery, fresh-faced young man to my left had a demeanor that practically
screamed, “I’m a rookie!”

I instantly
came up with a nickname for him: Mr. Green.

As
more cops entered the area and ushered people away, the older officers motioned
for Mr. Green to stay behind them. He stood near the open driver’s side door of
his squad car as the others formed a line. The people in the street were
understandably confused and angered at the rude intrusion of the police, and
classic New York tempers were starting to show. As the yelling started, the
sound of the police radio chatter was mostly drowned out. But, apparently, Mr.
Green was still able to hear a message from dispatch on his dashboard radio. He
cupped his hands to his mouth, and started to shout.

“Hey
Al, the bomb squad’s—”

Mr.
Green stopped in mid-sentence and his eyes widened. I was sure he just realized
he’d spilled the beans. The word “bomb” drew everyone’s attention, despite the
noise. Those within earshot reflexively repeated the word, then people near
them did the same, until the frightened mutterings passed over the entire crowd
in a wave.

Then
everybody scattered like roaches when the lights turn on.

I’ve
often seen video of the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, where hordes of
people run like hell to keep a stampede of huge bulls from trampling or goring
them. Now I found myself in front of a similar crazed mob looking to escape.
But there was no massive angry bull driving these people. Instead, it was the
fear of death and mutilation in a fiery explosion.

I
had about two seconds to make a decision. I could stay, and hope that Newton
and the team would extract me eventually, or I could run for my life. I was
just about to turn and run like I stole something when somebody grabbed me.

I
turned to see who it was and got a face full of some kind of spray. The next
few seconds were a blur of images. I was dragged through some sort of building
with old and dirty floor tiles. Then I was in a kitchen. Then I was in an
alley, next to a large gray van. My brain was hardly working at that point, but
I knew I didn’t want to be in that van. I fought my captors, but they were
strong, and the substance they sprayed in my face had my head spinning. I saw
the van’s rear doors open, then I blacked out.

When
I woke up, I found that I’d been cuffed, blindfolded, and gagged. I raised my
head.

“You’re
safe here,” an unfamiliar male voice said. “Just chill out and wait.”

So I’ve been kidnapped . . . again.

I
put my head back down and did my best to assess the situation. I couldn’t see,
and I couldn’t talk, but I could still hear and feel. The ambient sounds and
occasional bumps told me I was in a moving vehicle on a paved road.

The
ride stopped. I felt two pairs of strong hands grab me by the arms and pull me
up. My captors led me out of what I guessed to be the same cargo van I’d seen
earlier. I heard the rear doors open, and heat from above warmed my forehead. A
clean, natural breeze caressed my face. I was outdoors, and it was daytime. For
a moment I felt safe.

But
it didn’t last long. The guys gripping my arms pushed me forward and the sun
and wind were quickly replaced by the buzz of fluorescent lighting and the
stagnant air of a stuffy building. My burly companions marched me down a
winding corridor for a while before I heard a door click open and I was led
inside. Someone pushed me down into a surprisingly comfortable chair and then
started asking questions.

“Did
they feed you anything?” Voice #1 said.

I
shook my head.

“Did
they mark you in any way?” Voice #2 said.

I
shook my head again.

“Did
you tell them any sensitive information?”

This
was starting to get annoying. I wanted to tell these punks off, but I still had
a gag in my mouth. I mumbled something and shook my head around. My captors got
the point and removed the gag.

“You
have something to say?” Voice #1 said.

“Two
things, actually,” I said. “First, you guys really could use some hospitality
lessons. Second, I didn’t say anything to them and I
really
don’t have
anything to say to you.”

One
of the men chuckled, then they were both silent. Then I heard footsteps coming
towards me, then around to my back. I started to think my mouth had gotten me
into more trouble.

“The
MI6 crew says you were missing for a while,” Voice #2 said as he started to take
off my handcuffs. “They’ll be happy to have you back.”

MI6? The British intelligence agency? What did
the Brits have to do with this?

“Sorry
for all the mess,” Voice #1 said, “we’ll get you back to Liverpool after we
clear some stuff up.”

I
would’ve asked him what the hell they were talking about, but they left before
I could say another word. With my hands free now, I removed the blindfold and
saw that I was in a plain room with smooth concrete floors and walls. The
ceiling was about twenty feet up and a single overhead lamp fed bright light
into the chamber. Besides my chair, the only other furniture was a translucent
inflatable bed in the corner. It was the same kind of plastic furnishing I’d
seen in Madison’s cell.

I
thought about escaping. The setup here wasn’t as elaborate as the cell Madison
was in. I could probably break out if I put my mind to it. But the cavalier
behavior of my captors and their odd politeness made me feel like I was safer
here than anywhere else right now.

So
I spent two more days in that place. They fed me once a day and let me have a
couple of trips to a basic bathroom with two men in black masks as my escorts.
The blindfold and gag stayed off, but my mysterious captors made it very clear
that I was not to speak a word. The guys were relatively nice, and I got the
sense that they felt like they were doing me a favor, so I didn’t fight it. The
important thing was that I was still alive. Given the circumstances, that was
quite an accomplishment.

Late
on the last day of my captivity, I was sleeping on that stupid inflatable bed
with my head facing away from the door. I dreamed about taking a walk in
Central Park, with the grass between my toes. It felt like an eternity since
I’d had a chance to feel grass. The sound of the door opening woke me from
slumber. I turned, and looked up.

Dominique
was there . . . staring at me.

I
blinked, and rubbed my eyes. I wasn’t quite sure if I was still dreaming.
Dominique said, “Your vacation is over. Time to get back to work.” Then I knew
I was very much awake.

* * *

“What
the
hell
was all this MI6
bullshit about?” I yelled.

“We
had to be sure you were clean,” Dominique said. “We have no way of knowing what
kind of tricks the nightcrafters can pull, so we set up a decoy operation. The
operatives were fed a fake story about England’s secret service, which they
then passed to you after creating the diversion with the bomb threat. If
something oddly drastic and coincidental had happened to the Brits after your
capture, we would’ve known you were bugged.”

“So
this was all just more misdirection,” I said.

Dominique
nodded. “We’re in the spy game, Kal. The first rule of our profession is to get
your target to show all their cards, while showing none of your own.”

“And
what if they were monitoring me?” I said. “Your little story could have screwed
the British government.”

“There’s
more to it than that,” Dominique said. “We have some intelligence that suggests
there might actually be a nightcrafter in their ranks. That fake story we used
to cover your extraction would’ve also been a good way to smoke them out. But,
as it turns out, you were clean and apparently so are our friends in MI6. So we
pick up where we left off and proceed.”

“Well
I’m glad this shit is over now,” I said. “What’s next?”

“I’m
taking you out of here,” Dominique said. “There’s a mobile command vehicle
outside. We have work to do on the way back to headquarters and there’s no time
to lose.”

She
turned and walked out the door. I followed closely and got my first look at the
place I’d been in. It was just a typical office building. Nothing special about
it. We walked along some service corridors until we reached a door and exited
the building. We were now in an alley behind the structure. The sun was bright
and the sky was clear. It was the first time I’d laid eyes on daylight in
nearly a week, and I almost cried.

The
command vehicle was in the alley, freshly waxed and glistening in the sunlight.
It was a re-purposed Mercedes-Benz utility van with a cargo area tall enough for
me to stand up straight. I’d seen this type of van before, and it was usually
reconfigured as a mini party bus designed for prom nights and other events for
people with poor taste and a little bit of disposable income. It was perfect
camouflage. We jumped in, and found Newton sitting in front of an array of
computer screens that were bolted to the big van’s walls. There were no windows
in here, much to my dismay, but the vehicle had ample artificial light.