Covenant

89

Your fiancée?”

Nicola Lopez seemed genuinely appalled at Ethan’s loss.

“No worse than you losing your partner,” Ethan replied. “At least my fiancée may still be alive. If I’d put everything together out there sooner, none of this would have happened.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” Aaron Luckov said from beside Safiya. “We all did what we could.”

Lopez shook her head, swiping a strand of black hair from her face.

“Wouldn’t have changed much anyway, not with this asshole protecting everything that MACE has been doing,” she said, pointing to where Powell now sat gagged and bound against the couch. “Those remains, they’re the ones that Patterson’s been after?”

Ethan glanced briefly at the crate lashed to the rear bulkhead.

“He’s been after the DNA in the bones, some crackpot campaign to bring angels back to life. He either has no idea or doesn’t want to entertain the fact that the remains aren’t of an angel, they’re of some kind of alien humanoid.”

Lopez stared at him blankly.

“Alien? You’re shitting me.”

“Afraid not,” Ethan said. “Look in the box if you don’t believe me.”

“Then what’s with all the experiments, the dead drug addicts over here?”

“This guy Patterson is the brains behind everything,” Ethan explained. “They wanted to conduct blood transfusions using the bone marrow of the supposed angels to genetically alter the human population, something to do with fulfilling a biblical covenant between man and God. Sheviz was taking it one step further and trying to impregnate women with Nephilim eggs created from embryonic stem cells extracted from the remains.”

Lopez winced.

“Gruesome. He get anywhere?”

“No,” Ethan said.

“You want Patterson,” Lopez guessed.

Ethan nodded once, and she shook her head.

“Powell’s a worthless piece of shit, but he’s right, you’re in the country illegally, and if the FBI finds you, it’s game over. There’s enough evidence here to convict Patterson without you running around playing the Lone Ranger.”

“He’s not done yet,” Ethan insisted. “Whatever he’s planned, it’s likely to go down soon. He’ll know by now that MACE is dead in the water and that his precious DNA is beyond his grasp. Whatever he’s got left, he’ll know that he’s got to use it now before it’s too late.”

“The Bureau won’t let you out of this aircraft, let alone loose in the city.”

“Then you can help me get to him,” Ethan said.

“The hell d’you think I am, the mayor?”

Ethan looked at her strangely as a thought occurred to him.

“No, as it happens. And where’s your backup? Where’s the FBI?”

Lopez sighed.

“It’s a long story, but we’re both screwed. The FBI’s been trying to shut this investigation down since yesterday. Boarding this jet was illegal and is likely to cost me my badge.”

Ethan nodded.

“Then you’ve got no more to lose than me. We can be utterly worthless together.”

Lopez chuckled bitterly. “No use getting cute with me.”

Ethan leveled her with what he hoped was an honest look.

“If we’re going to lose what little we’ve got left, why not bring that sanctimonious bastard Patterson down with us and make it worthwhile?”

Lopez glanced at Powell lying nearby, and an image of Lucas Tyrell drifted in front of her mind’s eye.

“Come with me.”

The sudden screech of car tires and a blizzard of flashing lights reflected off the Gulftsream’s fuselage as the sound of a loudspeaker blasted Special Agent Axel Cain’s ears almost clean off.

“Police, nobody move!”

Cain sprinted from his vehicle and followed four heavily armed FBI agents as they plunged into the fuselage of the Gulfstream, weapons sweeping the interior and finding Powell.

Cain strode to Powell’s side, squatting down and tearing the gag from his face.

“About time,” Powell spat.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Cain asked, looking at the crate nearby, the bearded man, and the Palestinian woman standing near the cockpit of the jet with their hands in the air.

“Detective Lopez has gone off the range,” Powell said. “We need to arrest her and the man she’s with, some guy called Ethan Warner. He’s here illegally from Israel and could be a suspect in one of our investigations.”

“Where the hell are they?”

“They took off, not more than ten minutes ago,” Powell said. “Most likely they’ll head for the District, probably the New Covenant Church.”

Cain looked at the crate again. “What’s in that?”

“I’ve no idea,” Powell snapped. “Cut me loose.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said the bearded, barrel-chested man near the cockpit.

“Who the hell are you?” Cain muttered.

“My name’s Aaron Luckov, and there’s something on that crate you should see.”

Cain ignored him and reached for a Swiss army knife he carried. He was about to cut Powell’s bonds when one of the FBI agents called over.

“Sir, this guy’s right. I think you should see this right now.”

Cain got up, and the agent gestured to a piece of paper that had been hastily scribbled upon and tacked to the big crate.

Cain moved back to Powell and looked at the captain’s sleeves. The whites of his cuffs were speckled with dark bloodstains, and a thin rim of black spots lined the edges of the fabric. Cain slowly put his knife away before producing a set of steel handcuffs.

“What the hell are you doing?” Powell stammered.

Cain smiled coldly. “Hedging my bets.”

Cain cuffed Powell, and then looked at the FBI agents standing around him.

“Send everything we’ve got to the New Covenant Church in DC. I want Detective Nicola Lopez in custody within the hour, understood?”