The Plagues of Pandora

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Aaron Trent waited for news and stared unknowingly at Agent Claire Collins. The Disavowed had been saddled with this ballbuster a few months ago and had quickly gone from dislike to acceptance to massive respect, and more. At work, she had criticized them all, hauling them well and truly over the coals. At play she had kissed them all, danced with them all, but she had settled on him for something more.

Trent blinked as she met his stare. The smile in her eyes spoke of play but the look on her face was pure work.

“Got a tip,” she said. “The Moose has been spotted at a trailer park off Highway 1, toward San Diego.”

“Already?” Trent stayed suspicious.

“That man’s face was all over the news just a few weeks ago. There’s not a good Angelino wouldn’t give him up after those terror atrocities. I’m surprised it took this long.”

Silk was already at the door. “What are we waiting for?”

A car was waiting, a driver too. The new and improved Razor’s Edge took their seats and sat back, bathed in early morning light. At this time, especially in the hills, Los Angeles was a gift from God, the angels’ own masterpiece in progress as the rising sun threw brushstrokes across the skies. A ball of fire filled the basin, crept across the hills and dappled the trees, creating wonder in all those who jogged or slid early from their beds to watch, or headed for the long commute. Trent, in the window seat, turned his head toward the rising ball and thought of better times.

“The new dawn always makes it better,” Collins said.

“Not always,” Trent said. “There are some tragedies a thousand rising dawns could never fix. But if you think your life is over,” he turned to her, “always take one last look.”

Her eyes sparkled. “You just never know,” she said.

“I’ve heard that said about songs too,” Silk said from the other side of the car. “Susie and I have one of our own.”

“As do Amanda and I.” Radford checked his hair in the mirror. “Shadows of the Night. Pat Benatar. Seems fitting.”

“You Shook Me All Night Long.” Silk grinned. “Very fitting.”

Trent basked in the glow from Collins’ eyes. “Do we have a song?”

Her gaze drifted. Collins was the social butterfly, the dancer, the singer of the group. Trent realized that something like this would be very important to her.

“When we have one, we’ll know,” she said. “We’ll know.”

The vehicle blared its sirens and cut through swathes of traffic. Collins relayed reports as they came in. Trent put his game face on and listened to incoming details as they neared the site.

“They practically emptied an entire precinct,” Collins breathed. “Trailer park’s surrounded. SWAT will arrive three minutes before us, give them time to set up. FBI response teams are en route, and even the goddamn Marines from Camp Pendleton! This is the big one, guys. Ain’t nothing been wanted more in Los Angeles than the head of this murdering bastard. Not for a long time.”

The car slewed to a halt, dispensing the Razor’s Edge who checked their weapons and looked for the man in charge. Collins led them to the staging area and into the presence of a big dark-skinned cop with a gray beard and enormous flak jacket that almost doubled his size.

“Collins. FBI,” she said. “What do we have?”

The cop deadpanned her. “You in charge? Who the hell’s in charge? All I know is it sure as hell ain’t me. Got so many goddamn teams on the way here might as well hold a goddamn party.”

Trent almost pitied the cop. Collins never took shit. She was the most driven woman he had ever known. “Stand the fuck down,” she growled into the cop’s face. “And either help me or get out of my way.”

She pushed past, making the cop grunt. Trent followed her. The cop grumbled at her back. “Initial sighting was around that blue van over there. That was… thirty minutes ago. Ain’t nothin’ moved since but trailer folk.”

“The Moose won’t hang about,” Silk said. “He’s too clever for that.”

Collins looked around, surveying the cluster of metal trailers and dirt track roads, the haphazardly parked vehicles, the makeshift washing lines strung from roof to roof, the still-open doors of people that had been evacuated. “Fuck. We’re gonna have to evacuate the entire site, not just around here. And we need more men. Get choppers on the perimeter and CHP at every road. Manpower will draw the bas—”

Radford, who had been closer to the Moose than any of them, face to face, saw him first. A man stood in the road ahead, wearing a leather coat, with a bandanna around his head and a shiny silver belt buckle reflecting the sunlight.

“I’ve never known the Moose to hide,” Radford said quietly as the others saw the motionless figure. “All I do know is that he’ll have a plan.”

Trent stared, not moving. The Moose stared back, eyes steady. This was the man that had indirectly killed their mentor Doug the Trout, and Trent’s wife; the man that almost killed Mikey before Doug took the boy’s place; this was a man that loosed sorrow and a flood of tears over the great, scorching city — and he deserved to end his days screaming.

But Trent remained motionless, eyes never breaking contact. Radford, at his side, breathed raggedly.

“It’s the diner all over again,” he murmured. “Distract us whilst…”

Collins raised both hands to show they were empty. “Let’s talk,” she shouted. “We can come to some agreement.”

“Murdering piece of shit,” she added under her breath.

Trent made no move. The Moose stood stock-still as the breeze whipped up around his leather coat, making it billow. The man’s lips, even from where Trent stood, could be seen to form a sneer, a deep mocking expression.

“I say shoot and ask questions later,” Radford, always the impulsive one, breathed. “One less Moose in the world ain’t gonna be a problem.”

“Don’t forget why we’re here,” Collins hissed. “The samples.”

The Moose whirled and his coat surged around him like a giant black bat, engulfing his body. Trent saw his hand for one split second, and the black device there.

“Down!”

But Collins fired. She would not concede defeat so easily. Bullets blasted from her swiftly drawn gun as trailers to both sides of the road exploded. To the left a bright metallic van, shining with reflected sun, burst into flame and heaved to the side, spitting fire. To the right a Caribbean-blue van shuddered as its windows exploded and then its top blew off, rising up into the sky. Further ahead, deadly debris, a confusion of metal, iron, glass and timber, crisscrossed the road with multiple blasts one after the other. Trent, Silk and Radford hit the dirt, staying low through it all, but Collins remained on her feet, firing hard as lethal wreckage made the air bristle all around her.

Seven, eight shots fired at a fleeing shadow. The first definitely caught his jacket, the second a wooden post at his side. The third, as a shard of metal grazed her cheek, flew through his hair, the fourth grazed his scalp. She saw it all in slow motion, as if witnessing her own death, and maybe she was, but the Moose had to be taken down. Such a man could not be left to walk this earth. The fifth bullet took him in the shoulder, the sixth jarred wide as razor sharp splinters jabbed at the hand that held the gun. The seventh took out his elbow as heavy fragments battered her flak jacket.

The eighth took out his ear, blood exploding.

Trent looked up, unable to believe his eyes. His scream went unheard as Collins fired and fired her weapon, focused on the job like a woman possessed by desire and drive and determination. In the end, as the eighth bullet struck, Trent swept her legs from under her, seeing her head turn as a piece of door frame hit, the movement saving her life as it glanced away.

Collins fell into his arms, barely conscious.

Trent screamed.

Silk and Radford scrambled and ran as fires blazed. They leaped through gouts of flame, hurdling the blasted ruins of trailers and furniture, televisions and microwave ovens. The Moose was on his knees, hand to his head, but he was far from finished. The man hadn’t survived decades of bloodshed to go down so easy.

He spun, his gun spitting fire of its own, crying out with the pain of movement. Silk and Radford weaved and ducked behind smoldering wreckage. Then the Moose rose once more. In his right hand he held yet another device.

“Take it,” the Moose rasped. “She earned it. Nobody’s stood up to me like that in thirty years. Nobody.” He threw a backpack toward them.

Radford started to rise, but Silk wrenched him back down, sensing what was about to happen. “No—”

The last explosion rocked the ground around them, but only one person died.

Silk hauled Radford up and headed over to the backpack. With infinite care, but knowing the risk had to be taken, he opened it. Inside sat a square black lockbox.

“I think we’re in business.”

Radford breathed a sigh of relief and waved back at Trent. “Thanks to her,” he said. “All thanks to her.”

Silk blinked rapidly. “In all my days,” he said. “I have never seen anything like that. Never.”

Radford hefted the backpack. “Let’s get this thing to safety. And see how the other teams are doing. With a bit of luck,” he smiled optimistically, “this will all be over.”