Читать книгу Blood Demons - Richard Jeffries - Страница 9

Chapter 2

Josiah Key learned all he needed to know about Sujanpur, Punjab, India, one smoggy afternoon. It was the afternoon when no one seemed surprised to see a naked man run through their festival market carrying a child’s corpse.

The former Marine corporal had come to this village after being assigned to investigate reports of bloodless bodies. He and his Cerberus team had been following the rumors all along the India/Pakistan border—from Attari to Amritsar to Dera Baba Nanak, then finally, to this smallest, humblest, most northern town, which was also closest to the border.

The problem was that they just kept missing the corpses because all the previous cities were quick to get rid of their dead. It wasn’t like Attari, which was the last Indian stop on the Trans-Asian Railway, or Amritsar, the spiritual center of the Sikh religion, or Dera Baba Nanak, which was one of the most sacred Sikh centers, would let any corpse, bloodless or blood-full, gather dust.

By the time Key and his team arrived, the possible evidence had already been cremated. India hardly had time, or room, for the living, let alone the dead. But the mortician at the last stop shared, as all the previous ones had, word of another such body. Thankfully, like many morticians everywhere, the ones in India prided themselves on their English proficiency.

Not surprisingly, a bloodless corpse was quite the conversation starter, especially among dealers in dead bodies. And the chance to talk to living people who weren’t grieving was also something that loosened tongues, especially when the ones not-grieving were a placid, handsome man; his tall, muscular associate; and a lithe, green-eyed, redheaded young woman—all wearing slightly shimmering, thin, light, gray T-shirts, slacks, loafers, and open, zip-up jackets.

“You’re in luck with this one,” the Dera Baba Nanak mortician had said, obviously having a different standard for “luck” than the average citizen. “My Sujanpur colleague says it is a child’s corpse.”

“Not so lucky for the kid,” Morton Daniels—Key’s tall, muscular, shameless right-hand man—commented.

“No, no,” said the mortician. “Traditionally all Hindus are cremated, except saints and children. The body should be washed in a mixture of milk, yogurt, butter, and honey while mantras are being—”

The team didn’t hear the rest since they were already out the door and into the Ford Ecosport Ecoboost—the fastest sport-utility vehicle they could readily find in India. Terri Nichols, Key’s lithe, redheaded, right-hand woman, had floored it and made the sixty-nine kilometers in record time, despite the habitual traffic on these Punjab roads. The vehicle’s interactive map showed her exactly where the small local constabulary was, but they all studied the area as they neared.

It was a humble, unimpressive town that seemed to be stuck between the 1950s and 1970s, wedged between canals of the Ravi River. The air was heavy with moisture, with the colors of green and brown seemingly coated on everything from wood to marble to metal. Off in the distance they heard calliope music and saw what looked like cheap Christmas lights.

“Place is supposed to have a big garment market,” Nichols murmured, having let the Ecosport’s onboard computer feed her information along the way. “Probably means most townies are good with English too.”

She, like Key, had wanted to get familiar with the local language, until they both quickly discovered that India had more than a hundred major languages, as well as nearly sixteen hundred minor ones.

Nichols pulled in front of the small police department, and Key and Daniels were out the door almost before she had stopped the vehicle. But they all reached the front desk at the same time.

The cooperative constable on duty, who was, indeed, conversant in English, directed them to a cement hut out back, where unclaimed, unidentified corpses were stored. All it took was one look at Key’s impressive International Crime Investigation Department ID. It was so much more effective than any explanation Key could give about the Cerberus organization he ostensibly worked for. No matter how he tried to describe that, even to himself, it hardly sounded credible.

So, although the Sujanpur constable on duty had no way of knowing it, the Cerberus team’s support unit had made sure the hunters were supplied with effective identification cards, and even badges, tailored to whatever location they were sent. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the Cerberus support unit, CID was the name of India’s most popular, longest-running TV series, with more than a thousand episodes to its credit—all of which had been seen by the Sujanpur constable on duty.

“Lucky for us there’s only a couple of thousand people in this backwater,” Nichols murmured as they walked out the rear door of the small station, crossed the worn, muddy, rectangular yard, and stepped into the bunker that housed the bodies.

“We spend way too much time in morgues,” Daniels complained as they all surveyed the depressing enclosure. “Look familiar, Joe?”

There was a low, dirty ceiling with two strips of yellowing, flickering fluorescent lights, two stained metal tables with rusting legs, and a meat locker on the far wall. Naturally Key couldn’t help but recall a similar one in Thumrait, Oman, where they had first seen the devastating effects of their previous, prehistoric, adversaries.

“What, we’re supposed to just rummage around until we find the girl?” Nichols asked, staying close to the entrance.

“Better that than to have a suspicious chaperone,” Key reminded her.

“Aw, just take a look.” Daniels grinned as he ambled toward the meat locker’s freezer door. “Smaller than a woman, bigger than a baby, not breathing—you can’t miss her.”

“Shut up, Morty,” Key sighed as he moved beside Daniels.

“Okay,” the big man snorted as he pulled open the heavy vault door. “Say we got here in time. Say the kid is in here and actually bloodless. So what? What are we looking for?”

“I think it’s one of those ‘we’ll know it when we see it,’ right?” Nichols offered from the door.

Key nodded, stepping into the meat locker. “First things first,” he quoted his father as he surveyed the wooden shelves along the freezer walls. “We claim the body and bring it to Professor Rahal.”

There were two body bags on one side and a naked man on the other. Key stepped toward the smaller of the body bags as Daniels eyed the unclad man across the aisle.

“Fresh meat,” he said drily, then joined Key as the former corporal unzipped the smaller bag.

He looked down into the face of an angelic child who couldn’t have been more than three years old when she died. He then nearly twitched when a voice popped into his ear.

“I guess they all look like that when they’re at peace,” he heard Nichols say gently before looking over his shoulder to see her at his side. The men had known the young lady long enough not to be surprised by her enhanced reflexes anymore. Not after what she, and they, had been through. But they were, constantly.

By then Daniels had checked the other bag, making sure it wasn’t also a child. “Okay,” he said. “We just take it and take off, or are we stopping to check with Barney Fife first?”

That was as far as the former sergeant got when the naked man suddenly appeared, grabbed the child, and ran.

To the agents’ amazement and annoyance, the man had done it so quickly, powerfully, and silently that even Nichols was taken by surprise. Daniels was so startled he didn’t even blurt profanity. They froze an unwanted moment, each chastising themselves in their own way, then took off after him.

Nichols was first out of the bunker, and probably would have been even if her reflexes hadn’t been heightened by an Idmonarchne Brasieri infection and Professor Rahal’s subsequent treatment. Daniels was next, just by dint of his size taking up the entire doorway as he lumbered after her. That was fine by Key, who knew it was best that he get the big picture, focusing in on what had been vague details before.

He was tempted to jump into the SUV, just to keep up with Nichols, but the first thing he realized was that the streets were too narrow and haphazard to make the Ecosport any advantage. The second thing he noted was how fast the naked man was going. He had looked every inch a corpse—haggard, emaciated, aged—but now he was running like a teenage shoplifter. Thankfully Nichols was going after him like a gazelle.

Key saw that Daniels was already drifting to the west. Smart cookie: he was automatically finding another path that would narrow the naked man’s escape routes. So Key moved quickly to the east, to create a trident of pursuit. The naked man was sprinting south, directly toward the calliope music and Christmas lights.

They all ran into thickening crowds. It seemed that everyone in town was at, or going to, the garment market, which was either always like this or celebrating some special festival. Either way, to the Westerners’ eyes, it still seemed like a minor flea market, transient street fair, and rinky-dink traveling amusement park in some lower-middle-class suburban town.

Nichols was just steps behind the naked man when he burst into a patchy, compact fairground between tent-like booths; bent, discolored, miniature, ancient rides; and a makeshift stage from which a local band played classic catchy, danceable, Indian pop music. None of that was a problem. In fact, it effectively hemmed in the naked man. The problem was were all the young men in out-of-fashion jeans and shirts acting like it was their own personal mosh pit.

They were jumping, kicking, and thrusting their arms in the air to the live music, while the few women present were off to the sides. The latter were the ones who started reacting to both the naked man and redhead first. Their little shrieks and cries acted like a wave, catching the attention of the dancers like a pond ripple. The result was the naked man turning toward Nichols on the far side of a human circle, while the path was closed off behind the redhead by curious, concerned festival-goers.

Nichols slowed, letting her peripheral vision take in all the confused faces. But she concentrated on the man, who was now holding the corpse like a sleeping child while babbling something in Punjabi, the local dialect.

“What is he saying?” she asked no one in particular. But her sharp tone elicited a reaction from a nearby co-ed.

“He says you are a demon, a redheaded demon, who attacked his family.”

Nichols didn’t look away from the man as she quickly responded. “Tell them he is a child molester who stole that girl. I’m trying to stop him!”

To the co-ed’s credit, she tried translating for the crowd, but the naked man was louder, and already speaking in their language. Nichols tried taking a step forward, but suddenly she was confronted by several angry, suspicious young men advancing on her. She recognized the look of distrusting amazement. She had seen it wherever redheads were not the norm—which made up most of the world.

She heard the co-ed’s shrill admonitions cut off, then found out why. Daniels was right beside her, his back bent, his fists clenched, and a ravenous grin on his otherwise mirthless face.

“What’s Punjabi for ‘bring it on’?” he growled.

Nichols didn’t want a riot, but left that to Daniels. She took another step toward the naked man, who started shoving the nearest young men in front of him, all while still babbling in despair and fear. She could see exactly what he was doing but was nearly powerless to stop him. Even with her heightened speed, she saw no way to get to him without becoming entangled in the encroaching crowd.

As Daniels looked ready to take them all on, Nichols kept her gaze locked onto the child snatcher. To her angry despair she saw him take the final step toward the fairground’s north-most exit, all while looking directly back at her with a triumphant, knowing grin on his face. That’s when she saw Josiah Key appear behind him.

To her regret, she let her relief and pleasure infuse her own face, alerting the man. He ducked, crouched, and scrambled like a wet pig, shaking off Key’s hands, and started running again. Infuriated at herself, Nichols stepped before Daniels while pulling her Sig Sauer P239 from its shoulder holster. As she saw Key go after the naked man, she pointed it straight up and fired.

“Make way for the redheaded demon with a gun,” she cried, and used the crowd’s momentary shock to race through them.

She heard Daniels following suit, accompanied by the exclamations of a foolhardy few who tried to stop him, but by then she was already out the fairground’s other side—hardly noticing that it led to a stony, root-veined, vine-covered path. If the information she had gleaned on the drive here was to be trusted, this had to be the trail to the temple fort, which stood between the town and the river.

A second later she was past Key, wishing she also had the time to take a shot at the naked man, but knowing that she couldn’t risk hitting the child. Dead or not, that was why they were here, and any further damage to her might negate the whole mission. Her speed was being turbo-charged by her anger and resentment, so she no longer had time to question anything because she was on the guy.

His surprise was almost gratifying as she grabbed his neck with one hand and brought the gun butt down on his head with the other. They both went down on mossy ground in front of three stories of crumbling brickwork surrounded by leafy shade trees. Nichols mirrored the man’s triumphant, knowing grin as she landed across his back, but then also mirrored his surprised expression when, rather than stay down, rendered unconscious by her blow, he rolled, twisting, and came up in a crouch, still holding the child.

Nichols was so shocked she didn’t take the moment to just shoot him in the face, and then lost her chance as Daniels cannoned by her and brought his fist directly toward the naked man’s nose, point-blank, with all the force he had gathered from wanting to take on an entire festival crowd.

He missed.

Daniels was stunned when he found his target was no longer directly in front of him, and was aghast when his momentum and lack of balance sent him flying forward like a hurled javelin. Nichols, who was directly behind him, was so confused by the big man’s collapse that, once again, her gun remained unused.

Finally, both Westerners managed to catch sight of the naked man, who was scrambling toward the main archway, which framed the sparkling, dirty, roiling river beyond. They hadn’t even started to regain their footing to continue the chase when Key stepped out from a rocky wash to block the naked man’s escape.

He didn’t rush the man, try to tackle him, or even shoot him. He just stepped out, far enough in front to go in any direction the man might choose, but also essentially cornering him within the small hall of the archway, since Daniels and Nichols were still blocking any retreat. Key’s expression was not antagonistic in the slightest. If anything, it was curiously interested.

“We must’ve caught you within seconds of your entry,” he said mildly. “You probably just threw your robe under the shelves and lay there, right?” Key shrugged, appreciating the naked man’s blank face. “Who would have thought that whoever followed you in there would be after the same thing you were? Bad luck, yes?”

Key continued to stand still, casually surveying the man, and waited. The naked man didn’t move for several seconds, but then they all saw his back curve and heard a strange animal sound. Key’s eyebrows rose and his head shifted back on his neck.

“Are you snarling at me?” he asked in mock incredulity, before making a tsking noise and shaking his head sadly. “You shouldn’t be growling at me. Not when you’re so close to fulfilling your assignment.” Key jutted his chin at the man. “Are you the only one sent to collect these corpses? Or did you go, on your own, by yourself, to clean up your mess? I mean, why else would you do it? Why not just leave well enough alone?” Key let his expression change to one of realization; then he smiled sadly and nodded with sympathetic understanding. “Or did you hear about some people”—he motioned to the strongman and redhead behind them—“who were showing interest?”

The naked man’s lips came off his teeth, and the growl snapped off as both he and Key charged.

But to the surprise of all the others, Key did not leap toward the naked man. He leaped to the left of the naked man. Nichols and Daniels had hardly started to react when the big man felt disappointment that his superior had so blatantly missed the mark. The child snatcher would clearly get away, having made them all look like fools.

The naked man seemed to think that too, if his renewed expression of cunning triumph was any evidence. He all but dove past Key, his eyes filling with the hills, woods, and water beyond.

But that expression winked off like a snuffed candle when the child snapped out of his grip. The naked man stumbled a few feet down the rocky path, then twisted to see Key standing placidly behind him, holding the corpse child like a crafty cornerback who had intercepted the game-winning touchdown pass. Key waited a second until Daniels and Nichols flanked him, their guns at the ready, before commenting.

“Keep your eye on the prize, asshole,” he said.

That was all he got to say before the temple fort grounds were invaded by a screeching assault team in military gear. “Down, down! Hands up, get down! Now, now!”

Key did not get down. He watched the naked man scurry off toward the river even faster than he had before, then turned to pinpoint the commanding officer of this bunch of stupid interlopers. To Daniels’s surprise, Nichols’s chagrin, and Key’s presumption, it was the man they had known as Captain Patrick Logan.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Key complained as he raised his hands, holding the child corpse to the sky like an offering.