De Vries turned his head in her direction, but his eyes never left Flak. “Your friend is very concerned about your safety, and obviously knows enough about me to comprehend that I could use a spell to influence your thoughts, or make you lie to him, or do whatever I desired. So he’s decided that until he has a better grasp on the situation, he’s going to remove you from the equation, at the same time limiting any possible retribution I might bring into play. Provided, of course, that I’m not who I’ve claimed to be, or that I mean you any harm. Does that about sum it up?”

Rachel looked to Flak, who gave her a tight, quick smile. “Close enough, Deadman.”

“Fine,” said de Vries, standing slowly. “Now, if you’ll be so good as to let the rest of your team come out of their hiding places, we can get down to business. I’ve been able to smell them since they came in, and I know exactly where every one of them is. I can also hear that the heartbeat of your elven mage has just increased slightly in tempo. Your human physical adept is holding steady, though I believe she will find that her weapon is useless against the barrier I have erected.”

De Vries sighed. “But I didn’t really ask Rachel to invite you for banter like this. Time is short, and while I’m sure you could easily spend the next twenty minutes trying to determine if I’m on the level, I think that would be less than prudent. So I propose we dispense with the preliminaries.”

For the first time since Flak had appeared in the room, Rachel saw a look of unease cross his face. “Just what did you have in mind?”

Though de Vries seemed not to move so much as a muscle, a small card appeared in his hand. “This is the private number of a person you know very well and whom you trust completely. He’s expecting your call.”

With a flick of the wrist, de Vries sent the card spinning toward Flak, who snatched it out of the air in a lightning motion, never taking his eyes off de Vries.

From off to her right, near the doorway of the kitchen, Rachel heard a soft, female voice say, “I got him, Flak.”

Rachel turned, but she couldn’t see where the voice came from. “Hey,” she said. “This is starting to freak me out a bit, all right, and just when I was beginning to think that nothing was ever going to freak me out again. So could we just knock it off with all this macho bulldrek and get down to business?”

Once again, Flak ignored her. He turned the card over in his hand, and Rachel saw his eyes go wide. “Wolf?” He looked back up at de Vries, who nodded.

“All right, everybody. Unpack.” Without another word, he slipped the card into his camouflage vest, as if he were returning a holy relic to its resting place.

Rachel turned just in time to see one person step in from the kitchen, one from near the front door, and one from the bedroom, How they had all gotten there without making any noise boggled her mind. All three were dressed like Flak, in camos and ski masks that hid their faces from view. All three carried high-tensile crossbows and tacticom gear.

De Vries smiled, as he looked around the room. “Excellent, my children. Everybody make yourself comfortable. The young lady and I have a very long story and a very short amount of time. According to information I’ve just received, we’ve been given another forty-eight hours, but beyond that, I cannot promise the survivability of the person we are going to rescue.”

13

Julius D’imato is officially listed as the number two man at Fratellanza, Inc. (see FBI File #894-656LY), though evidence suggests he is actually the brains behind much of the outfit’s success. During the two months his brother Marco D’imato (see FBI File #894-666LM) was recovering from the “accident” that left him a cripple, Julius D’imato managed to improve Fratellanza’s profit margin by forty-two percent.

– 

FBI File Access #894-676LM, Subject: Julius D’imato. Codeword: Brotherhood. Clearance: Classified Top Secret. Transmission intercept by Fracellanza deckers, 01 January 2059

Dust filled the high, cavernous ceiling of the huge Fratellanza owned warehouse near Devil’s Lake in Redmond. Early morning sunlight, streaming through the high, dirty windows, caught the motes of dust and made them dance in the air.

Throughout the warehouse, a small corporate army of fifty men hurried around equipment servicing weapons and the five large vehicles that dominated the center of the warehouse.

Julius D’imato stood in the center of all the activity, but was hardly aware of the men yelling to one another as they loaded four Citymaster riot vehicles. The main truck an Ares Mobmaster Command and Control vehicle, sat closest to the wall of the warehouse as four men finished arc-welding a massive steel wedge to the front.

Where are you? thought Julius. In his mind, he pictured Warren as he’d last seen him, at the funeral, his broad shoulders fixed, his jaw set in that angry line that always seemed to appear during family events. I should have made my move against Marco sooner Marco’s vampirism has put my son’s life in danger… that, and my lack of foresight.

Julius shook his head. This kind of self-recrimination wasn’t going to get him anywhere, and it certainly wasn’t going to get Warren back. When Warren was safely returned, then and only then would he consider how his own actions might have put his son’s life in danger.

Since the death of his wife, Rolanda, almost sixteen years before, Julius had done everything in his power to make sure Warren was safe and happy. Even as a teenager, Warren had fell an aversion to the family business and made no bones about it. The “covert warfare business,” he called it. And so the only way to make Warren happy was for Julius to allow him to become separate from the family and Fratellanza. Inc.

For just a moment. Julius let himself hate his brother. Ever since Marco’s infection, he’d become a different man. Though always ruthless, he’d also shown at least a modicum of familial sentiment. Now, even with Julius’ help to keep things under-wraps, Marco was like a machine. Caring about nothing but his own needs and designs. He hadn’t waited even a day after Derek’s death to begin badgering Julius about making Warren the next heir.

Julius had been concerned about the future of Fratellanza for some time now, Someone had to worry about the legacy of the family business. What with Marco’s increasing instability, Julius didn’t know what would happen next. Anyway, it was all in the hands of the lawyers now, and they were the best money could buy.

There was a shout from the back of the warehouse, in the direction of the soundproof room where Killian, Julius’ personal mage, had secreted himself almost five hours before.

It had been a long shot, trying ritual magic to find Warren, and Julius was still skeptical. However, he was also desperate. Every feeler he’d put out on the street had come back null.

Julius walked quickly back to the far end of the warehouse, stepping around men in street armor who were loading guns and ammo into the back of the other vehicles.

Killian was a short man, with wire-rim glasses and a balding head that made him look more like a highschool English teacher than a gifted magician. He was being supported by two guards and his face was covered with dirt and sweat, but there was no mistaking the look of triumph on the little man’s face.

“Got him.” Killian’s voice was deep, a rumble that seemed completely out of place with his timid demeanor, “He’s still alive, and he’s close.”

Julius felt a loose trembling hit his stomach first, then spread to the rest of his limbs. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been, until that moment. For a second he didn’t say anything, and Killian looked at him strangely, the look of triumph replaced by one of concern.