Dragon Spawn by Eileen Wilks

Author:Eileen Wilks [Wilks, Eileen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2016-12-06T05:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

“ALL right, but get back to me about it stat,” Special Agent Derwin Ackleford told the man who might have thought orders ought to move in the other direction, given that he was Derwin’s boss.

Crowley wasn’t a bad sort, though, Derwin thought as he reached across the car seat to grab the pack of cigarettes he’d tossed next to a bunch of carnations dyed an improbably bright pink. Mostly he was a pretty good boss. Mostly he left Derwin the fuck alone. So he let Crowley tell him again why he couldn’t have what he needed right away, then ended the conversation on a friendly note. “Yeah, yeah. In the meantime, try not to get yourself shot.”

He disconnected, pulled out a cigarette, and remembered he was trying to cut back. He scowled and slid it back in the pack. Dammit, he needed the deep background on Colonel Marcus Abrams. There was something off about the sonofabitch. He couldn’t put his finger on what, but his instincts had been screaming ever since he talked to the guy. And yes, dammit, he knew nothing was getting done like usual. Not with Headquarters blown up. Not with every-fucking-thing-else that was going on. Two hours ago, an agent at the Boston office had gone goddamn nuts and opened fire on everyone in the place. Killed seven, injured six more. One of the dead was the shooter, killed by return fire, so they wouldn’t be asking him what the fuck he’d thought he was doing.

And now another shooting, this one in Georgetown. Crowley had just told him about that one, which hadn’t even hit the national news yet. That was probably because the newshounds were so busy with all the other fucking disasters. Aside from Ackleford’s own case, the Headquarters bombing, and the Boston shooting, North Korea was having itself a meltdown, China was a fucking mess after that nuclear bomb, and for no fucking reason anyone could figure out, Paris had decided to hold a riot. A really big one.

On a slower news day, the shooting in Georgetown would have drawn a mention by now. Three FBI agents involved in the investigation of the bombing of Headquarters had grabbed a late lunch at a Georgetown restaurant. As they were leaving, a man on the sidewalk called out one of their names, got a response, and opened fire with a handgun.

Crowley hadn’t known what the weapon was—he was passing on shit he’d heard unofficially—but it must have been a semi-automatic of some kind, judging by the results: five injured, one dead. Three of the injured had been nearby civilians. Of the FBI agents, one was dead, the other two injured, including the man who’d stopped the shooter. Ruben Brooks had jumped the motherfucker after the man put a couple slugs in him.

Ruben Brooks was lupi. Lupi were hard to discourage. Brooks had kept the perp alive, too, proving he wasn’t an idiot. Maybe they’d learn something.

They sure as hell needed to. The world had been

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