To say I didn’t relish the thought of facing that prospect ever again in my life was a massive understatement. Along the lines of mentioning that Pamela Anderson’s had some work done. Or that TV news agencies occasionally slant their stories to interest viewers. But as Cole and I trudged toward an ancient temple where my stunned brain could no longer deny that Vayl had probably stopped to do a number on the animal he’d taken from the auction yard, I realized I might just have to walk down that long, empty road again.
What if I’m wrong?
Raoul’s voice came back to me, his words a lot more significant now, especially since he’d spoken them to me in hell.
Nothing is as it seems. Ha! Apparently that included my old reliable Spirit Guide. He’d told me to trust my instincts then, and instead, encouraged by my distracted sverhamin, I’d been ignoring them. The time had come to face the music. Problem was, they were playing a dirge.
Damn, damn, damn. I am so screwed. Because neither Vayl, Pete, nor anyone at the DOD was ever going to believe my new theory. Which went like this.
The Wizard picks the commander of a Spec Ops crew, unbeknownst to the man himself, as his inside guy. Why?
To make sure we come after him.
This, of course, is where I lose my willing audience and any support I might hope to gain from my bosses. And why, if I didn’t play this just right, I could lose my job. Which I love. More than cookies and milk. Or shuffling cards. Or any movie starring Will Smith. No, it’s not even close to that sort of comfort and joy. My work is my life. It’s kept me breathing. Literally.
I gulped back a massive wave of the boo-hoos and went on with my internal hypothesis. It made all the other weird stuff that had happened up to now line up. The fact that, after all these years of batting a total zero, we’d finally found a picture and information leading us straight to the Wizard. Those zombie reavers who just happened to get in the way of the attacking ones, making sure most of us survived to continue with the mission. Even Zarsa’s presence, distracting Vayl from the job so any suspicions the mole’s twin might raise would be ignored. I figured Cassandra’s psychic blowout was just a lucky break for him. I certainly don’t think he’d planned on her coming. But I’m sure if she had kept her senses, he’d have found a way to kill her before she could communicate her findings to anyone.
“That could be the connection,” I murmured.
“What?” asked Cole.
I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes. “I really shouldn’t say. What I’m planning has professional suicide stamped all over it. Believe me, you don’t want to be standing too close when this all goes down.”
Since he’d lost his first career due to his connections with me, Cole had no problem buying my line. Still, he said, “Use me, Jaz. I may be new at this game, but I’m a good agent. I’m also a grown man. Stop feeling like to have to protect me all the time.”
I nodded. Weak, I know. But in the end I couldn’t face being alone again. “Soheil Anvari said he was the caretaker of our building. Now I’m wondering who owns it.”
“Why?” I gave him my theory. “So you think maybe it belongs to the Wizard?” he asked.
I shrugged. “It makes sense to me. How else does he know to put Zarsa in Vayl’s path? Maybe he even had those bugs planted before we got into the house, and that’s why we never saw who put them there.”
“But they were only in the men’s bedroom,” Cole objected.
“Have you forgotten where we are? Why would a guy like the Wizard, a guy who put the X in extremist, give a crap what the women were thinking?” Which made me revise my theory slightly. Zarsa wasn’t meant to distract Vayl from me. I wouldn’t be expected to pull any weight at all. She was just supposed to keep him from focusing on anything that didn’t have to do with the mission. Like, maybe, the pesky little mole-hunt the DOD had sent us on in the first place. At least, he wasn’t supposed to worry about that until after he turned Zarsa, which would definitely be post-hit.
For a second I wondered how innocent Zarsa was in this whole drama. Then I decided I didn’t care and moved on to the main issue. “Why would the Wizard want us to kill him?”
“Maybe he’s got terminal cancer,” Cole murmured as we mounted the temple steps.
“Suicide by cop?” I replied. “Come on, you can do better than that. Think of what he had to do to put this whole deal together. It must have taken months, if not years. So why does the U.S. military’s number-one enemy and the bane of his own people orchestrate this elaborate plan where the end result is his own assassination?”
“Maybe he wants to make himself a martyr. I don’t think his god’s very popular among the civilians. Too creepy-looking. He’s got, like, three heads, you know? And one of them’s a snake. But if the big bad U.S. kills Angra Mainyu’s most loyal fan, maybe there’s some sort of uprising in reaction. Maybe it starts a whole wave of religious fervor and the Wizard gets to be a god like he’s always wanted.”
“That’s a lot of maybes,” I said. But it made more sense than anything else I could come up with on short notice. The Wizard’s top men always filled their we-did-it videos with plenty of preaching after each of their attacks. And they always referred to the Wizard as their god’s mouthpiece. Martyrdom would certainly get him the kind of attention he never had in life.
The temple’s front entrance was lit by torches. I only had to take one look at the twenty-foot-high figures carved along the facade — a parade of rabbits, tigers, and wolves halfway through their transformations into jackals, deer, and badgers — to realize who the temple honored. It was Ako Nogol, goddess of change. Even
her
place of worship had turned out to be too hot for Vayl to handle. He’d left a goat tied to the front door latch. The animal had taken a crap right on the threshold, which I didn’t think Ako Nogol would much appreciate, before settling down for the night with its legs tucked under itself as if the night was too cool for its little hooves.
“Vayl brought the gods a goat,” Cole said.
“Goddess,” I corrected.
“He could’ve at least dressed it up.”
“How do you mean?”
“Pink tutu. Floppy hat with flowers. You know. The usual.” I elbowed him, but it didn’t keep the grin off his face. “Your boyfriend’s completely lost it,” he murmured in my ear, not bothering to keep the delight out of his voice.
“Shut up and follow me,” I growled as I went back down the steps. “He spent some time here.” Not praying. That probably would’ve fried his brain. Meditating maybe. Or chanting some arcane spell. “We’re getting closer.”
We caught up to him about a mile north of the temple. I saw the mahghul first, loping along the elaborately trimmed rooftops, their presence a chilling reminder of how much was at stake. I held Cole back as I recognized the long, purposeful stride of my
sverhamin
ahead of us. “This is where we separate,” I said. Cole nodded. “Just keep an eye on him,” I warned. “He can sense strong emotions, so stay cool. And don’t get cocky. If you lose him, go back to the house and get cracking on that research. I want to know who owns the place by morning. You got your funky glasses on you?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Call if something goes wrong. And don’t forget this whole city is the danger zone, okay?”
“Okay! Geesh! Are you sure you don’t have some eggs you need to hatch somewhere?”
“Sorry. Old habits. Still, be careful.”