“In 1998, they sent a team of men in commando gear, carrying M4 rifles, to my home. I happened to be coming back from the grocery store at the time and so I nearly walked in on them ransacking my place. I turned around and drove away and never went back. Since then I’ve been moving every few months, staying light on my feet. In 2001, they caught up with me in Montana. You ever been to Montana, Chapel? It’s big sky country. Lots of open space, not a lot of good places to hide. They only sent one man that time, maybe because they figured I would be expecting a team, maybe because they thought they had me cornered. This guy was pretty slick. Claimed to be FBI, like I used to be. Said he wanted to discuss some old cases with me. I had him inside my house and pointing a gun at my face, ready to shoot. The only reason I survived was because I’d already poisoned his coffee.”
“Jesus,” Chapel said. This guy was crazy. Dangerously crazy.
“He lived. I didn’t want to kill anybody, not back then. I just fed him enough rat poison to give me time to get out of there. To escape. I went to New Orleans. Now there’s a place a man can lose himself. Or at least I thought so — until 2003, when the same man, the one I’d poisoned, came for me again. I couldn’t take any chances that time. I set fire to my own apartment on the way out. Maybe he got out in time, maybe he didn’t. I didn’t go back to check. In 2006, a new guy started coming for me.”
I’m going to die here, Chapel thought. I’m going to die because this man is insane and he thinks anyone who comes looking for him is an assassin.
“This one figured he’d play it real simple. No false ID, no tricky attempts to convince me he was an old friend. He just walked up to me in the parking lot of a Starbucks and started shooting. I got out of there by the skin of my teeth.”
“So the bomb in your house—”
“Just in case,” Funt explained.
The story was nuts, but it explained one thing. There had been dust all over Funt’s house, far more dust than could be easily explained. At least, it couldn’t be explained if Funt had set the bomb only after Angel called him.
No. This guy had been expecting an assassin for years. He had no idea that this time the assassin was real — but not human.
“Weird thing about this latest guy. He couldn’t stop laughing, the whole time he was plugging away at me. He came back in 2009—it must have taken him that long to track down my newest identity. I saw him coming in time. Then in 2010—”
“Wait,” Chapel said. “Hold on. Laughing? He was laughing the whole time?”
“It was creepy as hell. I don’t know who you really are, Captain Chapel, but at least you look normal.”
“I know that guy,” Chapel said. “The laughing guy. He is CIA, that’s true. And he’s definitely a killer.”
“Mm-hmm. Do you still think I’m crazy, then?”
Absolutely, Chapel thought. But maybe not delusional. It was possible that the CIA really was trying to assassinate Funt. The fact they’d failed so many times was a little hard to accept — but then again, how many times had they tried to kill Fidel Castro and never got him? “You said you knew too much,” Chapel said. “That’s why they’re after you. I think I have an idea what it is you know, and why it’s so sensitive.”
“Figures. They would’ve briefed you on me when they sent you down here to kill me.” Funt raised the clacker so Chapel could see it again.
“Wait! It’s what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s why I was sent here, yes, but to protect you!”
“Choose your next words carefully,” Funt told him.
“It’s about the chimeras, isn’t it? That’s what you know about. The chimeras they were holding in some prison camp up in the Catskills. You need to know something, Special Agent Funt. You need to know they escaped. They escaped, and one of them is in Atlanta right now, coming for you.”
Funt looked like an electric shock had run through him. Chapel thought he could see the hair standing up on the man’s knuckles.
“Malcolm got loose?” Funt asked. “Oh crap.”
ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+27:15
“That’s right,” Chapel bluffed. “Malcolm. Malcolm the chimera. He had your name and address and I came here to make sure he didn’t kill you.”
Funt stared at Chapel. “No offense, guy, but you’re not up to this. I don’t know what kind of training you’ve had, but Malcolm — he’ll be all grown up now. He’ll be more than a match for anything you bring to the table.”
“I can handle him,” Chapel promised.
“They must not have told you anything about the chimeras. They’re tougher than you can imagine, faster than anything human. They’re also meaner and more—”
“I killed one in New York, yesterday,” Chapel said, because he needed Funt to trust him.
“If that’s true — and I doubt it,” Funt said, “then you got extremely lucky. When I first saw Malcolm, he was ten years old. Even then he left me in the hospital for months. No, if he’s coming here… I’m as good as dead. Damn, damn, damn. I’ve got to think. I’ve got to think about this.”
“I can help,” Chapel pleaded.
“I’ll need to lay some more traps. I’ll need to get a gun… damn. Damn! Malcolm, after all this time — he won’t stop. The CIA goons, they lose their nerve after a while, but Malcolm… he’s got good reason to kill me. And they never even need a reason. Damn!”
“Funt,” Chapel said, softly, “you must realize you stand a better chance if you work with me. If you want to live through this, you can’t afford to turn down any help.”
Funt stared at him through the sliding hatch in the steel door. He reached up with his free hand and scratched at his eyebrows. He looked like he was about to start screaming in panic. “Not here,” he said.
“Special Agent Funt—”
“I didn’t live this long by being dumb! I need to think. I need to make some plans. Damn!”
“Just come with me, I’ll take you someplace safe,” Chapel promised.
“No,” Funt said. “No. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. I’ll assume you are who you say you are. And I’ll meet with you so we can figure some things out together. But not here, not now. Oh my God — what if he’s already on his way? What if he’s coming here right now?”
“Funt—”
“Stone Mountain. The top of Stone Mountain, eight hours from now. Just be there, and I’ll find you. We’ll talk.”
“Please,” Chapel begged.
“Not now! Not here!”
Funt slid the panel in his door shut with a clang. Chapel grabbed at it and tried to force it back open, tried pushing it with his fingers. Eventually it slid back a fraction of an inch. He pried it open the rest of the way and peered through, even though he knew what he would find.
The room beyond was empty. Funt was gone.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+27:21
There were a dozen stores in Underground Atlanta that sold the same ugly T-shirts and schlocky merchandise. Julia picked the nearest one and ducked inside, bending low as she flicked through a rack of cheap clothing.
“Souvenir for your trip?” the clerk asked.
Julia gave her the best smile she could manage. “I like this hoodie,” she said, holding up a bright pink sweatshirt with a graphic of jazz musicians printed on the back. The musicians were picked out with glitter and sequins. “And these hats,” she said, picking up an Atlanta Braves baseball cap.
“That’s official Braves merchandise. See the hologram?” the clerk asked, not moving from where she leaned against her counter. “It’s not a knockoff or anything.”