The question was rhetorical, but then a voice spoke out. “Umm, not quite yet.”
A new vehicle pulled up. Drake dropped his hand and moved closer to cover. Dahl and Kinimaka stepped to the front; Smyth and Lauren to the back. The doors opened and three serious looking bodyguards stepped out, surveying the area. Black sunglasses and suits spoke of government, and the busy surveillance shouted Secret Service. Drake attempted to keep his jaw stuck together.
Hayden failed. “Is that…? It’s a woman. Ah crap. Not now. We can’t guarantee her safety.”
But there was no stopping Kimberly Crowe. The middle-aged, new Secretary of Defense was a slim, fit woman who clearly worked out. The bones of her cheeks were prominent, the clip of her heels quick and sharp. She approached Hayden, then stopped just a meter away.
“You think this is inappropriate don’t you?”
Hayden measured her response. “Is this a flying visit, Madam Secretary?”
“I’m here to help.”
Drake saw the determination on Crowe’s face. Nobody would say the obvious aloud, so he started to wonder how to phrase a response, but then Alicia stepped in.
“Our track record ain’t that good with Secretaries of Defense.”
“To safeguard you, Madam, would impact our effectiveness,” Hayden amended.
“I have my guards.” Crowe swept her hand toward the three men.
Dahl snorted. “You steal ’em from kindergarten?”
“And you might be subjected to some coarseness,” Hayden added quickly.
“We can take it. And I can take a back seat.” She motioned. “Lead on.”
Conscious that Crowe’s appearance could mean anything from an inquisitive visit to a brief evaluation, to a full-on appraisal of the team’s value to the nation, Hayden turned away. The Secretary knew the risks.
It was time to hunt.
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
The plan was simple, and far easier than trawling through thick layers of digital dust and numerical highways. Hayden explained it to the Secretary as they moved out.
“As with all enemies, we usually put aside Webb’s beliefs, crazy or not, as they can’t help us here. But his life’s work? That’s key. This man has been leading up to the creation of an alchemical formula called the Philosopher’s Stone, a substance also known as the elixir of life. Once the most hunted prize on the planet, it’s now Webb’s ultimate goal.”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“But its history is fascinating. It can be traced back to Adam, who got the knowledge from God. Passed down among biblical patriarchs, it was how they achieved their durability. It involves the Temple of Solomon, and Psalms in the Bible.”
“But you put that aside, right?” Crowe said. “As a little kooky.”
“Yes and no,” Hayden said. “On this occasion it could help. The Internet is vast, and full of lies. Who knows which facts are actual facts anymore? Especially when they relate to a three-hundred-year-old Count. If we had time to research properly, old books, old libraries, museums and such, we could work it out. But we never do. Real life moves too fast to take a breather. Real soldiers and real teams have to think and study on the go.”
Crowe followed Hayden between groups of revelers. “Makes sense. But I still don’t hear your point.”
“All right. Webb believes, through learning the secrets of alchemy, teleportation, invisibility and with advice from the Freemasons handed down from their ultimate founder, he can concoct this Magnum Opus. That’s why he embarked upon this quest only after locating Leopold’s scroll. To make the liquid, he will now need the right ingredients.”
“To make the Philosopher’s Stone?” Crowe looked immensely skeptical. “And you know what they are?”
“We do. I believe it’s knowing how they’re mixed that changes the outcome. Anyway, during the flight we had the FBI techs tracking local purchases of phosphorous. A certain urine. Special morning dew. Ammonium niter. Magnesium chloride. A few other materials that create sophick; salt, sulfur and mercury. Yes, some of the establishments around here are extremely secretive about what they sell, but others are either complacent or carefully cooperative.”
“I understand. So you’re telling me we’re here to follow a shopping list?”
“Exactly.”
Deeper they delved into the French Quarter and beyond. Run-down shops with dirty green shutters and cheap souvenirs boasted the names Church of Voodoo, Leveaux’s and Hoodoo Shop. Whether by design or neglect, every establishment labored under an air of disrepair, and several looked downright uninviting. Drake had long ago learned that innocent fronts could often hide dens of terrible iniquity. But tourists wandered in and out of the open doors, snapping pictures, selfies, most laboring under the intense heat.
Hayden stopped. “Blue Voodoo,” she said. “Here, apparently, we can find putrefied urine.”
Alicia lowered her head across Hayden’s shoulders. “Really?”
“Hey, it’s not my barbecue.”
The team readied and liaised with the local SWAT guys who had also turned up. By now they all wore flak jackets and helmets and carried their weapons exposed. The area was emptying rapidly as people were moved away. Drake took the lead.
“Go.” The directive whistled through his comms.
Drake crossed the threshold, gun up, and went left. Dahl went right. Two followed and then Kinimaka went straight down the middle. The counter assistant stared at them in shock.
“Back door?” Drake asked.
But all was empty. If Webb had ever been here, he had moved on. Hayden called out the manager and took him aside.
Drake listened as he quickly answered her question. “Yes, yes, we sold it less than a half hour ago. Odd man with a tall friend. We don’t question.”
Another store beckoned, this one two blocks away, that sold ammonium niter. Inside, Drake dubiously regarded the plethora of chemicals, urns, mixing bowls and mortar and pestle basins, the vials of hair and teeth and animal remains, the jars of eyeballs, tongues and toenails, the plastic pouches of mandrake, zombie flesh and king’s blood. The proprietor looked like he’d ingested all of them.
“Yar, yar,” he drawled in a clearly fake English accent. “Man came through just recently. Bought the niter, magnesium, some phosphorous. Said he needed the morning dew.” A cackle, a flash of blackened teeth and a whip of dreadlocks. “I said ‘you mean the special dew?’ He said ‘yes’. I said ‘Don’t sell it’. He looked rather miffed.”
Hayden fought to take him down a little. “You recommend anywhere?”
“Verily, verily. Magick Lounge. They surely have all kinds of… crap. Oh, and why are those chaps dressed like the men in black?”
Drake winced at the references to Secretary Crowe’s bodyguards but leaned close to Dahl. “Dude speaks better toff than you.”
The Swede sighed. “Spoken like a true northern peasant.”
Kimberly Crowe turned to the team. “So what is the special dew? Dare I ask?”
The proprietor sniffed. “Precipitation gathered at dawn off the petals of a deadly, noxious plant. Is it lethal or is it not? Would you try some?”
“Doubtful.” Crowe backed away. “Very doubtful.”
“Depending on how blasted ya got the night before, eh?” Alicia blurted before remembering who she was speaking to. But then she only shrugged. “Fuckin’ true isn’t it?”
The entire force moved on, Hayden ticking items off her list. As they paused in a square behind the Magick Lounge, a steaming sun trap that stank of fried chicken, marijuana, cigarettes and jasmine, the leader of the SPEAR team spoke out.
“Only the sophick elements remain after the dew. Be ready.”
“We should go straight on to the next,” Smyth chaffed. “Looks like we’re still ten minutes behind.”