The Seventh Sons (Sycamore Moon Series Book 1) Read online

  "So," he continued, "since I owe you, I dug a little deeper. I have an old colleague inside." The medical examiner sounded a bit hesitant. "He made me promise not to put it in writing anywhere, but it's like you said."

  "I knew it!" exclaimed Maxim, drawing the attention of other officers. He waved them off.

  Brody was so excited about delivering the news that his voice cracked. "It's amazing! Every single one of the seventeen victims tested positive for rabies. On this scale, that's unprecedented! We would have never noticed unless you specifically requested the screen. This type of thing is not routinely checked without red flags."

  "Is the disease what killed them?"

  "Negative. Strangulation in every case. But assuming these victims were homeless and lacked access to medical care, they wouldn't have gotten a vaccination treatment. They would have been sure to die anyway."

  Maxim considered the ramifications. "Maybe not..."

  "Most definitely," said Brody. "Except for recent isolated cases of forced coma, the fatality rate of untreated rabies is absolute."

  Maxim didn't want to press the issue. He had nearly forgotten that others were not privy to the existence of werewolves, even those in the medical community. For all he knew, Flagstaff didn't even have an epidemic.

  "Listen," said Brody in a hushed voice, "I tried to keep the testing under the table." He hesitated again. "It's just hard on this type of scale. The case is too high-profile. There was nothing I could do."

  Maxim's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? What happened?"

  "Well, the Centers for Disease Control happened. An agent did the rounds today. A tall woman with a British accent."

  "Ms. Rao," said Maxim.

  "That's her. Real pretty. She wanted to make sure the traces of the disease were scrubbed."

  This was the part that Maxim wasn't happy to hear. "Scrubbed?"

  "What I'm saying is, there is no documented evidence of the rabies outbreak and there isn't going to be." The man stuttered for a second and stopped himself and sighed. "You can't use it because it's not on record."

  Maxim inhaled slowly. He was still in shock about Nithya's actions. "It's okay, Brody. I've been learning that things get done much more efficiently through unofficial channels anyway. Thanks." The detective hung up the phone.

  Rabies. All twenty bodies. Not only did this undeniably link the suicides with the Paradise Tank victims, but it was as damning to the Seventh Sons as he could have hoped for.

  Maxim's theory was proving true. The abductions had started in Sanctuary. The victims had been infected and killed and, after being missing for several weeks, were found at the bottom of the falls. They were probably thrown from the top while they were still alive. Their condition wouldn't have ever been noticed or tested for.

  Doka and the club must have moved on to the transients to counter growing attention to the cases. Less notable people went missing from a larger population set, most outside of Sanctuary, from areas without a dedicated city police force. The abductions weren't even noted because the victims were already ghosts, and there hadn't been a clamor since the bodies went undiscovered.

  Until now.

  Yes, the motorcycle club was involved. Maxim had no doubt in his mind. Then with the CDC cover up, he couldn't help but suspect Nithya as well. But then, he already had; he just hadn't found a solid reason to yet.

  What were the feds hoping to accomplish by covering up the rabies deaths? Was it standard procedure when an outbreak has this kind of impact on society? It certainly would limit the questions if this was just attributed to gang violence. Someone would need to be blamed—but would it be the right person?

  Maxim hated to admit this, but he was working against a fighter in a heavier weight class. His strikes, no matter how well placed, were not having the impact he wanted. The Sanctuary Marshal's Office needed some outside help.

  The detective opened his personal laptop. He had started using it recently for the type of work that he didn't want subpoenaed. What he was doing now didn't make him proud and could easily backfire, but in a day and age where the media created many problems, maybe this was an opportunity for them to solve one.

  Maxim opened his Tor client and typed up a curt email. Subject line: "CDC leak." It simply read: "Confirmed. Seventeen Paradise Tank victims infected with rabies." He addressed it to two outlets he knew would limit the chances of this blowing back to him and stopped himself. If this didn't work out right, Maxim could find himself out of a job.

  The detective rubbed his closed eyelids and took a deep breath. He could really use a hard drink right now, which meant that he would be settling for another to-go cup instead. Hey, he figured, he needed the ride anyway. He clicked send.

  "Gutierrez," he called out. "Do you have some free time in a bit? I need you to drop me off at my car."

  The officer was sitting at his desk looking busy, which probably meant he was watching YouTube. "No problem, sir. We can get some coffee on the way. Where are you parked?"

  "The Coconino County Morgue in Flagstaff."

  The rookie scrunched up his face and looked at Maxim strangely. It was odd for the detective to leave his car half an hour away like that, but Gutierrez didn't bother asking questions. Any excuse to get out of the office made him happy.

  Maxim opened up a tracker program on his laptop and brought up a map of the area, focusing on the GPS coordinates of his cell phone. The little blue dot was moving east on Interstate 40. That was Nithya Rao on her way back home to Flagstaff. The detective's phone had a full charge and would provide him with a few days' worth of surveillance.

  The Paradise Tank bodies had already created a media circus. Once word got out about the rabies, pressure on the CDC and the motorcycle club would only increase. Any actors silently skirting the law in this production would start to see their elaborate covers falling away—and someone, somewhere, was bound to trip themselves up.

  Part 7 - The Bite

  i.

  Diego stood vigilant as Maxim peered through the heavily tinted windows of the sport utility, gun in hand. The vehicle was parked and all was quiet, but it was still possible Nithya was inside. As the detective snuck around to the passenger door, his fingers etched lines in the sheen of red dirt that marred the white paint. Apparently satisfied, Maxim popped the door open and pulled his cell phone out from under the seat.

  "Well, she's here," he stated with determination. "Somewhere."

  Diego didn't like this. There was something he was missing.

  They were standing on the edge of an old train yard, a relic from another time. The two had wound their way north on the Transwestern in pursuit of Nithya's SUV, but the location that had greeted them seemed out of place in the mountainous terrain above Sanctuary. There was a Grand Canyon transport line to the west, but the purpose of this lot, fenced off by wire and guarded by private property notices, was lost on the biker. As Diego had already come to learn with Paradise Tank, the deserts and forests of Arizona were expansive enough to keep many secrets.

  Rusted hulls of train cars littered the dry grass haphazardly. Some lay on their sides and others were stacked into lines, but there was no overarching order to their placement. This was a place abandoned and it was meant to sit undisturbed, a graveyard of giant metal carcasses.

  "I told you," said Maxim, scratching his cheek where the scruff had gotten too long. "Bodies uncovered, rabies exposed—we forced her into panic mode and she made a mistake."

  The biker could only nod as he adjusted his new sunglasses. This was definitely a secret place. Diego had suspected there was something amiss as soon as Nithya had acted without tapping the Commissioned Corps. Now, with the ensuing media scrutiny, everybody knew.

  "If she was operating independently," Diego posited, "using her government arm to pressure the Seventh Sons while also keeping her activities from the feds, then they would both be desperately looking for her, no?" Diego wondered if the woman had any friends left at all.

 
"No doubt. This might be a safe house where she could lay low."

  "I'm not so sure," said Diego. If Nithya simply needed a place to hide, she could have been anywhere, miles away from potential pursuers.

  The sun was sweltering this afternoon. Diego unzipped his leather jacket to get some air flow and approached the train cars suspiciously. "The timing is too coincidental," he said. "It's almost the new moon."

  "Don't tell me." That stopped Maxim in his tracks and the biker had to turn around.

  Diego watched the man's hesitation with a smirk for a moment. "Did I ever tell you why I was at Sycamore Lodge that night that Doka and Steve and Nicola attacked me?"

  "I'm a detective. I can put two and two together without needing you to tell me," answered Maxim. "You were asking after your sister."

  "Yes," said Diego, "but why that night, specifically?" He walked back to the detective. "Of all the nights to voluntarily step into a den of wolves, why do it when they are close to turning?"

  Maxim just stood silent, eyes searching Diego's face for the answer to the riddle.

  "Wolves are big and ornery and dangerous, that much is true, but humans are far more complex and deadly. Teeth can rip you apart, but that is what makes animals much simpler. Wolves don't deal in lies or political maneuvering; they either attack you or they run. Instead of being able to hide behind their human devices, their true intentions are revealed." Diego watched the detective as he processed the information. "When wolves are close, even in their human form, you can see it in their eyes, in their mannerisms. They have no choice but to be their true selves. If you want to catch a werewolf doing something wrong, there's no better time than when they turn."

  "Fair enough," said Maxim, futilely brushing dust from his black jacket. "But what if you already know that their intention is to tear you to pieces? Would you rather be fighting a large wolf?"

  "Tell me, in this day and age, do teeth really concern you more than bullets?" Diego clamped down tightly on Maxim's shoulder with his hands. "A bite is more visceral, no doubt. A wild animal with frothing jaws strikes a fearful impression, but give me the pistol in your hand any day of the week."

  "And if you don't have a gun?"

  Diego released his grip, patted Maxim's back, and chuckled. Maxim's question was less rhetorical than it sounded and the biker suddenly wished he had more firepower. "The same holds true for them. Would you rather your foe hold a gun or growl and bare canines? Of course, neither are preferable to a nice day relaxing in the sun, as we are doing now."

  "Okay," Maxim conceded. "So when the sun goes down, I should pack my silvers."

  Diego was taken aback. "Is that not what you have loaded now?"

  Maxim pulled a magazine from his belt and showed it off. "Nithya only supplied me with the one."

  "Shit." Diego had assumed the police officer would be better armed. "Load it now, Maxim. The time is sooner than you think. Day and night are not terms that concern werewolves. What affects them is the planetary alignment of the moon with the sun. Full moons and new moons have peak alignment periods—that's when the transformation occurs."

  "How long do we have?"

  "Ten minutes. Twenty."

  "You're kidding me." Maxim scoffed and looked at the biker incredulously. "They only turn once every two weeks, and we have the luck of being here right before it happens?"

  "It's not luck," said Diego. "Wolves often display suspicious activities during these periods. They decide to hide deep in the forest. They succumb to baser instincts and become more aggressive, often making mistakes. Even more strategically, they heal immediately when they turn. If you were a wolf and you were going to do something at the risk of great bodily harm, the smartest time to strike is right before you turn. Less time to live with the pain and the injury."

  Maxim nodded his head slowly and gripped the mag of silver rounds tightly in his hand. "So we followed Nithya here, now. You're saying..."

  Diego didn't want to reveal his suspicions without more information—he knew Maxim was attracted to the woman—but the cat was already out of the bag. "The timing is too coincidental."

  Maxim gritted his teeth and put the mag back on his belt.

  "What are you doing?" asked Diego.

  "Don't worry. I just don't want to waste them. I only have fifteen rounds." Maxim's face was the definition of conviction, and Diego did not doubt his next words. "I'll use them if I have to."

  The two men turned as the smell of burning lumber filled the air of Sycamore. A skinny plume of dark smoke rose from within a dense bed of train cars. A fire was burning, and the two men had talked long enough.

  They cautiously passed several husks of steel and saw a square formed by four storage cars. It was a loose grouping; there was plenty of space to move between them, but a large, forest green car with rivets blocked their view. Many of the cars were raised above the ground, and this one was no exception, but the base was completely boarded up and prevented them from peeking past it. Maxim motioned for Diego to take the left flank. They exchanged a last look and split off toward opposite sides of the car.

  ii.

  Diego slowly skirted the corner of the rail car and peeked into a makeshift courtyard. His eyes darted over the scene quickly, looking for any trouble. The surrounding trees rustled as leaves fell into the empty square of grass. There was no activity in or around the train cars. In the middle of the field was a single metal barrel with a fire in it. Diego leaned against the corner of the green car and tried to see if there was anything in the flames but it was too far to tell.

  A metal grinding sound startled him, and he pulled back out of the square for a moment. Then he saw her. Nithya Rao was walking away from them. She had just exited the cab and had her back turned to them, unaware of their presence. Diego glanced to his right and saw Maxim peeking around the opposite corner. Next to him, a wooden porch stepped up towards the train car they were circling. The metal door Nithya passed through had been slid halfway open.

  The biker looked back at the woman and noticed she was holding a bundle of items. He could make out what looked like a clear plastic case with vials of liquid medicine inside. Nithya placed that on the ground next to a large duffel bag and then dumped a folder of papers into the fire. She was destroying evidence.

  Diego watched as Maxim inched forward slowly, both hands on his weapon. Nithya turned around and started to walk back to the doorway. She jumped and froze as soon as she saw the detective.

  "Nithya, you have some explaining to do."

  The lithe woman regained her composure and flashed Maxim a smile. "Detective," she said as she coolly walked towards him. "This is CDC business. If I had needed your assistance, I would have requested it."

  "Not this," said Maxim, using his gun to point out the surroundings. "This isn't official. You're on the run and your agency is looking for you. I'm authorized to take you in."

  "Do you know that they broke into my house last night?" she appealed. "The Seventh Sons—they want me dead."

  "And why is that?" returned the detective. "What were you doing here?"

  Diego watched from around the corner as the woman struggled with indecision. She looked at the train car that she had come from, then down at the bag by her feet, then back at the detective. She put her hands out to her sides and slowly stepped closer to Maxim.

  "Stop walking," he said coldly. Maxim reached into his jacket and withdrew his cell phone.

  "Wait," said Nithya, putting her hand up to stop him. "Don't do that." She kept moving closer.

  "Nithya," he warned, "if you keep coming at me, I will shoot you."

  The detective stood holding his pistol awkwardly in his left hand as his right thumb brushed the screen of his phone. The CDC agent was very calmly closing the distance between the two. Maxim stood, somehow firm yet indecisive at the same time, as Nithya held her hand out to grab the phone.

  Diego stepped out from his position on the opposite side of the car. "Stop walking," he said, repeating
Maxim's order.

  Nithya had not known the biker was there. She turned suddenly as he walked out and flanked her, moving further into the courtyard. Diego reached into her bag on the ground and found her pistol. Nithya gave him a hardened look. He watched her eyes closely, searching for a flash of orange or red, but it was too bright outside to tell.

  "Of course," said Nithya, clapping her hands down against her thigh in surrender. "The detective's secret weapon. The Commissioned Corps ranger." She looked at the two with a newfound understanding. "You turned Maxim against me at the clubhouse."

  Diego felt uncomfortable in the middle of the square. He didn't like the timing of any of this at all. He backed into the corner of the train car again.

  "Why didn't you tell me you exhumed the suicides?" Nithya asked the detective.

  "It was an unrelated case at the time."

  She nodded with a look of defeat. "You had a local examiner find the rabies in Sanctuary, then it was only a matter of asking Coconino to use the same diligence."

  "Something like that," he answered.

  "I'm disappointed," said Nithya. "I didn't know how that story leaked. I thought it was some doctor who thought himself noble, but now I see that it was you."

  Maxim's face showed no regret. "Did you think I would let you cover up twenty murders?"

  "Look past the media story, Maxim," said Nithya, scowling. "Those men and women were taking part in a battery of rabies trials."

  "They were strangled!" yelled Maxim.

  "They weren't supposed to be!" she shot back. A cloud formed over the woman's face as her voice grew more somber. "I was unaware of the link to the suicide victims until you told me. Every one, each of my test subjects, were supposed to be moved to private hospice care. Past a certain point, it was known that they would succumb to the disease. The bodies, of course, needed to disappear afterwards, but the subjects were never meant to be murdered."