Extinction Machine by Jonathan Maberry Page B

out of cars. A few began moving closer, but Ghost gave such an eloquent growl that they retreated to a minimum safe distance.
    I leaned a little closer to Agent Albert. “Listen to me, asshole—I don’t know what they told you when they sent you four morons out on this pickup, but they didn’t give you enough information. You just stepped in shit and believe me when I tell you that a kick in the junk isn’t the worst thing that could happen to you today. On the other hand, if you tell me who sent you and why, I can see your luck definitely improving.”
    All he did was give me a slow, stubborn shake of his head. I sighed. Twenty minutes ago I was in a warm bed with a beautiful woman. A beautiful naked woman. I’d intended on sleeping until noonish, then wake her up, romp with her some more, and afterward the two of us would go on a prowl for the thickest steaks in Baltimore. Instead, I was here. I felt like crap due to lack of sleep, residual booze in my system, a hangover that made my head feel like it was held together with duct tape and enough postconflict adrenaline to make my eyes twitch and my hands jump.
    Plus there was that whole “the president has been kidnapped” thing that was setting fires in my head.
    “Last chance,” I said to Albert.
    Another slow shake.
    I sighed. “Your funeral, pal.”
    “Yo!” called someone from the crowd. “What’s going on over there?”
    I got to my feet and held up my ID. “Federal agent. This is a crime scene. Clear the street.”
    They milled but none of them left. Everyone seemed to be taking photos with their phones. In the distance I heard the banshee cry of sirens.
    I made two quick calls. The first was to my brother, Sean, who was a detective here in Baltimore. I told him the details that mattered but nothing of what was really happening. Sean didn’t really know what I did for a living—like most folks from my previous life, he thought I worked for the FBI—but he promised to pass along word that I was to be allowed to leave the scene. He said he’d call our dad, too. Dad’s the mayor of Baltimore. Sometimes nepotism is the best grease for the gears.
    Then I called Church and gave him the full story.
    The sirens were really close.
    “Theories?” asked Church.
    “Not a goddamn one.”
    “Okay, get out of there as soon as you can. I’ll handle things with Baltimore PD and we’ll see about a transfer to bring those four to a facility where we can interview them. I’ll also get Jerry Spencer out there to take samples and sweep their cars.”
    “Cars are clean. Doubt Jerry’s going to get anything besides fingerprints.”
    “It’s worth a try.”
    Jerry was a former DCPD who now headed up the DMS forensics unit. He was damn good at it, too, though he never seemed to enjoy it. World-class grouch. No visible social skills. One of the DMS guys privately described him as “Sherlock Holmes with hemorrhoids.” Like that.
    “Any news?” I asked, and he knew what I meant.
    “No,” said Church.
    “Call me paranoid, boss, but I find it strange that these jokers took a hard run at me today.”
    “Because of this morning?”
    “Maybe. Or maybe because the veep is now the commander-in-chief. Last time he was in the Oval Office he sicced the NSA on us. Could be doing the same with the FBI.”
    “You think that’s likely?”
    “Don’t know. Timing’s weird, though. And … the wattage is dialed up. These guys wanted to hurt me. They were drawing guns when I made my play.”
    “I’ll make sure they land in our custody,” said Church in a way that was not intended to suggest that these guys were going to spend the rest of the day getting blow jobs and eating bonbons.
    “Cops are here,” I told him as the first units screeched to a stop.
    “Ghost—down and quiet,” I said and he obeyed. With that command he’d even let me get cuffed—if it came to that—without doing anything that might get him shot.
    I stepped clear of the cars and raised my