Welcome to chapter 20.

We are now ten chapters into the second book of NewU, and the darker turn of the narrative is set to continue. The journey is far from over for our hapless hero, and the trials and hardships of his investigation are only going to get worse. I hope you enjoy it.

As always, I would like to extend my sincerest thanks to my editors and my supporters. My gratitude and admiration are beyond measure.

Now, on with the story.

********

The car alarm jolted me awake. The wailing, screaming siren announced to everyone within a half-mile radius that absolutely nothing more ominous than a bus driving past had happened. It just announced it very loudly. The fact that it took almost twenty minutes for the car's owner to turn the damned thing off did nothing to help my mood.

"Jesus, it sounds like Optimus Prime is trying to give birth out of his asshole!"

I hadn't had much sleep. Even in my bunker, I had found it hard to settle; there was just too much to think about. My phone had started beeping at me within a few seconds of leaving the International Court of Justice, with Jeeves passing on alerts sent from my apartment computer. I was being followed.

Of course, I was being followed. I would have been absolutely astounded if I hadn't been. The question was whether the Inquisitors following me were working on behalf of the Inquisition or if they were working for the Montreaux Royals. It didn't really matter either way at this point. Isabelle had said she would pass the complaint on to the Conclave as soon as the meeting was over. Even though she had agreed that extra security would be counterproductive and would give away the ruse, I couldn't blame her for wanting to keep an eye on the situation. If my tails were from the rogue Royal faction, then even better. I could get the fight over and done with and not have to worry about dragging the threat home with me.

That was the part that bothered me the most. Once again, I had let my anger and bravado do the talking for me, and I hadn't sat down to think things through. I had seen the challenge so obviously leveled by the Inquisition and their choice of venues, and instead of remaining calm and collected, I had risen to it. Now I had intentionally put a bounty on my own head, if only to see who came to collect, without considering the fairly obvious fact that I was only in the Netherlands for one night.

Then I would have to go home.

The attack on the party had proven beyond any doubt that the rogue Royals had no qualms whatsoever in attacking a public target, meaning they wouldn't hesitate to attack the Queen's Head if they tracked me there and thought I was inside. In a moment of petulant posturing, I had put Jimmy, his uncle Bob, Lori - if she was there - and god knows how many innocent patrons at risk.

Whats more, there was no way to undo it. Nor did I have anywhere else to go. It was a problem that I couldn't fix right now, at least not without a serious amount of thought.

I sighed heavily as I pulled myself out of bed. "Jeeves," I said to myself. "If I do something like this again, punch me in the face."

"I'm afraid, Sir, that it is impossible for a non-corporeal representation of your own subconscious to punch anything. Let alone your face. May I suggest a stern warning instead?" My ever sarcastic butler replied inside my mind.

"Do you think it will help?"

"Probably not. But one never knows."

"Okay, then let's try that." I pulled myself to my feet and trudged sleepily into the bathroom to perform the necessary duties of the morning. "How are our friends doing?" I asked as I jammed the toothbrush into my mouth.

"Two are still in the hotel lobby, another three are in a van out front, and another is pretending to be the world's slowest delivery driver out back."

"Any idea whose side they are on yet?"

"I'm afraid not, Sir. You received an email from Arnold in the night saying..."

"Who?"

Jeeves sighed one of those sighs purposely designed to show impatience. "My apologies; BOB sent you an email in the night saying that the message has been conveyed as planned and an acknowledgment was received within the hour."

"Ahh, good ol' Bob... Carry on."

"Interestingly, at least as far as the Inquisition is concerned, there was no agreed plan of action from the Conclave. Usually, in cases like this, there is some plan laid out about how the Conclave plans to reign in the errant Evo before an intervention is agreed to. This message didn't contain one."

"I see. And I'm guessing there is nothing from Marco, Uri, or anyone else?"

"That's correct, Sir. So far, this information hasn't been disseminated through the Conclave, at least not as far as someone who would warn you... Yet. Bob has also suggested a code word be given to both sides. The logic is that if you bump into one of their agents, you have a way of finding out if they are working for the Inquisition without the messy unpleasantness of torture."

"Makes sense. What is the code word?"

"Pumpernickel."

I blinked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. "Pumpernickel...?"

"Yes, Pumpernickel."

"That sounds like it was Bob's idea."

"That would be an accurate deduction, Sir."

I chuckled to myself and carried on brushing my teeth. "Oh well. Nobody is going to forget that. So any ideas for a plan for the rest of the day?"

"Depends on if you are planning on confronting the people following you, or not, Sir. You are in a new city, and your flight is not for another eight hours. May I suggest some sightseeing and, if the need arises, finding a quiet spot to interrogate some Inquisitors?

"And if the need doesn't arise?"

"I don't know, Sir. Bus tour?"

********

I wandered the city for a little while, just idly and aimlessly following wherever my feet led me. The Hague, despite not being one of Europe's premier tourist destinations, was a remarkably beautiful city. It didn't have the sun-drenched marble streets of Malaga; in fact, it wasn't noticeably different from home in terms of weather. But whereas Britain in the winter was a dank, dreary, grey, and wet little island, the brisk early December air seemed to suit this place. The dreariness that usually came with this time of year seemed to be blown out to sea on the fresh continental winds.

One museum, or concert hall, or library or some other municipal building seemed to hold pride of place on almost every single street. This was a city with a thriving and lively cultural undertone where densely packed townhouses wrapped around wide-open plazas and lush green parks. Inevitably, however, my feet led me toward the sea.

"You are approaching the Westduinpark." Jeeves announced after a few hours of silence.

"Fascinating," I muttered back sarcastically. "That would be extraordinarily helpful if I knew what the Westduinpark was and why me approaching it was important."

"The Westduinpark is, as it sounds, the conservation area that lies between the city and the sea. It is almost entirely made up of sand dunes."

"And?"

"And a noticeable lack of security cameras, Sir."

"Why is that impo... oohhh."

"Yes, Sir. I'm glad you are following. No cameras mean that the computer tracking program will be useless in that area. But..."

"No witnesses, either," I finished. "Where are they?"

"Two of them are pretending to be an extremely awkward couple, holding hands about forty feet behind you. The van with the other three is two streets to your left. The computer has picked up another two entering the dunes from the beach... and the delivery driver is still watching the hotel."

"So, a minimum of seven close by then."

"Your math skills astonish me, Sir."

I smirked to myself as I crossed the road and stepped onto the sand. "Well, this is going to be interesting."

********

Sand, as it turns out, fucking sucks!

If you so much as look at a beach, even from half a mile away, you will be scraping the stuff out of cracks and crevices you didn't even know that you had for a week. But more importantly, it is not a substance that lends itself well to ease or speed of movement. But like many natural materials, it is grossly underestimated by people who have never had to deal with its nastier side. Sand looks very pretty when resting comfortably on an idyllic deserted beach, but a sandstorm is one of the most violently dangerous and utterly terrifying forces on earth. Forget getting a few annoying grains in your eyes; that shit will scour the paint off a sitting car in a few minutes. Imagine what it could do to exposed skin. Sand is one of the constituent ingredients in concrete, hard enough to crush bodies, and is the main ingredient of glass, sharp enough to slice a man into pieces. It can bury you alive, trap you in place, scour the skin from your body, and it is a pain in the ass to get out of a swimsuit. It should never be underestimated.

A brief look over my shoulder let me catch a glimpse of the white auras surrounding my two pursuers as they let go of each other's hands, and whispered something into the radios casually hanging off their ears - as if nobody would notice those, fucking Hollywood! - before they reached into their jackets and each pulled out a sleek-looking black handgun, their barrels elongated by the attached suppressors.

Apparently, the whole 'bullet-proof skin' thing had not been taken seriously by their bosses, whoever they were.

Between stamping through the sand with as much grace as a drunk elephant on roller skates and the fact that they were making no attempt whatsoever to hide the fact that they were armed - or looking for me - meant that... Alright, look. The whole point of an assassin is to kill someone who doesn't want to be killed. But unlike most of the human population who share this sentiment, assassins are trying to kill someone who expects an attempt to be made on their life. It's why they invariably employ stealth to get to their targets. Snipers fire from a concealed position away from where the target can see, bomb makers plant their explosives in places unlikely to be checked, and a poisoner poisons food assumed to be safe. Jesus, even Ninjas wore black to blend in with the night. These two... did not.

It was like fucking amateur hour and, frankly, more than a little insulting.

I sat myself on the ground between two high sand dunes and waited for them. I won't embarrass them further by pointing out how long it took them to find me.

As soon as they appeared on the top of the Dune in front of me, they raised their weapons and pointed them at my head. "Don't move," the man said in German, with my abilities translating for me.

"Wasn't planning to," I shrugged back.

"Our boss wants a word with you," He said, his eyes not leaving me.

"Oh yeah? Who's that?"

"His most regal highness, King..." The man was cut off as the woman kicked him. "Oh, umm... Get up slowly and keep your hands where we can see them."

"But you just told me not to move."

The man squinted, shuffled uncomfortably on his feet, and glanced at the woman. She rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on her weapon. "Get up... slowly... or I will put a bullet in your kneecaps, one in your gut, roll you to the beach, and let the tide take you." She said slowly and menacingly. "It is not a nice way to go."

"But then I definitely won't meet your boss."

"Then I will drag you," the man chirped up again.

"Wait, you will drag me before or after the tide has taken me? I'm confused."

The whispered click of the woman's gun sent a bullet crashing into the sand an inch away from my groin. "I'm not going to ask again!"

"You didn't ask the first time. But I wouldn't do that again if I were you. Sand doesn't like being shot."

"Sir, the van just pulled up on the street, two of its three occupants are incoming. As soon as they pass the first dune, we will lose visual."

"Sand can blow me!" The man announced smugly. "Her next shot will hit your balls."

"Well, that was a quick escalation from my kneecaps. But feel free to ask the sand to blow you." I nodded to the side of him. "I wouldn't be too hopeful, though."

A column of sand, at least as tall as the man and a few times as thick, quickly grew out of the ground next to him, giving him just enough time to blink in confusion at it before it was on him. Barely a second later, another one barreled into the woman as she tried the grab for her friend, smashing her to the ground as it swirled and ground itself over her. A tornado of razor-sharp granules whipped itself over her body as she was pulled and held to the sand dune. Both handguns were ripped from their grips - the man by an anvil of packed sand smashing into his wrist, and the woman by having the skin taken off her hand until she released her hold on it. The guns were carried away by the sand and buried deep in the dune.

The column of sand holding the man, easily the least threatening and most inexperienced of the two, disintegrated into nothingness, leaving him staggering on the slope of the dune, spluttering, blinking furiously, and trying to scrape the sand off his tongue. To be fair to him, he recovered remarkably quickly, blinking rapidly and wiping at his eyes before glancing first at me, and then at the woman being attacked by the beach.

"Now, about your boss," I said calmly. "Who is he? You said something about a King."

The man quickly reached behind him, pulling a dangerous-looking knife from the back of his waistband, and pointed it at me.

"I asked you about your boss, and you are showing me a knife," I squinted at him. "Is it a clue?"

"I'll fucking cut you!" He barked as he waved the blade menacingly at me before glancing down at his friend. She was still in the maelstrom of the second column and was slowly having the skin stripped from her body. "Let her go, or I'll drive this knife into your fucking skull!"

"Hmmm, not from all the way over there, you won't. Here, let me help." I hopped casually up onto my feet and strode purposefully toward him. The man took a few nervous steps back before steeling himself and lunging forward.

With a flick of my wrist, another pillar of sand shot up from the dune directly beneath his hand, smashing the knife from his grip and shattering his wrist. Part of the pillar jumped into his mouth to smother the scream that was launched from his lips.

I reached forward and grabbed a handful of his hair, spinning him around and forcing his head to look down at his friend. Even between the swirling, grinding vortices of sand, it was easy to see the patches of scoured-away skin and smears of blood covering her arms and face. Her clothes were being stripped from her body, and the look of agony on her face was only muted by the look of terror. "My guess," I hissed into his ear, "Is that she has about thirty seconds before the sand grinds away something important. You have that long to talk! Now... your boss!"

"Fuck, I don't know!" he almost screamed as he watched the woman's nose being ground away before him. "I was only recruited for this mission! I don't know anything!"

"And yet, you said 'King'...."

"King Montreaux, fuck, King Montreaux!" the man howled as the bone and cartilage of the woman's nose became exposed to her own personal sandstorm. There was a very noticeable red tint to the maelstrom now. "That's all I know, I was supposed to get you to the van, get paid, and that was it!"

"You sure that is all you know?"

"Yes, Jesus Christ, Yes. Please stop..."

His weapon reemerged out of the sand in an instant, every single granule of sand and dust extracting itself from the firing mechanism before it jumped up into my hand. The man barely had a chance to look at me before I put a bullet through his eye. His head shot backward under the force of the impact, blood, skull, and brain matter spraying onto the sand dune behind him before his lifeless body crumpled after it. The woman let out something of a muffled screech as I lowered the barrel to face her and put another two bullets into her head.

The sandstorm died away immediately, and in a few more seconds, the sand dune had swallowed their bodies, their blood, or any other traces that they had ever been here.

I had just enough time to take a deep breath and turn around before the two Inquisitors from the van appeared over the peak of the dune to my left. They immediately drew their weapons, leveling them at me. "Down!" one of them shouted, as the other stayed back to cover him. "Hands where I can see them!" These two were clearly more experienced than those currently buried a few hundred feet beneath my feet. "Contact bravo, advise we have made contact and get them to converge on our position!" The first man shouted over his shoulder to the second.

The second man was just about to press his fingers into his radio when a small red dot appeared in the center of his forehead, just below his hairline. The top of his skull exploded outwards, his eyes rolled into his head, and a deep, throaty "Uuunnngggh," purred from his lips as the blood started to run down his face. .

I blinked at him. I may not have been acting particularly rationally, and I was more than a little pissed off, but I was fairly certain that was not me. The first man, seeing the look of confusion on my face and hearing the odd sound from his friend, turned in time to watch his colleague's body slump to the ground and start to roll limply down the slope of the dune towards him. He raised his weapon to fire at me, his finger moving to squeeze the trigger when a muted click of a silenced firearm sounded from atop the dune behind me, and the man's throat was torn open.

A familiar-looking shape raced past me, putting another two bullets into the man's chest as he slumped to the ground, clutching his neck. Then, just like I did, she put a single bullet into each of my assailant's heads. "Hey, whadya know, it works!" A voice shouted gleefully from behind me. "Killing them with stuff instead of with our powers. Sunovabitch!"

Fiona turned to look at me, a wry grin on her face. "Jeez, leave you alone for five minutes, and you get an Inquisitor hit-team on your ass. Good thing we were tracking them, eh Jerry?"

I spun around to watch Jerry tramping down the sand dune as he unscrewed the suppressor from the end of his handgun and tuck both items into a holster beneath his Jacket. "Right? Damned newbies always getting themselves into trouble," he grinned.

"What the fuck are you two doing here?!?" I asked in disbelief. "I was just about to let them capture me!" With a huff, I walked over to the closest body, reached down, and pressed the button on his radio. "You in the van, your friends are dead, feel free to fuck off, or you can join them!"

"Jeeves, do you have the van?"

"Yes, sir. It is being tracked."

I spun back towards my two unlikely and partially unwelcome saviors. They were both blinking at me in confusion. There was a deep, dangerous growl behind my voice as I spoke, made even more dangerous sounding by the fact that it was clear I was trying - and failing - to contain it. "Considering what I have been doing for the last twenty-four hours, I should be really suspicious right now. What are you doing here?"

Fiona and Jerry both blinked at each other, before turning back to me. "We have been tracking the hit-team that attacked the party." Fiona answered with a squint as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "What did you think we were doing? Wait, what were you doing?"

"What did Uri tell you?"

"Uri?" Jerry tilted his head. "About you? Nothing, we wouldn't have jumped in and helped you if we had known you were here on purpose. We thought you were still at home. He hasn't said a word about you."

There was no sign of deception from either of them.

"Of course he didn't," I threw my hands up in the air. "Well, that is that plan conveniently fucking fucked! Incompetence or treason; that is what I am up against. Idiots or traitors! No, not you..." I added as I met the confused looks from my would-be rescuers. "...C'mon, my hotel is around the corner. I will explain it all to you there." Without waiting for an answer, and knowing that the man in the van was already more than a mile away, I turned back toward the city and started to walk.

"Hey, where are you going?" Fiona called after me. "We have to dispose of the bodies before they are found. We can't just leave them here. Someone will..."

I waved a hand vaguely into the air without breaking my pace. Fiona and Jerry took a few nervous steps away from the bodies as the sand, once again, swallowed them into the depths and consumed any traces that they were ever there. "Well, shit," Jerry mused. "Why the hell didn't I think of that?"

*******

"Jeeves?"

"Yes, Sir. It's bothering me, too."

"If the two people entering the dunes from the beach were Fiona and Jerry, why did you think they were Inquisitors?"

"They were blocking, Sir"

"Yes, obviously, but..."

"We labeled them as inquisitors because they were people visible to cameras - in their case, the cameras on the lifeguard station - that you couldn't reach with your mind. We mistakenly made an assumption."

"O...kay... so how do we know that any of the other 'Inquisitors' we have spotted using this system aren't, in fact, also Evos?"

"The short answer is that we don't. Not unless you can see them with your own eyes to check if they have an aura or not. You are thinking about the villa in the Malaga mountains."

"Yup. We don't even know if they were Inquisitors or Evos, do we? Just that fucking note, and anyone could have written that."

"That is, unfortunately, correct, Sir."

"And considering the whole thing with whoever in the Conclave is allowing false information to spread is clearly working with the Royals..."

"... We must assume that more Evos are working with them too," Jeeves finished for me.

"And we can't tell if the people we are tracking are Inquisitors or Evos, let alone whose side they are on or who they are working for. Just that I can't read them at the exact moment."

"Correct again, Sir."

"Perfect, just fucking perfect! Do you still have the van?"

"Yes, Sir. He is currently heading towards Calais."

"Lose him, and I am cutting you out of my head with a spoon."

"Yes, Sir. I will endeavor to not give you cause to lobotomize yourself."

********

A little while later, I was sitting on the edge of my bed in my hotel room. Fiona was sitting next to me while Jerry was sitting in the obligatory leather cushioned chair by the vanity unit. I had just explained my plan to them, or at least the parts that they hadn't worked out on their own.

To be fair, Uri didn't know anything about any of this either, but he had been told I was heading to the meeting and where it was. In the same vein, Fiona and Jerry had told him that they had tracked the hit squad across the channel but hadn't told him specifically where they were, so the reasons for him not telling them that I was in the city did make a certain sort of sense.... If viewed through the prism of Uri's pathological need-to-know mentality.

"It's a ballsy move," Jerry pondered. "They could come for you at home; you know that right?"

"Yeah, the thought had occurred to me as well."

"And that pub is not exactly the most defensible of places," Fiona added, both of them maintaining the habit of taking turns to speak. "Especially if you are upstairs in your apartment when they attack downstairs. A lot of people could die before you get anywhere near the fight."

"I'm open to suggestions."

Both of them stayed quiet for a few minutes, each of them staring at some invisible point on the wall behind me or the floor in front of me. "Do you think they even know where you live?" Jerry asked after a while.

"I..." I frowned for a second; that was a damned good question. "You know, I'm not sure. I have had the tracking program monitoring everything within a few miles of the Queen's Head since before Malaga. Nothing has been flagged."

"So it's possible they have no idea where you live..." Fiona started, her face suggesting that the formations of a plan were brewing behind her pretty features.

"... which means..." Jerry inevitably picked up the loose thread, perking up in his seat. "You could lead them to believe you live just about anywhere."

"You could set a trap for them." Fiona finished with a grin at me. "And you won't be alone, either."

"And Daddy Uri would be okay with you two taking time out of your investigation to help me?" I asked skeptically.

"I don't see why not," Jerry frowned. "Why would you think he would disapprove?"

"I have my reasons," I huffed. I was still a little pissed that my plan had been ruined so quickly. "What if I said that I would rather he not be told about any of this?"

"Why would you... Wait... you can't think Uri is involved!" Fiona gawked at me.

"Can you give me categorical evidence that he isn't?

The two of them looked at each other dumbfounded.

"Look, I will admit," I said after a few moments, "Uri is looking like the least likely person to be involved. But I hold no confidence what-so-fucking-ever that he won't report in up the chain of command and risk it being exposed to someone who is."

"Fuck." Jerry groaned after another few thoughtful seconds. "He may have a point there." He directed that last part to Fiona.

She nodded. "I can't say I fault his faith and trust in the Conclave, but it's pretty hard to deny that someone in the upper ranks is playing for the away team. And Uri does love his procedure."

"Does that procedure involve divulging details of my plan, and the trap, to his superiors?" I asked.

"Encouraging an Inquisitor attack on an Evo?" Jerry snorted. "Oh yeah. He wouldn't just report it. He would feel compelled to ask for permission."

"And that is why he can't know," I shrugged.

"Then why tell us?" Fiona asked.

"Cos you were there," I replied simply. "You were there at the party."

"Uri was there," Jerry squinted.

"Uri was visiting!" I snapped back. "Can you tell me that he knew anybody at that party? I already know it was the first time he had ever been. How many friends did he lose? You can hide behind job roles and orders all you like; you want these fuckers as much as I do! I can see it in your faces!"

"He'll know we are lying," Fiona said after another few moments of pregnant silence.

"So don't lie to him; just don't tell him. He doesn't need to know"

Both of them snorted out a quick huff of laughter.

"And if he asks?" Jerry took his turn to speak.

"Tell him the truth," I shrugged. "He will know you are lying if you don't, and you will lose any trust he has in you if you try."

I let myself look back and forth between the two of them as the weight of the decision danced in waves over their faces. "I'm in," Fiona finally said. "For Neil." She finished with a determined nod.

"For Mel," Jerry nodded. Pictures of the blonde girl he had been with at the party drifted through my mind, the same blonde girl who had tried to drag Faye to safety before being ripped to pieces by that first explosion. Faye was showing me who he was talking about—reminding me that they had been together.

I nodded slowly. "For Faye... and all the others. I will find a place I can convincingly use as a fake 'home' and get things set up. I will send you the details when I have them." I announced as we all seemed to understand that the meeting was over and stood up.

"Good luck, Pete." Jerry reached out and shook my hand. Fiona pulled me in for one of her now-trademark hugs. We said our goodbyes, and they headed out of the room.

"So..." I said aloud to Jeeves after the door had closed. "Any ideas?"

If it were possible to hear someone smile smugly, I would have heard it then. "Oh yes, Sir." My aged butler grinned from my bunker. "I have several."

*******

Sitting at the airport a few hours later, I couldn't help but smile to myself as I read the news reports from The Hague.

"Police are baffled by the discovery of a delivery driver who was found dead at the rear of one of the city center's hotels. The man, who has yet to be identified, was discovered earlier this afternoon. The body was described by several eyewitnesses as being hung between the buildings on either side of the loading bay with the use of overhead Christmas lights. With individual wires tying his arms and legs, and each one anchored to a different building, he was found 'strung up like the crucifixion' 15 meters above the ground.

The victim, reported to have been working at the loading dock for most of the day, was beaten to death by the clipboard holding his delivery notes.

With no clear way of accessing the anchor points of these wires, authorities are at a loss to how exactly this crime was committed. Police have refused to speculate but have confirmed, judging by forensic evidence, that the man was alive when he was trapped by the wires and hoisted into the air. Based on the apparent iconography of the body's pose, authorities have not ruled out satanic or other cult-related motivations behind the gruesome death.

These events come only a few hours after a city-wide power surge temporarily disabled all municipal security cameras between the city center and the sea. Authorities are yet to comment on whether these incidents are somehow related.

We will, of course, keep you up to date.

********

Thank you for reading chapter 20,

New chapters are posted every week, and updates can be found on my profile. Thank you again for the continued support. Your comments, votes, and feedback are always greatly appreciated.

See you next week.

Stay Awesome.

Nova