The deal was set for seven in the evening.
At five sharp, Locke walked out of the Sentinel Special Service building, suit crisp, expression relaxed. He slid into his Audi A8, started the engine, and drove smoothly out of the underground parking lot toward the abandoned hangar near Kennedy International Airport.
As his car disappeared onto the street, a clerk from the administrative office stepped out from a corner of the lot. Head lowered, the agent pulled out a phone, typed a brief message, and sent it.
On the highway, Locke drove at a steady sixty miles per hour. One hand rested loosely on the steering wheel. The other held a cigarette, smoke drifting lazily out the open window.
"Debbie," he said through the earpiece, "any movement at the hangar?"
"Negative," Debbie replied from the command operations hall. Sentinel satellites had been locked onto the area since mid-afternoon, providing full real-time coverage. "From deployment until now, there have been no anomalies."
"Good."
Locke exhaled a smoke ring and flicked ash out the window. "Tell Jack to contact me the moment he locates Blade."
"Understood."
He ended the brief exchange and focused back on the road.
Earlier that afternoon, he had told Walter Herman that he had no intention of scheming against Natasha. That had been true. Natasha was not the target of his calculations.
Blade was.
Blade was the perfect knife. A professional predator of vampires. If anyone could kill Deacon Frost cleanly and decisively, it was him.
As for whether Frost's death would trigger unrest in New York's vampire circles—that wasn't Locke's concern. SHIELD could absorb that shock if necessary. Or they could sacrifice Blade. After all, Blade wasn't a formal agent. Just a contractor.
Temporary personnel took the fall all the time.
Locke had no personal grudge against Blade. That was genuine.
But Blade had followed him home more than once over the past month. Two, maybe three times. Locke had noticed. He had simply pretended not to.
Natasha may have cleared him of suspicion, but Blade clearly hadn't.
And in Locke's worldview, hesitation invited danger.
Strike first, survive. Strike late, suffer.
He lived by that principle.
Blade was a useful tool for earning extraordinary points.
A tool.
Nothing more.
"Ding."
A system notification flashed faintly in his mind.
"Extraordinary points gained: 2."
"Current total: 201."
Locke lifted an eyebrow and glanced at the sky. Still daylight.
Interesting.
Blade usually worked at night. Why was he so productive this afternoon? Thirty minutes ago, Locke had received another point notification before leaving the building.
Two more now?
Did Blade take something to boost his stamina?
Locke chuckled under his breath.
Debbie's voice cut in again. "Boss, Jack's line is coming through."
"Patch it."
The cigarette butt flew out the window as he accepted the call.
"Boss."
"Found him?"
"…Yeah."
Jack's voice carried a strange undertone.
In a narrow alley in Queens, Jack stared down at two freshly severed heads resting on cracked asphalt. Blood pooled slowly beneath them.
He handed the phone toward the tall figure in black who stood before him, sliding a sword into the sheath strapped across his back.
"It's the boss."
Blade took the phone without expression.
"Talk."
"Frost asked for a meeting tonight."
"I know."
Locke blinked. "You know?"
Then the system notification from earlier clicked into place.
He smiled.
Let me guess.
A vampire had run to Blade in broad daylight, desperate to trade information for survival.
"Let me guess," Locke said lightly. "A vampire tried to bargain with you and spilled everything?"
A brief pause.
"Yes."
Locke laughed quietly.
Of course.
Frost wanted Blade to know. He was trying to stage a misunderstanding—make it look like a corrupt Sentinel agent accepting a two-million-dollar payoff from a vampire leader.
Borrow Blade's knife to kill Locke.
What a coincidence.
Locke intended to borrow Blade's knife to kill Frost.
"Seven p.m.," Locke said calmly. "Abandoned hangar near Kennedy International Airport. Jack will take you."
"No need."
Blade's tone was flat.
Locke frowned slightly. "What?"
"The man you sent was followed."
Locke wasn't surprised. "Figured."
Those two extraordinary points earlier probably came from that tail.
If Frost intended to manipulate Blade, of course he'd have someone monitoring Locke's movements.
"It's still daytime," Locke said. "They can move around?"
"Blood servant," Blade replied. "Not a vampire."
That explained it.
Locke didn't dwell on why eliminating blood servants triggered extraordinary points. He simply shifted focus.
"Put Jack back on."
A moment later—
"Boss."
"Clean the scene."
"Understood."
The line went dead.
Jack slid his phone back into his pocket and reached into his coat, pulling out a set of car keys. He extended them toward Blade.
"I brought a car."
Blade glanced at the keys. Then at Jack.
A faint grin tugged at his lips.
"No need."
Before Jack could process that—
A blur of black.
Blade vanished.
Not running. Not sprinting.
Gone.
The alley was suddenly empty except for Jack and the two severed heads.
A stray wind swept through the narrow passageway.
Jack blinked slowly.
Then he looked at the heads again.
A shiver ran down his spine.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath.
Vampires.
...
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