Chimera: A Jim Chapel Mission

Another moment of panic came when he looked at the clock. It was nearly seven in the morning-he must have slept until the dawn light came and found him. He stared at the curtains over the room's single window and saw the light coming through was strong and clear. He had been asleep for more than four hours.



Plenty of time for the chimeras to find their targets. Plenty of time for people to die.



He jumped out of the bed and grabbed his hands-free set. Shoving it in his ear, he called, "Angel? Can you hear me?"



"I'm here, sunshine," she said. She sounded almost as tired as he felt. Had she spent the entire night reconfiguring her servers?



"Thank God you're back," Chapel said. "I've missed you. Are you okay? You sound like you didn't sleep at all."



"Aren't you sweet?" she said, with a little laugh. "I didn't, but I popped a few energy drinks and now I'm fine. This wasn't my first all-nighter. You'll be glad to know I'm back up to full speed. Rebuilding my system took a little longer than expected, but we should be safe now-no CIA sneaks listening in. Are you ready to get back to work?"



"Yeah. Listen, the first thing we need to talk about-the police here might be looking for me. I managed to blow up Funt's house last night."



"I've been keeping an eye on you," Angel said. "You do know how to have fun, sugar. As for the police, they were looking for you, yes. I took care of that."



"Thanks." Chapel wondered what she had told them to keep them off his tail, but he supposed it didn't matter. There were far more important things to discuss. "Angel, I need you to check in on Eleanor Pechowski for me. I need to know she's still alive."



"Then I've got some good news. I spoke with her about twenty minutes ago. After I told her she was in danger, she went to stay at a friend's house. I have a police detail watching the place twenty-four seven. She's as safe as she can be."



That was one stroke of luck. "I'm beginning to think I made the wrong choice," Chapel told her. "It seems Jeremy Funt might be able to take care of himself." He briefly filled her in on what they'd found in his house. "The funny thing is, there was at least a week's worth of dust there. Like he'd been expecting this. He had plenty of time to plan and set his booby traps. Did you contact him yesterday?"



"I did. He thanked me for the information and said he would be careful. Tell you the truth, he didn't seem particularly surprised."



"Hmm." Chapel wondered how Funt could have known what was coming. The chimeras had only broken out of their detention facility a little more than-he checked the clock again-twenty-four hours ago. "He must know something we don't."



"Then I'd say you made the right choice, coming to Atlanta," Angel told him. "Presuming he's willing to share."



"That's a big presumption. From what I've seen so far he's a sneaky bastard. He nearly killed me and Julia last night. If I didn't think he could explain a few things, I'd be tempted to just leave him to his own devices. Anyway, we don't even know if a chimera is coming here, much less-"



"Ah," Angel said.



"What is it?"



"I guess you haven't had a chance to watch the local news," she said. "Last night a man was killed at the Atlanta train station. The suspect is described as large and athletically built, with haphazardly cut hair."



"Sounds familiar," Chapel said. It sounded like the chimera he'd killed in New York. Well, there it was. He at least hadn't wasted all this time on a wild goose chase. "Do the police have any idea where he is?"



"None whatsoever. I'm keeping my ears open, though-I can hear all their chatter. If they catch sight of him, you'll know about it."



"Thanks. Okay, next up-"



He stopped because the shower had turned off in the bathroom and the door was opening. Julia stepped out, wearing only a towel. Her wet red hair was draped forward over one shoulder, its curly ends touching the top of her breasts.



"Angel, stand by," Chapel said. He took the hands-free set out of his ear.



"Good morning," Julia said. She stood framed in the doorway, not moving.



"Hi. I guess I fell asleep," he said, because his brain wasn't bothering to engage very well with his mouth.



"Yeah. You conked out. I had to undress you-I hope you don't mind. I just wanted to make you comfortable. I slept in the chair, there," she said, pointing to where she'd left her clothes. "I woke up a little while ago. Figured I'd take this chance to get clean."



"Sure," he said.



"Chapel, you're staring," she said, and a blush appeared on her cheeks.



"So are you," he said.



She couldn't seem to take her eyes off his left shoulder.



"I'm sorry," Julia said. "I just-I'd kind of stopped thinking of you as only having one arm. The prosthesis is so realistic."



"It fools a lot of people. But not forever." Chapel gave her a wan smile. He supposed this moment had been bound to come. He'd started thinking of Julia as more than just an informant. More than just someone he was trying to protect.



He'd known he found her attractive. Seeing her standing there in just a towel, he felt it more than ever. But he'd also seen something else in her, in her resourcefulness, in her toughness. Something he found rarely in anyone of either gender. Something he'd come to admire. He'd honestly begun to think that maybe they could share something more than just . . . whatever they were to each other now.



But he'd been fooling himself, of course.



He was still a freak. Still three-quarters of a man. He could forget that himself, sometimes. This recent adventure had made him feel more whole than he had in a long time. But it was still true.



"You must have seen this last night," he said, gesturing at his shoulder with his chin. "You took the arm off."



"It was dark," she said, "and I was so exhausted I barely knew what I was doing. I just hope I didn't hurt you."



"I'm fine. Do you want me to put a shirt on? I'm sorry, this has to be unpleasant for you. You don't need to see me like this." He reached for his T-shirt.



"No," she said, and he saw her swallow. She was steeling herself for something.



He figured he knew what it would be. When people found out about his disability, they typically had one of two reactions. They either pretended it didn't exist and looked away-and made a point of never looking at his arm again, even when he had the prosthetic on. Or they pretended like it didn't bother them, like it was perfectly normal that Chapel only had one arm.



Both reactions used to disgust him. Eventually he'd come to respect that people just didn't know how to process him. He didn't fit into their view of normalcy and so they would always be awkward around him.



Julia came over to the bed and sat down next to him. Close enough he could smell her freshly shampooed hair, feel the warmth of her body. A sweet kind of torture. She reached up with her right hand and touched his stump with one finger. "Is this okay?" she asked.



"Sure," he said. "It doesn't hurt."



She smiled. "This is excellent work," she told him. She ran her finger along the scar there. Stroked the skin with the back of her hand. "I-oh, God. Just tell me to shut up if I say something offensive. But I've done some amputations myself. On dogs and cats, of course. It can be tricky, depending on what you've got to work with."



"Did you ever fit a prosthesis for a dog?" he asked. "Or maybe a peg leg for a parrot?"



She laughed. "You think you're being funny. But people go crazy over their pets. There's nothing they won't pay for if they think it'll make their pets happy. Dogs with three legs are pretty common and they get along just fine. They learn to hop, and in six months they forget they ever had four legs. But yeah, I've seen prosthetic legs on dogs. Nothing as useful as what they gave you."



She was stroking his shoulder and his chest by that point. Her fingers wove into his chest hair.



He couldn't help himself. He leaned in to kiss her.



Her lips were soft and warm, and they parted slightly. He touched her tongue with his. Her eyes were closed and she sank against him, nothing between them but a towel, and he started to reach for her with his hand, his real hand.



"Last night in the car," she said, "when I fell asleep. I curled up with you. I said I thought you were my ex. That wasn't true. It just felt good to have . . . someone that close. A little comfort."



"After the day you had, I'm pretty sure you're allowed to want that," he told her. He stroked her wet hair.



She leaned forward and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her lips brushed his skin. "Chapel, is this okay?" she asked. "Us? Now? Do we have time? I could really use some more comforting."



"Me too," he said. "The bad guys can wait."



ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+25:07



Her towel had already fallen to her waist, exposing her breasts. He cupped one with his hand, and she sighed and pressed close to him. She reached down and unbuttoned his pants, and together they pushed them down and off the bed. Her towel went away and they were naked together. He kissed her throat, her chest, her lips. She pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him. She was ready for him, and he was definitely ready for her.



He started to speak her name, but she put a finger to his lips. Her eyes were closed as she rode him, her hips rocking back and forth slowly, her body shuddering just a little. Her red hair was slicked back and curly tips of it brushed her shoulders, stuck to her chin. She gasped a little, and he put his hand on the small of her back, guiding her, pulling her toward him.



It had been a long time. He didn't want it to end too soon, so he sat up and kissed her deeply, then flipped her over on her back. She laughed, her legs flailing in the air. Her eyes were watching his face, trying to figure out what he was going to do next. He knelt between her legs, then slid down and buried his face in the red hair between her thighs, breathing in the smell of her, tasting her wetness. Her whole body jerked as his tongue touched her, as it flashed between their bodies.



Her fingers grabbed at his hair and his ears as she squirmed and shook. Squeaks of pleasure broke free from her mouth as he matched the rhythm of her hips, as he slid one finger inside her and found just the right spot. She tasted amazing, fresh and clean and just a little musky, and his excitement only grew as she got closer and closer. In a moment she came, smearing his face and chin with her wetness.



She put her hands over her face as if she was embarrassed. He climbed back up toward her and pulled her hands away and saw her mouth was open, her eyes barely focusing on him. He dug his arm under her back and pulled her to his chest. She was so wet he had no trouble sliding inside her and he thrust against her, making her gasp again, this time finding his own rhythm. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him still closer, pulled him down on top of her. Her hands grabbed the muscles of his back and squeezed as he thrust deeper.



She let out a little cry and kissed his neck, his ear. "It's okay," she whispered. "I'm protected."



It only took a few more strokes. He thrust deep inside her and went rigid as his body exploded, as every muscle in his back and legs tensed and then released and he came, his eyes tightly shut, his skin on fire as she kissed him again and again, everywhere she could reach.



ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+25:52



Julia went to the bathroom to clean up and dress. At the bathroom door she turned to look back at him. She laughed a little, her eyes studying his face.



Chapel smiled back at her.



"I can't believe we just did that," she said, her eyes watching his face very carefully.



"Having second thoughts?" he asked.



"Hell, no. I needed it." She looked at him for a moment longer, then shook her head and stepped inside the bathroom.



When the door closed, he just fell back against the sheets and breathed for a while. That had burned off a lot of tension.



When she came back out, she announced she was going to go out and find them some breakfast and a few toiletries-things they hadn't had time to acquire in the mad rush since they'd left New York City. Chapel could tell she just wanted to be alone with her thoughts for a while and he just told her to be safe.



He just lay there for a while when she was gone, reveling. Amazed at what had happened between them. The few women he'd been with since he lost his arm had all wanted him to wear the arm while he made love to them, though none of them had wanted it to touch them. They'd found ways to ignore it.



Julia hadn't asked for that. She'd seen what he looked like with no arm, with his shirt off. It hadn't stopped her.



It had been all about the moment, of course. The adrenaline of the last twenty-four hours. The constant threat of danger and death. It made people do things they wouldn't ordinarily do. Chapel knew all about that. He knew it couldn't last.



But. But-wow. Damn. It had felt so right. And Julia hadn't been creeped out. She hadn't been thinking of him as less than whole, as part of a man. She'd simply wanted him, wanted to be with him, as he was.



It was more than he'd hoped for in a very long time.



Eventually the afterglow started to wear off. Chapel started to think about chimeras and CIA killers and the desperate situation he was in once again. He knew he had to get back to work.



Still, he let himself just be happy, just for a moment.



When he'd luxuriated in that enough, he found the hands-free unit and put it back in his ear. "Sorry about cutting you off like that, Angel."



"No worries, sugar," she said.



"Angel," Chapel said carefully, because he'd just thought of something, "you weren't-listening to any of that. Were you?"



"Of course not, Chapel. I understand when people need a little privacy."



"Uh-huh," he said.



"I didn't hear a word. Though, if you want some romantic advice-"



"At the moment I'd prefer to know where Jeremy Funt is," Chapel said, to change the subject.



"I'm ahead of you there, except I don't have any answers," Angel told him. "I've been trying to call him every five minutes, but I can't get through. All my calls go straight to voice mail. I've left a bunch of messages, but there's been no response. I thought if he knew who you were, he might be willing to come out of hiding."



"He's scared. He's gone to ground. He knew, somehow, that a chimera was coming here. He knew long before the chimeras even left the Catskills." Chapel scratched his head. "The booby trap in his house was meant to catch a chimera. But he also left a cryptic message behind, telling anyone where to find him. Does that make sense to you?"



"No, but then I'm not a paranoid FBI agent being hunted by a genetic freak," Angel pointed out.



"Right. Me neither." Chapel sighed. He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face and scrubbed himself with a soapy washcloth. "I need to think like him. I need to figure out what he would do, if I'm ever going to find him. If he left that message, he wanted somebody to follow it. Maybe you have to be the right person to know what it means. Maybe it's some kind of private joke."



"Chapel," Angel said, "I need to point something out to you."



"Hmm?" Chapel asked, lost in thought.



"Despite appearances, I'm not actually omniscient," she said.



"I'm sorry, Angel. I'm not following."



She sighed deeply. Even her sighs sounded sexy. "You never actually told me what the message said. I am a trained intelligence analyst. I might be able to help you, if you'd like to share."



Chapel laughed. "Angel, I sometimes forget you're not sitting on my shoulder watching everything I do. I'm so sorry. Yeah, the message. It said 'If you want to find me, I've gone under the underground.' Does that mean anything to you, just off the top of your head?"



"No, but that's why God invented the Internet. Let's see." He heard her clacking keys. "It seems like he meant for you to find him, so the answer should be obvious, right? Except what I'm turning up, it's all really confusing. Under the underground, that sounds like a riddle. Let me search some riddle databases."



Obvious, Chapel thought. The answer should be obvious. She was right-Funt wouldn't make the puzzle impossible. He would make it as simple as he could. In fact, it might not be a puzzle at all.



In a flash of inspiration, he went and fetched his phone. He'd never actually bothered using it to surf the web-Angel had handled all that for him up to now. He opened up the mobile browser and pecked in a few characters with his index finger.



"Oh," he said, because before he could even finish typing in his search, Google was already suggesting what he wanted to look up. He touched the screen and it filled up with links. "Ah," he said.



"What's going on?" Angel asked. "Chapel, you're making noises like you've figured something out."



"You were overthinking it," he told her.



"What?"



"You expected it to be a riddle. So you figured it had to be a puzzle to be solved. That's the kind of thing you're good at. But it occurred to me, if Funt wanted to be found-and it looks like he definitely does-he wouldn't bother making us solve a word game to know his location."



"Now I'm really confused," Angel admitted. "It's not like he left you a street address to go to."



"He kind of did," Chapel said. "Just now, on my phone, I googled 'Underground Atlanta.' And now I know where Funt is."



ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+26:15



"This is not what I expected, not at all," Chapel said, when he and Julia climbed out of a cab downtown. Before them a massive sign read simply UNDERGROUND. A dark entrance below it led into a cavernlike space.



Just after the Civil War, after Sherman burned the city to the ground, Atlanta had put itself back together, growing and flourishing in the Reconstruction. This whole section of the city had grown faster than the rest as bigger buildings were built and viaducts were raised to carry railroads and then vehicular traffic. The area under the viaducts, which had been at street level in the nineteenth century, had eventually been buried in new construction until the city streets were a whole story higher than they used to be.



Entire city blocks lay down there, covered over and buried as the city grew up around them. Once, Chapel knew from what he'd read about the place, it had been a zone of speakeasies during Prohibition. Then it had been taken over by squatters and the homeless. Now Underground Atlanta was a giant shopping mall.



And, apparently, a bolt hole for an ex-FBI agent named Jeremy Funt.



Chapel and Julia headed inside, joining the flow of early morning shoppers and tourists. Inside, the Underground was paved with brick and lit only sporadically by overhead fluorescents and the occasional light well. It was full of brightly lit shops and souvenir stands, carts selling T-shirts advertising HOTLANTA or THE A, places to get your hair braided or your ears pierced, displays of antique cars and jazz legends and old railroad history. Someone was singing nearby, though Chapel couldn't see where. The place's weird acoustics distorted the singer's voice and made the plateglass windows of the shops around him shake. The Underground smelled of pretzels and old beer and even older mildew.



"Let's find our man fast and get him out of here," Chapel said, frowning. He definitely did not like how public this place was. If a chimera came here, looking for Funt, the collateral damage could be devastating.



"Why is he here in the first place?" Julia asked.



Chapel shrugged. "Based on what we saw last night-the way he rigged his house-Funt's crazy. A paranoid. I expected him to have some underground bunker hidden away on some compound out in the country, a place full of guns and bottled water and a copy of The Turner Diaries." He glanced around. "Not this."



Up ahead there was an indoor waterfall where children were playing, splashing one another and passersby. There was a tourist information stand there, a little booth with no one in it. There were brochures available, though, and Chapel grabbed one. "He said he was under the Underground, whatever that means." He glanced through the brochure, looking for any clue that might tell him where to go next.



Julia grabbed one for herself and started reading it. "Apparently there used to be a wax museum down here. That's kind of creepy. I can imagine Funt hiding in an abandoned wax museum. The chimera might be confused by all the statues and not know who to beat on first."



"It's a thought," Chapel said. He shook his head and folded his brochure up again. Jammed it in his pocket. "Maybe we can ask someone." He turned around, looking for anyone who might meet his eye.



The first person he saw was an old guy with a straggly beard wearing a green army jacket. He had a cardboard sign around his neck that read HUNGRY VET PLEASE HELP. When he saw Chapel looking at him, he came over straightaway.



"I'm not going to BS you," the man said. "Just give me a moment of your time, and I'll be on my way. I am an alcoholic, it's true."



Chapel nodded. He could smell the gin on the man's breath. At least he was being honest about it.



"Any money you give me I'll take straight to the bar," the vet went on, clearly winding up to deliver a well-practiced pitch.



"What branch of the service were you in?" Chapel asked him, beginning to think maybe the army coat was just for show.



"Wait," Julia said. "Wait-maybe you can help us. Do you know this place well?"



"Like the back of my hand," the drunk said, staring down at his hands as if he'd never seen them before.



"Oh, come on," Chapel said.



"We need to find some place here. The place underneath the Underground. Does that make sense?"



"Well," the drunk said, stretching it out to multiple syllables. "Well, this is about as low as you can get in Hotlanta. About as far down as we go. Except the utility basement, there's that."



"A basement?" Chapel asked. "Where's the entrance?"



The drunk stared at him shrewdly.



"It's extremely important," Julia said. "Can you please show us where it is?"



"I'll do it," the drunk told her, "on one condition only, from which I will not budge. Should you require my services, on this I must insist-"



"What is it?" Chapel asked.



"That the beautiful lady will consent to give me a kiss." He batted his eyelashes at Julia.



"That's definitely not going to happen," she told him. "How about this?" she held up a twenty-dollar bill, folded neatly and tucked between two of her fingers.



"Right this way," the drunk said, and started off into the darkened paths between the shops of the Underground. The twenty was already gone, presumably hidden somewhere on his person.



He moved fast, zigzagging through the crowd. Most people drew back when he got too close. Others just ignored him. He weaved and bobbed back and forth, somehow never touching anybody. Chapel had to constantly apologize to the people he bumped into while trying to keep up. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Julia just pushing her way through. Apparently growing up in New York City had taught her how not to get lost in a crowd.



They passed by plenty of closed stores and little stages where jazz bands vied for attention. Shoppers milled around a few of the businesses, but mostly people just seemed to want to get in Chapel's way. Just as he was starting to get seriously annoyed, the drunk stopped abruptly and turned to face him.



"And here we are, at our destination," the drunk announced, raising his arms like a tour guide.



"Where?" Chapel demanded. He looked around and couldn't see any doors leading to hidden basements. Just a lot of thuggish-looking teenagers standing around being bored. There was a big Coca-Cola mural on one rough brick wall, and what looked like a very uncomfortable bench or maybe a utility box.



"Oh ye of little faith," the drunk said. He tapped the utility box with his foot.



Chapel went around the side of the thing and saw that it was fronted by a pair of low wooden doors, no higher than his waist. It was a hatch to a utility area.



"Okay. Fine. You can go now," Chapel said to the drunk. He was already trying to figure out how he would get through those doors. They looked like they'd been permanently sealed shut.



The drunk started to fume in protest.



"Thanks," Julia said, "you've been very helpful."



"How about a hug?" the drunk asked.



"How about not?"



She could clearly take care of herself. Chapel was too busy to pay attention. He was feeling around the edges of the doors. Funt wanted to be found, Chapel was sure of that. So he wouldn't be hiding behind a sealed door.



Chapel's fingers found a concealed latch on one side of the doors. He slipped it open and the doors parted. Beyond them he could see a dark stairway leading down.



Jackpot.



He looked around and saw that no one was watching him. He would have much preferred to come back later, after everyone had gone, but he just didn't have the time. He looked up and saw that Julia had gotten rid of the drunk by giving him more money. Well, as long as he left, that was fine.



"That's where we're going?" she asked.