Generation 18: The Spook Squad 2 Read Free Page A

into the apartment. The kite smacked into the wall, then flung out an arm, feeling for the window frame. It was almost as if it had lost all sonar capabilities. So maybe the weapon
had
addled its keen senses.
    It grasped the window frame, felt for the other side to position itself, then dived through the shattered glass. Sam ran over to the window and leaned out. The kite was floating back to the street, its arms out wide, loose skin stretched taut to catch the light breeze. She pressed the earphone again.
    “Gabriel, the kite is now on Macelan Street, heading west.”
    “Do not go after it. I repeat, do
not
go after it. Stay in the apartment.”
    Her smile was grim. If the tone of his voice was anything to go by, he was madder than hell. He had a right to be, she supposed, but what else could she have done? Let the kite devour the stranger?
    Not that her intervention had saved him. She turned away from the window and dug out the marble-sized crime-scene monitor—the latest gadget from the SIU labs. She hit the activate button, then tossed the CSM into the air. It hovered for several seconds, then the light flickered from red to green, indicating it was now recording. She ordered it to do a sweep of the premises for record purposes. The monitor obeyed, panning around the room, taking in the doorway she’d kicked open, the window and the body. Then it returned, hovering several feet away from her.
    “The kite smashed through the living room window and attacked the victim at three fifteen a.m. I—SIU Officer Ryan—intervened and drove the kite back through the window.” She showed the monitor her badge, then walked across the room to squat beside the body. “The victim is male, probably mid-sixties.”
    The CSM dropped closer to the body, capturing the bloody details of the murder. What remained of the victim’s flesh hung in strips, almost indistinguishable from the remnants of his red-and-white-striped pajamas. His eyes were wide, his mouth locked into a scream—a look of astonished horror that was now permanently etched into his features.
    Why this man? Why not the two men talking in the apartment below, or the woman who’d just joined her partner in bed? She glanced up and studied the room.
    The kite had come straight to this apartment, so it had obviously wanted this man specifically. What they now had to find out was why.
    Sam rose and walked over to the shelving unit. The CSM followed her, a small limpet that recorded her every move, protecting her from future accusations of mistakes. Or possibly damning her, if she
did
screw up. Mentally shrugging, she dug a set of gloves out of her pocket and put them on. Then she turned off the radio and ordered the CSM to pan across the photos lining the shelf.
    Each photo contained the same four men, either fishing, drinking, or standing around a barbecue. All of them looked to be at least fifty or sixty. She glanced again at the body. The victim was bald, save for a few scraggly wisps of white near either ear. He wasn’t in any of these photos, then. Maybe he’d been the one taking them?
    She picked up one framed photograph, then turned at the sound of footsteps. Gabriel entered, his gaze sweeping the room until he found her.
    “I could put you on report for your behavior tonight,” he said, stopping just inside the doorway.
    Though his face was impassive, his hazel eyes were stormy with anger and, surprisingly, a touch of fear. She debated ordering the CSM to stop recording, then shrugged and let it continue. Procedures stated that any and all activity at a crime scene had to be recorded. If that included being told off, then so be it.
    “Do it. Maybe then you’ll get your wish and be rid of me.” She hesitated. What was the point of arguing about it here? There were far more important matters at stake—like why the kite attacked this man. “Do you know who our victim is?”
    For an instant, it looked as if he might continue with his reprimand. Then he shoved