They Can Smell Your Intentions

THEY CAN SMELL YOUR INTENTIONS
chapter fifteen

He stood in the backyard of the large Lecter-Graham home and stared up into the heavens hoping his little spaceman angel's stars were ready to guide him. He lit a smoke and contemplated the curl of smoke as it rose above him, trapping the heavens in its poisonous obscurity. The occupants of the house were finally asleep, and the GSF sentries were in equal near slumber, lazily pacing in front of the house, ignorant of the threat the woods beyond the gate provided. Nigel checked his watch and noted the time. Two in the morning. The perfect hour for this brand of hunting.

Dinner had been a strained affair, and though the venison stew was mouth watering and probably the best he had ever eaten, the conversation was as incomprehensible as ever, with a far more sober Dr. Lecter sitting at the head of the table, while his guests sat on the sidelines. His mate Will Graham was tucked close to him at the corner and it was clear this was their usual positions at the table, an intimacy afforded between them that was isolated even amongst guests. Dr. Lecter had cleaned himself up for dinner, and was once again that cold persona hidden deftly beneath fine, expensive fabrics that Nigel was far more familiar with. He had seen him in newsreel images when the Omega's gender subterfuge crime made the front page of TattleCrime.org, the press given an elegant frost that suggested he was a man of intelligence and high social status. Will Graham had also showered and trimmed his beard and was every inch the genteel, well dressed Alpha in a pressed, crisp suit seated beside his beloved mate. There was a soft observation exchanged when Will announced Judith was in her crib, possibly asleep for the remainder of the night. The scene had been purposefully domestic, free of the chaos of the late afternoon where inhibition had been tossed aside, leaving raw emotion and hidden tragedies in its wake, their lives significantly more messy than this little pantomime pretended.

Dr. Chilton had made a pointed remark about Nigel's relationship with Adam, that it must be unbearable being way from one's mate when their bonding had happened so recently. It was a highly astute observation from a Beta and one that surprised Nigel, and he found himself admitting that yes, he did miss him terribly, and he was hoping that separation was very temporary.

"I believe our dear associate Alana Bloom has suffered a similar trouble," Dr. Lecter added. "I had invited both her and Margot to dinner but they declined, stating their reunion takes precedence. As you know, Alana had to scope out new territory for them both should the Coastline suddenly succumb to civil war. They are now fully prepared to escape Muskrat Farm, but she'd had to leave Margot during the high point of her heat and as can be expected, it was a difficult endurance for them both."

Nigel was annoyed by the analogy, it felt like yet another dig at his treatment of Adam, and this had nothing to do with how he'd left him. "I would never leave Adam if he was in his heat," Nigel gruffly replied, stabbing his fork into the succulent meat that melted around it. "I get that things are pretty bad, and it's not like I could say no, but I just couldn't do that, it's a fucking tragic thing to do to an Omega. It would tear me apart knowing he's suffering like that. I'd have to find some way around it until afterwards."

Dr. Lecter cut into his meat and gave Nigel a smirking reply, as though he was in on a joke Nigel didn't know about. "Really, Inspector Ionescu? I have to wonder. As an Alpha you are more attuned to such needs and clearly wrap them up tightly within your dominant urge to have empathy for your partner. Dr. Alana Bloom is a Beta, and as such, may not have your keen insight into that suffering, which admittedly is perhaps reflected into a discomfort of your own. Still, bonded partners have a great deal of empathy for one another, regardless of gender, and I assure you Dr. Bloom would never have left her mate without safeguards to assist her. I'm sure Margot popped suppressants like Tic-Tacs while Alana was gone, an absence of only a week."

"You're diminishing the difficulty that Margot Verger has been going through," Dr. Chilton chided Lecter, a glass of wine sipped with gentlemanly care. "You of all people should know how devastating that feeling of being alone during one's most vulnerable time can be."

"Yes," Dr. Lecter said, and ate a small morsel of his meal, contemplating his empty fork before continuing. "But the anticipation of one's mate is not the same as being completely alone. I'm very sure that our lovely Alana is making it up to her. They declined to come for dinner, but not because they weren't hungry."

Dr. Lecter gave Nigel a secretive, crooked little smile at this as Chilton chuckled over the inference. "Tell me, Inspector Ionescu, how does Adam deal with his heats? He looked quite feverish when I talked to him earlier, he is clearly feeling its effects. You claim to be proactive in taking care of your Omega and yet you have done the exact opposite of what you claim and you have left him to suffer alone. I do hope he has ample suppressants, one cannot be assured that one's schedules will sync to perfection. There are so many variables that can interfere with an excellent plan. Are you confident you have done what is necessary to keep our dear Adam Raki comfortable?"

Annoyed, Nigel spoke around a half eaten portion of potato. "What the fuck are you talking about? Adam's heat is months away."

"On the contrary, I can assure you he is very much in his heat cycle, one possibly induced by stress, both of the loss of his mate so soon after being bonded and possibly after exposure to a group of terrified Omegas when he was doing IT work for Mason Verger."

Nigel let his fork drop to his plate.

"How do you know about that?" Nigel asked.

Lecter shrugged. "News reports, I keep abreast of trafficking takedowns as a sort of hobby, especially seeing as how I was nearly a victim of such a practise myself. Such an abhorrent, barbaric practise, it truly must be stopped, you do wonderful work, Inspector. Mason Verger has been very active in that illegal activity, and I like to keep tabs on his vile connections."

"Yes, Mason Verger, he is one disgusting cunt I'll give you that. I'd love to kick his guts in all the way to a Siberian gulag, but sadly, the little fucker has committed a miraculous disappearing act. I got to wonder how that happened."

Dr. Lecter sipped at his wine and carefully contemplated its deep red hue before setting it back down, his fingers still touching the base of the glass. "He is as slippery as an eel, a little rotten thing that leaves an unpleasant smear on one's hands, and is not worthy of discussion nor thought. As for our darling Adam, he is definitely at the mercy of his body at present, you forget that I am both an Omega and a surgeon and such symptoms are easily observable. Hormones are a tricky thing, Nigel. So many factors can be at play in one's heart, pulling its suffering into the physical. I cannot help but feel maternal instincts towards Adam, and though our exchange was brief, I am fully confident in my diagnosis. Your Omega is about to be in the most severe grip of his heat, alone. You should reconsider your mission, Inspector. If I was you, I'd be on a plane heading directly back for Bucharest at first opportunity, you mustn't wait a moment longer."

Nigel was incensed. As if he was going to be guilted that easily into giving up. "Believe me, I have every intention of doing just that, as soon as I've finished doing what I fucking came here for. I am not wasting my time!"

Dr. Lecter's eyes had flashed with that inward fire at this, amusement mixed with that indefinable curiosity that picked at all the bruises still lurking along Nigel's cracked bones and opening them up, leaving him aching. The dining room was infused with a sense of predatory quiet, the dark furnishings and strange collection of herbs growing wild in pots embedded along the walls making the indoor space feel like patch of open forest at night.

"Are you so sure you can fulfill it?" Dr. Lecter asked, and he clasped his hands together high over his still partially full plate, as though framing it beneath a prayer. "It has been my experience that Alphas are very good at posturing, but they are often at the mercy of their baser natures. My dear Will is no exception, his fixation on my breasts is proof enough of that."

Will tried to insert dissent at this, but Lecter wasn't having it. "Alphas, at their core, are selfish genders who are in the habit of taking what they want at the expense of others. They are prone to violence, a fact that is quite evident in you, Inspector, for that cut on the bridge of your nose did not happen by accident, nor the wincing I notice when you turn your torso to the right and dare to bend. Bruised ribs, I presume, from a serious altercation. You've also used your fists on an innocent man when you overindulged in drink, our Adam told me about it. You are fiendishly typical, your Alpha nature so blatant it is a parody of your gender. Do not pretend to tell me that news of your Omega being in heat does not affect your mission, you are already mentally ticking the boxes needed to get you home. You should make haste. The Omegas are dead at this point, they have been held for too long and if hypothermia hasn't yet killed them, Coastline apathy will. Go home, Inspector. Sink yourself into the hot, feverish flesh of your Omega and forget that you ever came here."

Nigel grabbed his glass of wine and glared at Lecter across the long table, taking in the black gaze that seemed to absorb all around him into them, thoughtful black holes leaving nothing behind.

"I don't abandon anyone. You better fucking keep reminding yourself of that."

Nigel had stormed away from the table at this, feeling Dr. Lecter's red embers burning into his back as he near fled up the stairs his heart hammering in fury and fear. The Chesapeake Ripper had just given him a warning and he'd rudely shot it down. Nigel locked himself in the guest room, and had paced the floor, wondering if what Lecter had told him was true, was Adam really in his heat? His first instinct was, of course, to run to his Omega and to his shame he did immediately start looking up flights and realized, yes, if he hurried he could make it back to Bucharest by dawn.

But instead he turned off his cell and tossed it onto the made bed, his hands in tight fists as he pressed them against the start of his hips. Dead or alive, those Omegas were his responsibility and he had to see this mission through, he had to have hope that there was at least one Omega alive and waiting for him, that if all others were dead there could be that one last breath he could save.

Thus, now here he was, the world's biggest jackass and fucking sucker, finishing his smoke beneath a full moon and staring at the long line of woods that spread parallel to the main road and nothing, not even the thought of his suffering little spaceman angel, was going to deter him from what he had to do. After all, Adam would be the first to ask him, "What of the Omegas?" and there was no way in heaven or hell Nigel was going to say he'd left them all behind. Adam would never forgive him. The scale of good and bad would tip all the way out of his favour and there was no he could even forgive that of himself.

He flicked the butt of his spent cigarette into a thick pile of rose bushes and then eased the back gate open, careful not to reveal his escape to the GSF pacing in front of the house. He had changed into black jeans and a black polo shirt in an effort to blend into the night, but the short sleeves were not a good choice against the evening chill. The journey to the forest left him feeling fully exposed and he shivered as he marched his way towards the tree line, sharp glances shot over his shoulders as he quickly trod over the long patch of grass, an easy target for a bad shot. He could see one of the GSF officers walking further to the one side of the house, and if he glanced to his right Nigel would have been fully visible. But luckily the bastard was busy chatting it up with the other GSF officer, exchanging what looked to be a can of beer between them and heedless of their post. Nigel inwardly grinned, this was going to go as smooth as fucking silk on his darling angel's inner thigh.

Adam in heat. His little spaceman, suffering and Nigel's heart was fucking breaking at the thought. Fuck.

He had to push the thought from his mind, but it was difficult, and he concentrated instead on making it the few blocks to the truck he had waiting at the gas station. The woods were an excellent cover and not so difficult to navigate his way through, and in no time he was several blocks away, close to where he'd left the stolen truck he'd taken after his argument with Jack Crawford in Quantico. It had Virginia plates and was parked at a gas station, and it was sadly a lot smaller than he'd wanted, but if he had to make several trips to get the Omegas out and to safety, then so be it. If he was only transporting corpses as his gut knew he would be, he'd be able to stack them and make the trip even shorter. He'd make his exit as soon as the Omegas were delivered to the Eastern Union regional ship waiting at the dock, and he'd get his new passport from the crew waiting there, as well as his ticket home and he'd be gone. He'd be kissing his feverish little spaceman just in time for a late lunch.

He broke free of the woods, coming upon a row of identical houses that were shrouded in a darkness that suggested they had been abandoned. He wondered how close to the Mainland border this stretch of suburbia was, and figured it was damned close if Lecter still felt safe enough to house his small family there. He checked for his glock tucked into the waistband of his jeans at the back, his hand curled around its familiar weight. He was going to have to use it, he was sure, if the GSF were skulking around he wasn't going to hesitate taking them out. They were all heading face first into war, and at this stage there was no point taking prisoners.

He slid into the small postage stamp of a backyard of one of the houses and kept his back close to the tall, wooden fence, taking cover beneath the scant amount of decorative trees dotting the property. He pulled out his glock and kept it ready as he darted out into the street and towards the gas station where he'd parked the white truck, which was thankfully still there. He slid along the one side of it, avoiding the camera at the far end of the gas station, and cautiously opened the driver's side door and hauled himself up into the seat, gun still at the ready for any sign of GSF activity. There wasn't a one to be seen in this neighbourhood and Nigel allowed himself to breath a small sigh of relief. He put the key in the ignition and brought the truck to life.

"I'm coming home, my angel," Nigel whispered to the dashboard. "Don't you worry, my little spaceman, keep watch over me, keep me safe and I am coming back to you. I promised you. Just hold on. I'm following your stars, your supernovas and your nebulas, I can see them so clearly tonight. You're here with me, darling. Soon, very soon."

~*~
The set of warehouses was even more decrepit beneath moonlight, and Nigel turned the headlights off of the truck as he slowly made his way onto the gravel road leading towards them. He could hear gunfire in the far distance, and the scream of sirens as they wailed along the periphery of the city, well away from where he was currently parked. Otherwise the night was eerily quiet. He killed the engine and waited a few moments, listening as the sirens descended into a low ebb along the night's horizon, the conflict absorbed into darkness until nothing but a grave's silence remained.

The warehouses were in an abandoned section of the city and Will Graham's instinctive, empathic research had led him to a purchase of the property by Mason Verger in the early 2000's when the land was going cheap. He'd never developed it, and it was this omission that suggested to Graham that this was the location he was using for his trafficking activities, a secreted away little rot of land that was too derelict for anyone to consider of any use. The three warehouses were threadbare even in the moonlight, broken beams peeking through holes in the walls, revealing a structure that was barely standing. It was very similar to the set up they'd found in Romania and Nigel knew the Omegas were holed up in an exact underground bunker, and finding it wouldn't be all that difficult. Mason Verger was a creature of habits and he didn't like veering from methods he felt worked. All Nigel had to do was scent it out like the last time, and hope he could keep his dinner down.

He grabbed a flashlight from off of the truck's dashboard and lit his way along the black gravel road, sending rats scurrying from the beam of light as he approached the first warehouse. The door wasn't locked, and Nigel quickly slid through it and into the large, thinly sheltered space, the night sky above plainly visible through the massive holes in the roof. There had been rain recently, as evidenced by the large puddles pooled in the far corners, a fact that made Nigel's heart sink. He felt sick that he hadn't been able to immediately come here, that he had to wait on getting a truck and the lack of reinforcement from the FBI and Jack Crawford wasn't taking enough blame, he felt damned responsible. As for Lecter, well, he certainly wasn't all that caring of his daughters, was he? The Chesapeake Ripper was comfortable and hidden at home, making dinner and playing house while his foreign legion of Omegas wasted away into exposure and death. Fucking bastard, Will Graham had to be lying, how in the hell could the Ripper have any care for them at all when he allowed this sort of shit to happen to them? The wails and cries had to be as self serving as everything else had been, a symptom of what he'd lost when he was still studying to become a surgeon. Dr. Hannibal Lecter was no fucking genius Omega leader, he was a damned executioner. A madman. Fucking loopy fucking loo.

Nigel scented the scant remnant of Omega in the warehouse and instantly brandished his weapon. It became stronger the closer he approached the far right corner, where the puddles were deepest and he braced himself as he instantly detected the thin outline of the trap door. He paused over it as he kicked the mud and debris out of the way, revealing that it hadn't been opened in quite some time. Closing his eyes and keeping his loaded gun cocked and ready, he braced himself as he crouched down and tossed the trap door open, stepping back lest he scent the putrid rot of death.

But all that escaped was stale air and moisture. He shone his flashlight into the cramped space, which was considerably smaller than the one in Romania, and a quick jump into the shallow pit revealed that it was empty. He frowned as he cast his light along the walls, a few inches of water seeping into his shoes as he journeyed in further. It was a simple five feet by five feet room, and nothing indicated anyone had ever set foot in it. Both confused and relieved, he let the flashlight drop to his side and made his way back up a small wooden ladder and out into the vast space of the warehouse.

He left the trap door open and wondered what this development could mean. Perhaps several of the Omegas had died in transport and there weren't as many held prisoner here as he'd thought. After another thorough sweep of the area, seeking other trap doors, he found nothing and headed for the next warehouse, giving it an exact inspection. He found yet another trap door in the same spot and, again, it was empty. Five feet by five feet, no chains, not even the barest scent of an Omega lurking within the wet confines of the crude bunker, no bits of garbage, no clothes, no traces of body fluids or residual hormonal fear. Nothing human had ever set foot in that bunker, Nigel's senses told him.

This wasn't making sense.

He was on high alert now. He gave it another thorough sweep before stepping outside of the warehouse, breathing the crisp, night air in deep and staring up at the stars that shone in bright brilliance and were probably transfixing his darling spaceman right at this very moment. He felt defeated already, and wondered if Will Graham's powers of observation were seriously flawed, enough to get the location of the trafficked Omegas completely wrong. But none of what he'd told Nigel was out of the realm of possibility, this was the location that made the most sense and there was no way Mason Verger was smart enough to know anyone was onto him. Verger saved his monetary experiments for the pigs, he made sure his trafficking ran smoothly, he'd been in that sordid business for nearly twenty years and no suspicion could stick to him. He practically had carte blanche to do as he wanted to unbonded Omegas in regards to the Coastline elite turning a blind eye to his activities, especially since so many upper level politicians gained lewd favours thanks to his hidden assets.

Nigel pulled out a cigarette and slid it between his lips, the glock still in his hand as he lit it. The amber tip lit the way as he walked towards the final warehouse, a feeling of hopelessness in his gut. The Omegas weren't going to be there, either, he knew this, but he had to check and make sure, he had to investigate thoroughly for hadn't that been the case when he'd saved his darling angel? There could be a straggler left in that pit, a forgotten Omega left to die, one that could become someone else's Adam. If there was a corpse, he could at least bring some closure home. He felt sick at the thought of all those new boxes of unsolved cases getting tossed into the basement of the precinct, eighty of them at least, all carefully numbered and labelled and forgotten. The eighty dead he couldn't account for, no matter how hard he'd tried. The United Main had digested them, they were no doubt in the hands of the GSF being tortured and raped, farmed out to wealthy Coastline Alphas who were looking for some baby factories, churning out Alphas and aborting everything else.

Death and pain followed Nigel everywhere and he couldn't be disappointed that it had come to the United Main, as well, for this was the starting point, where the wound was cut in the first place and it bled out all over the fucking goddamned world. Too much money and power in one stretch of coastline. The powers were too hard to fight, the moles were abandoned by their leader and his Omega warriors were left to rot the system from within, or some such bullshit, Nigel was sure. Dr. Lecter was nothing more than a charlatan seeking validation for his suffering by making others of his own kind suffer more. Perhaps there was some kind of misguided self loathing going on here and he'd left to them to die on purpose, Nigel couldn't hazard a guess. The Omega was one fucked up piece of shit and he wasn't about to try and analyze him. That was Dr. Chilton's job and he was clearly shitty at it.

"So much for your avenging army you fucking stupid, crazy bitch," Nigel swore, and finished his cigarette before he slid past the chain loosely holding the final warehouse door closed.

Now he could smell it.

It was foul. Putrid and horrific, full of terror, the bitter aftertaste of the scent laying thick on the back of Nigel's tongue. Fuck, it was hard to breathe it was so overpowering, but it wasn't Omega fear he was scenting. Nigel held the back his hand against his mouth and nose, his eyes watering at the piercing ammonia rot of it.

The air in the warehouse was thick with rotten Alpha.

Nigel winced and brought the glock to the fore, sweeping back and forth at any enemy that might have powers of invisibility in the gloom of the warehouse. He stepped through large puddles, the roof of this structure virtually gone. Moonlight shone through, the white disc captured in each black pool of water, an inescapable inevitability. He held his gun with steady purpose as he approached the corner where he knew the bunker would be situated, and he crouched down, glancing over his shoulders to make sure he was still alone, and, with steady hands, he tore the trap door open and stood back, brandishing the glock at the enemy he knew was about to leap out of it.

"Politia Romana, don't you fucking move, I will shoot to kill!"

The stench of stale blood hit him, along with other, equally vile, rotted flesh scents, a bouquet of spent bowels and piss that mixed into a disgusting, acrid ammonia that rose up from the confines of the bunker. He buried his face in his black shirt as he slowly approached, a light shining out of it and into the warehouse. It was a mining lamp, hung along a stretch of wire that beckoned Nigel to enter the cramped space. He couldn't discern the scent of Omega within it, but the stench of diseased Alpha made him retch. He paused at the entrance for a long moment, steeling himself before he made his way down the neatly affixed metal rungs, ones far more expert in their construction than the ones he crawled down in that damp, fatal pit in Romania.

There was death here, and Nigel turned the mining lamp around until it illuminated the interior of the small five feet by five feet bunker, shadows obliterated as the display was brought into gory, spotlight view. Nigel staggered back, doubling over as his hip hit the metal rungs leading out of the pit, the entirety of Dr. Lecter's venison stew emptying out at its base.

The room was a stage set with the bodies of eight GSF guards in full uniform seated in chairs surrounding an operating table. Various tubes connected to the central object laying within a small, white surgical bin, each tube representing a vein that pumped life into a still beating heart.

A human heart.

Still alive.

Still beating.

It took a long moment for Nigel to realize that no, the GSF officers were not dead, that the lines of tubes from their main arteries were feeding the heart and keeping it alive with their own, staccato pumping. With a sense of horrified wonder, Nigel inspected one of the GSF officers, the whites of his eyes wide in terror as he took in Nigel. In the back of his immobilized hand was an intravenous drug being administered, one that was clearly meant to paralyse but not render the victim unconscious. He could see the shocked tear of the opened eye escape, the wave upon wave of hysteria as Nigel shone his flashlight into it. The victim's pupil shrank. Proof of fucking life.

They weren't set to be alive for long, Nigel knew. They had taken the place of the Omegas, and their presence here told the truth of the story. These GSF officers were working with Verger, they had shown up here looking for the goods that had been transported. The Omegas hadn't been entirely forgotten, investments had secretively been made, perhaps even behind Verger's back. Nigel inspected each and every one of the officers, and found an empty whiskey bottle tucked beneath one of their chairs. Had this been used to drug them? There were shot glasses scattered along the far wall, evidence of a celebratory drink. It was highly likely this was the case. They'd been lured down here, maybe. Offered a toast as a form business etiquette before they took the delivered goods to a different location, one where the Omegas couldn't be found. They thought they were talking to one of Verger's many go-betweens, and were sealing a new deal made in his absence.

"So, you've met the Chesapeake Ripper, did you, assholes?" He clucked at them, shaking his head in disappointment as he inspected the shackles pinning them in place in their chairs, the wheezing of their breath the only indication of their screams. "Stupid pricks, you tried to mess with Mama's daughters. You got everything you deserved you fucking pieces of shit."

Ignoring the wheezing, the near silent screams erupting around him, Nigel began his inspection of the heart still pumping in the medical bin, the electrical impulses of life steady though slightly asymmetrical in rhythm. What purpose did this display serve? What was the Ripper trying to tell him, for certainly the message was here, and he was the one brought here to see it. It was a macabre suggestion, one too obtuse in meaning for someone as straightforward in his thinking for Nigel to get it. He didn't deal in these kinds of metaphorical abstractions, it was why he loved his little spaceman, Adam's heart was so open, so free all of that bullshit, injured debris of layered meanings. Nigel puzzled over it, and though the setting was a real fucked up horror show of a pit from Dante's circle, he wasn't about to leave until he'd figured it out.

"Left me a beating heart, pumped full of the blood of his enemies. That's part of it, I think. What about you guys? Why is it sitting here on an operating table, waiting for me to find it? You're all witnesses to something, like you are watching an operation taking place."

He paced around the operating table, careful to step over and dive under the various tubes holding its life in precarious place. "The heart has been cut out and I'm the one to find it. He wants me to know there is something alive in here." Nigel stared at the still beating heart, at its relentless struggle to remain alive despite all evidence that it was destined to die. Out of gory impulse he traced a finger along it centre, feeling the beat shudder beneath his touch. He couldn't understand why, but the feeling of needing to protect it rose up within him, the surprise of finding it not nearly as damaging as the thought of it being harmed. He reached into the bin and carefully picked the heart up, cradling it as though it were a premature infant in his too large hands. The heart pumped between his fingers, its beat relentless and forever, responding to the pulse of his touch.

"You poor thing." He wasn't talking to the beating heart in his hands. "This is so fucked up. They were really fucking awful to you, weren't they? You poor fucking thing. You really showed them."

He could smell the scent of Omega behind him, and Nigel didn't have time to flinch. He felt the pinch of a needle in his neck and the heart dropped from his hands into the bin, going into shock as it pumped its last and shuddered into actual death. The mining lamp burned bright behind his eyes as he sank to the wet ground, the arms of Omegas pulling him into the mud. The silhouette of a figure, slender and graceful, a gentle doe amongst the rotted branches of a dying swamp stared down at him.

"Let me see stars," Nigel begged of the lovely creature poised above him.

It tilted its head to one side, as though considering his request.