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“Which means you don’t see them backing off unless the entire organization is broken down,” Ethan said.
Catcher nodded. “Morgan’s got an opportunity to do that, which I suspect is why Chuck wanted to walk him out. It would be a coup for the CPD to bring down the Circle.”
“If they’re so big, so powerful, how are they still operating?” I wondered. “I mean, surely there are screwups, snitches, search warrants.”
“I imagine what nearly happened to Sanford King is one of the reasons,” Ethan said, glancing at Catcher for confirmation. “If you take out your enemies, perceived or otherwise, you tend to keep everyone else in line.”
“And they are remarkably careful,” Catcher said, “and remarkably well connected. And God knows I’m no fan of Seth Tate, but Diane Kowalcyzk doesn’t have nearly the grip on the city that he did. As mayor, he wouldn’t have objected to the Circle per se, but he would have demanded a cut.”
“And Kowalcyzk?” Ethan asked.
“Not interesting enough to the Circle to bother with. Word is, they see her as a temp, and not worth the effort.”
Ethan cocked his head. “You have contacts in the organization?”
“No,” Catcher said. “That’s the problem. With a lot of organized crime, there’s an obvious family structure, a clear hierarchy. The hierarchy generally demands respect from the capos, the other players, so you know who they are.
“The Circle’s not like that. They’re not looking for glory; they’re looking for long-term plays. Businesses, people, Houses they can sink their fangs into—sorry for the pun—and ensure an income stream over time. There’s actually very little outright theft, not like the older-style gangs. A lot of this is cybercrime. Phishing schemes, transfer of international funds, hacking, extortion for cybercoin schemes. And the leadership is very decentralized, very big on anonymity, and very careful about giving any one individual too much information. That’s why the CPD doesn’t have them tagged in any significant way.”
“How do you know so much about them?” Malik wondered.
“Accumulated knowledge. I was fascinated by the mob as a kid, even before I came to Chicago, and I’d read a lot about Al Capone, Bugs Moran, Johnny Torrio. I’ve kept up with the news, the stories, the talk, mostly as a hobby. Jeff knows hackers, and the Circle pops up in that community. And, of course, your grandpa hears things. Supernaturals trust him. And being supernaturals, they tend to stay on the sidelines, or get ignored by humans. Word filters down, and you put the pieces together a bit at a time.”
Catcher frowned. “We figured they’d get involved with supernaturals at some point or other—I’d guessed magic, actually. Spell-selling, maybe trafficking in magical creatures, stuff that’s actually within our jurisdiction. But we hadn’t seen anything like that. Unfortunately, this tells us our thinking was accurate.”
“And that they were very strategic,” Ethan said. “If the interest was as high as Morgan suggested, they found—or perhaps ‘cultivated’ is a better word for it—what sounds like a very good source of revenue in Navarre House. But we’ll see what the audit turns up.”
Catcher sighed. “I’ve got no lost love for Morgan as a Master, although I thought he was a good enough guy before that. But I don’t envy him this. This could be enough to break the House, certainly to cause a lot of pain, a lot of trouble, a lot of hardship for many, many years to come.”
Ethan nodded. “Unfortunately, I tend to agree with you.” He looked at Malik. “You’ll make arrangements to review the books at dusk.”
Malik nodded. “I do love math. Numbers are orderly.”
“And real life rarely is,” Ethan said.
Malik opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything else, Juliet rushed in, eyes wide, and skipping from Luc to Ethan.
“Sorry to interrupt, Sire. Kelley called. He’s on the move. Kelley followed, has her lapel camera. We’ve got the feed live downstairs.”
There seemed no point in asking who “he” was, or whether we’d make the journey to watch it.
Chapter Ten
HE CAN DO MAGIC
We reconvened in the Ops Room, most of the guards’ eyes already on the wall screen.
There, in the middle, stood Balthasar.
He wore black pants and the same high-collared coat he’d worn last night. He looked what I’d have called vampirically handsome—dark hair against pale skin, eyes gleaming with promise and excitement. His scars peeked from beneath the edge of the collar.
He stood in front of a tall, pale brick structure, a low stone railing behind him. A crowd of humans had gathered on the street in front of him, eyes wide as they watched him, waited for him to move.
I recognized the spot. “He’s in front of the Wrigley Building. Those stairs go down to one of the boat docks along the river.” It was a common spot for street buskers, performers who typically danced or played instruments for cash from passersby, mostly tourists who roamed the Magnificent Mile to browse, shop, or take in the energy of downtown Chicago.
Juliet brought Luc an earpiece, which he snapped into place. “Kelley, can you hear me?”
“Roger that,” she said quietly, voice echoing through the room. “Tara’s positioned at my three o’clock.” She turned to the left, the camera panning until it focused on a lean woman with short brown hair at the edge of the crowd. She wore black cargo pants and a fitted black T-shirt. She stood at parade rest, but her eyes were cold and fixed on Balthasar. She was, I guessed, the human guard on this particular round of surveillance.
