Marco caught the tail three blocks from Gotham General.
It was subtle at first. A grey Ford maintained a consistent two-car distance in the rearview mirror. Most people would not have noticed. But he had spent enough time as a cop to recognize when someone was following him with just enough skill to think they were being clever, but not enough to pull it off.
"We have got company."
Darnell twisted in the passenger seat, glancing back through the rear window. "Grey Ford? Yeah, I see him. He has been on us since we left the hospital."
"Think it is one of Crane's people?"
"Maybe. Or maybe it is someone interested in why we just visited Gordon." Darnell settled back in his seat. "What do you want to do?"
Marco smiled. "Let us have a conversation."
He took the next right turn, then another, leading the tail deeper into the industrial maze of the East End. The road ahead ended abruptly. At the end of the alley stood a peeling grey stucco wall covered in layers of graffiti.
He stopped the patrol car, blocking the only exit. He killed the engine and grabbed the shotgun from the rack, tossing it to Darnell.
They stepped out of the car. Marco leaned against the hood with one hand resting casually on his holster and waited.
Less than a minute later, the Ford turned the corner and rolled straight into the trap. The driver slammed on the brakes the moment he saw the patrol car blocking the dead end.
Marco pushed himself off the hood and walked forward.
"All right. Game over. Step out of the vehicle and keep your hands where we can see them."
The driver's window rolled down slowly.
A young man sat behind the wheel, no older than his mid-twenties. His face was pale, and his eyes were wide with uncertainty.
"Officer? Is something wrong? I think I might have gotten lost."
"You followed us from Gotham General Hospital for six blocks, and now you are lost enough to tail a police car into a dead end? Hands on the steering wheel."
The man hesitated for half a second too long. Marco yanked the door open, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him out of the car in one smooth motion. He spun him around, twisted his arms behind his back, and slammed him face-first onto the hood.
"Stay down," he said quietly. "Breathe and think about your life choices."
Darnell was already circling the Ford, shotgun held in one hand while he peered through the windows. He opened the back door and leaned in, rummaging through the interior.
"We have got a bag back here," he called out. He pulled it onto the seat and unzipped it. "Driver's license, vehicle registration... and what the hell is this?"
He pulled out a white robe. He held it up and examined it.
"Why does this look familiar?"
He tried pulling it over his head. "Does not really feel like something a Klansman would wear."
Marco's eyes narrowed as recognition clicked into place. "Is that from that church we saw the other day?"
"Oh, right." Darnell dropped the robe back into the bag. "What were they called? The Brotherhood? I knew something was off the moment they claimed they were doing charity work."
Marco grabbed the man by the collar again, pulling him upright so they were face to face. "Why were you following us? And before you answer, understand that I have had a very long day, and my patience is not what it used to be."
"Joining the Brotherhood is not illegal!" the man blurted out, finding some scrap of courage. "Freedom of belief is protected by the Constitution! You cannot arrest me for that!"
"In Gotham, you are lecturing me about constitutional rights?" Marco laughed at that. "You have got balls." He looked over at Darnell. "What do you think? Should we let him go?"
Darnell grinned. "I think we should search the vehicle more thoroughly for officer safety."
"Good idea."
Marco watched as Darnell walked back to their patrol car and returned with a small plastic bag containing a white powder. He palmed it, then leaned into the Ford's driver seat, wedging the bag into a gap beneath the seat cushion where it would be just visible enough to "discover" during a search.
Then he turned on his body camera.
"Dispatch, this is Officer Wilson. We have stopped a suspicious vehicle during routine patrol in the East End. Driver was exhibiting evasive behavior. We are conducting a search of the vehicle now."
He made a show of checking the center console, the glove box, and under the seats. Then he reached down and pulled out the baggie, holding it up to the camera.
"Well, look at that. Narcotics in plain view. Driver is being placed under arrest for possession with intent to distribute."
He shut off the body camera and grinned at Marco. "Paperwork is going to be a bitch."
"Worth it."
The man was staring at them.
"You bastards! That is not mine! You planted that! I want a lawyer! I will not say anything until my lawyer gets here!"
"Plenty of courage," Marco said, nodding with mock respect. "Let us hope you can hold out until your lawyer arrives."
He hauled the man to his feet and shoved him toward the patrol car. "Get in. And if you try to run, I will let my partner shoot you. He has been itching to use that shotgun all week."
---
The patrol car screeched into the back lot of the East End Precinct, tires shrieking against the concrete. Darnell yanked the cultist out of the back seat while the man continued shouting about lawyers and his rights. He shoved him down a hallway toward the interrogation rooms at the far end of the building.
Marco did not follow. He leaned against the cold cinder-block wall outside the interrogation room and waited.
Inside, he could hear Darnell's voice. The cultist's initial bravado lasted maybe two minutes before it broke down into cries of pain, then pleading.
Marco checked his watch. Ten minutes had passed. That was usually enough.
The door opened, and Darnell stepped out, wiping blood off his knuckles with a paper towel. He tilted his head toward the room. "He is talking."
Marco stepped into the interrogation room. The cultist sat slumped in a metal chair. His face was swollen and bruised, and a thin line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Whatever defiance he had shown earlier was gone.
"Stop hitting me," the cultist whimpered. "Stop hitting me. Officer, the Chicago incident was not me. I swear"
"Nobody asked you about Chicago," Darnell snapped, delivering another slap across the back of the cultist's head. "Talk about why you were following us."
"Okay, okay!" The man raised his hands weakly, flinching from the pain. "I joined the Brotherhood two days ago. That is it. I am new. I do not know much."
"Why were you following us? And I suggest you tell me everything in one go. My partner here missed his afternoon coffee break because of you, which means he is in a terrible mood."
"I do not know much," the cultist said desperately. "They contacted me today and only said that the Daughter of Chaos sensed you. My job was to follow you, watch where you went, and report your movements."
Marco's blood went cold. "Daughter of Chaos. What the hell is that?"
"I do not know! I have never seen her!" The cultist flinched as Darnell raised his fist again. "Today was the first time I even heard that name! I swear, everything I am saying is true!"
Marco exchanged a glance with Darnell.
The Daughter of Chaos.
Whoever or whatever was tracking Raven had just made this personal.
"Where are the rest of your church people?" Marco asked.
"At an old textile factory near the Narrows, at the edge of the East End. That is where they gather." The cultist hesitated, then added quietly, "But from the way they talked, it sounds like there are several locations."
Marco knew the area well. It was an abandoned industrial zone, populated only by squatters and drug dealers. It was the perfect place for a cult to disappear.
He stood up. "What you just told me better be true. If I make this trip for nothing..."
"It is true! I would not lie to you!"
"Good." Marco jerked his head at Darnell. "Lock him in a holding cell. If what he said checks out, we will let him go. If not... we will see."
Darnell hauled the cultist to his feet and dragged him toward the door. "You are lucky, you know. A couple years ago, someone got locked up for three months just for looking at a captain the wrong way."
Marco ignored the chatter as he walked down the hallway and pulled out his radio.
"This is Vitale. I need twenty mobile units in full tactical gear. Long guns, heavy armor, Level One response. Assemble in the armory in five minutes."
The sluggish East End station sprang to life. Footsteps pounded through the hallways. Gun lockers slammed open. Officers shouted to one another as they rushed to prepare.
Darnell caught up to him, looking baffled. "What the hell? Why is everyone suddenly so motivated?"
One of the officers, Christopher, stopped nearby. He was a stocky, middle-aged man with a beer gut and two decades on the force.
"Precinct business?" he said with a shrug. "We can take our time. But when it is the captain's business, that is different. If he gets angry, our overtime disappears."
Darnell stared at him. "You are serious?"
Christopher nodded. "Completely serious."
Darnell let out a breath. "Jesus Christ."
---
Inside the armory, officers moved quickly. They pulled rifles from the racks, secured body armor over their uniforms, and loaded magazines.
One of the younger officers glanced up as Marco entered. "Captain, what is happening? Why are we deploying full tactical?"
Marco clapped his hands, and the room went quiet.
"Listen up. There is an abandoned textile factory near the Narrows. A cult has established a presence there, and they may be armed. If you encounter resistance, you are authorized to use lethal force. Maintain radio contact at all times. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," the officers answered in unison.
As Marco turned away, the tension in the room loosened slightly. Quiet murmurs spread among the officers.
"A cult, huh? Think we will interrupt some kind of orgy?"
"Would not surprise me. These people always do strange things."