The Temporary Hero

by Nick Svolos

  “You know Femme Fatale was Doughboy’s nemesis, right?” I asked.

  She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “You’ve clearly never read any of the fanfics about them.”

  Well, she had me there. I looked back down at the street, spotting a motorcycle swerving through the westbound traffic.

  “There she is,” I said.

  “Really? What does she have on that thing? Rocket boosters?” Fatale joked as she smashed the Angel communicator under her heel. She hopped on my back, and we flew down to join her.

  Sinfonie had more tricks up her sleeve than anyone had a right to. I figured it came from her training by the Japanese government. They knew how to get the most out of a person’s abilities. Case in point, she made us effectively invisible to both biological and electronic eyes as we made our approach to the departure terminals.

  Walking through a busy terminal while psionically obscured like that was tricky. We had to keep a careful eye out to make sure we didn’t collide with anyone. They couldn’t see us, of course, and Sinfonie was too pre-occupied with keeping us in stealth mode to alter their courses around us. We kept in a tight little group and picked our way carefully past the security checkpoint, Sin being meticulous in masking our presence from the multitude of cameras, sensors, and whatever else the TSA had in the area.

  The normal ten-minute walk took twice that long, but we made it to the gate without setting off any alarms. I scanned the area and spotted LaBlanc. It wasn’t hard. He sat by the window, staring unfocused across the terminal like a man who’d just had his God stripped from him. Two guys in dark suits and darker sunglasses flanked him. They might as well have put up a sign.

  “Got him,” I thought.

  I felt a brief moment of disorientation as Sinfonie borrowed my eyes and sized up the scene. “Okay, give me a second.”

  It was more like a minute, but a stream of five or six men left the men’s restroom in an orderly file and went their various ways. A couple of them had towels in their hands, still drying them.

  “Shush,” she telepathically ordered.

  Damn. Thinking too loud again.

  “You still are,” she corrected. “Into the bathroom.” She led the way, and we followed. “Okay, here’s where it gets tricky. You’ll have to deal with LaBlanc. I’ll be busy with everything else.”

  “Got it.”

  A moment later, Special Agent LaBlanc and his escorts entered the restroom. Once they were in, the sunglassed agents came to a halt, staring straight forward while LaBlanc looked around him, bewildered, before spotting our little trio.

  “What the—”

  I held a finger to my lips. “Shhh. Keep your voice down and don’t do anything stupid. I’ve got a simple question for you. Do you want to go to Washington and take the fall for whatever they’re planning, or do you want to help us stop it?”

  “Wh—” he stammered again, then took a closer look at me. “Conway?” This is what I meant when I said these domino masks were all but useless. Of course, the fact that my face still looked like a talking bruise probably didn’t help, either.

  “The clock is ticking.” A bead of sweat worked its way out of Sinfonie’s hairline and dropped down to her goggles. This was taking its toll on her.

  “Uh, yeah. The second thing. I want to stop them.”

  “Smart choice.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sinfonie nod and start to lead us back out to the terminal. “Just stick close and quiet until we’re out of here.”

  At the door, Femme Fatale plucked a pearl from her necklace and tossed it back into the bathroom. I could just make out a little poof and the sound of two bodies hitting the tile floor. I skipped a step. I thought she was joking about the knock-out gas. I should have known better. She really was a stickler for details.

  “How are we doing this?” LaBlanc asked. I just shushed him and kept moving.

  Once out of the terminal, I told LaBlanc to hop on my back, and I flew close behind Sinfonie and Femme Fatale, who by this time was probably wishing she’d chosen a historical figure whose headgear came with a chinstrap. Sinfonie led us out of the airport, left onto Sepulveda, and left again at Westchester Parkway, eventually pulling us into an industrial complex with a number of empty boxcars and truck trailers. We slipped into one near the back, behind a wall of other trailers, making it difficult to see.

  Sinfonie turned off the motor, dropped her helmet on the floor, and mumbled, “Gonna need a minute, guys.” She walked to the far end of the trailer, flopped down on her back, and was instantly asleep.

  “Okay, will somebody please tell me what’s going on here?” LaBlanc asked.

  “Fair enough. Where do you want me to start?”

  “For starters, you can tell me why you’re working with a known terrorist?”

  “We’re working with a known terrorist,” I corrected him with an amicable pat on the shoulder. He gulped. “Don’t worry, she’s not so bad once you get to know her. Besides, she’s retired.”

  “She really is very nice,” Femme Fatale added with an eager nod.

  He paced around a bit, leaned back against the wall, and sank to the ground, his face slack. “This is crazy.” His eyes took on that stare that goes on forever.

  I squatted down beside him. “It’s a bit much. I know. Take a minute. Process it. But after that, we need you back. You’re the only FBI agent I know who’s legit, and we need you at one hundred percent if there’s any chance to stop the bad guys.”

  I left him there and leaned against the far wall next to my gal.

  “Think he’ll be alright?” she asked.

  “Yeah, he’ll come through. Probably just realizing how phenomenally boned he is.”

  “Lot of that going around. How’re you holding up?”

  I squeezed her hand and let it go. Best not to show too much affection in front of an outsider. Particularly an outsider who, if this failed, would be forced to talk. “I’m good. Got you by my side, don’t I?”

  “Now and always.” She nudged my shoulder. “Never forget that, alright?”

  “Never. You know, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why the hell do you have these costumes?”

  “Well, they were supposed to be a surprise.”

  “It worked.”

  Fatale took a look at LaBlanc to make sure he wasn’t listening in. He wasn’t. We could have fired a cannon and I didn’t think he’d hear it.

  She dropped her voice into a whisper. “It’s really not a big deal. Your dad wanted to show Alice at some car shows. Raise money for his veterans’ group. I thought it would be cool to dress up in period costumes. One thing led to another, and….”

  “And here we are.”

  “Yup. What do you think?”

  “Sounds great.” In fact, I’d been struggling to figure out what to do with Doughboy’s old ReVere since it wound up in my possession the previous year. There were a couple of classic car museums who’d shown interest, but when they’d found out about Doughboy’s “improvements”, they’d chickened out. Alice was a crime fighting beast, as much a part of Doughboy’s legend as the man himself. She was built like a tank and had an arsenal under the hood to back it up. She deserved better than to spend her days in my old barn at Pop’s ranch. “Should be fun.”

  Our conversation was cut short as LaBlanc shook off his stupor and got to his feet.

  “Ready to get to work?” I asked.

  He squared his shoulders but was careful not to commit. His poker face was as strong as ever. “That depends. What are you planning?”

  LaBlanc might be playing his cards close to his chest, but he didn’t have a good hand. In fact, the deck he was playing from was missing a few cards. I decided to toss him one of mine to see if he could help me fill a gap in my own incomplete deck. Yeah, our game had degenerated into one of Go Fish.

  “Back at the infirmary, I told you about the missing shipping records. They were from government jobs that originated in Pueblo. What’s there?�
�

  He looked like he was trying to decide if we could be trusted. I guessed he decided in our favor, or maybe he was just that desperate. I knew the feeling. “It’s not the city. It’s Pueblo County. Specifically, the Pueblo Chemical Agent Destruction Plant.”

  Femme Fatale gasped, “Oh, God,” and I felt my own gut do a nauseating little pirouette. “Chemical weapons?” she asked.

  LaBlanc nodded. “Yeah. Some components to make some very nasty stuff went missing, and I’ve been trying to track them down. The trail went cold here in LA. When Backdraft turned up, it seemed like it might be connected.”

  My mind reeled, but I managed to ask, “How nasty?”

  “Nerve gas. VX, to be specific. I think it’s here in LA, now.”

  Fatale hugged herself and repeated, “My God.”

  “Okay,” I said, starting to pace. Something I always did when trying to work out a story, but rarely was it a story as big as this. “What do you know about Alvarado?”

  “He runs the Criminal Investigations Branch for this district.” He rattled off the names of seven Western states. “My boss, when I’m on assignment out here. Can’t believe he’d be involved in something like this.”

  “Well, start believing. That breakout they staged might have been Wells’ scheme, but he gave the green light. How do we get to him?”

  “His office is at the Federal Building.” LaBlanc frowned. “I don’t like our odds of getting back in there.”

  “No, that would be a disaster,” Fatale agreed. “Do you know where he lives?”

  The agent shook his head. We discussed the matter for a while, batting around ideas on how to get to the assistant director, none of which had any likelihood of success, until we were interrupted by a stirring in the back.

  “You guys’re going at this all wrong,” Sinfonie said, getting to her feet and brushing the hair back from her face.

  “Feeling better?”

  “Much.” She stretched her lithe form. “Damn, that took a lot out of me. Must be getting old.” She walked to her bike, opened a container, and pulled out a few workout bars. She polished off the first one in milliseconds, and took a more leisurely pace with the second.

  “Anyhow,” she mumbled around a bite, “the Alvarado thing’s a long shot, at best. Besides, we can get to him anytime. The money idea is to find out what they’re doing with the nerve gas. Put a stop to it before anyone gets hurt.”

  Fatale nodded. “Sure, but we figured we’d get that from Alvarado.”

  Sinfonie shook her head and smiled at our naïveté. “You’re thinking like a hero. You want to catch all the evildoers and bring ‘em to justice. Clean it up, nice and tidy. It’s cute, but it’s clouding your thinking. If this Bedlam thing goes as high as Doughboy thinks, he may not even know. But while you’re spending your time on him, you’ve got Wells, Forney, Pseudonym, and God knows who else moving the plan forward.”

  “So, what do you think we ought to do?” I asked, knowing full well that whatever it was, I’d hate it and she’d probably be right.

  “Glad you asked. Think like a supervillain. They’re running this op through the FBI. Everything we need is tucked away in their computers. I say we go get it.”

  “You can’t be serious!” LaBlanc protested. “You want to raid an FBI field office?”

  “No. Not that we couldn’t. Wouldn’t be impossible, but with the ERD running around it cuts into the percentage. A satellite office will do. What do you call ‘em? ‘Resident Agencies?’”

  LaBlanc paced around, growing more agitated as his mind processed Sinfonie’s proposal.

  “I can’t believe we’re even considering this,” he said.

  “You have to admit, it’d work,” Femme Fatale observed. “If the data’s on your network, she can get to it.”

  “No. Nonononono. I’m not letting a terrorist into our network.”

  “You already have,” Sinfonie grinned. “Long Beach. Broadway and Waite. You’ve been there a few times. Got the whole floor plan in your head.”

  Fatale covered her face with her hand. “Not cool, Sin.”

  LaBlanc’s eyes went wide. “You read my mind!”

  “Hello? Supervillain, remember?”

  “Oh, my God!” LaBlanc’s hands went to his head, on the edge of panic.

  “Easy, agent,” I said, trying to smooth things over. “This is a good thing. Gives you plausible deniability. You have an out, if this thing goes south.”

  LaBlanc wasn’t listening to me. “There’s gotta be at least ten agents there. You’ll never get away with this.”

  Sinfonie smirked. “Boy, if I had a nickel…”

  LaBlanc looked like he could snap at any moment. Not good. We still needed him.

  “Enough, Sin.” I turned back to the agent and spoke in a calm tone, playing my own version of good cop. “Look, the only way out of this is if we work together. We stop the bad guys, get the goods on ‘em, and make it so public they can’t lie their way out of it. Do you understand?”

  He nodded, so I continued. “We’re doing this with or without you. I’d rather have you in on the bust, but if you want, we can tie you up and leave you where you’ll be found in a few hours. You can tell ‘em we kidnapped you, and Sinfonie mind-raped what we needed out of your head.”

  “That’s a little strong,” Sinfonie protested.

  I ignored her. “It’s up to you. I wish we had more time, but we don’t. You have to make a choice. But I feel I should point out that I don’t like your chances once you’re back in the hands of whoever’s pulling the strings. You know too much.”

  “Probably won’t make it to Washington,” my supervillain buddy agreed.

  The agent looked at each of us in turn. This was a lot to ask of him, so I let him have thirty of our precious seconds. To his credit, he only needed twenty. “Alright, dammit, I’m in.”

  “Good. Now, you’re going to catch a cab, go to the LAPD station in San Pedro, find Captain Dawson, and tell him everything. He’ll know what to do.”

  “You sure?” LaBlanc looked a bit iffy on the plan. “He may not want to deal with me. I was … kind of a dick to him.”

  “He deals with me all the time. He’s used to it.”

  ***

  “It’s the third floor, right?” Femme Fatale asked with an edge to her voice I hadn’t heard before. Normally, she’d be eager for a scrap, but not this time. She was nervous.

  She had good reason to be. On what passes for a normal day for Herculene, she could be taking on a marauding supervillain, a giant fire-breathing monster, or a horde of mutant cyborgs with rocket launchers and she’d do it all without a second thought. Of course, all of those opponents could take a punch. This was different. The FBI agents we’d be up against were normal men and women. Fragile. If we screwed up and hurt somebody, the price on our heads could buy some bounty hunter an island paradise in the South Pacific. We teetered on the edge of crossing The Line, and all fate needed to push us over it was a gentle breeze.

  With any luck, it wouldn’t come to that. I keyed my newly-acquired communicator. “Alright, everybody check in.”

  “We’re same as we was last time, chief,” Reggie Burns’ voice came through the communicator, crisp, clear, and professional. “In position and awaiting your orders.”

  Yeah, I was a bit uptight, myself.

  “Almost there,” Sinfonie responded. “ETA two minutes.”

  “Roger that,” I called back and turned off the mic.

  We’d made preparations. The hungry henchmen at Mickey’s were only too happy to take our getaway cash and even gave us a decent rate once they found out Sinfonie was involved. Her name still carried considerable weight in the underworld, and having a successful caper with her on their resumes would open a lot of doors. An opportunity to put the screws to the people who brought outsiders to their turf was a nice bonus.

  Over the years, Mickey had put together an impressive collection of gear from retired, dead or imprisoned supervilla
ins. After some debate, we settled on renting stunners and henchmen suits originally belonging to King Bee. Bulletproof and nonlethal, the suits also came with jet packs and an excellent communications network. The henchmen grumbled about their bulk but fell in line when I told them about our first target.

  “She’s here,” Femme Fatale said. I looked down at the street to see Sinfonie zip through traffic and stop her bike at the curb. Fatale took several steps back and started running at the building’s edge.

  “Stage one, go!” I called into the comm and hurled myself off the lip of the rooftop. I sailed across the street at a window on the third floor. Simultaneously, seven guys in fuzzy, black and yellow drone suits ignited their jetpacks, flying out from hidden locations in the parking structure. The eighth man, Reggie, swooped down, swept Sinfonie up in his arms and joined the others.

  Fatale sped past me and hit the building first, bursting through a window. She tucked into a roll to shed her momentum, grabbed a desk and blocked a door with it. The people in the office froze, bewildered.

  A split second later, it was my turn. Another window exploded as I crashed through. “Everybody down! Now!” I shouted, the voice-altering circuitry on my molar lending authority and volume to my command. The people immediately complied, and I dismissed them from my mind for the moment. The floor plans Sinfonie had drawn up showed a single hallway out of this room, and I took up a position to block it with my body, looking tough and in charge. Fatale joined me a second later.

  Our Bumblemen—King Bee’s name for them, not mine—flew in through the openings we’d made and secured the room and adjoining offices. I felt Sinfonie’s hand on my shoulder a second before she touched my mind.

  “Let’s go,” she thought. In unison, Fatale and I started forward.

  With some help from LaBlanc, we’d planned our route to the closet containing all the networking gear to be as short as possible, while minimizing the potential for contact with responding agents. Still, our progress was slow. We had to pause and check each office we passed to make sure we didn’t leave any active opposition in our rear. We made it to the first corner before we found anyone.