“Locke. Paxton Locke.” It took everything I had not to put a little Connery-esque drawl in there, but from her demeanor, I didn’t think the receptionist was much in the mood for jokes.
Her eyes went a little wide, and my sense that she was ready to draw down on me intensified. I forced myself to remain still, awaiting her response.
“I see. I don’t believe he’s in the office today. Is this something that another agent could help you with?”
“Very possibly. Is it all right if I sit and wait?” I turned with exaggerated slowness and pointed at one of the chairs in the corner, well within view from the reception desk. “Right there, maybe?”
She glanced at the chair but spent much more time in an appraisal of me. The receptionist relaxed minutely, then nodded. “That’ll be fine.”
I took a seat and folded my hands in my lap, right in view. Sitting down, I finally noticed the name placard resting on top of the desk, identifying the receptionist as ‘Agent Carla Norman.’ Interesting. When I’d dug a little digging online after Gordo filled me in, everything I’d seen had indicated that the Phoenix ATF branch was a smaller office—if they had actual agents covering the front desk, that seemed to indicate that they didn’t get enough visitors to hire a full-time receptionist.
Although, I reasoned after a moment, if you’ve got a bunch of people locked up in the office, you probably don’t want admin staff around to ask questions about things like due process and habeas corpus. Carla murmured quietly into the phone headset she wore. She kept her tone low enough that I was unable to make out most of what she said, but my own name was familiar enough.
She’s got a pretty serious gun strapped under the desk there, in case you were wondering.
I pointedly didn’t look at Roxanne but nodded all the same. I felt a vague vibration in the floor. The door behind Carla opened slowly. I might have laughed if the situation wasn’t so grave.
It wasn’t every day the boogieman walked in your door, after all.
The agent that emerged into the reception area wore black suit pants and loafers, though he’d shed his jacket and rolled the cuffs of his shirt up over forearms hard with muscle. I guessed that I’d have a few inches on him, standing up, but he could probably throw me to home plate without breaking a sweat. He had close-cropped black hair and a neatly-trimmed beard. The look of curiosity in his eyes was refreshing and did more than a little to ease the palpable tension in the air. “You’re Paxton Locke?”
“That’s me,” I agreed. Hesitating for a second, I finally stood and extended a hand. The male agent flinched and I heard the click-click of metal on metal from under the reception desk. “Just a handshake,” I added. “Scout’s honor.”
“Agent Jared Anjewierden,” the agent said. He looked at my hand, back up at me, then shrugged and shook it. If anything, I’d underestimated the muscle he carried—my hand practically disappeared in his. “You were never a scout.”
My laugh sounded a little nervous, but I felt entitled. “I guess you’d know that, wouldn’t you?”
Anjewierden swallowed, then said, “Would you like to come inside? Sit down and talk?” Hurriedly, he added, “That’s why you’re here, yes?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Let’s talk.”
Valentine—Wednesday morning
Washington, DC
Everyone who could spare time from other ongoing work had crammed into the conference room. While looking for options to deal with Helen Locke in the present, they were nailing down the plan to deal with her when the time came.
“The center of the nexus is, approximately, right about here.” Val tapped a point on the map tacked to the wall. “Northeast of the town proper. Not as far out in the boonies as I’d like, but somewhat isolated. This could be a problem.” He traced a line running through the woods near the center of the nexus. “At one time, this was a narrow-gauge railroad. Now it’s a hiking trail. If this were going down in the next few months, I’d say we had nothing to worry about, but in March, it’s liable to be busy. Something we need to handle, we don’t need any collateral damage.”
Even over a transcontinental line, Morgan’s voice was crystal clear, albeit piped through the phone in the center of the table. “Keep in mind, just because the center of the nexus is outside of the town proper, that doesn’t mean Helen has to conduct her ritual there. If anything, I’d say she’s liable not to. Anywhere inside its area of effect is sufficient, and that covers at least half of the town.”
“Right,” Val agreed. “So, rather than worry about blowing our cover or exposing the normals, we evacuate the town. It’s a little unorthodox, but in this case, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“What’s our cover story?” George wanted to know.
“Natural gas leak. The timing is going to be tight—we could shoot for the day before, but who knows how much prep time she’ll need? We’re going to have to get all the pieces in place, and as soon as we have a sighting, we move. If we don’t see her by the day before, that’s our kickoff. Either way, I want that town empty on March 15th.”
“What kind of support will you need, sir?” Prather interjected. Rather than fold himself into a chair, the lanky agent had taken up a position leaning in one corner.
“We’re keeping it small. Myself, Georgie, Morgan, and Eliot, if he’s back on his feet by then. Anyone else will be on crowd control for the civilians.” He gave the room a thin smile. “Not that I don’t respect your skills, people, but we’ve got a limited number of anti-geas charms and no way to make more without Kevin and the Doc. Unless I can get Morgan to burn the midnight oil when she gets back.”
“George’s suit is my first priority, but you’re not going to like the overtime.” The gathered agents chuckled, and Val’s smile turned more genuine.
“I’m good for it.” Another agent raised his hand. Val recognized his face from around the local office but drew a blank on the name. “Go ahead, son.”
“Say things go to hell. How do we support the four of you? Can we wear, I don’t know, noise-canceling headphones, or something to keep from falling under her spell?”
“Morgan?”
“That should work, though we should look into straps or something to keep her from just pulling them off.”
“Sure, that way she can pull off a head,” George noted. The room broke up into a mix of amusement and disgust.
Val resisted the urge to give George a look. He was long-accustomed to the other man’s gallows humor, but he was unsure how their subordinates would take it given the events of the past few days. With the rubble cleared, the final tally of the dead stood at 110, the lion’s share upper management or other supervisory agents. If their mystery attacker had intended a decapitation strike, she’d pulled it off. Those left standing had guts, or they wouldn’t be in the Division, but they lacked experience and were ill-equipped to go up against a witch of Helen’s caliber.
Once everyone settled down, Val nodded to the agent who’d asked the question. “Good idea, you take lead on it.”
A burly male agent called out. “Agent Valentine, all due respect—why not position snipers around the town and eliminate the subject before it becomes a problem?” He shrugged. “I’m still the FNG of Agent Andrews’ tactical team, but for that matter—why not call in an air strike and wipe out the town? ‘Oops, something sparked the gas.’”
“I have to admit that I like the first idea,” Val agreed. “What’s your name, Agent?”
“Tom Wallace. I was Airborne till about three months ago.”
Val smiled. “I figured. For starters, there’s a severe lack of high ground, which limits the potential shooting positions.” He tapped a few sites on the map that he and Morgan had noted during their trip. “Note also that our subject does have a civilian hostage. Not to be harsh, but if it comes down to stopping Helen Locke but losing the hostage, I’ll make that call every time.” He surveyed the room, taking stock of the reaction of his fellow agents. “Wrap your heads arou
nd this, people. If we’re right about what she intends to do, we’re talking about the survival of the human race. As far as bombing—Morgan?”
She answered immediately. “They’re not cleared for this, Val. Are you sure?”
“I’ll smooth it over with Russ once he’s back. Lay it on them.”
“Fair enough. Ladies and gentlemen, there are places in the world where the fabric of reality is thin, as an analogy. We call this a nexus. Urban legend has grown up around many of them—the Bermuda Triangle, Area 51, Tunguska. For the most part, they aren’t harmful to the average person, so we don’t mess with them unless we have to. Sometimes things pass through from our side, and vice versa. It’s not much of a problem. Randolph, though, is not so much worn thin as torn open. For hundreds of years, magic has stabilized the rip. If you know what to look for, there are older buildings and even survey markers in the area in and around the town inscribed with spells that keep things stable. Without them … it’s wide open, and what might come through makes your typical cryptid look like a cockroach.”
“It’s a Hellmouth,” someone called out. “We get it.”
“I’m not familiar with the term,” Morgan said, “but yes, that’s an apt description. Any damage to the stabilization spells could cause a cascade effect and bring the whole thing down.”
“So, no air strikes,” Val said. “We’ve got to do this the hard way.”
“Correct.”
“All right, people,” he said. “We should have the benefit of time here, but keep this operation on your mental back burner while we try to put everything else back together. Questions, concerns, anything at all, come to me, George, or Morgan. Now? Get out of here.” He waited until the conference room cleared before leaning closer to the phone. “How are things going over there, Morgan?”
“Nothing concrete, yet, but I’m getting some whispers. Our counterparts in Excalibur Corps have been surprisingly helpful.”
Val raised an eyebrow at George. “That’s interesting. Any idea why?” The relationship between the two groups had been cool for decades after working hand-in-hand during the Second World War. One would think the continuing survival of the human race would be enough for politicians to put their differences aside, but he was long past being disappointed by that sort of illogical behavior.
“They haven’t come out and said anything, but my escorts have been downright twitchy. I’m starting to wonder if we haven’t crossed paths with an ongoing investigation on their end.”
George mouthed a silent ‘wow.’ Val gave him a thumbs up before he replied. “Well, I know how I’d handle that sort of thing, but I’m sure you’ll approach it with far more diplomacy.”
Morgan chuckled. “Depending on how things go over the next day or so, I’m going to brace them if they don’t offer anything up. Something tells me I won’t have to, though.”
“We’ll get out of your hair,” he said. “Keep us posted.”
“Will do.”
He stabbed the disconnect button, ending the call. “How are things progressing with backup?”
“I’ve been working with the governor’s office in Maine. In exchange for picking up the cost of deployment, Bravo company of the 3rd Battalion, 172nd Infantry Regiment will be on standby conducting,” he hooked his fingers into air quotes, “training exercises and on call if we need them. They’re a National Guard unit, but they’re good troops by all accounts.” George made an expression of distaste. “I’d prefer tanks, but even light infantry will have more firepower than even what we can bring to bear.”
“We’re not invading Sicily, George,” Val shrugged. “And honestly, if we have to call these guys in, things will be desperate enough that we’ll want something a bit faster than armor.”
“You’re a tad less cocky than normal. Everything all right?”
“What can I say, I’m enjoying the daily reminders that I’ve dodged command all these years for a reason.”
“Well, take it from me—you’re doing a fine job.”
“Considering the source, I’ll take it. We need—” Both men turned at the rap on the conference room door. The director’s executive assistant had a strange look on her face. “What is it, Claudia?”
“I’ve got the Phoenix office on the line, Agent Valentine. You really need to talk to them.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Paxton—Wednesday morning
Phoenix, Arizona
“First things first,” I said after Anjewierden led me into a small conference room and offered coffee. I tried to ignore the staring faces as we walked through the office, as well as the fact that everyone in sight had fallen into what a suspicious mind might call tactical positions. On the bright side, with the door open, Roxanne was able to slip in at my side. If I could filibuster long enough, she could do a quick recon of the office and tell me what I needed to know. “Where are my friends?” I concluded.
“They’re safe,” he said. “I assure you, no harm has come to them. A few of them suffered from smoke inhalation and burns. We’ve gotten them the best care.”
Roxanne blurred into the room. Holding cells are in the center of this floor, behind the elevator. Keeps them away from the windows, I guess. I cocked my head to one side. She rolled her eyes, then lifted a finger and pointed. Thataway.
“Unless I miss my guess,” I said to Agent Anjewierden, then turned and imitated Roxanne’s pointing finger. “They’re right over there.”
The other man went a little pale. “Well, uh …”
“Look. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot. You say they’re fine, I’ll take your word for it, all right? I do want to see them at some point, but we can build some trust first.”
“That seems fair.” He stared at me in silence for a moment, then said, “What can I do for you, Mr. Locke?”
“Well, I came to see Agent Valentine …”
“He’s not here. We’ve got an issue back east.”
I thought about the explosion and building collapse that had helped set me and Puck free and nodded. “I can imagine.”
“I’ve got a call out, he should be getting with us soon. Until then, I guess it’s two guys drinking coffee.”
Trying not to laugh at the bemused expression on his face, I nodded. “You ever hear of anything called ‘the Void?’”
He thought about it, then shook his head. “Not ringing any bells. Most of the things we deal with in the southwest are your garden-variety cryptids. What’s the Void? That the cult you busted up last week?”
Now it was my turn for surprise. “You guys found about that, huh?” I’d thought they’d been following Mother and run across Kent’s house that way, but it stood to reason that the mysterious agency would have its finger on the pulse of mystical weirdness with that high of a profile. “No, that was—different. I dealt with something last night that talked about the Void. Thought it might ring a bell since it was hauling fresh and frozen food through your territory. Let’s just say his protein of choice walked on two legs.”
He grimaced. “Where?”
“Over by Yuma on Interstate 8. I called the local cops, but—I don’t know, do you guys assist on stuff like that?”
“I’ll make some calls in a bit,” Anjewierden said. “It’s still early. My turn. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I replied.
“Why do you do it?”
I thought about being diplomatic, but the terrified woman in the cage and the bodies hanging from hooks popped into my head. The fury I’d felt on the side of the road had dissipated somewhat. I tried to keep it that way, answering in an even tone. “Someone has to. The only time I’ve run into you guys is after the fact.” Well, that probably won’t help. I took a sip of coffee. “I’ve spent the last few years roaming around the country, trying to help people. Maybe ghosts aren’t a big enough deal for Division M, but what about Sumerian shadow demons? Wanna-be Aztec gods demanding human sacrifices? I didn’t see anyone else stepping up to the plate. And
I’m pretty sure my mom’s little pep squad broke her out of prison under Division M’s watchful eyes, no? If not me, who?” My hand was shaking as I set the cup down, and coffee sloshed onto the table.
Be nice.
I wasn’t sure if Roxanne meant the comment as a defense of herself or to tell me to take it down a notch, but I didn’t care. A white-hot rage had replaced the calm I’d forced myself to carry into the building. These were the bogeymen I’d been trying to keep away from? It was a damn miracle Mother hadn’t gotten out of jail sooner.
Anjewierden gritted his teeth and took a few deep breaths before responding. “I’m going to be straight with you, man. You’re not wrong. We’re not out here combing through the weeds looking for clues. We’re firefighters. More often than not, we come in when things have gone to hell, and we do everything we can to keep it from getting worse. That’s the job. There are two dozen people in this office, and a bit less than a third of them are Division M cleared. The others know we’re into something clandestine, but for whatever reason, they’re not read in. Multiply that across the country, and we don’t have the manpower. The big dogs can only be so many places at once.”
“Big dogs like Valentine?”
“He’s the biggest.”
“He said he was—” I hesitated. The dream memory had become clearer as the drugs passed out of my system, but even after all I’d been through, I doubted my own recollection. “Something impossible,” I said, finally. Best not give him any reason to think you’re off your rocker, Pax.
Anjewierden composed his thoughts for a bit, then settled for, “I don’t know how far up you need to be to get the full story, but I’m not it. There are rumors and stories, but who knows how much of that is true, if at all.” He shrugged. “All I know is, I’m glad he’s on our side.” His phone chirped, and he glanced down. “And there he is. I’ll put it on speaker.” He shrugged. “Work on building that trust, right?”
Come, Seeling Night Page 17