by Simon Hawke
“So if it hits the fan, it’s going to be your ass,” the President said.
“I’m afraid so,” Wetterman replied. “But I don’t see any way around it.”
The President nodded. “All right. Since you’re the one putting it all on the line, it’s only right that you should be in charge. As of right now, I want your deputy handling all other NSA matters while you give your full attention to this one.”
Wetterman nodded. “She’s up to it. We’ve already discussed it.”
“I want a special task force formed immediately,” the President continued, “comprised of FBI, BOT, and ITC personnel. The best people we’ve got.”
“If I may make a suggestion, Madame President, I’d like to include some old CIA personnel on this, as well. They’ve got people with more experience in covert activities.”
“Yes, I’m sure they do,” the President replied with a wry grimace. “All right. But if we’re going to turn the dogs loose, let’s try to make sure none of them are rabid, okay? I don’t want any wackos running loose on this one.”
“Understood,” Wetterman replied.
“I think the task force headquarters should be set up right here,” the President continued. “Any objections, Mr. McClellan? Have you got the space?”
“No, ma’am. And yes, we do. We’ll set aside the top floor of the Secretariat building for their exclusive use and then restrict access.”
“Good. I also want a special hot line installed from here direct to the Oval Office, one in my bedroom at the White House, and a mobile unit to accompany me everywhere I go. Better make them all spellwarded and assign an ITC agent to carry the mobile unit, somebody with a low profile who won’t stick out.”
“Affirmative,” said Wetterman, making notes on a small pad.
“Now, if I understand correctly, the first sign of activity by these Dark Ones is liable to show up as serial killing, is that right?”
“That’s always been the pattern in the past, Madame President,” said Wyrdrune. “And these killings always leave behind evidence of magic use.”
“However, a series of necromantic murders may not necessarily be the first sign,” said Angelo. “If they’re smart, they’ll start preying on elements of the population that won’t easily be missed. We could look for patterns of disappearances or kidnappings.”
“Well, that narrows it down,” the President said sarcastically. She exhaled heavily. “Jesus, this is going to be a nightmare. Do whatever you have to do, Brian. You’ve got a blank check. Just get the job done.”
“Oh, there’s one more thing, Madame President,” said McClellan. “I’d like to assign several adepts to your Secret Service detail. I hate to bring it up, but there’s always a possibility the Dark Ones might come after you.”
The President just stared at him for a moment, then nodded and said, “Right. Do it. Have we left anything out?”
“Transport,” said Wyrdrune. “If any of the Dark Ones surface, we can teleport to the location, but that would use up a significant amount of energy.”
“Good point,” the President said. “Detail a military transport plane for twenty-four-hour standby duty. Something fast, piloted by SAC adepts. And have a support team standing by to accompany them, to set up a field command post and make sure we get cooperation from local authorities.”
“We’ll need a security designation for the operation,” Wetterman said. “I suggest code name: ‘Avatar. ‘“ He indicated Wyrdrune, Kira, Billy, and Angelo in turn. “You’ll be referred to as A-l, A-2, A-3, and A-4, respectively. Primary support personnel will carry a B designation, administrative support will carry the designation of C. Even though we’ll be dealing with spellwarded lines of communication, we may not always be able to do so and so we don’t want any names being used. And we don’t ever want to refer to the Dark Ones. If any activity is reported, the code phrase will be, ‘We’ve got a fire. ‘ Any questions?”
“I’ve got one,” the President said. She turned to Wyrdrune and the others. “I’d like to see these amazing runestones we’ve been talking about.”
Wyrdrune removed his headband, revealing the emerald stone set into his forehead. Kira took off her fingerless black leather glove and held up her palm, displaying the sapphire stone bonded to her flesh. And Angelo unbuttoned his start, showing the President the ruby gem over bis heart.
“There was a fourth stone,” Wyrdrune explained, “the fire opal in Billy’s ring, but it wasn’t part of the spell used to contain the Dark Ones. It held the life force of Gorlois and was destroyed when he and Merlin fused their life forces with Billy’s.”
“They look so ordinary,” said the President. “It’s hard to believe they’re actually alive. Or that they contain so much power. What does it feel like?”
“It doesn’t really feel like anything,” said Kira. “We’re aware of them much in the same way you might be aware of having an earring, I suppose. We can feel them there, but when they exert their power, we sort of… go away. It’s like blacking out, only when it’s over, we remember everything that happened.”
“The only other thing is that when there’s a Dark One nearby, or someone possessed, by their power, the stones glow. And if they’re very close, we feel a tingling sensation,” Wyrdrune said. “It’s how they warn us.”
“It’s a bit frightening to think of that kind of power contained in something so small,” the President said. “And you don’t really control it, do you? I mean, it’s the spirits of the Council in the stones that wield the power?”
“We have to be together to form the Living Triangle,” Wyrdrune said. “But beyond that, the Council runs the show.”
“I see,” the President said thoughtfully. “So essentially, there’s no check on their power whatsoever?”
For a moment, no one spoke. The uncomfortable silence stretched. “Not that we know of,” Wyrdrune replied quietly.
“Then it’s a lucky thing for us that they’re the good guys,” the President said. “Let’s hope they stay that way. “ She got to her feet. “Well, I think we’re finished. Mr. Wetterman and Mr. McClellan can take over from here. I probably won’t be seeing you again, so I’ll wish you the best of luck. Godspeed. “ She shook hands with all of them, then left. Moments later, the helicopter lifted off.
“Well, I’m not sure we’re any better off now than we were before,” said Wyrdrune, finally.
“What are you talking about?” asked Steve McGuire. “You’ve got the full resources of the government behind you now. The President gave you a blank check.”
“She gave Wetterman a blank check,” Wyrdrune corrected him. “And it’s clear that he’s going to be the one calling the shots. We had more freedom to act when we were on our own. You watch, the bureaucrats are going to try to take control of this whole thing. Besides, they’re just as much afraid of us as the Dark Ones.”
“That’s absurd,” McGuire said. “I think you’re overreacting.”
“No, he’s not,” the Gypsy said. “Those Secret Service agents had their hands on their weapons all the time they were here.”
“Yeah, but that’s their job,” McGuire said.
“Okay, I’ll grant you that,” the Gypsy said, “but I could sense a great deal of apprehension in the President. And in Wetterman, as well. And you, Mr. McClellan.”
McClellan smiled wryly. “I won’t pretend I don’t have certain concerns. But I think it’s only natural, under the circumstances. The runestones are more powerful than any human adept. It’s a bit unsettling to think of there being no control over all that power.”
“Which begs the question of what they’re going to do about us when all this is over,” Wyrdrune said. “Assuming we survive, of course, what happens when the government decides we’re too dangerous to be allowed to run around loose with ‘all that power, ‘ as you put it?”
McClellan pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a fair question. I suppose it depends on what happens, doesn’t it? And o
n what the runestones decide to do.”
“Perhaps now you’ll begin to understand why I’ve kept the truth about myself hidden,” Makepeace said. “Because no matter how well-intentioned people may be, there is always going to be that element of distrust. And fear. When all this is over, I think Dr. Sebastian Makepeace, the outrageous university professor, is going to disappear. For good.”
“That would be a pity,” said McClellan. “The ITC could certainly use you.”
“Yes, I have no doubt of that,” said Makepeace. “Except, you see, I have a distinct aversion to being used.”
“That wasn’t how I meant it,” said McClellan.
“Wasn’t it? Well, perhaps not. At any rate, however, I think I had best be going. In the face of all these nightmarish concerns, I still have papers to grade and classes to prepare, which is something of a nightmare in itself, giving our current crop of undergraduates. If civilization is threatened, you know where to reach me.”
“Sure,” McClellan said. “Oh, and Makepeace?”
Sebastian paused by the door.
“Don’t disappear on us just yet, okay?”
Makepeace raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t think of it, dear boy. After all, we all still have a job to do, don’t we?”
After a long series of bad breaks, Joey Medina had finally made a score. He had done it by walking in across the border from Sasabe, though he hadn’t used the official port of entry coming in from Mexico. He had hiked in over open country, keeping a wary eye out for the Border Patrol, which had a distinct aversion to people sneaking into the United States. Though Joey took the same route many illegal aliens did coming into the United States in search of jobs, he was not a “wetback,” an expression dating to the days when people swam the Rio Grande to get across the border into Texas. It still happened on occasion, but patrols and steel walls had cut down on a lot of traffic. Going overland was easier and the Arizona border was tougher to patrol.
Joey Medina wasn’t an illegal alien, however. He was a citizen, born and raised in East LA, whose family had moved to South Tucson to get away from all the earthquakes and the mudslides and the violence. His parents had wanted a quieter life for themselves and their kids, but Joey always had a knack of finding trouble anywhere he went. After he had been in and out of jail half a dozen times on various charges, his parents finally gave up on him and invited him to leave. At twenty-two, he had been on his own for the past six years, though some of that time had been spent living at the taxpayers’ expense. Soon after he got out, he had made a trip across the border, and the reason for his rather circumspect entry back into the United States was the backpack full of cocaine he had returned with.
The hills of the Sonora Desert north of Sasabe were full of trails and old dirt roads where trucks could rendezvous with “mules” carrying in drugs. The undermanned Border Patrol, for all its earnest efforts, could not possibly cover them all. It was a gamble, but Joey knew the odds of making it were pretty good. He also knew that one more bust would send him away for a long time, so he was very careful, keeping to the brush as much as possible and watching out for choppers and the Border Patrol trucks.
He had met the transport and off-loaded the backpack, then hiked down to the highway and hitched back into town rather than risk being caught in a vehicle full of drugs. His cut of the deal had not amounted to a fortune, but it was enough for a nice stake to get him and his girlfriend to New Mexico, where he had a connection to a big-time dealer in Santa Fe. He had hopes of moving up in the world. Unfortunately, he had experienced a minor setback.
While he was away in jail, Maria had been busted. She’d been caught soliciting an undercover cop, something she should have been smart enough to avoid. It was not her first time, but Joey wasn’t worried. It was no big deal. He had figured by the time he’d set up the score, gone into Mexico, picked up the drugs, and returned, she’d already be out and they could split. Except when he returned to Tucson, he found out the PD had pleaded her out into some kind of rehab center. So, he thought, no problem. Getting her out of a place like that would be a snap. Except this was some kind of different rehab center.
The place was in a walled enclave about sixty miles west of town, stuck on top of a mountain that was crawling with dragons. Dragons, for chrissake. It was some kind of preserve for the ugly beasts. Why anyone would want to preserve a bunch of giant lizards was beyond him. They weren’t even natural, for cryin’ out loud. Some thaumagenetics company screws up and instead of wiping out the damn mistake, a bunch of screwloose big-city Anglos decide to preserve it. Worse yet, the guy running the place was some kind of priest. Right there, Joey knew it was going to mean trouble.
Maria had this thing about priests. Like, she thought they were holy or something. She had lost her cherry when she was twelve and she’d been hooking since she was sixteen, but she couldn’t even pass a church in the damned car without crossing herself. She always wore her little golden crucifix and her medallion of the Virgin and she went to Mass each Sunday. Always took confession. Joey used to wonder what she said in there.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been one week since my last confession, and I screwed six guys, performed thirty-seven blow jobs, and pulled a train for three salesmen from Yuma in the No-tel Motel.”
No problem. Say a novena, push around a couple of beads, light a candle, pray for forgiveness, and the whole thing’s a wash. See ya next week.
Joey never had any use for religion. The way he figured it, the priests had their hands out, just like everybody else. Except they didn’t have to work for a living. It was just another racket. And a pretty good one, from what he could see. Maria hated it when he talked that way. She’d get really upset. She was one of the hardest chicks he’d ever met—she’d stick a guy as soon as look at him—but when it came to God and stuff like that, she just went all soft in the head.
Brother Talon. What the hell kind of a name was that? Talon. Sounded like a bird’s foot. He’d asked around and found out that this Brother Talon was an Anglo and not really a priest. Some kind of monk or minister or something. Young guy. Looked like a fuckin’ rock star, too. Not good. Bad enough Maria had this thing for priests, like they were perfect, the only men who didn’t sin or lust—yeah, right— but on top of that, the guy has to be young and good-looking, like some long-haired male stripper. Bad combination. Guaranteed trouble.
He had tried to call her, but the woman who’d answered the phone said there were no personal calls allowed to members of the enclave. She had agreed to take a message and Joey left his name and phone number, but the woman said the members of the enclave weren’t allowed to make any personal calls, either. He could write a letter or she could pass on his message and give him an answer when he called back. He said he wanted to see her. The woman told him visiting hours were from one to three on Saturdays.
He drove all the way out there the following Saturday, keeping an eye out for those ugly dragons once he’d passed through the gate and over that electrified cattle guard. They didn’t attack cars, but if he hit one, it could make a hell of a mess. Maria met him in the courtyard, on a bench by a fountain in the shade of a eucalyptus tree. She had her hair down and was dressed in a white robe and sandals. Even with the stud in her nose and the ring in her eyebrow, she looked like a goddamn angel. Well scrubbed, no makeup, you’d never guess she worked the streets only a few short weeks ago. He’d always hated that she hooked, and when he was around, she didn’t do it, but the problem was, he wasn’t around all the time. She was doing it when he met her and as long as he kept her supplied with coke, she’d stay at home, but when he was sent up, she was right back out again to keep the habit going.
Joey never used the stuff himself. Don’t dip into the merchandise. First rule of the game. Lot of times, people you sold to wanted you to snort a line with them. That was okay. It was expected. But except for that, he didn’t touch the stuff. That way, you wound up snorting all your profits. But Maria could snort Bolivi
a all by herself. She was one high-maintenance chick. Real pain in the ass sometimes, too. The trouble was, he loved her. Which made it all that much harder to take when she told him she didn’t want to see him anymore.
She said it very nicely. About as nicely as anyone could say a thing like that. But she was firm about it. “I have a new Me now,” she had told him. “I have been cleansed and everything from my old life has been left behind. Everything, Joey. Even you. That’s just the way it has to be.”
“But what about Santa Fe?” he’d said. “I made the score. We can be married now!”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Joey. That’s all part of my old life. I’m not the same person anymore.”
“Bullshit! What, some guy gives you a white robe and sprinkles holy water over you and suddenly you’re someone else? That Talon guy’s not even a real priest, you know that? This whole thing is just a fuckin’ racket, just another scam. C’mon, this is me, Joey, remember? Let’s get in the car and blow this frickin’ joint.”
She shook her head again. “I’m sorry, Joey. I’m happy here. I’ve been reborn, and I’ve cast off my old life and all my old attachments.”
“What, is this guy Talon getting into your pants, is that it?”
“It’s not like that at all. I’ve found something much more powerful. You wouldn’t understand, Joey. Go to Santa Fe. Forget about me.”
“Like hell I will! I love you!”
“I’m sorry.”
She got up to leave and he grabbed her by the arm, but suddenly half a dozen big guys in white robes were all around him and the next thing he knew, he was being politely, but firmly escorted out. He thought he recognized some of those guys, too. He’d seen them on the street. Couple of them he’d seen in the joint. Well, screw that, he thought.
This rehab center or enclave or whatever the hell it was supposed to be was clearly some kind of cult. He’d heard all about them. They took advantage of people who weren’t too bright and filled their heads with all sorts of nonsense and turned them inside out. Next thing you know, Maria would be stringing beads or weaving Indian baskets out of yucca leaves to be sold in the tourist shops. Rehabilitative therapy, my ass, thought Joey. The whole thing was just one big con job.