Siege Line

by Myke Cole

  • • •

  They landed at a smaller airstrip beside the commercial airport, running past a giant Coast Guard airplane hangar with an unlimbered F-16 parked outside. An armored sedan crouched so close to where the airplane taxied to a stop that the unfolding staircase almost hit the driver’s door. The windows were tinted too dark for normal eyes to penetrate, but Schweitzer could make out a driver and passenger, both in body armor, with pistols gently lifting their jacket seams. Hodges arrowed straight for the back as if it were his family car, and Schweitzer followed his lead.

  He’d only been to CIA headquarters twice, but he remembered the trips clearly, the long ride up the George Washington Memorial Parkway through the wooded backyards of McLean, the houses of America’s aristocracy standing sentinel over the hub of the nation’s secrets. He’d always felt a faint pang of jealousy at the wealth, but a part of him had thought it would be his someday, after retirement and a lucrative career in defense contracting, the usual path for a SEAL. Now he was jealous again, but for the trappings of family that whirred past. A child’s plastic tricycle lying on its side; a patio table and chairs under an umbrella, set with plastic flatware for four.

  The CIA’s off-ramp was marked by a brown and white sign, and the exit delivered them up to a checkpoint, where the guard waved them through after a glance at the driver’s badge. They’d insisted on checking every passenger’s ID the last time Schweitzer had been there, but clearly the Director of SAD had more pull.

  The car wound its way up through a parking lot several times the size of a football field, nearly empty at this late hour. At last it rolled to a stop, the driver and passenger getting out and walking up a narrow concrete path without so much as a backward glance. They were G-men down to their thin ties and cheap suits, so stereotypical that Schweitzer felt his flat line of a mouth attempt to twist into a smile. Hodges and Schweitzer followed their escorts along the path, past the building’s entrance and around the side. Schweitzer shot Hodges a questioning glance, but the Senator only walked confidently on.

  A moment later, their destination became clear: the broad geodesic dome of the CIA’s outdoor auditorium, silent and dark save for the soft glow of running lights tracing the sides of the stone steps.

  Beside it stood a bronze statue of a boy in a frock coat, his long hair tied in a queue, and his wrists bound with rope, a noose looped over his neck. NATHAN HALE, the plaque read. I ONLY REGRET THAT I HAVE BUT ONE LIFE TO GIVE FOR MY COUNTRY.

  Schweitzer froze as the message hit home. He had more than one life to give for his country.

  Hodges paused at his elbow, following Schweitzer’s gaze to the plaque. “He’d have been jealous of you, Jim.” He clapped Schweitzer on the shoulder and jogged through the auditorium’s entrance, between their escort, who had taken up guard positions to either side.

  The auditorium was as vast as it was empty. Panels split the walls and ceiling into scatterings of triangles. Listening to the sound of his footsteps on the carpeted aisle, Schweitzer could tell those panels were designed to reflect sound within, ensuring that everyone in the giant chamber could hear every word, and that those outside could not. Like the exterior, it was lit only by the running lights along the aisles, casting a soft glow just powerful enough to show a woman among the rows of seats, hands resting on the back of one, waiting for them.

  Her long black hair was loose around her strong shoulders, the lean muscle of her body visible even through the conservative cut of her suit. Her face was narrow, her eyes wide and expressionless. Sniper’s eyes, Schweitzer thought, looking for an angle of attack.

  “Jala Ghaznavi,” Hodges said. “It’s good to see you.”

  Where Hodges’ voice dripped with genuine pleasure, Ghaznavi’s response was flat. “It’s good to see you, too, Don. I’m glad to find you weren’t hurt.”

  Hodges shrugged. “I’m not so easy to kill. We’ve worked together long enough for you to know that.”

  “We’ve also worked together long enough for me to know that you’re slicker than goose shit, Don. You’re a politician, for the love of God.”

  “I know I haven’t always shot straight with you, Jala, and I’m sorry for that. I promise you, I’ve got my hat in my hand this time.”

  Ghaznavi looked irritated. She jerked her chin at Schweitzer. “Who’s this?”

  “This is James Schweitzer.”

  Ghaznavi looked thoughtful for a moment. “That name is familiar.”

  “It should be. He’s the SEAL who was murdered in that hit in Hampton Roads.”

  “That would make him dead, Hodges.”

  “He is.”

  “Necromancy makes robots out of corpses, Don. The only thing they’re good for is soaking up bullets and scaring the shit out of uncooperative assets.”

  “This is different. Schweitzer is reanimated. He’s still Schweitzer, only superpowered.”

  Ghaznavi sighed. “Don, for the love of our history together, please show me some damned respect. If this kind of magic existed, I’d know about it.”

  “The program that created him was buried deep, Jala. Deeper than even you can dive.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Schweitzer was getting pretty tired of being talked about as if he wasn’t in the room. He raised his hand and opened his mouth to speak but closed it again as Hodges’ hand settled on his shoulder. “Have you heard of the Gemini Cell, Jala?”

  “Rumors.” Ghaznavi crossed her arms. “That’s this super-secret project that gave us this walking corpse?”

  “The same,” Hodges answered.

  The Senator paused for dramatic effect, but Ghaznavi only cocked her head. “Is he missing an arm?”

  “Doesn’t slow him down even a little.”

  Ghaznavi pursed her lips and stepped out into the aisle. “So, this RUMINT on the Gemini Cell is true. A super-secret program dedicated to black magic. Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds, even to me?”

  Hodges shrugged. “It’s real.”

  “Now I know you’re fucking lying to me. Every rumor I’ve ever heard said the President ordered it shut down.”

  “He did,” Hodges said, looking at his feet, his shoulders sagging.

  The realization dawned on Schweitzer and Ghaznavi at the same moment. Schweitzer was able to keep the reaction off his face, but Ghaznavi snapped her fingers, her eyes widening.

  “But you didn’t,” she said. “You kept it going. You kept it secret. Oh, my God, Don. You slick bastard. It was your program. Why the hell would you do that?”

  Hodges turned his hands in lame circles. For the first time, his voice lacked the honeyed tones of the politician, and Schweitzer could hear the raw passion of the man. “Because the shutdown order was stupid. It was an overreaction to a security breach that resulted in no actual compromise. Because the Gemini Cell was the most powerful weapon this nation ever developed.”

  Ghaznavi cocked an eyebrow. “More powerful than the nuke?”

  “Magic is the new nuke,” Hodges said. “One we can use without destroying the whole fucking world.”

  “So, why are you telling me this?” she asked.

  Hodges looked at the floor for a long time, and Schweitzer could smell the terror and stress on him, could hear his heart pounding. “Because I was wrong. Because now it’s out of control.”

  Ghaznavi laughed. “And you can’t go to the President, can you? You can’t do this out in the open. You disobeyed a direct order. He’d fry you, and so would the public. You want to save your own skin.”

  “The Cell is a loose nuke, Jala. I want to save the country’s skin.”

  “Oh, come on, Don. If you wanted to save the country’s skin, you’d hang yourself and drag this whole thing into the light. People don’t come to me because they want things done nobly. You asked for an audience with the Spider Queen, and you got one. Whatever you want d
one, you want it done on the down-low.”

  “I want you to help me shut it down, Jala. It’s going to take an army, and SAD is the only army I know that can fight a war without anyone knowing. I have nowhere else to go.”

  “That’s nice, Don. What’s in it for me?”

  “Does there have to be something in it for you?” Hodges’ voice shook.

  “You know damn well there does,” Ghaznavi answered, “and it better be fucking good. I was in the middle of dynamite TV when you called and ruined my night.”

  “You can have it. Help me shut it down, and I’ll put the program at your disposal. All its secrets, all its capabilities. You can direct it. You can make it work for SAD. I still control the line items. Black funding sources, completely invisible. It’s a lot of money, Jala. It can buy a lot of toys.”

  “You’re asking me to keep a secret from the President.” Ghaznavi came toward him.

  “You keep secrets from him all the time,” Hodges answered. “You can do this in your sleep. I can choke off the money, make sure it comes to SAD. But someone has to do the wet work. Someone has to clean up this mess. I need your operators, Jala. I need your tanks and your planes and your guns. All of it.”

  Ghaznavi clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, her gaze finally shifting to Schweitzer. “So,” she sighed, “this mummy standing next to you is a walking corpse. That’s what I’m going to see when I have him unwrapped?”

  “I’ll save you the trouble,” Hodges said, sweeping his hand over Schweitzer’s hood and pushing it down. Ghaznavi stared straight into Schweitzer’s burning silver eyes. Her face betrayed no reaction, and he smelled no change in the chemical cocktail of her blood. He heard her heart rate increase slightly, but that was all.

  She shrugged. “I’ve seen Necromantic toys before.”

  “This isn’t a Necromantic toy.” Hodges’ frustration was palpable. “Look at his eyes, for Christ’s sake.”

  She stared right into them, unimpressed. “Does it talk?”

  Schweitzer had had enough. “I’m right here,” he said, “and I talk just fine.”

  She sucked in her breath, her heart jumping, but outwardly, she showed nothing. “Maybe he’s some kind of advanced robot.”

  “I’m not a robot,” Schweitzer said.

  “That’s exactly what an advanced robot would say.” She smiled up at him, her face lit with curiosity and something that looked suspiciously like delight. Not fear. Not disgust. After all this time, it felt like an embrace.

  “I’m not . . .” Schweitzer began.

  “Shut up.” She grinned, reaching one perfectly manicured hand into her pocket and producing a small pocketknife. She snapped the blade out with a practiced flick of her wrist. She placed a hand on Schweitzer’s shoulder, the warm pulse of her pumping blood against the cold surface of his skin. He found himself leaning into the touch in spite of himself. A human being, alive and well and touching him, not to hurt him, just to touch him. It made him feel real.

  She used the knife point to slide the hoodie’s zipper down a few inches, pop the button off the shirt beneath.

  “I don’t heal,” Schweitzer said. “If you damage me, I’ll need . . .”

  “Shut up,” she repeated, smiling like a sun in splendor now, digging a small furrow into Schweitzer’s gray flesh, following it with her fingertips, probing, feeling.

  “Jala,” Hodges said. “This is ridiculous. You know I’m not lying.”

  She sighed, her eyes never leaving the incision. “Do you want my help or not?”

  Hodges put his hands on his hips and shook his head, and Schweitzer watched her work, reveling in the warmth of her hand and the child’s delight in her eyes.

  After a moment, she closed the knife with a click. “Well, you’re not a robot.”

  “I told you,” Schweitzer said.

  “Shut up,” she said a third time, but at last she could not keep the awe off her face. “So, you’re really brought back from the dead. Not a zombie, not a walking corpse. A real . . . person.”

  Schweitzer nodded, wishing he could grin back at her beyond the rictus parody he always wore. “If it’ll get you to stop cutting me, yes.”

  She giggled. Schweitzer guessed she was in her late forties. She sounded like she was twelve. “My father told me that in heaven, we’d all live in hollowed-out pearls on saffron sands, shaded by golden trees. That true?”

  Schweitzer shook his head, suppressing the pang of sadness as she withdrew her hand, taking the warmth of life with it. “No, ma’am. If your father was talking about heaven, then I wasn’t a good enough guy to get there.”

  “Where’d you wind up?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t there for long,” Schweitzer said, “but I’m pretty sure it was hell.”

  Her smile vanished. “My dad called hell a ‘dark storm’.”

  “That is . . . that is pretty much exactly right.”

  Her pensiveness yielded to sympathy. “I’m sorry, Petty Officer Schweitzer. This must be . . . trying for you.”

  Schweitzer said nothing. There was nothing to say.

  “Did you see God?” she asked.

  Her sympathy shook him far more than her curiosity had. It was a moment before he could answer. It took everything he had to keep the emotion out of his voice as he replied. “I don’t know that there is a God, but if there is, he has a lot to answer for.”

  She nodded. “Tell me how you came to be with my friend Donald Hodges.”

  Hodges opened his mouth to speak and she raised a hand, her eyes never leaving Schweitzer’s. “Shut up, Don. I want to hear his side of it.”

  Schweitzer told her. The only thing he omitted was the meeting with Eldredge and entrusting Patrick to his care. Until he was absolutely sure he could trust them, let them think his son was dead. Hodges tried to interrupt several times, Ghaznavi raising a hand and Schweitzer talking over him before he finally gave up.

  “For a SEAL,” Hodges breathed, “you’re the least circumspect motherfucker I’ve ever met.”

  The delight was back in Ghaznavi’s eyes. “So, you’re the Javelin Rain incident. It wasn’t a nuke. I was wondering why my Measures and Signals guys came up with nothing.”

  “Yes,” Hodges said. He sounded defeated. “That’s right.”

  “Okay,” she said, shaking her head. “Color me amazed, but I believe you. So, how bad is this?”

  “It’s pretty bad,” Hodges said. “The Cell is completely rogue, and they’re here in the US.”

  “Where?” Ghaznavi asked Schweitzer.

  “Somewhere near Alexandria,” Schweitzer said. “I remember seeing the tower in Old Town when I got out.”

  “They’re in Colchester,” Hodges said, “under a cover facility.”

  “Non-official Cover?” she asked.

  Hodges nodded. “A company called Entertech.”

  “Entertech?” She grinned again. “You clever fucker. I can’t believe it.”

  Hodges sighed. “I put a lot of work into this. It’s flawless.”

  “Except for the rogue part.”

  “We’re going to fix that, right?”

  “I think so, yes,” she said, “but I’m going to need a lot more detail. We’re talking about an assault on a fixed position on American soil, just a few miles outside the capital. Do you have any idea how hard it will be to keep something like that dark?”

  “You can do it.”

  “I’m going to need everything you’ve got on the facility. Blueprints, personnel rosters, real estate plats for the property. Physical plant and durable-goods orders. Anything we can use.”

  Hodges puffed out his cheeks and shook his head. “I don’t have any of that.”

  Ghaznavi finally looked away from Schweitzer. “What?”

  “I’ve got nothing.”

 
“How is that possible? You said this was your program.”

  “I authorized funding and strategic direction. The actual ops were run by the program’s Director.”

  “Who is dead,” Schweitzer added. “Like me.”

  Hodges looked up sharply, met Schweitzer’s eyes, his face darkening. Schweitzer held his gaze. This couldn’t be about secrets now. It had to be about solving problems.

  At last, Hodges looked away and nodded.

  “Fuck,” Ghaznavi said. “That’s bad.”

  “Yes,” Hodges sighed. “Yes, it is.”

  “Didn’t you have anyone else on the inside?”

  “My lead scientist, Dr. Eldredge. He bolted when he found out that the Director was dead. I have no idea where he is.”

  Schweitzer had an idea, but he kept it to himself. To reveal Eldredge’s location was to reveal Patrick’s.

  “Absolutely nothing? No lines on their comms? Ops frequencies? Perimeter patrol patterns?” Ghaznavi asked.

  “I’ve got the layout of the cover facility, but that’s only the uppermost level. The real action is below it.”

  “We’ll have to go in blind,” she said. “I don’t like it.”

  “A secret underground facility in the middle of a highly populated area and likely defended by a small army of superpowered undead?” Hodges cocked an eyebow. “What’s not to like?”

  “I’ll go with the team,” Schweitzer said.

  Ghaznavi and Hodges both stared at him. Schweitzer shrugged. “I believe your exact words were that I wasn’t a ‘walking corpse.’ I was a ‘real . . . person.’ Like you.”

  “Perfect memory is one of your magic superpowers?” she asked, smiling.

  “Nope. Mom made me do drills in kindergarten, thought it’d help me get ahead in school.”

  “Did it?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am,” Schweitzer said, “but it made arguments with my wife pretty heated.”

  She laughed, but Schweitzer made sure his tone was anything but light. “My point is this: I’m a person, dead or alive. That means you don’t get to throw me around, no matter who the hell you are. I want in on the team, and you need me on it.”