He nodded. “They had hoped for secrecy and disguise, don’t forget.”
“That worked out well.”
“Not every plan is a winner. But it’s still far enough away that innocents aren’t directly in harm’s way in any large number. No more than anywhere else in the city, anyway.”
“What was the point of putting it downtown rather than out in the sticks like the Ultramax?”
Bryant shrugged. “They didn’t consult me on the decision, given that I was as far down the totem pole then as you are now.” She stuck her tongue out at him, and he continued with a chuckle. “But really, I think it was about secrecy and proximity to your base of operations. When they built it, no one knew for sure where in the city the ARES headquarters would be, so they decided on someplace close to the center but not right in it.”
“You mean ARES couldn’t simply buy any building it wanted?”
“Not even if we were on the books and had full governmental resources to draw upon. Downtown real estate is brutal.”
And, of course, the office had to be in the city to provide easy access to the kemana. I get it. She let the conversation drop as the players trotted out onto the field and the game began. Bryant spent some time explaining to Rath how to use the scorecard, and she fondly remembered her father doing the same thing for her many years before. The sights and sounds of the game washed over her in a pleasant haze as the early afternoon flew by. Between innings, while Rath was captivated by the t-shirt cannon and the mascot wielding it, Bryant slipped in some more business talk. “It seems like the bounty hunter agency is doing well.”
Diana nodded. “Tony’s turned it into a real security consulting firm, too. We have several clients in the area, and he’s done a good job of helping them improve their defenses against both mundane and magical threats. If it were possible to get anti-magic emitters, we’d have more work than we could handle.”
He adjusted his ball cap to shade his eyes against the afternoon sun. “That won’t happen anytime soon. Those things are beyond expensive to build, and it’s a significant challenge to set up the enduring connection to dump the power they absorb into Oriceran.”
“You should simply put those purple gems on them and let the emitters charge ʼem up. Then, we can carry them around like little magical batteries.”
He snickered. “That’s so incorrect a description of how the crystals work that I don’t even know where to begin to make fun of you.”
She laughed. “Bring it, big boy.”
He shook his head. “Are there any problems with the co-working space?”
Ouch. Flirting attempt avoided. I must be losing my touch. She looked at him closely and noticed the lines of strain around his eyes. He’s hiding it well, but he’s worried about something. Dammit. “I think we have that under adequate control. Kayleigh checks them regularly, and Alfred watches constantly.”
“Alfred?”
Diana sighed. “That’s the name blondie has given to the AI that runs the building. And our house.”
Bryant raised an eyebrow. “I hadn’t realized things had become so sophisticated.”
“The only way to keep her in town with us is to let her chart her own course—within reason. Apparently, working on AI implementation made her happy, so that’s what she’s come up with. I did deny the computer-controlled rocket launcher mount on the house roof, though.”
He choked on his beer and wiped the froth from his face. “Good choice.”
She grinned. “Alfred is also fully tapped into the city’s surveillance grid now. There are no secrets left since we threw the respect-other-services rulebook out after the incident on the train.” She was interrupted by a peal of amusement from the right. They turned to find Rath tossing a baseball with a small girl nearby. She would throw it up in the air as high as possible, and the troll would do a leaping flip to catch it, then land on his seat before he folded to underhand the ball gently back to her. Each time, the girl’s laughter grew louder.
Diana smiled fondly and turned to Bryant. “Now, everyone wants a mobile armory.”
He shook his head decisively. “It makes you a target. Stick with the chopper for now. Besides, with downtown traffic and street patterns, a big vehicle would be problematic.”
She put a whine in her voice. “Yeah, but we want it.” He laughed and shook his head again.
A loud cheer went up, and they turned their attention to the field in time to see a home run replayed on the scoreboard, one that not only made it out of the playing field but out of the park and into the river beyond. The Pirates’ player ran around the bases with his arms held high in victory, and the crowd gave him the adoration he deserved. Near the end of the game, the part Diana had secretly waited for arrived.
The announcer shouted out the names, and people in giant pierogi costumes appeared on the grass. She pointed them out to the others. “Cara told me about this. They’ll race around the field. Pick your favorite. She went with Jalapeño Hanna, Bryant chose Sauerkraut Saul, and Rath picked Cheese Chester. The delicious delights raced and the lead changed several times as the crowd cheered their favorites on. Chester finally eked out a win ahead of Potato Pete. There was much celebration from both the troll and the little girl he’d played with.
The rest of the game passed in a happy blur and the home team scored the winning run in the bottom of the ninth to inspire a short round of fireworks over the river. The three friends joined the flow of foot traffic headed toward downtown and stopped halfway across the bridge that spanned the water dividing the two shores. A multitude of padlocks was fastened to the grate that made up the pedestrian fence—some combination lock, some key lock, and all of them painted or marked up in some way.
They spent several moments reading them in the late afternoon sun, seeing the celebrations people had locked in place for their relationships, the remembrances of those lost and missed, and the wishes, hopes, and dreams for the future. She didn’t need to say anything out loud because she was sure they all thought the same thing. This right here is why we do what we do. So good people can live without undue fear and have the right to chart their own course in the world. She looked at Rath. “Next time, we’ll bring one or two of our own to put on here. Does that sound like a plan?”
He replied with a nod and a smile but seemed less gleeful than he had been while they were in the park. Diana slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Tag, you’re it,” before she pounded away. The troll’s startled laughter sounded behind her, along with Bryant’s shouted, “Hey,” and she grinned as she heard them start in pursuit. Tension breaker. It had to be done.
Chapter Nine
Warden Evelyn Murphy stood behind the guards manning the post on level three with her arms folded. They were of a piece—tall, thin, and black-uniformed. The room was not much bigger than the five of them with only a foot of space between where she stood in the center and the diagonals each guard’s stool was situated upon. The nearest repositioned cameras and microphones to ensure they would have proper coverage when the prisoners of interest got together. When all was in readiness, the guard gave her a nod and his deep voice intoned, “Good to go.”
She nodded and raised the comm on her wrist. “Bring him up.” She turned to another of the officers and ordered, “Show me.” Three of the cardinal compass points held a large monitor, and one of them lit up with a split-screen feed from cameras on level four.
A team of guards walked into view. Two held manacles and two carried stun rifles. The first pressed the button to activate the microphone and speakers on the second cell on the right, and his voice was reproduced in perfect clarity. “Stand and turn your back to the door.” A moment later, the lock released with a loud click and they swung the heavy metal slab open. The front two guards entered while the others aimed their weapons into the space. At the slightest sign of resistance, they would stun the prisoner, and given the close confines, most likely the other guards as well. It’s not optimal, but they knew what they were
getting into when they signed up to work the lower levels.
Moments later, the first pair walked backward from the room with Vincente in tow. He wore manacles on his wrists and ankles with chains connected between them. His restraints slowed the procession’s advance as they led him to the elevators. The guard switched to each camera in turn and alternated so they could watch the group walk out of one and into the other. This allowed the warden to keep a careful eye on their progress. The elevator climbed slowly and no words were exchanged.
The guards and prisoner emerged on the third floor, and surveillance lenses watched them every step of the way as they traveled the long path to the common room. When they reached it, the guard put up a pair of cameras on each monitor, and the room’s speakers carried the sounds of multiple conversations in the busy space. The convicts wore identical jumpsuits with their personal identification number stenciled in large letters on the back. One of the lenses was computer-locked on Vincente and tracked his movements as he crossed the basketball area toward the tables set on the far side of the area.
His escort halted him and removed the cuffs around his wrists but left those that secured his ankles and the chain that connected them as they withdrew. The action she’d anticipated took only moments to occur, and the warden nodded as the one-armed prisoner made a beeline to join his former employer.
Marcus sat across from him and looked furtively around them as if afraid to be noticed. “Boss, it’s good to see you. How are they treating you? I wondered when our paths would cross again.”
Vincente gave his underling the once-over. The man actually looked healthier than he had before his imprisonment, despite the missing arm. His orange jumpsuit was tight enough to reveal the loss of the minimal flab he’d carried and the gain of muscles in the weeks since his capture.
“It’s good to see you too, Marcus. I have no problems other than being stuck in this incredibly boring place. Are they taking care of you?” With a tilt of his head, he indicated camera positions, and his subordinate made a small nod of confirmation.
“I can’t complain. Although it’s expensive to stay here. They already took the arm, so I expect the leg is next.” He chuckled at his own joke and it seemed like he’d told it quite a few times previously.
The wizard rolled his eyes with a slight smile and reached within for his magic in an attempt to use a minor spell to muffle their voices and blur their lips. It failed, as expected, and the power drained away before it could manifest the reality he desired. Marcus shook his head and his boss shrugged. “I had to try, right?”
The man nodded. “All the magicals do. I haven’t seen one succeed yet. Now you are all simply losers like the rest of us.” He smiled to show he meant no offense.
Vincente raised a hand to gesture at the surrounding area. “Well, it is a prison. Some minor challenges are to be expected.”
His subordinate laughed, and it was encouraging that he still possessed the same spirit he had before he’d been captured and lost his arm. Vincente gazed pointedly at the stump that ended below the other man’s shoulder. “When we get out, we have the hookup. We’ll make you even better than you were before.”
Marcus leaned forward, a look of restrained hope on his face. “You’re not simply talking? Something’s up?”
Vincente nodded. “I met with my lawyer. She told me that plans are in motion outside these walls. Plans that will lead to good results for you and I.”
The other man chuckled darkly. “Is that witch Sarah’s doing?” The emphasis on the title was more judgment than description. “I’m fairly sure she’d be happy to leave us both in this hole forever, given a choice in the matter.”
He shook his head. “No. Word’s come down from above on this one, according to the lawyer. It’s always possible she’s a plant from our captors, but she seemed authentic to me.”
Marcus leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together on the table. “So, the higher-ups are loyal to their underlings? That’s a rare thing—not including you, of course, boss.”
“Not necessarily. More likely, they want to make a statement with the prison and we merely happen to be here. But we should nonetheless have a plan to seize any opportunity that might arise.” He looked up and identified the camera positions one more time, then shifted slightly and gestured for his subordinate to lean forward. He flicked his fingers to ensure Marcus noticed the way he kept them out of sight of the cameras and blocked by their bodies.
Vincente lowered his voice but knew the guards would probably still be able to pick them up on the microphones. Fortunately, he and his top people had developed a kind of sign language to use when under surveillance. An open hand held in a particular way meant the statement was false. A closed hand held the same way indicated truth. He made sure his was open. “We’re on our own. They won’t send anyone in specifically to help us if they do act at all.” He saw hope spark in Marcus’s eyes at the lie.
The other man nodded. “Damn. I haven’t been able to put together any real support in here. No one wants to work as a team.” His hand, right at the edge of Vincente’s line of sight, was open.
Vincente suppressed a grin and placed an appropriately unhappy look on his face. “I’m disappointed in you, Marcus.” He left his hand open for a moment, then shifted it to closed. “Timing is uncertain.” He opened his hand again. “But it’s probably at least a month away. There’s a lot of preparation to do, I guess.” He made the symbol for half—his index and middle fingers spread wide apart—then curled and extended them again.
Marcus nodded to acknowledge receipt of the message. Half, and half again. Not in a month, but probably in a week. He replied, “Damn it all. That’s a long time to wait for a rescue that may or may not come.”
The wizard nodded, his eyes closed. A week was a long wait in this place. Feeling his magic so close yet unable to do anything with it was one of the most frustrating things he’d ever experienced. Not that he was about to let that show. He closed his fist. “We won’t see any help from those at my level, I imagine. The bastards have been good at wrapping us up and storing us away.” He opened his palm again. “I guess we’re on our own.”
The man nodded. He gave the sign for true and asked, “Is it worth talking to some people in here?”
Vincente surveyed the room, half of which was made up of witches and wizards. The remainder was comprised of small clusters of other types of beings—Kilomea, in the main, with a couple of dwarves and Dark Elves as well. “We should talk to the humanoids when possible, but not the creatures. They are not dependable.” His fist was clenched. He would be willing to use the others for cannon fodder if entirely necessary but would rely only on those most like him.
Marcus nodded enthusiastically. His superior made a gesture to indicate the end of their secret conversation, and the other man leaned back and raised his voice to normal levels. “Do you get to interact much with others wherever you are? You’re not usually out here during playtime.” He packed a lot of derision into the word.
The wizard shook his head. “We have an area like this, but when I have time in it, I’m always alone. I presume they keep us separate, although the cell is so silent that I probably wouldn’t know if there was a parade going on outside.”
“That would suck. I’ve managed to make an acquaintance or two during my time here.” He put his fingers to his mouth and gave a soft whistle, and a man who had stood nearby ambled over. He was bookish-looking but had an edge to him that communicated the chip on his shoulder and a predilection to exercise it by causing harm to others. “Let me introduce you to Warren. He says he’s fairly decent with fire. He ran with the gang that knocked over liquor stores we partnered with before.”
Vincente laughed. “So, a deckhand?” The Prince of Plunder was a long-standing joke among his group, but a good-hearted one. He had power and had put together a loyal crew, and both those things were worthy of respect. The man scowled. “More a boatswain, really. The boss doesn’t do too
much without running it by me first.”
Vincente grinned. “Well, then. Are more of your people in here?”
“A few.”
His grin widened and he extended a hand. “Let’s talk about the potential for mayhem and plunder, shall we?”
His new acquaintance shook it and sat in the table’s third chair with a smile of his own. “Indeed. Let’s.”
Chapter Ten
The battered pickup truck pulled into a gravel lot outside a large warehouse. Sloan rode in the middle of the bench seat with Mur on his left and Teddy on his right. Two more sedans with gang members swung in behind them, and they all emerged in a mass. Mur had primped for the occasion, his bald head freshly shaved and oiled, and what were probably his nicest black work pants and gray button-down completed the look.
Teddy was his normal sloppy self—jeans and a dirty t-shirt under an equally dirty unbuttoned short-sleeved dress shirt. Sloan had chosen clothes in which to be ignored—dark jeans and a charcoal hoodie half-unzipped over a heavy metal concert t-shirt. His nerves shouted at him, and he took a surreptitious deep breath to calm himself. You’ve been in this situation before. It’s nothing new. Remember who you’re supposed to be—Tommy Ketchum.
Mur turned in a circle and called, “Inside,” in a voice loud enough to carry to the rest of his crew. There were a dozen or so other cars in the parking lot, most of them old but less battered than their own vehicle. Given this, it was not a huge surprise when they entered the warehouse and discovered a crowd of people already there.
To the right was a group of wizards and witches, judging by the wands they held or fondled and the general fancy fashion sense that seemed to accompany the criminal magic users he’d encountered so far. They shot dirty looks at the other occupants scattered throughout the large warehouse floor—groups of five to fifteen each in their own little area. The non-magicals looked almost as nervous as he felt. Hoodies were the uniform of the day, apparently. Comfortable. Easy to hide weapons in. Logical. There were men, women, and every skin color he’d ever seen before—short, tall, thin, and fat. A wide variety of individuals, united in their common uneasiness.
Agents Of Chaos Page 6