Cloak Games: Hammer Break

by Jonathan Moeller

  I nodded, and we left the workshop and rejoined the others. Nicholas, Morelli, Lorenz, and Murdo had all changed to their black uniforms, though Corbisher still wore his suit. I doubted he was going to get his hands dirty in the kitchen. Lorenz grinned at me, and I glared at him until he found something else to look at.

  “Everything all right?” said Murdo to me.

  “Oh, fine,” I said, glaring at Lorenz again. “We’re all just great friends.”

  “How splendid,” said Nicholas. “Let’s move.”

  We climbed into one of the vans Corbisher’s company owned and drove off. Nicholas did the driving, while Corbisher planted himself in the shotgun seat and the rest of us sat in the back. Corbisher spent the entire half-hour drive making phone calls and yelling instructions at people, hanging up, cursing at length, and then starting a new phone call.

  We arrived at the building Corbisher had claimed for the catering company’s kitchen, and then the work began.

  An army of black-uniformed kitchen workers swarmed back and forth, and a fleet of white vans and several heavy trucks had parked behind the building. The supervisors strode around, giving orders, and we went to work loading plates, steam trays, silverware, and coolers into the vans. I suspect that Murdo, Morelli, and I wound up doing a lot more work than the others. Both Lorenz and Hailey seemed to have an aversion to physical labor and somehow managed to avoid doing any work. To my mild surprise, Nicholas put his back into it and carried heavy steam trays to the vans with admirable fortitude. Given how much he enjoyed weight lifting, maybe the manual labor was a pleasant mental break from plotting the deaths of innocent people.

  For myself, it was a distraction from the insanely dangerous thing we were about to do.

  We were loaded and ready to go by noon. The fleet of vans departed for the Royal Bank, and once we arrived, Homeland Security officers directed us to the street behind the Bank. The officers had closed off the entire street behind the building, and we parked there and started unloading. In short order, we had a half-dozen large tents raised to serve as kitchens and food prep areas, joining the tents already erected by the various musical groups that would perform at the gala. Duke Maelaeyar had gone all-out to celebrate his friend’s promotion, and some famous musicians would be performing patriotic songs. Between the catering staff, the sound technicians, the various toadies for the musicians, the Homeland Security officers guarding the street, and the Elves and humans of the Bank’s security staff keeping an eye on things, the street was a crowded zoo.

  Nicholas had been right in his assessment of his Bank’s security. The security systems were efficient and professional, but they could only watch so many people at one time, and thousands of people would descend on the Bank for the gala.

  I kept close to Morelli and Murdo as we set things up. Now that all the preparations were made, the plan was simple. The new Baron of La Crosse would take his office at 6 PM, accompanied by formal speeches. Dinner would be served at 7 PM, and at 8 PM the musical entertainment would begin. Nicholas had decided to launch our raid at 8:13 PM. By then, the guests would have eaten their dinner and their desserts, and many of them would be drunk or at least tipsy. Morelli would set off the bombs in the generators first, and fifteen seconds later he would detonate the bombs to disable the main power. The sudden shock of a blackout in the middle of a musical performance would cause chaos, and in that chaos, we would enter the vault level, break into the strongbox, and then get the hell out of town.

  “I’ve received word from Turner,” Nicholas murmured as we took a break. We had gotten all the steam trays set up, and now it was time to unpack the food and get it cooking. Fortunately, Homeland Security had provided a row of generators to power both our equipment and the various stuff the musicians used. Just as well. If Corbisher had needed to find generators on top of everything else, he might have finally lost it. “He will be piloting the Governor of New York’s helicopter, and holding it ready for our escape.”

  “Great,” I said. “Because that’s not conspicuous at all.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “It is the fastest method of escape available, save opening a rift way to the Shadowlands. Even if the Bank were not warded against rift ways, given the number of Elven wizards and nobles at the gala, opening a rift way would be inadvisable. No, better a helicopter. We’ll land and destroy it, and then escape via car.”

  “This is going to leave behind a lot of evidence,” I muttered. “The Inquisition is going to seriously investigate this once it is all over.”

  “Unquestionably,” said Nicholas. “Fortunately, we shall be long gone by then. The assets used for this operation don’t have any connections to our other holdings. It has been expensive, yes, but the rewards will be well worth it. If we have done our jobs properly, all the loose threads we leave behind will lead to nothing.”

  I hoped he was right. I also knew this was an excellent way to get rid of me. He could ensure that I was captured and dump the entire blame for the heist on me. That had been his plan for the bombing back in Los Angeles, something he conveniently failed to mention whenever the topic arose. I glanced at Murdo and saw the same wariness mirrored in his features. It looked odd to see him in a black caterer’s uniform. He seemed the sort of man to wear either a suit or combat armor and nothing else.

  “We should get back to work,” said Morelli. “When the Inquisition starts questioning the workers in the aftermath, I don’t want too many of them to remember seeing us standing together.”

  “Agreed,” said Nicholas. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “A pity I can’t do lunges while carrying a pair of full steam trays. They’d be really quite excellent for the purpose.”

  I would have rolled my eyes, but he did have a point. Given that I had become even more of an exercise fanatic in the last year, I saw the possibilities there.

  The afternoon wore on. It would have been hot work, save for the fact that the temperature had plunged. Soon it was below freezing, rare for Washington in April, and a steady cold wind blew through the street. I found myself keeping close to the steam trays, cursing under my breath whenever I saw a flurry of snow.

  That was one of the other things that might go wrong. The weathermen had predicted a possibility of snow this evening, with a chance it might turn into a full-blown blizzard. In a place like Wisconsin, it took a truly bad blizzard to shut things down. In a city like Washington, where the road crews didn’t have as much experience dealing with snow, it took far less snow to shut down the roads. If the gala was cut short or even postponed due to the weather, that would be disastrous for our plans.

  Maybe that would be for the best.

  I kept looking at the darkening sky, alternating between hoping for snow and hoping for clear weather.

  But the weather held, and at 6 PM sharp, the gala began.

  Helicopters had been landing on the roof, and for the last two hours a steady stream of cars had arrived, driven by the valets to the nearby parking structure. Someone on the Duke’s staff had thoughtfully set up enormous holographic video projectors and a sound system behind the Bank so we mere peons could watch the oath of Baron Tagmatyr as he assumed office.

  At 6 PM, with a flourish of patriotic music, the ceremony began.

  All work stopped as the President of the United States (I still couldn’t remember his name) led the human guests through the Pledge of Allegiance. We stopped, put our right hands over our hearts, and recited the familiar words, pledging allegiance to the American flag and the High Queen who protected and guided mankind and Earth. Morelli, Murdo, and Nicholas kept their faces appropriately solemn, but Hailey and Lorenz both had smirks on their faces. Once again, I wanted to smack them. Smirking during the Pledge of Allegiance was exactly the sort of thing that prompted people to make anonymous reports to Homeland Security.

  Nicholas knew that, too. He glared at Hailey and Lorenz, and the smirks disappeared from their faces. Fortunately, I don’t think anyone noticed.

  Wit
h the Pledge completed, Duke Maelaeyar himself took the podium. He was tall, even for an elf, with a shock of blond hair, harsh, alien features, and eyes that looked like gray crystals. He wore a long blue coat with gold trim on the sleeves, a sword and a pistol at his belt, and despite his harsh features, he was an excellent speaker.

  Elven nobles, I had learned long ago, fell into three categories. A few of them hated humans. A few of them were indifferent to us. And a surprising majority liked humans in a patronizing sort of way. The Duke seemed to fall into the last category. He called on his audience to work towards the Day of Return, the day when the Elves would defeat the Archons and reclaim their homeworld, uniting both worlds under the benevolent rule of the High Queen Tarlia.

  I wondered if it would ever happen.

  Or maybe the Archons would conquer Earth and make both the exiled Elves and the humans into their slaves.

  “To the Day of Return!” thundered Maelaeyar.

  “To the Day of Return!” chorused the guests into the hall.

  “To the Day of Return!” shouted all the workers and technicians in the street.

  Applause and cheers came from both the speakers of the projection system and the workers around me. I looked around and saw that many of the workers were cheering with unfeigned enthusiasm. Some of them had tears in their eyes, honest, unfeigned tears. They loved the High Queen and the Elven nobles. And why not? Arvalaeon had explained to me how the Elves had trained humanity to revere and obey them over the generations. The Elves were not as harsh of tyrants as they could have been because they had no need to be. Humanity ruled itself in the High Queen’s name. All the Elves really needed to do was to make sure that every new generation of children was brought up to revere the High Queen and regard the Elves with respect, and the rest would mostly take care of itself. And if any humans decided they didn’t respect the Elves, the loyal humans and Homeland Security and the Inquisition would take care of them.

  At least until Nicholas had made his alliance with the Knight of Venomhold, giving the Rebels a haven beyond the reach of the High Queen.

  But as I looked around, I realized why Nicholas was so comfortable with civilian casualties. The civilians wouldn’t side with him. Most of them would fight willingly alongside the Elves.

  At last, the cheering died away, and Maelaeyar launched into a lengthy speech praising the future Baron Tagmatyr and his many virtues. I listened with half an ear, joining the others as we swung into motion. The meals had been prepared, and we kept them under heat lamps as our army of servers prepared to venture into the Bank’s lobby. As I watched the waitresses hurry back and forth in their high heels, shivering as they ventured away from the heat lamps and into the chill, I wondered why the hell Hailey had wanted to be a waitress. Then I saw her looking at Nicholas, and I realized that she had wanted Nicholas to see her in the tight clothes.

  As we finished our final frenzied preparations, Baron Tagmatyr took his oaths. He had a grizzled, weathered look, like he was a veteran of many campaigns in the Shadowlands. Most likely he was. Perhaps he had even been alive when the exiles fled Kalvarion and came to Earth. The formal oath was lengthy, and both Maelaeyar and Tagmatyr spoke it first in Elven, and then in English as a courtesy to the humans watching the ceremonies of their lords and masters. It was just as well because it gave us the time we needed to finish setting up the food. I saw similar frantic preparations underway among the musicians and their technical crew. I had absolutely no wish to ever be a performer. The thought of performing in front of a crowd was awful. The thought of performing in front of Elven nobles was even worse. Especially if you had been brought up to revere the Elves as kindly masters.

  Huh. The Eternity Crucible had burned all the empathy out of me, or so I had thought. Then I had felt sorry for Hailey, and now I was empathizing with a bunch of musicians I had never met and would never meet.

  What had changed?

  My eyes strayed to Murdo as he carried another tray of food across an aisle between the tents. He had gone out of his way to help me. Murdo could have just carried me back to Nicholas and dumped me on the floor while I was in the coma, or he could have left me to die and saved his own skin. Instead, he had gone to considerable trouble and expense to look after me, refusing to take me back to Nicholas until he was sure I could defend myself.

  And he wasn’t even in love with me. He had done it all because he had thought it the right thing to do.

  Maybe that was what had changed.

  I just hoped Hailey wasn’t Murdo’s secret love. Seriously, he could do a lot better than her.

  At 7:12 PM, the new Baron of La Crosse finished taking his oaths, and the guests of the banquet erupted into thunderous applause. The ceremony had only run twelve minutes late, which for this kind of thing had to be something of an efficiency record. The Duke bade his guests to sit and enjoy the banquet, and that was our cue. Ferrying endless trays of food into the Bank’s lobby took up most of the next hour, and our army of waiters and waitresses started distributing the meals.

  I helped carry the loaded serving trays into the lobby, which let me look around. All the desks and chairs had been removed from the cavernous space, and in their place, the Duke’s staff had set up hundreds of long tables and folding chairs. White tablecloths covered the tables, and candles glowed in elaborate centerpieces of glass and crystal. Concealed projectors threw images of a rippling American flag and the royal banner of the High Queen across the marble ceiling, and quiet music had started playing from concealed speakers. Scattered throughout the crowds, I saw Homeland Security officers and the Bank’s own security personnel in dark suits.

  A stage had been set up before the tellers’ counter. Right now, Duke Maelaeyar, Baron Tagmatyr, and their attendants were filing off the stage and moving to the tables of honor. In an hour or so the first of the musicians would take to the stage, and then it would be time for us to act.

  As I passed off another tray to a waitress, my stomach started to tighten with fear. There were a lot of people here. When we cut the lights, we could cause a panic. Duke Maelaeyar and the Elven nobles would likely try to take charge of the situation, but if they did not, the terrified guests might stampede. A lot of people could get hurt or killed, and it would be partially my fault.

  How much longer could I keep doing this? How much longer could I keep helping a man like Nicholas? I told myself that it was to save Russell, even as I did things that would have horrified Russell if he knew of them.

  I remembered one of the times Lucy Marney had cajoled me into going to church. Deliver us from evil, that was what the prayer said, wasn’t it? More and more I found myself in a situation where there were no good choices, only evil ones.

  I pushed the thought out of my head. Having a moral crisis in the middle of a job was an excellent way to get killed.

  Finally, dinner had been served. With Corbisher’s army of servers, it only took about twenty-five minutes to get the meals to all the guests, which meant it was then time for the waiters to start bringing out dessert (a slice of cherry pie, evidently Baron Tagmatyr’s favorite human dish) to the tables.

  Nicholas, Morelli, Murdo, Hailey, Lorenz and I had a quick conference in one the tents.

  “We’re running behind,” said Morelli. “I’ve been listening to the event coordinator, and she’s decided to push back the first musical act to 8:15.”

  Nicholas nodded. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I think we ought to wait until the second musical act, whoever it is.”

  Morelli shrugged. “Patriotic light rock. Some blond girl or another.” Hailey scowled a little at that. “I can never tell American musicians apart. They all sound the same.”

  “We’ll have to make sure we’re close to the stairwell door,” I said. “Which means we’ll have to be close to the stage. If there’s a panic, we might get stampeded or pushed away from the tellers’ counter.”

  “I doubt there will be a panic,” said Lorenz. “The Elven nobles, the first thing they
’ll do is cast spells to summon light. There will be confusion and alarm, but likely not a panic. The nobles and Homeland Security will take charge, but before they do, we will have enough time to enter the stairwell and escape from sight.”

  “Halfway through the second musical act, then,” said Nicholas. “We’ll assist the others with clearing the empty dishes from the tables. That will give us the excuse we need to be close to the stage and the tellers’ counter.”

  “Yeah,” I said, looking at the street. “Assuming the weather doesn’t screw us over.”

  The wind had picked up, and a light sprinkling of snow was falling. I didn’t think it would remain a light sprinkling for much longer. The weather forecast had changed in the last hour, and the weathermen were predicting seven or eight inches of snow in the DC metro area by tomorrow, with a high chance of blizzard-like conditions by 10 PM.

  “Turner will be able to manage,” said Nicholas.

  “He’d better,” I said. “Since we are literally putting our lives in his hands.” His sweaty, nervous hands. I wished Nicholas hadn’t shot Vass. Vass had tried to kill me, yeah, but that man had been able to make a helicopter dance. I rather doubted Turner could do the same.

  “At the very least,” said Nicholas, “it will be a short flight. So long as we get to the south side of the Potomac, that ought to be enough to allow us to make our escape. Now. Let’s start clearing tables. If we’re seen doing it early enough, it should reduce suspicion once we bunch up near the stage. Earpieces?”

  We each donned a short-range belt radio connected to an earpiece. We could have done it with our phones, but cell phone usage always left records, and I wasn’t sure that phones would be reliable in the concrete and steel corridors of the vaults. The short-range radios would let us stay in contact during the preparations. We each did a microphone check, and then joined the crowds of black-uniformed workers clearing tables and pushing carts of dirty dishes.