by Siegel, Alex
She looked at him. "Hello, sir."
"Did you get any more information about the protest?" He placed the box he was carrying on a table.
"I tried. There is a printout on the printer."
He searched the room until he located the printer. He grabbed several sheets of paper from the output tray.
"I identified those people as the leaders," Bethany said.
Aaron examined the long list. Each name had the name of an organization beside it.
"There must be a hundred people here."
"A hundred and twelve, sir," she said.
"And who are these groups? The Anti-wealth league. The Brigade for Basic Rights. The Alliance Against Corruption. The Ninety-nine Percenters?"
He frowned. This situation reminded him of a trick criminals had sometimes used to throw him off the trail back when he was a detective. The perpetrator would leave an overabundance of contradictory evidence at the crime scene. The idea had been to hide the real clues behind a forest of false ones.
He suspected all the names on Bethany's list were just an elaborate smoke screen. The real people responsible for the protests were still undiscovered. He wadded up the sheets of paper and threw them into a nearby garbage can.
"Sir?" she said.
"We'll have to try a different approach if we want the truth. Where is Leanna? It's weird not seeing you two together."
"In the data center."
Aaron walked through a doorway into an adjacent room which contained even more computers. He wasn't sure how the twins were choosing which pieces of equipment went in which room, but apparently, they had a system in mind. It all seemed arbitrary to him.
Leanna was holding the bottom of a ladder. She looked exactly the same as her sister, and her clothing was also perfectly identical. The only obvious difference was that Leanna didn't have a diamond necklace. Aaron had learned how to tell the twins apart even without the necklace. A few tiny scars and blemishes marked them as individuals, but he had to look closely.
Nancy stood on top of the ladder. She was pulling bundles of wire through wide metal conduits attached to the ceiling.
"How is it going?" Aaron said.
She looked down at him. "As well as I expected, sir."
"That bad?"
She nodded.
She had a wide body, but she wasn't fat. She was just naturally round. Brown, frizzy hair was cut so short she almost looked boyish. She wore gray coveralls, heavy work boots, and knee pads. A diverse assortment of tools hung from a broad leather belt. Her thick lips were curved in a smile that was always on her face. She was the happiest person Aaron had ever met.
"Keep at it," he said, "and prioritize your tasks. We need this headquarters up and running. God's enemies won't take a vacation just because we're busy moving."
"Yes, sir."
Aaron expected Nancy was having fun even though the work was hard. She had been deeply involved in the design of this headquarters from the beginning. It was her baby as much as his. Now she was seeing all of that planning and analysis come to fruition. She was justified in feeling very proud of her accomplishment.
He left to get another box from the elevator.
Chapter Two
Two hours later, Aaron and Norbert arrived at the old headquarters to pick up another load of boxes. As Aaron drove the van towards the entrance, he saw that the garage door was up.
"Robbers." He quietly parked on the side of the street.
He and Norbert got out. Aaron checked in all directions for witnesses, then drew a Glock 22 from a holster under his T-shirt. It wasn't his biggest gun, but it was tremendously accurate and reliable. If he had to make a difficult shot under adverse conditions, the Glock was his first choice.
Norbert drew a similar weapon. "What are the rules of engagement, sir? Are they considered civilians?"
"Yes, but they invaded our home. Try to avoid killing them, but don't hesitate to pull the trigger if you feel threatened."
"Yes, sir."
Aaron silently crept along the outside of the building towards the open doorway. The sun was bright but the air was pleasantly cool. Norbert stayed a step behind.
Aaron leaned over and looked through the opening. He didn't see anybody, but a full-sized bus was parked inside. The dark gray bus had no markings, and the windows were very heavily tinted. All the boxes and crates were exactly where he had left them. He was puzzled.
He slipped inside. He heard low voices coming from the kitchen. There was still plenty of food in there, certainly enough to make a good meal for a group of unwelcome visitors.
As he got closer to the bus, he noticed odd details. The wheels were equipped with an automatic tire inflation system like the kind the military used. The sides were made of welded plates instead of sheet metal. Thick bolts held the windows in place.
Somebody grabbed his gun. Aaron tried to yank it free, but the attacker had a grip as strong as a vise.
He looked up at the face of a huge man wearing black sunglasses. His black hair was shaggy and unkempt. He had a dense, scrappy beard and a ragged mustache. An old-fashioned gray cloak was wrapped around his shoulders. He had an odd smell that reminded Aaron of leather.
"Who are you?" the man said.
His voice didn't sound human at all. It was like the wind blowing through dry branches in the winter.
Aaron swallowed. "Hello, Carlos. I'm Aaron, commander of Chicago. Do you remember me?"
He had seen Carlos just one other time. It was the day Aaron had become a commander and had first occupied this building. The strange bus now had an explanation. Wesley was here along with his four special bodyguards known simply as the Wesley Protection Team. An already interesting day had suddenly become a hundred times more so.
Carlos let go of the gun, and Aaron put it away.
Aaron looked over at Norbert and said, "Stay close and keep quiet. Let me handle this."
Norbert nodded timidly.
Aaron walked into the kitchen. Wesley was there along with his other three bodyguards. The boy had grown a few inches since the last time Aaron had seen him. His straight brown hair needed a trim. Flawless pink skin always reminded Aaron of a marble statue carved by a master artist. Wesley's eyes were his most astonishing feature. They glistened like bright blue jewels. It took a strong man to stare directly into those fountains of truth and wisdom.
Wesley smiled. "Aaron! You're here! Norbert, too. I'm so happy to see you." When he talked, it sounded like music instead of regular speech.
"This is an unexpected pleasure," Aaron said. "What's going on?"
He nodded to Yvonne, Atalanta, and Charles, who made up the rest of the protection team. All were notoriously lethal in their own particular way.
"Walk with me," Charles said. "Let's talk privately."
He left the kitchen and Aaron followed. Norbert remained behind.
Charles had been the legate before Ethel's promotion. He was taller than Aaron but had substantially less muscle. Charles' perfectly groomed hair was the color of hard frost. He wore a tailored gray business suit which was elegant but not showy. He carried a silver cane although he didn't have a limp.
The oddest part of his appearance hinted at his gift. He was hard to look at and easy to ignore. Aaron's gaze kept slipping off as if Charles were covered with visual grease. Just walking with him required continuous mental effort. Aaron wanted to turn around and go back to the kitchen as if Charles had somehow vanished.
"We have a situation," Charles said.
Aaron grunted. He hadn't expected this to be a social visit. "Is Wesley in danger?"
"That's not clear. All I know is he doesn't want to do his job anymore. He wants to abandon his role as the Voice of Truth."
"He can't change who he is."
Charles shrugged. "He's trying. He swore he would never use his gift again. He's rebelling against his destiny. To be frank, he's acting like a spoiled, selfish brat."
"He is ten."
"I'm painfull
y aware of that fact." Charles glowered.
"Why did you come to me? I don't know the first thing about raising children, much less immature prophets."
"Wesley has fond memories of the time he spent with you. I think he sees you and Marina as surrogate parents. He wants to become one of your legionnaires."
Aaron stared at Charles in disbelief. "You're kidding."
"Unfortunately, no," Charles said. "Furthermore, the boy sees my team as useless baggage, a remnant of a life he wants to leave behind. He explicitly ordered us to go away. He would rather be with you."
Aaron rubbed his head. "This isn't a good time. I'm in the middle of moving to a new headquarters. There are suspicious protests in Chicago that I need to investigate. I can't deal with this now."
"If you don't like the timing, talk to Wesley. You'll find he's a very stubborn child. Where is your new headquarters?"
Aaron hesitated. The location of his headquarters was a secret he guarded very carefully, even within the Society.
"Let me explain my position," Charles said. "Wesley may try to dismiss us, but we will not be dismissed. My team and I will continue to protect him regardless of his wishes. We may be out of sight, but we will always be nearby. If you're taking him to your headquarters, you need to tell me where it is. Or I'll find out on my own."
Aaron's shoulders sagged. There were so many ways this situation could blow up in his face. In fact, he couldn't see any way to make it work.
"I'm sorry." Charles put a hand on Aaron's shoulder. "I'm as unhappy as you are, but we just have to play out the hand."
Aaron nodded. "We're in the Rosemont Tower Hotel near O'Hare Airport. It's a brand new facility."
"It's an actual hotel?"
"Yes. The top two floors are mine, but the other twenty floors are available to the public. Six hundred rooms in total."
"That's perfect." Charles said. "My team and I will live in the hotel until Wesley recovers from his temporary insanity. It will almost be like a vacation."
The solution didn't seem so perfect to Aaron, but he didn't have a better idea. At least the protection team would be available in an emergency. He desperately hoped he wouldn't need to exercise that option though. It would be like calling in a nuclear air strike.
"Let me call Ethel," Aaron said.
Charles bowed slightly. "Please do."
Aaron stepped away and took out his phone. He dialed a number he had memorized but rarely used. The legatus legionis didn't like to be bothered unless it was important. This issue more than qualified.
"Hello," Ethel said.
Aaron explained the situation to her, then said, "Do you have any guidance to offer, ma'am?"
"No, but if you want, I can come there."
"I don't think that would help. This equation already has too many variables."
"An interesting analogy," she said.
"Wesley can't possibly be my legionnaire! How can I send him out on dangerous assignments? How is the rest of my team supposed to work with him? How can I manage him? The whole idea is crazy."
"I agree, but you're one of the few people I know who might be smart enough to solve this equation. Send me reports as the situation evolves. I can be there in a hurry if you need me, and I can bring reinforcements. The resources of the entire North American division are available if Wesley's life is at risk."
"I'll keep that in mind, ma'am," Aaron said.
"Good luck," Ethel said. "Bye."
Aaron put away his phone and faced Charles. "The legate has no specific advice to offer."
"A pity," Charles said. "Let's go back to the kitchen."
They returned to the kitchen. Wesley, Yvonne, and Atalanta were sitting at a table and eating a late lunch. They had scrounged enough food to make sandwiches and soup. Carlos watched from a short distance away with his arms at his side and no apparent interest in eating. Norbert stood in the opposite corner with an anxious expression.
"We have a plan of sorts," Charles announced. "Wesley will go with Aaron to his new headquarters. It's the top floor of a hotel. The protection team will stay in the lower floors of the same hotel."
"No." Wesley shook his head. "I don't want you so close to me."
Charles snarled a little. "Try and stop me."
The old man and the boy glared at each other.
Atalanta looked at Aaron and said, "Tell me about this hotel. How good is the security?"
Her ethnicity was Japanese, but she was tall enough to be a female basketball player. Dense black hair was braided into ropes that went down to the middle of her back. She wore loose clothing that hid the shape of her body, but Aaron knew her to be very muscular. Dark brown eyes watched him with laser focus.
"The Rosemont Tower Hotel," he said. "It's a state-of-the-art facility, and the Society spent a billion dollars on its construction. My headquarters is the top floor, which is built like a bunker. The walls and ceiling are two feet thick and made of special high density concrete reinforced with many tons of carbon steel. They can withstand a direct impact from a five hundred pound bomb or a commercial jet. The bunker sits on sixteen legs which are so strong any three of them could support the entire weight. The building as a whole can survive an earthquake that measures nine on the Richter scale."
"What else?" Atalanta demanded.
"The exterior surface is made of bulletproof glass doped with lead and copper. It's impossible to climb. There is nothing to grip, and tiny grooves prevent suction cups from sticking. The whole building is also air-tight. We can survive a poison gas attack and radioactive dust."
"Any active defenses?"
Aaron nodded. "Turrets can swing out and sweep the exterior with armor piercing rounds. There are missile launchers to deal with air threats, heat seeking and radar guided. We have automatic mortars for striking ground targets from one hundred meters away out to three kilometers. Mines buried in the parking lots can destroy tanks."
Atalanta smiled slightly.
"What about threats already inside the hotel?" Yvonne said.
She was a small woman with curly blond hair. Her skin was so flushed she looked sun burnt, but that was a side effect of her gift. Swollen muscles all over her body made it seem like she had big lumps of foam padding under her clothes. She weighed much less than Aaron, but she was strong enough to pick him up and rip him in half.
"We can lock down and seal any floor. An attacker would have to blast through doors made of three-inch plate to get out. We can also flood sections with nerve gas. The entire twenty-first floor is a death trap in case anybody gets that far. We have surveillance in every room of the hotel. I could go on and on, but I think you get my point. Wesley should be safe."
"As long as he stays home."
"Of course," Aaron said. "Norbert and I came here for a reason. We have a moving van that needs to be filled with boxes. Any help would be appreciated. Wesley, that goes for you in particular. I expect my legionnaires to do the boring, hard work as well as the fun stuff. If you want to be part of my team, you'll have to pull your weight starting right now."
Charles gave Aaron a knowing smile. Wesley frowned and remained quiet.
"I didn't hear an appropriate response," Aaron said. "I'm your commander now, unless you want to stay with Charles."
"Yes, sir," Wesley muttered.
Aaron nodded. Charles grinned.
With everybody working together, it didn't take long to fill the moving van. Yvonne and Carlos both had enough strength to lift the heaviest crates by themselves. Atalanta was no weakling, either. Wesley tried to participate, but in the end he didn't have much to do. The adults were simply too quick and efficient.
Everybody headed back to the Rosemont Tower Hotel. Wesley sat between Aaron and Norbert in the moving van. The protection team followed close behind in their armored bus.
Norbert had been quiet, but Aaron could see the anxiety on his face. Norbert kept glancing at Wesley.
"Remind me, sir," Norbert said, "what are the gifts of t
he members of the protection team? The only one I really met before was Yvonne, and I didn't spend much time with her. She eats her enemies alive, right?"
"Eating isn't quite the right term," Aaron said. "Roots grow out of her palms and into the flesh of her adversaries. She sucks out the nutrients and leaves behind metabolic waste. This process supercharges her body, making her a lot stronger and tougher. As long as she keeps feeding, she can regenerate from almost any injury. She can get strong enough to tear a man to shreds with her bare hands. She's a very messy fighter."
Norbert shuddered. "I remember. What about Atalanta?"
"She has two gifts. The first is skin as tough as armor plate and bones like bars of steel. If you hit her, you'll just break your hand. It takes a beefy gun to dent her hide, .45 caliber or above."
"What about her second gift?"
"Supernatural focus," Aaron said. "If she isn't the best martial artist on the planet, I don't know who is. Back when we first met her, she sparred with Smythe, Marina, and me, all at the same time. She crushed us. It wasn't even fair."
Norbert furrowed his brow. "And Charles?"
"A unique form of invisibility. He calls it psychological camouflage. He can make his enemies completely ignore him, even while he's killing them."
"That's not a good description," Wesley said.
Aaron looked down at the boy. "How would you put it?"
"Charles wears the cloak of the Lord. Most men don't have the courage or mental strength to look at it directly. They have to turn away. With some practice, you two could overcome his gift. Everybody on the protection team can do it easily. Ethel can, too. As a fighter, Charles is the weakest member of the team, but he has the most leadership experience."
"Interesting." Norbert said. "What about Carlos? He's a huge man and obviously very strong, but what makes him special?"