Federal Agents of Magic Boxed Set

by T. R. Cameron

  Her eyes widened when she saw his grin, and she heard the grenade tumble from where it had rested in his hand, secured by his body weight. Again. That was, regretfully, the only thought she had time for before the virtual laser spat death in all directions.

  After an exhausting day of training runs—twelve in all—they took over the back room of a neighborhood bar Bryant had heard positive things about. Cracked paneling and band posters covered most of the walls. They shot pool and snacked on plates of appetizers while they waited. Diana took a sip of her local lager, pronounced it good, and watched Bryant line up his shot on the eight ball. “Miss it, Noonan. Miss.”

  He laughed and screwed the shot up, allowing Gillians back in the game. She gave Diana a thumbs-up. He came over and shook his head. “You suck, Sheen.”

  “No, you suck. What the hell was up with that grenade?”

  He looked slightly sheepish. “Yeah, that was a little unfair. The DC folks brought them up—a present from Kayleigh.”

  They laughed simultaneously, and Diana said, “I’m glad you could make it.”

  His smile was familiar and oddly comforting. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”

  They spent another hour together before Bryant and the DC crowd had to jet off to their various responsibilities. Diana and her team took seats at the bar for one more drink. Cara sat on her left.

  “We have a strong core for the unit here,” the marshal said.

  “Agreed.” Tony shuffled on his chair on her right. “And that training was fun.”

  Diana nodded. “It’s good that we work well together because I think we’ll be called to real action sooner rather than later.”

  The others nodded. Cara finished her drink, stood, and yawned. “I need thirty minutes in a hot tub, followed by a solid ten hours of sleep. But after that, bring it on.”

  Chapter Nine

  Vincente set the power crystal statue carefully into his safe, closed the door, and spun the lock. He slipped the coin into a small pocket sewn on the inside of his black button-down shirt and secured the fastener to conceal it again. A little disgruntled, he shook his head.

  Plans are not proceeding apace.

  The sound from below alerted him that some things still ran on time, though. He crossed to the tall windows that comprised one side of his office. They were the best feature in the space and the rest was purely utilitarian—a metal desk, metal chair, and metal bookshelves on the wall over ugly paneling. The safe was the only quality item present, and he’d had to add it after he’d taken possession of the warehouse. The panes of glass overlooked the storage floor twenty feet below filled with pallets and crates of valuables. Some were legitimate but most were not. He turned and exited through the office’s only door onto a metal staircase leading down to the lower level.

  The business created operating funds by selling goods of questionable provenance to anyone willing to buy. The warehouse itself had formerly been part of a steel mill complex and had access to the river and the nearby highway. It even had a rail line positioned beside it which made it infinitely easier to meet his customers’ needs. Plus, only empty shells of buildings stretched for miles around, which assured the privacy he and his operations required. Gentrification hadn’t quite reached this far upriver. Yet.

  He deliberately held a scowl on his face but smiled inwardly when those who entered the warehouse separated into two distinct camps. The true believers stood on the left. Their leader Sarah was a highly skilled witch who devoutly believed in the vision Rhazdon had created for Oriceran and later, for Earth. Those with her varied in their levels of commitment, but the woman’s charisma kept them all in line. They would be completely reliable provided that she was.

  Those motivated by more mercenary interests gathered on the opposite side of the room. Their leader Marcus described them as, “Opportunists with a certain moral flexibility.” The description always prompted a grin, even though he never allowed such an expression to reach his face. Aside from Marcus, they were little more than street-level thugs. The man bound them into a usable force, however, and they possessed the requisite skills to slip in and out of the circles that his customers inhabited.

  Vincente nodded as he stepped off the metal stairs. Sarah was the muscle and accomplished at acquisition. Marcus was the middleman and forged connections that allowed them to sell the goods and reap the rewards they needed. It was a good arrangement. Of course, both groups participated in the occasional robbery, either for operating capital or for other items of interest. It was this that had brought them together today.

  He arrived as the two faction leaders faced off in a heated argument, as they often did. Marcus was a wasp who snuck in to sting and then retreated to plan his next attack. Vincente often despaired over the thin skin that compelled Sarah to engage with him. At other times, he admired the restraint that kept her from crushing the man where he stood. Today seemed to be a good example of that restraint.

  Marcus sneered. “That woman has not only been dead for twenty-some years, but she also lost. She seems like a strange bitch to worship.”

  Sarah scowled at his smirk. “We do not worship Rhazdon, as you well know, human. We simply believe in her vision.”

  He tapped his chin. “What was that again? To take the power from those who have it?” He shrugged. “That’s noble. Not.”

  She bristled. “Like you understand anything about nobility, street rat.” The two groups drifted closer and hands inched toward hidden wands or weapons. That was enough of that. There would be no bloodshed this day.

  Vincente stepped forward and clapped loudly. “Sarah, Marcus, thank you for coming—and thank you all as well.” He turned and waved an arm at the gathering. “We will sit and discuss matters over here.”

  He led them to a circle of metal chairs arranged with a gap at each pole. As expected, one group took the seats to the left, and the others those to the right. An argument could be made that this lack of unity would lead to suboptimal results. The counterargument contended that pitting them against each other would bring out the best in all of them. Vincente didn’t know which was best, and he didn’t really care.

  One has to play the cards they are dealt, and these are mine.

  He found the exact center of the circle, pulled on his black vest to smooth it under his coat, and straightened his indigo tie. “We have been assigned two vital tasks from above.” Only Sarah and Marcus were privy to the true nature of the Remembrance. The rest simply knew others were positioned higher in the food chain. “First, we must begin to set the stage for a larger undertaking. We will do this by inflaming the public against the new prison that has been built nearby.”

  A member of Marcus’s group who was more impulsive and perhaps less intelligent than those around him piped up in a thick Pittsburgh accent. “Yeah, I heard about that. What, one wasn’t enough?” A smattering of laughter followed his words. “Do you think it’s gonna be a problem for us?”

  Not for you, at any rate, my friend.

  Vincente rotated to face the man. “No, not a problem. Instead, it’s an opportunity. It is disguised and intended to be hidden. We confounded our enemies and sowed chaos by revealing it, which was the first part of our efforts. Now, with the right words in the right ears, we will alarm the populace and convince them it is a danger, that the magical prisoners housed there are a threat to their own lives and those of their children.”

  Another member of Marcus’s crew added, “It’s not like we’ll be lying.” That drew dark laughs from both sides of the circle. Even Vincente’s lips twitched.

  “The second task is more important. Indeed, it is vitally important and thus more complicated.” The groups fell silent, and he could sense them leaning forward in interest. “The nearby Museum of Natural History has received a shipment of antiquities discovered somewhere across the planet.” He waved a hand to indicate that the precise location didn’t matter. “They do not realize that stored among them are a number of powerful artifacts left b
y those who crossed over long ago.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back and turned to the magical side of the area. “They have hosted Oriceran exhibits before, and the place is appropriately well-defended. The Silver Griffins would have envied their equipment.” A laugh swept through those he faced, as their knowledge of the magical history of Earth allowed them to appreciate the reference. “They have wisely employed magic to prevent us from simply creating portals into the building. We will have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

  Marcus sneered. “My people are very good at old-fashioned.”

  Sarah scoffed and tossed her mane of black hair. “Witches and wizards handled matters like this long before you were a child.”

  Vincente held his hands up before the sniping could devolve into a group discussion. “Focus, please.”

  The two leaders both nodded before Marcus spoke. “We can put the word out on the street about the new prison. While we do that, we'll get some heavier weaponry and maybe a line on people inside the museum to exploit.”

  Sarah added, “If we time the attack with an assembly in protest of the prison, it might distract the human authorities.”

  Vincente nodded. “Excellent. You two can work with your groups to plan it in a moment. First, though, I would like you both to join me in the office.”

  He led them up the stairs, which clanged with each footfall. Once inside, he directed them into the chairs on the far side of his desk but remained standing to gaze out the window. The minions below avoided one another carefully.

  Sarah and Marcus were more silent than one would have expected, given the show downstairs.

  But that’s what it is—a show to make sure their crews stay loyal. In reality, they are only half as antagonistic and twice as smart as they let on. I would admire them if such cunning didn’t pose a potential threat to my position.

  He turned and raised his right hand toward them, then let it drop as he spoke. “I felt it was important to give you a glimpse of the larger picture. There have been setbacks to the branches of the Remembrance in other cities. This offers both challenge and opportunity. Challenge, because we are weaker due to their failures. Opportunity, because success will grant us and those above us the chance to rise in power and stature.”

  Sarah was the first to respond. “Just say what you need, and we’ll make it happen.”

  Marcus nodded his agreement.

  Vincente paced the boundary of his medium-sized office—ten steps in one direction, turn, then ten steps back. His words emerged slowly as products of deep thought. “Some time ago, we identified a new enemy, an organization that has risen in power to the point where we now must contend with it. It is called ARES. It was the undoing of certain plans in Washington, DC, and is the driving force behind the second prison that has been established here. We can only assume that there will be a greater presence of organized opposition to our efforts because of it.”

  He unconsciously flexed his right hand in a fist with each step. It was the only outward sign of his anger. “We have acted against them in subtle ways—intercepted shipments, thrown up distractions, and even undertaken a personal attack on an agent. But we will need to do more.”

  Marcus barked a laugh and scratched the short brown beard that matched his hair. “No one’s been able to defeat the combined strength of my weapons and Sarah’s magic.”

  He nodded but frowned as he addressed his subordinate. “It doesn’t do to be overconfident. Overconfidence leads to assumptions, and assumptions lead to defeat. We must redouble our efforts on all matters, including discovering if anyone knows details about this organization.”

  The other man laughed. “I’m not real friendly with any politicians. I bet, though, that with a little money, we could make some quality friends.” He rubbed his fingers together to illustrate his point.

  That drew a smile from Vincente. “That’s a good idea, but one already worked on by others. For our part, buy more eyes, ensure we know what’s going on in our streets, and remain alert for these newcomers.”

  He paced in silence until Sarah finally built up the courage to ask, “Is there anything else?”

  With a sigh, he stopped and turned to them again. “Yes. I didn’t fully express how important it is that we succeed from here on out. It was not said in so many words, but it was nonetheless made clear that lives will be forfeit as a result of any failure, no matter how small.” He closed his eyes as he recalled the less than pleasant conversation with his superior, one of the most aggressive figures in the Remembrance. It was the only sign he would show of the unpleasant feelings that rose as a result.

  He opened them again to see both of his lieutenants pale. They were likely imagining the methods that would be used for their punishment.

  Certainly not a clean or fast death.

  “As such, I will join the raid. You both will run all plans by me for approval. Get to work setting the stage. We need to move as soon as we can be assured of success.”

  He turned to the windows again. “Go.” He knew the dismissal wouldn’t be questioned. He contemplated the vast stores one floor below him. The money he could make from those goods would equate to a small fortune. But those riches wouldn’t buy him even a second’s mercy if he failed his superiors.

  Chapter Ten

  Diana pulled the nondescript black SUV into the parking lot outside an equally unremarkable office building. Cara rode shotgun, and Tony sat in the back. Both passengers gazed around appreciatively as they drove through the city on the way. The marshal discovered new parts of it for the first time, while Tony renewed his acquaintance. They entered through the front doors into a sparse lobby that contained only a mammoth desk with a bored security guard behind it. “Can I help you?”

  “We’re here to see Anderson Stevens.” There was no person by that name at the facility and the statement was simply a code to inform him that they weren’t random visitors. He straightened with a nod and reached for something hidden by the counter in front of him. A panel on the top of the desk slid aside to reveal a glass surface.

  “Palm prints, please.”

  They complied one at a time. Diana had set the visit up the day before, so there had been ample opportunity to draw their biometric records. Hers, of course, was already on file from her previous trip.

  I wonder how Sasquatch is doing. Hopefully badly.

  The guard gestured them toward a door on his right, and it unlocked to admit them into a small anteroom. Once inside, the door closed behind them and another opened ahead. A new, no-nonsense alto voice said, “One at a time, please.”

  She recognized the cylindrical transparent wall before her and stepped forward. The oval rotated to seal her inside, and she extended her arms without being asked to do so. In addition to another biometric palm scan and the buzz of detection devices, a sharp pain stabbed into her index finger as the system sampled her blood. The barrier ahead rotated open, and she walked through.

  Dang. She sucked on the injured digit. I wonder if they replace the needle between uses.

  She waited in another featureless room while her team cleared security. Tony came last and rubbed his fingertips together. “I hope they change that needle.”

  Diana laughed and shook her head. “I’m sure they do. Well, reasonably sure.”

  Cara rolled her eyes in silence. The door opposite opened, and they passed through it to be greeted by Warden Murphy’s thin, hard, and smiling face. She wore a sharp blue suit, a white shirt, and low heels.

  She extended a hand to Cara and Tony in turn. “Evelyn.” Once greetings were exchanged, she turned to Diana. “Full tour, right?”

  “Plus a chat.”

  Murphy nodded and gestured them forward. Another featureless door opened, and they emerged into a large oval area. A guard post made from the same transparent material as the security quarantine was positioned in the middle of the space. Four officers in black uniforms were stationed within, one facing each quadrant. They sat on tall stools
with monitors to the left and right but a clear view out over the space ahead. Elevators broke the smooth curve of the walls in four places, each with oversized doors that could accommodate many passengers.

  Above them, a pair of gun turrets whirred and tracked their steps. Tony gestured at the weapons. “That’s some serious security. Should we be concerned?”

  The warden chuckled. “Well, they’re only stun cannons on this level, so no need to be too worried. Plus, your ARES credentials will cause them to disregard you as a threat, so long as you’re not doing something obviously destructive.”

  Tony laughed. “Is there anything our watches can’t do?”

  Cara sounded distracted as she gazed at the barrels above. “They could use a fitness tracker. Even cheap smartwatches have fitness trackers.”

  Diana shook her head. “I’ll put that in as a feature request. I’m sure they’ll get right on it, given its obvious importance.”

  The warden laughed, raised her wrist with a smile, and spoke into her own smartwatch. “Open two.”

  The doors to an elevator with the big number two painted on them slid free, and the party stepped inside the mostly featureless plastic box. Murphy gestured upward. “The Cube has four floors above ground—mainly offices, storage, and such. There’s nothing vital, except for our entrance point on the main floor. And, of course, there’s a backup exit if that should be compromised. Underground, we have five levels, each of them at least two stories high.”

  Diana gestured at the thick plastic shackles set at elbow height all around the elevator. “Prisoner restraints?”

  The warden nodded. “The elevators have anti-magic emitters, as does most of the facility. However, we find it’s handy to make sure prisoners can’t cause more mundane kinds of trouble on the way down, especially the larger ones.” She stared at Diana.

  “Is the Kilomea your largest?”

  “Yes. Not our most troublesome, though. The out-of-towners have begun to arrive, and some of those convicts are real challenges.”