Ancient Arsenal (Full Metal Superhero Book 7)

by Jeffery H. Haskell

  NINE

  THE PAST

  The next morning, after I’ve awakened and eaten a little, Pythia drops her bomb... If Teddy were here with me, I’d ask him to check my ears.

  “Three days...?” I say, confused.

  Pythia gives me her creepy smile and looks back and forth between Frank, Luke, and me. “When did you think you arrived?” Pythia asks.

  “1901,” I say, glancing at Frank.

  He shrugs. “Don’t blame me. It’s not like I’m in control when I go back. I shoot for a specific time and go from there. Sometimes I hit it right on the nose, other times I don’t. I guess I missed it this time.”

  I suppress a growl. “By a country mile Frank Parker. A country flipping mile.”

  Instead of having three years to fix my armor, I have three whole days. Three. I’ve just begun addressing the deeper diagnostics on the armor, let alone the things I simply can’t replace.

  “Can’t we just stay longer?” Luke asks.

  Frank shakes his head. “No. Once my powers are restored I’ll start feeling the pull. I’ve never gone back this far before—it’s likely that I will snap back almost immediately… or pretty close,” Frank explains.

  I shake my head, drumming my fingers on the table. During our little conversation Pythia sits across from me, smiling, her big doe eyes innocently taking it all in.

  “Why didn’t you say something immediately? We wasted a whole day in here,” I say to Pythia.

  “Wasted? No. You wouldn’t have done anything differently, other than worry more, had you known. Besides, you didn’t tell me a specific date—just ‘a few years.’ How was I supposed to know when? I know you think I’m omnipotent, Amelia, but I’m really not. Three days from now, Tesla will pull the lever on his great machine and this world will change forever. It’s a touchstone moment for your world. However, if you do not help me find the armor of the Protector, more lives than you can imagine will be lost in the coming decades.”

  If Pythia is telling the truth about time travel, and I suspect she is, then we will find the armor because that’s who we are. I can debate theories about ‘what ifs’ all day long, but at the end of the day we’ll never know—because I won’t risk the future by doing nothing just to see if I can change things. I have to act. That’s just who I am.

  “Well, bygones etcetera, I guess. We need to find The Spear, correct?” I finally say.

  Pythia nods.

  “And that will somehow lead us to the rest of the armor?”

  She nods again.

  “And once you have the armor you can choose another protector and the three of us can go home.”

  She nods a third time, albeit slower. Time travel is confusing to me; I can only imagine what the implications and possible outcomes are to everyone else.

  “Epic?”

  I am here, Amelia. While I do have all the history ever written in my memory, I do not have anything on the Protector prior to the 1970s. If there was another before Sydney, they did their level best to conceal him. Since I have no information on the Protector, I have no information on the Spear. His voice is as stylish as it was years ago. The only reason I stopped using it was my inability to hear him in the confusion of combat; text messages on my visor were always accessible.

  “It was worth a shot.” Then an idea comes to me. “Epic, what if you took images from our personal interactions with him, then made 3D mock-ups of all his gear and compared them to every picture in every museum, ever?”

  Luke was used to this kind of wizardry from Epic, but Pythia lets out a gasp. “Your machine can do that?” she asks.

  I smile like a proud parent. “He’s much more than a machine, he’s a person. Artificial in the sense that I programmed his original code, but a person none-the-less. And yes, he can do that… and a lot more.”

  After a few seconds, which is like a day in AI time, Epic uses the helmet’s built in optics to display a full color image of the Protector against the cave wall. It is a perfect replica, in high resolution. While we watch, it rotates slowly, showing us every angle of Sidney. I hadn’t noticed before, but the armor looks slightly different than the one Carlos wears. “Is it me, or is that not the same armor our... uh the most recent Protector wears?” It occurs to me while I’m talking that maybe telling her about Carlos isn’t the best idea.

  “Now that you mention it,” Luke says. “Yeah, it does look a little different.”

  I look over at Pythia; she shrugs. “I know not.” Is all she says to me.

  “Regardless. Epic, run it.”

  A hundred images a second flash on the wall, starting with the most modern images then working backward as he scans everything he’s ever had access too. After a few seconds he updates us. Nothing in the public collections. Moving on to private ones. Broadening search... expanding parameters... buffering... bypassing error four-oh-four permissions.

  As always, Epic makes me crack a smile as he talks. For an AI he’s extremely emotionally aware. I need a good laugh.

  I have something.

  “That was fast,” Frank says.

  That is the way my electrons orbit. It looks like we are closer than you thought, Amelia.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  It is not a photo, but this is what I am showing as the closest match. An image pops up on the wall… not a photo, but a drawing. Something about it nags at me.

  “Epic, you’re joking, right?” Luke says. I glance at him with a raised eyebrow. How does he know what this is?

  While I do joke, Luke, this is not one of those times. I am afraid it is legitimate.

  “Okay, Mr. Lancaster, what are you seeing that I’m missing?” I ask him.

  Pythia is fascinated by the whole thing and Frank looks lost.

  “You seriously don’t know what that is?” Luke asks.

  I try not to let my frustration show. “I don’t always know everything, okay? So, what is it?”

  He smiles. “Hold on a sec. Let me bask in the moment. Is this how you feel all the time?”

  “Luke!” I practically yell at him, but I have a smile on my face.

  He laughs. “Okay, okay Amelia. You do know I’m Catholic, but what you don’t know is that I wrote a thesis on ancient religious relics.”

  I didn’t know that and now I’m even more excited to learn what it is. “Go on...?” I encourage him.

  “That,” he says pointing at the wall, “is a drawing of the supposed ‘Holy Lance’ kept in a super-secret Vatican vault underneath St. Peter’s Basilica.”

  “Okay, so it’s in a vault in Rome. I still don’t know what it is.”

  Pythia sighs. “I do. Amelia, what your heroic friend calls the ‘Holy Lance’ is often referred to by another name.”

  “What?” I want to scream in frustration because, I swear, I don’t share information this slowly. I always get right to the point and... Okay. Maybe I don’t. But I try.

  “It’s The Spear of Destiny, Amelia. The spear that pierced the side of Christ while he hung on the cross,” Pythia says dropping her voice and eyes out of reverence.

  “Oh,” I say, looking back at the displayed image. “Is that all? We just have to break into one of the most heavily guarded places on the planet and steel a two-thousand-year-old spear...”

  Luke shakes his head. “No, babe. Not we,” he says slowly lifting his hand and pointing at me. “You. We don’t have any powers, you have your suit. We can help you plan, but when it comes down to it this is all on you.”

  “Great,” I say my voice falling. “Three days to fix my armor, steal a spear, and reassemble ancient Greek armor.”

  I sigh. “Should be a walk in a park.”

  Yes. If that park is in Detroit, in the middle of the night, and you are waving around cash while naked and blindfolded, then yes, it will be a walk in that park.

  TEN

  TIA

  She’d lost two hours since the airport. Without any idea where to go, she’d followed the direction Massa
cre had taken in his borrowed body. Once he hit the city proper beyond the airport he vanished. Tia wasn’t a detective. The only thing she did know, was where he was heading. She needed to find him, or find her friends before he did.

  Every time a siren sounded or a police car drove by, her heart raced. The FBI would certainly be coming for her. However, if she didn’t find Massacre her friends were dead.

  She needed help.

  The only problem was who? A thought tickled her mind. While the Spire had most certainly fallen under government control, didn’t the team have an AI who helped them? Tia wished she’d spent more time with the Team to learn these things. She did know Amelia, though. Amelia would never leave her hung out to dry. It just wasn’t in the woman’s nature.

  Downtown Phoenix was a grid of skyscrapers mixed with public buildings, museums, and restaurants. The heat of the day wasn’t so bad, despite the supposed “winter.” Tia needed money and a way to call the Spire and try and get in touch with the AI. Oh… what was his name?

  Milton.

  Everyone had a cell phone these days; payphones were a thing of the past. She could steal one from a passerby, but that warred with her instincts, and it might be locked anyway. She spotted a small restaurant with a name she recognized—a Portuguese place! Tia darted across the street as fast as she could not wanting to waste a second.

  A horn blared at her when she sped across without waiting for the traffic to clear. She had held onto some of her mass since the airport and she took a moment outside the eatery to let it dissipate. Having super strength was useful, but not so much when trying to use a phone. She pushed the door open, passing through into the cool air with the sounds of bells ringing. An older man, probably in his sixties, smiled at her as she entered.

  “How may I help you?” he asked.

  “Would it be possible to use your phone?”

  He frowned. “No, sorry. Our phone is for business only.”

  He had an accent. It was faded, but enough that she suspected he spoke Portuguese. She asked again, this time in her native tongue, adding she was just a tourist here and someone had robbed her and she needed to call the consulate.

  His eyes widened upon hearing her speak. “Of course!” he replied in the same language. “It’s always a pleasure to converse with someone from home.” He led her to the back room and pointed at the phone on the wall. “Please, take as much time as you want. Would you like some Pão de queijo? They are fresh out of the oven.” The smile that reached his eyes was heaven-sent.

  Tia’s eyes went wide as the smell hit her. Food from home! “Yes, please,” she said. The owner smiled and hurried to the kitchen. The phone was standard, so she had no problem using it. The hard part came in remembering the phone number. She punched in what she hoped was the right number and waited.

  The line rang several times before someone picked up. “Hello?” Maybe the Spire had a receptionist, but Tia didn’t recognize the voice.

  Alarms rang in Tia’s mind. If it were her operation, she would have all the calls forwarded. She just had to hope Milton monitored any calls.

  “Milton, I need help.” She hung up the phone. Did they have time to trace it? Would the AI even—

  The phone rang. The high-pitched noise made her jump. She reached out and picked it up, saying a silent prayer that the Lord was looking out for her.

  “Tia! I’m so glad to hear you are okay, mum!” The upper crust English accent on the other end gave her no doubt that she was talking to Milton.

  “Oh, thank you, I was worried you wouldn’t be able to hear me in such a short time,” she said.

  “No worries, mum. I’m here for you. Now, let’s get you taken care of. Across the street is an electronics store. I’ve already placed an order for you. Wait fifteen minutes then go in and tell them you are Christine Chapel and that your father phoned in an order for you. When you leave, head north on Central and we’ll talk more.” The line clicked dead before Tia could ask any more questions. The AI was her only chance, she just hoped he knew what he was doing.

  The owner came back with a plate of mouthwatering balls of breaded cheese and an iced-tea for her to drink. She scarfed it down, thanked him profusely, and headed out the door.

  Back across the street she found the little store Milton had spoken of. Hardly more than a stall tucked in between two larger department stores.

  The bell on the door startled her as she walked in. There were half a dozen customers looking around. Tia spotted at least one tourist gingerly touching things while half paying attention.

  There were two people at the counter; she approached the young woman who had black hair like Amelia’s.

  “Hi, my name is Christine Chapel?”

  The girl’s eyes brightened. “Papa, Ms. Chapel,” she said. The man immediately left the customer he was speaking with and darted to Tia, his daughter trading places and rushing to attend to the baffled customer.

  “Ms. Chapel,” he said with a bright smile. “It’s an honor.”

  Tia was as surprised as the other customer. What could Milton have said to warrant this kind of response?

  “M— my father phoned in an order?”

  “Si, senorita. This way,” he said, raising the counter for her to pass. She followed him into the back room.

  “Here is everything he ordered for you. I must say, your father is very generous. Little Bonita had the best thirty minutes of her life buying these things for you. It was a strange request, but he paid for everything and gave us a thousand dollars on top of it. How could I say no to that?”

  “I’m very sorry for the inconvenience. Papa can be... cold sometimes.”

  He cocked his head to the side as he examined her. “Brazil?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Argentina. My mama immigrated when I was very young.” No one ever guessed her accent. A lifetime of living in Argentina had mangled her native Brazilian Portuguese—on top of learning Spanish, English, and German.

  He gave her a large smile. “Take your time. Mi casa es su casa.”

  He went back out the way they came. Tia looked around, wondering what he meant, when her eyes finally noticed the four bags from Nordstrom, along with two boxes, a phone and a pair of boots in the corner.

  “Milton... how in the heck did you do all this so fast?” With a giggle she dug into the bags. New clothes, top to bottom, along with a smartphone, sun hat, and shades to disguise her. The clothes were top of the line designer jeans that tucked neatly into her calf high boots. A sports bra, and a regular bra, which she side-eyed. How did the AI even know her size? Despite her suspicious thoughts it fit perfectly and held her in place better than any had before. After that a tank top, which stretched down to her thighs, followed by a light blue long sleeve Under Armour shirt that fit snuggly to her body. Somehow, Milton had known her sizes better than she did herself; these new clothes fit better than anything had in her whole life.

  The boots and hat went on last. She pulled the phone out of the box; it was already charged and programmed. She plugged the little Bluetooth earphone in and turned the phone on.

  Once she was back in the store proper, the owner smiled. “Ah senorita, you are the picture of modesty and beauty. See Bonita? Learn from this young woman. You don’t need to show skin to be pretty!”

  Tia blushed, her cheeks heating as she coughed and tried to hide it. She didn’t miss the scowl from the man’s daughter. “Well, uh thank you. I really do appreciate it,” she said.

  When she turned to leave the owner spoke. “Senorita, you are forgetting something.” He waved her closer and handed her a pre-paid credit card. “Ten-thousand,” he said in a whisper. “Don’t show that around, eh?”

  Tia smiled in disbelief. Ten thousand? What would she even do with that much money? “Thank you, sir, you are too kind.”

  “Think nothing of it. And please remember us for all your technology needs!”

  She waved goodbye before leaving.

  As soon as she exited
the shop two black sedans with government plates pulled up outside the little restaurant across the street. Tia put on her sunglasses, pulled her hat down and walked briskly north.

  Her phone beeped, alerting her to an incoming call.

  “Milton?” she asked.

  “Nah, you ain't so lucky.”

  “Tessa!” Tia almost cried for joy. Of all the wonderful people she’d met since joining Amelia, Tessa and Lux were the closest she had to best friends. “I thought they arrested you?”

  “Nope. I don’t do jail. Amelia promised me I would never have to go back if I kept my nose clean. I ain’t going back on no trumped-up charges, that’s for damn sure,” Tessa said in her high-pitched voice.

  To look at, Tessa was a tough woman, but her voice always made her sound like a little girl.

  “Listen, Tessa. The only reason I didn’t return to Argentina is I saw an assassin at the airport.” As she walked, Tia filled Tessa in on the situation.

  “Alright. Milton is listening in but he’s busy with some other problems. I’ll send you an address—meet me there. If there is a new crime syndicate in town, I know just who to ask.”

  “It’s really good to hear your voice,” Tia said.

  “You too, hon, you too.”

  ELEVEN

  Kate groaned as she rolled over on the hard ground. For the last eight hours they’d beaten, drugged, and tortured her. Nothing she wasn’t trained for, nothing she couldn’t endure for a little while. Despite the drugs they used to block her empathic powers, her superhuman physique healed her through the pain. That wouldn’t last though, since they weren’t letting her eat or drink.

  The beatings had gotten worse, then, out of frustration, they had moved to water-boarding. Her resistance to their truth serum and other techniques aggravated them into making mistakes. They assumed she would die here, and as time went on they spoke more openly. They had let it slip that this was Mexico, somewhere near the Arizona border. She also learned that there were at least twenty people here but the only one she knew had powers was Kronk. Dominguez was just the ‘talent.’