by Nick Pollota
“What were they after?” Raul asked pensively.
“The geological exhibit,” a petite blonde said, strapping on a fresh bandoleer of ammo clips. “Weird, eh?"
The last piece of the puzzle fell into place.
“The moonrock!” George and Henderson cried together.
Understanding brightened everybody's face. Yes, it all made sense now. In a never-ending quest to stir interest in space exploration, NASA would happily place one of their precious moon rocks on display at any public event.
Desperate for new personnel, the Scion had held an occult convention to try to recruit people. As an exhibit, they had gotten a moonrock. It was from another planet; high mystical energy there. But during the con, some poor werewolf had walked into a room to find itself in the direct physical presence of the Lunar Master. An event unprecedented in world history.
Which resulted in the ethereal explosion!
Damn straight. Surviving the blast, Scion members were transformed into intelligent werewolves and, justly so, saw this as their big chance to destroy the world.
“Henderson!” Gordon barked in a roar.
The young man saluted. “Sir?"
“Get that frigging rock out of the Museum pronto! Take Team Angel, a company of soldiers, some police, and the Air Force Rangers."
“Done!” the man cried and went off-screen.
“So what we have to do is find the person holding the moonrock?” Mindy asked, chewing on a callused thumb. “If we break contact between this person and the moonrock, the Scion will become human again?"
Her long hair flying, Kathi shook her head. “Nyet! Change permanent is."
George helped Donaher to stand. The molehill and the mountain.
“Doesn't every moonrock exhibit have a radio transponder hidden in the base of its display stand, so if somebody steals the rock, NASA can find the thieves and get the moon junior back?” asked the big Irishman.
That's my priest. Always thinking.
Hands clasped behind his back, Gordon turned expectantly.
“Accessing NASA files,” a technician calmly announced as he typed madly at a control console. “Transmission codes ... Frequencies ... triangulating with New York and St.Louis ... Got them! We've detected a radar anomaly 60,000 feet over Peoria.” Hand touched the earphone. “Our NORAD liaison reports that the anomaly vaguely resembles ... a building?"
A flying building?
“It's the Hadleyville hotel!” Gordon declared, throwing his hands at the ceiling.
Wow. Talk about a mobile headquarters. It probably held every big weapon they owned and the two thousand members. This was bad. If necessary, they could always just drop in on downtown. Take out a couple of city block at least.
“This was a short war,” the chief smiled. I don't remember him every doing that before. “It doesn't matter how heavily that building may be fortified, it can't be very nimble. Plus, we now know where their mage is. Inside, keeping it aloft."
Gordon turned. “Schwartz! Manchilde! Have our Naval shore batteries launch everything they have and blow that thing out of the sky. I want Tomahawks flying in five seconds."
“Aye, sir!"
A dozen mages screamed for them to stop at the same time.
“Why?” Gordon demanded angrily.
“Because of the death factor!” Raul stated, as if that clarified everything.
“Lord almighty,” a pale ThunderBunny whispered. “The death trauma factor!"
“What's that?” Mindy asked before I could.
With a tense expression, Kathi haltingly explained. If the person holding the moonrock was violently killed, the trauma of their own death would rekindle the initial reaction.
As understanding flared, I took over. “Converting everybody in the Chicago area into werewolves?"
“If the hotel was close enough. Yes."
Instantly creating four million more werewolves. Eek.
“Four million angry, intelligent downtown werewolves,” George corrected, smacking himself in the head. “Lord Almighty, Ed, there aren't that many silver bullets in existence to stop that big an army!"
“Welcome to the end of the world,” Jessica breathed.
“At least the end of humanity as the top link on the food chain,” Mindy corrected bitterly.
Raul gave her an eloquent elbow in the ribs.
This must have been their plan from the start. The Scion would be delighted if the Bureau shot down that hotel, it only served their purpose. And if we don't, they would drop it on Chicago with the exact same end result. Once again, we lose.
“Damned if we do and damned if we don't,” somebody muttered.
A power plant engineer peeked his head around a corner of the nuclear reactor. Goggle-eyed he stared at the magic window. With a glance, Jessica sent him scurrying off away.
“If the hotel is flying, why don't we add a few more fly spells and hurtle it into space?” suggested a passing centaur as he bounced along. Geez, buy some underwear, fellow.
Horace gave the matter due consideration. “Wouldn't work,” he declared. “The moment we started to augment their spell, the Scion would cancel it completely, and the hotel would crash immediately."
“And I bet they're not traveling in a straight line to Chicago,” George postulated, tightening his grip on the Masterson. “But, in fact, zigzagging across the country, going from one population center to another."
“Safeguarding their approach."
“Exactly."
It was good military strategy. Once more we were forcibly reminded that ruthless and amoral did not equate with stupid. And even if we shot them down over Rockville, or Sheyboygan, we'd still get a hundred thousand werewolves. Although, it was an option.
Horace started pacing. “What we need is an infiltration team to get inside the hotel and extract the werewolf with the rock.” He said it calmly, as though ordering a cheese sandwich. “But as this may also be a diversion, I'm sending only one team. Any volunteers?"
Hands, wings, mandibles, filled the room.
Thoughtfully, Horace gazed over this cornucopia of suicides.
“Alvarez, your team is the furthest west, thus the closest, and minutes count. Go stop that hotel."
Whee! Fun time. “Mission limitations?” I asked aloud.
“You have until O'Hare. The population density there is relatively thin. When the hotel reaches that point, we destroy it, even if you're still inside."
That was only to be expected.
“Plus, I will have NORAD prepare for a nuclear accident to occur at the airport to handle any residual werewolves created."
Fluttering into view, a fairy seemed perturbed. “Sir, won't the radioactive fallout from even a low yield atomic blast pollute Lake Michigan, contaminating half the water table of the nation?” she objected strongly.
“We'll have to chance it,” the chief replied gruffly. “I'd love to use a gas vapor bomb, but the prevailing winds are too strong."
George nodded in comprehension.
“What's a gas vapor bomb?” Donaher asked.
“Know how a leaking stove can blow up a house?” I asked. “This is the same thing, only on a military scale. Removes entire cities."
He whistled.
“Alert,” an old woman announced from a crystal ball. “A group of werewolves is attempting to open the gates of lower Hell."
“Send JP!” Gordon snapped. “He has diplomatic immunity down there. Tunafish, you have your orders! Get going!” The window went blank.
With a pass of her hand, Kathi dissolved the empty square.
“Conference!” I called and they gathered close. “Okay, how do we get there?"
“Teleport?"
“Never seen the inside."
“Gate?"
“Can't get a psionic lock."
“Grow wings and fly?"
“For this many people? It would drain us of magic."
“Use helicopter gunships?"
“From the Army o
utside? Now that's a good idea!"
“Gotta stop off at the limo first,” declared George. “To—"
And we were standing on the main access road, next to the limo, surrounded by military personnel.
“—get more ammunition,” George finished lamely. Hostily, he scowled at Raul. “Enjoy doing that, don't you?"
“Who me?” the mage said innocently.
“The choppers are on the way,” Jess said, looking at the dark sky with a hand on the glowing necklace.
Unlocking the trunk, I grabbed a satchel charge and slammed a fresh clip into the Barret.
We had a reservation at the Hadleyville Hotel.
* * * *
Five minutes later we were airborne, and airsick.
Resembling a hatchet blade with short wings, Apache helicopters were amazingly quiet. Sleek and fast, the trim military gunships could do a ground speed of 300mph, had more surveillance equipment than our old RV, were radar-resistant, had a low infrared signature, were armored proof to a 40mm shell, and had a 20mm electric machine gun in the nose. The stubby wings, unnecessary for flying, were only there to carry more weapons: three Sidewinder air-to-air missiles, three Maverick air-to-ground missiles, and two Blockbuster go-to-hell bombs, plus there was a 35mm rapid-fire mini-rocket-cannons on each side.
Unfortunately, the Apaches could only carry one passenger, two if we squeezed tight and sat on each other's lap, so the team had to split into four groups. A Bell & Howell Huey transport could have held us and the limo, but none were available. The perimeter guard originally had one, but it was still burning in the weeds.
Big on bottom, little on top, I got Jessica, thankfully. Kathi got George, Raul got Mindy, and Donaher was the cheese.
What?
He rides alone.
Ah.
Stuffed into the front gunner's seat, Jess and I had three windows to look out, rectangular in front and trapezoidal on the sides. I could only assume there was some intelligent reason for the design. The military was not big on aesthetics. A triptych of video monitors topped the complex control panel spanning the cockpit. The middle showed a perfectly illuminated view of the ground below, the left behind us, and the right above.
Cold and clear, the dark sky was full of twinkling stars. Flying in close battle formation, we could see the other three squat choppers moving swiftly and silently. Maybe not properly invisible, but damn close. Rapidly, we hurtled past the sparkling lights of O'Hare Airport and into the flat Illinois farmland.
The point of no return.
“How we doing?” I said to the microphone built into the control panel. The switches and dials were marked with abbreviated phrases such as: SygNob, RetVap and TacZer, so we weren't touching anything!
The pilot was aft, in a raised secondary cabin, completely sealed off from us. Both pilot and gunner could fly and shoot the craft. If one got wounded, the other took over. Plus, in an emergency situation, they could place the ship on autopilot and both cut loose with the weapon systems. It was an effective combination. Just ask Iraq.
“Doing fine,” the speaker said in smooth, undistorted tones. “Fuel good, all systems green, and according to the navigational coordinates I'm receiving from ChiTacOp, we'll be within strike range in ten minutes. Very close. How are you two sardines surviving?"
“It's hard,” Jessica said with a wiggle. “But we'll manage."
I pinched her. Stop that! This is business.
Tee-hee. Oh Mr. Alvarez, what a big gun you have! How many times can it shoot?
Sexual tension often ran high prior to a battle. It was one of the nicer perks of this job.
“We have contact,” the speaker announced. “I'm putting it on the doppler radar."
Removing Jessica's shoulder from my nose, I brushed aside her long hair and saw that the middle monitor was showing a vector graphic of the landscape moving below us. The luminescent green radar arm swept steadily about on a perfectly clear screen.
“See it? Sector four, mark 10 degrees."
“I'll have to take your word on it,” I admitted. Guess it takes a trained eye to operate this high-tech gunship.
And a lot of quarters.
“Sheridan, this is Patton,” crackled the speaker. “We have a confirm with Craig and Schwartzkoff on our boogey."
It's the other helicopters.
“Thank you dear,” I sneered. “Now, who's Craig?"
She gave a mental shrug. Some general guy.
“Roger the confirm, Patton,” the pilot spoke into his throat mike. “We are approaching go zone. Interlock guide beacons, assume formation Q, and begin primary countdown."
Not understanding half of what he was talking about, we still got the gist. Jessica and I scrambled to finish lashing weapons to our body harnesses. Geez, things sure move fast in the Air Cavalry.
“Ready,” the pilot said in calm tones. “Set ... and go-go-go!"
Hitting the ejector button, the door slammed aside, there was a bang under our seat, and we were thrown clear of the deadly flashing rotors.
Without parachutes, my team fell through the black sky.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The wind whistled past our ears, but before we even had a chance to activate our fly bracelets, the team hit velvet steel with stunning force. Urmph!
Dizzily, I shook my head to reboot my brain. Above in the starry sky, the black outlines of the Apache choppers were dwindling into the distance. Below was the landscape moving at a steady progression and around me was the moaning team lying on air.
Okay, we knew the hotel was invisible. But even after we landed on it? Good spell.
We haven't hit it yet, Jessica sent.
“We're not on the roof?” Father Donaher asked, arms and legs splayed as if in freefall.
Sitting upright, Raul stared at him agog. “Does it frigging feel like we're on the roof? This is a prismatic sphere! A kind of force shield, a magical bubble around the hotel."
“So how do we get through?” Mindy asked. The daredevil martial artist was standing on the empty sky.
Why did I arrest her, your honor? No visible means of support.
Shaddup.
“Depends. Better ask Kathi,” Raul said. “This is more her specialty."
I stared at our Russian mage. Ms. Sommers was waving fingers, weaving trails of light, and studying the results.
“Runes of defense!” she barked at last.
We waited for explanations. Tick, tick.
“Runes of defense, or defensive runes?” Raul demanded.
“What's the difference?” I asked.
“One cancels the effect of offensive weapons, but the other only repels the very physical presence of enemies to the caster."
“So one rune keeps out the weapon,” Mindy rationalized, “but the other holds off the people?"
“Yep."
“Defensive runes!” Kathi cried in triumphant.
“Cool,” George said popping a stick of gum into his mouth. “So which one is it?"
“Weapons!"
“Then people can get in?"
“Long as we don't have any weapons,” she declared. “And don't try to hurt the building!"
Good enough. “Dump ‘em!” I shouted, tossing my Magnums away. Hell, we didn't even have a coded battle phrase for this contingency to cushion the emotional shock. When had it ever been necessary for us to get rid of weapons?
Reluctantly, the team slowly began to disarm.
The Barret slid over an invisible hump and tumbled into the night. C4 satchel charge, HE grenades, signet ring, cigarette lighter, trick pens. I still wasn't going through. Ah, in my ankle holster was a Bureau derringer, and my pocketknife. Plus the Swiss Army knife.
Shrugging out of the harness and straps, Father Donaher dropped the flamethrower and it vanished like a lead safe. Followed by his shotgun, bane vest, wristwatch, pocketknife, pens, rosary garrote and Holy Water pistol. Smoothly, the priest sank out of sight. But then, priests travel light.
Biting
a lip in concentration, Jess dumped her taser, Uzi, ammo clips, grenades, pocket camera, watch, a couple of loaded hypodermic needles from her medical kit, two earrings, an inflatable pentagram, some pens, Swiss Army knife, and two bracelets.
Bracelets! That's why I hadn't gone through yet.
Stoically, George slapped and twisted the release buckle on his chest harness. Straps whipping wildly, the Masterson flew off.
Now that was going to cause damage when it hit ground. Boy, I sure hope we weren't over a playground or anything.
After a moment, George added the ammo belt, the Colt .45, a derringer, two knives, a switchblade, his wristwatch, some pens, brass knuckles and his hat.
His hat?
“Ed, I can't do it,” Mindy cried, tears running down her cheeks. She was hugging the scabbard of her sword with both arms.
Oh crap! This was an unforeseen development. Mindy would never release that sword. She had spent ten years of her life on a physical and spiritual quest to obtain the blade. I once saw her dive into a lake of boiling water just to retrieve the scabbard. Whatever the bond was between the sword and woman, it went beyond the boundaries of such mundane considerations as sanity, or common sense.
In a consolatory manner, I waved at her. “It's okay, Min. Everybody has limitations. Fly off and rendezvous with the choppers. Act as a relay and direct their actions if necessary."
Wordless, she nodded and drifted away on the winds.
Great, here we were stripped naked and we just lost our best bare-knuckled fighter. Some invasion force.
“Hey, how about you guys?” I shouted over the wind.
Raul snapped, “We're discussing it!"
Discussing what?
Who stays and who guards the other person's staff.
Oh no, a mage also?
Tick, tick. With a stone face, Katrina Sommers gave her staff to Raul. She tossed off her vest, a Swiss Army knife, some vials of potions, a bundle of envelopes containing powders, the bandoleer of wands, a pair of velvet gloves, and more bracelets than I could easily count. Kathi still wasn't passing, until she pulled down her jacket exposing a shoulder and her butterfly took to the winds.
The tattoo? Well, I guess it was offensive to purists.
Okay. Better strip ship myself. I threw behind my wristwatch, another speedloader for the Magnums, the lightning blast bracelet, the disintegrate and the flame lance. This left me with fly, jump start and teleport. Still here. I added my burglary kit and suddenly began to descend into an inky abyss which blotted my vision.... Until bright lights erupted as I dropped six feet to the roof of the hotel. Ouch. Standing painfully, I saw a silvery egg surrounding the building, the inside of the defensive field. Nearby, the rest of the gang was gathered around Kathi, who was using a pen to scratch the tar rooftop in front of a stout metal door. Hey! A weapon got through?