Seven Wonders

by Christopher, Adam

  "It's getting worse."

  The Cowl's words echoed across the chasm that separated him from his accomplice. As he stepped forward onto the bridge and into her spotlight, she noticed that he was holding his right arm across his chest, the hand hooked over his left shoulder. His walk was slow, hampered by a slight limp. But worse, perhaps, his cloak was missing entirely, the famous hood gone. Without it, the black skullcap and half-mask looked incomplete, unfinished.

  Blackbird leapt from the chair, rushing to meet the Cowl halfway across the gangway. His eyes were unreadable, hidden behind the lenses in his mask, but the corners of his mouth were downturned and twitched slightly as she looped an arm around his waist and led him back to the computer.

  "So where did he take you?"

  The Cowl reached for his chair and slumped into it, sending it spinning about its axis. He corrected the rotation against the computer workstation with his good hand, and let out a deep sigh.

  "Over the bay. He was fast… too fast. Knocked me out cold when he hit… hrmm…"

  The Cowl gingerly felt his side, palpating the skintight black spandex at the base of his ribs. He hissed when he found the sore point, but brushed Blackbird's hands away when she tried to help.

  "It's fine," he said. "Broken ribs on both sides. They'll heal overnight. I still have that power, at least. You got back OK?"

  Blackbird backed off and, standing straight, folded her arms. She nodded. "Used one of the emergency one-shot teleport buttons. The hired help should be back in Argentina, memories blanked. And what do you mean, 'they'll heal'? They shouldn't even break! How much have you lost?"

  The Cowl leaned forward, his face hidden from his partner. He breathed deeply, more in exhaustion than pain. She watched his shoulder muscles move underneath his bodysuit and realized she was still seeing the world in night vision. Responding to her thought, the bird mask switched back to the regular spectrum.

  "Fifty percent. Maybe sixty. I can get hurt now, but it heals, maybe a little slower than it used to. Not sure how much damage I can take. Strength is nearly all there I think. Transference gone."

  Blackbird swore and the Cowl looked into her round, expressionless goggles. She dropped to one knee, leather catsuit creaking, so her beak was almost touching the masked triangle of the Cowl's nose.

  "Transference? But you got into the bank as planned… How did you get back here? You didn't…?"

  "Walk?" He cut her off, then nodded and almost laughed. "Yes, I walked. It's a long way from the bay." The Cowl took Blackbird's delicate, thin hands, and curled his fingers through hers as best he could. His reinforced gauntlets were almost as thick as welding gloves and his left hand was wrapped tightly in a string of black rosary beads. Blackbird's fingers pressed sharply against them. He must have had a rough time if he'd got those out. She didn't understand it herself, but then there was nothing wrong with clinging to a comfort blanket, no matter what form it took. She preferred hers in a small glass with ice.

  "You walked?"

  "I can't fly anymore."

  "Can't fly?"

  "Nope." The Cowl looked up into the invisible dark of the cavern ceiling, as if he were replaying events in his mind. "When I came to we were well on the way to orbit. Up, up, and away! I get the feeling it wasn't intentional. He was holding on, tight, almost as if he was afraid to let go. But it wasn't me providing the power – he was the one doing the flying. I managed to turn and push him off, but we were high. Very high. He went out cold, must have been lack of oxygen, and let go. I think I blacked out too, for a moment."

  "And?"

  "And, my dear, it was a one-way ticket to ground zero. I couldn't fly. It was all him, whoever he is. If he survived the fall − we were up a good few miles."

  "The Seven Wonders?"

  The Cowl shook his head, then sat back and spun the chair around to the computer. Pulling the small wireless keyboard towards him, he idly tapped for a few moments, bringing up a variety of windows on the giant display almost randomly. Sensing he was deep in thought and not really paying attention to what he was doing, Blackbird reached over and placed her hand on top of his. He stopped typing, looked at her, almost startled, then smiled. She returned the expression, forgetting her mouth was hidden from view.

  The Cowl's smile dropped. "Did you get a look at him? He was one of the customers. I know the Seven Wonders. We both do. It wasn't Linear. Too short. And I don't think I recognized any of the others in the bank. You?"

  Blackbird sat on the lip of the desk. "No, I was preoccupied playing Universal Soldier. We should use machine guns more often. They're fun." She giggled, the sound echoing metallically through the filters in her mask. The Cowl chuckled, but stopped quickly and wrapped a hand over his side as he coughed.

  "Oh, don't make me laugh. You won't like me when I laugh."

  He resumed his one-handed tapping at the keyboard; four keystrokes later, a new folder opened on the gigantic screen. The Cowl leaned forward, just a little.

  Blackbird watched him for a moment, tapping the panel beneath her.

  "What happened to the cloak?"

  "It weighs a ton when it's wet. I dumped it upstairs. You been busy?"

  Blackbird stood, and moved behind the Cowl's chair. Reaching around the wide, winged back, she rested her hands on his shoulders and her chin on his head. Her voice fell to a whisper.

  "Oh yes. We've received the second transmission. Two to go and we'll be able to plot the coordinates exactly. I've also extracted the data from that."

  She pulled his chair around and pointed it off to the right. Ahead, on a third shadowed platform apparently floating above the cavern's abyss, was a long table surrounded by medical equipment. On the table lay the mortal remains of Mr Ballard, late of the California Cooperative Bank. The man's head was missing.

  The Cowl swiveled the chair around to face Blackbird. She reached forward, behind his neck, and tugged. The Cowl's skullcap and facemask came off in her hands; his eyes were bloodshot, with dull purple bruises around the sockets. Blackbird ruffled his hair and he smiled.

  "Mask-hair, sorry."

  Blackbird reached behind her own neck, running her fingers down a concealed seam. The black beak in front of her facemask sagged forward, and she pushed the mask up and off. She dangled it from the strap on two fingers and blew her short fringe from her eyes.

  "Me too," she said coyly. "But when we rule the world, we won't need masks, or secret identities. Two more transmissions and we've won."

  The Cowl's smile creased his eyes into thin slits. Oh, she loved that. Blackbird let her mask drop to the floor and pulled a glove off before running her naked finger over his stubbled cheek.

  "Come on, we need to get ready. We've a big night ahead."

  "Oh, that I do not doubt, Blackbird."

  He smiled, and she smiled, and they leaned towards each other, supervillain and sidekick locking together in a deep kiss.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Joe spilled his coffee, swore under his breath, and said hello to Gillespie.

  The coffee station was mostly in darkness, the main overheads off but with just enough light leaking through from the open-plan precinct office to enable the safe preparation of hot beverages. Joe smiled weakly as Gillespie paused in the doorway, keeping outside of the mini-kitchen but fixing Joe with a look that wasn't entirely friendly.

  "How did I know you'd still be here?" Gillespie's eyes returned to his cell phone, the four-inch screen lighting his face from underneath like he was about to recite a campfire ghost story.

  Joe turned back to the sink, mind racing as he set about attempting a second cup of coffee. Not quite able to multitask to the required degree, he ended up tipping his own fresh cup down the sink. He paused, resisted a sigh, and peered at the faint, worn LEDs on the coffee robot on the countertop next to him. He cleared his throat and spoke to the wall.

  "Y'know, in some lines of work, a bit of unscheduled overtime is considered to be a good thing."

  He h
eard Gillespie chuckle to himself, and, confidence buoyed, turned to follow up his joke quickly – and naturally, he hoped – but the captain's attention was back on his phone.

  Joe sighed again. Gillespie's eyes flicked up to him, their whites green from the LCD light, then back to the phone. The captain began texting while talking. Now there was multitasking.

  "It's considered a good thing in this police department too, detective. Except when it's a Friday night and you're hiding in the dark, which means Sam's here using the taxpayers' electricity for work which isn't on her books." He paused and his phone bleeped as the mystery text message was sent. When he looked back at Joe, it was with that look. Head tilted down, Gillespie peered up at his detective through thick black eyebrows knitted together into a single featureless furry spacebar.

  "Uhh…"

  "She at her desk, or have you stalled me long enough for her to get to the ladies' while I go to my office, grab some paperwork, and get out? Is that how it works?" Gillespie waved his hand at the sink. "Is the coffeespilling something to do with it? You running interference, detective?"

  The captain took just a step into the coffee station, glanced around the perfectly serviceable − if simple − area and gave a snort of derision. Joe knew that it was nothing to do with the mini-kitchen and its amenities, or lack thereof. Gillespie made his coffee here just like anyone else during the day.

  This was establishing his seniority, his authority.

  "Uhh…"

  Joe wasn't good at this, but then he was a little surprised that Gillespie knew what the game was anyway. Fuck. Who was he kidding? A John Le Carré spy novel this was not.

  "I don't want to hear it." Gillespie abruptly turned and headed towards his enclosed office. "It's the weekend. I'm going to play golf. I'm only here to take some papers so I can pretend I'm important to my wife. If you guys are into some kind of kinky career-retardation fetish, I cease to give one shit. Goodnight, detective."

  Joe followed his boss out into the office; Sam was nowhere in sight, but her computer monitor cast a white spot of light on her empty chair, and her traditional green-shaded desk lamp was on.

  Shit.

  "Sir, I…"

  "You need to learn to quit while you're ahead, detective." Gillespie kept walking, shaking his head. "If I remember this on Monday morning I'll call you to the principal's office. But just make sure you get him. I don't care if it's for mass murder or tax evasion, bring me something to pin on the Cowl and then we'll take it to the Seven Wonders to handle. We're their guests next week, don't forget. You got that, detective?"

  Joe nodded, fresh cup of hot coffee in one hand and heart racing in his chest. Gillespie turned and looked his detective up and down, then sighed and walked out, banging the door to his office closed behind him. A second later the bubbled glass of his partition lit brightly as the captain began shuffling papers on his desk. Joe squinted and looked away.

  "Safe?"

  "Safe."

  Sam's blonde hair appeared around the edge of the short corridor leading to the bathrooms. She looked confused for a second, then her eyes widened as they traced the source of the light to the captain's office. "Fuck!" She pulled back around the corner a little. "I thought you said it was safe?"

  Joe sighed, and shook his head. "Chill, detective. He knows."

  The lights in the captain's office snapped off, and Gillespie strode out. He glanced at Joe as he passed and then at Sam, frozen in the doorway. He paused for a second, gave her a curt nod, then kept walking.

  "Milano can fill you in. Have a good weekend."

  And then the captain was gone; Joe and Sam had the office to themselves once more.

  Sam slowly made her way back to her desk and sank into the chair.

  "Fill me in?"

  Joe rolled a nearby chair over, sat heavily and leaned back, stretching his legs out. Arms behind his head, he whistled without a sound and looked at the ceiling.

  "He says we can get him if we take our investigation to the Seven Wonders."

  Sam's jaw worked up and down for a second or two as she processed the information.

  "Since when are the Seven Wonders interested in what goes on in this city?" She paused. "And since when is the chief interested in cooperating with them?"

  "Hey," said Joe, his arms collapsing onto his lap. "Don't you get it? Gillespie just gave us the go. We're attending that civic thing next week. They'll all be there, so let's gather the case up and make sure we have something to present."

  Sam looked at him blankly. Joe sighed.

  "Come on, Sam, we have a chance here. For the first time in months. This might be the so-called SuperCrime department, but we're redundant, our services mostly farmed out to Homicide or other places that actually need good detective work when we're not just pulling yellow tape around another of the Cowl's battlegrounds. And it might be our last chance. If we blow this, Gillespie isn't going to let it slide any longer. The Seven Wonders may be ineffectual but they're the city's official guardians. And they were good once, remember? Hell, they were great – the best."

  Sam nodded, slowly. Joe watched her for a moment. Finally, she got it. Sink or swim, do or die. Joe quite liked his SVPD pay check and wasn't too keen to lose it. And if that meant taking everything to the city's resident superteam, then so be it.

  "OK."

  Sam shifted her monitor around a little, waving Joe in.

  "Look at this."

  Joe swung forward, the rollers of the office chair banging loudly on the floor. It was late. It was Friday. Tomorrow was Saturday. He wanted a drink. And something to eat. And some sleep. And to watch ESPN. And to generally have a life. Then he looked at Sam's face, alive with concentration, focus, passion. Another all-nighter digging into the SVPD files on the Cowl, filling Sam's own private file on the supervillain. A private file that now had possibilities.

  On their own, he really wondered what Sam thought she would be able to do. Locate his lair, reveal his true identity, present the case without Gillespie's knowledge, and force the Seven Wonders into action? The captain had been right there, at least. The city's superteam may have been a mostly invisible, idle presence for years, but there was no way in hell the SVPD could do anything about the Cowl. The supervillain was untouchable. It'd be like handcuffing God.

  As much as he hated to admit it – as much as he knew Sam refused to believe it – they needed the Seven Wonders on their side. They had no choice.

  "So, we got something we can run with? Something new?"

  Sam nodded, and smiled. The shock of Gillespie's visit forgotten, the old excitement was returning. The Cowl really was her reason for being a cop. Joe glanced at the tiny portrait frame on Sam's desk. She never mentioned him when they were working, but David was an invisible presence, always at Sam's shoulder. Joe felt it – he and Sam had a partnership, an understanding about not just the job, but about life. Sam didn't talk about David because she didn't need to. Not even on the anniversary of his death, which… Fuck it, it was the day of the bank job. Joe sighed and pulled back a little out of Sam's light, but his partner didn't notice. Or if she did – she was a mighty fine detective, after all – she didn't show a damn thing.

  "I've pulled the CCTV from the bank. Here's our mystery man."

  Joe squinted at the monitor. Like all CCTV recordings, it seemed, the tape from the bank was black and white and fuzzy. Sam tapped the screen over a young man with dark hair kneeling beside another hostage. The man was glancing left and right, shifting slightly on his knees.

  "There's no match on our system for our new speedster."

  Joe frowned. "Are you going to ask them about this guy?"

  "Leverage. They'll want to see this, and maybe we can use it to get some cooperation out of them."

  "Do you think he is Linear?"

  Sam leaned back. "If he is, knowing his face is a card in the hand for us. If he isn't, they'll be spitting tacks. Either way, they might start taking us seriously."

  Joe whis
tled again. "Blackmailing the superteam. Nice plan, detective."

  Sam laughed, then closed the CCTV and brought up the SVPD's CRIMESCENE database. A saved search displayed a series of mugshots, arranged in a tiled display. Sam had stacked files on a dozen recorded criminals. Joe couldn't see any connection in the collection of faces − black, white, Asian, all male, some young, most old.

  "I ran a new keyword search," she said. "Check it out."

  "You think one of these could be the Cowl?"

  Sam smiled. "You bet. Here, listen."

  Joe leaned forward, eyes on the screen. It was going to be a long night.