by Dan Willis
Grinding his teeth, Alex dropped the gun and pulled out his rune book. He paged through it one-handed, looking for something that might help. Any rune would do, one that could incapacitate the Germans or punch through the metal roof.
The metal roof.
Alex paged to the back of the book where the little pocket had been sewn under the back cover. He usually kept business cards or important loose papers here, but since he had to come out to this tower so often, he’d also taken the precaution of placing his two identical rune papers in there. Holding the book with his teeth, Alex pulled out the folded papers. Just as he got them free, he lost his grip on the rune book and it fell into his lap. Alex ignored it, fumbling with his thumb to open the folded papers. His left arm was beginning to throb in time with his heartbeat and somewhere south of the tower a flying bomb was about to fall on Sorsha.
He was running out of chances and time.
Dropping the rune papers in his lap with the book, Alex picked up the German’s gun and thumbed the button that would release the magazine. Setting the gun aside, he picked up the magazine and popped out the remaining bullets with his thumb. Once it was empty, he set the magazine next to the pistol and put a rune on each one, lighting them with his squeeze lighter.
“Nicholson,” he called, dropping the magazine into his coat pocket. “You still there?”
“For all the good I’m doing,” the detective called back.
Alex pushed himself up to one knee, then picked up the gun.
“Cover me,” he yelled.
A moment later the Thompson barked, and Alex leapt to his feet and ran. He was heading for the breaker box that was between the transfer pedestal and the stairs. As he ran, he held up the pistol and fired, using the lone shell remaining in the chamber.
The Thompson started up again but stopped almost as quickly. The detective had just run out of bullets.
Alex slid into the shelter of the breaker box like DiMaggio stealing second, trying his best not to roll onto his wounded arm. The German at the top of the stairs must have realized that Nicholson was empty because he opened up on the box, peppering it with bullets. Several of the rounds penetrated the flimsy metal of the box but none managed to hit Alex.
“Nicholson, get this guy off me,” Alex yelled.
In response, Alex heard his shotgun boom and the rattle of buckshot peppering the staircase. Knowing the gunman above would have flinched from the blast, Alex leaned around the box and tossed the borrowed gun onto the bottom step of the spiral stair.
The German fired but missed as Alex pulled back into the shelter of the breaker box. Pulling the empty magazine from his pocket, he tossed it underhand. The magazine flew toward the power transfer pedestal, dropping down into the ruins of the glass case.
Alex didn’t wait to see the results. He took off running for the center of the room. A single shot rang out from the stair…and then the magazine landed on one of the silver transfer plates.
A sound like thunder boomed through the power room followed by the sizzling sound of arcing electricity. From above came the sound of screaming men, a sound that was cut mercifully short, though it was followed by the nauseating smell of burning flesh.
Alex took shelter behind the transfer pedestal again. Above him, the metal magazine he’d thrown sizzled and popped.
“What did you do?” Nicholson said, stepping tentatively out from behind the shelter of the wall.
“I connected the gun to the empty magazine with a rune,” Alex said, cradling his wounded arm as he stood. “The stairs, the roof, and the observation deck are all conductive metal, so once I threw the gun on the stairs and the magazine into the transfer box, all the electricity passing through this tower was diverted there.”
The detective shouldered the shotgun and shook his head.
“You think that got the radio too?” he asked.
“Probably,” Alex said with a shrug. “We’d better make sure though.”
“How do we turn off the power?”
Alex looked around, but most of the construction debris had been removed.
“Shoot it off,” he said, pointing to the dancing and crackling magazine.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Andrew Barton’s voice interrupted.
Alex spotted the man himself standing by the staircase wearing a gray suit with a bright blue tie. Clearly he had just teleported in.
“Did Bickman get hold of you?” Alex asked, relieved to see the sorcerer.
“No,” Barton said, crossing the room and reaching into the transfer case. He pulled out the burned and twisted remains of the gun magazine. “I have spells on this tower that let me monitor the power flow. Whatever you did with this,” he held up the magazine, “caused a significant disruption.” He leaned around Alex to look at the dead man on the floor, then looked up to where a burned and smoking arm hung down from the stairs. “I think you’d better catch me up to what’s been going on.”
“That’s a German spy,” Alex said nodding at the burned arm. “They’re using a radio to disrupt a top secret military test at Fort Hamilton. They know that the Secretary of War is attending, and they probably have agents in place to kill him if their interference fails. Sorsha is there, but they know that, so they probably have spell breakers with them.”
Barton took that all in stride as if such things were perfectly ordinary.
“Right,” he said when Alex finished. “First thing is to warn Sorsha.”
“What about the radio?” Nicholson asked.
“The amount of electricity Alex sent through my new roof would have fried it for certain,” Barton said. “But it’s safe now, so why don’t you go make sure?” He reached into thin air like Sorsha did and pulled a large, full-length standing mirror into existence in front of him.
“Isn’t that the mirror we used to trick Ethan Nelson into confessing to Dolly Anderson’s murder?” Alex asked, recognizing the monstrosity.
“I liked it so much I bought it off the Schuberts,” Barton said as he tapped the glass with his finger. “Sorsha darling?” he said. “I need to speak with you privately and I’m afraid it’s rather urgent.” He paused, then tapped again. “I don’t want to alarm you, dearest, but your boyfriend has been shot.”
“Hey,” Alex protested. While it was true, Barton was making it sound worse just to get Sorsha’s attention, something she would no doubt blame Alex for.
A popping sound emanated from the mirror and Sorsha’s face appeared.
“Is Alex all right?” she demanded, and Alex was glad to hear the tone of worry in her voice.
“Thank you for confirming my suspicions about your relationship with my runewright,” Barton said with a chuckle.
Sorsha’s look went from worry to annoyance in less than a heartbeat.
“You are not amusing,” she growled. “Is Alex all right or not?”
“Well,” Barton said, looking at Alex. “It looks like someone winged him, but I imagine he’ll be fine. The important thing is that he says someone is going to try to kill the Secretary of War during whatever test you’re watching.”
“How did…” she began, then just shook her head. “Alex,” she continued. “Of course you know the top secret things I’m doing. That said, my charge is quite safe.”
“No,” Alex said, stepping up to the mirror. He quickly explained about the sabotaged radios and the Nazi spies. “I went to the Navy first,” Alex went on. “Admiral Tennon believed me but when he called for his car, a Navy Shore Patrolman shot him dead. He had the same German cigarettes on him.”
“You think the Nazis have an agent here as well,” Sorsha said, following Alex’s train of thought. “Either among the Army personnel or on my FBI team.”
“Almost certainly,” Alex confirmed.
Sorsha’s face grew stony. She’d never really gotten over that her trusted confidant, Agent Carl Warner, had been a German agent.
“All right,” she said, looking up at something. “The test is happening now.
I’ll secure everything here, then I’ll come to you.”
Her image disappeared from the glass before Alex could reply and Barton touched the mirror, causing it to vanish.
“Everybody’s dead up here,” Detective Nicholson said as he made his way back down the spiral stairs.
“What about the radio?” Alex demanded. “Was it destroyed?”
“Not yet,” Nicholson said with a grin. “But it is on fire.”
29
Crimes of Passion
Since there weren’t any chairs in the power room, Alex sat with his back against the cement pedestal that held up the transfer plates. His arm was killing him, but the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. He was pretty sure that the bullet had removed a good chunk of his bicep because even though he was cradling it with his good arm, any time he shifted even a little bit, it exploded with pain. It hadn’t hurt like that when he was trying to stop the Nazis, but adrenalin was good at masking pain.
“All right, Alex,” Barton said, as he finished checking the breaker boxes. “Most everything is back up and running, so now let’s get you to a hospital.”
Alex shook his head, which, on reflection, was a bad move because his arm twinged with the movement.
“Sorsha said she’d be here as soon as she’s done securing Woodring.”
“Aw,” Barton said with mock concern. “It’s adorable that you want to cripple yourself to make sure your girlfriend is okay. She’s a sorceress, Lockerby. She’ll be fine.”
“Go get Dr. Bell,” Alex growled, mostly because of the pain in his arm. “He’ll fix this up better than any hospital.”
Barton sighed and shook his head.
“I guess if you weren’t a stubborn ass, we wouldn’t get along so well,” he said. Then he closed his eyes and vanished.
“You sure that’s the best idea?” Detective Nicholson wondered, sitting down next to Alex. “I could have sent Sorsha after you and I don’t need you when the Captain gets here.”
“I’m worried,” Alex confessed. “I know she’s an all-powerful sorceress, but so do the Nazis. Whoever they’ve got inside Fort Hamilton will have a plan to take her out.”
“There’s nothing you can do about that,” Nicholson pointed out.
Alex grimaced as his arm throbbed, then he nodded.
“Did you ask about the code Alice Cartwright used when you spoke to the Navy?” Nicholson asked, attempting to change the subject.
Alex was grateful for the distraction. Taking a slow breath to keep the pain of his arm in check, he relayed Commander Vaughn’s explanation of a complex shift cypher. When he finished, Nicholson just stared at him for a minute.
“So to figure out what the letters say,” Nicholson said at last, “we need a master code.”
“Yep,” Alex said.
“And that code is just a string of numbers?”
Alex nodded again, then grimaced as his arm moved.
“And since Alice and her co-conspirator were spies, they wouldn’t write this code down, would they?” Nicholson went on. “So it would have to be something they could remember.”
“Probably.” Alex said. The pain in his arm seemed more acute than before and he was regretting not going with Barton.
“Alex?” Sorsha’s voice called out from somewhere behind the pillar.
At the sound, Alex felt the tension leaving his muscles. He hadn’t realized how much they’d clenched, but it explained the increasing pain in his arm.
“Here,” he called.
The sound of the sorceress’ heels clacked on the floor and she came around the pillar. She wore an elegant suit and skirt of light gray, but the suit was marked by dirt and what looked like blood.
“You all right?” Alex asked, looking from the blood on her jacket to her face. There was a smudge of dirt or grease across her cheek and forehead.
She ran a critical eye over him, pausing at the sight of the blood leaking through his trouser leg and his cradled arm. Relief that he was all right and anger that he’d been wounded warred across her perfect face for a moment.
“Better than you,” she said, giving him a thin smile. “You’re supposed to use the coat with the shield runes on it.”
“I did,” Alex said with a laugh he regretted instantly.
“You need to be less careless,” she admonished, squatting down to his level. “Now take a deep breath and I’ll get you to Iggy.”
“Barton went to get him,” Alex said, with a small shake of his head. “They should be back any minute.”
As if on cue, there was a popping sound and Barton and Iggy appeared a few feet away.
“Miss Kincaid,” Iggy said, giving Sorsha a nod. “I’m glad to see you’re here. I’ll tend to you as soon as I’ve got Alex squared away.”
Sorsha looked confused, then looked at the blood on the lapel of her jacket.
“None of this is mine,” she said, standing back as Nicholson got up.
Iggy squatted down like Sorsha had done, running a practiced eye over Alex.
“How bad is your arm?”
“Bullet took a chunk out,” Alex admitted.
Iggy’s jaw clenched and he blew out an exasperated breath.
“Open up,” he said, pulling a small vial of brown glass from his pocket. He pulled out the stopper and upended it over Alex’s open mouth. As expected, it tasted vile, but as soon as the liquid hit his stomach, the pain in his arm lessened.
“I need my vault,” Iggy said. He indicated Barton and Nicholson. “Get him up and follow me.”
“There’s a chalk outline in the hallway by the elevator,” Alex called as Nicholson grabbed his good hand.
Barton reached out and touched Alex’s shoulder and he felt his body begin to float as if he’d been suddenly immersed in water.
“Pull him up gently,” Barton said, and Nicholson gave Alex’s hand a firm tug.
Alex floated up and once he got his feet under him, Barton removed the effect. Moving carefully, he headed for the chalk door with the others in tow. By the time he arrived, Iggy had his vault open and he led Alex through his grand foyer to the room that contained his surgery.
“How long?” he growled as he helped Alex out of his torn and bloody coat.
“Twenty minutes,” Alex gasped as the sleeve slipped over his arm. “Maybe twenty-five.”
“That’s cutting it close,” Iggy said. “Lie down.”
Regenerating wounds was a costly process involving a major restoration rune and some rare potions, but it wasn’t really all that complicated. The real problem was time. After about thirty minutes, the effectiveness of a regeneration treatment began to go down quickly. By thirty-five minutes, it wasn’t worth the bother. After that, all that could be done was to regrow the damaged tissue, which would take weeks and be fairly painful.
Alex knew this, of course, but he’d been more worried about Sorsha than he cared to admit. Sorcerers tended to think of themselves as invincible thanks to their magic, but they could be killed just like anyone else if the prospective assassin was determined enough. He’d seen Sorsha shot once before. When that happened, the pain kept her from accessing her magic, which left her helpless. Without her magic, the powerful, intimidating sorceress was just a pretty young blonde.
“Cut his shirt off,” Iggy said from his workbench where he was setting out several potions in a line.
Barton picked up a pair of surgical scissors from an instrument tray and proceeded to cut the arm off Alex’s shirt, then open it up for easy removal. When the wound in his bicep was exposed, Sorsha gripped his free hand tightly.
Alex hadn’t realized that she’d taken his hand, but he wasn’t going to complain. Whatever Iggy had given him was making his perception fuzzy and indistinct.
“All right,” Iggy said, crossing back to the table. “Hold still.”
Several hours later, Alex sat in the reading chair in his vault. His arm was done up in a sling, but that wouldn’t be necessary for very long. The regeneration hadn’t worked
as well as Iggy would have liked, but it would be finished in another couple of hours and Alex’s arm would be as good as new.
The potion he’d given Alex for pain had mostly worn off, but it left him tired and dozing as he sat. He hadn’t wanted to sleep, so he’d insisted on sitting there. He’d wheeled the rollaway cabinet next to his writing desk over to stand beside his chair. The cabinet held his telephone and intercom, and both had a spool of wire that allowed them to be moved.
Iggy had put the boiler stone in the fake fireplace opposite the reading chair and it was giving off a very pleasant warmth that kept threatening to lull Alex to sleep. His mind, however, wouldn’t allow that. While Iggy was patching him up, the police had arrived at the relay tower and Nicholson had to go and explain what had happened.
Barton’s spell alarm had pulled him out of a meeting in Washington, so he had to leave as well. Sorsha had stayed until Iggy finished, but then she had to get back to her security detail and so she had vanished as well.
With no one to talk to, Alex sat, turning the day’s events over and over in his mind. He kept trying to find a better way, something he could have done differently that wouldn’t have cost the life of his friend, Admiral Tennon. If he’d noticed the suspicious workmen, maybe the security guard from the tower would still be alive.
You can’t change the past, Iggy’s voice came out of his memory, all you can do is learn from it.
But the only lesson he could glean from his experience was to be smarter, and he wasn’t sure how to do that.
As he sat, lost in his circular musings, the phone rang. Since it was a candlestick phone and he only had one arm, he moved the phone over onto his reading table, then picked up the receiver and held it to his ear.
“Lockerby,” he said, leaning down to the mouthpiece.
“I just wanted to let you know that I just arrested William Masters,” Detective Nicholson’s voice came over the line.
“So it was him who told the Germans about the weapons test?”
“No idea,” Nicholson said. “No one will tell me anything about that. I arrested him for murdering Alice Cartwright. Those letters she had in her safe were love letters. Toward the end he starts promising to divorce his wife, and it’s clear Alice stopped believing him. From the context, I’m guessing she threatened to expose the affair, and he had to silence her.”