by Ryk E. Spoor
The weathered face acknowledged that with a hint of a smile. "Mr. Locke was forcibly employed by my organization, and when necessary we rein him in." He put the gun away. "Mr. Wood, as time goes on it appears that you continue to become more involved in things that impinge upon some of my organization's most sensitive operations. I would try to recruit you, but your operations here actually serve other purposes for us while they're kept separate. It has, however, become necessary for us to meet, and for both of us to get to know the other well enough so that we can, when necessary, cooperate and not work at cross purposes. The secrecy of my organization at least equals that of our opposition—some of whom you have already encountered."
I knew that Virigar himself had been a thorn in their side, but he seemed to be referring to something larger—organization-wise, anyway—and that didn't leave me many choices in possibilities. "Whoever sent over Ed Sommer and pals."
He nodded.
It clicked then. "Winthrope! She's not NSA or any of the regular organizations, she's with you!" I'd always had a nagging doubt about Jeri—which is why even in my thoughts I'd generally avoided tagging her real employers with a particular set of letters—because she'd seemed a bit too open and flexible over certain things.
"Told you he already had it down," the Jammer said.
The older man shrugged. "If he wasn't that quick, he would've been dead already. Yes, Mr. Wood, Jeri is employed by us."
"So you know pretty much everything."
"Everything you've told her or that she's seen," he said, correcting me. "I am quite certain there's material you have never told her."
"Okay." I got up. "C'mon downstairs. I want some coffee; I've been up all day and was going to go to bed."
They followed without comment, though the older guy accepted a cup while the Jammer went for a Mountain Dew. I turned to the older man finally. "If we're going to 'get to know each other' well enough, then let's stop tapdancing. Who are you people?"
"My name is James Achernar," he answered after a moment. "My particular task force is codenamed Project Pantheon, and is part of ISIS."
"ISIS?" I repeated. "The name's very, very vaguely familiar . . ."
"The International Security Investigation Section," the Jammer put in.
Now I remembered. It was an attempt (an abortive one, I had thought) to create a sort of multinational intelligence and espionage network for the United Nations, quite some years ago. Supposedly it was going to recruit operatives from many different nations and use them to gather information to prevent international disputes, resolve conflicts, and in general be a truth-checking organization with enough teeth to allow the UN to (at least on occasion) be able to tell who was really trying to hoodwink them and who wasn't. There'd been some discussion, preliminary appropriations and so on, but I had been certain that ISIS had gone the way of many a good idea whose time will never come. "Now that's interesting. I thought ISIS never really happened."
Achernar gave a small, very cold smile. "We prefer it that way. It nearly didn't, in point of fact, but a number of countries—at the time, the US and USSR foremost—recognized that despite various competing agendas we also needed some kind of independent group that would try its best to defuse problems that could be caused by smaller countries, terrorist organizations, and even large corporations. The result was an intelligence organization operating out of a non-profit front sponsored by the UN, whose full scope of powers and operations wasn't realized by anyone save the people who made it. All participating countries supplied authentic intelligence materials for their contributions—such as genuine IDs and so on—and were given certain controls to prevent their own contributions being used against them.
"Pantheon is a subdivision of ISIS, established shortly thereafter to deal with the most extreme and unusual intelligence situations."
"The X-files," I said.
He gave a wry smile. "Not precisely, although of late it has started to seem that way. We do have other problems that we deal with."
I studied him. "All right. Now, you said something to the effect that I seemed to be making a habit of getting involved in your stuff. Once obviously isn't a pattern, and I'd think even twice wouldn't make it certain, but I'm not able to find more than one or two possibles in my history. The recent conflict that involved me and Verne against that group from Vietnam appears to be one, and I suppose Virigar counts as another, since as Gorthaur he was busily chipping away at everyone in the intelligence agencies, but where's the 'habit' coming from?"
He gazed at me expressionlessly. Finally, he said, "I will not give you details at this time, but I will say that even from your first encounter with Verne Domingo you began to enter our business. And now that you've connected Jackie MacLain to his old family—"
"I should've known; your people are the ones hanging around Paula MacLain."
"Not just us," the Jammer said. "Them, too. The other side. Once you contacted her and someone started the paternity test, somehow they got alerted. Up 'til now the kids had gotten away with it—the baddies had lost track of them. Not any more."
"So who are they, then?"
Achernar and the Jammer exchanged glances. "At this point, you're better off not knowing," Achernar said, with the Jammer giving a reluctant nod. "I know you will find these kind of answers very unsatisfactory, but in the main it's true."
I sighed. "Look, if you're not here to give me info, just what do you want from me? And why all the futzing around instead of just setting up a meeting?"
He acknowledged my frustration with another faint smile. "To answer your second question, Pantheon doesn't really exist, so to speak. Currently, as far as any official sources are concerned, I am at a psychological convention attending various seminars, and tomorrow morning I will be presenting a paper of my latest research, no doubt to considerable controversy . . . though somewhat less direct mockery, thanks in part to your own Morgantown Incident making people more open-minded."
"Seminars . . . You're Dr. J. T. Achernar!"
His movement was the seated equivalent of a bow. "Correct."
"Now I start to understand. Your name was one of the more prominent ones I came across when doing paranormal research."
"I had good reasons for being willing to be open-minded myself," he said. "My research has provided few unambiguous results, of course, but as you may now suspect—"
"—part of that is deliberate." I finished. "If you made the wrong things public, it could get very dangerous for a lot of people."
He nodded. "As for what I wanted to accomplish by coming here . . . by letting you know exactly who was behind Jeri, I would like to make it easier for you to understand if we start sending hints in your direction. We may ask for help, through her, or you might get a request for an interview—perhaps even with Dr. Achernar—or in some other manner either request your assistance, or offer some subtle assistance of our own. But we have to avoid being visible. This is a shadow war, Mr. Wood. The world at large does not know of these kind of things—even after the werewolves. Many forces exist, some you would not believe, and many of them are in their own way quite willing to trigger a holocaust if they feel that their operations are threatened or about to be revealed."
Privately I had to hide a smile. I'm sure Achernar meant every word he said, but the truth was that after Verne's revelations, not only would I be able to believe just about anything, but I probably knew stuff that made everything Pantheon knew put together look like small change. "Well, I'm always willing to help. And I'm already kinda in your debt after the little assist you gave me with the IDs for Tai Lee Xiang."
Achernar nodded. "That was our intent, although as I said that connected to one of our own operations. Let me put it this way: I'd have arranged the same thing for him myself, whether you requested it or not, if I'd become involved. So don't feel it was a tremendous favor; you just gave us a chance to do something for the enemy of an old enemy."
I studied him narrowly. "And you're just going
to leave him and his kids alone? Not, um, 'recruit' them at some later time?"
"No government, and no agency—not even ISIS and Pantheon—can be trusted with them," Achernar answered.
"He's telling it straight," the Jammer put in. "Part of my job at Pantheon is to arrange for certain kinds of data to just plain disappear."
"I find it extremely hard to believe," I said, "that even the UN, in its best days, would like the idea that its own agents would be taking it upon themselves to decide what data should and shouldn't be reported up the chain of command."
"They wouldn't," Achernar said bluntly. "But my immediate superior created Pantheon specifically to be able to make such decisions. No, there isn't anything like that in the written files, but our meetings always at least touch on how much of what we learn is going to stay hidden in our own heads and how much will be reported up. Yes, we could all be arrested for treason or something similar if the truth somehow came out. Fortunately, our opposition generally wants the truth hidden even more than we do, so for the most part the only people who might ever be in a position to blow the whistle on us have a vested interest in not doing so."
I shuddered. "Mr. Achernar, no offense, but I can only hope to God that you'll never get a mole in your organization."
"We do our best. It may happen one day, but at the moment we have no better alternative; someone must deal with the problems we do, and at least thus far we have proven to be sufficient to the tasks at hand. Of course, your work with the Wolves eliminated the one actual threat of such infiltration we've ever had."
I had to admit that I'd missed that point. Virigar's poking through intelligence files actually made more sense now; he had, almost certainly, encountered something indicating Pantheon's existence and was trying to find out what various governments might know or guess. After his existence had been blown wide open and the CryWolf gadgets put on the market, he and his furry friends had to back out of that business, at least for a while.
"So in that sense you owe me at least as much as I owe you," I said finally.
"I'd agree with that," Achernar said. "In any case, I'd like you to memorize this number." He handed me a card with a phone number on it. I concentrated and committed it to memory by a few mnemonic tricks, handed it back. "If it ever becomes necessary for you to contact us directly, rather than through Jeri—she's unavailable, got herself killed, you're too far away—that will get in touch with me. But do not use it barring a true emergency."
"I won't. Obviously you already know how to contact me. Are you planning on trying to reach similar arrangements with Verne?"
That got a short laugh. "No, I don't think so. Mr. Domingo has his own game that he's been playing for a lot longer than any of us. If he needs our services, he'll ask for them, and there isn't anyone on earth that can demand his help." He looked at me. "Except his friends, of course, and I'm afraid that in my business you can rarely take the time to make friends."
There wasn't much to say to that, so I finished drinking my coffee. "Anything else? No offense, but I'm exhausted."
"Not at the moment. Our apologies for disrupting your schedule. With luck, you'll hear very little from us." He got up. "Oh, there is one more thing."
I glanced up.
"Congratulations."
I couldn't help but laugh. "My god, is there anyone who doesn't know I'm getting married?"
48
"Jason, Sylvie, please meet Father Jonathan Turner," Verne said.
I shook hands with the cheerful-faced priest. He looked to be a mere twenty-five, hair dark and curly, wearing the traditional uniform of his profession. "Pleased to meet you, Father."
"It's a genuine pleasure, Mr. Wood." Father Turner's rolling, English voice carried the warm, comforting tones that the very best priests usually have—a kind of voice that makes you willing to believe that God does speak through them sometimes. I'm not religious myself, but I recognize the dedication a real priest has to have. "And Miss . . . Sylvia." he went on, avoiding by himself the name pitfall that most people—including me—fell into when first meeting her. "Verne has told me a great deal about both of you. I understand you are looking for a priest who will be, shall we say, flexible in the ceremony while remaining acceptable to the more traditional elements of the wedding party?"
Sylvia smiled, obviously taking to him on first glance. "Exactly right. My mom and dad are old-style Catholic and if I don't have a Catholic wedding of some kind, they'll be worrying that I'm heading to Hell one way or another."
Father Turner smiled back and shook his head in a resigned way. "Not, I'm afraid, an uncommon state of affairs these days. Now, my dear, you were baptized Catholic, weren't you?"
Sylvie nodded. "Not practicing for years though."
"No matter. Would you be willing, both of you, to agree to teach any children you have in the Catholic faith?"
"How do you mean that?" I asked. "I'm basically agnostic—I'll believe in the Almighty when I see evidence for him—and you already seem to understand what Syl is."
"Let's put it cynically," he said, taking a seat across from us in Verne's living room. "As a representative of a Church that's coming under hard times, my job is to try to make it look more attractive than previous generations saw it. Sometimes you have to deal with people who are currently using the competitors' product, so to speak. Well, we don't win points with such people by insulting their choices, but on the other hand, if I'm going to perform a wedding, it's incumbent upon me to at least try to get a wedge in the door to increase our membership somehow. Yes, I generally get paid for doing the wedding, and that isn't something to be lightly brushed off, but I take my job seriously. If you'll agree to make sure that any children you have are exposed to the Catholic faith—taught the beliefs and values—I'm gaining something out of it. I'm willing to bet," he said, turning to me, "that you had almost no exposure to organized religion in your childhood. Am I right?"
I nodded. "A couple of Sunday-school attendances for reasons I can't even remember now, and some time at the Unitarian church when I was much older, but no, not much at all."
"And without you making a promise of this sort, your child or children would most likely follow a similar path—or be exposed only to Sylvia's faith or that of this decadent old bloodsucker," he said with a grin, hooking a thumb at Verne, who chuckled.
Syl and I were both startled by that; clearly Jonathan Turner knew a great deal about Verne!
"So at the very least I gain the potential of children who grow up knowing our system and aren't inherently hostile to it."
I glanced at Syl; she nodded, so I said, "I think we can agree to that. If you're not requiring us to only teach him in that faith, it's no problem."
"Jolly good; we should be able to get on famously." he said.
"Pardon me for asking," I said, "but just how do you come to know Verne so well?"
He was very serious all of a sudden; he looked at Verne for advice.
"It is entirely up to you, old friend," Verne said. "You know how much I trust them; let your reluctance be only personal. If you wish not to speak of such things, do not, but they are of my family, as though by blood."
"Quite, quite," Father Turner agreed. "It would be a long story, and I'm not sure how to tell it without either leaving out too much, or sounding as though I might be boasting in one way or another. Unless you would care to explain the essence of it yourself?"
Verne accepted the invitation, apparently feeling that some explanation was appropriate. "Jonathan is one of the accursed—taken by one of the vampires of Klein's type many years ago. He has, however, managed that which no other in my memory has done: opposed the curse's madness with will and faith, and maintained himself in a state of innocence. He has killed no one, hunts no human prey, and has seemed to become stronger because of it."
Father Turner seemed to blush slightly, though that reaction in such a being was hard to credit.
"Is this evidence for the truth of the Faith, Father?" Syl
vie asked.
He smiled sadly. "Of course I believe so, Sylvie. Yet I cannot deny that other priests—some at least as devout as myself—have over the years been preyed upon and fallen. God's will has helped preserve me, but I have no reason for Him having saved me while permitting others to be damned. And without such reason, I am afraid I cannot convince others that it is a genuine Miracle. Verne would have it that it was my own strength; yet I don't see myself as being so much stronger than others." He shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the thought, and I realized that with him there wasn't any false modesty; he sincerely doubted he was that strong. "I had friends and others who depended on me, and perhaps that, also, helped. Yet the same could be said for so many others. Still, having found my mind spared and my soul unstained, I realized that I must minister to those who had no others they dared trust. There are still some of the accursed who try, with all their will, to turn from the path the curse lays out for them, and so long as they try, I am there for them—as confidant, helper, and perhaps as an example that it can be done. This is the task Our Father has set before me, and at the least I can accept it knowing that it is a worthy goal, even if I myself am hardly equal to the burden." He took a breath and shook himself. "But enough of this. Let's talk about your wedding. I spend enough time fighting darkness, it is a positive joy to be able to work in the light."
I glanced at him. "Would that also be literally true? Because we'd like to have the ceremony during the daytime."
Jonathan nodded. "I can walk in the sunlight; the Lord has seen fit to bless me in certain ways, perhaps to help me in my mission. Our friend Verne, of course, is more than strong enough for such things."
"Goody," said Sylvie. "Then let's get down to planning the whole ceremony."
I looked around for some more snacks. This might take some time.
49
"But of course, Jason. Indeed, I would be honored. How long will it be?"