by Siegel, Alex
Jermaine kicked Hammer in the gut hard enough to lift him off his feet. Hammer punched Jermaine in the shin, crushing the bone. Jermaine hopped back with the bottom of his leg flopping loosely. His face was twisted with pain.
Hammer opened his eyes and charged. Jermaine desperately flashed a disorienting pattern of colors, but Hammer was so focused it did no good. He landed a blow in Jermaine's gut that seemed to push all the way through to the spine. Jermaine was thrown backwards.
"Stop!" Ethel yelled. "Manhattan wins!"
Smythe and Odelia ran over to Jermaine. Smythe immediately pushed his hands into Jermaine's abdomen and felt around. The liver was ruptured, the pancreas had burst, and there was a huge tear in an intestine. Fluids were mixing that had no business being together. Jermaine was minutes away from dying of massive internal hemorrhaging.
"I'm going to need full power," Smythe said.
"You got it," Odelia said.
She put her hands on Jermaine's chest, and her whole body began to glow. Smythe could feel the extra warmth through his own arms. It was intoxicating.
The race was on. Smythe repaired torn tissues as quickly as he could while Odelia kept Jermaine on life support. It was hard for him to die when she was supplying so much extra energy to him.
Smythe finished the major surgery after a few minutes. He flushed the clotted blood and other problematic fluids into Jermaine's bowels so they could be expelled naturally.
Smythe pulled his hands out. "All done."
"What about the leg?" Odelia said.
"Oh, right."
Smythe went to work on Jermaine's shin. The bone had been pulverized, and Smythe had to mold the fragments together like they were clay. He tried hard to get the shape exactly right, but he wasn't much of a sculptor. Jermaine would have an odd lump or two in his shin for the rest of his life, but he would walk normally.
Finally, Smythe sat back. Jermaine stood up, but his balance was unsteady.
"Are you OK?"
Jermaine nodded. "I think so. That was pretty rough."
"You had a close call."
"I could tell. You guys are amazing." Jermaine looked at Odelia. "If there's anything I can ever do for you, just let me know."
"Just do your job," Smythe said, "and stay alive. That's all the thanks we need."
Jermaine smiled. "I will." He moved away.
Ethel stood up and announced, "Manhattan is today's champion, but there is possibly one more match. Guthrum has requested the honor of fighting Hammer."
Hammer widened his eyes in surprise.
"It's your decision," Ethel said. "There's no shame in declining the invitation, and I certainly won't hold it against you. Guthrum just wants to have a little fun."
"I've never seen him fight, ma'am. I don't know what he can do."
Ethel walked over to Hammer. Smythe wondered what would happen if those two fought. She was so ridiculously fast it was almost impossible to touch her. However, Hammer would only need to land a single blow.
"When I became legatus legionis of North America," she said, "the other six legates in the world sent a gift to congratulate me. Each was unique and special. The legate of Europe sent Guthrum to be my bodyguard, and I'm thankful every day. A woman in my position needs the best protection available."
She smiled at Guthrum and he came over. He wore the robes of an ordinary legionnaire, but somehow he made them look more elegant than usual. He was taller than everybody else in the room, or maybe he just seemed taller. The veins on his bald head were like a roadmap. Spiked steel gauntlets on his hands gleamed with a mirror finish.
"Can he talk?" Hammer asked.
"Yes, but it's hard for him. He can't get the words in the right order." Ethel put a hand on Guthrum's arm. "This man moves through time a little differently than us. It's not quite linear for him. His extraordinary gift is hard to understand, but one thing is clear. He is extremely difficult to defeat." She faced Hammer. "So, what's your decision? Are you ready to test yourself against a truly elite member of the Society?"
Hammer smiled. "Sure, as long as he doesn't kill me."
"He'll only kill your vanity."
Ethel walked back to her chair.
Guthrum took off his robes. Underneath he wore exotic body armor made of black fibrous material. Overlapping triangular plates the size of playing cards covered his torso. He removed his armor and gauntlets and placed them on the floor. Only his underwear was left, and the white fabric was just a shade lighter than his skin. He looked bleached. Veins and blood vessels were visible everywhere. He was in good shape, but he didn't have the huge muscles of a typical male legionnaire. Compared to Hammer, Guthrum almost looked frail.
The two men took opposite positions in the square.
"Begin," Ethel said.
Hammer adopted a classic fighting pose with his arms held in front. Guthrum just stood normally as if waiting for a bus. Hammer took several cautious steps forward, but his opponent didn't show much interest.
Hammer suddenly attacked with a lunching punch. A half-second before he moved, Guthrum was already kicking. His foot struck Hammer in the nose and rocked his head backwards.
Hammer came back with a fast combination of punches and kicks that looked strong enough to smash through a brick wall. Guthrum evaded each attack with plenty of room to spare. He didn't even seem to be working hard. The match reminded Smythe of a choreographed dance. No matter how much Hammer feinted and switched directions, Guthrum was always somewhere else. At the end of the flurry, Guthrum dropped into a full split and landed a straight punch in Hammer's gut. Hammer stumbled backwards, gasping. He still hadn't touched Guthrum.
"One more exchange," Ethel said. "Finish this time."
Hammer's frustration showed on his face. He sidestepped towards Guthrum in a defensive stance. Guthrum raised his foot and performed a deceptive kick combination that left Hammer swinging wildly at the air. He finished by kicking Hammer in the groin.
Hammer dropped to his knees and his eyes bulged.
"That's enough," Ethel said. "Guthrum wins."
Smythe walked over to Hammer. "Need some help?"
Hammer nodded. "Be gentle," he said in a high voice.
Smythe reached into his pelvis and made a few adjustments. Hammer breathed easier.
"Thanks," he muttered. He walked off with a red face.
Aaron approached Guthrum and studied the taller man with obvious curiosity.
Smythe joined them. "I'm a little confused, sir. What just happened?"
"Wasn't it obvious?" Aaron turned to Smythe. "He sees the future."
"Huh?"
"It's an incredible gift. Guthrum knows what his enemy will do even before his enemy does. It's just a short distance into the future, but it was clearly enough. Perfect anticipation. A handy talent for a bodyguard."
Guthrum watched them silently.
"Amazing," Smythe said.
Aaron nodded towards the door. "Come on. Let's see what's going on in the kitchen. Your poor teammates have been slaving over a hot stove all day. It's time you stopped slacking off and helped out."
"Yes, sir," Smythe turned to Odelia. "Do you want to come?"
"Sure," she said. "I like to cook."
They left the tournament hall and walked towards the kitchen. Everything was in the main building, so they didn't have to go outside.
"Sir," Odelia said, "can I ask you a question?"
"Go ahead," Aaron said.
"What is the point of this convention?"
He stopped and faced her. "What do you mean?"
"We're not accomplishing anything. The tournament was nothing more than entertainment. I know the legate is having meetings tomorrow, but those meetings didn't have to happen in Wisconsin. She usually just visits people at their headquarters. What is the purpose of all of us being here?"
"That's a very intelligent question," he said, "and I'm not allowed to answer it."
She drew back. "Really?"
"I will te
ll you one thing. More healing could be necessary before we go home. The fighting isn't done."
Aaron resumed walking towards the kitchen. Smythe and Odelia hurried to catch up with him.
They opened the door and walked into a cloud of steam and mouth watering aromas. Smythe picked out beef, garlic, and mint among others.
Nancy, Jack, and Kamal were dripping with sweat. They were rushing around the huge kitchen with anxious expressions. Dirty pots and pans were all over the place.
"I brought reinforcements," Aaron announced.
"Thank, God!" Jack said. "We're behind schedule. We haven't even started on dessert."
Smythe walked over to a cauldron of simmering stew. Cubes of pork, tomatoes, carrots, onions, and spicy peppers swirled gently in the thick broth. It smelled delicious.
He didn't want his best robes getting dirty so he took them off and placed them on a shelf. Everybody in the room had seen him in his underwear so he wasn't embarrassed.
Odelia also started to take off her robes, but then she hesitated. Jack and Kamal glanced in her direction.
"Go ahead," Smythe said. "We're all grownups here."
She finished disrobing. She wore red thermal underwear underneath, and she made it look sexy.
"OK!" she said with a smile. "Somebody tell me what I should be doing."
"See those boxes of strawberries, ma'am?" Jack said. "They all need to be washed and sliced thin. Smythe, sir, you can get going on the chocolate pudding. We need two gallons."
Smythe spotted a pile of boxes of pudding mix.
"I have to make a call," Aaron said. "I'll be back in a little while." He quickly left the kitchen.
Chapter Nine
Norbert was kicking his way from one end of the new headquarters to the other. It took about two hundred kicks to go the entire distance across the empty floor. He was pushing to make every one perfect. Whenever a kick failed to meet his standards, he penalized himself by running back and starting over. He had probably done a thousand kicks so far. He had promised himself he wouldn't stop until he beat the challenge or collapsed from exhaustion.
His phone rang. It was across the room, near the twins. Norbert took off at a sprint. Missing a phone call was something a good legionnaire never did.
The phone stopped after two rings, and Bethany started talking into her headset. Apparently, she had taken the call for him.
Panting hard, he approached her. She and Leanna were nestled in the stretchy webbing of their chairs.
"Pick up your phone," Leanna said in her soft, polite voice.
Norbert took his phone off the floor and put it against his ear. "Hello?"
"Is everybody on the line now?" Aaron said.
"Yes, sir," Norbert, Bethany, and Leanna responded.
"Do you have anything to report?"
"No, sir," Norbert said. "We watched the whole tournament. It was incredible."
"But you were also keeping an eye on the other surveillance cameras," Aaron said, "right?"
"Of course, sir."
"Did you notice anything suspicious?"
"I'm not sure what that means," Norbert said. "Could you please be more specific?"
"Did you see any secret meetings?"
"No, sir."
"And the real-time position tracking is working?" Aaron said.
"As far as we can tell."
"Did anybody spy on anybody else? Or sneak into another cabin? Or steal something?"
"No, sir," Norbert said.
"What about a bomb? Did you see anything that looked like a bomb?"
"Are you serious, sir? What the hell is going on?! I'm getting very frustrated with this situation. I don't like being kept in the dark when I'm supposed to be your eyes and ears."
"Orders from Ethel," Aaron said. "She wants this game played a certain way. Not much I can do about it."
Norbert sighed. "Yes, sir. I apologize for my outburst."
"But I expect something will happen tonight. At that point the truth will be self-evident."
"What kind of something?"
"Something big," Aaron said. "I want all three of you watching as much surveillance video as possible. Don't take a break until I say it's OK. We can't let down our guard for an instant tonight. Bethany and Leanna, did you hear me?"
"Yes, sir," the twins said in harmony.
"Listen, it may not seem like it, but you guys have the most important job in this operation. If there is trouble, you'll see it first and warn me. All of us could get killed without that warning. The entire North American division is relying on you."
Norbert took a deep breath. "We won't let you down, sir." Pride made him puff out his chest.
"I know you won't."
* * *
Xavier paced back and forth in his small cabin. The room contained two beds, one for himself and one for Sampson. Their two suitcases were lying open on the floor. A wooden box sat in the corner, and it had been completely packed with weapons upon their arrival. Xavier had taken some of the nicer items for himself, but the box was still mostly full. Aaron had provided more guns, knives, and grenades than Xavier and Sampson could possibly need.
Xavier stopped pacing and took a framed photograph from his suitcase. It was his favorite picture of Rhiannon, whose death was still a fresh wound in his heart after all this time. Her hair looked like black silk. One eye was slightly closed, as if she were about to wink at him. A tear fell on the glass covering. He gently wiped it off, kissed her lips, and put the photograph away. He was doing this for her. It was all about her.
He heard footsteps and turned to the door. Sampson entered the cabin.
"Sir!" he said with wide eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same question," Xavier said. "The banquet is starting soon. I expect the crowd is already gathering."
"I just came to take a quick shower. I'm still feeling weird from the tournament. I'm hoping a hot rinse will settle me down."
"You're not hurt, are you?"
"No, sir," Sampson said. "They did a great job of healing me. I can't explain it. I just feel... uncertain."
"Then get in the shower. You don't have much time."
Sampson hurried into the bathroom.
Xavier wasn't planning to stay for the banquet, of course. He probably wouldn't even eat the first course. At exactly 7:15, he would be hiding in the woods. It was debatable whether he should show up at all. Ethel would notice his absence, but hopefully, her displeasure wouldn't matter because she would be dead a short time later.
Xavier wasn't entirely confident in that outcome though. Everything depended on Hanley. There was no question of the man's competence. He had a sterling military record, and his time in the FBI had been marked by victory after victory. Xavier had done his homework and had picked the best ally available. However, Hanley suffered from a disease common to successful men: overconfidence. He assumed his good luck would never run out. Xavier had warned Hanley in the strongest possible terms that the Society wasn't just another enemy. Hanley had listened with only mild interest.
Fortunately, he wasn't alone. The FBI Special Missions Unit had been constructed to handle the most dangerous terrorist threats imaginable. They were supposed to be the biggest, meanest dog in the junkyard. They certainly had the capability to launch a devastating attack. It was mostly a question of commitment. Lack of commitment was why they had failed so badly in Miami.
Another concern nagged at Xavier, and his name was Aaron. There was a famous poker saying which went, "if you don't know who the sucker at the table is, it's you." The sucker certainly wasn't Aaron. Everybody who had an opinion thought the man was brilliant. Xavier hated dealing with brilliant adversaries.
He sighed deeply. Anxiety was a weakness he couldn't afford now. He had prepared as best he could, and he would just have to deal with whatever came next.
Sampson came out of the bathroom. His impressive mane of blond hair was damp.
"Feeling better?" Xavier said.
/> "A little, sir."
"Good. Unfortunately, I'm feeling worse. I'm not going to be at the banquet tonight. Give my regrets to the legate."
"But sir," Sampson said, "she wants everybody there. Attendance is mandatory!"
"It's my stomach. This Wisconsin food doesn't agree with it. The best thing for me now is rest. I'll just stay here tonight. By morning, I should be fully recovered and ready to participate again."
"I'm sorry." Sampson frowned.
Xavier shrugged. "It's just a banquet. There will be another one tomorrow. I'm not missing anything crucial."
"What about the award ceremony?"
"You'll have to tell me about it. Get moving. You don't want to be late. If I feel better later, I'll come for dessert."
"Yes, sir."
Sampson quickly got dressed and left.
After the door closed, Xavier sat on his bed in silence. A long time ago, he had learned to trust his intuition. Right now it was telling him bad things were about to happen.
* * *
Hanley looked up at a full moon and cursed. Every star was crisp and sparkling in a clear night sky. There was far too much light. All his men had night vision gear, but that wouldn't be an advantage if the enemy could see perfectly well. Darkness was his ally.
He continued his slow crawl across frozen grass and patches of snow. He was climbing a hill which would give him a good view of Camp Zonta. He had to stay as low as possible. He didn't know if the enemy had posted sentries.
Hanley's bad knee wasn't helping. The frigid air made the joint feel like it was full of broken glass. Every time he put weight on it, he winced. He had seen a dozen orthopedic surgeons over the years, and all of them had told him there was no way to repair the damage. The cartilage was half gone, and the bones didn't fit together the right way anymore. He had resisted getting an artificial knee, but that option was looking better these days.
He kept crawling despite the pain. He had a job to do.
Finally, he reached the top of the hill and could see the enemy position. A big sign in front read, "Welcome to Camp Zonta, the funnest fun in Wisconsin!" Bright moonlight made the green letters easily readable. The camp itself was a scattering of smaller buildings around a very large one. Lights were on all over, and nearly every window in the central building was lit. Something big was definitely happening in there.