Hero

by Robert J. Crane

  “Sure.” She coughed, too. “If you want, I can leave you be for a little while. Let you get some rest.”

  “I probably should,” I said. “It’s … been a day, y’know. Lots of revelations. And I just got out of prison like twelve hours ago or something. Maybe more like twenty now. I dunno.”

  She started a slow retreat toward the door. “If you need anything, just …” She pointed at the phone on the desk. “There are servants. Chefs on duty. Just dial zero.”

  “Nicest hotel I’ve ever stayed in,” I said, looking at the bed. “No mint on the pillow, but still … very nice.”

  “I can get turndown service for you, if you’d like,” she said. “Pretty sure there’s chocolate in the castle somewhere. Your great-grandfather has a sweet tooth—”

  “I’m good for now,” I said, waving her off. “Like you said … I probably just need some chill time. I’ll probably collapse the moment you’re out the door.”

  She walked over to the phone. “Come here a second.”

  I did.

  There was a nice laminated series of numbers there, and she pointed at one. “This is the castle phone number. It’s been the same since the 1950s, when it was first installed.” She looked me right in the eye, with strange intensity. “Memorize it, will you? You might need it.”

  “Uhm, okay—”

  “If you ever need me—ever, at any time—you can call this number,” she said, staring me down. “Any time. Even overseas.”

  “Am … am I going overseas?” I asked.

  “Any time,” she said with strange emphasis. “Memorize it now. Country code, too.”

  I looked down at it, and stared. It was a three-digit country code, and then 0000 0000. “Uh. Well. Got it, I think. Simple enough. I guess we know who the earliest adopter was in this country.”

  She nodded. “Call any time. Just ask for me at the switchboard.”

  “Do you really think I’ll be needing it soon, then?” I asked. “Aren’t I staying a while?”

  She smiled tightly. “I doubt you’ll need it immediately, but … it’s important to me that you know …” She put her hands on my shoulders, and looked me right in the eye. “You are family to me. And whatever you might think of me … of the things I’ve done …” There was a glint in her eye. “I am and always was a tigress when it came to my kids and grandkids. You can call me anytime. Anytime.” She repeated. “And I will help you. Okay?”

  “Anytime I need help, I call you,” I said. “Overseas. On the moon, maybe, even? And you’ll come running.”

  She nodded, making her way to the door, which was right next to the desk. “Exactly. Any time.”

  “Understood. I think.”

  Lethe opened the door. “If you need anything …” and she pointed at the phone. “My extension and Hades’s are both over there. If you can’t sleep, feel free to call. If you need someone to talk to. We keep odd hours here.”

  “Sure, because of the vampirism.” She smirked, and I felt the need to respond more seriously. “Yeah, no, I’ll definitely …” I caught movement out of the corner of my eye the moment she was through the door, but I didn’t turn to face it because it was on the TV.

  Simple text. Green on the black background.

  “See you tomorrow,” Lethe said, and she shut the door, oblivious to what I’d just seen.

  “Yeah,” I said, reading while I formulated an answer. “See you tomorrow …” The door clicked closed softly.

  HEY SIENNA, the text on screen read. GLAD YOU MADE IT.

  “Oh, shit,” I muttered to myself. “No, not …”

  THAT’S RIGHT.

  “Dammit.”

  IT’S CASSIDY.

  “Like I didn’t know that.”

  And then another line … one that caused me to sag.

  ARE YOU READY TO BEGIN?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Passerini

  The White House

  “You’d better not be wasting my time with this, Passerini,” President Gondry said as he walked into the Situation Room. His lips were tight, hemmed in by his grey goatee, eyes dark in the dim lighting.

  Passerini was waiting by the biggest screen in the room, the satellite image already zoomed in. Or what? he thought. You’ll fire me?

  But Bruno Passerini was way too buttoned down to ever say anything like that to his Commander-In-Chief, even a REMF like Gondry. Instead: “Sir, we’ve located Sienna Nealon. She’s in Bredoccia.” And he pointed at the image on screen.

  Gondry paused just inside the door. Someone had definitely given him the bullet point, but as his eyes, hidden behind the reflected glare on his glasses, took in the sight of a somewhat blurry, dark-haired girl in an orange jumpsuit on the screen, he brought a hand up to his chin, fingers stroking the goatee. The president made his way to his seat, albeit slowly, never once turning his head from the screen. “Well, you’ve certainly piqued my interest. What else have you got?”

  “Sir,” FBI Director Chalke said, drawing his head to turn in her direction, “we can confirm that the jet in the satellite imagery originated at Eden Prairie airport. We traced the flight path, and our agents on the ground in Minneapolis have visited the airport and picked up the flight logs. It all checks out.”

  “Good work, Chalke.” Gondry nodded. “You are on top of this situation.” He leaned on his elbows. “Her escape is the blackest of black eyes for this administration. And just days after we announced we’d captured her. The public could finally sleep safe in their beds, sound in the knowledge that this menace was off the streets …”

  Passerini stayed silent, but felt his eyebrow quirk up almost inadvertently. He had strong doubts that many people were losing sleep over Sienna Nealon, at least outside of whoever in the DoJ was tasked with catching her. Passerini tended not to pay as much attention to domestic issues, but had Sienna Nealon ever actually killed anyone who didn’t have it coming—at least a little? He couldn’t recall seeing anything on the subject, but it wasn’t really his bailiwick.

  “This is priority one, people,” Gondry said, and again his eyes settled on the screen—or so Passerini thought until the president spoke to him. “What are our options?”

  Once he’d realized that Gondry was talking to him, specifically, Passerini lurched into action. “Well, sir, they’re unfortunately few, unless we want to potentially provoke a war.”

  “Nonsense,” Gondry waved him off. “We sent a SEAL Team into Scotland for her. Last I checked, we’re not at war with the United Kingdom.” He chuckled.

  Passerini’s blood ran cold. That had been done over his objections. “We were lucky on that one, sir. I don’t know the full story, but I think Scotland might have been under some different governing circumstances back then. CIA could tell you more than I could.” It wasn’t a huge secret that the UK had gone through some bizarre period of governmental estrangement in Scotland last year. No one seemed to have a good pulse on what was going on, but it was apparently in hand now.

  “I’ll make this simple: how do we get Sienna Nealon out of that flyspeck country and back into our prison?” Gondry asked. “Or dead. I’m not particular. Making a move like that, bombing some failed second world state might net us a foreign policy win with the American people. With little reprisal.”

  “Ah, that might have been true six weeks ago, sir.” Passerini gestured at the screen. It zoomed out, and he looked down the table. That young colonel in the army uniform, his new adjutant, nodded at him, hands poised over a computer. “It’s not true now.” He pointed at the overhead map on the screen. “Revelen has become a nuclear power. In addition to the silo emplacements for the defensive system, they now have their own nukes. Here, here, here—”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Gondry said. “How did they manage that without us noticing?”

  Passerini blinked. “Well, sir, we did notice. That was the content of our briefing just yesterday.”

  Gondry sat back in his chair. “Countries do not become nuclear powers
overnight, Mr. Secretary.”

  “That may have been the case in the old world, sir,” Passerini said, “but it appears things have changed. Much like with their new anti-ballistic missile system, they excavated silos and built them from the ground up in less than forty-eight hours.” A different picture appeared on the screen, a close-up time-lapse of a silo being constructed. Passerini blinked; he hadn’t even known they had this. Whoever that young army man was, he was making Passerini look good. “One metahuman came along and dug the silo in minutes. Another …” The scenery changed, enormous pieces of metal floating through the air in a real-time video from yesterday, “… built the silo itself with some sort of metal-control power, then emplaced the SS-19 Stiletto ICBMs that came in via the port of Canta Morgana.” The last shot showed the rockets hovering in mid-air as they were divvied between silos.

  “Like Magneto,” the Secretary of the Treasury said.

  “I don’t know who that is,” Gondry said.

  “It’s from the X-Men comic books and movies,” Passerini said. He hadn’t heard of Magneto until a briefing paper he’d read yesterday. “Master of magnetism, can move metal with his mind. Stop bullets, build a silo from scratch in hours, move missiles … that sort of thing. Choke you to death with your own necklace. Crush your skull with your glasses.”

  Gondry scrambled to pull off his glasses and tossed them away onto the table with a clatter. “You people could have warned me about that!”

  “There’s traditionally a range limit on metahuman powers, sir,” Chalke said, leaning in. She’d taken the seat right next to the president, even though there was assigned seating and that wasn’t hers. “You’re just fine here. Out of reach.” She slid the glasses back toward him.

  He picked them up without a word, slipping them back on. “Just as well, I can’t see a damned thing without them. All I’m hearing here are problems. I want solutions, Mr. Secretary. How do we get Sienna Nealon? SEAL Team? An attack helicopter? Tank regiment?”

  “Sir,” Passerini said, “if you want her extracted by force, I don’t have a plan I can recommend. We have to assume if they’ve received Russia’s ABM system, they have also received traditional surface-to-air missile emplacements, or they’re coming soon. Any attempts to fly in are going to be … dicey.”

  “These are soldiers, Mr. Secretary,” Gondry said. “This is their reason for existing. I don’t care what it takes, as long as it stays within the realm of reasonable casualties. I can explain some soldiers dying to the American people, provided we get Ms. Nealon.”

  “Sir, the Secretary of Defense is trying to let you know,” SecState Ngo chimed in, “if we attack Revelen by sending in a team, there will be reprisals. Possibly nuclear now.” She leaned onto the table, looking at the president. “Do you think it’s worth risking a nuclear war over this one woman?”

  Gondry had to think about that. “No,” he finally decided. “That would be ridiculous, I suppose. But … surely there are other options available to us.” He looked around, and his attention settled on the CIA Director. “What about an assassin?”

  The CIA Director looked gobsmacked. “You … want us to assassinate an American citizen … on foreign soil?”

  “Don’t look so shocked, Crawford,” Gondry said. “This is hardly the first time such a thing has been done. This woman is a clear and present danger to national security and to the very people of the United States.”

  “That’s not a normal request, sir,” Director Crawford said. “And we have no assets in place in Revelen. None.”

  “Hire someone, then,” Gondry said.

  Passerini felt like he was in a roller coaster that had jumped the track. “Sir, we don’t typically outsource assassinations … or order them at all, really.”

  “That’s a lie,” Gondry said. “I was a history professor, you know. I’m fully aware of where all the skeletons are in our closet. We absolutely have a history of assassination, Mr. Secretary. This is very much an area of expertise for someone at the CIA. Perhaps even someone in your department. You’re certainly killers.”

  Passerini’s face tightened at the slap. “Sir, we fight wars.”

  “Well, I’m declaring one on Sienna Nealon.” Gondry slapped the table. “So do your job and make her dead, Mr. Secretary.” And he stood. “When next we speak, I want options. Military options for invasion. Clandestine options for erasing her from existence or bagging and dragging her back here to face justice. Diplomatic options to pressure them into giving her up. Everything you have, I want to hear. I’ll listen, and from these options, I’ll choose the best alternative for achieving our aims. And when this is all over, and the dust settles … those who help me will be rewarded by securing your place in history.

  Good God, how blinkered is this man …? Passerini wondered as the president moved to leave. Everyone stood, and Passerini snapped to attention by force of long habit. He walked out without acknowledging Passerini, which was pretty typical for Gondry.

  “You heard him, people,” FBI Director Chalke said with a smile. “Let’s get to work.” She looked to Passerini. “Sounds like you have a lot of planning to do, SecDef. Might want to head to the Pentagon for that.” Then she left as well.

  Passerini burned. The president was looking for military options, and Chalke was right—he’d need to get his ass to the Pentagon and do some high-level consulting to come up with some. They were already well into war planning for the Revelen situation even before this most recent nuclear revelation, but this … this directive …

  This was going to change things quite a bit.

  But orders were orders, and so Bruno Passerini gathered his things, and headed for the door himself, the young army colonel trailing him, to go and try to put together an operational concept that—just maybe—he could please the president with.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Sienna

  “Dammit, Cassidy,” I muttered under my breath as green electronic words scrawled their way across the TV screen. In all the hubbub of escaping prison and being brought to Revelen, I’d forgotten that she and I had a date with destiny here. “Your timing sucks.”

  CAN’T HEAR YOU, her words appeared. NO CAMERAS OR MICROPHONES IN YOUR CELL.

  “It’s not a cell,” I said. “It’s a …” I looked around at the fairly lushly appointed room. “It’s … a kinda nice room in my great-grandpa Dracula’s castle.”

  BUT I’M SURE YOU’LL FIND A WAY OUT SOON, she went on.

  “I don’t need to find a way out, genius,” I said and stalked over to the door, opening it. “I’m free to leave at any time.” I stuck a hand out the door and waved.

  I SEE YOU. LET’S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD.

  “For crying out loud,” I said, and stuck my head out, shaking it. “No, no, no.”

  BIDING YOUR TIME? FAIR ENOUGH. I CAN WAIT. GETTING DIRECT ACCESS TO THEIR TELECOM WILL ONLY ENHANCE MY ABILITY TO RUN AN ELECTRONIC INSURGENCY AGAINST THEM.

  I shook my head again. “No, no, bad idea, Cassidy.”

  WE HAD A DEAL.

  “Miss?” A small voice reached me from outside, and I looked out to see a man in a military uniform that looked very foreign. Presumably Revelen military, unless he’d gotten very lost. “Can I help you with anything?” His accent was definitely from somewhere local-ish. Eastern Europe at minimum. Probably from here.

  “I’m talking to the security camera,” I said, and he blinked at me. “Gimme a sec.” I shook my head at the camera. “No. No.”

  “This is very strange,” the military man said. “I feel like I should be reporting this to someone.”

  “Have at it, then,” I said, looking at my TV screen.

  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

  “Trying to tell you not to do something stupid,” I said.

  “Me?” the man asked.

  “Not you,” I said. “Why, are you contemplating doing something stupid? Because you shouldn’t.”

  “Ahhh … well, I was going to call the boss and let her know
you’re talking to a security camera … but … I’m not sure she’s going to believe me,” the man said.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Aleksy.”

  “Do what you gotta do, Aleksy,” I said, and looked right at the camera. “Hold tight. Don’t do anything dumb.”

  “Why did I have to get assigned this patrol?” Aleksy asked. “I bet these things don’t happen on the day shift.”

  “Dude, you’re working in Dracula’s castle at sunset,” I said. “How could you not expect weird shit to happen? And, as an aside, a woman talking to a security camera? As things go, not that weird.”

  “What do you mean, ‘Dracula’s castle’?” Aleksy asked.

  “If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.” I shook my head furiously at the camera.

  FINE. WE’LL PLAY IT YOUR WAY. FOR NOW, the message came back on the TV screen. BUT YOU BETTER HAVE A KILLER PLAN.

  “All my plans are killer,” I said, “because I am, by definition, a killer.”

  “That’s … not something I really want to think about,” Aleksy said. “It sounds threatening.”

  “Well, maybe you should grow a pair and do something about it, Aleksy,” I said, kind of annoyed that he was just standing there. “I mean, what army are you part of, the Salvation kind?”

  “See, we were given very specific orders regarding your latitude,” Aleksy said.

  “My ‘latitude’?” I asked, turning on him. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You’re to be given the run of the castle,” he said, taking a step back like I’d threatened him. “And free reign of the country, if you so desire. There’s a car and a plane on standby for you. Boats, too.”

  “What about a tank?” I asked. “Kidding. I think. Gimme a second, will you?”

  I made the okay sign with my hand at the camera and waited for the response.

  STANDING BY. DON’T KEEP ME WAITING TOO LONG.

  “Oh, goodie,” I said under my breath and closed the door as the TV powered off. “This can’t possibly go horribly wrong.”

  “I’m still unclear if you’re talking to me or—” Aleksy said.