Illusion

by C. L. Roman

  "Honey, no one is listening to us. You could shout that you were about to murder the president and no one would know."

  "Actually Ma'am, we would know, and we would take such a statement very seriously if made by a high ranking officer like your husband." Behind her a tall, well-built young man had decreased the space between them to make the comment. Dressed discreetly in a black suit, white shirt and, oddly enough, tennis shoes, the body guard looked like any other up and coming executive in the city. No one walking near them would have guessed that he carried not one, but two large caliber pistols. One under his shoulder and the other strapped into an ankle holster, both concealed by clothing specially designed for the purpose.

  "Back off Joe," Michael growled. "This is not a business meeting. This is a private conversation."

  "Yes Sir," Joe said, and allowed a few more steps to separate him from the couple. His gaze swung wide, taking in the crowd, assessing for possible threats. "But I still say that was a good play. It was funny."

  Caroline grinned. "To you maybe. I'm just a small town girl. I like it when the romantic hero actually finds love."

  "But —"

  "Joe," Michael's voice sounded a low volume warning and the guard fell silent. Clasping his wife's hand, Michael brought it up into the crook of his arm. "So, Julia, is this place really as good as you say?"

  The athletic blond in front of them shot a look over her shoulder and nodded. "My fiancée and I ate there a few months back. I checked. The management and the chef are the same. You are in for a treat Sir, Ma'am." Facing forward, she continued to scan their surroundings as she spoke.

  The quartet made their way up the street, the security detail around them moving briskly but unobtrusively, and they reached the restaurant without incident.

  "Two tables please," Joe said to the maître d'.

  The man's face scrunched into sour lines of discontent as he scanned the reservation book. "I'm not sure we can accommodate —"

  Julia flipped open her wallet, revealing a gold shield. "The reservations were made three days ago. Two tables, one by a wall facing the dining room, away from any entrances or exits. You do not need the health department making a very public appearance here."

  The tuxedo clad egotist puffed out his chest. "The health department would give us a clean rating."

  "I'm sure they would. But your customers that night wouldn't know that, would they?" Julia gave him a sweet smile.

  He ran a smoothing palm over his already immaculately groomed hair and grimaced. "Of course. Here it is." He laid his finger on an imaginary notation in the reservation list. Snapping his fingers in the air, he barked out, "Armand! Take our guests to tables ten and twelve."

  Armand, a short, red haired kid with gray eyes and freckles hurried over.

  Julia grinned. "Armand?"

  The waiter smiled, ducking his head slightly. "My dad is Irish, but Mom is Italian." He gestured toward the dining room. "Follow me please." The group followed, leaving the maître d' scowling after them. Joe and Julia took seats against the wall, facing out into the restaurant. Joe scanned the area. "Got a good view of the kitchen entrance and both exits."

  "I'll watch the windows," Julia said.

  Michael held Caroline's chair for her and then took his seat. Snapping the napkin, he laid it in his lap and picked up the menu.

  "Seems a pity they can't even have a glass of wine," Caroline said, looking at her own menu.

  "They are getting a free meal at a five star restaurant. I refuse to feel sorry for them," Michael said.

  She laughed. "Well, so are we, so..." letting her voice trail away, she cocked an eyebrow at him.

  "Ah, but I don't feel sorry for me, either," he said, and she laughed.

  Armand stopped by the table and they ordered the house wine to start, along with appetizers.

  "I'm glad you talked me in to extending my trip, but I'm ready to go home. I miss our boy." Having made her choice, Caroline laid the menu aside.

  "I felt like I owed it to you. That little distraction half way through cost us a lot of personal time."

  "It did, but at least I still got to see all the shows I wanted. You worked non-stop for at least seventy two hours. You worry me when you do that."

  "Comes with the territory." He drummed his fingers on the table top. "I'd feel better if we actually caught her."

  Caroline frowned. "You don't actually think Gwyneth is a terrorist?"

  "She is something. I don't know what."

  "Ok, she's different. So what? Everyone is different in some way." Taking in the tight, closed off expression on her husband's face, Caroline sighed. "I spoke with her. Michael, all she wants is to find her husband and help him get well."

  Stilling his hand, Michael shook his head. "That may actually be true. Her height doesn't bother me. What worries me is the fact that there is no record of her existence past a few months ago. She and her husband seem to have popped into the world from another dimension and no one who does that is completely on the level."

  "But she hasn't actually done anything."

  "That we know of —"

  "And neither has he —"

  "That we know of. Caroline, honey, you need to leave this to me. I know you want to think the best of everyone, and I know you liked her, but there is something squirrelly going on and I need to find out what it is."

  The food arrived and Caroline applied herself to the shrimp Alfredo, shooting anxious looks at her husband between bites. After a few moments he put down his fork.

  "Look, it’s my job to figure this out. I don't want to accuse anyone falsely, but I have to find the truth."

  She said nothing, just put another shrimp in her mouth and chewed.

  "Caroline?"

  She swallowed. "I'm not asking you to abandon the best interests of your country. I wouldn't want you to do that. I just want you to keep an open mind. Don't convict this woman before all the facts are in."

  He speared a chunk of steak on his fork. "I can't ignore the evidence in front of me."

  "Just don't stare so close at the little bit you can see that it blinds you to the larger picture. That's all I'm asking."

  He shook his head and let out an exasperated chuckle. "Ok. I promise to keep my eyes and ears open to the whole picture."

  "Of course you will. You always do."

  Armand materialized to fill their wine glasses. "Are we considering dessert this evening?" he asked.

  Michael opened his mouth, but Caroline didn't give him a chance to speak. "We are. Can we see the cart, please?"

  "Of course Madam. I will be right back." The waiter glided away and Caroline grinned at her husband. "No more shop talk. Let’s enjoy our last evening in New York together."

  He raised his glass to her. "Let's."

  The Conroys arrived at their hotel and waltzed into the elevator. Their security detail followed, hiding grins and keeping a look out. The ride up was uneventful and a few steps later they arrived at their room.

  "Wait here, Sir." Julia opened the door and the guards looked inside. The room was quiet, nothing had been disturbed in their absence. She and Joe relaxed.

  "All clear, Sir," Joe said. "Good-night." The guards watched their charges walk inside and close the door. "Looks like the staff took our chairs. I'll go get some from the night desk."

  Julia nodded and he headed down the hall.

  Inside the room, things were less relaxed.

  "Do not scream, Mrs. Conroy. I am not here to harm you and I would hate to have to do so." Jotun stood, his eyes fixed on Michael.

  "You are Gwyneth's Jotun. You sat next to me at the Delaney showing," Caroline said. "Gwyneth is looking for you."

  Jotun frowned. "I am not hers. She should not look for me," he said.

  "Where in the hell did you come from?" Michael asked. “And how did my detail not see you?”

  "Retrieve your gun from the holster and lay it, carefully, on the window ledge, there." Jotun said.

  Mi
chael's eyes glinted. Instead of complying, he drew the weapon, bringing it to bear on the intruder. He registered a blur of color and felt a rush of air against his hand and face. When he looked down, his hand was empty and the gun was lying on the window sill. "How did you do that?" he asked.

  "That's not something you need to worry about right now." Jotun said. "Sit. I have some questions for you."

  Michael shouted, "Julia — Joe!" and shoved Caroline toward the bedroom before spinning around to launch himself at Jotun. Except that the giant wasn't there. He was standing by the door. As Julia and Joe rushed in, he smacked their heads together and allowed them to slide gently to the floor in an unconscious tangle of limbs.

  Scooping up the pistol, Michael leveled it at the space where Jotun had just been standing and pulled the trigger. Only now, Caroline was standing there, shaking. Eyes wide, Michael dropped the gun as Caroline collapsed. Covering the small distance between them, he scooped her into his arms, white faced and trembling.

  "Caroline! Where are you hit?" His hands raced over her, but her clothing was unmarked, her breathing rapid, but strong.

  "I'm ok Michael. I'm all right," she said.

  Conroy looked up at Jotun. The angel stared back and dropped a small, mangled brass nugget onto the carpet in front of him.

  "You are a fool, Admiral Conroy. You risk your beloved to kill someone whom you have no chance of defeating," Jotun said.

  "You're the one who's been stalking me all these weeks."

  "I am."

  "Why?"

  "As I said, I have some questions for you." Jotun thumbed the catch on the pistol's magazine and the clip slid free. One by one he flipped the bullets out of the clip, cupping them in his hand as he walked into the bathroom. They heard the toilet flush and then he was back, settling himself into the chair. Jotun nodded them toward the couch across from him. "You will answer them now."

  Michael looked at Julia and Joe. "We can't leave them lying here."

  "It won't hurt them, but if it will bring the answers I seek I will move them," Jotun said.

  "Stay there." Michael said, his voice harsh and commanding. "I don't want you touching them. Caroline, can you help me?"

  "Of course." She got to her feet and he saw that her hands were shaking. Michael lifted Julia and scanned the ground beneath her body, frowning. There was nothing there.

  "Your actions have shown that you are not to be trusted. I've put their guns away," Jotun said.

  The commander glanced from the intruder to his guard and back again, wondering how many guns the giant had "put away."

  Four? Or only two? No way to check now.

  As he laid Julia on the bed, Michael thought her eyelids fluttered, but he couldn’t be sure. He showed Caroline how to place her hands under Joe's knee and shoulder. She followed his instructions and in a few moments both guards were moved to the bedroom while Jotun watched from the doorway.

  Michael took Caroline's hand. "Why don't you stay here in the bedroom with Julia and Joe? I'll go to the front room and take care of this."

  "No." Jotun and Caroline spoke together and their eyes met.

  "I will not leave my husband."

  Jotun inclined his head. "Then we are agreed."

  "Well I'm not. Caroline —"

  She shook her head, but it was Jotun who spoke. "Your wife will stay with us." With the words, he winced and rubbed a hand across his brow.

  Catching the clear expression of pain on his face, Michael tensed, ready to jump, but Jotun didn't give him a chance. The giant's gaze snapped back into focus and he gestured toward the living room.

  "Both of you, move," he said, and then to Michael, "You are not a stupid man and, now that you have seen my abilities, I think you will not risk her safety again with rash actions." He herded them into the other room, closing the bedroom door before continuing. "I am running out of patience. Sit down." With each word, Jotun's voice became lower, harsher until he growled the last syllable.

  The Conroys looked at each other. With a soft touch on Michael's arm, Caroline moved toward the couch. He followed slowly, placing himself between her and Jotun. His hands clenched and he sat on the edge of the sofa, muscles coiled, waiting.

  "Does the U.S. have enough nuclear weapons to win a nuclear war?"

  Michael would have laughed had the question come from anyone else, under any other circumstances. "No one wins a nuclear war."

  "Why not?"

  "Because a nuclear war would turn Earth into an uninhabitable rock."

  "But it would not be obliterated."

  "You have to understand, the effect of even one megaton bomb detonating in an inhabited area would be devastating. Nothing would grow in there for years. The ecology would be decimated and it might never recover. The land around a nuclear explosion would be poisoned indefinitely."

  Jotun tilted his head to one side, and a muscle jumped in his cheek. "One bomb would do so little?"

  "So little? You are talking about destroying everything within an area of at least fifteen miles, and that's for one of the smaller bombs. The blast radius is one to three miles, and inside that, nothing would survive. Not buildings, not people, not rabbits. Then there's the collateral damage. Radioactive fallout would — "

  "I see." Jotun said. "So, to destroy the entire Earth would take many bombs."

  "I told you, even one nuclear explosion would be devastating. A nuclear war would destroy us all. Why do you think I'm fighting for international disarmament? Even one bomb would give the holder enormous leverage. A terrorist with a nuke could ask for almost anything and —"

  The giant’s eyes widened. "And you do not wish the United States to rule the Earth?"

  "This is not a comic book," Conroy said. "Even were such a thing possible, after a nuclear war there would be nothing left to rule over."

  Jotun rubbed at his temples. "So you said. Very well. I have the answers I need. Now I must give you a warning."

  "I think you've already done that by showing up here. What is it you want?"

  "A purpose. There was a time when I knew what mine was, but I see now that I was deceived." Jotun said, "But there is another who knows his purpose very well. He wants the location and launch codes for a nuclear bomb."

  The words spoke of defeat but in Jotun's eyes, Conroy could see the unmistakable light of relief.

  "That isn't going to happen. Even if you kill me, especially if you kill me, my government will be on its guard. The codes will be changed, the weaponry moved."

  Jotun dropped his head into his hands. "No," he groaned. "He doesn't know where they are, but if you move them, he will follow you. Attack during the move. It will be just the chance he needs."

  "He? There are more of you?"

  "Not more of me." Jotun lifted his head, eyes blazing with uncanny light. "And there is only one Surt. Thank you for your help. I will..." He stood and swayed, his face pale, his skin waxen. Michael and Caroline leapt to their feet as Jotun lurched toward them.

  The door crashed open and bounced against the wall. "Stop, military police!" In the same instant that Joe's command split the air, Julia fired twice, her bullets slamming into Jotun's chest. The giant stumbled backward, then snapped upright with a roar that shook the windows. A thin blaze of light sprouted from his fist and his skin lit with a fiery glow.

  Michael threw himself over Caroline, bearing her to the floor under his protective weight as the room erupted into a firestorm of gunfire. Both guards emptied their magazines, and there was an instant of silence while they worked to reload.

  "You two should have stayed down," Jotun said, and advanced on the pair, a blood-covered icon of vengeance.

  "No, Jotun, don't kill them. Gwyneth wouldn't want you to." Caroline's plea stopped him and he looked back. For an instant, no one moved. He nodded and was gone. The guards raced into the hall and stopped short. It was empty except for a scattering of bullet casings, blood stained and spent, littering the carpet.

  Jotun shot up the
stairs like a comet, using the speed and exertion to force the pain from his head and body. By the time he reached the twentieth-fifth floor, the last of the bullets had been pushed out by the healing process and the tissues had already begun to knit.

  Slowing to a jog by the sixtieth floor, the angel fingered the bloody holes in his shirt and scowled. Walking down the boulevard like this was going to draw attention. Faster and easier to launch from the roof and trust the night sky to hide him.

  Reaching his hotel room, he ripped the remains of the shirt from his body and threw it on the floor. Stepping into the hot stream of the shower, he could feel his muscles relax. In their place a growing sense of loss took root, spreading it's tendrils through his chest. Everything Surt had told him was a lie. Ragnarӧk was a lie. What was his true purpose here?

  Wrapping a towel around his waist he walked out of the bathroom. The memory of red-gold hair splayed across clean sheets, bright blue eyes laughing up at him, brought a fresh stab of pain, and he pressed his palms against his skull. His knees weakened and he sat hard on the bed, but let the memory come.

  He saw her, Freya, bending over some task, looking up at him with a smile of welcome. The memory winked out and was replaced by another of her with flowers in her hair, standing under a white cloth, a crowd of people smiling and laughing behind her. Another wink and she was standing next to the blood coated body of — who? He knew the man, but couldn't capture a name. Had she killed him? But no, she was weeping, handing a cup of water to the woman kneeling beside the injured warrior. Something inside screamed at him that, whoever she was, this woman was no betrayer.

  The pain in his head intensified, the pictures in his mind taking on a strange halo around the edges. His stomach rolled and he held himself together with a massive effort of will.

  "Who are you?" The words fought free of his lips, spilling out into the silent room in a rising shout. "Tell me!"

  A mile away, in the darkened loft offices of Delaney Designs, Gwyneth's head jerked up. "Jotun?" Her chest tightened, spilling frustration and anxiety into her blood stream. Her head ached and she collapsed into a chair. "Where are you beloved? Come to me."