‘You can’t warp. Not that far, not for that long. If you made it at all, and I doubt you would, you’d be drained when you got there. We both would be.’
‘So you’re coming with me?’
‘Sure,’ said Karen Warat. That was all she said, but there was a whole world of meaning behind that one word. He knew to be wary of Varatchevsky. He knew Trinder was probably right about her. But Warat? Dave thought he could trust that woman. She seemed to have an understanding of things that wasn’t necessarily prescribed for her by some controller in Moscow or the GRU or whatever.
He tried to not think on it. It was an uncomfortable experience knowing that she knew his mind as he did, possibly even better. She wouldn’t be subject to the lies and evasions with which Dave habitually faced the world. He flicked a glance at her, guiltily, as though he’d been caught imagining her undressed.
And then, of course, he did do just that, and he blushed.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’
‘You won’t even get out of the city,’ Zach warned, unaware of the unspoken exchange between them. ‘Bridges and tunnels are jammed solid. Some of them are free-fire zones.’
‘How did you get here, Captain Heath?’ Karen asked, choosing to ignore Dave for the moment.
‘By Osprey, landing on the deck of the USS Intrepid about four hours ago, Colonel,’ Heath said. He pointed at the collapsing perimeter screen. ‘I’m afraid we no longer hold that LZ and I’m not sure I want to chance Madison Square Garden.’
‘It’s the only aircraft with the range,’ she said.
‘You presume a great deal.’
‘Well, you could find us an aircraft, or Hooper could call up a news station. Network or affiliate. It wouldn’t matter. You know they’d all send a chopper. For him.’
‘Oh, checkmate,’ said Dave. ‘You’re even better than Boylan.’
‘No,’ Karen said. ‘From what I know of Boylan he would have got the chopper and a development deal with all the merchandising rights.’
Heath rubbed both hands on his face. Dave distinctly heard the rasping sound of a five o’clock shadow.
‘Michael, you have to let them go,’ Emmeline said. ‘It’s his children. He’s going to go anyway. You know that. Send Igor and Zach with him. Two more guns won’t make a difference here, but they might up there.’
Heath checked his watch. Half an hour until he had to brief the NSC. His face was sombre and his voice flat when he spoke to Dave.
‘Do you know they’re alive? I have to ask.’
A hot wind blew through Dave. The muscles in his jaw bunched as he ground his teeth together. What the fuck was Heath . . .
He felt a cool hand on the back of his neck.
‘Chill out,’ said Karen and all of the heat and pressure seemed to drain from his head as though she’d pulled a plug. He shrugged off her soothing touch.
‘I said don’t do that to me, Karen.’
‘You say a lot of stupid things, Hooper. This situation isn’t helped by you letting the little cartoon angry man inside your brain run around Hulk-smashing everything. The captain is offering to help. Take his offer. It’s the best you’ll get tonight.’
‘Thank you, Colonel,’ Heath said, looking a little puzzled by her. He’d obviously seen the effect she’d had on Dave, deflating the worst of his temper with a simple word and a light touch. Perhaps he’d also been briefed about the effect she’d had on those cops and firefighters she’d pushed at 530 Park Avenue.
Pushed them all the way into their fucking graves, thought Dave, not caring if she could read that too. The head of steam he’d been building up had dissipated as soon as Karen had laid those cool fingers on him, but he was not about to just chill the fuck out and let things be.
Merely irritated now, rather than dangerously enraged, he set the satellite phone down on the table, unlocked the iPhone and entered the number for Pat O’Halloran’s house, surprising himself by recalling it with ease. But of course he could recall almost anything with ease these days. Even things he’d never known.
Nobody spoke. He had two bars of reception. It should have been enough, but after half a minute or so the attempt to connect dropped out. Dave frowned, trying again.
‘The civilian cell phone net is not reliable,’ Emmeline said gently. ‘It’s not even the Horde taking down towers and relays. It’s just 300 million people trying to call at once.’
‘I’ll keep trying,’ Dave said, putting the phone away for now. ‘I still have to go.’
‘I know,’ Heath conceded. ‘I would ask that you take Zach and Igor, as Emmeline suggested. They’ll liaise with any military assets we need to call on.’
‘And keep an eye on me.’
‘In your dreams,’ Igor muttered.
‘You cool with this?’ Dave asked him.
‘Ours is but to do and die,’ the big SEAL answered in a slightly louder voice.
‘Zach?’
‘Somebody’s got to carry your chocolate bars, man.’
‘I’ll try to get you some usable intelligence on the situation in Camden,’ said Emmeline. ‘I’ll need those new phone numbers of yours.’
Karen grinned. A sardonic expression at best.
‘You’ll need Dave’s number. Not mine.’
‘Oh whatever,’ said Emmeline, rolling her eyes toward Heath. ‘Remind me to ask the NSA for her cell number, bra size and credit card details later.’
‘Ladies,’ Heath sighed. ‘Please. Colonel Gries, are you in contact with the Iwo Jima?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is spotty but I am in contact with them.’
‘Ask them to task an MV-22 Osprey urgent to . . .’ Heath looked at the map. ‘The roof of this armoury?’
‘Very bad idea,’ Gries said. ‘Worse than Madison. Your best bet would be the cleared area by the United Nations Building. Large enough to handle the Osprey plus they have a perimeter that is, for the moment, holding.’
Dave and Karen looked at each other, then at Zach and Igor.
‘Piggyback,’ she said. ‘Just like you did with Captain Heath.’
‘What?’ Dave said, a little stupidly.
‘You do that a lot,’ Karen said. ‘Contrary to what you think it is not very cute or charming.’
‘I suppose I get to carry Igor then,’ Dave said.
Igor broke into a huge smile. ‘I am always on top.’
‘Dude,’ Zach said. ‘I am really cool with not knowing.’
‘And you get to ride the sexy Russian colonel,’ Igor said.
‘Gentlemen, how about just a little fucking decorum here,’ Heath said, his own well of patience upon the edge of depletion.
‘Yes, sir,’ Igor said. ‘Of course, sir.’
‘Okay,’ said Heath. ‘Chiefs, the Osprey will have food, ammo and a Growler onboard if you need it. Make sure these two keep fuelling up until you get there. As for you, Colonel,’ he said, addressing Karen directly, ‘I’m putting a good deal of faith in you. Ordinarily I’d use whatever force necessary to detain you for the federal authorities. There is still a warrant out for your arrest, you understand.’
Dave scoffed at the suggestion of detaining her.
Karen might have shrugged, or she might merely have been rolling her shoulder to settle her katana into its scabbard.
‘And ordinarily I’d use whatever force necessary to evade your authorities, Captain. But we passed through the looking glass a while ago, I think. Nothing is ordinary anymore, is it?’
Emmeline interposed herself into the exchange.
‘No, Colonel,’ she said. ‘But be aware that our priorities are not universally shared. Agent Trinder and the Office of Special Clearances are not much interested in having you running loose. Nor the FBI. Pretty much any local law enforcement you encounter will try to detain you if they realise who you are. We would prefer you let our men handle any such difficulty.’
Zach gave Karen his stone face, Igor smiled.
‘We’re well-known charmers,’ said t
he bigger man.
‘I promise,’ Karen sighed theatrically. ‘No killing the anonymous extras. Anything else?’
‘Yes,’ said Emmeline. ‘It would assist us greatly in not being arrested and eventually jailed for aiding and abetting the escape of a foreign intelligence agent, if you didn’t use this opportunity to escape.’
Heath threw his hands up to forestall the point Karen was about to make.
‘We know,’ Heath said. ‘The only one who can stop you doing anything is Dave, and he doesn’t seem inclined to. Nor are we, Colonel. We all know that we’re well beyond that. But do us a favour, if you’re still drawing breath tomorrow, don’t just disappear. All right? If you’re going to embarrass anyone, please let it be Trinder. Not the Professor or me.’
Her smile, which Karen so often used as a cover to conceal something, like an old-fashioned lady’s fan, suddenly lit up, as though Heath had flicked on a switch.
‘Oh Captain, rest assured, a choice between inconveniencing you and humiliating Agent Trinder is no choice at all. I will, as one of your most celebrated fascist warmongers promised, return.’
‘And you, Dave,’ Emmeline said, seemingly satisfied with the word of a spy. ‘Be careful and good luck.’
Heath stood forward and put out his hand. Dave took it carefully and shook.
‘I can’t make any promises,’ Heath said, ‘but I will try to get you what support I can. We have . . . other assets in play.’
‘Thanks, man,’ Dave said, taking care not to crush his hand. ‘But Emmeline’s right, a couple of extra guns might make all the difference, and I got those already.’ He nodded at Igor and Zach. Turning to Emmeline, he leaned in without thinking to give her a kiss on the cheek.
‘No,’ she said, throwing a hand up in alarm. ‘Don’t. Just be careful, like Michael said. And get your boys. Your wife too.’
‘Ex-wife.’
‘It hardly matters,’ she said. ‘Go on.’
25
It was always weird hearing a recording of your own voice, and Threshy was in the unusual position of having more than one internal voice now, none of which sounded like Daffy Duck with a mouthful of chainsaws. That’s what he sounded like on-screen, however. No denying it.
‘Dude, change the channel,’ he told the terrified calfling behind the bar. The man, who wasn’t the barkeep, struggled to use the remote with shaking hands and numb fingers. Compt’n ur Threshrend could feel the guy’s panic wanting to slip the leash. His fear was a barely caged animal, wild and ready to bolt. Still, he was better able to work the tech than Threshy or any of the sabre-clawed daemonum in the bar. And so he lived. And changed channels.
By way of contrast, the barkeep, who had not done as he was asked and had made a nuisance of himself with a sawn-off shotgun, was dead, an arrakh-mi bolt through one eye. The other patrons of Fightin’ Phil Luton’s Sports Bar, on an isolated stretch of highway well north of New York, were gone, taken under to the blood pots. Even so, the bar was crowded with the cohort of Warriors Grymm assigned to escort and protect the lord commander. The ceiling was low, forcing Lord Guyuk to perch on one knee as he watched the giant flat-screen behind the bar.
There were at least another two dozen televisions they could have been monitoring, watching multiple news feeds from all over the world, but Guyuk confessed himself vexed by the human magick which was not magick.
‘Conjure me but one vision at a time, Superiorae,’ he growled after a frustrating few minutes of trying to follow Compt’n as he summarised the various news feeds he’d had the surviving human set up for him.
‘Not a multi-tasker, eh, chief?’ Threshy said. His mood had vastly improved since he’d learned Polly Farrell was drawing breath. ‘Fair enough. All the research says it’s bullshit anyway. Let’s just grab us a seat at the bar and watch the big screen. Our man Chumley here can fetch us some more pork rinds.’
The man’s name wasn’t Chumley, but he looked like a banker to Threshy, and Chumley seemed a good name for a banker, even a comparatively young one like this. Guys like Chumley had owned the world before the Horde returned. Threshy knew that. None of the other cattle whose thoughts and memories the empath daemon had sucked down, along with the warm, sweet pudding of their delicious brains, had much liked guys like Chumley. One of the SEALs blamed the Chumleys of this realm for his old man ‘losing the farm’ and dying drunk and poor. The Scolari Compton had resented them for gathering the rewards which should have been due to him. It was interesting to ask all the voices which spoke to Threshy what they made of poor Chumley’s fate – trapped in an isolated drinking hole off US Route 1 playing step and fetch it for a cohort of Grymm.
For most of them, it seemed payback was a welcome bitch.
‘Yo! That one, go back. We want to watch that one,’ said Threshy.
‘Yes, s-sir,’ Chumley stammered and waved the stick at the screen, mashing buttons.
He lost reception altogether for a second, and moaned a pitiable apology.
‘I’m sorry, sir, so sorry . . .’
‘Just fucking fix it,’ said Threshy. ‘And hurry up with those pork rinds.’
Pork rinds, it turned out, were even more delicious to the daemon palate than to human taste buds. Chumley found the right channel and opened another packet of salty treats for his captors.
‘B-beer?’ Chumley asked.
‘W-what?’ Threshy asking, mocking his stutter.
Chumley took a deep breath and visibly steadied himself. ‘Beer,’ he said. ‘I could get you and your friends some beer. To go with the p-pork rinds.’
‘Sure,’ Threshy said. ‘Why not. Pause that.’ He pointed one fore-claw at the screen and Chumley did as he was told.
‘What transpires, Superiorae?’ Guyuk asked. ‘Is there a problem? The magick lantern no longer dances with light.’
‘Just getting some beer,’ Threshy said. ‘To go with the pork rinds.’ As much as a Threshrend daemon could shrug, without shoulders, he did. ‘It’s a special libation, boss. To go with this delicacy.’
He scooped up a few of the scratchings and threw them into his gullet.
‘Oh,’ Guyuk said, ‘I see. Excellent,’ and he reached forward with one massive arm, draped in chain mail and armoured with vambrace, to scoop the rest of the deep-fried snacks toward himself. The lord commander had a powerful taste for pork rinds and insisted they locate a supply to present to Her Majesty.
‘Would a b-bucket be okay for the beer?’ Chumley asked, holding up a plastic pail. ‘It’s just, your . . . claws . . .’
‘Yeah, got it. We’re disabled,’ Threshy said. ‘You don’t have to rub it in, Richie Rich. Just fill the bucket. And find us some more pork rinds.’
Chumley hopped to his orders and within a minute they were able to enjoy their show with beer and snacks. The plain and earnest face of Polly Farrell, lately returned from the demesne of the Horde, the only human being to make a round trip to the UnderRealms as far as anyone knew, filled the giant screen. She was talking to somebody from WYNY, a sure sign she’d recorded the interview shortly after making it back, escorted by the Grymm. No way this lucky bitch was going to be playing in the minors from now on. She’d be talking to Larry King or Oprah or someone like that next. Not bad for an intern.
And some time soon, thought Threshy, she’s gonna be interning for one horny little empath daemon.
Guyuk had picked up a few words of English here and there. Mostly military terms. And now ‘beer’ and ‘pork’, which he mispronounced as ‘prork’. But he was no more able to follow the twitterings of the released intern than she could have understood him. Being the only daemon able to translate the Olde Tongue to English gave Threshy an advantage he was keen to use while he alone still possessed it. He had no doubt Guyuk would have other Threshrendum follow his example and directly ingest the thoughts and memories of select human captives. The old devil hadn’t said anything like that, but Threshy could sense the deceit and potential betrayal coming off him. Tough shit. Let ’e
m try.
None of those other softcock mind-readers were likely to snack down on the premium grey matter he’d managed to score, were they? Not top-shelf mad scientist and Navy SEAL brains. Fuck, he could bullshit people in German and Chinese and half a dozen languages now. He knew how to make doughnuts, do a PowerPoint for a grant application and clear a room full of armed men. Or at least, he could do those things if he had an opposable thumb instead of these stupid talons.
Chumley delivered the bucket of beer as Polly said, up on the enormous screen,
‘. . . they took me down to their world . . . They call it the UnderRealms and they talk about it as if it’s right underneath us. But I don’t think it is.’
‘Smart bitch,’ Threshy said, as he translated for Guyuk. ‘And hot, really hot,’ he added in English, just for himself.
He picked up the beer bucket and tipped it messily into his maw. It did go well with those pork rinds.
‘More beer,’ he roared at Chumley, who hurried to comply.
‘S’good,’ Threshy told Guyuk. ‘You should have some. It’s no bloodwine, but trust me on this. Beer and pork. It’s a good reason to not kill every last motherfucker up here.’
‘I don’t think their world is even physically part of our reality,’ Polly continued. ‘I’m not a science major, but I think there’s some sort of dimension thing happening and these portals or wormholes, or whatever they use to travel back and forth, are a bit like the points at which different universes touch each other. But, like I said, I don’t know.’
‘Ha, you knows plenty, pretty Polly,’ Compt’n ur Threshrend said, or tried to. The beer went to his head quicker than bloodwine hot from the jugular, causing him to slur his words, but not so badly that he could not translate for Guyuk.
‘This is disturbing, Superiorae,’ the lord commander said around another mouthful of pork fat. ‘This creature, a mere slave, not even one of their most learned Scolari, has intuited this from her short time in our realm? Perhaps we were wrong to let her go. What more might she tell the human warrior caste? They will surely interrogate her.’
‘Oh for sure. But that’s cool. She’ll tell them what we want her to. Watch.’
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