World Divided: Book Two of the Secret World Chronicle

by Mercedes Lackey; Cody Martin; Dennis Lee; Veronica Giguere

  “Very clever, asshat. She didn’t send me in the first place, and in the second . . .” She couldn’t finish. Instead, she popped him again. Left hook, this time. Red fell to one knee, cursing.

  “Ow,” Bella grimaced. “Worth it.”

  Bull nodded in appreciation, and glanced down at his handheld tablet. “They neglected to mention your prowess with fisticuffs, Ms. Parker.” He scribbled a few notes down.

  “I was a paramedic with LVFD, which allegedly is why they assigned me to you for this operation. I’ve had to cold-cock many a drunk in my time.” She shook both hands now, but since the feeling was returning to the right, she offered it to Bulwark. “If you decide you’d rather not have me as your DCO, I’ll understand.” She glared at Djinni. “And I’ll be using Overwatch, thanks. It’s been working a treat with CCCP.”

  “Which is why you’ve been assigned to us. You are also a Nevada native, and your files indicate that you know the area particularly well. You have a colorful record here, Ms. Parker,” Bull mused, still scanning his tablet. “Goodness . . . disobeying direct orders, abandoning duties to take offensive measures . . .”

  “Not to mention working directly with another organization, and”—she grimaced—“a little matter of ‘elimination with extreme prejudice’ of a thug that tried to kill me and my hippie friends.”

  “Yes, I read the report on that too. A bit one-sided, perhaps, as much of your statement was edited.” Bulwark drew himself to his full height and crossed his arms. “Did you have any other option?” he asked, his voice dreadfully quiet.

  “I’m a distance empath, a touch-telepath, and he was holding me,” she said steadily. “I got memory flashes of what he’d done in the past—I think they eventually tied him in with six murder-rapes and another dozen or so rape-with-violence—”

  “Did you have any other option?” Bull interrupted.

  She could have told him why. How she was pinned. How she had seconds to stop him. How at that moment, given her fluctuating abilities, she was sometimes limited to “extreme mental force” and “petting kittens” with nothing in between. Okay, at that moment, she had been honed straight in on killing him. He was a rabid dog, and you didn’t coddle rabid dogs in kennels, you shot them. Maybe she could have done something else. Maybe.

  Instead, she simply answered, “No.”

  Bull nodded. She was telling the truth. “Very well. Your record and abilities suggest you can be of use. You will find that this particular outfit has something of a reputation of . . .”

  “. . . of coloring outside the lines?” Red suggested helpfully, as he climbed into the nearest chair.

  “. . . of exhibiting independent thought,” Bull finished. “But I would warn you, Ms. Parker, that I do not tolerate recklessness. We have a mission, then we execute it. I will not endanger our tasks or our operatives with counterproductive conflict in the field.”

  “Suits me, sir,” she replied. “I have no argument with the DCO’s primary objective, just the . . . hmm . . . the restrictions. I packed heat as a paramedic, sir. Where we went in, you had to. My FD station wasn’t exactly . . . by the book. My captain’s motto was ‘Lead, follow, or get run over.’ The idea that healers don’t hit is stupid.”

  “Uh . . . if you don’t object, sir, I’d rather Ms. Parker didn’t touch me.” Harmony looked awkward and nervous. “Telepathy . . . I don’t want a telepath in my head.”

  “I can heal you without touching you, just not as well.” Bella shrugged. “You aren’t the only one squeamish about psions.”

  Bulwark nodded. “I think we might have an understanding then, Ms. Parker. We are scheduled for a briefing. It seems our intel has unearthed something and they are requesting volunteers. Please join us.”

  “I’ll get my kit.” She saluted—sketchily, but it was a salute, while her internal fangirl made heart-shaped eyes at the hunk—and headed back to the car.

  Bull turned to Red. “Don’t you get tired of being beaten up by girls?”

  Red stood up, all pretense of injury gone.

  “Actually, it kind of turns me on.”

  * * *

  Vickie had hated, hated being caught by Bella in one of her moments of weakness. But it had been a bad day to start and had gone downhill from the moment she’d opened her eyes.

  Weather systems going through had a tendency to make all her scars tighten, which meant she’d awakened in pain. But she had pledged to herself that she would run the Le Parkour course every day and she knew that if she gave herself a break once, it would be easy to find excuse after excuse until she was back to never leaving the apartment. So she went out. No one was ever on the course in the predawn.

  Except, as she reached the halfway point, someone was. And that someone was the Djinni, who had gone over the course three times in the same time it took her to finish—in no small part because everything hurt, and what didn’t hurt, didn’t work. His snide little comments as he passed were like ninja stars between her shoulder blades, shattering what was left of her self-respect.

  Then she’d gotten home (speeding the whole way, and thanking the powers for the special Echo tag that made her immune to cops), cleaned up, plugged herself in, checking Tesla’s office first as she always did, only to be in time to hear Djinni telling Tesla just what he thought of “nanny cam” and particularly its operator. And that was it. Five minutes later, Bella came in with a sack of soul food for lunch to find her a wet mess.

  When Bella had gone, Vickie cleaned herself up (again) and tucked the lunch into the fridge for when her stomach wasn’t doing the fandango, reflecting as she did so, that having the blue medic move in next door was one of the best things that had ever happened to her.

  Back to the Overwatch room and she saw the “urgent” flag blinking on the main monitor as she opened the door. Less than sixty seconds later she was the silent observer of the briefing for Bulwark’s team.

  Bulwark’s team. Craptastic. More Djinni.

  That lunch was probably going to go uneaten now.

  Funny. Djinni wasn’t smart-assing. Well, after that monologue for Alex Tesla, it wasn’t likely he was going to be wearing the wire. Bull already had one run-through, so that left Scope, Acrobat and Harmony to bring up to speed.

  Ah, there was Bull’s mic and ear lighting up. “Overwatch,” she said, feeling a lot better to have him coming up first. “Reading me, Bulwark?”

  And there was his camera feed, showing the three newbies to Vickie fumbling with their gear.

  “Affirmative, Overwatch, you are five by five,” came the crisp reply. And then, in a stern tone, “No, Acrobat, that goes in your ear.”

  Bella lit up. “Testing,” came over the private channel. “I am reminded irresistibly of F-Troop.”

  “The sound you hear is my head hitting the desk,” Vickie replied. She switched over to the briefing room intercom and gave simple instructions on what went where. One by one, the lights by their names lit up, and she tested the links.

  “. . . don’t know what I’m . . . oh! I can hear something! Hello! Uh . . . Operative Acrobat, um, five by five, whatever that means.”

  “Hello, Acrobat,” Vickie grinned. “Just let it mold to your ear, son. It should only take a moment.”

  Scope and Harmony followed suit, and then . . .

  “Red Five, standing by.”

  “Djinni?” Vickie asked. “You using telepathy now instead of the wire?” Actually she was aghast; didn’t know whether to be apprehensive or relieved.

  “Don’t get cute, Victrix. I’ve been overruled. Just start the damn show.”

  “Right. Nobody hum the Mission: Impossible theme, please, I’ve heard that twenty times already. Rolling briefing tape.” She cued the mission tape, which would, yes, self-destruct—or rather, erase—when they were done with it.

  * * *

  They were, as far as Vickie could tell, about forty feet underground, which was fine for her communications and bloody well supreme for her magic. They had ear
th all around them.

  The Goldman Catacombs were the stuff of legend. No one seriously believed it existed. The few that did, the few that dared to actually go inside were never heard from again. Like the myth of the Minotaur Labyrinth, it was said to contain great treasures. One simply needed to make one’s way along the twisting maze of insanity, defeat the great guardian at the end, and claim the goods. Of course, each section was rumored to be lined with more death traps than a bad B-movie. That was what made the Catacombs so unbelievable. What could be that valuable, even in aggregate, that anyone would go to so much trouble, when a secure vault with a small army of guards armed to the teeth—like Echo had—would do the same job at a lot less cost and astronomically less hassle? Part of the legend was the eccentricity and ingenuity of the man himself. Doc Goldman had been one of the finest minds of the Third Reich, so much that his boss was willing to overlook his heritage. Considering that the Third Reich would have happily gassed Einstein himself, that was saying something.

  For the tenth time, Bulwark asked Red the question.

  “And none of this is familiar to you?”

  “Why would it be?” Red deadpanned. “Goldman Catacombs. Wow. The myth of this place. It’s a thrill to be here, Bull. Quick, someone take my picture.”

  “If he’s never been here before, I’m the mything link,” Bella punned on the private channel.

  Vickie wasn’t entirely sure. None of Djinni’s vitals indicated he was lying. Then again . . . would they? Given the colorful stories about his past, his file was surprisingly scant of anything solid. It was obvious that he was, at the very least, schooled in subterfuge.

  “Well, my map says right again,” she replied, peering at the low-res digital file of a poorly scanned map. “There’s a squiggly bit, it might be a notation or cockroach crap, about ten yards down that might mean . . . something.”

  “Crack outfit we’re running here, huh?”

  “That’s enough, Djinni,” Bulwark said. “There’s something to what he says, though. Overwatch, this might be a good time to inquire about the source of your intel.”

  “I have here before me a digital copy of a set of schematics allegedly plotted by one of the bricklayers that lined the Catacombs. It was the best I could find, which is a damn sight better than anything Echo has.” Already she felt weary. “They’re old. And the copy isn’t good. But they were in FBI classified files, so evidently the FBI thinks they’re valid.”

  Acrobat stopped. “Thinks? Thinks? Overwatch, this is the Catacombs! We need better than thinks!” Acrobat’s heart rate accelerated, and he started to breathe fast and shallow.

  “Bulwark, he’s going to hyperventilate and pass out in a second,” she warned over his channel.

  Bull motioned Acrobat to silence. “Bruno, calm down . . .”

  Acrobat started to shake. “You don’t understand! No one’s survived this place! No one! Oh God . . . except . . .” He turned to Red. “Not cool, dude! Not cool! You’ve been here before, right? You’re just messing with us, right? I mean . . . who just walks into a death trap, I ask you?”

  “Acrobat, take a deep breath,” Bulwark said. He laid a hand gently on Acrobat’s shoulder. “We all knew the risks coming down here. I know what you’ve heard of this place, but do you really think I would let you, any of you, come down here if I didn’t think you could handle it? You may be trainees in the eyes of our superiors, but you have all proven yourselves to me. I know you can do this. We’re here. We’re committed to this.” He paused. “Straighten up, soldier. Let’s get to work.”

  Bruno stiffened up.

  “Oh, come on, Bruno,” Red said, giving Acrobat a noogie. “It’ll be fun.”

  “Gerroff!” Acrobat said, from underneath Red’s arm.

  Vickie interrupted them by clearing her throat. “Well, since I didn’t ask before, I suppose I had better now. Have I your formal approval to work whatever magic I have to in order to keep your asses reasonably intact?”

  “No,” Red answered. “You’ve got uncertain plans and are working relatively blind here. We do this right.” He looked at Bulwark. “We do this my way.”

  Bella glared at him. “Vickie, you have my personal permission, since laughing boy here doesn’t seem to have any more clues about this joint than you do.”

  Bulwark regarded them both, and finally spoke. “We’re not going into this divided. What did I tell you about counterproductive conflict in the field, Operative Blue? Overwatch, feed us what intel you can. Djinni, scout her findings. Disable what you can. I’ll head in first if anything seems uncertain.”

  “Yessir,” Bella replied. And added on Vickie’s channel, “And if the shit hits the fan, I hope you can think of something to pull me out with.” She spoke up where they could all hear her. “And why are you heading in first, sir?”

  “Because I’m the least likely to get hurt,” Bull answered, turning on his force field.

  Whether this was part of Bulwark, or created by some dingus he’d come up with, was irrelevant. What it was, however—a transparent sphere, visible mostly because of light refraction off it—sprang up around him.

  “A force field?” she breathed. “Holy Klingons, Captain Kirk! Bull can stop bullets?”

  “Yeah,” Scope whispered. “And more. Kinetic mirror. Whatever hits it, bounces back.”

  Bella shook her head. “Wowsers. How much can he take?”

  “He hasn’t tested that yet, but once a building fell on him.” Scope’s eyes grew reverent. “Have you even seen a building . . . bounce up?”

  “He survived that?”

  “It almost killed him, actually. But he didn’t have much choice. It was during the Invasion, and there were too many lives at risk. Einhorn healed him up afterwards, but for a while it was pretty scary. Lots of internal bleeding. We almost lost him.”

  Bella gave her a speculative look; stuff was leaking out of this girl as if her empathic barriers were cheesecloth. There, mixed in with the hero worship, was pain and regret and a deep longing. Oh boy. Mama always told me that it wasn’t a good idea to get into romance at work. . . . Of course, Mama had herself, and here was Bella as the result of it, but hey, don’t do as I do, right? And, she had to admit, Bull was smokin’ hawt and a Boy Scout, which was a combo that was irresistible to Bella and, it seemed, to other women as well.

  Vickie coughed in Bella’s ear. “Much as I hate to break up this fangirl moment . . .” The common channel cut in. “As I said, there is a squiggle about ten yards ahead that might mean there’s something there.”

  “Define ‘something there,’ could you?” Djinni drawled. “You’re supposed to be a writer.”

  Bella could hear Vickie counting under her breath. “There is something on the map that is not one of the usual symbols like ‘electrical junction box’ or anything else I can recognize. I would logically assume it means ‘trap here,’ all things considered, but I can’t tell and I’ve been overridden by Field Command from trying to tell what it is by magic. Happy now?”

  “Could use a bit more alliteration.”

  The response was two muttered words in a language Bella didn’t know, but which sounded Slavic. Then, “Terpsichorian tragedy transpires on tripping traps.” A pause. “Twit.”

  “Can you give us anything more, Overwatch?” Bull asked. “I can stop objects, but anything energy-based is going to cut right through.”

  “I wish I could. Without doing a magic scan, I’ve got nothing but the map.”

  “We do it the old-fashioned way then. Scope, give me a scan. Harmony, I’ll need a boost. Acrobat, I’ve got point, you’re on rear guard. Djinni, if you have anything to add, this is the time.”

  Scope stepped forward, drew a sensor unit from her belt and did a sweep. “Nothing out of the ordinary here. Looks clean.”

  “Of course it looks clean,” Bull said with exaggerated patience. “Give me energy readings.”

  “Negative, sir. In fact, readings are lower here than the last bit of hallway.”


  “Shielding,” Bull grunted. “Walls are probably lined with it. At least we know something’s here.”

  Harmony took a nervous step forward. Bull’s field shimmered at her presence, and accepted her in. She laid a hand on Bull’s back, and the field flashed in intensity. It seemed to hiccup, then expanded with a jerk, crunching into the floor, walls and ceiling. They yielded, leaving curved dents that groaned from the pressure.

  Acrobat let out a surprised yelp as they all tensed up, preparing for whatever hell was about to be unleashed.

  Nothing happened.

  “Easy, easy. . . .” Bulwark murmured. “Remember our last session. Picture what you want to happen.”

  Harmony squeaked in apology and closed her eyes. Slowly, the field receded until it just covered the width of the hall. After a moment, the field’s glow intensified.

  “That’s good right there,” Bull said. “Good girl. Djinni, give me something.”

  “Like what?” Red snapped back.

  “You’ve been here before. Forget about implicating yourself, our lives are at stake here.”

  “Recording off,” Vickie said crisply. “I’ll fake something later to fill in the gap. Jeezus, step up, would you?”

  “This is the problem with having a reputation,” Red muttered. “Everyone thinks you have all the answers. Christ, are you serious? Overwatch really doesn’t have complete prints on this place? Did we come down into a death trap with a sketchy floor plan and the trust that I’ve done this before? I’ve surpassed traps, sure, but even I know not to go in without a really good idea of what to expect. What were you thinking, Bull?”

  “That you have already been here, and that you wouldn’t let us die just to protect your own sorry ass.”

  “Goddamn you . . .”

  Acrobat flinched and backed away in fright. “Oh, this is bad, so bad . . .” If Harmony had been cheesecloth, Acrobat was a bucket with no bottom; his fear and even some of the thoughts that accompanied it slammed into Bella like a fire hose.

  Red and the boss are fighting, right on top of some trap. We are so dead.