The island was closer now. Toru lifted the oars from the water and they all listened. Crickets and frogs, and the water lapping against a felled tree, but nothing that suggested they were drifting into an ambush.
It was cold, and even the brief ride in the rowboat had coated them with a fine mist that left their clothing damp. Moving through the forest, even if it was walking into a fight, would be a welcome relief, because at least it would generate some heat. The bottom of their boat thumped against something unseen, and the noise made Sullivan flinch. The frogs fell silent. They drifted for a moment, waiting . . . Then the frogs began croaking again.
Toru stowed the oars and rolled silently over the side. He entered the water without hardly making a splash. It was shallow here, barely coming up to Toru’s waist. Sullivan tossed the Iron Guard a rope and he pulled them forward until the boat was stuck in the mud. Toru tied the rope to a tree while the other three climbed out.
Diamond’s boat kept drifting to the east. They’d agreed to make landfall at two separate points and then converge as they got closer to the compound. Lance’s surprise had simply swum across the river before them and would be waiting somewhere ahead.
Dan and Ian weren’t nearly as quiet as he’d hoped. There was just something about moving in the woods that could only be learned through practice. Dan’s real value was if the nullifiers could get knocked out. At that point he could probably just ask real nice and the OCI would surrender and hand over all of their evidence. Until then, he was clumsy and loud. Maybe I should have brought Hammer. He kept his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “You two . . . stay back and get your Summoned ready.” They’d discussed it earlier—anything Ian was capable of bringing in that would be much use in a fight sure wouldn’t be very stealthy. “Then stay a hundred feet behind us. Toru, you’re with me.”
Walking in a crouch, Sullivan made his way forward. The woods were thick, but he took his time to keep from making too much noise. The ground was nice and soft, which meant that his boots gained clinging mud with every step, but at least he didn’t have to worry about dry leaves and branches cracking. Stalking through no-man’s-land had been a thousand times worse, because you had to do that on your belly, crawling over the dead bodies and the barbed wire, and a carelessly raised head would get you popped by a German rifleman. For Sullivan, this felt more like the deer hunting he’d done as a kid than the deadly stalking he’d learned in France.
Walking into the nullifers range was like walking into a wall. The Power just stopped. The spells he’d carved on his body felt lifeless and dull. Suddenly everything felt heavy.
Toru moved to the side, silent as one of Ian’s spirits. He’d brought that big Jap machine gun, but even without his Brute strength, it didn’t seem to be bothering him any. They had just shy of half a mile to travel. They made good time, trying to stay far enough ahead of the louder two. Sullivan was so used to subconsciously manipulating gravity that he’d forgotten just how weighty a BAR and two hundred rounds of ammunition were. Despite the cold, he began to sweat beneath his coat.
Five minutes in, Toru froze. The lack of movement in his peripheral vision was enough to make Sullivan unconsciously take a knee. The Iron Guard had sensed something. Sullivan’s nose caught it a second later. Cigarette smoke.
There was a noise up ahead and Sullivan pulled tight against a tree. There was a game path, and two shapes were making their way down it. The men were talking quietly, nervous. The long things in their hands could only be rifles. He looked to where Toru had been, but the Iron Guard was already gone, crawling forward, his machine gun left leaning against a log. Sullivan slung his BAR, drew his trench knife, and followed.
It was almost too easy. Just like old times, like silencing the German city boys who didn’t know how to listen to the night. The guards never even saw them coming. Toru took the left side of the game trail and Sullivan took the right. Palms covered mouths as heads were jerked back. Boot to the back of their knee, the blade goes in under the ear, then ride them down, nice and quiet. You only had to keep them still for a few seconds that way. The smart ones would at least try to pull a trigger to warn their friends, but Sullivan had found that most folks couldn’t think that far ahead with six inches of steel in their neck.
Sullivan dragged the corpse back into the bushes and wiped his blade on the guard’s shirt before putting it back in the sheath. His hands weren’t even shaking. There was only the emotional blankness hard earned in the trenches of France. The earlier reservations about taking these men’s lives had been dismissed after Lance’s discovery of the extermination order. If human life was that cheap to them, then Sullivan figured this was all they deserved.
He joined Toru at the edge of the trail. The Iron Guard gestured to the south and held up two fingers. More guards. They had to hurry. Dan and Ian were blundering along behind, and were sure to get spotted. Sullivan put his hand down to begin crawling, but froze. His palm had come to rest in something that felt suspiciously like an animal track. A huge animal track.
Damn, Lance. Did you get something big enough this time?
He signaled for Toru to intercept Dan and Ian. Toru moved off, and Sullivan waited. A moment later the second half of the patrol came into view. They’d left far too much room between themselves to be effective. Sullivan disapproved of their lack of professionalism.
These two were warier than the first, but it didn’t matter. There was a flash of shadow, a thump, and the guard bringing up the rear simply disappeared from view. The lead man turned, confused, as the shape in the bushes rose soundlessly, bounded back across the trail, leapt, and took down the other. This time Sullivan could hear the snap of bone as they disappeared.
The bushes shook as the predator made its way toward him. Every instinct in Sullivan’s body told him to either run for his life or start shooting, but he held perfectly still. He couldn’t actually see the animal until it was almost on top of him. You wouldn’t think that orange and black stripes would be effective camouflage, but it really was. The tiger came out of the brush and strolled down the trail toward him.
“Hey, Jake. We’re clear from here to the wall. Couple guards on top of it and more in a tower behind the perimeter. Bad news though. I can smell a lot more men inside than when we were here earlier. I’d say at least double, maybe more.”
He swallowed hard. Up close, the tiger was even more terrifying than he’d imagined. Sullivan prided himself on being a tough guy, afraid of nothing, but this was a little too close for comfort. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Aw, this little thing.” The tiger made a show of turning its head and looking at itself. “Now this is more like it.”
“Is it safe?”
“Safe as a six-hundred-pound Siberian tiger can be. The National Zoo is gonna be right angry when they find her missing.”
“You have to put it back.”
“Aw, come on. Can’t I keep her? Heh . . . just kidding. You know how much this thing would cost to feed? Look, I got to concentrate. I’m trying to get word to Heinrich, trying to break the generator with another rat, and keeping this girl from eating you. I’m going to park her here and put her to sleep, so I can’t talk for a minute.”
Sullivan watched the tiger as it seemed to study him back. “Anything I can help with?”
“Just don’t try to pet the big kitty, Sullivan. I don’t think I could handle that.”
I think I’ve got it!
Francis was giddy with excitement, or maybe it was just the exhaustion, since he’d been working on Fuller’s design nonstop for an unknown number of hours. It was hard to tell time in a prison cell with no windows or clocks. The design finally looked, and more importantly, felt right.
So now what?
It just kind of sat there, a gigantic conglomeration of squiggles, shapes, and lines drawn in the dust, utterly lifeless.
Since he had proved incompetent at lock-picking, the wire that Lance’s rat had snuck to him had been used as a drawing i
mplement instead. Between the finer lines, and dozens of agonizing attempts, the spell was finally done; it seemed to be correct, but it wasn’t doing anything. It had to work just like any other spell. He had to concentrate on it, had to make it connect to his own Power. Until then, it was just a drawing in the dust. But how was he supposed to touch it with magic with the nullifier messing him up? He concentrated on the design, like he normally would, but felt nothing at all. “Damn it all to hell!”
“Huh?” The chains rattled. “What?” Heinrich sounded like he’d been sleeping.
“Nothing . . .” Francis couldn’t even tell his friend why he was frustrated because the stupid guards were probably listening. “How’re you doing?”
“I am doing rather well, believe it or not,” Heinrich answered. “I am looking forward to getting this over with.” Which probably meant that he’d had more luck picking his locks than Francis had. It didn’t seem fair at all. You wouldn’t think that a Fade would have ever bothered to learn a skill like lock-picking when he could just walk through walls, but Heinrich was just so damned crafty that he’d probably learned how for fun. As a very talented Mover, all Francis had to do to open a lock was think about bouncing tumblers until something clicked. It turned out to be a whole lot harder with one hand and a piece of wire. “How are you, Francis?”
“Not as good as you apparently.”
“I see. Well, I think we are going to have a busy day tomorrow. Try to get some rest then.”
Easy for Heinrich to say. He’d learned how to sleep while dangling from ledges and rain gutters to keep from being eaten by zombies. Francis much preferred a nice, civilized bed. His idea of roughing it was a three-star hotel.
There was another noise from inside the wall, skittering right behind his head, and it made Francis jump. “Don’t say anything,” Lance’s voice whispered from a space far too small for a human to fit. “This is it. We’re right outside. If you can make that spell work, Francis, now’s the time. Nod your head if you got that.” He did. “Good. Gotta run.” There was a rattle of a pipe and Lance was gone as quickly as he’d appeared.
Desperate, Francis turned his attention back to the spell. Time was up. He had to make this damned thing work or else.
The rat scurried up the conduit, forced its head through a tiny crack in the wall, and then pulled its body through behind. Lance knew that anything its skull could fit through, the body could be forced to follow. All of God’s creatures, even the utterly disgusting ones, were amazing. He was tracking the gasoline stink of the engine. The generator was close. He could feel the vibration through his feet. More twists and turns took him through walls and behind panels.
The generator room was illuminated by a single light. There was no smell of danger, though the corners were cloaked in shadows. The rodent tumbled through the last hole, dropped several feet to hit the hard floor, and immediately scampered toward the engine. Pick some wires. Chew till something breaks. Get the hell out of here.
The rat didn’t even hear the tiny demon until it was too late. A black claw pierced the rat’s body and pinned it to the floor.
Crow’s modest apartment overlooked the Potomac. Though he couldn’t even see Mason Island from here, he’d parked his chair right next to the window anyway. A smile creased his face as his distant minor Summoned destroyed the intruder in the generator room. He’d figured they’d try to kill the main Dymaxion somehow.
He released the demon from his control and let it fade from reality. By the time the demon had drifted into smoke, Crow was entirely back in his own body. The little ones didn’t take much consciousness to control, so within seconds he was in full possession of his limited human faculties and could again feel all the weakness and fragility of the body he’d been born with. Since he’d received the Doctor’s spell, he’d been spending less and less time in that body every day, just returning to it often enough to keep it fed and cleaned. Returning to his real body always seemed like such a waste.
The telephone was waiting on the stand next to him. The line had already been prepared to go directly to OCI headquarters and all he had to do was push a button to be patched through. Someone picked up on the other end immediately. “This is Crow. Intruders are on the island. Lock it down. Prep Stuyvesant and Koenig for transport. I’ll be there in a minute.” He returned the handset to the cradle.
This was a special occasion. It was almost like picking which tie to wear before that special date with a sweet young thing you really wanted to impress. He was eager to kill these Grimnoir, so only one of his finest demons would do. The one that he’d used in Oklahoma was the strongest he’d ever attempted to control, and that had turned out dicey. He’d lost control and embarrassed the OCI last time. Since the boss was going to be at the scene, he’d better play it low key and Summon something a little tamer.
But Crow hesitated. Something was eating at the back of his mind. Screw Doc Carr. I know what I’m doing. He’d Summon the same demon that he’d used in Oklahoma. If the Traveler girl was going to be there, the ram-horned demon deserved another shot at her. Its spirit had been out here sulking since it had been defeated last time. It was only fair.
The ram-horned demon wasn’t the greatest that Crow had ever found, just the greatest that he’d ever attempted to bring over to the real world. He’d sensed a few others out there, floating in the between place that only Finders and Summoners could reach. Those were bigger, older, even stronger, just waiting to be given form. Their spirits dwarfed all the others, so epic that he hadn’t even been able to recognize them as actual entities before the Doctor had magnified his Power. These things had been the top of the food chain on the dead world that the Summoned originally hailed from. It was really tempting to try one of those on for size. To be able to have a body like that . . .
Better safe than sorry. Ram-horn will do for now. I’ll work up to one of those big boys eventually. Crow reached deep inside, fired up his Power, and called for his servant.
The tiger’s sudden roar caused Sullivan to fall over on his backside into the mud. The gigantic feline took a step toward him. Surprised, he jerked the BAR up and got ready to shred the cat.
“Lance! What’re you doing?” Sullivan hissed.
“Got speared by a demon.” The tiger rapidly shook its head as if it were distracted by pain. “They know we’re here.” The tiger leapt away and disappeared into the trees.
Sullivan got out of the mud and hurried for the compound. Active or not, it was now or never. Ahead, the shape of the wall appeared ahead through the trees. The only gate was on the south side facing the bridge. There was no entrance here on the north side, so they’d planned on making their own. Hoover’s intel said that it was twelve feet tall, made of bricks, with a single tower overlooking it, and there was an open space of about fifty feet where the trees had been cut away for visibility. All of that was good useful information.
However, the intel hadn’t specified that there was a walkway on the other side, so that men could peer over the top to shoot at them.
He’d almost reached the clearing when brilliant floodlights switched on, bathing the trees in light. “Everybody down!” Sullivan shouted as he slid behind a fallen log. He shouldered the BAR and the front sight appeared as a gigantic black triangle before the light. The Maxim silencer absorbed most of the noise, and he was rewarded with shattering glass and darkness. He swept over and took out another one of the floodlights before someone on the wall returned fire. Sullivan calmly got as low as he could as machine gun fire ripped the log to splinters above his head.
Toru dove into the bushes off to the side and crawled behind a mound of solid dirt. He leaned out and worked his machine gun across the top of the wall. Somewhere inside the OCI compound a man cried out in pain and another light went out. A Thompson roared far to the left as Diamond’s men joined the attack. Within seconds, seven automatic weapons were peppering the fortifications and smashing brick into dust.
“Ian!” Sullivan bellowed at th
e top of his lungs. The plan hadn’t changed, they just had to do it while getting shot at was all. “Make us a door!” Then he went over the log and emptied the rest of his magazine into the watchtower. “Toru, hit that tower.”
Between the two of them, the wooden structure was absolutely riddled with bullets. The guards’ shadows jerked and twitched. A red mist hung in front of the watchtower’s spotlight for an instant before it too was broken. Gun empty, Sullivan ducked back down. He barely had time to see a body sag against the railing, flip over the edge, and tumble from sight. The tower was out of the picture.
Deprived of targets, the fire from Diamond’s side tapered off. Toru pulled back behind cover to reload. The Iron Guard’s teeth were visible in the dark as he smiled. “It seems they did not expect that level of response.”
“Too easy.”
“Agreed. Expect trouble.”
He raised his voice. “Anyone hit?” Sullivan counted the shouts back. Nobody was down. If there were more OCI on the wall, they were staying concealed. “Hurry it up, Ian.”
“On the way.”
A pale glow appeared in the forest back the way they’d come from. The soft ground began to rumble with ponderous footsteps as the glow grew brighter and brighter. Ian’s Summoned was coming. “Cover that monster!” Sullivan’s command was echoed a moment later as Diamond repeated the order to his men.
BAR reloaded, Sullivan watched the wall, but no targets appeared. A dark spot that could only be an arm dangled limply over the side, but other than that there was no sign of the OCI. The rhythmic rumble increased as the Summoned neared. It crashed haphazardly through the brush, breaking smaller trees and pushing medium-sized ones over. The Summoned was only a few yards away when it passed by, the color of the full moon, vast, four eyes glowing red. It looked clumsy, with a great big body, oversized arms, and stubby little legs driving it relentlessly forward, but it was gaining speed as it charged the wall.
Spellbound: Book II of the Grimnoir Chronicles Page 36