by Hondo Jinx
“Do you have a cat?”
Janusian’s question had come out of nowhere, like a stiff jab thrown from a surprising angle.
“Sir?”
Janusian grinned ghoulishly. “Agent Whittaker, you appear to have grown hard of hearing in your twilight years. I asked if you have a cat.”
“A cat?” Jamaal said. “No, sir. Shawna’s allergic.” And then, with a horrible sinking feeling, he remembered the Arch Mage earlier glancing toward the floor.
“I was just thinking it strange that you had dog bowls, given that your dog passed away,” Janusian said.
Jamaal did his best to maintain a calm exterior. “Yeah, Shawna is sentimental.”
“She even keeps food and water in the bowls?”
Jamaal nodded. “She’s having a hard time. And the whole thing just happened. Rosie only died last week. She was—”
“My apologies,” Janusian said, cutting him off with a raised palm. “I have no business invading your personal life. It’s the curse of our profession, I suppose. I can’t be the first off-duty law enforcement officer to ask inappropriate questions when what he sees and what he hears don’t add up. What’s your greatest fear?”
And there it was again, Janusian hitting him with a sharp, unexpected question. It kept Jamaal off balance, a rare state for an old Seeker.
“Hard to say,” Jamaal responded. No way in hell was he going to share his worst fear: causing something to happen to Shawna.
“Let us be open and honest with one another, if only for this brief moment in time,” Janusian said. “Truth be told, I’m feeling vulnerable. Perhaps even a touch nostalgic. And definitely afraid.”
“Afraid, sir? You?”
Janusian nodded. “Old war horses like us aren’t supposed to show fear, right? And after putting on our stoic masks day after day over the years, we can almost believe the lie we show the world. Us, afraid? Don’t be ridiculous. But of course, we fear.
“Because that is life. Not pizza and beer. Fear. It drives all that we do.”
“I never really thought about it that way, sir,” Jamaal said.
Janusian spread his hands. “It’s an uncomfortable notion. Almost damning. No wonder most people prefer to surrender control to their superiors.”
Before Jamaal had a chance to even consider what Janusian was saying, the Arch Mage clapped his hands together crisply. “Out with it, man. What do you fear?”
“Death,” Jamaal lied. “I fear dying and then having some reckoning. Like judgment at the Pearly Gates. Or a final burst of Seeker analysis forcing me to stare my shortcomings straight in the face.”
Janusian nodded, looking thoughtful. “I would tell that you have nothing to worry about since you are such a good man, but our fears are no one’s business but our own. They don’t even need to make sense.
“Besides, no matter how much you have impressed me over the years, how well do I really know you? How well do any of us know anyone, really? In the end, that’s all we really are… bundles of fear and secrets.”
“I like to think we’re the sum of our actions, sir.”
“A comforting yet inaccurate notion. Our actions are the graffiti we spray across the walls of the world. Their sum is the shingle we hang outside our little shops of fear and secrets. Certainly, as a Seeker you must sense the truth in that.”
Jamaal nodded. There was some truth to what Janusian was saying. As usual. The man hid behind tapestries of half-truths stitched in the gilding of his formidable charisma.
“If you’ll swear a vow of silence,” Janusian said, an almost hopeful look coming onto his face, “I will share my greatest fear with you.”
Jamaal raised a hand. “Whatever you say stays between us, sir.”
“The power mage,” Janusian said, his slate-colored eyes drilling straight into Jamaal with fierce intensity. “I wake at night with Ms. Heath’s dying mantra echoing in my ears. He will come for you. He will come for you. Heaven help me, I’ve come to believe it, old friend.”
Janusian laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “I’m no Seeker but boil my heart if her words don’t ring with truth. He will come for you. It feels inevitable. Like a prophecy burgeoning toward harvest. I can see the moment in my mind, squaring off with this young lion, giving it my best and coming up woefully short.”
I hope so, Jamaal thought. Oh, how I hope that comes to pass. But he said, “As you yourself pointed out, sir, you aren’t a Seeker. You have no way of—”
“Oh, I know, all right,” Janusian interrupted, and Jamaal was surprised to see the man was trembling. “I’m old, Jamaal. Hell, we both are. In all my years, this is the first time I’ve feared anyone. And it’s terrible.
Janusian’s eyes slid out of focus, lit with horror. “Because I know that I must face this young man… and know just as surely that he will kill me. My greatest hope is that I won’t allow my fears to unman me at the end. If I must die, allow me to die a warrior’s death, on my feet, giving it my all. Let them remember me that way. Don’t let me die cowering on my knees. Anything but that.”
“Never, sir,” Jamaal said.
Janusian laughed abruptly. “Oh to hell with it,” he said, gesturing toward the six pack. “Give me another.”
Jamaal managed to smile and handed his boss another cold one.
Janusian opened the beer, took a sip, and gave an exaggerated sigh. “We aren’t prepared, old friend, not for the challenges we face.”
Jamaal waited. The Arch Mage loosened his tie, looking drawn and exhausted, almost haggard.
“One at a time, we might defeat them. But how can we simultaneously face the Tiger Mage, Clarissa Lemay, and the power mage?”
“We’ll find a way, sir.”
“Spoken like a true soldier,” Janusian said. “But I fear we lack the resources.” He started reciting numbers of agents staffing major urban areas, none of which surprised Jamaal as lifelong truth mage. “Everyone was already working overtime to cover up that mess in Times Square. Now, with New Jersey to deal with, we are beyond maxed out.
“Which leaves us vulnerable, of course. I am particularly concerned about the nodes.”
“The nodes, sir?”
“The New Dawn Initiative relies upon six nodes. Machines, basically. I won’t trouble you with the details. But they are crucial to the program’s success. In fact, if something were to happen to one of the nodes, it would set us back weeks, perhaps even months. And facing the challenges we currently face, who knows what could happen over such a span of time?”
Jamaal nodded, wheels spinning.
“That’s why I’ve been so secretive and why I’ve kept the nodes locked away all this time. Once they are in place and the New Dawn Initiative comes to life, we will be victorious. But first, we must get the nodes safely to their destinations, and we don’t even have the manpower to protect all of the trucks.”
Jamaal let his surprise show.
Janusian sighed heavily. “I thought we had it covered. But the situation in New Jersey was a game changer. Now, one of the trucks will be traveling without escort. Which makes it a perfect target for our enemies. Especially the Tiger Mage.”
“But you’ll monitor the truck?”
Janusian shrugged one bony shoulder. “In theory. It leaves Asheville tonight at midnight and drives to Chattanooga during the wee hours of the morning. We’ll monitor the drive, but if something does happen, what do we do? Our closest branch is Gatlinburg. You can see why that’s problematic.”
Jamaal nodded. “The Gatlinburg team is bush league.”
“Yes,” Janusian admitted. “They’re fine for monitoring the Chop Shop, but there is no way in hell they’re ready to face the Tiger mage.”
“Why not deploy the Rapid Response Team, sir?”
“McLeod is exhausted, and her team is hurting. They’ve lost several people over recent days. Most of the surviving agents are in the hospital, and all of them will need significant counseling.”
Jamaal took a sip of
beer and shook his head. “Sounds like a dilemma, sir.”
“It is. Hopefully, nothing will happen.” Janusian said. “I apologize for not bringing you into the fold sooner, but truth be told, there hasn’t been a fold. The New Dawn Initiative is my brainchild, and it has been executed piecemeal over time, in small pieces by an army of unwitting assistants, like a psionic Manhattan Project. Sometimes, secrecy is the most crucial weapon in our arsenal. And in the case of the New Dawn Initiative, this is definitely the case.”
“No problem, sir,” he said. “As a Seeker, sometimes it’s a relief not being in the know.”
“Ignorance is bliss,” Janusian said. “Well, unfortunately, I am about to kill your bliss by telling you everything.”
Jamaal nodded, bracing himself as dread swelled within him.
For the next ten minutes, Janusian explained the program.
It was bad. So, so bad. Brawley didn’t stand a chance.
And neither do I, Jamaal thought, doing his best to hide his terror.
The Arch Mage’s confident smile erased his fatigue. “I need a few rough men, Jamaal. A few rough men brave enough to ride with me through the pits of Hell. Can I count on you?”
Jamaal’s heart hammered, thrashing like a cat in a sack.
Because this wasn’t the first time Jamaal had heard these words.
Janusian had spoken to him once before, the exact same words in the exact same tone.
Many years earlier… on the eve of the Culling.
25
“Ready when you are, love,” Frankie said.
Brawley spared his lovely wife a glance. She sat beside him in the RV, excitement shining in her luminous green eyes and bright smile.
Behind them, Remi paced restlessly, heavily strapped and ready to kill, still spinning her butterfly knife.
Callie leaned against the wall in her fused form, examining her razor-sharp claws and occasionally flicking her huge amber eyes up to glance at Brawley or Remi. The Desert Eagle rode in a holster around her narrow hips.
“The tanker truck is getting close,” Jamaal’s voice said in Brawley’s ear.
Jamaal was still in Key West, sitting outside a bar, waiting for this to be over so he could go inside and try to talk Nina’s dad into blowing town and helping him to talk David and Beverly into coming with them.
After Janusian’s visit, Jamaal was ready to bail.
Brawley couldn’t blame him.
Once Janusian got the New Dawn Initiative up and running, they would all be in a hell of a lot of trouble.
Of course, Brawley and his people were fixing to toss a big old monkey wrench into Janusian’s plans any minute now.
Or rather, two monkey wrenches.
Because Jamaal’s call had alerted Brawley to more than the New Dawn Initiative. Jamaal had also delivered a game-changing bit of top-notch intel.
Perhaps even Janusian’s Achilles heel.
Brawley damn well hoped so.
After the call, he’d pulled over and announced a change in plans. Braxton was jumpy, but he’d agreed immediately, and they’d split the group.
Most of them were in position here, just outside the compound.
The other group would strike the node truck. That would punch the New Dawn Initiative in the throat and further distract the Order, which would make rescuing Winnie easier.
Brawley reached out like Tammy had shown him and telepathically relayed this information to Tessa, who was hunkered alongside Route 19 fifty-some miles to the south.
Okay, Brawley, the electrokinetic’s voice replied. We’re ready.
Brawley gave her a mental thumbs-up and left her to it.
Then he slipped into the perspective of the drone he had earlier flown over the fence and into the compound. Down below he saw the sniper nests, the second gate, the high fence and towers, and the Chop Shop itself; a low, nondescript building with very few windows squatting in the mist like a concrete monster.
The drone was cloaked, of course, and actively jamming psi detection, as was the RV.
Then Brawley switched into the psi sensor he’d attached to the drone’s tiny passenger.
Reaching out telepathically, he said, You okay, Luna?
Yeah, the tiny mouse girl’s telepathic voice squeaked. Did I happen to mention that I’m afraid of heights?
You did not, Brawley said.
Well, I am. As in terrified.
You’ll be okay, darlin. I’m bringing you down.
He lowered the drone inside the main compound, buzzed forward, and hovered in front of the building’s double doors.
Brawley settled the drone on the parking lot just beyond the door.
Thank you, Luna squeaked. I’m going to get close.
Brawley watched through Luna’s psi sensor as the tiny mouse hopped from the drone. His perspective bumped up and down as Luna scurried across the lot into the shadows beside the Chop Shop door.
“Getting closer,” Jamaal’s voice reported. “It’s about a mile out from your team.”
Brawley reported the news to Tessa.
I think… yeah, I can hear it, Tessa thought-spoke. Here we go. Yolanda says she sees headlights.
Is she ready?
Yes. We all are.
Great, Brawley transmitted.
This was it. The moment of truth. Brawley wasn’t used to juggling so many things at once.
Multitasking is bullshit. Success is built one task at a time.
But that approach wasn’t possible at this moment.
Brawley cycled through the RV’s cameras with his mind. Crosshairs split his vision. Wherever they pointed, the four miniguns Frankie had mounted atop the RV followed. These weapons were synced to Brawley’s perspective like the guns of an Apache attack helicopter are synced to the wired helmet of its pilot.
Frankie had patched the guns into the Winnebago’s computer. Each belt-fed weapon pulled ammo from rooftop reservoirs.
One mental trigger pull, and the miniguns would blast whatever he was targeting. And because the computer made constant calibrations based on factors like speed, distance, and atmospheric conditions, Brawley would nail whatever he targeted… at a rate of 4000 rounds per minute, per gun.
So he was careful as he checked his six to sweep his vision above the heads of Braxton, Talia, and the waiting Scars.
The bikers’ thoughts burbled softly out there, inviting him to tune in. But Brawley wisely resisted the temptation and tamped down the clamor.
Tammy had warned him that new Benders could get lost in telepathic chatter just like new Seekers and Gearheads sometimes stumbled into psionic forests.
Luckily, his new wife had taught him to filter out noise.
He swiveled the rear right camera and found the idling school bus and dump trucks. The bus would carry prisoners. The trucks would haul plunder.
Brawley was especially interested in computers, filing cabinets, and the strange laboratory equipment.
Switching to the front cameras, he panned across the gate to the guardhouse, lowering the crosshairs onto the face of a guard inside.
Everyone was in position, ready to ride. Now they were just waiting for the chute door to bang open.
He hopped on the all-call and let his team leaders know the score.
I can hear the engine approaching, Tessa said. It’s getting close.
Tell Yolanda to do her thing.
Tessa spoke to the strange Cosmic, who started mumbling unintelligibly.
A second later, Tessa gasped, “Holy shit, that looks real.”
Tapping into the psi sensor on Tessa’s forehead, Brawley had to agree.
Weird or not, Yolanda was talented.
It looked like a rockslide had completely blocked the mountain road with a wall of rocks ten feet high and twice as thick.
He could hear the Scars’ revving engines behind Tessa, one hundred Carnal madmen ready to ambush the truck carrying Payter Janusian’s precious node.
Here it comes, Tessa reported. He
could hear her nervousness in her thought-voice.
You’re all right, darlin, he told her, suffusing the statement with soothing Seeker juice.
When Tessa thought-spoke again, she sounded calmer. I see the truck. A big silver tanker with a smiling cow painted on the side.
Brawley nodded. Just like Jamaal predicted. That’s it. That’s our truck.
He saw no escort. The truck was alone.
It’s slowing down, Tessa reported. Breaking hard now.
Brawley heard the screech of airbrakes. The speeding truck slid, weaving back and forth like a skier on a slalom run, and finally jarred to a halt not ten feet from the towering pile of illusory rubble.
Brawley’s mind pinged him with a significant development, and Luna’s thought-voice squeaked, I’m in, Brawley. Holy smokes, somebody came by, and I slipped into the lobby.
He swung his consciousness into the mouse girl’s psi sensor and was disoriented but pleased to find his viewpoint hopping up and down as Luna scurried across the lobby of the Chop Shop.
Be careful, darlin.
Luna’s mind squeaked wild laughter as she raced across the cavernous lobby. We mice have two modes: run or hide. Right now, I’m running. I’ll be careful once I’m hiding again.
Brawley was on edge, waiting for a giant boot to come crashing down.
Luna scampered across the lobby and scurried into the shadows beneath a wheeled cart parked along one wall.
There’s the hub, Luna thought, and Brawley saw it.
The large, octagonal room dominated the middle of the building. It looked like a metal pillar with windows of thick glass.
Inside, two guards sat at control desks. The rest of the hub’s exterior was armored in steel plating painted pale green.
Good work, Luna, Brawley beamed. Now find a place to hole up that’s a safe distance from the front doors.
Brawley toggled back into Tessa’s point of view and saw a figure climbing down from the driver’s side.
The driver, a heavyset man in overalls and a ratty flannel, approached the illusion. Behind him, the tanker truck idled.
Brawley saw no one else. No escort. Not even a passenger. And the confused driver didn’t even appear to have a gun.
Brawley keyed the headset of Ramrod, who was leading the hundred Scars at Tessa’s side. Don’t kill the driver unless you have to.