by Nick Svolos
How do you prevent a fight between the feds and a group of superheroes? Stick a civilian in the line of fire. It works. Even if he’s a reporter. Nobody wants to make the first move.
So, that’s just what I did. I strode straight through no-man’s land to Special Agent LaBlanc. I nodded to the warrant in Ultiman’s hand. “I take it that’s for me.”
LaBlanc looked irritated by my intervention and shook his head. “No. We’re here for Captain Stand-In. Now please, stand aside, sir.”
Wow. Maybe they didn’t know my secret after all. Well, so much for that. I crossed my eyes and hovered a couple of inches off the ground. LaBlanc’s eyes went wide, and I set myself back down.
“We can handle introductions later,” I said, holding my hands out, wrists together. “Let’s just get off this roof.”
XIII
It was the same interrogation room. There was a little smudge on the wall that I remembered from the last time I was here. I sat in the same hard, aluminum chair, cuffed to the same bolted-down aluminum table, staring at my reflection in the same one-way mirror.
Only, this time everything was bathed in an orange glow.
As usual, they left me to sit alone in the room for a while. Time and isolation would soften me up. They left me alone with my thoughts and they were lousy company.
I tried to be brave, to not let the quiet get to me, but it wasn’t so easy this time. My thoughts got together, held a brief discussion amongst themselves, and by unanimous vote agreed to join forces, condemning me as a fool.
What was I thinking? Using a mad scientist’s device to borrow Ultiman’s powers seemed like a bad idea at the time, but I went ahead and did it anyway, didn’t I? When it was all over, and Ultiman refused to take them back, I let them convince me that I was up to the job of standing in for him. The smart thing would have been to refuse; reverse the process right then and there. Instead, I conned myself into believing it. It was pretty clear how well that worked out.
Now that the door to self-condemnation was open, other reproaches crowded in. I was too slow to figure out what Backdraft’s game was. I should have followed up on the Lucy Wells angle harder. I should have found a better solution on the rooftop.
My memories didn’t want to miss out on the fun, so they joined the pity party. Herculene broke into tears when they took me away. The last thing I saw as the helicopter swept us up was her falling to her knees, Mentalia trying in vain to comfort her.
I glared hard at my reflection. Focus, Reuben. This is what they want. Yes, you’re a screw-up. We knew that going in. Get over it. There are answers here. Let’s see if we can get them.
I pondered the FBI’s behavior. Quite frankly, I expected better. I’d been more than a few steps ahead of LaBlanc and Forney this whole time. It was like they weren't really trying. Between their ham-fisted techniques and lousy progress on this case, it got me to wondering if they were really FBI agents at all.
Efram Zimbalist, Jr. must have been rolling over in his grave.
The late actor’s name made me chuckle. Stress did the rest. Soon, I was laughing out loud. Zimbalist. One who ‘zimbals’. Yeah, it’s not particularly funny now, but as the tension left my body and a tear rolled down my cheek, it was just what I needed.
The door opened and LaBlanc entered, a thick file tucked under his arm. “Find something amusing?”
I wiped the tear away and got myself under control. “Just had a funny thought.”
“Do tell. I’m always up for a good joke.” Judging by the look on his face, he probably hadn’t laughed since kindergarten.
I waved it off. “Skip it. The moment’s passed. You had to be there.”
“Very well,” he said, perusing the contents of his file. “I suppose I should thank you for turning yourself in. I didn’t like where that was going.”
“Neither did I.”
“I have to say, I can’t figure it out. Everything we have on The Angels says they’re a law-abiding bunch. Why were they so resistant to giving you up?”
“For starters, you brought the ERD with you.”
“Yes. I’m aware of the bad blood between them and your team. But it’s standard procedure when dealing with superhumans. Surely, they know that.”
“Come on, LaBlanc. None of this is standard procedure. From your cover story the night we met, to your hacking my phone, to whatever this setup is, you guys have been way off-script for an FBI investigation. Whatever you’re really up to, you’re not fooling anyone.”
His eyes took on that irritated cop glare again. “And what do you think we’re ‘up to’?”
That was a leading question if ever I heard one. The smart thing would be to keep my mouth shut, ask for my lawyer, and wait this out, but how often did I do the smart thing? “Judging by what I’ve figured out, you’re trying to cover up the way the Bureau recruits for the ERD.”
“Oh? What makes you say that?”
“Backdraft was one of yours.”
I’d say this for Special Agent LaBlanc: he had a hell of a poker face. Completely unreadable. “And, according to your theory, we’re here to cover that up, right?”
“It’s consistent with your actions. From what I’ve seen, you’re not here about his burglaries.”
“I see. I take it you have some reason to believe that?”
“Sure. I got to Saunders first.”
That brought a slight rise to one of his eyebrows. A little crack in his façade. Interesting. He leaned forward. “How did—”
Forney entered the room, interrupting LaBlanc’s question. “District’s on the phone for you.” That familiar voice again.
“Tell them I’m interviewing a suspect. I’ll call them back.” LaBlanc appeared irritated. I wondered if this might be a trick, but it seemed genuine.
Forney shrugged, and actually managed an affable grin. “Hey, I told ‘em, but they want you now. Don’t worry, this clown ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
LaBlanc muttered several foul frustrations under his breath, gathered up his file, and left the room.
Forney closed the door but remained on my side of it. He stood at ease, arms crossed, staring at me. A slight smirk on his lips reminded me of one of those villains in the anime shows Helen watches. Or, maybe a cat sizing up a nice, fat, juicy bug.
Okay, so it’s good cop/bad cop, then? Cool. I knew this game. Fun for the whole family. I leaned back and returned his stare.
We went on like that for a full minute. No words exchanged, no movement, just a sixty-second staring contest. And then, somebody knocked gently on the other side of the mirror, and whatever testosterone-laden idiocy we were engaged in came to an end.
The first indication that it was over was Forney shrugging out of his suit coat and hanging it on the back of the chair opposite mine. The second was when he unshackled my hand from the table, twisted it behind my back, and handcuffed my hands behind me.
The third was when he grabbed my head and drove his knee into my nose.
Sparks blinded my eyes and my body convulsed from the pain. The floor rushed up and slammed me in the side, but I barely registered the sensation. A rough hand grabbed me by the collar and jerked me off the floor. Something hard and hairy—I can only assume it was a fist—slammed down into my face, hitting my right eye, and my head bounced off the floor again.
I heard two footsteps, one to either side of my torso, and I rolled hard against the one closest to the table. I heard Forney grunt as I pinned his leg under me and forced him into the table. Off-balance, he fell into the chair and landed on my head.
I ignored the fresh burst of pain. Compared to the slow-motion nuclear explosion raging in the center of my face, it was nothing. I hooked one of the table legs with my foot and pulled with everything I had. I slid out from under him and braced my back against the wall.
I got my left eye open—the right one was dead to me—in time to see Forney slip on some of my spilled blood and crash back to the floor. I got my feet in front of me and pu
shed up against the wall until I was standing. My head swam and some hitherto unknown cathedral was playing a cacophony of bells inside my skull. I had to keep my back against the wall just so I could stay on my feet.
The FBI goon crawled to his feet, only the table standing between us. Forney looked like he was trying to decide whether to chase me around the table or just climb across it. I edged to my right, hooked LaBlanc’s chair with my foot, and made ready to send it his way when he made up his mind. Not much of a weapon, but it was all I had.
Forney finally settled on option B, which gave me a second to decide on my response. The door seemed a million miles away, and I didn't think Forney was going to give me the kind of time I needed to open it, even if I made it that far. I backed up, felt the cool glass of the mirror on my shoulder blades, and made a decision of my own.
I kicked the chair at the agent and threw myself backwards. The mirror gave way with a shower of splintered glass, and I got about a quarter of the way through. Shards sliced into my torso and arms, but bounced harmlessly off my head.
The observation booth wasn’t in a nullifier field.
Instantly, the pain dulled, my right eye opened, and I looked into the room. It looked like all the other ones I’d seen which, admittedly, isn’t that many. I was usually on the wrong side of the glass. Cameras, recording equipment, a couple of chairs. None of that was terribly interesting. What set it apart was who I found there.
Special Agent Lucy Wells.
She was in civilian attire, an FBI badge pinned to her breast pocket, her back against the far wall and a look of rage on her face. She drew a breath, and I rolled back into the interrogation room, bracing myself for what was coming next.
She screamed.
A wall of sonic force slammed me from behind, straight into Forney, across the table and against the far wall. Forney’s coat and the two chairs joined us. Her scream pinned us against the wall until she finally ran out of air, at which point we both fell, dazed and deafened, to the floor.
Forney recovered first, grabbing me by the throat with both hands. He grinned with malice as he straddled me and bore down. My vision began to dim. I kicked and squirmed for all I was worth, but apparently I wasn’t worth all that much.
So, this is how I die, I thought. Not with a bang, but a rattle.
***
Pain. My world was pain. Pain and some rhythmic electronic beeping. Someone called my name, and I opened my eyes. Well, the left one, anyway. The right one didn’t seem inclined to obey my commands. A bright light blinded me, filling me with agony.
The light swirled and went out.
Let’s try that again.
Pain. My world was still one of pain. As I returned from the bliss of oblivion, so did the beeping. I tried the left eye again, just a little bit this time. The light was still there, dimmed through the slit in my eyelid. Its brightness hurt, but not as bad as before. Various sections of my body checked in with status reports. My nose went first, or maybe it was just the loudest on account of how bad it hurt. It felt like it must be the size of a softball. I couldn’t breathe through it. My tongue performed a survey of my teeth and reported them all present and accounted for, although the ones in front felt a little loose. My arms and legs seemed to be fine, although they wouldn’t move. I became aware of some sort of restraints around my wrists and ankles. Metal. Something soft pressed down on my right eye, holding it in place, too.
“Mr. Conway, can you hear me?”
I tested turning my head toward the voice. Things got all woozy, and I gave up. Didn’t need another trip to oblivion just yet. I let my head go back to wherever it wanted to be, stifled the nausea, and replied, “Yeah.” Dry and cracking, the voice didn’t sound like mine.
“Good. Don’t try to move. They won’t let us turn off the nullifier, but we’re doing what we can. Try a little water.”
A plastic straw pressed through the corner of my lips. I gave it a suck, and cold water splashed down my throat. It tasted like electric life. I took another pull.
“Not too much at once,” the voice said, and the straw slipped away. The voice sounded female, and now that she stepped to where I could see her, the story checked out. Pretty brown eyes, black hair pulled back in a ponytail, and green scrubs, although the orange glare of the Kunai field made them look yellow. “I’m Nurse Chen. You’re in the FBI infirmary. You’ve had an accident, but don’t worry, you’re in good hands now. On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you experiencing?”
“Twenty-two.”
She smiled. “Humor. That’s a good sign. You just rest for now, and I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake. She’ll prescribe something for the pain. Don’t worry, you’re safe here.” She stepped away. I heard the door open and close, and then there was just the beeping to keep me company.
Safe. She said I was safe, but she also said I was still in FBI custody. Showed how much she knew. I’d be safer in a pit of hungry wolves. I tested the restraints. They didn’t budge. I risked a glance down at my limbs. They were a textbook example of overkill. Thick bands of shining metal encased my arms below the elbow and my legs from the knees down. I’d be hard-pressed to break free on a good day, but with the nullifier field, it was impossible.
I wasn’t going anywhere, and I was anything but safe.
Nurse Chen said I’d had an “accident.” They already had the lie up and running. Now, all they needed to do was finish the job. Couldn’t leave a loose end like me running around to spoil the official story.
I wondered how they’d do it. Lies worked better if you kept the truth to a small group of people. I replayed recent events to work out who was in the cadre. Forney and Wells, certainly. LaBlanc? Insufficient data. Nurse Chen didn’t seem to be in on it, so the medical staff was probably legit. Somebody at “District”? Definitely. The call that pulled LaBlanc out of the room seemed to be more for his benefit than mine. Okay, that was a mark in LaBlanc’s favor.
I was still mulling this over when I heard somebody come through the door. Hard-soled shoes crossed the room, and LaBlanc looked down at me. “Conway, can you speak?”
I managed a little nod, and he continued. “I need to know what put you on to Saunders.”
Seriously? Did he really expect me to trust him? “Your good cop/bad cop routine is next level, LaBlanc.”
He ignored me and pressed on. “Conway, we don’t have a lot of time. There’s something very wrong going on here.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Dammit, man, this is serious. Two agents just tried to kill you, and I need to find out what this is about before they try again.”
This guy was either the world’s best actor, or he was on the level. It might be that he was my only chance of staying alive. Or, if I told him what I knew, my usefulness would be at an end. Right now, I’d put the odds at 50-50.
I made a choice. I’d gambled my life on worse odds.
“Alright, but we trade information. You first. What are you really investigating?”
“Dammit, we don’t have time—”
“We have the rest of my life. Spill it.”
LaBlanc glanced over his shoulder. Nervous. “Backdraft. You’re right. He was ERD. The Bureau had some shady practices in the early days of the program. All that’s over now. I was sent here to make sure it stays that way.”
I nodded and gave up my piece of the bargain. “Romita Shipping had a record missing from their database. Saunders was the driver.”
LaBlanc got a faraway look in his eyes as he rolled that information around in his head. I could almost see puzzle pieces falling into place. “So, you think Backdraft deleted the record. Covering something up.”
“Not so fast. What’s Agent Wells doing here?”
“What? I don’t—”
“She tried to kill me on national television. I’d think that might warrant at least a demerit.”
“Internal affairs cleared her, that’s all I know.”
“That doesn’t stri
ke you as odd?”
LaBlanc got that look again. Wheels turning. “I’ll look into it. What was in the shipment?”
“Don’t know. All I got was that it came from Pueblo, Colorado, and was delivered to Backdraft’s hideout.”
The agent cursed. “And the other warehouses?”
I let him have that one for free. “Same story, far as I can tell. Missing records. Drivers, too. Alright. When you took that call from District, who was on the other end?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Dammit, man, that call was meant to pull you out of the room so Forney could shut me up. Let me guess, some bullshit about paperwork, right?”
Realization dawned on LaBlanc’s face. “An expense report.”
“Figured as much. Forney, Wells, Backdraft, they’re working for someone. Someone with enough juice to pull the plug on the Wells thing. Who is it?” If I could have moved them, I’d have crossed my fingers. This might be my first link to Bedlam.
My hopes crashed as the agent shook his head. “I don’t know. Somebody at the district level, at the least. But I can’t imagine—”
“You’re just repeating what I already put together for you. Fine. I’ll ask another question. How’re you gonna keep me alive?”
As if on cue, the door opened. I managed to lift my head enough to see who joined us. I dropped it back down with a groan. We were out of time.
More precisely, I was out of time. Wells and Forney stepped through the door, accompanied by an older guy in a dark tailored suit.
“Assistant Director Alvarado,” LaBlanc began. “I need to speak with—”
“There’ve been some changes,” Alvarado interrupted him in a rich, tenor voice. “You’ve been relieved of your assignment. Your case is being rolled into Special Agent Wells’ investigation. You are to turn over all your evidence and report to Washington for debriefing at once.”
“But Assistant Director, these two just—”
“Rescued Mr. Conway after you allowed him to fall down a flight of stairs,” the older man finished LaBlanc’s sentence. “Yes, I know all about it. There will have to be a full inquiry, of course.” His voice took on a softer, almost fatherly tone. “Don’t make this harder on yourself, Michael.”
