by Nick Svolos
Down in the Vault, the security team freaked out and almost fired on me when they saw my Doughboy get-up. The arrival seconds later of a villain from the 1930’s didn’t help matters.
Fortunately, Archangel vouched for us, and we secured our prisoners about the time Ultiman stepped out of the elevator. “Would you like to explain what the hell is going on, Evan?”
I grinned at the thought of the old man confusing me with Evan Esquer, the original Doughboy. For starters, he was better-looking.
“Told ya it was a good disguise,” Helen gibed, sweeping off her wig.
“I never said otherwise.” My time masquerading as Doughboy had run its course, so I removed my headgear and explained the situation as we rode the elevator up. “We need the team to get out there and disarm all the bombs.”
Ultiman paused to give the wheels in his head time to run the numbers. “Even with those two out of the picture, the rest of the ERD will interfere before we can make any meaningful progress.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout them,” I replied. “They’ll be hunting me.”
“What?” Helen gasped. Ultiman just nodded, his face a grim mask.
I pressed the button for our floor. What I was going to do was stupid and would probably land me in prison or the graveyard, just like Sinfonie had predicted. If so, I was going to go there wearing my own clothes.
We hit our quarters and Helen followed me in. Ultiman continued up to the flight deck to get the AngelJet prepped.
“Reuben, what are you planning?” Helen asked as we suited up.
I fitted my King Bee communicator into my right ear. “Since this thing began, Bedlam’s been setting me up to be the bad guy.”
“Right, but we have all the evidence we need to clear you.”
I nodded and started transferring my gear from Doughboy’s uniform to my utility belt. “Yep, but that just gets you another hero. The city doesn’t need that right now.”
“I’m not sure I follow you. What’re you planning?” she asked, slipping her toga over her body. I hoped I’d see that body again someday, but knowing I might not, I took one last, long look.
I tried to change the subject. “Here, hang on to this for me.” I handed her a metallic container. It was about the size of a pack of cigarettes and had a thumbprint reader on the top.
She took it, rolled it over, and tucked it into a pouch on her belt. “What is it? More evidence?”
I shook my head. “Something far more important. Don’t let it fall into enemy hands, okay?” I pressed the Angel communicator into my left ear. It let me know it was working with a happy little chirp.
“Wait. You’re trying to distract me. You—oh, no. You’re not gonna….” Her voice trailed off as she realized the truth.
I pulled my mask over my head. The fabric hung up on my beard stubble, giving them a sharp tweak. I didn’t even mind the vicious little spikes of pain. They helped me avoid the look in her eyes. “Yep,” I said.
“Baby, no—”
The elevator door opened and a voice called out from the living room, interrupting Herculene’s protest. “Hello? You guys still here?”
“In the bedroom, Taaliah. Maybe you can help me talk some sense into this guy.”
“No time.” The petite superhero strode into the room and handed Herculene a scanner and a canvas tool bag. “That has your assignments and instructions on how to disarm these things. SpeedDamon’s already out placing beacons, so all we need to do is follow the dots. Come on, let’s move.” She turned to a window as Archangel slid it aside.
Herculene wasn’t going to let our conversation go. It wasn’t in her nature. “We need to stop Reuben. He’s gonna go do something stupid.”
Mentalia just shook her head. “The clock’s tickin’, hon. Ultiman seems to know what he’s planning and he approves.” She stepped over to me, put her hand on the back of my neck to pull my head down and planted a sisterly kiss on my cheek. “Besides, nobody does stupid like this guy. Now get moving, both of you.” She encased herself in a purplish bubble of telekinetic thought and flew out the window.
“Helen, I know this seems wrong, but you gotta trust me. The city comes first. We can sort everything else out later. Just remember, I love you.” I grabbed her around the waist, laid one of my Best Smooches Ever (patent pending) on her lips, and was out the window before she could recover.
A thrill of freedom filled me as I flew to my destination. I took a second or two to savor it. It might be the last I’d ever feel, and that somehow made it taste sweeter. But I had a job to do. “Archangel, I need to make a few calls.”
The first was to Dawson. He was busy, of course, but he took my call immediately. No time for jokes or chit-chat, I told him where I was going, and where he and LaBlanc should be to make the bust.
The next was to Ratna. Basically, the same story.
The last was to Alvarado. He answered on the first ring.
“Who is this? How did you get this number?”
“You know who this is.”
It took him a second, but he got it. “Conway. You better be calling to turn yourself in.”
“Possibly. Depends on whether you’re smart enough to play things straight.”
“You’re not in a position to bargain.”
“No, I’m in a position to dictate. Your plan is clever, Alvarado. Clean. I like it. But you made three mistakes.”
“And those would be?”
“The first was not adding a motion sensor to your design.”
“Hmmm, I’ll keep that in mind. The second?”
“You picked the wrong patsy.”
“Patsy? You’re a hero gone rogue. Escaping from federal custody? Attacking an FBI office? You’re only hope is to turn yourself in.”
“That’s it, Alvarado. Stick to the story.” Give me more lies to ram down your throat. “That’s your third mistake. Thinkin’ I’m a hero. You see, a hero wouldn’t do what I just did.” Keep the conversation going, Reuben. Get into his head. Feed him one breadcrumb at a time until he’s had the whole poisonous loaf.
He laughed. “What could you possibly do?”
“I could move one of your devices.” I read his home address back to him. “According to my operative, Margaret is preparing dinner. Poor Jenny stayed home from school today. Having some stomach troubles today, isn’t she? So young. What is she, five?”
“You bastard!” He shouted. “You’d threaten my family?”
This from the guy who was going to gas my city? I jerked the metaphorical line hard, setting the hook and reeling him in.
“Spare me the pearl clutching, asshat. You already know I have the codes to activate your devices. Now we can both set them off. If we do, your wife and brat die, twitching like roaches. If they get a phone call, an email, a text or so much as a carrier pigeon, they die. If any of your goons show up, well, do I really need to say it? Yeah, I guess I do. You know why? Because I like sayin’ it. They die.”
I could just make out a muffled “Stop the countdown” before he came back on the line. “What do you want?”
“I want in.”
“In? Into what?”
“Bedlam. I think it’s time to move to the winning team. You’re going to make the introduction. Because, you know, you’re pretty much my bitch now.”
I ignored his sputtering protests. “Meet me at Dodger Stadium. Twenty minutes.”
XVII
The flimsy sheet metal gave way with a slight protest, but the key locker never had a chance. I handed its contents out to the waiting Bumblemen, who sped off to their posts without comment. We’d been over the assignments, and they knew what to do. When I let Reggie help me select the team that morning, I’d had some concerns. Over the last several hours, I’d learned better. He knew henchman talent when he saw it and this crew was the best of the worst.
I’d selected my battlefield with care. If you were going to have a confrontation involving a bunch of superhumans, and you wanted to be responsible about it
, you needed a lot of space with no civilians to get in the way. That was a tall order in the middle of a city of twelve million people. More often than not, a sports arena got the nod.
That’s why your ticket prices are so high. If you think the players make too much money, try looking at the balance sheets of the insurance companies sometime.
As the last Bumbleman hustled off to his position, I grabbed the rest of the keys and went to work arranging doors the way I needed them. When I first started working at the Beacon, Harry rotated me around through all the paper’s sections. One of the best assignments was the sports desk. I’d learned every nook and cranny of every arena in this town. The best places to catch a player for a quick post-game interview. Where the staff hung out on their breaks. Where they kept the booze for the executive suites.
I knew Dodger Stadium like the back of my hand, and the boys in blue were on an eight-game road trip. The beautiful Grande Dame of Chavez Ravine was perfect for what I had to do.
In the announcer’s booth, I set up the controls and patched everything through to one of the station’s transmitters, setting it to the right frequency.
“Archangel, you getting my feed?”
“Roger that, Cap. Five by five.”
“Good. Any headway on the compliance chips?” Archangel, in between everything else she’d been doing, managed to spare some processing power to analyze the FBI’s data on the chips in their agents’ heads. She’d learned that they were installed in a lot of people. Most of them were in an innocent-sounding file labeled “Contractors”. But the most interesting thing was her discovery that all the ERD members had them. It seemed Bedlam liked to keep its minions on a short leash.
“Done. The codes are scrambled, per your orders. Are you sure you don’t want the codes for your own use? I show nine bogeys converging on your position.”
I smiled. Alvarado was throwing everything he had left at me. Exactly what I wanted. The Angels had free reign to do their jobs. But, damn, nine ERD members was a lot. Being able to kill them with nothing more than a spoken command, well, it was tempting.
But where was the fun in that? “Naw. We’re good. Just shut ‘em down.”
“As you wish, my evil overlord,” the AI replied. She sounded like she was enjoying this. Almost as much as I was. “Enemy ETA is three minutes.”
I finished up and flew down to the field, landing in the third-base coach’s box. “Okay, men,” I called into the King Bee mic, “get into position. Two minutes.” I took a last-minute gear check and assumed a classic supervillain stance—arms crossed and legs wide, emanating an aura of arrogance.
It’s important to observe the traditions.
A black helicopter appeared over the far side of the stadium and landed on the baseline between first and second. Eight people in ERD uniforms swirled about overhead while one more raced around the perimeter in a black blur. Finding nothing of note, they formed up in a defensive cordon around the whirlybird as its rotor began to spin down. The agents didn’t look friendly, and it didn’t look like I’d be joining Bedlam today.
Assistant Director Robert Alvarado stepped from the craft, took a careful look around to make sure he was safe, and shouted, “Give it up, Conway. It’s over.”
I keyed the Angel mic. “Over? Ha!” My voice boomed out from the stadium’s loudspeakers. I let the echoes die down while surveying the field before me. “I see you brought your whole team. Smart. You’re gonna need ‘em. Because this isn’t over. No, we’re just getting started.”
Two stunner beams leaped out from opposite sides of the arena, striking the helicopter. Static electricity arced along its surface, electrifying the cockpit, and sending the pilot into convulsions. When the stun rifles ended their volley, the poor guy slumped forward, right into the controls. The still-spinning main rotor pitched forward, chewing into the turf and sending the enemy scrambling to get out of its way.
The game was on.
I spun around and flew as fast as I could to the Dodgers’ dugout door. I popped a couple of pyrotechnic beads into my hand and smashed them against the floor as I flew into the clubhouse. I couldn’t spare the time to look behind me, but I didn’t need to.
The speedster would be the first to react. In my mind, he was already at third base. Excellent. We had to put him down first or we were dead.
I hung a left, flew the length of the locker room, dropping pyro-pellets one at a time every ten feet or so. I heard an “Oof” and splintering wood behind me as the speedster slammed into the lockers nearest the door. I tossed three more bombs as I crossed into the physical therapy room.
The Dodgers had a world-class physical therapy center. There was a soaking pool built right into the floor. I tossed the remaining beads in my hand against the wall, obscuring it, set down on the far side and braced myself.
The ERD speedster had to be pissed off by now. I didn’t know whether he was in on Bedlam’s plot, an honest agent, or just one of the ERD’s enslaved minions. Quite frankly, I didn’t care. All I cared about was that his anger made him sloppy. He saw me through the smoke and sparklers and ran full tilt at me.
From concealed positions on either side of the doors, two of my Bumblemen opened fire, their stunners set to wide, intersecting cones, filling the air with the sound of ripping paper. The fusillade missed me by inches.
They didn’t miss the speedster, though. He plowed right into it, and while he was fast, he couldn’t outrun the web of electrified air my guys had waiting for him. He jolted, slammed into me, and splashed down into the little pool. The henchmen reset their weapons and unleashed a barrage of full-strength charges into the submerged agent.
I reached in and hauled him out before he drowned. He had a pulse, but after a stunning like that, he’d be useless for a couple of hours. Hopefully. The Angel’s containment shackles were too bulky to lug around on a job like this. We’d have to rely on stunning the crap out of these guys and hope it was over before they came to. “Good job, fellas. Get to position two.”
“Roger that,” they barked, and sped from the room. I stuck around for a few seconds to cover their retreat, then flew back through the clubhouse, down a long row of trophies and into the tunnel that led to the players’ parking lot.
After a series of turns and stairwells, I arrived at my next position, a maintenance tunnel that ran around the whole stadium. From here, I could be almost anywhere in the complex in twenty seconds. I was the spider and Dodger Stadium my web. I settled in and waited for the telltale vibration of my next meal.
“Contact. Sector four,” a voice said over the King Bee channel.
I keyed the mic. “En route.” I took off down the corridor. Sector Four was the concession area behind the Loge seats along the left field side. I emerged in the kitchens, crouched low and crept to the front counter. I poked my head up as a cautious ERD man worked his way down the silent colonnade. He’d already passed me, and if my henchman was in position, he’d stumble onto him in a few seconds.
I took a couple of those seconds to size him up. I ran through my mental checklist of what the ERD had left. Based on that and what I knew of their local assets, I came up with nothing. No clue as to what I was dealing with.
Oh well. I guessed I’d have to wing it.
I rose, silent as death, shifted my focus, and tackled the agent from behind. I looped my left arm around his throat and tore the communicator from his head with my right. His arms shot up to pry my arm loose, and I slammed my knee into his hip to give him something else to think about while I locked my left arm in place with my right. To my relief, he was relying on raw strength to break my grip. He was one of the brawlers.
Perfect.
My Bumbleman stepped into view and leveled his stunner. I released my lock, rabbit-punched him, and kicked my victim forward. The henchman fired, and the agent convulsed for a second before falling to the ground. The henchman stepped forward and delivered two more blasts into the prone agent, his face contorted in a cruel grin.
I closed the door to a walk-in freezer as quietly as I could manage, putting my second victim on ice for the duration. Before I could get away, I pulled up short. Footsteps? I dropped into a crouch again and crept back to the service counter. I listened carefully, sweat gathering under my mask and making my face itch. Yeah, bare feet, slapping on concrete. Could it be?
I decided to risk it. I held both hands up and stood, nice and slow. “Winters, hold up.”
He spun, hands bursting into flame. When he saw me, he drew back his hand, then thrust it forward. A blast of flame crashed into the concession stand as I leaped out of the way, avoiding the world’s most severe case of athlete’s foot by a hair’s breadth.
Dammit, I had to get him to listen. I kept my hands up, non-threatening. “David, listen to me. Ten seconds, that’s all I ask.”
The sound of his given name did something. Perhaps it reminded him of who he was. “I have to do this, Cap.” He eyes held an apology. “They’ll kill me.”
“They can’t. I scrambled the codes.”
“What?”
“The chips won’t work. Listen, I know what they did to you. Get out of here and contact the district attorney. Your testimony can shut these guys down for good.” I glanced down at the field. Alvarado was still down there, a female agent by his side. Wells. She was holding her ear and issuing commands.
It looked like Backdraft’s flames had their attention. I called out to my henchman, “Fall back! This sector is gonna get hot!” The Bumbleman sprang from cover and disappeared into a maintenance tunnel.
I turned back to Backdraft. “It’s your call. Stay and remain their slave, or get out of here and destroy them.”
Backdraft grinned. “I’ll do more than that.” He jabbed his hand forward, flames spat out, arced around me and hit something behind me. Something that screamed. I twirled around to see a flaming ERD agent careen into a concession counter and fall to the ground, struggling to put out the flames.
