Stupidly, I had been depending upon running across a clue leading to their whereabouts: the sound of gunfire, screams, drops of fresh blood, a disruption in the jammed streets, even a trail of cookie crumbs. It had been a foolish hope, and now I had to accept the fact that I was alone.
Quickly, I checked my watch. Two hours remaining. Time was running out and without Jessica or Richard to pry the information I needed from these living corpses my options were dwindling to a precious few. Perhaps, I was now ready for a desperate gamble.
Retracing my way to an earlier corner, I explored the torpid crowd until I located the petite woman with a puckered acid scar. In the standard toga, minus cape, she was intent upon holding her iron wand at the dome. Hanging tantalizingly from her belt was my new goal. According to the rules of magic, lacking permission, the old owner had to be dead before I could take possession. As I stood there working up my nerve, her hostile gaze started to lower towards me. Fast, I shot the iron wand out of her hand as it turned my way. Tumbling through the air, it hit the chest of an outrageously fat man dressed in tiny pink bikini briefs. The wand clung to the sagging rolls of spotted flesh and crackling ethereal discharges slowly crawled over his corpulent body. In spurts, steam began to hiss from his ears as his brains began to boil.
Blood had yet to flow from the ruined hand of my target, but her face showed the pain and shock. Despite the foul nature of her people, I really hated to do this. Felt too much like kicking a cripple, but I was committed to the plan by now and couldn't stop. Besides, it was my world or hers. Plus ... oh hell. Pumping two rounds into her face, I put another two into her chest aiming for the heart. With any luck, death would be instantaneous.
As her body began its leisurely journey backwards, I holstered the pistol and slashed at her belt with my combat knife. Sluggishly, the cloth strands separated, the ends casually drooping. Inch by agonizing inch, the magic lamp started to slid off her belt. Made of tarnished brass, the enclosed reservoir of the oil lamp was the size of a shoe, with a looped handle on one end, a short up-curved spout at the other and the words ‘rub me’ on the side. Such an innocent object. Only my Bureau glasses told the truth. It had an aura powerful enough to sink a battleship.
As it cleared the end of the belt, the lamp dropped in normal speed to clunk on the sidewalk. Snatching my prize, I took off at a run, jockeying through the crowd like a fullback dribbling the puck towards the hoop with bases loaded. Or however that goes, I'm not much of a sports fan.
Three corners later, I saw a shop with an open doorway and dashed inside. The establishment proved to be a leather goods store, with mostly whips and underwear on display. The proprietor, or rather the person I believed to be the proprietor, was a muscular man with beard and moustache. He was in the process of tripping over a chair as he headed for the street. I side-stepped the airborne fellow and went to the rear room. As hoped for, it was his workshop, shelves filled with tanning supplies, delicate knives and stretching racks. Pulling up a chair, I sat and got ready to do my battle of wits.
Considering the age of the island, roughly 5,000 years, this was a genie before the reign of King Solomon, Master of the Gjinn. Thus it would not have to follow his rules on three wishes. One might be all I would get. So it had to be correct the first time. Wording would be very important. According to the Bureau manual, a wish with the word ‘and’ was considered two wishes.
If you asked a good genie for immortal life and untold riches, it might give you both. A neutral genie would only give you the first, or nothing. Improper wording voids the wish. An evil genie would happily give the immortality part and then, as a lark, also make you blind, deaf and paralyzed, so you could suitably enjoy forever. Yes, genies were swell folk. Tons of fun at parties.
According to my glasses, this gjinn was neutral, slightly favoring evil. Not quite as dangerous as playing jump rope in a mine field, but pretty darn close. My sole hope was that five thousand years in the lamp would seriously slow him down. Male, or female, the gjinn had to be a bit stir crazy after being confined for that long a period.
I rubbed the lamp.
There was the mandatory puff of smoke from the spout, a clap of thunder and the genie appeared. A male. Big, bold and bare chested, wearing balloon pants, embroidered silk belt, a gold earring in his ear and his bald head topped by a huge white turban with a big red jewel in the center. Reminded me of Mr. Clean. I expected him to salaam, but instead the gjinn clutched his head and reeled backwards as if in pain.
"Holy freaking spit!” he cried in colloquial English. “Alexander, the Roman Empire, the Dark Ages, the Renaissance, the Industrial Revolution, two World Wars, nuclear weapons, the Sexual Revolution, laser beams, home computers, video games, VCRs, landing on the moon, MTV, cloning, internet porn!"
Breathing deep, the genie wiped a film of sweat from his brow. “Wow. Things have really changed since I've been gone."
Nervously, I wet my lips. So much for being out of circulation. I'd never seen anybody catch up on current events so fast.
Hoisting a leg up on the tanning table, the gjinn was now dressed in snakeskin cowboy boots, blue jeans, red flannel shirt, a full head of hair and a ten gallon hat.
"Yes, it is a toupee,” he admitted. “Okay, pardner, shoot. I have a hot date waiting for me in Tulsa. What is your wish?"
Here we go. “My wish is for you to tell me, in a language that I can easily understand, precisely everything I need to know to successfully complete what I consider my current assigned mission, in regard to this island as a threat to my accepted contemporary civilization."
There was a pause as the gjinn chewed that over. “Pretty good,” he grudgingly admitted. “Short, succinct, gets right to the point, plus you didn't use the word ‘and'. Not bad at all for a mortal. How do you know so much about genies?"
"I'm a big Barbara Eden fan."
He smiled. “Plus, a Bureau 13 agent."
Hoo boy.
Smiling wider, the gjinn clapped his hands together and then rubbed them hard. “Ah, done. That was easy. Okay, listen close. The independent nation of Atlantis would never consider a treaty with non-magical scum like your kind and they will attempt to conqueror the planet again as soon as they are free.” He winked. “So what you want to destroy is at the top of Mount Lympus, you folks call it Olympus, its the biggest mountain on the island. The entrance to the mountain is in the temple that you incorrectly thought to be a coliseum. The city armory is to the left, down the main street nine blocks. Your team is on the nineteenth floor of the pyramid skyscraper to the south of us. They are being tortured. One is dead. One is being violated even as we speak."
Violated? My heart leap to my throat, but I refrained from speaking. He paused as if waiting for me to interrupt, then went on. Bastard seemed to be enjoying himself.
"Yes, I am. Oh, your Bureau scientists were wrong, the cloud will reach New York, in 80 minutes, not three hours. At which point your government will immediately launch a salvo of exothermic Proton missiles. Boy, even I don't want to be here when those babies go off. Presently, the National Guard is trying to evacuate Manhattan and let me tell you, it is not a pleasant sight."
He was telling me more than I asked for, more than I needed, or even wanted, to know. I sensed a trap and heroically kept mum.
"Say, you are smart!” the genie chuckled. “Anyway, in summation, always remember that defeat lead to victory."
Startled, I looked up from resetting the timer on my watch. What did he just say?
Doffing his hat, the gjinn fanned himself. “Ye-haw! I haven't been witness to this much excitement since Zeus and Ra duked it out for hand of Kali. Well, good luck, sport. You're going to need it!” In a puff of smoke, he and the lamp were gone.
Pulling out my note pad, I quickly jotted down the pertinent points. It appeared to be exactly what I wanted. Yet why would he mention the armory? I was well armed. Unless, what I had wasn't enough. Damn. Grimly, I set my watch to sound every ten minutes. Still remaining was
the question of getting my friends, but with ... 75 minutes to go, I did not have the time to arm myself and attempt to free them. One, or the other, not both. The world or my friends. Sadly, there was no choice.
"...one is being violated even as we speak..."
Forcing my mind closed to that, I headed for the armory.
* * * *
The directions took me to a vacant lot. Surrounded by tall skyscrapers, this flat expanse reeked of importance. Only one small building on the block was evident. A squat, brutish construct of unfinished concrete with narrow slits in the walls as windows. A pillbox. No guards were evident.
The sidewalk about the block was edged with a neatly trimmed hedge, quite green and alive. Beyond, was a glass lined moat some four meters wide, two meters deep and awash with a boiling vicious liquid that looked as friendly as a rabid tax collector.
The approach was easy enough to find, a single break in the hedge offered access, however I could see no way to get across the moat. On the street, an old man was poised mid-step running from the direction of the armory. I gave him a quick inspection, but even with my sunglasses, saw nothing on him to assist me in gaining entrance. Just his wand. Did they fly over?
My watch beeped. Seventy minutes remaining. Okay, fly it is. Slinging my rifle over my neck and shoulder so it couldn't drop, I pulled out my combat knife, retreated to give myself plenty of room, charged and jumped.
The breath was knocked out of me as I hit the other side, my feet dangling dangerously over the edge. Plunging the knife into the grass, I managed to lever myself out of the moat and rolled away until safe. Standing erect, I now noticed a sprinkle of loose soil floating across the moat to the street. Suspicious, I kicked a bit more out there. It scattered and most fell, or rather the dirt in front of me disappeared with a hiss in the moat. The soil to the left stayed up. Gently prodding with my knife, I discovered the truth. An invisible bridge, set just off to one side. Coming in, you simply stepped to the left, crossed the moat, then stepped to the right. Pretty crafty. Anybody not paying attention would go straight to their death.
Freeing my rifle, I judiciously began walking towards the pillbox. Suddenly, the air shimmered briefly as I passed an illusionary shield and the real armory appeared before me. Lord Almighty, these people didn't trust anybody. A stygian fortress completely filled the block, its outer walls constructed of stones bigger than a truck and lined with a good dozen turrets. Each roof was an indented parapet, in the style of a castle and between the square notches I could see siege arbalists, racks of gunpowder rockets and what appeared to be a Gatling Gun style rotating cannon. It was as if somebody had taken the old fashioned, muzzle loading, cannons from 14th century pirate ships and strapped eight of them together. The weapon must have easily weighed ten tons and yet it had a hand crank. Wow. I did not wish to see it in action. Or the operator.
Entry to the fort was easy. The portcullis was raised a crack, and the riveted metal gates ajar. Maybe they were still in the act of closing behind the old man in the street. The courtyard was deserted of people, yet dotted with triwheel vehicles and on both side were penned herds of gargoyles, their stone wings clipped to prevent flight. Weakly, the skinny beasts growled menacingly. In a cavalier manner, I flipped ‘em the bird.
Unexpectedly, the squat pillbox I saw earlier was still there, its recessed door closed, but unlocked. Inside, I found a bonanza of weapons; tall cabinets full of glass tipped spears—the hollow heads containing a fluid similar to the stuff in the bubbling moat, chests of transparent shields bearing the inverted triangle symbol, frames holding stainless steel body armor, a rack of chainsaw swords, a mound of black powder kegs and boxes of petards. The place was a treasure trove of deathdealers!
An oddity was a tiny crossbow on a pistol frame. The weapon rested alone on a rack to hold ten of the things. It wasn't loaded, so experimentally I released the safety and pulled the trigger. There was a sharp twang and a miniature arrow shot from the end of the stock. Instantly, the feathered bolt expanded to normal size, double normal, triple! It became a baseball bat, a fence post...
In a crash of mortar, the telephone pole arrow slammed through the pillbox wall, leaving a jagged hole gaping wide in its tumultuous wake. As a fine mist of dust rained from the concrete ceiling, I respectfully set the safety and place the gun in my backpack. Oh yes, this I kept.
Not withstanding their lethal design, none of the other devices were really useful to me, armor was too small, except possibly for the black powder petards and I couldn't trust the quality. After a geological age, the powder might have lost its ginger and be about as explosive as coffee grinds. I had no wish to be hoisted on my own, as the saying goes. But was this crossbow what the genie sent me here to get?
Thoroughly, I ransacked the place and behind a curtain on the rear wall found a quite modern style vault, with combination lock and everything. Cackling gleefully, I dug into my pack, located my stethoscope and merrily whirled the dial. This was child's play for a Chicago dick. Four clicks later, the vault unlocked and I pulled the massive portal open. Patiently waiting on the other side, was an enormous purple dragon, the splayed dorsal fins glowing red-hot in anticipation. Yikes! I tried to throw the vault door closed and failed.
Spreading its huge jaws, the leviathan vomited a boiling gout of orange flame towards me. Frantic, I kissed the floor as the fiery plasma blast washed overhead. Aw, nuts! I had wolfbane with me, but no dragonbane. Unlimbering my rifle, I launched my last 40mm round at the stomach of the beast probing for a weak spot, followed by a burst of the M16. There was a tiny squeal amid the war-noise and the big dragon vanished.
Eh? Hesitantly, I rose to my knees. Laying dead in the vault was a tiny lizard, chained in place next to a bowl of gnawed sticks and a nest of rags. It didn't make any sense until I realized there had not been any heat from the flame, nor was there the usual smell of brimstone. So the little guy had been an illusion dragon. Mighty dangerous those. It could have made me see anything it wanted to: a writhing Medusa, charging manticore, oncoming freight train, anything at all. If I believed what I saw, the illusion would kill me. I wondered how many died using dragonbane against a lizard to whom the herb would be only tasty shrubbery. Thank goodness for area-effect weapons.
Then I almost hurt myself with a grin. If the mages of Atlantis had this deadly an animal guarding the vault, what incredibly valuable goodies must be on deposit?
The vault chamber was merely a plain cube, the rear wall covered with an empty pegboard slotted for different size magic wands. I knew where those were. Scratch marks on the floor showed where something big and heavy had been dragged away and a couple of topless barrels smelled strongly of blood. Yuck. In a stout wooden case, I found a melon sized crystal ball with a short fuse dangling from the top. This I placed in my shoulder pouch for easy access. I wondered who powerful the bomb was? It might even replace my lost nuke.
A pair of plain swords in cheap leather scabbards hung of opposite sides of the vault and their Kirilian auras told why. One was solid white, the other solid black. As there was nothing else of interest in the place, I took down the white sword for inspection.
"Is there evil to be vanquished?" a booming voice asked in my mind.
After a moment, I said yes and inquired as to its name.
"Justice," the sword spoke in a stentorian bass. "When fighting for a worthwhile cause your skill will increase tenfold, no poison can harm, no spell bewitch. I shield my holder against heat or cold and any lethal conjuration will be returned to the enemy caster twofold."
Replacing the sword to its peg on the wall, I crossed the chamber and, using a fingertip, fleetingly touched the handle of the black sword.
"Are you my new master?" a soft voice asked in my mind.
This time prepared, I avoid the question and asked for a name.
"Revenge," the voice said. "Anger and hatred fuel my magic. In any battle, I will guide your arm to kill swiftly. No matter the wounds, you will fight to the end. I eat
the souls of the defeated, none but my master may wield me and survive, and I will come to your grasp when called, no matter the distance."
Saying I heard somebody call my name, I placed it on the peg and stepped away. Whew. These were some serious swords. Each possessed unheard of abilities. Hmm, Justice, or Revenge? What the hey, with both I could defeat an army!
Taking the black sword, I started to walk across the vault, when in the middle of the chamber I found myself treading floor. No matter how hard I exerted, my boots slid frictionless on the textured metal, as if I was doing the classic mime routine ‘walking in a strong wind'. Suspecting the reason why, I laid the black sword atop a barrel and discovered I could advance again. Claiming the white sword, the same happened. They refused to get within ten feet of the other.
In a weird way this made sense. Justice and Revenge were not likely to be pals. I had to choose. Maybe I could drag one on a rope behind me? No, dumb idea. I could see it catching on doorways and getting entangled in bushes at awkward moments. Well, if I was limited to only a single sword, I knew which.
Returning the Sword of Justice to the wall, I appropriated the Revenge and strapped it around my waist cattycorner to my pistol. Normally, I would have nothing to do with a solid black weapon. I had passed by dozens in the street. But this was an emergency and the sword offered a straight enough deal, the use of its magic for a soul-feast. I just had to keep careful watch that it didn't go after mine. Besides, I honestly did not know if my mission was a worthy or just cause, but it damn sure was based on hatred. I was out to commit genocide on the island folk and Justice might fink out on me would I needed it the most because my motives were not pure enough. Revenge would revel in the bloodshed.
Judgment Night [BUREAU 13 Book One] Page 17
