"Twice!” George added with a snarl, the left arm of his uniform dark with blood.
But Richard did not respond, his nose buried in a book of spells. Pulling out chalk and string he began hastily drawing a pentagram on the cold stone. He was preparing to cast a major spell in the middle of battle? That was insane. But following the angle of his staff, I soon saw the reason why he was frantically at work. White lines were crawling across the azure sky. Moving too fast to see with the naked eye, I could only trace the position of the incoming projectiles by the contrails they left behind. The missiles were early.
Desperate, I raised my wristwatch and then lowered my arm. There was nothing anybody could do now. Without conscious thought, I took Jessica by the hand and she squeezed hard in return as we watched the arrival of the end of our lives.
Like the arrows of Hercules, down came the ICBMs in a precise military cluster. Protectively, the gray cloud moved in trying to block the way, but the missiles punched right through without hindrance.
As the ICBMs cleared the protective layer of clouds, Richard stood and screamed a magic spell, the words of power visible in the air for a shining second before fading away. Instantly, the missiles detonated into a stupendous fireball that became encased in a glowing green globe of magic. For one astonishing moment, the multiple explosions stayed there, suspended in the air. Nobody spoke. Even the rocks seemed to be holding their breath in anticipation.
Then from the bottom of the ethereal globe, there erupted a twisting cone of radioactive flame that spiraled earthward, the very atmosphere annihilated by the passage of the pyrotechnic deathbeam forged from the raw detonation of ten thermonuclear warheads.
The quasi-solid rod of destruction went straight through the jabberwocky, its resilient body exploding into allotropic vapors. Unstoppable, the incredible ray stabbed into the island below, in blinding radiance the repaired ruins of Atlantis were reduced to superheated steam, both the adamantine Dome and magical shields meaning less than vacuum to the starkly indescribable fury of the mauling power ray.
As it winked out, we gasped in relief at the return of normal sight, and the lambent atmosphere closed the horrible rend with a thunderclap that nearly knocked us off the mountain. After a few minutes, we could see again and from this angle there was no sign of the domed city below, or of the jabberwocky, only some luminescent ash floating about in the tortured sky. But then the incinerated particles began coalescing back into a crude animal shape.
Blinking twice, George swallowed his gum. “Its regenerating after that?” he squeaked.
"Richard, honey-sweetie-baby, do something!” I cried, backing away from the terrible sight. “Finish off that mother!"
Resting heavily on his wooden staff, the gray haired mage tried to raise his crossbow pistol and failed. Age lines were deeply etched into his leathery face, the carnation in his lapel reduced to a brown, wilted lump, and as Richard opened his mouth to speak, all of his corn-yellow teeth fell out.
"Rest, buddy, we'll handle this,” I said, drawing the laser and 10mm pistol. “Okay, we're going with the original plan of the slaves ... ah, partisans, and sink this stinking island once and for all. Head for the igloo!"
Sensing our intentions, the horde of snowmen formed a line and locked arms. Oh swell, frozen Ghandis. In spite of our renewed firepower, it would forever to blow a path through those arctic assholes. Time we did not have.
"Toss me your bracelets!” Mindy ordered brusquely.
We hastily complied. Not bothering to put them on, the woman simply stuffed the copper bands into her T-shirt, then lifted off the stairs and vanished.
As we watched, a whirlwind of destruction moved through the snowmen, frosty arms and legs falling off as something hacked them apart like an invisible flying lawnmower. And you know what a bitch those are. In a matter of seconds, the snowmen were gone and there was a clear path to the igloo nestled between a boulder and a flat-top ridge of granite.
"Follow me!” the empty air called.
Ignoring the pain from our assorted wounds, we shambled up the stairway as best we could. The footing was treacherous, but at least all this ice would help reduce the swelling.
Oh hush.
As we reached the dome several hidden snowmen jump into view and we blew them away without pausing our stride. However, the dome was a smooth expanse, sans door or even the standard entrance tunnel. Throwing caution to the wind, I drained the laser and carved off a large chunk of the dome so we could simply walk inside.
Under the snowy shell was the diving bell, its burnished steel hull covered with mystic symbols and lots of Arabic writing. Undogging the water-tight hatch, we swung the portal aside and braced for an attack. But there were no boobytraps or assassins waiting inside, only mounds of sensory equipment. Positioned in the center of the machine maze, covered by a dome of bulletproof Armorlite, was a diorama; a tiny, but exact reproduction of the underground slave city, including the pentagram of wands. Surrounding the model, mounted on a universal support, was a glowing red ceramic circle crossed by a bar bisecting it on an angle. The circle and bar were the international NO symbol. The red aura indicated anti-magic. I now had every answer to the puzzle.
"What is that place?” Donaher asked curiously, brushing back his wild crop of thick curly hair.
I frowned. “Questions can wait for later. First we must cancel the spell, and pronto."
"Can't. I'm drained,” Richard said smacking his toothless gums. Leaning against the open hatch, the wizard was breathing hard and looked as if he had been dead for a week. Make that two.
"Red,” Jessica murmured, arms wrapped about her chest. “That's anti-magic. It cancels magic, which is why the island has risen."
Standing guard outside, George angrily shouted. “So zap the anti-magic!"
"With what?” Father Donaher demanded. “Magic and anti-magic will have no effect on anti-magic."
"How about using some anti-anti-magic-magic?"
Ah, now there's the military mind for you. “Won't work,” I answered.
"Okay, let's try shooting it,” Mindy suggested.
Finally, a good idea. “But from a distance,” I directed, favoring my aching hip. “Let's go!"
Scrambling for distance, we assisted each other down the stairs, shooting any snowman stupid enough to rise from the snowbanks. Hovering above the island, Big Bird was partially reconstructed. Reaching the top landing where we had some combat room, George hosed the diving bell with caseless rounds from the Masterson, blowing the armor off the sphere in ragged chunks and pieces.
Then a javelin thudded into the stone between his boots, as an army of blue skeletons climbed into view over the horizon. The undead soldiers were astride crystal warrior lions and holding the entire contents of the city armory, including the Sword of Revenge. The hellspawn army must have been safe inside the doorway leading to the mountain when the city was destroyed. Aw, crap. The remaining ice griffins took this opportunity to start circling us, and a horde of snowmen rose on every side to move in for the kill.
Plumber. I should have become a plumber.
"Fire!” I shouted and we hit the diving bell with every working weapon and spell we had.
The armor vanished under our barrage, the machinery ripped apart into sparkling trash, the Armorlite dome shattered, the city was obliterated, and the red of the anti-magic symbol winked out. Instantly, a miniature mushroom cloud formed where the diving bell had been and the entire island shuddered all the down to its foundation. The crystal warriors went motionless, the snowmen crumbled apart, the griffins fainted and I got a feeling in my stomach usually only received in high-speed express elevators.
"We're going down,” Jessica croaked.
There was a squawk and the coalescing jabberwocky polymorphed into a tiny seagull. Probably the poor innocent creature the horrid monster had been altered from in the first place. Whispering a prayer of forgiveness, Father Donaher then blew it apart with the shotgun just to make sure.
> "Okay, now we've won,” I stated, dropping the exhausted laser.
All around us the rumbling and shaking got steadily more powerful. Standing on the highest point of the island, we were getting a grand view of the demise of Atlantis. The ocean washing over the outer cliff and sloshing across the garden plains to pour into the rad blasted ruin of the once mighty city. The water erupting into hissing steam at the touch of the molten stone. Higher and higher rushed the tide, the foamy brine rising over the broken Dome and rocky foothills as the devil island returned to its stygian grave. There was nothing else we could do, so we just stood there watching the Atlantic reclaim is dark prize. Would have traded my soul for an inflatable rubber dingy.
Dropping his weapon, George turned to Donaher and extended a hand. “Goodbye, Mike. Been grand knowing you, buddy.” They solemnly shook hands.
Ed, I've always loved you, Jess mentally sent.
"Later, babe!” I snapped. “Come on, anybody got an escape plan?"
"Nope,” Richard said, smacking his toothless gums.
"Negative, chief."
"Uh-uh."
"Of course,” Mindy said with a smug expression. “I saved this for just such an occasion.” She brandished a muscular arm adorned with a copper bracelet. “Took it from the boss Satan Department agent. It holds a Portal spell."
My muscles relaxed at the sight of salvation. “Well, use the thing already!” I ordered, over the growing noise of the sinking island.
Calmly, the woman gestured and a golden lattice pattern formed in the air. As the center cleared, we saw a strange sort of control room with dozens of armed men wearing turbans and swords walking about doing things. Turning in our direction, one of the soldiers pointed and shouted something. Must have been a warning, as the rest started rushing forward their automatic weapons steadily firing.
"Holy Mother, its their headquarters!” Donaher shouted, as a hot bullet zinged by parting his hair.
"Oops,” Mindy whispered.
Quickly I tossed in a grenade and the martial artist threw the bracelet away as the foaming ocean washed over us in a crashing wave. We clung together, trying to fight the undertow and stay afloat, but it was no good. The brutal currents were like anchors on our limbs. Dumping our weapons and equipment seemed to make no difference. Down we went.
Swirling helplessly, my team was pulled lower and lower into the murky depths of the Atlantic Ocean. I fought for the surface until my straining lungs became exhausted and I lost consciousness. My last frantic thoughts were of my beloved Jessica and how much I always wanted to learn to play the accordion. Such are the convoluted thoughts of a dying man.
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Epilogue
We woke up in the military hospital of Fort Dix, New Jersey, with Horace Gordon himself sitting on a stool waiting for us.
Apparently, the group of escaping mermaids had found us in the tow of the island and rescued us, hauling our unconscious bodies to a Navy submarine patrolling outside the deathcloud. We thanked them profusely for saving our lives. But I have always considered it highly suspicious that all of the men arrived feeling remarkably relaxed and with the strong desire for a cigarette, including, the good father. But what the hey, it had been a long time for them. Even longer for some of us.
Gordon immediately recruited the aquatic beings as Bureau 13 Waves, our new underwater division. The mermaids seemed to be more interested in battling pollution than criminals, but that was no problem. The Bureau had always been ecologically inclined.
Happily, the ladies desired no salary, because for the next couple of years the Bureau was going to be on a very tight budget. All of our surplus funds going to purchase a million metric tons of underwater setting concrete to pour over the ruins of Atlantis, making damn sure that even if the pentagram was disturbed, the island would not, could not, ever rise again. Case closed.
From our sick beds, we applauded the splendid idea.
The next day, a portable teletype disguised as a bedpan brought us the news of a mysterious tidal wave had erupted from the Elburz Mountains in Africa, the run-off water ending a nasty drought for thousands of starving farmers. Elburz had been the secret HQ of Satan Department and we did not expect to ever hear from them again. And with the elimination of the enemy organization, the attacks on Bureau personnel dwindled down to the usual level of a vampire here, a UFO there. Nothing we could not handle.
To the world, the entire incident of Atlantis was disguised as an attempted terrorist coupe, complete with poison gas attack and a submarine battle. The story was not totally believed until a production company in Hollywood bought the movie rights and tried to cast Tom Cruise.
Of course, the President requested the true, full, detailed report of the incident, so as the team leader, it was my duty to comply. I sent him a one page telegram reading: “Dear sir. We won. Signed, Team Tunafish". I hear he has it framed and mounted on the wall of the Oval Office. Nice.
In retrospect, Strategy & Tactics chastised me for not taking the two magic swords from the armory. Stabbing Lord Odin, or the jabberwocky, with both at the same time would have caused a bipolar ether flow, capable of destroying any living organism. In no uncertain terms, I told Strategy & Tactics where to stick both of the swords at the same time.
Unfortunately, in spite the vast magical and technological resources of our organization, there was nothing that could be done for Richard Anderson. We had Anti-Aging drugs, but nothing could restore his lost vigor. His spell to contain multiple nuclear explosions had drained him dry of all magic and aged him permanently. No Re-Charge, Sun Bomb or Jump Start could change that. He was 96 years old. Period. End of discussion.
Sadly, the Bureau gave the vaunted mage his walking papers, a gold watch and an astounding lump sum of cash for his retirement. What with the irregular nature of field agents reaching tenure, the pension fund was overflowing with excess capital.
His goodbye party in our Chicago apartment was quiet and dignified. But afterwards, Richard departed immediately for Miami to gather an expeditionary force of sexagenarian soldiers to start on a hunt for the Fountain of Youth. Upon my request, his Personnel File was removed from Retired and placed in the Non-Active List. If humanly possible, Richard Anderson would return.
After leaving the hospital, Jessica propositioned me. Shocked at the brazen hussy, I proposed in retaliation and she accepted. Ha! That'll teach her who is the boss around here.
But of course, dear.
Our wedding was held in Madison Square Garden with the whole Bureau watched the ceremonies over a special scrambled television broadcast, relayed via a UN communications satellite commandeered just for the occasion. Even several of our sister organizations tuned in to watch the wedding: The Farm in England, Operation: Sunshine in Israel, The Sons of Van Helsing in Germany, Fantasmique in France, H.E.K. in Japan, The Alliance in Chile, and Wally's Spook Club in Australia. They also all sent in gifts. How nice.
During the procession, there was a minor scuffle involving some carnivorous plants from another dimension, but it was handled quietly. On the other hand, my bachelor party leveled a small town in my home state of Wyoming, but it wasn't really our fault. How were we supposed to know that NORAD headquarters would be so easy to take over?
Father Donaher performed the ceremony, Mindy was maid of honor, George best man. Afterwards, in uncharacteristic generosity, Horace Gordon offered us a two month honeymoon. But we turned it down, having had quite enough vacation excitement. We both wanted something dull for a change and so went to work in the Bureau file room, organizing the secret annals of our covert organization.
After submitting his regular monthly coded report to the Vatican, Father Donaher was delighted to receive special dispensation from the Pope to use healing spells. Mindy took a week off to go Italy and have a short talk with her sensei da tutti sensei about her supposedly ‘indestructible’ sword, and George started having an affair with the cab driver who gave him a lift back in Manhattan. She
was a lovely lady who kept boasting that it sure was not flab wrapped around George's manly waist. Personally, I had no wish to hear the sweaty details.
Incredibly, Raul Horta and Amigo the wonder lizard, returned to our group. Apparently, a renegade Bureau team had kidnapped the mage to assist them in traveling to a parallel universe to try and halt the evil clone of Horace Gordon from stopping the creation of Bureau 13, and they succeeded. Well sort of, but that story is still classified.
Now that we're married, I gave Jessica full, and absolute, access to my mind. When I make a commitment, I go all the way. Knowing all of my secrets brought about some amazing results, especially in the bedroom. Who knew the little telepath was double-jointed and liked whip cream so much?
You ain't seen nothing yet, stud muffin!
Love, isn't it grand? Hell, it was magical.
-THE END-
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Judgment Night [BUREAU 13 Book One] Page 20
