The cheering section had gotten a little out of hand, so there was quite a bit of gavel pounding and shouts for order, until the Capitol policemen forcibly removed some of the more vocal Active supporters. Because of the nature of the crowd, and the fact that Dan Garrett, a known Mouth, was also testifying today, there was a single Dymaxion nullifier spinning on the congressmen’s long table. The Capitol building was a magic-free zone today. Even though he now owned the only company capable of manufacturing them, Francis hated the anti-magic device on principle. But if he’d protested the use of one during this hearing, the press wouldn’t have believed a word he or Dan—especially Dan—had to say.
Dan leaned over during the chaos and whispered to Francis, “This isn’t helping our case. Seriously, leave the diplomacy to me and just state the facts.”
“We’ve already lost with these bozos,” he whispered back. “Let the press get some good quotes.”
Despite being born into a political dynasty, Francis had always hated politics and despised politicians. After all, his good-for-nothing father had been a very successful politician, which told young Francis pretty much everything he had needed to know about the lot of them. However, since being dragged into the spotlight, despite an instinctive hatred of the political game, it had turned out that he was actually pretty good at it. It must be in the blood. Being one of the richest men in the world surely helped.
He’d leave the diplomacy to cooler heads like Dan, but Francis had discovered a gift for demagoguery. The OCI had screwed with the wrong man, and as a result, Francis had declared war. Not a literal war, but if Roosevelt got his wish, then they’d have that too eventually.
The audience had been quieted down, and a congressman from South Dakota went on a tirade about the destruction wrought against Washington, thereby proving that Actives were far too much of a menace to society to remain uncontrolled, and blah blah blah. Francis wasn’t really paying attention. He’d heard it all before.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt had already given the executive order pertaining to the official monitoring of everyone with magic, not long after taking office. The climate in Washington after the great demon rampage had made it easy. The Active Registration Act was just icing on the cake. Right now they were only going to round up the Actives they considered to be the most dangerous, but anybody with half a brain knew that was the tip of the iceberg. America was going to follow in the steps of the Imperium and the Soviets, treating magical people like just another resource to be cultivated and controlled, and the Grimnoir would be damned if they’d get away with it.
The really hard part about being a secret society was who you tended to be secret, which meant that the few of them which had been exposed as members got the unenviable duty of becoming their public face. Dan was their most eloquent speaker, but he hated this sort of thing. Luckily, Francis had discovered that he sort of enjoyed it.
“Save us the platitudes,” Francis cut the congressman off midsentence. “Sure, Roosevelt is just trying to protect us Magicals from ourselves like we’re children, which is mighty nice of him, since the only reason he’s even alive is because I used telekinesis to chop an assassin’s head off with a serving tray while my friend used his Fade magic to carry the president to safety . . . By the way, do you know how the government paid my friend back for that?”
“Your peanut gallery has been removed, so you don’t need to entertain the mob.” The congressman leaned toward his microphone. “We have all read the court transcripts, Mr. Stuyvesant. There’s no need to dwell on—”
“They paid him back by beating him mercilessly and torturing him in a cell on Mason Island.” He didn’t need to add that Mason Island had been sucked into a black hole. Everybody knew that. Luckily, hardly anybody knew that the giant magical vortex had been Francis’ doing. He didn’t particularly want that bit on the Congressional record.
“That was an anomaly. Bradford Carr broke the law—”
“Oh, so now you make that sort of thing legal and it is all supposed to be okay? You are simply validating every horrible thing Carr did. Roosevelt’s new act is the first step toward putting a hundred thousand Americans into camps. That’s despicable.”
“No one wants to hear your tired conspiracy theories, Mr. Stuyvesant. The government would never do such a thing. Enough of your slander.”
“The government already has—”
“Gentlemen,” Dan chimed in. Even when he wasn’t using his magic, he always managed to keep it smooth. “You must understand the reaction of the Active community. The destruction in Washington was caused by an out-of-control agency of the federal government, yet it would seem that we the people are being held accountable for it. The fulfillment of Roosevelt’s proposals will deprive many law-abiding Americans of their rights and property. This is an extreme and unnecessary act.”
There was one man on the panel who hadn’t spoken yet, the new Coordinator of Information. He was a composed, middle-aged fellow with a stern look about him that suggested he was not a man to be trifled with. He didn’t bother with his microphone. “If I may?”
“The Chair recognizes William Donovan, newly confirmed head of the Office of the Coordinator of Information.”
Dan and Francis exchanged a quick look. This man was an unknown quantity. He had been a decorated hero in the Great War, and had been involved in New York politics for years, having even run and lost a bid at the governorship, but his opinions, if any, on Actives had never been made public. The word was that he was an old college chum of Roosevelt’s, brought in to clean up the “corrupt” OCI.
“Mr. Stuyvesant, you mentioned your friend, who was unfortunately and illegally mistreated by my predecessor. I believe his name was Heinrich Koenig, a German immigrant . . . Is that correct?”
“That is correct, sir,” Dan answered quickly.
“He’s the one in that picture that was in all the papers. You know, the one where he’s fighting your gigantic out-of-control government demon,” Francis added smugly.
“Yes. The infamous photograph of the Fade with the pickax. It is a very moving image, especially since it happened right down the street from here. Yet, I have to wonder, as Mr. Garrett and Mr. Stuyvesant have protested so vehemently about Actives not being any more dangerous to the fabric of American society than any other particular group, and that there are no Actives plotting any sort of insurrection against the United States, where it is your friend Mr. Koenig has gone . . .”
“I have no idea,” Francis lied under oath. He was sure the OCI man already had the answer anyway, especially since Sullivan had already tried and failed to get the government to believe him about the Pathfinder. Of course he lied. It wasn’t like Francis could warn the Imperium that his friends were on the way.
“Pardon me. I was not finished. I was about to say I wonder where Mr. Koenig has gone, along with several dozen other extremely powerful Actives, including a former public enemy number one, the infamous Heavy Jake Sullivan? A number of them were last seen boarding a heavily armed experimental warship provided to them by United Blimp and Freight. A company which, I might add for the record, you are the president and CEO of.”
There were even more gasps and murmurs now, and a whole bunch of reporters started scribbling in their notebooks. The new Coordinator looked rather smug.
Maybe I’m not very good at this after all, Francis thought to himself.
After maneuvering through the mob of shouting reporters and cameras, Francis and Dan made it down the Capitol steps.
“So that went better than expected,” Francis said.
“You must not have been in the same meeting as I was,” Dan muttered. “That Donovan fellow played you for a fool.”
Francis grinned. “At this point, any time I have a meeting with the government and come out of it without having somebody like Crow working me over with brass knuckles, I consider that a home run.”
“Thankfully, Donovan shut you up before you said anything really stupid. It wasn�
�t like he didn’t use something everybody already knew anyway.” The Washington Mall was still under heavy construction. Many of the buildings were still being repaired, and a few had needed to be torn down, leaving gaping fenced-in holes where there had once been landmarks. “And to think, last time I was here, I was about to get stepped on,” Dan said.
“How’s that different than this time around?” The great claw marks were still visible on the Washington Monument, as nobody had really come up with a satisfactory method to fix that damage yet. No wonder everyone is so scared now.
Dan sighed. “I suppose it’s a different behemoth doing the stepping, but we’re still getting squished.”
“That’s not very optimistic.” But who could blame him? Soon it was going to be the law of the land that every person in America with magic was going to have to wear an armband identifying them as an Active and what type of magic they were capable of, all in the name of public safety. “You’re starting to sound like Sullivan . . . Or worse, Heinrich. Come on, let’s get a drink. I’ve had enough nonsense for one day.”
There was a car waiting for them on the street, only it wasn’t Francis’ regular car, and it certainly wasn’t his regular driver. This driver was far too pretty. The lady was tall, statuesque, and doing her best to hide her good looks behind big dark glasses and a floppy hat. “Hello, gentlemen,” she said, gesturing toward the open rear door of a plain government Chevrolet. “Someone important would like to have a word with you.”
“Why, Pemberly Hammer.” If Dan was surprised to see her here, he played it cool enough you’d never be able to tell. “How nice to run into you.”
She tipped her big hat at Dan. Between it, the silver-blonde wig, and the fake glasses, nobody from the press would recognize the now-infamous corporate-espionage expert turned BI agent. “Why, Mr. Garrett,”—She sounded sweet, with just a hint of east Texas—“Why, bless your heart, you know you can’t lie to me.” Hammer was, after all, a Justice, and since Justices could always recognize the truth, lying to one was simply a waste of time.
“Got me there. It’s not nice to see you. It’s frankly a bit suspicious . . . Nice car. Not as nice as that fancy Ford you used to have though.” It was a dig, and not a very subtle one, since Dan had been partially to blame for her last one getting wrecked by an Iron Guard.
“Actually, before he up and disappeared off the map, Sullivan wired me some money to replace my car that he stole.”
“He promised he would.”
“Well, it was his fault the last one wound up on its roof.” Hammer smiled. “Imagine that, a man who keeps his word.”
“Jake always keeps his word. He’s old fashioned like that, reliable as gravity.”
“Yep. Good old Jake. Though I do wonder, where did he get off to with that fancy new warship of his?”
“You should ask your boss. I’m fairly sure Jake asked for his help and got turned down.”
“He didn’t ask me for my help,” she sniffed.
“Okay, enough. Agent Hammer . . .” Francis didn’t know her very well, other than that Sullivan had vouched for her character, and she’d helped rescue him from Mason Island, but she worked for J. Edgar Hoover now, and it would be a cold day in Hell before Francis trusted Hoover or anybody on his payroll. “Where’s Sidney?”
“Your driver was sent away, Mr. Stuyvesant. He tried to argue, but I did that whole flash-the-badge thing and he moved right along. I ever tell you how much I enjoy that? Don’t worry, I’ll have you back to your hotel in time for your dinner reservations. In the meantime, you need to come with me. Important top secret government business, that sort of thing. You know how it is.”
“Oh, I know how that is.” Francis looked to the street and lifted an arm. “Taxi!”
“All right, all right,” Hammer lowered her voice. “Look. I know you’ve had some bad blood in the past with my new boss, but this is legitimate.”
“I’m not in the mood, lady. I’m way past trusting your people.”
“It was the OCI that kidnapped you, not the BI.”
“All a bunch of letters from the same damn alphabet.”
“And to think, they sent me to pick you up because of my positive relationship with the Grimnoir.” Hammer sighed. “I wish you could just read minds, Dan, so we could just get this over with, and you’d know I’m telling the truth. You Mouths can do that a little bit, can’t you?”
“Sort of. I can get a sense of things, a handle on someone’s emotions, how to move them better, sort of an instinct about where they’re swayable, maybe little bits of images of thoughts that are right at the top, if I’m burning a lot of Power . . .” Dan said. “Not that I’d do that to you, of course. That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly.”
“Of course it helps that you know I’d plug you in the knee for poking around in my head.” Hammer patted the revolver-shaped bulge beneath her floral-pattern blouse. “But we’re wasting time, so go ahead. You need to know I’m being earnest here. We need to get away from those reporters before one of them decides to take my picture. I need you to come with me now. It’s important.”
“Very well. Just keep that Colt holstered because I like my kneecaps the way they are.” Dan closed his eyes to concentrate. He was about the best Mouth in the business, and usually he could play it so cool you would never know when he was using his magic on someone, but now Dan was obviously pushing hard, not even bothering to be subtle. Dan’s eyes popped open. “Seriously, Hammer?”
“Serious as can be.”
“I wish you would’ve just come out and said so. Hell . . . Get in the car, Francis.”
“She’s legit?”
“She’s legit.” Dan seemed upset. “Get in the car now.”
Their destination was only minutes away, but Hammer insisted on driving around for a little bit to make sure they weren’t being followed before circling back and taking them to the White House.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Francis muttered.
“Nope. Afraid not,” Hammer answered as they stopped at the gate. They were keeping it low-key now, but the Army had been handling security in the Capitol ever since the demon rampage. The soldiers at the perimeter looked at Hammer and checked her ID while other soldiers gave Francis and Dan the once-over, then they were waved right through. They were definitely expected.
Francis had been to the White House before for social events. His father had been an ambassador and a man of considerable authority, he had uncles who’d been senators and governors, and of course, grandfather Cornelius had bought politicians like a farmer would buy pigs at auction. That said, attending a secret meeting with the president was still a little intimidating.
“Let me do the talking,” Dan warned.
“I won’t screw this up,” Francis answered.
“No, you won’t, because I’m going to knock you over the head, tie you up, and hide you in the trunk,” Dan warned. “Oh, you think I’m kidding? Wipe that smile off your face. This isn’t some congressman from Podunk, North Dakota you can shout at.”
Hammer chuckled. “Dan, I never get tired of seeing you sweat.”
“Yuck it up, Hammer. You know damn good and well what Carr had planned for Actives in this country. You saw the evidence Faye pulled out of Mason Island. Do you think for one second Carr was alone? Do you think he was the only one in the whole government who thought the Imperium and the Soviets were off to a good start?”
Hammer’s smile died. She knew that Dan was right. Deep inside, every Active in the country did. “I don’t think it is going to come to that.”
“You hope it doesn’t come to that?” Francis snorted. “It sure seems to have come to that damn near everywhere else in the world.”
“You’re a walking lie detector,” Dan said. “You tell me what you really hear when they start talking about public safety and national security, and monitoring and controlling Actives for our own safety. I’ve not got your gifts, but I’m pretty good at snowing folks with words, so I can
darn sure recognize when somebody else is doing it to me.”
“Well . . .” She sighed. “I hear a lot of folks who don’t know better. They’re afraid and they figure we’ve got to do something, but since they don’t understand the topic, their proposed somethings don’t make a whole lot of sense, and then I hear a lot of no-good rat liars willing to take advantage of Do Somethings . . . Honestly, it scares the hell out of me.” Hammer pulled the car to a stop. Men were already waiting for them. “All right, this is it.”
Francis’ door was opened from the outside. “Welcome, Mr. Stuyvesant. Come with us, please.” Dan started to get out his side, but that door was politely caught by another functionary. “I’m sorry, Mr. Garrett. The President wishes to speak with Mr. Stuyvesant in private.”
That was unexpected.
“Aw, hell,” Dan muttered. “Do not screw this up.”
“Don’t worry, Dan. I can handle this.”
“Francis, wait.” Hammer looked over the seat at them as they were getting out. “Good luck in there.”
He’d heard they were building a new, nicer Oval Office, but either it wasn’t done yet or Francis didn’t rate it, because he was led to the same old office that he’d visited before. Besides the obviously increased security, the White House hadn’t changed much since the first time he’d been here, tagging along once when Grandfather had gone to visit Wilson. He barely remembered Wilson, except that he’d seemed very tall and a little frightening, like a leathery scarecrow, but in Francis’ defense, he’d only been a kid.
Another man was leaving the Oval Office as Francis approached. They made eye contact, and the fellow looked familiar for some reason. “Mr. Stuyvesant. What a pleasure to meet you.” The man nodded politely and extended his hand. Francis shook it. Firm and businesslike. Tall, humorless, he had the look of a banker. Francis knew a lot of bankers, but that wasn’t where he recognized this man from. It was from the front page of the papers. “I am Nathaniel Drew.”
Warbound: Book Three of the Grimnoir Chronicles Page 5
