by Myke Cole
Reeves cradled his head in his hands for a moment, then rubbed the back of his neck before looking up. “How quiet does this need to be?”
“Dead silent,” Ghaznavi said. “Not a word in the press. We can’t even have urban legends developing. Not a blade of grass stirred on a neighbor’s lawn.”
Reeves sighed. “You’re willing to throw some money at this?”
“You’ll have an open funding line. Keep receipts and be specific in your justifications.”
Reeves gratefully accepted the glass from Hodges and sipped at it thoughtfully. “How many enemy are we talking about?”
“No idea.”
“Not even a ballpark?”
“Nope, and because I know you’re going to ask, we’ve got no map, either. Just an eyewitness description of the facility.”
“Who’s the eyewitness?”
Schweitzer raised his remaining hand. “My memory’s pretty good.”
Reeves looked doubtful. “Ma’am, this is impossible. Even with an open line. If I had three years to plan and . . .”
“You’ve got three days. By now, they know that Hodges survived. They’ll be in the wind or worse before long. We can’t risk leaving this.”
“Christ. I hate going in blind,” Reeves said.
“You’re going in?” Schweitzer asked. “I thought you were the ops planner.”
“I lead from the front,” Reeves said. “You got a problem with that?”
“No,” Schweitzer said. “Not at all, I’m just . . .” Idiot. Just stop talking. But a part of him thrilled at the exquisitely human experience of putting his foot in his mouth. Reeves stared into his eyes, unfazed by the obvious magic in the burning silver.
“I’m sorry,” Schweitzer said. “I didn’t mean to underestimate you.”
Reeves tapped his prosthetic. “This is a carbon-fiber high-tension running blade. I probably move faster than you.”
“You’ve never seen him run.” Hodges laughed. “It’s pretty impressive.”
Reeves kept his eyes on Schweitzer. “You just shamble along behind me there, zombie. Besides”—he gestured at Schweitzer’s missing arm—“I’m not the only gimp in the room.”
“We’ll fix that,” Ghaznavi said, “but before we pick a munition, we need to figure out the terrain.”
Schweitzer wasn’t sure what he’d expected, an ops center with a holographic display maybe, anything other than the plain, run-down-looking conference room that lay beyond a hidden panel behind Ghaznavi’s desk. A single bathroom was its only other exit (“You don’t expect me to use the regular restrooms like a plebe, do you?” Ghaznavi asked him when she saw him glance at it), and the only unusual feature was a large central table surfaced with dry-erase board and cluttered with colored markers.
Ghaznavi seated herself behind a battered laptop and started typing. Reeves folded his arms across his chest and stared openly at Schweitzer. After a moment, Schweitzer returned it. “What?”
“You stared at me.”
“You going to ask me on a date?”
Reeves stroked his beard. “What’s it like, being dead?”
“People keep asking me this.”
“Well, it’s the kind of thing people want to know. What’s it like?”
“It sucks. Stay alive for as long as you can.”
Reeves laughed. “No, I mean. Is there a God? Did you meet him?”
“I already asked him all this,” Ghaznavi said, not looking up from her laptop.
“What’d he say?”
“He already told you. Being dead sucks.”
Reeves grunted, then opened his mouth to ask another question. The words died as Ghaznavi spun the laptop to face him, showing an overhead map of Colchester, Virginia. It was overlaid with satellite imagery, a neck of land jutting out into the blue-gray Potomac river, mostly blanketed with trees and uninhabited marshland but threaded through with worrying lines of roads indicating the presence of subdivisions, houses cheek by jowl. People.
Reeves was apparently thinking the same thing, because he sucked in his breath and began chewing on the inside of his cheek again. He sighed, snatched up a marker, and began copying the map outlines onto the table’s surface.
“We’ve got one thing going for us,” Hodges said, picking up a marker himself and marking a star on Reeves’ growing map. “The facility itself is in an office park off 242. It backs up to the wildlife refuge, and you’ve got the regional park right across the street.”
Reeves stared at the Senator. “Respectfully, sir, Gunston Hall is right there. That?” He tapped the laptop screen. “That is a church. That park is going to attract more people than you think. These houses here can’t be more than a klick away. To call this particular battlespace ‘unforgiving’ would be charitable.”
“Solutions, not problems,” Ghaznavi said. “Toxic spill? Some kind of animal-disease outbreak in the wildlife refuge? We could call a quarantine and clear out the whole area.”
Reeves shook his head. “Needs to be boring. News is going to be all over this as it is. Nothing unknown. Something people have seen before. How about Legionnaires’ disease? There’s been like two reported outbreaks of that in the past year. If it’s bad enough, we could call a quarantine. Say it’s in the water.”
Ghaznavi nodded. “That’d work.”
“You’re going to have to get some talking heads on the air. Private-sector people saying the government is overreacting.”
Ghaznavi was typing now, making notes in a corner of the screen. “I’ll contact the media team.”
“How current is this imagery?” Reeves pointed to Ghaznavi’s laptop.
“It’s open-source, so probably not very.”
“I’m going to need up-to-the-second.”
“Okay.”
“And I’ll need drone overflights. Saturation coverage. I need to see everything moving on the ground in a five-mile radius.”
“Done.”
“Nighttime too. Forward-looking infrared cameras.” He looked up at Hodges. “You said this is a cover facility, right? Office?”
“That’s right.” Hodges nodded.
“Okay, then it should be deserted at night. Heat signatures might help us suss out what we’re going up against. If we’re lucky, we might even get rotations.”
“I wouldn’t rely on that,” Schweitzer said.
“Why not?”
“Because the guards might not give off any body heat.”
Reeves was quiet for a moment. “You’re not the only dead guy?”
“Not by a long shot.”
Reeves stood up, sighed. “This just keeps getting better.”
Schweitzer shrugged. “The only easy day was yesterday.”
Reeves smiled at that. “I guess you better give me a rundown on your capabilities.”
“He can’t die,” Hodges answered, “but he can be destroyed if you chop him up fine enough. Super speed, super strength, super senses. Like a comic book superhero.”
Reeves grunted. “There’s a part of me who still feels like I’m being tricked here.”
“No trick,” Schweitzer said. “Everything he said is true.”
“How’d you lose the arm?” Reeves asked.
“Tried to block a hatchet with it. Hatchet won.”
“Can you shoot one-handed?”
“Better than you with two.”
“I was thinking of fitting him with a prosthetic,” Ghaznavi said.
“Flamethrower,” Schweitzer said. “The only way to beat things like me is to burn them or tear them apart.”
Ghaznavi shook her head. “I don’t think we can do that.”
“How about a chainsaw or a buzz saw?” Schweitzer asked. “I fought a . . . thing like me when I was on the run. It had one.”
“That, we shoul
d be able to do.”
“Really?” Schweitzer asked. “Cool.”
Reeves smiled, tapped his prosthetic leg. “Technology is a beautiful thing, man.”
“What else do you need?” Ghaznavi asked.
“Frank Cort, and I need both of us fully up to speed. What was this program, how does this . . . Magic, is it magic?”
“It’s magic,” Schweitzer said.
“Jesus. Magic. How does it work? I need to know as much about the layout as possible. How many bad guys? I mean, normal bad guys. Ones that can be killed. How many are . . . like you? How are they equipped?”
“You need a targeting package,” Schweitzer said.
Reeves cocked an eyebrow. “I forget you were a SEAL.”
“Then you also probably forgot that even dying doesn’t change that,” Schweitzer said. He stood, snatched up a marker, and moved to a clear portion of the table. “I’ll draw what I remember. You all need to catch some rack time? I don’t need to sleep, but I . . .” He remembered Sarah, bent at the waist, panting from racing to keep up with him as they fled through the Virginia woods. Patrick and I aren’t like you. We can’t keep going like this.
Ghaznavi looked from Hodges to Reeves. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that after the surprise meeting you has given me, I’m not going to sleep for a week.”
“All right,” Schweitzer said. “Let’s get to work.”
CHAPTER V
DOUBLE BACK
To die was to triumph over fear. Even after all this time, the Director marveled at how much fear had held him back. Death had liberated him from every limitation, unchained him from appetite, given him strength beyond his wildest dreams. He wished he’d started down this path much sooner. All that time wasted for what? Fear of the unknown, fear of a little pain, fear of fear itself, the rising panic as the body failed and darkness gathered.
Stupid. Fear gained him nothing. He was frightened of what might happen to the Cell, of how things would change now that he’d made his attempt on Hodges. He was frightened of his body being destroyed, of being returned to the void. But such fear had power over him only if it stirred him to inaction. He was loath to leave the Cell, but he needed to find that Summoner. He toggled the commlink in his laptop and brought up Mark.
“Sir?”
“Where are we on the helo prep?” They were bound from Virginia to Indiana for a refueling stop. Even with its extended fuel tanks, the Director’s helicopter could make only around four hundred miles before having to take on fuel, which it did at the series of dumps the Cell had placed all over the country. After that, it would be on to Lake Geneva, then Minneapolis, Minot, and out over Canada, bound for the ass end of the Northwest Territories.
Finding one old man in that vast wilderness would be harder than finding a needle in a haystack, but if that man could do even a fraction of what the intel suggested he could, it would be worth the effort.
“Another hour or so, sir, and we’ll be ready to go.”
“Outstanding. And the Golds?”
“It’s going to take a little longer to get them fully mission-capable, sir. There are two whose enthusiasm aggravated some previous tears.” Xolotl and Quetzalcoatl, at least, were pristine. With them alone, he could probably take on a city.
“Is it something that can be repaired en route? I’m anxious to get underway.”
“I’ll ask the lead engineer, sir.” The Director could hear the irritation in Mark’s voice. Not at him, but at herself for not anticipating the question.
“Very well, let’s go ahead and—”
There was a beep on Mark’s end of the line. “Stand by, sir,” she said, and toggled channels.
She had switched channels to pick up the other call. Without asking for his permission. He could feel the rage swelling from somewhere deep within him, knew it wasn’t productive, that nothing could be gained from letting it anger him. But his professional sangfroid was a toy boat on a storm-tossed sea, and within an instant, he was overwhelmed with fury. People like Mark were only useful insofar as they knew their place. If she thought that . . .
Mark toggled back. “Sir”—she was breathless—“I think you’re going to want to hear this.”
He bit back the hard words, fury yielding to curiosity. “Who is it?”
“It’s Diligence, sir.” A code name, the same one given to each of his asset handlers around the world. Only the two letters preceding it differentiated their identity.
His rage evaporated as quickly as it had come. “Put her through.”
The line clicked.
“Sir.” The woman’s voice on the other end was no longer Mark’s, but the Director recognized it. “Got something that couldn’t wait.”
“Ah, Diligence,” the Director said. “I have no doubt your news is of the utmost importance.”
“Sir, one of my assets just gave me a really disturbing report out of SAD. It sounds like they’re scrambling a team of hard operators to hit Entertech.”
“To hit Entertech? Or to hit the Cell? Do they know about us?”
“Asset didn’t say, sir.” Diligence was careful not to identify the asset even by gender. Worth every penny, and Diligence had cost a lot of pennies.
“When do they roll out?”
“Unclear, but I think soon, maybe a day at most. Asset says they’re going with no targeting package. That makes me think they’re not aiming to hit Entertech, sir. Plenty of stuff to scrape off the Internet there to flesh out the target.”
“Concur. Who’s driving the op?”
“Looks like it’s Ghaznavi herself, sir.”
“The Director of SAD? Personally?”
“That’s what the asset says, sir.”
“That’s . . . unusual.”
Diligence didn’t respond.
“Has this asset been reliable in the past? Responsive to tasking?”
“I wouldn’t be bothering you if they weren’t, sir.”
How the hell could they have found out about the Cell? “Was it Eldredge?”
“If it was, sir, he got in without anyone noticing, and my asset hasn’t seen or heard about him. It’s possible, I guess.”
“It can’t be Schweitzer.” Could it? “I want your opinion here,” he added, knowing she wouldn’t give it unless it was specifically requested.
“It has to be, sir.”
“You didn’t hear them specifically mention Schweitzer, though? How the hell could they keep that a secret?”
“It’s SAD, sir. Keeping secrets is what they do. My asset tells me they’ve had a VIP visit and that everything has been in tight lockdown since. They were able to get some sketch on the op but nothing on the reasons behind it. My money is that Schweitzer found his way there.”
“Is Hodges still in the wind? Did they find a body?”
“I’ve got nothing on that, sir, but that’s also not my territory. You want to call—”
“I know who to call.” The Director cut her off, and immediately regretted the snarl in his voice. There was never anything to be gained by showing any emotion in front of a subordinate.
“Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to presume.”
“Is it possible your asset got burned? They’re being run back against you?”
“Sir, I could be flattering myself here, but not a chance in hell.” The Director liked her confidence. That kind of surety was unusual in the living. It marked the elite from the rank and file.
“All right, we have to assume the team is coming for the whole Cell. They’re going in fast and they’re going in blind. They’re hoping that surprise will make up for ignorance. Risky.”
“That’s Ghaznavi’s style, sir. Served her well for years.”
“Well, they will get a surprise, just not in the way they think. Bury your asset and stand by for instructions.”
&nb
sp; “Yes, sir. You know how to reach me.” The commlink went dead.
The Director toggled the channel back over to Mark. “Leave off the preparations. I need you to get all our ready units scrambled.”
“Understood, sir,” Mark said. “May I ask what we’re scrambling for?”
“Welcoming party,” the Director said. “We’re going to have visitors.”
CHAPTER VI
SURPRISE
“What do you think?” Ghaznavi asked.
Schweitzer tested the shoulder. He could feel electricity humming down the wires snaking from the dead muscle of the stump into the actuators of the mechanical arm. He tensed his muscles and the arm moved, just as his old one had.
“It’s . . . like magic.”
Ghaznavi laughed. “You ever read Clarke? Science fiction writer.”
Schweitzer shook his head. “I was more into elves than spaceships.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing. He said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. It’s just wires, Jim, carrying the signal from your muscles and converting it into motion.”
The carbon-graphite appendage was completely silent, sliding against black metal joints as Schweitzer brought the forearm up to his face, admired the fork that framed the shining silver disk of the buzz-saw blade.
“Too shiny,” he said. “It’ll give away our position.”
Reeves looked up, stroked his beard. “Shit, rookie move. Sorry.”
Schweitzer rotated the mechanical arm, gave the buzz saw an experimental spin. “We can paint it black.”
“You sure you wouldn’t rather just have a gun?”
Schweitzer shook his head. “If it’s alive, I can close with it and do my job. If it’s not alive, a gun won’t make a difference.”
“So, what am I supposed to do if we run into something like you?”
“We will run into something, somethings, like me. Pack a machete. Make sure someone on the team has a flamethrower.”
Ghaznavi stood aside to make room for a technician who began slopping black paint over the buzz saw’s shining metal surface. “I can’t fucking believe this. Where the hell am I going to get a flamethrower? We haven’t used them since World War II.”
