Even with that one worry taken care of, there were a dozen more waiting for John and Sera back in Atlanta. The Thulian attacks had continued to increase in frequency; the couple’s absence, however necessary, had an impact. And it had been noticed. The Commissar was ready and waiting for them when they returned, and she was looking for blood, damn near. There wasn’t any thrown crockery, but she made it abundantly clear that she was a hair’s breadth from considering their time away as desertion in time of war. She demanded an explanation.
“Commissar,” Sera said, her face as serious as she could manage to make it. “We have a secret, last-ditch plan. There was something we, personally, needed to do to make sure that it was in place and would take up the fight if we all failed. Stalingrad, if you will. It was…something only John and I could do.”
“Oh? Well, then, is being quite alright. Secret missions without approval of your superior officers. Is just what was being needed, nyet?” Now John could see—and feel—her anger beginning to boil over. They had to act fast, or this would get a lot more complicated than it already was.
“Nat—Commissar,” John had said. “It was a contingency that had to be put in place. An’ the fewer people that know ’bout it, the safer it’ll be. We don’t know what might happen tomorrow, or the next day, an’ so on. A secret is safer when there aren’t as many bodies involved…figuratively an’ literally. Vickie is the only other one that knows the full picture, an’ it’ll stay that way. Operational security.” He paused. “If everythin’ goes to hell an’ you’re still livin’, Vickie’s put the details in your contingency folder. Same for Bella. This is a no-shit, we-lost-everythin’ fallback. Fact, if it comes to that, me an’ Sera will probably be toast before you need to open that folder.”
That caused Natalya to pause for a beat. She swung her head from John, to Sera, and back again, then sat down in her chair, her shoulders sagging with fatigue as she rubbed her temples. “If Daughter of Rasputin is being involved…da, da, fine. Is being only time two firebombs under my command run off without nekulturny word, however. Our efforts against the fascista have been increasing, and we cannot spare a single tovarisch. We are needing twenty of you two, as is case.”
They had barely enough time to unpack their bags before they were thrown back into the fight. The rest of the CCCP hadn’t been sitting idly; Untermensch, Soviet Bear, and Mamona had been busy with patrolling and assisting military and police forces in repelling Thulian attacks. Untermensch had undertaken a direct-action mission—with Commissarial approval—all on his own, which had helped to temporarily cripple Thulian operations in the area.
“It seems,” the old Russian had said, “that the fascista do not do so well when someone detonates heavy explosives in one of their command and control modules on a beachhead. Good to know, nyet?”
John and Sera had newly returned to Atlanta from a mission of their own when a new wrinkle appeared. They had been fighting on the Georgia coast, preventing a literal Thulian beachhead from taking root. The battle had lasted two full and very long days, seeing the couple fighting alongside regular military units yet again. It occurred to John that a lot of the fighting, now that things were starting to move towards all-out, worldwide war, was beginning to very closely resemble descriptions of the fighting in World War II, when metahumans first started to appear. The most disconcerting aspect was that there were more Thulian metahumans added to the mix. So far, there hadn’t been any more sightings of Valkyria or Ubermensch, but the sheer numbers of the new ones made up for it.
Most weren’t particularly powerful, or had any exotic powers, it seemed…but there were a lot of them. John had seen in one threat report that current projections—based upon the numbers that the Thulians had been fielding to date and the metahuman losses incurred during and after the Invasion—stated that the Thulians might very well have more metas than the rest of the world. Which was pretty goddamned worrying, in John’s estimation. He only hoped that the Thulians were just throwing all of their metas into the ring in one big push…and that this wasn’t the first of many waves to come.
These and other thoughts were keeping John and Sera distracted enough on their walk home. They had landed at base, debriefed, and then been released on a twenty-four-hour leave that was almost immediately retracted and cut in half; there was just too much going on out there, and everyone that could pull a trigger or had powers was in demand. Still, the chance for a hot shower, something to eat that didn’t come out of an MRE pouch, and a few hours of sleep was more than John and Sera could have hoped for.
“I think there is something we must try,” said Sera, as the two of them walked, rather than flew, towards John’s squat. They were bone tired, having flown to, during, and from the two-day battle.
“Buildin’ a time machine? Tryin’ a magic spell that’ll let us sleep for twelve hours an’ feel like it was a week? I’m all ears, darlin’.”
“Something like the latter. Before, I was seldom weary, because the Infinite provided. I think we must attempt to connect to the Infinite while resting, rather than only when in battle. I do not think we will be denied the strength we need.”
John thought for a moment, then shrugged before putting his arm around his wife’s hip. “Your department, darlin’. I’ll give it a shot if you think it’s worth tryin’.”
John was so out of it that he almost missed the signs of what they were heading towards. A shadow on a rooftop. The scuffle of a boot against concrete. The couple talking on the street corner who were trying a little too hard to keep their body language neutral. It clicked for John all at once that he and Sera were walking into a trap of some sort. He had become reliant on his shared battle-sense with Sera to warn him of danger; that, combined with how exhausted the two of them were, had kept him nearly oblivious to his surroundings beyond the obvious and mundane details. Getting sloppy, old man. But there was that, too; they were obviously being watched by unfriendly eyes…but they weren’t in any immediate danger. He stretched out his telempathy to the couple and the man on the roof; all of them were wary, but there wasn’t any malicious intent there.
Sera hadn’t noticed any of it; she didn’t have his enhanced senses or his countersurveillance and urban survival training. Not wanting to tip off the surveillance that he was on to them, John kept silent, only speaking to Sera through their connection.
Darlin’, we’re bein’ followed. I’ve spotted at least three—make that four, five—people along our route that are payin’ extra attention to us. All of ’em are armed. Don’t look around, it’ll just give us away. If we gotta fight, I’d rather we surprise the hell out of ’em an’ come out swingin’. So far, though…they don’t seem to want to hurt us.
Why would…could it be that someone or something at that Program installation recognized you for what you are? And survived to tell the tale?
If they were Program, I would’ve picked up on it. None of them are metahumans, s’far as I can tell. Not Blacksnake, either; too restrained. To be perfectly honest, this whole thing smells—
Before John had a chance to finish the thought, a convoy of five black SUVs rounded the corner at the far end of the street, just past where the block for his squat ended. They pulled up to the curb next to where John and Sera were standing, then quickly stopped in a cloud of concrete dust. John knew what the license plates would have printed on them before the first SUV had even finished coming around the corner.
“Government.” With a hard blink to bring up his HUD, and then a thought and a few eye movements, John brought his subvocal microphone online. “Overwatch: Murdock to Vickie, urgent,” he said without actually speaking. “Got a situation here. Want your eyes and ears on it, see how it develops. Might be trouble.”
There was a moment, probably seeming longer than it actually was. Then a spray of curses, that sounded Russiany. “Roger. Eyes and ears live, recording commenced. Sending stealthed spy-eye for redundancy. Rebroadcasting to CCCP and ECHO: Bella. Commissar notified.”
All of the doors of the SUVs opened at just about the same time; nearly identical-looking men in suits with earpieces connected to radios stepped out of the vehicles and took up positions around the street. Some were facing in towards John and Sera, but most were looking outward; setting up a cordon, of sorts. John heard one of the suits speak quietly into a microphone hooked surreptitiously into his jacket sleeve. “Area secure.”
A final person stepped out of the middle SUV. His suit was more expensive than the ones worn by the rest of the men: dark navy blue, well tailored, with a matching tie and crisp-collared white shirt underneath. A tiny flag pin in the lapel was the crowning irony to the outfit. This guy was the management.
“John Murdock, Seraphym,” the man said in the officious tone of someone used to having his orders followed. “I’m Agent Gibson with the National Security Agency.” He reached into his jacket, producing two folded pieces of paper. “I’ve been authorized by Title IV, section 120 of the National Security Act, pertaining to metahumans on American soil, along with authorization from the Attorney General to take both of you into custody. These are your copies of the warrants and other attendant paperwork. There are some important people that would like to ask you some questions.”
Sera’s fires flared, and her wings half spread. “I do not believe you,” she said flatly. “Do you think you can hold me if I do not wish to be held?” All of the government agents in suits visibly stiffened; the less disciplined among them clearly reached for weapons, only stopping short when Gibson put his hand up. “And do not count on my reputation for non-lethality. I do not answer to you.”
John put his hand over Sera’s. “Let’s see what they want, darlin’. Might be interestin’.” John still wasn’t feeling any danger through the battle-sense; if he did, he didn’t anticipate that he and Sera would have too many problems freeing themselves. Trying to force their way out of the situation right now, though…could make things messy. And not just for them; for the neighborhood, for the CCCP, and even for ECHO. “I’ll tell you this, though, Agent Gibson. We’re tired, hungry, an’ smell like a couple of days’ worth of fightin’. Try not to piss us off any more than absolutely necessary. Agreed?”
“You do know they are going to use just that against you, right?” That was Vickie. “They might not actually torture you…yet…but they don’t have to give you food, water, or any rest.”
“I think we can accommodate that perfectly well, Mr. Murdock. The middle vehicle has had…alterations made to it so that the Seraphym may be comfortable in it.”
“They don’t have to keep breathin’, either. Don’t worry, Vix; I know their kind an’ their tricks. We’ll be all right. It looks like they came prepared; or their version of it, anyways. If they don’t take us seriously, we’ll get out on our own. Keep your ears open.”
“Good. Also, y’can address her as Mrs. Murdock, if you’re goin’ to talk to her. I’d highly suggest stayin’ respectful.” Without another word, John and Sera walked to the middle SUV and got in, Sera first while John held the door open for her. Let’s see what these assholes want, an’ if it’s worth wastin’ our time.
* * *
They were taken to a hotel, not some sort of detention center. Although it appeared that every floor of the place had been taken over by the suits, there were at least multiple exits (guarded, but when had that ever stopped either of them?) and no bars on the windows. They were taken to a room, allowed to shower and given something to eat and drink. Sera had looked at the food and drink dubiously. “How do I know this is not drugged?” she demanded.
John poked at the tray. “One way to find out.” He speared a piece of steak and popped it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. “There. If I die or go loopy, you’re set to inherit my vast fortune.” He set upon his own steak, speaking between chews and swallowing; John really was hungry. “I figure that this is a lotta effort to go to if they just wanted to go all ‘rendition’ on us. If we were in real danger, I also figure we’d know.” Battle-sense would kick in, hopefully, darlin’, he added mentally. He didn’t want to talk about that out loud; the room was no doubt bugged, and there was no reason to give these government suits a full rundown on their capabilities.
Sera poked at her food doubtfully, and glared in the direction of the closed door, but finally hunger got the better of her and she joined him. Even with the war on, the steak here was top-notch. I would rather that I did not need to eat or drink, she told him, resentment in her “tone.” It is one less hold to have over us.
Same could be said ’bout a lotta other things, darlin’…but they can still be fun. He lightly elbowed her, then leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
“Vix to JM. I want you to take Sera’s headset and smash it, please. I am ninety-nine percent sure they can’t crack it, but I want to be one hundred percent sure they get no chance.”
“I can do you one better, kiddo. I’ll ash it when I take a shower.” When he had first had the subvocals installed, it had been weird listening to others; voices took on a tinny and mechanical sound through whatever process translated the signals into actual speech. Still, it was damned handy for communicating on the sly. He made as if to caress the side of Sera’s face and palmed the tiny headset and microphone. If their handlers had noticed it, then noticed later it was gone, too bad. It would be too late for them to do anything.
The next few hours passed too quickly for John’s liking. He and Sera ate generous helpings of room service, showered, and did what they could to rest; neither one of them could sleep, however, and opted to just lie in bed next to each other. Luckily, both of them had changed into clean outfits back at CCCP HQ before they had tried to head back to John’s squat; despite their gifts and skills, their uniforms had still taken a beating in the battle. Vickie quietly kept them updated; her invisible “eye” was scooting around quite actively, it seemed. The agents were all doing their rounds or staying at their posts; the street outside didn’t have any unusual activity, either. So far, things seemed to be on the up and up. Or, at least as much as they could be with the NSA involved. John suspected that the ink on those documents that Agent Gibson had provided them was still wet from whoever was behind this trying to make everything at least somewhat legal. Possibly they weren’t even legal yet…this might be draft legislation he was trying to pretend had passed into law. John had seen dirtier tricks get pulled when someone with power wanted something—or someone—bad enough; he wouldn’t be surprised, however this turned out.
Finally, there was a knock on the door. John peeled himself out of Sera’s embrace, got up from the bed, and walked over to answer the door.
“Ten minutes until we need to leave, Mr. Murdock,” one of the nondescript agents said.
“We’ll be ready in five.”
“Still with you, JM.”
“Copy. Everything is still set to record, right? No matter what goes down, our biggest gun to use against these sorts is information. Folks like these fear Senate inquiries more’n they fear bein’ killed.”
“If one of them so much as farts silently, it’ll be on the record. I have not stopped recording since those goons blockaded you.”
Once they were finished dressing and otherwise cleaning up, they were escorted downstairs. There was a moment of confusion and embarrassment when several of the agents that were there for their “protection” found that they couldn’t ride in the same elevator due to Sera’s wings. It elicited a shared smile from John and Sera; neither of them really cared how inconvenienced their quasi captors were. Sera even expanded her wings slightly to take up as much space as possible without being too obvious about it. If the next hour didn’t yield something interesting or useful, John figured that he would begin to get annoyed.
The elevator trip was short. They were shuffled away from the hotel lobby, down several hallways, and ended up outside of one of the larger conference rooms. John had been making a mental note of the building layout and their route, even though he could have V
ickie bring up the floor plans to his HUD. Best to stay in practice with tradecraft like that; he was still kicking himself about nearly getting ambushed by this bunch. The two agents flanking the doors stepped from their positions and opened the doors for John and Sera. Inside there were two sets of desks: one for them, and one for the people that were going to carry out this “hearing” apparently. Agent Gibson was inside already, waiting near the far table.
After John and Sera were seated, introductions were made. Representatives from the local branches of the FBI, NSA, Homeland Security, and even a regional director for the CIA were present. That covered the Feds. For the local government, there were the police chief for Atlanta proper, a liaison for the mayor’s office, and a state senator. Finally, to round everything out, there was the assistant district attorney; John figured that they needed him to make sure everything stayed legal, or at least the outward appearance thereof.
The ADA was the first to speak. “The purpose of this hearing is to determine several things. First and foremost, the…status of two unregistered metahumans. Normally, these matters would be handled by local authorities,” he said, nodding towards the police chief and putting a hand to his own chest. “But, given the exotic nature and tentative Op classification of the metahumans in question, it has been decided that there is a potential national security risk that needs to be addressed.”
John reached out with his senses, gauging the men sitting in front of him. All of them were fearful; the armed guards were proof enough of that. They were scared of John and Sera for a variety of reasons. There was something else behind the fear, though, at least from the Feds—avarice, naked and ugly. It fell into place for John. This wasn’t truly about security, or anything else. They wanted John and Sera. To co-opt them, take possession of them, use them as tools for their own purposes. He knew that Sera could feel it, too, through their connection.
Avalanche: Book Five in the Secret World Chronicle Page 20
