by Jeff Kirvin
Daniel had seen the dog too, and was slowly edging his way in front of Susan. “Nice dog,” he said in the most soothing tone of voice he could muster. “We'll be out of your yard very soon."
"What are we going to do?” Susan asked, her hand still frozen to the trash bag.
The dog snarled and took a few steps towards them.
"How should I know?” Daniel said. “Just remove your hand very slowly from the bag, and we'll see what he does."
The instant Susan moved her hand, the dog snarled and snapped at her, as well as taking a few more steps forward.
"That's not going to work,” Susan hissed.
Daniel came up with an idea. He thought it was Grade-A stupid, but it was all he had. “Okay, then here's the plan. You grab the bag and run like hell for the Winnebago. I'll distract the dog and follow you."
"What? Are you insane? He'll rip you to shreds!"
"I don't think so,” Daniel said, rapping his knuckles on his cast and eliciting another snarl from the dog.
"I hope you know what you're doing,” Susan said, tightening her grip on the bag.
"Yeah, me too,” Daniel said. “On three, you run and I'll hold him off.
"One.” The dog snarled.
"Two.” Sensing something was going on, the dog crouched and prepared to leap.
"Three!” Susan snatched the bag and bolted for the Winnebago as fast as she could. Daniel inhaled sharply and stepped into the dog's leap, holding his casted forearm out in front of him. As expected, the dog's jaws locked onto the plaster and fiberglass and shook violently. Bright waves of pain shot up Daniel's arm, blurring his vision.
As soon as Susan was out of sight, Daniel brought his left fist up and slugged the dog across the head. The animal grunted, but hung on. Raising his arm and the dog higher in the air, Daniel let loose a swift kick to the animal's underside. There was a yelp, and the dog released his grip.
Daniel lost no time making good his retreat. He ran as fast as he could around the house and towards the Winnebago, the dog close on his heels.
"Go!” he shouted at Jeff and Susan. As the vehicle started moving, Susan threw the side door open and Daniel jumped for it. Susan pulled him in and slammed the door shut just as the dog made its leap. There was a thud against the side of the Winnebago, then Jeff accelerated around the corner and they were gone.
After they drove a safe distance from the house, Jeff pulled into a grocery store parking lot. Daniel popped some more Tylenol to deal with the shake the dog had given his arm, and Susan prepared to empty the bag onto the table.
"Gentlemen, prepare for an in depth look at the life of Richard Birchmere,” she said.
"I just hope this doesn't stink up the place,” Jeff said.
Susan opened the bag and emptied its contents. The first thing they noticed was that it didn't stink at all. The pile consisted almost entirely of dry refuse: crumpled typing paper, take-out menus, junk mail, magazines, newspapers, etc. There were no food wrappers, no waste leftovers, not even a plastic milk jug. Susan mentioned as much.
"Yeah, I noticed that too,” Daniel said. “When I went to Rockport's apartment, the kitchen was positively barren. No food, no dishes even. Think there's a connection?"
"Maybe. For all we know, though, they could both just be extreme bachelors that eat out every meal."
"Boy, this guy sure does throw out a lot of magazines,” Jeff observed.
Susan had noticed that as well. Along with the standard Post Weekend and television listings, Birchmere had a wide array of reading material. Local interest stuff like Washington Weekly, national news magazines like Time and Newsweek, several more specific political and religious titles. Conspicuously absent was any actual leisure reading. No sports, no special interest hobby magazines, no entertainment gossip rags. The guy obviously read a great deal, but only about current events, politics and religion.
"We may be dealing with the world's most boring human,” she quipped.
Daniel just looked at her with a somber expression. “Assuming he's human,” he said.
Susan's smirk vanished, and she fought off a shudder as she remembered the events of the previous night. “Yeah,” she said, “if."
"Hey guys,” Jeff said, “look at this!” He handed them a slip of paper with a date and time, as well as a hand written address in Old Town Alexandria. “What do think it means?” he asked.
"Only one way to find out,” Susan said, committing the information to memory. “We've got until tomorrow night to find out. Until then, let's find out what else we have here."
Both Jeff and Daniel visibly deflated, but they kept sifting through the pile.
As soon as Richard Birchmere arrived home, he felt something was amiss. He'd been on edge all day after dealing with Batarel, but this was different. He went over a mental list of his surroundings, trying to figure out what was different. Then he had it.
The dog was missing. Normally his guard dog was at the door to greet him. It wasn't like Conan to wander off. What could have happened?
Birchmere walked into the kitchen. No, the dog wasn't there either. He looked at the dog door connecting the kitchen to the back yard and decided to check outside.
The dog was there, sitting patiently beside the rubbish bin. When he saw his master, the dog let out a single bark of greeting, then waited for Birchmere to come look.
When Birchmere got there, he realized the bin was empty. He knew he had put some trash out, but the collectors didn't come until the end of the week. “Where did it go?” he mused aloud. The dog obviously couldn't answer the question, but it had posed it. With the question posed, Birchmere knew where to look for the answer.
He walked back inside the house and up to the study. The room was reminiscent of the plushly appointed parlor he and his associates used to discipline the arrogant upstart Batarel. In the corner was a television screen and a sophisticated control panel. He sat down.
The television connected to a network of security cameras spread throughout and outside of the house. Birchmere switched to the camera monitoring the back yard. He stopped the tape and started running it backwards at high speed.
There.
He froze the tape and stared, amazed, at the image captured there. Perhaps Batarel wasn't quite as incompetent as he appeared. On the screen was a crystal clear image of Daniel Cho and his reporter friend, raiding the rubbish bin. Birchmere didn't think they'd garner anything useful, but the fact that they'd been there at all made it clear he'd underestimated Cho by a fair margin.
He would have to be certain not to make that mistake again.
Preparations
The address in Old Town was a warehouse. Jeff parked the Winnebago and let Daniel and Susan out to look it over while it was still light out. They had no idea when Birchmere and company would be there the next day to set up, so they all figured it best to reconnoiter while they could.
It was a large gray building with metal siding. Railroad tracks ran right past it, and a metal staircase led up to the roof.
"What a dump,” Daniel said.
"I wonder what they do,” Susan asked, “that they'd need a building this big?"
"Who knows? I guess we find out tomorrow night. How do you want to work this?"
Susan walked over to the front doors and peeked inside the small plexiglas windows. “Figure we break in tonight, hide behind one of those crates and wait for them to show. A lot of investigative reporting is waiting, and—"
Susan looked up and noticed that Daniel wasn't listening any more. In fact, he wasn't even anywhere near her. He was walking briskly over the staircase on the side of the building.
"No good,” he called over his shoulder. “After what you've seen so far, you don't think they'll secure the area? Whatever Birchmere, Rockport and their buddies have in the works, I don't think they want anyone to know about it."
He looked over at the ladder on the side of the building. “Hang on."
Daniel walked over to the ladder and st
arted to climb. When he got to the top, he found exactly what he was looking for. Roughly in the center of the roof was a skylight, about two feet square. “There's a skylight up here,” he shouted down to Susan as he descended the ladder. “I can go up on the roof and listen in."
"With a broken arm? You're out of your mind!"
"Who better? I have experience climbing around buildings, and besides, you need to be in the van with Jeff in case something happens."
Susan would have none of it, and got in Daniel's face, arms akimbo. “Says who?"
"Look at it this way,” Daniel said, smiling nervously. “If anything happens to me, you can still get the story out. We'll get some walkie-talkies and I'll relay everything I see and hear down to you in the van. First sign of trouble, you guys get the hell out of here. Don't worry about me,” he grinned, “I've dealt with these things before."
"And the last one broke your arm and almost killed you!” Susan shouted. “If you think I'm going to just sit in the van and let you—"
"Uh, kids?” Jeff called from the Winnebago. “Can we continue this somewhere a little less public?"
Daniel and Susan stared at each other in silence for a moment.
"He's right,” Daniel said. “We've got a lot to do in the next twenty-four hours, and we can continue this discussion later. Just keep in mind what we've seen those things do before you rush in to confront them, okay?"
Susan answered by turning brusquely on her heel and striding for the Winnebago. Daniel shrugged his shoulders and followed her.
Batarel wasn't stupid. He was well aware of the meeting coming up, a meeting every demon in the mid-Atlantic region was expected to attend. He also knew that if he attended it openly, he'd be captured and punished for disobeying his order to relocate.
Just the same, he had to go. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. If he was to truly help his people, raise them out of the bureaucratic stalemate they were in, he had to know what was going on. Intelligence gathering was the crucial key to any victory. Even though it meant risking capture, even if it meant putting his search for Cho and that reporter aside for the moment (truth to tell, he had no idea where they were anyway), he had to be at that meeting.
He had to go.
"You're out of your freaking mind!” Susan shouted.
She, Daniel and Jeff were in a motel room for the night on Jeff's credit card. She was still trying to talk some sense into Daniel, but it wasn't doing any good.
And Jeff wasn't helping. “He's right, Susan, you know he is. You have to be down in the Winnebago with me. If we do learn anything about what these things are, you're the only one anybody's gonna believe."
"It's because I'm a woman, isn't it? You two think that this is some sort of boy's club—"
"No, Susan,” Daniel said quietly. “It's because you're a reporter."
Susan glared at him, but it was a softer glare than a moment before.
"Jeff's right. If we get a story out of this, you're the one to tell it. You're too valuable to risk. I'll be at the skylight with the walkie-talkies, and you'll take down every word. You won't miss out on any of the fun."
"Fun? Was breaking your arm fun? Think about what they've done to you Daniel. Think hard. Do you really think you're up to this? Have you considered what will happen if you get caught?"
Daniel was silent for a long moment. “Yes. That's why I have to do this. I have to find out what they are, why they're doing this to me. I have to, not have someone else tell me. I thought you'd understand that."
Susan stood speechless and her face softened. So that was it. “Yes, Daniel, I understand.” She took a deep breath. “But if you see the first sign of trouble—"
"I'm outta there."
As Jeff sat silent but grinning smugly at them, Susan breathed an inner sigh of relief. She was concerned about Daniel's safety, but she had another reason to hope this went off without a hitch. She had no real proof, but she knew she was knocking on the door of the biggest story of her career.
She wanted to make sure they all lived long enough to report it.
Birchmere stormed into his outer office at the Social Security Administration, then through the door to his inner office without a word, his attitude knocking his secretary back in her seat. She'd seen him like this on occasion, and she knew better than to say anything. Her boss wasn't the easiest guy in the world to get along with. Lately his moods had gotten even worse, even though his workload hadn't changed significantly. He never talked about his personal life, so she had no idea what the problem was.
In the seclusion of his inner office, Zagam, the demon going by the human identity of Richard Birchmere, was furious.
Batarel hadn't reported in to his new assignment. With everything that was going on, the last thing he needed was some reckless rogue mucking up the works. Zagam fell heavily into the plush chair behind his desk. He glanced absently at the paperwork on his desk, then dismissed it. He would have plenty of time for the affairs of humans later. For now, he had more important things to attend to. He reached for the phone, his secure line.
Daniel, Jeff and Susan sat around the table in the Winnebago as Susan explained her plan for the use of the electronic equipment in front of her.
"Daniel had a good idea about the walkie-talkies,” she said, “but I think this will work even better."
She picked up an expensive video camera. “I got this from a friend at WDCA. It's lightweight, so Daniel shouldn't have any trouble using it one handed. It sends the signal to this receiver, here,” she said, holding up a small black box. “It then feeds into this VCR so we get everything on tape and can view it real-time. We might even get the chance to identify some of the ones we haven't seen yet."
"How many of these critters you figure there'll be?” Jeff asked.
"No idea,” Daniel said. “We don't know how highly placed Birchmere is in their organization. This could just be a weekly status report. On the other hand, he lives pretty well by human standards, very well compared to Rockport, so maybe his involvement means this is a major gathering. We'll find out tonight."
"In any case, I want you to be extra careful to stay out of sight,” Susan said.
Daniel grinned roguishly. “Yes, ma'am."
"And quiet,” she continued, ignoring Daniel's levity. “We don't know how well these things can hear, but if their senses are anything like their strength or toughness—"
"All right, Susan, we get it,” Daniel said.
"Just be careful,” Susan said as she turned away from Daniel and started preparing the gear. “Jeff and I will be in the van."
Susan didn't know if Daniel fully realized what they were doing. She'd always thought of herself as a strong, independent woman, but after that night in the motel those things scared her, truly frightened her to the bone. She'd done this style of investigation at college, even embarrassed one corrupt professor into retirement, but she had never spied on immortal monsters with the political connections to ruin someone's life. She knew Daniel was so positive and upbeat because he was active and useful again, but she hoped that didn't overshadow his caution.
"Hey, buck up, Susan,” Daniel said. “Everything will be fine."
She tried very hard to believe him.
They arrived at the warehouse early that afternoon. Susan and Jeff set up a block and a half away while Daniel waited on the roof, camera at the ready. They had escape routes and rendezvous prepared, as well as contingency plans should something go wrong. Susan excelled at that sort of planning, and Jeff's military experience was also a plus. By five o'clock, when the first of the demons’ cars approached the building, they were ready and began to film.
They just weren't quite prepared for what they would see.
The Meeting
The first of them arrived singly and in pairs. They parked their cars on side streets and walked casually to the warehouse. The first one to reach the building unlocked the door and they all filed in. Daniel had already opened the skylight slightly,
and he could hear them quite clearly, even if he didn't understand a word they said. They were speaking a language Daniel had never heard. It sounded a little like Latin, but it was harsher, more guttural.
Since he couldn't decipher what they were saying, Daniel panned around the warehouse. It was square, about a hundred feet on a side. It was clean and well kept, with several large wooden packing crates stacked against the wall opposite the door. Just to the right of the door was a large forklift and a stack of wooden palettes. Most of the warehouse floor was empty, however, and it was there that people stood and talked as more of their number filed in.
Most of them were dressed in suits, but a few were clad only in jeans and T-shirts. All the races of humanity were represented, and they also varied greatly in height and build. After watching a few dozen of them enter and mill about, Daniel finally saw one he recognized.
"English, please!” Birchmere shouted as he stormed into the warehouse.
Most of them bowed their heads to him in deference and several of them muttered, “Yes, Zagam."
"Lord Beelzebub will be here any minute,” Birchmere (Zagam?) continued. “Would you have him hear you speaking the ancient tongue and not that of your assigned location? You all know the penalty for speaking the ancient tongue."
Most of them were cowed at this, but a few of them glared at Birchmere in open defiance. Nevertheless, they spoke English from that point on.
"Zagam!” one of them called out, striding confidently up to Birchmere. “Why has this meeting been called? What's so important to drag Lord Beelzebub all the way here?” Several others expressed their interest in Birchmere's answer.
Birchmere stood up a little straighter, obviously trying to look every bit the authority figure the others took him to be. “I have not been in contact personally with Lord Beelzebub, but the impression I got was that Satan himself was displeased with something."
"Indeed,” rang out a deep baritone voice from the entrance.
