Mercury Revolts: (Book Four of the Mercury Series)

by Robert Kroese

  “On our authority,” Zion Johnson said. “Yours and mine. We’re not doing this shit anymore. Implanting tracking chips in people’s heads? Is that what you signed up for, Sergeant? Because it’s not what I signed up for. I’m done.” Slowly and deliberately, he held out the Desert Eagle, turned it around, and set it on the floor between him and the sergeant. The sergeant continued to watch him nervously. The men behind him were looking to him anxiously for some clue as to how they should handle this situation.

  “Sir,” said the sergeant, trying desperately to keep his voice from cracking, “I’m going to have to take you into custody while we sort this out.”

  Zion Johnson laughed. “Kid,” he said, “I don’t know how this is all going to turn out, but I can tell you one thing for sure: it’s damn well not going to end up with me in your custody.” He turned and began walking toward the door.

  “Sir!” shouted the sergeant again. “Please stop!”

  Zion Johnson sighed and turned to look at the man. He couldn’t be more than twenty-five. He still had acne, for Christ’s sake. “Look, kid,” he said. “There’s something I need to tell you. And I want you to know I’m not telling you this to be mean, OK? I’m telling you because you’re a human being and you deserve to know. Eventually some really unbelievable stuff is going to come out about this whole program. And when it does, you’re going to look back on this moment and try to make sense of it, maybe justify it, depending on what you do over the next few seconds. And when you do, you need to understand something: what you do right now, when I walk out that door, is all on you. Got it? There’s nobody making you do this. You’ve got your orders, sure, but you also know what’s right and wrong. And if you make the wrong choice, well, you’re just going to have to deal with that. Whatever decision you make, you need to own it, OK? Don’t make excuses. It’s the only way forward.”

  The young man stared at Zion Johnson, more confused than ever. The intern, the technicians and the other guardsmen were all staring at him too. Zion Johnson couldn’t help laughing. Were these people all under Tiamat’s control, or were they just so unused to making their own decisions that they’d forgotten how? For a lot of people, mind control really was redundant.

  As Zion Johnson turned to walk out the door, he was shot sixteen times in the back. He smiled as he fell to the ground.

  Superior attitude, superior state of mind.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Washington, D.C.; August 2016

  Tiamat was briefing President Prowse on the plans for the chip implantation program in Nashville when she was suddenly seized with the desire to stand up, walk to the center of the Oval Office, and make a startling confession.

  “I’m a little teapot,” she said, holding her left hand on her waist and raising her right in the air. “Short and stout. Here is my handle, and here is my spout.”

  With that, she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  After a moment, Danton Prowse picked up his phone. “I think we’re going to cancel Nashville,” he said.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Somewhere in Missouri; August 2016

  “It’s really that easy?” asked Suzy, looking over Balderhaz’s shoulder. Balderhaz was sitting at the laptop, which was now directly connected to the Myrmidon server via the Internet. Suzy’s patch had opened a port on the server to allow remote access by anyone with a particular access key—MercuryR00lz, in this case—and to disallow access from anywhere else, including the Myrmidon control room at Mentaldyne. Presumably somebody at Mentaldyne would eventually figure out what had happened and shut down the server until they could fix the security hole, but for now Balderhaz had complete control over Tiamat and her agents.

  “Yep,” said Balderhaz. “I just specify a target or range of targets—by age, race, geographical location, whatever—and implant an idea in their heads. In this particular case, I’ve suggested to Tiamat that she’s a little teapot.”

  “That’s it? You just told her she’s a little teapot?” asked Suzy, amazed.

  “I didn’t tell her anything,” said Balderhaz. “I put the idea in her head that she’s a little teapot. The actions she takes in response to that idea are her own.”

  “So where is she going?” asked Eddie, who was looking over Balderhaz’s other shoulder. They were watching the red dot representing Tiamat leave the White House and moving down Pennsylvania Avenue.

  “I may also have suggested that she would like to take a nice dip in the Potomac,” said Balderhaz.

  “Good idea,” said Suzy.

  “All of Tiamat’s other minions may be having the same idea in the very near future,” said Balderhaz.

  “…and then I wasn’t sure I was going to have enough duct tape,” said Perp, who was lying prone on the couch behind them. He hadn’t stopped talking about his ordeal with the transmitter since he’d gotten back, some twenty minutes earlier. In Perp’s mind, he was clearly the hero of the day. They hadn’t heard from Mercury yet; presumably he was still dealing with Izbazel and Nisroc.

  Balderhaz was in the process of giving several dozen demons some ideas about synchronized swimming when the front door to the house opened. The assembled angels and human held their collective breath, hoping it was Mercury. It wasn’t.

  Michelle strode into the room, her clothing torn and her hair tousled, but otherwise looking no worse for wear. “So here you are,” said Michelle to Suzy and Eddie. “I guess you misunderstood the part about us being a team.”

  “We had to get out of there,” said Eddie nervously. “We figured you could deal with Gamaliel on your own…”

  “Oh, I dealt with him,” said Michelle. She gave a whistle, and they heard the back door open. A moment later Gamaliel walked into the room, looking even more tattered than Michelle.

  “Um,” Balderhaz said, looking up at the hulking figure of Gamaliel. “Isn’t he one of the bad guys?”

  “We came to an understanding,” said Michelle. “With Tiamat out of power, Gamaliel is working for me now. And we’re taking over Myrmidon. Balderhaz, please step away from the computer.”

  Balderhaz, who had been trying to locate Gamaliel’s chip on the map, reluctantly stepped away.

  “There are four of us, and only two of you,” said Suzy.

  Michelle laughed. “I’m the general of Heaven’s army,” she said. “And Gamaliel is the best fighter of all Tiamat’s minions. I think we can handle three cherubic twerps and a human female. Face it, sweetie, you’ve been played. I’m back in power, and now I’ve got Tiamat and her minions under my control as well.”

  “See, this is your problem, Michelle,” said a voice behind her. “You only think in terms of power and control.”

  Michelle spun around to see Mercury standing in the corner. It was impossible to say when he’d arrived or how long he’d been there.

  “What are you blabbering about, Mercury?” snapped Michelle. “You’ve taken control of Myrmidon. And now I’ve taken it away from you.”

  “We took control of Myrmidon temporarily,” said Mercury. “Tell her, Suzy.”

  “He’s right,” said Suzy. “The patch is designed to self-destruct six hours after it’s activated. And that window is almost up. In twenty minutes, it will erase the Myrmidon software completely. Everyone will be free. Even Tiamat and her minions. They’ll be very damp, but they’ll be free.”

  “Then I’ll just have Mentaldyne reload the original software,” said Michelle.

  “That would work,” said Suzy, “except for an additional feature that Balderhaz and I put in the patch.”

  “Which is what?” demanded Michelle.

  “A high-energy burst on all receiving frequencies,” said Balderhaz. “Before Myrmidon self-destructs, it’ll short out all the chips. So even if you take over Myrmidon, you’ll have no puppets to play with.”

  “Then I’ll shut it down,” said Michelle. “Gamaliel, call Mentaldyne and have them shut everything down!”

  “Won’t work,
” said Suzy. “The burst instruction has already been sent to the satellite. The satellite is programmed to send the burst when Myrmidon shuts down. Whether it shuts down because of the self-destruct or because you pull the plug, it’s all the same to the satellite. The burst will go out, and the chips will stop working.”

  “You could try to get to the satellite before that happens,” said Balderhaz. “You’ve got eighteen minutes to travel a thousand miles, so chop-chop!”

  Michelle stood with her fists clenched, fuming. Gamaliel’s expression was that of someone who had, for the umpteenth time, picked the wrong team in the big game.

  “Like I was saying, Michelle,” Mercury continued, “your problem is that you think everybody is just as power-mad as you are. That’s fine when you’re up against Tiamat or Lucifer, but you’re out of your league when you’re faced with three hundred million people who are free to make their own decisions. You’ve got no legions and no place to stand for leverage. Your minions have deserted you, and the reins that you’re clutching at so desperately don’t connect to anything. Hell, even Gamaliel has lost interest in being your waterboy, and he never met a tyrant whose boots he wasn’t prepared to lick.”

  Gamaliel had indeed deserted her. The door of the farmhouse slammed behind him.

  “Fine,” said Michelle. “You’ve won for now. But you overestimate these people. When they find out the truth about Myrmidon and the Brimstone bomb, they’ll be more terrified than ever, and I’ll be right there to reassure them that everything will be alright if they just keep quiet and do what they’re told. If this whole experience has demonstrated anything, it’s that most people are sheep. I don’t need computer chips to control them, I just need a little fear.”

  “Maybe,” said Mercury. “But there will always be a few people who won’t bow down to you, Michelle, and I’ll take one of those people over a thousand of your sheep. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there aren’t any sheep in this room, so I suggest you go looking elsewhere for your flock.”

  Michelle glared at Mercury. “This isn’t over,” she said, and turned to leave.

  “It never is,” said Mercury.

  “So that’s it,” said Eddie, after Michelle had left. “We won.”

  Michelle stormed out of the room.

  “For now,” said Mercury. “But there’s one more thing I need to do.”

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Camp David, Maryland; August 2016

  After Tiamat’s bizarre performance and the sudden disappearance of several other key advisors—the ones who hadn’t run off screaming a few days earlier—it was decided that President Prowse should take a few days away from the White House while the Secret Service tried to determine what the hell had happened and how the hell to keep it from happening again. So he was alone in a quiet office at Camp David when he received a third angelic visitor.

  “Oh, no,” he said when the supposedly locked door opened without warning. “No more. I quit.”

  A tall man with angular features and ridiculous silver hair strode in. “You can’t quit now,” the man said. “I promised Judy you’d be at her birthday party next week. You don’t want to disappoint Judy, do you?”

  “Who in the hell is Judy?” Prowse demanded.

  “Wow,” said the man. “I am not going to tell her you said that. So, how’s the job treating you these days?”

  “The job?” asked Prowse. “How would I know? I haven’t been in charge of anything for months. First it was Michelle, and then that horrible Tiamat person, telling me exactly what I can and can’t do. I can only assume you’re next in line? Another ‘reorganization’?”

  “Mmm,” said the man. “Something like that. My name’s Mercury. I’m here to advise you.”

  “Yeah, that’s what Michelle said. And Tiamat. And if I didn’t take their ‘advice,’ they’d find someone to replace me.”

  “Well, I’m not going to replace you,” said Mercury. “And frankly I don’t have the patience to hang out with you and give you advice on trade deals with Guatemala or extradition treaties with Bulgaria. Bulgaria. That’s a real place, right? Bulgaria?”

  Danton Prowse nodded. “I think so, yes.”

  “Anyway, like I said, I don’t have the patience for that crap. And I don’t have any grand schemes for scaring the shit out of people with bombs or shoving computer chips in their skulls. But I do have an agenda that I need you to follow. And if you don’t, I’m going to make things as unpleasant as I can for you.”

  “I knew it,” said Prowse bitterly. “So what’s the agenda?”

  Mercury pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded it and began reading.

  “First,” he began. “I want to talk a little about a woman’s right to choose. I strongly support a woman’s right to choose. It should go without saying that I also support a man’s right to choose. To my way of thinking, they should take turns. For example…” He trailed off. “Hey, this is my manifesto! I thought I left this in the woods!”

  Prowse looked aghast at him. “That’s your agenda?”

  “Oh, goodness no,” said Mercury. “This is my manifesto. Here’s the agenda.” He pulled another sheet from his pocket and handed it to Danton Prowse.

  Prowse frowned, unfolding the paper. It began:

  We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

  “This is the Constitution,” said Danton Prowse.

  “Damn straight,” said Mercury. “And like I said, you’re going to follow it or I’m going to make things very unpleasant for you.”

  “Who made you the judge of whether I’m following the Constitution?” snapped Prowse. “What makes you think you understand it better than I do?”

  Mercury laughed. “I’m no judge,” he said. “I’m just a guy keeping you honest. I’m not going to interfere with you doing your job. But if you start sticking computer chips in people’s skulls, then there’s a very good chance people are going to find out about a certain illegal bomb-making program that you were intimately involved with. Understood?”

  Danton Prowse nodded. “So you’re really going to let me run the country?”

  Mercury shrugged. “Frankly,” he said, “I don’t particularly like you. A president with any balls would have told Michelle to take a walk rather than be her lapdog. But the people of this country elected you, so what do I know? Grow a spine, do your job, and you have nothing to worry about from me.” He turned to leave.

  “What, that’s it?” asked Prowse. “You throw a copy of the Constitution on my desk and then leave, just like that?”

  Mercury grinned. “A better man than you taught me an important lesson,” he said.

  “Which is what?” said Prowse.

  “Know when to leave the stage,” Mercury said, and walked out the door.

  Postlude

  Philadelphia; August 1796

  Mercury walked quietly up the steps to the second floor of the four story house, made his way down the hall and knocked on the door.

  “Come in, Mercury,” said a man’s voice from inside.

  Mercury opened the door and walked inside, shaking his head. “How do you do that?” he asked.

  Inside the room a tall, lean man sat hunched over an old oak desk, his massive, gnarled hands gripping a sheaf of papers in front of him. He looked up as Mercury walked in. “I know your walk,” said the man. “I know the gait of every man who works for me. I could identify every one of my officers as they walked up from behind me, even at Valley Forge, where the snow was three feet thick. Makes it difficult to sneak up on me.”

  “Next time I’ll levitate,” said Mercury. “We’ll see if you can hear that.” He added, after a moment, “Mr. President.”

  “What brings you here, M
ercury?” asked Washington. “I frankly never expected to see you again. I thought you angels had sworn off politics.”

  “Technically that restriction only applies to the District of Columbia,” replied Mercury. “I assume that Philadelphia is still swarming with demons.”

  “Not that I’ve noticed,” said Washington.

  “Really?” asked Mercury. “So you haven’t seen any of the demons I described to you? Lucifer, Tiamat, Gamaliel?”

  Washington shook his head.

  “Huh,” said Mercury. “I guess they figure they’d be wasting their time with you.”

  Washington sighed. “With me, yes. Even so, I must remain vigilant. My trust was betrayed once, and I cannot let that happen again.”

  Mercury nodded. Washington had never really gotten over Benedict Arnold’s betrayal. It was the one wound from the Revolution that had never healed.

  “I’m sorry about that, Mr. President. If I had…”

  “It’s not your fault, Mercury,” said Washington. “I should have seen that Benedict was motivated more by his ego than love for his country. He felt that he had become a pawn in a struggle he didn’t understand, and that was more than he could take.”

  Mercury nodded. “Sir,” he said after a moment. “If you don’t mind me asking, what about you?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Washington.

  “I mean, it must have been quite a shock when you found out about us. About the angels and demons, that is. Don’t you sometimes feel like a puppet of forces beyond your understanding?”

  Washington shook his head. “The hand of Providence guides us all, men and angels alike,” he said. “I do what I can with what I’ve been given. To wish for more than that is foolishness. And in any case, we’ve somehow managed to keep both angels and demons out of the District of Columbia. The Capitol Building is nearly finished, as is the new presidential residence, which they are calling the White House. The next president will live there, inside the protective field we’ve put in place.”