by Doug Burbey
"Yes, just cut them loose and give them back their gear. Somebody cleared that guy’s name. Apparently, they're government or something. And clearly these are dead fucking demons!" The lead officer shouted while pointing at the bodies. "So, listen up guys. This is screwed but Daryl, you need to go out to the helicopter right now and detain the campus police officer and put him in the truck. If it gets out that demons are coming through portals again, we'll have a riot on our hands." His voice didn't sound all that steady as he glanced at the pile of the dead.
"What?" Daryl began to protest.
"Just do it! Be polite, do it quietly, but do it now. Nothing goes out over the general frequencies. Everything stays on our tactical network only. More of these government clowns should be here any minute now to take care of ‘cleanup and public affairs'. Whatever the hell that means."
Pointing at Declan and Greg, who had both gotten to their feet grabbing their weapons as they rose. "You two just get in your helicopter and go. Leave right now and don't come back."
Declan made damn sure to not even accidentally point his weapon near a cop. Greg didn't have the same survival instinct.
"Sweet! Later, Bean Town." Greg said with a smile and a wave to the officers as he started moving to leave.
"Appreciate the help, officer,” Declan said gravely as he started to follow Greg back out towards the helicopter.
The lead officer watched the two government gunmen leave then surveyed the carnage in the courtyard around him. "Fuck my life, the demons are back." The bleakness in his tone clear.
I almost feel sorry for the guy. Almost.
Declan and Greg walked through the smashed glass doors, exiting the residence hall out to the street.
"Well, that's a hell of a lot of gumball machines," Greg muttered as he surveyed the chaotic scene that had formed outside of the campus building. Each end of the street was blocked by not one, but two sets of emergency vehicles. The outer cordon was local police cruisers blocking the road with the inner cordon consisting of black government Suburbans with large white 'ICER' letters stenciled to the sides.
"Seems your boys are here, DK. From the sounds of that shouting over there, I don't think they are in total agreement with the local Leos on our little situation going on here. "
Declan looked over in the direction that Greg was pointing and saw a line of police patrolman gesturing at both Greg and Declan, then pointing at the aircraft, then back towards the courtyard. They were being held back by heavily armed, grey and black urban camouflage wearing ICER agents. The individual who appeared to be in charge of the ICER agents had a radio in one hand and was gesturing towards the police in what appeared to be an effort to get them to move their vehicles farther away. Declan and Greg quickly moved away from the heated law enforcement discussion and towards another small group of ICER agents that had set up a perimeter around the helicopter with road flares. They were in the process of keeping both the local police officers and civilians away from the aircraft.
"Well, I'd love to stick around and help these good people with traffic control Greg, but I might have an unpaid parking ticket or two that I'd rather not have to address at the moment. So, my vote is let's get in your bird, call it a day, and grab a beer."
"I concur. This sounds like the first good plan you've had all day. Let's get the hell out of here. It so happens I might just have a 12 pack of beer in the cooler on the helicopter."
They headed towards the chopper at a trot. Joe waited for them, leaning against the door, his body tense.
After a quick glance at Declan and Greg, the ICERs waved them through their improvised perimeter around Greg's helicopter without asking any questions. After a short scolding from Joe about tracking "disgusting and unearthly filth" into his aircraft, they did a quick preflight then got the Sikorsky airborne and headed smoothly westwards.
Declan activated his headset intercom. "So Greg, I believe you mentioned beer?"
"Yup, right under the center table in front of you. The top lifts up."
Declan reached over to the table, lifted the lid and extracted the cold 12-ounce object of his desire from the concealed mini fridge.
"Wait a second, you said you had beer. This is Corona! What's with this pretentious yuppy fake beer? You got a lime in here somewhere too? I'm horribly disappointed in you, brother. How far you have fallen." Declan's feigned indignation was not enough to prevent him from opening the bottle and draining half of it.
"Yeah, I can see how broken up you are about it. Oh here." Greg tossed the dead mage's wallet over his shoulder to Declan.
"Yeah, thanks. Let's see what we got. Five bucks says there's a Starbucks card in here." Declan pulled out the student ID, noticing the age of the young dead mage. Twenty-two.
Damn it. Only twenty-two. What a waste.
He continued to pull items from the wallet and tossed them into the seat next to his after a quick inspection of each item.
ID.
Nothing special. Idiot was from Florida.
Tossed.
Medical Insurance card.
Was on Mommy and Daddy's coverage plan.
Tossed.
Discover card.
Only a college student would sign up for this 20% interest rate credit card.
Tossed.
Declan pulled out a familiar looking business card made of heavy cardboard, all black with white letters, with an address, a number, a name, and runes that tingled his fingers. Chad Morant.
"Son of a bitch! That fucker."
"What? The beer's warm?" Greg responded to Declan's outburst.
"No. I think this whole thing was a trap, Greg. We were set up by the ICERs to take the fall for today. The dead mage had one of their cards on him, one of Cordelia's guys. That lying bitch!"
Declan pulled a slip of notepaper, with a name and phone number, out of the wallet.
"Shit, DK. That is not good." Greg said from the front, paying attention to flying the bird.
Declan read the name on the slip of paper and he could almost feel his blood run cold.
"No Greg, we just went from not good to total shit show. This dead guy has the phone number for Marcus Vipsanius in his wallet."
"Who the fuck is Marcus Vipsanius?" Greg looked back over his shoulder into the passenger compartment from his cockpit seat.
Declan paused for a few seconds and closed his eyes before responding. "Marcus Vipsanius was the name of a famous Roman general. Also, an internet pseudonym used by an old friend to stay out of trouble for drunken online rants… Shane Gris."
"Oh, fuck me, DK."
"Yeah. Fuck me. Get me home, Greg. I need more than this shitty overpriced Mexican beer. A few demons may be the least of our problems if Shane is mixed into this. We could all be very dead, very soon. All of us."
Chapter 31 - Boss Finds Out
The Office of the Director of International Cooperative Element Responders reflected Kelvin Ordonio's status as a Senior Government Executive Tier Three. The walls were adorned with precisely centered awards and memorabilia he'd collected over his decades of government service. He ran one of America's most powerful semi-independent agencies but it's hybrid structure and authorities were so closely intertwined with the Department of Defense that it forced him to primarily work from this office in the Pentagon. Working in the Pentagon had distinct advantages for him. First and foremost, he did not have to waste any of his internal department funding on paying for the security infrastructure and the personnel required to maintain his own headquarters. No one ever accused Kelvin of wasteful spending. His personal motto of “Mission, Efficiency, and Effectiveness through a balanced Team” reflected how he lived his life.
The director finished typing his reply to the Secretary of Defense with his thoughts on the executive summary distributed by the Emergency Operations Center based on the incident last night at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
Well, that didn't go as planned, at all. Clearly, there are some issues with the sy
nchronization of team efforts. That won't do. No, it will not.
The knocking at his office door interrupted the Director's chain of thought. "Please, come in." He responded to the knock in his usual cheery voice.
"Excuse me, Sir, I need a minute of your time." The man was only about 5 feet 5 inches tall but stocky and muscular. His face was scarred with the signs of a rough life and more than a few fights. The man's name was Jonathan "Johnny" Boulder. Unfortunately, Johnny had a tendency to wear a scowl on his face that tended to frighten the office staff. Or it could be the fact there were always quiet rumors surrounding the Director’s driver's additional duties. It was hard to hide the fact that as a driver, he spent an exorbitant amount of time with the Director beyond what would be thought is necessary. It amused Kelvin to think that if his staff really understood the additional services Jonathan provided the agency, they'd be truly terrified of the man.
The Director politely turned away from his computer screen and gave his full attention to the new arrival. "Oh yes. Jonathan, come on in son. You know you don't need to hold on to all these formalities with me. As a valued employee you know I have an open-door policy. What can I do for you?"
Johnny shut the door and waited until it had closed fully. "Sir, it's about last night's operation. I really think we have some issues."
"I absolutely agree, Jonathan. But first off young man what have I told you about pride in appearance for professional government employees?"
"Oh shit, sorry, sir." Johnny quickly reached up to his loose and poorly knotted tie, tugging at it and then attempted to pat down his hair. "I'm working on it."
"I know you are Jonathan, but when a person reflects pride in his appearance it reflects the pride that he takes his job. I know you take great pride in the excellent work that you do. It is also important to maintain a professional image if you ever want to move up in the reins of government service." He said with warmth and sincerity.
"Absolutely Sir. I swear I really am trying. Are you sure I can't wear clip-ons? Really not getting the hang of this tying the knot."
"Clip-ons? Now, now, Jonathan. Come over here let me help straighten you out."
Kelvin found Johnny's discomfort at him taking such a hand in his appearance amusing. But when you owned people down to their soul, they didn't have the ability to say no to you. After all, Johnny owed the director his literal freedom. Without the Director's influence, and his taking him under his wing, Johnny would have been only a few years into a 30-year Federal sentence by now.
He got up and walked around his desk to Johnny, straightening his tie and tapping him gently on the shoulder, even as he fought a smirk at the man’s flush. Kelvin returned to his desk and leaned back in his chair with his hands on his lap.
"Jonathan, I know things didn't go as planned last night and I value your opinion. What do you think the principal issue is that needs to be addressed? As well as how we should address it?"
Johnny paused, and Kelvin preened as the man remembered to think and formulate his responses before he answered.
Johnathan has a bright future. He learns from his mistakes. So few really do.
"Well, sir, I think the issue here is that we have a third party involved that has completely fucked up a plan that took weeks to put in motion. I think we need to find the hunters that shut down the operation then stomp them into a bloody pulp."
"Ah, that's what I like about you, Jonathan. You have a direct way of looking at things. Now if I asked my own staff planners for such an answer, they would have taken three weeks to research, and formulate a 20-page course of action analysis, with footnoted responses. Then, they likely would have presented it to me in a PowerPoint presentation a week later.”
Johnny adeptly waited quietly for his boss to continue, knowing how he loved to monologue his “teaching” points.
“But there are a few data points you are missing. First, the plan wasn't a few weeks in the making, it's been two years. Those young mages at MIT have been a long-term investment for this agency. Scholarships don't fall out of the sky you know. But when I adjust the numbers, I'll determine a proper business analysis on whether that investment provided any actual returns in the long run. But I do concur in your assessment that the hunter's involvement was quite an unexpected problem. The executive summary I just read from in the emergency operation center said that this response mission was coordinated by one of our very own regional division chiefs.”
“But when did you authorize that sir?”
“This is, in fact, the problem as I did not request a response. It also stated that over a dozen demons had traversed into our world through the portal. This is highly unacceptable. The direction was for only two to three demons, of no more than ring two power, be allowed in to cause a minor ruckus. There is a point of inverse effect with regards to the quantity of demons allowed over. Just a few here and there and we are granted more authority and funding to keep a lid on it without much scrutiny. Too many demons and our military friends start clamoring to call the shots and our plans are hindered. They may mean well but they will only get in our way."
"Yes, sir, the response team was well positioned to stop the overflow thru the portal. I can only assume the hunters were brought in as part of that team, based on their ridiculously fast response time. They had to have been in motion well ahead of the portal opening. The team belongs to Ms. Cordelia Bennett." Johnny shuffled his feet avoiding looking at the director while he waited.
"Oh yes, Ms. Bennett. I don't think I've actually met her in person but the performance evaluations I signed off on her, which came up through the channels, were very glowing. She seems to be very effective and efficient at organizing while utilizing her resources prudently. Now Jonathan, unfortunately Ms. Bennett is not part of our special team. Who's our inside agent with her team?"
"It's that pompous dickweed, Chad Morant, sir."
"Now, now, Jonathan. Language, please. Mr. Morant may be somewhat overly opinionated of himself but he's one of our assets. You should not disparage your own. That is not professional."
"Yes, sir. Still a dickweed though." Johnny mumbled quietly but flushed when Kelvin frowned with as much fatherly disapproval he could muster at the use of bad language.
Foul language is the refuge of the weak. I don't have weak people working for me, well not for long.
"Very well, Jonathan, I don't need you to intercede here. Not personally. I have other things that need attending to with your special skill sets, so you're going to leave this extra task to Chad to take care of. I think it's time we readjusted the numbers and give the senator a little more of what she asked for. It's always nice to feed the machinery a little oil every now and then. So have Chad oil that squeaky wheel for us, will you?"
"Yes, sir, I'll give him the word. I'd rather take care of it to myself to make sure it's done right though."
"Jonathan, always the meticulous professional you are. Except for your appearance unfortunately, that's still a little bit on the tisk, tisk, tisk, side. But I need you to head to the factory instead."
"What do you need there, sir? It's moving along pretty good. The crew hasn't been giving me any trouble. Not after I took care of the last incident. They are squeezing every drop they can to meet your quota."
"Oh, I've seen your reports. While you could benefit by learning how to use the spelling and grammar check functionality, the numbers are clear enough. What I need you to do is to take inventory on how many assets will need to liquidated and how many resources you will require for that mission when it comes time to shut down the Reset factory. We need to have the perfect amount of stock on hand so that we can feed our little junky assets for just long enough to make use of them before they are moved over to the liquefied column on the ledger. The numbers are very delicate now, Jonathan. I need everything to be meticulously precise."
"I think I got the numbers right, sir. But I understand. You need all the hardware and human assets properly accounted for. I have to say, sir
, I look forward to liquefying the excess warm bodies stock as soon as you give the word. Some of them do not have the proper attitude even after repeated adjustments."
The director cringed at the implied, but not so subtle, statement of his underling. While Kelvin had never been squeamish in ordering the death of others, he did find it rather ghastly the amount of a personal pleasure that Jonathan took at beating people to death.
That business is all rather unnecessarily messy and inefficient. Although I'm really going to regret the day I have to liquidate Jonathan as a potential exposure risk. But, the assets on hand versus the resources to achieve mission accomplishment equations are what they are. I just can't take it personally when my saving all of humanity is at stake of course. A few cracked eggs and all.
"Now what I'm really curious to hear, from our friend Mr. Morant, is about how one of my regional Chiefs requisitioned a helicopter without my signature?" The director said while chuckling. "I mean, I applaud the initiative and find it incredibly damned resourceful. But, this was a very inopportune time for one of my chiefs to show initiative to the scale of somehow acquiring a helicopter off the books. I find it all horribly inconvenient right now."
"You want me to take care of her, sir?" Jonathan asked with a little too much enthusiasm
"Oh no, Jonathan. Every problem is not a nail that needs a hammer's attention. I will simply deal with my over-exuberant subordinate. I like to think that I encourage a climate where my employees feel comfortable taking the initiative to accomplish their missions. No, I can't punish her for such a thing. I think her team may be ready to take on some much greater responsibilities. You just make sure Mr. Morant understands that with greater responsibility, I expect the next missions to carry extreme risk, and unfortunately the results will cause a few reductions in on hand personnel resources."
