“I still haven’t seen the show,” Ana said.
“You should. When the next tour starts. I’ll get you the VIP treatment, front row seats, the works.”
“Cool,” Ana said.
“Bring earplugs,” Bugsy said. “I have seen the show.”
Lilith, sitting on the other side of the table, licked a bit of sauce off her fork. “Michael, dear, you look so uncomfortable hunched in over there. Why don’t you come sit here with me? There’s plenty of room at this end.”
In fact, there wasn’t, except for a sliver of space at the corner. And Lohengrin, already sitting by Lilith, straightened and puffed up his chest, as if he could fill the space by himself.
Kate half hoped DB would move. Except that would involve making Lilith happy.
DB smirked. “That’s okay. I wouldn’t want to upset Prince Valiant there.”
“Oh, Klaus here? He won’t be upset. He’s a big puppy.” She gazed up at the German ace through slitted, silver eyes.
What an amazing bitch, Kate marveled.
A clink of metal on glass rang out. A goblet tipped and splashed water over part of the tablecloth, plates, and people.
“Aw, cripes, would you look at that?” Rusty was half on his feet, reaching uselessly after the mess. “Sorry. I’m pretty clumsy, don’t you know.” His iron jaw creased into a bashful smile.
The tension broke. At least for the next half a second or so.
John made a production of digging in an attaché case for a set of manila folders, which he distributed. Moving on, then.
“Time for business, I’m afraid,” John said, standing at the head of the table. “A lot’s landed on us all at once, but I think we have the resources to handle it. At least, I’d like to prove that we do.” He flashed a smile, almost shy. “We’re still keeping an eye on the situation in Texas. We know there was an explosion. Lilith and Bugsy concluded that it was nuclear. We still don’t know what caused it, but the Feds think it was terrorists. For the moment, there isn’t much we can do until we hear further developments. But here’s what we can do.”
Secretary-General Jayewardene had given the Committee three separate missions, all of them deemed urgent.
First: a brutal hurricane season appeared to be developing in the Gulf, and Jayewardene had a hunch. The secretary-general had a track record of accurate hunches. If he wanted a team there to help, the Committee would go.
Second: the UN had received reports of genocide in Africa, in the oil region of Nigeria near its border with the People’s Paradise of Africa, a newish, self-declared nation that was either the latest in a long line of corrupt, despotic regimes or the beginning of a new, empowered Africa free of colonial influences. It depended on who you talked to. A Committee team would investigate the genocide claims and make recommendations.
And third: the current oil shortage was artificially induced. Prince Siraj of the Caliphate had manipulated production and forced prices to their current, stratospheric level of three hundred dollars a barrel. In the opinion of the secretary-general, this was nothing short of economic terrorism that was impacting the entire world and causing widespread hardship and depression. A team would go to the Middle East to open oil production again, and UN troops were assembling in anticipation of direct intervention.
“I don’t think I have to tell you that this last objective is top secret,” John said. “We don’t want any leaks to the press clowns downstairs. No blogging.” He pointed at Bugsy, who held up his hands in a show of innocence.
This was a new development, and Kate was surprised that the secretary-general had decided on such direct action. They’d almost be causing an international crisis rather than fixing one.
John read from his notes.
“Earth Witch, Gardener, Bubbles, and Holy Roller. You’ll head to New Orleans tomorrow. See what you can do about reinforcing the levee system and aiding in the evacuation, if that becomes necessary. DB, you’ll be leading the team going to the PPA. You’ll have Brave Hawk, Snowblind, Toad Man, and the Lama—Han, not Juan—with you. Curveball, Lohengrin, the Translator, Rustbelt, Tinker, and I will be going to Arabia. Bugsy, you and Juan will hold down the fort here, and Lilith will keep us all in communication, and provide emergency transport if needed—”
DB was shaking his head, chuckling quietly.
John regarded him a moment. “Do you have something to add?”
“I see what you’re doing,” DB said. “Pretty slick, actually.” He tapped a couple of beats on the edge of the table.
“And what is that?” John said tiredly.
DB seemed happy to explain. “Here it is. You’re taking all the hotshots to Arabia to be the saviors of the Western world. And you’re sending me and the second stringers to some shithole in Africa—to do what? Observe? Investigate? To do jack shit is what.”
“Hey, who are you calling second string?” said Buford, glaring at DB with bulging eyes.
Bugsy smirked. “Turning into a giant toad is not exactly A-list.”
“Got me further on American Hero than you.”
Ouch. A year later, people were still throwing that at each other.
“DB,” John said, “I’m just trying to put people where their powers will be most useful. I don’t know what you think—”
The joker’s sarcastic smile fell. “I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re a glory hound, I think you’re—”
John dropped a folder on the table with a slap. “Who’s the glory hound between us, Mr. Rock Star? Really?”
DB didn’t slow down. “You’re setting me up to fail, maybe even get me killed . . .”
Kate closed her eyes. Counted to ten. So help her, if either one of them brought her up as an excuse . . .
“. . . and I think you’ll do anything you can to keep me away from Kate!”
That was it.
John actually laughed. “Geez, would you let it go? This isn’t about Kate!”
Kate stood. Picked up a steak knife. Hefted it in her hand, testing its weight. Felt a warmth flow like flames through her arm. Eventually, everyone was staring at the knife in her hand. Things got real quiet.
She looked at John on one side of her, DB on the other. They stared back, stricken.
“Finished?” she asked. “Can we all sit down and play nice?”
DB muttered, “Tell Captain Cruller to stop rigging the missions in his favor.”
“You’re being paranoid,” she said. He had to realize how monumentally bad this looked. Halfway down the table, Snowblind and the Translator stared in fascination.
“Kate, maybe you should put that down.” Ana nodded at the knife in her hand. Kate was gripping it, white-knuckled. In her mind’s eye she could almost see the glow, the buildup of power. In a temper, she’d let it fly and not even realize it. Ka-boom and fireworks. Wouldn’t that impress the newbies? But Ana recognized the mood. And Ana was about the only person who could say anything and not piss Kate off.
Carefully, she set the knife on the table and shook the tingle out of her arm.
John shuffled the folders in front of him, a mindless gesture. “Fine. We’ll switch. DB, you’re on the Arabia team. I’ll go to Africa. It’s not a big deal.” He pulled his chair back and sank into it. Catching her gaze, he was trying to tell her something. Maybe: See? I can play nice. But his solution left her feeling a little sick. She hated to think that a squabble like this might damage a mission, any mission.
Mostly, she hated that they were fighting over her. As if her own choice hadn’t had anything to do with which of them she’d ended up.
Seemingly mollified, DB sat, flexing his arms and running a quick riff on his torso.
John was talking again. “You have your assignments. The New Orleans team will leave first thing—”
A commotion sounded from the restaurant’s foyer: heavy footsteps, voices arguing. Just what they needed—more excitement. So much for a nice dinner.
A waiter spoke. “I’m sorry, we’re—”
“We have a warrant.”
Bugsy stared at the entrance and said, “I have a bad feeling—”
Three men and a woman, all wearing suits and an air of government-backed smugness, came through the door. The guy in front, above average in height and notably fit, filled his expensive pale suit well. He had a buzz cut and a face that was hard to describe. Not ugly exactly, but definitely not right. Crooked nose, uneven eyes—broken bones that had knitted a little off, and laugh lines that had developed oddly because of that.
That disconcerting face twisted in a smile that suggested he was enjoying the situation.
“If you’ll all remain seated and quiet we’ll get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible,” he said in a decisive, cop-in-charge voice.
John didn’t stay seated and quiet. “Billy, what—”
“That’s Director Ray to you, Mr. Fortune. Now please sit down.” That was possibly the shit-eatingest grin Kate had ever seen. John sat.
Director Billy Ray drew a folded pack of papers from the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Mr. Jonathan Tipton-Clarke?” He scanned the group like he was looking for someone, but Ray knew exactly where Bugsy was. His gaze fell on him in a second. “I have here a warrant for your arrest.”
“What?” John demanded. “What for?”
“For disseminating classified information in a public venue and potentially damaging national security,” Ray said.
Bugsy smirked. “I blogged about Texas.”
“Geez, don’t admit anything,” John said. “He’s an affiliate of the United Nations, there are proper channels for this.”
It was a valiant effort, but Ray wasn’t interested in proper channels, obviously. He was probably very interested in parading a handcuffed member of the Committee past the paparazzi downstairs. “Mr. Tipton-Clarke, if you’d stand, please.”
Bugsy did. Ray gestured, and one of the agents produced handcuffs.
“You can’t do this, mate,” Tinker said. Murmurs around the table agreed with him.
“An American citizen engaging in activities damaging to the safety of the American government and people? I certainly can.”
Kate glanced around the table. Eighteen aces and jokers, all—most—with formidable powers. All of whom were tense, glaring at Ray and his goons with unhappy expressions. In one of New York City’s poshest restaurants. This could end badly.
Obligingly, Bugsy turned his back to the agent and put his hands behind him, letting them cuff him without complaint. That meant Kate saw him smile and wink, right before he disintegrated.
Thousands of green wasps buzzed as clothing and handcuffs fell. Ray lunged with what had to be ace-fueled reflexes. All he managed to do was snatch the shirt before it reached the floor.
“Shit!” Ray said, ripping the shirt and tossing it aside. “I hate when that happens!”
The agent who’d been trying to cuff Bugsy yelped and jumped back, reaching inside his jacket for a gun. The other agents did the same.
All around the table, aces and jokers braced for battle.
Kate had hoped her teammates weren’t stupid enough to start something against Ray and his goons. So much for that.
John shouted, “Stand down! Back off!”
The bugs swarmed the four federal agents, clouds of them fogging around their heads. The agents slapped and swatted, hissing as they were stung. Ray swore, snarling as he slapped at himself, crushing wasps when he found them, and scratching at new welts.
With a whoosh and crash, a giant toad bounded onto the table, knocking aside water glasses and tea lights. His mouth was already open, the hideous tongue lolling, before Kate could stop him. A few drops of mucus hit her as the tongue whipped out and grabbed a gun out of the nearest agent’s hand. Stunned, the guy regarded his slime-covered hands with a look of horror.
The Llama—the Bolivian one—was the second to jump on the table. His long neck stretched forward, his fists clenched at his side, and he puckered his lips.
“Michael, grab him!” Kate yelled at DB, who was closer.
The big joker reached behind the Llama and took hold of various parts—arms, shoulders, back, legs—with all six arms and yanked him backward, off the table and onto the floor, but not before he got off a shot of spit.
Fortunately, the spit bomb went wide. Only part of it landed on the sleeve of Billy Ray’s suit jacket.
The federal ace regarded the spot for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped off the glob. He seemed resigned as he tossed the handkerchief aside.
Buzzing, the bugs formed a loose cloud, circling the room and occasionally dropping to take another sting at one of the agents.
“Stand down!” Kate shouted. Facing her team, Kate planted herself between them and the agents. Buford had opened his mouth for another go with his tongue, the Llama was unsuccessfully wrestling with DB, the other Lama had his eyes closed and seemed to be meditating, Brave Hawk had sprouted his wings and gripped a steak knife but hadn’t actually done anything yet. Lohengrin had donned his armor and looked like he wanted to march forward—but John planted a hand on his chest. The others seemed caught between decisions to stay put and take action. Lilith stood at the end of the table, arms crossed, regarding the scene with an aggravating lift to her brow.
A sudden breeze ruffled Kate’s bangs—the door to the balcony had opened.
Bugsy’s swarm banked around the room, stretching into a streamlined shape, shot out the balcony door like an arrow, and disappeared into the New York sky.
Scratching at a swollen spot on his nose, Billy Ray glared at the balcony, and at the Amazing Bubbles, who knelt by the open door with her hand on the latch.
“I thought we needed a little air,” Michelle said, shrugging with an air of innocence that wasn’t entirely genuine.
The room was quiet, finally. Lohengrin’s armor faded. Buford, human now, climbed off the table.
Billy Ray stood at Kate’s shoulder. Literally breathing down her neck.
“I am this close to dragging all of your asses to jail,” he said to her, holding his thumb and forefinger so they barely touched. “But because you’re cute, and I like blondes, I’ll give you a break. Today.”
Kate rolled her eyes.
Ray wasn’t finished with them. As he regarded them, his gaze sweeping from one end of the table to the other, his frown deepened. For a moment, the ace almost looked tired. He muttered, “You kids are going to get yourselves killed. And I’m probably going to be the one who has to scrape your guts off the pavement.”
He stalked out, gesturing at his underlings, who fell into step with him. They were all scratching at angry, swollen bug bites. Kate ran a hand through her hair and sighed. When was her life going to stop feeling like reality TV?
A woman giggled. Snowblind, stifling the laugh with a hand over her mouth. The hand was trembling, just a little. “I knew joining the Committee would be exciting, but I had no idea.”
Nervous chatter dispelled some of the tension as people straightened chairs and returned to their seats. Some of the wait staff crept out of hiding.
Kate pulled out a chair and sat. John brought over another chair and sat with her.
“So. Bugsy’s wanted by the Feds,” he said. “I guess that’s another line on the to-do list.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
“Normally I would call the director of SCARE to clear this up. But Billy Ray is the director of SCARE.” He winced. “And how the hell did that happen?”
It never ended. Always another mission. Three more missions, in this case. Kate leaned close to John and spoke softly. “You promised Ana would get a break. But you’re sending her out again tomorrow?”
John had the grace to look chagrined. “I know. But we need her. No one else can do what she does. This isn’t going to get fixed by . . . by a giant toad.”
She couldn’t argue, because he was right. Ana herself wouldn’t want t
o be left out of this. Even now, the ace was helping the staff pick up scattered glassware and table settings, like she could never sit back and let someone else do the work.
“I’ll make it up to her,” he said, earnest. “I promise.”
“Hey, John,” Tinker called. “What do you want to do with these?” He held up Bugsy’s discarded clothing.
Someone said, “Whoa. I never would have pegged Bugsy as a boxers guy.” John just shook his head in long-suffering bemusement. Smiling, Kate wrapped her arm around his and rested her head on his shoulder. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”
Double Helix
HIS ENEMIES SHALL LICK THE DUST
Melinda M. Snodgrass
Dear Sir,
And now for As the UN Turns.
I SET ASIDE THE laptop feeling the residual heat on my thighs and take a sip of scotch and a drag on my cigarette. Once in a great while I worry that I’m taking too light a tone with my superior officer, but Flint seems to like it. I think I actually manage to amuse the joker/ace.
My manager has me in a suite at the Marriott so I’m comfortably ensconced in the sitting room with my feet up on a hassock, and Sonique playing on the radio. In two hours I’m going to be onstage performing my magic act. I need to get this report typed and into a diplomatic pouch within the hour so I can spend an hour working my hands, and checking over my equipment at the theater. Through the hotel windows I watch the sun setting behind the Golden Gate Bridge. The sky burns in shades of red, orange, melon, and lavender, and the waters of the bay seem to be dancing quicksilver.
I return to the task.
Jonathan Hive’s blog post regarding the explosion in Pyote, Texas, roused the ire of the Powers That Be in Washington, and SCARE sent agents to arrest him for violating national security—Bugsy must be viewed as a fearsome threat to national security because Billy Ray himself showed up. But as tough as Ray might be he can’t capture a cloud of buzzing insects. After bestowing several dozen stings to Ray, Bugsy . . . er, bugged out. It was a wonderful sight watching a swarm of green wasps heading down 33rd St. to the consternation of the dinnertime crowd.
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