"I'm an American first, Active second," Sullivan growled. Despite it being run by a bunch of idiots, Sullivan loved his country, and his loyalty ran deep. His older brother, Matt, had often made fun of him for it, but Sullivan was at heart a patriotic man.
"There are Grimnoir in every country. We'd never ask any of them to do anything that goes against conscience. Listen, I can't tell you too much. I've been asked to make you an offer. Your talents would be invaluable. But if you turn us down, the less you know, the better off you are. You join us and then I can answer all your questions."
"What's in it for me?" Sullivan asked, expecting the usual answers for when someone was trying to hire out some muscle. Cash, booze, dames…
Daniel cleared his throat and leaned forward, looking him square in the eye. "You get to learn more about magic than you ever thought possible and you get to make a difference."
That wasn't the answer he was expecting. That answer felt good, but it also made him suspicious. He checked his head again, but unless Garrett was the best Mouth ever, he could sense no intrusion. But life had bit him too many times to not be apprehensive. "Who runs the show?"
"What?" Heinrich gave a sardonic laugh. "So maybe when you take that bit of intelligence back to J. Edgar Hoover, all will be forgiven?"
That was a sore spot. "Screw you, Fade."
"So, you're ashamed that you hunted down your own kind? Aren't you?"
Sullivan raised his voice slightly. "I agreed to help the BI, but I only went after murderers. That was the deal."
"Like Delilah Jones?" Heinrich spat.
It was being lied to about Delilah that had sent Sullivan down this path to begin with. "They told me she was a cold-blooded killer. I bought it. How is she?"
"Alive. Which is more than I can say than if you'd succeeded. All she had done was defend herself from the men that had already shot her father to bits. Good work there. If we had not come to save her, she'd be dead by now, picked out of the jail cell you put her in for the convenience of the Imperium." Heinrich's face was getting red. "And you question our honor? Our judgment? I think not, Heavy."
Something he'd said had set the young German off. Maybe Sullivan had finally met somebody as distrusting as he was. "Easy, Heinrich," Garrett cautioned. "I can't answer that yet, Jake. You must understand."
Damn it. He was tired of being lied to, sick of being kept in the dark by everyone around him. His patience was done.
Sullivan lurched out of the booth, hands on the table to hold himself steady. His body ached beyond comprehension and he was in a foul mood. "I'm not taking a job if I can't even know who I'm working for. So I'll just be getting off at the next town. Thanks for the dinner and the duds, but I consider them payback for the ones I wrecked falling off that blimp."
Garrett shook his head sadly. "Sorry to hear that, pal. I'd say that this was a wasted trip, but we did kill an Iron Guard, don't get to do that every day… What are you going to do about the BI?"
"We'll work something out…" Sullivan muttered, dreading the thought of Rockville. He'd need to come up with a story that would satisfy Hoover as to why he'd gone to visit Torrio and then managed to destroy an entire hotel. Easy as pie. "So long, boys. Thanks for helping me ice that Jap… And tell Delilah I'm real sorry."
"So long, Heavy," Heinrich said. "I knew this was a mistake from the-" He froze, looking down at his fingers. Garrett suddenly flinched and curled his hand into a fist.
Sullivan paused, noticing that both men were looking at their rings. Heinrich suddenly rose and swept all of the dishes and cups onto the floor, spilling coffee across the linoleum. The other patrons startled, and the old lady glared at them disapprovingly.
Daniel jumped into the aisle and shouted. "Attention passengers, everyone needs to go back to their cabins, right now. This is not a big deal, and you will remember being asked to move by the conductor." The other passengers got up and headed vacantly for the exits. Sullivan felt the words slamming around inside his skull. Garrett's Power was staggering, and he felt a strong urge to walk right out, but he focused on a spot on the wall until the feeling subsided.
"Thank you, everyone. Have a pleasant evening." Garrett made eye contact with Sullivan as he passed, as if surprised to see him sticking around. "Hey, waiter! Lock the doors and get out. You need a ten-minute smoke break."
"Right away, sir!" The waiter complied without question. There had been no finesse there, just the Power of suggestion wielded like a club. Garrett may have looked like a balding, nebbishy librarian, but he was one of the strongest Actives Sullivan had yet encountered.
Heinrich grabbed the saltshaker, unscrewed the lid, and poured it onto their hastily cleared table. He stuck his finger into the pile and stirred, until he'd made a circle four inches across. "Don't just stand there, Heavy. Fetch me a glass of water."
Curious, Sullivan complied, picked up a cup from the next table and handed it over. Heinrich stuck two fingers in the water and swirled it about, then took them out and drew two symbols in the center of the circle of salt. Garrett returned from checking the doors a moment later. "You better get out of here. We just got the kind of signal that means one of those things that you don't want to know about is going down."
"Well… now I'm curious."
Heinrich said a few words under his breath as he stared into the circle. At first Sullivan thought it was German, but it was something different and unfamiliar. There was a drumming noise, at first indistinguishable from the wheels on the track, but it grew in pitch, until it was just a ringing in the ears. The room seemed to flex, almost like when Sullivan was testing his own Power, and then a white glow appeared as the salt seemed to ignite. It burned brightly, as if it were being fused into a solid object. It floated up from the table, and rotated, until it was facing them at eye level.
It was like looking at a tiny motion picture, like one of those new television devices. There were people moving in the circle, but they were slightly hazy, and he could see the train's window through them. "Daniel, Heinrich, this is Lance. Can you hear me?" A face appeared in the floating circle, a blunt-nosed man with a lumberjack's beard.
"Got you, Lance," Garrett replied.
Injuries forgotten, Sullivan moved around to the side. No matter where he stood, the porthole seemed to turn to face him so he could see the same picture. He couldn't believe it. This wasn't a Power that resided inside someone. This was magic on its own, like something from an old fairytale. Heinrich had just cast an actual spell! Which, according to everything he'd ever read, was totally impossible.
"Do you remember the stories about the Geo-Tel?" the man in the circle asked.
"Of course," Daniel replied. "Oh no… did he find part of it?"
"It looks like he got part of the Portagees' and probably the blueprints from Jones."
The Mouth swore under his breath. "This is bad, very bad. Will he be able to build one?"
"The Geo-Tel? What's that?" Heinrich asked.
"No time to explain," Lance said. "We don't know if the Chairman's got enough to figure one out yet or not. Where are you?"
"We're on the Pullman, Denver to Ogden, we're almost in Utah now," Garrett responded.
"You're the closest to Christiansen. Make sure he's all right. Hold on, the General needs to speak with you." The view of the circle shifted, careening wildly about, and Sullivan saw several other people, including an old bald man who looked strangely familiar, and a young girl in a rough dress. Then the view seemed to lift, and settle downward, so that it was looking into the face of a man lying flat on his back in bed.
The man had to be over a hundred years old. His face was like a skull, crossed with purple veins, milky cataract-filled eyes, with grey skin stretched tight over it, mottled with blotches and bruises. Tubes had been run into his nostrils. "Garrett…"His voice was almost a whisper and Sullivan was impressed that he could do that much. "Get to Sven as quickly as you can. Recover the device that was in his protection."
"Yes, G
eneral."
Apparently those eyes could still see. "Is this the Heavy?"
He stepped forward. "I'm Jake Sullivan. Who are you?"
"We've met before, Sergeant Sullivan. Turns out I pinned a Citation Star on you myself after the armistice. It was too bad you served under General Roosevelt, because from your reputation, I certainly could have used a man like you."
Sullivan scowled, studying the diseased face. It couldn't be. The man who had done that honor had been a strong man, and it hadn't been that long ago. "General Pershing?"
"In the flesh, or what's left of it."
Sullivan was speechless. John J. Pershing, supreme commander of the American Expeditionary Force in the Great War, had disappeared from public life three years before. This was the greatest military commander alive, the highest ranking general in U.S. history, and they'd even talked about running him for president a little while back. "Sir, what happened?"
"I've been assassinated. I just haven't given the bastards the satisfaction of dying just yet. Welcome to the Grimnoir, Sullivan."
"I haven't exactly enlisted yet."
"Then consider yourself drafted, son. All hell's about to break loose."
Sullivan hesitated, unsure what to say. "Sir… I don't-"
"I'm asking you, one soldier to another, for your help. This is not a small thing I ask, and it will be dangerous, and it will be a sacrifice, but it is the right thing to do. It is the right thing for your country, and your people, and your God, and for all that you hold sacred. You have my word."
It ain't like you've got anything better going on.
"I'll need to get J. Edgar Hoover off my back. I won't be much good to you as a fugitive."
"Important men owe me favors. It's done… Garrett, bring this man up to speed. Go get Christiansen. Protect that device at all costs. Burn any Imperium that get in your way. Burn them down. Then get back here. Any questions?"
Heinrich and Daniel simultaneously said, "No, sir." Sullivan had a thousand questions, but he just nodded.
"Do not fail." The picture disappeared, leaving a circle of fused salt hanging in the air. The glow dissipated. The circle fell to the table and shattered into bits.
"I suppose that answers my question about who calls the shots," Sullivan said.
Chapter 9
My cavalry unit was camped eighty-two kilometers south of the Podkamennaya Basin that morning. Despite driving the Green Cossack army back for nearly three months, the Nipponese troops had withdrawn earlier in the week. Their retreat was unexpected, but a welcome chance for us to regroup, tend to our wounds, and fatten our fighting bears on the local reindeer herds. We discovered the reason for the Imperials' retreat around breakfast. A blue light appeared in the northern sky, rising from the horizon as a pillar, until it disappeared into the clouds. Scouts estimated the disturbance was near the position of our main infantry encampments. Kapitan Kurgan had a pocket watch. He said the disturbance started at exactly 7:00. Flocks of birds and large numbers of forest animals retreated past our camp in the direction opposite the light. At 7:05 the light had grown so bright that it was as if there was a second sun. Then the noise came, like the sound of artillery. The earth shook. All of us were knocked to the ground. The sky split in two and the light turned to fire. The fire grew until the entire north was fire and it came toward us. The hot wind came after the thunder, snapping down all the trees of the forest and flinging our tents. The temperature increased until it was unbearable. Our clothing caught fire and our bears went mad from the pain, turning on their Controllers and rending them. I was thrown approximately two hundred meters into the river. The water boiled. That is all that I recall.
– Leytenant D. Vasiliev's animated corpse.
Testimony to the Tsar's Investigative Council on the Tunguska Event, 1908 Ogden, Utah He'd gotten hurt pretty bad back at the cabin, though he was a lot better off than the hired thugs they'd brought with them. Thanks to the Chairman's gifts, his body would be back up and running in no time. The goons would still be dead. Madi shook his head and went back to stuffing his guts back in. The old Grimnoir had turned out to be one hell of a fighter, but Madi had got ten of what he'd been after. He always did.
"Hold still," his companion ordered in Japanese. Yutaka was the only other survivor of their morning's work, and the Iron Guard was up to his elbows in Madi's blood. He ran the needle back and forth expertly, holding the muscle together with thick cord. The healing kanji etched in scar tissue on Madi's back had kept him alive despite being disemboweled for over an hour now, and the overtaxed Words of Power were burning as hot as the day he'd first been branded. "This is slippery."
"It don't have to be pretty," Madi grunted. The stitches just needed to hold everything in the right place until he could heal up in a few hours. He should have been incoherent with pain, but the more kanji he'd had burned onto him, the stronger he became. Since he was also the first white man to have the honor of being an Iron Guard, the fact that he was the only one of them strong enough to bear over a dozen kanji pissed the other slant-eyed bastards off to no end. "Hurry up. I don't want to look all busted up when we report in."
The heat from the kanji was making him sweat. He had them carved into his back, chest, legs, and arms. The downside of so many brands was that he couldn't really feel anything anymore. Madi had taken to hurting himself just for fun. He'd actually enjoyed getting shot on this mission. The brief pain had reminded him that he could still feel anything at all. It had taken forever to drive back to the hotel from the Grimmy's podunk town, and he'd relished the suffering every mile of the way.
Once Yutaka had him closed up, the Summoner prepared a circle, so they could confirm the success of their mission. This was no normal circle either, and Yutaka was having to draw the most intricate of magical kanji in special ink made from human blood and demon smoke on the floor. Telegrams and radio could be monitored, even the best codes could be broken, but nobody could eavesdrop on this communication, plus it did have another added benefit. Madi washed up and put on some clean clothes so he could be presentable.
Twenty minutes later he stood in front of a glowing blob floating in the center of the hotel room. The surface rippled like water, finally solidifying into a view that Madi recognized as the Imperial Council Chambers. Madi marveled at the clarity of the link; it was almost like looking through a door into another room of a house. He had to admit that Yutaka was an artist. Madi's personal gifts tended to be more direct.
Madi was taken by surprise by who appeared in the rift. It was the Emperor's chief advisor, Lord Tokugawa himself, Chairman of the Imperial Council, and de-facto leader of the Imperium. Madi and Yutaka bowed with the utmost respect. Madi had not expected the big boss, and felt a little giddy from the excitement. It was late in the evening in Tokyo, but everyone knew that the Chairman never slept.
The Chairman appeared to be a man in the physical prime of his life, but the word around the Council was that he looked exactly the same when he first arrived at the Japanese Court forty years ago. It was rumored that he did not eat or drink either, but that he was sustained on Power alone. He was regal, handsome, distinguished, with jet black hair, wearing a western suit tonight, but with the red sash badge of his office around his waist. Madi had personally seen the Chairman's displeasure cause his enemies to weep blood. He'd seen the Chairman heal the incurable, kill the unkillable, break the laws of physics, and warp the fabric of reality with his mind.
Madi only respected one thing, and that was strength. You were either weak or strong. Whoever was the strongest was therefore the best, and no one could be stronger than the Chairman. He'd never believed in his father's god, only in the Power. The strongest wouldn't preach about mercy, peace, forgiveness, or any of that bullshit. That was all sissy talk for the weak to pretend that they still mattered. The Chairman was force. He was going to inherit the world, crush the meek, and Madi planned on being at his side when he did.
The Chairman was all business. "It is done?"<
br />
"Yes, Chairman," Madi answered enthusiastically. Yutaka stepped forward, deferentially, and passed the parcel containing the device through the rift. It flickered, but Yutaka's spell was perfect, and the package landed softly at the Chairman's feet. No living thing could pass through a fold in space except for the wretched Travelers, but a master magician could send through small bits of matter, and Yutaka was certainly a master.
"Very good, Iron Guard," he said, and Madi felt his chest swell with pride. He bowed again.
Another figure scurried into the bottom of the rift, retrieving the package. Madi recognized one of the Cogs from Unit 731, the Chairman's special science group. Even after all of the things that Madi had done, those weirdoes still gave him the creeps. They'd been the ones to modify his body into the perfect killing machine he was today, and that had been years ago. Their work had come a long way since. He'd seen the camps in Manchuria, the experiments they were doing to the people they'd enslaved, and the things they were turning Actives into.
The Chairman must despise weakness as much as Madi did.
"Our spies should be giving us the position of the final piece shortly. You will return to California immediately. Await further instructions." Madi didn't know who was feeding them information from the Grimnoir, but he didn't need to know. Madi was a weapon that just needed to be pointed in the right direction.
Sullivan stepped gingerly from the train platform. He was running his Power just a bit, easing gravity's pull, and that made walking much more comfortable. His injuries weren't life threatening at this point, but the last thing he needed to do was push it, rip something open, and start bleeding all over the place.
Heinrich was procuring them transport to the little town that Sven Christiansen lived in. Garrett was helping to make sure Sullivan didn't tumble down the ramp. He paused to catch his breath and to admire the scenery. The mountains were huge and brown.
He felt a strange sensation a moment later, something odd, but familiar. Sullivan paused, scanning the crowd, but couldn't see anything out of place. The whistle blew and the North American Pullman began to chug away.
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