Blackjack Dead or Alive (The Blackjack Series Book 3)

by Ben Bequer

  “Thirty seconds,” Apogee said, and I climbed up to the flight deck. The ship had slowed while I was lost in thought and we were now circling on final approach.

  “Where are we landing,” I said, unable to see the ground out the view screens with the Cicada’s nose up. Apogee had her eyes on the instruments, including monitors that showed the external camera feeds. On one of them I could see a silver gleaming ship parked on what looked like a large park. From our approach it seemed we would land in the middle of a baseball diamond.

  “Is that?”

  “Epic,” she said.

  “Fancy that,” I said as we touched down. She shut Cicada down and stood, taking my arm.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I know the deal,” I said. “Follow your lead.”

  Apogee smiled, her grab on me turning to a supple hold.

  “I mean about the other thing,” she said. “About what happened back there?”

  I looked out of the view screen and saw it was a beautiful day, with some clouds in the distance.

  “No,” I said. There wasn’t any point to lying to her. She knew me too well.

  She caressed my face, lingering around my chin.

  “Maybe stay here,” Apogee said, but I shook my head.

  “You’re going to need me and you know it,” I said and she approved, taking my hand.

  “After this, you owe me a baby-sized omelet down in…” she paused, forgetting the name of the place. It was a small restaurant down in Baja California where I had promised to take her in the calm moments before the Hashima fight.

  “Pancho’s,” I said, laughing. “It’s a deal.”

  Despite what we were facing, what was in our horizon, she was still optimistic, still hopeful. I couldn’t help but feel the same way as I followed her to the gangway.

  * * * *

  Waiting for us as we came down the ramp was Templar, a standing member of Superdynamic's team, Battle. The kid was in full regalia, with heavy armor on his legs and lower torso, his upper body replete with dancing animated tattoos. He seemed genuinely pleased to see me, a strange affectation that I didn't experience often.

  "Sure is real nice to have you along for the ride, dude,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. I hadn’t seen him in a few days, but somehow it felt a lot longer. “Can you believe it, freaking Brutal?”

  “Hopefully he doesn’t show,” Apogee said.

  I caught myself looking around Cicada at the dozen or so other ships stationed in organized lines in the park. Among them were Epic’s ship and another Cicada - identical to the one we had flown across the Atlantic. When I caught Apogee’s eye, she shrugged, the hint of a smile touching her lips. In the distance was Paladin’s rocket on a hill overlooking the park and nearer still was Coach’s air car and Stellar’s astrocarriage.

  “I thought no one else was coming,” I said faintly.

  Templar chuckled, “That’s SuperDee for you, brother. All strategerie and shit. Here, hang on and I’ll take us in,” he said, sticking his arm out. Apogee took hold, a dragon tattoo weaving sinuously from his bicep, down his arm and circling her hand and wrist.

  “It’s cool,” he said, noting my apprehension. Apogee smiled, delighted at my squeamishness. I reached out and grabbed Templar and reality warped. One second, we were in the park, standing amid the makeshift airfield, then as if squeezed through a viewing lens, we were transported to a busy street, a block from the main event. It would have taken longer to blink, but the effect was disconcerting – like we were cartoon characters stretching across a great divide.

  We popped out of nothingness into a swarm of people walking East Wheelock Street, almost causing a scene. One woman fainted and a man screamed that we were under attack, but the sight of Apogee calmed everyone. We were across from the Green, a large park interwoven with crisscrossing walkways used by the thousands of event goers. In the middle of the park was an open circle, the fulcrum of the pavement roads within the Green. There, they had raised a platform in the round, with celebrants surrounding it. Beyond was the famous Baker-Berry Library – the most visible symbol of the University – built almost a hundred years ago and modeled after Independence Hall in Philadelphia.

  “You alright,” Templar said.

  “I’m good,” I said, the disorientation fading.

  “I’ll recon the crowd for Brutal,” Apogee said and was gone.

  Templar watched her speed off in awe. The guy had just transported us several miles from the park to this location and he was amazed with Apogee traveling at super speed. Then again, he was probably in awe for other reasons.

  “So where’s Superdynamic?” I said, shaking him from his droll glare.

  He looked back and me and gave me a bashful smile, “Sorry, dude. That’s some woman.”

  I nodded.

  “The big guy’s there,” he said, pointing at one of the figures floating over the events. Only then did I recognize him, and the others – and the reason the crowd was as excited as it was.

  Above us soared heroes.

  Along with Superdynamic were Stellar, Paladin, Epic in a zero-G rig, FTL, Damage and Dominus…hell, almost every big name hero was in attendance. If Brutal showed, he was going to get his face wiped in the mud.

  I was totally unnecessary here, a fifth wheel. With the firepower they had assembled, the raw number of supers represented, no villain would dare make a showing, even one so powerful as Brutal.

  Templar said, “Yeah, I got him here,” then dug out an earpiece seemingly out of nowhere and handed it to me. I stared at it with suspicion.

  “It’s good,” he said, smiling. “Dee wants to talk to you.”

  “So that’s where you get your sword, huh?” I said, referring to the huge-ass sword he normally fought with. I’d seen him summon it from the thin air before, but not from up close.

  “It’d blow your mind, dude.”

  I stuck the earpiece in place and a second later, Superdynamic chimed in, “You sure know how to get a group of heroes motivated, Blackjack.”

  Looking around, I saw that among the crowd were other heroes, some talking and signing autographs with their fans, others on more vigilant patrol, giving the event goers friendly waves.

  “This is all because of me?”

  Superdynamic laughed, “No, it’s to catch you. Well, that was the initial idea since you ran off stealing my favorite ship.”

  “You bastard,” I said, unable to keep from laughing with him. “Let me run off so they would have to ‘chase’ me – since I’m such a rotten sonofabitch.”

  “Something like that,” he said. “Epic and I talked them into coming here first, since Global had you ‘handled’. Figured since we’re coming after you, might as well protect the Senator for the day.”

  A ruckus erupted from the audience in the round. As if on cue, Senator Ted Ashbourne received a hearty introduction from one of the school’s deans. I’d never seen the guy in person, and even though I was a hundred feet from him, you could feel the man’s presence. He was tall, maybe taller than me, and wide shouldered despite being in his seventies. He had a full shock of thick silver hair cut in a style that managed to be slick and dignified, with a tailored gray pinstripe Brioni and a practiced wave to the crowd.

  I was shocked to see Global flanking Ashbourne, suited in his iconic costume, looking stern and accessible all at once. I guess that trick he pulled back at the mansion was some sort of teleportation spell. At first, I thought it was stupid for him to come, given the obvious advantage Brutal had over him, but he could probably spirit Ashbourne away quickly and with less fuss than anyone but Templar, who was much less well known.

  Between him, Superdynamic, and the nigh ridiculous lineup of heroes guarding the event, there was no way Brutal was going to poke his head out. He was crazy, but had proven to be far from stupid. I ducked my head to leave, but Templar barred my way.

  “What is it?” I said, as I tried again to bypass him. I wasn’t needed here; all I could
do was make things worse. Either Brutal would attack and use me to charge up, or some industrious citizen would recognize me. A lot of the heroes here had been in the White Council, but some of them hadn’t and would attack me on sight.

  “I have to go,” I said, but someone grabbed me from behind, someone much, much bigger than me, wrapping me in a bear hug and lifting me effortlessly off the ground.

  “My nigga,” Moe said, squeezing the shit out of me. Big Moe spun me and hugged me again. He was in tears, his massive arms wrapping around my head as if I was a little boy.

  “Moe,” I began, but he jumped in.

  “You have no idea how glad I am to see, you, dog,” he said. “That shit was so fucked up.”

  He paused, looking up at the sky as if for inspiration.

  “I don’t know, man. I was you; I’d be so fucking pissed.”

  I put my arm on his shoulder, “It’s alright.”

  “No,” he shouted, drawing some strange and fearsome looks from nearby attendees. “Fuck that shit, you hear? We fucked you bad, and it’s my fault as much as anyone.”

  “Dee had his reasons,” I said.

  “Fuck that. Niggas don’t play each other like that, you hear me,” he finished; raising his voice as if Superdynamic could hear him a hundred feet in the air.

  “That Moe?” Dee said, overhearing through my earpiece.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Let him vent,” Superdynamic said. “He took it hard.”

  Moe’s face was a broken thing, streaming with tears.

  “I’m looking at you and I don’t believe it. I thought you was dead. Fuck me, man. They said that shit went down.”

  I squeezed his shoulder, “Moe, it’s going to be okay. Right now I have to go. I have to-“

  I paused, not sure why.

  Moe was in tears in front of me, Templar beside him with a sheepish grin. Around me were two, maybe three-dozen of the world’s greatest heroes; all with the mission, to protect Senator Ashbourne from a madman.

  And that’s what made me feel ill at ease. This was the kind of situation anyone would have avoided. Baron Blitzkrieg, Primal, the Ladies of Pain, all of the biggest and loudest villains – they would have run off in an instant, avoided a fight against the firepower Superdynamic was displaying.

  But not Brutal.

  He’d consider it lucky. He’d look at it as an invitation if anything, a chance to show the world how unsafe we all were. If the Senator couldn’t be saved surrounded by the finest heroes, personally protected by the last remaining of the good Original Seven, then what chance did anyone else have?

  He was here, somewhere among the crowd - and he was about to do the deed.

  “You alright, dog?”

  “He’s here,” I said keying both coms – the one I shared with Apogee and the new one with Superdynamic his team.

  “You see him,” Epic responded before the others.

  “Not yet,” I said, and without realizing it, I started running, breaking through the crowd. They were still cheering the Senator, who hadn’t had a chance to start his prepared remarks. And that’s when I realized what Brutal was waiting for, as I pushed through the people. Some complained, others I threw aside, making fast headway for the dais on the round, Moe and Templar close behind me.

  He was waiting for silence. Brutal didn’t intend to let the Senator speak, instead making his act the final word in Ashbourne’s legacy, an exclamation point dripping with blood.

  As I rushed toward the stage, I passed an alarmed Coach, almost knocking her on her ass, and I started to realize that I was moving as fast as I could through the mass of humanity in my way to the Senator.

  “Oh, hell,” I heard Coach mutter as I slowed down, making sure I wouldn’t hurt anyone inadvertently. “Here we go.”

  “Dog, what’s up?” Moe said, though he was a few feet behind me, tangled with the ruffled people I was leaving in my wake.

  A small beam of light drew my attention to the Baker-Barry library tower – the glint of light off of a sniper scope. I knew that the Senator’s Secret Service detail had to be on the job, tasked with protecting him before Global and the rest of us showed up – so a sniper’s rifle jutting from the tower wasn’t a big deal, but it didn’t add up logistically. I was heading towards the Senator, with the tower almost directly behind me, and I caught the reflection down in the crowd, aimed over me, at the dais.

  “Apogee – the tower,” I shouted, firing my boots to cross the distance between Ashbourne and I.

  I had the tower in view when the shot went off, the barest muzzle flash in the stark daylight. I didn’t see who it hit, but I heard screams and a heartbeat later, the report caught up with the shot, a small explosion lost in the sudden chaos.

  * * * *

  The sniper’s name was James Michael Douglas, a former marine and later member of the elite JSOC group – notorious for their nighttime raids and kill missions. After two tours in Afghanistan, he applied for and was accepted into the Secret Service, and a few years after that into the Special Officer program, which is how he got to be a member of Senator Ashbourne’s security detail.

  He wasn’t particularly gifted with a sniper rifle, but the weapon he had was computer control and laser guided, with a special package warhead on the enormous .50 caliber bullet.

  We’d find out all of this afterwards, of course, including how Brutal kidnapped his four children and wife in order to get him to shoot and kill the Senator. He was actually off duty that morning, despite the added pressure on the Senator’s protective detail, but his credentials were enough to get him past the security cordon with a suitcase that would have otherwise been searched by his Secret Service colleagues.

  He waited until five minutes before Senator Ashbourne was to speak and climbed the Dartmouth tower overlooking the event, taking out two school security guards. He assembled the weapon, and said a tearful prayer while holding a picture of his family. He loaded the strange weapon and also readied his service revolver, which had a 9mm round in the chamber but was sporting and empty clip.

  We’d find this out later, of course, because in that split second after the bullet tore into Global, and the second after that when the loud report echoed through the Dartmouth campus, five Secret Service sharpshooters, the remaining thirty agents, about one hundred security guards, the thousands gathered on the lawn, and over fifty heroes glanced in his direction, not a hundred yards away. Yet he still had time to clear the chamber of the spent casing and load a second round, aiming this time for the Senator.

  I fired my boots, rocketing toward Ashbourne, past a dozen heroes that were taking to the sky to find the sniper. The touchy throttle propelled me at the Senator, whose eyes widened as I backfired to slow down and landed beside him.

  Then I tackled him.

  As we went down, I felt a sharp pain stabbing my back and as we flew off the raised stage, I turned and crashed into the lawn with the uninjured Senator in my arms. Global, who had been standing beside the Senator when the first shot caught him in the chest lay next to me, gasping for air. I released Ashbourne and rolled over to the hero, looking at the horrible wound.

  “Osmium-tipped,” he said, coughing as he clasped his bleeding chest. Instead of crimson blood, Global was seeping the same mercury colored fluid at an alarming rate. He looked at me and smiled, his teeth stained with the stuff. “My…only weakness,” he added.

  “Take it easy,” I said, unsure of how to proceed. “We’re going to get you some help,” I said, but he shook his head, tears of mercury streaming his cheeks.

  He didn’t seem to be suffering, so much as in fear of something awful about to happen. I tore his costume tunic open and saw the edges of the wound deepening like a sinkhole as more of the fluid gushed from inside him.

  “It’s too late,” he said, his voice only a whisper.

  “Get your hands off him,” Ashbourne said, rising to his feet as several men from his detail jumped off the stage and joined him. A few had the
ir weapons raised in my direction. The insane looking guns they wielded weren’t standard issue 9mm pistols.

  “The bullet, it…pierced him, somehow,” I said in vain. The Senator’s detail was already turtled around him. They lead him away, save for the two left behind to ensure I didn’t follow.

  “How can I stop it?” I asked Global, but he was already still, maybe even dead. The edges of the wound continued retreating from the spot the bullet had struck him, and a second later he burst, like a popped water balloon, spraying me with metallic goo.

  Global was gone.

  Things had spun irrevocably off their hinges in the round, civilians fleeing in all directions, the heroes responding to the attack, and the security personnel trying in vain to regain control of the situation. Superdynamic gave crisp, flawless orders through my earpiece, but it wasn’t translating to anything near control of the situation.

  The Senator’s detail had him twenty yards from me in just a few seconds, and I figured the old man’s feet were barely touching the ground as they raced to safety. Only a puddle of metallic fluid remained of Global, more on my lap and chest than on the lawn. It drained through the blades of grass, seeping into the ground, gone forever.

  He had been one of the Original Seven, a project planner for Dr. Retcon and youngest member of the team. Global had embraced the role of superhero more so than the others, even more than Valiant, operating transnationally, independent of any corporate interests, always with the greater good in mind. He, Nostromo and Valiant had stopped Retcon’s lame-brained idea to use the Earth’s moon to attack the Lightbringer alien that watched from Calisto, and along with Apostle, had stopped the old man when he stole the entire Soviet nuclear stockpile in a similar plan.

  Though his power was nebulous and expansive, Global made sure it was always used to help others, and had remained active and public longer than any of the other heroic members of the Seven. In fact, when you looked at the timing, he had retired around the time my former group, the Impossibles came into being – just around the time I killed Pulsewave. Global retired from public life to protect his stalwart friend, the man that had championed his cause more than any other.