by Andy Mangels
Talk about wandering right into the freaking lion's den, Rath thought, his throat going dry.
Keeping himself motionless with an extreme effort of will, Rath watched as the cops hauled the girls, none too gently, toward an official transport vehicle that was idling a short distance away It looked like an armored Humvee, the type of ride that the Army might use in special operations. One of the helicopters, its body painted black, grew suddenly louder, attracting Raths attention. He watched as it touched down in the parking lot, just a few dozen yards from the Humvee.
It was only then that Rath noticed the men and women in olive-drab military uniforms, and the hard- looking, crew-cut men wearing tailored black suits. The Men in Black and Green Army Men quickly began running back and forth between the chopper and the armored vehicle. The eyes of the MiBs were hidden behind impenetrable shades, their ears connected to some vast, unseen communications network by slender white coils of wire.
This is definitely no ordinary cop-shop op, Rath thought, his pulse thundering so loudly in his ears that he thought the helicopter pilots must be able to hear it. Some of these guys could understudy for Tommy Lee Jones. He wondered if they used a talking pug as a hunting dog.
The reason for the presence of these army guys and MiBs was fairly clear: They must have caught a whiff of something alien here. But Rath had to wonder exactly which aliens they were tracking. It was possible that their entire purpose here was to track the alien-possessed derelicts who'd just tried to kill the Royal Three. After all, those freaks weren't very big on subtlety. The way they used ordnance and chewed up their human hosts, they might as well have mailed engraved invitations straight to the Office of Homeland Security.
But if the Feds wanted the freaks, then why would they take Lonnie and Ava instead of leaving them to New York 's Finest? Rath watched as some of the Feds carried small satchels into the warehouse. Within minutes, a pair of agents emerged into the parking lot, carrying what appeared to be body bags… very small ones, which could only have contained the dusty remains of some of the freaks' human hosts.
They've gotta be wondering not just who the freaks are, but also who they were shooting at… and who killed them.
His face still concealed beneath his riot helmet and gas mask, Rath spared a glance at the riot cops who were milling about nearby. Now clear of the clouds of tear gas that still permeated the interior of the warehouse, they had begun removing their gas masks and helmets.
Uh-oh, Rath thought. Pretty soon they're gonna start wondering why I'm so overdressed for this party.
He recalled the time a few years earlier when he and Lonnie had sneaked into a baseball game at Yankee Stadium. They hadn't used any of their alien powers to get past the turnstiles that day. Instead, they had simply walked in, carrying clipboards and wearing the workman's overalls they'd created by rearranging the molecules of their own clothing. "The key to getting into places you're not supposed to be," Lonnie had told him then, "is to just act like you belong. “
Unable to think of anything else to do, Rath walked purposefully toward the Humvee just as one of the MiBs placed a hand on Lonnie's shoulder. A riot-suited cop, apparently a high-ranking one, stood with a hand on Ava's shoulder. A gray-haired, obviously high-ranking military officer also stood by, glaring at the policeman.
The MiB and the top riot cop appeared to be arguing pretty heatedly about something, but their words were lost in the noisy propwash of the helicopter, whose engine was still idling nearby, as if its pilot expected to receive evacuation orders at any moment.
Rath knew he had to risk walking right into the center of things if he was going to have a prayer of learning what was going on… and if there was to be any chance of keeping Lonnie and Ava out of the hands of the Feds.
"… not a very smart move, Sergeant Orman," the MiB was saying.
"I'm not the one making the moves," the cop said, an edge of anger in his voice. He tightened his grip on the wincing Ava's shoulder. "These two don't look like threats to national security to me. They were probably just squatters who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I intend to take them downtown to sort all that out. “
"That's not gonna happen, sir," the MiB said. He appeared to be listening to another simultaneous conversation over his earpiece, which trailed a coil of wire down into his stiff white collar. Rath realized he was now close enough to grab that wire and strangle him with it. Somehow, he resisted the temptation.
Orman fumed. "Listen, you Feds can't just horn in on a police bust without at least offering some kind of explanation. “
The military officer, whom Rath guessed was a major or a colonel, spoke up then. "Oh, I'm afraid we can, Sergeant. You have to defer to the chain of command, just as we do. “
Orman's eyes widened as though the military guy had just sprouted a second head. "I do defer to the chain of command, Colonel. It's called the NYPD. “
"That's pony-league stuff, Sergeant," said the colonel, his eyes flinty, dangerous. "I, on the other hand, answer directly to the Joint Chiefs and the president. “
"President of what?" Orman said, not backing down a bit. Rath couldn't help but admire the man's courage.
"Watch yourself, Orman. “
Orman was apparently just warming up. "Don't try to threaten me, Colonel. I patrol neighborhoods that make Mogadishu look like Disney World. Now, my guys and I saw some pretty weird stuff go down in that warehouse, and so did these two kids. People don't just… crumble away into ash like that. What's really going on here? Terrorist attack? Bioweapon? Alien invasion? “
"Take your pick, Sergeant," the MiB said, chuckling. "You're welcome to wonder about it to your heart's content. After we leave with these detainees. “
"But if you continue obstructing us," the colonel added, "we can easily make room for you in that vehicle as well. How would you like to be the subject of a secret military tribunal, Sergeant? I hear Guantanamo Bay is lovely this time of year. “
Another pair of MiBs appeared and began hustling Lon-nie and Ava into the open rear door of the Humvee. Orman withdrew, taking a step backward with obvious reluctance. But he obviously knew when he was beaten. The Feds were part of a huge machine that could pretty much roll over and flatten anything or anyone that got in its way.
Rath felt helpless. It had become obvious to him that there was nothing he could do to save the girls. / have gotta get out of here, with or without them. Even if that officially makes me the Royal One.
"Hey!" someone behind him shouted.
Rath sighed beneath the gas mask. Here it comes. Squaring his shoulders in an effort to look confident, he turned toward the voice.
"You can lose the gear now, buddy," said one of the helmetless riot cops, a balding, dark-skinned man with a prominent gold tooth. He was sweating in the hot, black body armor, which gleamed in the sunshine. Rath suddenly realized that perspiration was pooling at the small of his own back, making him shiver.
"In case you missed it, the war's over in there," the cop said, hiking a thumb toward the dilapidated warehouse.
No, "buddy"! think the real war's just about to get going.
The other cop's smile froze in place, his entire demeanor subtly shifting from collegiality to suspicion. Feeling suddenly scrutinized, Rath wondered just how much weirdness the other man had seen inside the building… and what thoughts those sights had put into his head.
The cop let one of his hands drift toward a sidearm holster attached to the bulky Sam Browne belt he wore. Rath felt as though he'd just been caught cheating at cards.
"Why don't you take off your mask and helmet now, pal," he said. It was obviously not a request.
Rath considered blasting him and running, but he knew he wouldn't get far with so many armed goons and MiBs around. And even if he did manage to get away, then what would become of Lonnie and Ava? Now the MiBs only suspected them of having committed the heinous offense of Breathing While Alien. If the cops, the MiBs, or the army were to capture or kill hi
m in the act of trying to pull off a rescue, then the girls would be way past mere suspicion.
"How about it, man?" the cop said, his voice raised. He kept his hand just outside his open holster, like a gunslinger from an old grade-B Western. Several other bare-faced riot cops had drifted toward the mounting confrontation, all of them eyeing Rath curiously.
Rath noticed that Sergeant Orman was among them.
Damn, he thought, listening to a door slam shut on the Humvee. The helicopter noise was intensifying; some of the military people and MiBs were apparently getting ready to depart, no doubt intending to watch from the air while the Humvee took their new prisoners off to be interrogated and dissected.
Orman approached Rath, scowling. "Let me see your face," the sergeant ordered, shouting to be heard over the helicopters rising din.
Rath summoned his mental picture of the officer whose gear he was wearing. Gathering every erg of power he thought he could spare without passing out, he concentrated on morphing his face and hair to match his mental image of the cop he'd left unconscious inside the warehouse.
Then he pulled off his mask and helmet with a stage-fencer's flourish.
Orman and the cop with the gold tooth suddenly relaxed visibly. So did Rath, at least a little, when he saw their reactions.
"What's the problem, Sarge?" Rath asked Orman, trying hard to project an image of legitimate confusion.
"Nothing, Palfrey. Just thought it was a little strange that you hadn't taken off your gear yet. “
Rath grinned for the benefit of Orman and the other cops. Like Orman, he had to shout to be heard over the chopper noise. "Just thought some of the gas might still be blowing around out here. I got a double lungful of World Trade Center dust last year at Ground Zero, and thought I was gonna cough up a lung. Can't be too careful, you know? “
Orman nodded silently. Though he and the other cops were no longer looking askance at him, Rath saw something peculiar in the sergeant's eyes. The man looked haunted.
After having seen the freaks' human hosts crumble away into so many Pixie Sticks, Rath could certainly understand why.
Pain suddenly lanced through Rath's head. He recognized it immediately. He knew he had to get out of sight right away. If anyone saw him lose control of his shape-changing ability, he'd be right in everybody's crosshairs within a heartbeat.
Then, just when Rath thought he couldn't endure the agony of holding his current shape for another second, Orman shouted something. "Dismissed, Palfrey. I want you to cordon off the crime scene, then head back to the station." Orman turned and headed across the parking lot toward one of the armored police vans. The other cops who had been looking on drifted away, intent on whatever duties they needed to perform.
Still doing his best to hang on to Palfrey's face, Rath turned back toward the government Humvee, around which several MiBs were still swarming. He could see a driver in the cockpit, obviously preparing to get the vehicle underway. A second MiB sat on the passenger side, apparently riding shotgun. Not far away, the black helicopter was beginning to rise into the air.
As far as Rath could tell, no one was paying much attention to him at the moment. And he knew that if he didn't somehow get Lonnie and Ava free of the Humvee right now, he wouldn't get another chance.
If he hesitated, he might never see Lonnie again. It's now or never.
Discarding the gas mask on the blacktop, Rath donned the riot helmet again and relaxed his concentration slightly, letting his features return to normal, including his spiky Mohawk. Thanks to the helmet and uniform, none of the MiBs, army guys, or riot cops… all of whom were busy at the moment with their appointed tasks… seemed to notice his transformation.
He walked briskly to the other side of the Humvee, the side that faced away from the warehouse and the people milling about it. He stepped into the tall vehicle's blind spot just as the last of the MiBs and military people got inside and disappeared behind the dark-tinted windows of the rear compartment.
Crouching so that no one within the cockpit or the passenger compartment could see him, he quickly approached the drivers side door. He discarded his helmet, removed one of his black gloves, and placed his hand on the door lock. With his other hand, he unhol-stered the police-issue Glock nine-millimeter pistol he had taken from Palfrey.
His ungloved hand glowed a dull red as he forced as much power as he could muster into the door mechanism. Though he felt somewhat dizzy from the effort, he ignored the sensation and tugged on the door handle with both hands. It swung open without any resistance.
Rath tried to take full advantage of the surprise etched across the faces of both men in the Humvee's cockpit. The MiB who rode shotgun went down quickly when Rath force-fed him a mouthful of Glock handle. Shoving the unconscious man across the Humvee's wide dashboard, Rath swung the barrel of his pistol toward the wide-eyed driver, who was already exercising the better part of valor by raising his empty hands over his head.
"Good boy," Rath said, staring daggers at the driver as he concentrated on changing his appearance to match that of the man behind the wheel.
All at once, the pain in his head returned, this time with a vengeance. Rath felt as though someone had plunged blazing pokers into both of his eyes, and he shut them for a moment as the waves of agony washed over him. He was pushing his powers too hard, and he knew it.
His eyes flew open when something heavy struck him in the chest, and he felt himself turn weightless for a moment. He found himself plummeting backward out of the passenger-side door, gravity and the driver's relentless weight bearing him down to a painful impact with the blacktop beside the vehicle's front wheels.
Rath's breath fled his body when he struck the ground, and now the driver had the advantage. The gun skittered away on the pavement, but the driver ignored it, raining blows onto Rath's face, giving him no opportunity to dodge or regain his feet.
Concentrating, Rath released a focused blast of energy through his hand, slamming the driver into the side of the Humvee. The black-suited man slumped to the blacktop, unconscious.
Half-stunned himself, Rath rose to his feet and tried to re-enter the Humvee. Through the half-open door, he could see the driver's keys dangling in the ignition. Though still exhausted, he felt his confidence begin to rebound. Maybe there really is a chance to pull this rescue off.
"Freeze!" shouted someone behind him.
Rath turned slowly and found himself facing a trio or armed MiBs. Don't panic, he told himself, focusing past the pain that was all but perforating his head. Just hang on to this face for a while longer. Maybe I can fool 'em just long enough to take the Humvee.
"Boy am I glad to see you guys," Rath said, trying to look relieved to be rescued. He pointed at the driver, who lay on the ground beside the Humvee. "That guy was trying to impersonate me and steal the prisoners. “
The agents looked at each other, clearly uncertain. Absurdly, Rath remembered an old Star Trek episode he'd seen recently on the stolen cable-TV rig he'd set up down in the sewer-level lair of the Royal Three. You might have to shoot us both, Spock.
Rath decided he didn't like that idea much. He was aware that the more time these guys had to think about it, the less chance he had of being believed. And he also knew the agents had probably already raised the alarm, via their ear-wires. Reinforcements would be here any second, ready to shoot first and ask questions later.
Suddenly, one of the agents pointed at Rath, then said something to his companions. Rath couldn't hear him over the helicopter noise, but he did manage to read the man's lips.
Look at his face! Rath put a hand up to his brow and immediately confirmed what he already suspected. As his overall power-level waned, so did his ability to hold the shape he'd just adopted. The skin on his face was shifting and bubbling, like water boiling in a pot.
Time had finally run out. Rath decided that waiting any longer could only get him killed, along with Lonnie and Ava.
Diving to the ground to make himself a more dif
ficult target, Rath expended another bolt of raw power in the direction of the armed agents. One of the MiBs went down hard, and the two others responded by hitting the dirt while simultaneously training their weapons in his direction. No one else was running toward them, which Rath took as an encouraging sign.
He released another bolt of energy, and another MiB went down, even as the last one got up and ran toward him, brandishing a strange-looking pistol as he approached.
Rath turned back toward the Humvee's still-open passenger-side door and dived for the cockpit, trusting that the agent wouldn't shoot him in the back. The Feds want to capture us first. The killing part comes later.
He landed on the seat, then turned to grab the door.
Before he could pull it closed, something struck him hard in the chest, though it made no noise and delivered surprisingly little pain. Fatigue finally began to overtake him, and time was suddenly flowing in a bizarre, variable-speed slow motion. The impact didn't feel like that of a bullet, and he saw a taut length of fine wire gleaming in the sunlight as it stretched across the gap between his body and the approaching agent's gun.
It was only when the second impact, and another length of wire, struck him that he realized what he was up against. As the electrical current surged mercilessly into his body and through his already overloaded central nervous system, a single word entered his mind.
Taser His body rigid, Rath tumbled into and past the Humvee's still-open door. The parking lot rushed up to greet him. He thought briefly of Lonnie before consciousness fled.
Then he thought and felt nothing at all.
