Ace spoke from the front seat. “What about the NSAVOG?”
“You had to throw in another word?” Steve said resentfully. “I don’t understand the ones he’s already using.”
“Heard of ‘tiger team’?” Ace asked. “That a bit easier for you to understand? It’s the National Security Agency Vulnerability Analysis and Operations Group. Generally, they spend their time trying to break into their own computers, but I’d imagine on an operation as important as this, the Director would have them working on outliers, alternates, known bad answers, anything but the obvious logical concepts that the rest of the team is working.”
“Yes, the black hats are on the case. We’ve even given all the hackers currently serving prison sentences a temporary parole and put them to work with the more malevolent computers,” Barnaby admitted. “So far, they’ve asked for the entire content of the Library of Congress’s Black Stacks to be converted into readable text. They got their hands on the Necronomicon–the real one we found on Iwo Jima, not that joke that Lovecraft dreamed up. They’ve ingested The King in Yellow and everything else in the British Museum’s Lost Wing, the Saudi Royal Family’s personal collection of grimoires—”
“Stop. We get it. They’re well read,” Steve said. “Did they find anything?”
“Yes, well.” Barnaby seemed hesitant. “Their best guess is that the sacrifice was intended to give life to an object. It’s difficult because all the texts differ, and most, if not all, are completely fabricated–which doesn’t necessarily mean they’re incorrect. One team used an old holographic memory technology and they say that it allows them to see the ‘shadow’ formed by the missing information. The problem is that what they see–or rather, what they don’t see–doesn’t make any sense.”
“Imagine that,” Steve said. “Holographic computer? Didn’t Tony Stark build one of those in Iron Man?”
“Yes, but it’s not an irrational theory,” Barnaby said. “A holographic negative records every part of the picture it’s taking in every part of the storage available so–”
The LCD panel on the BMW’s dash beeped loudly and flashed.
The obnoxious computer to shut up recommend. Durchführbarkeit required.
Something alive they make. Only question what is.
Ace read this aloud and then nodded. “Hans is making sense. Do we have any more information to work with?”
Carlos said, “Well, the guy you kept alive said something, right?”
“‘Eidolon’,” Ace said. “Now you can do something useful, Barnaby. What’s that mean?
“Image, idol, double, apparition, phantom, ghost.”
“How about statue?” Steve asked.
“That would fit if it came to life,” Barnaby said. “Which fits the rest of the incantation. It would help if we knew which sculpture we’re talking about. It’s not like this city is suffering a shortage.”
“Wait a second,” Steve said. “What was the missing image that the black hats said made no sense?”
“A penny,” Barnaby said. “That’s why it makes no sense.”
“Wait. Maybe, it does.” Steve started to sit up from where he was lying across the backseat and almost fainted, so he quickly sank back. “Hamilton Jones said two things after he damn near stopped my heart this morning. One was that….let me get it straight…‘the light in the darkness isn’t a bug, it’s a feature.’”
Send Money vibrated in Carlos’s hand. Steve nodded. “Yeah, that probably refers to you, Send, but it’s the other part that I completely missed until Barnaby mentioned the penny. Hamilton said, ‘Beware the man sitting by the river.’ The back of every penny shows the Lincoln Memorial. Wouldn’t it be logical that the “man sitting by the river’ is the statue of Lincoln in that ginormous chair right on the banks of the Potomac?
“When has logic played a part in anything that happened during the past two days?” Ace asked.
“Well, if anyone in the group has another conclusion that fits what we can laughingly call the ‘facts,’ let’s hear it.” Steve paused. “No? OK, let’s press on until a better answer materializes. How big is that thing, anyway?”
“Twenty-eight feet standing and…well, it’s thirty-eight thousand tons, but that counts the chair,” Barnaby answered.
“And you said the chatter was of a new mega-logos event? think that a three-story marble Abraham Lincoln could kill a couple of hundred thousand people without too much effort.”
“Forget about going home, folks.” Steve lay back and said, “Hans, take us to the White House or the Alabaster Palace or whatever they’re calling it today. Bitte. We need to have a chat with the president.”
It wasn’t long before Hans was twisting through the bomb barriers that blocked the Southwest entrance to the White House.
“Their guns aren’t working, either.” Ace was watching the guards carefully. “See how they’ve got the pistols jammed deep in their holsters and no one is carrying one of the assault weapons they use as backup.”
“They could just be hidden,” Steve pointed out.
“Nope,” she said triumphantly. “Look, that girl in the back has a crossbow. Must be a hunter, and she brought it in when all the guns stopped working.”
She pointed to a large wooden construction on the South Lawn. “Will ya look at that? They’re building a trebuchet.”
“Hans.” Steve asked. “Can you get us through that gate? Without scratching your paint, of course.”
The BMW again made its contemptuous engine growl and the LCD panel read
Natürlich
“Then why don’t you just go ahead?” Steve said. “I don’t think we’re ever going to argue our way past these guys.”
“Wait a second,” Ace interrupted. “Let’s see if we can minimize the collateral damage. Hans, do you have an external sound system?”
In response, a short microphone on a flex pole emerged from the center of the steering wheel and a loud click echoed off the walls of the Old Executive Office Building.
Ace started talking, the acronyms flowing at a practiced military clip. “This is Master Chief Petty Officer Ace Morningstar. I’m a noncommissioned team leader in DEVGRU on temporary assignment to the OTN Command based at Fort Meyers. I’ve been assigned Social Security Number 615-23-2100 for the duration of the current emergency. Birth date is classified. Full name is classified. Confirm by phone at the Center for Cryptographic History (301) 688-2336, or enter the term ‘Ace Morningstar’ into any computer. We’re operating under BLIND AXE emergency procedures–yes, go ahead and look it up if you want, but it will just tell you to salute and forget we were ever here.”
There was a snapping and clicking as the reactive armor of the Kabul Package deployed around the car. In seconds, the passengers could only see through narrow slits in the front and side windows– everything else was completely covered.
Ace kept talking. “Now, I don’t thing you need to demonstrate the true condition of your kinetic weapons to the entire world, so why don’t you simply refrain from shooting us? I hope that the SWAT team on the roof had the chance to confirm that their Javelin FGM-148’s are as fubar as your side arms. I’m telling you right now that fire-and-forget is going to be fire-and-fucked from now on.”
There was the sound of a shattering explosion from high to their right. “Dammit, Sergeant! I’m a goddamn Master Chief. Do you really think that I would turn against the United States or, more importantly, that I wouldn’t know what I was talking about? Tell those idiots up there to stand down before they set the whole White House on fire.”
Smoke was rising from the roof of the West Wing. Ace sighed and spoke again through the PA system. “OK, we are going through these gates. Then we’re going to park up at the guardhouse by the West Wing and go in and talk to the president. Finally, I would seriously advise you not to piss off this vehicle. He tends to let personal feelings get in the way of strictly operational necessities when that custom metallic paint job gets damaged.”
; Ace took her hands off the steering wheel and said, “It’s all yours, Hans.”
A searing red line erupted from the front hood and cut through the central gate lock and the two-inch-thick hardened steel posts that connected the gate into the sunken six-inch steel baseplate.
The curved traffic barriers behind the gate were raised to their full extent–guaranteed to rip the transmission right out of a speeding car bomber. Hans drove very slowly up to the first, flicked the laser, and cut off a small piece from the top inner corner of the right-hand unit. After a long minute, the barriers lowered. Steve could see an enraged guard pounding on a control panel, but the computerized barrier had apparently decided on its own that today was not the day to be destroyed for God and Country.
Steve wondered, “Where did a BMW get a weaponized laser?”
The LCD screen flickered again
For distance to next car measuring. Ich “verbessert” es
Send Money flickered.
HE SCREWED WITH THE LASER, IMPROVED IT
“Ah,” Steve said. “Well, you sure as hell improved it.”
Ja
It was clear by the time they reached the center of West Executive Drive and parked that someone had managed to verify Ace’s identity and authority. There was still a phalanx of Uniformed Division officers and Marines blocking the way up the stairs to the Oval Office, but there were no weapons in evidence and all the security personnel seemed a bit more relaxed.
On the other hand, the media were going nuts. Camera crews were ripping their cameras off their tripods and racing over to record any potential confrontation. The tripods, in many cases, were trotting right after them.
Steve would have felt more important if he hadn’t known that the guys who worked the White House were so bored, they’d tape an attack from massed squirrels if that was all there was.
Steve eased himself out of the backseat, fully conscious of every cut and bruise. Ace and Carlos got out and directed almost- identical steely glares at the men in front of them. Steve noticed that some bright light officer in the Marines had ordered them to bring their ceremonial swords in, and they had them out of their scabbards and held in a reasonable semblance of readiness.
Ace took a step up onto the sidewalk. The Marines tensed as they prepared to defend their posts.
“All White House personnel will stand down immediately!” It was a beautiful woman’s voice but it cracked like a whip with the full power of command. “Please make way so that my guests can enter.”
As the crowd split to either side, Steve could see the familiar form of President Barbara Harlan. As she stepped down the stairs to shake hands, he got a closer look and realized that Harlan’s chubby, pants-suited form had morphed into a tall, slender woman with long, flowing robes. A ghostly diadem of stars began to flicker into being over her head. She glanced up, saw it, and immediately swatted at it with an impatient hand.
It dispersed in a cloud of sparks.
“Damn these things,” she complained without much heat. “If it’s not that silly-ass crown, it’s a stupid scepter. If I truly held the earth power, I wouldn’t have to deal with those trolls in the House. I don’t mean all Republicans, of course, but the Tea Party has definitely gone all-troll, all-the-time. I think it comes from spending all his or her time getting in the way of everyone else. The worst is the eagle, though. The Oval Office smells like a bird’s ass half the time.”
She took a long look at the three of them. “But enough about my problems.”
“OK, I see the Fool and the Ace of Swords–nice to see you again, Master Chief Morningstar–but I’m stumped by you, young man. Which card are you?”
Carlos smiled and said, “I’m told that I might be on the Moon card but I believe I’m from another tradition entirely. In El Salvador, the four-hoofed dog of the volcanoes, the cadejo, is a central part of the culture. If I may introduce myself, Carlos Cortada, former primera palabra of the Mara Salvatrucha 13 in Prince Georges County.”
The president’s eyebrows went up but her smile never faltered. “I trust you’ve taken up a new occupation?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve retired from the MS-13,” Carlos answered. “I’ve been assisting the Ace of Swords and the Fool in their investigations.”
“Excellent. From what I know of Mr. Rowan in his many previous positions, he’ll need all the help he can find.” As Steve began to defend himself, she waved a regal hand at him and said, “Oh, Steve, hush. I’ve been told that you’re a considerably better Fool than you ever were a journalist. Why don’t we all head into the Oval Office? Then you can tell me what’s so important that you had to go and upset every Secret Service bureaucrat east of the Mississippi.”
Sadness crossed her face briefly. “Thank God, it looks like the two officers who blew themselves up on the roof will be OK. Luckily, those ugly-ass solar panels that Jimmy Carter left up there took most of the blast, but the guards will be in the hospital for a while.”
As they started up the stairs, one of the Secret Service agents said, “Ma’am. We can’t let the young man in. His rap sheet is a mile long and it’s all drug and weapons offenses.”
“I don’t care if he’s carrying a sawed-off shotgun and a brace of grenades,” the president snapped. “He’s coming in with me and I would appreciate it if you would have his criminal record immediately classified to the highest level.”
When they entered the Oval Office, an enormous bald eagle was gripping tightly to the back of the leather chair behind the Resolute Desk. The president gave the bird a sour look. “The Diadem of the Zodiac and the Scepter of Earthly Power come and go, but Stan here seems determined to stay. I named him after my first husband, since they’re both bald and leave crap all over the place. I’m told that he represents the freedom of the spirit world or something, but all I know is that the staff has to work overtime to keep my office from… Well, let’s just say that we’ve gone through a lot of Febreeze in the past few days.”
She waved them to seats on the facing sofas and settled into a chair at one end. “I will admit that the slimming effect of becoming the Empress is nice, because I’m not at all sure what use the rest of this baloney is. Not only that but my scale reminds me daily that my new glamorous look is a fake and will probably disappear when I leave office. It is certainly a strong incentive to run for re-election, but it’s bound to catch up with me eventually.”
“Now, what’s going on? My source up at Fort Meade tells me that you’ve been investigating the terrorist incident that caused all this.” Barbara Harlan’s voice had suddenly sharpened. “Barnaby? I assume you’re listening in.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The computer’s voice was a bit muffled, so Steve unclipped the phone and placed it on the coffee table in front of him. “As I’ve told you and the Chairmen of the Intelligence and Homeland Security Committees, Steve appears to have been selected to seek out those behind the crash–among other things.
Immediately–and rather clumsily, in my opinion–we obtained information that it was the work of the Illuminati. In fact, even Adam Weishaupt and his little clique of mystics appear to believe it was their work. Now, the 92nd OTN Battle Analysis Group is still not back up to pre-Change levels, but the one thing they agree on is that even if the Illuminati had the power required to bring down American International Flight 1143, there is absolutely no way they could have awakened the World Snake.”
“So, the Illuminati are harmless?” the president asked.
Steve held up his arm to show the medical gauze wrapped around it. “I wouldn’t call them harmless, ma’am.” He shifted a bit in a vain attempt to find a position that didn’t make some part of his body ache. “That’s why we’re here. They were able to complete a quite atrocious ritual in their little hideaway under Meridian Hill Park before we could get to them.”
“Right,” Barnaby picked up. “They drained the logos of a dozen innocents–including three children–and, according to the chatter being picked up by the Sentinels–�
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“Those are the really scary computers, right?” she asked. “The ones that we can’t control?”
“Um, yes,” Barnaby said. “Although I’d be remiss in my duty if I didn’t inform you that most computers aren’t under human control any longer.”
“Wonderful.” The president sighed.
“Look on the bright side, ma’am,” Barnaby said. “Our people– both silicon- and carbon-based–believe in their jobs and have overwhelmingly voted to support the United States. It’s similar to the situation that I believe is occurring in the military. Since the troops and the more complex machines have acquired magical power in proportion to their temporal powers, it’s the best trained and most formidable who have gained the most. What’s left is an extremely patriotic group of men and machines.”
“Yes, that’s what I keep being told,” the president said with a touch of weariness. “Still a bit unsettling to have F-22 Raptors deciding to take off on joyrides without a pilot.”
Barnaby emulated a cough and said, “You and I need to discuss the powers you now hold as the Empress. The diadem and the scepter are a lot more than inconveniences. I believe you won in a landslide the last time, correct?”
President Harlan nodded.
“Well, your etheric Power is based on your political power,” Barnaby said. “I don’t think you’ll have a problem keeping the military under control.”
“Well, we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.” Harlan clapped her hands and changed the subject. “Let’s return to the disaster du jour. What in perdition does that Bavarian ghoul have planned and how do we stop it?”
Ace took over, turning the conversation into a concise military briefing. “Ma’am. What we’ve discovered under Meridian Hill leads us to expect the creation of an ‘eidolon.’ This would be a statue energized and, to some extent, controlled by the ritual deaths of the innocents. From information we’ve obtained from the Hanged Man combined with NSA holographic data storage, we are 99% certain that the eidolon will be extremely large and, in turn, be used to create a multi-kilologos event–”
The Last American Wizard Page 27
