The Last American Wizard

by Edward Irving

  Steve saw the president’s eyebrows begin to pull together in confusion, so he explained, “The Illuminati are going to use the animated statue to kill at least two hundred thousand more civilians.”

  Harlan nodded wearily and Ace continued. “We don’t know what the Illuminati intend to do with the power from the multi- kilologos event, but it’s going to be bad.”

  Beverly Harlan arched an eyebrow. “‘Bad’?”

  Barnaby spoke up. “You’ve reviewed the files on the upgraded GBU-43/B Massive Ordnance Air Blast?”

  “The Mother of All Bombs? Of course. It would flatten everything from here to the Mall.”

  “Think of the Power currently wielded by the Illuminati as a bottle rocket and their Power after the event as a MOAB.”

  “Did you just steal that from Ghostbusters?” the president asked. “No, never mind. Do you know the location of the statue they plan to use?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Steve answered. “We believe that President Lincoln is going to get out of his chair.”

  “God help us.” The president put her hand over her eyes for a second. Then she looked up and her blue eyes had gone steel-gray. “What do you need from me?”

  Ace took the lead. “First off, ma’am, you’re aware of what the Change has done to most common side arms and light assault weapons–”

  The president nodded. “Yeah, took them out of action completely.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Now, we haven’t had the chance to play with too many high-explosive compounds; I assume that you tested them when the cloud went over Aberdeen Proving Grounds. What was the result?”

  “Mixed. By itself, everything from TNT to C-4 and, thank God, the terrorist recipes like PETN and the fuel/fertilizer combinations are generally inert. We’re having mixed results from the high explosive loads in the M1A2 class of tanks and the Paladin self-propelled howitzers. Those that have developed full sentience appear to have enough control to maintain and even improve the power of their munitions.” Harlan paused. “However, since they have almost always ejected their crew and begun to operate independently, it’s difficult to get a comprehensive picture. They all claim they’re still one hundred percent behind the legitimate government of the United States.”

  “I’m sure they are, ma’am,” the computer said.

  “It’s not just their loyalty,” the president said. “No offense, Barnaby, but I don’t think even our most powerful military computers can be trusted after only a day of training. If they’re anything like raw human recruits, they might take out the Pentagon just for fun.”

  “Well, actually, ma’am, we’ve already had to retarget most of the nuclear missiles for that very same reason. You’d be amazed at what a short fuse…” Barnaby let the sentence drift off. “Yes, I’m sure you’re correct.”

  Ace asked, “OK, let’s turn to the mundane and then back to the magical. We saw that trebuchet under construction on the South Lawn. How many of that sort of simple kinetic weapons do you have?”

  “Counting that one?” Harlan said. “One and it isn’t working yet. We’ve had to draw experts from the Merry Markland Militia– you know, the Renaissance Festival types–and my defense advisors are simply incapable of taking them seriously.”

  “Just because they wear hats with horns on them?” Ace laughed. “I know how they feel. Well, then we’re down to the magical. Which of the Major Arcana have you identified, and of those, who can you trust?”

  “OK.” The president began to tick off on her fingers. “You guys are the Fool, the Ace of Swords, an aspect of the Moon, and I’m told you’ve met the Magician?”

  “Yes, but I wouldn’t expect a lot of help from him,” Barnaby said. “Fighting really isn’t a big part of his legend. I believe it’s because he usually loses and then has to work out a trick to beat his opponent.”

  There was a rumble of thunder from the clear sunny afternoon outside the big windows.

  “Oh, come on,” Barnaby said loudly. “You know it’s true.”

  “We killed the Ace of Wands this morning, and I don’t think that Wands would have chosen a new avatar in less than a day,” Ace said. “We can forget about Pentacles and Cups since Wands and Swords are really the only fighting suits.”

  “Wands and Cups may not be important to you,” the president said dryly, “but I find them to be an entire new layer of confusion in the political scene. Which avatars belong to the Illuminati?”

  Barnaby said, “It’s fairly clear that Weishaupt considers himself to be Death and one of his top lieutenants is the Chariot– both considerable powers for violent change–and my sources in the top-level surveillance server clusters say that it’s apparent that they also hold the power of Strength, although we haven’t run into her yet. Interestingly, none of them is the Devil, the Burning Tower, or the Wheel of Fortune–which lends more credence to the theory that they aren’t the true powers behind the Change.”

  Send Money vibrated on the table, creating a rather loud rumble. Steve picked him up. “We get so few calls. I wonder who this is.” The screen showed an image of the Queen of Swords. “I do believe the rest of Ace’s Family may be joining us.” He clicked on the speaker and put the phone back on the table.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello. Is this the Fool?” It was a woman’s voice.

  “You wouldn’t believe how many people have asked me that in the past few days,” Steve said.

  “Yeah, you must be Rowan, that’s the same lame sense of humor. This is DC Metro Police Officer Stacy Grafton. You might remember meeting the three of us after the incident at the Tune Inn.”

  “I do remember,” Steve said. “You don’t sound like nearly as much of a b–”

  “Stop.” She cut him off. “I tore the throat out of the last guy who tried that joke.”

  Steve instantly decided that discretion–silence, actually–was the only reasonable option.

  Grafton continued. “Life has gone straight to hell after we met you. It’s bad enough to have the heads of dogs about half the time– most of the elite units on the force appear to have turned into something similar–but I appear to have been assigned a Card and so have Mike and Lyle.”

  “Let me guess,” Barnaby said. “You appeared on our screen as the Queen of Swords, so the guys are the King and the Knight?”

  “This Thoth deck doesn’t seem to have a King, so Chubb is the Knight and Lyle is the Prince. It’s not the worst thing that could have happened, I guess; one of the guys in the 20th Precinct ended up as the Ten of Swords, and now no one will ride with him.”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Barnaby said. “It’s the fundamental card for betrayal.”

  “Yeah,” Grafton said. “I mean, he’s cheating on his wife and taking a pretty good bite out of the gay clubs down near the baseball stadium, but he’s no worse than a lot of other cops. Anyway, to get back to the three of us, we seem a bit smarter and, if anything, better police than we were before. Now that all the service weapons are inoperable, it’s useful nice to have a sword show up when you need one.”

  “It beats having to fill out paperwork at Ordnance Control, doesn’t it?” Ace asked. “I’m hoping one will show up for my use any moment.”

  “Oh, that you, Master Chief?” Grafton asked. “Yeah, the cutlery would be more useful if we had a clue how to use them, but the fact is that very few people want to throw down when they notice that you’re carrying a long, sharp, pointy thing. But that’s not why I called.”

  “You got trouble?” Ace asked.

  “No, the opposite. We were out having a couple of beers and we all got a terrible itch,” the patrolwoman said. “All of us figured no one but you guys would be so irritating. I lost the coin toss and gave the ‘lawyers, guns, and money’ code into a dead phone. How do you do that, by the way?”

  “A remarkably smart smartphone,” Steve said.

  “OK, whatever. Anyway, it put me through. I hope we aren’t interrupting anything important.”

  “Oh, g
oodness, no,” the president said. “Nothing important at all.”

  After a pause, Grafton said, “Madame President. It’s an honor to meet you.”

  “And you as well, Officer Grafton. As it happens, your timing could not have been better. We’re in the process of working out what resources we have to deal with a small problem that might occur…” She paused and looked around the group. “…When, do you suppose?”

  Barnaby said, “Sunset is the combination and negation of both dark and light; it’s a powerful time for all magic of the Hermetic Corpus.”

  “Especially ‘unicursal hexagrams’?” Steve asked. The president looked confused. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but taking all this sorcery seriously is extremely difficult. In addition, if I really thought that I was about to go out and battle a thirty-foot national monument with a female graduate of the all-male SEAL team, a PG County drug lord with an MBA, three cops who can double as their own K-9 dogs, the voice of the NSA computers, and a Chinese ghost in my phone…well, I might get discouraged.”

  Harlan nodded. “Yes, I can understand that. Wait, what’s that about a Chinese kid? Is there a foreign national involved?”

  “One of the young people who worked on the assembly line where these phones are made,” Steve answered. “Died right when this phone was finished and ended up locked inside.”

  He held up Send Money and said, “Say hello, Send.”

  A banjo tune began to play from the cell phone’s speakers and then a woman’s voice sang in Mandarin. The president listened for a moment, and then asked, “Abigail Washburn’s ‘Song of the Traveling Daughter’?”

  The screen on the phone showed an animation of Goofy waving both US and Chinese flags.

  “Well, I try to watch as many TED talks as I can,” Harlan said. “Very cute. Barnaby, are you sure there isn’t any official Chinese involvement?”

  “I’ve communicated with several of the central servers at Unit 61398 of the People’s Revolutionary Army and they said they have their own problems–something about brave animals and creatures made of nothing but hunger.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s OK.” The president looked doubtful. “At least, our cybersecurity here in the White House is safe as houses.”

  A telephone gave a single ring in one of the outer offices. Another rang on the opposite side. This continued for a moment, with one phone following another in a continuously approaching trill. Finally, all the phone lines on the Resolute Desk rang one after another and the president jumped suddenly and pulled a slim cell from her pants pocket. As she stared at the screen, there was a momentary silence.

  The president was still staring at her screen. Then she nodded and said to Steve’s cell phone, “Yes, the translation programs never do seem to work, Mr. Money. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. I’m sure we’ll talk later.”

  Looking thoughtful, she put the cell back in her pocket. “Well, he seems to be a very nice young man, and I rather doubt he is working for the State Council or the People’s Army–not after what he just told me about several of the senior officers’ off-duty interests. He certainly does know his way around our phone system.”

  Barnaby spoke first. “Yes, well, Send Money was right on the scene and got quite a blast of magic when the worm turned. I think he’s about as deep inside the US communications infrastructure as you can get.”

  “You’ll be going in with all the Swords; that’s something anyway.” The voice came from directly behind Steve, and he jumped and twisted to see Old Howard in full, if tattered, uniform. “Pardon me for interrupting ma’am, but I’ve got a message for the Ace of Swords.”

  Ace nodded and the old Marine continued. “Albert Pike wanted you to know that he’s prevailed on the High Council to cut off all ties with the Illuminati, so you won’t be seeing the sphinxes tonight.”

  “Well, that’s certainly a relief,” Ace said. “One massive stone being is quite enough.”

  “Yes, ma’am. In addition, Mr. Pike will join the fight when he can. He’s still in the Grand Temple, quieting the hotheads,” Old Howard continued. “He also told me to tell you to hurry up. Apparently, young Jones, the Hanged Man, feels that President Lincoln, bless his soul, will be heading out very soon.”

  He shook his head sadly. “You have to understand. I served in the Union Navy and it’s very difficult for me to comprehend how the Liberator could turn against this nation.”

  President Harlan spoke slowly. “Thank you for the information…uh…”

  “General Oliver Otis Howard, US Marine Corps, ma’am.” He snapped to attention and saluted. “At your service.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, General Howard,” Harlan said. “May I ask what magical power you possess that got you into my office so easily?”

  “Magic?” Old Howard laughed. “No, I don’t have any magic. I’m just dead like anyone else.” He turned back to Ace. “I’ve got to leave, Master Chief. I’ll see you after the battle.”

  Ace cocked an eyebrow in question.

  Old Howard had begun to fade but he caught her unspoken query and said, “No, Chief. That’s not a prediction. Just a hope.”

  Ace nodded and he was gone.

  “OK, I think you need to get moving.” The president stood up and everyone else followed suit. “Again, is there anything I can provide?”

  Steve said, “Something that Old Howard just said… Do you have a PSYOPS team handy? Or anyone with a loudspeaker?”

  “I’ll have the Pentagon send a couple of mobile loudhailers.”

  “Otherwise, I would say that clearing people away from the Memorial area is top priority. I think you should consider anyone within a mile radius to be in immediate danger. Anything else, Ace?” She shook her head, and Steve spoke into the phone. “Officer Grafton, how fast can you and the rest of the Royal Family get down to the Memorial?”

  “Faster than you can.”

  “Yeah, don’t rub it in,” Ace said. “Just get moving.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “OK, I’ve finally reached my limit.” Steve said. “This is obviously just a particularly good opium dream. No way is that statue going to stand up and start killing people. It’s simply not going to happen.”

  They were standing at the base of the broad marble stairs that led up to the immense white cube of the Lincoln Memorial. Inside, it was still lit by the evening sunset glowing through the translucent panes of waxed marble on the roof.

  It was quiet on the Mall; tourists, journalists, and commuters had been pushed out or blocked away by the Park Police. It had been an efficient process, coordinated by the well-named Sergeant Fear, an enormous man who was still barking orders into a walkie- talkie just off to the side.

  Two Humvees were parked on either side of the Reflecting Pool, their three-foot-diameter sound horns pointed at the statue. Cables led to a single microphone on a stand in front of Steve. He was studiously ignoring it, certain that he’d sound like a fool the second he began to have a conversation with the sixteenth president. He giggled nervously when he realized he was supposed to sound like the Fool.

  Ace shot a sharp glance at him and asked, “You holding up?”

  “Sure. Except for the fact that I’m obviously hallucinating in my little cot at the Happy Home for the Overly Imaginative, I’m wonderful. Peachy, in fact.”

  She reached over and punched him sharply on the shoulder. “That feel like a hallucination?”

  Steve managed to stay erect–barely.

  He rubbed his arm. “No, I have to say that that was either real or the Xbox people have had a major breakthrough in the implementation of physiological feedback in virtual environments.”

  “Want me to hit you again so you can continue the experiment?”

  “No, thanks.” Steve took a quick step away and continued. “I’m willing to accept this as reality but I reserve the right to change my position when Sergeant Fear comes to arrest us for screwing up the entire city of Washington.”

  “Yo
u’re babbling,” Barnaby said from the cell phone on his belt. “You sound like redundant feedback loops we used to get in the early computers. I remember once when a PDP-6 got so bollixed, it simply sat there and threw punch cards around the room for a week. Afterwards…”

  Steve tuned out the program’s voice and regarded his tiny army. The three Metro police officers were now in full battle mode. They’d definitely been associated with the Thoth tarot deck, one of the more bizarre decks, in Steve’s opinion.

  The men were in green skintight fighting suits and looked quite a bit like comic book superheroes. Stacy Grafton had a difficult time when she found that the Queen’s raiment consisted of a long full skirt and not a damn thing on top. Instead of regal insouciance, she’d just stood with her arms crossed, looking irritable and chilly until Ace tossed her a spare T-shirt out of her. Steve noticed that her partners were very careful not to stare or make jokes–it might have had to do with the large sword Stacy held in her right hand and the severed head of some bearded fellow that kept appearing in her left.

  Mike Chubb was the Knight–outfitted with green armor that looked like it would stop a .357 Magnum, a pair of wicked-looking sabers, and some sort of flying horse with a positively evil gleam in its eyes. He was equipped with a double pair of gauzy wings–the kind you’d see on a dragonfly–but kept reaching back and checking them. He was a big guy and Steve could relate to worrying about the carrying capacity of fairy feathers.

  Lyle Bautista appeared far more pleased with his getup as the Prince of Swords. Bulked-out deep-green armor with round yellow wings and a gold helmet made him look like an Irish Spiderman after an intensive weight-training regimen. He was gingerly trying out a strange, rounded chariot pulled by three creatures that could only be described as Mini-Me versions of him. They stood about six inches tall, but from his frantic efforts to keep them from leaping the Potomac, they clearly had whatever it took to pull a mystic chariot.

  Ace looked like Ace. Solid, tough, determined, and ready to kill. For a second, Steve wondered why he kept hanging out with such a murderous woman but, with a sigh, had to admit–at least to himself–that she was a hell of a lot more fun than most women he’d dated and both women he’d married.