Dead Silence

by T. G. Ayer

"No." She shook her head and looked like she'd swallowed a spoonful of Castor oil. She glanced at me, her expression wary, then looked away quickly. "Does that mean you won't let me come with you?"

  I wanted to say yes, but I forced myself to say, "All it means is that there will be a lot of things that are new to you, a lot that will surprise you and probably distract you." I suppressed a sigh. "Just stay at my side. And try not to get distracted."

  She nodded, then swallowed hard again tugging at the hem of her biker jacket, and fidgeting with the buttons, her face strained and tight. "Very well. When do we leave?"

  I laughed and reached out to grab hold of her shoulder and turned her in the direction of the door. Then, together we headed straight out of the hall leading the way to the Transfer room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The team arrived group by group in a small clearing within the park across the road. Hidden by trees, the spot was the only place we could arrive without being noticed. And the nearest place to the White House that the Bifrost touched down.

  The sky hung low, a murky, red-tinged, orangey hue that reminded me of blood-smeared chalk. I shuddered at the thought of having to live with a sky like that for too long. Enough to drive a person a little crazy looking up at that sodden mess every morning.

  It didn't take long for both teams to be ready and sending a soft smile to Joshua, I motioned for the A-team to glamor up and move out. We disappeared in groups of three, and I hid my smirk at the sight of Thor as he blinked out of existence. He'd been persistent, and who was I to deny the will of a god anyway?

  I appeared in the Oval office, Gungnir in hand, surrounded by my team, with Suri on my left and Fen on my right. A dragon and a wolf, what more could I ask for?

  Sparse orange light filtered into the room, the kind of sunlight no President would ever have expected to see shine onto his desk.

  The room really was Oval in shape, with wood floors, now cracked and broken in places, and a giant cream oval carpet edged with words sewn into it, which I assumed were special quotes.

  The famous Resolute desk sat at one end, still intact. Behind it were creamy-gold brocade curtains that should have been framing a triplicate of floor to ceiling windows.

  Now, they stood askew, the curtains broken away from the wall, one end still attached, the other sitting on the floor. A seating area with two large sofas occupied the center of the room and the setting looked undamaged.

  Unfortunately, the fireplace on the wall opposite the window, along with the two bookcases on either side, were split in half by vicious cracks that ran along the walls all around us. Wood, plaster and paint were ripped like fragile paper.

  What I was more interested in were the doors that led into the Oval Office. There were too many as far as I was concerned. Doors to the garden, panes all shattered, doors to the study, hanging half open, to the West Wing corridor and the secretary's office.

  Too many ways in and out.

  One of those ways were currently guarded by the President's Secret Service agent. I felt a rush of worry, knowing someone would very likely die if that agent entered the room.

  The team fanned around the room, remaining hidden by glamor, waiting in silence as the President spoke to one of his aides, head bent revealing a balding spot on his skull. No-one moved until the younger man left, striding straight-backed and serious-faced through the door to the West Wing.

  I moved slowly, gliding along the floor, gritting my teeth and praying my armor didn't clink and alert him to our presence.

  Glancing around the room, I waited, watching as my team moved out until every entrance to the room was guarded. The President sat in his chair, flicking through documents page by page. He seemed oblivious to the sudden additional presence of a dozen people.

  President Russell Whitman had been in office a year now, and I recalled the raised eyebrows in Craven's conservative culture at the latest leader of the free world being a man whose race was hard to define. If ever there was a man able to lead a multitude of cultures it was Whitman. Descended from a combination of grandparents; African-Hispanic and Middle-Eastern-Asian, Whitman's wife was from Native American and German stock. A cultural melting pot if there ever was one.

  One of the most popular Presidents since Kennedy, he was also known for straight-talking and keeping his word. Personally, knowing how much the man had done for the good of the country since he'd arrived in the Oval Office, this unceremonious intrusion felt inherently wrong.

  But necessary.

  I came to a standstill on the right side of his desk, a few feet from him. His gray hair glinted in the murky light, his aquiline nose and dark eyes shadowed. He must have begun to sense something was wrong because he frowned and looked up at me.

  I chose that moment to throw off my glamor and appear in front of him.

  He let out a soft grunt, moving back against the backrest of his cushioned office-chair. The dusky skin on his face tightened as the blood drained from it.

  "I'm not here to harm you," I said softly. I shook Gungnir, allowing it to collapse before slipping it into the sheath at me back. Then I raised my unarmed hands in front of me. I wanted to reassure him that I wasn't a threat. And I didn't waste time with words. People in shock stopped listening after the first sentence uttered by an intruder. Or, at least, in my own experience that was the case.

  He looked startled by my voice, perhaps my American accent too. His eyes went to my back where he took in the sight of my wings as they shivered indicating my nervousness. All-American Angel anyone?

  "What are you? Who are you?" At last he seemed to be recovering from his original shock. He got to his feet, sending the chair skidding behind him. "What do you want?" And now his voice began to take on a defensiveness that I hoped wouldn't impede my efforts to speak with him.

  "To talk." I spoke softly, hoping my calm tone would provide him with an assurance that I wasn't here to kill him. "I mean you no harm, Sir. I need to talk with you. It's very urgent."

  He stared at my face, no doubt trying to reconcile what he saw; a winged woman with an American accent. I'd take my time to absorb that sight too.

  "Well, what do you want to speak about?" He stood stiffly and I wasn't sure I could trust him not to panic.

  But, I took the risk, not wanting to waste any further time. "Sir, my name is Bryn Halbrook. I'm a Valkyrie. The Norse gods are real and so are a many things worse than the gods themselves." He raised his eyebrows as if daring me to say something more ridiculous. I continued despite his obvious skepticism. "We believe you're in serious danger. We have knowledge of a plot to target key members of the United Nations as well as a handful of influential politicians from countries across the world. We need your help to gather them together and to tell them our story. For both their personal safety and that of the safety of the people they represent." I'd spoken so fast that when I finished the silence in the room was deafening and my cheeks heated up.

  His eyebrows rose as he shook his head. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? You really expect me to believe that story? You? Especially with you in that . . . that getup."

  I shook my head, feeling frustration rise. I surged into the air, hovering above the desk with my wings outstretched for him to see the proof of its reality. "I assure you, Sir, that it's never going to be more real than this," I said, hoping I had his attention. "Do you believe me now? Will you at least listen to what I have to say?"

  "I've listened and it doesn't make sense." His tone hardened and my heart fluttered. I was losing him.

  "Important people, key people, will be dead in the next day if you don't help us get them to safety," I implored. I'd beg if I had to.

  He lifted his chin, standing spine straight. "Who are these people?" he asked, his tone challenging, as if he didn't think there was any substance to my claim.

  I reached for the stack of papers in my satchel. It contained the full list of names and locations of our suspected targets. I hovered over the desk as he fl
ipped through the pile of lists. "I'm not sure what connection they have to each other, but they are the targets."

  At last he looked up at me, a vein near his eye throbbing. "This is for real?"

  I nodded. "A lot of lives depend on your decision."

  He inhaled sharply. "I'm not sure about this," he said, his eyes flicking around the room as if he was expecting someone. A flash of fear trilled through me. Was he already one of them?

  Glancing behind me, I watched Derek through the glamor offered to him by Myst. He was frantically tapping away at his keyboard. After a second he looked up at me, worry in his eyes.

  "What is it?" I asked, past caring that the President would wonder who I was talking to.

  Derek's voice was strained as he said, "I have incoming. About twenty on foot, probably Jotunn, and two helicopters. All armed and ready to fire."

  "Do they look likely to fire on the White House?" Just the thought shocked me.

  Derek nodded as he tapped away. "Both locked on this location. Both hot."

  Crap.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Turning back to the President, I asked, "Is there anywhere you can go for safety. Someplace your aides, or even friends, would not expect you to go?"

  "For security purposes-"

  "Please consider all your security breached."

  He cleared his throat and paused for a few seconds. "Okay." He opened his mouth to respond and I held out my hand.

  "Write the address on a piece of paper and pass it to me. Consider this room bugged as well."

  He nodded, his skin looking grayer, almost sickly. He bent his head to write on a small writing pad when I reached out a hand.

  "Stop."

  When he looked at me, more a little annoyance showing in his expression, I said, "Remove the sheet of paper from your writing pad. We don't want to leave signs of where we're heading."

  His expression cleared and he nodded, then ripped the paper away and laid it on the desk to scribble down the address. Then he held it out to me.

  Thor walked to the edge of the desk as I reached for the note. I took a second to read the address, then bent to hand it to the god, who strode away, taking the note to Fenrir. I began to shift direction in order to land and take the President to the address he'd supplied.

  Three doors crashed open and at least three Jotunn streamed inside from each of the doors. The fact that the room was also being flooded by Secret Service agents confirmed the Jotunn had likely taken them all out. It worried me that this seemed so easy for Loki's henchmen.

  I thrust my hand at the room, and everyone dropped their glamors.

  "Raven," I said into my mike, my voice a little wobbly.

  A dozen more bodies flickered into form as Joshua and his team arrived, strengthening our numbers. Fear gripped my chest as I prayed Joshua could withstand the strenuous efforts of the battle, already regretting having agreed to let him join the mission.

  So much for taking care of my team.

  I heard the sharp inhalation of the President behind me and I understood his shock. So many people within this room and he'd had no idea. And worse, more arriving, just appearing out of thin air.

  The Jotunn dropped their glamor too, no need since we could see exactly where they were, and when I turned my head to size them up I saw the weapons. Large, black and threatening. So familiar to the ones we'd seen in Loki's hideout in St Petersburg a few days ago. The thought of the weaponized black goo made my ears ring and my head grow hot.

  A low grinding drew my shocked attention to the area around the President's desk. Seems he'd finally realized the danger too.

  The Jotunn closest to us spun on his heel and opened fire. Pulling the President with me, I ducked behind the desk, trying to keep him out of the line of fire even as bullets whizzed by just inches above our heads. The glass shields were taking far too long to rise from the floor, but at least the prospect of some semblance of safety for him was imminent.

  Not so for my team. I peered around the edge of the desk. Armed with swords, bows and the guns Derek had developed, my team fought back slowly mowing down the first wave of Jotunn. Those bullets of Derek's worked incredibly well, felling one after the other of the invading Jotunn force, sending satisfaction surging through me. At last we were on even footing with Loki's army when it came to weapons.

  Bullets flew around the room and one hit the drapes behind the President's desk. It plunged right through and I wondered if I should take one of them to study Loki's ammunition.

  I tapped my comm and said, "Somebody get me a bullet. We need to know what ammo they're using."

  Someone grunted in my ear and I heard Thor growl with pain. "I have one for you."

  "Thanks," was my only response.

  The glass panels had moved into place around the desk and a whooshing sound spun around us as air was sucked out, then new canned air funneled back in. Up above our heads, a small area of the ceiling had slid open to reveal a grate that injected the fresh air into the enclosed box.

  When I peeped out from behind the desk, Thor was a few feet from me, leaning against the wall beside the door to the President's private study. He had his hand on his thigh and when he caught my eye he gave me a cheery smile, pointed at his thigh and gave me a loose thumbs up.

  I snorted. Trust Thor to think bringing me a bullet inside his flesh was a success.

  Shifting back behind the desk, I heard a buzz as a bullet sang just outside the glass panel and plunged into the window paneling. I winced at the close call. The President cowered beside me, since he seemed okay I got to my feet and focused my attention on the mayhem around me.

  My chest constricted as I watched the last Jotunn fall, knowing there would be reinforcements. A-Team had done a good job, all the warriors were alive though five were injured, holding arms or legs and wincing during the small reprieve. The tension in their faces confirmed they too knew the window was short and that Jotunn reinforcements would be arriving soon.

  So much for in-and-out-in-a-few-minutes.

  Derek was huddled between the two sofas, crouching beside the low coffee table and I could see Suri holding her arm. Black leather made it hard to identify injuries but I was glad to see everyone looked okay and that there were no mortal wounds.

  Then Derek's voice cut into the air. "Bryn, there's more coming. The helicopters are closing in but I can also see a second team on the infra-red. They're heading this way."

  I gritted my teeth then spoke into my comm, "Stay alert people, and be safe." Then I turned to the President. "We have to get out of here."

  "Why? Aren't we safer here?" He scowled.

  My gaze shifted to the warriors outside, now all alert, guns and swords at the ready. "I have to get you to safety. And this box is not going to be safe much longer."

  "What the hell are those things?" he asked, his expression of distaste making me want to laugh. Frost giants were scary to look at but they weren't exactly orcs.

  "Jotunn. Frost giants from another realm. They're working for Loki."

  "Loki? God, trickster, unstable Loki?" he asked, his voice bordering on hysterical laughter. But, strangely enough, he'd hit the nail on the head even if his limited Loki education was courtesy of Hollywood.

  "That's the one," I said dryly. "I'll fill you in later. Please open the box."

  After a moment, the President grunted. "I can't open it." He seemed frozen in place, staring around at something behind me.

  "Why not?" My voice rose and I had to control my urge to shout at him. Right now, we couldn't afford for him to resist our help. When he pointed, I swiveled around to face the set of drawers I'd been leaning on and stared at the base of the desk, at something set into the foot panel near the floor.

  A bright red light blinked on and off, which I took to mean the box was up and functional. But right beside it, the green light was shattered, pieces of it lying on the carpet, red and green wires inside it bare and severed. The thin copper filaments inside seemed to lau
ghed at me.

  "Crap," I said, although another more foul word would have been appropriate. "They've sabotaged the shield."

  The President cleared his throat. "I saw it when I went to launch the shield, but I went with safety first out of instinct. I guess I didn't think it through."

  "You had no time to think it through. And it was the best call, Sir." The President turned his head, the gray hair at his temple sparkling.

  A soft hissing caught my ear and I tilted my head to listen closer, to ascertain the origin of the noise. It sounded like air whooshing into the box and a quick glance up at the grate in the ceiling chilled my blood. I reached for Gungnir, allowing the spear to lengthen before clearing my throat. I spoke carefully. "Sir, I need to get you of here. Now. Hold onto me and I'll get us outside, maybe as far as the sidewalk across the street."

  He stared at me, a slightly panicked look in his eyes as his gaze went from Gungnir to my face. "But how-"

  "There's no time to explain. Sorry, Sir. I don't mean to be rude. We could go directly to the address you gave but I'd need to depend on your thoughts and there's a chance you're too stressed to do it right."

  He nodded, as if he really understood what I meant, but he had no idea I'd be transporting us out of the room with merely a thought. Or that above us, a cloud of mean-looking green gas was slowly seeping into the box.

  I reached out my hand. "Hold onto me. And whatever you do, don't let go. You may feel a little disoriented and possibly slightly nauseous but you'll be fine."

  He frowned and opened his mouth. I held up my hand, feeling so bad for being disrespectful to such an important person. "Sorry Sir. No time to explain." He gave a reluctant nod but I felt only slightly relieved. "Ready?" I asked as he grabbed hold of my forearm.

  When he nodded, I tightened my fingers around Gungnir, and tapped the spear three times on the carpet, thinking of the tree-line across the street from the White House.

  Nothing happened.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX