by Jason Winn
Jane spoke up, “We need to do everything possible to secure your house and keep them out, until you can find new digs.”
But Madison didn’t want “new digs.” She wanted her grandmother’s house. That was her house. She’d bled for that thing. Jane and Sean were making it pretty clear that her super lawyers, the Outfit, wouldn’t be of much use here.
“Jane,” said Madison, “how are you not dead, if these guys are so bad?”
“I’m off the grid. Sean helped me.” She broke Madison’s gaze and turned toward the window. The air became still around her. “I haven’t seen my family in three years.”
Her face went long as she looked away, pained by embarrassment. The word “family” made Madison wonder who she’d left behind.
“Well,” said Sean as he stuffed his cash into an envelope, “you can hide from them or fight them. I give you one chance in a million of pulling off the latter. Make sure you keep changing phones too—these guys will undoubtedly have access to the cell sniffer gear all over town. The federal government basically gives them a free pass to snoop cell traffic. Gotta keep the lawmakers,” he held up air quotes, “safe.”
It had been a while since she got a new burner phone. Madison added that to her mental to-do list.
Chapter 53
Shelby’s desk phone rang. It was Deputy Director Kane’s assistant, Mrs. Billings.
“Shelby, would you come up here?” asked Mrs. Billings. Her voice was cold, with no hint of emotion.
Shelby looked down at her full coffee cup and decided to leave it on her desk. Deputy Director Kane didn’t like being made to wait.
“On my way.”
The early birds were shuffling in to the Hoover building office as Shelby made for the elevators. The only thing she could think about was her meeting with Senator Connolly. She wanted to start digging, but he hadn’t sent over the “proof” he’d promised back at Col. Trask’s house. The thought brought up unpleasant theories. Had Kane found out about her little unauthorized exploration of the Trask home? She’d have some serious explaining to do for that one.
She had a caseload big enough to fill a moving van, and she was off checking up on a crackpot theory from some stolen evidence from an explosion that clearly had something to do with her family. With what exactly, she had no idea.
The elevator opened on the top floor and she pushed the thoughts from her mind. They weren’t going to distract her for this impromptu meeting. It was probably some new directive from the Justice Department. She strolled past Kane’s secretaries and the emotionless guardian Mrs. Billings and into his office.
Kane was waiting for her, drinking from his full coffee mug. He had the build of a runner, tall and lean. His hair was still as short as when he graduated from the academy. And his gray suit was just as boring as his hobby, collecting historic newspapers, of which there were many framed and hanging on his walls. The antique periodicals, showing events like the moon landing and the end of World War I, had a place next to his numerous commendations and pictures with former presidents.
“Well, what the hell did you do?” His face was stern.
Shelby’s heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t let it crack her professional facade. “Sir?”
“I’ve got a memo here from the Attorney General, that says you’re to be temporarily assigned to a congressional subcommittee. She doesn’t even mention the name of this special subcommittee. What do you know about this?” His eyes bored holes into the back of her skull.
Relief swept over her. At least she wasn’t busted for her snooping. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about this.” That was a lie, but if Kane picked up on it, he didn’t show it.
“There’s a sealed letter here, your eyes only. I’m guessing it explains what the hell is going on. I don’t like it, but they’ve pulled this sort of thing before, back when...” Kane stopped himself, before he revealed something that was better kept secret. “Can that Special Agent Embry kid handle your shop while you’re gone?”
“Yes, sir. She’s up to speed on all the open investigations.”
Kane thought for a moment, making sure that Shelby could see that he was unhappy with this whole thing. “What about your assets? Embry in contact with them? Do they trust her?”
He was referring to Shelby’s network of domestic intel sources. People the bureau relied on for intelligence for possible terrorist activity, amongst other things. It was as if he was searching for something he could use to tell Shelby’s new master to go fuck themselves. That she was simply too valuable to national security to let go on some ridiculous adventure, dreamt up by some jackass in Congress. He was also probably most annoyed that he wasn’t in on it. Men that sat in his desk weren’t used to not knowing what was going on in their sphere of influence.
“They all know her, sir. But I will double-check everything to make sure she’s comfortable with them and they with her.”
Kane bit his bottom lip before taking a long pull from his mug, not breaking his stare, as if she was responsible for this. That wasn’t fair, was it? He finally looked away, turning to his huge office windows.
“It must be important, that’s all I can say. Knock ‘em dead, Painter.”
With that, he handed a sealed envelope to Shelby and waved her out of his office.
***
Shelby made her way to a secure conference room and locked the door. Once locked, she was assured privacy. She opened the letter, reasonably certain who wrote it.
Ms. Painter,
I hope you are doing well. This letter is utterly worthless. Please feel free to make a clever paper airplane out of it. I needed to use it as subterfuge for your leadership, make them feel like this was official. Meet me in Arlington Cemetery, Section 1, gravesite number 1243-C at noon today.
Regards,
Connolly
P.S. Make sure the paper airplane crashes and burns. No breadcrumbs.
Chapter 54
Four hours and two cups of coffee later, Shelby walked up to Senator Connolly where he stood in a remote section of Arlington Cemetery, under a huge oak tree. He looked like any other old man visiting a fallen buddy.
“I wanted to start here,” he said. He was looking down at a gravestone. It looked like all the other standard grave markers.
Shelby didn’t respond; she just looked down at the rectangular piece of granite, engraved with the words:
Austin Daly
SGT MAJ
US Army
World War I
World War II
Born April 22, 1885
Died September 13, 1951
“Toughest son of a bitch I ever met,” Connolly finally said. “He was a good man. I only knew him for a short time, I’m sad to say.”
“Who was he?” asked Shelby.
“He was a member of the 77th Division, Lost Battalion in World War I. And he was the first to give us magic.”
Struck by the comment, Shelby wanted to ask how, but she figured that was coming next.
Connolly continued. “He chose country over family. I gather it was a terrible choice, but the way he told it, he was in a devil of a firefight in the Argonne Forest and he chose to use his powers to get his men to safety, instead of taking his secrets to the grave. That man saved an entire company from being overrun by the Germans.”
“Oh my God.”
“He’d been ripped to pieces from shrapnel and machine gun fire. The 307th Regiment was pinned down and the enemy was about to flank them.” Connolly went silent for a moment as if he were reliving the battle as well. His bottom lip protruded slightly. “Then, the bullets and bombs just started missing them, missing the entire unit.”
Connolly turned to look at Shelby. “He could bend space. I believe doing that around two hundred men almost killed him, but he got them out.”
“Jesus. How did he do that?”
“Think of a rock in the middle of a stream, and the water goes around that rock. He could create pockets
in space, that didn’t exist. The bullets just went around him and his men, like the water. Pretty amazing. To the Germans it probably looked like they had all just disappeared.
“Stories from the official 77th Division records have a few mentions of him, but those are all locked away in the national archives, never to see the light of day. The men had always suspected something was odd with their sergeant, but I guess they loved him as a leader, so they never bothered him about it. He had been wounded sixteen times, before that day.”
“If he had that power, how did he ever get wounded?”
“Because it takes a lot of strength and concentration to do something like that. Having godlike abilities probably gave him a false sense of invulnerability, and he started doing stupid things. Eventually your luck runs out and you take a wound.”
“Unbelievable.”
“I saw him do it for me once. He just disappeared right in front of me, but he was still there. I just couldn't see or touch him. You could've swung a punch right where he was standing and you'd have just caught air. But, he'd be standing there laughing at you.”
“You could hear him?”
“Oh, yes, he was just not there.”
“My god.” Shelby wanted desperately to see this trick. She’d read that scientists were working on invisibility technology that bent light in the same way, but the invisible object was still there and you could absolutely hit it. “I’m sorry, you said something about breaking a code of silence?”
“Correct. Daly here was from a family of sorcerers up in New England. They were part of a larger network of secret magic societies. Members were forbidden to display or speak about magic. Kind of like the old-school mafia. They knew if governments and eventually large businesses found out about them, they would probably be exploited. But at that moment in France, he was a dead man along with his unit if they didn’t do something right then and there. Magic was his only way. He chose his fellow soldiers over family. He was a good American. A hero.”
“What did they do to him, his family?”
“I don’t know. After it was apparent that his secret was out, he came to work for the military under a program called Project Ajax. It was overseen by my predecessor and eventually Colonel Trask. Sorcerers were used for covert operations during the Cold War and other regional conflicts.”
“Is that still going on?”
“No. We had to kill the program along with those members of Congress I mentioned at the house.” He paused and took in a deep breath. “Shelby, magic is too powerful to get out into the public. It could destroy the entire global order. If the wrong person or people—or God forbid, terrorists—get ahold of it, learn how to use it, we’d be in a mess of shit.
“I’ve looked over your career records. You’re honest, hard-working and most of all you know how to keep your mouth shut. Plus, I’ve already vetted you after we parted company at Trask’s house. That’s why you have to take over as the guardian of America’s magical knowledge.”
Shelby could see this coming a mile away. “Okay,” she finally said, letting it all sink in.
“I can see you’re worried,” said Connolly. “Don’t worry. It’s won’t be as bad as you think. Come with me. It is time for the next lesson.”
Chapter 55
Shelby followed Connolly as he drove through Old Towne Alexandria. The local radio news was going on about how Hurricane Natalie was veering north and was expected to make landfall somewhere north of the capital area sometime in the next few days. The expectation was that it would be a category three, but when was the National Weather Service ever correct?
The cars stopped in front of an old four-story building, white brick with navy blue shutters. Five chimneys rose from the slate-shingled roof. An historic marker noted this was the Old Dulany Armory. It was closed, pending renovations by the Alfred G. Connolly Historical Preservation Society. And a warning was posted that the property was under surveillance, lest any hooligans wanted to vandalize or trespass. The sidewalk, like the road, was the same cobblestone as it had been when the Founding Fathers roamed the street.
“I trust you’ve never been here,” Connolly said as he grunted and got out of his car.
“Never even heard of it.”
“Most people haven’t heard of half the historical buildings on this street, let alone the area. People just don’t give a shit anymore. Of course, it’s been closed to the public for almost seventy years. Shall we?” Connolly motioned toward the alley, between the armory and a row of colonial-era brownstone homes.
It wasn’t uncommon for historic sights to be closed for lengthy periods. And eventually people just stopped asking what was going on with the sights and forgot about them. So long as they never became eyesores or squatters’ palaces, the locals just ignored them the same as they would a tree or a dumpster, fading into the landscape.
Intrigued, Shelby followed him into the narrow alley. Ivy crept up the sides of the walls It smelled green and alive. Connolly stopped after a few steps and studied the wall, mumbling to himself. “Yes, here it is.”
He looked left and right to check for voyeurs, before producing a small plastic card, similar to the one Shelby used to get into her office at work. He waved the card over a leaf of ivy and there was a faint click.
“Quickly,” Connolly said, pulling open a door in the wall.
Shelby stepped through to a dimly lit stairwell.
“Just go on down, the lights will come on.”
Shelby did as she was told. The wooden stairs groaned under her weight, and soon Connolly was right behind her and the space lit up with fluorescent light.
“Hang a left at the bottom.”
What was apparently the basement opened up at the bottom of the stairs. Shelby was greeted with an earthen smell of dust and a hint of mildew.
“Haven’t been here in a while,” said Connolly. He switched on more lights, revealing a room fit for a robber baron. Dark oak panels covered the walls. Paintings of men from revolutionary America, up to the modern-day adorned the walls. A large ornate conference table dominated the center of the room, surrounded by antique leather chairs.
The sight made Shelby’s chest swell with pride. She was in a secret place, with deep historical significance. She’d joined the FBI to serve her country, and now it felt like she was at the heart of something extremely important. This had all started with a concern for herself and her sisters, now she was part of something vital to the country.
“What is this place?” asked Shelby. She didn’t want to move, feeling like she was in some secret Smithsonian exhibit.
“Your office for the time being. Careful when you come and go. Don’t want anyone seeing you. If anyone asks, just tell them you’re with the historical society. They won’t care after you tell them.”
“That’s your name on the sign outside, right?”
“Yeah. I had to put something up there.”
“And what exactly will I be doing?”
“Homework for at least a few days, I’d reason. You should familiarize yourself with the history of the Ajax project, get to know the assets we have and from there, begin an investigation into who else out there was involved in that explosion. From there, you’ll need to make sure to contain any further leakages. Long term, it will be on you when to decide when, and more importantly, if you will ever allow magic to be used by the United States government again.” He grimaced. “And the way things are right now with the Congress and the White House, that’s going to be a long time from now, I’m afraid.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m an old man, Shelby. I’m all that’s left of the Ajax project. Someone has to take this over, to guard and curate the secrets.”
“How do you know I won’t just run out and tell everyone? I could run to my boss and tell him, or someone in the Justice Department, or Congress, or just start posting to Facebook. You’re being awfully trusting.”
Connolly motioned Shelby to the table and pulled a chair out for
her to sit.
“Those are good points. And after you read up a bit, you’ll see why those are foolish ideas. You’ll soon understand this knowledge could end mankind.” He walked over to the bookshelf and started running his fingers over the spines.
“If this is such valuable information,” Shelby said, pointing to the bookcase Connolly was looking at, “then why isn’t it locked away in a NORAD mountain or something?”
“They are. And in time you’ll get access to those as well. This is just a secure reading room and staging area.”
Shelby thought for a moment. What was locked away? A chilling question that would no doubt haunt her for the foreseeable future. Those were bold worlds. “What about outside of the country?”
Connolly produced a large binder from the bookshelf and placed it in front of her.
“Let’s get caught up on domestic, and then you can start having nightmares about foreign magic problems. But before I leave you here, there is something we need to get sorted out right now.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “Who is the person that brought the original files to your attention, the ones with your family names in them?”
Shelby started to speak and stopped herself, confident that she would be signing Carol’s death warrant if she said her name out loud. But she also considered the gravity of having someone with this kind of knowledge unmonitored. “No.”
Connolly’s eyebrows rose and he sat back in his chair, a look of respect painting his face. “Are you sure about that? There’s an old saying: two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.”
“Does that mean I have to kill you?” She smiled. Connolly grimaced in return. “I’ll take care of them. They won’t talk.”
“All right, Painter. You can manage that one yourself. But this individual is carrying deadly information. In the meantime, when you finish getting a lay of the land, here you go.” He produced a thin leather wallet. “Go on, open it.”
