Ironclad

by Daniel Foster

  W

  Admiral Colson and Maxwell weighed one another. Their personalities balanced in the middle of the room, warping the air like heat wave.

  “It’s good to see you,” Colson said.

  “I wish I could say the same,” Maxwell replied.

  Pressurized silence slid by.

  “That’s because you don’t understand.” Colson replied.

  “I think I do,” Maxwell said.

  Colson leaned forward. His chair creaked.

  “No,” he said. “You don’t.”

  W

  What’s the point anyway? Garret thought glumly as he squeezed away from the vegetable bins and the dancers. What was the point in trying to find the Black Hand? What could he do to stop them? What could any of them do? He paused for a moment to watch the dancers. At the moment they were dancing in a line, alternating men and women. The women wore red skirts and black vest-like tops, beneath which they had white shirts with loose sleeves. The men wore similar shirts, and blue pants with wide belts, the ends of which hung down their legs. Everything was beautifully embroidered, and the footwork of the dance was as intricate as the embroidery.

  Garret turned away and began weaving down the street. A motorcar honked loudly as it rattled past on the cobblestones.

  With regret, Garret finished the last bite of his sausage roll. He thought about going back for another, but the crowd was too thick, and he hadn’t made any progress on their mission.

  It’s not a mission anymore, Garret thought. They had only come here because Burl wanted them to. But as soon as they had arrived, they had all begun to realize the daunting size of their task. As they’d come around the last hill before Sarajevo, all of them had crowded to the front of the wagon, as if Sarajevo was going to be too small to see if they didn’t get up close. Sarajevo was huge of course, filling the high-altitude valley and sprawling into the hills as far as they could see.

  Bewildered and overwhelmed by the festivities, they had shared a late breakfast at a deli, then decided that the only logical way to proceed was to split up. Fishy had mumbled something about there being no logic to this at all, but he had taken his money and set out in the direction Velvet assigned him without further complaint.

  In reality, they all knew Fishy was right. Or at least, by now they all did. Garret had wandered the streets for an hour before he’d had to admit the uselessness of their attempt.

  W

  “I know you intend to start a war,” Maxwell said to Colson. “The first industrial war the world has ever seen. It would ravage our way of life.”

  “I’m not going to destroy our world, Captain, I’m going to save it. And you’re going to help me.”

  “No.” Maxwell said. “I am not.”

  W

  Garret had reached the end of the market street. He stopped to watch a parade go by. This too seemed more solemn. Some of the participants were dressed as clergy. Others were dressed as medieval knights. A large percentage of them were carrying religious pennants depicting people with halos and robes.

  That guy right there could be in the Black Hand for all I know. Or that guy. Or all of them. Hell, I could have walked past a hundred people who work for the Black Hand, Garret thought. They’d have to be holding up a sign that said “Black Hand,” before I’d know. Then Garret shook his head ruefully at the thought. Good Lord, even then I still wouldn’t know, ‘cause they’d have written it in Serbian.

  Garret sidled along the edge of the parade. He glanced up at the sun. The sun was more reliable than any rich man’s pocket watch, and Garret had relied on it for so many years that he could tell what time it was with no more than five minutes of error, regardless of the season.

  Well, he thought, holding his hands up and backing away from an aggressive textiles salesman. I’d better head back to the deli. I’ll get there a few minutes early.

  They’d all agreed to meet back at the deli at noon. That way they could pool discoveries. Garret sighed again as he worked his way around a quietly arguing family. He already knew none of his friends had found anything either. Nor would they.

  W

  “In the last three decades,” Maxwell replied. “The world’s destructive technology has increased exponentially. We can obliterate thousands with the pull of a trigger. But our medicine has little changed since the dark ages. If you begin this war, hundreds of thousands could die.”

  “Millions,” Colson said. “Millions will die, because you’re going to give me my gold.”

  “No.” Maxwell said. “I am not.”

  “You say that because you don’t know what I know.”

  W

  Garret wound down one crowded street after another, no longer able to enjoy the music and food quite as much. Ahead, he spotted a bridge across a shallow river. It was the last landmark he remembered before the deli.

  Garret was dejected. They were going to fail Burl. The little guy had never asked any of them for anything, except this, and they were going to fail him. Garret was tired of failing. After this was all said and done, he was going to make some changes in his life, starting with not taking on impossible tasks.

  Garret turned the last corner beneath the crossed signs for Appel Quay and Franz Joseph Street. The deli was on the corner. It was a white block building with high arched windows and a black banner across the door. The flowing script read “Moritz Schiller.” He stepped up on the curb and headed for the door. He wasn’t looking forward to the expressions he would see on his friend’s faces. Certainly they would all have come up empty handed.

  Garret took a breath and pushed through the door into the crowded deli.

  I’m sorry, Burl, he thought. You’re just gonna have to forgive us this one.

  W

  “Then why did you come?” Colson said, with what could have been, on another person, in another place, during another life, a ghost of a smile.

  “Because you are going to recall your assassin.”

  “A lie?” Colson asked. Which of course it was. Maxwell was there for several reasons, but they had little to do with the impending assassination. If Bartram’s team could stop the assassin, things would be better in the short term; but if they couldn’t, the long term results would be nearly the same.

  “Uncertain of your teenagers, are you?” Colson queried drily.

  Maxwell did not respond.

  “A lie…” Colson said slowly, contemplating, but fixing Maxwell with his old grey eyes. “The truth was the best lie we ever told. Wasn’t it?”

  Maxwell said nothing.

  “It’s the only lie that really works,” Colson resumed. “Men don’t trust words, they only trust other men. Lie to their faces, and they’ll hate you; but mislead them with the truth, and they’ll follow you to the gates of hell. Won’t they, David?”

  “Time is short, Admiral,” Maxwell said.

  “How many boys are rotting on the bottom of the ocean because they trusted you, Captain Maxwell?”

  “I know what I am, Admiral,” Maxwell said simply. “I can’t forget. But I also know what you are, and I have not forgotten that either.”

  “You don’t know me at all. Not yet,” Colson said. “You’ve chased me for years without even knowing who I was. Now look.” He spread his hands. “We’re going to finish this together. Side by side.”

  “On that we agree,” Maxwell said. “This ends today.”

  W

  Garret drummed his fingers on the tabletop, absently. He checked the clock again. Yep, it was one minute later than it had been one minute ago. The light was strengthening through the deli windows. An attractive girl with dimples came to his table and said something in Serbian, which he took to be asking him if he wanted anything. He shook his head and tried to smile at her. She returned the smile and left again.

  He wondered distractedly if sitting in a restaurant meant you were supposed to order something. Their morning meal here had been the first time he�
��d ever eaten in a restaurant. He glanced around. A couple people stood in front of the long deli counter and glass cases, but most of the tables were empty. Besides, that other guy about Garret’s age didn’t look like he’d ordered anything either. But then the guy’s food arrived. A sandwich of some sort. He seemed to be waiting for someone as well. He was maybe a few years Garret’s senior. That would probably make him about Twitch’s age, come to think of it. Garret sighed and rubbed his eyes. The guy saw Garret do it. He raised a questioning eyebrow. Garret shrugged and raised his hands helplessly. The other guy had had a serious expression on his face since he’d walked in, but he seemed to find something amusing about Garret’s reaction. He chuckled before starting on his food.

  Garret studied him covertly. He had serious eyes and good bit of beard growth. Well maybe not a good bit, but it was a lot more than Garret seemed to be able to grow. I wonder who you’re waiting for, Garret thought. I wish we could talk to each other. I’d give anything to have somebody to talk to right now. Anything to get his mind off watching the clock and growing more worried by the second.

  W

  “You know our country is doomed, David,” Colson said, and half his mouth actually did smile. “Be it in this war, or a hundred years from now. The United States cannot, by nature, be long-lived.”

  “It is the fate of all republics,” Maxwell said simply.

  “So the Naval Academy does still teach history. I’m glad.”

  “Tell me,” Colson said, steepling his fingers. “What do you know of Albert Einstein and Max Planck?”

  Maxwell’s face darkened.

  Colson smiled with both sides of his mouth now. “Ahhh. Come,” he said. “Sit.”

  W

  Garret’s friends should have been back to the deli forty-five minutes ago. Garret drummed his fingers on the tabletop again and tried to people-watch out the windows. Folks bustled by, hands laden with children and brown paper parcels. Some wore colorful costume-like garb.

  Garret fidgeted and tried not to speculate about why his friends were late. One or two of them could have gotten lost. Velvet could get lost in an empty room. Pun’kin wasn’t much better. But not all four of them. Fishy at least would have been back on time. This wasn’t like him at all. Garret picked at a splinter on his table top.

  There’s no reason why all four of them would be late.

  Actually, there was a reason, but that was far worse than there being no reason. Garret was tapping his foot on the floor. He forced himself to stop. Though the Hollow Man was gone from Garret’s heart and soul, the fear he had so long inspired began to rise again.

  Too many of Garret’s friends were already dead in this world, even if they were still alive somewhere else. He rubbed his eyes again, squeezing them tight and pressing his fingers into his forehead as if to keep the memories at bay. They came anyway. First he saw Charlie, surrounded by heatwaves and burning coal, dropping like a sack of potatoes. Then he saw Curtis’s headless body lying on the deck beside Nancy’s smoldering snag. Then he saw Theo, his small body torn apart like so much chaff beneath a herd of cattle. Then he saw Twitch, dying in Garret’s own arms. Then he saw Burl, clutched to Pun’kin’s chest as the life bled from his small body.

  Garret was grinding his teeth, gripping the edge of the table trying to stop the memories.

  It didn’t work. And all four of his friends were far too late.

  W

  Maxwell dragged a chair to the front of the desk across from Colson. Maxwell sat.

  “Where is my gold?” Colson asked.

  Maxwell frowned flatly.

  Colson actually chuckled. “As you wish. How would you like to proceed, then?”

  So it was time. All the seas were crossed, all the cannon fodder was spent. Armies bred for Armageddon were heaped up on the borders of Europe until the world was tilting out of balance under their weight. It was time to do battle, just as men in the shadows had done battle since the beginning of time:

  By force of will.

  “I propose a game,” Maxwell answered.

  Colson’s eyes flickered with a wicked light. “Along what lines?”

  “One move. One question.”

  Colson smiled. “Except the question which each of us wishes most to know: where is the gold—”

  “And where is your assassin.” Maxwell finished.

  Colson sighed contentedly. “I had hoped it would come to this.”

  He opened a desk drawer and reached into it. He emerged with a roll of high quality leather and a box made of rare red nara wood. He set the leather on the desk between them and unrolled it. It was a chess board, hand-stitched and gold-embossed around the perimeter. The gold border images portrayed a mythical battle in which demons, monsters, angels and men fought for possession of the world.

  Colson set the red nara box sidelined to the chess board, equidistant between them both, and opened the lid. Inside it, held in wooden racks, were chess pieces, exquisitely carved like relics from another age. One set was of black marble, swirled with grey; the other was of white alabaster, riddled with blood red veins.

  The black and grey set was nearest to Colson, the white and bloody set was nearest to Maxwell. Without a word, both men began to erect their pieces. Maxwell set each piece in perfect alignment with the others, all facing directly forward: a handcrafted army staring down their opponents in perfect formation.

  Colson set each piece in the exact center of its square, but they all faced at slightly different angles, as if they were about to zig zag across the board, a swarm of hornets to be released upon their prey, unpredictable, dizzying, and deadly.

  After a deadened pause, Maxwell spoke. “Neither of us can claim to be white. You may have the first move.”

  Colson took it. He pushed a pawn forward two spaces, like a soldier sent out alone to die. Like Twitch.

  “Why did you come?” Colson asked.

  “You asked me to,” Maxwell said.

  Colson’s eyes glittered. “Come now, we won’t get anywhere if we don’t use the truth to tell our lies.”

  “I came because it’s who we are,” Maxwell answered. “It’s what we do, both of us. I came because we’re different, yet we’re the same.”

  Colson nodded and sat back. He gestured to the board, and Maxwell took hold of a piece, a knight pawn. “Why,” Maxwell asked quietly, “Did you send Emery after me?”

  Colson narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think I did?”

  W

  Garret was starting to shake with worry for his very late friends. The girl with the dimples was shooting concerned glances at him. The other guy with the facial hair didn’t seem to be noticing Garret anymore.

  All four of them went different directions. They can’t all have gotten lost. What if… what if Bartram was right? He said that party around the bonfire was just a set-up to get information out of us. We never talked about that night. If the other guys said anything about where we were going…

  It brought upon Garret the most helpless feeling he’d ever had.

  God, if you’re up there, help them. You can’t let anything happen to my friends. Please… I’ll do anything. It wasn’t really a prayer. It was just an admission of helplessness.

  The other young man rose and left the deli, his food unfinished before him.

  As the door closed behind him, the breeze from it wafted from his table to Garret’s table. As Garret began to lose himself to desperation, the breeze brought the smell from the other guy’s food to Garret’s nose. He could smell every ingredient. That wasn’t unusual. Strong emotions usually sharpened Garret’s wolf senses. But as Garret sat there and tried not to come apart, a small part of his instinctual animal mind began to claw for his attention, pointing at the scent.

  He ignored it. Oh Christ, what am I going to do? I’ve got to find them!

  The wolf within him began to insist. It whimpered and whined, slinking around the edges of his human mind,
begging for his attention, shoving the scent into his consciousness.

  Garret was having difficulty breathing. Somebody did say something. That’s the only explanation. The Black Hand was waiting for us. Even in these Serbian clothes, our hair and skin still make us stand out.

  A woman entered the deli and the breeze from the door kicked across Garret’s table. Again, it brought the smell from the other guy’s meal, which the girl with dimples was just beginning to clean up.

  This time the scent registered consciously. Garret sat up. He stared at her. Then at the plate in her hand. The overpowering scent was of the food itself: beef, pork, and lamb contained in a pastry. It was heavy with onions as well, and there was some sort of spicy cheese relish on the side. The girl gathered up the dishes.

  Two more seconds slipped away as Garret inhaled deeply, trying to isolate whatever it was that his instincts insisted was so important.

  W

  Colson moved a knight into the game. It sat there, ahead of the line of pawns, its neck taut, its mane flying, its teeth bared around its bit in an equine battle bray.

  “How long have you been with Naval Intelligence?” Colson asked.

  “Twelve years,” Maxwell answered, and slid another pawn forward. He asked, “Was Emery my son?”

  “Was?” Colson repeated. “Oh please tell me you killed your own son, you coldhearted bastard. And you think I’m a monster.”

  Both of Colson’s knights were out now, snarling and rearing. “When exactly did naval intelligence set you onto me?” he asked.

  “I was recruited to find you,” Maxwell replied, moving another piece. The board was beginning to look heavy and loaded towards the center. “That was my purpose.” Maxwell switched from answering Colson to asking his own question. “How many of the Austrian Parliament members do you control?”

  “Twenty-four,” Colson answered. “Why did you impregnate my daughter,” he asked.

  That question caught Maxwell off guard. “I didn’t,” he replied.

  Colson gave Maxwell a sharp glance.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Maxwell returned, “You only answered with a leading question. Was Emery my son or not?”