Magic Ops

by T. R. Cameron

  Her dad’s unassuming voice registered concern. People sometimes underestimated him because of the way he sounded, but any lack of brawn was more than compensated for by dramatically impressive mental acuity. She liked to think she’d had some of that passed down to her. “Are you sure you’re okay being around magic so often?”

  She turned her head away from the phone and sighed before she returned to the call. “I’m paying attention to it. There’s not much more I can do. What I absolutely won’t do is hide from it.”

  “Exactly what I told him, her mother chimed in. “But you know he’s a worrier.” She’d been a rower in college and maintained her physique by continuing the practice every morning without fail, which made her an interesting complement to her thin, academic partner. Her IQ wasn’t quite as high as her husband’s, but she possessed a unique way of examining things that often resulted in innovative solutions. The two made an unbeatable research team.

  “Thanks, Mom.” At a knock on the door, her head jerked toward it. “Hold on,” she told her parents, then swiped to access the camera on her landing. Bryant stared up with a small smile. She switched back to the call. “Bryant’s here. Gotta go.”

  “Love you,” her father said, his voice lost behind her mother’s excited “That is definitely the name of a cute person. Is this business or social? Because—”

  Diana closed her eyes and hung up. She pointed at the troll, who had just done a triple somersault and landed flat on his back and now rolled around in laughter. “You be careful, mister. There are no hospitals for magical creatures nearby.” She unlocked the door, let Bryant in, and scanned the street for trouble before she closed and locked it again.

  He spotted the hall coat rack and hung his black wool overcoat on it. Another acrobatic feat by the troll caught his attention and inspired laughter. “It seems like your new friend has fitted in very well.”

  She shook her head. “The bad news is he’s a maniac. He’s done this nonstop for hours. It’s either sleep or freak out, apparently. The good news is, he’s so small that a little fruit and cheese keeps him fed.”

  Bryant made a sour face. “Fruit and cheese?”

  She folded her arms. “I don’t know what to feed a troll. I put a bunch of stuff in front of him, and he seemed to like fruit and cheese. So that’s what he gets.”

  He laughed. “Fair enough.”

  Diana took him on a quick tour of the first floor of the house, and they sat at the dining counter in the kitchen.

  “So, you’ll want this.” Bryant slid an ID badge across to her. “It’ll get you into the main headquarters.”

  “Which is where?”

  The agent put two pieces of paper on the white surface, each with a string of numbers on it. The one for latitude had a small dot beside it.

  His expression went blank. “Memorize those and then eat them.”

  “Seriously?”

  He broke into a grin and laughed. “Nah. Just screwing with you.”

  She smacked him, not too hard but with some energy behind it, and he groaned in response. Then she pouted dramatically. “Aw, did the big bad magic mercenary hurt you?”

  Bryant blinked and raised a single finger slowly in response. She stood, laughing at her victory. “I have water, coffee, and beer. Which do you want?”

  “A beer would be good.”

  Diana took the few steps to the fridge and pulled out two Hellbender Ignite IPAs, popped the tops on an opener mounted on the wall, and handed him one. She crossed to the couch and sat on the side not currently occupied by a gymnast. For a moment, she stared at the troll with all the seriousness she could muster—which wasn’t much in the face of his cuteness. “Okay, little guy, time to bring it down a bit. The middle section of the couch is yours.” She turned to Bryant, who had followed her into the room. “You can have the far side.”

  Bryant sat cautiously. The troll still practiced flips between them but showed some signs of slowing.

  The agent cleared his throat. “So, is everything okay after the last run?”

  She nodded and took a long sip of her drink.

  “Good deal. I did some research on trolls but didn’t discover much. There are apparently some spells to help interact with them, but I couldn’t find out what they are or if anyone can do them.”

  “Me neither.”

  He regarded the troll, who had now settled and lay on the couch, his back on the seat and his tiny legs on the backrest. “I know some people who know some people, and they’re looking into it.”

  A smile crept onto her face. “Thanks.

  The troll chirped, “Thanks.” They both stared at him.

  Diana shook her head. “Well, that’s new. He must like you.”

  “Nobody likes me.” He laughed.

  The troll chirped, “Nobody,” in a slightly lower voice, obviously trying to imitate the man.

  She shook her head at the ludicrousness of the situation. “Life’s an adventure, isn’t it?” A sudden rush of nervousness cascaded through her, but she pushed it down and tried to sound casual. “I planned to watch a movie. Since you’re here, I might even make popcorn. Do you want to stay for a while?”

  From between them, a tiny voice said, “Stay.”

  Both humans burst out laughing, and Bryant said, “It’s got to be bad luck to argue with a troll. Sure.”

  She hit the required buttons on both her remotes and the opening scene of Assassins started to play.

  Bryant leaned forward. “No way. I love this film. It’s one of Banderas’ best early ones.”

  Diana snorted. “Please. He was much better in Desperado. Anyway, Stallone’s Robert Rath steals the show.”

  At a sleepy sigh, they looked down as the troll curled into a ball. A drawn out, “Rrrrrathhhh,” preceded a snore far out of proportion to the creature’s size.

  She looked at Bryant. “Rath. I think he just named himself.”

  He rolled his eyes. “If you have to choose a Stallone character, why not Rambo?”

  “I’m losing what little respect I have for you. If I were to choose just any Stallone role, it would have to be Rocky. Rambo? Please.” She looked down and her face hurt from grinning. “But no, I can’t argue with his choice. Tough, smart, canny, and always comes out on top.”

  “If those are the criteria, Rocky and Rambo are still on the table, not to mention Demolition Man.”

  “It’s done. Discussion closed. His name is Rath.” She pointed at the kitchen. “Popcorn and toppings are in the cabinet on the left. Bowls are in the one below it. Go make yourself useful.” Bryant rose with a chuckle and moved in that direction. She called after him. “And stay out of the fridge! I’m the only one who goes in there.”

  He raised his hands facetiously. “Yes, boss.”

  She smiled, grabbed a bandana from the back of the couch, and draped it over the troll. He snuggled under it and displayed a sleepy smile.

  “Nice to meet you, Rath.” She spoke quietly so Bryant wouldn’t hear.

  Bryant banged around in the kitchen and she pushed to her feet with a sigh.

  Idiot. He’d better not try to sneak into the fridge. I’d better hide my Cherry Coke if I have guests.

  She looked back once more.

  And maybe put a troll-proof lock on the fridge. I’d hate to see what caffeine would do to him.

  She laughed at her suddenly bizarre life and headed for the kitchen.

  Chapter Nine

  Diana took the curves in the parking are much faster than necessary as excitement and uncertainty warred within her. A small voice cheered, “Whee!” from inside her large black leather purse, which was secured with the passenger seatbelt. She smiled, navigated another curve with a screech of tires, and mashed the brakes to stop perfectly between the lines of an empty space.

  The building was in another industrial park but this one was older than the test facility with red brick, manicured lawns, and plentiful windows. The main ARES location in DC was innocuous among the man
y other identical constructions. She’d been told to use an employee-only entrance, as the other would take her into the cover business—a telemarketing company currently engaged by a lobbying firm of some kind. The workers had no idea what lay under their workspace.

  She tapped her ID against a flat panel beside an otherwise unremarkable door and the locks clicked their release. Briskly, she stepped inside, only to find her way blocked several feet ahead by a thick curve of plexiglass. A matching piece rotated closed behind her to leave her encased in a translucent oval about as wide as her outstretched arms and twice as long.

  She looked around, confused.

  Bryant. That bastard. I bet he failed to mention this in the instructions on purpose.

  A pleasant male voice emanated from hidden speakers. “Please place your palms on the handprints to your left and right.” Sure enough, faint outlines of hands were marked on each wall. She shrugged her purse up to her shoulder and complied.

  The panels lit beneath her palms and the space filled with a low buzzing.

  I hope X-rays aren’t harmful to trolls.

  Apparently, everything was in order as the front barrier rotated aside to allow her to pass. She strode forward and turned a blind corner to discover a sleek lobby area with a curved glass-topped desk. A thin man with sandy hair, trendy glasses, and a dark suit rose behind it. He extended a long arm to shake her hand. “Agent Sheen, welcome. I’m Michael, and I will take care of your orientation today.” He glanced at her bag, and she pulled it closer.

  “Hello, Michael. Thanks.”

  He tapped the ID badge hanging from a lapel of his jacket. “You’ll want to put yours somewhere it can be seen easily. The guards here tend to subdue first and ask questions later.”

  She nodded and clipped hers to her own jacket. Her suit was dark blue, with pants instead of a skirt. She wore mid-height brown moto boots in place of the standard issue footwear or something more attractive but impractical. While she was willing to meet expectations partway, she drew the line below the knee.

  Okay, occasionally above the knee, but that’s only the one pair. Well, two.

  Michael gestured her forward and walked with her. “Do you have any questions before we get into the details?”

  She pointed up. “The business above. Are they part of us?”

  He had the enthusiasm and pride of a tour guide. “They are, although they aren’t aware of it. Somewhere, way up the corporate chain, we own their parent company.”

  Diana nodded. “Security seems tight down here, given that you’ve chosen to put civilians a level away.”

  “It is a calculated risk, to be sure. There are safeguards in place for both them and us. For instance, the entry cylinder checked your fingerprints and examined you for metal, explosives, and every other kind of weapon material we can test for. It also matched your height, weight, and other distinguishing characteristics against the records in our database.”

  “Impressive.”

  He shrugged and gave a spokesmodel smile. “We can’t be too careful these days, right?”

  They had traveled along standard-issue corporate corridor with multiple turns. Everything was in an attractive and no-doubt calming shade of ivory. Her internal compass was fairly sure they were now somewhere on the far side of the facility from where she’d entered. “I presume this labyrinth is another defensive measure?”

  “Got it in one, Agent Sheen. There are countermeasures all along our route. If the facility were in intrusion mode, or if it didn’t sense your badge, we would never have made it to the first turn.” He tapped his ID against a thick door leading toward the inside of the building and typed a six-digit code on the keypad above the sensor. The barrier slid aside with a soft hydraulic hiss to permit access to the inner workings of ARES DC.

  Ahead was a briefing space that featured a large table with a display surface. Seven feet or so away to either side, curved mounts turned it into an oval. The displays attached to them reached from two feet off the ground to about six feet high. They were arranged tall, rather than wide, and appeared to be blank. A dark-suited woman with a bright red blouse and glasses similar to Michael’s moved from one darkened monitor to the next. She stared at what appeared to be nothing for a few moments before moving on.

  Michael launched into his description with obvious pride. “We call this the core. It’s where team briefings take place. The display mounts are on tracks.” He pointed at the floor to indicate them. “That way, the space can expand or contract to fit the needs of the moment. To the left and right are extendable panels that make it possible to separate the core in its smallest version from the rest of the area, allowing our technicians and analysts to continue their work at the computers you see arranged around the periphery.”

  She studied a row of techs on each side who wore identical glasses and seemed laser-focused on their tasks. The monitors were blank, which meant they could be doing almost anything. She chose one at random and pointed. “That man is playing Galaga. He thought we wouldn’t notice, but we did.”

  Michael laughed. “You’ll fit in very well here, Agent Sheen.”

  She returned a grin. “Diana.”

  He nodded.

  “So the eyewear lets them see the displays, is that it?”

  Her guide nodded again. “Standard AR glasses for everyone, although the ones you wear in the field are a little more resilient than these.” He tapped his own. “We’ll get to that soon.” He pointed to the right. “That way is the administrative offices and such. You have a home there. It’s rather small, but you won’t spend much time in it anyway.”

  “It seems like space is at a premium.”

  Michael smirked. “That’s because most of the place is reserved for the fun stuff. Let’s go take a look.”

  He led Diana to the left and repeated the security procedure to leave the center section. The hall continued forward, and he pointed in that direction. “That way is medical and science. We have analysis and research labs that rival the best you can find anywhere.”

  “Better than the FBI?”

  His grin was like that of a proud parent. “We used their top-line stuff as a starting point. But we’ve gone much farther in the process of creating our own.”

  She gestured around them. “Where does the money for all this come from?”

  Michael shrugged. “That’s beyond my knowledge, I’m afraid. I trust that someone has that figured out.” He turned to the right and led her three-quarters of the way down. Before he opened the next door, he said, “You’ll love this.”

  They entered, and Diana had to admit he was right. It was her kind of place. Technologies in various states of assembly lay on tables around the room, with happy-looking technicians at work on them. A firing range was set up on the rear wall, surrounded by thick glass. A door opened on the right side near the range, and an older man bustled forward.

  His hair brought Einstein immediately to mind—or maybe Doc Brown from Back to the Future. It was unkempt and seemed impervious to gravity. His wide face held a warm smile and despite some extra padding around his midsection, he moved with grace. He wore a white lab coat over a black T-shirt and jeans. As he neared them, she could see his shirt read, Ask me about my Erdos number with a ridiculous-looking mathematical equation below it. As he reached them, she extended a hand. “Diana Sheen.”

  With a laugh, he raised his own hands, which were damp with liquid. Her nose told her it was gun oil, and he confirmed it. “I’ve been cleaning your new weapon, Diana. Come take a look.” He bustled away.

  Michael laughed fondly. “His name is Carl Emerson, but we call him Ems.” He walked toward the open door and she followed. “He thinks it’s short for Emerson, but the rest of us know that it’s actually short for mad scientist.”

  “I heard that,” Emerson called from the nearby room, seemingly unoffended by the moniker.

  A little voice from her purse replied, “Heard that.”

  He chooses today to be chatty. Awe
some.

  The scientist sat behind one of the ubiquitous tables and locked the pieces of a Glock 19M into place. He pointed it away from everyone and pulled the trigger to receive a satisfying click as the hammer fell on an empty chamber. His expression a little smug, he handed it over for her inspection. It shone like it was fresh from the factory.

  “It looks great,” Diana complimented honestly.

  Ems rolled his tall stool several feet left and motioned her forward. A plexiglass mold was mounted on the table with a seat in front of it. He pointed at the gun and the mold with two fingers, then at her and the chair. She sat and lowered the pistol into the cavity. He attached a cable running from a nearby laptop to a small port she hadn’t noticed on the inside top of the grip.

  With a few deft movements, he hit some buttons and gave her orders. “Hold the gun with your right hand.” She wrapped her fingers around it. “Rotate a few degrees to the right.” She did so and noted how weird it felt to hold it in that position. “Same distance to the left of center.” She complied. “Now, let’s repeat the process with your left hand.”

  When they were done, he motioned at the pistol. “It’s now programmed to recognize your palm and fingerprints, no matter where they appear on the grip. This will prevent anyone but you from using the weapon. Before you go, you should take it to the range and get used to it.” He slid a box of ammo to her. “Safety rounds. These are not to leave the building.” She nodded, and he looked at her with an expectant smile.

  Diana grinned at his enthusiasm. “Thank you, Ems.”

  He cackled and spun his seat a half turn to the right. “I see that your next meeting has arrived.” She and Michael both turned together. A young woman with blonde curls that reached below her shoulders stood in the doorway. She was thin and had a manic energy about her that was immediately noticeable.

  The newcomer smiled at all of them. “I’m Kayleigh. Let’s get you finished up, Agent Sheen.”

  She led them back into the main room to a table that was cleaner than the rest. Before Diana had a chance to examine it, Kayleigh said, “So, I hear that you made some terrorists upset with you on your first day.”