Book 2 - Daemons Are Forever (3 page)

“Big display of force, even bigger guns, and not a grain of common sense among the lot of them…got to be Manifest Destiny. The I-Can’t-Believe-They’re-Not-Fascists brigade. Truman must have got his act back together again. Who knew he’d still be mad at us, just because we destroyed his underground base and scattered his whole repellent organisation to the winds?”

“All-powerful cult leaders with delusions of godhood are often funny that way,” I agreed.

The spokesman threw his bullhorn onto the ground and stalked forward to confront us. Molly and I turned around and fixed him with a thoughtful gaze, and he slammed to a halt. He was carefully not pointing his automatic weapon at us, just yet.

“Look,” he said, in the strained tones of someone trying to be reasonable under very trying circumstances. “We both know you don’t have your golden armour anymore, Eddie. None of the Droods do. If I have to order my men to open fire, you’ll end up riddled with so many bullets your family will be able to use your corpse as a colander. You’ll have so much lead in you, your coffin will have to be labelled toxic waste, and even your DNA will end up in pieces. So will you please just do the sensible thing and surrender, and we can all get out of here!”

“I think you pushed those metaphors a bit too far,” I said.

“Definitely reaching there, at the end,” said Molly.

“Nobody does really good villainous threats anymore,” I said. “In the old days, a real villain could make your blood run cold with just a simile.”

“Hell, I could make someone wet themselves with just a baleful glare,” said Molly.

“Sorry,” I said to the spokesman. “We don’t do reasonable. Do we, dear?”

“Certainly not,” said Molly. “Bad for the image. Hey, what do you want to bet I can turn this creep into some kind of dripping snot creature before he can give the order to open fire?”

“You can’t take on a whole army!” said the spokesman. His voice was becoming just a bit hysterical. “Extreme measures have been authorised!”

“Well,” I said. “That’s always nice to know. Now we won’t have to hold back. I count fifty-seven armed men, Molly.”

“Probably more in hiding, as reinforcements,” said Molly. “He looks the sneaky type. Nice to know they’re taking us seriously, at least.”

“Who are you?” I said bluntly to the spokesman, leaning forward to try to peer through his dark visor. “Your voice is familiar…”

“Codename Alpha!” he snapped, actually shying back a little. “Are you going to come quietly, or not?”

“Oh, definitely not,” said Molly. “We have a reputation to live down to.”

I gestured at the two black attack helicopters hovering overhead, stirring our hair with their downdraft. “I really don’t approve of those, Alpha. We’re supposed to fight
secret
wars, behind the scenes of the world. The general public is never supposed to know about us, and the things we have to do.”

Alpha shrugged. “It’s a new world now. You saw to that. Surrender. Now. This is your last chance.”

I looked at Molly. “I feel like a little light exercise,” I said. “How about you?”

“I feel like kicking some heads in and stamping on some throats,” said Molly.

“Never knew a time when you didn’t,” I said. “Let’s dance.”

I armoured up, all in a moment. I subvocalised the old activating Words, and the silver strange matter held in the collar around my neck flowed suddenly forth, encasing my whole body from top to toe. Alpha stared blankly for a moment, and then actually screamed before turning and retreating rapidly back to his men. He’d been told I didn’t have my armour anymore, and he was wrong. I’d upgraded. I knew what I looked like. A gleaming silver statue, the perfect protective armour, seamless, without any joints or vulnerable points. Even my face was a featureless silver mask, through which I could see and hear and breathe perfectly naturally.

I flexed my arms, and the silver armour flowed smoothly with me. I felt stronger, faster, sharper, like coming suddenly awake after a long doze. This was the great secret of the Drood family; the marvellous armour that makes us so much more than human, that lets us do our job no matter what the bad guys throw at us. Once it was gold; now it is silver. The details change but the war goes on. I closed my hands into armoured fists, and heavy spikes appeared on the silver knuckles as I concentrated. I was looking forward to seeing what the new armour could do under battle conditions.

Alpha finally screamed an order through his bullhorn, and all the armoured men opened fire at once, concentrating their aim on me. I’d already moved to cover Molly, and I stood firm as a storm of bullets slammed into me. Instead of ricocheting harmlessly from my armoured form, as they used to with the golden armour, the silver strange matter absorbed both the impact of the bullets and the bullets themselves. Just swallowed them right up, as fast as they came. Safer on innocent passersby, I supposed, but I did wonder whether the armour would have to crap the bullets out again, later. I made a mental note not to have Molly standing behind me after the battle was over.

The armoured men realised their bullets were having no effect on me, and the fusillade died raggedly away. Molly immediately stepped out from behind me, raised her arms in the stance of summoning, and called down the elements.

“
Awake, awake, ye northern winds
…”

A great stormwind came howling down the road. It picked the armoured men up and sent them tumbling head over heels the whole length of the street. Some hid in doorways or behind cars and concentrated their fire on Molly. The bullets punched through the raging wind, only to turn into rose petals before they got anywhere near her. She was protected by all the magics of the wild wood, and nothing from the material world could touch her. She only let me protect her because she knew it made me feel better. She gestured sharply, and lightning stabbed down from the darkening skies, picking out armoured men in their hiding places and incinerating them.

New men arrived from concealing positions, carrying heavier weapons. They forced their way forward against the howling winds, step by step. Molly stabbed a finger at them, and the street was suddenly full of a dozen or so very confused-looking llamas.

Molly was on a roll.

But that kind of magic took it out of her, so I decided it was time for me to get hands-on. I charged forward into the mass of the remaining soldiers, moving at superhuman speed, driven by the inhuman strength of my armoured legs. I was in and among the armoured men faster than they could react, striking out at them with appalling augmented strength. My spiked silver knuckles stove in reinforced helmets and smashed through Kevlar as though it were paper. Blood flew on the air, and men fell screaming. Still alive. I prefer not to kill if I don’t have to. I’m an agent, not an assassin.

They crowded in around me, hoping to overwhelm me and drag me down through sheer force of numbers. They beat at me with gun butts and shot me in the face at point-blank range. I picked them up and threw them this way and that, sending them flying the length of the street with my more-than-human strength. Men crashed into walls that cracked under the impact. More and more armoured men came running to face me, and I had to admire their courage, if nothing else. I went to meet them with a smile on my lips and a song in my heart. The good thing about fighting real scumbags like Manifest Destiny is that you never have to feel bad about the awful things you do to them. And it felt good to have a solid enemy to strike back at, to take out the frustrations of the day on. I waded right into the thick of them, fists flying.

Poor bastards never stood a chance.

Armoured cars came rolling down the street, firing really big guns from embrasures. Molly turned their gunfire into pretty butterflies, and then melted all the cars’ wheels with a wave of one hand. They ground to a halt, steel rims digging into the road. Molly scowled with concentration, so intent on the mischief she was working she didn’t even see the armoured man closing in on her. Somehow he’d fought his way forward through the blustering winds, and approached her in her blind spot. He raised a gun to shoot her in the head at close range, and she didn’t even know he was there.

I grabbed the nearest man and threw him at the gunman sneaking up on Molly. The man flew screaming through the air with unnatural speed, driven by the awful strength of my armoured arm. He actually caught on fire from the friction of the air, and was a mass of flames when he slammed into the man threatening Molly. The gunman just had time to look around, and then the burning man hit him so hard I heard bones break under the impact. Molly looked at the two bodies lying on the ground some distance behind her, and then looked at me.

“I knew he was there.”

“Of course you did,” I said. “Do you think you could lay off the winds a bit? Even I’m having trouble keeping my feet.”

Molly frowned. “They’re not my winds…”

We both looked up. The two black attack helicopters were descending upon us. They came roaring in from both ends of the street at once, raking us with machine-gun fire, explosive flechettes, and long sticks of incendiaries. I just stood there and took it, untouched by the bullets or the explosions or flames that rose up around me. The armoured men around me didn’t fare as well, and broke away screaming and slapping at their burning armour. Molly turned briefly sideways from the world, and it all went right through her, like a ghost. But while she held herself midway between dimensions like that, she was helpless to fight back. So it was down to me to do something about the helicopters.

Bullets chewed up the street all around me, and fires sprang up fiercely on all sides. A thousand rounds a minute slammed into my silver chest and just disappeared. I didn’t even rock on my feet. The explosions didn’t move me, and the fires couldn’t reach me. A Drood in his armour is an unstoppable force, and a terror to his enemies. I grabbed the nearest injured man up off the street and threw him at the nearest helicopter. He hurtled screaming through the air and slammed into the helicopter’s rear rotor. His scream cut off abruptly as blood and offal flew across the sky. The helicopter swung back and forth drunkenly, its rotor smashed, and then it fell to earth like a crippled bird.

The pilot made a last desperate attempt to aim the crashing helicopter right at me. I stood my ground, braced for the impact. The helicopter loomed up before me, trailing smoke and flames. I could see right into the cockpit, see the pilots screaming hate and defiance at me. And then the machine smashed right into me, and exploded. For long moments there were only fire and sound and thick black smoke, but none of it touched me. I stood unscathed in the middle of the inferno, and then strode calmly out of it, kicking bits of wreckage aside.

I looked up, and the other helicopter was coming in for another strafing run. They were firing wildly now, half out of their minds with shock and desperation. The bullets chewed up the street and the houses, and even some of their own men. And then the bastards fired a Hellfire missile at me. Right in the middle of civilian territory. I stood my ground, braced for the impact, and caught the missile in my arms. The armour absorbed all the impact, and I bent over, hugging the missile to my chest. It exploded, and my armour absorbed most of the energy. A whole lot of windows shattered all around me, but no one was hurt. I glared up at the helicopter. I’d had enough of those idiots. They were losing it, big time. I jumped up into the air as the helicopter swept towards me and, driven by the strength in my armoured legs, I soared up and grabbed onto the front of their cockpit. The helicopter swayed and lurched wildly under the extra weight. I drew back a silver fist and punched right through the reinforced cockpit glass.

“
Get out
,” I said coldly to the two pilots.

They pushed open the cockpit doors and bailed out. I didn’t blame them. All the training in the world can’t prepare you to face a Drood field agent in his armour.

The helicopter slammed down onto the street and skidded along, throwing up sparks and smoke. I rode it the length of the street, waited till it finally screeched to a halt, and then stepped calmly down from the shattered cockpit. Some days, it’s good to be an agent. Molly strolled over to join me.

“Show-off.”

I looked around the street. Most of the armoured men were down; hurt or terrorised or not moving. The few still on their feet had thrown away their guns and were standing with their hands clasped behind their helmets. I almost had it in me to feel sorry for them. They’d thought they were coming to arrest one unarmed field agent and his girlfriend. Probably thought the size of the operation was just typical military overkill. The winds Molly had summoned up were slowly dying away, still sending furious little gusts this way and that, as though resentful at being disturbed against their will. Fires burned here and there, up and down the street, and thick black smoke curled up from the wreckage of the two helicopters.

Alpha walked slowly forward, gun and bullhorn abandoned. He stopped right before me, and to his credit he looked defeated, but not beaten. He took off his helmet, and a great many things suddenly became clear as I recognised the middle-aged face. I sent my armour back into my torc, so he could see mine.

“Philip MacAlpine,” I said. “Thought I recognised the voice. You used to have more sense than to get involved in a clusterfuck like this.”

“You know this creep?” said Molly.

“He’s with MI5,” I said. “Or at least, he used to be. Worked with Uncle James on a lot of cases, back in the day. I saw him around the Hall a lot, when I was a kid.”

“Please,” said MacAlpine. “You’re making me feel old.”

“What are you doing out in the field, Phil?” I said. “And when did you join up with Manifest Destiny?”

MacAlpine shook his head quickly. “I’m nothing to do with Truman’s private army. This is an MI5 operation; though strictly speaking of course, it isn’t, officially. This comes under DDT.”

Molly looked at me. “Pest control?”

“Department of Dirty Tricks,” I said. “Departments within departments, that don’t officially exist, for maximum deniability. Who set this up, Phil?”