Judgment Night [BUREAU 13 Book One] (15 page)

In defense, he held up a hand. “Whoa there, pardner. I did that radioactive morgue in Dallas."

"Correct, and I did the trans-dimensional mansion in Atlanta, and George did the hat store in Miami, so it is your turn again."

"Damn."

"Fair's fair."

The wizard started removing his backpack. “Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute. I hate this part of the job."

"As do we all."

Rid of his excess baggage, Richard experimentally gave the front seven squares a good hard rap with his wand. Nothing happened. Extending an arm, he tapped the next line of squares. Still nothing. But that was normal. The squares were probably set to activate on a weight limit, or body temperature, or mass proximity.

George uncoiled some rope from the haversack and starting tying it about Richard's waist. That was so we could pull the wizard back if there was trouble. However, George and Donaher held the rope loosely in their hands, just in case whatever got the man threatened to haul them in also. This was a most unforgiving business we were in.

Rummaging through his pockets, Richard came up empty. “Anybody have some change?” he asked.

"Are you nuts?” Mindy asked. “Carry loose change in battle? Might as well put a bell around my neck."

Richard looked at George, looked at me and I extended a hand to George. “Gimme."

"What? Give you, what?” he asked innocently.

Impatiently, I snapped my fingers. Grumbling, George dug into a pocket and unearthed a small bag of cookies. Our soldier boy did not retain his manly shape without constant effort.

Properly equipped, his staff held horizontally in both hands, Richard moved to the right and gingerly stepped on the first square. When there was no reaction, he exerted more pressure with his leg, then shifted his weight until he was standing fully on the square. Satisfied, he placed a cookie on the square to mark it. Kneeling, he examined the squares in front of him and chose the one on a diagonal. Step, pause, weight, shift, stand. Another success. He repeated the process on the square directly in front of him. Success.

It was strange thing, but there was no real rhyme, or reason to a job like this. You had to move almost entirely by feel, on instinct. I used to think this would be a piece of cake for Jess. She could simply read the feelings of victory where somebody made it through and easily detect the sense of horror where a person had failed and died. But actually, the reverse is true. The two feelings were separated by mere inches, spaced so close together, occasionally overlapping, that often she would boldly walk right into the death traps and avoid the safe regions at any cost.

Again, the wizard stepped carefully ahead. But this time as he shifted his weight, the square gave a creak and then dropped from view. A hideous grinding noise rose the exposed hole and stone dust flew up to pepper the shoes of the wizard who was floating in the air above the hole, both hands firmly wrapped around his staff.

Levitating to the right, Richard chanced a landing. No problem. As we watched, the stones closed over the opening and the floor was whole once more.

"What was down there?” I asked.

"A set of whirling blades,” he replied in a croak. “Resembled the insides of a blender."

"Nasty,” Jessica muttered. Donaher agreed.

Exercising extreme caution, Richard moved ahead another square, then went diagonal again. Of the five squares available to him, the wizard obviously didn't like the looks of any of them, but chanced straight ahead. As his foot touched the stone, it depressed with a click. Simultaneously, the wizard was airborne backwards and a column of stone rose from the floor upward to resoundingly impact on the ceiling. The square pillar and ceiling ground against each other for a minute, then the column sank to floor level and all was as before.

His limbs shaking, Richard stood on the safe square and thanked us with his eyes. Priest and soldier tipped imaginary hats in return.

Crossing his fingers, Richard tried the square to his left and survived the experience. He moved diagonally and then diagonally again. That stone took his weight for a few seconds then broke clean down the middle. Frantic, Richard hopped to the left against the wall as the last square folded upon itself with the strident sound of colliding anvils. But the square he was on now shimmed and Richard dive rolled forward as it tilted away from the wall in an effort to throw him to the right.

Pausing a moment to catch his breath, the wizard placed a cookie on the stone he was in and then floated back to the earlier safe square. It was a step backwards, but he had to complete the path. Leaving sweat stains on the stone, Richard twice more went straight ahead.

Now, he was facing the wooden door only a single stone away. It made sense that the square directly in front of the door would be safe, for ease of entrance. But the door swung outward, towards the room, so the stone to either side gave limited access.

It was a tough choice. Three squares, one almost certain death. Going for broke, the wizard stepped onto the middle stone. Nothing happened.

Beaming pleasure, Richard placed a cookie there and had one himself. He then released the rope about his waist and tossed the bag to George.

"These are great!” the wizard said happily. “Just like mother used to bake."

George made the catch. “Your mother worked for Nabisco?"

"Shaddup."

"What about the door?” Father Donaher asked, coiling the rope about hand and elbow. “Locked?"

Richard worked the latch. “Unlocked."

"Check for traps,” Jessica suggested warily.

The wizard did by running the tip of his staff along the edge of the door. “Clear,” he announced.

"Any vibrations, sounds, smells?” Mindy asked anxiously.

Richard placed his head to the door and listened. “I hear big breathing."

Big breathing? “Human, or animal?"

"Can't tell."

"Clear the avenue of attack,” I ordered quietly and the team split, moving to the side of the ledge. “On the mark, throw open the door. Rich, stay hidden behind it in case we need a surprise."

He nodded and thumbed the latch on the handle.

"Ready, set, go!"

Pulling the door on top himself, we could see a small room, and completely filling the far wall of the cubicle was a giant face. A huge distorted face, some twelve feet tall. It appeared mostly human, but with odd muscle arrangements and weird peaked eyebrows. Broadly, the thing smiled at us in unabashed pleasure.

"SALUTATIONS!” he boomed cheerfully.

That startled the lot of us. It spoke English?

"It has some kind of a built-in translator,” Jessica said, touching her forehead. “I sense no hostile thoughts, only a tremendous desire to serve."

Friendly, eh? Swell. I cleared my throat. “Ah ... hi there."

"GREETINGS! LONG HAS IT BEEN SINCE I HAVE TALKED TO OTHERS."

"And who are you?” Mindy asked politely.

"I AM, THE GATE."

"The gate to what?"

"BEYOND."

"Beyond what?"

"ME."

This was almost too weird for words and as the conversation could go on till the sun cooled, I decided to speed things along.

"Acknowledged,” I said pretending to force back a yawn. I know a flunky when I see one, and this guy had butler written all over him. “Please, inform us as to your exact purpose and be quick about it."

"YES, SIR. THE MASTERS MADE ME A LIVING BARRIER, DESIGNED TO ALLOW THE ENTRY OF ONLY THE DESERVING."

"And who are the deserving?” Jessica inquired curiously.

I could have cheerfully shot her for saying that. Geez, you never give a servant or guard, a chance to think. Talk fast, move fast. That was my motto.

"YOURSELVES,” he said to our relief. “MY NOSE CAN EASILY SMELL THE MAGIC, THICK AND SWEET, FROM EACH OF YOU."

Huh? Ah! The bracelets. Course, Donaher didn't have one, but then he was a cleric and magic in his own way. Sorta. Kinda. The masters liked magicians, eh? I made a note of that.

Father Donaher raised his voice, “How do you function?"

"STEPPING INTO MY MOUTH GIVES PASSAGE TO THE OTHER SIDE."

Oh brother. Tell me another.

"He has got to be kidding,” the priest muttered, fingering the rosary in his pocket.

Surreptitiously, George tapped his fingers on the satchel charge and I shook him off. Time for that later.

"PLEASE, COME,” the face begged. “WHO SHALL BE FIRST?"

"Me,” Mindy said, stepping forward.

A chorus of disbelief rose from everybody in the room, including Richard behind the door.

Roughly, I pulled her aside. “Are you insane?” I snarled softly. “My glasses give a reading of pure green. That's neutral magic, it may do anything."

"Jess said the face only wants to serve,” she reminded patiently. “Besides, I have the Meld. If there's any trouble, such as, he tries to eat me, I'll activate the bracelet and walk out. Then George can waste him."

"Darn tootin',” George said, giving a wink.

Crazy? Yes. But the idea had merit. “Sounds okay, first we should..."

However, Mindy was already crossing the floor, following the trail of cookies. “See you soon,” she called over a shoulder.

Approaching the Gate, the face smiled and opened his jaw wide. Daintily, she stepped onto the tongue and the mouth closed. Watching, I nervously clenched and unclenched my fists. Risk taking was part of the job, but this bordered on suicide.

"Hey, its okay, chief,” George said, offering the bag of cookies in a friendly manner.

"Tell me why,” I asked coldly, ignoring the confection.

"Mindy has a grenade in her hand with the pin pulled. If she has to make a fast exit, I bet the pineapple stays. And eight ounces of exploding plastique in your head will seriously ruin anybody's day."

That made me feel better. Then my watch beeped. I pressed the talk switch. “Mindy? You okay?"

"Sure, safe and sound,” her voice replied. “I'm on the other side of the cliff. You have to see this place. We really have our work cut out for us."

This code was old. I hoped Mindy remembered. “King's knight three to queen's rook four, check."

There was a pause. “Oh shit, I used to know this. Ah ... queen's pawn five to king's bishop two, checkmate."

"Really?” I asked impulsively.

Yes, she is fine,
Jessica said inside my head.
Now shut up and get somebody else there.

We sent George over next and, one at a time, I had Richard float our two carts of equipment into the mouth. The wizard followed, then Jessica and Father Donaher. But as the priest entered the cubicle, the face sniffed loudly, its features contorting into a scowl of rage and disgust.

"HOLD!” the Gate bellowed. “THIS SMELLS AS NO MAGE, BUT A ... A CLERIC!"

Oh crap. Massed together, Michael must have been lost in the crowd, masked by our aura of magic. But standing alone, the priest was far too noticeable.

"Nonsense,” Father Donaher scoffed, doing an excellent impersonation of being amused. “I? A cleric? Why, I simply carry a holy talisman."

"DIE CLERIC!” the face screeched, as burning rays leap from its devil eyes and Father Donaher fell to the floor a screaming torch.

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Caught off-guard, I didn't have anything prepared. But it took only a second to click off the safety on the M16 and let Gate have the full thirty round clip, the armor piercing rounds stitching the pale flesh. Then I triggered the grenade launcher and put 40mm of high explosives right between those damn cat eyes.

Black blood flew everywhere, hot gore pumping from the ruin of the face like a fountain in hell. The nose and left eye were completely gone, exposing bone, ganglia and electronic circuits. Damaged but not dead, the Gate glared hatefully at me from its remaining orb and as I ducked to avoid the death ray, the face exploded.

Noise and flame filled the room, gobbets of flesh smacking into the walls. As the reverberations ceased, I stood and saw faint figures moving through the swirling smoke. Slamming in a fresh clip, I stopped from firing just in time when I recognized George and Jessica moving across the floor. Behind them was a gaping hole ringed with tattered shred of bleeding flesh.

"What the heck went wrong?” George demanded, hopping off the last square to the ledge. His satchel charge was not evident.

"Medical, stat!” I cried, heading for the burning Donaher.

Together, we raced to the priest and beat out the flames with our jackets. His screams were only low moans by now. Jess emptied her canteen on the man, while George took the smoking shotgun from his black hands and removed the shells from the pockets of the smoldering jumpsuit.

Appearing by my side, Richard gasped at the sight on the floor and knelt to force some powder into the priest's throat. Then he liberally poured the contents of a small vial over the man. From my pocket medical kit, I gave Michael an injection of morphine for the pain: 5cc, 10cc, more. Finally, at 20cc, the priest went unconscious. The poor man had my deepest sympathy. We had each been set on fire at one time or another. It's what gave us our true fear of Hell.

"I don't think he's going to make it,” Richard said, moving his staff over the smoking body, bathing the man in a soft golden light. “Systemic shock, burns over half of his body, respiration down, blood pressure down, pulse 45 and dropping."

"Do a Jump Start,” I ordered filling another syringe with digitalis.

The wizard slumped. “After everything I've already done today? Can't. Too drained."

"Well, do something!” George demanded, tenderly mopping the priest's face with a damp handkerchief.

"Sorry, my friend. But nothing I can cast will stop him from dying."

Jessica trust something into my hand. “Here."

It was a copper bracelet. I didn't have to ask which. First Raul, then Hassan. We'd be damned if another member of our group was going to die, not if there was anything we could do to help them. Tenderly, I slipped the band about his blackened wrist, the hot skin crumbling into flakes at the slight pressure and mentally shouted the activation phrase.

There was a flash of light and Father Michael Donaher sat up completely healthy. His freckled cheeks rosy, eyes bright and shiny. However, the priest was now bald as an egg, his thick thatch of red hair and eyebrows gone. He vaguely resembled somebody famous, but I couldn't quite tell who.