Project Northwoods (72 page)

The rumbling of his stomach was the first indication that Arthur was awake. It was also the first indication that he wanted nothing to do with waking up. Even though the floor was hard and unyielding in his bedroom, it was preferable to dealing with the dead New York City outside or the ransacked halls of the apartment building. Everything that hadn’t been nailed down, including the box with his mother’s jewelry, had been taken or destroyed. Just thinking about his and others’ mementoes being hocked on a street corner somewhere was enough to make him want to sleep forever.

He cracked his eye open slightly, gauging the quality of the sun in an effort to determine what time it was. Orange light and long shadows almost provoked a groan of annoyance from him. Instead he rolled on his side and covered his head with the pillow.

The bed creaked as Stair shifted above him. “Arthur?”

“Hm?”

“I think there’s someone in the kitchen.”

Arthur bolted upright, looking at the closed door. He looked at Stair, who had her weary eyes locked just beyond him. “Did you hear something?” The clink of ceramic drew his attention. Slowly, Arthur rose to his full height and grabbed the baseball bat leaning against the near wall. He walked to the desk and took the sleeping Mollie off before shoving her under the bed. Once she was safely hidden, he crossed to the door, then quickly glanced back at Stair. He motioned her out of the bed. “We do this together.”

She smirked a little, but quickly hid it again under a serious face. Scrambling off the bed, she quietly hit the floor and approached him. Arthur took three deep breaths, mentally checking off each one, and, on the third, whipped the door open.

He exploded out of it with a roar, bat above his head and Stair screaming bloody murder behind him. There were no thugs to greet them, no platoon of heroes, not even a squad of regular beat cops. Instead, a strawberry blond woman in a trench coat peered over her newspaper from her position leaning against the island, red sunglasses catching the morning light. Underneath the coat, she was wearing the same outfit that he had seen her in before, only the tie was a deep red. She smiled sincerely and brought a mug up in a cheerful greeting. “Good morning to you, too.”

Arthur wasn’t too pleased to see her, more so out of general misanthropy than anything else. “Agent Mast.”

“Landed about an hour ago and missed breakfast.” Mast pushed herself off the island and gestured to a pair of boxes resting on the surface. “So I brought coffee and bagels.” Before Arthur could protest, Stair launched herself at the box of bagels and grabbed one in each hand. The agent smiled as the girl took a large, suffocating bite out of one before nearly collapsing on the floor in joy. “Easy there, kiddo.”

“Thank you,” Stair managed after swallowing the first unwieldy chunk. “Haven’t had real food in days.” She proceeded to devour the remnants of one bagel before turning her ravenous attention toward the other.

“You’re welcome.” Mast turned to Arthur and gestured again to the box of coffee. “Come on, Art. At least have some coffee. I even bought some nice ceramic mugs.” She held up hers, examining the tacky logo. “Do you ‘heart’ New York? I figured you might, but I’m kind of rethinking it.”

He didn’t move, preferring to stare at her. “What are you doing here?”

She set her mug down. “You read the paper?” Stepping forward, she brought the newspaper toward him, which he didn’t bother to look at.

“They tend not to deliver to post-apocalyptic neighborhoods.”

Agent Mast took a step back. With a snap, she straightened it and read off a headline: “Enforcer shot in former villain territory. Conspiracy theory gains more credence.”

Arthur remained unmoved by the information. “Not my problem.”

The laugh that left the woman’s lips was hollow and humorless. “Really?” She tossed the paper on the counter behind her. “You don’t care that people are dying?”

“Do you see anyone else in this apartment?” He took a step toward her. “Tim is dead. Talia and James have been captured.” Mast cocked an eyebrow. “Ari’s gone.” He threw his hands up. “What do I care if some rent-a-hero gets shot?”

“Because of the last part.” Her statement was immediate and impatient. “The conspiracy.”

He huffed in annoyance. “Look, if that psychopath wants to blame villains for fighting back, let him. We did fight back, remember?”

She shook her head. “You’re unbelievably thick.” She took a step toward him. “This has nothing to do with here and now. This goes back to the night your father was killed.” Mast let the words sink in for a moment. “Every single event since then has transpired to make it look like villains were planning a war all along.”

Stair looked up at her from the floor. “But we weren’t.” Her eyes flicked to Arthur. “At least my pa wasn’t.”

Agent Mast nodded. “Any kind of conspiracy of that nature would be suicide. The villain community had been responding to increasingly hostile heroic actions reasonably until…” She trailed off.

“The Fortress,” Arthur filled in the blank.

“The Fortress,” Mast agreed. “Have you ever heard of Project Northwoods?”

Stair laughed at the words. “Everyone has.”

“It’s a fringe, generic conspiracy theory. Usually trotted out by crazy people whenever something or someone needs scapegoating. Everything from taxes to fluoride in the water to lizard people controlling the universe is attached to it.” He couldn’t help but grin widely at the thought of it. “Are you saying that lizard people are trying to control us?”

“Yes.” Agent Mast’s face was dead serious and infectious, wiping the smile from Arthur’s face.

“What?”

She laughed, holding her hands up. “It was a joke.” Mast took her mug from off the counter. “But Project Northwoods is very real.” Slowly, she took a sip of coffee and swallowed, trying to center her thoughts. “In the midst of the Silver Age, almost thirty years ago, a group of super heroes formed a coalition. Hardly unusual for the time. They called themselves Pandora’s Legion.”

“Like the woman who opened the box of evils, right?” Stair asked as she pulled herself up. She crossed to the counter and proceeded to get one of the mugs Mast had set out.

The agent gave the girl an approving nod. “That would be right.” She turned to Arthur, her smile fading quickly. “Does the name ring a bell?”

Arthur nodded. “My father belonged to the Legion.” Redeemers

Agent Mast counted off her fingers. “Dark Saint, Arbiter, Dr. Maelstrom, Zealot, and Cryoman.” She brought her hands down. “The five who would purge the world of villainy. Or so they claimed.”

“So my dad’s poker buddies are, what, genocidal?”

She nodded. “Early on, Iron Curtain had managed to kill Cryoman and his entire family. Your father was helpless to stop him, and was almost killed trying.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “Afterwards… the group became radically more violent, more extreme in their rhetoric. I believe, this is when Project Northwoods was first developed.”

It was Arthur’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You believe?”

She nodded. “There’s no hard evidence one way or the other. Everything is hearsay. Pandora’s Legion would never admit to something so horrific.” She took another pull of coffee. “It would involve destroying the system set in place after Desecrator’s defeat in 1965. A return to the old ways.”

“But why?” Stair asked, taking a gulp of her own coffee. She made a face. “Cream. It needs cream.”

Agent Mast nodded and nudged the carton of cream toward Stair. The girl strained to reach it without aggravating her ankle. Mast’s attention turned back to Arthur. “The Northwoods Protocol, as its original draft was called, was a way to whip the heroic populace into a murderous frenzy when just enough of a villainous trigger caused it.”

“The bombings in 1988,” Arthur said. He shook his head. “The reign of terror… everything… it was planned?”

She nodded. “It hit the major cities the hardest, allowing like-minded heroes to rally others and begin a systematic extermination of villain-kind.” Agent Mast set her coffee cup down and folded her arms. “But there was an unexpected problem. You see, the Silver Age started because heroes and villains are both capable of causing neutrals irreparable harm.” She moved back to the counter and leaned against it. “The dry-run of Northwoods just made everyone all too aware of this again. Villains tended to hide in plain sight, so a lot of neutrals died in the chaos. That’s why the Bronze Age was ushered in with the institutionalization of villainy and the formation of the BVH.” She smiled and gestured to herself. “We make sure that each side balances the other out.”

“So you just let this happen?” Stair asked, the question coming out harsh. “You let my father die?”

Agent Mast shook her head. “No.” She took off her sunglasses, revealing her golden eyes to Arthur. “Dante, despite his public facade, was committed to bringing about the destruction of the system and, with it, villainy.” Her eyes flitted to Stair. “He used his considerable political acumen to funnel money into side projects like Fort Justice, all the while keeping them a secret. His position in the Guild also allowed him to draft policy which gradually degraded villains’ rights and their ability to defend themselves legally.” She exhaled loudly and threw her hands in the air. “He had a squeaky clean exterior and found ways to stymie any investigation. And what makes this truly terrifying is that everything that has been done up to now is completely legal.”

“Using the system to destroy the system,” Arthur said quietly. He began to breathe in harsh, rapid gasps. His eyes flitted back and forth, appearing to scan the room rapidly.

The agent nodded solemnly. “Exactly. We can’t legally touch any of them.”

“But he got blown up, didn’t he?” Stair asked, seemingly confused. “That couldn’t have been part of the plan.” She coughed out a laugh. “Otherwise it’s a really bad plan.”

“You’re right,” Mast said with a nod. “But if you think about it, Project Northwoods’s flaw is that it can’t be initiated through normal means. It takes a violent, villain aggressor to do it.” She paused before moving onto her next point. “Dante Lovelass was crazy enough to die for his cause.” She cast a semi-pained glance at Arthur. “Sorry.”

Arthur didn’t seem to notice. “The Fortress of Darkness… oh, no.”

“What?” Stair asked.

“The death ray.” He started to shake. “Get all the villains in one place, away from neutrals, and wipe it clean.”

Agent Mast didn’t say a word, but Stair’s mouth worked silently for a few moments before she stammered. “D-death ray? What are you talking about?”

“The day everything went wrong… I designed a death ray. It worked on the concept of oxygen ignition, basically making it a life-form incinerator but keeping most metals intact.” He swallowed and met Mast’s gaze. “Everyone in the Fortress is doomed.”

Agent Mast took out her smart phone and clicked on something. “This was a minor newsworthy item from the morning after your assault on the Fortress.” She showed him the screen, displaying a photo of a newspaper article titled “NYC Heroes’ Guild Launches New Spy Satellite.” Arthur covered his mouth, looking for all the world like he was trying to stifle a scream. “I can guarantee you that’s not a spy satellite.”

“Why can’t the BVH stop it?” Stair asked.

Mast put her phone back into her pocket. “They haven’t broken any laws. And, if backed into a corner, Arbiter will use the death ray.” She shook her head. “The Bureau will be unable to take official action. Which is where you come in, Arthur.”

“I can’t do anything.” Arthur grunted and moved to the couch. “If I try to help, everyone will die.”

Stair was watching him as he leaned on the couch, trying to figure out what to do. “Everyone will already die, Art,” the girl said quietly. “All you’d be doing is trying to stop it from happening.”

“She has a point,” Mast agreed.

“Which is why I can’t do it.” He turned to face them. “Stair, you lost your father. I lost my best friend. All we have is each other.” His eyes focused on Mast. “You can’t expect me to risk her life.”

“Excuse me, that’s my decision,” Stair snapped.

“What about Ari?” Mast cocked her head to the side. “Her father? How about the other villains on the streets? Don’t their lives mean anything to you?”

“No.”

Mast immediately shot back. “Your sister?”

The words were like a blow. Arthur staggered a bit. “What’s going on with Julia?”

She swallowed, contemplating her next statement. “The Enforcer who died last night was witness to the event which declared it open season on villainy. His was the third death connected to that particular point in time.”

Stair looked at her in shock. “What?”

Mast nodded. “A single bullet, by report. It wasn’t just some villain like they claim, it was an assassination.” She took a step toward Arthur. “One by one, they’ll drop. Stopping with Claymore, the man credited with killing Dervish.”

“Which he didn’t do,” Stair said. “The Enforcers shot him.”

Mast looked at her. “You were there?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Stair walked around the counter toward her. “I saw it. Claymore… he didn’t do it. He killed one of the Enforcers and then… they shot pa.”

“Interesting.” Mast looked at Arthur. “I first thought they were cleaning up loose ends. Now it looks like they’re trying to make sure no one remembers anything they shouldn’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘remembers’?” Stair asked.

“I doubt that those Enforcers were all paid to watch their friend die.” Mast folded her arms. “If they were, they may have a crisis of conscience. If not… it’s only a matter of time before what actually happened begins to conflict with what they believed happen.”

Arthur had grown impatient. “I still don’t see–”

Mast waved away his interjection. “All roads lead to your sister, Art. Claymore is her partner.” Her tone hadn’t grown any more emotional. If anything, it was more calculated and direct. “If whoever is doing this hasn’t done so already, it’s only a matter of time before she’s made into a target.”

Arthur nodded, taking it all in. “The death ray is supposed to be programmed with similar crack-proof software as the Fortress of Darkness. And even then, we’re talking about something that was designed with a death sentence trigger. Once the order is given and confirmed, there’s no turning it off.”