Spellbound (12 page)

“Don’t know . . . Maybe,” Sullivan responded. “We don’t know enough about it to guess. The Chairman said his Iron Guard had been trained to deal with it, but he can’t reach them. I was led to understand this has happened before.”

“I think I know where we can find an Iron Guard fast,” Dan said. “Can you meet me in D.C.?” The view spun back to show Sullivan nodding. “Good, I can meet you there tomorrow afternoon . . . I’ll help you talk to him on one condition.” And when it came to a skilled Mouth like Mr. Garrett,
talking
took on a more sinister meaning.

“Yeah?”

“That when we’re done, we kill the son of a bitch . . . for Heinrich.”

The Grimnoir were quiet. Everyone knew that Heinrich had been Dan’s best friend. Sullivan grunted in agreement. “Sounds swell.”

“Count me in on that, too,” Lance said. “This OCI will be watching so we’ll need to keep a low profile. We don’t know who else of us they know about.”

“They sure know about me,” Sullivan stated. “Won’t be the first time I’ve been on a wanted poster.”

“There are other resources to find out more about this new office. I will place some calls.” Mr. Browning checked his pocket watch. “I have Faye and some volunteers. We will go directly to Florida to investigate. Francis, we must assume that you have been compromised and that they will be watching. Go about your business and stay out of contact.”

“But, John, I can—”

“Lead a band of killers to our door? Yes. Indeed you could.”

Francis obviously did not like Mr. Browning’s directions. “Fine . . . I can’t hold this link much longer.”

Francis really didn’t look very good. Faye wished that she could be there with him, but even a Traveler had limits. The last time she’d gone that far in one hop she’d spent a few weeks unconscious, though in her defense she had drug an entire dirigible along for the ride.

“Then good luck and Godspeed,” Mr. Browning said. The magic circle fell and broke into hardened bits. Browning wasted no time giving the order to the assembled knights. “Contact everyone. We must warn them what is coming.”

That meant more communication spells. Faye groaned. “Can I go borrow the radio?”

Menlo Park, New Jersey

IT HAD BEEN
a real pain to get here so quickly.

Per Crow’s instructions, the scene had not been disturbed after the bodies of his men had been removed. It had been roped off and chalk outlines applied, which had been difficult since the floor was a metal grate, but there was enough chalk and dried blood that he got the picture. Crow had seen so much violence in his life that reconstructing the event was easy. The Heavy had taken one by surprise, then the robot had gunned down the others. His men had been stupid. He should have dealt with it himself, but even he had his limitations.

Reconstructing this particular scene was easy. Dealing with the rest of these Grimnoir was going to be hard. His new office had money, but it was short on talent, which was why he’d made the trip from headquarters all the way to the EGE facility personally.

The building was a mess. They were still cleaning up the wreck of the spirit phone. They had been lucky that the entire building hadn’t just fallen down. It was too bad about the phone. It would have been really nice to have the recordings of Sullivan’s conversation, but the cameras had been destroyed when the phone had flashed out of existence. There were transcripts from the witnesses, but they had not been close enough to hear every word.

What he did have of the conversation was confusing, something about an enemy coming, but that was over Crow’s pay grade. His job was to break the Grimnoir. His boss and the intelligence types could worry about the other stuff.

He’d thrown all of the EGE people out of the robot room except for the one he really wanted to talk to. The Coordinator’s office had a thick file on her. She was flagged as a rare type of Active and a potential problem down the road. However, she had a rare talent he needed, and more importantly Crow knew what she really wanted, and that gave him leverage.

“Pemberly Hammer . . .” he said, playing it soft. “Pemberly. Sounds old-fashioned.”

“Named after my grandmother.” She stood back a bit, arms folded in the shadow of the deactivated robot. Crow knew she wouldn’t expound, but it didn’t matter. He knew all about her. She came from a proud old Texas line, even had a couple of ancestors at the Alamo. All his intel suggested that she was just as stubborn as all the ranchers, sheriffs, soldiers, and rangers that had come before her.

“Speaking of family, I heard about your pops. We’re in the same line of work, me and him. Lawmen got to stick together.”

“From what I saw from your boys last night, you’re nothing like my father. He had honor.”

“I heard he could track anybody or anything. I understand you inherited his abilities.”

“I’ve got a rep and I earned it myself. All I know about you is that you flashed some special badge and real important people asked how high they needed to jump. Who are you supposed to be?”

“Crow. Office of the Coordinator of Information.”

Hammer frowned. Of course, she automatically knew when people were lying to her. She could tell the name was fictional, but the office wasn’t. “Never heard of it.”

“You’re not supposed to have . . . yet. We regulate magic.”

“What?” She laughed at him. “You can’t
regulate
magic.”

He didn’t care for her attitude. “We do now. I need your services.”

“Listen, Agent Crow—”

“It’s just Mister.”

“Fine,
Mister
Crow, I’m not interested in working for your kind of outfit. Your boys just walked up to Sullivan and started shooting easy as saying hello.”

“This job pays good. You can read minds, so you know when I say good, I mean real good.”

“I’m no Reader, and I’m still not interested. Good thing I don’t need your money.”

“Well, I’d heard you worked for whoever paid the most. Turning down good money . . . You’re not much of a mercenary then.”

“Girl needs a job. Doesn’t mean she has to take every one that comes along. Good day, Mr. Crow.” She turned to leave.

He wasn’t about to take any lip off a skirt. Crow knew he had a few options. Negotiation was a delicate dance. Sometimes you could threaten or bully, other times you could bribe or coerce. Cracking people was like cracking a safe: everyone had a combination that would open them right up, but sometimes it was just easier to dynamite the doors off. “I know what you want.”

“And what would that be?”

“A badge.”

She stopped in the doorway. “I already told you—”

“If my organization isn’t to your taste, I can pull some strings. Anywhere you want, wherever you want.” He could tell that he’d hooked her. “Come on, Hammer. Would I lie to you? Dig a little deeper.”

She did. Crow could feel the pressure in his head. She couldn’t Read him, but there was no lying to a Justice. He let her rummage through the top compartment, just enough to see that he wasn’t bluffing. She wasn’t even trying to be discreet. “Oh my . . .” she said slowly. As expected, what she found had shocked her. Crow wasn’t offended. Fear was just another tool in the tool box. “What
are
you?”

Interesting.
She’d gone deeper than expected. The girl was dangerous. “Somebody you can’t afford to cross. You got a little peek at what I’m capable of. If you help me, I help you reach your goals. Badge anywhere you want one. If you don’t help me, then what your Power does becomes public knowledge. I’m sure potential employers would love to know that their most closely-held secrets aren’t safe when you’re around. In fact, as much corruption as there is in this world, I could see how nobody would ever hire someone like you. Too risky, because everybody has secrets . . . Your call.”

According to the OCI scientists’ categories and rankings of known Actives, Crow had been born as a relatively common type, and they mistakenly still had him there. Only a handful of men knew about what he could do now. Which meant that when he was done with this Justice, she would have to be disposed of.

She was angry, afraid, and trying not to let it show.
Good.
That’s right where he wanted her, and it was fine if she knew it. “You hook me up wherever I want, and all I have to do is this one job for you?”

“That’s all I want.”

Hesitantly, Hammer came back into the room. “What’s the gig?”

“Find Jake Sullivan again. He’ll have gone to ground and I want him found quick. OCI will pay double what you got to find him last time.”

“Sullivan? You should have said so. He stole my new car. I’d have tracked him down for free.”

He was pleased. Crow had learned all he could about Hammer first, about her abilities and her history. Despite the tough and cynical reputation she’d cultivated, she was basically an idealistic person, and nobody was easier to manipulate than an idealist.

Crow realized that he’d forgotten something. “One second.” He walked over to the still robot and inspected the Cog craftsmanship. “Impressive. This thing tore my men to pieces.” He put one finger in the dents where the pistol bullets had bounced off. “Your clients called it a
robot
. What’s that mean?”

“Czech word for serf. One of their Cogs invented the first one awhile back. EGE improved on the design. Nobody is better at sticking spells on stuff than these boys. They bring bad things to life.”

“I thought Edison didn’t believe in building offensive weapons.”

“Not since that debacle with the Navy ship that got all those sailors fused into the deck a few years back.” Hammer shook her head. “He wouldn’t do it, but Mr. Edison’s body wasn’t even cold before they’d figured out how to arm these. Each one has a 30-caliber machine gun, but they can take flamethrowers, antitank guns, you name it.”

“Does it think for itself?”

“I think they can only follow orders.”

“Huh . . . I like that. They pretty tough?”

“Very tough. This is the five series. The six just entered production. It’s even better. Like a security guard that never sleeps or a soldier that never gets scared. Army procurement wants some if they can get the funding.” Crow seemed deep in thought. it?”

“Yeah. I’m done with you. You’re going to want to get a move on before Sullivan gets too far away.”

“Head starts don’t matter with me.”

“Good. Do me a favor and send in one of those eggheads on the way out. I’ve got a few questions.”

Hammer was obviously relieved to be away from him. A minute later one of the EGE scientists came in, nervous. Crow tended to have that effect on most people.

“You needed help, sir?”

Crow pointed at the robot. “Are these expensive?”

“I’m no salesman, but I believe so. They’re somewhere around seventy
thousand
dollars each. The machining is very precise.”

“Hmmm . . .” Crow thought about it for a moment. That was an obscene amount of money, but OCI was about to have an even more obscene budget. “Does EGE offer a bulk discount?”

“I would have to ask.”

“Hell with it. I’ll take a dozen.”

Chapter 6

After we lost the vote, they told us to go home, but most of us stayed. Summer got hotter. Tempers got shorter. So they sicced the Army on us. MacArthur was in front, chest full of ribbons, thumping a riding crop on his leg and giving orders like we was the Hun. Some of us met them on the way, waving white shirts like flags over our heads, begging for an hour to get the women and children out of the camp. The hotheads and the communists began throwing rocks and bottles so the Army threw gas bombs back. My head got split open with a club. I wanted to cut them so bad, just let my bones grow into claws and rip them to bits, like I was back in the war, but I didn’t. My brother’s boy turned blue and died the next morning from the gas. Nothing I could do. He was just too little . . . Folks wonder why we stayed. We were hungry and broke. Of course we stayed. We had nowhere else to go.

—Higby Yates,

Former member of the 1st Volunteer Active Brigade

and Bonus Marcher,
1933

Washington D.C.

THEIR CHOSEN MEETING PLACE
had not been picked by chance, but rather because it seemed appropriate. The authorities hadn’t even bothered to clean up the mess left over from last summer. The shacks and tents had been burned, but the remains still sat there in their orderly rows, tattered or rusting, while the sun went down over the Anacostia Flats. It was a place where trust had been betrayed.

As someone who understood what it felt like to get stabbed in the back, he had wanted to see the place for himself. Jake Sullivan sat on the grass and savored a smoke while he waited for the others to arrive.

Lance Talon got there next,
sort of.
A mangy stray dog came trotting up to Sullivan like it owned the place. That was his first clue. Normally a cur like that would have skulked around in the shadows until it decided it was worth the risk to try and mooch food. The dog was brown except for where it was pink and it smelled like it had been rolling on something dead.

“Evening, Lance,” Sullivan said.

“Hey, Jake,” the dog answered with a deep voice. A dripping tongue hung out, but the dog’s mouth didn’t move as Lance spoke through the animal. “I’m on my way up the road. Figured I’d sniff around first.”

“How can you smell anything over that stink?” Sullivan pinched his nose. “Would you back up already? I’m dying here.”

“Smells like perfume and roses to me right now.” The dog trotted a few feet downwind. “Better?”

“Much. Why the mutt?”

“I’m guessing you haven’t read the evening paper yet.” The dog cocked its head at him and whined. “I was making sure this place wasn’t swarming with coppers first.”

“Haven’t seen the paper in days.”

“I’ve got one with me. You’re famous. Or is it infamous? Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Dillinger.”