Wearing the Cape 4: Small Town Heroes Read online

  She painted the bald man. “Eastern European. C Class Ajax-type, but fast. Not Rush fast, but fast enough that you probably can’t touch him. They call him Red; he likes to toss grenades around—and by “toss” I mean step into a crowd and drop them on the floor around him. He also likes knives, tearing digits off, anything that throws blood around, and he laughs while he does it.”

  Erasing him, she brought up Big. A brawler with a buzz-cut, small and close-set eyes in a battered face that reminded me of Brick, I’d have bet anything he had antisocial tattoos where we couldn’t see them.

  “Flashpoint. American, B Class pyrokinetic—a psychotic fire-starter who loves big fireball explosions. He can ‘cook off’ the ammunition in a gun or the fuel in a gas tank. If he can’t do that, he’ll light your hair or clothes on fire.

  “And last,” she brought up Tall, “Brainworm. He’s the most dangerous of the three. He can project a neural scrambling field that affects anything with a central nervous system unlucky enough to be in range. The symptoms start with disorientation, escalate to hallucinations and loss of mental control. Victims run screaming, curl up into catatonic balls, attack whoever’s closest to them… “

  She erased the horror-show. “The three horsemen of the freaking Apocalypse. Four if they were supposed to join Brick. They all started as international mercenaries, all three are wanted by Interpol, and until tonight they’ve only been spotted in war torn hellholes or rogue states. ”

  “Have they ever worked together?” I asked weakly.

  “Yes. Libya and Indonesia. So the other two must have some way of shaking off Brainworm.”

  “Really? Maybe we could ask them for it.” I put my cell back in my purse, started walking. I could see the car a street away, and had never wanted sane and not horrible company more. Even Mr. Black was looking good to me now.

  Chapter Twenty One

  “Some smart guy said no plan survives contact with the enemy. Remember that cuts both ways and be the one who makes the contact happen. That way you get to rethink your plan first.”

  Atlas

  * * *

  “You can close your mouth now.” Shell laughed, a mischievous ghost beside me. “Really. Any time.”

  The good news was that I could focus on something other than impending insanity, death, and destruction. The bad news was that made me just too shallow for words. I’d hate myself later, when I could think about it.

  Getting back in the car, I’d swapped glasses with Jacky again and she’d directed us to the Hotél Washington where her people were waiting. Adonis had answered the door, and since I was in the lead of our little party I blocked the hallway. He smiled at me and then the rest of our party as if four strangers knocking, one an obvious Upright Man, wasn’t at all alarming.

  And I was going to strangle Jacky—she was alive again so I could.

  She had mentioned Adonis—Darren—to me once before, once, only to say she knew a fella in New Orleans who could give Baldur of the Hollywood Knights competition for the Most Beautiful Man in The World trophy. I’d thought she’d been joking, but she hadn’t been: sandy blond sun-lightened hair, sparkling sky blue eyes with silver flecks, dimpled chin and high cheekbones, generous smiling mouth (even perfect teeth!), he made Seven look average. Looking below the neck revealed more tightly sculpted perfection, and when Shell started snickering I snapped my gaze back to his face, blushing so hot I had to be steaming.

  His smile widened. “Yes? Can I help you?”

  Smooth and rumbly, it was the voice full of Nola honey from our teleconference at the Navy base, and I was in love. I am so, so shallow. Behind me Jacky cleared her throat and Darren broke brain-melting eye contact to look over my shoulder.

  She stepped around me and removed the specs. “Darren, stop smiling at Hope and get out of the doorway.”

  Adonis’—Darren’s—eyes widened; I was beginning to get just how upsetting finally seeing a hooded Jacky in black leather and body armor and carrying four guns had to be when she was standing right in front of you and you hadn’t noticed. He backed into the room.

  I only barely kept from smacking the doorframe on the way in, which just made ghost-Shell laugh more. The room was a suite, an open pair of rooms occupied by a large bed and a visiting area, a small couch, three chairs, and a coffee table. It all looked brand new—I could even smell the paint—and two more people waited for us inside; a tall and narrow, aesthetic looking vampire with black tousled hair that would have looked dreamy without Darren there to suck up all the female appreciation, and a vampire big and muscular enough to remind me of Grendel. The lean and looming vampire stood by the balcony door, but the big one sat, hands folded on the head of a thick silver-headed cane, watching us with steel grey eyes.

  “Hope,” Jacky said, ignoring our ride and our Upright Man, “meet Marc Léroy—” the tall one in basic business black nodded “—and Jacob Lichter.” She rolled her eyes. “The Master of Ceremonies.”

  “A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Corrigan.” The big vampire bowed his head. Despite his name his deep voice didn’t carry even a hint of an accent, not even southern, and the word for him was regal. Knowing nothing about him, my Mom-honed social instincts told me he had held and used power all of his life—certainly long before his breakthrough—and part of me filed that away to ask Shell about later.

  “Likewise. And this is Corporal Balini and Mister Black. Mister Black is our watchdog this evening.”

  A thick eyebrow rose. “Indeed. And will he dance in our gavotte tonight?”

  I looked at Mr Black and he shook his head, keeping his eyes—which I still couldn’t describe—on Mr. Lichter.

  Mister Lichter. I couldn’t even think his name without tripping verbally in my head, and what was the master of New Orleans’ vampires doing here? I knew Jacky called him MC, to his face, but I couldn’t do that. And the fact that I was obsessing over his inconvenient name showed just how happy I was to think of anything other than the “gavotte” waiting for us.

  “Shall we get on with it?” Léroy straightened from his guard post, Darren fading back to stand beside him. “I would prefer to be away from here before day.”

  “Indeed,” MC repeated. “Darren has told us you need our help?”

  I looked at the two vampires, felt Jacky at my back. Balini and Mr. Black faded into spectators.

  “Yes, we do.” I told them all about the Three Horsemen.

  * * *

  Jacky and I stepped out onto the balcony. The night was cooling, and I put my elbows on the rail to watch the street—which had gotten even louder and busier than it had been when we’d arrived at the hotel.

  Shell had downloaded Interpol files for our three walking disasters to everyone’s pads or cells so everyone could look them over. I’d explained the situation at the Café Cubano. Mr. Black had confirmed that we had tonight to collect our three, but if we kicked off a tragedy we would be held accountable.

  This point didn’t add a thing to my own issues with the op—of course we’d be held accountable; we always were.

  The briefing complete, I unilaterally declared a break while everyone considered and discussed options and tactics, and went outside with Jacky. There was something else we needed to discuss, just us Sentinels.

  Leaning against the railing, I listened to the music and laughter drifting up from the street. “Shell, tell us about the Upright Men.”

  She faded in beside us while Jacky inserted her earbug so she could join in. “Now? It’s not like they’re our mission tonight.”

  “Please?”

  She sighed theatrically, blew virtual hair out of her eyes. “Fine. They serve the Tyrant. They’re absolutely loyal and incorruptible—maybe. Nobody knows who they are, and the only time they show up is on official business. Ditto for their powers; nobody knows. The biggest Upright Man incident happened just after the Second Revolution; a supervillain-run drug cartel in Havana tried to intimidate the new regime, brought in lots of
villain muscle. The Tyrant let them muscle up and show Havana’s police how tough they were, then the Upright Men showed up en-masse for the chief and his bodyguards. Right in the center of their compound, and they just ‘took them away’. Witnesses all agreed that no weapons or powers were effective against them. The Upright Men just appeared, took the ones they wanted, left.”

  “And the rest of the cartel?”

  “Picked up one by one, a few each night and no matter how they tried to hide, till the last of the survivors managed to get out of Cuba. None of the ones taken ever showed up again.”

  “That’s…wow.”

  “Oh yeah, and you can see why the Tyrant doesn’t worry about superhuman guests other countries might have trouble with. It all makes Cuba a favorite destination for superhumans who have to leave home but aren’t fond of the US. But really, mostly the Upright Men terrorize the Cuban government.”

  I straightened up. “What? They’re terrorists?”

  “Nope. They’re part of the legal order, a scary part of it. The Serene Republic of Cuba really is an elective democracy, but if you abuse your office an Upright Man will show up for you, doesn’t matter if you’re the Prime Minister or a small-town mayor. If anyone sees you again you won’t remember what happened—but you won’t be the same, either. The new government of Cuba is less than two years old, and political corruption is statistically zero.”

  “Wow again.”

  “I know, right? Who are they? Forget about them, who’s the Tyrant? They’re why we don’t trust the new Cuba—nobody knows what they want, other than to keep the Serene Republic serene. Blackstone thinks they’re the first really successful superhuman oligarchy.”

  “And they’re not in the Big Book of Contingent Prophecy.”

  “Nope. Never appeared before the California Quake and the Whittier Base Attack completely derailed the future right off the history books.”

  “Future Incognita.” I rubbed my forehead. A huge question mark of an island state, and we got to play here. “Why are they letting us play here? They’re big about non-extradition, so why did they let us collect Brick? Why did they let us come back tonight? If these guys are dangerous to them, why not come and collect, themselves, just tell us to go pound sand?”

  “Pound sand? That’s a new one, I like it. And that’s what’s bugging you? Would knowing the answer change our job?”

  “It might. Here’s the thing, Shell. I think that Brick came to do a job aimed at the naval base—maybe be part of the job that burns the town. Which means the Three Horsemen are the rest of the team. Why else take the chance of meeting here, in Guantánamo City? Yes, Guantánamo Airport is a gateway for smaller charters to the Caribbean and the Gulf, but so’s Florida and the Bahamas.”

  I kept reviewing the map in my head, and it kept pointing back to us.

  “The only way into the naval base is by land or by sea—you’re not getting into it by air—and Guantánamo’s port is too close to the base and too watched to safely come in by boat from somewhere else. And that’s just one thing. The other is, from an underworld contractor’s point of view, if you’re linking up somewhere to do a job, why risk using a country with no due process laws and mystery-lawmen who freak me out as your jumping-off point, unless your target is in the country?”

  “You learn well, my fine young padawan.” Jacky had kept quiet so far, just listening to me rant. Now she smiled wide, showing fang. “Soon you will join me on the dark side and we will rule the world together.”

  “If it’s all the same I’d rather not. Trying to think like you or Blackstone makes my head hurt.”

  “You’re supposed to shout ‘I will never join your circle of evil!’” Shell quipped. “And cry and look all pouty.”

  “Casper,” Jacky shot back.

  “Morticia.”

  I swallowed the giggles, but it was oh so hard.

  “So we really are their most likely target,” I went on. “But what we should be doing is waiting for their move. We keep eyes on them, and sooner or later they’ll blow town to either head to the airport and out of here, or head for the navy base if losing Brick doesn’t kill the job. Then we come down on them with everything we and the base can throw, away from civilians.”

  “But the Upright Men won’t let us wait,” Jacky gently reminded me.

  “No, they won’t. But if letting them collect the Three Horsemen themselves means not risking civilians…” I hugged myself. “I don’t know. Even if we lose the intelligence these guys have.”

  “So you’d be okay with never finding out who hired these three?” Shelly asked. “I doubt the Cubans will tell us if we leave it to them.”

  Jacky looked out at the night. “I don’t think you’re thinking ruthlessly enough yet. I think the Cubans think that these guys are our problem. Our three are here for the American base, a base the Tyrant doesn’t even want on Cuban soil. So they’re willing to let them get at us but they’re covering themselves, too. By letting us know what they know, giving us freedom to act on their soil even if not as much room as we’d like, they’re cooperating enough that if it does all hit the fan we can’t blame them.”

  “And if we screw up tonight and innocents get hurt?”

  “Then they’ve got a great diplomatic club to beat our country with. So come up with a plan where nobody who doesn’t deserve it gets hurt.”

  I closed my eyes and breathed deep, remembering my vision of the burning town. Either way I chose, people who had never asked for what was going to happen were at risk.

  But tonight we can control the risk.

  I opened my eyes. “Jacky? If we bring them in, how likely is it we’ll be able to find out what they know?”

  Her smile turned evil enough to make every horror-flick director ever just give up and cry. “Leave them with me and I’ll tell you every sin that stains their black little souls.”

  * * *

  I presented my plan, asked for comments and suggestions. The scenario was really pretty straightforward; the whole thing felt like the kind of tactical problem Lei Zi or Blackstone liked to give me as homework, and depended on the depth of the retrieval kit the Navy had sent with Balini. I should have checked in advance; if it was a test, Lei Zi would have flunked me just for that.

  Fortunately, when I asked the corporal what he’d brought he went downstairs and came back with a Swiss army knife of a kit; Blacklock restraints for super-strong types, sandman packs for anyone who could just slip through physical restraints, even a somnolence field cap for the drug-resistant.

  Now MC simply looked amused. “Are you certain you’re a superhero?”

  “Yes, sir. If we do this right, nobody gets hurt and we get what we need.”

  “But it’s hardly sporting. And if we fail… Perhaps it would be best to just kill them? Every one of them is wanted for war crimes somewhere or other.”

  “That would be inadvisable,” Mr. Black interjected. “The Serene Republic’s neutrality in these sorts of matters is being stretched enough as it is tonight.”

  “But you can do your part?” I asked. I really didn’t want to rethink the whole plan.

  “My instructions are to be a watcher tonight. However, where I do the watching is up to me.”

  “Then this will work.” It was classic Lei Zi—she’d say it was a combination of Stratagem Six and Stratagem Thirteen; Feint to the east while attacking in the west, and Beat the grass to startle the snake. With a good dose of Don’t make it complicated.

  My projected confidence carried the day, or maybe they had all just decided to watch the kid and see how she did. Silent Léroy seemed content so long as his boss agreed, and Balini was only put out because he didn’t have a hands-on role.

  MC nodded. “Very well, then. And we will all hope that things do not get too interesting.”

  Chapter Twenty Two

  “I meet the nicest people. And the bravest people, too. It’s easy for capes to be brave and heroic when it all gets nasty, we’re trained fo
r it. But bystanders, with no powers to help them, will surprise you every time.”

  Hope Corrigan, Notes From a Life.

  * * *

  Galahad was surprised to see me, and not happy about it. I had the Anonymity Specs back on, but I had before and he “recognized” me as the too-young American girl in the cute dress. Café Cubano had only gotten busier since I’d retreated, without a single space left at the bar, and I began to think that the plan might be sunk just because we couldn’t get a table until a small party sitting next to our targets got up en-masse.

  “There!” I pointed imperiously and Darren laughed, tucking me under his arm to push us both through the crowd. Nobody beat us to the table, and the reason was our targets; their glares pushed away anyone less apparently oblivious than us. Darren ignored them to focus on getting me into my chair, and I focused on acting innocent and drunk enough not to notice Darren’s laughable open leering. Ignoring the three behind me, I watched the dance floor.

  Darren got a waiter’s attention and ordered, and when our drinks arrived I took one sip and knew Galahad had mixed it; my “Cuba Libre” was all coke and no rum, which made me feel worse about what was going to happen next.

  “So do you come here often?” Darren leaned over, partly to compensate for the music, obviously to look down my dress as if there was anything substantial to see. I almost choked on my drink, worked hard not to laugh.

  “No! First night in town! I heard the drinks are good! But they’re kinda thin!”

  “Would you like me to order something stronger?” I could feel our target’s eyes boring into our backs, but heard no scrape of chairs. We were in, and actually started drawing appreciative female attention from the surrounding tables. I imagined half of the women present deciding they’d ditch their escorts if only they could figure out a way to pry Darren away from the naïve toy he’d found to play with. If things didn’t move along we’d have company at our table soon.