Matt Archer: Redemption (10 page)

“Hey,” Will said. “I’ll behave.”

“I have one word for that,” Uncle Mike said. “Axe.”

I coughed to hide a laugh and Will shook his head in disgust. “Don’t know why everyone keeps bringing that up. It worked and the captain here borrowed the same technique not too long ago.”

“If I might interrupt,” Ramirez said, sounding tired of the jawing. “Where am I headed?”

“Vancouver, and you’ll be on call for the U.S. if the need arises. Jorge, if you’re okay, how about you take Budapest?” When he nodded, Julie said, “Okay, then I’ll take Aberdeen and Matt can go to Marrakech.”

I was going to
Morocco?
Sweet! “Finally! I’ve always wanted to go someplace cool. I drew the lucky card on that one.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” she said, smirking. “That one’s snakes, at least according to the report.”

I banged my head on the table three or four times. “Dang it.”

“Oh, come on,” Will said. “You get all the fun jobs.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t razz him too hard, Cruessan.” Uncle Mike flashed a sudden grin. “The monsters in Taipei look like something out of a Guillermo Del Torro flick.”

I could see the gears turning in Will’s head. He didn’t know who Guillermo Del Torro was. “He directed
Hellboy
and some other fever-dream creature features. What I think the colonel is saying is that your monsters can’t even be classified.”

He turned a pale shade of green. “Great.”

“When do we leave?” I asked.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Uncle Mike said. “It takes a little time to set everything up with the local authorities. But we want everyone on the ground in two days.”

The logistical discussion went on for another half-hour, and Mamie grew really antsy by the end. She stared pointedly at the clock at the back of the room, before heaving a sigh.

“Daisy, by your reaction to all this, I assume you’re ready to pay Ann a visit?” Uncle Mike asked.

“Too late,” Mamie murmured. “If we’d gone first thing this morning, it might’ve worked, but now we’ll have to wait.”

The general frowned at her. “It’s barely noon. We have plenty of time.”

All my sister did was sigh again.

Then Aunt Julie’s phone rang. “Captain Tannen. Go ahead.”

We all sat quiet as her eyes widened and darted in Mamie’s direction. “Really … one-oh-four?... Do they know why?... Okay, we’ll try tomorrow. Thank you.” Still staring a Mamie, she said, “Ann became very ill this morning. The doctor is certain she didn’t ingest something and she definitely isn’t faking it. Nosebleeds, high fever, delirium. They don’t even know if she’s contagious.”

“She’s not,” Jorge said. “She’s going through post-conjuring withdrawal.” When nobody seemed to get it, he shook his head. “I’ve been through the same thing. When I bonded the spirits to the knives, I was ill for three days.”

“After Tink singed off your eyebrows?” I asked. She had come to ground with a huge jolt of power, knocking Jorge right off his feet—and unconscious.

One of my finer moments,
she said, almost fondly.
He forgave me later.

“Yes,” Jorge answered. “But you feel the aftereffects too—all the wielders do. Headaches, nausea, dizzy spells, fainting—you cannot touch the divine without suffering the consequences.”

The divine. That was the first time he’d put it quite that way. Thinking of Tink as divine, rather than cosmic, was pretty unsettling.

“Jorge’s eyebrows aside, can someone explain what’s wrong with our witch?” General Richardson boomed.

Mamie stood, birdlike and fragile. She went to him and patted his arm, which made the general jump in surprise. “The short version is that Ann was definitely the ringleader on the attack yesterday, based on how sick she is right now. It took a lot of power to raise that kind of havoc, and she’s paying for it. She’ll be well enough to question tomorrow morning.”

“Different question,” Brent said, staring at Mamie like she’d turned into a swan. “How did you know the witch was sick before the phone call?”

She shrugged, like seeing across space and time to gauge the health of another human being wasn’t simply awesome.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “We were all freaked out the first time we saw her do this stuff, too. If I survive the snakes of Marrakech, we should take her to Vegas so we can clean out the blackjack table.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to make that trip on your own,” Mamie said softly.

“Yeah, she wouldn’t help us cheat,” Brent said. “She’s too nice.”

General Richardson looked like he either had a headache or wanted to kick all of us out. Probably both. “If the Smythe woman is unavailable, then we’re done here for today. Miss Archer, I’d like you and Jorge to be ready first thing tomorrow. I don’t care if she’s still sick; we interrogate her at oh-nine-hundred. Everyone else, report here for a final briefing and deployment at thirteen-hundred.”

With that, he packed up his file folders and stalked out, muttering something about needing a stiff drink and a good cigar. Congressman Tarantino stared at everyone for a moment longer, then smiled. “I knew you people were my kind of weird. Thank you. Your service will not go unnoticed any longer.” He stood to leave, but stopped in the door. “Colonel, everything is arranged for tonight. You won’t be disturbed by the press.”

“Thank you for your constant support, Congressman.” Uncle Mike went to shake his hand. “And congratulations on the new post.”

Tarantino nodded. “Well, I’ll echo the former chair’s offer. Anything you need, anywhere you need it, at any time.”

As he strode into the hall, it dawned on me what he meant. He’d taken over for Patrick as the chair of the Armed Services Committee. And I had little doubt he’d live up to his offer.

“So now what?” Will asked.

“Now,” Uncle Mike said, “we go back to the hotel to rest, then Pentagram Strike Force will meet up in the lobby at six.”

“Meeting again tonight? Why?” I asked.

“To say goodbye.”

Chapter Eleven

Members of the press followed our SUVs as we traveled to Georgetown. Now knowing why we were taking this trip, I sighed and pressed my forehead against my window. This was the first time the team had included Will and me in a sacred ritual.

That didn’t make it any easier.

We pulled up to an old bar near the university. Congressman Tarantino knew the owner, who had closed the place down for us. Even though we wore street clothes, as we filed inside reporters waved microphones and shouted for us to look their way. They’d followed us from the hotel—network level reporters, acting like paparazzi. I kept my eyes aimed at the sidewalk until I cleared the door. I’d had enough of them and what they were pushing. Especially on a night like this.

The mahogany bar was already lined with shot glasses. At each small table scattered around the rest of the room, a single candle burned.

Eleven of them. One for each soldier killed yesterday.

The bartender shut the door in the face of a reporter trying to follow us inside, barking, “Private party. Get out.”

The place was dark, except for those candles and a TV mounted in one corner, still showing footage of yesterday’s catastrophe. Uncle Mike went over and turned it off.

I looked around the room, seeing men I’d fought and bled with, and some I didn’t know at all. My team—Lanningham, Dorland and Blakeney—stood in a small group at the far end of the bar. Will’s team, led by Captain Johnson and Lieutenant Nguyen, stood behind him and I liked how quickly they’d adopted him as their sole mission.

Ramirez stood with Murphy and the new men assigned to his team. Murphy caught me staring and gave me a single nod. We’d come a long, long way from the first time we met in Peru, when he’d loathed the sight of me—the kid he thought would get his team killed—up to now. I’d bled with him, too.

Parker’s team huddled at a table, ill at ease and miserable. Aunt Julie, who’d been talking softly to Uncle Mike, squeezed his arm and went to sit with them. They shared a weird kinship, and I was glad she was thoughtful enough to join their table.

Captain Johnson called for order, and pointed everyone to the bar for drinks. Will and I hung back, uncertain. I didn’t know what we were meant to do, then Uncle Mike came over.

“Here,” he said, handing Will and me each a shot glass full of amber liquid. “You two deserve to drink to Parker’s memory with the rest of us.”

I held the glass up to the light. It almost looked like iced tea. “Does anyone care that we’re underage?”

Uncle Mike’s expression was grave, like I’d punched him right in the breastbone hard enough to bruise. “Not anymore.”

He walked away with his shoulders bunched up. What he said earlier was true, then. He understood that we’d crossed a final line, that the kids he once knew were well and truly dead. We were men, forged the same way he had been: through war.

Johnson clambered up onto a table, which creaked under his weight. Standing up there, he was over ten feet tall, regal and sad as he raised his glass. “Another man from Pentagram Strike Force has fallen. We won’t forget him. Parker may’ve been soft spoken but he was a warrior.” He paused, choked up, and it took all my strength not to do the same. “I asked him once what he wanted out of an Army life. He told me he wanted to matter. And he did. He died saving lives, because that’s what he was meant to do. To Parker, and to all the others who died yesterday.”

“And not only for them. For everyone we’ve lost. To Captain Brandt,” Ramirez said. “To Moreno, McAndrew and Borden.”

“To Green and Patterson.” Now my eyes burned as all the ghosts who rested on my back rose from the dead. Men who needed to be remembered. “To Tobias Schmitz.”

Other names floated out from the group. The list was long. Too long. Then Uncle Mike brought it full circle.

“To Colonel Ryan T. Black.”

The room went completely silent, because that name was holy, and the silence stretched out a full minute before Johnson held his glass higher and said, “To the ones we miss.”

Everyone raised their glasses and slammed down their liquor in one shot. Will and I frowned at each other and followed suit. The liquid set my nostril hairs on fire as it went down. I cleared my throat a bunch of times to relieve the burning in my throat because I didn’t want to cough and ruin the moment. Although, it was a great cure for any unshed tears I was trying to hide. The tears in my eyes now were from the fumes, and totally acceptable.

Will pressed a fist to his chest, like he’d swallowed lava. “That shit burns.”

“No idea why they drink it,” I said, although a mellowness filled my stomach, taking the edge off the pain. It was momentary, I knew that, but I was glad that Uncle Mike included us.

I looked up and caught him staring at me from across the bar. We both knew it would be hard, and this might not be the last time some of us stood in a bar and remembered others in this room. For now, though, I was proud to be here, no matter what happened next.

Chapter Twelve

Mamie sat quietly next to me as we drove to a CIA facility near their main offices at Langley. Ann Smythe’s keepers had reported that her fever had broken overnight and that she seemed well enough for an interview.

Jorge sat up front, next to Captain Johnson. “Miss Archer?” he asked, sounding formal, something I never quite got used to, especially since he was wearing his bone necklace today and had drawn symbols to ward off evil on his arms with a charcoal pencil. “Do you wish for me to speak with her first, or do you want to go in right away?”

Mamie jumped, like she’d been caught daydreaming. “What? Oh, could we both go in? I think it will put more pressure on her to have you staring her down over my shoulder.”

“Agreed.”

Johnson caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “The general and Captain Tannen will be watching over a secure feed at the Pentagon.”

Mamie had insisted that only Johnson and I accompany her and Jorge to the interrogation site. I didn’t know what she was up to, but she’d asked both Brent and Uncle Mike to stay behind. Brent hadn’t been happy, but ultimately admitted that I could keep track of our sister for a few hours while surrounded by armed personnel. Uncle Mike, on the other hand, seemed relieved to have some downtime with Katie before heading into the Pentagon to work on mission logistics for the wielder teams.

We pulled into the parking lot of a low building surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. If it hadn’t been for the metal spikes on top and the security cameras everywhere, I might’ve thought it was some kind of lab or dentist’s office.

The front door was steel, without a window—but a camera pointed down at our heads here, too. Johnson pressed the bell and after a moment, the door buzzed as the lock clicked open. Inside we found a plainly furnished waiting room with a glass-fronted reception desk next to a door on the back wall—exactly like a doctor’s office.

The frosted window opened and a stern-faced woman in a dark suit looked us over. Johnson’s lips twitched like he was trying to hold back a smile. “I believe we have an appointment.”

“To see our guest.” She picked up phone receiver. “Sir? They’re here.”

After a moment of listening, she hung up and the door to her right buzzed. She nodded us through.

The hallway behind the door was stark white and smelled like a strong antiseptic, giving me a serious case of the heebies. This wasn’t the place where we interviewed Ann before. This was the place my dad had called “the dungeon.”

At the time, I’d thought he was being melodramatic to scare Ann. Now I wasn’t so sure.

“The elevator’s at the end,” Stern Lady called. “Second basement level.”

“Really charming staff they have here,” Johnson said, then he stopped with his forehead scrunched up. “Mamie, you okay?”

I turned to find that she hadn’t kept pace with us. Instead, she had a hand on the wall, leaning like she felt faint. Her face was pasty and a fine sheen of sweat stood out on her upper lip.

“All wrong,” she whispered. “This is all wrong.”

I went back to her and tugged her upright so she could lean against me. “Sis, what’s up? Do we need to leave? Because you don’t have to do this. Jorge and I can question Ann.”