Let Slip the Dogs of War
Chapter 2: The Game's Afoot
By Chris Ward
Unknown Date; Unknown Location
Cold.
Damp.
Dark.
The pain and blood wake him. Both come from lacerations covering his body, and from the
shackles digging into his wrists and ankles; keeping him inside the kennel. His food is
moldy bread and foul water.
As he passes out yet again, he whimpers, “Daddy?”
**********
February 26, 2003; Los Angeles, California
As ordered, Elle and I were at the office by 10. When I rapped on his door, Bob barely
glanced up and waved us in.
Linderman, on the other hand, turned on the charm. After pouring coffee and offering us
breakfast, he gestured to the nearby seats. After several minutes of small talk, carried
primarily between Elle and him, he got down to business. “You have both, I am certain,
been given the standard Company line; how it was formed years ago by a group of like
minded individuals who realized that there was a need-”
Rolling her eyes in irritation, Elle interrupted. “We get it, all right. I could recite that
damned mantra before I was in fucking High School. Don’t waste my time with the same
shitting song and dance. What do you want?”
Smiling, he leaned back in his chair. “First, let me say that I am primarily a collector. I have
found that art, in all its forms, tells a story that, in many cases, the artists themselves are
unaware of.”
Pushing a button on the remoter in his hand, his eyes seemed to light up with a disturbing
passion as a painting filled the monitor. The level of detail in the image was astonishing; as
if someone had taken a photograph and run it through PhotoShop. It depicted a major
battle between a blonde woman, a black haired man, and a bald giant of a man. The blonde
was dressed in a flowing, windswept, white robe, with the hem ending mid thigh, as well as
the arms and a significant portion of the upper torso and breasts bare. Thick bolts of red,
blue and yellow lightning wreathed her arms in discharge as they exploded from her palms
toward the giant. Sparks flew from her fingertips and flashed from her eyes. Her face was
cast in a furious combination of rage, hatred, and determination. Most noticeably, her face
was clearly Elle’s.
Her black haired companion was wearing nothing more than a black loincloth, his bare
chest was coated in blood and covered with open wounds. In one hand, raised as if to be
thrown, was a spear. His other hand held a long knife low and with the edge up. The look on
his face was one I instantly recognized; a look of undisguised, feral rage. The eyes,
narrowed even as the nostrils flared, were pure white, sealing the resemblance the face
held to my own.
The giant was profoundly disturbing. According to the painting, he topped out at half again
my own six-five, and was thick enough to make at least two of me. His head was thrown
back in apparent laughter. His outthrust arms, corded with muscle, were also sheathed in
lightning, twin bolts of which rushed out to slam into Elle’s attack, creating a dramatic
explosion. His robes, reminiscent of those worn by Da Vinci’s Zeus, were riddled with
gashes, holes and tears, many of which gave ample smoking tribute to the accuracy with
which she placed her shots.
Linderman watched as we took in the details. He smirked when we recognized ourselves.
Typically, Elle did her best to appear unshaken. “What’s the big deal? It’s just some stupid
painting. It actually looks like something that Mendez moron would put in that idiotic 9th
Wonders comic for the idiots to drool over.”
Apparently amused, Linderman leaned back in his chair. “It is ironic that you should say
that, my dear. I have recently begun to acquire some of young Mr. Mendez’s work. I have
reason to believe that he and the man who painted this piece share a similar gift; and I am
not just speaking of their artistic ability.
“No; the artist responsible for this particular piece was named René Claríon, and was a
little known French contemporary of Leonardo Da Vinci. Over the years I have managed to
locate and acquire a large amount of his work, not strictly limited to his paintings, and he
has an accuracy Nostradamus would envy.”
Laughing derisively, I crossed my arms. “You think this guy was some sort of prophet?”
“That is not the precise term I would use, Michael, but we do believe him to have been a
Precog. He titled this piece Dieux À La Guerre, or Gods At War. I prefer the French title, it
sounds much more poetic.”
Shifting in his seat, Bob interrupted. “Before filling you in on the mission, Dan requested a
small test. He wants to see just how good the two of you are.”
Elle glanced back to Linderman. “Don’t you believe the reports?”
“Let’s just say that I prefer to witness your work firsthand, as it were.”
Jerking to my feet, I headed for the door. “Fuck that. Fry ‘em, Elle.”
“What?”
At the door I took a deep breath. “Light ‘em up. Maybe then we’ll get some fucking
answers.”
Stalking over to me, she whipped me around, and came as close to in my face as her five-
two would allow. “If you think for one fucking minute that I’m going to torch daddy and his
friend, you’re fucking crazier than they say I am!”
With a frustrated growl, I shoved her aside. Ripping out one of my pistols, I drilled bullets
through both of their heads.
Elle recovered and grabbed my forearm, looking in horror at Bob and Linderman. As she
shot electricity through it, the skin began to blacken and crack. “What in the fucking hell do
you… think… you’re… doing?” The last few words came out in slow confusion as she
realized that neither Bob nor Linderman had fallen. “What the hell’s going on?”
Linderman looked at me in puzzled curiosity. “How did you know?”
“That you weren’t really here?” Walking to an apparently empty chair, I shot out my left
hand and grabbed the woman I had scented earlier by the throat. As her concentration
evaporated, Bob and Linderman seemed to vanish, and she became fully visible. Slamming
her against the wall, I used the damaged arm to hold my blade against the lower swell of
her left breast. Over the years, I’ve learned people who would charge a loaded gun
frequently piss their pants if facing a blade. “The same way I knew you were here, bitch!”
Leaning my head against the wall so that my lips brushed her ear, I kept my voice at a low
whisper. “Tell me where they are or Linderman has to find a new fucktoy.”
Gasping, she said, “They didn’t say. Mr. Linderman gave me a note to give you if you
figured it out.”
Dropping her to the floor, I put the knife away. As she leaned against the wall rubbing her
throat, I bent back down. “Listen to me closely. If you so much as bounce your fucking tits
without my okay, me or Elle’ll kill you. You know that, right?” When she nodded, I grunted.
“The same obviously holds true if you’re lying. Now, where’s that damned note?”
Nodding toward Bob’s desk, she sighed. “It’s over there, on top.”
Looking over my shoulder at Elle, I said, “Watch her.”
Flopping into the vacated chair, she flashed an evil grin. “With pleasure.”
At the desk, I found the note right where she had said it was. Unfolding it, I sat in Bob’s
seat as I read. A few minutes later, I looked at Elle. “She was telling the truth.”
Appearing crestfallen, Elle looked over at me and extended her hand toward the woman.
“You mean I don’t get to…?”
Shaking my head, I said, “Nope.”
“Not even just a little?”
Containing a laugh, I shook my head. “Sorry, Elle.”
With a huff, she crossed her arms and slouched, pouting, further into the chair. “I never
get to have any fun.” Catching my amused look, she pushed her hair out of her face. “Well?”
“‘Well’ what?”
Rolling her eyes, she sighed. “What’d that geezer have to say?”
Leaning back in the chair, I read the note.
“The fact that you are reading this indicates that the two of you have passed the first
portion of the test. Congratulations. (I do hope you left Bridgette unharmed. She is, at the
moment, irreplaceable.)
“The situation is quite simple. I have persuaded Robert to go into seclusion with me. We
are still on the grounds, somewhere, but it is going to require a certain amount of effort to
locate us.
“There are a few clues and directions scattered throughout the facility, in the keeping of
people I brought with me while Michael was recuperating.
“I would recommend that you think of this as a scavenger hunt, but Robert informs me that
Michael, in particular, does not enjoy such games. A shame that. Instead, I’ll just
recommend that you go to the training center in search of the one man Elle cannot beat.”
Looking over at Bridgette, I asked, “Is this everything he gave you?” When she nodded, I
scratched my slowly healing arm in thought. Squinting at Elle, I asked, “What was the one
physical problem you could never beat in training?”
“What the fuck does it matter?”
Thinking about it for another minute, a thought occurred to me. “On the Tripp mission, you
said something about getting wet. Water’s your enemy. You can’t so much as spark if you’re
wet.”
“Of course not, dick head. It fucking hurts.”
Standing up, I tossed the note into the trash. “In that case, we need to hit Research and
Development before heading to the training area.”
Most of an hour later, we were standing outside the training facilities. Closing my eyes for
a minute, I located the scent of the one person who didn’t belong. His distinctive aroma
carried with it the slight tang of salt water. Looking at Elle, I grinned. “He’s here.”
Impatiently pushing through the door ahead of me, she came to an abrupt halt and began
radiating an almost animalistic lust. Her voice came out in a soft purr. “Oh, yummy!”
Rolling my eyes, I pushed past her. “Keep your hormones in check, Elle. You can bang him
later. Right now we need answers.”
As we approached, I had to acknowledge that, if the Organization held recruitment drives,
this man would be the poster boy. He stood around six two, with shoulder length blonde
hair and piercing blue eyes. Having apparently just finished in the pool, he was wearing a
miniscule pair of trunks that Elle couldn’t keep her eyes off, and a towel draped around his
shoulders.
His arms, legs and chest showed the kind of muscular development that would make
professional wrestlers jealous, and you could scrub laundry on his abs. When he saw us
headed toward him, he flashed a too-perfect smile. “Elle and Michael?”
When I nodded, he threw out his right hand. The hand and arm vanished as a deluge of
water emerged, completely soaking both Elle and myself. In that second, Elle went from
admiring his package to inventing curses. Dropping his arm as it resumed normal
appearance, his smile grew broader. “Mr. Linderman told me the two of you might have
some questions. If you can beat me, I might have some answers for you.” With a quick
laugh, he finished. “Good luck with that.”
Flashing a feral grin, I pulled out one of my pistols. “Good. You chose the fun route.”
Taking quick aim, I fired a round into his abdomen.
Shaking his head in disbelief, he assumed his water form before the bullet could hit him.
“Did you really think I had forgotten my weapons training?”
Putting the gun away, I unlimbered the small spray canister I was carrying on my back.
Pointing the nozzle at him, I said, “Nope. I was actually counting on you to do precisely what
you did.” After unloading the canister, I dropped it to the floor.
I watched as his watery form quickly hardened into a stiff, glutinous substance. Slowly
turning his head to face me, he demanded, in a voice thick with panic and more than a little
discomfort, “What the fuck’d you do?”
“A little magic from the boys and girls in R and D. That bullet was actually a short term
neurotransmitter designed to prevent your becoming solid again. The spray was a glue
compound with a cement base. Once it came in contact with your liquid form, it stuck.”
“How long?”
Ignoring him for a second, I looked at Elle. “You’re no good this way. Hit the changing area,
dry off, and grab me a towel too.” While she did that, I looked back at water boy. “I’m sorry.
Did you ask something?”
“How. Fucking. Long?”
“Well, that’s where it can get a little difficult. As soon as you tell me what I want, I’ll get
someone to haul you to R and D. They have a solvent down there that should set you right
pretty quick.” Pulling out a knife, I began tossing it from hand to hand. “This compound has
a fascinating little side effect. It hyper-sensitizes your nerves. Things you would barely
have felt earlier, now cause extreme discomfort. Those things that would have caused you
pain, on the other hand, become excruciating.” Fixing him with a cold stare, I asked, “Do
you understand?”
Putting the knife away temporarily, we waited for Elle to finish. About ten minutes later, she
sauntered out of the locker room. Instead of the tight jeans and low-cut, white blouse our
guy had drenched, she was now wearing a tiny black and white thong bikini, with a
microskirt wrap slung around her hips, and stiletto sandals. She carried her wet clothing in
a small shoulder satchel, and I could tell that, even though he couldn’t actually move, she
suddenly had his complete attention.
Smiling wickedly, she tossed me a towel.. “Anything from Wet And Delicious?”
Drying myself off, I shrugged. “Thought we’d wait for you.” Turning to face him, I scratched
at my mostly healed right arm. “Let’s start with an easy one. What’s your name?”
“Timothy Rockwell.”
“And where are Bob and Linderman?”
‘I don’t know.”
Elle glanced at him hungrily. “Fine, tell us what you do know.”
“It’s not that simple. Orders.”
Rolling my eyes, I pulled my knife back out. “They want us to play their fucking game?”
When he answered positively, I swore and grabbed his shoulder. “Fine. But we do it by my
fucking rules.” Flipping the knife around, I slammed the hilt into the nerve cluster just in
from my grip. While he shrieked in agony, I repeated the attack on the opposite shoulder.
Looking into his agonized face, I coldly waited for his screams to subside. Looking into his
eyes, I whispered, “My rules are simple. As long as you talk, and are completely honest,
nothing happens. If you clam up, or I suspect you’re lying to me, I make you hurt in ways
that make what just happened seem pleasurable. Now, what the fuck did they tell you?”
“The answer’s in the fucking library, all right? Linderman brought another guy down. He’s
the one holding the location.”
“Any special tricks?”
“I’d assume so, but they didn’t tell me anything about it.”
All the indicators told me he was being honest. Looking at Elle, I put the knife away. “Let’s
go.”
“Hey! You said you were gonna take me to the labs!”
“No. I said I’d have someone do it. Since nobody’s here, I’ll have to find someone. I sure as
hell ain’t hauling you down there myself.”
Turning to leave, I heard Elle whisper to him, “When they get you free, come up and see
me. I think we could have some fun.”
After calling R and D to let them know their prize was ready, we headed to the library.
Outside the door, I stopped and tried to locate our next, and hopefully final, target. After a
minute I found him. According to his scent, he was a middle aged metashifter, able to
become any animal he desired. Their were enough overtones of the eagle in his scent to
indicate a fondness for that particular shape.
Opening the door, we saw him seated at a small table in the center of the floor. In his early
fifties, bald and wearing a cheap suit, he looked like a book keeper. Gesturing toward a pair
of chairs across from him, he cleared his throat. “Please, have a seat.”
After we had done so, he took a small envelope from his suit jacket and set it on the table
in front of him. “My name is Arvin Bancroft. As you have, no doubt, surmised, this envelope
contains the final instructions from Mr. Linderman and Mr. Bishop.”
Tapping my fingers on the table, I muttered, “I can hardly fucking wait.”
With a wry grin, Arvin finished. “You can have the envelope and its contents, provided you
accomplish the final task.”
Elle crossed her arms, nearly pushing her breasts out of the tiny bikini top. “And what
would that task be?”
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, his eyes focused on her almost completely exposed
attributes, he mumbled, “The final task is a riddle game.”
Jerking to my feet, I swore. “How many fucking times do I have to say it? I don’t play
games!”
“You don’t have a choice, Michael. If you refuse, you don’t get the envelope. Without the
envelope, you will not find them. If you fail to find them, you fail the test and will not be
given the mission.”
After a second’s thought, and a quick glance at Elle I sat back down. “All right, but I ask the
first riddle.”
“Agreed. Now, the rules are fairly straightforward. We ask each other a series of riddles,
alternating turns naturally. The first person to fail on three riddles loses. Do you
understand?” When we nodded, he told me to begin.
With an evil grin, I growled, “What’s blue and white and yellow, and hurts like a mother?”
After several minutes of thought, he reluctantly admitted, “I have no clue.”
Leaning back in my chair, I turned my head, “Elle?”
With a smile, she launched a small ball of lightning across the table into his chest. It threw
him from the chair to the floor, where he lay twitching uncontrollably. Grabbing the
envelope from the table, I crouched down beside him and growled into his ear, “I fucking
told you, Arvin; I don’t play games!”
Standing back up, I ripped open the envelope and read the brief note. Swearing
sulfurously, I threw the note onto the floor.
“What’s the deal, Michael?”
“They want us back in Bob’s office.”
Staring at me almost accusingly, she said, “You said they weren’t there!”
“They weren’t. Apparently they are now.” Slamming through the door, with her running to
keep up, I kept a stream of curses going. “They better have a Goddamned good
explanation, or I’ll fucking kill them both!”
Ten minutes later, we burst into the office. Bob was seated behind his desk, scowling at
the monitor. Linderman sat nearby with a disturbingly fascinated look on his face. It was
displaying Elle taking out Arvin. As soon as the door slammed against the wall, alerting
them to our presence, I demanded, “What the FUCK is going on here?”
Linderman turned toward us, his face broadening into a grin. “Please, be seated.”
“Why?”
Gesturing toward a pair of cushioned seats nearby, he laughed for a second. “Because I
think it is about time for us to talk.”
Grunting, I dropped into one of the chairs. “You damned well got that right.”
Turning off the monitor, he turned back to face us. “I’m certain you have questions. Feel
free to ask them.”
Elle leaned back in her chair, relaxing into the cushion. “What was behind this whole
charade?”
“It was simply a bit of a test, my dear.”
Squinting at him, I asked, “A test?”
“Certainly. I have read your files, and have looked through the reports concerning your
missions. None of that told me what I needed to know, so I devised this little game. I must
say, I am impressed. I expected you to win, naturally, but neither this quickly nor this
overwhelmingly.” Pausing for a moment, he folded his hands together and peered at me. “I
must ask, however; was it truly necessary to fry poor Bancroft?”
With a flat stare, I answered, “Yes.”
“I see.” After several minutes of uncomfortable silence he smiled and relaxed into his
chair. Looking into my face he said, “There is nothing you are unwilling to do, either of you,
so long as it aids in completing your mission, is there.” It wasn’t a question so much as an
observation.
Coldly returning his stare, I shrugged. “That’s why Bob uses us. Now, why the fuck’re we
here?”
“Indeed.” Turning the monitor on, he pulled up Dieux À La Guerre. “As you should
remember, this piece was done by the French artist René Claríon, whom we believe to
have been a Precog.
“I have had this piece in my collection for several years, but it is only recently that it came
to be of importance.” After he pressed a button on the remote, the picture on the monitor
changed. The photo of a bald man, identical to the one in the painting, now dominated the
screen.
At this point, Bob took over the meeting. “Meet Claus Bernhelm. Normally, he stands six
foot even, and weighs in at around one hundred and sixty pounds.”
Elle glanced at her father in surprise. “What do you mean by ‘normally’?”
Not surprisingly, he acted as if he hadn’t even heard her. “Claus is in his early thirties.
When he was eighteen he worked construction in Philadelphia. He’d been on the job for
approximately nine months when he fell from a girder better than thirty feet in the air.
Instead of dying, or even being injured, he grew six inches and put on about seventy-five
pounds. The seeming miracle was published all over the city for months.
As luck had it, we had an agent in the area, on an unrelated matter, who heard the stories
about the incident. When we received the agent’s report, we assigned a team to observe
the potential manifestation. Fortunately, an apparent heart attack made it possible for our
team to collect him. Once he was stabilized at the local hospital, he was brought to our New
York facility.”
Here, Linderman reclaimed control of the briefing. “Once we had him there, we began the
evaluation process. After several months, we knew not only what he was capable of, but
also his limitations.
“It turned out that he was an Energy Converter; the first we had ever encountered,
although our scientists had theorized the potential for this manifestation to occur. He has
the ability to turn kinetic energy, such as that received from falling thirty feet, into body and
muscle mass. He is one of the only Specials we have encountered who is capable of sky
diving without a parachute and surviving; all he does is gain both height and weight. As he
grows larger, his skin thickens, rendering him more resistant to physical harm.
“His ability also allows him to handle directed energy, such as Elle’s lightning bursts. He
absorbs the energy, biochemically alters it, and then wields it. He can retain the charge for
a limited time, but cannot keep it contained for more than a handful of days. The more he
absorbs, the less time he is capable of holding it.
“He must find some way to release the energy in a timely fashion. If he does not do so, he
risks death.”
Clearing my throat, I asked, “And this concerns us why?”
Again pressing the button, he brought up several images of complete carnage. “Last week
he massacred his partner and a half-dozen other agents. He fled the facility and we have
been unable to locate him since.”
Elle raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t he tagged?”
Bob cleared his throat. “For a variety of reasons, the decision was made to leave him
untagged.”
Rubbing my freshly healed arm, I looked at the monitor. “I’m the last one to sell myself
short, but do you honestly think the two of us have a shot at dropping him?”
With a small nod, Linderman smiled. “Absolutely. He does have one great weakness; if he
is overloaded, he will lapse into unconsciousness. And I can think of no team currently on
the payroll as capable of that as you and your charming partner.”
Looking back at the photos, I grunted. “So we’re headed to New York?”
Bob cleared his throat. “Actually, the facility he broke out of was located in Odessa, Texas.
We have a cover operation there under the auspices of Primatech Paper Company. I
currently have Special Documents creating a cover for both of you as Debt Recovery
Officers from the national headquarters. The documents should be here in the morning.”
Standing to leave, I looked over at him. “When do you want us here?”
After a quick glance at Linderman, he checked his computer. “No later than 6:30 in the
morning. Until then, you are both off duty.”
**********
Unknown Date; Unknown Location
Exhausted from yet another harsh day, he lay curled against the bars of his kennel. The
pain from the lacerations a constant, unyielding, companion. On the other side of his cage
the tray, where his daily bread should have been, remains empty.
The sound has been present for several minutes before he cares enough to place it. The
unmistakable skittering of tiny claws on the concrete floor, combined with constant
squeaking.
Ears attentive, he waits patiently. Finally, attracted to the scent of blood and filth, the rat
sniffs along his body. Darting out his hands, he grabs the rat by its hindquarters and
crushes its small skull with his shackled wrist.
Biting into the thin body, he sinks back against the bars as tears carve their way down his
cheeks.
Chapter 2: The Game's Afoot
By Chris Ward
Unknown Date; Unknown Location
Cold.
Damp.
Dark.
The pain and blood wake him. Both come from lacerations covering his body, and from the
shackles digging into his wrists and ankles; keeping him inside the kennel. His food is
moldy bread and foul water.
As he passes out yet again, he whimpers, “Daddy?”
**********
February 26, 2003; Los Angeles, California
As ordered, Elle and I were at the office by 10. When I rapped on his door, Bob barely
glanced up and waved us in.
Linderman, on the other hand, turned on the charm. After pouring coffee and offering us
breakfast, he gestured to the nearby seats. After several minutes of small talk, carried
primarily between Elle and him, he got down to business. “You have both, I am certain,
been given the standard Company line; how it was formed years ago by a group of like
minded individuals who realized that there was a need-”
Rolling her eyes in irritation, Elle interrupted. “We get it, all right. I could recite that
damned mantra before I was in fucking High School. Don’t waste my time with the same
shitting song and dance. What do you want?”
Smiling, he leaned back in his chair. “First, let me say that I am primarily a collector. I have
found that art, in all its forms, tells a story that, in many cases, the artists themselves are
unaware of.”
Pushing a button on the remoter in his hand, his eyes seemed to light up with a disturbing
passion as a painting filled the monitor. The level of detail in the image was astonishing; as
if someone had taken a photograph and run it through PhotoShop. It depicted a major
battle between a blonde woman, a black haired man, and a bald giant of a man. The blonde
was dressed in a flowing, windswept, white robe, with the hem ending mid thigh, as well as
the arms and a significant portion of the upper torso and breasts bare. Thick bolts of red,
blue and yellow lightning wreathed her arms in discharge as they exploded from her palms
toward the giant. Sparks flew from her fingertips and flashed from her eyes. Her face was
cast in a furious combination of rage, hatred, and determination. Most noticeably, her face
was clearly Elle’s.
Her black haired companion was wearing nothing more than a black loincloth, his bare
chest was coated in blood and covered with open wounds. In one hand, raised as if to be
thrown, was a spear. His other hand held a long knife low and with the edge up. The look on
his face was one I instantly recognized; a look of undisguised, feral rage. The eyes,
narrowed even as the nostrils flared, were pure white, sealing the resemblance the face
held to my own.
The giant was profoundly disturbing. According to the painting, he topped out at half again
my own six-five, and was thick enough to make at least two of me. His head was thrown
back in apparent laughter. His outthrust arms, corded with muscle, were also sheathed in
lightning, twin bolts of which rushed out to slam into Elle’s attack, creating a dramatic
explosion. His robes, reminiscent of those worn by Da Vinci’s Zeus, were riddled with
gashes, holes and tears, many of which gave ample smoking tribute to the accuracy with
which she placed her shots.
Linderman watched as we took in the details. He smirked when we recognized ourselves.
Typically, Elle did her best to appear unshaken. “What’s the big deal? It’s just some stupid
painting. It actually looks like something that Mendez moron would put in that idiotic 9th
Wonders comic for the idiots to drool over.”
Apparently amused, Linderman leaned back in his chair. “It is ironic that you should say
that, my dear. I have recently begun to acquire some of young Mr. Mendez’s work. I have
reason to believe that he and the man who painted this piece share a similar gift; and I am
not just speaking of their artistic ability.
“No; the artist responsible for this particular piece was named René Claríon, and was a
little known French contemporary of Leonardo Da Vinci. Over the years I have managed to
locate and acquire a large amount of his work, not strictly limited to his paintings, and he
has an accuracy Nostradamus would envy.”
Laughing derisively, I crossed my arms. “You think this guy was some sort of prophet?”
“That is not the precise term I would use, Michael, but we do believe him to have been a
Precog. He titled this piece Dieux À La Guerre, or Gods At War. I prefer the French title, it
sounds much more poetic.”
Shifting in his seat, Bob interrupted. “Before filling you in on the mission, Dan requested a
small test. He wants to see just how good the two of you are.”
Elle glanced back to Linderman. “Don’t you believe the reports?”
“Let’s just say that I prefer to witness your work firsthand, as it were.”
Jerking to my feet, I headed for the door. “Fuck that. Fry ‘em, Elle.”
“What?”
At the door I took a deep breath. “Light ‘em up. Maybe then we’ll get some fucking
answers.”
Stalking over to me, she whipped me around, and came as close to in my face as her five-
two would allow. “If you think for one fucking minute that I’m going to torch daddy and his
friend, you’re fucking crazier than they say I am!”
With a frustrated growl, I shoved her aside. Ripping out one of my pistols, I drilled bullets
through both of their heads.
Elle recovered and grabbed my forearm, looking in horror at Bob and Linderman. As she
shot electricity through it, the skin began to blacken and crack. “What in the fucking hell do
you… think… you’re… doing?” The last few words came out in slow confusion as she
realized that neither Bob nor Linderman had fallen. “What the hell’s going on?”
Linderman looked at me in puzzled curiosity. “How did you know?”
“That you weren’t really here?” Walking to an apparently empty chair, I shot out my left
hand and grabbed the woman I had scented earlier by the throat. As her concentration
evaporated, Bob and Linderman seemed to vanish, and she became fully visible. Slamming
her against the wall, I used the damaged arm to hold my blade against the lower swell of
her left breast. Over the years, I’ve learned people who would charge a loaded gun
frequently piss their pants if facing a blade. “The same way I knew you were here, bitch!”
Leaning my head against the wall so that my lips brushed her ear, I kept my voice at a low
whisper. “Tell me where they are or Linderman has to find a new fucktoy.”
Gasping, she said, “They didn’t say. Mr. Linderman gave me a note to give you if you
figured it out.”
Dropping her to the floor, I put the knife away. As she leaned against the wall rubbing her
throat, I bent back down. “Listen to me closely. If you so much as bounce your fucking tits
without my okay, me or Elle’ll kill you. You know that, right?” When she nodded, I grunted.
“The same obviously holds true if you’re lying. Now, where’s that damned note?”
Nodding toward Bob’s desk, she sighed. “It’s over there, on top.”
Looking over my shoulder at Elle, I said, “Watch her.”
Flopping into the vacated chair, she flashed an evil grin. “With pleasure.”
At the desk, I found the note right where she had said it was. Unfolding it, I sat in Bob’s
seat as I read. A few minutes later, I looked at Elle. “She was telling the truth.”
Appearing crestfallen, Elle looked over at me and extended her hand toward the woman.
“You mean I don’t get to…?”
Shaking my head, I said, “Nope.”
“Not even just a little?”
Containing a laugh, I shook my head. “Sorry, Elle.”
With a huff, she crossed her arms and slouched, pouting, further into the chair. “I never
get to have any fun.” Catching my amused look, she pushed her hair out of her face. “Well?”
“‘Well’ what?”
Rolling her eyes, she sighed. “What’d that geezer have to say?”
Leaning back in the chair, I read the note.
“The fact that you are reading this indicates that the two of you have passed the first
portion of the test. Congratulations. (I do hope you left Bridgette unharmed. She is, at the
moment, irreplaceable.)
“The situation is quite simple. I have persuaded Robert to go into seclusion with me. We
are still on the grounds, somewhere, but it is going to require a certain amount of effort to
locate us.
“There are a few clues and directions scattered throughout the facility, in the keeping of
people I brought with me while Michael was recuperating.
“I would recommend that you think of this as a scavenger hunt, but Robert informs me that
Michael, in particular, does not enjoy such games. A shame that. Instead, I’ll just
recommend that you go to the training center in search of the one man Elle cannot beat.”
Looking over at Bridgette, I asked, “Is this everything he gave you?” When she nodded, I
scratched my slowly healing arm in thought. Squinting at Elle, I asked, “What was the one
physical problem you could never beat in training?”
“What the fuck does it matter?”
Thinking about it for another minute, a thought occurred to me. “On the Tripp mission, you
said something about getting wet. Water’s your enemy. You can’t so much as spark if you’re
wet.”
“Of course not, dick head. It fucking hurts.”
Standing up, I tossed the note into the trash. “In that case, we need to hit Research and
Development before heading to the training area.”
Most of an hour later, we were standing outside the training facilities. Closing my eyes for
a minute, I located the scent of the one person who didn’t belong. His distinctive aroma
carried with it the slight tang of salt water. Looking at Elle, I grinned. “He’s here.”
Impatiently pushing through the door ahead of me, she came to an abrupt halt and began
radiating an almost animalistic lust. Her voice came out in a soft purr. “Oh, yummy!”
Rolling my eyes, I pushed past her. “Keep your hormones in check, Elle. You can bang him
later. Right now we need answers.”
As we approached, I had to acknowledge that, if the Organization held recruitment drives,
this man would be the poster boy. He stood around six two, with shoulder length blonde
hair and piercing blue eyes. Having apparently just finished in the pool, he was wearing a
miniscule pair of trunks that Elle couldn’t keep her eyes off, and a towel draped around his
shoulders.
His arms, legs and chest showed the kind of muscular development that would make
professional wrestlers jealous, and you could scrub laundry on his abs. When he saw us
headed toward him, he flashed a too-perfect smile. “Elle and Michael?”
When I nodded, he threw out his right hand. The hand and arm vanished as a deluge of
water emerged, completely soaking both Elle and myself. In that second, Elle went from
admiring his package to inventing curses. Dropping his arm as it resumed normal
appearance, his smile grew broader. “Mr. Linderman told me the two of you might have
some questions. If you can beat me, I might have some answers for you.” With a quick
laugh, he finished. “Good luck with that.”
Flashing a feral grin, I pulled out one of my pistols. “Good. You chose the fun route.”
Taking quick aim, I fired a round into his abdomen.
Shaking his head in disbelief, he assumed his water form before the bullet could hit him.
“Did you really think I had forgotten my weapons training?”
Putting the gun away, I unlimbered the small spray canister I was carrying on my back.
Pointing the nozzle at him, I said, “Nope. I was actually counting on you to do precisely what
you did.” After unloading the canister, I dropped it to the floor.
I watched as his watery form quickly hardened into a stiff, glutinous substance. Slowly
turning his head to face me, he demanded, in a voice thick with panic and more than a little
discomfort, “What the fuck’d you do?”
“A little magic from the boys and girls in R and D. That bullet was actually a short term
neurotransmitter designed to prevent your becoming solid again. The spray was a glue
compound with a cement base. Once it came in contact with your liquid form, it stuck.”
“How long?”
Ignoring him for a second, I looked at Elle. “You’re no good this way. Hit the changing area,
dry off, and grab me a towel too.” While she did that, I looked back at water boy. “I’m sorry.
Did you ask something?”
“How. Fucking. Long?”
“Well, that’s where it can get a little difficult. As soon as you tell me what I want, I’ll get
someone to haul you to R and D. They have a solvent down there that should set you right
pretty quick.” Pulling out a knife, I began tossing it from hand to hand. “This compound has
a fascinating little side effect. It hyper-sensitizes your nerves. Things you would barely
have felt earlier, now cause extreme discomfort. Those things that would have caused you
pain, on the other hand, become excruciating.” Fixing him with a cold stare, I asked, “Do
you understand?”
Putting the knife away temporarily, we waited for Elle to finish. About ten minutes later, she
sauntered out of the locker room. Instead of the tight jeans and low-cut, white blouse our
guy had drenched, she was now wearing a tiny black and white thong bikini, with a
microskirt wrap slung around her hips, and stiletto sandals. She carried her wet clothing in
a small shoulder satchel, and I could tell that, even though he couldn’t actually move, she
suddenly had his complete attention.
Smiling wickedly, she tossed me a towel.. “Anything from Wet And Delicious?”
Drying myself off, I shrugged. “Thought we’d wait for you.” Turning to face him, I scratched
at my mostly healed right arm. “Let’s start with an easy one. What’s your name?”
“Timothy Rockwell.”
“And where are Bob and Linderman?”
‘I don’t know.”
Elle glanced at him hungrily. “Fine, tell us what you do know.”
“It’s not that simple. Orders.”
Rolling my eyes, I pulled my knife back out. “They want us to play their fucking game?”
When he answered positively, I swore and grabbed his shoulder. “Fine. But we do it by my
fucking rules.” Flipping the knife around, I slammed the hilt into the nerve cluster just in
from my grip. While he shrieked in agony, I repeated the attack on the opposite shoulder.
Looking into his agonized face, I coldly waited for his screams to subside. Looking into his
eyes, I whispered, “My rules are simple. As long as you talk, and are completely honest,
nothing happens. If you clam up, or I suspect you’re lying to me, I make you hurt in ways
that make what just happened seem pleasurable. Now, what the fuck did they tell you?”
“The answer’s in the fucking library, all right? Linderman brought another guy down. He’s
the one holding the location.”
“Any special tricks?”
“I’d assume so, but they didn’t tell me anything about it.”
All the indicators told me he was being honest. Looking at Elle, I put the knife away. “Let’s
go.”
“Hey! You said you were gonna take me to the labs!”
“No. I said I’d have someone do it. Since nobody’s here, I’ll have to find someone. I sure as
hell ain’t hauling you down there myself.”
Turning to leave, I heard Elle whisper to him, “When they get you free, come up and see
me. I think we could have some fun.”
After calling R and D to let them know their prize was ready, we headed to the library.
Outside the door, I stopped and tried to locate our next, and hopefully final, target. After a
minute I found him. According to his scent, he was a middle aged metashifter, able to
become any animal he desired. Their were enough overtones of the eagle in his scent to
indicate a fondness for that particular shape.
Opening the door, we saw him seated at a small table in the center of the floor. In his early
fifties, bald and wearing a cheap suit, he looked like a book keeper. Gesturing toward a pair
of chairs across from him, he cleared his throat. “Please, have a seat.”
After we had done so, he took a small envelope from his suit jacket and set it on the table
in front of him. “My name is Arvin Bancroft. As you have, no doubt, surmised, this envelope
contains the final instructions from Mr. Linderman and Mr. Bishop.”
Tapping my fingers on the table, I muttered, “I can hardly fucking wait.”
With a wry grin, Arvin finished. “You can have the envelope and its contents, provided you
accomplish the final task.”
Elle crossed her arms, nearly pushing her breasts out of the tiny bikini top. “And what
would that task be?”
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, his eyes focused on her almost completely exposed
attributes, he mumbled, “The final task is a riddle game.”
Jerking to my feet, I swore. “How many fucking times do I have to say it? I don’t play
games!”
“You don’t have a choice, Michael. If you refuse, you don’t get the envelope. Without the
envelope, you will not find them. If you fail to find them, you fail the test and will not be
given the mission.”
After a second’s thought, and a quick glance at Elle I sat back down. “All right, but I ask the
first riddle.”
“Agreed. Now, the rules are fairly straightforward. We ask each other a series of riddles,
alternating turns naturally. The first person to fail on three riddles loses. Do you
understand?” When we nodded, he told me to begin.
With an evil grin, I growled, “What’s blue and white and yellow, and hurts like a mother?”
After several minutes of thought, he reluctantly admitted, “I have no clue.”
Leaning back in my chair, I turned my head, “Elle?”
With a smile, she launched a small ball of lightning across the table into his chest. It threw
him from the chair to the floor, where he lay twitching uncontrollably. Grabbing the
envelope from the table, I crouched down beside him and growled into his ear, “I fucking
told you, Arvin; I don’t play games!”
Standing back up, I ripped open the envelope and read the brief note. Swearing
sulfurously, I threw the note onto the floor.
“What’s the deal, Michael?”
“They want us back in Bob’s office.”
Staring at me almost accusingly, she said, “You said they weren’t there!”
“They weren’t. Apparently they are now.” Slamming through the door, with her running to
keep up, I kept a stream of curses going. “They better have a Goddamned good
explanation, or I’ll fucking kill them both!”
Ten minutes later, we burst into the office. Bob was seated behind his desk, scowling at
the monitor. Linderman sat nearby with a disturbingly fascinated look on his face. It was
displaying Elle taking out Arvin. As soon as the door slammed against the wall, alerting
them to our presence, I demanded, “What the FUCK is going on here?”
Linderman turned toward us, his face broadening into a grin. “Please, be seated.”
“Why?”
Gesturing toward a pair of cushioned seats nearby, he laughed for a second. “Because I
think it is about time for us to talk.”
Grunting, I dropped into one of the chairs. “You damned well got that right.”
Turning off the monitor, he turned back to face us. “I’m certain you have questions. Feel
free to ask them.”
Elle leaned back in her chair, relaxing into the cushion. “What was behind this whole
charade?”
“It was simply a bit of a test, my dear.”
Squinting at him, I asked, “A test?”
“Certainly. I have read your files, and have looked through the reports concerning your
missions. None of that told me what I needed to know, so I devised this little game. I must
say, I am impressed. I expected you to win, naturally, but neither this quickly nor this
overwhelmingly.” Pausing for a moment, he folded his hands together and peered at me. “I
must ask, however; was it truly necessary to fry poor Bancroft?”
With a flat stare, I answered, “Yes.”
“I see.” After several minutes of uncomfortable silence he smiled and relaxed into his
chair. Looking into my face he said, “There is nothing you are unwilling to do, either of you,
so long as it aids in completing your mission, is there.” It wasn’t a question so much as an
observation.
Coldly returning his stare, I shrugged. “That’s why Bob uses us. Now, why the fuck’re we
here?”
“Indeed.” Turning the monitor on, he pulled up Dieux À La Guerre. “As you should
remember, this piece was done by the French artist René Claríon, whom we believe to
have been a Precog.
“I have had this piece in my collection for several years, but it is only recently that it came
to be of importance.” After he pressed a button on the remote, the picture on the monitor
changed. The photo of a bald man, identical to the one in the painting, now dominated the
screen.
At this point, Bob took over the meeting. “Meet Claus Bernhelm. Normally, he stands six
foot even, and weighs in at around one hundred and sixty pounds.”
Elle glanced at her father in surprise. “What do you mean by ‘normally’?”
Not surprisingly, he acted as if he hadn’t even heard her. “Claus is in his early thirties.
When he was eighteen he worked construction in Philadelphia. He’d been on the job for
approximately nine months when he fell from a girder better than thirty feet in the air.
Instead of dying, or even being injured, he grew six inches and put on about seventy-five
pounds. The seeming miracle was published all over the city for months.
As luck had it, we had an agent in the area, on an unrelated matter, who heard the stories
about the incident. When we received the agent’s report, we assigned a team to observe
the potential manifestation. Fortunately, an apparent heart attack made it possible for our
team to collect him. Once he was stabilized at the local hospital, he was brought to our New
York facility.”
Here, Linderman reclaimed control of the briefing. “Once we had him there, we began the
evaluation process. After several months, we knew not only what he was capable of, but
also his limitations.
“It turned out that he was an Energy Converter; the first we had ever encountered,
although our scientists had theorized the potential for this manifestation to occur. He has
the ability to turn kinetic energy, such as that received from falling thirty feet, into body and
muscle mass. He is one of the only Specials we have encountered who is capable of sky
diving without a parachute and surviving; all he does is gain both height and weight. As he
grows larger, his skin thickens, rendering him more resistant to physical harm.
“His ability also allows him to handle directed energy, such as Elle’s lightning bursts. He
absorbs the energy, biochemically alters it, and then wields it. He can retain the charge for
a limited time, but cannot keep it contained for more than a handful of days. The more he
absorbs, the less time he is capable of holding it.
“He must find some way to release the energy in a timely fashion. If he does not do so, he
risks death.”
Clearing my throat, I asked, “And this concerns us why?”
Again pressing the button, he brought up several images of complete carnage. “Last week
he massacred his partner and a half-dozen other agents. He fled the facility and we have
been unable to locate him since.”
Elle raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t he tagged?”
Bob cleared his throat. “For a variety of reasons, the decision was made to leave him
untagged.”
Rubbing my freshly healed arm, I looked at the monitor. “I’m the last one to sell myself
short, but do you honestly think the two of us have a shot at dropping him?”
With a small nod, Linderman smiled. “Absolutely. He does have one great weakness; if he
is overloaded, he will lapse into unconsciousness. And I can think of no team currently on
the payroll as capable of that as you and your charming partner.”
Looking back at the photos, I grunted. “So we’re headed to New York?”
Bob cleared his throat. “Actually, the facility he broke out of was located in Odessa, Texas.
We have a cover operation there under the auspices of Primatech Paper Company. I
currently have Special Documents creating a cover for both of you as Debt Recovery
Officers from the national headquarters. The documents should be here in the morning.”
Standing to leave, I looked over at him. “When do you want us here?”
After a quick glance at Linderman, he checked his computer. “No later than 6:30 in the
morning. Until then, you are both off duty.”
**********
Unknown Date; Unknown Location
Exhausted from yet another harsh day, he lay curled against the bars of his kennel. The
pain from the lacerations a constant, unyielding, companion. On the other side of his cage
the tray, where his daily bread should have been, remains empty.
The sound has been present for several minutes before he cares enough to place it. The
unmistakable skittering of tiny claws on the concrete floor, combined with constant
squeaking.
Ears attentive, he waits patiently. Finally, attracted to the scent of blood and filth, the rat
sniffs along his body. Darting out his hands, he grabs the rat by its hindquarters and
crushes its small skull with his shackled wrist.
Biting into the thin body, he sinks back against the bars as tears carve their way down his
cheeks.
