Secondhand Sorcery

There were rules about notifying next of kin, good rules, and Keisha followed them to the best of her ability. Which wasn’t much. She would have to be the one to give notice, out of uniform and grubby as she was, and the words would be hard. She had several hours to compose them, first as she gave the Turk mob the slip, then as she made her way back to the hospital through dark and increasingly jammed streets, struggling to get through to anybody for help or directions.

Ethan caught up with her halfway, on a motorbike he’d “borrowed” from somewhere, and they rode the last few miles together, weaving through the congestion. Already there were scuffles breaking out, as people tried to force their way onto already crammed buses and trucks, or shoved dead cars out of the way and into other vehicles. Now and then they saw a head-on collision, where one motorist had tried to get out of the city faster by driving in the opposite lane.

The hospital was one of the few buildings with the lights still on—on the outside. The inside was a mess, half-lit on generator power and stuffed with angry and frightened people making demands of the exhausted staff. Several of them turned when they saw Keisha, and started shouting at her and Ethan instead. Including a word that sounded a lot like “American.” Well, if they needed somebody to blame, she would do. She averted her face, and ran for the stairwell. It was close to midnight.

There were still two armed men hanging around outside Fatima’s door, looking bleary-eyed and grumpy. Dr. Gus and Hamp were snoozing in chairs inside. Fatima herself woke up when the door opened. She looked like crap, same as before, but lifted her left hand to wave. “What’s going on, Ballsy Bob?” she said, in a much less croaky voice than before. “Nobody here will tell me a damn thing.”

“Probably because nobody knows anything to tell you,” Keisha said, looking in vain for another chair and settling for a wall to lean on instead. Ethan stayed outside—as she’d ordered him to. This situation didn’t need his help. “It’s a mess out there. I don’t know everything myself. But I’ll tell you what I can. Fair warning, though: it’s bad news.”

“No shit. This place is lit like a slasher movie, and you look like you just got a bad night’s sleep in a gutter. Just lay it on me, sister.”

Nothing for it, then. She looked at the vital signs monitor—all good, nothing alarming or unstable—and said, very quickly, “Your brother Hamza died around 1700 this afternoon.” The lines on the screen might have wavered a little, or it might have been her imagination. Either way, she wasn’t a coward, so she looked down again at the bandage-plastered face on the bed. Impossible to read in this light. “It appears the Russians betrayed him, and your other brothers, to the Turkish government. Specifically, the POH, the police tactical unit. They seem to have been informed that Russian agents with guns were taking hostages at his location. He eliminated the three vehicles worth of men they sent, but was badly injured in the process. A force of civilians, led by a Turkish familiar, tracked him down and killed him. I saw this myself. There was nothing I could do. I’m sorry.”

Fatima shut her eyes, swallowed hard, and said in a huskier voice than before, “Is there more?”

“Yes. Your brother Yuri also responded to the attack, though he was staying some distance away. I don’t know what exactly he was trying to do, but he activated Shum-Shum and started burning in the complete opposite direction from his brother. Possibly he was trying to lead them away from Hamza, I don’t know. Another familiar, an American, engaged them, but was forced to use most of its power limiting civilian casualties. Shum-Shum eventually disappeared, and Yuri’s current location is unknown. Kizil Khan never appeared at all, to my knowledge, and it seems likeliest that Ruslan is still in Russian custody.

“Again, I’m sorry to have to tell you all this. I wasn’t able to find an imam on short notice, but if you like—“

“Save it,” Fatima snapped. “I don’t know anything else.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, you should be. I don’t know anything else to help you, get it? I already told you everything I know, bitch. Whatever you’re trying to get out of me with all this, this bullshit, there’s nothing to get, okay? I mean, look at me, I’m in a fucking hospital bed, I’ve got a tube up my goddamn crotch to get the piss out of me, I’m all jacked up and the pain meds don’t do shit. And you want to try and play mind games now? Well, fuck you, lady, and the red-white-and-blue horse you rode in on.”

“I’m not lying, Fatima. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sorry at all. I’m glad to know what a piece of shit you are, saves finding out later.” The weak fluorescent light glinted in her eyes, reflected off her cheeks. “Now I know why Dad ditched your worthless fucking country; you’re the same as the goddamn Russians, aren’t you? You can’t handle us, you can’t do what we do, so you try to fuck with our heads to control us. It doesn’t even matter which bastard you work for, they’re all the same.”

She was nearly shouting now; Keisha saw no point in interrupting. “Us, now, we’re nothing like you, you fucked with the wrong family this time, you hear me? We’re tight, and we’re strong, and we don’t take shit. Hamza’s going to take down every one of those commie bitches, then he’s going to roll up in here with Rhad and slice you open from your dirty twat to your lying bitch mouth. Just like a fish. Wait and see, honey, I’m gonna watch it happen, and it’s gonna be beautiful!”

A nurse bustled in, shaking her scarf-covered head as she made shushing noises. It was a different nurse this time, but with the same attitude. Fatima switched to Arabic, or something like it, to cuss her out, but the nurse wasn’t impressed. Hamp and Gus were wide awake now, and leaving in a hurry. Keisha followed them out.

“I can see why you had me leave it to your more diplomatic approach,” Ethan drawled.

“That’s not exactly how I expected her to react, but I should have. She still needed to know.”

“The hell she did,” Hamp groused. “That girl’s an emissor. Flipping out like that, she could have brought down the hospital. You’re damn lucky she didn’t.”

“She’s not completely irrational, even now. Calling Mister Higgins would have left her helpless in bed, and doomed to a slow painful death even if she won. Anyway, she needed to know. Notification happens within eight hours.”

“Yeah, for American soldiers, which she never was, and sure as hell isn’t now—“

“I think,” Dr. Gus interrupted quietly, “there are more important and unpleasant disclosures which must be made tonight. But not here,” he said, gesturing to the weary security types and the nurses at the station.

“Right.” She waited a minute, but he didn’t move or speak, only looked at her. This was her mess to clean up, apparently. “Right,” she said again. “Hamp, you up to another jaunt to the roof?”

“As long as the elevator’s working.”

It was cold, and darker than it should have been. Most of the city was still blacked out, the only light coming from the cars packed bumper-to-bumper along every highway out of town. Where were they all going? She doubted whether they knew themselves. But there were thousands, if not millions, of them, all voting with their feet. Anywhere but here. Hard to blame them, after everything that had happened.

She bought herself time by constructing another angelfly. Not that anybody would be doing electronic surveillance here anyway. Just another layer of security. “Hamp, what can you tell me about everything that happened today?” That seemed like a good place to start. God only knew how she was going to tell him what he needed to know. Or how many more difficult conversations she was going to have before she got to bed tonight.

“Everything? You okay with the short version? Ivan’s been busy. They stabbed the two kids in the back, you saw that. Staged a bunch of false alarms with foreign security contractor types, got some harmless utility and transport companies shot up. A more convincing version to get the Turks to flatten their own hospital. A Dublin Run on the city’s power grid, half the power plants are covered in glass—“

“Hold up. What’s this about a hospital? I hadn’t heard about that one. Is somebody targeting hospitals?” She’d assumed the screaming downstairs was a side effect of the general disorder.

Hamp shook his head. “Just the one, so far. They’ve done a hell of a lot of damage today, mostly with telephones. Taking advantage of the chaos. The hospital was the centerpiece, though. Biggest one in the city, or so I hear. They gave a convincingly accurate description of Rhadamanthus, and said he was on a rampage inside the place. They did something like due diligence. Made some phone calls, couldn’t get through. Their espers said there was a halo around that spot.”

“Jesus!”

“Yeah. I’d guess that’s where Ruslan was. Maybe he got out before the missiles hit. I don’t know, though. Everything in a quarter-mile radius or so is dust now,” he added.

“And they did all this at the same time.” She’d heard that explosion while she was chasing after Hamza …

“Or close to it. Yes. The bastards timed this nicely. I don’t know what they’ll do next, but they might not need to do anything at all.” He waved a hand helplessly at the jammed streets. “One week. One miserable goddamn week, and this country is on the verge of becoming a failed state. And all the necessary assets got smuggled into the city on, what, a couple of trucks? Makes me miss the days when the worst thing we could do was white phosphorus.”

She stared out into the dismal maze of black towers. “Yeah. About that.”

Hamp grimaced. “Now what?”

“I have something to tell you, and you’re not going to be happy to hear it. It’s something I haven’t been … forthright with you about.”

That trademark Hampton scowl. “Because?”

“Because it was classified, and you didn’t have clearance. Not many people do. I’ve asked Dr. Gus, more than once. He said no. But something happened today that will, eventually, blow the whole thing. So, you need to know.”

“Then you need to tell me, don’t you?” He was already looking pissed. Better to get this over with.

“I’m an emissor. I had to use my emissant today, to stop Hamza. That’s going to cause some repercussions.”

A long, cold, hard stare. “Are you shitting me?”

“I’m afraid not. I’ve never had cause to use Adesina before. Not in the field. It’s a very delicate situation.”

“You don’t say,” he gritted. “It would have been very nice for me to hear this a little earlier. Is there some reason the Numenate didn’t think I needed to know about the full capabilities of the only subordinate they gave me to fulfill an apparently impossible task on short notice?”

“It wasn’t about you—”

“Oh, it isn’t? It’s just a coincidence that the old man who won’t stop bitching about this voodoo doesn’t get told he’s commanding a soldier who can—whatever the hell it is you can do. Can you tell me that now? What exactly we were missing out on? Anything that could have let us just waste Mr. Marshall quickly before he totally fucked my peripheral nervous system?”

“No, nothing like that. Not without burning my way through the castle and starting a full-on battle. I think Dr. Gus picked me for this job so we’d have an emissor on-site as backup, in case we totally lost control and the kids started rampaging across the city.”

“Then why in the hell couldn’t you tell me we had that kind of backup?”

“Because my training to become an emissor started at the tail end of 2008.”

“2008,” he repeated. “You mean, after … “

“After executive order six-oh-three putting all further emissant production on hold. Yes. That order was countermanded in secret several months later. We think.”

“You think? You think​?” He flung up his hands. “What in the ever-living hell is that supposed to mean? Was the damn thing changed or not? Did you have authority to become a living goddamn superweapon? Shouldn’t you have cleared that up first?”

“We all did our best. I was shown an official-looking sheet of paper on the right letterhead, with David McNeil’s signature on it. All the people on top agreed that this was policy now, and we were just keeping it on the DL until the public got over what happened to Russia. Nobody questioned it, because everybody thought six-oh-three was a mistake anyway.”

“Oh, balls. This was Cowan’s fault, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe. He was still SecDef then. We know he lied about some things. And got caught. And then ate his own bullet, or somebody else’s if you ask the internet. My point is, this was before all that. What was I supposed to do, request an interview with the president to confirm?”

“So, what, are you legit now, or—“

“That’s an excellent question everyone is afraid to ask.”

“Aw, shit! Don’t tell me that!”

“Look at it this way: Cowan died, the revelations came out, and everybody wondered what we were supposed to do. The earliest candidates for Project Belvedere—that’s what we called it—had already succeeded. I was one of the last, and I was nearly done. Dave McNeil was already on his way out, no further guidance came down from heaven, and nobody wanted to ask. We settled for suspending the program again, for the time being.”

“What you’re telling me is, it’s even worse than it sounds. I wasn’t just being lied to, I was sitting on the biggest fucking political landmine in American history! This makes the other bullshit, all the other garbage that had me getting grilled by committees over the years, look like stealing cookies! And now it’s blown up, and you’re telling me after the fact that I could spend the rest of my life in jail for being an accessory to … what the hell is this, legally? It’s not treason, but it’s not a whole lot better.”

“I don’t care what it’s called. And if anything, we were protecting you by not telling you; you can honestly say, under oath, that you had no idea what I was capable of. Testify against me later, if you want. That doesn’t matter. We have limited time to work with, now. I want to be out of the city before this hits the fan. We might have a couple of days.”

“A couple of—just what in the hell are you talking about? Are you planning to become some kind of superhuman fugitive?”

“No. Nothing like that. But a lot of people saw my familiar today. It’s not on any documented records. If we’re lucky, they might assume it’s some new Russian asset, but that won’t be believable for long. By the end of the week, there will be hard questions being asked. If I can just get on the trail before then, there’s a chance I can get something useful done.”

“I’m not hearing a whole lot of ‘not a fugitive’ here.”

“Because I’m not running. I intend to continue the mission for as long as I can.”

“Oh, so you’re just planning to outdo Doug MacArthur. Some kind of patriotic mutiny. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Are you—are you, I—aren’t you ashamed to hear the words that are coming out of your mouth, woman?”

“There’s plenty of shame to go around in this situation.”

“And I don’t contest that for one damn minute! But you, you can’t mean to tell me that, because you’re not the jackass who burned out a hospital full of his own wounded, you’ve got the right to decide your own orders, and to hell with constitutional authority! That really is treason!”

“It’s really not. I have no intention of attacking America or its allies.”

“What kind of flipping bullshit non-answer is that? Don’t try to foist me off with your goddamn technicalities. Do you think I’m going to listen to you spout off all this insanity, and then stay quiet about it? Let alone go along with it. You’d have to kill me, or hold me captive, to shut me up. I don’t doubt you could do either, but if that’s what this is coming down to—“

“Oh, Lord, Colonel, would you please just listen? I’m not going to kill you. Or take away your freedom. I don’t intend to turn against America or American interests. And I won’t disobey a direct order, unless I sincerely believe it would be grossly unethical to do so. I do still have the right to a conscience, don’t I?”

“I suppose.”

“But now that the cat’s out of the bag, I need to move fast. We all do. We did already, of course, but … look, you’ve been through a lot of hearings, right? Did you ever meet Arthur Dawes, when he was a senator?”

“Of course. He was on all the right committees.”

“Did he strike you as the kind of man you could trust to do the right thing, even when it was unpopular or controversial?”

“What a stupid question. Men like that don’t get elected, do they? And he’s been in office since you were in middle school. He’s not the worst I’ve met, but he’s not the best, either.”

A bit more cynical of a take than she usually went for, but she wasn’t going to argue. “So now he’s president, and this whole business—which was his predecessor’s fault in the first place—was dumped in his lap, and has caused him a lot of trouble already. He’s never seen these kids, the whole thing is an abstract problem he’ll never have to deal with in person. If he has the option to just shove all three into a shallow grave, will he take it?”

“… maybe. I think Yuri, at least, deserves it. Not the other two. They really do seem to be unwilling victims.”

“I wouldn’t say victims. If it wasn’t for them, Russia would still own Fatih. Ruslan has done minimal damage since, under coercion, while Nadia actually defied her superiors and attacked her own family to stop a war crime in progress. She has done nothing to hurt America or her allies, and a lot to help. How do you feel about officers who let their subordinates take the fall?”

“All right, all right! But that doesn’t excuse going rogue.”

“Maybe not. You were talking about shame, earlier. Would you be ashamed to let these children die, after being helping to buy their service from their father for … how many months was it?”

“About eight, I think. And no, I wouldn’t say I was proud of it.”

“But do you feel any responsibility—“

“I wouldn’t push it, if I were you. If you’re saying we’ve both done things to be ashamed of, fine.”

“But which should I be ashamed of: following orders to not tell you I was an emissor, or thinking about not following orders to avoid letting these kids die? I don’t think you can be angry at me for both.” When he didn’t answer, she went on: “I’m going to keep moving forward, as long as I can, and hope that when this all falls apart I’ll be in a position where they’ll be more disposed to keep me on the job. It’s not going to be easy. Are you in, or out?”

“They haven’t removed me from this operation yet; technically, I’m still in charge, under General Green. Does he know about this crap?”

“Dr. Gus doesn’t know, but it’s not likely. At least, he probably doesn’t know I was part of Belvedere, even if he knows about the program in general. If he did—”

“Then he would have given you specific orders and rules of engagement and all that. Sure.” Hamp shut his eyes. “I guess it could be worse. Yeah, I’m with you for now. I’m not making any promises for the future. I’m risking jail time just keeping my mouth shut.”

“All right, that’s fair. But it’s godawful late, and I’m half-dead. Do you want to go back to the embassy, or just crash here?”

“If the alternative is a long-ass walk through dark streets to sleep on a cot, the chairs and couches here aren’t that bad.”

“Good call. Good night, Colonel Hampton.”

“Yeah, good night.” He still sounded grouchy, and lingered to look at the traffic while she headed for the stairs. Her hand was on the doorknob when he spoke again. “What do you think I should have done?”

She turned back. “About what?”

“You said you couldn’t check your order by asking the president. Fine. What was I supposed to do about mine? I’m not really a PPO, you know that. I can’t feel auras, I can’t make magic bugs, I don’t have a god in my pocket. I’m the cripple of this group, in more ways than one. They wanted me to buy Marshall’s services. Was I supposed to quit? Take it to the press?”

“I’m not saying I judge you,” she told him, wondering as she did if it was true. “We’re both in the wrong career for perfect moral clarity. Real life doesn’t always work that way. I can accept that.”

“Then why do you have such a bug up your ass about the kids in particular? You act like you’re the only moral person in the world. And to be perfectly honest, it gets on my goddamn nerves sometimes.”

Only sometimes? “This still isn’t about you, Hamp. You could say it’s personal. I only made it into the Corps myself because of a sick, unhappy old woman who spent the last years of her life exhausted just to make sure that I did. And there’s a possibility that someday, on the other side of this life, I will have to face that old lady again, and tell her that I had a chance to do the same thing she did, when I was young and fit, but I didn’t.” She tried not to think of Hamza getting torn apart. “And frankly, the thought of that moment scares the hell out of me. The shame of it would destroy me.”

She waited a long time with her hand on the door, but Hamp didn’t answer, and she didn’t press it. The door opened, and she made her way down the stairs to sleep. They both had a long road ahead.