Firedrake Chapter 10

The door to the tiny brig slammed open with authority as Drake entered, rebounding from the wall with an echoing sound of wood on stone. He stood framed in the open portal as he examined the entry hall. It was dimly lit, with flaking grey-green paint and a pervasive stench of fear and sweat. The ceiling was high enough that Drake could comfortably walk upright, but the hall itself was so narrow that his wingtips brushed the walls. It was flanked on the left by a row of cell doors, and on the right by a pair of offices and a single bathroom.

The four Marines assigned to the jail jerked their weapons up to cover the new arrival. Drake waved them off, displaying his credentials and introducing himself. A Marine detached himself from the group and stepped forward. His sleeve bore the stripes of a Sergeant.

“Where’s my prisoner?” Drake asked.

“She’s in the back, sir. Last cell.”

“Still gagged?”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but you bet your ass she is,” the Sergeant replied. His lip curled as though he were preparing to spit. “Bitch put one of mine in Sickbay. She’s damned lucky she isn’t coughing up one of her lungs back there.”

“Yeah?” Drake asked. He snorted in amusement. “Wouldn’t bother me much if she was. Still, I’ve got some questions for her. Probably better that she ain’t.”

The Sergeant scanned Drake from head to toe. “Sir, I’d really rather you didn’t go back there,” he said politely. “Whatever she did had Murphy taking us all on in here. We’re all still a little worn out and I don’t think any of us are ready to do the same with you.”

“Not going to be a problem,” Drake assured the man. He upholstered his pistols and laid them on the desk in the first office. The Marines had a cooler box on that same desk and Drake extracted a bottle of water from the melting ice inside it. He slid the bottle into a thigh pocket of his trousers. “I owe somebody a buck,” he said.

“Sir, that woman - “ the Sergeant began, but another of the Marines cut him off.

“She’s a witch!” the man snarled. There was a fresh bandage on his forehead; white gauze peeking out from beneath the brim of his helmet.

“Hightower!” snapped the Sergeant, turning an angry glare on his trooper.

“She is, Sarge! You heard her. She cast a spell on Murphy!”

“Just chill, man,” said one of the other Marines as he reached out to calm Hightower, who shook off the cautionary hand and continued.

“I know what I heard.”

Drake stepped clear of the office, leaned against the wall, and folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me,” he said.

“Everything was good down here. We had her secured, got her into the restraints, the whole nine,” Hightower said. He rested a shaking hand on the receiver of his rifle, letting the weapon hang on its patrol sling. “Next thing, she’s all chanting and shit and the lights went out. Murphy went back to check on her and she said something else to him. A few seconds later, Murphy comes back down the hall and tags me in the head with the butt of his ‘sixteen.”

The Sergeant began to make some comment but Drake interrupted him. “It’s probably some kind of telepathy,” he explained. “Mind control. She just used the chanting to get your attention. As far as the lights go, that’s a bargain-basement trick for anyone with a little electrical ability.”

“I’m telling you, sir -”

“Not saying I don’t believe you, slick,” Drake said, raising a hand to quiet the man‘s protests. “You saw what you saw. No questions there. I’ve just been around too many of these monkeys who want to make everyone believe they’re more powerful than they really are. They use their abilities to twist your head.”

Without waiting for further discussion, Drake stepped forward, forcing the Marines to press themselves against the wall to avoid his bulk. They shrank away from any contact with his wings, relaxing only after he had full passed their positions.

The hallway grew dimmer the closer Drake got to the cell, and he glanced up to see that the lights had burned out in their sockets, apparently from the electrical surge the woman had caused. He passed by a spatter of blood on the wall that smelled fresh. He closed in on the final cell, and noted with little surprise that there was more blood there. The fight with Murphy had been a good one.

The cell itself was small and dank, and its sole occupant was seated on a cot that was little more than a plank of metal suspended from the wall by a pair of chains. The woman still wore her black leather ensemble, but it showed signs of abuse. Drake could make out the print of a rifle butt under her left breast and numerous boot marks in various locations. She was not clean of blood either; trickles had dried across her lips and beneath her nose. Her hands were encased behind her in a ‘V’-shaped set of durite restraints that completely enclosed her arms up to the elbows, and the restraints were chained to a heavy metal ring on the wall to hold her in place. A blinking LED on the left wrist indicated that an explosive charge was wired into the device. There was a massive dark pattern of a bruise that had begun to purple along the line of her left lower jaw, and Drake recognized the marks his own fist had left. Her hair shifted as she turned her head to get a closer look at him. A strip of silver duct tape covered her mouth, but it was the angry eyes above it that drew Drake’s attention. Where they showed through the locks of her hair, there was only rage to be seen within them.

“Yum, yum, yum,” Drake said, leaning against the doorframe and leering down at her. “Leather and durite. Looks like a genebooster S&M party in here.”

The bound woman muttered something from behind the duct tape. Though the words were incomprehensible, the flashing in her eyes gave mute testimony to their meaning. Drake chucked softly before stepping inside the cell. He took the bottle of water from his pocket and showed it to the woman.

“I’m gonna take this tape off your mouth, and then you can have a drink. After that, we can talk a little bit. Let me make sure you’re clear on one thing, though: You try to do to me what you did to those Marines, and they’ll be taking you out of here in three separate bags. Nod if you understand.”

The muscles in her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed, but she nodded her head. Drake set the water on the floor. He reached out with a claw and hooked the edge of the tape. With a muttered apology for the pain to come, he ripped the strip free in a sudden pull. Her agonized scream echoed from the walls of the tiny cell. Once she had a moment to recover, Drake unscrewed the cap from the bottle of water and held it up to her lips, letting her suck greedily at the cold liquid. She finished most of the bottle before pulling away.

“What do you want?” she croaked.

“Some answers.”

The woman snorted in derision, then hawked and spat. A thick gobbet of blood-specked phlegm struck Drake in the upper chest and slid down his armored torso with an oily feeling.

“There’s your answer, freak,” she said.

“Oh, now see? I was being all nice and everything, and you had to go and do that,” Drake said, shrugging his shoulders. He leaned in close, letting the chemical stench of his breath bring tears to her eyes. He could see the terrifying lengths of his teeth reflected in those watering orbs. Without warning, he lashed out with a hand, claws carving a series of rents through the stone wall with a shrieking sound. When he spoke, his voice was a menacing whisper. “Guess we’re gonna have to do things the old-fashioned way.”

“I want my lawyer!” the woman shouted. She leaned back, away from Drake, letting her weight rest on the durite restraints behind her. Drake recognized the fear for what it was and knew he had pushed the act a bit far. He lowered his voice and put on his best friendly manner.

“Let‘s start by getting acquainted. What do you say?” Drake asked, ignoring her demand for representation. “I’m Francis Drake, Metahuman Response. You are?”

“I’m the one who’s going to kill you,” the woman said as her lips curled back in a hate-filled sneer.

“Yeah, yeah. You and about two hundred other little monkeys through the years. Didn’t stop you from almost pissing yourself a second ago. Now what’s your name?”

“Manslaughter,” she said with obvious pride.

Drake made a soft snorting sound, then another and another. He turned away and lifted a hand to cover his snout as the sounds continued. After a few seconds, his upper body rocked as the urge to laugh overpowered his restraint. He fought against it for a moment, then composed himself and forced a straight face when he looked back at her.

“No, come on, really,” he said. “What’s your name?”

The woman surged to her feet in a vain attempt to bring herself to his eye level. She wound up looking at the spittle that still clung to his pectorals. Jerking her head up, she glared balefully into the reptilian face that looked down at her. “The name is Manslaughter, lizard-boy, and you’d better remember it!”

“Okay,” Drake said, reaching out to pat her on the head like a small child. “You sit down now, Manslaughter,” he told her, rolling his eyes as he spoke the name.

“You can’t keep me here,” she said, pulling against the chains that held her to the wall. “I’m gonna get out, and I’m gonna track you down. When I do, you’ll wish you’d never met me.”

“Lady, I’m already there,” Drake said, pushing her back down onto the cot. “How come you want me dead so bad? What did I ever do to you, anyway? Apart from that, I mean,” he added, jerking his chin toward the contusion on her jaw line.

“You know what you did, asshole. You took down Aquatica.”

“That’s it? All this for a walking squirt gun?”

Once more Manslaughter leaped to her feet, raging against the chains that held her only inches from her tormentor. Saliva flew from her lips as she shouted at him.

“You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you! Let me out of these cuffs and I’ll kick your ass!”

“That’s not exactly an incentive to release you, you know,” he said, pushing her onto the cot again. He noted that quite a bit more force was necessary this time. “Look, I didn’t come here to start a fight. We had enough of that up in the sky. You help me, maybe I can see to it that she gets moved someplace with a pool. How’s that sound?”

Her jaw muscles continued to work as though she were trying to chew on something. Drake looked down at her and saw just how pitiful a sight she really was. The restraints had to be painful, holding her arms behind her as they did, and she looked as though she could use some medical attention, both from his own fight and that which she had undergone with the Marines. He could control her, he knew, and it was after all only a short trip to the infirmary. There was nothing a little girl like this could do against his own immense strength. Even if she somehow got away, he could always take her down with his breath weapon.

That last thought caused a sudden image of Broadsword on his knees moaning in pain to flash into Drake’s mind and he shook off the feelings that had assailed him. He took a deep breath and his eyes widened as he realized he had stepped closer to the woman while he was lost in thought.

“You‘re good,” he said with more than a touch of genuine admiration. “I’ve had folks in my head before, though. You won’t get me like that.”

“I almost did,” Manslaughter gloated. “And I wasn’t even trying.”

“Telepathy ain’t new to me, kid. I’ve worked with some of the best.”

“I’m no telepath,” she shot back. “I have power you cannot imagine.”

“Yeah? Didn’t seem to help you open the cell door. Hell, you could barely control one Marine,” Drake said, laughing aloud. “What were you gonna do? Take me over and use me to get you out of here? Let’s say that worked and we didn’t get dead in the process. Then what?”

“Then you take me to see Aquatica.”

“That simple, huh? That’s all you want?”

“That and to see you dead,” she said.

“Well, that part ain’t happening, but I might be able to arrange the first. My earlier offer stands. You help me and I’ll help you.”

Manslaughter looked up, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you answer all my questions, truthfully, and I’ll take you to Aquatica. You screw me over, though, and I’ll have her dropped in the bottom of a salt mine. Hear it gets pretty dry there.”

“You can do it? Get me in to see her, I mean?”

“I can,” he said flatly, surprised at the pleading tone in her voice. Manslaughter looked at the floor for a moment before returning her gaze to him. She bit her lip before responding.

“Okay. Let’s deal.”

*****

Drake had an odd look in his eyes when he returned to the observation room. Through the windows he could see Annihilator and Emile, no flanking the door to the room in which Patriot lay. There were still a number of technicians in the room with the fallen hero, bustling about and each vying for space near the still form. Everybody seemed to be entering data into a variety of hand-held computers, and the displays that lined the observation room echoed their efforts with lines of scrolling text and images. Drake had little interest in the contents of those displays. He could not understand the complexities of the science, and he made no pretense otherwise. Instead, he marched to where the window had been before Annihilator had flown through it to save Hart. It was covered with a thick sheet of plastic film, taped down as a stopgap measure before the replacement window could be fitted. Drake stuck a claw under the edge and peeled it back from the hole.

“Yo, Emile!” he shouted through the gap. All eyes in the operating theater snapped up to see who had interrupted their work before returning to the tasks at hand. Emile smiled when he saw the long emerald snout poking through the hole. He waved.

“Come up here a minute, would you? I got a couple of questions.”

Emile nodded and stepped back through the door. A few moments later, he emerged from the stairs and Drake beckoned him to follow. They passed through the observation room and into a hallway lined with small offices. Choosing one at random, Drake entered. He closed the door behind Emile and gestured the man to a seat behind the matte-gray desk. He spun one of the visitor chairs around, sitting in it and allowing his tail to fall to the floor.

“How have you been?” Emile began. “I understand that you and monsieur Calder had a bit of an altercation?”

“I’m fine,” Drake assured him. “I took a beating, yeah, but it’s no big thing. How’s the Man?”

“Things progress as they have,” Emile said with a touch of sorrow in his voice. “This Doctor Marks - they call him the Splicer, I think? He is working on the problem from a new angle, for which I have been told I have you to thank.”

“Don’t thank me,” Drake said, waving off the sentiment with one enormous paw. “It was just an accident.”

“Be that as it may, Doctor Marks has nothing but praise for you.”

“Yeah? He’s a good kid. Look, I wanted to talk to you about something. You’ve been around the booster game from the early days. I figure you’ve seen the best and the worst there are, what with having worked alongside Patriot and Lady Justice.”

Emile inclined his head to acknowledge the statement.

“You ever hear of a booster calls himself Karma?” Drake asked. Emile sat back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. A smile began to spread across his face.

“Now there is a name I have not heard for some years,” he said softly.

“So he’s real?”

“Oh, yes, very real, my friend. Karma was an interesting sort. In the early days, Alicia sought him out to help us stop Firebrand.”

“So you’ve worked with him then.”

“Not at all,” Emile said, shaking his head and raising a hand. “He was unwilling to assist us.”

The response stunned Drake for a moment. He could not imagine anyone not desiring to work alongside those that were now regarded as legends. When he paused to think that he was even peripherally involved in struggles of their magnitude, the thought sent chills down his spine. Obviously there was something odd about Karma.

“So why did Lady J track him down at all? What made him so special?”

Emile chuckled, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a battered pack of cigarettes. He tucked one of the unfiltered sticks into the corner of his mouth and lit it with a chrome Zippo before answering. “Have you seen the films of the first lunar landing?”

“Back in sixty-nine? Yeah.”

“When Armstrong set foot on the moon, he gave his speech and planted his flag. It was shortly after that when he discovered the message. It said simply, ‘What took you so long?’ and was signed ‘Karma’. There were footprints leading to it, but not away, and their origin was never located. The prints were made by someone wearing sneakers.”

It was Drake’s turn to sit back in his chair. His eyes widened as he tried to absorb the information.

“I never heard that,” he admitted.

“Few people ever have,” Emile said with a slight shrug. A plume of grey smoke jetted toward the ceiling as he exhaled. “This was Man’s race to the stars, remember? It was hardly the place to glorify the ego of a genebooster. The tapes were edited and cleaned to remove traces of Karma’s activity before they were released to the general public. After we viewed the originals, Alicia decided that perhaps this was someone who could be of use to us. Now, I have a question of my own.”

“Go ahead.”

“Where did you hear this name?”

“Remember the little girl that tried to blow us out of the sky?”

“But of course.” Emile said. “She was not so good the last time I saw her. That bitch Hart says she was taken to a cell.”

“Yeah, she was,” Drake said. “I just went down there and talked to her. She had something very interesting to tell me about Karma.”

“And that would be?” Emile asked, taking a deep drag from the cigarette.

“She’s his daughter.”

The color drained from Emile’s face and he choked on a lungful of smoke. Coughing and sputtering, he sat bolt upright. “His daughter?” he gasped.

“That’s what she says, anyway.” Drake said, holding his hands out and spreading them wide. “Don’t know how much truth there is to it, but I think she had some good motivation.”

“Monsieur Drake, your story has suddenly become more dangerous,” Emile said. “If indeed she is the daughter of Karma, then it would be in your best interests to voice this information to Colleen Hart. Much as I may detest the woman, she is formidable in her own way.”

“What is it with you two, anyway?” Drake asked, cocking his head to the side. “You went at her like an acid bath the moment you got here. Even when I mentioned her name to you back at your house you went cold. Something I ought to know about?”

“She and I have a past of sorts,” Emile began. “Many years ago. It is not the easiest of things to explain.” His eyes lowered to the desktop and he drew at the cigarette as he considered his words. Drake saved him the trouble.

“You were banging her?”

Emile coughed again, holding up a hand to stop Drake from saying anything else. He hacked for a moment before regaining control. A grin spread across his face as he responded.. “I do wish you would wait for me to exhale before saying things such as this,” he requested, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. Blinking, he looked up at Drake. “That was not the choice of words I would have used, but it is nonetheless a fact. She and I had a relationship some years ago. It did not end well.”

“And now you hate each other.”

“For lack of a better phrase, yes. Being in the same building with her, even for so short a period as we have been here, makes my stomach turn. I should like nothing so much as to spit in her face and depart, but I cannot, so long as my friend lies upon that table. I am, however, consoled by the thought of how much it hurt her to send you for me.”

“She might well have figured that we’d end up killing each other,” Drake noted. “She’s not exactly on my Christmas card list, you know.”

“But she would have no way of knowing how we would react to one another.”

“I ain’t the hardest guy to predict most times,” Drake said with a soft chuckle. “You might have noticed I’ve got what the shrinks call ‘anger issues’. Remember when we first met? Outside your house? It got a little tense for a minute.”

“I do seem to recall that. You stood on my flowers.”

“Just the tray,” Drake corrected. “No reason for me to go squishing flowers. Besides, you interrupted me.”

“And knowing that you tend to react in such a manner, you believe that Hart sent you in hopes somehow that one or both of us might come to harm?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. Kind of a nice setup on her part, you know? Two birds, one stone…you getting where I‘m going with this?”

Emile sat in silent contemplation for a minute, then shook his head. “I doubt that she would send an assassin to my door. She has more…shall we say, roundabout ways of controlling others.” He paused as if considering what those ways might be, then shook his head again, more forcefully this time. “Be that as it may, it would seem that your best alternative at this point is to present the information that this Manslaughter person gave to you to Hart. Let her decide on a course of action that would be appropriate.”

“Oh, I already decided on one,” Drake said.

“Yes?”

Drake nodded and stood from his chair. “Yep. I got me a plan. But you know what? I think you’re right. I should tell Hart about it. And I think you ought to be there when I do. You might just enjoy her reaction.”

A smile broadening his features, Emile rose and moved for the door. “You are going to make her angry, then?“

“Might happen,“ Drake nodded. “I’ve been known to.”

“Then I am more than ready.”

The pair exited the room and returned to the observation area. Drake looked around the room for Hart, but she was nowhere to be found. He reached out with a huge hand, claws snagging the shirt of a passing researcher.

“Where’s Hart?” he asked, ignoring the flush of terror that suddenly crossed the man’s face.

“She, um, she’s in her office, sir,” the man stammered. He raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the rear of the room. “B-back there. Past the, past the computer terminals. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” Drake muttered, releasing the man to return to his duties. A sigh of relief sounded from behind them as Drake and Emile walked away.

Drake shook his head in amazement at the man’s fear, then continued forward in the direction he had been pointed. He forced his way through a knot of scientists who had clustered around a computer screen; the spinning images displayed there could have been Patriot’s DNA or the newest rage in video games. Either would have been as incomprehensible to Drake. None of those he displaced voiced any objection to his rough passage, though some looked as though they had the intent before they saw exactly who was pushing them aside.

Drake did not bother knocking at the door marked ‘Director’. He gripped the knob, discovering by feel that it was locked. Turning to regard Emile, he shook his head in mock sorrow. “Kind of a shame that people think they gotta lock their doors, isn’t it? The climate we live in these days…”

Twisting his wrist sharply, Drake forced the knob. The muscles in his forearm stood out momentarily in sharp relief and then there was a screeching sound from inside the lock mechanism, followed by a loud cracking noise. Drake pushed on the door and it swung open before him.

“Guess I was wrong. Looks like it’s open,” Drake said with a tiny smile.

Inside the office, Colleen Hart sat at her desk, left eyebrow arched in curiosity as she viewed the dragon and man who entered the room. Beside her, hands thrust forward in a defensive pose that could also allow her powers to be utilized, was the garishly-dressed figure of Vertigo. She glared hotly at the unannounced intrusion.

“Hiya, boss,” Drake said casually, spinning a chair away from the wall and dropping himself into it. He winked at Vertigo and mimed blowing her a kiss. Her teeth clenched and her cheeks reddened in response.

“What do you want, Agent Drake?” Hart asked in her patented ‘I-am-bored-with-this-display’ voice. She returned to examining the papers that were scattered across her desk.

“You see? That’s HeartBreak for you, Emile,” Drake said as the older booster lowered himself into a chair of his own. “Always thinking about the needs of her employees.”

His cavalier tone brought a flash to Hart’s eyes and she looked sharply at him from across the desk. “Do you have a reason for being here, or is this just another way of you telling me you want a new job?”

“Oh, I’ve got a job to do,” Drake assured her, nodding his head.

“I see,” she said. “And what, pray tell, would this job entail?”

“I may have found someone who can fix Patriot.”

Hart placed the paper atop the desk with a slow movement of her hand and fixed Drake with a hard stare. “Elaborate,” she ordered.

“Got a tip on a booster. Calls himself Karma.”

Drake watched Hart’s face as he spoke, and was not surprised to see the sudden rush of adrenaline at the mention of Karma. Hart’s pupils dilated, her nostrils flared slightly, and her breathing quickened. Satisfied that he had at last garnered the lion’s share of her attention, Drake continued.

“Well, I see I don’t have to tell you who I’m talking about,“ he noted smugly. “Seems he’s got himself a place down in Louisiana. Set himself up studying voodoo or some such shit. I’m gonna go have a talk with him. See if I can’t get him to come up here and work his mojo on the Man.”

“That is…that is a very dangerous plan,” Hart said hesitantly. “If you are discussing the same Karma I think you are -”

“Yeah, like it’s a real common name,” Drake cut in, rolling his eyes.

“ - then you would be basically committing suicide,” she continued. “Karma has never wanted anything to do with us, and has made it clear how he feels about repeated attempts to reach out to him. If I remember correctly, the last Agents who tried are still confined to a psychiatric facility.”

“And how long have you been trying to get me into one of those?” Drake snorted. “Look, lady, it’s a win-win for you. I either get what I need or I go squish. Don’t know what you’re all fired up about on it.”

“He has a point,” Vertigo whispered. Drake shot her the finger.

“Didn’t ask for your input, sweetheart,” he said.

“Vertigo,” Hart said in a slow, cautionary tone. The girl took the hint and Hart returned her attention to Drake. “You are not my favorite agent, Drake, but I don’t feel the urge to throw you away right now.”

“Gee, thanks,” Drake muttered, not missing the use of the phrase ‘right now‘. “Your concern is touching. Anyway, this ain’t a request, Hart. I’m going. You can either stand in my way - which means you take a chance on Patriot buying the farm - or you can back me in this.”

Hart sighed, then pursed her lips in thought. “You do this, Agent, and you are acting against my recommendation. You understand that?”

“Yeah. I’m on my own, same as always.”

“Not what I said,” Hart corrected him. “I said you would be going against my recommendation, not against my orders. You have the support of the Division. What are you going to need?”

“You won’t like it,” Drake said.

“I never do where you are concerned,” Hart countered.

“Fair enough. You know the little monkey-girl I brought in? The one down in the cells?”

“Manslaughter?” Hart asked, though her voice held no hint of the sarcasm Drake used when he spoke the word.

“Yep. I’m taking her with me. All charges are dropped if she helps.”

“That’s not how we do things,” Hart said. Drake slapped a massive hand onto her desk, causing the papers to jump.

“Again, not asking. She goes,” he said firmly, eyes narrowing as his teeth gritted.

“Fine,” Hart said, her expression hardening. “You take her, then you take the chances. She’ll cut you down first chance she gets.”

“No great loss, if you ask me,” Vertigo chimed in. Three pairs of eyes snapped over to glare at her.

“No one did, child,” Emile said in a frosty tone. “Now be silent and allow these two to speak. When you opinion is sought it will be requested.”

“Geez, Gramps. Chill,” Vertigo mumbled.

“Chill?” Emile asked, a malicious grin splitting his features. “As you wish.”

The temperature in the office dropped suddenly, and Drake’s wings fluttered out and snapped around his immense frame to ward off the cold. Hart closed her eyes and shook her head slowly from side to side as crystals of snow condensed from the very air of the room. Directed unerringly by Emile’s powers, the snow began to circle around the young girl in the multi-colored clothing.

“You son of…” she began. Her hands, fingertips beginning to turn blue from the icy temperatures around her, snapped back up toward Emile. “Try the spin cycle, old man!”

“This stops now!” Hart yelled as Drake took a threatening step toward Vertigo.

“He started it!” Vertigo protested in a childish tone as she dropped her hands obediently back to her sides.

“And I am finishing it,” Hart said. She sounded suddenly tired. She looked up at Emile. “You wonder why we were not compatible?” she asked softly.

“Aww,” Emile said with obviously feigned sorrow. “And here I was believing it was the fact that you are a heartless bitch that made it so.”

“I’m leaving,” Drake announced, shaking his head. He discarded thoughts of briefing Hart on the identity of Manslaughter in the face of the current activity in the office. “All of you people are flat-ass crazy, and I’m gonna get out before I catch me a case of it myself.”

As he closed the door behind him, Drake could hear Emile and Hart finally settling their differences through the tried and true method of yelling obscenities at one another. He rubbed some feeling back into his chilled arms and headed for the elevator.

“I wonder if I should tell her that I’m taking Annihilator along for the ride?” he asked aloud. He shook his head again, grinning wickedly. “Nah.”