Firedrake Chapter 32

The telephone was threatening to melt in Drake’s hand. He had never heard Hart this upset before, and found himself split into two separate outlooks on it. First, he was glad he was not in the room when she had the outburst, and second, he was secretly thrilled that he had been the one to put her in this mood.

“Look, I’m just—” he began, but the angry voice on the other end cut him off— as it had every time he had tried to speak since telling Hart that Soundstage was going with him to the cabin located by the NSA.

“No you are not ‘just’ anything,” Hart said. “Under no circumstances are you to take civilian into the field on an operation with you. You have done this before and it has always, I repeat always turned out to be a mistake!”

Drake lowered the cell phone; covered the pickup with a thumb. He grinned and nodded at Soundstage. “She loves the idea,” he whispered.

“I can tell,” the armored booster shot back. “I’ve got enhanced audio input, you know.”

“What? You’re eavesdropping? Aww, now that’s just rude.”

Shaking her silver head, Soundstage returned to her workbench. Situated against a wall in what had once been a three-car garage, the bench was covered with a bewildering array of tools and small parts. At the moment, a large flat box took up space on the main surface, and Soundstage was tinkering with it. She held a screwdriver in one hand and a pair of long, thin needle-nosed pliers in the other. Both moved with incredible grace considering the metal gauntlets in which they were housed.

“What are you working on, anyway?” Drake asked, voice still pitched low.

“Just one of my toys,” she said. She pointed with the screwdriver at the phone that was now held completely away from Drake‘s head. “Aren’t you supposed to be listening to her?”

Drake blew air out in a ’pffft’ noise. “Yeah, right. Like I need a brain cramp. Besides, you’re the one with the fancy microphones and stuff. If she says anything important, it’ll be on tape, right?”

A modulated chuckling sound came from the battle suit. “I could tweak the modulation if you want. Make her sound like one of the Chipmunks.”

“Oh, that would be sweet,” he said, quiet laughter rocking his upper body. “Hang on. She’ll be cooling off by now.”

He lifted the phone back to his ear. “You ain’t listening. What I want is” He lowered the phone once more. The frustrated woman on the other end of the call could be plainly heard. The tinny voice echoed in the cavernous garage.

“And she’s off again,” he said. “We’re good.”

“You do this a lot?” Soundstage asked, lifting the box and hefting it as if testing the weight.

“What? That?” he asked, grinning widely as he pointed to her actions. “Naw. I mostly press cars. Sometimes I deadlift fallen trees and stuff.”

“I meant do you ignore your boss like that?”

“Oh hell yeah,” he said without hesitation. He flapped a hand dismissively. “I pretty much ignore anyone who’s getting in the way of me doing what needs doing.”

“And what if she’s right? What if you are” Soundstage paused as if listening to something else. A moment later, Hart’s voice emerged from the speakers in her suit. It was loud enough for Drake to hear but not so much that it would carry onto his telephone.

“…walking into a trap and taking unauthorized personnel along for the ride.”

He waved his hand again. “Of course it’s a trap. It’s always a trap.”

“And still you go?”

“No, no, no. We go,” he corrected her. “I mean, life’s only fun if you’ve got a friend to share it with, right?”

“That’s what I figured,” she said dryly. She pointed at the phone once more. “She stopped talking.”

“Oops,” Drake whispered, rolling his eyes as he lifted the cell once again to his ear. “And another thing” he began, then paused. “Yeah, I’m still here. Why would you ask that? Oh, well, yeah, I mean, you were just kinda yammering and I had to take a leak, you know, and I didn’t figure you wanted to listen to that, so I just kinda walked away for a minute.”

“Nice save,” Soundstage said with a chuckle.

“Anyway, like I was saying,” Drake continued. “We’re going up to this cabin… Well, yeah, I’ve been listening to what you were saying. Yes, I heard the bit about not taking her along, but this is my op. Hang on, what?” he said suddenly, dragging the microphone pickup of the cell across his scales with a hissing sound.

“Can’t…signal…losing you…” he said, raising his voice as he continued to saw the device back and forth across his cheek. After a moment he snapped it closed and switched it off. Turning to Soundstage, he shrugged his shoulders and feigned innocence.

“Must have gone into a tunnel or something,” he said.

“So you intend to consciously break the rules she set down?” Soundstage asked.

“Yes, I most certainly do. With malice and forethought.”

“Okay. Just making sure.” She handed the boxy object to him and turned her back. “Hold that up and press it against the receptor plugs.”

“The whozamawhatchits?”

“Receptor plugs. Input jacks for transmission of...Oh hell, I forgot who I was talking to. Picture them as electrical outlets and pretend you’re plugging in a fan.”

“Oh! Those things,” he said, placing the box against the sleek metal of her back and aligning studs on the pack with holes that had appeared on the rear plating of the armor. There was a humming sound, a series of quiet clicks, and then a sucking noise as the device clamped smoothly against the armor. Drake pulled gently against it, surprised to find that it would not detach.

“What is it?” he asked as Soundstage turned to face him once more.

“Ripple pack. Multiround rocket launcher,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“You got a license for that?”

“Nah,” she said. “Cops like me, though.”

“Big donor to the Policemen’s Ball?”

“No, but I put out on the first date.”

Soundstage turned and walked away, leaving Drake standing in place, his jaw hanging open.

“While you were busy with Hart, I arranged transportation to within twenty miles of the target,” she said over her shoulder. “I figured since she wasn’t keen on me going along, she wouldn’t agree to provide a plane. Didn’t know you were gonna hang up on her.”

Within the hour, they were airborne, both of them passengers in a private jet. They were reclined in cushioned chairs, and a pot of coffee had been provided for Drake by the flight attendant assigned to the craft. She had been a little hasty in her delivery and perceived need to escape from his presence, but Drake honestly did not mind. For once, he was seeing how the other half lived.

“A guy could get used to this,” he said, disdaining the use of the tiny china cup provided and swigging his coffee straight from the decanter in which it had arrived. He propped up his enormous feet on one of the soft chairs.

“Don’t,” Soundstage urged. “I had to call in a big favor for this, so you owe me.”

“Put it on“

“You don’t have a tab,” she interrupted automatically.

“Oh, yeah. So I do owe you. Again. You know the routine. Make the call. I’ll be there. Whose plane is this anyway?”

“Someone who owed me.”

Drake shook his head and swallowed another mouthful from the decanter. The smooth metal head turned slightly to look directly at him.

“And take your feet off the chair. You’re getting it all dirty.”

They landed at a private airpark a few hours later and disembarked behind a hangar. The crew was cautious and polite enough to place them where they would not be easily seen by anyone who might be present. Their stay was not long. They took to the air once more, this time on their own, with Soundstage using the jets in her armor to lift them to a decent altitude, and then slowing to a reasonable speed that allowed Drake to keep up. She slid back a plate on one arm and held the wrist up toward him. A shimmering field of light appeared within it. Squinting to make out the details, Drake saw that it was a computerized display of a map detailing their progress toward the target.

“Neat trick,” he said. He tapped at his head with a talon. “I try to keep it all up here.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve seen what happens when you think. That’s why I figured the map was a good idea.”

“I invite you along on a fun trip to the country, and this is the attitude I get?” he asked, laughing aloud. “Next time, you can just sit at home.”

“Probably best. I’m missing a History Channel retrospective on the Edsel even now.”

“I’ll buy you the DVD.”

“You gonna watch it with me?”

“I don’t know,” he said, looking sideways at the chrome booster. “That wouldn’t be a first date, would it?”

Electronically modulated laughter carried to him over the sounds of rushing air and screaming jets. “So...we got a plan?” she asked after a moment.

“Sure,” he called back. “Lots of them. How’s this one: We go down, knock on the door, and tell them we’re Jehovah’s Witnesses; ask if they want a copy of the Watchtower.”

“I thought we wanted them to open the door.”

“Good point. Okay. We’ll tell them we’re from that Publisher place and they won, but they have to come out to get their giant cardboard check.”

“Is there a legitimate plan up in that big head anywhere?”

“Well, I sort of figured we’d kick in the door and arrest everyone.”

“Don’t we need a warrant or something?”

“Got one outstanding on Thrash for Assaulting an Officer. Everybody else is Aiding and Abetting.”

“You honestly think that’ll hold up?”

“Never really thought about it.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” she moaned. “You’re gonna get my ass hauled in for a civil rights violation, ain’t you?”

“Deny everything,” he suggested with a wink. “I always tell ‘em it must have been another seven foot dragon.”

“Question,” she said. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

“I try real hard not to,” he replied with a shrug that sent him off course by a few degrees. He corrected and angled back to a position near the armored flier. “Makes life awful boring if everything’s all doom and gloom. You can be serious if you want, though. I ain’t stopping you.”

“We’re getting close now,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. She pointed toward the wrist map, then down at the ground rushing by beneath them. “Much more and they’ll hear the jets.”

Drake nodded and the pair headed for the ground, coming to rest in a small clearing. Smoke curled up from the grass at Soundstage’s feet when her boots touched ground. She casually stamped out a few small flames, making sure they did not expand. Drake stretched and popped his joints as she did so, easing the kinks set in by the flight.

“The boys from the NSA are bound to have already beaten us up there,” he said.

“You figure there was a fight?”

“Naw. They’re more the sneak-and-peek type. Confrontation ain’t their strong suit.”

“They’ve got boosters, though, right?” she asked.

“A few. Most of those are the same. Folks whose abilities allow them to listen in or see things others can’t. Scanners, telepaths, long-range viewers, things like that. They don’t go in much for the toe-to-toe stuff. Usually if they need muscle they come to us.”

“That’s something I never understood,” remarked Soundstage. “Why is it that Justice maintains the heavy hitters? Why don’t you guys spread out a little?”

Drake nodded and leaned against a tall tree. It was not the first time he had heard the question. “Mostly it’s for convenience or at least it started that way,” he said. “The big boys up in their offices figured that if we were all situated in one place, then there’d be one pool of talent to draw from if they needed it. When they started us, all the boosters that worked for the gov were supposed to be in the same place. It didn’t take long, though, for some of them to figure out that they were more specialized than those of us that knock stuff down and tear things up. You got Lucian Andros over at IRS, for example. That monkey’s so weak he couldn’t get out of a bag on his own. Drop a page of numbers in front of him though, and he’ll be able to give you any patterns you want. They can give him tax forms for a world-grade corporation and before they turn around he can tell them the exact amounts they owe, how they’re shuffling the numbers, and anything else they need. I have him do my taxes every year. Always finds me a refund,” he added with a grin.

He rubbed a palm against the back of his head with a grinding, scraping noise that could set teeth on edge. “Folks who deal best with animals take up spots in the FDA. Elemental-based guys? They work for the EPA or one of those groups. Specialized senses? You know, sight, sound, touch? There’s always a lab group looking for you. I know a guy that looks absolutely normal to everyone. He works for the CDC. He can’t fight, or fly, or nothing like that, but he is one hundred percent immune to any known disease. Can’t catch ‘em, can’t carry ‘em. Guy can walk into their labs and work hands-on with anything they’ve got. Saves a fortune in the robotics cost alone.”

“So none of it is set down by statute or law or anything?” she asked. “I know Texas has some laws that say basically no one gets to work anywhere that they might represent an immediate danger. They keep it kind of vague most of the time.”

“There’s a few laws in place about where we work, but they’re old and no one pays much attention to them. Same kind of stuff you’re talking about. Nobody that generates radioactivity works around anyone for long, if you catch things on fire you can’t work for an explosives company, and so on. One that we use a lot of time if we need to kind of ‘back door’ our way in is an old espionage law that never came off the books. We got lawyers that sit around all day running through the old books to see if we can get away with the things we do. They find us dirty tricks and we use ‘em where we need to. After a few times, the law goes up before the Supreme Court for a ruling. If it stands we keep using it, if not we find something else. Kind of a pain in the ass, but then at least I’m not the one reading the law books all day.”

He started to walk in the direction of the cabin, keeping up a running commentary about the status of geneboosters in the government as they closed the distance. After a while, Soundstage motioned him to silence.

“Scanners are picking up some kind of signals from ahead. Twenty-two degrees, three-fifty meters,” she announced. Drake swiveled his head back and forth for a minute. He shrugged helplessly as he looked at her motionless figure.

“Where’s the twenty-two degrees thing?” he whispered. “I don’t do map reading real well.”

“I’m gonna get you one of those ‘For Dummies’ books on it,” she replied tersely. She pointed and Drake fixed his eyes on items visible in that direction.

“See? Now I can go,” he said. “You could have just said it was over by the big purple-looking rock thingy and the tree with the split trunk.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Yeah, but at least I can see a big purple-looking rock thingy.”

“You can’t tell, ‘cause of the helmet and all, but I’m sticking my tongue out at you.”

Drake laughed. “You want high or low?”

“I’ll take low,” she said automatically. “No loud jets that way.”

“Good point,” he said, throwing himself into the air. He pumped his wings a few times, gaining altitude. “Meet you past the split tree.”

Soundstage nodded, beginning a gentle jog. Her frame was low to the ground and her strides sure and smooth. Drake flew above her, keeping his gaze on the area they had marked. After a bit of flight, he caught sight of a shadow within the trees. It began to develop in detail as he neared it, and he was soon convinced he was looking at a van. Angling his body, he began a sharp descent.

The van was a matte shade of black, with heavily tinted windows and a tall antenna. It rocked suddenly as Soundstage emerged from the trees and fixed her gauntlets under the rear bumper. She began to lift, the effort forcing her boots deeper into the soil. The rear tires lifted free of the ground even as the engine fired up. A moment later, the tires were spinning freely as the motor revved ineffectually. An enormous emerald figure dropped from the sky, landing in front of the vehicle. Drake stood there, shaking his finger back and forth like a parent scolding a child. His wings were spread wide to emphasize his bulk, and he had drawn his lips back, exposing all of his shining teeth in a terrifying display.

“Driver, step out of the vehicle,” he ordered. He lifted his badge into view. The engine died and Soundstage lowered the van back to the ground.

“National Park Service - Forestry Department,” announced the driver, opening the door a crack. “Identify yourself.”

“Forestry Department? That’s your cover story?” Drake demanded, mouth dropping open in shock. “What’s the matter? All the fake ID’s for Mattress Inspector were taken already?”

“I demand that you identify yourself,” the man pressed. He was short, even by people who weren’t dragons pushing the seven-foot mark, with perfectly-coiffed hair and the usual slacks-and-shirt combo Drake had seen a thousand or more times. He was also surprisingly calm in the face of the sudden arrival of the two boosters.

Drake snorted in derision. “Demand? Okay, we can do that. Since you guys claim to be with the Forestry Department, I guess that makes us...let’s see...how about Lassie and Old Yeller?”

“Listen, pal, I don’t know who you think you are or what you think you’re doing, but—“

“What do you mean? I just told you who we are. Lassie and Old Yeller. It’s just up to you to decide which of us is which. Go on, guess. It’ll be fun.”

“Drake,” Soundstage muttered from her position at the rear of the van. He shrugged.

“I can’t help it,” he said. “Government assholes who lie about who they are piss me off.”

“We are aware that you gentlemen are here on assignment from the NSA,” Soundstage declared flatly. “We also know you are going to deny it,” she added, cutting off the Agent before he could do just that.

“I’m Francis Drake, Justice Department,” Drake introduced, displaying his credentials again. “Metahuman Affairs Division. Now you know, so stop jerking my chain or I’ll put holes in all your tires and leave you out here to rot.”

“We’re performing some tests on the forest,” the man began to say. Drake whipped out one of his pistols and aimed carefully at the right front tire.

“Had your chance,” he said, drawing back the hammer with an ominous sound.

“All right, fine,” the man said, waving his hands. “We’re doing some routine surveillance work up here. Practice, mostly.”

“That’s it? That load of crap is your big admission? I’m thinking that costs you a tire.”

“Think what you want, mister Drake, but that’s what’s going on here.”

“Lassie?” Drake asked.

“Active listening seems directed to the target in question,” Soundstage replied without hesitation. “Passive sensors laid out in a pattern between here and there. None closer than two hundred meters. There’s a signal jamming system in place, running on low power...almost an idle mode. They have an active ECM suite in the van but it’s not currently operational. Interception is on multiple frequencies, and the two men in the back are recording it all in high definition audio. They are also armed with a pair of H&K MP-5 submachineguns.”

“See?” Drake asked, shaking his head in mock sadness. “What was so hard about that?”

“If we were with the NSA, you know we’d never be able to disclose that information,” the driver said with a casual shrug. “What I want to know is: how did you figure it out? The whole van is triple-insulated.”

“With Tempest-shielded equipment as well,” Soundstage noted. “Expecting an EMP attack sometime soon, are we?”

“It’s been known to happen,” he admitted.

“Not with any frequency, I would suppose?”

“More often than you’d think. There’s a common tactic involving—“

“So no sensors within two hundred yards?” Drake interrupted.

“Pretty much,” Soundstage told him.

“How far are we from the place?”

“A little more than one kilometer.”

“How far is that in people distance?”

“Figure on just over half a mile,” she said, not hiding the exasperated tone in her voice. She moved forward to join him in front of the van. The MSA Agent remained in the doorway, only his head peeking out above the frame.

“That’ll be easy enough,” Drake said. “Five minutes in the woods and we’re there, right?”

“What about our new friends here?”

“They wouldn’t get within two hundred yards to plant their sensors,” he said, snorting again. “They couldn’t even figure out you were coming up behind them. How much of a threat do you suppose they really are?”

“It’s quite probable that they couldn’t see me coming because I have a sensor suite that makes theirs look like child’s play. I’ve got a countermeasure generator that would blind Air Force One if I wanted to,” she told Drake in a quiet tone.

“How do you pack so much crap into that one suit?”

“I have small feet,” she said. “Leaves a lot of room in the boots.”

“Fine,” he said, reaching out with his right hand and gripping the front tire of the NSA van. He squeezed, flexing his fingers. There was a loud popping sound and the tire deflated. “They won’t be following us any time soon.”

“That’s government property!” the Agent protested, pointing toward the tire.

“So are you. Get over it,” retorted Drake.

“I’m not so sure I want to play with you any more. You’re going to get a black mark on my record,” Soundstage said.

“Yeah, and it’ll follow you for the rest of your life.”

“Let’s just go,” she said. Without another glance at the NSA van or its crew, the pair took off walking. They made their way through the forest, easily weaving their way through the trees. Drake kept up a running chatter of sick jokes that degraded the NSA and its operatives, fully aware that they were all being captured by the team in the van.

“We’re there,” Soundstage interrupted after a few minutes, stopping her approach while they were still shielded by the trees. Drake fell silent and looked around.

The cabin was, as he had surmised, a simple boxy structure in the middle of the forest. An unpaved road led to it, and two vehicles occupied space beside the dwelling. A small circular area had been cleared of trees and brush around the cabin, providing those inside it with some measure of security against uninvited guests. At the very least, no one could approach without being seen. The cabin itself had been designed by a professional, and built with commercial logs. Several windows were present, and occasional movement could be seen within the dimly-lit interior. Drake raked his gaze along the structure, estimating it to be just over one thousand square feet in size.

“What have you got?” he asked in a whisper.

“Thermographics show three occupants. Two sitting or walking around in what we’ll guess is the living room, one laying down in another room.”

“Laying? It ain’t lying?”

“You want to give me English lessons, Captain Accent?”

“Good point,” he said, nodding.

“So what next?”

“We find Thrash and beat her ass, then arrest everybody.”

“Your lack of planning amazes me still.”

“Yeah. I’m smooth like that. So, can you tell which one is Thrash with your fancy gizmos?”

“I see shapes of heat. You make sense of that if you can.”

“Anything you can tell about their size?”

“The two in the living room...one’s about six-five, built like an anvil. The other? About five-eight, maybe. Moves with some grace.”

“That’s probably her and that mountain of leather she was with at the mall,” Drake said, remembering the booster who had knocked him through a pillar. “Watch out for him. He hits like a runaway bus.”

“The third one is laying...lying...screw it, he’s reclining on the bed. Rough guess puts him at about five-eight also.”

Drake sucked at a tooth for a minute, glancing at the construction of the cabin. His eyes gently weaved back and forth as he examined his objective. “Main door there. Windows there and there. Should be a back door. More windows...Arcs of fire for the defenders run at angles there and there and there...”

He paused and Soundstage swiveled her head to look at him. “Well?”

“You know there’s gonna be a fight. Might as well get ready for it,” he said with another shrug.

“Ask and ye shall receive,” declared a powerful voice from above their position.

Everything went suddenly dark.