After we lost the vote, they told us to go home, but most of us stayed. Summer got hotter. Tempers got shorter. So they sicced the Army on us. MacArthur was in front, chest full of ribbons, thumping a riding crop on his leg and giving orders like we was the Hun. Some of us met them on the way, waving white shirts like flags over our heads, begging for an hour to get the women and children out of the camp. The hot heads and the communists began throwing rocks and bottles so the Army threw gas bombs back. My head got split open with a club. I wanted to cut them so bad, just let my bones grow into claws and rip them to bits, like I was back in the war, but I didn’t. My brother’s boy turned blue and died the next morning from the gas. Nothing I could do. He was just too little . . . Folks wonder why we stayed. We were hungry and broke. Of course we stayed. We had nowhere else to go.
—Higby Yates,
Former member of the 1st Volunteer Active Brigade
and Bonus Marcher, 1933
Washington D.C.
Their chosen meeting place had not been picked by chance, but rather because it seemed appropriate. The authorities hadn’t even bothered to clean up the mess left over from last summer. The shacks and tents had been burned, but the remains still sat there in their orderly rows, tattered or rusting, while the sun went down over the Anacostia Flats. It was a place where trust had been betrayed.
As someone who understood what it felt like to get stabbed in the back, he had wanted to see the place for himself. Jake Sullivan sat on the grass and savored a smoke while he waited for the others to arrive.
Lance Talon got there next, sort of. A mangy stray dog came trotting up to Sullivan like it owned the place. That was his first clue. Normally a cur like that would have sulked around in the shadows until it decided it was worth the risk to try and mooch food. The dog was brown except for where it was pink and it smelled like it had been rolling on something dead.
“Evening, Lance,” Sullivan said.
“Hey, Jake,” the dog answered with a deep voice. A dripping tongue hung out, but the dog’s mouth didn’t move as Lance spoke through the animal. “I’m on my way up the road. Figured I’d sniff around first.”
“How can you smell anything over that stink?” Sullivan pinched his nose. “Would you back up already? I’m dying here.”
“Smells like perfume and roses to me right now.” The dog trotted a few feet downwind. “Better?”
“Much. Why the mutt?”
“I’m guessing you haven’t read the evening paper yet.” The dog cocked its head at him and whined. “I was making sure this place wasn’t swarming with coppers first.”
“Haven’t seen the paper in days.”
“I’ve got one with me. You’re famous. Or is it infamous? Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Dillinger.”
“That bad?”
“You think I’m exaggerating . . . Hang on a second.”
The dog’s manner suddenly changed. It blinked stupidly, as if trying to figure out how it had woken up here. The last thing it remembered was whatever wonderful dead thing it had been playing with before Lance had taken over its brain. The mutt saw Sullivan, yipped in surprise, and took off into the ruins at a dead run.
A Ford box truck came to stop nearby and shut off its engine. Sullivan tossed the butt in the grass and stood. Lance Talon limped up, his cowboy boots crunching on the gravel. They shook hands, both of them knowing better by now than to try to out squeeze the other guy.
Though short, Lance was a tough fellow with a lumberjack’s beard and the shoulders to match. More comfortable in the outdoors than in the fake trappings of civilized society, the Beastie had adventured his way around the dark corners of the world, hunting exotic animals until the Grimnoir had put his skills to use hunting Imperium instead. “Nice view.” Lance glanced at the capitol building in the distance. The dome could be seen over the trees. “Formidable, even if it’s packed with liars and thieves.”He handed Sullivan a folded Washington Herald.
“What page?”
“Buddy, you’re the headline.”
DANGEROUS ACTIVE MURDERS FEDERAL OFFICERS IN COLD BLOODED RAMPAGE. The next line was even worse. JAKE “HEAVY” SULLIVAN: Possible Conspirator in Magical Assassination Plot? The picture was his convict shot from Rockville. The one that made his eyes look small, black, and dead. These people certainly moved fast.
Lance tried and failed to peer over Sullivan’s shoulder while he read the lies. Jake was nearly a foot taller, and it didn’t help that Lance had taken on a sort of permanent bad posture stoop because one of his legs was shorter than the other. A particularly nasty demon had taken a chunk out of him and there hadn’t been a Healer around. “I heard talk you’re going to be declared public enemy number one. I saw that movie. James Cagney is too pretty to play the likes of you.”
Sullivan crumpled the newspaper in disgust and threw it on the ground. “Damn Hearst and his excuse for journalism. Whatever happened to reporters checking facts themselves? That man will print anything that makes an Active look like an animal.”
“Us being animals seems to be the popular sentiment over there today, too.” Lance nodded at the capitol. “The president is going to live, thank God, but all Actives are footing the bill. Dark times are coming, Jake.”
“Well, let’s go risk our lives finding this Pathfinder to protect all these ignorant bastards so they can sit around and bitch about our kind. You know this very spot should’ve been blown up by the Geo-Tel . . . What, twice now?”
“Last year and ’08. Feeling bitter?”
Sullivan didn’t respond for a long time as he surveyed the wreckage of the camp. “I’m not going back to Rockville. I’m done breaking rocks. I’m not going back in a cage. I’ll die first.”
“I’m rather disinclined toward tight spaces myself.” Lance chuckled as he took a flask out of his pocket, unscrewed the lid, and took a swig. “Ahh . . . That’s good stuff. Well, you could always put out to sea. Pirate Bob said you’d make a fine executive officer.”
“Maybe I should. There’s no law out there except for what a man makes himself.” Sullivan took the offered flask and took a long pull of bootleg booze. It burned going down. He coughed. “You find that in a bathtub?”
“Turpentine gives it that special something.”
He took another drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and passed the noxious swill back over. “What do you think I should do?”
“I don’t rightly know that myself.” Lance was one that understood sacrifice. He had been a self made man, successful and respected, and he’d given that up to protect Magicals. He’d lost his entire family in the secret war against Imperium, yet here he was, still fighting, and he would probably keep on fighting until the day he died. “Nobody would blame you if you took off. Not with that kind of heat on your neck.”
Quitting was not a concept Sullivan was familiar with. “You know what this place is?”
Lance surveyed the ruins. “I took a look around through the eyes of that poor hungry beast. Tent stakes rusting away in the dirt, shacks in a nice grid all laid out with streets, latrines dug. Feels like a military camp.”
“Sort of. Ten thousand men dragged their families here because they tried to collect early on what was promised them. A buck and a quarter for each day served in the war. They were out of work and stupid enough to think that they could get what was theirs before the notes came due. Should’ve known better.”
“Ahh. The Bonus Army.”
Sullivan’s eyes wandered over the flats where a shanty town had been destroyed. A handful of the people here had been survivors of the 1st Volunteer Active Brigade, just like him. “An army.” He snorted. “They were just desperate folks looking for help from a nation that didn’t have two nickels to rub together. Congress said no. When the crowd didn’t leave, the real Army forced them out with tear gas and tanks, then put the whole damn thing to the torch . . . People got hurt. Kids died.”
“Sad day, that.”
Sullivan kicked at a rock. “They should’ve left peacefully when they lost the vote.”
“Would you have?”
They both knew Lance already had the answer to that. When a man like Sullivan set a course, it was seen through to the end. “They weren’t expecting to be treated like that. I know what they were thinking, the marchers that is. After what they went through in the war, they figured it meant something.”
“I was in the war. AEF,” Lance said. “Dan was too. We were staff officers, though. That’s how we met Pershing. I heard it was much worse for you VAB boys.”
Sullivan took the flask back and drank some more. It wasn’t as awful this pass. “I can’t speak for the others, but the 1st . . . We got gassed, burned, bombed, fought demons, undead . . . Jesus, wave after wave of the undead. Slept in the mud, lived in the mud, killed in the mud, froze and died in the mud. Then we had the biggest battle in history, Active on Active, gun, knife, and tooth. Fire in the fucking sky and rivers of blood hip deep for days. We killed a million Germans and scorched Berlin off the map with a Peace Ray. All that for a buck twenty-five a day. We were a hell of a deal.”
Lanced helped him keep watch on the flats as the sun fled. “You know, Jake, I do believe that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say in one sitting. Melancholy renders you downright talkative.”
Sullivan shrugged. “I’m Irish.”
Headlights illuminated them and a horn buzzed. Dan Garrett had arrived.
“Well, I got a truck bed full of goodies. What do you say we go kidnap an Iron Guard and make a little mayhem?” Lance thumped him on the back. “That ought to cheer you up.”
Sullivan took one last look at the remains. They had come looking for a fair shake and had got burned out for their troubles. Life was never fair. Only suckers bought that line. “Maybe you’re right about going out to sea, joining Southunder’s crew. I can make a new life, quit living under somebody else’s boot. Fight the good fight as a free man.”
“Sounds mighty tempting when you put it like that.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’ll do . . . After we save these ungrateful fucks again.”
Dan met them with a firm handshake. Their Mouth didn’t look like much, late thirties, soft around the middle, losing his hair, and wearing thick glasses. In his case, looks really were deceiving because Dan Garrett was one dangerous operator. His magic lay in his voice.
“Evening, gentlemen,” Dan greeted them.
The Mouths liked to call in Influence. The anti-magic groups liked to call it mind control. Whatever it was, Sullivan was glad to have Dan on his team.
“How you feeling?” Lance asked.
“I’m fine.” His dark expression gave evidence that he was anything but fine. That raised an interesting question, when a Mouth lied to himself, did he believe it? “Heinrich died fighting. That’s how he would have wanted it.”
“He wouldn’t have had it any other way. Where’s Jane?” Sullivan asked.
“She’s fixing up the local safe house. It’s been empty for a long time.”
Lance and Sullivan exchanged a glance. It went unsaid, but they’d both been hoping for her to tag along. A Healer was a mighty valuable person to have around when you take on an Iron Guard. “She okay?”
“You mean, is she still having nightmares from being kidnapped by Madi?” Dan shook his head. “My wife is far braver than folks give her credit for. No. She wanted to come. I didn’t want her to.”
“What?” Lance sputtered. “One of us catches a Jap sword and we’re gonna be wishing she was here.”
“I told her not to come. I lost her once. I didn’t want to risk it. Something else maybe, but not when Iron Guards are involved. I put my foot down. I talked her out of coming.”
“You talked, or you talked?”
That must have stung. “Go to hell, Lance. She’s my wife. My decision was made. Briefly anyway. Then she told me to take a hike. She’s going to meet us on the way. The woman’s stubborn.”
Lance grinned. “Looks like you married up in more ways than one.”
“Yeah, I know. She’s got more guts than I do. Still, I don’t want her anywhere near an Iron Guard again, but she’ll be tailing close in case one of us gets hurt.” Dan pulled a folded paper out of his coat and passed it to Sullivan. “See if you recognize this.”
He held the page up to catch the last bit of sun. The drawing was in charcoal. It was a complex spell, far beyond anything he’d been able to pull off. Sullivan was one of the only men alive that had seen the Power as it really was, a living creature shaped from alien geometries, and because of that he recognized a few of the spell’s segments, the biological design of the Healer, the interlocking triangles of nuclear forces, even a touch of the hexagram shape of gravity, but as a whole its purposes were a mystery. “Can’t say that I do.”
“Is it Japanese?”
“Their kanji system is different. Sort of pretty. It’s got style. This is . . . I don’t know. Where’d you get it?”
“Somebody Browning knows. Turns out we’ve got a knight on the government payroll. He arranged a drop. I just picked this up from under a mailbox off Pennsylvania Avenue. This is what the assassin had etched on him.”
“Bullshit.” Sullivan couldn’t imagine binding this to a human being without killing them. Even the few little spells he’d etched on himself had taken him to death’s door, and he’d done that in secret to keep the others from worrying. His older brother had been one of the strongest men alive, able to wear thirteen Imperium kanji, but none of them had been this big. It would take a monster to survive this binding. “Was the killer Jack Johnson?”
“Radio called him a sickly little man.”
“A Grimnoir ring and this thing,” Lance whistled as he took the paper. He was one of the more talented knights when it came to spellbinding. “Something’s fishy. If that’s Imperium, and I can’t think of anybody else good enough to pull this off, they’ve got some new toys to play with.”
“Russian maybe?”
“Naw. Stalin’s wizards are crude. Whoever designed this was an artist.”
“Closest thing I’ve seen to this style was Indian writing. The British brought a few units of them over to fight in the war with us,” Sullivan said. “Lance, would you hijack a bird and make sure Dan wasn’t tailed.”
“Good idea.” There wasn’t any flash or big show of Power when Lance did his thing. It was only as if he was distracted, like his mind was on something else, which in this case it was. “Got a pigeon. Gimme a minute . . . Looks clear to me.”
“So I got a message to deliver. You got any ideas?”
“Send them a polite letter? Jane’s got nice calligraphy.”
“I have to do this in person. I’ve got to convince them.”
“The ambassador has a compound out in Virginia a ways. There are some mighty big guns in my truck,” Lance said.
“I’ve been doing some poking around, trying to learn about their security and I’ve got an idea.” Dan Garrett shoved his glasses back up his nose. “This may sound a little, well . . . Hear me out first. I think we should walk right in the front door.”
Fairfax County, Virginia
Dan Garrett’s plan was brazen. They’d gone over it in detail and it still struck Sullivan as a fool’s move. Yet, it also made a certain kind of sense. Stealth was out of the question. Maybe if they’d had a Traveler or a Fade, they could have snuck in, but Faye wasn’t available for a few days and Heinrich was dead. He didn’t know how much time they had, but waiting around for help seemed like a bad idea.
The timing worked. Their informants had said that the ambassador was having a meeting with a group of businessmen, lobbyists, and other various Imperium teat-suckers and hangers on. The folks raking in that fat Imperium money probably wanted to make sure the assassination attempt wasn’t their benefactor’s doing, and if it was, that it wouldn’t hurt the bottom line. Security would be tight because of this, but it would also put a lot of westerners and potential witnesses on the property. That might keep things from turning ugly.
At least the Imperium wouldn’t be expecting their most hated enemies to show up on the doorstep.
The compound was relatively isolated, and even though the county was crowded with over twenty thousand residents, the Japanese had bought up quite a bit of land to keep it that way. The ambassador’s residence was an impressive new construction. Three stories tall, with no expense spared, and designed by some famous architect, it looked like a proper residence for the representative of a rich and growing empire. Surrounded by a twelve foot brick wall, the property took up several acres, complete with its own small orchard, a fish pond, and a sand box that it was said the ambassador liked to draw circles in for some odd reason.
Sullivan was riding shotgun while Dan drove the stolen Ford Hyperion. It had been the only vehicle they had access to that was swanky enough to fit in. They pulled onto the lane and rolled toward the gate. Lance was parked a quarter mile back in his truck. Lance was Plan B. Jane was waiting in another car on a different street. An extra getaway vehicle never hurt, plus she could put them back together, provided they lived that long.
Sullivan eyed the men at the gatehouse. They were Americans, which surely made the neighbors more comfortable. Probably hired guns to keep out anti-Imperium protestors. The real protection would be inside. “You got this?”
“Easy as pie.” Dan rolled down his window and applied the brakes. The gateman was dressed in a blue uniform with gold piping. “Good evening,” Dan proclaimed. “We’re here for the meeting with the ambassador. Please let us through.”
Sullivan could feel the slight vibration in his head. The Mouth was pushing hard. Dan’s Power wasn’t even aimed at him, but the words made Sullivan feel like they were supposed to be here.
The gateman blinked a few times, confused. The smarter somebody was, the more difficult they were to Influence. “And you are?”
Dan turned it up, hard. “You’ve seen us a bunch of times. We’re here constantly, real regular visitors. You like us because we tip generously. In fact, I’m tipping you now. You just stuck twenty whole dollars in your pocket. Aren’t we swell? Now open the gate.”
“Thank you, sir!” the gateman snapped to and hurried for the controls.
Dan rolled the window back up. Sullivan chuckled. “He’ll be feeling dumb when he can’t find that twenty dollar bill later.”
“He wants a tip? Don’t work for the Imperium.” The gate rolled open and Dan drove them through. “We think the ambassador was an Iron Guard once, and there should be at least one other one posted here.”
“This reliable?”
“General Pershing seemed to think so before he passed away. We were told he was off limits, though. Diplomatic courtesy.”
“Odd to be holding a war and still have things like courtesy.”
“The general wasn’t fond of the notion, but we couldn’t start openly assassinating their diplomats or they’d start doing it to Americans overseas.”
They pulled up in front of the mansion. Ten other cars were parked there already. Many of the nicer automobiles had curtains over the back windows to protect their valuable client’s privacy. Some folks loved taking Imperium money, but they sure didn’t want the rest of the world to know about it.
There was something that had been nagging at Sullivan’s mind. “Dan, I know you really want to get even for Heinrich, but—”
“I know, I know. Finding out about the Enemy is more important. These are Iron Guard we’re talking about, though. What’re the odds of us getting out of here without a fight?”
“We’re about to find out.” Two men approached Dan’s window. These were Japanese, wearing black uniforms with the blue sash of the diplomatic corps. Young and fit, well-trained soldiers by the look of them. “Ready?”
“No, but too late now,” Dan said. “Lance?”
There was a tiny squeak from inside Dan’s shirt that sounded like an affirmative.
One of the guards opened Dan’s door and he stepped out. The first guard bowed respectfully toward the Mouth. However there were other figures standing further back in the shadows with their hands inside their uniforms, and they sure as hell weren’t bowing.
Dan cleared his throat. “We are here to speak to the ambassador.”
The soldier’s manner was politely suspicious as he looked Dan over. Daniel Garret didn’t look like much of a threat. Then the soldier looked into the car and gave Sullivan the eye. Now he looked like a threat. The soldier turned back to Dan and asked, “Who are you, and what is your business here?”
Now came the dangerous part. They had talked it over. Dan’s Power was immense, but the more wary the subject, the more difficult it was to Influence them. The goal was to get in to see an Iron Guard, so they’d decided to do something completely crazy.
“We’re Grimnoir knights.” The first soldier bellowed something in Japanese. A dozen pistols were drawn and pointed their way. Orders were shouted. Runners left to summon reinforcements. The guard at Sullivan’s window tapped the glass with the square barrel of a 9mm Nambu. Sullivan took that as an invitation, so he slowly opened the door and climbed out with his hands raised. Dan waited for the commotion to die down before continuing. “We come in peace with a message for your Iron Guard.”
“Grimnoir only speak in lies!”
“That’s for your superiors to decide,” Dan answered. “Not you.”
“Give me this message.”
“No.”
“I will convey it to them.”
“I’ll only speak with the ambassador or the Iron Guard.”
“You will do as I say or die!”
“We die and your superiors are going to wonder what brought Grimnoir into this nest of snakes, and you won’t be able to tell them. Besides, you’re not going to shoot us with all those businessmen in there. The ambassador would lose face.”
That obviously got under his skin. “I should cut your heads off and decorate the gates with them.”
Sullivan decided to be direct. “That bullshit may fly in Manchuria when you’re slicing up unarmed Chinamen, but you’re in America now.”
The first soldier snarled and jammed his pistol into Dan’s gut.
“Whoa, easy, pal!” Dan exclaimed. “Jake, would you kindly let me do the talking?”
“When you crossed that gate you stepped onto Imperium soil. Your pathetic ways mean nothing in these walls. Once the Chairman leads us to victory—”
“I thought you said the blue sash meant they were diplomatic?” Sullivan was losing his patience, and there wasn’t much to begin with. “Nothing diplomatic about a bunch of punks throwing their weight around.”
The soldier left Dan and walked toward Sullivan. “You dare to speak to an Imperium marine in such a way?”
“Yeah, you boys are mighty impressive. I only managed to kill twenty or so onboard the Tokugawa, right before I killed my brother, the man you called Madi.” There were gasps from the assembled guards. The muzzle of the soldier’s gun was pushed against his neck. Sullivan didn’t even flinch. “Get your boss. We didn’t come here to waste time yakking with the help.”
Some of the guards began to argue amongst themselves. Apparently there wasn’t protocol in place for dealing with despised Grimnoir knights just showing up and announcing themselves.
“What are you doing, Jake?” Dan slowly asked.
“Diplomacy.”
A larger figure appeared in the shadows of the ambassador’s house. A harsh command was barked in Japanese. Sullivan didn’t speak the language, but it had to be the equivalent to stand down, because the guns were immediately lowered. The first soldier stepped back and bowed his head, but kept his hate-filled eyes on Sullivan.
The new arrival stomped into the light. He was extremely tall for a Japanese, probably six foot, and every bit as muscular as Sullivan. Even his humorless face was square from the thick muscles of his jaw. Probably only in his late twenties, he was dressed like a westerner, in a black suit and tie, with the only Imperial affection being the blue sash of the diplomatic corps. His eyes were too small for his face, extremely dark, and piercingly intelligent. Sullivan could sense the Power on this one. It seemed to hang in the air, dangerous.
The elite of the Imperium forces, each Iron Guard was an Active trained from their youth in brutal schools dedicated to war, then magically augmented with as many spells as their bodies could bear. Between magic, muscle, skill, and training, the Iron Guard were human tanks.
The Iron Guard stopped and gave Dan the once over, then moved on to Sullivan, whom he took the time to size up. “I trained with Madi once. It is obvious you are his blood.”
“Folks always said we looked alike, before he lost half his face anyway.”
“All of you Americans look the same to me, doughy and clumsy. No, I could tell because you share his loutishness, disrespect toward others, and lack of decorum.” He turned to the guards. “Search them.”
The pat down was quick. He’d known that was probably coming and had left his piece with Lance. Thinking of . . . Sullivan looked over, but Dan seemed relatively calm. Lance had already made his move. Good.
“I’m Jake Sullivan.”
“I know who you are. You are the Heavy that defeated Master Rokusaburo.” The Iron Guard actually gave a small bow out of respect. “An impressive feat. He was one of my teachers and a skilled warrior. Nothing would please me more than to test your strength myself, but out of curiosity, I will honor your request for an audience. I am Toru of the Iron Guard, warrior of the Imperium, and servant of the Emperor of Nippon. Please come inside. I welcome you to our home as guests. We shall join the ambassador over tea.”
Toru gave more orders in Japanese. The guards formed up, several in front, and several behind, guns still in hand. Toru motioned them toward the entrance. Dan fell in beside Sullivan and they followed.
“Seems like a polite sort,” Dan whispered, “for an Imperium killing machine.”
“One more thing.” Toru paused at the door. “As guests, you need to be aware that if you filthy Grimnoir try anything, I will gladly stomp you like the vermin you are.” He nodded politely. “For yes, I am an Imperium killing machine. Please do not forget it nor mistake my courtesy for patience. After you.”
“Sincere too,” Dan said.
The heavy door opened from the inside. It was thick enough to withstand a battering ram. Two more guards bowed to Toru, then stepped quickly out of their way.
Dan whistled. The home was one step below palace. Sullivan had never been to Japan, but could only assume that the ambassador’s mansion had been decorated to match the styles of his homeland. Everything was very clean and simple, carved and darkly polished wood, starkly simple paintings, all illuminated by electric light fixtures designed to look like lanterns. He hated to admit that he liked it, as he didn’t want to like anything from the culture that had spawned the likes of the Chairman and his eugenic evil.
If the goal was to impress visitors with the wealth of the Imperium, they’d certainly succeeded. The mansion was so large that there were rows of trees and an orderly garden planted in a giant room under a long skylight. The center of the place was like a little swath of peaceful forest. Guards watched them from every door and corner as their contingent walked by, many with Arisaka submachine guns slung over their shoulders.
“You sure got a lot of men here, Mr. Toru.”
“The embassy is a busy place,” their host replied. “Thus we require a sufficiently large diplomatic staff.” There had to be at least a platoon of hardened “diplomatic staff” present. It would not have surprising if it turned out there was an extensive armory somewhere on the property either. This many shock troops could cause quite the ruckus in the capitol city if open war were to break out.
The sounds of a noisy dinner came from the other end of the mansion. Toru was leading them away from the ambassador’s guests. That wasn’t a good sign.
They reached the end of the interior orchard. “Through here.”
It was a conference room. A long table was surrounded by plush chairs. The walls were covered with silk screens and images from the history of Japan. Sullivan was tempted to use his Power to feel what was hiding behind those screens, but he could safely assume that it was more men with guns pointed at them, and even the slightest tingle of magic might be enough to set them off. There was a map of the United States on the wall with red pins dotting it, but Toru quickly pulled a silk screen over to block it from view before Sullivan could memorize the locations. Toru gestured toward the table. “Be seated. The ambassador will arrive shortly.”
The knights pulled out chairs at one end and sat quietly. Dan was sweating. Sullivan admired the paintings of samurai, funny looking castles, maidens talking to skinny dragons, and waited. The Iron Guard and his men stood behind them.
The ambassador joined them a minute later. He was very old, thin to the point of being bony, with an impressive mustache that was deftly waxed into points. Since he’d been entertaining guests, the blue sash crossing his suit was covered in medals and ribbons. A guard pulled out the chair at the head of the table. The ambassador sat and placed his hands on the table, looking completely ambivalent about their presence.
The two sides watched each other without speaking. Serving girls in kimonos appeared, set down cups, and filled them with steaming tea. Sullivan had been told the Imperium had a complicated ceremony for drinking tea, but apparently they were skipping the ceremony tonight. The girls fled behind the screens just as silently as they’d come in. Neither Grimnoir drank the tea.
“You are knights?” The ambassador’s voice was surprisingly high pitched.
“We are,” Dan answered.
“Are you here about the attempt against your president?”
“That depends. Was it you?”
“Your government has already decided that we were not involved.”
“They decided the same thing about Mar Pacifica.”
The ambassador gave a slight nod. “I have been told that the assassin was a Grimnoir.”
“Then you were told wrong.”
“You were among those that attacked the Tokugawa?”
“We were.”
“I see . . .”
The ambassador didn’t appear threatening in the least, but if the rumor was correct, then he was, or had been, an Iron Guard, which meant that he was exceedingly dangerous. Most people would have thought of Dan Garrett as innocuous too, but get him motivated and the Mouth could talk you into blowing your own brains out. The reedy little ambassador probably had something similar up his baggy silk sleeves.
There. It was just the gentlest of nudges in his head. Sullivan could barely feel it, but there was another presence skimming the surface of his thoughts, just testing the waters. Somebody was subtly trying to Read them. The Active must have been behind the screens . . . No. Sullivan recognized the concentration hiding behind the nonchalant mask. The ambassador was a Reader, and he was good.
“You admit to attacking the Imperium flagship . . . Yet, you dare come here?” The ambassador stroked his moustache thoughtfully. “Tell me why I should not simply have you killed?”
“The Enemy has returned.”
“Enemy?”
“The thing that pursues the Power across worlds. We understand the Chairman was something of an expert on it.”
The ambassador paused to take a sip of tea. “I was not aware the Grimnoir held such superstitions.”
Sullivan spoke. “The Chairman’s ghost told me.”
Gently, he set the tea cup down. “Such rumors . . . I’m afraid you are mistaken. The Chairman is in Edo, alive and well as only an immortal can be. It seems you have risked your lives for nothing.”
“He told me the Pathfinder is almost here, and that Dark Ocean is the key to stopping it.”
The ambassador would have been an excellent poker player. His eyes flicked over to the Iron Guard and then back to them. “How do you know of such things?”
“You’re a Reader. See for yourself.”
Caught, there was no point in being discrete, and the ambassador used more Power. Sullivan felt the intrusion, but rather than fighting it as instinct demanded, he concentrated on remembering the Chairman’s phone call as clearly as possible.
The ambassador must have been well trained to not display any emotions, because he almost pulled it off, but now there was a hint of fear breaking through the mask. He looked to Toru and the guards. “Leave us, all of you.” There was a rustling as the Iron Guard shifted nervously and asked something in Japanese. “That is unnecessary. Leave.”
Toru was obviously distressed over this development, but he did as he was commanded. The Iron Guard gave the order and the troops filed out. Doors slid closed behind the screens.
Once the doors were closed, the ambassador wasted no time in dropping the polite act. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
“You tell us,” Dan said.
“I’ll have none of your trickery, knight.”
“I was there. Your Chairman was blown to kingdom come.”
“You will not deceive me. Baron Tokugawa cannot die.” He spoke with the fervor of a zealot. “Nothing can harm him.”
“He knows,” Sullivan said. “You know the Chairman’s dead. Don’t you?”
“I know nothing of the sort.”
Dan shook his head. Mouths tended to be good judges of character, even when they weren’t burning Power. “You suspected it then . . . Look, I don’t know what the Imperium’s game is, but you need to alert your people or you need to tell us how to take care of this Pathfinder ourselves.”
The ambassador may have known the truth, but he wasn’t about to reveal weakness to his enemies. “How do you know of the Dark Ocean?”
You know how, Sullivan thought hard. I’m telling you the truth.
“The truth, and what is believed to be the truth are seldom the same thing.”
“Deny it all you want, but I watched the Tokugawa explode myself. I don’t need you to admit he’s dead. No skin off my nose. But about the Enemy, if I’m wrong, I’m wrong, but if I’m right . . . Then we’ve got real trouble coming, and it is coming fast.”
The ambassador did not speak for nearly a minute. He just glared at them, stroking his mustache and thinking hard. “Let us speak of this Enemy, then.”
The Iron Guard closed the door to his chambers and immediately went to work preparing the spell. He had to move quickly.
Toru was not happy. Ambassador Hattori was his superior and as such, Toru was required to obey his orders without question. Even when it seemed the height of foolishness to leave him at the mercy of murderous Grimnoir, Toru had done as he was told, but the ambassador’s ultimate welfare was Toru’s responsibility and Toru took his responsibilities very seriously.
Grimnoir were foul assassins. Without honor, they chipped away at the Imperium’s great mission of purification. They had killed many of his brothers, usually through ambush because they lacked the courage to fight face to face as befitted warriors. On several occasions they had even tried to hurt the Chairman himself, which was foolish, because everyone knew nothing could hurt the Chairman. Toru despised the Grimnoir and everything they stood for. Yet now, his friend and mentor was consorting with them as they spoke about the most forbidden of subjects.
He was loyal to the ambassador, but there were two people to whom he owed far greater allegiance: the Emperor, whom he had never even seen, and then the Emperor’s advisor, Chairman of the Imperial Council, Baron Okubo Tokugawa, whom he’d had the incredible honor of meeting in person twice. Toru did not know what to do, but when the situation concerned the safety of the Imperium, there was no shame in seeking wisdom.
Spell completed, Toru took a step away from the mirror as it flashed with Power. The other side of the glass displayed the Edo Court. Incoming messages from the diplomatic corps always sounded an alarm so it did not take long to get a response. The servant that appeared was of lower standing than an Iron Guard, so Toru did not bother to address him other than to immediately state his report. The servant took the message and disappeared from view. Toru went to his knees and waited. A response could take some time. Hopefully it would not be too late.
