Project Northwoods (93 page)

“Because he’s been so rational thus far,” Ariana muttered.

Berkeley tossed Rowsdower a weapon as others helped themselves. He caught the baton and clipped it to his belt. His eyes went back to Ariana, then floated beyond her. Ariana followed his gaze to Morgan. She immediately crossed to Ariana, the one person present she probably felt safest around at the moment. The man’s lip curled upwards in disgust as he jabbed a finger at them. “All I know is that if either of you had anything to do with Electronica’s…”

“Does it look like they go hunting with a sniper rifle?” Berkeley snapped. She had two more weapons in hand, knocking into the man purposefully as she passed him.

Rowsdower snorted in annoyance while securing his armor. “I just want my fucking job back.” His gaze fell to the floor as he tightened a strap. “Can’t afford to miss another child support payment.”

Ariana finished clipping the armor into place when the woman offered her the baton. “You ever use one of these?”

“I think I get the concept,” Ariana said, taking it and giving it a quick flick. The collapsible form snapped out and locked, currents of sparks dancing along its surface. Ariana examined it for a moment. “How do I get it to stop?”

“Hit the button on the grip,” Morgan explained, showing Ariana where it was as she took her own gear. “You’ll have to push it down when the current is off.”

“Don’t mess up the order,” Berkeley said, watching Ariana collapse the weapon back into its sheath. “It’s one fuck of a shock.” The woman reached up and clapped her hand on Ariana’s shoulder, making her realize just how tall she was in comparison to the Enforcer. Berkeley glided off to remind the others to only act in self-defense.

“Hey,” Morgan whispered. Ariana turned to her. “I don’t think this is going to go over very well.”

Ariana looked away. “Probably not.” Her eyes flitted up to her companion. “I’ve never been in a real fight before.” A smile forced her lips apart as she gave an embarrassed laugh. “Sober, anyway.”

Morgan tightened her body armor, her tongue probing her molar as she contemplated something. “I had only sparred before this whole mess began. My only real fight ended with someone dying.” She swallowed and looked away. “Nothing really prepares you for it when you think you can actually die.”

The villainess stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you.”

The heroine cocked an eyebrow. “What for?”

“Not telling me that everything was going to be alright.”

The clear night illuminated the city streets around the Heroes’ Guild better than the petty streetlights ever could, two columns of white-suited mercenaries shifting from foot to foot and exchanging unheard banter. Each line of SERAPHIM was three people wide, the better to intimidate any who would question their authority. A crowd of plainclothes heroes had gathered, warily watching the sight of an almost motionless mass of humanity.

Zealot stood by the fountain, his hands clasped behind his back as the wind fluttered his long tan coat. He had taken this watch, the longest of the evening, so he could potentially see the remnants of villainy make their way to have their freedom processed from their lives. Each moment brought the midnight deadline closer.

It came as no surprise that no one had made an effort to save their families, their friends, their entire community. His lip curled up in a smile. Arbiter had always been right and, by his association with him, so had he. It was all so perfect.

Movement down a street corner caught his eyes, a large shadow rolling along with the darkness of the night. Zealot’s hand went up to his ear, clicking the earpiece. “Do we have movement?”

A pause as someone near the bottom of the steps disengaged from the column and moved toward the advancing shadow, the individual forms of human beings gradually becoming clearer. Zealot folded his arms at the sight, waiting for his subordinate to report. “Colonel Morant and the Enforcers, sir.”

“Interesting,” Zealot growled. His arms dropped to his sides and he paced.

“Shall I stop them?” the mercenary asked.

Zealot chuckled. “Let’s see what the good colonel wants, shall we?” He sneered. “Return to your position. Seal off their retreat when they’re on the steps.”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply.

Zealot watched their approach greedily, focusing on Morant as they reached the steps. His eyes flicked among the faces, some recognizable as Enforcers, others as costumed heroes. It was a colorful bunch, to be sure. As the rear guard advanced to the steps, the SERAPHIM moved to contain them. Heart palpitating with excitement, he fought the urge to dose himself with his narcotic, postponing the rush for what awaited.

Colonel Morant drew closer, sending a shudder of ecstasy through Zealot’s body. “My dear colonel,” he began, voice slick with condescension. “What brings you to the Heroes’ Guild on the eve of villainy’s ultimate surrender?”

The colonel stopped at his level, defiant. “We, the heroes of New York, desire to remove Arbiter as High Consul.” Zealot made a face and brought one hand to his mouth as the other supported his elbow. Morant continued, “His demand for loyalty tests and striking of hero status for the dedicated members of his constituency is counter to the republic he claims to represent.” He took a step forward. “And the use of the death ray is an affront to the humanity heroes protect.”

Zealot chuckled. “Death ray? What death ray?” He pointed at Morant. “Do you mean the Freedom’s Sword? The last, great weapon in the fight against villainy?”

“Call terrorism what you want,” snarled Morant. “Our position remains the same.”

Somewhere in the distance, the thrum of helicopter blades echoed softly. “Terrorism? Would this be the terrorism that your elected officials, and by proxy everyone here, voted for? For that matter, Freedom’s Sword has only been used against the remnants of the Italian Mob, the ones responsible for the greatest loss of life at the Fort Justice.” The helicopter’s noise grew steadily louder, drawing the scarred man’s attention.

“Erich Constantine, if you do not deliver Arbiter to us, we will…”

Zealot snapped forward, shouting, “You will what?” The helicopter’s drone grew loud enough to draw Zealot’s attention directly to the source. The aircraft shot over a rooftop to his right, swung about, and proceeded to move toward the Heroes’ Guild roof. “Dogs of the BVH?” Zealot asked. He swung about, laughing. “Do you truly think they’ll help you now?”

“They represent the heroes…”

“Heroes?” Zealot cut him off. “I see no heroes here.”

Colonel Morant took a step back.

The helicopter hovered in the air for a moment before disgorging six nylon ropes, three on each side, to one of the flat portions of the ventilation- and piping-scarred rooftop. Black armored agents leapt out, grasping the ropes tightly as they descended onto the surface of the Guild. Before they hit the ground, a black shadow leapt out of the helicopter and landed, smashing into the rooftop. Zombress stood upright as Mast touched down, followed by the five other members of the squad.

“Morant has made contact,” Mast announced as she slung her automatic rifle from her back and brought it to bear. Two thigh holsters held her sidearms, spare magazines of ammunition nestled within them. “We need to secure Arbiter as quickly as possible.”

“After you,” Zombress responded as the agents collectively nodded their heads in agreement.

Before any of them moved toward the roof access, the helicopter gave a horrific squeal of metal rending apart. “Shit! Something’s wrong…” the pilot shouted over the headset. “I have to…” His voice was cut short as the fore-section of the vehicle crunched liked a giant’s hand had squeezed down on it, crushing it.

“Mike!” Agent Mast screamed as the helicopter sparked viciously and spun, rapidly descending. The others spread out as Zombress collided with her, sending the two to the rooftop as the plummeting scrap smashed into the roof, ripping itself to pieces and bursting into flames. Mast and Zombress gazed at the fire as they rose, the other, closer squad members scrambling away from the crash site.

“A few seconds earlier and I would have gotten the entire nest,” mused a woman’s voice. Mast whipped around and pointed her gun at the source, one of the three white-clad commanders of SERAPHIM striding forward from the stairwell. She brought her hand to her earpiece. “Zealot, confirmed villain coordination with neutral parties.”

Zealot’s smile grew even wider as the rumble of the explosion died away. He turned back toward Morant. “In case you didn’t figure it out, Arbiter stripped all heroes of their status pending loyalty tests. This more than confirms our suspicions about your sympathies.”

“But the BVH…”

“Can only get involved if there’s a request by heroes or villains.” The SERAPHIM around them began to shift menacingly. “Well… heroes, after those pesky laws were repealed.” He took a step forward. “And all I see here are newly minted villains acting in an unauthorized assault on the Super Heroes’ Guild and the BVH meddling in affairs they don’t understand.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“You bastard!” Morant roared.

Zealot turned and made his way toward the Heroes’ Guild. He brought his hand up to his earpiece. “This is Zealot. All villains are determined to be rogue elements.”

A pleasant note rung in his ear. Overseer chimed in. “This is Overseer. Lethal force is hereby authorized.” The clicks of rounds being chambered filled him with delight.

As the SERAPHIM surged forward, filling in the gap that Zealot had left behind, Colonel Morant grabbed his stun baton and raised the sparking weapon in the air. “Don’t! Hold! Back!” he ordered, the sound of crackling weapons behind him giving him some sense that maybe they could pull through this.

The first mercenary reached him, hands outstretched and smoking. Morant leapt forward and tackled him to the ground before smashing him across the face with the baton. Another, not confident in his abilities, leveled his rifle at Morant. With an upward arc, the baton struck home on the gun’s magazine, the electric charge detonating the stacked bullets’ gunpowder. The colonel dove backward as the gun exploded, taking a chunk of the offending mercenary’s hand. The soldier fell to his knees, clutching his mutilated appendage before Morant rushed him, knocking him square in the face with his fist.