Suicide Squad (10 page)

“I’m sorry, Rick, but I don’t think so,” she said. “You can’t possibly have any idea. Can you imagine someone whispering vileness in your head all the damned time? Twenty-four-seven. Grabbing the steering wheel of your life and drunk driving through everything you’ve worked for?”

Her eyes were wide as she shook her head. “Nobody can understand. Not really. I’ve lost it all to her. I’ve lost everything.”

He reached for her to take her hand, but she pulled it away.

“June, I’m not the enemy,” he protested. “I’ve seen what you’re up against.”

“And I hear that voice every second of every day,” June countered. “What if Waller can’t make it go away? What if I can never get free?”

Flag was determined not to leave it at that. “If Waller says she can help you, she can help you.”

June laughed, and it was a real laugh that broke the tension.

“Good God, Rick—you’re such a company man.”

He again reached to take her hands. This time she let him.

“I’m not saying trust her,” he said, though he looked nervous as he did so. “I don’t, but she’s pragmatist. As long as you’ve got something she wants, she’ll do everything she can.”

June wasn’t quite so certain. “She may want to, she may even expect to, but Waller thinks because she has that… thing… that heart locked in that box, Enchantress will be her servant.” She scoffed. “But it’s the other way around. Waller is Enchantress’s servant, and the witch is planning something. Big, and very bad.”

“You’re connected to her. Does that let you inside her thoughts? Do you know what she’s planning?”

“No,” she replied, “and you have no idea how thrilled I am that I don’t. From just what I’ve seen, that’s someplace I know I don’t want to go.” June became silent. Her eyes took on a faraway look, but then she focused again. “I think she’s testing us,” June said. “Testing me. Waiting to—” She stopped abruptly and turned away. “I didn’t want to talk about this. I can’t deal with it now. Can we please get the hell out of here?”

Flag pulled her close and kissed her.

“I’m here,” he said. “You’re safe with me.” She smiled and kissed him back.

The door behind them burst open.

Waller entered.

“I sure hope you two are using protection. Don’t want you spawning the antichrist, do we?”

Flag frowned at her. “Stop it, Amanda. Just stop.” She shrugged a
Fine. Whatever.
“We need to talk.” Her look said,
in private
.

“June, give us a minute, please,” Flag said.

Looking and smiling at Waller, she gave Flag a quick kiss. She walked past Waller, through the door, and shut it behind her. Flag glared at Waller.

“I won’t even comment on what you just said,” he growled. “Respectfully, ma’am, I’m up to here. Have you noticed that we’re in a prison? These are criminals. Psychotic, anti-social freaks.”

“We’ve been through this. You lost.”

“Yeah, but this makes no sense. Lemme hit the Tier One units. I’ll build you a team of pipe-hitters who’ll do anything you can dream up. You need real soldiers…” He looked toward the door, and the prison that lay beyond. “…not scumbags.”

Waller let him finish, then took her turn.

“Colonel Flag, have you ever heard that back in World War Two, the U.S. Navy made a deal with the Mafia to protect our ships on the waterfront.”

Flag couldn’t care less.

“Maybe you should buy a new calendar,” he responded. “This isn’t World War Two.”

She wasn’t fazed. “What you don’t get is,” she said, “this is World War Three.”

“What are you really up to?”

She leaned against the wall and gave a long pause, peering at him the entire time.

“You want the big picture?”

“No, I like being fed a steady stream of crap and kept in the dark, like a mushroom.”

“Unfortunately, it’s need-to-know,” she said, shutting it down. “All you need to know is that you work for me. You don’t question my orders. You execute them.”

Flag took out his cell phone and held it up.

“That can change with a phone call,” he said. “I know people, too.”

Waller set her own cell on the table then crossed her arms, openly challenging him.

“You know that without you minding her, your lady friend will have to stay here. Strapped to a board in a drug-induced coma.”

Flag laughed.

“My God, Amanda, I gotta be five kinds of asshole. They warned me about you. Only I didn’t believe the stories.”

Waller crossed to the outer door then paused, looking back.

“Nobody does,” she said, then added, “Oh, by the way, we’re going operational.”

Captain Griggs couldn’t wait for the weekend. His job at Belle Reve Maximum Security prison meant his weekdays were spent trying to corral the worst of the worst, and there was never any satisfaction in that. But Friday nights, and Saturdays, and Sundays—those were his to enjoy, and there was nothing better than driving down to the casino, drinking as much 190-proof grain alcohol as he could, and winning at blackjack like the big boss he was.

Or maybe winning a little.

Anything but losing.

Which was exactly what Griggs was doing.

The casino was a neon eyesore, frequented by shady thugs and Belle Reve guards. Slutty cocktail waitresses sashayed their asses through the place, driving up tips any way they could. The cops wouldn’t close down this place. They were among its best customers.

He’d lost next week’s pay when he signaled the dealer for another card. Damned nine of clubs. Lester, the dealer—Griggs seemed to remember that might have been his name—scooped up his newest pile of chips. Griggs thought the house was tilting in that scumbag’s direction.

“Lester, slide me another ten K. You know I’m good for it.” The 190-proof liquor told him it was going to turn around, but Lester didn’t know any such thing.

“No can do, Griggs. Sorry, pal.”

“C’mon, Les. How long have I been coming here? Have I ever not paid off my losses? And haven’t I always given you a tip, win or lose?”

Lester didn’t say a thing.

Two big, scary bruisers, sporting big fake smiles, swept in and strongly suggested that Griggs accompany them. They squeezed his upper arms until he thought he was going to pass out.

“Okay. Okay,” he said. “I’ll go talk to the big man. He’ll tell you I’m good.”

* * *

The bruisers pushed him into the kitchen and pointed to the folding chair sitting in front of the counter. There was a comfortable-looking leather recliner there as well, but Griggs knew that wasn’t for him.

He took his seat and waited.

A few minutes passed before a half-dozen—they had to be gangsters—entered, followed by the casino boss. Griggs greeted him with a wide, friendly smile.

“Hey, man, am I glad to see you. I know I’m a little behind. You know how it is. A run of bad decks. I just asked for an advance, and suddenly I’m here.” He looked for some sort of response, and didn’t get any. “So what’s the problem with a little upfront? I mean, ten thousand? I’ve paid you back a helluva lot more than that.”

“Griggs, this is real,” the casino boss said, his voice barely above a murmur. “You got any idea I had’a stop these guys from burning down your house. With your kids in it.”

Griggs didn’t know how to respond—didn’t dare say anything, for fear of getting it wrong. This wasn’t just a meet ’n’ greet. He sobered up best he could.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he apologized, and he meant it. The man leaned back in his leather-cushioned recliner.

“Everybody’s sorry when push comes to shove. Now you’re sorry, but unlike all the others, you’re lucky.”

Griggs wasn’t sure he understood. “I’m lucky? Sir… how am I lucky?”

“You’re lucky you got friends. Like Mister J.”

Griggs was still trying to figure out what was being said when a hand came to rest on his shoulder. Griggs didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. There was a pinky ring with a diamond “J” on it. That was clue enough.

Joker.

The ring’s owner leaned into Griggs, grinning maniacally. Frost handed the casino boss a satchel filled with cash.

“You’ll find it all here, but Griggs here can count it.” The man who spoke was well over six feet tall. Griggs looked up at him, wondering what the hell he was talking about.

“No, sir,” he said finally. “I trust you a hundred ten percent.”

“Just a hundred ten percent? That the best you got?”

Griggs felt like he was seconds away from a stroke. He wasn’t sure what to say, but saying the wrong thing would get him a one-way trip to the wood chipper.

The big man grinned and laughed.

“Just playing with you, Griggs. Relax.”

Joker turned to his aide. “Mister Frost, what have I told you about playing with the help? Next time just take out his heart and crush it.”

“Got you, boss,” Frost said.

Joker turned to Griggs and talked to him like Griggs was his new best friend.

“It’s okay. You’re with me now. I’ve got plans for us, boy. You have suddenly become my…” He turned to Frost. “What was it he became again? You know, the mobster’s all-round guy?

“Consigliere, sir? And yes.”

“Right. My consigliere. Thank you, Frost. Griggs is like my consigliere.”

Griggs swallowed hard and tried to keep his face as unreadable as possible. As far as he was concerned the worst thing in the world was to be the Joker’s friend. That crazy clown was, as his father used to say, “fickle as a feather in a Kansas tornado.”

As Joker held out his ring, Griggs deflated. Accepting his total defeat, he kissed the diamond J.

Griggs had been sold, and bought, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Rick Flag stood by the hotel window and watched June smiling as she dreamed. She was amazingly beautiful, and smart and sweet, but he still wasn’t certain why she had chosen him. He definitely wasn’t in her league.

Flag was a soldier. His job was to kill people who threatened the United States. He wasn’t the sentimental sort, and that made him better at his job. He could have sex with a foreign spy, put a bullet in her head while they were doing it, then move on without remorse.

Yet he didn’t want to leave June’s side.

Ever.

He heard her calling his name and he walked to the bed, thinking she was awake. She was still sleeping, though.

Then a frown replaced her contented smile. Her voice grew deeper, with a very definite dark edge. She was no longer saying his name, but she was calling out to another.

“Enchantress.”

The word slipped from her lips. She repeated it.

“Enchantress.”

An instant later she changed. Transformed from the beautiful archeologist to something darker and deadlier. Flag grabbed his gun, and reached for his cell phone.

“Don’t you dare call Waller,” Enchantress said. Flag couldn’t tell where the voice originated. He froze. “If you do…”

Suddenly leaning over the bed, it was June he was seeing. He took her hand and checked for a pulse.

There wasn’t any. She was dead.

She was intubated, and there were IVs in her arm. Electrocardiogram stickers were everywhere, the detritus of a heroic life-saving attempt by the hospital staff.

Without knowing why, Flag was screaming. He didn’t want to leave her—not after having just found her. Not after she so completely changed his life.

A grim-faced nurse unplugged her.

She was gone.

Again he screamed.

* * *

This time the scream brought him back to reality. He was in their hotel room. There were no signs of any life-saving equipment.

June was gone, too. Replaced by Enchantress.

This time her eyes were open. Flag aimed his Glock at her face. She ignored it. Maybe she just didn’t give a damn.

“What was that?” he demanded. “What did you do to me?”

Enchantress held a finger to her lips.

“That was a preview,” she said. “Tell anyone, especially Waller, and I will be back. For the main act.”

She was gone in an instant.

Flag still had no idea if any of what he’d seen was real.

* * *

Amanda Waller was in the bedroom of her Virginia home, out cold, sleeping off an empty wine bottle. A loaded pistol lay on her nightstand.

Enchantress watched her as Flag had watched June. She remained perfectly still, and saw the case—the one with her heart in it, lying on the floor by Waller’s bed.

Waller’s phone lay on the bedside table.

Will Flag disobey, and call?

Minutes passed.

The phone remained asleep. Like Waller.

She moved toward the case, and a red light flicked on. Instantly she froze again.

Abruptly she knew exactly what she was seeing. It was the access to Waller’s secure office. So she disappeared from the bedroom…

…and reappeared in a very cramped space. A secure phone and a sheath of documents sat on the desk. The top one was labeled “Top Secret.” She flipped through the briefing pack from the White House meeting June had attended. There was a boring minute-by-minute summary of the meeting. Nothing of importance.

She flipped the page, and stopped dead.

There, in front of her, was a photograph of the second jar from the skull cave altar. At a glance she knew it as the male counterpart to the one that granted her life. It was enticing.

She stared at it, transfixed, and touched the image as if daring it to become a three-dimensional reality, instead of a two-dimensional facsimile. But then, for just an instant, she shuddered as if sensing something. She slowly looked up, almost afraid of what she’d see.

Yet there was no reason to fear it.

The male jar sat on a shelf, right in front of her.

Gerard Davis used his foot to push down the lever in the subway station toilet. No way he’d ever touch that diseased filth with his bare hands. Then he stepped out of the stall, all the while breathing only through his mouth.

Gerard didn’t enjoy taking the subway home. It was dirty and ugly, and he would have placed a large bet that their facilities hadn’t been cleaned since the Truman administration.