The Prospects (20 page)

“Well, she died, so I guess someone said there was no point forwarding it along.”

“You said something about expunged records.”

“There were other complaints for sexual offenses that were withdrawn, dismissed, or filed but not investigated. I mean, we’d only get you involved if there was an investigation.”

“Can you find those complaints?”

A few clicks and a gasp. “Enough to fill my screen. They go back for years. All from villainesses. And one or two men.”

“Is it possible the victims – or whoever took the calls - were threatened or bribed into silence?”

“I guess. But that would mean Sergeant Hammer is a … no, that can’t be right. My kid plays with his action figure.”

“So does mine,”

“This can’t be right. Villains always complain, so all heroes have charges like this, right?”

“Let’s find out. Do the same search for Stormhead, Arbalest, and Lady Amazing.”

A few clicks. “There’s a groping charge for Arbalest two years ago. Against a man.”

“Horned Viking, right?”

“How did you know?”

“I investigated that. Arbalest grabbed Horned Viking’s junk while wrestling him into submission. I filed that abuse complaint and investigated it. I couldn’t find proof Arbalest intentionally did it, so I closed the case. ”

“Then that’s it. Sergeant Hammer is the only one who … but he’s America’s hero. This has to be wrong.”

“One more thing. Can you transfer me to the Army?”

It took half an hour for Alex to get through to Stuttgart. A sleepy South Brooklyn accent said, “Private Vincent Gianni.”

“This is agent Alexander O’Farrell with the Metahuman Affairs Bureau. I would like to ask you a …”

Vincent interrupted. “Is this about Trista?”

“Yes. I’d like to ask a few …”

“Is she okay? I haven’t heard from her in, like, two weeks.”

“I would like to ask a few questions.” Alex looked at the rosary in his hand. “First, Trista, I mean Ms. Gianni, seems attached to a particular piece of jewelry.”

“You mean Nonni’s rosary?”

“Nonni?”

“Grandmother. It’s an Italian thing. If you’re taking about the rosary, it’s Trista’s most prized possession. Nonni gave it to her right before going to heaven.”

“Would you say Ms. Gianni is a religious woman?”

“She wasn’t until Nonni died. Those two had a weird relationship.”

“What do you mean?”

“They would look into each other’s eyes and not say anything. For hours. It was kind of scary. Nonni died when Trista was thirteen. Instead of doing the usual rebellious teen stuff, she got real quiet. All she did was study and go to church.”

“Did she ever use her powers on you or anyone else in the family?”

“We didn’t even know she had any powers.”

“Is it possible she changed your memories so you …”

“No, no it isn’t. We all underwent paraneurological scans after, you know, that night at the Empire State Building. No trace of any psychic manipulation in any of us.”

“Right. I remember that incident. You’ve known her a long time. Is she honest?”

“Say what now?”

“Is she inclined to lie?”

“Nah, mom didn’t tolerate no fibbing in our house. The worst Trista does is clam up when she doesn’t want to talk. She won’t even tell us how she went from being a sweetheart to a … I guess you guys call that a supervillainess. It’s like she wants to tell people what’s going on, but she just can’t. It’s hard for us, and it has to be killing her.”

Alex breathed deeply. “Thank you for your time and your service to our country, private.”

“Wait,” Vincent said. “The last I heard, she was going to meet Sergeant Hammer. I asked her to get an autograph.”

“You’re a fan?”

“I learned to read from those comics. I even got a Sergeant Hammer tattoo.”

Alex covered his eyes. “As soon as information regarding your sister’s condition becomes available, I will be sure it is directed to your attention.”

“You government spooks talk funny, you know that? If you see Trista, tell her, in plain English, her family loves her. We don’t care what she’s done, she’ll always be our little angel.”

Alex hung up. He clutched the rosary and made another phone call.

A Norwegian accent answered. “Mister Griffin is not available to take your call.”

“Gunnar, is there an underground passage into Griffin Tower?”

“Alexander?”

“Answer me or I will note your lack of cooperation in my report, Stormhead. Is there a tunnel or something like that?”

“Yes. It connects to the bunker. The entrance is below the subway platform on Forty-Second Street. But it should be sealed with steel on both ends as part of the automatic shuttering procedure.”

“How do I find it?”

“The entrance is marked by a spraypainted compass on the east wall.”

Before Stormhead could finish Sergeant Hammer took the phone. “Agent, are you planning on going into our home?”

“Effective immediately, everything in the vicinity of Griffin Tower is under the jurisdiction of the MAB. Consider the New York Guardians’ charter revoked pending further investigation. If you return to Griffin Tower or engage in any law-enforcement activity, it will be considered an act of vigilantism.”

“Don’t pull that agent talk on me!”

Alex hung up. He made another call to the MAB before going back into the pizza shop.

Jenny, Kayleigh, and Steve were still at the table.

“Jenny, you were right about everything,” said Alex. “There’s a way in, and it’s wrong to leave our teammates behind. A team of MAB agents is assembled outside Griffin Tower for a rescue mission. I’m leading it. Will you help me?”

Jenny stood. “Nine days until I turn twenty-one. Until then, I’m a superhero.”

Steve looked at Kayleigh. “Time to walk home.”

“But I want to help,” said Kayleigh. “Agent O’Farrell, our friends are probably scared out of their minds. I’ll do anything to help them out.”

Alex almost managed to reply before Jenny said, “We should let them, Agent.”

“Fine,” said Alex. “Stay to the back and do everything I say.”

Steve stood too. “If she’s going, I’m going. I’ve played a hero long enough. It’s time to become one.”

A taxi parked in front of the restaurant.

“Fine,” said Alex. “We need more heroes in the world. Everyone, into the taxi.”

“Okay,” said Steve, “this went from heroic to creepy way too fast.”

“We don’t have time for jokes,” said Alex. “Get in the van and get undressed.”

“That windowless van?”

“You and me, eyes to the front. Jenny and Kayleigh, if you want to look I’ll be flattered.”

They climbed into the back of a MAB van filled with armor, weapons, and other equipment. After Jenny closed the door, they took their clothes off.

Alex handed everyone a light blue jumpsuit and put on one himself. He pressed a button on the collar. His suit instantly shrunk to a tight fit. He put Trista’s rosary around his neck.

Kayleigh pulled at the bulging fabric around her waist. “I don’t think mine’s the right size.”

Jenny’s sleeves went over her hands. “Mine either.”

“At least it’s not rainbow-colored,” said Steve.

Alex pressed the buttons on their collars. The suits contracted until they clung to their bodies.

Jenny covered herself with her hands. “Does it have to be so tight?”

“These suits are fireproof, biohazard-resistant, insulated, and form-fitting so they don’t snag on anything.” Alex reached behind Jenny’s head and pulled up a hood. “This will give you full face protection, but no air supply.” He poked Steve’s stomach. The suit tightened and hardened. “The smart-polymer threads will retract upon kinetic impact, offering resistance to any kinetic damage.”

“Are they bulletproof?” asked Steve.

“No.” Alex grabbed four dark blue thin vests. “Second Chance Hardcorps. These can stop small arms fire and are still flexible and comfortable.” He handed out thick black vests and knocked on the ceramic plate in the middle when Kayleigh put on hers. “This body armor is guaranteed to stop one round from a rifle.”

Alex handed out helmets with clear visors. “These aren’t psionic-resistant. I wish that was a standard feature, but the government says it’s too expensive to line every helmet with lead and magnets.”

As they adjusted their helmets, Alex handed out pouches attached to thick bands. “These first aid kits go on your left thigh like a garter.”

“I don’t know anything about first aid,” said Steve.

“Whoever treats your wound will appreciate it if you bring your own bandages. Since you’re not real agents, you don’t get guns. If anything bad gets near you, use your superpowers.”

“Wait,” said Kayleigh. “I don’t have superpowers.”

Alex looked around. “You box, right?”

“I cardio-kickbox.”

“You slugged me hard enough.” Alex took a pair of heavy gloves with spiked knuckles from a basket. “These shock gloves, invented by our own Doctor Von Dyme, discharge five million volts upon contact. Activate them by slapping the buttons inside the wrist together. You have fifty punches with each hand.”

Kayleigh slipped the gloves on and shadowboxed.

“Last, boots and kneepads. Pick your size.” As they did this, Alex took an assault shotgun, a bandolier of shells, and an adjustable periscope.

The four of them stepped out of the van.

Kayleigh peeked at a car’s mirror. “I think I’m pulling this look off.”

Steve said, “Agent O’Farrell, what’s my motivation?”

“You want to save your friends, right?”

“I mean, why do agents do what they do?”

“Don’t pretend you’re an agent. Remember who you are and why you do it.”

Alex looked at the picture of Emily and Calvin on his smartphone’s locked screen. That picture gave him a charge of courage in the past. Now it was a relic of his past life. His family was gone and he wasn’t’ a superhero. This mission was going to be his last.

He waved to a dozen agents in full armor with weapons and stood on an ammo crate. “Team Echo, over here. First, roll call. Where are my weapons experts?”

Five agents raised their hands.

“Demolitions?”

Two agents raised their hands.

“Psychic defense?”

Three agents in black-and-yellow helmets raised their hands.

“Hostage negotiation?”

The last two raised their hands.

“Listen, agents, we have additional assistance. The short one is technically a metahuman reservist with the New York Guardians under the code name Gale Force. The other two aren’t trained or legally recognized, but they’re here to help the hostages after they’re rescued.

“Here’s the situation. There is an underground entrance to Griffin Tower. I have no information if this passage is open or usable, which is why the demolitions experts will make it usable if it isn’t.

“There are potential hostages inside. Two, Lady Amazing and Professor Photon, or Doctor Harry Von Dyme, are superheroes and may be holding their own. Three are Young Sentinels, and it may take negotiation to get these public targets out. Vijay Gupta, or Asura, is a hacker who’s useless without a weapon. The last is Mind Dame, who I believe has returned to villainy against her will. Our objective is to extricate all seven.”

A weapons expert raised her hand. “What’s our margin of error?”

“Zero. If we endure casualties or put the hostages at unnecessary risk, we fall back and declare the mission a failure.”

A psychic combat expert raised his hand. “What about medics?”

“I’m trained. I couldn’t get the bureau to spare anyone else.”

That caused some grumbling.

“Let’s move out,” said Alex.

The MAB agents followed Alex to 42nd street. Once again, Alex felt naked without the exoskeleton he wore into battle for five years. He missed the whine of the servo joints, the heads-up-display relaying each agent’s name and specialization, and the weight from the concussion blaster on his wrist.

Going back into action in the standard agent suit and armor with a shotgun felt like a demotion. He was no longer bulletproof, no longer had parabolic audio enhancements or low-light infrared vision. Instead of a superhero, he felt like the kind of person superheroes save.

Someone shouted, “Hey, government guys, I’m looking for Agent O’Farrell.”

Alex turned. “Deon?”

The young hero formerly known as Goldstreak wore a loose white shirt and pants, running shoes, and two satchels overstuffed with alcohol swabs and packaged bandages.

“What happened to your costume?” asked Jenny.

“I couldn’t get the blood out. I felt stupid in that thing anyway.”

“Why are you here?” asked Alex.

“I talked it over with mom. Long story short, she said there are too many people running around this city hurting each other. Someone should start running around healing people.”

“We’re on a rescue mission,” said Alex. “We need a medic.”

“I’m in.”

“Stay to the back.”

Jenny added, “And try not to piss yourself.”

Alex said, “Jenny, knock it off. He’s on our team.”

“And he ran away.”

Deon said, “Look, when Candilyn died …”

“I’ve been there.” Alex put his hand on Deon’s shoulder. “We can’t save everyone.”

A weapons experts said, “Agent O’Farrell, it is against regulations to bring non-MAB personnel on our missions.”

“First, that agent speak really is annoying,” said Alex. “Second, given how much trouble I’m going to be in for the things the New York Guardians did behind my back, I’m already planning my resignation letter. This is my last mission, and I’m not getting rid of a guy who can treat wounds and brought his own supplies.”

Team Echo followed Alex to an abandoned platform below the 42nd Street subway station.

“This is the place,” said Alex. “There’s tracks in the dust and a hole in the east wall.” He picked up a brick with an “N” painted on it.

“Steve, throw some light down here.”

“You told me to stay in the back,” said Steve.

“Act like a hero,” said Kayleigh.

Steve grumbled and generated a swirling light. About ten feet down the tunnel was a thick steel slab.

“Demolitions, can you take that out?”

“Not without a lot of noise,” said one of the experts.

“The tunnel might collapse,” said the other.

Deon sniffed. “What’s that oven smell? You know, like hot metal.”

Alex put his hand in the tunnel. “It’s warm in here. Steve, give me more light.”

The heat got worse as Alex got closer to the steel slab. He spat on it. His saliva hissed and boiled.

Alex turned and whispered. “Everyone back. Evacuate the platform above us. Put in a call for all available legally recognized superheroes. Have them gather outside the street-level exit.”

“What’s going on?” a negotiation expert asked.

“Someone’s coming out.”

“How?”

“Sunburn’s helio-cannon was in the research lab. It can generate enough heat to melt steel. Let’s fall back. If we do this right, we can take some of them out and not lose the element of surprise.”

A few minutes later, the orange-hot slab of steel turned to liquid and spread across the ground.

Captain Rust wiped sweat from his human head as his robot head scanned the tunnel.

Two Iron Pirates stepped forward. Each sprayed a fire extinguisher on anything orange.

Captain Rust’s iron feet clanged against the recently molten metal floor.

From a periscope below the platform Alex watched six Iron Pirates follow their two-headed, four-legged, tentacled, obese cyborg leader to the stairs.

He felt Jenny tremble at his side. He wanted to whisper something encouraging, but he knew many Iron Pirates gave themselves auditory enhancements.

“The ninjas left this place a mess,” said an Iron Pirate with tank treads instead of legs.

“Are they getting out?” asked another with black glass eyes.

“Not our problem,” said Captain Rust as he dragged the Golden Gryphon battlesuit behind him.

Alex waited until the last one was out of the tunnel and Captain Rust was up the stairs before he shouted, “Open fire!” He rolled out of his hiding spot and fired his shotgun.

The air got cold as Jenny came out of concealment next to him. She sent a gust of wind away from the hole and towards the stairway. The glass-eyed cyborg in the rear dropped the helio-cannon and clambered up the steps. It took so much effort to keep his balance he couldn’t return fire as Alex shot his metal arm and leg.

Upstairs, smoke and flash-bang grenades detonated left and right of the Iron Pirates. MAB agents opened fire from behind cover. A weapons expert shot the tank treads off one cyborg. Two others dropped to the ground and covered their heads.

One cyborg with large mechanical legs sprinted to the exit. As it got near a pillar, a demolitions expert pressed his remote control. The explosion threw the Iron Pirate against the wall with enough force to embed its robotic shoulder into the tiles.

Captain Rust and two others made it through the gauntlet of bullets. They tore through the exit stall and ran up the steps to the exit.

Captain Rust stopped. He and his crew were surrounded by a dozen costumed superheroes with twice as many armored MAB agents behind them.

In the middle of the superheroes, a purple-haired midget in a black-and-red-leotard slammed her glowing fist into her palm. “Time to kick some cans!”

Back in the subway, Alex spoke into his smartphone. “Casualty report.”

“A psychic defense agent took a stray shot to the leg,” said the communications specialist. “Your medic patched him up in seconds, but the agent can’t carry on. Sounds like a hell of a battle on the street.”

“Let the capes-and-tights fight Captain Rust,” said Alex. “If they win, they’ll be famous. If they lose, the MAB will take him down. Arrest the surviving cyborgs down here.”

Ten minutes later, the glass-eyed cyborg’s human arm was cuffed to the cyborg with broken treads. The one with mechanical legs had a white cloth over his face. No sounds of battle came from the entrance, only the cheers of local neighborhood superheroes congratulating each other for defeating Captain Rust.

The team reassembled in front of the tunnel.

“I’m taking point,” said Alex. “Special assistance, stay in the back with weapons experts. If we have to retreat, Jenny will slow the attackers down with wind. Steve, light.”

Steve created a dim glow that gave the team enough light to see the rough spots on the floor made from recently melted metal. They advanced in a tight formation until the tunnel ended in an unoccupied room filled with barrels of water and crackers.

From the next room they heard someone say, “I won’t ask again. I demand an answer.”

A young man’s voice said, “Green.”

A chorus of laughter. “That’s amazing! Let’s try again.”

A few seconds later, “That was green too.”

“I thought we tricked him that time.”

Kayleigh made her way to the front and whispered in Alex’s ear, “That’s Ira, or Cantrip. He can tell M&Ms apart by their taste.”