Disclaimers in Chapter 1
-Sidhe Chronicles-
"Come in, Father."
"Your Excellency," the priest said, bowing and kissing the ring. He took the chair the other man gestured toward, and declined coffee, already being quite nervous enough.
"You said you had something of great urgency to tell us," the bishop said. He was not mitered today, wearing a black suit and reversed white collar much like the priest's own.
In this cool, graceful, air-conditioned room, surrounded by books, the priest was no longer sure that his errand was so urgent, or even necessary. But if it was, and he failed to communicate it? He would be held responsible for that sin of omission, by his own soul, if not God's wrath.
And so the elderly man straightened his spine. "Bishop, a man whose confession I heard–he's not one of my regular parishioners–tells me that there is a fae living with the Transformers and their human contingent. I have since encountered this person, and I have reason to believe that that is true." He shifted in the comfortable chair, red as a cardinal's robes. "My penitent tells me that this person confirmed to one of the Transformers, who confirmed to him, that she is the White Devil of Magdeburg."
"Is she now." The bishop set his cup of coffee down. "Does he know that the reward has never been rescinded?"
"He did not speak of it. What reward?"
"Her weight in gold." The bishop, dismissing this trifle as a thing of the world and therefore not worthy of consideration, looked at the old man for a long moment. "You said you had encountered this woman, and that this encounter lead you to believe that she might indeed be the White Devil. Why, my son?"
The old priest hesitated, and the bishop saw his eyes go inward. Then he sighed, and said, "Bishop, I loathe having to use this new age term, but it was her aura."
"I understand the concept. It's sometimes quite difficult to deal with other religions, my son, when they have uncovered a piece of truth, which is both based in their idolatry and still true. So let us agree that human beings have auras. Let us also agree, for the sake of argument, that non-human beings have auras, which I do believe any exorcist will confirm."
"Yes, Your Excellency. ―Her aura was, quite simply, not human. She may not have a soul, or if she does it is fully possessed by a being unlike those which animate humans."
"I see." The bishop frowned at his blameless desk. "For the time being, my son, I will ask you to do nothing."
"But, Bishop!"
The bishop raised a hand. "Please, my son. There are wheels to be put in motion, you see. They grind slow but exceeding fine."
"Your Excellency." The old man bowed his head.
The bishop was glad for him to see that no sin of pride obtruded itself here, that this was an obedient son of the Church. "What else may I do for you today, my son?"
"That was all, Your Excellency."
"I see." The bishop rose, and the priest did also, puzzlement radiating from him.
The bishop blessed the man, and dismissed him. Then he sat at his desk, staring at nothing, for a solid ten minutes. At the end of that time, he picked up the telephone sitting on it, and said, "Father Dominic? Ring the cardinal for me, please. I'll hold."
-Sidhe Chronicles-
The priest made his dusty way back to the parish of Santa Maria of the Desert, and ate his housekeeper's lunch with great preoccupation. An hour after that, he went into the confessional booth.
Forty-five minutes later, the man he had seen earlier returned, with four legal-sized sheets of paper, which he passed through the window of the confessional. He was, the priest noted, wearing gloves.
"You asked for these, Father. Father, forgive me, for I have sinned."
The comfort of routine and ritual closed in over the old man's head, and he did what he had been trained to do.
When the repentant hit man left the church and no other penitents entered the confessional, Father James glanced out to see if anyone else was waiting in the church. Not a soul.
He hurried outside as fast as his arthritic knees would carry him, hoping to catch the man before he left the grounds, and found him sitting on a bench in the churchyard.
As was customary, he said nothing about anything that had passed between them in the confessional. "My son, may I sit down?"
"Of course, Father...?"
"...James Grady."
"Tony Donelli," he replied. "Is there something I can do for you, Father?"
"I find myself in need of advice, but I can't talk about it here, where anyone could overhear."
"Walk with me, Father." Donelli knew two old men strolling through the church grounds, one of them a priest, would attract little attention as long as they kept their voices down. "What's all this about? What kind of advice can I give you...or anybody, for that matter?"
"I'm not sure...and I'm also not sure that you shouldn't walk away from me right now."
Tony thought about it. "I'll hear you out. If whatever you got in mind is a bad idea, I'll tell you so."
"Very well. It started yesterday afternoon, when Optimus Prime and a woman from the base brought some things for the homeless shelter's donation drive..."
He went on to tell the whole story, about what he had seen of Diarwen and what he knew about the incident in the camp outside Magdeburg. He left out what Treadwell had told him; that discussion had not been under the seal of the confessional but he considered it privileged nevertheless.
"I dunno, Father. I was a sniper in the military, and I gotta tell you, sometimes one shot at the right time could save a whole lot of our boys' lives over there. Be honest with both of us, those guys she killed, did they have it comin'? I mean, what would they have done if she hadn't took them out first?"
Father James thought that over. Until now he hadn't ever considered anything other than the history he'd learned in Catholic schools. But looking back at it now, with the wisdom of age, he found that he didn't have a good answer for that. He had never been a soldier, but Tony had. Who was to know what was right and wrong in the madness of war? "I guess...it was too long ago to ever really know the answer to that question. She's the only one who can testify to what happened back then."
"Well, then, maybe the bishop had the right idea. Live and let live. I don't see a good reason to do nothin' else."
"I know. Unless she got to the Bishop somehow before I spoke to him."
The man stared at the priest. Then he said, as if trying the words on for size, "That'd be the logical conclusion, wouldn't it? If she had the Bishop in her pocket, then she wouldn't have to worry about the Church."
"But what if I'm wrong?"
Donelli said, "There might be a way to find out. Now, there ain't no real 'truth serum' like you see in the movies. But if you dope somebody up enough, unless they're really well trained, they're more likely to talk than not. And the good thing is, when they sober up, they don't remember what happened."
"You think I should kidnap her and drug her?"
Donelli shook his head. "Not you, we. You ever kidnapped anybody before?"
"Well, no."
"If you botch things like that, people get hurt. If we get the job done right, and she didn't put a spell on the bishop or nothin', then we just dump her outside the emergency room and disappear. She won't be able to describe us, no harm, no foul, nobody gets hurt."
"What if she did do something to the Bishop?"
"Then you got a decision to make. Look, I got nothin' to lose. If this goes sour, I'll turn myself in to the police, I don't care. You're the one in a bad position if it goes pear-shaped."
"At my age, I also have little to lose. You're sure that no harm will come to her if she's innocent?"
"Sure, Father. People on that junk, they're havin' the time of their lives, long as you ask 'em questions real quiet like, so you don't do nothin' to scare 'em and give 'em a bad trip. Druggies pay good money for a trip like that. Once won't hurt her."
"What do I have to do?"
"You leave that to me, Father. I don't want to get you mixed up with suppliers and people like that. You figure out where we can grab her, and I'll take care of how."
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Soundwave was not sure whether he was more annoyed about Jazz' spiders, or the fact that the Autobot saboteur had escaped. Jazz' plan was fairly obvious, but that didn't make it any less effective: Soundwave needed a countermeasure. He could ignore most of the spiders, but eventually enough of them—the ones programmed to look for web cams and return an image—would get close, and have to be stopped.
The strategy of that countermeasure was to fight fire with fire. He sent out his own spiders, designed to report back to him if they detected Jazz' signature. He knew exactly where Jazz was—inside the Mission City base, behind enough dangerous intrusion countermeasures to give Soundwave pause at the prospect of a frontal assault. But their brief encounter had taught him that the Autobot was vulnerable if found outside his citadel. If one of Soundwave's spiders caught Jazz out in the open, the Decepticon would use it to mount an immediate attack. His spiders' other function, however, was to find and destroy those spiders belonging to Jazz, wherever they were on the Internet, and therefore prevent the Autobot from zeroing in on Soundwave's location.
This day the Decepticons met in the largest hangar after the human workers had gone home. Smith and Wilburn, as always, kept their mouths shut around the other 'Cons rather than provoke them. If they had anything to say, they'd say it to Soundwave in private. Warp, also, kept to himself.
The rest of them had plenty of complaints. Lugnut started off, "We need more energon. The days ain't long enough to fill the cubes all the way anymore, even cuttin' it with aviation gas. We need someplace down south to make energon."
Flatline objected, "We'd get spotted going back and forth. There's no sense having more energon if it's just going to get us caught."
Blitzwing's random personality was in charge today. "But we can't do anything interesting with the energon we have now! If we have even less, it's going to be boring!"
Lugnut said, "The squishies got us flyin' into Atlanta and LAX all the time. Why can't we make some energon while we're there?"
Flatline said, "'Cause the squishies would see the energon cubes and start asking questions, that's why!"
Soundwave spoke through a computer's sound system. "Enough. Quantity of cubes on hand: not sufficient to justify squabbling. Conclusion: must increase energon production capacity."
Lugnut asked, "How we gonna do that, boss?"
"Autobots: have numerous cubes. Additionally: energon stockpiles probably exist. Autobots' first priority in a raid: defend the sparklings and humans. Stockpiles: relatively unguarded."
"They could have their cubes and reserves anywhere on that base," Lugnut objected.
"Conclusion: incorrect. Satellite imagery of base: created during flash flood. Stockpile: located."
They knew the images of the flash flood, taken to assist the helo pilots in their rescue of Ironhide, existed—Lugnut got a big laugh out of his old adversary getting flushed downstream, and then getting pulled out by the squishies like an Earth fish on the end of a line. But they didn't know Soundwave had his virtual tentacles on images east and west of that one as the satellite tracked overhead.
Soundwave activated a monitor screen and put up an image of the erstwhile ammunition bunker where Burnout, Killstrike, and the tractor gestalt were currently living. Nearby, a lot of camo nets were tented over the insects' motor pool. These nets obscured whatever was inside from casual observation, though they had been obsolete versus human spy technology for many years, much less Cybertronian sensors. They were there primarily to give the humans some much-needed shade as they worked on their vehicles. However, one net flickered—it was only a hologram. And, as Soundwave processed the image to screen out the hologram, a flatbed trailer came into view beneath it—covered with square pink objects.
Lugnut asked, "How we gonna get to it, boss?"
Soundwave said, "Gathering of intelligence: in progress."
Blitzwing said, "We can have all the energon we want, and let them go without!"
Flatline said, "If they catch sight of our alts, then we'll need a new hideout."
Soundwave said, "Soundwave: will keep copies of your current alt forms. Decepticons: will scan temporary alt forms for the raid."
"Boss," said Lugnut, awe in his voice, "you're amazin'."
"Soundwave: knows this. Departure: permitted when ready."
Blitzwing said, "I can't wait to be something cool again!"
Soundwave said, flatly (even for himself): "That: is forbidden. Temporary alt: must be speedy but inconspicuous. Compliance: required."
With Blitzwing muttering, "You're no fun," under his breath, they left to begin the work.
Soundwave wondered briefly what objections, if any, they would raise when he informed them that they were six weeks, at best, away from making a raid. Then he shrugged, or something like it. It didn't matter. They were loyal Decepticons.
That little warper, though…Soundwave missed only one part of having a frame: the telepathy mod. Warp was too silent, and his optics too aware.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Hanratty's Pub was quiet that evening, very much so for Las Vegas. One of the new casinos had a new show opening, and that had drawn most of the tourists, and quite a few of the regulars. Optimus was able to pull up right in front of the door to let Diarwen off, planning to find one of his favorite out-of-the-way parking spots nearby and listen to a few sets over comms. A few times, he had sent Roller into the bar with her because Diarwen wanted him to meet some of her friends there, but that tended to be the evening's entertainment, and the other musicians got irritated if they did it too often. He usually confined his visits to earlier hours when there would be little jingle in the tip jar in any case.
Sean Hanratty didn't care if Roller drew in a clientele more interested in giant robots than in traditional Irish music. Any kind of customer downed a few pints of stout, after all. He grinned as Diarwen came in alone. "Welcome, Diarwen! And good evenin' t' you too, Optimus, wherever y' are!"
Diarwen grinned. "Well met, Sean. Optimus sends his regards as well; he is a few blocks down in that parking garage."
"Oh, aye. Should be quiet there tonight, too. We have had a robbery or three in there, but I think the hooligans will take one look at him and move on."
"Right you are about that."
Sean wiped down the bar. "What can I get you tonight?"
"A pint of Murphy's, if you please. And have you the shepherd's pie?"
"I do, and fresh soda bread just came out of the oven a little while ago."
"Lovely!"
Sean leaned over the window into the kitchen to call in her order before pulling her pint of black, foamy heaven. "Sorry I can't offer you much of a crowd tonight."
"That is as well. It gives me a chance to try a few new tunes, and maybe jam a bit with some of the others. The tourists will be back Friday and Saturday."
"Aye."
Diarwen wet her throat gratefully while she waited for her meal, singing along with the audience when the song called for it. Down the bar, some men were having a good-natured college football argument. At the table just behind her, a woman had her tablet out, working online as she ate a bowl of stew, occasionally pausing to chat with Sean's daughter Molly, who was working her way through college waiting tables. As Molly brought the businesswoman another Irish coffee, two men in suits carrying briefcases came in and took over a corner table. They were regulars, local attorneys whose office was nearby.
An older man came in, sat at the opposite end of the bar from her, and ordered whiskey. As he took the shot glass that Sean poured for him and handed over a few singles to pay for it, Diarwen noted the faded blue prison tattoos on his right hand. Whatever he had once done to spend time in prison, though, the man was quiet enough now.
Diarwen's shepherd's pie came out, and she happily turned her full attention to that.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
A few blocks away, Optimus found a good spot on the ground floor of a parking garage, in the only area where the ceiling was high enough to accommodate his alt mode. Smaller vehicles continued on up to the higher levels. With his lights off, he could go pretty much unnoticed among similar vehicles, but after overhearing Sean's remark to Diarwen about hooligans committing robbery in here, he made a point of attracting notice when such a group wandered through, sending them quickly on their way. Other than his proximity sensors, however, he had most of his attention on the music and a texted conversation with Diarwen, when she wasn't on stage.
Diarwen next noticed the ex-convict by his absence and texted, "My new jailbird friend has left."
Optimus replied, "Your jailbird friend?"
"Yes. A man sitting at the end of the bar had a prison tattoo on his hand. He has gone now."
"Was he bothering you?"
"Oh, no, not at all. He merely seemed a different sort than Sean's usual crowd."
"If you see him again, let me know. It would concern me if such a person seemed to be taking an interest in you."
"I believe myself capable of self-defense against one old man, ex-convict may he be."
"I believe so as well. It would concern me nevertheless."
A loud crash nearby almost startled him into an emergency transformation sequence. Just in time, he realized that the noise had been a minor collision between two non-sentient vehicles in the parking garage exit. As nearly as he could tell, a large black rental sedan had come in the wrong way and clipped fenders with an SUV trying to leave the garage. The drivers both got out, yelling and gesturing and finally exchanging insurance information, while a few more cars lined up behind the SUV, the drivers honking their horns.
One of them rolled down his window and shouted, "Can't you pull out of the way to do that?"
The bumpers were stuck together.
Since no one was hurt and the damage seemed minimal, Optimus returned his attention to the audio stream from the bar. Diarwen's last set had started, and she was singing her own cover of the country music standard, "Long Black Veil." It wasn't her usual style, and she was not sure how her listeners would receive it. But anything she sang took on a Hibernian flavor, and the tale of an innocent man going to his death rather than bring his married lover's honor into question could very well have been a Celtic invention. Optimus thought it was perfectly appropriate to the approaching Halloween season.
When Diarwen finished her song, someone brought her yet another pint, which she realized, after she took a long pull, was a boilermaker. Sidhe were resistant to alcohol, and tended to drink quite a bit, but she had not been expecting that.
Sean berated the idiot and apologized to Diarwen. "Black coffee, lass?"
"Ach, fresh air I think. As much as I hate to say it, I should be making an early night of it. There are things I need to be doing tomorrow, and I doubt Sarah will accept a hangover as an excuse to sleep late!"
Ordinarily Sean Hanratty would have had a lot more concern about an unaccompanied lady leaving the bar alone and drunk, and would have had the bouncer keep an eye on her until she got in a cab. But in this case, he knew Optimus would pick her up right out front.
The door closed behind her. She texted Optimus that she was ready to leave and set her harp case down on the pavement beside her while she waited for him to get out of the parking garage.
The night was pleasantly cool, more so than usual, and the fresh air was going a long way towards clearing her head, when she felt something sting her neck. She swatted at what she thought was a bee, but her fingers contacted a small, feathered...thing. She fumbled with it and tried to focus on it, but the pavement came up to meet her and everything went black.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Optimus' patience was legendary, but when the argument between the two drivers went on for several minutes after Diarwen finished her last set and asked him to pick her up, he called the police. A patrol car came by, and the officer examined the cars. The veteran of several such incidents, he knew What To Do About It. He told the driver of the downhill car, "Put it in neutral and watch that you don't roll back out into traffic."
The cop studied the tangled bumpers again, then put his weight on the hood, bouncing the car. With a squeal, the bumpers came loose, and the two damaged vehicles were moved to the side.
The police officer took down the information of everyone who had seen the accident, and Optimus had to admit that he had not actually seen it, only heard it. Fortunately, the officer then let everyone who hadn't been involved in the accident go.
Optimus pulled up in front of Hanratty's and looked for Diarwen. All he saw was her harp case lying on the sidewalk near the entrance to the bar.
He parked, thinking that she had only stepped back inside for a moment, and texted, "I am here. I am sorry I kept you waiting, there was a fender-bender at the garage."
After a few moments, when there was no answer, he became concerned, and called Hanratty's.
"Hello, Hanratty's Pub, may I help you?"
"Sean, this is Optimus. Is Diarwen inside?"
"No, isn't she right outside the door waiting for you?"
"She is not. Her harp case is here but I see no sign of her," Optimus replied.
A moment later, Sean came out and picked up the case.
Optimus homed in on her phone's GPS signal. "Hold onto that for her, would you, Sean? Her phone is a few blocks up the street. It is odd that she left it, but she must have walked up there for some reason."
"I don't know why she would have, most of those businesses are closed this time of the evening. There's no reason for her to go up there."
Optimus rolled slowly up the deserted street. His sensors located the phone—lying in the gutter. The case and screen were cracked, so the device must have been thrown out of a car. Had someone stolen it, and Diarwen chased the thief? That made no sense.
Gaia pulsed distress, confirming his sense that something was wrong. Suddenly completely unconcerned that he might be overreacting, Optimus alerted the base and subspaced the phone, then searched the area, transforming to look over a fence into the construction site of a new casino.
By the time he was sure there was no sign of her, Mirage and Jazz had arrived to begin a meticulous search of the area, as well as the front of Hanratty's, with their much more sensitive detectors. Optimus began to cruise a wider search pattern, but he already knew it was going to be a wasted effort.
Improbable as it seemed, someone had kidnapped Diarwen.
Jazz confirmed that when he found a small dart on the sidewalk outside Hanratty's, containing traces of both iron-free blood and a fast-acting sedative. There were no fingerprints, or other DNA traces that he could detect, but he carefully subspaced the dart. The lab had much more sophisticated testing equipment than the mods in his frame. Then he told Optimus what he'd found.
At that point, the Prime notified Lennox and Mearing, and all of NEST went into action.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Lennox ordered the NEST troops to break into fire teams and assist with the search. He sent S13 to join Jazz at Hanratty's, since he remembered from the Indiana incident that Adele Hempstead would be able to gain the most information from an undisturbed crime scene. They also would know not to contaminate the scene for later investigation by the LVPD, if Mearing decided it was a matter for the civilian authorities.
He ordered his assistant, "Find AD Treadwell and tell him I'd like to see him ASAP."
"Yes, sir."
Less than ten minutes later, Treadwell knocked on his door, a little out of breath. At least, Lennox thought, the man had the same definition of "ASAP" that NEST went by. "You wanted to see me, Colonel?"
"Come on in. We've had an incident. Earlier this evening, someone kidnapped Diarwen from outside that Irish pub she goes to."
"Wait a minute, I've been here all day! You don't think I had anything to do with-?"
"I know exactly where you were," Lennox replied. "I also know you and your team have had Diarwen under surveillance ever since you got here, and she knew it too. Now, you can't watch someone that closely without seeing everything that goes on around her. Who else has been taking an interest?"
"I haven't seen anyone else watching her."
Lennox knew an evasion when he smelled one. "Treadwell, this is your last chance with me. Whatever else you know, you'd better spill it right now."
Treadwell took a deep breath, and hung his head as he decided where his loyalties lay. "I don't know anything else. But the last time I went to confession, I asked the priest for advice about the Sidhe. He told me not to do anything. But he asked for my permission to tell the bishop about her. I told him he could."
Lennox' eyes flashed fury, but his tone of voice stayed cold as ice. "You and your people take Ironhide with you and go find that priest. I want to know if he had anything to do with this, or if he knows who did. And, Treadwell?"
"Yes, sir?"
"If you fuck this up any more than you have already, the least you can expect is my boot up your ass."
"Yes, sir."
Treadwell was no more than two steps outside Lennox' office door before he was on his cell with the rest of his team, telling them to meet him in the commons. At the same time, Lennox was putting Ironhide in the loop.
Ironhide was in his quarters with Chromia and Evanon when the alert had gone out. He had one of his cannons half-apart, cleaning it, so there was a short delay while he reassembled it before he could join the others. Chromia had joined her sisters and gone on ahead. He was replacing the last panel when Lennox called, and told him about Treadwell and the priest.
"Can't you throw him in the brig for that?"
"For going to confession? If so, that's a decision above my pay grade. If Mearing wants to lock him up, I'd be pleased to oblige her. Stupid son of a bitch. Keep an eye on him. I'm giving him an opportunity to fuck up. If he takes it, I want all of them and that priest back here for questioning."
"Patriot Act?"
"Stretchin' it, probably, but why the hell not? Restarting the Inquisition would be terrorism if anything is!"
Ironhide snorted an ex-vent. "You're going to do something that'll have me filling out reports for Prime and your government for the next fraggin' vorn, aren't you?"
"If that's what it takes to put a stop to this bullshit on my base, you bet I am."
Hide chuckled. "I don't mind filling out reports in a good cause."
"Get her back here in one piece, brother."
"You know I will. I owe her a life debt, brother. If she's been harmed, I will find the slagger who did it. Assuming that Prime doesn't find him first."
"Yeah. ...Hide... we want to prevent that if we can."
"Understood."
Ironhide turned to Evanon. "Evanon, somebody kidnapped Diarwen a little while ago. Drugged her with some kind of dart."
Evanon's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "I do not yet have the English words to describe the insult. That is—is—someone must be tired of living, to meet so with a Knight of Queen Titania's Own Guard!"
"A what?"
"How do I—ach. You serve as Champion to Optimus Prime, do you not? As his protector, his right hand?"
"Yeah, that's a pretty good way to put it. I'm his second."
"Well, that was Lady Diarwen to the Summer Queen. If one of the queens had challenged the other to single combat, it would have been the Ladies Diarwen and Morithel who actually fought that duel. She carried her queen's honor, am I saying this in a way that can be understood? This is an insult that—Goddess!"
Ironhide said, "My job's to get her home safe, then we'll worry about who got insulted. But this whole thing got started over some kind of human religious war that ended vorn ago. Whoever has it in for Diarwen might be after anybody else on the base too. I want you to go stay with the sparklings—and take your weapons with you. You might have to defend yourself, and them."
"It will be as you command." Evanon quickly buckled on his marshdrake jerkin and his sword.
Ironhide nodded. If Evanon was busy guarding the sparklings, he wouldn't be out getting himself into trouble. Not that Cade would let any slaggers get close enough to be a threat to the sparklings or Evanon.
Ironhide picked up Treadwell and the rest of S5 in the commons. They were uncharacteristically subdued—Ironhide was reminded of either set of twins caught with a servo in the high grade lockup. Lennox must have ripped an armor plate off Treadwell—exactly what Ironhide would have done if one of his mechs had fragged up so thoroughly.
Treadwell told him where to find the church. Unfortunately, the priest wasn't there, and no one at the rectory had seen him all day. His car was missing as well.
Ironhide said, "Didn't you say he was an old man? You don't think he could have kidnapped Diarwen, do you?"
"Normally, no, but if she was drugged..."
"What were you processing?"
Treadwell said, "I was concerned about Evanon. Changelings—those kids are raised as slaves, in a totally different culture. Then, when they're not useful anymore, they're just dropped off like garbage. By the time we get 'em back, they're messed up in the head, either criminals or victims. There was this one kid, Evanon's age, his grandfather took him in. He stabbed the old man in the back and stole his wallet, there was somethin' like ninety bucks in it. They tried him as an adult, he's spending the rest of his life behind bars. And then there was the other one, this cute little twelve year old who should've been still playing with dolls. Instead, whoever owned her had been using her for—she only knew one way to get what she wanted, and she didn't understand that she didn't have to do that here. The next door neighbor was all too happy to take advantage, by the end of the month she was pregnant. We got her into a home for troubled girls, and she's getting counseling while she waits for her baby to be born. She might have a chance now, at least. The other kid might have too, if they'd put him somewhere in the first place to get him the help he needed! Now, we've got Evanon, and no one wants to believe it, but you don't come through what he did without getting fucked up in the head!"
Ironhide hummed. "I wish you'd told me all this before, Treadwell. Might have saved us all a huge processor ache. Do you think that Evanon's the first fragged-up kid I ever met? The closest thing in your recent history to Cybertron after the fall of the Empire was Europe after World War II, or the Mideast, or parts of Africa. We pulled Sides and Sunny out of a gladiator pit. They were slaves, too. The little twins ran with a youth gang whose parents were all dead or disappeared. Bumblebee was the only survivor we found of the massacre of the youth sectors of Iacon. My clan has dealt with this before. Give me a little credit—I know how to keep him safe from himself 'til he figures out who he wants to be. The main thing is to show him he has a high value to himself, as well as to the rest of us. Let me tell you something else. He's had one too many people in his life lookin' at him like he's a thing instead of a person. If you don't quit doin' it, I'll personally kick you out of my cohort's space, and where you land is gonna be your problem."
Treadwell and his people were all quiet for a moment, then Treadwell asked, "What do we do now? I don't know where to start looking for Father Grady, since no one around the church or the rectory knows anything either."
"We'll leave that to Jazz and Mirage. Look, you know these people better than anyone else among us does. Where would your church take her? What would they do with her? Do they still burn people at the stake?"
"What? No! Of course not! That was hundreds of years ago!"
But Treadwell considered carefully, under several horrified human gazes and one Cybertronian scowl. Finally he said, "I've heard rumors that the Church has a secret service of some kind. It is a sovereign nation, you know! But as far as I know, that's all they are, rumors! I don't think the Church would have had anything to do with this!"
Ironhide objected, "Well, someone did! One old priest wouldn't have been able to pull this off on his own! Where would he even get a dart gun in the first place, much less get close enough to shoot her with it before she took it away from him?"
Treadwell shook his head. "It doesn't sound like a professional kidnapping, either, they wouldn't have left her harp case lying around, they would have policed the dart, and they would have deactivated her phone rather than throw it out the window because they would have wanted to download any information it had on it. It sounds more like you ought to be waiting for a ransom call."
"Or it's a rogue cell of some kind."
"The Church doesn't have rogue cells!"
Ironhide rumbled, "It does now."
"Fuck." That, at least, was heartfelt on Treadwell's part.
"We know Grady was going to talk to the bishop. Who's that?"
"Let me think. Vegas is its own diocese."
"We're gonna go talk to him. You're comin' with me." The old mech eyed the rest of S-5. "Get inside."
Treadwell nodded to his team, and they obeyed. "You don't just walk in to see the bishop!"
"Watch me," Ironhide told him, leaving the churchyard. "Did I ever tell you about the time Sentinel was gonna shoot me in the back, and Diarwen warned me? That bishop better not have had anything to do with this." Ironhide switched to comms. ::Ironhide, Prime.::
::Yes, Ironhide?::
::We might have a situation on our servos,:: Ironhide reported. He explained what he had discovered.
He was surprised at the quickly suppressed white-hot flash of fury that came down the line. ::Find out what the bishop knows, but do not cause an incident,:: Optimus replied.
A few moments later, Jazz sent out images of the priest and his vehicle to all Autobots, as well as to the humans' phones.
Ironhide pulled up in front of the bishop's residence, then pinged Jazz. ::I need Bishop Rossman's private cell phone number, and I don't care how you get it, just be advised that Prime's orders are not to cause an incident.::
Jazz sent a glyph of understanding, and, a few moments later, followed with the number. Ironhide noticed a distinct absence of Jazz' usual wisecracks. Meister had come out to play, and that was rarely a happy situation for the other side.
Ironhide tapped into a cell tower and sent the number string. It rang twice.
"Hello, who is this?"
"Look out your office window," Ironhide growled.
The curtains ruffled. "I'm afraid I don't see you."
Ironhide blinked his lights. "This is Ironhide, a Cybertronian. I want to have a chat about Diarwen ni Gilthanel. You can come down here and have a quiet little conversation with me, or I'll call the law to come ask you the same questions a lot less privately."
"Diarwen ni- Is this some kind of joke, is someone playing a prank on me? How did you get this number?"
Ironhide's growl rose to a roar, loud enough for the bishop to jerk the phone away from his ear. "If you think kidnapping people off the street is some kind of a joke, you're livin' in a different world from the rest of us."
"Kidnapping? I don't understand! I'm afraid I don't know anything about any kidnapping."
"If that's your story then you won't have to worry about the police."
"Wait. I—I'll be right down. I have get dressed first."
"Put on a coat and get your aft down here."
The bishop, who did not often have to do any such thing, obeyed.
A few minutes later, a side door opened and a gray-haired man hurried to the curb where Ironhide was parked. "Ironhide?"
"That's me," the weapons expert replied, his voice coming from his radio.
"Who are you people and what is all this about? How can I help with a kidnapping?"
"These folks are from the NEST base. That's all you need to know about them. Diarwen ni Gilthanel was drugged and kidnapped in front of Hanratty's Pub forty-five minutes ago. I need to know everything you know about her and Father James Grady. One lie, one evasion, and I'm turning this over to the police right here on this sidewalk, and I'm going to make sure every reporter in Las Vegas knows about it too."
That threat of scandal was no idle one. The bishop gulped.
"Father Grady came to me with his concerns about Miss Gilthanel. I don't know how much you're aware of her history—or how much you'd believe, for that matter—"
"I probably know more about it than you do. I'm not interested—right now—in a massacre that took place fifteen or twenty of your generations ago. All I care about is getting Diarwen back safely. The longer that takes to happen, the more interested I'll get in exactly what happened to 25,000 people at Magdeburg, and why someone who sounds like a freedom fighter got nicknamed the White Devil by people whose job was supposed to be protecting innocent civilians."
Ironhide's guns were not in evidence, but the bishop had no doubt that he was in the crosshairs. "All I can tell you is what I told Father Grady, and that was to leave Miss Gilthanel alone. I am not in a position to argue Magdeburg with you and I really do not know what it has to do with anything here and now. But if you think Father Grady kidnapped anyone, that's ridiculous. He's an old man, so old that the shortage of priests is the only reason that he didn't retire many years ago. And that aside, I just can't believe that he would do anything violent! Violence isn't in his nature."
"Wouldn't be the first time a non-violent person did something stupid because they believed a load of propaganda. Did you people think you could throw around words that demonize people and not expect anyone to take it upon themselves to do something about it?"
"I won't try to defend that, but I don't believe anything anyone said would suddenly turn James Grady into some sort of—of AK-47-wielding, bomb-throwing extremist! There has to be more to it than you're telling me."
Treadwell spoke up from Ironhide's front passenger seat. "There is, Your Excellency, and that's my responsibility. We're trying to resolve this before anyone gets hurt. We need to get her back safely, and you know as well as I do, if that doesn't happen, this is going to spiral out of everyone's control. There'll be no way to keep a body out of the press."
"A body!"
"What did you think happens to kidnap victims?" Ironhide demanded. "Or, for that matter, to idiots who kidnap the wrong victim and give her good reason to believe her life is in danger? Unless we find her fast, there is no way this ends well. Where would Grady have taken her?"
"He wouldn't have had anywhere to take her! If he is involved, there's no way he's acting alone. But he didn't say anything to lead me to believe he was planning anything like this. You have to believe me, if I knew anything I would tell you. My orders were the same as those I gave Father Grady—to leave Miss Gilthanel in peace. She has left the Church alone for hundreds of years. No one wanted to start all that up again."
Ironhide believed him. "Stay available. And, let me give you a piece of advice. Don't panic and do anything stupid trying to cover this up. Trust me, you do not want to be responsible for making this situation any worse than it already is."
The bishop nodded and hurried back inside, to relay the conversation on up the line.
Ironhide pulled out. Treadwell suggested, "We need to talk to the bartender. If Diarwen noticed anyone acting suspicious before she was taken, she might have mentioned it to him."
"You talk to the bartender," Ironhide agreed. He could think of someone else Diarwen might have mentioned a suspicious person to.
From the back seat, Isaac Darlington spoke up. "Joe, how long you been goin' to that church? Do you know anyone the priest is close to?"
"Not long at all. I've never heard who Father Grady's friends are or what he does on his own time. I never saw him with anyone who would make a more likely kidnap suspect."
Ironhide said, "You see what you're lookin' for."
"I know, I fucked up, all right?"
Baker said, "Both of you! This isn't helping. We can worry later whose fault all this is. The longer it takes to get a kidnap victim back, the worse the odds. Look, we need to canvass the area around that bar. If someone was planning a kidnapping there, someone had to see them casing the place. We need to find out what they're driving."
Ironhide picked up the pace and pinged Optimus. ::It sounds pretty likely that Treadwell's priest, Father Grady, is mixed up in this somehow. We need Mearing to put out a BOLO on him and his vehicle.::
Optimus passed that along to the Director, who assured him it would be done. ::Father Grady from Santa Maria of the Desert?::
::Yeah, that's the one, you know him?::
::Diarwen had an incident with him the other day, when we took some things to the homeless shelter.::
::Everything we're findin' out about him says he didn't do this alone. Did Diarwen mention anything suspicious at the bar?::
::Possibly. She mentioned an old man with prison tattoos on his hands who was sitting down the bar from her. Later she told me that the man had gone.::
Ironhide told Treadwell, "While you're talking to Sean Hanratty, find out if he remembers an old guy sitting at the bar who had tattoos on his hands, and get a description."
End Chapter 10