Chapter Nine
Another New Word
Pete and Myka, having little they can do at the scene of mass murder, would very much like to know where to go. They'd learned that the seventeen men and women, whose bodies are scattered throughout the plaza outside Brooklyn's Barclays Center, are the latest victims of their target, and they finally have both a description of him and information on the artifact he is using.
The plaza is formed within the triangle of Pacific Street, Flatbush Avenue and the wide entrance of, among other draws, the Resorts World Casino, whose fame and proximity to the heavily trafficked attraction account for the number of victims upon the ground. They are victims of an Archer firing invisible arrows from a bow lined with rows of diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires, and it apparently had never had a draw string since the days when it was supposedly used by the Greek goddess Artemis.
They have been waiting an inordinate amount of time for information from Claudia, or any other of their fellow agents, for they presently have no clue as to where to go next.
They'd first encountered their mysterious Archer's handiworks in Prospect Park, where he'd mown down twelve men and women with a weapon that goes through bodies, trees and who knows what more, but which had been neither seen nor heard. They'd then followed Police units on an Alert that had led them to this site and the carnage of seventeen additional dead men and women.
Their only clue had come from a single witness who had described a man who needed a haircut two years ago, now the unwashed mop is windblown and unkempt. His tee shirt proclaims 'Black Lives –' with the last word the antithesis of the motto creator's intent; but what is of intense interest is the stringless, jeweled bow and an empty quiver from which he'd drawn and fired invisible arrows.
And that is all they have, twenty-nine dead and an assailant who, if they do not get a clue from somewhere, their lead will come when his next rain of death commences.
"Do you get any vibe?" She tries not to make it a demand of her partner but it's not easy.
He resets the satchel hanging from his left shoulder, which contains a smattering of useful artifacts, but none that will help in this moment, not when he must admit: "Mykes, my Viber is on overload."
She turns to him and very much hates the look in his eyes. "What does that mean?"
"We're surrounded by bodies who really should not be here. All I can feel are them."
She decides she cannot blame him for being overwhelmed, even if not in the usual way. In their previous encounters with deadly artifacts there would be one, maybe two victims at any one time. Being surrounded by seventeen artifact-caused deaths, she's impressed he can do as well as he is.
She prays they won't get their first clue about their target's location with the thirtieth plus killings.
x
She tries not to make her yanking of the Farnsworth from her jeans pocket an expression of her frustration. Pete scans the area, but the Police and other Emergency persons are focused on their respective jobs. "Claudia?" Three seconds later the younger woman's black and white image appears. The background hints that they're in a moving vehicle. "What about your Search?"
/Good afternoon to you too. You'll be pleased to know the 'B Team' has made another successful 'Snag, Bag and –./
"CLAUDIA!"
It's a wonder she hasn't made her partner drop the device. Maybe she's not handling the pressure as well as she'd thought.
/Geez, bite my head off. No, on second thought, forget I said that./
The word 'bite' is something of a tender spot lately. "Sorry, but we're spinning our wheels out here in Brooklyn with twenty-nine dead on the ground."
/Say no more./ The circular image moves to a monochromatic sky shot of clouds and various minutia.
xxx
Arthur and Leena have broken into the offices of West Palm Beach's Community Board 4, having used various artifacts including the Eclipse. This dodecahedron shaped device deactivates any mechanical devices such as Security systems for 42 minutes and 59 seconds for one of an artifact's less explicable reasons, that being the run time of Pink Floyd's 'Dark Side of the Moon' album.
While Artie investigates the inner office of Alfred Ganze, particularly interested in the attaché case left so conveniently beside the desk, he had given Leena the Analog Password Decoder which, when plugged into the USB port in the computer on Carol Estes' desk, had allowed her access to the system.
x
"Artie, did you find anything?" she calls fifteen minutes into the search.
"Not a lot," he admits from the doorway a few seconds later.
"I think I have." He steps over to and behind the desk where he may see the screen. "I did a Search for the word 'cold' in documents and emails, and I found that he gets called that a lot, by a lot of people. But one person not only accuses him of being cold, in fact accuses him of a lot of things, but 'you like being cold; you're going to find out what being cold really means.'"
"Yes, I would call that a clue. Who?"
"Our new friend, the ambitious bartender."
"Paul Carson. Have you an address?"
There is little in the email Header but it's pretty certain there will be more in other databases. If it were Claudia or one of the other Agents at the keyboard, he would arm his way in, but it being Leena, he allows her to do the honors.
"Home, business, phones and emails – and a checkbox indicating 'No'."
"I wonder how many of those who deal with the Board have that particular box checked."
"I can find out."
x
The list that appears is consistent with what they've gleaned about Ganze from Estes and Stewart, and makes them hope their clue about Carson pays off, as the volume of selections makes them want to avoid delving into it unless they must.
"Shall we call to see if he's in?" she asks.
It's not the easy selection it might seem, where alerting the man must be balanced against not enduring a long hunt across the sweltering city. Artie nods.
x
"Good afternoon," Leena uses her best 'Hostess voice' to the woman who answers the phone. "He doesn't know me, but may I speak to Paul Carson? Yes, I'm with the State Liquor Authority, regarding his application. I just have a very brief question. Oh, no, no problem, there's just an entry here I can't make out. Yes. No. Okay, no problem, I'll call back later. I hope his friend feels better. Yes. Yes, you have a good day too. Goodbye." She hangs up the phone, looks up to him and her eyes telegraph her concern. "He's visiting a friend in Columbia Hospital."
"That's not going to be a friendly visit."
x
It is the work of a few moments to put the Office back into the condition in which they'd found it, then Artie lets Leena out first, activates the Eldridge's barometer, removes the Eclipse from the door alarm keypad, closes the door, uses the Schlage to relock it, takes a moment to hope for no disaster and closes the barometer.
All is silent.
"Let's go."
xx
Twelve hundred miles north, Pete and Myka are having considerably less luck as they listen to Claudia's update on the computer search for the Archer.
Their problem is not that there is no information to be had, but /There is a boatload - and I mean Titanic load - of Internet shhhhhh stuff on it./
"Good catch."
/If we hadn't bagged the Satan shard, you'd really have gotten an earful. Don't ask./
"I wasn't going to." Anything that can be termed 'Satan shard' is something she doesn't want explained before it's safely ensconced in the Warehouse.
/There's everything from pictures of bodies to chaos footage - imagine filming stuff while you're running for your life – to self-interviews to memes to rants to speculations to things I don't even want to mention./
"Spare us."
/And this was an amateur Google Search for 'invisible arrows'. There's a humongous load of crap through which I have to filter something useful./
"You're the best one to do this."
/Sift through crap?/
"No, I meant –." But then she sees the incipient smile even through the small screen. "Yes, Claudia, what do you make of the crap?"
She sees the answer is something the younger woman had best not say, but Claudia keeps discretion well enough to say /I'll get back to you./
"Mykes?"
When Bering looks up from the screen, she sees a quarter of the assembled Responders rapidly walking to their respective vehicles.
She suspects from his expression as the Marine turns to her that she's taught him yet another new word.
xxx
Three times at Columbia Hospital is too many, but there is little Artie or Leena may do. This time there is no time for subterfuge, not when this visit is one of rescue. Paul Carson, if he has not already struck again, is very likely here to finish off Alfred Ganze. He will find the man defrosted and neither Agent is certain what the man will do.
They do know, when the elevator doors open, that time is up and with it any hope as screams and rushing bodies fill the long corridor to their rihht.
Artie draws his Tesla, a seemingly archaic looking weapon that is, in fact, their principal weapon. As he approaches, having no need to guess where the source of danger is to be found, he holds Leena behind his extended arm.
The air, as he looks carefully around the corner, is cold and gives dreadful warning of doom.
Three nurses and a white coated doctor stand frozen in such attitudes as they had been caught by the unexpected danger. An unknown number of people have managed to escape the threat or cower trapped behind doors, partitions and any other makeshift cover.
Of their target they see no sign, but have no doubt as to where they will find him.
"Stay here," he commands quietly.
"You'll get no argument out of me."
"Too bad you can't give lessons."
Door B, near the end of the hall, opens and a man steps out.
x
"CARSON!" reverberates through the hall and the man whirls left, his arm extended.
Artie had never been a subscriber to the 'shoot first and ask questions later' method of confrontation, but when faced with a very obvious threat, his electrical bolt sears the air. The charge strikes the man and he collapses most satisfyingly.
Something small rolls from his hand and Artie tracks it until it rolls under a chair and is stopped by the baseboard.
He's followed past one frozen medic after another by his cautious partner down the corridor to the still body.
When they reach the collapsed man Leena, wearing the purple gloves she'd donned before breaking cover, pulls from her pocket the neutralizer bag and crouches to reach under the chair as Artie conducts a careful search of the prone body.
Finding a silver dollar that is polished enough to double as a mirror, she looks away and drops it into the bag, which hissing purple and yellow lightning give adequate testimony that they have found their artifact.
x
Abandoning the search of the man's pockets, Artie steps to and pushes open door B. Inside he sees that Alfred Ganze had tried to make a break for the door but got a third of the way off the bed before he'd been refrozen. Artie is relieved because he doesn't want to know the man's fate had he gotten more of his weight off the mattress.
He reaches into his satchel, his hand closes on Albert Butz's eyeglasses. He looks back to his partner and the four victims who will have to wait their turns. "This is going to be a headache."
"I'm surprised Security isn't busting down the doors yet."
"Oh, the Police are going to treat this as an Active Shooter scene. They've got a whole procedure book on what to do when they don't know what they're facing. But rest assured, they'll be here soon enough."
x
Commencing with Ganze, Artie uses the thermostat inventor's glasses to restore him in his room, then joins Leena as, one by one, they defrost the three women and one man, Leena working to settle each in turn. When all have recovered, she urges them into room B to help their patient.
While they are distracted by duty, though frustrated that none of their questions are answered, Artie removes from his satchel the HMS Eldridge's barometer and reaches for Leena's arm with his other hand. "I'm really sorry about this," he says and, from the points of view of the medical professionals and their patient, the pair vanishes.
xx
"You have the coin." He won't insult her by making it sound like a question as they make their way down the stairs, not trusting the elevator when the temporal effect ends.
When it does, the men and women are going to find the stunned Paul Carson on the hallway floor and a great many questions that he will not be in a position to answer.
"2000 Silver Eagle Dollar," she says, briefly holding up the neutralizer bag before dropping it into his satchel.
"Not bad. Worth around $30."
"Cold cash."
xxx
Northward, Pete and Myka are in as subtle a pursuit as possible of the last white and blue RMP when the Farnsworth in Myka's jeans commences its discordant electronic buzzing. Seated in and belted to the front seat of a moving vehicle is not the most comfortable place in which to pry the device from its tight confine, but she manages to work it out, open it and press the activation button. "Hey. What've you got?"
/For us a very rude stone,/ Claudia says, /but for you, pay dirt./
"I like getting dirty." Pete's glance makes her regret her choice. "What've you got?"
/I've got that you two are heading into Manhattan and to Union Square Park, which is all over the news out here but your guy has been there and gone./
"I hate being late to the party."
/You're not going to want to see it anyway: fourteen dead and the News services are freaking./
"Forty-three." Myka hadn't wanted to do the math, but there it is.
/Slow down so you two can watch this. You don't want to be driving./
Pete doesn't bother looking for a space but doubles up at the first spot that looks like there's enough room for other cars to ease past. "What've you got?"
/You know how these Social Media freaks love to post everything from their lunches to … well, garbage no intelligent person would ever want to see? Well, the Police solve a goodly number of crimes because the idiots actually film and post themselves committing crimes, sort of to get their bragging rights while in the Pen. I guess they think the LEOs never look at Facebook so they're safe posting to their fans.
/Watch this./
x
The image begins with a thin and dirty face which hasn't been shaved in a month, partially and occasionally obscured by greasy locks that haven't been bartered - or possibly washed - since last year.
/Niggas runnin all over th city, na one clue as ta whose takin em ou. But our Glorious Leader set th bar before the Demoncrats stol d Whi Ous, an now tha Han a God is doin his work.
/Forget border wall, that don keep the rapists ou. Muzlimban, ya don ban'em, ya killem./
The hand of God moves away from the screen, several feet back where his full image is displayed, and his most notable feature is a black tee shirt that proclaims in white block letters 'Black Lives' with a continuation the original designer had never considered.
He picks up a yard long, jewel lined bow.
/This is wah yu du with the niggas an hebes an wetback rapists and the muthrfucqr anos an gatorbait an bluegum bax forla limey londos an pakkis pec – / the image freezes and turns back toward Claudia's face.
/I'm gonna jump ahead because he goes on for a good - or bad – minute more where he pretty much offends the entire planet except for White Male Republicans./
When the film resumes relatively cleanly, which Pete hadn't thought was possible, the rant continues: /I'm gonna wipe alla ther aszes. They wan a Blue Sunami, ther gon get Red Tide.
/God put his hand ina Whi ouse, an thos democraps wounl't Obey him. Well now th Han of God wil smite thez Niga cuns who thin they gotta ri ta live –/
The image freezes, is replaced by Claudia's face. /That's enough for me, guys. I'm going to look for someplace to throw up./
"Who is this guy?" Pete demands.
"And where do we find him?"