Alec looked as though he was in no shape for a fight with anyone, and simply muttered something unintelligible. Armando bristled in his place.
‘She’s right,’ he said. ‘Unless you want a civil rights suit from both the hotel and Fox News you can back the fuck up, Sinbad.’
All of the smooth polish and charm on display when Armando had been helping Dave get ready for the show, and possibly copping a bit of a feel, was gone. The fluttering tone of voice, the barely perceptible lisp, the lightness of touch, they had all been replaced by an aggressive brawler’s demeanour. Dave expected to find Armando with his fists bunched up in a challenge to Heath, but instead saw the man had shifted position only slightly into what looked like a combat-ready stance. He had turned himself forty-five degrees away from the nearest of Trinder’s agents and was holding up both hands, almost as though he cradled an invisible baby in his arms. It wasn’t an unnatural stance. He looked like a man having a perfectly reasonable discussion, the sort of man who liked to speak with his hands, perhaps. But with Dave’s vision newly attuned to such things, and with one of Trinder’s Men in Black holding his caved-in face between bloodied hands, it seemed quite obvious that the concierge was not the mincing ass-bandit Dave Hooper had taken him for.
Or maybe he was, but he just happened to be a really badass bandit. Dave suppressed a chortle at his private joke.
‘Get rid of them,’ said Trinder, pointing at the techs again. As if by peeling off a couple of them he’d somehow got his way, instead of being thwarted.
‘I’ll get the doctor,’ Alec offered, hastening to exit the scene. A couple of Trinder’s men helped the injured camera guy and his now subdued offsider out through the mess they had made of the room.
The injured agent made no move to leave with them. Instead he tried to staunch the flow of blood with a handkerchief which had been white but was now a red ruin. Alec paused at the door motioning back over his shoulder to his colleague.
‘Armando, seriously, I think it’s best we leave these gentlemen to their business.’
The concierge, or style maven, or whatever the hell he was, favoured Trinder and Heath with a cold glare. He held his position long enough to make sure everybody in the room knew he was only leaving because his boss had asked him to.
‘Pussy,’ he said to the man whose nose he had broken, before following Alec out the door. That left Georgia Knox as the only ‘civilian’ in the room. Dave had no illusions about his own status. Trinder had already given him the impression he was little more than government property. Heath might have dressed it up in some bullshit about him being ‘part of the team’ or something after New Orleans, but it hadn’t escaped Dave’s attention that he had not been without a military escort since waking up in the hospital three days earlier.
‘I’m not leaving,’ said Georgia, just in case anybody remained in doubt.
‘That’s fine,’ said Heath, ‘but we are.’
‘Whoa,’ said Trinder throwing up one hand like a traffic cop. ‘I have travel orders for Mr Hooper alone. Not for you, Captain, or any of your merry men.’
Dave laughed. ‘Are you trying to lure me into your van? Are we having a stranger danger moment here, Agent Trinder? Because my mother warned me about going off with odd men.’
Trinder did not even bother looking at him, keeping his eyes fixed on Heath.
‘I have orders from the National Intelligence Assay Group to secure Mr Hooper and conduct him to a location I am not at liberty to disclose to you, where he will assist us with OSCAR’s investigations into any and all hostile incursions into CONUS since the on-water incident at datum point Longreach
. . .’
‘Did you say incursions? Plural?’ Georgia demanded to know. ‘Have there been more that you haven’t told us about like New York, or
. . .’
She frowned for a moment and looked at Dave, pleading with her eyes.
He grinned. ‘Buttecrack. Or, you know, beau-cray.’
Trinder spun on him, but seemed to catch himself at the last moment, perceptibly shifting his attention to the young female producer.
‘I don’t know what you think you’ve heard,’ he said, ‘but you won’t be repeating any wild rumours and causing unnecessary panic on my watch.’
Dave’s attention was split between Trinder and Heath, and he missed the slight movement of the agent behind Georgia until it was too late. He jabbed her in the neck with something that looked like a small squeeze tube and she yelped in surprise and pain before her eyes rolled back into her head and she started to slump to the ground. The agent was already there to catch her, but his body suddenly flew across the room, crashing into the wall which buckled under the impact.
Dave had accelerated from a standing start, shoulder-charging the man out of the way and scooping up Georgia as though she were a new bride he intended to carry across the threshold. The sudden blur of movement and the violent shock of seeing Trinder’s man flung across the room as though hit by a car startled all of the other agents into defensive postures. Dave found himself targeted by a dozen firearms, some of them looking like serious pieces of handheld artillery, including a couple of machine guns with abnormally long hand grips from which he could see extended magazines protruding.
For an awful moment he was convinced they were going to shoot even though he held an innocent woman in front of him. As though she was some sort of human shield.
The thought of what someone like Trinder would do with that, the lies he would tell about what had happened, paralysed Dave for a moment.
‘Okay, everyone just calm down.’
It was Heath, his voice strangely soothing. He spoke softly, but with enough projection to carry his words to everyone in the room.
‘Dave, put down the young lady. Do it gently. Put her on that couch over there.’
Hooper did as he was told, aware of all the gun muzzles tracking him as he moved slowly across the room to deposit the unconscious young woman into the two-seater lounge her techs or Armando had pushed up against the wall. She looked much younger asleep in his arms, and he experienced an unfamiliar wash of hot emotion across his face.
It might have been shame.
‘Agent Trinder,’ Heath said then, ‘it seems pretty obvious to me that Mr Hooper won’t be going anywhere against his will. So unless you have an executive order I can lay eyes on right here and now, I’m afraid you’re stuck with asking him nicely. And since you just knocked out his girlfriend
. . .’
‘Well, I don’t know that I’d call her a girlfriend
. . .’
Dave said.
‘Dave, not helping.’
‘Shutting up now.’
Heath picked up the thread again.
‘So, unless he is inexplicably enthused by the prospect of going on an adventure with you I would suggest,’ and now his voice became hard, ‘you’re shit out of luck.’
This time Dave saw the agent tensing to move before he actually moved. To the men who were watching closely, Dave appeared to pop out of existence, before popping back in behind the suit who was suddenly gargling and waving his arms about while Dave stood close, restraining the man with what looked like a reasonably soft one-armed chokehold. He grinned and held aloft the small gel packet containing whatever drug they had used to knock out Georgia.
He winked at Trinder.
‘How’s this work?’
And he jammed the small half-inch spike into his own neck before giving the gel sac a little squeeze. Trinder’s eyes went wide, but Heath merely rolled his in exasperation. Dave grinned.
‘Whoa. Donald, my man. You been holding out, dog. That is some sweet shit. You gotta hook me up with your dealer.’
Dave let go of the agent he held at the same time as he flicked the gel sac into Trinder’s chest. The first man slumped to the floor, gagging. The second didn’t move so much as a muscle.
‘So, do you have an executive order?’ Heath asked in a tired voice. When Trinder didn’t reply the smallest hint of a smile played across Heath’s otherwise stern-looking face. ‘I didn’t think so.’
‘Not that it would make any difference,’ Dave added. ‘Just so you know.’
Trinder lowered his gun, a signal to all of the other agents to do the same. He regarded Hooper in silence for a moment before coming to a decision.
‘Mr Hooper, I can see we got off on the wrong foot here.’
Dave burst out laughing, genuine laughter it was too, driven by the utter sincerity with which this asshole had just spoken. His reaction seemed to catch Trinder by surprise, and he gaped with his mouth open for a second before Dave got himself under control and motioned for the man to continue.
‘No, please, go on. You just reminded me of everybody I ever worked with at head office.’
Trinder holstered his weapon, rolled his shoulders, and fiddled with the button of his jacket.
‘I’m glad you’re amused, sir,’ he said. ‘But there is nothing funny about what is going on out there.’ He waved one hand, gesturing vaguely behind him.
‘What? In the corridor?’
Trinder controlled a flash of anger with an obvious effort of will.
‘No. Not in the corridor, Mr Hooper. Not even back in New Orleans. And not out on your rig where all this started. I mean all over the country, because that’s where we lost six aeroplanes and over 900 people last night. I mean in Mississippi, where I can confirm another ground incursion, with significant loss of life. I mean in New York, not a long way removed from where your wife and children reside, as I understand.’
‘Ex-wife,’ he corrected without thinking, before catching himself. ‘But what
. . .
What happened in New York?’
Trinder slowly and deliberately turned to Heath when he answered.
‘I’m not at liberty to discuss that until you have agreed to accompany me to a secure location for debriefing.’
Dave looked to Heath for an answer but got nothing except a shrug in return.
‘My boys in any danger?’ he asked, before adding, ‘More than anybody else, I mean.’
Trinder didn’t smirk, but you could hear it in his voice.
‘I am not at liberty to –’
Dave cut him off.
‘Fine, then you can fuck off.’
It wasn’t the response the agent was expecting. He blinked once and his mouth opened a little ways, but nothing came out. Recovering quickly, Trinder pressed on.
‘Mr Hooper, I would ask you to reconsider, sir. It is a matter of national security that –’
‘A couple of seconds ago it was a matter of my boys being in danger.’
Trinder’s anger got the better of him.
‘Everybody is in danger, you idiot. And you’re just lying around here in Vegas getting your dick sucked and enjoying the complimentary minibar.’
‘But not at the same time,’ Dave said.
‘Dave, again, not helping.’ It was Heath. He moved into the centre of the room, picking his way around the mess, giving no sign that he was hindered by his artificial leg.
‘Agent Trinder, I’m not sure what your movement plans are, but ours are not a secret. We were on our way to Nellis and then on to the Office of Science and Technology Policy’s West Coast office. As soon as we have clearance to fly we’ll be moving again. We only set down here because it was the nearest strip when Washington cleared the sky yesterday. Mr Hooper has been liaising with OSTP and JSOC since the initial hostile contact in the gulf. I have had no orders to alter those arrangements.’
He paused for a moment to lower his hardest, most ill-favoured expression on Trinder.
‘I have, however, had to fend off more or less aggressive headhunting parties from the CIA, NSA, Strategic Command, Homeland Security, the FBI and, as of 0700 this morning, a booking agent for
America’s Next Top Model
. You want him? Get in line.’
Trinder made one last attempt at bagging his trophy.
‘Assay Group and OSCAR have oversight and coordination responsibilities for all national level assets and programs. Your friends in OSTP have none of the experience or expertise to handle this threat level. For God’s sake, man, they’re supposed to be stopping the Chinese from stealing our solar hot water systems or something.’
If he was trying to bait Heath it wasn’t working. It did work with Compton, however. The bald and bearded academic pushed his way past the OSCAR muscle at the door, with some help from Chief Allen and Igor to clear a path.
‘Great,’ muttered Dave. ‘I was getting worried that we didn’t have nearly enough assholes here.’
Heath shot him a frown, but if Compton had heard anything he chose to ignore it. And as unimpressed as Dave was with the intrusion of Compton, his spirits lifted when he saw that Professor Ashbury had come in behind him.
‘Hey prof,’ he smiled. ‘Heath says I’m gonna be on
Next Top Model
.
She didn’t return the smile.
He wondered if his lack of pants, or the unconscious Fox News hottie curled up on the couch, might have something to do with that. Probably some combo of both, he thought.
‘OSTP is more than capable of overseeing and coordinating any federal government response to this incursion,’ said Compton. ‘We dealt with these creatures down in New Orleans and we will deal with them wherever they manifest in future.’
‘Yeah, if dealing with it means turning a shit sandwich into an all-you-can-eat buffet,’ muttered Dave, careful to keep his voice low enough so that only Heath, and maybe Trinder, could hear. ‘Fact is I’m not going anywhere for now,’ he said in a louder voice. ‘Not unless Heath came over to tell me we’re cleared to fly again?’
The navy man shook his head.
‘Nobody is cleared to fly anywhere,’ he said. ‘Only thing besides dragons in the sky at the moment are combat air patrols looking to shoot them down. Caught another one over Yellowstone an hour ago. But that’s not public yet. You especially, Dave, are not to fly anywhere.’
‘Suits me,’ he said, finally pulling on the black trousers Armando had chosen for him. He did his best to look as though this was the most natural thing in the world, getting dressed in front of a roomful of armed Feds.
‘Probably should have put them on before you went on national television,’ said Professor Emmeline Ashbury. An expression of annoyance mingled with distaste on her face.