Angel City (39 page)

“You asking me if the treasure was the Holy Grail? Because if you are, you're wasting your time.”

“At the moment, I ain't asking shit. At the moment, I'm babbling like a speed freak trying to get to the point. Look, the Grail didn't hold significance for the Cathars. It was a thing of the physical world with no real connection to their faith. They didn't have a sacrament of communion, even, and they didn't believe that Christ was the Son of God. For the Cathars, Christ was an angel in human form, like all human souls. Hey, I remember where I was going . . . Astruc and me, in the forms of de Combel and de Marseillan, saw the real treasure before it was smuggled away. Gold, silver, writings on their faith, that's it. No Holy Grail, no anything the bad guys would be interested in, and nothing our kind would be interested in. Astruc reported the intel to HQ, HQ advised the three of us were being pulled out.”

“Turn around and walk away,” Harper said.

“
Tempus fugit, aeternitas manet,
brother. HQ said the bad guys had it wrong, there was nothing hidden at Montségur. HQ didn't want to take a chance of us being killed in our forms for nothing more than a bad guy mass killing. You were ordered to Toulouse to take out an enemy chief hiding in the Office of the Inquisition. Astruc and me were kept at Montségur till the end, just in case something popped hot on the treasure front. But like I said, there was nothing.”

The filter of Harper's smoke was singed, Krinkle's, too. Krinkle grabbed his teacup, offered it to Harper. Harper dropped in his fag, Krinkle gave his a toss.
Phhht, phhht.
Krinkle set the cup on the desk, looked at Harper.

“You want my two cents, seeing as I'm the only one on this bus drinking the tea?”

“Sure.”

“I think in the last days before the fire, while you were carving up bad guys, one of the goons under the knife let slip the truth. There was
something
hidden at Montségur. I think you reported that intel through a back channel and you were given new orders; orders you were told
not
to share with Astruc and me.”

“Don't go to Toulouse,” Harper said. “Take a form in the fortress, find what the bad guys were after.”

Krinkle drank his whiskey. “And that's when it all went belly-up. Because by then, looking at my timeline, there was only one way of getting off Montségur without tipping off the bad guys.”

“The fire.”

“Amen.”

“Can you see it?”

Krinkle's eyes lost focus for long seconds, then he blinked.

“The three of us are dragged down the mountain with the Cathars. Our ankles shackled with ropes. Astruc and me still clueless that you've taken the form of Bernard de Saint-Martin, so we stay separate from you and from everyone as much as we can.”

“So the time mechanics could get a fix on you.”

“Yup.”

“And then?”

“There's an open field at the foot of the rock. The Crusaders build a palisade there and cram us inside. Two hundred twelve terrified souls, knowing they're about to die a horrible death. Men, women. Nobody can move, everyone's pressing up next to one another, everyone's standing on a thick floor of straw and pitch. Plan is, fire starts, smoke rises under the hay, a time warp drops over Astruc and me, and we're pulled from our forms.”

“You sure you had no idea I'd jumped into de Saint-Martin? You're sure it actually happened?”

Krinkle looked straight into Harper's eyes.

“The Crusaders torch the corners of the palisade, the fire goes up fast, runs around the outer walls. Looking at the fire, I can tell something's not right. The fire isn't spreading, it's hunting. The Cathars at the outer edge of the pack get it first. The fire curls around legs, crawls up chests, wraps around faces. People start crushing to the center, then fire begins to burn up through the hay. It's all happening too fast. Then bodies start going up like matchsticks, but the fire's playing with them, torturing them. And the heat, man, the heat. Stuff I read on Google said the fire was so hot, the Crusaders were chased kilometers away. Burned into the night. Next day, when the Crusaders came back, the ash was still smoldering, stayed that way for days.”

“The enemy spiked the pitch with fire potions.”

Krinkle nodded.

“The heat caused the time warp to flutter. The mechanics couldn't stabilize a signal. You know how it is getting sucked into a warp; one microsecond feels like forever. They got a lock on me, I was suspended in time and safe . . . but Astruc caught fire, totally fucking the warp signal again. He was suspended in time, trapped in his burning flesh, and he suffered badly. He had this terrible look in his eyes. First I was thinking it was the pain, but in those microseconds, I realized he was experiencing a vision in the flames. Then I saw it, too.”

“What vision?”

“You.”

Harper stared at him. Wide-eyed or not, he knew Krinkle was spilling absolute truth.

“Keep talking, mate.”

“You're walking through the fire, giving the Cathars comfort . . . and, brother, you don't burn. Fucking flames part for you like the Red Sea before the Israelites. You see us, suspended in time. You see him burning, suffering beyond imagination.”

“Astruc.”

“No, Jean de Combel—I mean, yes, Astruc . . . they're the fucking same. He recognized you for what you really were. He cried to you, ‘Brother, brother, help me!' He begged you to stop the flames. You couldn't, but you were talking to him. And as if trying to comfort him, too, you told him everything. The treasure of the Cathars, what it's for and what it means, your orders.”

“And then?”

“Nothing. That's where my timeline stops. That's when the mechanics must have stabilized the warp and pulled me out. Astruc . . . I don't know how long it took for him.”

Harper looked at the whiskey in his own glass; nothing. He looked at Krinkle.

“Why can't I see it? If it happened and you're telling me the names, Jean de Combel and Raymond de Marseillan, I should see it.”

Krinkle sighed, glanced at the reel-to-reel reaching the end of its roll.

“Just a sec.”

He turned to the desk, put on his headphones, flipped switches. One reel-to-reel stopped, another one began to roll. Krinkle leaned into the microphone.

“So goes the Grateful Dead at the Dream Bowl many moons ago. Coming back to nowtimes with a band of shoegazers from Sweden, Immanu El, and their epic track, ‘Under Your Wings I'll Hide.'”

Krinkle hit a switch, and the bus filled with an ethereal sound, hanging in the air like flight. Then guitars softly playing against each other in descending progressions, then a voice like something from a forgotten dream:

“Fire haunts us, holds us now . . .”

Krinkle lowered the fader, took off his headphones, turned to Harper.

“I'll tell you why you can't see it. It's because you're fucked up, too. And come tomorrow, when this tea wears off and everything I've just told you gets wiped from my timeline and I'm staring at nothing but a black fucking hole, I'll probably have the same look in my eyes as you do right now. All of us that are left are fucked up, brother . . . We're tired. That's my two cents.”

Flash Traffic

tdc: y032-77zfd

Ex: Dragon6/SUTF

Eyes Only: Blue4/GrovMil

Subject: Threat Level: 8

re: SX INTEL

attachments:

Summary:

Item 1: SX reports enemy strike detected 19:58 GMT. 42°42ˈ35.18̎ N, 1°24ˈ 19.54̎ E. Intel places last known location of offline asset suspected of bearing critical data 50 kilometers NNE. 42°52'33.00" N, 1°49′59.48″ E. Status of offline asset: Unknown.

Item 2: SX reports encoded enemy thread on Internet discussing “prophecy.” Intel reveals discussion not in relation to critical data but advanced, detailed knowledge.

file://localhost/

Item 3: Advise proceed “attack drill” scenario next 72 hours. Advise Swan Lake renew weapons ready status: 9 Mil, Glock 19.

Item 4: Engage exfil from GrovMil upon direct order from Dragon 6. Exfil codes listed:

file://localhost/

Item 5: Priority exfil: Blue Marble. Secondary exfil: Swan Lake (abandon if necessary). RNDVS: 45°31'06.28" N, 122°40'47.32" E.

I

O
H, OH, BUSTER.
W
E NEED TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR
face.”

Max stared at his mother, dribbles of oatmeal spilling from the corners of his mouth as he smiled. He recognized the words
your face, buster,
and
oh, oh
. And he recognized his mother's body language. Her head was tilted to the side, her face scrunched up, eyes smiling. All together, Max knew something very funny was happening. He kicked his feet and banged his spoon on the tray.

“Goog.”

Bits of wet oatmeal splashed onto Katherine's face.

“Yo, when I want a homemade exfoliating facial, I'll do it myself.”

She wiped his mouth and chin, handed him his sippy cup of apple juice.

“Here, knock yourself out with the good stuff.”

She picked up his bowl of oatmeal and carried it to the counter. She left the spoon, as Max's hammer was upstairs. She turned on the water pump, opened the tap, washed the bowl. Out the window above the sink, it was a nice autumn day. There was a patch of big leaf maple amid the pine, and just now, the sun sparkled on gold-colored leaves.

“Wow, don't get days like this very often, not this time of year; do we, Max?”

She looked back at him. He was slouched in his high chair, making smacking noises with his mouth as he drank the juice. His little feet, still wrapped in his jammies, wiggled in agreement to whatever it was she'd said. Katherine saw Monsieur Booty had taken her chair as soon as she'd turned her back. Max had the beast by the tail, and both beast and boy were watching her.

“We should go out today, take a walk in the woods. Maybe we'll see Bambi.”

Max's eyes lit up hearing that word. It meant animals that sometimes came into the garden. They had very long legs and snouts and ears. They hopped through the garden and disappeared into the trees. He could see them in his eyes.

“Mmmmbies,” he said, while continuing to sip his apple juice.

“Yeah, or maybe Bugs Bunny.”

“Bnnnybugs.”

“Him too.”

Katherine filled the kettle and switched it on. She opened her box of teas and chose a sachet of Morning Light. She dropped it in a mug, looked out the window again.

“Yup, that's what we're going to do. Won't open the shop today. We're going to take . . .”

She saw one of the Swiss Guards beyond the tree line. Then two of them. She hadn't seen them because of the trees at first, and it was only when they moved that she noticed them at all. They were setting stakes in the ground at regular intervals. But it wasn't what they were doing she noticed; she'd given up trying to keep up with all the toys the boys had surrounding the house, in the house, under the house. Wouldn't surprise her to learn there was a ray gun hidden in the roof to hold out against a Martian invasion. No, it wasn't what they were doing, it was what they were wearing. Weirdly patterned overalls. And when they stopped moving, the two men almost disappeared into the background.

The kettle boiled and clicked off. She filled her cup, dropped in one of the Morning Light tea bags, and got that first blast of steam in her face that always said,
Good morning, and aren't we feeling good today?
Just then the guards stepped from the trees and crossed the garden, heading for Control. She saw the Brügger & Thomet submachine guns across their chests, Glock 19s strapped to their right thighs. “Loaded for bear,” the locals of Grover's Mill called that particular look during hunting season. They stopped to look back toward the trees, and damn if they didn't seem to blend into the green of the lawn. She picked up her tea, closed her bathrobe. She walked to the kitchen door, opened it, and called across the garden.

“What the heck's going on, fellas?”

The two guards stopped.

“Bonjour, Madame Taylor. Ça va?”

“
Bonjour
, yourselves. Have the Martians invaded?”

“Quoi?”

“Little green men. Spaceships. Nanu nanu.”

The guards looked at each other.

“
Pardon
, Madame Taylor, we do not understand what you mean.”

Then a voice.

“They're setting motion detectors along the tree line, Kat.”

She turned around. Officer Jannsen was in the kitchen, standing next to Max.

“Nnnn.” Max grinned, always happy to see her, this time with apple juice trickling from the sides of his mouth.

“Guten tag, Max.”

He smiled at her, wagged Monsieur Booty's tail, turned to his mother.

“Motion detectors. Okay, if you say so. But what's with the uniforms? Those are really weird. It's like the boys are invisible.”

“It's camouflage.”

“Camouflage is Arnold Schwarzenegger in
Commando
. That out there, in the back garden, is the invisible monster in the trees from
Predator
, times two.”

“What monster?”

“Hid in trees, ate people. Never mind. How's it work?”

“The cloth is imprinted with irregular-shaped pixels that absorb surrounding colors. It creates an optical illusion. Your eyes see the forms of the two men, but the uniform interferes with how your mind registers the information. It can't distinguish the human form against the immediate background.”

“Made in Switzerland, I bet.”

“It's a prototype.”

“Cool. Can I get one?” Katherine said.

Officer Jannsen smiled.

“What would you do with it?”

“Rob a bank. Run away to a tropical island. Live happily ever after. You, me, Max. You'd like to live on a tropical island, wouldn't you, Max?”

“Goog!”
Wham.

She looked at Monsieur Booty.

“How about you, you miserable beast?”

Mew.

Katherine looked at Officer Jannsen.

“There you go. Three to one. We're dressing up in camouflage and robbing the bank in Grover's Mill and heading to St. Barts, today.”

“Grover's Mill doesn't have a bank.”

Katherine thought about it.

“That's right, it doesn't.”

Officer Jannsen rubbed Max's head, walked to Katherine. She called through the door to the guards.

“Est du périmètre de sécurité?”

“Oui, Chef.”

“Bon. Nous commençons à quinze cent heures.”

The guards continued to Control.

Katherine looked at Officer Jannsen.

“What happens at three o'clock?”

“We're running a lockdown drill.”

“Oh, God, not again.”

“The last time we ran a drill was two months ago.”

Katherine shrugged like a frustrated kid.

“Ah, Mom, I was planning to take Max for a walk in the woods, look for Bambi.”

“Not today, not for the next three days.”

“Three days? The whole thing? Safe room drills?”

“Mais oui.”

Kat rolled her eyes.

“I hate the safe room.”

“We need to be able to get you in there within ninety seconds from any location in the house.”

“We had it down to eighty-two seconds the last time.”

“This time you'll be taking Max with you.”

“Max? We've always used a doll.”

“I want him to get used to it. Make him think it's a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“One where he has confidence that you're in charge, that he'll be okay. I'm also getting you on the firing range this afternoon while Max is having his nap. And the next three days.”

“You mean I get to shoot stuff again?”

“If you mean will you be at the target range, requalifying with a Glock 19, yes.”

“Oh, then. That's cool. But when do I get to shoot a machine gun?”

Katherine sipped her tea, watched the way Officer Jannsen looked away, seeing red in the corner of her eye.

“Anne? Have you been crying?”

“No, I haven't been to bed yet.”

“How come?”

Officer Jannsen shrugged. “I was preparing for the lockdown drill. Kat, why is there oatmeal on your face?”

Katherine wiped her face, saw the grains on her hand.

“Max got a little excited at something or other. And you're lying.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. Come on, out with it.”

Officer Jannsen almost spoke, then stopped. And just now, Katherine was very sure she saw Officer Jannsen's eyes water.

“Anne, what's wrong?”

Officer Jannsen took a slow breath.

“Last night, I learned something. Something I don't know how to tell you. Something I'm not allowed to say.”

Katherine sipped her tea.

“It's okay. I know what it is.”

“You do? How?”

“I dreamed about it.”

“What sort of dream?”

“A lucid dream.”

Officer Jannsen stared at Katherine.

“How do you know about lucid dreams?”

“Hold your horses. I'm getting there.”

Officer Jannsen leaned against the kitchen counter. “All right.”

“Good girl. I dreamed we were in the garden last night, watching the stars and talking the night away. And in the dream, I see myself fall asleep, and you kiss my hair. Then I feel like I'm waking up, but I tell myself I want to keep dreaming it again, and it happens again. It's always the same. I'm lying there, drifting off, you lean down. My eyes are closed, but I smell your perfume. Then you take my hair in your hands and you kiss it. I must have relived it a dozen times. Kiss, rewind, kiss, rewind. Then I went into this really deep and wonderful sleep. This morning, I woke up in my bed, and Max was still asleep. I went on Google and looked up dreams. I found a wiki page on lucid dreams, sounded like what was going on. It said human beings usually have at least one lucid dream in their lifetime, others have more, and a few can train themselves to participate in their dreams as a regular practice.”

Officer Jannsen nodded.

“Yes, that's what it means. But, Kat, it doesn't have anything to do with—”

“It was your perfume, Anne.”

“My perfume?”

“Sight and sound are the dominant senses in dreams, not the sense of smell. Surrounding smells can affect a dream, but people don't really have a sense of smell
in
their dreams.”

Officer Jannsen didn't speak.

“I wasn't dreaming, was I, Anne? I was remembering what really happened. You kissed me when you thought I was asleep, and you were hoping I wouldn't remember. That's what you want to tell me, isn't it?”

Officer Jannsen looked down at the floor.

“Yes. That's what I wanted to tell you.”

Katherine laughed.

“And you know what? I read this thing about Dream Yoga. I found a place in Portland where they teach it. I was thinking maybe I could go see what it's about. Maybe I could get really good at it, if I try.”

Officer Jannsen remained quiet. Katherine reached over, raised her face.

“I know there's a red line between us. And I know why. No matter what you feel, you have a sense of duty to protect Max and me. I get it. You're not just a cop, you're a Swiss cop. But last night, you made it okay for me to feel something I'd been afraid of feeling for a long time. And today, right now, I'm happy. Not from what I can get from the world, but from somewhere within myself. And don't worry, I promise not to chase after you like a lovesick puppy.”

Officer Jannsen nodded. “That's good. I wouldn't want the detail to get the wrong idea. If it was reported up the chain, it could make things difficult.”

“It's our secret. But I'm putting you on notice, Ms. Jannsen. Day comes this whole hideout thing is over, you, me, and Max are robbing a bank, somewhere, and running away to the Caribbean. And we're going to live happily ever after. With the cat, too, of course. I don't think I could separate Max and Monsieur Booty with a crowbar.”

Officer Jannsen looked at Max, holding on to Monsieur Booty's tail. She turned to Katherine, looked into her eyes, remembering the flash traffic from Berne . . .

Item 5: Priority exfil: Blue Marble. Secondary exfil: Swan Lake (abandon if necessary).

“I'll be back after lunch, Kat.”

“Okeydoke.”

Katherine picked up Max, grabbed her tea, and went upstairs. She changed his diaper and washed him, dressed him in blue jeans and a sweatshirt from Baby Gap, finished him off with a pair of Converse All Stars.

“Never too young to make a fashion statement. Especially when it comes to shoes.”

“Shooz.”

“That's right. One day you're going to have to try an entire sentence, just to humor me that you're normal.”

She handed him his hammer and carried him and her tea to the bathroom. She sat Max on the floor. He happily banged away at no-see-ums while she jumped in the shower. She kept an eye on Max through the glass door:
wham, whamwham, wham.
Stepping out and drying off, she saw sunlight come through the window.