Read Full Moonster [BUREAU 13 Book Three] Online
Authors: Nick Pollotta
Father Donaher blinked, and shook his head. “Piffle? Now where did he learn language like that?"
Raul jerked a thumb. “From Ed, of course."
Naturally, I was shocked to the very core of my being. “Now just a dog-gone minute there, buckaroo—"
Shouting something incomprehensible, Katrina stood and from her cupped hands there lanced a swirling cone of lightning and boiling flame. But the lambent outpouring of concentrated Death spells thinned into nothingness before it reached the hotel. The distance was just too great, and neither wizard could stand long enough to draw the size pentagram necessary to cast a long-distance conjure.
Cra-ack! Zing!
Slumping his shoulders, George blinked, and shook his head. “Up yours,” he growled.
Jessica stared at him intently.
Activating my wristwatch, I got only a carrier-wave buzz. Interference from the hotel must be blocking the radio signals. And every telepath was off-line. Damn. So much for summoning air support. A renovation via saturation bombing was just what this place needed.
Slumping her shoulders, Mindy blinked, and shook her head.
More incoming rounds.
Cra-rack! Zing! Whoosh! Boom
!
Wisely, I decided it was time to get tough. “Katrina, take Donaher and Jessica and teleport back to the RV for our combat armor and heavy-weapons trunk."
Slumping her shoulders, Katrina blinked and shook her head. “
Da
, Edwardo."
Suddenly feeling very tired, I blinked, and shook my head. What had I been about to say? Oh, yes. “Donaher, assist her with the big—"
Diving forward, Jessica grabbed at George and jerked backwards. As she came clear, I could see that my darling wife was holding the pull rings from a brace of grenades.
"Jesus Christ!” George screamed, frantically clawing at the ordinance dangling from his military web harness on his chest.
But before he could do anything, there was a tremendous smoky explosion and everything went pitch black.
Rocking gently, I came awake with both of my .357 Magnums out and searching for danger. Who? What? Where? Ah.
"Hello, dear,” Jess said from behind the wheel of the van. Through the windows I could see that we were speeding along a highway somewhere. Sprawled on the rear couches was the rest of the team. Nobody seemed hurt and our weapons were readily evident.
"Hi, hon,” I mouthed around a flannel tongue. Then as my head cleared, memories flooded in and I coldly aimed a Smith & Wesson at the love of my life. If the human sitting near me was Jessica. Her aura read human norm, but that wasn't good enough.
"Holmes,” I demanded. If she gave the wrong answer, I would have to move fast after blowing her head off to grab the wheel and keep us from crashing. Luckily, the road was fairly even and straight. I didn't think we were in West Virginia anymore. Ohio, maybe. Oz?
Maintaining speed, Jessica gave me a rueful smile. “Watson. My, my, aren't you Mr. Paranoid."
Ain't that the truth. But that was only because I had so many enemies and they were everywhere. I sneaked a quick peek under my car seat. Okay, safe for the moment. Maybe.
"Mother's maiden name?” I asked grimly.
"Yang-Wu,” she sighed. “And I was born in Evanston."
"What happened in Honolulu?"
"We ran out of massage oil.” Jess cocked an eyebrow. “Satisfied?"
"Yeah, sorry,” I said, holstering my weapons, and feeling slightly foolish. How was I supposed to know the stuff was flammable?
She shrugged. “That's okay, Ed. Business is business."
True enough. While it was not an everyday occurrence for my wife to kidnap the team in the middle of a mission, clones and doppelgangers were a common danger in our line of work, and someday, it wouldn't be my wife I would wake up alongside to. Which would put me in big trouble on two counts.
Just then, a sign flashed by my window stating the miles to the Indiana border. Wow. Had long had we been asleep?
"So what happened?” I asked, reclining in the front seat.
"I set off some sleep gas grenades,” she explained.
"That explains the lovely cat litter flavor in my mouth."
"Hey, I don't make'em. I just use'em."
Abruptly, Mindy sat up. “Oh, it was a gas grenade,” she said, chewing her tongue. “Ick. What a taste. I'll start some tea.” The martial artist immediately moved towards the tiny kitchenette in the rear of the van.
Sounding like a foghorn on steroids, Father Donaher gave a yawn that threatened to implode the windows and blinked consciousness into his face. “What the ... ah, of course. Anesthesia gas."
"Tea?” Mindy offered, busy with the kettle.
"Please, lass. Thank you."
Stretching his arms to the ceiling, George really put the stress test on his Army shirt, and for a moment you could see the hard muscle underneath his fat. His jacket was laying on the floor and our pet lizard Amigo was half inside one of the pockets munching loudly on what sounded like cookies or bones.
"Geez, Jess,” George said, rubbing his temples. “You could have asked me for the K47L cans. No need to steal ‘em."
"Sorry,” my wife sang out from behind the wheel. “There was no time."
Damnation! Had everybody figured this out but me?
Groaning softly, Katrina wobbled erect and ran fingers through her long blonde hair in a crude abolution. “Sleep gas,” she rumbled, tucking a partially exposed breast back into her red top. “Bleh."
And right on cue, Raul groaned into life. “Oh god, I hate knockout gas,” he moaned, massaging his temples. “What's the chance of getting a beer?"
"Ed?” Mindy asked, glancing my way.
After a moment's hesitation, I nodded yes. Mages had a tendency to drink heavily so we had to monitor them. On the other hand, absolutely nothing cleared the biochemical crude from your mouth like a frothy cold brew. Except, perhaps, another cold frothy beer.
All by itself, the door to our small refrigerator opened and a six pack of Bud started to float out.
"One each,” I clarified.
Two beers broke free from the levitating pack and wafted over to Raul and Katrina. Now that's what I call a light beer. The wizards formally clinked containers and drank from the closed cans. I was unimpressed, having seen the Invisible Straw trick before. It was how we sneaked outside food into a movie theatre.
After serving George and Donaher, Mindy passed a couple of steaming ceramic mugs to us, and I held the wheel for a moment while Jess added mint and lemon. I took mine straight.
"Okay,” I said after a preliminary sip. “Report. How did we get into the van?"
Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Jessica lifted a plain copper bracelet into view. “I used this magic bracelet taken from Raul to teleport us here, and drove away as fast as possible."
Wiping the moisture off his hand, Raul accepted the bracelet, and slid it back on his wrist. The copper band was drained at present, but the Recharge spell was a minor matter. Raul could do such things in his sleep and often did. Which explained why nobody ever bothered the wizard during nap time.
"Why the improvisational retreat?” Father Donaher asked, placing aside his empty mug.
Shifting gear, my wife maneuvered around an 18-wheeler full of livestock. Thank God for air conditioning.
"Had to,” she explained, as we accelerated past the portable barn. “We were being systematically hit with a mind-probe by an enemy psychic. God knows what information they got already."
"Was it a pro, an expert telepath?” George asked frowning. None of us trusted mentalists, after seeing what Jess used to be able to do with the bad guys. Chilling stuff.
Glancing sideways, Jess gave a grim nod. “Somebody so good, you guys didn't even know that it was happening."
"Then how did you?” Mindy asked bluntly.
Here Jessica faltered, her face pinching tight as if a door had just slammed shut. “I...” she started, then tried again. “I used to do it often enough that I can recognize the signs."
There was a respectful moment of silence from the team. Until only a few months ago, my lovely bride had been the top telepath in the Bureau, which meant the whole damn world. But after battling a fledgling god, she had been blasted into a normal human. She still possessed an eidetic memory, but her vaunted telepathic powers were gone forever, and nothing in Heaven or Hell could make them return. This I knew for a fact since I had personally asked the management of both places.
Would it be the same as one of us going blind or deaf? I didn't know. Nobody but another telepath could know. But the hard facts were that all of her fellow mentalists were now dead, and it was only her debilitating handicap that allowed her to survive. What did my lady feel deep down inside, remorse, shame? Or was it envy?
Impulsively, I reached out to touch her and Jess shied away concentrating on her driving, her features an iron mask of neutrality. It was at that precise instant I finally realized exactly how much my wife missed her telepathic abilities.
"Well, if the situation ever occurs again, let's code name your tactic quote, Friendly Fire, end quote,” I suggested, lowering my hand. “That way, if you're a bit slower and one of us is a bit faster, we can avoid those expensive dry cleaning bills.” Brains were a really difficult stain to get out of a white line shirt, plus a tad disgusting.
Frowning, George turned his head from looking out the window. “Jessica, exactly where are we going?"
"Nowhere in particular,” she replied, keeping her eyes on the road.
"Faith, lass, and why are we going nowhere so fast?” Donaher asked puzzled, glancing about outside through the windows.
My wife jerked a thumb backwards. “Them,” she said.
Reaching down, I jerked the lever underneath my seat and swiveled about. Amid the rest of the meager traffic, there were a couple of perfectly normal 18-wheel Mack trucks behind us.
In a standard #2 surveillance formation. Oh fudge.
Grabbing his rosary, Father Donaher started reciting a prayer of protection.
Turning around, Katrina splayed a golden light from her wand about the van checking our defensive seals, and George activated the HumBug unit, a nifty little device we had stolen, er, borrowed got from the CIA. It made our car windows vibrate in an irregular ultrasonic pattern so that anybody using a maser beam couldn't hear our voices through the glass, also did a damn fine personal massage.
"They've been following us since we departed West Virginia,” Jess announced, confirming the suspicion. “I decided not to tell you about them until everybody got a chance to recover from the sleep gas. Let you acclimatize and wake up."
Even though annoyed, I growled that was a good idea. Coming awake groggy from the gas, I had almost shot my wife on sight. If she had been frantically yelling that we were being trailed by enemy forces...
"Any hostile moves?” Mindy asked, her rainbow sword out and ready.
Shifting gears again, Jess shook her head. “Nope. But where I go, they go."
Sliding back a panel in the ceiling, Mindy liberated a pair of binoculars from the overhead weapons rack. “Okay, folks, the five trucks appeared to be perfectly ordinary tractor-trailer assemblies,” she announced, staring out the window. “A high riding 6-wheel cab, with 12-wheel trailers being pulled along behind. Different colors and different ages. Sides made of unpainted corrugated steel. No perceptible openings, presumably a double-door in the back. One has a compressed gas cylinder on the bottom. Must be refrigerated. There were a variety of company names on the trucks, and ICC numbers. Looks like a simple buddy convoy. Possibly a couple of independent truckers out on a TSD, or piecemeal run."
"Faith, lass, I agree,” Father Donaher said. “Now could you try that again, in English, please?"
"They look clean,” Mindy translated. “No obvious armaments."
"Doesn't mean a damn thing,” I noted, checking the load in each of my handguns.
"Any CB activity?” Raul asked, polishing his wand with a vengeance. Sparks flew from the tip and arced down into the bottom as the staff charged itself for action.
"Go ahead and try,” Jess offered, with a gesture.
Rising from the middle couch, George stepped past the wizards and took the swivel chair at the Communications Panel. He flipped some switches and a strident howl whined from the floorboard speakers. Scrunching his face in concentration, George twisted the dial to different positions and pressed some pre-set buttons to the same result.
"Full spectrum jamming,” he cursed, savagely turning of the transponder. “That's the Scion. Subtle as a brick through a window."
"And just as smart,” Raul added angrily.
"Did not know our radios could be jammed,” Katrina said, suspiciously glaring at the device.
Thumbing back hammers on the Magnums, I answered, “Anybody's radio can be jammed with enough raw power."
"And if they're knocking us off the air,” George said slowly, rubbing his chin. “There must not be a working TV or radio station in this whole section of the state!"
"Which means help is on its way,” Katrina said optimistically. “Bureau will detect and send recon unit.” Then her face clouded. “
Nyet
. We are the recon unit."
Rotating around, George held out a splayed hand and Donaher tossed him the banjo-from-Hell. Catching the 30 pounds in one hand, our plump soldier worked the bolt on his huge M60, starting a new belt of ammunition.
"Gas situation?” he asked, already starting to talk in short battlefield sentences.
Keeping a grip on the steering wheel, Jess pointed at the dashboard. “Already on emergency tanks."
Oh swell. Damn this Detroit monster and its low mileage! Didn't Toyota make any armored luxury cars? Might as well ask for a Jaguar with four-wheel drive.
Crouched over the weapon locker, Father Donaher's black cloth-clad bottom wiggled about as he rummaged in an ammunition drawer. “Hey George! Aren't there any Deer Slugs for my shotgun?"
"Sure. Over by the Armbrust stealth missile."
"Ah, there they are. Thanks."
Double-ought buckshot cartridges from the good father's Remington could cut most monsters in half. However, the effectiveness of a shotgun is decreased geometrically with distance. Which was why he wanted the Deer Slugs. Simply put, they were bullets for a shotgun. Only the mighty Donaher could handle the mind-numbing recoil of the projectiles, but they changed his shotgun from a short-range to a long-range weapon and increased its destructive power astronomically.