Dreams – 2003
National Security Council Building, Washington DC
At night, the building reminded her of her home when she was growing up. The two were nothing alike physically of course. 12th century BC Canaan and 21st Century Washington had nothing at all in common. Except at night, in an empty building. The silence was the same. Peaceful, tranquil and relaxing, the silence surrounded her like a warm,comforting blanket. It was one of the few compensations for working late. And shed been working late all too often recently. Ever since the Day The Towers Fell and the frantic effort had started to find out who was reponsible and, as it turned out the equally important task of finding out who had not.
It wasn't as if Lillith had anything particular to go home to. Paul was in Australia now, flying experimental aircraft for Alliance Aviation with a security clearance that included the color-code purple. She went out and saw him as often as she could, and when she did, their relationship would pick up where it had left off but it wasn't the same as living together. So, it was hard work and plenty of it. Today, it had been particularly rough on her; she'd been standing all the time and her feet hurt. Still, at least it was quiet.
Only, it wasn't. Faintly, Lillith heard a woman crying. Hearing people crying wasnt unknown in the National Security Council Building; all too often it was where people got to hear the things they didnt want to know and the senior staff here were seldom merciful in how they told them. This was different though. Their usual victims, politicians who prefered myth to reality were in bed. Somebody's bed anyway. This sounded more like a member of the night maintenance staff. Probably a cleaning woman. And hearing one of them crying meant that she was in trouble.
The guess was right. One of the cleaning staff, a young black woman, was sitting in a chair, crying, her cleaning cart in front of her. When she saw Lillith, she tried to get up to get back to work. Lillith stopped her. "Whats the matter.....Althea." It took a moment to read the girls name tag. "Something happened?"
"No Ma'am, anyway, it's nothing to be concerned about. Just something .."
"Althea. If its upset you this much, it's something to be concerned about. Look, come with me, talk to me. I can't promise I can help but I can promise that talking something over will be better than doing nothing." She grabbed Altheas arm and pressured her so the had but little choice to come along. Fortunately, the executive kitchen was empty and the coffee was relatively fresh. Lillith poured some into a glass, added sugar and a shot of brandy then topped it with cream. "Here, drink this. Irish coffee. Contains all four essential food groups. Fat, sugar, alcohol and caffeine."
Althea snorted with laughter at the joke and started to drink. She started to tell the story, speaking more freely as the brandy kicked in. The problem was her mother. She had worked for somebody in showbusiness. Somebody who was known in certain circles as The Movie Maker. Lillith knew instantly who that was, that was the nickname the SEALs had given him after he'd gone on a lunatic venture to The Caliphate and had to be rescued. Personally, Lillith would have left him there but the SEALS had a thing about never leaving somebody behind. And the commander of SEAL Team Two was a chip off the old block. Son and namesake of the famous Admiral Jeff Thomas, the SEALs SEAL. Nope, The Movie Maker hadn't been left behind but his departure for The Caliphate a couple of years before had been the cause of the trouble.
The Movie Maker hadn't made any arrangements to pay his domestic staff when he had been away. His own version was that he had expected to be away for less than a week and being thrown into a Caliphate jail wasn't what he had thought would happen. He'd been there for months before hed been rescued and his staff had been without pay for that long. Most of them had left, writing off the wages they were owed. The few that hung on had expected to be paid when The Movie Maker returned. That was a mistake. Hed claimed that his delay was an act of God and he wasn't liable for lost wages that resulted. All but one of the staff had accepted it and found other employers. Altheas mother hadn't. She'd got a lawyer and sued The Movie Maker.
She hadn't got her money, instead, she'd been hit by a blizzard of law suits. That fitted the pattern, The Move Maker had made his name by launching baseless attacks on others, but anybody who said anything against him got hammered. A campaign alleging defamation of character, libel, accusing her of thievery while she'd been working. Even after she'd run out of money fighting the lawsuits, hed continued. He'd reported her to the Immigration service, which was odd considering he knew she'd been born in Maryland. That wasn't the point of course, it was one more harrassment that had cost her money to beat. It didn't matter if a lawsuit had merit, it cost money to defend against them. Then he'd informed on her to the IRS and to the FBI and anybody else who could cause trouble. He'd had private detectives watch her and every time she tried to get work, they'd move in and make sure it didn't happen.
In the end, desperate for money, shed gone to loan sharks. Mob money-men. They'd loaned her enough to get out of trouble but the points were vicious. On sixty thousand dollars, they were eighteen hundred a week, without even touching the principal. Three weeks in, Althea's mother hadnt been able to pay her points. Four weeks in, three men had picked her up from outside her room and taken her to a deserted warehouse. Lilliths stomach clenched at that, picturing what happened next, mixed with flasbacks of the time so long ago when three men had come for her in the night. To her relief, Althea's story hadn't been that bad. They'd slapped her mother around a little, more to humiliate her than to hurt, and gave her a warning. Pay up or next time, they wouldn't respect an old woman. Together, Althea and her mother couldn't pay the amount needed. But the mob guys had suggested a few ways Althea might earn the money. Not pleasant ones.
Lillith clucked sympathetically and gave the girl another Irish Coffee. "Right Althea. I think we can fix this. You told me all this in confidence. I'm going to need some help. May I tell your story to some people I know?" Althea nodded. "Right. First. You go home. Second, tell your mother not to be afraid. This matter will be dealt with. She doesn't have to fear it any more. Nor do you. Believe me on this. Go home, don't worry."
Conference Suite, 13th Floor, NSC Building, Washington.
"So really, we have two jobs to do. One is to get the loan sharks off her mother's back, the other is to make sure The Movie Maker gets his just desserts."
"You missed the important point." Nefertitis voice was its usual rich, gentle self. And it carried its customary authority. "Why are we getting involved at all? Its not really our problem."
"I think you're wrong Nefertiti." Lillith spoke slowly. "The NSC runs because of the short-lifers who work here. We have a loyal staff, we've worked hard to make sure we have built that loyalty. Remember what Suriyothai always says, 'Loyalty is like a yoyo. It has to be sent down before it will come back up.' We depend on the short-lifers to keep NSC working just like we depend on them for our very existance. And its not just us. The NSC is the security blanket for Demons worldwide. Every one of us knows that when all hell breaks loose, this is the one place we can call for help. Suriyothai knows it for all her dedication to Muang Thai. Loki and his orchestra know it. This place is their last refuge, their last hope and it runs because of the short-lifers we employ here. There's another thing, a purely selfish one, the fact that we run NSC means that all the Demons, whether loners or in groups, look to us as leaders. Helping Althea helps us and every other Demon."
"Did you just think of that Lillith or have you been saving it up?" Nefertiti smiled fondly at Lillith who waved a hand. "You're right though. Thats justification enough for helping out Althea's mother. But about giving The Movie Maker what he deserves? How do we justify that?"
"He has that supercilious condescending grin. All the time. He's repulsive." Naamah shuddered. "And he lies all the time about people he isn't fit to grovel before. And hes the root cause of all this. If he treated people properly, this wouldnt have happened. He's got it coming. And he's a coward, he lies about people and cheats them then hides behind his money when his victims try to defend themselves. I say he should be dealt with." A ripple of approval ran around the room.
Nefertiti stretched out her hand and looked at her exquisite nails. "I agree also. People like that should be dealt with as a public service. You'll need some muscle. Achillea of course. And Loki is in town. It would be good to have somebody who isn't known to anybody here."
"Loki's in town? I didnt know that?"
"We haven't spoken about it. If The Seer knew, he'd believe courtesy demanded that he invite Loki to dinner, Loki would believe that courtesy demanded he accept the invitation and they'd spend all night glaring at eachother. Better this way. Ill call him. The rest of you, how are you going to get the sharks off Althea's mother? I don't think it would be a good idea to leave Washington covered in dead gangsters."
There was a certain degree of disagreement with that but Nefertiti pretended not to notice it. Naamah produced a file, Homeland Security, not NSC. "I think I have something that might help."
Colosseum, Rome
The sun was beating down, hard and fierce. Achillea could smell the crowd, the pent-up excitement, the desire for death. She walked out into the Arena, her opponents entering from the other side. Opposite the Imperial Box, she lifted her sword so the blade caught the sun, flashing in the afternoon light. "Hail Caesar! We, who are about to die, salute you!" Then she turned to face her opponents.
It was Retiarius versus Secutor. She was Secutor with her sword, shield and armor. The Retiarius had a net and a trident. Three to one odds in favor of the Retiarius the gamblers always reckoned. Only there were two Retiarii and she knew how the odds went. The number times itself. So the odds here were really almost ten to one. Against her. The crowd knew it and they were avid to see her die. If the fight went on, that's what would happen. To avoid it, she had to take at least one of the two down fast. One of the Retiarii was already approaching, the other circling around. It wouldn't be long before they had her between them. Finish. Trident held out, the net with its evil lead weights on the edges trailing behind him. The Retiarius defended against Secutor using the length of the trident, a weapon that far outreached the sword. The net was the offensive weapon.
He cast the net, its length snaking out, low, near the ground, the Retiarius hoping to catch a foot or a knee. Achillea lifted her foot, just long enough to let the net pass. That left her unbalanced and the first Retiarius jabbed forward, aiming at the knee. Achilleas arm flipped and her shield slid sideways, its edge sliding between the sharpened tines of the trident. Then, a powerful twist almost tore the weapon from the Retiarius's hands. Retiarius jumped backwards, recovering from the shock like the professional he was but Achillea was already moving forward into the attack. Not quite straight forward, she was angling off to the left. By the time the first Retiarius had recovered his balance and his weapon, she was off to his side, the blinding sun behind her, the two Retiarii in front of her. One was still almost disarmed, his net strung out, his trident poorly held, only just in his hands. The other was running in - and was staring straight into the sun.
They didn't lack courage, no professional gladiator did. Even as the second Retiarius closed in the first flicked his net again, another low sweep along the ground. Achillea jumped forward, both feet landing on the edge of the net. First Retiarius gave a cry of triumph at her error and hauled at the net with all his strength, intending to whip her feet out from under her. But she was rising again, even as he pulled, and, without resistance to his pull, he fell backwards. Achillea leapt forward and her Spatha flicked out, slicing across the great artery in the sprawling mans leg. Blood fountained skywards in a crimson arc and the crowd roared their delight. A minute or two ago they had been panting to see her die, now they cheered her on with every breath they had.
Second Retiarius was already coming in fast, even as First died on the sand. Achillea started backing up, keeping space between her and the Retiarius, keeping away from that evil net. Retiarius threw, a perfect cast, the net descending in an enveloping, entangling shawl. But Achillea wasn't underneath it, she'd anticipated the throw and dived sideways using her shield to deflect and catch the net. That left the net weighted and useless on the ground but she'd lost her shield. Retiarius saw his chance and charged, abandoning his net, his trident held straight out before him, relying on its reach to beat the spatha. He was angling out, herding Achillea into the corner of the stadium, where she could be trapped and slaughtered. He thrust, a perfect thrust, from his back foot through the line of the hip, leg and torso to the shoulders, arms and hands and finally to the trident with its three shining razor-points. A perfect thrust, but Achillea flowed around it, her body seeming boneless despite her armor. Her left hand, now free of the shield, grabbed the trident, above the tines and pulled. Retiarius fell towards her, helpless with his net gone and her body inside the reach of his trident. The spatha flicked again and he felt its blade bite deep.
As he died and the crowd roared, she spun around and help up her sword again, its blade now gleaming red in the sun. She'd planned the fight so she was standing back where shed started, in from of the Imperial Box. There was a huge, swelling roar of applause, more than that the crowd were going wild, chanting her name. They were cheering, stamping, ringing bells. Then, they quietened as the Emperor stood and reached out his hand, offering her a telephone. Telephone? Achillea woke up, groggy for only a split second as the phone beside her bed rang insistently. She cursed, a good latin curse, for that was had been favorite dream, reliving the fight where she had won her wooden scroll, given to her from the emperor's own hand. Then, she heard Lillith explaining and she forgave her. If it meant getting that supercilious smirking jerk, it was worth losing the end of a good dream.
The Twenty One Club, Washington, DC
The doormen gestured at the couple. A tall Scandinavian and his wife. The man was typically scandinavian, build, coloration,even the rough-hewn face. A cheerful face, one that could charm with gentle wit. His wife was shorter, a swarthy woman, at least twenty years younger than her husband but with a Roman nose and strong features that made her far from beautiful. The husband had been asking about high-stakes gambling. At first, they'd been given the run-around but by now the staff in the club knew beyond doubt they weren't police. They had to be tourists. Rich ones. Chris eyed them, definately game for plucking. So he and Pauli went over to them. The woman sounded vaguely Italian, the man definately Scandinavian. Probably Swedish from that irritating accent. He kept on about how he wanted to play in a real poker game and boasting of how hed always won when he played in Goteborg. Chris frowned. Goteborg was in Norway wasn't it? Didn't matter. Hed showed them a thick roll of notes to prove he was good for the stakes.
"Well, I might know where a big game is. Come with me." Wonders to behold the couple did. They had to be tourists, no American would fall for a line like that. He lead them outside and he and Pauli were about to relieve them of their roll rather faster than even a crooked poker game would have done when a black limousine pulled up. Holding two women and a man. Chris cursed, first thinking it was sheer bad luck, then realizing something was terribly wrong. Pauli mind had run the same way and hed pulled a gun but the short woman moved terrifyingly, unbelievably fast. She just took the gun out of his hand. Paulis jaw dropped, then he felt himself lifted and tossed through the air, landing in a pile of garbage. Achillea looked at the gun, a Davis P32. Not quite as bad as a Lorcin but hardly worth keeping as a trophy.
"Achillea, I told you to bring him and throw the gun away." Achillea mouthed a sorry, threw the Saturday night special into a drain, then picked Pauli up and brought him to the car. "Get into the car please."
"You know what your messing with? Who your messing with?"
"Don't worry Chris. Were going to meet your captain. For a sit-down." The woman who spoke had red hair and the most frightening eyes Chris had ever seen. Green and totally dead. He didnt argue.
It wasn't a long drive. It seemed longer because the two guests didn't feel like talking and their hosts saw no need to. Eventually, they reached another nightclub, a cheap, sleazy place with bad music and a tawdry looking bar. Up on the stage, three topless women were mindlessly pole-dancing, tired and obviously bored . In one corner, out of sight, Chris's boss, Tony, was waiting. Loki escorted Chris in and dropped him in a chair, opposite Tony. Achillea kept a firm grip on Pauli, who was eyeing her with awe. Tony nodded briefly.
Loki settled back in his chair, his back to a wall. "Speaking hypothetically, Chris a few nights ago, you took an old woman to an empty warehouse in the roughest part of Anacostia, slapped her around and left her there. She survived, no thanks to you. She's a friend and we don't want to see that happen again. So were going to solve this problem. Now."
Back on his own ground, Chris was regaining confidence after the shocking ease with which he had been picked up. There was something he didn't understand, this party was three women and two men, like no LCN group hed ever seen. And two of the women were something quite different from anything hes seen before. Still, he was on home ground now. "Speaking hypothetically, if that happened, it would be because she owed on a debt. And, if that had happened, it would show respect for her. A man would have had things broken. Arm or leg. Or both Young woman? Think about it. But an old woman? Fuhgeddabahtit."
Tony looked at the newcomers. "Hypothetically, if this situation existed, it's solved by paying off the debts. If it happened, will that happen?"
The woman with black hair looked at him. Reaching into a bag she flipped a paper onto the table. "We could always tell Chris's mother and some other of your old Italian ladies that he and his associates slapped an old lady around and left her in the middle of the night to find her way home. They might be upset with him."
Tony laughed. "They've got you there Chris. Momma will be MAD with you." Chris went white and gulped.
"This file contains a name and address. The man is a terrorist sleeper we've been watching for some time. We were going to pick him up and send him to Gitmo. Tomorrow, you'll phone the Virgina State Police and tip them off. Theres a reward, sixty thou. You'll get it That deals with the debt. So you leave the old lady alone."
"What about my points." Chris was belligerent.
"Homeland Security will owe you one. One day, you'll be busted for something and when they pull your record, there'll be a note, you took a dangerous terrorist off the streets. Won't get you off but it will mean you do time playing golf not breaking rocks. More than one kind of points Chris." Lillith looked at him, an eyebrow raised. The question obvious. You smart enough to recognize a good thing?
Tony was. "It's a deal. Just who are you people?"
"You ever had a nightmare, the kind where you wake up whimpering and sweating, your guts churning and you go to the can and throw up in fear? We're the people you were dreaming about."
Pauli was still looking at Achillea with fascination. "Hey, you like to meet some time? Go for a meal, do a club?"
Achillea looked back. "You pulled a Davis P32 on me. You think I'm going to forgive that? You try it with a Casull 454 or a Smith and Wesson 500 and you might, just might have a date."
The party left. Pauli looked at Achilleas retreating back and said quietly "I think I'm in love."
Wardman Park Towers Hotel, Washington DC
The Move Maker was in his suite when the knock came. He was signing up for the book and film rights on his new product. The story of how hed gone to The Caliphate to try and bring peace but the Bush administration had framed him for spying. How they'd sent SEAL killers to finish him off so his administration could blame The Caliphate and start another war, making more money for his oil industry friends. Only it had all gone wrong of course. There was a long chapter on how he'd persuaded the SEALs that what they had been ordered to do was wrong and they'd all escaped together. And how he had ended the journey by introducing the SEALs to Shakespeare. It was a good story and by now The Movie Maker had convinced himself it was true.
"Room Service Sir. Fresh Towels and bar restock."
The Movie Maker frowned and looked through the peephole. Service cart with bag for dirty laundry, two maids. A redhead and a brunette. Why not? He opened the door. The girls smiled and the black-haired one dimpled at him. "Oh Sir, it's you. The Movie Maker." The implications of the name barely had a chance to register when an iron-hard fist crunched his jaw. Swiftly the two maids bundled him into the cart and set off for the service elevator. The service section in the basement was out of order - or so the sign on the door said.
"He won't fit." Lokis voice was frustrated. The Movie Maker was just too fat to go into the big industrial spin-dryer. His shoulders were stuck. "Whens he going to come around?"
"Don't worry about it." Naamah's voice was breathless. Achillea hit him and I gave him something. "He wont wake up until he's inside. Perhaps if we took his clothes off and tried him feet first?"
"I've got some grease, well margarine." Lillith looked at the others defensively. "Its OK, its the cheap stuff. I didn't waste money on the good ones."
"Well try it." Loki was doubtful. Even the big industrial dryers had limited capacity and this overfed radical-chic oaf was going to be straining that. Still, feet first was a good idea. The three women quickly stripped The Movie Maker and coated him head to foot with the margarine. It was, as Lillith had said, the cheapest one. They pushed his feet in and heaved again. He went a bit further this time, but still stuck half way.
"Hold it, I think I can see the problem." Gusoyn was a bit tentative about butting in. All he'd done so far was drive the limousine. "When we push him in, his fat belly rides up and makes a seal around the door. The air can't get out. Hang on." He got a broom, thrust the handle between the Move Makers belly and the rbber sea and levered. A crack opened and, sure enough, a puff of air came out.
Lillith wrinkled her nose. "Didn't he ever wash? Good work Gusoyn. You hold that open and we'll heave."
Sure enough, with the seal broken, The Movie Maker slid a lot further into the spin-dryer drum. Only his shoulders stuck out now, and his arms. Achillea looked down with disgust. "Would you believe this. He's still got that supercilious smirk on his face." She braced herself then gave a single savage kick to the shoulder, a Gladiator's kick that would crush joints. The Movie Maker slid a further inch or so in.
"I wonder if thats him going further in or just getting shorter. Look, the rest of you stand clear, Achillea had the right idea, we'll try it together." Loki stood the other side of the movie Makers head and he and Achillea kicked together. There was a crunching noise and he slid the rest of the way in. They folded his arms inside the drum and pushed his head up so they could close the door. Then they waited. After a few minutes, The Movie Maker came around. They could barely hear his screams of rage and pain through the thick sound insulation. Naamah gave him a bye-bye wave, then Loki pushed the button and the smirking grin vanished as the spin-dryer began its work.
The full cycle (heavy load, very wet) took over 30 minutes. When it stopped, Naamah opened the door, gagging slightly at the smell of overheated, unwashed body. The Movie Makers eyes were glazed from the intense dry heat. She put her finger on the pulse point of his neck. "He's dead. And would you know it, he's still got that stupid grin on his face."
"Is there going to be trouble about this?" Loki seemed remarkably unworried.
Lillith shook her head. "We let it out there were Caliphate threats against The Movie Maker and The Singer and we put bodyguards around the girl. They arrived too late to save him of course. Tragic. Then, when Tony and Chris make their call, it'll be assumed that the terrorist who got busted was tied up with his death. Thatll be enough, the investigation will start with a terrorists did it for revenge mindset and never go beyond that."
Loki nodded. "Well, at least he died happy." Lillith looked at him curiously. "Well, he finally got his dearest wish. He died making a revolution in America."