Old Sammy
Townsquare Shopping Centre
“What the fuck…is this…thing?” Bach leaned over the body as
“Jesus. Did we just end up in the X-files?” The humour was lost on Bach as he moved the creatures arm the rest of the way off its long face.
“I…this isn’t human.”
A shot rocked against the wall just over the heads of the kneeling agents. Before the empty brass had finished bouncing on the concrete floor Bach was on the radio and Agent Washkowiak was returning fire.
“Ramos! We’re under fire! Send a fucking assault team!”
“Twenty meters up, around the bend. I’m going after it.” Washkowiak bounded up the hall, tossing rounds at the corner every few paces. He clicked empty and ducked down behind some piping. “Little help here, sir!” With his flashlight wedged into his armpit, Agent Washkowiak went through the terror of reloading as the pops of small arms fire began to echo throughout the hall. Squinting, Ben could see Bach, his pistol shouting out with brilliant flashes and resonating with death-bringing thuds. The agent’s hand wrapped about his slide and chambered a fresh round. “Moving!” Ben shouted, spitting a quick burst of three rounds down the corridor as he moved out with his second of four magazines loaded. Behind him, the team leader started up the corridor himself. Ben might be trigger happy, but everyone needs back up.
“Sir?” The security guard waved Agent Ramos into the bathroom.
“Where they at?” Ramos held his pistol in his hand almost absently. It had been there since the under-fire call had come over the net. The bathroom seemed oddly calm, odd because the faint sounds of pistol fire could be heard bouncing off the slick white tile.
“There’s an entranceway in the last stall. They’re down there.”
“Ok. See. Here’s what I need you to do.” Ramos pointed at the guard with tip of his Sig Sauer. “I got an assault team on the way. Guys in black helmets and shit with machine guns. When they get here I need you to direct them to the entrance way.”
“Sure. Anything. What are you going to do?”
Ramos, moving towards the last stall with his odd jaunting trot, turned and replied. “I’m going down there to help out.” With half of his Latin-grin fixed in place, Ramos shook his head and opened the stall door.
* * *
“Look. Don’t worry about how I know. Just listen to me. The FBI is in the Townsquare. I think they found the entrance in the bathroom. Grieg, just send out the alert.”
“You’ve got a lot of balls calling me, Nathan. You know the council wants your head.”
“Well, if you don’t get the alert out they might not be alive long enough to do that. This is the biggest crisis Golem-kind has ever faced. I’ve got to go…and so do you.” Nathan hung up the pay phone in the food court and rolled away into the crowd. He’d gotten Sammy’s message, but. The Golem stopped, fear and anger flooded over him, washed him in angst, he had been too late.
Meanwhile, Grieg hung up the phone and grit his Golem teeth. He picked the phone up again and his long fingers with pointed Golem nails punched a quick five-digit code in.
“This is Security Chief Grieg Anders. We’ve got a possible code red on the bathroom entrance of the Townsquare Shopping Centre. I want two teams, armed and ready, to investigate. Cleaners. Leave nothing behind. Yes. Out.” Anders hung up the phone and found his feet. He would have to brief the Council on this in person.
* * *
Ramos found both Bach and Washkowiak at the corner of a long, damp, and dirty hall.
“What’s going on down here? What we got?” Bach leaned back and nodded at Ramos as the agent took a knee beside him.
“We’re meeting armed resistance of some sort. I think we’ve got,” Bach peeked around the corner and got a quick count, “five plus the one in the entrance way so far.”
“Any idea who they are?”
“Fuck. They ain’t human. You need any more of a reason to shoot ‘em?” Ben didn’t look back at Ramos, he kept his attention burning down the hall, focused on the sweeping path of his Mag-lite.
“Easy there Ben. You ain’t in the X-files man. This guy.” Juan laughed and shook his head at Ben. His look to Bach for a solid opinion was met with a hallowed look.
“Ramos, they aren’t human. Not as far as we can tell. But they are, or were, shooting back.”
“What the fuck?”
“Ha, show’d you, didn’t I?” Ben didn’t get to revel in his being right for long. “Movement!” Bach rolled out from cover, his suit mixing with the muck and the mire as he lay on his stomach and fired down the corridor.
“Make that seven total.” Bach climbed back up to a knee and back to the relative safety that being behind the wall afforded him.
“Make that Ben is black on ammo.”
“Here.” Ramos held out two magazines, tapping them against Ben’s shoulder.
“Sir, watch the hall while I reload?”
“Roger.” Bach was down in the muck again, his eyes beating away at the halo cast from the light.
“The assault team, they should be here in about three mikes.”
“They’re always three minutes away. Why don’t we keep them closer?” Ben took his position back up against the corner, his pistol reloaded and serving as a mild comfort as it remained lodged in his hands.
* * *
“Get up. We got humans. Move it.” Mathew Wilburn kicked at bunks and roused the members of his team. His pure white eyes were narrowed down, his brows weighed tons and spoke volumes as he drug Golem after Golem out of bed.
“What’s the situation?” James, a thin, cruel looking Golem asked as he pulled on his thick, cruel boots.
“We’ve got humans, probably FBI, in the bathroom entrance.”
“Fuck. That’s too close for comfort.”
“I know. Grab the HKs, the subterranean gear,” Mathew paused, “and the cleaning kits.”
The team were professionals. They didn’t actually have to act often, but they trained as if they did. Within ten minutes the Golems were ready. They didn’t look like soldiers. They looked like piles of refuse: swathed in pieces of slime and blacks that seemed almost liquid. Even their submachine guns, the exact type made indiscernible by green and black wraps, were hard to detect amongst what seemed to be moving garbage.
“Let’s go.” Mathew’s face was coated in a green, oily camouflage. A mask, or perhaps a high collar, hid his shark-like teeth as he issued the order. The only natural colour was the startling whites that were his eyes. In a line, the oozing, swampy professionals moved out, silent and deadly.
* * *
“That was them on the radio, boss. They’re in the bathroom now and on their way down.”
“Did they bring extra gear?” Ben asked, his attention still fixed on the tunnel before him. Nothing moved down it. Nothing had for a dozen or so very long minutes.
“We’re not following them, Ben. Our job here is over.”
“The hell it is, sir. Banks is still down here somewhere. We didn’t come this far just to let him slip through our fingers.”
“Ben, don’t contradict me. Do your job, do what I goddamn say. We’ve got a situation here. A situation the media has certainly discovered by now. We need to be up and about, controlling information.”
Ben didn’t have time to respond, the sounds of boots climbing down the ladder grabbed the three agents’ attentions. The team, a dozen in all, was dressed in black fatigues with matching helmets, ballistic vests, and tactical gear. On top of each member’s right eye was a small black tube, a night vision monocle.
“Tag that.” The first man down pointed to the first body and carried on down the hall, his MP-5 slung at the ready.
“Agent Bach?” The first man asked as he knelt down with the three filthy FBI agents at the corner.
“Speaking.” Bach took his feet and towered over the assault leader.
“Special Agent Boatmire. What are we dealing with here?”
“An enemy of unknown origin and unknown strength. Bullets will kill them. We’ve got half a dozen or so dead around the corner. There’s been no activity for almost fifteen minutes now.”
“Yeah, what the fuck happened to you guys being here in three mikes?”
Boatmire didn’t respond to Ben’s question, but rather directed his own to Bach. “What exactly do you mean by unknown origin?”
“Sir, this thing ain’t human.” The call came from down the hall where the body was being tagged.
“What are you guys, the X-files?” Boatmire asked as he looked back at Bach. Ramos grinned. Ben shook his head.
“No. We’re down here chasing a suspect related to the attempted assassination. A white male, mid-twenties but with enough grey in his hair to make you think again. Samuel Banks; goes under the alias Old Sammy. This all caught us by surprise.”
“Alright, well then sir, if you don’t mind, we’ll take over from here.”
“Gladly. Pick it up boys. Time to find some clean clothes and some coffee.”
The three agents passed the assault team and climbed back up the ladder, leaving the call of adventure behind, much to Ben’s displeasure.
“Let’s move out fellas. We’ve got some work to do.”
The assault team rounded the corner with barrels up and infrared lasers burning down the hall nice and invisible to the naked eye.
“Jesus. That’s a lot of bodies.” The words came out, mumbled behind Boatmire somewhere, but sounding clear as day in the team’s ICOMs. They delved deeper into the hall that was quickly turning into a tunnel and dropping deeper into the ground.
* * *
“Sir, the evacuation is almost complete. According to the reports there are about thirty people left there, they don’t want to leave.”
“We don’t have time for this. Have the scouts, Henold and Deers, spotted anything yet?”
“No, sir. The net’s been quiet. Wait. We’ve got them. They’re about a quarter mile up here. In the western shaft.”
“Okay, let’s move out.”
The group of Golems pounded feet up to the western corridor and there all but disappeared. Hugging to the walls and the thick, almost unconquerable darkness, they began to stalk their prey.
“Sir. I thought I saw movement.”
“Jesus. Jones, you’ve thought you saw movement half a dozen times so far. Just keep our rear secure.” Boatmire didn’t stop, nor did the team. Behind them, along the wall, a patch of thick mire opened its pure white eyes and mumbled over the radio.
* * *
“We look like a train wreck.” Ben proclaimed as the three agents passed the mirror in the bathroom. In fact, they looked worse than a train wreck. From head to toe, both Bach and Washkowiak were covered in slime. Some of it had started to dry and the heavy stench of sewage lingered about all three of them.
“Ramos. Find us a place to clean up, and a change of clothes.”
“Roger that, boss.” Ramos didn’t hesitate to move.
As soon as the door closed behind Ramos, Bach turned to the stocky, firebrand agent. “Ben. You ever try that shit you did down there again and I’m going to have you written up.”
“What shit would that be? The saving our asses part?”
“Shut the fuck up and listen for once in your life. You can’t keep up this habit of contradicting me. Things are too fucking tight right now for us to have rifts in the team. I don’t know what that hell those things are, were, down there. But,” Bach paused and turned towards the mirror. He stopped his train of thought completely and splashed water on his face.
“But?” Ben’s hands were planted on his hips and he’d taken the moment to heatedly look away from the team leader.
“You could be one hell of an agent. You could have a promising career. But this gung-ho individualist fucking attitude of yours keeps burning any progress that you make. From now on, bite your tongue and do your job.”
Ben didn’t respond. He took the advice to heart almost immediately. He took it to heart but he didn’t like it.
“Oh, and thanks for saving my ass down there.” Warren noted as he left the bathroom in search of Ramos.
* * *
“Hit ‘em.”
From the side of the tunnel, out of piles of muck and mire, an orange and white flower erupted, spurting out lead and noise and death.
“Fuck!” The team snapped their weapons up, their rounds raking the walls in an orchestra of chaos that carved paths of destruction. The range itself was deadly. They’d been hit from inside ten meters. The silence that followed was horrible, thick, and short lived. The groans of the wounded started as a trickle and then formed a gush.
“What the fuck was that?”
“It was an ambush. Give me a quick up on who’s alive and in what state, and who I’m going to have to write letters for.” Boatmire noted. His point man, and number two were down in front of him. They’d been hit hard.
“Where they fuck were they? In the walls? Jesus, is this Aliens?”
“You start yelling ‘game over man, game over’ and I’m going to drop you myself.”
“Knock it off back there. We have to keep moving. How many do we have alive?”
“Nine. Williams took one…Make that eight. Williams just died.”
Good lord. At this rate we’ll never make it. “All right. We can make it through this. Just keep your eyes open. Any movement you see, paint it. If you still doubt it, put two in it. Who’s gonna take point?”
“I got it.” Darrens said, breaking off from his spot and taking the lead. The team started moving again. They couldn’t see them, but plastered to the walls were the bodies of three recently deceased Golems. In a sick balance of fate, it had been an even trade.
“What do you mean they took out the ambush party?” The Golem turned towards James in a small state of shock.
“Sir, it was over before they knew it. Those guys must be good.”
“Has the compound been cleared out yet?”
“No, sir. There are still squatters there. The squad sent in to clean up is in position though.”
“Fuck. I don’t want to clean unless we have to. We’ll move up. The rest of us will have to take these guys out.” After a brief moment of contemplation, Mathew issued another order. “Tell the cleaning squad to set charges. Make certain they understand to wait for my order to fire them.”
“Yes, sir.” James backed off and repeated Wilburn’s orders.
The Golems moved a short ways further up the western shaft. Three hundred meters behind them a second squad of similarly outfitted Golems were rigging buildings with ordinary green canisters and grey cable.
“Red!” Jones gave the call, his voice echoed across the ICOMs and into the ears of the rest of squad. In the green world of night vision the team turned to see a pile of refuse lying on the floor bleeding. In its dead hand, outstretched from the body was the vague shape of a submachine gun.
“They’re eyes; those white, freakish eyes. They glow in the night vision.” Jones was out of breath; the adrenaline hadn’t let go of him yet.
“Roger. We’ll keep that in mind. Darrens, everyone, look for glowing eyes. Jones? You want to be replaced on rear security?”
“No, sir. I bagged this fucker, and I’ll keep our backs safe from any more that try and sneak up on us.”
Boatmire just nodded and the team started forward again.
“Deers dropped off the net, sir.” James whispered harshly to Mathew Wilburn. His words seemed to pick up a slight whistle when crossing his sharkish Golem teeth.
“Fuck. Where was his last position?”
“About three hundred meters ahead of, shit!”
“Where?”
The FBI team had spread out to a three-man front as they stumbled upon the gaggle of six Golems. They opened fire and chewed down the four that were standing with lethal precision. From where they were kneeling both James and Mathew grabbed up their weapons and returned fire. It was too late for James. A burst ripped across his chest, tossing him onto his back. Mathew, on the other hand, proved why he was the team leader, taking out three Agents before ducking behind the cover of a large concrete outcropping. White-eyes looked down at the weapons’ magazine. The plastic side showed it still had roughly twenty rounds in it. Those same white eyes glance over at James’ dead body and the radio that sat there beneath his back. The charges. With ringing ears Mathew strained to hear what was going on.
“Fuck it,” he mumbled and leaned around the corner, sending a spray down the hall and receiving a hail in return. Using the bodies of his fallen team members as cover, Mathew crawled to the radio’s handset.
“This is Wilburn…” That was all he got out. 9mm rounds ripped through the handset and then his head.
“Was that a fucking radio?”
“What is this, the X-files?”
“Give me ups. Who got hit?” Boatmire grabbed the situation as if it had handles. “Reload, any wounded? You gonna live? Good. We’ve got to move, he got to the radio.”
The five agents, well four and a half if you count the round Gilder took to the leg, moved down the hall. Those invisible lasers passed to and fro so brightly, turning the green night vision Hell the team found themselves in into some macabre Pink Floyd show. The team moved as quickly as the limping Gilder would allow them, but despite injury they still made good time to a sight that stopped them all in their tracks.
The shaft opened up into a room roughly the size of an airplane hanger but half as tall. The landscape was disrupted less than a hundred feet in by what looked like a two story building complete with an industrial ventilation system, large double doors, electric lights, and windows.
“What do you suppose that is?”
“Home?”
“Gonna be a grave in a minute.”
“Easy on the triggers fellas. This looks civilian. There might be who knows what inside here. The word of the day is prisoners. The Bureau will probably want a few of these things alive, and there might be civilians in here. Follow HRT ROE. Flexi-cuff anything that isn’t armed.” The men didn’t seem to approve, but their mouths remained shut.
“Its good to know that someone is following some sort of ROE, but does it have to be us?” Jones broke the silence.
“Yes. We make it out of this and there is going to be a mountain of paperwork. I don’t want civil blood on my hands. Which reminds me, Guilder, you stay here. The four of us will head on it. Mind your ICOM.”
“Yes, sir.”
January 11, 2001
Outside the Townsquare Shopping Centre
9:45 PM EST
Old Sammy was dirty, but it could be worse. He could be arrested. He could be dead. He kept trying to comfort himself with those same words, but it was to no avail. Shivering he waited for the last train bound for the city. They hadn’t found him, but judging by the massive amount of FBI presence: the trailer, the men with machine guns and helmets and bullet proof vests, and the media, they’d found something maybe something worse.
“Please tell me they didn’t find the Golems,” Sammy whispered with his eyes turned towards heaven. He wasn’t religious by any means, but any help he could get here he’d be more than happy with. Sammy turned around and looked again at the empty Metro stop. It was late, it was cold, and the air was more than hinting at snow. No one in his or her right mind would be out right now. The escape kept playing over and over again in Sammy’s mind. A stocky fellow in a black suit, a white tie, and a bad attitude had chased him into the bathroom and that’s when things had gotten bad. Sammy had jumped into the last stall, had taken the ladder at a run, and had nearly jumped on a Golem at the bottom. The Golem was as shocked to see a human as Sammy was to see him. No time to explain was all Sammy could say as he kept running. The Golem had chased him for a little while only to give up the chase. And then the gunshots echoed through out the passageway. At first Sammy thought the Golem was shooting at him, he thought it… He. The Golem was a male; Sammy had to get out of the mentality of called Golems “its.” He was the closest thing they had to a human friend. Sammy thought he, the Golem, was some sort of a guard. But then he realized the Golem wasn’t anywhere near him. And from then on Sammy didn’t stop moving.
“Where the hell is Nathan at?” Sammy paced back and forth, uttering a silent prayer as the yellow track lights flickered to life and announced the coming train. “Now I just need to find some help. I hope Lexi is home.” Again his eyes flicked skyward.
January 11, 2001
Townsquare Shopping Centre Parking Garage
10:03 PM EST
“Haha. You guys look like hell.” Denny laughed as he passed his boss and Agent Washkowiak towels upon entering the trailer.
“No thanks to you.” It was all Ben could think of as he caught the towel and closed the door behind him.
“What the hell happened down there?” Jim’s voice was heavy on the Carolina, as it got when he was tired. Ben and Warren exchanged glances, but neither spoke.
“We might be involved in something a whole lot bigger than any of us, than anyone, has ever seen before.”
“Like what?” Price crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.
“Like things that aren’t human.” Ben tossed the towel down onto one of the chairs. “Did we get a change of clothes?”
“Not human? What is this the fucking X-files?” Timmy announced his presence as he entered the trailer. He set a tray of coffee cups down on the table. “It’s McDonalds, but they were the only thing open. I told you guys we needed a coffee pot in the trailer. But does anyone listen to the Jew?” Timmy successfully stopped the conversation.
“Way to go Smitty. It was just getting interesting.” Denny was grinning, the whole situation really was that absurd.
“He’s not kidding,” Warren’s backing of Ben seemed to rock the trailer like a hurricane. Suddenly it went from funny to weird. “They are similar to humans, but taller and thinner. They were all near seven feet tall and bony.”
“They had these fucking white eyes, no damn pupils or whatever. And teeth that were pointy, I guess like sharks. Long fingers with sharp nails. And long ears that poked through nappy dreadlocks.”
“Christ. We went from tracking assassins and this Sammy guy to fighting fucking Bogeymen-vampires?”
“Yeah. That’s a pretty good name for them Rudisill. You want to rush out and tell the news that?”
“Fuck you Wash.”
“Easy. Ben, watch your damn temper.” Ben glowered and Bach continued, addressing the group this time. “Ben is partially right though, even if he didn’t mean to be. The media is here and we need to spin this in some way that won’t have a million people here digging around looking for aliens or whatever these thing are.”
“Did you get any of them alive?” Timmy asked, his question spilling out over very black coffee.
“They didn’t seem to want to surrender, they fired at us first. Well, except for the first one, but he was armed.”
January 11, 2001
Golem Complex below the Townsquare Centre
10:05 Pm EST
“Any luck getting Wilburn back on the radio?” Seer asked as he surveyed the charges that his team had lain. The det cord was hooked to special charges on each wall of the interior buildings. The shell wall had been wired from inside as well. Not thirty seconds ago the cleaners had radioed up they were a go.
“No, sir. We’re still having a hell of a time tracking the last of the squatters down.” His RTO reported from where he was taking a knee not a meter from him. The handset was still pressed to his face, hidden amongst the muck of his sewer and tunnel gear.
“This isn’t going our way at all. It should be over there. Why do comms always fail when you need them most?”
“Dunno sir. Wait one.” The RTO paused and listened to his mike. “Sir, Grift, he’s at the shelter’s command post shutting of the AC, he said the main door light just blinked on. We’ve got visitors.”
“Is it Wilburn’s squad?”
“No way to tell, sir.”
“Isn’t that always the case? Alright, send Waynes, Blair, and Ernst over to check it out.”
The RTO just nodded and relayed the information across the net.
Boatmire and his three remaining soldiers pried open the main doors and stepped into what looked like a hidden section of the mall. The floor itself was the same tile as the Townsquare and the buildings were all rounded brown tile and white plaster and Stucco. Their roves came almost to the ceiling, which was arranged with florescent lights that almost made it appear like night.
“What time is it?”
“Quarter after ten.”
“Those look like stars to you anyone else?”
“I guess so.”
“Movement!”
“Freeze!” Four sets of MP-5s rose up with the command and locked on a running creature. The creature, a Golem obviously female, stopped dead. A look of absolute terror smeared across her face.
Guilder snapped his head towards the double doors that the team had pried open only moments before as his ICOM sprung to life in his ear.
“Guilder, we got two coming out. Keep ‘em there.”
“Radg.” Guilder slipped off the wall that he had pressed against his back, gave one long last check down the hall, and started towards the doors. Two agents led the pair out and Guilder was shocked at first. One looked like a tall woman, even in the green world of night vision. The other appeared to be a tall five-year-old boy. “Come with me. You’re safe.” He didn’t know what they were, but he was going to take care of them. They didn’t need to be included in this. Innocent. The word floated across his mind as he limped with them back toward the tunnel where he’d been pulling security.
“We’ve got humans.”
“Fuck.” Seer balled his free hand into a fist and looked down at the RTO. “Do we have time to round up the squatters?”
“I don’t believe so, sir.”
“Give the command. Burn and run.”
The team flipped up their monocles and shielded their faces as the complex erupted into a brilliant flash of white.
“What the fuck is that?”
“Fall back!”
“Jesus! The whole place is burning!”
The phosphorus ripped up the walls and the det cord itself left burning lines along the white and Stucco structures. Flames quickly spread and smoke grew dense at an awesome pace. The team, their black gear a starling contrast to the rapidly spreading flames let their weapons fall, held by their slings, and ran towards the doors.
Guilder noticed the fire from the outside. There was a brilliant flash and then smoke started to billow out from the doorway.
“What the fuck? What’s going on in there?” Next to him, their hands cuffed in thick plastic, the pair of Golems looked away. Guilder thumbed the Push-to-talk switch on his ICOM. “Boatmire, anyone, give me an up.” There was no answer. Guilder turned away from the building; he turned to the pair of Golems. “What the hell is going on in there?”
He was met with a stomach churning silence. Guilder levelled his MP-5 off at the pair. How innocent are you?
“Tell me, what’s happening in there?” Again there was silence. “I know you speak English so answer me damn you. What is happening in there?” The white eyes of the Golems turned away, looked everywhere but at the agent. “Those are my brothers. Tell me what’s happening to them.” He pursed his lips and looked hard, shifting his gaze from Golem woman to Golem child. “Is he your family? Your child? Would you want me to tell you what was happening to him? Do the same for me.” His plea drew upwards the white eyed gaze of the woman.
“We are burning what you can’t have.”
“What?”
“We are burning our complex so that Man won’t find us.”
“Lady, I got news for you. ‘Man’ is already here.”
“Guilder, pick up, we’re moving now!” The call didn’t come over the ICOM, rather from the four black figures running from the now completely engulfed complex. Guilder found his feet and with his left hand tugged the Golem woman and Golem child to their feet.
January 11, 2001
10:42 PM EST
Washington D.C.
Old Sammy stood before the door of apartment 7G. His hand rose and knocked at the door again and this time he thought he could hear a reply coming from the interior. Thank God she’s home. I need her right now. I need help. Sammy took a step back and hesitated. He thought of knocking again. It was early; she shouldn’t be asleep yet. Please let her be home.
“Lexi.” He tried not to sound afraid. He could hear her, right there, right behind the door. He could picture the comfort of her blond hair and her soft skin and easy smile. Sammy would have traded anything in the world to be behind that door right now.
“Sammy? What the hell are you doing here?” Lexi said as she opened the door, security chain still in place.
“I…it’s a long story. I can’t go…I need a place to stay.” Her face, as pretty and warm as it normally was, had to be what Judas’ had been when he betrayed Christ.
“Sammy. I can’t let you in here. Your picture’s been all over the news. You’re wanted by the F.B.I. What did you do?”
Mike Tyson couldn’t hit harder than the verbal slap that Sammy had just been dealt.
“What?”
“I…I can’t let you in. It’d be aiding a felon. I’m sorry. I have to think about myself.”
“What?” Sammy paused. “Lexi. Please. I have nowhere to go. I didn’t do anything. You have to believe me.”
“Sammy. You’d better go. I’m going to have to call the police.”
“Lexi. Please. Just help me.”
“No, Sammy. Good-bye. I’m calling the police now.”
That door shutting was the most heartbreaking thing that Sammy had ever witnessed. No movie had ever captured the complete sense of destruction that Sammy suddenly was drowning in. “Lexi.” He fell against the door, turned his back to it, and slid down onto a ball on the floor. He wondered if she would do it, would she call the police? Maybe it was time for Sammy to stop running. He was innocent. If he turned himself in perhaps he could have a chance to explain himself. Guilty until proven innocent. Yeah right. Sammy found his feet and started down the hall, first at a slow downtrodden walk, and then at a run fuelled by terror.
January 11, 2001
11:22 PM EST
Nathan Wilde’s Apartment
So much was swimming through Nathan’s mind right now that he almost didn’t know what to make of it. He’d left the Townsquare shortly after he witnessed the FBI’s assault team march through the food court. He hoped the word had been spread fast enough and that everything had been taken care of down there. Taken care of often meant washed in fire, or lead, usually death. But those were the ways of Golem politics. They weren’t often able to make use of nice politics. And then there was Sammy. His face was all over the local media. No doubt once they failed to find him he’d be transferred to the national circuit. If they failed to find him. Godspeed Sammy. I can’t help but feel your flight is my fault. Sammy had an email waiting for him. It was the only safe way that Nathan could think to communicate with him. Jules needed Sammy’s help and right now Sammy needed any help that he could get. Even with his hopes for peace, Nathan didn’t like trusting a Golem. But he’d worked with Jules enough times to know that he was semi-trustworthy. Probably the most trustworthy of all Sirens.
January 12, 2001
12:08 AM EST
Java Hut Cyber Café
Sammy had wandered into this place a few times in the past. It was one of the few places in the Metro area that was open all night and offered internet access to anyone who could afford a cup of coffee and eight bucks an hour. Luckily, they had MTV on and so Sammy’s status hadn’t been made clear in this place yet. He plopped down onto a free console, didn’t notice the rather cute (and lonely) brunette next to him, and logged onto to his email account. Sammy’s heart nearly jumped into his throat as he saw Nathan’s email in his in box. The email was brief. Sammy had just missed Nathan at the mall. Nathan was there and saw everything. Sammy did well but he couldn’t afford to rest now. Jules was offering an out, in return for help with tracking down the enigma that was Joanna. There was a phone number. Sammy patted himself down. No cell phone.
“Never there when you need one.”
“What?”
“A phone.”
“I’ve got one.” Sammy looked up for the first time at the brunette next to him. Her finger traced about the edge of her teal coffee cup.
“May I?” He looked at the monitor. “It’s long distance but I assure you, the situation is life or death.”
“Oh, of course. Don’t worry about that, I’ve got nationwide long distance. Gotta love Sprint.”
“You sure do.” The lass handed Sammy the phone and he punched in the number.
January 11, 2001
9:15 PM PST
Los Angeles
The phone vibrating to life in his pocket gave Jules a reason to groan. He turned away from the nameless model who was chatting mindlessly about wanting to act for a living and fished his phone from his pocket. The number wasn’t listed but Jules needed an out from this woman.
“Yeah?”
“Jules?”
“Sammy?”
“Yeah. Nathan told me to contact you.”
“I’m glad you did. You’re the man of the hour. I’ve been trying to get in contact with you forever now. Where are you?”
“I’m in a coffee shop in D.C.”
“Do you have a car?”
“No. Why?”
“I’m going to book you on a flight from Cincinnati under a false name. Can you get to a Greyhound station?”
“I guess so. Are they running at this hour?”
Jules looked up at a second at the dejected model and put his hand on her bare knee. “Be just a minute love.” He told her as he placed his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “Sammy? Good you’re still there. Alright. Get to the Greyhound station. I’m going to get you a ticket under the name Underhill. Bryan Underhill.”
“And?”
“It’ll take you to Cincinnati. From there you’ll catch a plane under the same name out here to Los Angeles. We’ll talk more about it later. I’ve got to go make plans. Hurry to the bus station. Can I reach you at this number again?”
“No. The phone’s not mine.”
“Okay. Keep my number handy in case you need me.” Jules hung up his phone and looked at the model, Jennifer? “Love, I’ve got to make some phone calls. I think it’s best if we just reschedule this sit-down for a few weeks from now.” His charming British accent didn’t make the dismissal any easier. The model found her feet and her shoes and coat and left the apartment. Jules didn’t care. Those dames were a dime a dozen. He shifted to the Internet and logged onto Travelocity.com to start Sammy’s arrangements.
January 12, 2001
12:29 AM EST
Java Hut Cyber Café
Sammy pushed end on the brunette’s phone and handed it back to her.
“Thank you very much. You’re a lifesaver.”
“I hear that so much.”
“Oh, where?”
“I’m a nurse.”
“Good profession. I’ve got to run. Thanks again for the phone.” Sammy smiled and left the Hut. He didn’t notice that the woman had been given him interested eyes the entire evening. Right now it didn’t really matter. What did matter was that Sammy had to get to the Greyhound station before being picked up by the Police, the FBI, or anyone after whatever bounty they had on him at the time.
January 12, 2001
1:03 AM EST
FBI Trailer
“They brought two out: a woman and a child. We don’t know where Sammy is. It’s getting damn late. I’ve contacted higher. This one is going to the President. The word that I’ve got is that we’re dealing this as a smuggling case, slaves from some foreign-as-yet-to-be-determined-country. We’re keeping the truth nailed down and hidden for now.”
“Slaves?” Denny looked away in disbelief.
“Yeah, in case any witnesses start talking about the rag tag pair that were brought out. The rest is being blamed on a cheap electrical rigging down there. The fire that is.”
“So now we just have to track down this Sammy guy, find out what he knows and save the world. That’s just fucking great.” Jim’s speech was immersed in
“We do have a lead, which Denny was so quick to rub in my face.” Timmy the Jew spoke up from above his coffee cup that had long since gone cold. No one spoke.
“Do it. Right now. Send Shaw and
“Moving.” Was all Ben said as he grabbed his new, and clean, suit jacket and left the trailer.
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