With a whoosh and crash, a giant toad bounded onto the table, knocking aside water glasses and tea lights. His mouth was already open, the hideous tongue lolling, before Kate could stop him. A few drops of mucus hit her as the tongue whipped out and grabbed a gun out of the nearest agent’s hand. Stunned, the guy regarded his slime-covered hands with a look of horror.
The Llama—the Bolivian one—was the second to jump on the table. His long neck stretched forward, his fists clenched at his side, and he puckered his lips.
“Michael, grab him!” Kate yelled at DB, who was closer.
The big joker reached behind the Llama and took hold of various parts—arms, shoulders, back, legs—with all six arms and yanked him backward, off the table and onto the floor, but not before he got off a shot of spit.
Fortunately, the spit bomb went wide. Only part of it landed on the sleeve of Billy Ray’s suit jacket.
The federal ace regarded the spot for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped off the glob. He seemed resigned as he tossed the handkerchief aside.
Buzzing, the bugs formed a loose cloud, circling the room and occasionally dropping to take another sting at one of the agents.
“Stand down!” Kate shouted. Facing her team, Kate planted herself between them and the agents. Buford had opened his mouth for another go with his tongue, the Llama was unsuccessfully wrestling with DB, the other Lama had his eyes closed and seemed to be meditating, Brave Hawk had sprouted his wings and gripped a steak knife but hadn’t actually done anything yet. Lohengrin had donned his armor and looked like he wanted to march forward—but John planted a hand on his chest. The others seemed caught between decisions to stay put and take action. Lilith stood at the end of the table, arms crossed, regarding the scene with an aggravating lift to her brow.
A sudden breeze ruffled Kate’s bangs—the door to the balcony had opened.
Bugsy’s swarm banked around the room, stretching into a streamlined shape, shot out the balcony door like an arrow, and disappeared into the New York sky.
Scratching at a swollen spot on his nose, Billy Ray glared at the balcony, and at the Amazing Bubbles, who knelt by the open door with her hand on the latch.
“I thought we needed a little air,” Michelle said, shrugging with an air of innocence that wasn’t entirely genuine.
The room was quiet, finally. Lohengrin’s armor faded. Buford, human now, climbed off the table.
Billy Ray stood at Kate’s shoulder. Literally breathing down her neck.
“I am this close to dragging all of your asses to jail,” he said to her, holding his thumb and forefinger so they barely touched. “But because you’re cute, and I like blondes, I’ll give you a break. Today.”
Kate rolled her eyes.
Ray wasn’t finished with them. As he regarded them, his gaze sweeping from one end of the table to the other, his frown deepened. For a moment, the ace almost looked tired. He muttered, “You kids are going to get yourselves killed. And I’m probably going to be the one who has to scrape your guts off the pavement.”
He stalked out, gesturing at his underlings, who fell into step with him. They were all scratching at angry, swollen bug bites. Kate ran a hand through her hair and sighed. When was her life going to stop feeling like reality TV?
A woman giggled. Snowblind, stifling the laugh with a hand over her mouth. The hand was trembling, just a little. “I knew joining the Committee would be exciting, but I had no idea.”
Nervous chatter dispelled some of the tension as people straightened chairs and returned to their seats. Some of the wait staff crept out of hiding.
Kate pulled out a chair and sat. John brought over another chair and sat with her.
“So. Bugsy’s wanted by the Feds,” he said. “I guess that’s another line on the to-do list.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
“Normally I would call the director of SCARE to clear this up. But Billy Ray is the director of SCARE.” He winced. “And how the hell did that happen?”
It never ended. Always another mission. Three more missions, in this case. Kate leaned close to John and spoke softly. “You promised Ana would get a break. But you’re sending her out again tomorrow?”
John had the grace to look chagrined. “I know. But we need her. No one else can do what she does. This isn’t going to get fixed by . . . by a giant toad.”
She couldn’t argue, because he was right. Ana herself wouldn’t want to be left out of this. Even now, the ace was helping the staff pick up scattered glassware and table settings, like she could never sit back and let someone else do the work.
“I’ll make it up to her,” he said, earnest. “I promise.”
“Hey, John,” Tinker called. “What do you want to do with these?” He held up Bugsy’s discarded clothing.
Someone said, “Whoa. I never would have pegged Bugsy as a boxers guy.” John just shook his head in long-suffering bemusement. Smiling, Kate wrapped her arm around his and rested her head on his shoulder. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”
Double Helix
HIS ENEMIES SHALL LICK THE DUST
Melinda M. Snodgrass
Dear Sir,
And now for As the UN Turns.
I SET ASIDE THE laptop feeling the residual heat on my thighs and take a sip of scotch and a drag on my cigarette. Once in a great while I worry that I’m taking too light a tone with my superior officer, but Flint seems to like it. I think I actually manage to amuse the joker/ace.
My manager has me in a suite at the Marriott so I’m comfortably ensconced in the sitting room with my feet up on a hassock, and Sonique playing on the radio. In two hours I’m going to be onstage performing my magic act. I need to get this report typed and into a diplomatic pouch within the hour so I can spend an hour working my hands, and checking over my equipment at the theater. Through the hotel windows I watch the sun setting behind the Golden Gate Bridge. The sky burns in shades of red, orange, melon, and lavender, and the waters of the bay seem to be dancing quicksilver.
I return to the task.
Jonathan Hive’s blog post regarding the explosion in Pyote, Texas, roused the ire of the Powers That Be in Washington, and SCARE sent agents to arrest him for violating national security—Bugsy must be viewed as a fearsome threat to national security because Billy Ray himself showed up. But as tough as Ray might be he can’t capture a cloud of buzzing insects. After bestowing several dozen stings to Ray, Bugsy . . . er, bugged out. It was a wonderful sight watching a swarm of green wasps heading down 33rd St. to the consternation of the dinnertime crowd.
Net result—Hive is holed up inside the UN. The Department of Justice is blustering, Jayewardene is being saintly and noncommittal, and I’m sure I’ll be tasked with getting Hive out of the country at some point. It does raise interesting legal questions regarding the status of an American citizen seeking sanctuary with an international body located on American soil. I’m sure in four or five years the Supreme Court will give us a definitive ruling.
I know this won’t make Whitehall happy, but these really are third-rate aces who have accompanied Fortune to Africa, and Fortune has been very clear that none of the Committee members are to take part in the fighting. We should be able to brush through this without any overt interference in Nigerian affairs, and I really can’t refuse without damaging my status within the Committee.
Oh, and one more thing. I want a raise.
Sir.