Curious, Sullivan complied, picked up a cup from the next table and handed it over. Heinrich stuck two fingers in the water and swirled it about, then took them out and drew two symbols in the center of the circle of salt. Garrett returned from checking the doors a moment later. "You better get out of here. We just got the kind of signal that means one of those things that you don't want to know about is going down."
"Well… now I'm curious."
Heinrich said a few words under his breath as he stared into the circle. At first Sullivan thought it was German, but it was something different and unfamiliar. There was a drumming noise, at first indistinguishable from the wheels on the track, but it grew in pitch, until it was just a ringing in the ears. The room seemed to flex, almost like when Sullivan was testing his own Power, and then a white glow appeared as the salt seemed to ignite. It burned brightly, as if it were being fused into a solid object. It floated up from the table, and rotated, until it was facing them at eye level.
It was like looking at a tiny motion picture, like one of those new television devices. There were people moving in the circle, but they were slightly hazy, and he could see the train's window through them. "Daniel, Heinrich, this is Lance. Can you hear me?" A face appeared in the floating circle, a blunt-nosed man with a lumberjack's beard.
"Got you, Lance," Garrett replied.
Injuries forgotten, Sullivan moved around to the side. No matter where he stood, the porthole seemed to turn to face him so he could see the same picture. He couldn't believe it. This wasn't a Power that resided inside someone. This was magic on its own, like something from an old fairytale. Heinrich had just cast an actual spell! Which, according to everything he'd ever read, was totally impossible.
"Do you remember the stories about the Geo-Tel?" the man in the circle asked.
"Of course," Daniel replied. "Oh no… did he find part of it?"
"It looks like he got part of the Portagees' and probably the blueprints from Jones."
The Mouth swore under his breath. "This is bad, very bad. Will he be able to build one?"
"The Geo-Tel? What's that?" Heinrich asked.
"No time to explain," Lance said. "We don't know if the Chairman's got enough to figure one out yet or not. Where are you?"
"We're on the Pullman, Denver to Ogden, we're almost in Utah now," Garrett responded.
"You're the closest to Christiansen. Make sure he's all right. Hold on, the General needs to speak with you." The view of the circle shifted, careening wildly about, and Sullivan saw several other people, including an old bald man who looked strangely familiar, and a young girl in a rough dress. Then the view seemed to lift, and settle downward, so that it was looking into the face of a man lying flat on his back in bed.
The man had to be over a hundred years old. His face was like a skull, crossed with purple veins, milky cataract-filled eyes, with grey skin stretched tight over it, mottled with blotches and bruises. Tubes had been run into his nostrils. "Garrett…"His voice was almost a whisper and Sullivan was impressed that he could do that much. "Get to Sven as quickly as you can. Recover the device that was in his protection."
"Yes, General."
Apparently those eyes could still see. "Is this the Heavy?"
He stepped forward. "I'm Jake Sullivan. Who are you?"
"We've met before, Sergeant Sullivan. Turns out I pinned a Citation Star on you myself after the armistice. It was too bad you served under General Roosevelt, because from your reputation, I certainly could have used a man like you."
Sullivan scowled, studying the diseased face. It couldn't be. The man who had done that honor had been a strong man, and it hadn't been that long ago. "General Pershing?"
"In the flesh, or what's left of it."
Sullivan was speechless. John J. Pershing, supreme commander of the American Expeditionary Force in the Great War, had disappeared from public life three years before. This was the greatest military commander alive, the highest ranking general in U.S. history, and they'd even talked about running him for president a little while back. "Sir, what happened?"
"I've been assassinated. I just haven't given the bastards the satisfaction of dying just yet. Welcome to the Grimnoir, Sullivan."
"I haven't exactly enlisted yet."
"Then consider yourself drafted, son. All hell's about to break loose."
Sullivan hesitated, unsure what to say. "Sir… I don't-"
"I'm asking you, one soldier to another, for your help. This is not a small thing I ask, and it will be dangerous, and it will be a sacrifice, but it is the right thing to do. It is the right thing for your country, and your people, and your God, and for all that you hold sacred. You have my word."
It ain't like you've got anything better going on.
"I'll need to get J. Edgar Hoover off my back. I won't be much good to you as a fugitive."
"Important men owe me favors. It's done… Garrett, bring this man up to speed. Go get Christiansen. Protect that device at all costs. Burn any Imperium that get in your way. Burn them down. Then get back here. Any questions?"
Heinrich and Daniel simultaneously said, "No, sir." Sullivan had a thousand questions, but he just nodded.
"Do not fail." The picture disappeared, leaving a circle of fused salt hanging in the air. The glow dissipated. The circle fell to the table and shattered into bits.
"I suppose that answers my question about who calls the shots," Sullivan said.
Chapter 9
My cavalry unit was camped eighty-two kilometers south of the Podkamennaya Basin that morning. Despite driving the Green Cossack army back for nearly three months, the Nipponese troops had withdrawn earlier in the week. Their retreat was unexpected, but a welcome chance for us to regroup, tend to our wounds, and fatten our fighting bears on the local reindeer herds. We discovered the reason for the Imperials' retreat around breakfast. A blue light appeared in the northern sky, rising from the horizon as a pillar, until it disappeared into the clouds. Scouts estimated the disturbance was near the position of our main infantry encampments. Kapitan Kurgan had a pocket watch. He said the disturbance started at exactly 7:00. Flocks of birds and large numbers of forest animals retreated past our camp in the direction opposite the light. At 7:05 the light had grown so bright that it was as if there was a second sun. Then the noise came, like the sound of artillery. The earth shook. All of us were knocked to the ground. The sky split in two and the light turned to fire. The fire grew until the entire north was fire and it came toward us. The hot wind came after the thunder, snapping down all the trees of the forest and flinging our tents. The temperature increased until it was unbearable. Our clothing caught fire and our bears went mad from the pain, turning on their Controllers and rending them. I was thrown approximately two hundred meters into the river. The water boiled. That is all that I recall.
– Leytenant D. Vasiliev's animated corpse.
Testimony to the Tsar's Investigative Council on the Tunguska Event, 1908 Ogden, Utah He'd gotten hurt pretty bad back at the cabin, though he was a lot better off than the hired thugs they'd brought with them. Thanks to the Chairman's gifts, his body would be back up and running in no time. The goons would still be dead. Madi shook his head and went back to stuffing his guts back in. The old Grimnoir had turned out to be one hell of a fighter, but Madi had got ten of what he'd been after. He always did.
"Hold still," his companion ordered in Japanese. Yutaka was the only other survivor of their morning's work, and the Iron Guard was up to his elbows in Madi's blood. He ran the needle back and forth expertly, holding the muscle together with thick cord. The healing kanji etched in scar tissue on Madi's back had kept him alive despite being disemboweled for over an hour now, and the overtaxed Words of Power were burning as hot as the day he'd first been branded. "This is slippery."