The fire-suits are similar to the Hammer suits we wore when going into biological hot zones. They were flexible and durable, perfect for agile movement and physical combat. The skin of the suits was made from a blend of synthetic carbon fibers mixed with spider silk. That irony was not lost on me, by the way. But, fuck it. The suits could stop an ordinary bullet shy of armor-piercing rounds, and the network of air distribution tubes allowed us to regulate temperature.
“Will those things be enough?” asked Lizzie, clearly skeptical of suits that fit like gloves instead of the bulkier garments worn by firefighters or volcanologists.
“That’s what it says in the catalog,” said Top as he buddy-checked Bunny’s seals. The answer did little to reassure Lizzie.
Brock said, “If you have another one of those, I’d be happy to—”
“Thanks,” I said, “but no. We brought enough for us. But, thanks.”
He nodded and then lowered his voice. “Look, Mr. Red… I couldn’t help but overhear a lot of this stuff and I know it’s above my paygrade and all, but if something happens and you need some muscle or an extra shooter, then I’m here. I didn’t get an embassy posting because I don’t know which end of a gun goes bang. Three tours in Afghanistan, one in Iraq. Been to a lot of loud parties. I don’t want to just sit up here and play with my dick the whole time.”
I smiled at him. “I appreciate that, Sergeant, but we really do have only these three rigs. If you want to help, though, watch over Dr. Corbett. She’s important and I need her safe. If things go south, get her the hell out of here and call the number she’ll provide. Talk to my boss. His name is Church. Whatever he says to do, you do it. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir, I can,” he said.
I started to lift my helmet to put it on, then paused. “Tell you what, Sergeant,” I said, nodding to the pit. “We have two cases of weapons and loaded magazines. Lots of fun toys. If you see anything come over the edge of that fucking hole that isn’t one of us, kill it.”
His eyes turned cold and he gave me a nod. “Yes, sir… I can do that, too.”
He turned and walked over to his men. I saw them immediately begin checking their weapons. Bunny, who was a former Marine Recon, nodding approval.
“Semper fi,” he said quietly and then put his helmet on. He opened a canvas gear bag and began taking out long guns. His weapon of choice is a drum-fed combat shotgun that he lovingly calls “Honey Boom-Boom.”
Top had another of our cases open and was removing rappelling gear.
Lizzie touched my arm. “Joe,” she said, “is there any way that drone of yours could get close enough for me to see the book?”
“Maybe. Why, though?”
“If I could see what he’s reading then maybe I can understand what he’s trying to accomplish.”
“Does that matter?”
“Yes. The page he took out first was a kind of spell,” she said. “It’s intended to both summon Atlach-Nacha and also begin something described as a ‘ritual of opening.’ I think we’ve seen what that looks like. But he went down there, and he’s clearly in some kind of trance. And he’s done something that is preventing him from being consumed completely by the heat. Call it magic or weird science or whatever you want, but he’s been down there for days now. Whatever spell or ritual he’s performing must be very complex. If I know what it is, then maybe I can figure out the best way to stop it.”
“How about I put three rounds into the back of his head?” I suggested. “Wouldn’t that stop it?”
“I actually don’t know if that would work anymore.”
I stared at her, waiting for the punch line, but she wasn’t joking.
Beside me, Top said, “Well fuck me blind and move the furniture.”
To Lizzie I said, “Have you ever worked a drone?”
“Sure. My group works in areas where ISIL could be hiding anywhere, so I use them all the time to assess a site.” She named a few commercial and professional models she’d used.
I picked up the controller for the pigeon drone. “This is a lot like those.”
She was quick and was able to launch and manipulate the drone with ease.
“If that one burns out,” said Bunny, “there’s two more in the case.”
I said, “Lizzie, we’re all wearing earbuds. There’s a microphone on the controller. See? Right there. Leave it turned on. The speaker’s good, so you’ll be able to hear us, too. If you can get eyes on that book and read what Mercer is reading, let us know.” I raised my forearm to show small flexible-panel computer screens. “You can send the video feeds to us on these. But we won’t be watching those feeds unless it’s something important. We’re probably going to be busy. So, pick your moment.”
“I understand,” said Lizzie. “I promise not to distract you.”
“You’re not a distraction,” said Top, and she actually blushed. Bunny rolled his eyes so hard I’m surprised he didn’t bruise his brain. Then, in a more serious tone, Top said, “Let us know when we can end that evil motherfucker down there, feel me?”
Lizzie nodded. “God… be careful. Please.”
Top gave her a grin. “It’s all good. Just another day on the job.”
We put our helmets on, grabbed our guns, and walked over to the edge of the pit. Brock and two of his men helped anchor us for the rappelling maneuver. I adjusted my suit’s environmental controls one more time, cut looks at Top and Bunny, then nodded to Lizzie.
“Good luck,” she told us, and again her eyes lingered on Top’s.
Bunny turned to Top. “‘Just another day on the job?’ Seriously? That’s the worst pickup line in like… ever.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“I can actually hear you,” said Lizzie.
Bunny blew a kiss at Top, who shot him the finger.
And then we were over the edge.
7
NO MISSION EVER goes off without a hitch. Not in my experience.
You try to make it otherwise. You gather as much intel as possible, you plan, you train, you theorize to predict variables, you allow for things to change as the mission unfolds. You even stay mentally flexible in case of mission creep — which is when an operation changes substantially in nature while you’re in situ.
But things always go a little wrong.
Sometimes the situation twists in your favor. Or, so I’ve heard. My luck doesn’t tend that way.
Sometimes thing change and you can easily roll with it. You call in back up, or throw some extra ordnance downrange, or otherwise deal with shit.
And sometimes nothing is what it seems.
Case in point…
8
WE WENT DOWN into the pit.
Twenty meters is nothing when rappelling. You drop down on a rope, kicking off from the wall every few meters to slow the rate of fall and keep yourself from gathering enough momentum to slam into anything. The walls of the pit were sloped, so we also had to shove off to keep dropping. Fires burned all around us. Even with the cooling system in the suits, I could feel the heat.
How the hell could Mercer still be alive down here?
My mind rebelled at the thought of actual magic. This had to be some kind of science. But… what kind?
Over the last few years, I’d run into all kinds of things. Genetically-engineered assassins designed to approximate vampires. Lycanthropic super soldiers. Transgenic soldiers amped up with ape DNA. The God Machines built with science that came to its designer from dreams of other worlds. Doorways into other dimensions opened using mathematics from the Unlearnable Truths. So, yeah, I’ve had to expand my mind or go crazy. Maybe it’s fair to say that because I’ve been forced to expand my mind I’ve gone crazier. A case can be made for that. And yet in each case there was science behind it. Every single time. Weird science, to be sure. Radical, possibly alien, certainly beyond my understanding, but science nonetheless. If there was something that fit the literal definition of supernatural, then I haven’t hit it so far.