According to the OCI scientists’ categories and rankings of known Actives, Crow had been born as a relatively common type, and they mistakenly still had him there. Only a handful of men knew about what he could do now. Which meant that when he was done with this Justice, she would have to be disposed of.
She was angry, afraid, and trying not to let it show. Good. That’s right where he wanted her, and it was fine if she knew it. “You hook me up wherever I want, and all I have to do is this one job for you?”
“That’s all I want.”
Hesitantly, Hammer came back into the room. “What’s the gig?”
“Find Jake Sullivan again. He’ll have gone to ground and I want him found quick. OCI will pay double what you got to find him last time.”
“Sullivan? You should have said so. He stole my new car. I’d have tracked him down for free.”
He was pleased. Crow had learned all he could about Hammer first, about her abilities and her history. Despite the tough and cynical reputation she’d cultivated, she was basically an idealistic person, and nobody was easier to manipulate than an idealist.
Crow realized that he’d forgotten something. “One second.” He walked over to the still robot and inspected the Cog craftsmanship. “Impressive. This thing tore my men to pieces.” He put one finger in the dents where the pistol bullets had bounced off. “Your clients called it a robot. What’s that mean?”
“Czech word for serf. One of their Cogs invented the first one awhile back. EGE improved on the design. Nobody is better at sticking spells on stuff than these boys. They bring bad things to life.”
“I thought Edison didn’t believe in building offensive weapons.”
“Not since that debacle with the Navy ship that got all those sailors fused into the deck a few years back.” Hammer shook her head. “He wouldn’t do it, but Mr. Edison’s body wasn’t even cold before they’d figured out how to arm these. Each one has a 30-caliber machine gun, but they can take flamethrowers, antitank guns, you name it.”
“Does it think for itself?”
“I think they can only follow orders.”
“Huh… I like that. They pretty tough?”
“Very tough. This is the five series. The six just entered production. It’s even better. Like a security guard that never sleeps or a soldier that never gets scared. Army procurement wants some if they can get the funding.” Crow seemed deep in thought. it?”
“Yeah. I’m done with you. You’re going to want to get a move on before Sullivan gets too far away.”
“Head starts don’t matter with me.”
“Good. Do me a favor and send in one of those eggheads on the way out. I’ve got a few questions.”
Hammer was obviously relieved to be away from him. A minute later one of the EGE scientists came in, nervous. Crow tended to have that effect on most people.
“You needed help, sir?”
Crow pointed at the robot. “Are these expensive?”
“I’m no salesman, but I believe so. They’re somewhere around seventy thousand dollars each. The machining is very precise.”
“Hmmm…” Crow thought about it for a moment. That was an obscene amount of money, but OCI was about to have an even more obscene budget. “Does EGE offer a bulk discount?”
“I would have to ask.”
“Hell with it. I’ll take a dozen.”
Chapter 6
After we lost the vote, they told us to go home, but most of us stayed. Summer got hotter. Tempers got shorter. So they sicced the Army on us. MacArthur was in front, chest full of ribbons, thumping a riding crop on his leg and giving orders like we was the Hun. Some of us met them on the way, waving white shirts like flags over our heads, begging for an hour to get the women and children out of the camp. The hotheads and the communists began throwing rocks and bottles so the Army threw gas bombs back. My head got split open with a club. I wanted to cut them so bad, just let my bones grow into claws and rip them to bits, like I was back in the war, but I didn’t. My brother’s boy turned blue and died the next morning from the gas. Nothing I could do. He was just too little… Folks wonder why we stayed. We were hungry and broke. Of course we stayed. We had nowhere else to go.
Washington D.C.
Their chosen meeting place had not been picked by chance, but rather because it seemed appropriate. The authorities hadn’t even bothered to clean up the mess left over from last summer. The shacks and tents had been burned, but the remains still sat there in their orderly rows, tattered or rusting, while the sun went down over the Anacostia Flats. It was a place where trust had been betrayed.
As someone who understood what it felt like to get stabbed in the back, he had wanted to see the place for himself. Jake Sullivan sat on the grass and savored a smoke while he waited for the others to arrive.
Lance Talon got there next, sort of. A mangy stray dog came trotting up to Sullivan like it owned the place. That was his first clue. Normally a cur like that would have skulked around in the shadows until it decided it was worth the risk to try and mooch food. The dog was brown except for where it was pink and it smelled like it had been rolling on something dead.
“Evening, Lance,” Sullivan said.
“Hey, Jake,” the dog answered with a deep voice. A dripping tongue hung out, but the dog’s mouth didn’t move as Lance spoke through the animal. “I’m on my way up the road. Figured I’d sniff around first.”
“How can you smell anything over that stink?” Sullivan pinched his nose. “Would you back up already? I’m dying here.”
“Smells like perfume and roses to me right now.” The dog trotted a few feet downwind. “Better?”
“Much. Why the mutt?”
“I’m guessing you haven’t read the evening paper yet.” The dog cocked its head at him and whined. “I was making sure this place wasn’t swarming with coppers first.”
“Haven’t seen the paper in days.”
“I’ve got one with me. You’re famous. Or is it infamous? Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Dillinger.”
“That bad?”
“You think I’m exaggerating… Hang on a second.”
The dog’s manner suddenly changed. It blinked stupidly, as if trying to figure out how it had woken up here. The last thing it remembered was whatever wonderful dead thing it had been playing with before Lance had taken over its brain. The mutt saw Sullivan, yipped in surprise, and took off into the ruins at a dead run.
A Ford box truck came to stop nearby and shut off its engine. Sullivan tossed the butt in the grass and stood. Lance Talon limped up, his cowboy boots crunching on the gravel. They shook hands, both of them knowing better by now than to try to out-squeeze the other guy.
Though short, Lance was a tough fellow with a lumberjack’s beard and the shoulders to match. More comfortable in the outdoors than in the fake trappings of civilized society, the Beastie had adventured his way around the dark corners of the world, hunting exotic animals until the Grimnoir had put his skills to use hunting Imperium instead. “Nice view.” Lance glanced at the Capitol in the distance. The dome could be seen over the trees. “Formidable, even if it’s packed with liars and thieves.” He handed Sullivan a folded Washington Herald.
“What page?”
“Buddy, you’re the headline.”
DANGEROUS ACTIVE MURDERS FEDERAL OFFICERS
The next line was even worse.
JAKE “HEAVY” SULLIVAN:
Possible Conspirator in Magical Assassination Plot?
The picture was his convict shot from Rockville-the one that made his eyes look small, black, and dead. These people certainly moved fast.