“By whom?” Wells asked suspiciously.
“A former colleague of yours had a file on you a quarter-inch thick.” That was an exaggeration, but there had been a few pages in the armful of evidence Faye had snatched before Mason Island had been sucked into a black hole. “Dr. Bradford Carr.”
For the very first time, Sullivan was pretty sure he caught a genuine display of emotion from Wells, and it wasn’t a pleasant one. Wells quickly contained the hate and managed to give a pleasant smile instead. “So… how is the good doctor?”
“Dead… Oh, that’s right. You boys don’t get to read the papers in here. Me and my friends ruined him. That’s how I got my hands on his files, and how I know that you’re one of the only men he ever actually feared. He committed suicide. Hung himself with a shoelace in his prison cell a little while ago.”
“How delightful. Now I’m slightly intrigued. What is it you’re proposing, Mr. Sullivan?”
“I’ve got paperwork from a federal judge releasing you into my custody. Each week you work for me knocks six months off of your sentence.”
“I see.” Wells seemed to be mulling that deal over, but Sullivan knew that was just an affectation he’d adopted to make normal people feel more comfortable around someone whose mind worked too fast. Brain like that? Wells had already run the numbers. “And despite what you read about me in Doctor Carr’s files, you trust me not to betray you?”
Sullivan snorted. “Compared to some of the folks I’ve got on this, not particularly. Look, I’ll save us both the time with the pointless threats. If you do anything to sabotage my mission, we both know I’ll kill you, or one of my extremely dangerous pals will kill you. You can make the same threat to me, but then we’d just waste a bunch of time, and we’re both too busy for all that posturing nonsense.”
“Refreshing. And what happens if I try to escape?”
“You won’t. You’ll stick around till we’re done, and after that I don’t particularly care what you do.”
“Why would you possibly expect me to do that?”
“A man who thinks life is all a big game needs a big challenge. Hell, you’re probably enjoying Rockville because at least surviving here takes some cunning.”
“I’ll admit, it can be thrilling at times.” Wells looked down at his striped clothing. “Though it does leave something to be desired in the style and hygiene departments. Despite that, your offer of freedom isn’t as interesting as you’d think.” Wells glanced over at the nervous guards. “I’m confident that when I tire of this place, my next challenge will be figuring out a way to escape.”
“I only know of one person that’s ever made it out of Rockville alive, and he was a Ringer.”
Wells chuckled. “If any old schlub could do it, then it wouldn’t be much of a challenge.”
“If you want a challenge, I’ve got a challenge like nothing you’ve ever seen before. I’ve got an opponent that even somebody as smart as you will have a hard time getting ahead of.” A little flattery never hurt.
Now Wells did appear to have to roll that one over for a moment, and since he seemed to have a brain like a Turing machine, that was saying something. “And what would this challenge be?”
“Saving the world.”
Wells chuckled. “You must have mistaken me for an idealist, Mr. Sullivan. I don’t give a damn about the world. The world is filled with small-minded fools. If you’ve brought me some war or conflict or another, whether starting it or preventing it, that’s simply boring. I’d rather live out my days as a Rockville gladiator. If there’s some warlord or politician that needs killing, save your breath, that’s the sort of pointless manipulations Bradford Carr used that animal Crow for.”
“Crow’s dead too. Long story.”
“A deserving death, I’m sure… Best of luck, Mr. Sullivan, but I am not particularly interested in subjugating myself to the whims of another again. I’m going back in my hole now. The sunshine was nice, but solitary is where I like to recite poetry.”
Sullivan had used his time in the hole to ponder on gravity. Turns out it had been time well spent. “Suit yourself, Doc.”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to find a Reader or some other mentalist to outwit this opponent of yours.”
“Hell, I’ve got a Reader, but I don’t know if their magic will work on a thing like this. If I wait until it acts, then I’m already too late. I need someone who can figure out how it thinks so that we can get ahead of it.”
Wells paused at the top of the ladder. “It?”
“Too bad even with all your fancy deductions you assumed the Enemy was human.”
That got his attention. “I am now slightly more intrigued,” Wells admitted.
“Our opponent isn’t from Earth.”
“Another super-demon then? Even in here, I heard about what happened to Washington.”
“Hardly. This thing is why demons exist. It eats magic and leaves dead worlds behind. It’s an entity that’s pursued the Power across the universe, and the ghost of the Chairman told me it’s on the way. If it ain’t here yet, it’ll be here any day now. We’re gonna stop it.”
The doctor gave a low whistle. “And they called me crazy…”
“The challenge is for you to help figure out how to track down this thing so we can kill it. The most advanced airship in the world is waiting for us in town. Once our captain’s feeling confident our experimental dirigible won’t just explode, we’re going to invade the Imperium. Want to come?”
Wells let go of the ladder. “I’d like my own private cabin.”
“Space is tight on the dirigible. You get a bunk like everybody else.”
“Top bunk?”
“Deal.”
Chapter 2
“FDR can go to hell. I’m a man. Not a type, not a number, and sure as hell not something that can be summed up as a logo to wear on my sleeve. A man. And I ain’t registering nothing.”
Washington, D.C.
The chair of the Congressional Subcommittee on Active Registration was clearly furious. He was red-faced, with veins standing out on his forehead, and he kept blinking his left eye far too much. The man looked like he was about to have a stroke. Francis Cornelius Stuyvesant prided himself on being able to have that effect on statist bureaucrats, and they were only fifteen minutes into this particular hearing. If they managed to make it the full scheduled hour, he could almost guarantee that the chair would go into an apoplectic fit. “What did you say?”
Francis banged his hand on the table. “You heard me right the first time, congressman, but I really should rephrase my remarks. Calling you and your OCI lackeys whores is insulting to hard-working prostitutes everywhere.”
There were gasps of outrage from the gallery, though a few people laughed, including several members of the press. Dan Garrett was sitting to his right, and he just put his face in his hands. Poor Dan, but he should have known what he was in for when they had asked Francis to attend.
“How dare you make a mockery of these proceedings, Mr. Stuyvesant!”
“Mockery? Let me define mockery. The OCI taking innocent Americans to secret jails without any due process is the real mockery. Holding them prisoner without trial is a mockery. What Bradford Carr did made a mockery of the Constitution of the United States. I was kidnapped, beaten, and set up as a patsy while one of your employees tried to blow up Washington, and then a government demon rampages across the city, and you accuse me of making a mockery of your proceedings? How dare you? Keep your manure, Congressman. I don’t feel like shoveling.”