The Last American Wizard (26 page)

Ace began to pull the wrist rocket’s arms out to the ready position. “What do you think is going to
happen?”

“No clue, but the lightshow has reached the small nuclear weapon level.” Steve shoved Carlos down below the level of the pedestal. “I’d say that whatever is going to
happ–”

There was a sizzling
zzzzap
, a line of fire streaked from the statue, and a loud
smack
was followed by a string of curses that would have stretched the vocabulary of any drill instructor on Coronado Beach–even during Hell Week. The strange
glow dimmed and Steve decided it was safe enough to peer around the statue and check on Ace. She was holding a black iron sword in
her left hand, while violently shaking the right, looking like a catcher seconds after a Stephen Strasburg fastball missed the webbing between the thumb and first finger and hit his
palm
.

Steve checked to be certain that Joan’s light show was over, in case she had something for him as well. It was. Emerging from behind the statue and lowering his magical lens, he said, “I’d say that you now have the proper weapon for the Ace of Swords.”

Ace scowled at him. “I noticed you guys were well out of the line of
fire.”

“We all play different roles according to our personal strengths,” Steve said breezily. “Mine is to explore the mystic depths of the universe, while yours is to stand in the path of fast- moving
objects.”

“Thanks.” Ace growled. “This is no bronze replica. It feels like a proper sword: well balanced, and–ouch!–quite
sharp.”

“Oddly, it was missing for years,” Steve said. “Poor Joan was left sitting on her horse and holding just a bit of the hilt. It was
only replaced a couple of years
ago.”

“Yeah. Odd, isn’t it?” Barnaby’s voice came from Steve’s beltline. “Switching swords during a restoration isn’t
easy.”

“So that was your doing?” Steve said. “I suppose you’re going to say it’s really Joan’s
sword.”

“The very same sword she discovered buried in the ground next to the Church of Sainte-Catherine-de-Fierbois and lost on the day of her final
battle.”

Ace was making practice swings and thrusts. “How did you end up with
it?”

“I’m sorry, but even a mere string of machine language commands has the right to a bit of mystery. Let’s just say it had to do with Nimue and a favor she ended up owing to the Black Chamber during World War
One.”

“Nimue was Merlin’s girlfriend, right?” Steve said thoughtfully. “She stuck him inside a tree and left him there as I remember.”

“That’s a gross oversimplification, but yes.” Barnaby managed to sound like a college professor near the end of the term. “She was also the Lady of the Lake, who gave Excalibur to King
Arthur.”

“Same sword?” Carlos
asked.

“Of course. How many incredibly powerful magical swords do you think are just lying around this
world?”

“And now it’s mine.” Ace faced the statue on the horse and brought the sword up to her forehead in a ceremonial salute. “I hope I‘m
worthy.”

“You
had
better
be
worthy
or
you’ll
end
up
in
a
tree
trunk
in Rock Creek somewhere,” Barnaby said. “That
promise
comes directly from the source who also pointed out that it’s only a
loan.”

Steve asked, “What could the Black Chamber do for a
mythical
figure?”

“Oddly, there are still a few things that are classified above your level,
Fool.”

The speakerphone vibrated against Steve’s belt and Barnaby changed the subject. “Send Money is right. We need to get
moving. Steve, please work out how to open that door and let’s get on with this. Our mission has acquired an entirely new level of urgency. They’re raising the estimate for the next sacrifice–it’s now well over two
kilo-logos.”

“What’s that translate to in real terms?” Carlos
asked.

“Consider what just over 3,000 dead did to the national psyche when the Trade Towers were hit and extrapolate that out to two hundred thousand. It’s the sort of power that brings major demons across the line and raises armies of the dead from the ground.”

“Score!” Steve pumped a fist. “I knew zombies were going to come into this
somewhere!”

“Do you realize how incredibly insensitive that comment is?” Barnaby scolded him. “But essentially, you’re correct. So, once
you get inside, defeating or even engaging with the Illuminati is far less important than finding out more about the atrocity they’re planning.”

Steve said, “So it’s worth our lives to get this information?”

“Of
course.”

Steve pulled the rose lens over his eyes again. Under the upper level of the park, he could see a greenish circle with a slower, more relaxed stream of energy in the center, and dozens of smaller hubs of varying colors were visible among the trees on both sides of the big lawn. In some way he couldn’t define, he knew that each possessed a unique “taste.” Some were blazing with African spices, others burned with dark power, and several rang with bells or the sound of choirs. His best guess was that every belief system that had ever passed through Washington–from Santeria to The New Thought to the Episcopalians–had spooled up power here and locked it in with ritual.

“This place must be the psychic powerhouse for the entire district.”

“Hey. Earth to Rowan.” Ace’s sardonic voice broke his concentration. “Could you stop looking around like a damn tourist and get us through that wall over
there?”

Ace was holding the sword with a relaxed wrist so that the weapon pointed safely toward the ground in front of her. Through the lens, however, there was an overlay of the sword pointing straight up and topped with a crown and a laurel wreath. The odd thing was that the real Ace was constantly shifting and changing, but the sword was firm and clear. Steve could only guess that it
had to do with the mutating nature of reality and the permanence of the
ideal.

“You do realize that staring at me isn’t a whole lot more useful than staring witlessly around the park,
right?”

Steve shook his head to clear the image of the sword and looked away. “Just so you know, that is not one of your everyday swords you’ve got
there.”

“Ya think?” Ace said. “I can hear the damn thing talking to me. Please keep that in mind, because it’s extremely single-minded and not terribly
particular.”

“You’re telling me not to get in its
way?”

“Not if you want to leave this park with all the parts you came in with,” Ace said. “She’s an expert with a job to do and very little patience.”

“You two must get along like peas in a
pod.”

“Well, I’m not interested in a date but we could work together for quite a while,” Ace said. Steve could see the shadowy outlines of the real sword move as Ace continued to test the balance and take a few practice swings. He turned to the statue of Dante, the quicker he gave these two deadly females something else to concentrate on, the
better.

The golden line ran directly to the book that Dante was holding. Steve could see enough of the cover to recognize the Divine Comedy–Dante’s classic trilogy of his journeys through Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. The writer was gripping it fiercely in both hands and glaring as if worried that someone would take it away.

“I can’t see a way to get to the book,” Steve
mused.

Barnaby spoke up. “Well, there are two famous quotes from the
Divina Commedia
: ‘The path to paradise begins in hell’ and the inscription over the gates of
Hell–”

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” Carlos said. When Steve gave him a puzzled look, he said defensively, “Hey,
medieval literature was a requirement,
OK?”

“In medieval Italian, that would be
Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate,”
Barnaby
said.

Steve repeated the phrase in his best “magician” voice–not
that he had the slightest clue what a magician should sound
like.

Nothing
happened.

The cell phone buzzed and Steve unclipped it and read
aloud.

Nothing
happened.

“What did that mean?” he asked Send
Money.

“Oh, like a speakeasy. That makes as much sense as anything else,” Steve
admitted.

Ace said slowly, “Well, if you take the inscription literally, you need to abandon all hope before you can get in. Why don’t we tell him
that?”

The smart phone’s screen
blinked

Steve carefully read out the words. Nothing happened. “What did you say?” Carlos
asked.

“Why would you think I had any idea?” Steve responded. “Send?”

“How totally cheerful,” Steve said. “Why is it you’re so damn fast when it comes to translating dismal stuff? You might as well quote the old Marine Corps battle cry, ‘Come on, you bastards. Who wants to live
forever?’”

Immediately the golden cord began to droop. At its other end, a portion of the concrete wall about the size of a garage door was swinging inward as the magical tension that had held it
loosened.

“The Corps was always a bunch of loudmouths.” Ace
scowled.

“Why? What’s a SEAL’s battle
cry?”

“We don’t say anything, obviously. Simply killing people is much more effective. Eventually, the enemy works out the fact that you’re around.” She looked around the area. “Now, could you please tell us mere mortals what the hell you’re talking
about?”

“You can’t see the door that just opened in the wall over there?”

Both Ace and Carlos shook their
heads.

“Fine.” Steve started toward the opening. “Then follow me
and walk into the same patch of concrete that I
do.”

It was only twenty feet to the opening in the wall. Even though the others still couldn’t see anything, they walked through the nonexistent open door quite easily, if a bit
hesitantly.

The interior was in complete darkness, even when Steve drew the lens over his eyes. He experimented, trying to see if it was helping or hurting his ability to see in the gloom. Eventually, he settled for arranging it so that it covered his left eye but left his right unchanged. This way, he could see magical tripwires and, if he squinted, avoid the double image that it gave to objects like Ace’s
sword.

Ace tucked all her hair under the ball cap, pulled up the long collar, and now completely covered by the black combat suit, disappeared into the darkness. Carlos was still wearing the shirt, jeans, and boots that Coyote had given him–he’d change to the
cadejo
once he was well
inside.

Steve ruthlessly quashed any worries about his manhood and went last. The place smelled of old stone and seeping moisture. Everything was black–both his covered and uncovered eyes couldn’t make out a
thing.

He unsnapped Send Money from his clip and turned on the video camera. As he watched, an overlay began to appear. “Barnaby, are you mapping the area with
radar?”

“I would if Send Money
had
radar,” the program answered. “Give me a minute and between the Keystones overhead and a couple of speed radars over on 16
th
, I’ll kludge up a map for
you.

Steve swept the on-screen menu up from the bottom. “Hell, I can just turn on the flashlight
function–”

Barnaby shouted, “NO!” and Send Money began to vibrate frantically. The phone actually jerked so hard that Steve missed the little onscreen button that turned on the light. He jabbed at it a few more times without success before Send Money managed to twist out of his hands completely. As he bent down to pick the phone up, he could hear Barnaby shouting, “Damn it! Will you stop?”

“Why? Worried about running down the battery?” Steve stopped poking at the
screen.

“No, it’s not the battery.” Barnaby’s voice sounded relieved. “That light is a
weapon.”

“Cool.” Steve examined the screen again. “Can I try it out?”

“NO!”

“OK. For the moment, I’ll go with a hands-off policy,” Steve said. “What the hell is it, anyway? A weaponized laser or something?”

Steve jumped as Ace appeared right in front of him. “Do you remember when we first
met?”

“You mean when you came up to my apartment and I was half naked?”

“Ugh. Your unclothed body is not one of my favorite memories. Seriously, don’t ever bring that up again.
OK?”

Steve started to defend his physique, but was stopped by a warning touch on his lips. This might have been enjoyable with the right person, but this was Ace and he realized that what was against his lips was the tip of Joan’s
sword.

Ace continued. “I told you that my orders were to get you and the phone but I was to choose the phone over you if it came down to it.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Steve mumbled in
agreement.

Barnaby picked up the explanation. “Obviously, we had warnings, omens, prophecies, and whatever to let us know that you would be important, and evidently they weren’t completely off base, even though many of us still feel we could have done better.”

Steve made a noise of protest through closed lips but stopped abruptly when the sword pressed a little
harder.

“The predictions about Send Money were far, far clearer.” Barnaby continued. “As far back as the 1930’s there was a group called the Brotherhood of the Light that used a black-and-white tarot deck with Egyptian art. Very rare. Very powerful. When our best operatives did readings with the Deck of Light, they kept getting ‘Obi Wan,’ 54, 44.

Steve managed to get a questioning noise
out.

“That’s a combination of Cockney Rhyming Slang, ASCII, and military codes. Obi Wan Kenobi is a ‘Moby’ or a mobile phone, and ’54, 44’ is ASCII for TD. In the US military, that means Tango Delta—Target or Terrorist Down. After we’d
worked that out all the readers could get was ‘ATFC’ over and over.”

Ace asked, “’Answer the freaking
cellphone’?”

“Indeed,” Barnaby said. “Once it was accompanied by a quote from the Tibetan Book of the Dead, ‘
The self-originating clear light, eternally unborn.
’ Finally, one of the best analysts in the Kabbalah Corps identified the light reference as applying to a scintilla of
Yud
, which is the first of the Four Names of God. This would, of course, be the light that existed for the brief instant before the Big
Bang.”

“I was just about to say it had something to do with Yuds.” Steve had finally managed to pull his head away from the
sword.

Barnaby sounded tired, if that were possible. “If this little phone’s LED is in fact Science and Nature held in synthesis by the subtle spark of a human soul, it could be the only real weapon we have against black
magic.”

Steve weighed the little smartphone in his hand. “You know, it would have been a lot easier on everyone if you’d found someone who believed any of this to be your
Fool.”

“Don’t I wish.” Barnaby sighed, or at least made a sound like air leaking from an organ when the bellows stop moving. “However, we’re stuck with you, and we continue to hope against all evidence that you have hidden qualities that will outweigh your nihilistic
cynicism.”

Ace chuckled softly. “Let’s try not to count on that.
OK?”

Then she turned back to her area of expertise. “Now, we’re in an entrance chamber built to serve as a block against light and sound. There’s another door five yards straight ahead. It’s not nearly as cool as the one we just came in. It’s not mystical, just a wooden door with a doorknob and no
lock.”

Steve looked at the smartphone’s screen. A map made of red lines over black was now displayed. He moved the phone and watched as the image followed with only a slight lag. The door, a rectangle with a circle at waist height, was easily recognizable. A dark shadow crossed the red lines–Steve assumed that was Ace– and he followed. He felt Carlos run a finger through a belt loop at his back for
guidance.

He could hear a sucking sound as Ace pulled on the door and a rubber sound seal released its grip. It was just as dark on the other side, and when he glanced at the phone, there were no red lines. After about a minute, they began to reappear–fuzzy blotches that tightened into distinct contours. He guessed that Barnaby was constantly redrawing the map as the power of a fair number of the NSA’s best servers verified the
data.

Another minute and the red lines showed a rectangle with edges slanted to indicate perspective. It looked like a long hallway, so he moved forward with his left hand brushing the wall. His footsteps were loud in the deep silence. He couldn’t hear Ace at all even though he could see her in front of him–just a moving shadow on Send Money’s
map.

In a short time, he simply began to “see” the red lines as a rough picture of his surroundings. The long hall ended in a T intersection with another corridor. At the intersection, there was light
for
the
first
time–he
could
make
out
a
yellow
cloud
on
the cell phone long before he could see the dim light with his own eyes.