The Mall of Cthulhu (11 page)

Laura thought about the best way to help Ted keep an eye on the mall. If he was lurking around all the time, he'd eventually attract the attention of mall security, which was a bad thing for a fugitive from justice to do. She left the building and called the management office of the Providence Towne Centre.

The mall had two pushcart retail kiosks available. One thousand dollars would reserve one for the Harker corporation for a month. Laura read her Amex number out to the guy and hung up. A thousand bucks was a lot to invest in a surveillance operation, but she supposed it was cheap as far as saving the world went.

After work, Laura called Ted and told him that she'd put a deposit down on a month's rental of a pushcart at the Providence Towne Centre so that Ted would have an excuse to be in the mall looking bored all the time. She promised to find something unappealing for him to pretend to sell and have it overnighted to the apartment.

"So I looked up places of power," she said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So it turns out you were right. They're places where cosmic energy currents run, or barriers between dimensions are semi-permeable, or so the people peddling crystal healing claim."

"I knew it! So they're going to summon forth the Old Ones right there in the mall!"

"Well, it certainly looks like they might at least try. So, uh, what happens if they succeed? Is there any more detail than what I read in 'The Call of Cthulhu?'"

"You read Lovecraft? That's really sweet!"

"It was for the investigation. Anyway, does your white supremacist pal have any more stories about what happens if they come back?"

"He wasn't a . . . well, I guess maybe . . . well, he wasn't active in any organizations. That I know of. But anyway, if they come back? Bad, bad shit. They are namelessly incomprehensibly evil, and I guess they cause untold horror, death, and misery."

"Got it. It's kinda convenient that so much of this stuff is unknowably indescribable, isn't it? I mean, it really saves him from having to imagine something and then describe it. So basically we have no idea what to look for."

"Well, I think we'll know if it happens. And it'll be really really bad."

"Okay. I can't . . . I mean, I really can't believe I'm saying this, but I think you have to call this in to the Bureau. If it's real, it's more than the two of us can handle, and it might be good to get some of the Bureau's resources behind it. You have to find a payphone, look carefully to make sure there aren't security cameras or an ATM with a camera or anything nearby, and call them up. Tell them about the temple, and tell them you know that the mall is the target. But don't mention anything about Cthulhu. Just tell them you think there's a terrorist cell meeting in the temple and that they are going to hit the mall. That'll at least get them to check out the temple."

"Okay. I'll do it."

"Great."

"Can I ask you something, though?"

"Okay."

"Are you just humoring me? Or are you just really bored at work? Or do you actually believe me? I mean, I don't know what pushcart rental costs, but it couldn't be cheap . . . "

"A thousand bucks a month. They'd better make a move within the next thirty days, because I won't be able to afford to save the world for two months in a row. Anyway . . . there's something else."

"Yeah? What?"

"Well, I poked around in the computer system today. There was nothing for most of the bizarre words you've been throwing my way, but there was a file for Necronomicon."

"What did it say?"

"I couldn't get into it. It's a Level Z clearance. I don't know if anybody in my office could even get into it. I've never even heard of a Level Z clearance. I thought it stopped at E-1, and everybody with an E-1 clearance is in DC."

"But . . . what's that mean?"

"I really have no idea, but I suspect it means there's something big going on, or somebody really important knows about it. Maybe I'm wrong, and it's just a code word for a sting operation on mail-order brides for comic store owners or something. In which case I'm probably telling you to waste the FBI's time, but if this is something real, I just feel like it's actually more cautious to do something at this point than it is to do nothing."

Ted was silent for a moment. "It means a lot to me, you know. You believing me. Even in a kind of half-assed way."

"Well, you were right before, and it was pretty important. So maybe you're like the proverbial stopped clock." She smiled, and she hoped Ted could hear it through the phone.

Ted laughed. "Okay, so since I'm on a roll, let me tell you about the girl I met today. Ted prattled on about some overly-pierced pushcart vendor he had a crush on, and Laura signed off. She had a hard time sleeping. She wondered if Ted should get a gun.

The following morning, after the usual card swiping routine, Laura sat down at her desk, clicked on her email, and groaned when she saw McManus' name in her inbox.

"Harker: my office as soon as you read this," the email said, and Laura felt that sour-stomached, trip to the principal's office dread (she had, despite the type-A nature of her last ten years, actually been sent to the principal's office twice in her life: once in second grade for kicking Steve Raymond in the groin in a heated kickball dispute, and once in seventh grade because Christian Zur had copied off of her math test.). Shit. He had checked up on her, the one day she was doing something she wasn't supposed to. How was she going to answer the questions about searching for Cthulhu? And how many extra hours of ATM tape would she have to go through to atone for not doing enough yesterday? Her mind raced, trying to think of a credible lie. She came up with something about how a friend gave her this story about a cult to read, and she was just curious, wanted to see if it had any basis in reality. Thin, but it was all she had.

She looked at the email again, and the dread quickly gave way to hatred for McManus, which was more fun and more manageable.

"Would it kill you to put a verb in that sentence? Christ," she muttered, deciding to play this in the "I'm really busy right now why are you annoying me" way versus the "Oops, you caught me," way, and hoping that it would make a difference.

She did not hover in McManus' doorway but walked purposefully toward his desk. He sat there, doughy red face even redder than usual, gut straining at the buttons of his shirt. "You need to see me?" Laura said.

McManus looked up. He appeared to be clenching his teeth.

"Harker." McManus paused, and Laura could see, even through layers of jowl, his jaw muscles on the side of his head pulse in and out several times before he spoke again. " . . . I don't have any idea how you managed to work this, especially without going through me, but I got word from DC today that your transfer has been approved."

Laura searched her mind. She hadn't put in for a transfer, and if she had, it would have had to go through McManus. What the hell was going on?

"Uh, sir, I, uh, I'm sorry, but I'm a little confused."

"Yeah. I'm confused too. In my day, we had to pay dues before we ever got any kind of assignment worth doing. But I'm just an old white guy, some kind of dinosaur, and apparently the old rules don't apply to young women, or something. I suppose I should count myself lucky you didn't file some bullshit hostile environment claim or something, so at least you didn't take me down on your way up." He paused and glared at her like nothing would make him happier than jumping across the desk and clocking her. "Well, it's the twenty-first century. I guess we had our shot at running things, and now you get to take over. So go celebrate. You've got your wish. You're going to counter-terrorism."

"But, sir, I . . . " she wanted to say she'd never put in for the transfer, but then she might not get to go to counter-terrorism, and whatever they were working on over there, it had to be a hell of a lot better than what she was doing here.

"I mean, don't get me wrong. You're a good agent, you work hard, and God knows I'd give my left nut not to have to do this Whitey ATM bullshit anymore, so I don't blame you, and I don't even blame you for going around me, because if you thought I'd stand in your way, you were right, so at least they got a smart one. But I've got twelve guys in this office every bit as smart and competent as you, with more seniority, but no ovaries. That's all. Oh, yeah, they want you up there right away."

"Thank you, sir!" Laura said, turning around and all but skipping out of the office. She'd fantasized for ages about telling McManus off, and, in the end, the best thing she could possibly do to piss him off was to smile and thank him for the transfer. Ha!

Feeling happier than she could remember, Laura went back to her desk, decided she could clean it up later, and took a pad of paper and a pen to the elevator. Heart pounding with excitement, Laura pushed the button for the tenth floor.

Once she reached the tenth floor, she was disappointed to see that it looked exactly like the eighth floor—a cluster of drab cubicles in the center of the room, offices with glass doors ringing the outside wall, offices with wooden doors to show you who was really important, and a couple of conference rooms. Laura noticed that counter-terror had much newer conference room furniture than organized crime. She wondered if they just moved the stuff down as it got older, until the mail fraud guys down on four got milk crates and old doors.

Agents were bustling around, and nobody seemed to notice her. She walked tentatively over to one of the offices with a wooden door. The door was ajar, but Laura gave a knock she hoped was confident and respectful at the same time.

"Come in!"

Laura walked into the room and found herself facing a middle-aged Asian man. According to the nameplate on his desk, he was Mr. Nguyen. Normally she would have begun with "Mr. Nguyen, I'm Laura Harker," but she realized to her embarrassment that she wasn't really sure how to say Nguyen, which threw her off her stride, so she found herself saying, "Uh, Mr., Uh, good morning, sir, I'm Laura Harker? I was told to report here?"

"Yeah. I just got the paperwork last night. Your transfer came in from DC. You must have some pretty powerful friends."

"Honestly I don't, unless you count my friend who works in the coffee shop, heh-heh." Mr. Nguyen looked at her blankly, and rather than interpreting this as, "I understand that you have made a joke that is completely unfunny," Laura thought he meant he didn't understand that she'd made a joke.

"Because, you know, everybody needs their coffee, right? He could slip them decaf, and the city would come to a halt!" Mr. Nguyen continued to look blankly at her. "Pretty powerful . . . " Laura trailed off.

There were five agonizing seconds of silence, during which time Mr. Nguyen didn't blink. "Well, be that as it may, you're here now, and I'm always happy to get additional personnel up here, so I'm glad you're here. And I happen to have an assignment for you."

Yes! An assignment! Cool!

"I'm afraid it's kind of a rookie hazing thing—that is to say, I know you're not a rookie after—" he glanced at his computer screen—"three years with the bureau, but you're new up here, so I'm afraid I have to give you this.

"We got an anonymous call about somebody trying to hit the Providence Towne Centre Mall. Now, as you probably know, malls are our softest targets, and frankly our worst nightmare, because if they start hitting malls, the economy's going to tank in a way that will put 9/11 to shame."

"Not to mention the loss of life," Laura said, then realized she should have shut up. Too much adrenaline, and she was having trouble controlling her mouth. That was supposed to be Ted's problem.

Mr. Nguyen looked at her for five seconds, then said, "Goes without saying. So, anyway, we got this anonymous tip about people hitting a mall, and it said they were using an abandoned building next door for planning. So I'm taking three guys off the playoffs and sending them shopping. And, I'm sending a panel van down there with some surveillance equipment to watch the building next door. You know how to run a listening rig?"

Laura considered lying, but instead said, "No, but I did see
The Conversation
."

Once again she got the look, and Mr. Nguyen said, "Great movie. Well, Agent Killilea's a great tech, he can make sure it's all running okay and you can just sit there with the headphones on."

"Yes sir."

"I hope you showered this morning, because you probably won't for a couple of days. It's not going to be glamorous, but try to remember two things. The first is that although the overwhelming majority of these tips turn out to be complete bullshit, there is always the possibility, however remote, that it's not bullshit, and that by doing this boring, unglamorous, ultimately thankless job, you're going to save hundreds or thousands of lives."

Laura felt a little swell of pride. Now
this
was why she got into law enforcement.

"And if that's not sufficient motivation, picture yourself in DC with fifty cameras in your face answering questions from some pole-up-the-ass senator about why you didn't prevent this horrible attack. Get the picture?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. You'll find Killilea in the third cubicle on the right. Get to it."

"Yes sir." The spring was back in Laura's step. The chase was on! And even though nobody knew it, nobody could know it, she was responsible for this assignment. Which meant that if it turned out to be a bust, she'd be suffering more than anyone, sweaty and constipated in the back of the van, but if it was for real, she'd be an honest-to-God law enforcement hero. Pretty damn cool.

She really wanted to call Ted and tell him the good news, but Killilea had to brief her for what seemed like hours but was only forty-five minutes, and when they gave her an hour to get home, get changed, and get back, she stole time in her apartment as she pulled on comfortable stakeout clothes and called Ted.

"Hey, boss!" he said.

"Ted, guess what? Ugh, no, you know, no bra is eighteen hour, no matter what they say—"

"You called to tell me that?"

"No, no no. I'm multi-tasking because I'm in a hurry. But I got transferred, I don't know how or why, but I'm not gonna argue, and I'm staking out a certain place adjacent to a certain place of power! Today!"