Suicide Kings

31

Saturday,

December 26

Kisangani, Congo

People’s Paradise of Africa

It was strange to see the pretty little buildings with their red roofs and the neat pathways. It all looked so friendly and innocent, except for the heavily armed soldiers patrolling through the compound. A few of them wore the leopard-skin fezzes she’d seen in her dreams.

When the wind shifted, the stench of the pit floated to her. Michelle walked into the compound. It took a moment before she was noticed, but when they saw her all hell broke loose. The soldiers began to shout, and pointing their guns. Michelle hoped they would shoot her.

One of the soldiers began barking questions at her. At least she assumed they were questions. He was speaking in some local dialect. She smiled at him and held her palm up. A bubble appeared and he stopped talking. Then she let the bubble fly. It hit him full in the chest. He flew backward, gun tumbling in the air with him.

It got the reaction she’d hoped for. The other soldiers started firing on her and she started to expand as she absorbed the kinetic energy of their bullets.

By the time the soldiers had emptied their clips to no effect, the Leopard Men had transformed into cats. They sprang at her, and Michelle fell backward, buried under a pile of leopards. They ripped at her flesh with their teeth and claws, and she laughed. Each bite, each slash left her bigger and more powerful than before.

Just when she was about to blast them off, she heard a sharp command. “Stop it! Stop it right now!”

The leopards jumped away from her and slunk over to where a short, fat woman was standing. She was dressed in a bright, geometric print dress with an equally bright kerchief in her hair. Michelle hauled herself up, palms up, ready to bubble.

“I know who you are,” the woman said. “You are the girl who saved that city in America.”

“And who are you?”

The fat woman chuckled good-naturedly. “I am the sun, the moon, and the stars here. I am the Mother of the Nation. I am Alicia Nshombo. And I have your friend.” She gestured, and a soldier came forward, carrying Joey in his arms. She was unconscious and limp.

“We’ve been tracking you two since you got off the river,” Alicia Nshombo said cheerfully. Her English had a lilting accent. “We lost you after you went with that pilot, but then you went to one of my hospitals. Wasn’t that wonderful? The nurses there love me.”

“What do you want?” Michelle asked.

Alicia snapped her fingers, and two guards appeared with a chair. “I don’t know. Why are you here?”

“Sightseeing,” Michelle said. She was furious at herself for leaving Joey behind. It was an amateur move.

“In Kisangani?”

“We got a little lost.”

Alicia laughed. “My dear, you are amusing. And quite pretty. Has anyone ever told you you’re very pretty?”

Michelle just stared. She wanted to say, Seriously? I’ve been a model my whole goddamn life. Yeah, you could say I’ve been told that. Instead she said, dryly, “Thank you, what a nice thing to say.” And she tried not to notice the way Alicia was eyeing her.

“I like you,” Alicia said. “Perhaps you and I can come to an arrangement. We have doctors here. They can help your little friend.” She snapped her fingers again, and the guards carried Joey off to one of the pretty little buildings. “If you give me any trouble, I will have her killed. We don’t want that, do we? You’ll come and have dinner with me. We will talk.” She got up from her chair and started walking away. The leopards followed her.

So did Michelle.

Southwest of Bunia, Congo

People’s Paradise of Africa

“Geez,” said Wally. “What kind of kid doesn’t like peanut butter?”

Rain drizzled through the canopy of old-growth trees, pattering softly on Wally’s poncho. Off in the distance, far to the east, across a wide valley, the rain merged with the grey mist shrouding the craggy foothills of the Ruwenzori Mountains. The sickly sweet odor of mud and decaying vegetation, combined with the pall of charcoal smoke from upwind villages, threatened to put Wally off his lunch. Not that he smelled much better; he knew that when he finally removed his poncho, it would carry the musk scent of sweaty iron.

He held a jar of peanut butter in one hand, a banana in the other, both extended toward Ghost. He sat just inside the tree line at the edge of a grassy plain, getting a little shelter from the downpour. The trees also hid him from the helicopters; he’d been hearing those more and more frequently the past few days. The girl floated silently at the center of the meadow, where the rain fell hardest.

But the raindrops never fell on her; never touched her. Just as her feet never quite touched the ground.

She’d been drawing closer. He caught glimpses of her all day long now. No longer did she only come out at night, when he went to sleep. She floated after him through the forest without making a sound.

Wally said, “I bet you’ve never had peanut butter before. It’s real good, I promise. I practically grew up on this stuff.”

If Ghost understood his offer, she showed no sign of it. All she did was stare at him: motionless, unblinking, broken knife in hand. Unaffected by the drizzle that passed through her insubstantial body.

“Suit yourself,” he sighed. “But you don’t know what you’re missing.” He tossed the food in his pack, zipped it, pulled the straps over his shoulders, and limped off across the misty meadow. Ghost followed, always trailing at a discreet distance.

Even when he’d run to catch the tail end of a passing train. She kept up with the train, floating through the jungle just off the tracks. They’d covered a lot of ground that way.

Talking seemed to help. He acted like she was a normal little girl, like she wasn’t a child soldier sent to kill him. He talked about Jerusha, his home in Minnesota, Jerusha, his family, his friends, Jerusha, places he’d visited, Jerusha… He didn’t mention Lucien, or what had happened to him.

It was a one-sided conversation, of course. For all he knew, she couldn’t understand a word of it. But that wasn’t the point. He was friendly. Un-threatening. An adult that wouldn’t hurt her.

But the more he talked, the more she hesitated before backing away. And sometimes, if he pretended not to watch, he could see from the corners of his eyes how she’d cock her head, turning an ear toward him as he spoke.

Ghost was listening.

A guy didn’t have to be John Fortune to figure out that she was a product of the Nshombos’ secret laboratories. She was one in a hundred, one of the lucky few who drew an ace rather than a joker or the black queen. If lucky was the right word. Because the way Wally figured it, once her card turned, that’s when the worst part started. He wondered how much time had been spent brainwashing her, desensitizing her to violence, teaching her to kill, forcing her to practice. Just as they would have done to Lucien, back in Nyunzu.

Wally didn’t know a ton about kids, but he refused to believe the damage was permanent. He refused to believe that such a little girl could be forever broken, like Humpty Dumpty.

So he talked to Ghost. He figured that was as good a start as anything.

He kept to the meadow; good cover was getting hard to find in this part of the PPA, which was largely open grassland. But the mist and rain meant a helicopter would have to get pretty low to see him. Low enough that he’d hear it long before it saw him. And walking across open ground was something of a relief, after days and days thrashing through the jungle. His leg still hurt, where a bullet had grazed through the rust and where Ghost had tried to pry out a rivet; it wasn’t healing. The bandages came away stained with greyish yellow seepage when he cleaned the wound every evening.

As long as he got to Bunia while he could still do some damage. He had to find somebody to care for Ghost, too.

Kongoville, Congo

People’s Paradise of Africa

Noel drove the rattling old tow truck through the darkened streets while Mollie sat nervously beside him. They both wore black balaclavas to cover their faces. He was in his Lilith form, and dressed in Lilith’s trademark black-slacks, boots, silk shirt, and a light jacket to cover his shoulder rig. It was hotter than hell but he wanted to be well armed, and didn’t necessarily want his compatriots to know just how well armed. One boot had a small built-in holster for a tiny ankle gun. The other had two sheaths for knives. He had another gun in a holster clipped onto the waistband of her pants.

He took the final turn without braking. The bank was directly ahead of them. The goal was the ATM that had been retrofitted onto the white marble exterior. It had all the beauty of a wart on a beauty queen.

Noel swung the truck around and backed in close to the ATM. Mollie jumped out, and using her power thrust a chain and a hook through the marble and hooked them around the ATM.

She jumped back into the cab, and he gunned the engine. The ATM tore out of the wall with a sound like a bridge collapsing. They drove down the street with the ATM box bouncing along behind them like a hog-tied calf. It threw up sparks each time it hit the pavement.

A glance in the rearview mirror showed security guards boiling through the front doors of the bank. Noel laughed and was briefly disconcerted by Lilith’s icy, lilting tones. He was once again losing track of who he was at any given moment.

“What now?” Mollie asked through lips narrowed by tension.

“We pull out the last guard.”

“How-” Mollie broke off when Noel suddenly stopped the truck. “What?”

“Out,” Noel ordered.

As he jumped out Noel reached beneath the seat and extracted the final element of his plan-a big bag of money. Once in the street he threw it hard. It hit the pavement and burst open, sending dollar bills flying in every direction.

The guards who were pelting down the street like hounds after a fox checked at the sight of the money.

The other cars on the street jerked to a stop. People jumped out and began grabbing up money. More people emerged from the apartments over the shops. The guards joined in the melee, trying to grab money, keeping people from grabbing money. A final guard came barreling through the front doors of the bank.

Noel grabbed Mollie around the waist and teleported them both into Mathias’s hotel room in the Hilton. He then pulled out his phone and called Jaako, waiting in Cumming’s apartment. “Go,” he ordered.

He snatched up a small mountaineering rifle. It had been retrofitted with powerful magnets rather than spikes. It would carry the climbing rope to the walls, and they would use the rope to maneuver in the vault. He handed the rifle to Mollie. “Don’t drop it.”

Mathias stubbed out his ever-present cigarette and came into the circle of Noel’s arms. He drew in a sharp breath when he was pressed against Lilith’s bosom, but Noel suspected he was reacting to the feel of the gun more than the flesh.

Noel took them between.

It was disconcerting as hell, and Noel felt his stomach trying to climb past the back of his tongue as they appeared in the center of the vault, spinning in the air about seven feet above the floor. He swallowed hard.

Mollie squeaked, and dropped the rifle.

“Scheisse!” Mathias yelled.

Noel managed to get his toe under the rifle and kick it toward the ceiling. Mathias pointed at it, and it began to float. Mollie made another funny noise. Noel followed her gaze to a wall-mounted camera. The lens seemed to be vomiting flesh. Noel had a visceral memory of watching his grandmother grinding pork for sausage. “Be ready,” Noel said to Mathias.

The flesh stream began to expand and take on human features. Only Jaako’s lower legs remained in the camera lens. The Finnish ace had magnets strapped to his hands. He twisted sideways and slapped a hand against the steel of the safety deposit boxes. It was like watching taffy being pulled as he flexed and squirmed and pulled his legs out of the camera. The magnets gave him some purchase for the final tugs, and then Mathias took over making Jaako weightless.

“Okay. Good,” Noel said. He fired the grappling line toward the doorway to the gold room. The first magnet hit on its side and didn’t catch. Noel reeled it in before it hit the floor. He tried again. This time the magnet held.

Everyone held hands, and Noel hauled them along the rope to the doorway. The pallets bulked like the backs of prehistoric beasts in the room. Mollie stared wide-eyed at the gold ingots. “Wow,” she breathed.

“Good-bye, North Dakota, eh?” Noel said with a smile. “Mollie, do your thing.”

She stared hard at the back wall of the inner vault. A wide doorway appeared. It was dark beyond the threshold.

“I thought you set up work lights?” Noel said to Mathias.

“I did-”

Jaako said, “Oh, crap.” There was a metallic shrieking and one of the interior walls slid from its pocket cavity. It was heading straight at them as they hung helpless in midair.

Several things happened at once. The pallets of gold lifted a few feet off the floor, and Noel hit the floor of the vault with a jar. The others rained down around him. They all went frantically scrambling out of the way of the oncoming wall of metal. At the same moment alarms began to whoop, an earsplitting sound inside the metal vault.

Then they were in the room with the gold. They formed a line. Jaako, who was the youngest and the strongest, started the first pallet floating toward the yawning opening. It was like a bizarre bucket brigade as each member of the team gave each pallet an adjustment and a shove, sending them through the fourth-dimensional opening.

They sent sixteen pallets through before Noel’s phone rang. “Get out! Get out! They’re opening the time lock on the vault!” came Cumming’s voice.

“That’s it, we’re done,” Noel yelled.

“But there are still seven pallets,” Mollie yelled from her position at the edge of the door.

“Tough. We’re done.” Noel made a swooping gesture like a woman herding geese, and they all tumbled through the doorway. It irised closed behind them.

And Noel realized he was cold. His breath steamed. They were not in the Congo any longer.

Kisangani, Congo

People’s Paradise of Africa

“Do you like the food?” asked Alicia Nshombo.

“It’s fine.” Actually, it was pretty disgusting. Michelle wasn’t even certain what she was eating.

A table had been placed in the center of the compound, and Alicia and Michelle were seated side by side. A big fire had been built in the middle of the open area. The guards kept adding wood to it, though it was already hot as hell.

“Oooo, entertainment,” Alicia said, clapping her hands like a child. Several of the guards came into the clearing leading a group of men, naked but for small loincloths. Their bodies had been painted with leopard spots.

Across the fire, Michelle saw other men carrying large drums. They sat down and started playing. Then leopards came into the clearing. There were at least twenty. They batted and clawed at each other, roaring and hissing.

“Isn’t this fun?” Alicia said, smiling.

“Well, it’s something,” Michelle replied. One bubble is all it would take.

“I have been doing some thinking,” Alicia said. “In New Orleans, you absorbed a nuclear explosion.”

“You know how rumors are.” Michelle poked at a mysterious piece of meat on her plate. The leopards rolled in the dirt. The men in loincloths began swaying to the beat of the drums.

“Hmmmmm, and our Tom was the cause of that, wasn’t he, Miss Pond?”

Michelle dropped her fork. “What do you want?”

Alicia pouted. “You aren’t being any fun. Did you enjoy your visit to my hospital? The one for the survivors. I am very proud of those. The animals who prey on our women deserve to be punished. It’s women who do all the real work.” She started gesturing with her knife. “Men are very stupid about sex. They use it as a weapon. They use it as punishment.”

“And what about the children?” Michelle asked. “Are they being punished, too?”

“Oh, there must be sacrifices when you’re building a nation.” Alicia put her knife down and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “May I call you Michelle? Michelle, you are a very powerful woman. Oh, yes, I know these things. Even here we see the CNN. Our Tom is very powerful too, but it may be you are his equal. He tried to kill many people in New Orleans, and yet you saved the city.” She popped a morsel of food into her mouth. “Tom Weathers is unpredictable and dangerous. He has been a great help to my brother, but now he is turning the world against us. My proposal is simple. Kill Tom Weathers, and I will not kill your pretty little friend.”

“Maybe I don’t care if she gets killed,” Michelle said. “Maybe I have reasons for being here that have nothing to do with her.”

Alicia rose from the table. “Don’t be silly, my dear. If you did not care about her you would have killed me already.”

She walked close to the fire. Nine of the leopards stopped biting each other and began mewling and purring. They wove themselves around her, and she reached up and undid her kerchief. Her hips swayed to the drums as she undid her dress and let it drop to the ground. Her breasts were pendulous and hung down to her waist. One of the leopards came close. Alicia let it nuzzle and lick her nipples until they hardened, then she pushed it away.

The men in loincloths moaned. They crawled toward Alicia. She proceeded to lick and bite them across their chests and backs until they bled. Each time a man was bitten, he started shaking and convulsing.

The drums beat in time. The leopards started mounting each other. Alicia snapped her fingers, and the men she’d just bitten rolled on their backs and ripped their loincloths away. They were tumescent. One by one, Alicia straddled them. She fucked each one until he came. When she was done, she sauntered back to where Michelle sat. Her thighs glistened.

Behind her, naked men and women crawled into the firelight. The drums beat louder, and the cats ripped and clawed anyone in reach. Bodies slid against each other, hands groping breasts and buttocks. Mouths licked and sucked.

“Do you like our entertainment?” Alicia asked. “It will go on all night. You should stay and watch. You can give me your answer about Tom Weathers in the morning.”

Steunenberg Barn

Coeur d’Alene, Idaho

Noel felt his body morphing back to his normal form. Wherever he was it was daylight outside. He smelled animals and manure. Instinct replaced conscious thought. He threw himself sideways, hit the floor (it was dirt and straw), rolled to his feet, and drew the gun from his shoulder rig and the gun from behind his back. There was the roar of a shotgun blast but it was muffled because his ears were still ringing from the alarms.

The muzzle flash showed him Jaako being blown backward, erupting blood as the pellets took him full in the chest. Noel quickly narrowed his eyes and sought for the shadowy form behind the shotgun. There. He double-tapped. The figure folded over, gave a grunt, and fell to the ground.

Mathias went scrambling into a stall. The cow and calf inside began lowing in alarm. The wooden side boomed as the cow kicked at the intruder.

“Shit! Somebody’s got a gun!” someone else yelled.

Noel whirled and fired two shots at him. From the grunt Noel knew at least one bullet had found a target.

Off to his right Mollie screamed and cried out, “Daddy!”

Noel sprinted toward her. Someone reached out and grabbed the back of his jacket, bringing him up short.

“Got her… uh him!” one of the brothers caroled in triumph. His captor was behind him. It was a bad angle for a gun. Noel went limp. The sudden loss of resistance took the young man off guard, and he nearly dropped Noel. It allowed him to bend over enough to reach the sheath in his boot. He dropped the Browning Hi Power, pulled the knife from the sheath, flipped it until the blade was pointing straight back, and drove it deep into the boy’s belly.

The boy added his screams to Mollie’s; there were curses coming from the father…

Guess I didn’t kill him. Pity. Noel reached Mollie, flung his arm around her throat, and pulled her tight against him. Her screams became a gurgle as he laid pressure on her windpipe.

“Mollie? Mollie, honey?” Mr. Steunenberg called out, panicked.

“I have her and I will blow her brains out unless you throw down your guns and turn on a goddamn light.” There was the sound of things hitting the straw. Halting steps moved to the side of the barn, and suddenly fluorescent lights sprang to life.

“Mathias, secure their weapons,” Noel ordered.

The Hungarian emerged from the stall. Now Noel could see the carnage. Jaako was well and truly dead. His chest looked like raw hamburger. One brother lay on the straw with a sucking chest wound, victim of Noel’s first shots. The Steunenberg paterfamilias clutched at his thigh, blood seeping from between his fingers. Another brother lay on the straw, hands clutching at his stomach. He alternated whimpers with calls for mama. Still another brother, this one maybe fourteen or so, cowered against a giant bale of hay.

Noel ground the muzzle of his pistol into Mollie’s temple. “Now, Mollie, you’re going to open a doorway to the warehouse in Kongoville. And you, Mr. Steunenberg, you and your uninjured son are going to move these pallets through that doorway because if you don’t I’m going to kill Mollie. Then I’m going to hunt you down and kill you too, and that means your other two sons will die because you won’t be able to call for an ambulance.”

“My wife… my wife will be calling the police. They’ll be here real soon.”

“Oh, I doubt that. Because the last thing you would want is the police coming around, and you having to explain how you have all these pallets of gold ingots.” Another twist of the gun brought a whimper from Mollie. “Now make up your mind. I’m not a patient person, and you’re interfering with my plans.”

The man looked from his suffering sons to his daughter trapped in the curve of Noel’s arm. Noel loosened his grip on her throat. “Mollie, help your daddy make up his mind.”

“Daddy, we need to do what he says.”

“Good girl,” Noel said, and patted her cheek with the barrel of the gun.

Steunenberg gave a short, curt nod. One of Mollie’s fourth-dimensional doors opened in the center of the barn. Steunenberg and his son pushed the still-floating pallets through the doorway. This time Noel saw the familiar outline of the warehouse they had rented lit by work lights. Once all the gold was back in Africa Noel pulled Mollie through. Mathias followed.

“You gotta let her go,” her father called out desperately.

“In time.”

Central Park

Manhattan, New York

It was snowing. Not hard, but steady. Dots of white no bigger than a pinhead drifting down from the occluded New York sky. Bugsy and Simoon walked along the twisting pathways of Central Park, the world white and grey around them. He was trying not to touch her. Snuggling up right now would have been a lie.

“So no word yet,” Simoon said.

“No. Not yet. Jayewardene’s fighting it out with the bigwigs of the global internationalist conspiracy or, you know, whoever. He’ll get an answer pretty soon.”

“I wish there was a way to get past the Radical and talk to Mark Meadows, you know?” Simoon said.

“I wish there was a way to kick his fucking ass,” Bugsy said, his tone light and conversational. “It freaks me out how everything we do in this country is about what happened in 1968. It’s not just Meadows, it’s everyone. It’s the Vietnam war and the Summer of Love. It’s Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin and Thomas Marion Douglas, who was, by the way, an arrogant dick. I met him.”

“I know you did,” Simoon said. A dog bounded through the snow, barked at them once, and bounded away.

“I look at all the shit that’s going on now. The Nshombos. Kid aces, I mean holy shit, that’s creepy. And the Sudd. And New Orleans. And Egypt and the Nur before that. That seems like plenty enough without hauling along three decades of old business. It just… it pisses me off. It just pisses me off.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Simoon said. “I mean, if you don’t want to.” She stopped and sat on a stone bench. Her breath was a mist. A fog. A ghost.

“Do what?” Bugsy said.

“Get all worked up and angry,” she said, looking up from under Ellen’s lashes. “I get it. I do. You’re breaking up with me, right?”

Bugsy’s heart stilled and sank into his belly. He looked at his shoes. He sat. She was crying.

“It’s not going to work,” he said. “You’re great. And Ellen’s good folks. Nick… well, given that I’m sorta kinda sleeping with his girlfriend, I guess he’s taken it all pretty well. But this… Aliyah, this is nuts.”

“I don’t know,” she said between sobs. “Did I… do something wrong? Was I…”

Jonathan took a deep breath. Oh, this sucked. “You died. Years ago. In Egypt.”

“I don’t even remember that,” Simoon said.

“I do. And here’s the thing, if we were just fuck buddies, hanging out, having that post-AIDS hookup culture casual it-is-what-it-is thing? To begin with, you would never have gone for me. You traded down when you found me, and I love you for it, but we both know that’s true. And another thing, you’d have ditched me by now. Or I’d have ditched you. We’d have had coffee some night, agreed that we’d be in touch about next weekend, only really weekend after next, and we’d both never follow up.”

“That isn’t true,” Simoon said in a voice that meant she knew it was.

“So why are we together?” Bugsy went on. “Because you’re dead and don’t think you can do any better. And because I feel like I’m killing you if we break up.”

“Aren’t you?” she whispered.

“No. I’m not. Because you died years ago.”

“Convenient,” Simoon said bitterly. “Really nice and simple and convenient for you, isn’t it?”

“Actually, it really sucks. But look. It was talk to you about it like this or else just tell Ellen to never put the earring back in. And I did it this way.”

“Why?” she said. “So you could hurt the girl a little more before you killed her?” She was talking about herself as if she were someone else. As if Ellen were speaking and not Simoon.

“So I could say good-bye before I let you go,” he said.

“You’re a fucking monster,” Simoon said softly. There were tears steaming on her cheeks. The snow around them was grey.

“Okay,” he said.

“This is really what you want?” Simoon said.

“Yeah.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved, and then with sudden violence, Simoon plucked out the earring and slammed it into his palm. By the time the metal touched him, Ellen was sitting beside him. Simoon was gone.

“Hey,” Bugsy said.

“I’m sorry,” Ellen said gently. “For what it’s worth, you were right. It couldn’t have gone any other way.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“Its not like that for me and Nick, you know,” she said. “I couldn’t do what you did. I can’t walk away from him.”

“Okay,” Bugsy said.

They were quiet. The dog barked again, its voice muffled by distance and the fallen snow. Ellen patted him on the shoulder and stood. Simoon’s last tears had dried on her face, but Ellen only looked a little weary.

“Come by and pick up your things anytime you want, okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll do that,” Bugsy said.

Cameo nodded and turned away. He watched her walk, the thickening snow moving her away faster than mere distance could. She stopped, looked back. He could see the frown on her lips. When she called out, it was like a voice coming from a different world.

“You aren’t a monster,” she yelled. Bugsy raised a hand in thanks, and Cameo nodded and went back to her walk. To her apartment. To Nick the Hat and wherever that weird little psychodrama was leading. But without him.

He sat for a while, letting the chill sink deep into his bones. A jogger huffed by, wrapped in a turquoise track suit, white iPod cords dangling from his ears. A siren rose and fell and faded in the distance. Bugsy opened his hand.

It was a nice enough earring. Not spectacular, not cheap. Inoffensive. He tossed it up and down a couple times, measuring its weight by the impact against his palm, then stood, walked to the edge of the path, and launched it out into the snow. He didn’t see where it fell.

Afterward, he treated himself to a bookstore and some coffee.

Kongoville, Congo

People’s Paradise of Africa

“I know he’s in the Sudd, but get the word to Weathers somehow,” Noel instructed Sun. “The gold will be in place in a few minutes.” He hung up his phone.

“What do we do about Jaako’s share?” Mathias asked as he loaded his share of the gold into suitcases.

Noel shrugged. “Well, it’s not like he had a widow or orphans to care for. Divide it equally between us.”

“And what about me?” Mollie muttered. Noel had tied her to a support pillar in the warehouse.

He squatted down in front of her. “Mollie, my dear, you have the necessary instincts for a life of crime, but you have to learn one key lesson. Never betray your associates. Unless you’re clever or lucky enough to kill them all you will find yourself… well, in your current situation.”

“You’re probably just going to kill me,” she said, and she couldn’t quite hide the quaver.

“No, your power is too useful, and I may need it again. I’m very annoyed about Jaako because his power was quite unique, but I’m not going to trash another power on something as pointless as vengeance.” He stood and felt his knees crack. “Now let’s finish this.”

Mollie opened a doorway into Cumming’s apartment. His gold was delivered. Noel’s was sent through to the abandoned farmhouse in the Hebrides. Mathias was pushed through into the winestube in the Grinzing. He shrugged at Noel’s raised eyebrow. “I own it,” he said.

“What about mine?” Mollie asked again.

Noel took an ingot off the remaining stacks, and laid it in her lap. “Here. A little grubstake.”

“That’s not fair!”

“I’m not killing you or your hillbilly family. You should be grateful. Now open the door to the yacht.”

“No,” Mollie said. Silence stretched between them as they matched stares. She broke first, unable to hold his gaze. “You… you won’t kill me. Not in cold blood.”

Before Noel could disabuse her of this notion, Mathias intervened. He came between Noel and Mollie, and knelt down next to her. “You’re a little girl. Very young. Very foolish, but you could have a big career. I would help teach you if you wanted to work with me. I’ve been a criminal for forty years. I’ve met many criminals. This man

…” He gestured at Noel. “He’s a killer. They aren’t common. He’ll do what he says.”

Mollie audibly gulped. The doorway into the hold of the yacht appeared. Noel was relieved. He hadn’t really wanted to reformulate the plan, but Mathias’s words echoed in his head, and felt like a weight on his chest.

But I’ve changed. I’m not that person any longer.

And he looked down at the gun in his hand. He didn’t remember drawing it.

Bahr al-Ghazal Base

The Sudd, South Sudan

The Caliphate of Arabia

The painted children’s chanting raised the hairs on the back of Tom Weathers’s neck. The bonfire capered high, throwing yellow flames and brown smoke spires into the face of the dense Sudd night. His eyes watered to the smoke of the pungent dried acacia he’d hyperflown in for the ritual. The fire cackled as if it had a life of its own.

He imagined Noel Matthews inside that fire. Twisting. Screaming. Charring. Melting. But he knew that couldn’t be. Matthews was a fucking teleport. Tom would have to finish him fast. Yeah, you think you’re so smart, Meadows, you fuck, he thought. But I got your number. Sleep is for the weak anyway.

He surveyed the circle of small faces, human and otherwise, all shades turned orange by firelight, eagerly watching him. He could feel their hunger: to strike out at the world that threatened them. That made them hurt. Could see it in the feral glitter of their eyes, hear it in their chanting: Death, death, death to imperialists! Death, death, death!

The same rage and desire burned in his own chest, bared and painted in violent smears and jags and drenched in glittering Sudd sweat. “Yes, death,” he cried out, throwing his arms up over his head, baying like a wolf at the moon. “It’s time for justice. Time for righteous payback! Down with the oppressors. Bring them death!”

The twisted children howled in reply.

His cell phone rang.

Tom’s ring tone came from Jefferson Airplane’s “Volunteers of America.” Grace Slick screaming, “Up against the wall, motherfucker!” Appropriate as the sentiment was, the interruption pissed him off.

He dug in the hip pocket of his faded blue jeans, pulled out the phone, and flipped it open. When he saw the caller’s name he waved his hand at the circle of chanting children. “Wait one. Got to take this.” Turning away from the bonfire, he hunched over and pressed the phone to his ear. “Heilian? This isn’t a good time-”

“No,” she said in her best clipped secret-cop colonel voice. “You must listen now. The Nshombos’ private yacht. Get there at once.”

Dr. Nshombo’s Yacht

Kongoville, Congo

People’s Paradise of Africa

A few lights stretched wavering yellow fingers across dark water. The big yacht itself showed few lights, though its white hull gleamed like sun-bleached bone.

With a loud thump Tom landed on the hand-polished hardwood deck a few yards aft of the superstructure. Damn, he thought, misjudged a bit. As he straightened a voice shouted in angry French from his left.

Thrusting a hand into his pants pocket, Tom turned. A Leopard Man in mufti-slacks, a dark T-shirt with a Miami Vice sports coat over it, the inevitable blackout shades, and leopard-skin fez-was hauling a Micro UZI machine pistol out of a shoulder holster. “No one is allowed aboard,” the Leopard Man shouted, aiming his handgun-sized piece. “Not even you, Mokele-mbembe.”

Tom’s left hand came up holding a PPA five-franc piece, the size of a U.S. quarter. He flicked it at the Leopard Man. With all his buckle-tank-armor-with-a-punch strength.

The coin cracked as it went hypersonic.

The Leopard Man’s body jerked. A darker stain appeared in the front of his dark T. The coin had hit going fast enough to blow through rib cage, heart, and spine. He folded.

A curious skritching sound made Tom look up. A vast multilegged blot descended toward him from the roof of the cabin. Just in time, Tom got his hands up to fend off a round furry body.

Thick blunt legs with spiky fur belabored Tom’s face. Ayiyi’s weight almost toppled Tom over backward. He barely managed to keep his feet. Huge fangs curving from furry bases clawed for his face. He pulled his head backward. The spider-monster hissed at him. All the time Ayiyi’s little-boy face stared impassively. A drop of green venom dropped to his left shoulder. It sizzled.

Shouting with pain Tom finally found a grip. He hurled the monstrous spider away. It flew across the water to strike the front of the warehouse, hard. Tom anticipated a gratifying splat.

Instead the child ace flipped his spider body in the air, landed using all eight legs to cushion the shock. Then, dropping to the dock, he shot a tendril of web at Tom.

It stuck his bare, painted chest. And clung. He tried to brush it away. His hand stuck to it. “Hey,” he shouted. “I didn’t know you could do that!”

With a single spring the spider landed on the brass railing. It scuttled quickly behind Tom, then leaped back to the cabin roof.

Tom found the sticky stuff pinning both arms to his sides. He tried to break free. But it had the legendary strength of spider silk, plus monster cross section. And Tom couldn’t get decent leverage.

The giant spider reared to fling itself on him. The fangs reached for him. He saw the skin where the poison had struck was blistered. He drew a deep breath.

He was in space. The monster spider floated, tethered to him by webbing that, flash-dehydrated and rapidly freezing, was already losing its adhesiveness and becoming brittle. With a soundless shout of triumph Tom tore free.

The child ace began to turn over as he drifted away. Tom saw his mouth straining open in a scream. He transfixed the monster thorax with a sunbeam. Then he was back on deck, brushing stiff web remnants from his skin.

Candace Sessou, the Darkness, appeared atop the cabin. Flanking her stood a pair of Leopard Men. They raised weapons. Tom blasted each with one hand.

Then he looked at Candi. “Why didn’t you help me? Or try to stop me?”

“I’m done being a puppet on a string,” she said. “You and he are the same. You don’t care who you hurt. Well, you have no more power over me!” She turned her back on him, crossed her arms beneath her tiny breasts.

And she was half hung-up on me, Tom thought. Ungrateful little bitch. “You’re either with me or against me!” He flung up a hand.

She wrapped herself in Darkness. The sunbeam stabbed through it. He heard a splash near the portside rail. He ran to look. The Darkness spread out across the river like mist. He heard the girl’s mocking laughter. Then she was lost. “Hell with her.” He thrust through the hatchway.

Lights led him down a stairway. At the bottom little white dogs flooded the corridor, leaping at his legs and yapping. “Jesus!” They relented when he kicked one yipping through the bulkhead and out through the hull. Then they retreated to safe distances behind and ahead of him and growled.

Before him a hatch stood open into the yacht’s cargo hold. An unmistakable shape stood before him in a spill of dim amber light. Big head, slight body, uncharacteristically dressed in shirtsleeves. The dull yellow gleam beyond the President-for-Life told all.

“Checking the ballast?” he asked.

Kitengi Nshombo spun. His fine hard features went slack and took on a grey matte tone. “Tom, it isn’t what you think. I had nothing to do-”

“Yeah,” Tom said. “Yeah, it is. Exactly what I think.” He nodded toward the gold ingots stacked neatly on a tarpaulin. “You’re stealing from the People, comrade. That’s what you’re doing. You’re a traitor to the People’s Paradise and the Revolution.”

“No!” Nshombo cried. Spittle flew from his mouth. “You must listen to me. I did not do this. I received a curious telephone call-from Alicia, I thought-telling me to come to the yacht. When I arrived I found”-he gestured at the piled plunder-“this. I was as surprised as you are. And quite as displeased. Surely you can see I’ve been set up.”

“Sure,” Tom said, smiling. The president’s taut shoulders relaxed. “Sure, the gold just teleported here all by its fucking self!” He shook his head. “You got too rich and powerful, man. You forgot the Revolution. You forgot your roots.”

“No, no, it’s a lie, I’ve been framed-”

Tom reached out and grabbed that big head with both hands. Lifted the president right up off the deck by it so his legs kicked futilely in the air. “Tom! Put me down! Please -”

He tried to say more. It soared into wild screaming as Tom increased the pressure on the sides of his head.

President Nshombo’s head burst like a zit.

Wet clumps hit Tom’s face and clung.

He wiped his face and spat out something that tasted of salt and iron. “I shoulda known better than to trust the Man. Even when I fucking helped make him the Man.”