guards in crisp sky blue uniforms came trotting up.
They looked wild-eyed. Tom recognized them, so they must know him. His sudden appearance out of thin air couldn't have rattled them that badly.
Drake sniffled. "Why are there sirens going off?"
Tom opened his mouth to explain an alert had been called after the armored column got nuked. Except why were they still going off?
Terrible certainty struck him like a blast wave. He thrust the plump, naked boy at the two guards. "Here. Take him to the president pronto. Don't let anything stop you!"
He turned and ran for his rooms.
The wailing of Congolese caretakers confirmed his sickest fears when he was halfway down the corridor.
He blew in through the open door. Sun Hei-lian sat amid a gaggle of hysterical local women, stiffly upright and apparently emotionless. The shiny tear-track down either exquisite cheek gave that the lie.
The women stopped their lamentations to stare at Tom in horror. Presumably a good part of their distress arose from their fears of what he'd do to them.
"A golden guy - "
Hei-lian nodded. "He took her," she said. "I ran up here as soon as the fight started. I realized, a teleport - no one was safe. Anywhere."
He nodded briskly. "Smart. What happened?"
"When I got here he was just chasing off the caretakers. He grabbed Sprout and held a sword to her throat. He said that the Committee would be in touch, with instructions where and when to bring the boy if you want your daughter back."
"The Committee," Tom said. "Those cocksuckers."
He noticed something on a table: a black handgun, a compact 9mm CZ-100. His eyes followed several frightened gazes and one as unnaturally calm as his own to a wall, where a divot had been knocked from faintly pinkish stucco. He frowned.
"You shot at him? When he was holding my daughter?"
She lifted her chin. "You know what I am, Tom. I'm counterterror-trained. Sprout was in no danger. I would have hit him" - she reached up to touch between her eyes - "here."
"You missed."
"I did not miss. He teleported."
"Yeah." He sighed and rubbed his hands together. "Bastard does that."
"What will you do?"
"Give 'em the kid."
She blinked and jerked back as if slapped. "What will Nshombo say?"
"Better be yes." Tom said. "I'll take them the kid. I'll get my little girl back.
"And then I'll kill every single motherfucking one of them."
Double Helix
THEY HAVE SOWN THE WIND, AND
THEY SHALL REAP THE WHIRLWIND
Melinda M. Snodgrass
SPROUT WAS COMPLETELY AGREEABLE when I said I'd come to take her to her daddy. But now we are standing in Jackson Square and no daddy is in evidence. Her head is jerking from side to side like a hummingbird guarding its stash as she scans the crowds of emergency workers.
The sky looks like boiling soap scum and the hot wind, heavy with moisture, shakes blossoms off the azaleas. There is the roar of diesel engines as earth-moving equipment scoops up and deposits sandbags. I can see Ana standing on the top of the river walk frowning out across the river. I spot Bubbles walking swiftly beside a man in a suit. Something about him screams "politician." She's making good time because she's surprisingly slim, a testament to how much energy she's been expending.
Since she has met Drake and dealt with Drake it seems prudent to explain the situation to her. But I am currently Bahir and she knows Bahir from the battles in Egypt last year. She's just as likely to flatten me with a bubble as listen to me. Which means -
"What the fuck!?"
A warbling tenor wail breaks across my musings. It's Bugsy and he's spotted me.
"Holy shit! Bubbles! Ana!"
The covey of aces are pounding across the flagstones and cobblestones with murder in their eyes. I allow the muscles and tissue to soften and flow. The ace stampede stutters, slows, and comes to a confused and milling halt.
"What the fuck?" Bugsy says again.
"Good you should ask," I say, and thrust Sprout toward them. "This is Tom Weathers's daughter. Weathers and the People's Paradise have the nuclear ace." They are goggling at me. "You know. Drake. Little Fat Boy, so to speak." It's a terrible pun. They don't seem to get that, either.
"You're that magician," Ana says. "The one who kicked our butts on American Hero."
"I'm an agent for Her Majesty's government." At least until Bruckner reports to Flint, I think. "I operate in the Middle East. Recently I've been working in Africa."
"But you tried to kill me," Bugsy whines.
"Well, not really. If