"Fallon and Lucrezia will use human forces in the media to attack and discredit them," Lilith said proudly, waving her hand toward her council members. "Elizabeth and Vlad will use the army of politicians and decision makers at our behest within the nation's political cesspools to send out legions of human law-enforcers. It is beautiful . . . higher-ranking evil men that belong to us can send lower-ranking men who are pure of heart on a fool's errand-and those who are sent to capture and detain the Neteru team will be human, therefore it will be against the angelic laws to kill them. We no longer have to use our own demons as cannon fodder and can conserve our resources for the larger military campaign we will wage at the very end. Sebastian will be my right hand of black magic to bend human wills and twist minds in the gray-zone of choice, earth, where even the angels cannot prevail against the will of a human. Trust me, there will be no justice. There will be no peace."
She released a sinister chuckle and stared out into the black void of nothingness just beyond the destroyed doors as the Council Chambers slowly cooled. "So let them go down to Washington, D.C.-where they will learn of our treachery at levels they've never conceived were humanly possible. There, for once and for all, they will get more than they've bargained for!"
"Is it me, or did this trip seem a little too uneventful?" Rider said quietly, leaning over the seat to speak to Carlos and Damali.
"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Shabazz muttered before either Damali or Carlos could answer.
"I'm feeling Rider, though," Marlene countered, giving Shabazz a sideways glance as the Neterus nodded.
Damali looked out of the window at the Baltimore-Washington corridor scenery whizzing by. "I know we've been covered by angelic grace, but still . . ."
"Why don't we wait to discuss this on hallowed ground and not while we're flying down the rails on a bullet train doing better than a hundred-and-fifty miles per hour?" Carlos said coolly, glancing at the small posse that had gathered near.
"Say no more; I'm convinced." Rider held up his hands and walked back down the aisle to his seat.
As they exited the Amtrak train at Union Station in Washington D.C., Rider's questionniggled the back of her mind. Damali kept her gaze sweeping as the team walked down the concrete ramp to exit into the lively, grand old structure that defined eastern seaboard rail stations.
Bustling food emporiums teemed with activity. Small, expensive boutiques flaunted the latest in fashion temptations. Art deco black-and-white marble floors echoed with thousands of footfalls beneath massive, vaulted cathedral-like ceilings that were studded with breathtaking chandeliers above a brass rail spiral staircase. Unlike the boring modern architecture of an airport, the old train stations were artistic expressions of grandeur from a bygone era. It had been so long since she and the team had traveled by normal conveyance that Damali slowed her gait to simply appreciate it all and take it in.
Bright sun and balmy early September temperatures met them as they exited the station and hesitated for a moment at the cab stand. Then just across from the long, snaking line of cab commuters, in the next small cut-out they saw a white light-duty van markedCLERICAL WORLD TOURS AND TRAVEL .
Words weren't even necessary. The group's seers all exchanged a look and the team proceeded across the pavement divides to approach the van.
A chubby African American driver with a graying, scruffy beard and wearing a yarmulke opened the door and hopped down, followed out of the tour van by a younger man who could have passed for Bobby's older brother.
"Cordell," the driver said with a smile, shaking Carlos's and Damali's hands. "Glad you found us. I'm gonna navigate you around this city . . . since Iseegood ," he said with implied emphasis. "And this young man here is Doug-your tour guide and my mechanic . . .tactically speaking," he added with a wink. "Plus we've got some tour support coming in from Philadelphia, our locals in D.C., and some folks are also comin' up from Georgia and the ATL . . . just to be on the safe side."
"Cool," Carlos said, making swift introductions as the team piled onto the bus.
Once the doors were shut and Cordell hefted his rotund frame into the driver's seat, Doug stood and began walking down the aisle, handing out brochures.
"Under the central floorboard," their tour guide said, pointedly holding each person's gaze for a moment as he gave them abrochure, "is enough ammo to send this vehicle into orbit.Seven handheld Uzis, three pumps, an RPG and shells, and ten 9s, plus three M-16s. Under each seat is a 9 and three clips, duct-taped. If we get in a corner and have to leave the van, we'll have to blow it-because what your team needs to understand about the local environment in D.C. is this-we've got CIA, FBI, Homeland Security, Black Ops, local cops, and every branch of the military down here at the Pentagon . . . Langley is a stone's throw down the road and they have enough satellites in the air to pick up the license plate on this vehicle, scramble F-16 fighter jets, and torch us before we ever turn onto Pennsylvania Avenue. We clear?"
"Clear as a frickin' bell," Rider said, running his fingers through his hair. "I knew I had a bad feeling about this tour."
"Yeah, well, we've been on pins and needles our entire Guardianhood, waiting for the day the firefight might come this way . . . just seemed like it was due. We thought the hit on the Pentagon during 9/11 was the big one, but it turned out to be human-inspired insanity." Doug looked away for a moment as a call came into his Bluetooth earpiece. "Put on the news," he said to Cordell, reaching to his hip for an iPhone.
Immediately J.L. whipped out his unit, too, as Cordell fiddled with the van radio. "They're saying that in going through the rubble after the West Coast fires, they found the house registered to some cult organization that the Warriors of Light were supposed to be living in . . . and they found weapons and drugs. They're looking for us for questioning.Said there's significant concern that we might be supporting terrorist groups."
"Let the games begin," Yonnie said to Carlos as the group went completely still.
"You people have a fallback position?" Doug asked, looking at Damali and Carlos. "This is a bad town to be wanted in for terrorism."
"We feel you," Shabazz said, glancing out the window.
"Our fallback position is a fold-away to a safe house," Carlos said, looking at Doug hard. "Just get us inside this," he added, pulling the map out of his back jeans pocket and opening it for Doug. "Then you can drop us off so you don't draw heat to your team that has to live here."
"Yeah, well, we've got a safe house for you over in Georgetown on M Street, but the problem is in the pentagram zone-we found out the hard way that unless you're outside of it on one of the Metatron Cube's axises, everything we've got shuts down."
"Talk to me," Carlos said quickly, glancing at Damali.
"That," Doug said, pointing at the satanic symbol, "is built into the stones. Therefore, while inside it, it works like a negative force field . . . seers can't see, audios can't hear, tacticals have no charge. Maybe as a Neteru you have more juice, but it's been our experience that we go back to being like a human Joe-regular inside that thing. So we hug the perimeter, and don't screw around inside it-ever. If you're going in there, you need to have a plan that's purely based on human engineering stuff . . . because I swear to you, if you get trapped in there,it'sball game . We lost half a squad over there in the early days."
"I can rig something maybe," J.L. said unsurely, glancing at the team.
"What about that copper pipe bucket thing you did just before we left San Diego?" Damali asked, glancing between Doug and J.L.
"I don't know," J.L. said honestly, dragging his fingers through his hair. "Might not know till we're in a firefight, which isn't a good time to figure out the thing is flawed."