Finn only stared, his gaze almost angry.
“I thought so.” Jerusha turned back to the garbage bag, pushing at the clothing and closing the bag. She swung it by the ties around her shoulder. “I have a train and then a plane to catch.” She plucked a seed from the pouch and held it up to the centaur. “Get out of my way, or I’ll wreck your nice little clinic making sure I’m not stopped.”
“They won’t let you do this,” Finn said. “They won’t let you get on that plane.”
“What they?” she asked. “The Committee? Then they’ll have to fight me.” She touched the seed pouch. “They’d better send someone good. I’m going, or I swear to you I’ll die fighting right there at the airport.”
Finn still hadn’t moved. “All right. You’re an adult. You want to leave, I won’t stop you. But let me make a call first. If you’re determined to go, then let’s make sure you actually get there.” He held her gaze. “That’s not a lie, and that’s not a diversion. I’m asking you to let me try to help you.”
Jerusha stared at him. She lowered the seed and put it back into the pouch. She swung the garbage bag onto the bed and sat down alongside it, hating how good it felt to be sitting rather than standing. “All right,” she told Finn. “I’ll wait. For a little bit. But if your phone call doesn’t pan out, I’m gone.” She looked over Finn’s withers to the nurse. “And bring me some food while I’m waiting. Lots of it. I’m famished.”
Finn and the nurse fled. Jerusha looked around the room. Her cell phone . . . It was still in the drawer of the stand. She pulled it out. The battery, after days here in the clinic, was dead. She pulled out the cord, plugged it in. The phone beeped; there was a message on her voice mail from a number she didn’t know, a sequence that wasn’t an American number. She pressed the key to listen.
“Um. Hey there, Jerusha. This is Wally . . .”
The tears then came without volition, huge sobs that wracked her body and brought the purple nurse rushing back into the room. She clutched the phone hard in her thin hand until it hurt, listening to that voice. She looked up at the woman and she smiled.
“Wally’s alive,” Jerusha said. “He’s still alive. . . .”
United Nations
Manhattan, New York
Lohengrin stalked down the hallway, leaning heavily on the aluminum cane. His head was less gauzed, but a silver medical patch was fixed over his seared eye. His rage radiated like heat from a fire. Bugsy walked on his left, Babel on his right like a cartoon demon/angel pair.
“Investigators,” Lohengrin spat. “A month, and we can assemble investigators to observe the People’s Paradise.”
“China is getting most of its oil from the Nshombos,” Babel said. “It would be naïve to expect them to abandon their own economic interests.”
Lohengrin actually growled. Babel’s brow clouded. This was apparently not the first time through the conversation.
“Hi,” Bugsy said. “So things are going well, then?”
“The Committee is doing nothing about the child aces of Africa,” Lohengrin said. “We are sitting on our hands, because of policy.”
“Yeah. Picked up on that.”
Lohengrin turned a tight corner and stepped into Gardener’s suite. An IV drip was feeding into the woman’s arm, but it didn’t matter how many calories they pumped into her; Jerusha Carter was starving to death. The sight of her withering body was such a shock, Bugsy didn’t immediately register the other two people in the room.
“Jonathan,” Ellen said.
She looked beautiful. A deep brown sweater he hadn’t seen her in before, and a long black wool overcoat. Her hair was in a new cut, swept back from her eyes. Her smile was almost gentle.
I used to spend time with that body naked, Bugsy thought with a pang of regret. But then he noticed the fedora scrap poking out of her coat pocket.
“Hey, Ellen,” he said. “You look great.”
“Thanks,” she said.
Noel Matthews, sitting by the window, sniffed significantly and raised an eyebrow.
“Oh,” Bugsy said. “Noel. Hey. That thing where I blew your cover in Paris?”
“You mean revealing me to the most powerful ace in the world, putting myself and my family at risk, and beginning a global campaign of extortion with my death as its only goal?”
“Yeah, that,” Bugsy said. “Really sorry.”
Gardener laughed, a slow, thick wheeze. Ellen took the clawlike hand. “Bugs,” Jerusha said, shaking her head, “you haven’t changed a bit.”
“This is a mistake,” Babel said. “Lohengrin, don’t do this.”
“Okay,” Bugsy said. “Do what? What are we doing? Why am I here? Klaus called me and said that I should come over. . . .”
“Rusty,” Jerusha said. “I want to see Rusty again. I promised . . . I said I’d stay alive for him. I don’t want that to be a lie.”
Bugsy nodded, quickly doing some mental recalculation. Jerusha and Rustbelt? So maybe he and Simoon/Cameo/Nick hadn’t been the world’s least likely couple after all.
“Rusty’s still in Africa,” Ellen said. “The best we can tell, he’s leading a popular rebellion against the Nshombos’ main lab outside Bunia.”
“Bubbles is there as well, somewhere,” Lohengrin said. “Mr. Matthews has agreed to transport Gardener to the site as a strictly humanitarian gesture of goodwill.”
“Careful, old boy,” Noel said. “You’re starting to sound like an administrator.”
“This,” Barbara Baden said, “is the most intensely unprofessional, inappropriate plan I have ever seen.”
“I’ll tell you about Vegas sometime,” Bugsy said. “Let me just make sure I’ve got this all straight. The UN is ignoring this child ace project. We are prohibited from going in to, say, help Rusty lead an unsanctioned vigilante action even though that’s exactly what he did for us in Egypt. So instead, we’re out of the kindness of our hearts shipping Jerusha from her deathbed . . . no offense . . .”
“None taken,” Gardener said.
“. . . to a war zone. With perhaps the intention that Cameo and I go along ‘to help out’ and if we should just happen to hook up with Bubbles, the world’s most unkillable ace, and accidentally get involved with Rusty’s war to stop these child ace motherfuckers and lose Tom Weathers all his new ace allies . . . Well, it wouldn’t be like we went in there looking for trouble, right? I mean who could see that coming?”
“Yes,” Babel said, a note of triumph. Cameo didn’t speak. Lohengrin’s gaze was challenging. Only Noel seemed as amused by the whole thing as Bugsy was.
“Sure, what the hell,” Bugsy said.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Babel said, aghast.
Thursday,
December 31
NEW YEAR’S EVE
Bunia
People’s Paradise of Africa
Bunia was a fume of smoke and gunpowder. Bunia was tumbled buildings and burning husks. Bunia was the stench of death and destruction.
Jerusha stumbled as Noel released her, blinking in the sunlight. “Holy fuck,” she heard Bugsy comment behind her. Ahead, there were people stumbling through smoke and ruin. There were also several bodies, their outlines fuzzed by clouds of black flies. The husk of a tank sat in the middle of the road leading into the town. There was little left of the vehicle except the caterpillar treads and plastic bits, and the wreckage was half lost in a mound of orange-red powder.
Wally’s work. It had to be.
“You’re sure this is where you want to be?” Noel asked. She felt him touch her arm and pulled away from him angrily.
“Wally said he’d be here. He is here.”
“Fine,” Noel answered. He pulled off his dark glasses. His eyes were molten gold. “Bugsy, can you send a few wasps out, see if you can find Rustbelt?”
Jerusha was tired of waiting. Tired of half measures when she was so close. “Wally!” she yelled, as loudly as she could, her voice shrill and the effort tearing at her throat.
Noel hissed and looked as if he were about to jump somewhere else, his gaze sweeping around them. Cameo’s eyes went round and large, her hand to her mouth. Wasps scattered from Bugsy’s neck. “Are you insane?” Noel asked. “You have no idea if—”
“Jerusha?”
The faint call came from farther up in the town. She saw a crowd of people there dressed in ragtag fashion, some of them brandishing guns. There was a much larger figure in their midst, and Jerusha laughed-sobbed with relief at the sight of him. The rust on his body was terrible and thick, and she could see bandaged wounds and blood on him. But it was Wally. Alive.
She started walking as quickly as she could toward him, hating the old woman’s shuffle that was all she could manage, hating that after only a few steps she had to stop to rest. He was staring at her as if she were some apparition, as if he didn’t recognize her. There was a child standing alongside, a young girl; he had one arm around her protectively. “Jerusha?” he called again, and now he stirred. “Cripes, Jerusha!”
He limbered into motion like a locomotive, gathering speed, wrapped her up in his arms, lifting her, and she was laughing and he was laughing and she didn’t care that it hurt. She hugged his massive head, she kissed his hard metal mouth. “Ow,” she said finally. “Put me down, Wally. Ow . . . Really. Please.”
He seemed to realize how tightly he was holding her, and his eyes went wide. He put her down gently and held her at arm’s length. His gaze traveled up and down her skeletal body and settled on her thin face. “Jerusha . . . what’s happened to you? How are the kids?”
“It’s a long story. But the kids . . . the kids are fine. I got most of them out. Most . . .” She stopped, seeing again the faces of Efia, of Hafiz, of Naadir, of Pili and Chaga. Helplessly, she started to cry, and Rusty folded her into his iron arms again. She sobbed into his chest, then pushed away, wiping at her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with me that some home-cooked meals can’t fix,” she told him, hoping that he wouldn’t hear the lie.
She glanced back to Noel, at Cameo and Bugsy. Cameo was smiling, and it was impossible to tell what Bugsy might be thinking, but Noel stared at her accusingly. Jerusha realized that her laughter had again morphed into helpless, joyous tears. “Wally, I missed you so much. I’ve been so scared for you, for both of us. . . .” She could say nothing more, only put her arms around him. She felt his massive hands on her back, holding her as if she were a stick that might break if he pressed too hard. She kissed him again. “You stayed alive for me.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I did.” He sniffed. He seemed to notice the trio behind her then, and the steam-shovel jaw crinkled into a stiff grin. “Hey, Bugsy! Cameo! Noel! You guys came, too? Cool.” Then he was looking at Jerusha once more, and the concern was back on his face. “The kids? They’re really okay? You’re okay?”
“Yes,” she told him. “They’re okay. Noel helped me get them to the States.”
He sniffed again, nodding at Noel. “Good. That’s really good. I missed you, Jerusha. I tried everything I could to keep those leopard fellas away from you.”
“You did great, Wally.” She touched the bandages around his arm and gave a laugh that was a half sob. “We’re a heck of a pair, aren’t we?”
“We’re back together,” he said. “That’s good, isn’t it?” He looked at her as if he were half afraid she was going to say no, and his vulnerability made the tears start again.
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s good. It’s all I ever wanted.” Over his shoulder, she saw the little girl coming up to them. Or more precisely, floating toward them; her feet didn’t seem to be touching the ground. They were all being watched by the crowd, many of whom were pointing and smiling toward them. “Who’s this?” she asked.
Wally craned his head, not letting go of Jerusha. “Oh,” he said. “This is Ghost. I found her . . . Well, she found me, actually.” Jerusha felt him start under her embrace, as if something had just occurred to him. “Nuts,” he said. “Jerusha, the lab—that big one that the files you found talked about—I know where it is. Just outside of the town here. I found it, and I gotta go stop them and get those kids out. I was getting ready to do that, but these fellers over there”—he pointed to the crowd of poorly armed people on the street—“keep following me. If you could talk to them in French, tell them to stay here in town so they don’t get hurt, then I can go to the lab . . .”
Fear stabbed her. He looked fragile, the rust nearly covering him, his skin bubbling and crusted with it. She also knew she could not stop him, that he wouldn’t stop until he’d done what he came here to do—and that if she wanted to be with him, she had no choice, either.
“I’ll go with you,” Jerusha told him. “I’ll help you.”
“You’re okay?” Wally asked. “Really?”
Crowds were surging through the streets. Many carried weapons, real and makeshift. Many more carried goods looted from the stores and houses. A pall of smoke hung in the air over the city. The smoke was adding to an already beautiful sunset.
Noel rested his hands on his hips and took a slow 360-degree turn. “Well, word of the events here will certainly be winging its way to Kongoville.”
“So, we gotta get going before they send any more soldiers,” Rusty said. “We gotta get out to that Red House place right now!” He started away, his metal feet sinking into the soft asphalt road.
Noel leaped after him, and caught him by the wrist. He noticed when he took his hand away his palm was covered with rust. “Half a tic. Rusty, dear fellow. We might do well to talk this out a bit first.” Noel paused and surveyed the big iron ace. “The quickest way in will be up the western slope. That will undoubtedly be rigged with motion sensors and cameras. If it were my task to guard this facility I’d also lay down claymore mines for an added surprise. Our best hope is for a two-pronged attack. Bugsy, Cameo, Gardener, and I will slip in from the west and cause enough of a ruckus so the alarm is sounded. Then Rusty will advance down the road and through the front gate. We had best wait for cover of darkness, however. And we will need some chicken wire.”
Cameo looked up. She was wearing the battered fedora so it was Nick who looked through her eyes. “Chicken wire?”
“It will handle the RPGs that Rusty can’t dodge. Trust me.”
“Why am I not reassured?” Bugsy muttered.
“I’m counting on the guards to weigh the relative threats. Given a choice between dealing with gnat stings—”
“Wasp stings, please,” Bugsy said. “Not that it’ll make a damn bit of difference.”
“Stop being so damn negative,” Nick said with Cameo’s voice. Bugsy subsided.
Noel went on. “—or a big iron imperialist at the front gate, they’ll vote for dealing with Rusty.”
“That puts Rusty in terrible danger,” Gardener said.
“I’ll be okay. I’m pretty tough.” When Rusty looked at her his heart was in his eyes. Noel wondered if he realized that Gardener was dying, and that nothing could be done to prevent that outcome.
He shook off the sudden burst of melancholy and continued. “All of us are going to be in terrible danger. Rustbelt’s better able to withstand the attack. You are rather like a tank, Rusty. Gardener, you’ll need to deal with the claymores with fast-growing vegetation that will force them to detonate. Will you be able to do that?” She nodded. Noel was worried that the one sentence she had uttered had left her too weak to speak again. “We will then all converge on the Red House. Between Rusty’s strength and Gardener’s tree roots we ought to be able to crack it open.”
“Can we go now?” Rusty asked.
“And what about all those soldiers with guns?” Bugsy asked, ignoring Rusty’s plaintive question.
“They’ll be focused on Rusty. I can account for a fair number of them, you as bug-boy can certainly discomfit them, Cameo as Will-o’-Wisp will add to the butcher’s bill, and when that house starts to come apart I will lay you any odds that most of them wil
l throw down their guns and present us with a charming view of asses and elbows.”
“So what’s the one big wild card, if you’ll forgive the pun?” Nick said.
“Weathers. Our task is to hit fast, hit hard, destroy this final lab and their virus cultures, and get the hell out before the Radical can arrive.”
“Will they send for him?” Bugsy asked.
Noel shrugged. “I would. But he’s been totally focused on me and the Sudd. I think we’ll have time.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then it will be our asses and elbows presented. Once the sun has set, Lilith can get you all out, though I’ll have to take Rusty separately.”
Rusty frowned at the setting sun. “How soon can we go?”
“Soon enough.”
“Good. So where do we get this chicken wire?”
The Red House squatted in the darkness, unaware that a hundred thousand wasps were making their way through the brush, past the fences, into the air ducts and hidden trenches and outbuildings. The insects avoided the light, gathered in small clumps on the underside of leaves, followed along behind the soldiers who thought they were alone in the night.
Bugsy’s head and part of his torso sat in the backseat of an improbable ’67 Cadillac, nestled in the dense underbrush. “Okay, kids,” he said. “I’m pulling the trigger.”
Inside the compound, two soldiers walked through their patrol, bored and smoking. Then hundreds of small green wasps were crawling under their uniforms, stinging their mouths and eyes. One of the soldiers panicked, and his screams and gunfire brought the camp to life. Through thousands of multifaceted eyes, Bugsy watched the lab’s internal security force rush to respond.
He kept on stinking the newcomers until someone dug out a flamethrower. “Okay,” he said. “That’s as distracted as I can get ’em. I’m pulling back.”