“Where are we?” said Sarah.
Coop pointed down the road in the opposite direction from where they’d come. “If you follow the road down for a couple of miles, you’ll come to a crossroads. There’s a gas station. I’m sure for enough cash, someone there will let you use the phone to call for a ride.”
“We’re going to report you assholes,” said Sarah. “You’re all going to jail.”
“Maybe we’ll be bunkmates,” said Giselle. “Do you know the penalty for putting an endangered animal in peril?”
“Twenty-five years, pal,” said Morty.
“Think about that before you get the cops involved,” said Sally.
The four of them walked back to the vehicles.
“Is it really twenty-five years?” said Coop.
“How do I know? I never stole an elephant before,” said Morty.
Giselle looked at the forlorn bunch by the side of the road. “They seem like nice kids. What’s the name of their group? I’m going to send them some money when we get home.”
After the truck and van drove away, Brad cut off everybody else’s zip ties.
“Did anyone get their license-plate numbers?” said Tyler.
No one said anything.
“The guy said we should walk that way,” said Heather. “Maybe we should get going.”
“How do we know he was telling the truth?” said Linda.
“Why would he lie?” said Heather.
“Duh. He’s the government.”
Dylan scratched his chin. “So, your solution is that we should just stand here by the side of the road and hope a band of rescuers or maybe wandering minstrels happens by?”
“Let’s take a vote,” said Tyler. “All in favor of staying here and hoping for the best, raise their hands.”
Linda got slaughtered.
“We’re walking,” said Tyler, and he started in the direction in which Coop had pointed them. The others followed.
“Now that we have a moment, can someone please tell me what’s wrong with my shirts,” said Warren.
Sarah stopped. “It looked like he was fucking the dog,” she shouted. “That’s what you made, Warren. A dog-fucking shirt. Are you proud of yourself?”
“Are you saying that I’m the only one here who fucks dogs?” said Warren.
Heather pointed at him. “You’re out of the group! That’s it. You’re out of the group.”
“Guys, I’m kidding,” he said.
Linda shoved him into the driveway of the shopping center.
“Come on, everyone. Really, I’m kidding. I only fuck the deer in Griffith Park.”
Tyler spun around. “Heather is right. You’re out of the group.”
They continued down the road. Warren trailed behind them.
“Should I have said chinchillas? Wildebeests? Lemurs? What about lemurs, guys?”
“Please shut up, Warren,” said Brad quietly.
“Capybaras. Jackrabbits. Big-horn sheep. Stop me when I get in the right neighborhood. Wombats. Red pandas. Blue skinks . . .”
They drove another half hour to a disused hangar at what used to be a small private airport. Now it was just mostly where teens from the local agricultural college came to smoke weed and tag the place with Crips and Bloods signs hoping to scare off the high school kids. It didn’t work. Planes still occasionally used the airport’s single overgrown runway, but never with lights and seldom with anything inside that wasn’t banned by the DEA, frowned on by FBI, and/or wanted by The Hague.
Inside the hangar, Coop and the others took off their riot gear and changed into their regular clothes. They led the elephant down from the truck and into the middle of the huge, empty expanse.
Coop gave the elephant a couple of pats on the head. It draped its trunk over his shoulder. “So long, pal. You caused us a lot of trouble, but none of it was your fault.”
“That’s nice,” said Giselle. “You two look so sweet together.”
“I still don’t want a cat,” Coop said.
“You’re being spooky again.”
He moved the group back to the hangar’s open doorway and pulled the Tweak box from his duffel.
“I hope you’re better at that thing than last time,” said Sally.
“Practice makes perfect,” Coop said.
“Just don’t turn it into a dinosaur,” said Morty. “I have a thing about dinosaurs.”
“How can you have a thing about dinosaurs?” said Giselle. “They don’t even exist anymore.”
“I just do. There was a traumatic incident with my cousin’s triceratops. Tempers were displayed. Tears were shed. Dinosaurs were banned from all family gatherings.”
“Do you make up these stories or did you grow up in the circus?” said Sally. “Coop, you knew this guy when he was a kid. Did half the stuff he talks about happen?”
“I don’t remember,” Coop said. “I got amnesia. It’s a lot like Morty’s uncle Ned. Tell them about your uncle Ned, Morty.”
Giselle pointed at Morty. “You, not a word.” She pointed to Coop. “You, make the machine work so we can get out of here.”
“She’s right, Coop. I can tell you all about Uncle Ned on the ride back,” said Morty.
Coop played with the wheels, buttons, and toggles on the Tweak box. A mist formed around the elephant. Soon it thickened and began to expand.
“Wow,” said Giselle. “I know you told me how it worked, but I’m not sure I believed it. Now, wow.”
The mist became a fog and the fog filled the hangar. Finally, a green light glowed on the controller and Coop powered it off. In the gentle breeze that came across the empty airport, the fog trailed away, revealing a Disneyland castle with four large wings.
“I’m with Giselle on this one,” said Morty. “Wow.”
“Yeah, it’s impressive. Okay, Phil, this is the other reason you’re here. You’re going to get us through the ghost lock on this thing and help me past any curses or traps inside.”
“Once again, I’ll point out that I don’t need to be here. This far from its source of power, chances are that any curses or enchantments are going to be null and void.”
“What about regular traps?”
“I’m guessing it will be same with those, but why listen to me?”
“I still need you for the ghost lock.”
“I could have talked you through that on the phone.”
“If you’d stop whining, we’d be in there and done already,” said Sally.
“Fine. Don’t listen to me. I’m the expert, but apparently my opinion doesn’t count.”
“Not right now,” said Morty.
“Just do your job, Phil,” said Giselle. “Some of us have cats to feed.”
“What?” said Coop.
“Just kidding, dear.”
Even with Phil’s help, it took Coop nearly an hour to work through the fiendishly intricate ghost lock. However, when they were through it, the library door swung open wide. No ghosts, Domovois, Pontianaks, Jersey Mothmen, or Himalayan yetis came running out.
As Phil pointed out, when the library was disconnected from its power source, there was no electricity inside and no lights. Coop and Phil went in first. They triggered a couple of barely functional killing curses, one by the painting wing and the other by the sculptures, but they were so feeble without power that they did nothing to Coop and at best would have just given the rest of the group a little indigestion. After twenty minutes inside, he went back to the front door.
“Grab your flashlights and have a look around. Phil and I are going on a book hunt.”
“Lucky me. Whee,” said Phil. “Remind me again what we’re looking for.”
“An old cookbook,” said Coop.
“That’s right. Granny Smith’s Unnatural Fondues and Flans.”
“Enigmatic Confections: An Entirely Unsinister Guide to Puddings, Cookies, Cakes, and Not-at-All the Dark Arts.”
“Very clever. I’ve had migraines that were more subtle than that.
”
“You are a migraine, Phil.”
“Now that we’re alone, would you like to explore your commitment issues, man-to-man?”
“I don’t have any commitment issues. Giselle and I are just fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Shut up, Phil.”
“How’s your sex life? I heard something about Star Wars underwear?”
“Now definitely shut up.”
“I’m going to write that down in my notes. Very defensive when sex or Star Wars comes up. Based on my diagnosis, I’d advise you against a career in the space program.”
When they finally reached the antique cookbooks, Coop played his flashlight over the shelves.
“What was that title again? Perplexing Soufflés and Raising the Dead?”
“Enigmatic Confections,” said Coop.
“I remember now. Puzzling Cupcakes and Voodoo Tarts.”
“Yes. That’s it exactly. You look for that and keep quiet.”
“Winner buys the first round of drinks,” said Phil.
“You don’t drink. You’re dead.”
“I’m going to have to add that to your notes, too. Defensive about drinking habit. Based on this further examination, I’ll have to advise you against a career in catering, bartending, bootlegging, and alcoholism.”
“Alcoholism isn’t a career.”
“Of course it is. Most people just don’t do it right.”
“Found it,” said Coop. He grabbed a book from the shelves.
“Are you sure? I’m pretty sure it’s Cryptic Cobbler and the Funky Bunch.”
“We’re done. I’m leaving.”
“All right, team,” Phil said. “Good effort. Let’s everyone hit the showers.”
“Thanks for your usual high-level help,” said Coop.
“Always glad to be aboard one of your little Voyages of the Damned. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to charge you for my psychiatric services.”
“Send the bill to Woolrich. He’s the one who made me this way.”
“Listen to yourself. If self-delusion was an Olympic sport, you’d be Jesse Owens, Mark Spitz, and Yevgeniya Kanayeva combined.”
“Who’s that last one?” said Coop.
“Yevgeniya Kanayeva. She took the gold in Rhythmic Gymnastics in 2012.”
“Rhythmic Gymnastics. I should have remembered.”
“Patient also has a pathological fear of sports, the human body, and confrontation. Recommend immediate nude tetherball therapy.”
Coop walked out of the library with the book under his arm. Sally was already busy loading paintings and a couple of big books into the back of the van.
“Did you find any Caravaggios?” he said.
She held up a painting of a bloody Medusa head.
“That’s your fetish?”
“This one is big money,” said Sally. “The personal ones are already in the back of the van, and if you look at them, I will nuke this place from orbit.”
“I understand completely.”
“I have a few more piles inside. Are you going to help me carry stuff or are you and Phil going to stand around looking goofy?”
“I’ll be inside in a minute. I have to make a call.”
Coop dialed Donna’s number and told her how to get to the airport. She sounded a little funny on the phone.
“Let’s just keep this between you and me for now, okay?” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean . . .”
Through the phone, he heard the Sheriff in the background.
“Is that Coop? Does he have our stuff?”
He heard Donna sigh. “Yes, sugar. I have the directions right here.”
“Good night, Donna,” said Coop. “And good luck with whatever you’re cooking up.”
He thumbed off the phone and put it away. Giselle took the book from under his arm and looked through it.
“It’s kind of pretty,” she said.
“I haven’t even opened it yet.”
She closed the book and handed it back to him. “Are you really going to give it to Woolrich?”
“That was the deal. Besides, we’re going to keep him happy so he’ll let us slide for borrowing all this equipment.”
“But you worked so hard for it.”
“He can have the damned book. But not until I scan the whole thing.”
Giselle patted his cheek. “That’s my smart boy.”
“A little help over here?” said Morty. He was bucking under the weight of all the books and paintings Sally was piling in his arms.
Coop put the cookbook in the van and then he and Giselle went over to help carry some of the loot. He couldn’t help feeling a certain sense of contentment.
Just like old times.
37
Coop sat in Woolrich’s office with his duffel in his lap. As usual, Woolrich was behind his desk finishing paperwork. Coop counted the heads on the wall. He got to twenty before he noticed a blank spot.
When Woolrich looked up, he turned to where Coop was staring. “Ah. You noticed it.”
“Was that blank spot always there?” Coop said.
“Not until recently. I’m just making room for some fresh additions.”
Coop didn’t like the sound of that. “Anyone I know?” he said casually.
Woolrich put the cap back on his pen. “The DOPS is a big organization. At any one time, there are a number of candidates for the wall. And there’s always room to move something old off and add something new, if you get my drift.”
Coop looked for more blank spots while trying not to sweat. “I guess everyone needs a hobby.”
“You seem to be becoming mine. I’m sure you can imagine how much I enjoy that. Now, do you have something for me?”
From the duffel, Coop pulled the cookbook. He had to get up to hand it to Woolrich. His boss thumbed through it, looking delighted.
“Thank you. We’ve wanted this for a long time.”
“I’m glad I could be of help.”
Woolrich slammed the book shut and put it on a side table.
“I assume you’ve returned all of the equipment you borrowed?”
“Every bit of it,” lied Coop.
“Good,” said Woolrich. “Then I have something that I’m sure will make you happy. We have your mummy.”
“Harkhuf? You have him here?”
Woolrich pointed to the floor. “Right downstairs. He showed up at the museum unexpectedly, and when they transferred him to their warehouse, we just helped ourselves. Thaumaturgic antiquities is quite excited to have him for their collection.”
Coop stared at the heads. “I don’t know what to say.”
“‘Thank you’ would be a good start. You can follow that with ‘yippee, my troubles are over thanks to the diligent work of the DOPS.’”
“Yippee,” said Coop as cheerlessly as he felt. Was this another scam or did they really have Harkhuf? It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to get into another game of tag with Buehlman and Carter. There had to be some other way to find out.
Coop said, “I guess that means I’ll be getting some assignments with less chance of locusts and boils?”
“Not right away,” said Woolrich. He steeped his fingers.
Uh-oh.
“While your little vacation is over, you won’t be coming back to work for a while. For your recent escapades—unauthorized use of equipment and our elephant friend—you’re suspended for two weeks without pay.”
Coop waited for the part where Woolrich told him how soon he was going to end up on the wall. When Woolrich didn’t give him a date, he said, “That’s it?”
Woolrich clasped his hands. “Do you want me to say the usual? Be good or you’ll go back to prison and all the rest of it? It never seems to do any good.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that,” said Coop, still not sure what the hell was going on. Except that he was getting more time off. That
was a nice perk. He got up. “Okay. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, then. Should I go?”
Woolrich picked up his pen. “Please do.”
Coop picked up his duffel and headed for the door.
“And, Cooper,” called Woolrich.
“Yes?”
“If you go running off on your own again, I really will send you back.”
“I know.”
Giselle was waiting outside in the hall. “How did it go?” she said.
“I’m not going to jail.”
“See. I told you.”
“And I get two more weeks off.”
“That’s great.”
“Without pay.”
“That’s not so great. But still, no jail.”
“Woolrich says the corpse grinders downstairs have Harkhuf. Do you know how I could find out if that’s true?”
They walked to the elevator. Coop was a little light-headed. He told himself it was from the hole in his head, but he couldn’t stop picturing the blank spot on Woolrich’s wall.
“Maybe Bayliss can find out,” said Giselle.
“How is she?”
“She’s fine now. She heard about the Auditors and was worried about you.”
Coop pushed the elevator button. “Don’t tell her about the hole in my head.”
“I won’t have to. Those bastards didn’t exactly give you a professional trim. You’re going to have to let your hair grow out for a while.”
“I have two weeks to work on a comb-over.”
“I’ll tell Morty. He’ll be relieved.”
They got on the elevator and Giselle pushed the button for the garage.
“Maybe this is over now and things will get back to normal.”
“Maybe,” said Coop.
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Coop shook his head. “I can’t help thinking there’s more to this than we know about.”
“Relax. Let’s just assume Woolrich was telling the truth. That means Harkhuf and Shemetet are locked up tight. Problem solved.”
“Harkhuf got out once before.”
“I’m sure between the physics and witching departments, they’ve come up with something foolproof.”
Coop smiled. “You’re probably right.”
“I mean, there’s no way he could escape twice, right?”