The Wrong Dead Guy

  “Sorry, boss,” he said, scrambling to his feet.

  “It’s my fault for existing in the same space-time continuum as you,” said Nelson.

  McCloud held out the box. “Here’s that package you asked about.”

  “What package? I didn’t ask about any package.”

  McCloud took the box back. “Not this particular package, no, you didn’t. But other packages, yes, you did.”

  “And what were those?”

  “Those what?”

  “What are those other packages?” Nelson said slowly and evenly.

  “Sorry. I got lost there for a minute.”

  Nelson went back to sorting through boxes. “I just might have to demote you back down to birdbrain.”

  “Please, please don’t,” McCloud. “I really like being a mammal. I don’t want to lay eggs and fly. Flying always me nauseous. Plus, beaks are kind of gross and my face is funny-looking enough right now.”

  “Fine. You get to stay a mammal. But you’re demoted from ferret. You’re a guinea-pig brain now.”

  “Thanks, boss!”

  “Now tell me what package you’re talking about.”

  “The package? The package. Right. You wanted anything that came through with a security code on it. This one is for ECIU, Double-ultra-security.”

  Nelson held out his hands and McCloud gave him the box. “You should have given it to me right away.”

  “Given you what?”

  Nelson stopped opening the box and studied McCloud. “Maybe it’s keeping you hypnotized all the time that’s the problem. It could be that your circuits are burning out.”

  “I’m hypnotized?”

  “Isn’t it fun?” said Nelson.

  “It’s swell,” said McCloud happily. A moment later, he frowned. “So my circuits are burning out—is that a bad thing?”

  “Burning out parts of your brain is never a good thing and the fact you’d ask that means I was right.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  “I can think of a couple of solutions,” Nelson mumbled.

  “Will they hurt?”

  “Undoubtedly. Just a minute.”

  Nelson got the box open and took out a battered old book. “Enigmatic Confections: An Entirely Unsinister Guide to Puddings, Cookies, Cakes, and Not-at-All the Dark Arts.”

  “That sounds nice. Now I’m hungry.”

  “Interesting,” said Nelson. “It’s trying to pass itself off as a cookbook, but you’re not that at all, are you, gorgeous?”

  “Is it something good, boss?” said McCloud.

  Nelson flipped pages slowly, studying each one. “There’s some powerful-looking stuff in here. Well, this is interesting. A whole section of resurrection spells. My, my. Tell me, birdbrain—”

  “Mammal brain.”

  “Guinea-pig brain. How would you like to be alive again?”

  “I don’t know. Is that better than this?” said McCloud. “I mean I’m pretty happy right where I am working here with you.”

  “And that’s another clue to the state of your brain. I’ll have to remember this for the future. Brains need a day off from mesmeric groveling.”

  “Does that mean I get more vacation to go with my promotion?”

  “It just might,” said Nelson as he continued perusing the book.

  In the silence, McCloud became uncomfortable. He wouldn’t have minded playing with some of the stuff he saw in the boxes, but he had a feeling that wasn’t allowed.

  “Have you heard about the commotion upstairs in L Wing?” he said. “I guess that new mummy got out. It sounds like all heck is breaking loose.”

  Nelson looked up. “Did you just say ‘heck’?”

  “Yes. Sorry if that was too salty. I’ll clean up my act.”

  “Say ‘hell.’”

  “H, E, double hockey sticks,” said McCloud.

  “Much better,” said Nelson. “And yes, I’ve heard about it, and yes, with this little beauty and the amulet, I just might join in the fun.”

  “It sounds dangerous, boss. I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Sometimes you have to take a big chance for a big payoff. Roll the bones, as they say in Vegas.”

  “That sounds like fun. I’d like to go there someday.”

  “Maybe in your next lifetime.”

  McCloud gave him a thumbs-up. “It’s a date.”

  Nelson grabbed the amulet from a box behind the filing cabinet and put it into his pocket. “I’m heading upstairs to see the show,” he said.

  “It’s dangerous out there. I should probably come with you.”

  “No, I have something more important for you. Let’s get you started on that vacation.”

  “Oh, boy. Where am I going?” said McCloud.

  “I don’t know. New York? Hawaii? Paris? Or you could jump into the shredder.”

  McCloud cocked his head to the side. “Didn’t I do that last one once before?”

  “That’s not how I remember it.”

  “I think I’d rather go to Paris.”

  “Super,” said Nelson. “How much do you have to spend on a plane ticket?”

  “Nothing. Remember how you said I’m not very good with money these days, so I should give all of mine to you to take care of?”

  Nelson’s lip curled. “You remember that, do you? The one thing I was hoping you’d forget. Well, I’m afraid you don’t have enough to go to Paris.”

  “Darn.”

  “Or New York or Hawaii.”

  “H, E, double hockey sticks.”

  “Let’s see, there was one more choice on the list. What was it?”

  “The shredder. I should jump in the shredder,” said McCloud.

  “Well, if it’s your idea, it sounds great. Why don’t you wait until I’m gone and do just that?” said Nelson.

  “Are you sure? It’s awfully loud.”

  “So is New York.”

  “I guess if it’s all I can afford.”

  “Trust me. It is.”

  McCloud said, “Will I see you there, boss?”

  “In the shredder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not this trip. This one is all about you. Have a great time,” said Nelson.

  “I’m sure I will. Thanks a lot for the time off.”

  “Remember. Wait until I’m gone. We wouldn’t want the others who aren’t going on vacation to get jealous.”

  “Will do, boss,” said McCloud. “I’ll send you a postcard.”

  “I doubt it, but thanks for the thought.”

  38

  Coop was watching Thunderball on the sofa with a glass of bourbon and a plate of Fatburger chili cheese fries on the coffee table. When his phone rang and he saw that it was Woolrich calling, he considered letting it ring through to voice mail. On television, Sean Connery was soaring above France in a jet pack. I bet they have jet packs at the DOPS. I wonder what the chances are of me ever getting my hands on one?

  Deciding that the odds of his ever getting close to a jet pack were better if he didn’t piss off his boss any more than he already had, he answered the phone. Naturally, he regretted it the moment he heard Woolrich’s voice.

  “Cooper, you need to come back in immediately.”

  “I’m watching James Bond. And I’m suspended.”

  “To hell with the suspension. You’re back on salary. Now get to the office at once,” barked Woolrich.

  With a deep sense that he’d already ruined his life simply by answering the phone, Coop decided to dig deeper and find out exactly what flavor his doom was coming in this time.

  “I’ll come in under one condition. You tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s the mummy. Harkhuf. The damned thing is running amok in L Wing.”

  “Wait. Is this a rerun? I thought Harkhuf already ran amok and you’d fixed it so he wouldn’t do it again.”

  “We thought we had fixed it, but we missed something. He seems to have mesmerized the entire human staff down there. Th
e ones still alive. It’s bedlam. Sheer, bloody bedlam.”

  “Okay,” said Coop slowly. “What does bedlam have to do with me? I’m a thief. I’m the opposite of bedlam. We thieves are quiet as mice.”

  “Cooper, you just stole multiple vehicles, an elephant, a building, you kidnapped a group of ecoterrorists—”

  “That’s kind of a harsh description of the kids.”

  “You traumatized the citizens of Carrwood—”

  “And that’s a harsh description of me.”

  “And you may have permanently damaged our relationship with the Department of Fish and Wildlife. Oh, and I suspect that you took rather more Egyptian artifacts from the museum than you were told to. So, don’t tell me what a fragile butterfly you are. You’re a menace, and a loud one, which is exactly what we need, so get back here immediately.”

  By now, Coop was sitting up flipping through the news channels trying to see if the situation was so out of control that it was on television. To his relief, it wasn’t. This made him feel just the slightest bit better. Not a lot, but it was up from suicidal.

  “What is it exactly that you want me to do if—and that’s a big if—I come in?”

  “You’re the only member of staff immune to dark magic and L Wing is full of it right now. We need you to go inside and handle the situation.”

  Coop got up and checked for blacked-out vans in the street. He turned off the television. He put the chili cheese fries in the refrigerator, the sure sign of a troubled mind since chili cheese fries—once cold—can’t be resuscitated by even the most brutal microwave oven.

  “You’re asking me to capture the guy who wants to make my skin into a loofah? No thanks,” said Coop.

  “You don’t have to capture anyone,” said Woolrich. “We just need you to go and open the door from the other side. Our security team will take Harkhuf down.”

  “You’ve already had two chances to do that and you’ve blown both of them. You know that he’s going to try and find Shemetet, right?”

  Woolrich’s tone shifted. “How do you know about that?”

  “Let’s say Wikipedia and leave it at that.”

  “For the moment.”

  “What about the blank space on your wall?”

  “I went hunting with the ambassador of interdimensional spiders. The space is for a Metaluna fly, you idiot.”

  “You hunt giant flies?” said Coop.

  “Giant spiders do. It was a diplomatic mission and I was being polite.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Because you’re too valuable to put on the damned wall,” said Woolrich. “At worst, I might send you to back to prison, where you’ll be safe.”

  “Then you can yank me out and put me back whenever you want.”

  “That’s a crude, but not entirely inaccurate way of putting it.”

  “Forget it,” said Coop. “I’ll stay on suspension.”

  “What if we amend your contract?” said Woolrich, his voice going softer. “We’ll make you a full DOPS agent. Think of it. No prison hanging over your head. A pension. But you have to promise to behave yourself.”

  “You didn’t hire me to behave myself.”

  “Just within reason, then. Behave yourself within reason. No more magic elephants, for example.”

  As much as he didn’t trust Woolrich, Coop liked the sound of a no-prison future. He looked outside again. There were still no blacked-out vans coming to drag him away. He couldn’t decide if that was a sign of good faith or of negligence. “Okay, but I want to see the paperwork before I go in.”

  “I can arrange that,” said Woolrich.

  “And I want Phil to go with me.”

  “It would be a pleasure if you took him. He’s decided he’s Carl Jung and is driving everyone crazy with his mad diagnoses.”

  “He told me I have intimacy issues and need to play nude tetherball. How about you?”

  “I’m an autocratically abstruse narcissist who needs to take up Greco-Roman wrestling.”

  Coop watched the street. “I think psychiatry is Phil just trying to see how many people he can talk into doing something stupid with no clothes on.”

  “That might explain the crew in cyborg repair.”

  Coop grabbed his jacket. “You get the paperwork ready and I’ll be right over,” he said.

  “Hurry. The situation is dire.”

  “You know, I wouldn’t have to worry about stoplights if I had my own jet pack.”

  Woolrich’s voice was muffled as he said something to someone else. All Coop could hear was “What?” and “Fiendish.” A second later, Woolrich was back on the line.

  “Cooper?”

  “Yes?”

  “I wouldn’t give you a jet pack if Lucifer himself were crawling up my colon covered in lemon juice and razor blades.”

  “I’ll take that as a maybe. Remember to have the paperwork ready.”

  Oh, crap. What did I just sign up for?

  Instead of trying to remember the whole conversation, he just ran over the key words as he looked for the car keys.

  Bedlam.

  Bloody bedlam.

  Running amok.

  A rather breathy “What?” and an exclaimed “Fiendish.” Was there a “hell on earth” in there somewhere, too? He was pretty sure he’d heard “hell on earth,” he just wasn’t sure if it was in relation to the situation at DOPS headquarters or what would happen to him if he didn’t come in.

  On his way out, Coop took off the necklace Minerva had given him and tossed it into the trash. Halfway down the stairs, he turned around, went back, and put the necklace back on.

  Who knows? Maybe it would work on something running wild in L Wing. And if it didn’t, he knew there was a good chance that something running amok would eat him. At least he hoped so. The last thing he wanted was for someone to find the damned necklace on his lifeless body and bury him with it. Spending all eternity looking like Jerry Garcia was Coop’s definition of hell.

  It wasn’t so much an escort waiting for him at DOPS headquarters as it was a band of wild marauders who had decided to kidnap him like a fairy-tale princess. The moment he was out of his car, enormous men and women in black suits with guns under their coats grabbed each of his arms, not hustling him through the building so much as dragging him. Coop didn’t want to be dragged, but he couldn’t quite get into sync with their gait, which seemed to hover somewhere between a buffalo stampede and an out-of-control monster truck.

  People pressed themselves against walls when they saw them coming. The ones too proud or too slow to get out of the way were trampled like the morons ambling to the lifeboats on the Titanic because they knew a big ship like that would have plenty to spare.

  It was only at the end that Coop’s pride was truly crushed, as he was shoved along like a drunk at a wake from one linebacker to another all the way down the hall to Woolrich’s office. The last agent in line was a woman for whom the word Amazon would have been a paltry description. Relived that he’d come to the end of the line, Coop started to say, “Thanks. I’ve got it from here,” But he barely got out “Th” before he was launched through Woolrich’s door like a goldfish from a shotgun.

  He landed on his knees on Woolrich’s floor. There were several other executive types in the room with him. None seemed the least bit surprised to have seen Coop tossed through the door like a bony Frisbee.

  “Cooper. At last,” said Woolrich, signing some papers. When he finally looked up from his desk, he said. “Get up off the floor, man. This is no time for your high jinks.”

  Coop used the desk to pull himself to his feet. “‘High jinks’ is not the word for what I just went through. I feel like a marshmallow Peep in a cement mixer.”

  “You poor thing. Where shall I send flowers?”

  Coop dropped down into a chair next to the desk. Woolrich shook his head.

  “There’s no time for that now. We have to get you ready for your grand entrance.”

&n
bsp; Several of Woolrich’s people reached out to grab Coop, but he jumped up and got out of the way just in time.

  “Before I get mauled like a ham sandwich in a grain thresher, do you have my contract?”

  “That’s what I was signing when you burst in here,” Woolrich said.

  “I didn’t burst in here. In here was thrust upon me with extreme malice.”

  Woolrich ignored him. “We don’t have time for your excuses. Your contract is on the desk. It’s exactly as we discussed. You’re promoted to a full DOPS agent with no threat of jail as long as you behave.”

  “Within reason. I need some wiggle room there.”

  “It’s all in the contract,” said Woolrich. “You’re not allowed to assassinate anyone, foment revolution, or print your own money. Short of that, there’s some behavioral leeway.”

  Coop picked up the document. It was the size of car manual. “It’s going to take some time to read all this,” he said.

  “Dammit, man. There isn’t time for that,” Woolrich took the contract back and showed Coop the colored Post-its stuck here and there throughout the document. “I’ve highlighted all the important clauses. Everything you asked about.”

  Coop paged through the contract, reading each section Woolrich had flagged. The truth was that he understood about one tenth of the quagmire of legalese on each page. But he recognized just enough words to be certain that the DOPS had fulfilled its end of the bargain. He reached for Woolrich’s gold-tipped Montblanc pen, but his boss gently glided his hand away to a nearby ballpoint. Coop picked it up and signed the last page.

  One of Woolrich’s men snapped up the papers and slammed a rubber stamp over his signature. The woman next to him used an embosser to mark the same page. She handed it off to another woman, who locked it in a leather case, and she handed it to the last man in the line, who left with it through a back door Coop would have sworn wasn’t there before.

  “Did I just sell you people my soul?” Coop said.

  “That’s absurd. I wouldn’t spend government money on something I wasn’t sure existed,” Woolrich said. “Now, let’s get down to business. In a few minutes you are going to be inserted into the outskirts of L Wing. All you have to do is make your way from the insertion point around the perimeter to the main entrance. You’ll enter an override code into the keypad you’ll find there. This will open all the doors in the wing so that our tactical squads can clean up Harkhuf’s mess.”