A Mighty Fortress Read online

  “Dammit, quit it!” he yelled, pummeling her back.

  “Knock it off!” shouted DiBella, his eyes scanning the traffic looking for any pursing police or FATPO.

  “She hit me!” cried Cody in outrage.

  “Well, you hit me first with that gun, you son of a bitch!” snarled the girl, still punching at him.

  “Don’t make me stop this car and come back there!” shouted Bobby Bells. “I said knock it off, both of you!” He took out his cell phone and made a quick call. “Yeah, it’s me. You guys OK? Yeah, tell Jack Flash good job. We took out both the targets but after you guys booked we picked up a bit of a problem. No, I want to get out of the city first. Toad Hall, one hour. Stay off the bridges.” He put up his phone.

  “You Bobby Bells?” asked Nightshade.

  “Yeah, I’m Bobby Bells,” growled the lieutenant as he turned left on Yesler Way. “The guy up front with me is Farmer Brown, and your escort for the evening back there is Volunteer Mud.”

  “Would you mind explaining to me what the hell is going on?” the girl asked. “I use correct channels, I ask you politely not to shoot me, and you kidnap me instead? Oh, shit, I left my bag back there! Including my damned driver’s license! Now I’m going to have cops and Fatties showing up at my house!”

  “Tell them we kidnapped you to torture you for information or something,” suggested Cody.

  “Hey, genius, that might work! I’ve got the bruises to prove it, thanks to you!” said Nightshade waspishly.

  “Cody, what the hell did you think you were doing?” demanded Bells.

  “This, uh, comrade knows me and I know her. We go to school together, or went, before I graduated,” explained Cody desperately. “Her name’s Emily Pastras, and she was my lab partner for a while in chemistry. I saw her at the tickle, I saw she recognized me and I just reacted. That’s all. I didn’t think, I just acted.”

  “You didn’t think, all right,” snapped Nightshade. “Lieutenant, you think you can get me into a crew with one of the brigades, or better yet a Flying Column? Because I can tell you right now, my usefulness to the Third Section is over, thanks to this clown!”

  “I thought you’d blow my cover!” protested Cody.

  “So you blew mine instead?” shouted Nightshade. “Truly brill, dumb-ass!”

  “All right, both of you shut up and cool off while we un-ass this area,” snarled Bells. “We’re going to an E & E point on the East Side and we’ll sort it out there. Give you both a chance to cool off, and me, too. Keep quiet and let me think.” The girl huffed over onto her side of the car and stared truculently out of the window. Cody could see her thin face in profile now. She had a big nose and not much chin, and her hair seemed to have been dyed black whereas he recalled it as a mousy brown. Cody tried to remember what he knew about her from their brief association in chemistry class. There wasn’t much buzz on her that he’d picked up in the corridors. She hadn’t run with any clique he could recall. Her official teenaged social category was “Ghoulie skank,” a girl who listened to necrophilia bands and allegedly performed Satanic rituals in graveyards at night. She was generally believed to be a feminist and/or lesbian, but this was pretty much routinely said about any girl who had no known steady and who didn’t take on the football team under the bleachers after practice, in which case she would have been officially promoted to sports slut.

  She had struck him as a highly intelligent girl who like so many young people was wasting her time and her mind on stupid pop culture fads, teenaged angst, and resentment against the pretty girls and good-looking preppy guys who ran the social scene at the school. The sort you later heard had OD’ed on drugs or died in some pointless auto accident, and were neither surprised nor overly bothered. During lab she’d made one or two mildly slighting remarks about Kelly Shipman and her clique with reference to cheerleaders in general, although they were only about a four on a viciousness scale of one to ten, so he had ignored it and written it off as an ugly duckling’s jealousy of a swan. Cody could not recall hearing her utter a single racial or political comment, which of course one would expect from a Third Section operative under cover. After all, he didn’t exactly jump up on the tables in the lunch room and make speeches himself. Beyond that their conversation had been strictly chemical, and she hadn’t made much impression. She’d kept herself to herself. Cody realized with a start that this was a female version of the way he himself was probably perceived; Hillside High had very early pigeonholed him into the nerd/science geek category, not realizing one reason he hung around the chem lab was to procure such items as potassium chlorate and mercury fulminate for bomb detonators, as well as other technical items. Cody wondered if the girl had been dipping into the potassium chlorate jar and doing a little after-hours experimentation like he had.

  Bells decided to risk taking Interstate Five as far south as Tukwila, a neighborhood where his old factory had been and which he knew intimately, from which he eased eastwards through Renton, back onto 405 and up towards Newcastle. After a time he spoke. “Okay, so Comrade Nightshade recognized you, only if you’d done what you were supposed to, we wouldn’t know whether she was Comrade Nightshade or not. That’s a legitimate concern, but the proper procedure would have been to just tell me once you got back into the car, and we would have pulled you out of that summer school and maybe reassigned you to another team if we figured it was necessary. Volunteers get recognized all the time, kid. There are some little towns out in Idaho and Oregon where everybody knows who’s in the NVA and they wave at us on the street. Why the hell did you drag her into the car with us? If she had been a civilian, that would make three of us she could ID, and you know, I’m a little bit more important than you are. I got half a mill on me and all you got is the standard DT.”

  “Nightshade’s got a hundred grand on her,” said Emily with a sniff in Cody’s direction. It was a dangerous distinction, a point of pride and honor among Volunteers to rack up more than the basic Domestic Terrorist bounty of $50,000 on one’s head. There had been problems with bounty hunters in the past, although few lived to collect.

  “So she recognized you,” Bells continued. “What did you think we were going to do? Whack her out and dump her in the lake just for being there? We don’t kill people just for the hell of it, Cody. I told you that when you came to me about that Newman asshole.”

  “You wanted to clip Mitch Newman?” asked Emily, sitting up, looking at Cody with sudden interest. “Dumb-ass though you are, I’m impressed. Count me in on that tickle for sure. That guy is a world class jerk with happy hands. Let me tell you, you either got to be super desperate or a real horn dog to try and put your hand down my bra. He’s a kike, you know. He’s gotta be. I swear he actually slobbered when he tried to cop his feel.”

  “Yeah, what did you do?” asked Farmer Brown, amused.

  “Bit the shit out of him and told him I’d file a complaint if he didn’t back off. Newman’s got a whole file on him up at the office, but they don’t do anything because he’s a rat for Fattie.”

  “Are you sure about that?” said Bells, pricking up his ears. “I told Cody we couldn’t do nothing unless he could prove Newman was actively aiding the enemy.”

  “Mmmm…well, maybe he’s not actually on their pad, but there were some kids at school who got burned to the Hatecrime Hotline and they all seem to have crossed Mr. Newman,” replied Nightshade. “A couple of girls he hit on that I know about. He threatened to drop a dime on me if I told, so it was kind of a Mexican standoff, but he left me alone after that. You see why I couldn’t risk him calling me in, since I really am a Volunteer, so I didn’t push it.”

  “Even a blind pig sometimes finds an acorn,” agree Farmer Brown.

  “If you can get me a little more on that, miss, then maybe Cody can get his wish,” said DiBella.

  “I’m in his drama class for summer school, so maybe we should wait until after it’s over,” said Cody. “No need to draw attention to myself.”

  “
Speaking of drawing attention to yourself, I’m still waiting to hear your explanation as to just why you abducted this young lady?”

  “It all happened so fast, I knew I’d been made, so I just felt I had to do something!” said Cody defensively. Actually, now that he thought about it, he did know why he had done it. He had realized in a flash that if his cover was blown he would never see Kelly Shipman again.

  “Why didn’t you just shoot her?” asked Bells directly.

  “You said not to shoot any women,” said Cody.

  “So I did. Well, lucky for both of you, you remembered your orders at least that far.” Bells was silent for a bit. “Okay, kid, I’m giving you a C plus on this one. You kept your cool, except for your one bird-brained fuck-up you followed your operational orders, you dropped your target and accomplished your mission. Even when you decided to start making it up as you went along, at least you didn’t do anything irreparable”

  “So blowing my cover isn’t irreparable?” demanded Nightshade.

  “No, it’s not,” Bells told her in an irritated voice. “Irreparable is if he’d really panicked when he recognized you and put a bullet in your head. And your cover might not be blown. The Feds probably would have figured out you was at the hit and questioned you anyway.”

  “But their attention has now been drawn to me big-time,” said Nightshade waspishly. “I’m no longer just a ditzy hysterical bystander. I’m in play.”

  “Yeah, and that’s bad. Look, you ain’t in my crew, I don’t know who you report to at Third Section, and I know you have to do what he tells you and not me, but I got two suggestions. First off, if you think it’s too risky to try and get back under, if you were serious about wanting to go on the bounce and come in with us or another East Side crew, let me know and I’ll set it up. But it’s possible you can explain away this kidnapping thing. There’s enough waltzing Matilda going on all around the town so that this time tomorrow the Feds will have a couple more tickles to worry about, and your case might get lost in the shuffle before anybody has time to take a closer look at your story. I’m not going to ask you how good an actress you are, since you must be damned good to do what you do. Can you go to the cops and tell them all about how some bad-ass Aryans murdered your boyfriend and then dragged you into the car and took you off someplace and threatened to do all kinds of horrible things, and then sent you back with a message to the rock and roll community that this Rock Against Racism shit is not fucking on, and the next long-haired dope-smoking bozo who so much as plunks an anti-racist note gets his axe jammed up his ass?”

  “I think I can manage,” said Nightshade dryly.

  “Suppose they don’t buy it?” asked Cody.

  “Then she gets to go to prison, get tortured for real, and probably die with a needle in her arm because you made a stupid mistake,” said Bells coldly. There was silence for a while in the car. “Your call, miss. You know best what you do and how far you can push the envelope.”

  “I’ll give it a shot,” said Nightshade. “It will look funny if I disappear completely, and besides, my mom would worry. My Threesec control is out of town at the moment. I’ve been reporting to Lieutenant Dortmunder directly. There’s some big deal that came down from the Army Council a few days ago, and they’re having all kinds of cloak and dagger meetings here, there, and everywhere. Drop me off someplace near a phone, I’ll call the cops, and tell them all about how I was abducted by the Blond Beasts of Belsen and personally flogged by Deadly Nightshade, She-Wolf of the SS.”

  “Bravissima,” said Bells. “I’m going to introduce you to the rest of the guys from A Company who were with us tonight and give you a couple of cell numbers, so you can get help fast if you need it. I know that’s a lot of people to know what you look like, but if you need to reach out or we have to send anybody to pull you out of something, they’ll need to know who you are.” He pulled off the freeway and into Coal Creek Park, and slid the Cadillac into one of the picnic areas, lights off. The Cherokee was already there, its occupants off in the darkness covering the Cadillac. Bells got out, lit a cigar, and said aloud, “It’s okay.” Brown, Cody, and Nightshade got out as well, and the remaining three members of the team emerged from the shadows.

  “I say, you chaps seem to have acquired a souvenir of our evening’s divertissement,” said Jumping Jack Flash. “Miss Nightshade, I presume?”

  “Who the fuck are you, 007?” asked Nightshade.

  “He is the scapegrace son and heir of the sixth Duke of Frumpingham, who has renounced his title and his fortune to cast his lot with the fighters for freedom,” said Cody. “Comrade Nightshade, may I present Jumping Jack Flash? He’s a gas, gas, gas.”

  “Xyklon B, of course,” said the Englishman, with a courtly bow. “Enchanted. And it’s actually the seventh duke, old chap.”

  “And these are the Corsican Brothers?” the girl inquired politely.

  “This is Thumper and Eddie,” said Cody, receiving answering grunts.

  “There was a bit of a fuck-up,” explained Bobby Bells. “Actually, there was a lot of a fuck-up, and she ended up coming along for the ride. If she can’t talk her way out of it with the cops and the Fatties, it may be a very long ride indeed. I want you all to tag her in your minds. We owe this lady, and if she ever needs help from us she gets it. Got it?”

  “Her lissome form is forever engraved in my memory,” said Jack Flash.

  “Can it, Lord Haw-Haw!” replied Nightshade.

  “Actually, Lord Haw-Haw was an Irish gentleman named William Joyce, who was murdered by the Jews for the crime of having a conscience,” replied Jack Flash coolly.

  “Yeah, but whaddya gonna do?” said Bells. “They don’t teach American kids nothing in school. Cody, you and Farmer go back in the Cherokee with these other guys. The cops may have a hostage alert out, and if anybody did see a vehicle leaving the scene it was the Caddy. I’m going to drop her off and then stash it. Ed, I’ll give you a call and tell you where to pick me up.”

  He turned to Emily. “Now you two, I don’t want any bad blood between Volunteers over this. This is a war, accidents happen, things don’t always go according to plan, sometimes you gotta improvise, and sometimes you improvise wrong. Cody, no two ways about it, what you did tonight was just plain dumb. You compromised a major intelligence asset and you’ve put a comrade’s life seriously at risk. It ain’t over yet. This could still go really bad and you may end up walking around for the rest of your life with whatever she gets on your tab, which is about the worst thing that can happen to a soldier. Nightshade, I don’t have to tell you, shit happens. He thought he was doing the right thing, even if it wasn’t, and he kept his head enough to hit you with that Makarov instead of shoot you with it on reflex. Plus let’s not lose sight of the fact that we did accomplish our mission and we’re not carrying away any dead bodies of our own. On the whole, I’m inclined to chalk this up in the all’s well that ends well column, assuming you don’t end up in the electric chair with some nigger bitch from the FBI taping the contacts to your knockers.”

  “Thanks for the visual, Lieutenant,” said Nightshade in a sour voice.

  “That could still happen, and you don’t have to show some kind Xena Warrior Princess macho, or femmo, or whatever. NVA boys and girls don’t stand on the burning deck, they jump off and swim away and live to fight another day. There’s no man here who will think any the less of you if you E & E now. Are you sure you want to try and go back in?”

  “I’m sure,” said Nightshade calmly.

  “OK, then. Come on, I know someplace I can drop you.”

  Cody stepped forward. “Look, Em—Nightshade, for whatever difference it makes, I screwed up, and I’m sorry, and I hope to God you don’t get hurt over this.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re still a dumb-ass, but thanks for not shooting me,” replied Nightshade reluctantly.

  “That’s the spirit,” said Farmer Brown. “You two can just consider this your first date.”

  It turne
d out that the girl was a better actress than anyone in Mr. Newman’s summer school course. Cody got a call on his cell phone the next morning before he even started for school. It was Kelly Shipman, awed and excited. “You know that girl Emily from Mr. Boland’s chem class?” she chattered into the phone. “You were her lab partner, remember?”

  “Uh, yeah, I remember her kind of,” said Cody, his heart lurching. What had gone wrong? “She’s a junior, right?”

  “Yeah. Well, guess what?” said Kelly, bubbling with Schadenfreude. “She was dating this older guy from Concussion, the band, although God knows how she hooked up with him since she’s such a skinny skank and she wears all that Ghoul Girl makeup. She’s probably just a groupie. Anyway, last night up on Capitol Hill the spuckies murdered her boyfriend and some other guy right in front her eyes, shot them down on the street! Then they kidnapped Emily and beat her up, and tortured her, they were going to kill her too, but she escaped! It’s all over the news! The police put computer composites of the goots on TV! The one who pistol-whipped Emily was this gigantic blond dude with a beard and all kinds of prison tattoos! They’re all ex-convicts and psycho killers, you know!”

  “So I’ve heard,” said Cody.

  II.

  “In a colonial war, it’s never the generals who surrender.

  It’s the accountants.” – Red Morehouse

  One morning about a week after the shootings on Capitol Hill, Cody Brock got an unnerving start. He was sitting in his seat in the auditorium at Hillside, waiting for drama class to begin, and none other than Emily Pastras flopped into the seat beside him, sticking her feet up onto the back of the seat in front and slouching down. She was dressed in cut-off jeans which displayed a pair of thin, muscular legs, her feet were encased in battered Nike running shoes which looked about ten years old, and she wore a dark knit sleeveless top. Under her arm she carried a binder notebook which seemed to have nothing in it beyond a few dividers and a few sheets of paper. Cody saw that she was no longer wearing her Ghoul Girl makeup and her hair was no longer Morticia Addams black but back to its original brown, pulled into an untidy pony tail. Her face didn’t improve in the light of day. Her jaw was still receding, her eyes muddy, her skin was a bit pasty, and her nose was lumpy, not to mention a case of mild acne. A more unlikely Mata Hari couldn’t be imagined. “Uh, hello,” he said. He could hear the whispers and feel the heads turning in their direction. Emily’s abduction experience at the hands of the Northwest Volunteer Army was of course common knowledge, and by now the incident had been embellished by teenaged gossips with all manner of wild tales involving rape, torture, and black magic. She was drawing attention.