The lights were on in Deeb's motel room.
Another couple days of hard driving, with nobody but a chatterbox and an annoyed dragon for company must have dulled my wits somewhat, for it took almost five full seconds before the implications penetrated my thick skull and I lurched to a halt about twenty feet from the door. Stefan stopped as well, after almost colliding with me. He looked at me quizzically, then turned to follow my gaze, his own narrowing at the sight of the light glowing behind cheap curtains.
Deebs, of course, just kept steaming straight ahead. Finally he paused, just short of the door, when he realized we weren't with him anymore. He looked back at us. "What?" he asked, then turned back and finally noticed the lit window. "Hey! The guys must be here." With that, he pulled out the motel room key, popped the door open and charged on in.
Guys? I glanced at Stefan, found him already retreating into the shadows of the poorly-lit parking lot, his hand plucking at my sleeve to follow. I began to back away as well, but then Deebs flung open the door, the room's illumination flooding out around him and catching me squarely. "Hey, Max! Come on in and say hi to the guys!"
Stefan had instantly vanished. Pinned by the light, and with no hint of cover, I myself reluctantly moved toward to the door Deebs held open. As I came abreast of him, I hissed "Deebs, just what the hell—"
"Hey, Max! Long time no see!" I blinked, then turned my head in the direction of a familiar voice, found myself looking at a tall, muscular man, brown hair shading icy blue eyes, a tight grin, and the kind of jaw line and overall good looks that women go all to pieces over.
Fields.
"Hiya, Max! How's it hanging?" My eyes moved again, this time to see a slender man with black hair slicked down with what had to be a liter of Vitalis, equally dark eyes, and an eternally sardonic grin.
Grease.
Scanning the rest of the room, I saw someone even smaller than Grease, with an unruly thatch of hair the color of pale straw and watery blue eyes. He smiled almost shyly when I looked at him, gave me a small wave.
Wolfman.
A slight movement, and I turned once more to find a whipcord-lean man with muddy-brown hair and a dark gaze so intense it made most men flinch sitting slightly hunched-over in a chair in the far corner.
Mad Mink.
I held the Mink's laser-like stare for several long seconds, then slowly, one corner of the severe mouth curled upwards almost imperceptibly and he nodded slightly. I returned the nod, then turned back to Deebs. "I suppose you'd care to explain this?" I growled.
The Texan seemed taken a bit aback by my expression and tone. He blinked, then shrugged, his face serious for once. "Hey, man, you need help. And after looking at your shopping list, I knew you needed a lot of help. So, I made a couple calls, and the people I talked to made a couple calls. . . ." He trailed off, paused, then shrugged again and nodded toward the men in the room. "They decided to mosey on over and see if they could lend a hand."
I stared at Deebs. Then I turned to look again at the men lounging in his motel room. I tried to swallow around a mouth gone bone dry as my stomach quietly tied itself into a knot. "Look, guys," I finally croaked "I really appreciate you taking the time and trouble to come here, but this is a black operation. An unsanctioned black operation. Anybody that comes out in one piece could find themselves facing the cops, or worse, with nobody to bail us out." I paused, but everyone just sat and watched me calmly. "In addition to that, there's going to be people on both sides who will want to make sure you never tell any tales. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"We understand," I jumped at the sound of the deep voice just behind me, spun around to stare at the tall, dark apparition that had appeared without the slightest sound. "Deebs filled us in," he continued smoothly "and we'd like to believe we can take care of ourselves."
I took in the anthracite features, the utterly still eyes, the eternal, Buddha-like smile. "Lucifer," I said at last.
The man nicknamed Lucifer gave me a gentle nod of his head, then continued in that soft, deep voice that for some reason always made my skin crawl. "Sorry if I'm late, but I was interested in why your friend out there was so reluctant to join us."
I blinked at that, then shook my head. "You didn't—No; no, not even you, Luce."
Lucifer chuckled quietly. "No, I didn't," he replied, sounding a bit surprised "I couldn't get close enough." He gestured back over his shoulder into the evening gloom. "Your friend is very good."
"Yes, and I suspect the reason he hasn't put a bullet into your back yet is because I'm in the line of fire," I snapped as I quickly stepped around him and to the door. "It's okay, Stefan, come on in," I called in a quiet voice.
There was a long, doubtful pause, but finally Dithra's agent separated himself from the shadows and slowly approached, his hand never straying far from the open front of his jacket. I backed clear of the door, carefully watching Stefan's face as he came into the light, his eyes immediately sweeping the room, quickly registering everyone within.
There was the tiniest sound of an indrawn breath to my left-rear, and I quickly looked that way to see Wolfman staring hard at Stefan, his body tensing. Lucifer had caught Wolfman's reaction as well, and his eyes narrowed as he looked more closely at Stefan as the ex-Stasi agent turned to study him in return. A moment, then Lucifer's eyes widened the tiniest bit, then the expression vanished as his face went utterly blank. Tension suddenly curdled the air of the little motel room as both Lucifer and Stefan shifted positions slightly.
"At ease," I said quietly, but with a certain edge. Both warriors twitched, then glanced at me. Slowly, almost grudgingly, they began to relax. "Luce, guys, this is Stefan," I continued "he's been with me on this thing for quite awhile now, and saved my tail more than once. I trust him." I paused, then gave both Luce and Wolfman a hard look. "Times change, gentlemen."
Wolfman stared at me like I'd gone mad. I returned his look, and finally he lowered his gaze and nodded. I then turned to Luce. He was wearing a wry smile that seemed to say Do they really, Max? But at last he nodded as well.
I then turned to the ex-Stasi agent, pointed out each man in the room as I named them. "They and I have been through more than a little crap together, Stefan," I continued, "and I trust them just as much as I trust you." I turned and looked into Stefan's face as I said the last. "Do you understand?" Paws off, dragon.
Stefan blinked at that, seeming indecisive for a moment. Finally he looked away and back to the room's occupants. "Why are they here . . . sergeant?" he eventually asked.
"Now, that's a very good question," I replied, getting back to my original train of thought "and what I think they're doing is dropping in for a very short visit." I spun around. "Correct, gentlemen?"
"Nope, 'fraid not, Max." Grease replied, unfazed, his Tennessee drawl just as plain as ever. He put his hands behind his head, flopped back upon the room's single bed, and grinned up at me. "'Fraid you're stuck with us for a spell."
"You know that isn't the way things work, Max," continued Fields, looking more than a little miffed "you've pulled our asses out of the crack more than once. We've done the same for you, and now we're going to do it again. You can yell and scream all you want, but that's the way it's going to happen. So, why don't we just cut the crap and get down to business?"
I blinked and licked my lips, feeling more than a little desperate. "This isn't your fight," I pleaded. "Don't you understand? You get involved in this, and there's a good chance that both sides will end up trying to kill you."
"Well, then I suppose we'll have to kill them, first." I cut my eyes to Lucifer. His mouth had that Buddha smile on it again, but his eyes were serious. "Sorry Max, you're not getting rid of us. It's one of those honor things, I'm afraid."
Oh God, Ancestors. . . . In spite of the evening's chill I could feel sweat begin to form at the edge of my hairline, soon threatening to trickle its way down my face. How do I get them to walk away before they get themselves—
"Are they your children, Max?"
I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. I stared at Luce, then turned to give Deebs an incredulous look. He squirmed for a moment under my glare, then spread both hands. "Sorry man; you let it slip about the kids when we were down south. Didn't take me long to put a few things together."
I stared helplessly at Deebs for another moment, then turned back to face Luce's patient gaze. Long moments ticked by in heavy silence, then finally my eyes dropped. "Yeah, they're mine," I replied, almost inaudibly.
"So, what's the problem?" asked Fields. "We go and pick up your kids, maybe kick a few asses while we're at it, and get out. Seems to me we'll be home in time for supper."
"For one thing, there's no we about this," I snapped. "You're not getting involved."
"Oh, yeah? Why not?" Fields put his fists on his hips, that hero's jaw of his thrust forward belligerently "Just why is it you think we're not gonna help you with this?"
The sweat finally broke free, and, just as advertised, ran down my face. You damned fools; I'm trying to keep you alive! "I can't tell you the reasons, Fields, but they're damned good ones."
"Why can't you tell us?"
"That information is classified."
Grease gave a theatrical groan, and draped a forearm across his eyes. "Oh jeez; spare us that crap, willya, Max?"
Fields glanced at Grease, then swung back to me. "That's bullshit, and you know it," he said succinctly.
Finally, I'd had enough. "Okay, fine. You want in on this? All right; but let me tell you something first," I began, anger building. "You come in on this, every last one of you are gonna get exposed to information that will haunt you for the rest of your lives, however short they may be. Information that you won't ever be able to tell anyone without not only getting yourselves killed, but triggering a fucking war as well, gentlemen! Is that what you want? Is it? Then be at the barn the day after tomorrow, early. Deebs'll tell you how to get there. Anybody wants to back out, who doesn't want to have to watch over their shoulder for the rest of their miserable life, all you have to do is not show up." I paused for breath and stared at them for a moment, the sudden flare of anger just as quickly guttering down into sadness and regret. "Frankly, I pray to God nobody shows up. I'm outta here."
With that, I spun on my heel and stomped my way out the door.
I had just about reached our truck when steel-hard fingers clamped down on my shoulder and spun me around to gaze into Stefan's seething face. "My Lord, have you gone mad?" he hissed. "We cannot involve your humans; not unless you intend to eliminate them as soon as—"
"The word, Stefan," I interrupted heavily, "is kill. Not 'eliminate.'" I turned away and trudged the last few steps to the rental. I then turned to face Stefan again, sagging back to lean against the vehicle's blessedly cool metal. I sighed, then scrubbed at my face furiously with both hands, silently begging my tired, confused brain to for God's sake think. "They'll be at the barn in two days," I began at last "those who aren't smart enough to back out, anyway. They'll be isolated out there, and there we can do . . . whatever needs to be done. We'll give them their damned info then, and . . ." I lifted a hand to forestall Stefan's strenuous protest ". . . if anybody freaks, if anybody even looks like they're going to freak, they die."
I had closed my eyes and allowed my head to sag forward at the last, and so missed Stefan's immediate reaction, not that I really cared at the moment. My friends. In two days time I may find myself having to kill people who have shared hardship, triumph and tragedy with me. People I value. People I trust. . . .
"And afterward, my Lord? What do we do with them then?"
"And then they walk." I lifted my head and stared hard at the ex-Stasi agent. "You read me, mister? They walk." I sighed, then imitated a chopping gesture I saw Dithra use once. "They won't talk. Even if they did, without hard evidence, who would believe them? Creatures right out of a fairy tale? No," I shook my head, starting to feel better as I continued "it'll be put down as just another poor old grunt with too much time out in the field." I straightened. "Cancel the mercs, Stefan. This just might work out after all," I finished wonderingly.
"And if you're wrong, my Lord?" asked Stefan in a clipped tone.
"I'm not wrong, Stefan. Mankind as a whole is far too arrogant to believe such an incredible story. Perhaps when we talk to Dithra next. . . ." I trailed off for a moment, then sighed. "Well, we'll see." I looked at my watch, then up at the sky. "Let's get to our car and back into town. It's getting late, and I suspect tomorrow's going to be another busy day."
Exhausted by days of driving a truck and the emotional roller-coaster of the previous evening, I tried to sleep in, but the maybes, might-have-beens and what-ifs swarming around in my head made for a short night. Finally I gave up, got dressed, and headed over to have it out with Dithra.
Needless to say, Dithra had long-since been briefed by Stefan on the situation, and by the time I got to her place was about as close to blowing her stack as I'd ever seen her.
The setting was eerily similar to the grilling session I'd received not-all that long ago; me sweating on the sofa, Dithra in her usual gray-green seated in her favorite chair, her gold-green eyes simmering with consternation. "Yes; I most certainly recall my own goals, dear one," she continued "but it is still far too soon, and warriors? You would reveal us to human warriors?"
"Soldiers, my Lady; not warriors in the sense you mean that term," I replied intently. "Unlike the wild-eyed barbarians you undoubtedly recall from the past, good soldiers know discipline, they know loyalty, and they know honor, my Lady." I leaned forward. "What's more, these are Intelligence and Special Ops troops. They know how to keep secrets. Indeed, every one of them has more than a few that he'll take to the grave. What's one more?"
"That 'one more' of which you speak so lightly, dear Hasai, is the one that could destroy us all," Dithra retorted, eyes flaring. For several long seconds her gaze bored into mine, but I refused to flinch. Finally her head drooped and she sighed, her hands lifting to rub at her temples in a very human gesture. "Very well," she said at last "I will trust your judgment on this, dear one. However, you must understand," she continued, lifting her gaze to meet mine squarely "the responsibility is yours. Should things turn out badly, it will be your task to deal with the results. Do you understand, Hasai?"
You may have to kill your own friends. I stared bleakly back at the ancient dragon, swallowed, and nodded. "I understand." God and Ancestors help me, but I did understand.
Dithra studied me for another long moment, her eyes softening. "Dear one," she said at last "it is a good thing to see you, a young dragon, choosing your own course. It reminds me of things. . ." she trailed off, paused, then reached out a hand and gently touched my face ". . . from a far happier time. But take care. Oh, dear Hasai, please; take care. . . ."