A-Cup Angst Ch. 10

"Oh, relax and sit down," Jamie said, good-naturedly and waved dismissively, "We're only here to kill The Suit." Their eyes darted among themselves as they nervously waited for someone to make the first move. Jamie thought he could recognize two of them from the first time he had stormed The Suit's place. He wasn't even paying attention to the guards when he came back to bust Mara out. "Don't worry, we'll only kill The Suit. You guys will be left to live and pass a message on to the next shit that takes office so-"

Jamie noted, with a grin, that the two elderly shapeshifters had come down the stairs to the landing. One of the casters in the lobby took their presence as a sign and shot off a strong stunning spell at Jamie. One of Jamie's spirits sacrificed itself to expend the spell. Simultaneously, the redheads behind Jamie released a spirit to take over one of the guards and have his magic incapacitate the next one. The shifters and four of the casters went down like sacs of potatoes. Only the one that had cast against Jamie stood standing still. Jamie took him over with a spirit and had his aura disrupt the aura of the secretary that was coming out of the office to see what the commotion was.

"The Suit must be upstairs," Jamie said. He looked to Nova questioningly. The gynoid's microphones could detect no one else in the house and it nodded. "Come on!" He bounded up the stairs and kicked open the door to The Suit's office.

"Jacobs," spoke the unidentifiable voice, "what an unpleasant surprise. Did we have an appointment my secretary forgot to tell me about?"

"Trying to be glib, I see," Jamie said. "Well, how's this for glib? I know you told Ben Johansson to pass information on us and our families to the Syndicate."

"That is an allegation that you cannot possibly substantiate," The Suit said.

Jamie walked to the desk and put both fist down on it. He glared at the empty space above The suit's collar. "And I've come here to kill you for it." On Jamie's hand signal, Nova dropped the heavy backpack she was carrying and it fell to the floor with a resounding "thump". The twins immediately bent down to it and retrieved four blobs of what looked like putty. Rose and Jamie took one blob each and the twins infused the other two with their magic, concentrating for just a second to do so.

"Now, look here, Jacobs, I don't know what it is that you think-" The Suit said, but it was cut off by the twins tossing their blobs at the windows behind it. The blobs expanded in mid-air and became flat surfaces, the exact size of the window and its attendant frame, and adhered to the windows, covering them over completely. Rose took out the third window in the same way and The Suit noted the putty turned into stone, effectively walling off the windows. The office was now illuminated solely by the light that came in from the hallway.

The redheads backed through the door quickly and Jamie followed suit. He tossed his blob up in the air and caught it again. He infused it with his magic and placed a spell of motion into the palm of his hand. He waved his arm and the door swung closed behind him as he exited the office. The closed door muffled a protest from The Suit. Jamie let loose the putty from his hand and it extended into a very long, flat rope that formed a rectangle of the exact dimensions of the doorjamb. The ends of the rope knotted together and formed a flat covering that matched the lock on the door.

The putty frame covered the door from its top to the floor and turned into stone upon achieving a perfect seal. The Suit was now completely sealed in its office. It stood up in the complete darkness, the kind it had never experienced before. It felt around the edge of the table, intent on finding the door and getting out. The powerful enchantments that came with its appointment also ensured that The Suit could never be imprisoned in any kind of structure. Harris had but to twist the handle of the door and it would open, undoing whatever magic Jacobs and his cohorts had put upon it.

A loud whoosh announced the sudden flash of bright flame right next to him as Nova ignited the very large bag of magnesium powder. Harris, temporarily blinded, backed away from the heat reflexively. The enchantments he was subject to made him invulnerable to heat, but they didn't make standing right next to a very, very hot pile of burning metal anything even remotely resembling comfortable. The magic of his position restored his eyesight. His nostrils were filled with the terrible stench of burning metal. He knew he was immune to gaseous poisoning and that the metallic oxides were not getting into his throat and lungs, only air could do that. He nearly chuckled at the futility of Jacobs' latest attack before the reality of his predicament hit him.

He was safe from smothering of any kind, but no enchantment upon him created fresh oxygen where there was none. He guessed that he was hermetically sealed and all the oxygen in the room was being used up by the burning metal powder. The furniture was giving off a lot of smoke as well, being ignited by the intense heat radiating from the white hot fire. Burning papers were beginning to fly off the desk. Martin realized he had but moments to crack open the door and let fresh air in or he'd die. He shot a look of scorn at the metal-clad figure that stood next to the fire and walked to the door.

The figure placed itself between him and the door, trying to stop him. He smirked and put an arm against their shoulder to barrel them aside. To his shock, they stood firm. He suppressed his surprise and tried to step around them. The petite figure matched his motion and kept him from reaching the door.

Harris was starting to feel faint. He roared with rage and shoved at the person in the asbestos suit. They didn't budge one itty, bitty bit and he only managed to push himself backwards. He tripped over the burning remains of a chair and fell flat on his ass. His veins were now pumping battery acid and demanding air. The figure lay down on top of him, pinning him to the ground with an impossible weight. Martin couldn't have lifted that much weight even back when he had been a young man in active military service.

He tried to squirm away from her, as the enchantments upon him should allow him to do, but the woman kept him in place. The mighty, ancient enchantments upon The Suit strived to remove all obstacles from its path. Nova's fireproof suit was nearly torn from it by The Suit's magic, yet the gynoid itself could not be affected. Its limbs were only subject to Harris' own strength, of which he didn't have enough to move them.

Harris' vision began to dim around the edges. He did his best to squirm away from the strange woman. He was starting to see things. Shadows and sparks danced in his sight. He blinked his eyes repeatedly to clear his vision. His lungs screamed for air. The strength sapped from his old limbs and he lay back on the floor. He had a vision of his mother offering him iced tea and marshmallows on the porch of the house he grew up in. He smiled and thanked her before passing out of knowledge.

Jamie and his casters stood on the landing and looked down the hallway to the stone covering on the door to The Suit's office. Nova's wireless emitters broadcast a continuous narrative of the events inside the office to his cellphone. He was wearing a dopey grin as the gynoid reported The Suit passing out. It could still hear a pulse, but The Suit was no longer conscious. Jamie let out a long sigh of relief. When Nova had informed him of The Suit fighting it and trying to get out, he thought his cunning plan was very much lacking in cunning, but now...

A smug grin crept up onto his face. It looked like he had done it, after all. He had snuffed The Suit and left Section with a clear warning of the consequences of fucking with him and his. Nova reported all the fires dying out inside the office. The Suit's pulse became erratic and faint. Jamie patiently waited to receive confirmation of death.

A bunch of APCs pulled up in front of the house. "Spread out," Jamie ordered, out of pure reflex. They ran down the rest of the stairs to the lobby and faced the dozens of armed and armored men that charged into the house. Jamie guessed the intruders possessed enchanted rounds and almost immediately his instincts told him that was a fact. "Enchanted rounds! Possess! Wound!" The three redheaded casters next to him understood his short message and unleashed their spirits of sorcery that made the men direct their fire at each other, instead of at them.

The HRT personnel fell to the floor, sporting leg and shoulder wounds, and squirmed in agony. The four Section casters that followed them were incapacitated with two spirits, one from Ray and one from Jamie. The possessed HRT members disarmed all of their colleagues and unloaded and disassembled the weapons.

Nova's voice came on Jamie's phone saying, "Martin Harris' eyeballs are no longer reforming after being deformed. His body is starting to show the effects of the immense heat in the room. I am concluding that he is dead."

"Good job," Jamie said into his phone. "Stay there and wait some more!" He surveyed the HRT lying on the floor, clutching at their wounds. He walked to stand over the incapacitated, but awake and alert, casters that had backed up the emergency response team. "Listen up, everyone! Our names are Jamie Jacobs, Rose Romano, Helena Worth and Sandra Grant. We have killed Martin Harris, formerly known as The Suit-" Jamie's jaw dropped as he realized he had retained The Suit's real name. "He must be dead for real," he thought to himself. He looked around at the Section personnel surrounding him and did his best to mask the shock on his face. He donned an expression of murderous rage.

"We did so because he had arranged for an international crime Syndicate to abduct, torture and maim our families. We had barely managed to rescue them before they were killed. Harris also tried to get those criminals to kill us. Needless to say, they failed. He failed. The Syndicate is no more. We crushed them in our rage. Harris is no more. We snuffed him in our mercy. Tell his successor that we have no quarrel with him or her. We have no quarrel with any of you, either. If we are left alone and our families are not threatened by Section, through means either legal or covert, then there will be no call for any further exchanges of violence between us.

"If, however, Harris' replacement starts to feel like this was too big an injury to Section's reputation, or Harris' memory, or just starts to get too big for their britches, I urge you to pass on a message from us all. The message is that we will eradicate all of Section, if provoked. The ball is in their court. They better be smart about it."

Jamie spoke into his phone, "You're clear to exit." A rumbling noise was heard from upstairs and seconds later, Nova descended the stairs, still wearing its asbestos suit. It radiated heat. Smoke began to billow down the stairs. Jamie and his team exited the house and walked down the street to their cars. They got in, with Nova first dumping the very hot suit, and drove off. They headed to the airport to drop Nova off to fly their jet home, while the rest of them enjoyed a nice, leisurely drive to Bastion.

As soon as they got home to Bastion, they got to work creating a pair of robots in the image of the McDonough twins. Jamie promised them all that as soon as they were done and they placed the robots into the vault as additional security for the freakishly superpowered vampire, they would fly away to Europe or Asia and spend the coming summer having fun. Jamie spent most of the time fretting and checking up on the ex-Syndicate mercenaries they left guarding their families in their home town. The girls spent what little free time they had planning their summer-long leisure trip.

The mercenaries were brought to Bastion in pairs for the charms in their minds to be renewed and to give them the equipment they'd need to carry out their new instructions. In case of Section coming to Jamie's home town, they were to escort their families to a prearranged location for Jamie's gang to come pick them up and spirit them away to safety. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. He hoped Section's new leadership would do the sane and legal thing. He made all the necessary preparations for when they chose to do the nutty thing, nonetheless. Two of the least competent mercenaries were kept on hand for their life forces to be drained by the twins to make the magic proof skins for the robots modeled after them.

Dana Moran flushed and came out of the bathroom stall. He stood at the washbasin and looked at himself in the mirror. He was looking a bit haggard as a result of the two days of madness Harris' assassination had brought about. Since he was a trusted, high-ranking, mundane operative of Section and also an agent of the federal government, everyone tugged on his sleeve to get some info from him. Normally, that would be a dream situation for him, trading half-truths for promises of favors and vice-versa, but he was swamped with work as he was chosen to coordinate the rest of the mundane staff of Section as they undertook the logistical effort required for the Conclave.

Flushing was heard from one of the other stalls and it opened to disgorge an older man in dress military uniform. Dana ran the water and soaped up his hands. The officer stepped up to the sink right next to his and did the same.

"You're Dana Moran, aren't you," the officer said. Dana gave the man a vary stare and nodded. The man chuckled and said, "I knew your grandpa. We served together in Desert Storm. How is old Misfire Moran?"

Moran's eyes glanced over the man's upper uniform and quickly assessed the ribbons and insignia that were there. "Grandpa died last year," Dana said, his words and tone of voice making him seem as young and inexperienced as possible. It was a reflex action for him, he wasn't consciously trying to get in good with the gray-haired leatherneck. "Cancer."

"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that, son," the officer said. Normally, Dana would be delighted at how quickly he got under the man's defenses, but today, he was too tired. He just wanted to go home and get some rest. "Tell you what! Why don't you let me buy you a shot of malt whiskey and we drink to your grandfather's memory? Huh? What do you say to that, son?"

The conclave was still in session and Dana was expected to get back in there and stand in a corner and listen to their endless bickering and debating. He had a hand in setting up the numerous links that allowed for a simultaneous video conference of nearly all casters in the US, assembled at over four hundred locations across the country. His job was to oversee the vetting and preparation of those locations and he had been plagued with a high standard to achieve and totally inept underlings to achieve it with. Despite his hard and successful work, he was relegated to the role of waiter, once the actual proceedings started. Everyone was deciding on the future of the country in what was arguably one of the three most important gatherings in its history, and Dana was there to make sure that the water pitchers were full.

He looked to the officer standing beside him. They both dried their hands with paper towels. "Ah, what am I thinking," the old man said, "I haven't even introduced myself yet! I'm Lieutenant colonel Joseph Michael Franks of the United States' Marine Corps! Pleased to meet you!" Joe held out his still damp hand and Dana shook it.

"Colonel," Dana said, "I'd love to have a drink with you. Maybe you can tell me about my grandfather?"

"Oh, sure, sure," Joe said. "I know a great place, just down the road. We can go there right now."

"Don't you have to get back in there," Dana said, referring to the ongoing debate.

"Oh, I've heard all I need to hear, really," Joe said. "Besides, the generals are still in there and they are perfectly capable of being ignored by the magicians all on their own, without me there to hold their hands!" Joe laughed and Dana grinned and nodded. "So, what do you say?"

"I say, let's go!"

They walked out of the conference center and proceeded down the sidewalk to an exclusive looking club on the next block, exchanging stories about Dana's grandfather along the way. The Colonel was greeted warmly at the door and they were admitted to the bar without any fuss. They sat down and the Colonel ordered two shots of an aged, single malt Scotch for them. They toasted the memory of Dana's grandfather. The Colonel ordered two more shots and they toasted to the bright future in store for their great nation. Then Franks adopted a more somber tone as he said, "Dana, you're a grown man, capable of handing responsibility and discharging duty. You're also capable of great achievements. I can tell that about you."

Dana smiled and produced his DHS identity card. "Whoa, Joe," he said, good-naturedly, "I'm already spoken for. Your recruitment spiel is wasted on me."

Franks gave Dana an appraising look and Dana immediately amended his opinion of the man. This wasn't some jaded leatherneck that used Dana as a fortuitous excuse to escape an endless discussion of things he could never understand. This was a shrewd and capable career military officer that sought Dana out on purpose. Dana barely suppressed a grin. He had spent the past six months in Section service as a marksman in the elite Alpha strike and intervention team, a position he was inspired to take after he had witnessed the confession of that murderous cyborg maker. He itched to kill evil casters and he had gotten his wish, twice.

However, during the months of endless training and low-action deployments between those two instances of avenging the innocents, he was bored as hell. There was simply nothing to do but train. His life devolved to training, rifle maintenance and the occasional lying on a rooftop and aiming at a window until the team leader declared the suspect had willingly entered custody and they all stood down to pack up and leave. It was a waste of his time. He was itching to get back in the game and resume his old ways.

"How about I buy us a nice, fancy steak dinner here," Joe said, "and you and I can chow down and discuss the future? The Corps has a generous discretionary account I can bill it to."

Dana stopped suppressing his grin. "Sounds good," he said.

Joe called the waiter over and they placed their orders. As soon as the waiter left to relay their orders and fetch some more Scotch for them, Joe said, "So, how is Section going to work from now on? Everyone on the hill is worried cause the President can't appoint The Suit anymore. What's that all about?"

Dana guessed Joe knew very well "what that was all about" and was merely probing to see how truthful and informed Dana was. Dana decided to tell the man what he already knew. It was no skin off his nose. "The last Suit was killed in the line of duty," Dana said, "and that somehow voided the old enchantments, so the President can appoint whomever he likes, but they don't get to be The Suit. Near as I can find out, there will never be another Suit. The Conclave is going to elect a caster that will lead the new Section from now on."

The color left Joe's face. Dana guessed the man had not been informed of all that would be on the agenda of the conclave. Dana himself wasn't supposed to know, but he had a habit of looking over people's shoulders and standing in doorways, listening. While he was preparing the conclave, he had walked up to many doors and visited many desks. He could tell that offering up that little tidbit of information had greatly elevated him in Joe's eyes. It wasn't like that information was going to stay secret, or privileged, for more than a few more days, anyway. Everything the Conclave was discussing would soon be revealed to the government.