Chapter 9

“Sir?”

Jhon looked up from his paperwork to find Agent Mackey in his office doorway. “Come in Charles. What do you need?”

Mackey walked to one of the chairs in front of Jhon’s desk and sat down. “I’m not sure. I just turned over a big piece of Liberation First’s funding. They get money from a lot of disaffected people, but the largest single source I can find is from a financial services company called Sentinel Holdings.

“Sentinel is impenetrable so far. I don’t know where they are headquartered, who works for them, or if they give money to any organization beyond Liberation First. The piece that makes them interesting is that their paperwork was filed by Lucas Schilling. He’s in-house legal counsel for Gravitas.”

Jhon sat up straight. “Are you telling me Samuel Archibald tried to kill Prime Minister Aickles?”

“I’m not sure the link is that solid yet, but it’s an angle I’m going to pursue.”

“Have you briefed Jacob yet?”

“Not yet. He’s out in the field for the day, working another case. I’ll bring him up to speed at my first opportunity.”

“Excellent work, Agent Mackey. Keep on it. I’ll talk to Jacob about getting you some help. We’re still understaffed, but this seems like our most important case at the moment.”

Mackey stood up. “Thank you, sir. I’ll loop you in if anything new turns up.”

“Perfect. Now I need to start figuring out how to build a criminal case against a rogue general.”

“That’s why you’re in the big chair, sir,” Mackey said with a chuckle. He let himself out and closed Jhon’s door.

Jhon picked up the phone and called General Farland.

* * *

Archibald was in a cold fury. They moved Chun out of the research area to a smaller room that opened into a large, open room.

The little room had no furniture. They left him a blanket. He picked a guard’s pocket and acquired a pocketknife with a folding blade. On one of his bathroom breaks he managed to steal a block of wood. It was the end of a heavy piece of framing lumber. Since he had nothing else to do, he carved.

They wouldn’t let him see the sun. Erin and Ronal did not visit. Archibald was the only human allowed to speak to him, except for curt orders from his guards.

He was reasonably sure he could escape but had no idea what that might mean. He had money, but no notion of whether it was a lot or a little. He didn’t know how to travel without attracting attention, or where to travel to.

The real question was how much power Archibald had. Chun needed to know if Archibald could track him across the country and throw him back in this cell before attempting any escape. If Archibald’s power ended at a nearby border, or even at the edge of this base, then getting away might be as easy as taking a walk.

The wood was less than ideal, and the knife was too small for this work. He cut tiny fragments off, slowly working toward the top that was hiding inside. A tear rolled down to the tip of his nose, then hung there. He considered wiping it away, but it was shed for Imi, so he left it there.

She pretended to be so angry when I made these for her.

Another tear rolled down his nose, and the weight of both made them fall into his lap. His door opened and he looked up.

“How the fuck did he get a knife?” Archibald glared at each of the men around him. No one answered. Archibald stepped into the cell and held his hand out. “Give it to me.”

Chun held up the wood. “This is a piece of scrap.” He held the knife up. “This is a tool of convenience for small jobs. If you leave me in this room with nothing to do, I will find something to do.”

“Until you figure out who’s in charge here, you’re not doing anything. Now give me the knife.” He scratched around the top of his cast.

Chun went back to carving. “You need me a great deal. I need you very little. Perhaps you should think of any cooperation between us as a partnership, rather than me working for you.”

Archibald stepped out and slammed the door. “He’s on bread and water until his attitude improves.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

“General Park, welcome.” Admiral Dooley stood and nodded. The other senior members of Central Command nodded in turn. Park scanned the room, eyes lingering on Jhon for an instant, then pulled out a chair and sat.

He was average height and build, but Jhon was pretty sure he had memorized who was in the room. He looked fifty, though his skin was smooth, and his hair showed no gray.

“Thank you for coming on short notice, Greg,” General Farland said from the head of the conference table.

“What’s this about, Tom?” Park nodded in reply.

“General Samuel Archibald has come into possession of a unique asset, General. I am not exaggerating when I say it is a once in a millennium opportunity,” Jhon said.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Park said. “Have we met?”

Jhon shook his head. “No, sir. My name is Jhon Bonga, Director of the Bureau of Antiquities.”

“The reason we are here,” General Farland said, looking around the table, “is to properly handle a unique opportunity.”

“His name is Chun Fan,” Jhon said. “General Archibald has a secret facility at Fort Battering, where they contain a large number of magical artifacts. They acquired a sarcophagus from inside an ancient layer of sandstone, and it had a live wizard in it.”

“As a matter of archeology, that is astounding. But wizards are ten pence a dozen. The only problem is that they aren’t worth ten pence a dozen,” Park said.

Jhon snorted “As it happens, I am a practicing wizard, and you are perhaps too kind in your assessment. But it wasn’t always so. Someone built the Great Machines, and they were wizards who commanded powers we cannot describe.”

“I dislike speculation and vagaries, Director,” said Farland. “Tell us what this Chun Fan can do.”

“He melted a tank,” Jhon said.

The generals and admirals sat up straighter, and glanced around at each other before Park asked, “Do you mean a tank in the sense of mechanized cavalry, Director?”

“I mean he reduced a Landspear III to a puddle of steel,” Jhon said.

“Impossible,” said Admiral Dooley. “I know the Landspear is garbage, but no wizard commands the power to melt down a paperclip, let alone a tank.”

“I have verified the report,” Farland said. “Sam Archibald is currently seeking a way to prosecute Director Bonga for leaking the information to me.”

“I don’t think my ears work today,” Park said. “It sounded like you said an Army Air Force general is seeking legal action against the director of a federal agency, whose primary crime was turning over information about activities on a military base to the Chairman of Central Command.” He frowned and cocked his head sideways. “Except that would be insane. I think. Director, do you have the security clearance to know about said event?”

“Said event is the reason my bullshit agency exists,” Jhon said.

Park chuckled and looked down the table at Farland. “Sir, do you have clearance for this information?”

Farland stared back.

“So…how can he possibly initiate a legal action?”

“He’s going through the parliamentary intelligence committee,” Jhon said. “His mother is a member.”

“Isn’t there a conflict-of-interest complaint we can file?” Park sat back and stroked his chin.

“There is,” said Farland, “but it would take a long time, and given his political connections, I’m certain it wouldn’t do any good.”

“Is this really all that important?” Dooley gave Jhon a cold look. “What do we lose if we just let Bonga and Archibald fight it out on their own?”

“We lose the wizard,” Farland said. “If Sam wins, he keeps Chun. If Bonga wins, Chun goes to the bureau. I want him working with Special Operations.”

“Did Archie report his find to anyone?” Park’s brows furrowed.

“He did not. He is operating entirely on his own,” Farland said.

“Well, that cinches that,” Park said. “Launch an inquiry. If he’s been keeping things from Central, that’s actionable.”

“I ordered the inquiry about two hours ago,” Farland said. “However, it will take at least six weeks to build a case, and more time to try it. Who knows what kinds of delays his mother and her allies can cause? In the meantime, Sam Archibald has unsupervised access to a wizard of unknown capabilities. I want a faster way to separate him from his trophy.”

“Your wish is my command,” Jhon said, as he extracted a folder from his briefcase and set it on the table. “Every person on a base must have their paperwork in order. Chun is living under the cover of Brian Kang, aircraft maintenance technician one.” He grinned around the table.

“And how does that help?” Park asked.

“There is no record of airman Kang attending basic combat training,” Jhon said.

Farland’s eyes lit up. “Do you mean to say that we have a soldier who somehow missed basic training?”

“That is exactly what I am saying,” Jhon said.

Park sighed as he said. “Why did I have to fly into town for this?”

Farland smiled. “Because private Kang is being picked up by the MPs at Fort Battering right now. He will be shipped to Fort Vodun this evening. Tomorrow he will be entered in the rolls for your newest cohort, and day after tomorrow we will see how an ancient wizard handles being locked in a barracks with Drill Sergeants on one side and a platoon of stupid on the other.” Farland sounded positively giddy.

“You called him Chun, and his cover name is Kang. He sounds Han. We do not perform minority unit training at Fort Vodun,” Park said.

“You have a cohort starting in two days,” Farland said. “We don’t have a minority cohort scheduled for another six weeks.”

“That’s going to cause problems,” Park said. “He’s going to take hell from everyone around him.”

“Keep him alive,” Farland said. “We’ll deal with the rest once we have his legal status resolved.”

“Is he fit enough to make it through basic?” Park asked.

“He’s a brick shithouse,” said Jhon. “I doubt you can stop him with anything short of carpet bombing his barracks.”

* * *

Chun listened to the drum of boots down the hall toward his cell.

They are coming for me.

By the time his door opened, Chun was up, uniform buttoned and boots tied, standing at attention.

“Are you private Brian Kang?” the sergeant barked. He had a black armband with a white MP on it.

“No, sergeant, I am Chun. Brian Kang is my cover name, issued by General Archibald,” Chun said.

“I have a report here saying that you have been serving in the Queen’s Army Air Force for a minimum of three months, private. Is that true?” The sergeant leaned in, so that Chun could see himself reflected in the man’s eyes.

“I am unsure, sergeant,” Chun said. “I take my meals here, and this is the bunk I was assigned, but I do not know what my official status is.”

“Perfect, private. That is something I can help you with. Officially you are private Brian Kang, aircraft technician. Except there seems to be a problem, private. You have not attended Basic Combat Training, nor have you attended Advanced Individual Training. In short, private, you have somehow managed to dodge the two most sacred requirements in her majesty’s armed forces. I am here to rectify that situation.” He slapped a folded slip of paper against Chun’s chest. “Pack your shit, private. You have two minutes.”

Chun glanced out to the hallway, where five more sergeants, also with black armbands emblazoned with MP stood, doing their best to look menacing.

I could fight. As long as I don’t kill them, General Archibald won’t do anything worse than yell.

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“Why do I need to pack?” Chun asked. “Is Basic Combat Training not taught at Fort Battering?”

“No, dumbass, it is not. Now pack your shit.”

General Archibald will not like it if I leave. That alone suggests I should go.

“What does MP mean?” Chun regarded the man with a quizzical look.

“Are you shitting me, private?” the sergeant stepped into Chun’s face, spitting on him with each consonant.

“No, sergeant. I have not seen this designation before.”

“It means Military Police, dumbass. Now you have one minute.” He clenched his jaw and bunched his eyebrows together.

Children always try to look meaner than they are.

Chun pointed to his toothbrush, tooth powder, shaving brush, shaving powder, and razor. They were piled in the corner as neatly as he could manage.

“That is everything, sergeant,” he said, returning to attention.

“I said pack it, not point to it. Where is your rucksack?” The sergeant shouted.

“I do not have a rucksack, sergeant,” Chun said.

The sergeant turned around in a slow circle, the skin on his neck turning darker shades of red with each step.

“Use your pillowcase, asshole,” said one of the men in the hall.

“I do not have a pillow, sergeant.”

“Then roll it up in your blanket, dipshit.”

“Yes, sergeant,” Chun said. He placed his little pile of gear in the center of the blanket, then rolled it into a neat bundle. “I am ready.”

“Private, that was the slowest, saddest, lamest packing job I have ever seen in twelve years of service. You are without a doubt the most useless soldier your mother ever shit out. Now follow me.” He spun on his heel and marched out. Chun followed, a pace behind and to the left, and the five other sergeants flanked him.

They seem disappointed that they did not get to fight. I too am disappointed, but these men will take me somewhere and then return here. They will have no opportunity for revenge.

He drew his breath in, and guided it into his empty left hand, where he separated it into little threads and began to weave. As they ascended the stairs, and then rode the elevator to the surface he alternated between sending little feelers out to learn this particular sergeant’s bladder worked, and then weaving little threads together in his palm.

Outside the sun was setting. The sergeants had three cars. They put Chun in the middle one, and then drove him across the base in a little convoy.

They stopped in front of a hangar near the end of the runway, and the seven of them boarded a transport that started its engines the moment they came aboard. Within minutes they were airborne and heading east, away from the setting sun.

Chun looked around at his escort.

I didn’t expect all of them to come along.

He spent several minutes making changes to the spell in his palm, and then in the near darkness he let it float onto the lead sergeant.

About a minute later the sergeant got up and went to the rear of the plane, then came back looking decidedly unsatisfied. Chun let a hint of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, then went to sleep.

* * *

He woke to the lead sergeant’s voice. “Goddamnit. I gotta pee constantly, but when I go, I only get a drop or two.”

The first signs of dawn showed through the windows.

He should be near the end of his rope.

“Yeah, my grandpa has that problem,” one of the others said.

“You shut your fucking hole. I swear on God’s holy foreskin, if you say one word, I will gut you right here.”

“Easy there,” came a third voice.

The lead sergeant got up and staggered to the back of the plane, cursing all the way. Chun smiled and went back to sleep.

* * *

Chun woke to the sound of cans being opened. He looked around. Five of the sergeants were having breakfast. The lead sergeant was not there. One of them noticed Chun.

“Didn’t you bring anything?” he asked.

“No, sergeant,” Chun said, “I did not know I was traveling today.”

“Yeah, I know how that goes,” he stood up and walked past Chun to a box that said ‘rations’ on the side. He picked another carton out and went back to his seat, making eye contact with Chun as he walked by. Chun stood and took a step toward the rations box.

“Where do you think you’re going, private?” his tone was back to childish anger.

“To get a ration pack, sergeant,” Chun said.

“These are for soldiers who went to basic, sit your ass back down.” Chun glanced back. The sergeant’s eyes held no humor.

“Yes, sergeant,” Chun said, and returned to his seat, where he studied his new victim’s eyes and started weaving a second spell.

* * *

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The voice was the sergeant who wouldn’t share the rations. Chun opened one eye and glanced at him. Tears streamed down his face, and snot ran out of his nose.

“What are you looking at, private?” The sergeant next to him had a cold demeanor.

Hmm… I wonder if there is a correct answer. Probably not.

“I am looking at sergeants, sergeant.”

He lunged to his feet, “You think you’re fucking funny, Private Kang?”

“No, sergeant,” Chun said. He watched the sergeant shift his feet and lower his center of gravity. Chun drew his breath in and concentrated it in his left cheekbone and around his eye. The sergeant’s hand swept around in a curve.

Footwork is terrible, balance is off, hand is open, so trying to embarrass, not injure.

Chun closed his left eye right before the slap connected. Then he pulsed his breath up the sergeant’s arm, driving the breath, and the strength, from the sergeant’s hand and forearm.

The sergeant grabbed his hand, then saw Chun looking at him, and pretended he was unhurt. “You want more of that, private wiseass?”

“No, sergeant.”

“Then go the fuck back to sleep.”

“Yes, sergeant.” Chun closed his eyes and extended his breath, feeling the compartment and the men around him. It wasn’t as sharp as vision, but it worked well when vision wasn’t available.

“What’s wrong with you?” The crying sergeant asked, softly enough that they probably thought Chun could not hear.

“His head is like a damn rock,” said sergeant slapper. “I think I might have broken my damn hand.” He massaged it carefully with the other hand.

“You know what I think?” said a tall sergeant who had not spoken before.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“I think the rumors are true. General Archibald dug up a wizard, and this is him. I mean, I haven’t done a thing to him, and I’m fine. But those of you who shit on him, you’re not so fine.” He looked back and forth between them, then stretched out and closed his eyes.

And now they will either try to kill me, or they will stay as far away as they can.

Chun let himself enjoy a hint of a smile and continued to monitor his escorts just in case they tried the first choice.

* * *

Chun listened to the staggering footsteps as the lead sergeant returned from the rear of the plane, hand pressed against his bladder. His face was pale, and a sheen of sweat covered his forehead.

Not long now.

The thoughtful sergeant leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Look, you’re sicker than hell, Ermey can’t stop crying, and Cooper broke his hand on Kang’s head. Those of us who haven’t treated him like shit are just fine. I want you to help me with an experiment.”

“What?” The lead sergeant croaked.

“Apologize to him. If he caused this, maybe he can fix it.”

“What? Are you out of your damn mind?”

“Look, man, if you apologize and he can’t help you, you haven’t lost anything. But if he’s who I think he is, then we need to know, so go do your goddam duty.”

“Right.”

The lead sergeant levered himself up, groaned, and stumbled across the aisle to Chun.

“Look, Private, I try to be tough, but fair, and I wasn’t fair to you. Can I offer you my apology?” He looked like he might fall over, and he kept his hand tight against his bladder.

“Of course, Sergeant. Thank you,” Chun said.

The sergeant stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, then broke. “Oh, come on. I’m gonna die here. Fix it.”

“I need to succeed at basic training,” Chun said. “What is the one thing you needed to know that no one told you?”

“For most things, they don’t care if you succeed, they care if you won’t give up.” The plane lurched, and he staggered forward.

“That is not useful, Sergeant. I would not give up anyway.” Chun crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

The sergeant’s eyes darted back and forth, and he groaned again. “Okay, okay, um…they don’t pass you for being a great soldier. They pass you for being part of your team.”

Chun cocked his head. “Explain.”

“Look, you have to pass your physical tests and skills, but you can do that and still fail. An army isn’t a collection of heroes, it’s a team made up of smaller teams. You’ll never be alone--the smallest team is you and your battle buddy. If you can’t be part of the team, nothing else you do will matter.” He stopped there and panted, holding his hand tighter to his bladder.

“Done,” Chun said. “Go to the rear of the plane again. You will find more success this time.”

The lead sergeant turned and speed-hobbled toward the rear of the plane. Chun counted to thirty in his head, then cut the thread of breath between himself and the sergeant.

When the lead sergeant returned to the others he had color in his face, and the sheen of sweat was gone. He walked with fatigue, but his hands swung at his sides normally. He stopped at the crying sergeant, bent, and explained.

Sergeant Crybaby stood and walked over to Chun. “I’m sorry for being an asshole to you, Private. The best thing you can do to pass basic is find a currency.”

“I do not understand,” said Chun.

The pitch of the engines changed, and the plane tilted forward. Sergeant Crybaby looked toward the front of the plane, then back at Chun. “Look, everybody has a skill. You gotta trade that skill for other people’s skills. My mom was a nurse, so I got through basic by bandaging stuff guys didn’t want to go to sick call over. Get it?”

Chun nodded. “That is good advice. Thank you for your apology, Sergeant.” He cut the thread of breath to the sergeant, who blinked his eyes, breathed a sigh of relief, and went to see Sergeant Slapper.

After a brief conversation, Sergeant Slapper walked over to Chun.

“I’m sorry I hit you, Private. Never volunteer for anything.” He stood waiting, rubbing his sore hand with the other.

“That is the case in every army, Sergeant,” Chun said. “What do I need to know to succeed in your army?”

“Um…never blow your nose in your handkerchief.”

Chun cocked his head. “What is a handkerchief?”

“It’s a square of cloth, usually white, that people blow their noses in.” The base of his neck was turning red.

“If that is what this cloth is for, why would I not use it for that?” Chun asked.

“Because it’s a better coffee filter than the one they give you,” the sergeant said.

“I do not drink coffee,” Chun said, crossing his arms over his chest.

The sergeant’s neck turned a darker shade of red. “Um…come on, Private.”

Chun raised an eyebrow.

“Other people drink coffee.” the sergeant blurted. “You can trade your handkerchief to them.”

We will land soon. I may not get anything better from him.

“Give me your hand.”

The sergeant extended his hand, and Chun took it, then balanced the sergeant’s breath, drawing it back into the hand and fingers.