AM 7: Durance, chapter 21 (Patreon)

“Are you okay?” Darren asked. Milton looked a little green. Salma watched with open concern, but she had not been in favor of involving him or Angel in this battle. She’d been even more skeptical of including Ahtisham. She might have financial resources and she’d talked the FBI into setting up a large conference room for the Talent Unit to magically ward; however, she had issues. 

Darren looked in her direction, and she quickly broke eye contact.

“If you need to step out,” Salma said. Her tone was solicitous, but the way her fish circled the room felt angry if not downright predatory. Maybe Les felt the same way because a whole swarm of wasps gathered around the light fixtures. Angel kept glancing up and squirming in his seat. Funny, he was more scared of the wasps than the big old Cape buffalo that had half its body in the room. Darren wondered if any of the wasps belonged to other shamans who might want to eavesdrop, but he’d asked Les, and had been firmly told that Les knew how to handle his guide and his guide’s friends.

Ahtisham spoke up. “I remember the first time I listened to a mission review and knew civilians would die. The enemy had set up right in the middle of an area where orphans camped in this bombed out library, and I could just visualize the potential destruction. I walked out and…” Ahtisham mimicked the sound of barfing a little too well. Milton bolted.

“That was unkind,” Rima said disapprovingly.

Ahtisham leaned back in his chair. “He'll feel better after he gets the food off his stomach.”

“There is no fucking way to feel any better about any of this,” Angel said he vigorously scratched his head leaving his hair going in a dozen different directions at once. “When you called, I thought you wanted more help with some damn undercover mob thing, not the end fucking world as we know it.”

Selma sat up straighter. “I sent you information regarding the ifrit for your Native shaman teachers.” Her fish jerked and scattered across the room before regathering into a fairly organized school that returned to circling the perimeter.

Angel graced her with a disgusted look. “Lady, people always scream about the world ending; they're usually full of shit. My Native shaman teachers, as you call them, have seen evidence of increased power—not world ending.”

“You should have answered Agent Boucher's call.” Salma had her disapproval on high, and she fingered the edge of her hijab.

“I hold grudges,” Angel said, “and that pendejo almost got me killed, so I don't feel like making his life easy. If the Talent shit was hitting the fan with the old guides, I figured you'd tell me, not leave cryptic fucking messages.”

“Angel,” Rima said in a scandalized tone. That quieted Angel, but it didn't soften the glare he sent in Kavon's direction. 

Angel was not making himself more likable. Darren wanted to defend the decision to use Angel as an informant. He would've been targeted by the mob either way, but the team's involvement had given him options other than dying or getting turned into a mobster's puppet. 

However, Darren wasn't sure Kavon would appreciate the gesture. He had been uncharacteristically off-balance this case, and Darren wanted to give him the space to find his own footing.

Caretta cut through all the bullshit. “Will you help?” Bennu popped into the room, sat on the bull’s shoulder for a moment and then vanished again.

After an uncomfortable pause, Angel nodded. “Yeah. Matt and Vince deserved better than to wake up to a world that’s fallen down a shit hole. Governments have fallen over shit like this.”

Salma corrected him. “No modern government has seen an event that approaches the level of devastation that will occur if the evil ifrit corrupt our world. I can authorize any expenditure deemed necessary to stop that threat.”

The door opened and all conversation stopped. Milton walked in, and his earlier subtle shade of green had shifted to ashen gray. Darren had no idea that was an improvement or not. Milton close the door behind him and said, “So I'm tracking some all-powerful ancient God. Did I hear that right?” His voice got high. But at least he controlled the worst of his panic. Darren wondered if Milton regretted joining the Talent unit. Most FBI agents went through their entire career without pulling their weapon, and Milton landed a posting that put him in the middle of Armageddon.

“Has your program identified any suspects?” Kavon asked. His voice was all business, but the bond revealed a fair amount of concern. Darren wondered if this was some residual distrust or if he regretted pulling a young agent into this disaster. Jen was sitting at her desk under the watchful eye of Anne, and, along with Joe, they were blissfully ignorant.

“Dozens. Hundreds. Do you know how many people flock to magic sinks?” Milton's voice edged up. “The computer kicked my name out because I've been to three of the target sites collecting magic. I'm going to be shocked if there is a magic user in the DC area who hasn’t taken advantage of the recent wealth of magic just lying about the streets.” He covered his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Oh God. I don't think I can do this.”

“You're doing fine,” Ahtisham said.

“You really are,” Darren added. My first day in the magic end of this, I got so jealous and paranoid about an adept trying to take over my place on the team that I blew up a street. So trust me, as long as you don't blow up any major metropolitan areas, you're doing better than I did.” Darren thought that would reassure Milton, but he just glared at Darren.

“I'm not freaking out,” Milton said, but his voice was caught somewhere between petulant and squeaky. He dropped into his chair and let his forehead thunk against the table.

Caretta rolled her eyes. “Can we please move past the recriminations and panic and figure out what our next steps are going to be? If Milton's program has come up with that many suspects, we might need to consider that it's worthless.”

Milton's head came up. “It absolutely is not. Do you know how difficult it is to create the sort of set up I have in that room?” All the squeak vanished under righteous indignation. “People don't sign in when they’re trying to sneak in and siphon off a little magic. I had to create a spell that would capture the magical signature of anyone walking through an area and then take those captured imprints and compare them to any place where someone with Talent would interface with technology that would link a real-life identity to their magical signature. 

“I am linked into DMV's and email accounts and social media.” His voice achieved chipmunk-like speed. “I collect data from MomentCapture and InstantMe and FaceView and systems I can’t even remember because only only losers use them. Of course, only losers use FaceView, but I've noticed several of you have accounts so I'm not going to say that. But my point is that I have set up a sophisticated search engine, so sophisticated that I have not been willing to explain its function to anyone else for fear that the CIA is going to misuse it.”

Darren had no idea of the CIA fear was legitimate or a mild case of paranoia, but when Milton explained it that way, it did sound pretty damn impressive. It also sounded like the kind of thing the FBI should have seventeen different warrants in order to use, and Darren knew for a fact that Milton didn't have any. Then again, most people would probably say what Milton had done was physically impossible, so the FBI guidelines likely didn't address this form of information gathering.

“I'm not sure I wanted to know any of that,” Coretta said.

“I know I didn't,” Kavon added. “However, this is not a criminal from Earth. So while I do plan to report all of these investigative techniques to Assistant Director White, I won’t ask you to suspend any of your activities until such time as he makes a ruling on how far off the reservation we are.” Kavon blasted discomfort through the bond and his bull shook his head, but he left it there. He was definitely trying a new rulebook.

Bennu showed up again, and this time Pochi appeared with him. Pochi perched on the bull’s horns and watched the room with his feathers so fluffed up that he looked like a little ball of fluff. A genocidal, warrior ball of fluff. “Research protocols are still useless if they generate hundreds of results,” Coretta said. As much as Darren respected her common sense, he would appreciate a little more optimism right now.

Milton straightened and firmed his jaw. Considering that he was about a hundred and ten pounds of bean sprout, it wasn’t an impressive gesture, but Darren gave him credit for even attempting that kind of macho posturing in a room with enough testosterone to poison New York.

‘No, not worthless. I just have to change the parameters. I was looking for the magical signatures of every creature that came through the target area. But what I should look for is the signature of a big ass alien guide. Don't you guys usually have your guides with you?” He looked around the room. “If I can get access to what an ifrit looks like, I should be able to program the computer search. I'm sure I can. Definitely.” He hesitated. “Probably.”

Coretta shook her head. “As magic users. We can't even sense shamanic energies, so how do we search for them?”

Milton rolled his eyes at her, which was just short of suicidal in Darren’s book. Coretta could kill a man with kindness and demands for revisions on reports. Hopefully Anne would be a little less dangerous as Kavon’s new second in command. 

“Physicists can't see quarks or electrons or protons or any other weird things that they go looking for,” Milton said. “They can still design tests, and O'Brien combine shamanic energy with magic user spells, so I know it’s possible. If he can do it so can I.” Milton was jutting his jaw up enough that he looked a little like an angry teen, and Pochi unfluffed enough to study him.

Darren reached over and patted Milton on the arm. “I bet you can. I'll have Bennu walk over your crystals or do whatever he needs to do for you to start figuring this out.”

Milton sank into his chair and nodded. “Yeah. Right. Good. That's good. Assuming your guide helps. I hear some don’t.” He kept right on nodding. Darren was almost sure they had broken him. Milton opened his laptop and buried his head in it. Yep, the interpersonal skills of a porcupine.

“So what am I here for?” Angel asked. “I'm not exactly good with computers, and I definitely don't plan on hanging out helping you track down a hundred different suspects.”

“We wouldn't ask you to,” Kavon said. He kept his tone fairly neutral, but the bond still carried heavy traces of disdain and distrust.

“I actually asked if you could help me,” Ahtisham said.

Angel glared at him suspiciously. “Help you with what?”

Ahtisham smiled. “Nothing stops a shaman like a bullet to the head.” Despite Salma’s gasp, Ahtisham kept his focus on Angel.  “But, shamans can be a little difficult to target in the field. Sometimes a sniper’s perception gets a little strange around shamans because they have a weird habit of warping perception.”

“Do they?” Angel looked around the room as if waiting for an answer. Darren shrugged. Ahtisham had been SWAT before a wall landed on his leg, so Darren assumed Ahtisham had done something similar when he’d been in the Army, but he’d never asked and Ahtisham had never shared.

“Let's just say, for the sake of argument,” Ahtisham said with exaggerated nonchalance, “that the military might assign shamanic spotters to snipers in zones where there is a known Talent community. I hear you have skills on both sides of the Talent fence—magic user and shaman. I'm hoping that means you would be especially effective at helping me punch through any distortion that might exist.”

“Your hypotheticals are transparent as shit. Did the Army really have you taking head shots at shamans?”

The casual air fell away, and Ahtisham looked old and weary. “I took head shots at a lot of bad guys. And I generally hit my mark. When I didn't, I regretted it later. After years in war zones, I can safely say social upheaval corrupts any goodness in a person. Upheaval plus power...” He whistled. “That's why I’ll take a shot at this shaman if I have one. But I need a special set of skills normally only found in the Army. I'm hoping your Native teachers can figure out a workaround for us.”

Angel stood so fast his chair hit the wall behind him, and Les’s swarm scattered into random directions, diving through Salma’s school of fish guides. “Man, I do not want to learn any sort of violent magic. That shit turns my stomach. I mean, clearly I proved that I can be violent if I am backed into a corner, but I don’t want that. I don’t want…” Angel stopped. Maybe he thought he was hiding his true emotions behind and angry scowl, but somehow he projected them into the room. Guilt and frustration and anger and shame all twisted around each other until Darren couldn't catch his breath. Bennu flapped his wings and then vanished, but Pochi took to the air and hovered above the conference table, twirling one way and then another in search of enemy. The mental storm was anguishing. Les moved to his side.

“Bruh, you know me. I'm telling you, Ahtisham wouldn't ask you to kill.”

Angel scoffed. “I don't have many pieces of my fucking soul to trade away.” Coretta gripped the edge of the table, and Salma had stood and hovered near the door looking ready to flee. Tears slipped free and rolled over Rima’s cheeks where she scrubbed at them, and Kavon took deep breaths as he worked to shrug the emotions off. In all the room, only Milton and Ahtisham appeared untouched. Milton clacked away on his computer, and either Ahtisham couldn’t feel the projected emotions or he handled them better.

“I'm not asking you to kill,” Ahtisham said. “Anything I do is on me. However, I need a spotter. Normally, my spotter would rest a hand on my shoulder and when he did I would see things differently. Plants would give off a subtle mist that would rise up and drift away on the breeze. If there was a shaman in the area, he would glow brightly, like a picture of one of the Catholic saints. Some places seemed to radiate light. Could you ask your teachers if any of them have any sort of skill with that sort of transfer of ability?”

“And perhaps they could send us those who would fight with us.” Selma edged toward her chair and cautiously sat.

Angel laughed. “Yeah. Not just in no, but hell no. The Native shamans are not going to come running to white man's rescue. The last time they practiced magic in public, it didn't end well for them. So if anything, they're preparing their communities to go underground when the shit hits the proverbial fan.”

Salma frowned. “I understand discrimination. In Egypt, children lose their parents, their family names, their identities, and life outside the Counsel is unendurable. People treat those with magic very poorly, especially magic users. That does not prevent us from following the path of Allah and working to protect this world.” 

Darren was almost sure she was projecting her own emotions, a toxic mix of anger, indignation, pride, and superiority. The feelings only vanished when Kavon put his hand on Darren’s arm. “Enough,” Kavon said firmly. “Given the history in this country, no one will criticize the Natives’ desire to stay out of this mess.”

Milton looked up from his computer. “What history? And why would they not want to prevent a full global meltdown? Do you have any idea how interconnected the world is? One good purge and global communication networks, banking, it could all be compromised. All of it. Even the anti-Talent groups would be sorry then, although they wouldn’t admit it. They would lock themselves in their compounds with their semi-automatic guns and claim to be happy that the internet had vanished and taken all the porn with it. There’s worse things in this world than porn, you know. Like semi-automatic weaponry.” And with that, Milton ducked down into his computer again.

“What history?” Angel scoffed. “The Lakota tried arranging a ceremony to protect their lands from the white. The Army shows up, makes up some bullshit story about feeling threatened and opens fire. Three hundred men, women, and children died, and the monsters who killed them got Medals of Honor. Those cowards shot women in the back as they ran with their children in their arms. So, like I told you before, the native community is not going to go out of the way to reveal their holy men or help us. They survived the last purge, and they’ll survive another one.”

“Short sighted,” Milton sing-songed. For a second, Darren thought Angel might go over the table to punch him. Instead, he settled back down into his seat. “Okay!” Milton clapped his hands. “I have the program ready to go. Have your guide walk over the keyboard, and let’s see if I can isolate something unique about the energy.”

Darren would have said Bennu had abandoned ship, only Pochi flew down and sat in the middle of the keyboard and fluttered his wings. Milton typed away.

Coretta moved to stand behind him and watch. “I thought you needed to wire your crystals directly into the circuit boards.”

“I have.” Milton glanced up. “Why do you think I have such a ghetto computer? Not only would any self-respecting thief avoid this thing, but the large casing gives me room for the crystals. Okay, have your bird do that again,” Milton ordered.

Pochi shivered again.

“Got it!” Milton snapped his laptop shut, right over Pochi’s ethereal form. Pochi squealed and then vanished. “I’ll be back.” Milton ran out.

When the door slammed shut, Angel said, “I thought FBI agents were supposed to have some swagger.”

“Yeah, not all of them,” Darren said. 

Kavon brought his hand down on the table, commanding everyone’s attention. “It’s time to focus on action. What will each of us do when we leave this room?”