The wind blows cold enough to make my eyes water. Down on the streets, the never ending cacophony of car horns and cuss words continues. This city blows.
We walk back up the stairs into the plane and find Captain Ulrich playing games on his cell phone. I tell him to take us to Vegas and he tells me I screwed up his high score.
“Couldn’t you have waited two more minutes?” he asks as the plane lifts up from the roof of the tower.
“How long till Vegas?”
“Be there in about an hour.”
I click off the intercom. “Good. That gives you about an hour to tell me exactly what the fuck happened back there.”
Ann’s eyes glisten. She swallows and sets her hands down flat in front of her. Then starts her story.
“I’M NOT EXACTLY
a superhero, all right,” Ann says, arms bracing herself against her plush, leather chair-back.
“And that means?”
“I’ve been through the Engine, yeah, but I didn’t quite come out with the powers expected.”
“No one comes out with the powers expected.”
The trick with the Hero Engine is that no one knows what kind of power will be bestowed upon the person entering. Some get super strength or telekinetic abilities. Others get power over the elements or animals or whatever the hell else. Researchers have tried to pinpoint exactly why the Engine gives powers at random, but to the best of my knowledge, no one has even the slightest clue how the machine works.
Ann gives me a weak smile that never fully materializes on her lips, let alone the rest of her face. “That’s true, but my powers, even less so.”
“Well, what are they? What can you do?”
“I um…I leave other superheroes powerless when in my presence.”
Cue jaw hitting floor. Cue dry mouth and a giant case of ‘What the fuck?’ Playback scene with The Patriot. Throws punches like someone who’s never been trained. Check that. Throws punches like someone who’s used to throwing punches with a little superhuman oomph behind them. Fast forward a little. The Patriot jumps off building expecting to fly. Plunges until out of Ann’s range of power.
Holy fucking shit.
That’s how she can protect me. She can render the heroes powerless, and I can take care of myself. I wish Vince had told me that a long time ago.
I try to bring my thoughts together. Too many questions leap out all at once, and I’m having a hard time organizing them. “None of the other heroes know about this, do they?” The words come out slow. I think I know the answer, but it’s the first question that comes out, anyway.
“No.” Ann’s face relaxes. She’s slumped back in her chair like the weight of the world fell off her shoulders.
“How did you find out about your power?”
Her shoulders tense to her earlobes like I just poked her with a cattle prod.
“I…uh, it, it’s complicated.”
The desk, or something inside it, chirps. Ann blows out a breath and presses a button. The screen slides out of the desktop. I maneuver around and take a seat next to Ann for a better view. Once the monitor blinks to life we are greeted by a very unhappy-looking Vince.
“Hello, Mr. Larson,” Ann says.
“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”
“Has Tess attacked again,” I ask.
“Not quite that bad, but close. Our interrogation subject, we left him in an isolated cell. Ten minutes ago a guard went to check on him and found him hanging by his necktie.”
Fucking fuck. “I take it he wasn’t nice enough to leave us a note.”
“As if we could be so lucky. We did, however, get some information. Leroy DeLaCruz has worked for the Initiative for a little over a year-and-a-half now. Before hiring, he passed all of the extensive background checks we ran. Coworkers called him sociable—you kind of have to be to work on a floating underwater island—who did his work just fine.”
“What was his job at the Initiative?” Ann straightens.
“He was in our ‘information containment’ branch. His job mostly entailed keeping an eye on the Internet for anything we should be aware of.”
I clear my throat, hoping some of the thoughts in my head become clear. “Can you tell if he has been in contact with anyone outside of the Initiative?”
“Already done, Mr. Quig. He had quite a few encrypted email conversations with one, Kevin Gagnon. Gagnon is a twenty-seven year-old Web designer who also appears to be tied to AHA in one way or another.”
“What did they talk about in their emails?”
“We don’t know. As I said, they are encrypted and we have yet to break the code. Until we can, I’d like you to pay a visit to Mr. Gagnon and ask him in person.”
“We are on our way to Vegas to talk to River.” Ann waves her hand to point out the window.
“This lead takes precedence. We don’t know what triggered Tess, and unless you got something good from The Patriot, this is the warmer trail.” Vince’s jaw strains as he chews his gum.
“We didn’t get shit from The Patriot,” I say. If I would have known about Ann’s powers, though, I would have been more persuasive.
“I’ll patch Gagnon’s address through to your pilot.”
I nod. Vince reaches forward to press a button and the feed goes blank. The screen pops back up with a map. The blinking dot representing our plane shows us somewhere in the Midwest. A solid red dot shows Calgary, Alberta as the destination. ETA: One hour.
Do I need a passport when traveling in an experimental aircraft for a non-governmental entity? Probably not, I hope. I’ve never been out of the country before. Sucks my first time has to be to interrogate some punk internet hacker.
“Do you think DeLaCruz is the one who planted the bomb?” Ann swivels her chair so she faces me.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Yeah, he may have done it, but it still doesn’t explain the Gravitess angle. I don’t believe in coincidence. Something in my gut tells me the bombing and Gravitess are related. Call it instinct.”
She purses her lips and nods. “All right, yeah, I can see that.”
We fall silent for a few minutes.
“Would you like something to eat?” Ann swivels her seat and stands up in the aisle.
“There’s food on this thing?”
“Those cabinets,” Ann points overhead, “are solid mahogany. Bathroom sinks? Imported granite. Bathroom floor? Imported marble. Do you really think they would skimp on a pantry?” She smiles at me. One of those smiles girls have that says, “Man, you’re just never going to get it.”
“Yeah, but I can fix my own food. Just show me the way.”
The rest of the flight is spent making sandwiches and chowing down. Meat, cheese, mayo, with potato chips crushed on the top – perfection. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started to eat. Two sandwiches later, Ulrich announces we will be landing shortly.
I brush the crumbs off my stupidly-expensive suit and make my way over to a seat.
“I couldn’t land at the address, so we had to stop at a local airport. Vince has arranged for a driver to shuttle you back and forth,” the pilot says over the intercom.
When the hatch opens, Ann and I are greeted by a man in a suit. He motions to the back of his black Chevy Suburban. “Relax, I’ll have you there in fifteen minutes, folks.”
At night, Calgary is lit up like a well-mannered Christmas tree. Or at least what I can see out the heavily tinted windows.
“So, what are you going to say to Gagnon?” Ann runs her hands over her brown hair to make sure there are no strays poking out from the bun. There aren’t. She’s as put-together and proper as royalty, if said royalty had superhuman abilities.
“I’m not sure. Probably, ‘Are you a secret agent of the villainous and completely stupidly named terrorist organization AHA?’ and go from there.”
Ann smiles a little. She turns from the window to me and back again. Her body is stiff, like a predator waiting to pounce. If I had to guess, I’d bet she’s clenching every muscle in her body to keep away the shakes. I’ve seen this in new cops before; she’s anxious.
“Wait a minute, we just went to shakedown the world’s most famous and most powerful superhero and you played it cool as a cat. Now we’re about to go talk to some punk who probably lives in his mom’s basement and you’re nervous?”
“Heroes don’t scare me, people do. Until very recently, the heroes have never shown even an ounce of the crazy that normal humans show on a daily basis. I don’t feel especially at home with either group, but at least heroes are predictable.”
She’s got a solid point. I’ve seen people do some bat-shit crazy stuff. Not even two weeks ago, I arrested a drunken hobo who thought he was a demon hunter. The guy was running around the sidewalk trying to cut people’s heads off with a sword made out of cardboard. Fucking loon.
“I guess I can’t argue that point. People can be pretty nuts. I don’t know heroes well enough yet, but I’m betting they’re pretty crazy too, when you get down to it.”
Ann fakes a smile. All teeth, no emotion.
The car comes to a stop in front of a small row of duplexes. “This is it.” The driver points to the complex in front of us. “It’s the one over on the right.”
“Thanks, my good man. I’d give you a tip, but I left my bank roll in the Gucci suit.” I slap the back of the seat. “And keep the car running, Jeeves. You never know what kind of secret lair may be hiding the AHA madman.”
“Would you like me to come in as backup, Sir?”
“Nah, I’ve got Ann and Old Faithful here.” I turn to flash the driver the gun on my hip.
He smiles appreciatively. Dudes with guns always have an appreciation for dudes with guns. That’s written in a law book somewhere. Murphy’s or Newton’s or Attraction’s; someone’s.
I clear my throat. “But, uh, you wouldn’t happen to have an extra piece, would you?”
The driver wiggles in his seat and hands over a Glock holstered in a belt clip.
I hand the gun to Ann. “You know how to use this?”
“Do I know how to use that?” She drops her head to the side with a smirk. “The Initiative has the strictest training regimen of any group in the world, and that’s
before
you go into the Engine. I have more weapons training than you do.”
I nod in appreciation. Dudes with guns always appreciate girls with guns.
OUTSIDE THE CAR,
the cold Canadian air slaps me across the face. Hockey is obviously a violent sport because the players are freezing and pissed off about it. Clearly someone needs to install a continental heater up here. I bundle my arms across my chest and lead Ann up the walkway to the beige building. The manicured lawn shakes as we walk by. An average person would blame a breeze, but if you ask me, I’d tell you the truth: The grass is shivering. Who lives up here?
The plain building has two boring white doors next to each other. I step to the right one and press the buzzer. Inside the house a bell rings a pleasant little tune. The blinds next to the door part. Dull eyes peer out from the window and get owl-wide. Blinds snap shut. Thuds and bumps echo within the house.
Fuck me. How in the hell do I still look like a cop wearing a Dolce and Gabanna suit?
I glance at Ann. She shrugs.
I suck in a deep breath and shoulder through the door. A skinny guy in boxer briefs and Scooby Doo T-shirt freezes. He’s holding an external hard drive inside his oven.
“Would you mind stepping away from the oven?” I keep my voice level. The guy is as stable as the street-preacher’s chihuahua so I decide the full-on cop voice isn’t necessary.
He drops the hard drive and steps back. I stroll over and calmly pull the device out. Thirty seconds of pre-heating time won’t melt plastic.
“Kevin Gagnon, I assume.”
Kevin nods. His eyes track all over the room, from the computer desk, to the flat-screen TV with the video game system perched on a milk crate, to a box full of cereal sitting on the floor. Finally, his gaze lands on Ann. His hands cover his crotch, as though he’s just realized he’s standing in front of a woman in his boxer shorts.
“Kevin, we’d like to talk to you about some things.”
His eyes find me. “I-I…um, okay?”
“Things that you’ve been doing on your computer.” I shake the hard drive at him.
Kevin gulps. “It wasn’t me. I, um, was just holding it for a friend.”
“And this friend is a member of AHA, yeah?” Ann steps up next to me. She has to step delicately to avoid at least six boxes of Easy Mac littering the floor. Even in flats, she seems to have a time navigating the trash-hole that is the apartment. At least the kid doesn’t live with his mom, I guess.
Kevin stares at us. Gape jawed. Somewhat blank. Check that, completely blank.
Ann must pick up on the lack of comprehension, because she says, “Is there information pertaining to anti-hero terrorist operations on this?” She takes the hard drive out of my hand and holds it out toward Gagnon.
He blinks. Gaze shifts from me to Ann to the hard drive. Another blink. Another round about the room.
Ann grunts and takes a seat at Kevin’s computer desk.
Kevin lunges. “Hey, you can’t do that,” he cries. “This is, is, is…this is illegal search-and-seizure.”
“Go cry that bullshit to a Mounty,” I say. “We don’t work for any government. Our rules are a little more…fluid.”
He moves toward the computer.
I let my hand make a wide, obvious movement toward the gun on my hip. Kevin freezes. Good boy.
Ann plugs the hard drive into the computer. After clicking through a couple folders she sighs and swivels in her chair. “Really? This is what you’re worried about?”
Kevin’s face scrunches up. The poor guy must think this is some sort of cop-trap.
“What is it?” I peer over Ann’s shoulder at the screen. Fuzz is all I can see.
She faces the screen. “All right, we’ve got the entire “Die Hard” series, everything remotely related to Terminator, about a hundred gigabytes of music, and a dodgy folder titled ‘Special Videos’ that I don’t exactly feel like clicking on.”
Kevin blushes. Having one’s secret stash unearthed by an SHI agent is pretty high up on the embarrassment charts.
“Any information about AHA?” I keep my gaze on Kevin, hoping for some kind of tell.
“What the hell is AHA?” Kevin infuses gusto in his voice, as if not getting arrested for all kinds of copyright violations has given him a set of balls.