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Authors: Nick Pollotta
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the insignia sporting the rank of brigadier general. An oddly built pistol was strapped to his left hip, a gold wizard's wand in a holster on the right. We could read the name badge on his breast pocket, but it wasn't necessary. Only one person we knew of fit this description.
"Horace Gordon,” George whispered in unabashed reverence.
Mindy arched an eyebrow, Richard stood at attention and Father Donaher crossed himself. It was the first time any of us had ever seen the chief of Bureau 13. He was an elusive individual, more famous than J.P. Withers, the very first Bureau agent from 1880, who supposedly was still in service as an immortal werewolf. But then, you know how company legends grow. Yes, I had gotten drunk at the last Christmas party, but I did not email a jpeg of my ass to the Kremlin. Lies, it was all lies.
"Hello, sir. What's the problem?” I asked taking a seat in the front row.
"The end of the world,” Gordon said, in the deep gravelly voice we knew so well from our wristwatches.
"Or rather, the end of the world as we know it,” he added after a moments hesitation.
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CHAPTER FOUR
As we reacted to that news in various ways, Gordon slit open a manila envelope and pulled out a blank sheet of paper. As he held it for a moment words slowly appeared. I was impressed. That was technology, not magic, usually only reserved for security level 10 Top Secret documents.
"Edwardo Alvarez Jr.,” Gordon read aloud from the paper. “Mindy Jennings, Jessica Taylor, Richard Anderson, George Renault, Father Michael Xavier Donaher.” He looked at us, patiently sitting and listening. “A private investigator, a martial artist, a telepath, a wizard, a weapons expert and a priest."
"That's a good mix. Nicely balanced.” He paused. “My condolences about Raul Horta. He was a good agent."
"Thanks,” I said, crossing my legs at the knees. “Come on, chief, the only reason we're not out there searching for him is the priority summons. Just tell us what's happening, so we can get on with it."
Horace seemed to appreciate the bluntness. “At approximately 0600 Tuesday morning, just twenty hours ago, a dense fog formed at sea, about 100 miles outside New York. Normal shipping operations were seriously disrupted and a state of emergency declared."
We waited patiently as a three dimensional map appeared floating in the air behind him. A weird fog at sea was nothing for us to get excited about, there must be more. The map showed the greater eastern seaboard of America with a rather large swirling airmass about fifty miles off the coast of New York state, stretching from Mystic, Connecticut to Perth Amboy, New Jersey, with Manhattan right in the middle. Ominous.
His head haloed by the map, Gordon went on, “As you can see it is getting closer, fast. And since the appearance of the cloud, there has been an unprecedented surge of paranormal activity across the country. Mass attacks of werewolves in Los Angeles, vampires in New Orleans, ghouls in Miami, dragons in Chicago, gargoyles in Boston and countless single encounters of everything from ancient astronauts to zombies. Apparently, its an all out attack on Bureau 13 agents, aided and abetted by every nutcase group and organization of evil that we know of and maybe a few that we don't."
He rolled a hand. “The New American Thugee Cult, The Sixth Reich, the Project, Brotherhood of Darkness, you name it."
This we had already suspected from our own troubles in getting here. It was, however, disheartening to know the fighting was pandemic. Whoever the enemy was, they knew alarming amounts of information about our supposedly supersecret organization.
"In our effort to maintain the peace and protect American citizens, the Bureau has been placed in dire jeopardy of exposure,” Gordon said grimly. “As this is obviously a coordinated effort, we do not consider it a coincidence that the cloud is heading for our New York headquarters."
We perked up
"Horace Gordon,” George whispered in unabashed reverence.
Mindy arched an eyebrow, Richard stood at attention and Father Donaher crossed himself. It was the first time any of us had ever seen the chief of Bureau 13. He was an elusive individual, more famous than J.P. Withers, the very first Bureau agent from 1880, who supposedly was still in service as an immortal werewolf. But then, you know how company legends grow. Yes, I had gotten drunk at the last Christmas party, but I did not email a jpeg of my ass to the Kremlin. Lies, it was all lies.
"Hello, sir. What's the problem?” I asked taking a seat in the front row.
"The end of the world,” Gordon said, in the deep gravelly voice we knew so well from our wristwatches.
"Or rather, the end of the world as we know it,” he added after a moments hesitation.
[Back to Table of Contents]
CHAPTER FOUR
As we reacted to that news in various ways, Gordon slit open a manila envelope and pulled out a blank sheet of paper. As he held it for a moment words slowly appeared. I was impressed. That was technology, not magic, usually only reserved for security level 10 Top Secret documents.
"Edwardo Alvarez Jr.,” Gordon read aloud from the paper. “Mindy Jennings, Jessica Taylor, Richard Anderson, George Renault, Father Michael Xavier Donaher.” He looked at us, patiently sitting and listening. “A private investigator, a martial artist, a telepath, a wizard, a weapons expert and a priest."
"That's a good mix. Nicely balanced.” He paused. “My condolences about Raul Horta. He was a good agent."
"Thanks,” I said, crossing my legs at the knees. “Come on, chief, the only reason we're not out there searching for him is the priority summons. Just tell us what's happening, so we can get on with it."
Horace seemed to appreciate the bluntness. “At approximately 0600 Tuesday morning, just twenty hours ago, a dense fog formed at sea, about 100 miles outside New York. Normal shipping operations were seriously disrupted and a state of emergency declared."
We waited patiently as a three dimensional map appeared floating in the air behind him. A weird fog at sea was nothing for us to get excited about, there must be more. The map showed the greater eastern seaboard of America with a rather large swirling airmass about fifty miles off the coast of New York state, stretching from Mystic, Connecticut to Perth Amboy, New Jersey, with Manhattan right in the middle. Ominous.
His head haloed by the map, Gordon went on, “As you can see it is getting closer, fast. And since the appearance of the cloud, there has been an unprecedented surge of paranormal activity across the country. Mass attacks of werewolves in Los Angeles, vampires in New Orleans, ghouls in Miami, dragons in Chicago, gargoyles in Boston and countless single encounters of everything from ancient astronauts to zombies. Apparently, its an all out attack on Bureau 13 agents, aided and abetted by every nutcase group and organization of evil that we know of and maybe a few that we don't."
He rolled a hand. “The New American Thugee Cult, The Sixth Reich, the Project, Brotherhood of Darkness, you name it."
This we had already suspected from our own troubles in getting here. It was, however, disheartening to know the fighting was pandemic. Whoever the enemy was, they knew alarming amounts of information about our supposedly supersecret organization.
"In our effort to maintain the peace and protect American citizens, the Bureau has been placed in dire jeopardy of exposure,” Gordon said grimly. “As this is obviously a coordinated effort, we do not consider it a coincidence that the cloud is heading for our New York headquarters."
We perked up
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