Spellbound (30 page)

Jake Sullivan had turned south here.

If she found him, she’d be rewarded. If she betrayed the OCI, then Crow would ruin her life, or from what she’d seen, probably end it. She knew she was being manipulated, but Crow’s oddness kept her from getting a good reading as to what his endgame was.

When surrounded by lies, what would her father have done?

She went south.

Chapter 12

Dear Miss Etiquette,

if I think that an acquaintance might be a Mouth and using the power of suggestion on me, is it polite to speak up?

Signed, Befuddled in Buffalo.

Dear Befuddled,

It depends on the social situation. It is never polite to use mind control on anyone, however to suggest something aloud during a party could be very offensive. He may simply be a real charmer. If he is an Active, that is why a proper young lady always is certain that there are chaperones present.

—Miss Etiquette,

Newspaper column,
1933

Washington, D.C.

J. EDGAR HOOVER
slid into the backseat of the waiting automobile with a grunt. “What an awful day.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Take me home.” The car pulled out of the garage and onto the busy avenue. “Damned bothersome reporters.” He made special note of remembering the names of each of the newsmen that had asked the difficult questions and put him on the spot. He’d be certain to make their lives as miserable as possible. “They’re like sharks when they smell blood.”

“I know. Dreadful business,” the driver said. Hoover was startled. He was not used to his driver talking back. The agents that rotated through the assignment all knew to just let him talk, and to only speak when asked a direct question. “Right?”

Hoover sat forward, glad to have someone to rip into. Berating underlings always made him feel better after a hard day at the office. “What’s your name, Agent?”

“Garrett, sir. Daniel Garrett.” He reached up and tipped the edge of his hat so that Hoover could see his face in the mirror. “I’m really pleased to meet you. This is such an honor. I can tell that we’re going to get along really well. I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

The unfamiliar agent had a soothing voice. Hoover relaxed. “Where’s my regular driver?”

“In the trunk.” The driver laughed. Hoover laughed as well. “No . . . Seriously. He’s in the trunk.”

Hoover laughed again. “Splendid!” This new agent had a marvelous sense of humor.

“Don’t worry. He’s alive, just gagged and tied up is all.” The automobile pulled over at the corner. “Well, here’s our other passenger. Isn’t this great? It’s like a party.”

“Indeed.” He was suddenly feeling very agreeable. His door opened and he had to scoot his bulk across the seat to make room for the new arrival, who was an extremely tall and thickset individual. He slammed the door behind him and the automobile immediately roared away from the curb.

“Afternoon, Mr. Hoover,” Heavy Jake Sullivan said. “Long time, no see.”

Suddenly J. Edgar Hoover wasn’t feeling quite so agreeable anymore.

They’d picked a quiet spot, a condemned warehouse that probably dated back to the Civil War. It was a wide open space and quite a bit of light came in through the broken windows. Pigeons cooed in the rafters. Trash and bottles were strewn around, and from the old dirty blankets, it looked like quite a few hobos slept here. They’d found one busted up chair for their guest and Sullivan sat on an old cable spool.

Dan had gone to bring the truck around. Sullivan had figured it was for the best to remove the Mouth from the equation. He needed Hoover to make the deal of his own free will. He hadn’t bothered to tie him up either. That would’ve been insulting to them both. Sullivan had given his pitch. Now he sat, arms folded, and waited for the Director’s response.

“You want me to help you clear your name?” Hoover was incredulous.

Sullivan nodded. “Yep. ’Cause I’m innocent.”

“You kidnapped the Director of the Bureau of Investigation!”

“I didn’t think you’d return my calls.”

“You should be under arrest!”

Sullivan looked around the empty warehouse. “You and what army?”

Being alone and defenseless only made him slightly more humble than when he was surrounded by armed agents. “I used to
own
you!”

Sullivan did not respond to that.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

“I didn’t think I could go much higher than Public Enemy Number One.”

“Yes, which is frankly an embarrassment.” Hoover rubbed his face with both hands. “They corrupted my own system and used it to embarrass me.”

“The Office of the Coordinator of Information, you mean?” Sullivan chuckled. “How’s the power struggle going?”

Hoover looked at him funny. “You’re well-informed.”

“Very.” Actually, it had been a guess, but it looked like he was right. “OCI used my parole to hang you out to dry. Way I see it, you either messed up and let a dangerous homicidal Active loose on society to serve as your personal hit man, or the OCI’s got this all wrong, and me and my friends have nothing to do with this plot.”

“You’re rather clever for a Heavy, Mr. Sullivan.”

“Gravity Spiker, and you knew that when you sprung me from Rockville. We’re innocent, by the way.”

“The evidence against your group is damning.”

“What evidence? A mad Boomer wearing a spell and a ring makes hundreds of people guilty? That wouldn’t hold up in any court. We’re scapegoats. Patsies. And you know it. That evidence came from the OCI, didn’t it?”

“Of course . . . Let me go, and I’ll be sure to bring that to light.”

Sullivan pointed. “Door’s thataway. Your car is waiting.” He tossed the keys to Hoover, who, surprised, barely managed to flinch and catch them between his knees. “Don’t forget your man in the trunk. That can’t be comfy.”

Hoover took the keys. “Just like that?”

“I’m here to make you an offer, Hoover, not hold you for ransom. The OCI is a problem for both of us. I can help fix it.”

The Director stood and hurriedly fled across the space, shoes echoing on the hard floor. Pigeons scattered to get out of his way. Sullivan stayed in place, but he figured he wouldn’t have to wait long. He had known men like J. Edgar Hoover before. Though they weren’t nearly as powerful, they were of similar makeup. Everything was about
them
. Any twist of fate that didn’t go their way was a personal slight. In a military officer, any positive report about a subordinate was felt as if they’d received a reprimand. In business, if the other guy made a buck, then they felt like they’d lost a buck, like there were only so many to go around. Everything was a competition, and no matter how successful they were, they were always bitter, petty men, who couldn’t stand being shamed.

Hoover came back a minute later, his curiosity having gotten the better of him. “What are you proposing?”

“You want to protect the institution you’ve built. I want to protect my people. Neither one of us likes seeing the innocent taking a fall while the guilty get away.”

“Of course not,” Hoover snapped. “I know you hate me, but everything I’ve done has been to defend this great nation from our enemies.”

Sullivan gave a sad little smile. Hoover was lecturing one of the most decorated veterans of the Great War about defending the country. “I believe you. Despite what I think of you, you sure do like putting the bad guys in jail. I respect that. Have a seat.” He waited for the pudgy man to return to the broken chair. “I’m assuming you know the truth about Mar Pacifica?”

“Anarchist Actives—”

“It was the Imperium.”

Hoover scowled. “That’s classified.”

“I was there. Don’t tell me about defending this nation, when I personally killed the man responsible for taking over the Peace Ray. I cut his head in half with a Jap sword. The
Tokugawa?
That was us too . . . We’re on the same side here, Hoover, and you know it. I know you’ve got your hooks in everything. I’d like to share information.”

“You have been busy. Very well. You go first.”

That was expected. “I just did. Now you’ve got a confirmation about who killed the Chairman and saved New York from being vaporized by a Tesla weapon.”

“And the Geo-Tel?”

Sullivan was impressed. Hoover was just as well informed as everyone said he was. “Destroyed.”

“Hmmm . . . I don’t know what to say about that . . .”

Thank you would be nice for once.
“Tell me about the OCI.”

It was obvious Hoover didn’t like being manipulated, but he was a man who liked to explore his options. “A very secret, very minor, unimportant agency started by President Wilson, specifically to study magic and gather intelligence on known Actives.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“As I said—secret. They were authorized emergency police powers after Pacifica.”

“I thought monitoring Active criminals was the BI’s responsibility.”

It was obvious this part put Hoover in a sour mood. “It was. OCI was to monitor Actives in general. After the Peace Ray, some . . . confidence was lost in the Bureau’s abilities. OCI had already laid the groundwork and was prepared to step in. They’ve capitalized on recent events to increase their authority.”

When he put it that way, government infighting didn’t sound much different than the mobs jockeying to control different rackets. Another gang shows weakness, you make a move. “Why are they framing the Grimnoir?”

Hoover paused, as if thinking about how much precious information he was willing to part with. “Perhaps they think you really are responsible?”

“I was a detective, remember? They can’t be that stupid. They’re not trying to conduct an investigation. This is an extermination.”

The top G-man in the country gave him a bit of a smile. “Very good, Mr. Sullivan. A lone killer, no matter how dangerous, the country deals with them and moves on. It doesn’t require any great changes to the system. Now a conspiracy . . . that requires action to root out. That requires men, material, money, and management. Since things are changing so rapidly in these dark times, some parties may see this as their opportunity to insinuate themselves into the fabric of power. Your group is but the means to an end.”

“And from the way the BI’s been thrown under the train, too, I’m guessing you’re in the way of that end, and it’s probably not because you’re such a fan of civil liberties for Actives.”

“You might not think so, seeing as how you’re a
convict
, but compared to my opposite number in the OCI, I am a saint. This may come as a surprise, but I’ve been against their agenda the entire time. I think it goes entirely too far and the American people will not stand for it.”

“What’s the agenda?”

The Director was surprised. “You don’t know?” Sullivan cursed himself for the slip. “Perhaps you are not as well informed as I’d thought. Forget that I said anything. I’m not in the habit of divulging classified information.” Hoover had scored a point.

“So what are we going to do about it?”

“We? I’ll follow the will of the people through the instructions of their duly elected representatives.”

“Sure. And if I bring you proof that OCI is rotten?”

“Then I bury them,” Hoover answered maliciously. “If you are innocent as you claim, then my Bureau never made any mistakes at all, and that will simply have to be made public, that the OCI was barking up the wrong tree. I can see how an exchange of information could be mutually beneficial for both of us. I believe that we can come to an agreement . . . though if questioned, this meeting never occurred.”

Sullivan extended one big hand. Hoover looked at it distastefully, then finally shook on it. Sullivan had to resist the urge to break all his fingers. “Welcome to the conspiracy, Mr. Hoover.”

Fairfax County, Virginia

ALL ASPIRING IRON GUARDS
had to read Okubo Tokugawa’s personal history. He was their leader and their inspiration. An Iron Guard was to emulate the Chairman in all aspects of their life. Whether it was courage on the battlefield, artistry on the canvas, or cunning in the courts, Okubo Tokugawa was all that an Iron Guard should aspire to be.

He had also been a ronin, Toru reasoned.

The Chairman had been born into one of the greatest families in Nippon, but when the Power had chosen the young man to be the first Active, his sudden manifestation of magical abilities had been a great cause of confusion. This was before man understood anything about magic, and the young samurai’s miraculous skills were frightening to the unenlightened. There could only be one Child of Heaven. The Shogunate was shamed by this development, and political rivals used his uniqueness as an excuse for war.

Seppuku was not an option for someone who could not seem to die, so he had been exiled for the good of the empire. Thus he had become a wave man, a ronin, carried about by the dark ocean of fate. It was only through this wandering time that the man who would go on to become the Chairman would learn true wisdom.

Toru clung to that idea. He was following in the footsteps of his father.

He would not obey the false Chairman’s orders. The imposter deserved no loyalty. He did not speak for the Imperium. In fact, by disregarding Okubo Tokugawa’s final message from beyond the grave, the imposter was putting the entire Imperium in jeopardy.

If the imposter would not fill the Chairman’s final order, then Toru would. He did not yet know how, but once the Pathfinder was defeated, then Toru would turn his attention to the imposter. Until then, however, pursuit was inevitable. No Iron Guard had ever forsaken his place before. Hatori should have fled, but he had been old, tired, and afraid. Toru would atone for his mentor’s mistakes as well.

The marines were still unaware of what was coming. He had gathered his belongings, a bag of gold coins, a supply of American money, along with his favorite weapons, and then gone to the garden to meditate and to wait for the Iron Guards that were supposed to take his life. He could have just run, but then they would have given immediate chase. He would need time to plan his next move, and that would be difficult while being hounded by his tenacious brothers.