Tuesday through Thursday nights at the De Young Museum
"How could you?" Monique shouted, bursting into Cassie's office just before lunchtime. "I can't belive you!"
"What?" Cassandra said, startled, looking up from "Archaeology Today." "How could I what? I really meant to clean the coffee pot last night, but I had to take Tony to the airport --"
"How could you tell him that I liked him?" Monique pouted.
"Liked who?" Cassie responded. Dear God, here comes secretary number eight -- or is it nine this year?
"Peter, that's who! You said something, and now he's totally ignoring me! I quit!" She slams her keys down on Cassie's dek, and stalks out of the room, slamming the wooden door shut behind her.
'Eight or nine?' Cassie wonders again, shaking her head. 'I'm going to hear about this one, for sure. And no interns from the university next time.'
Staring at Monique's keys on the desk, Cassie sighs, "Maybe this time I should get a male secretary. It might cut down on the office romance troubles."
A motorcyle, with Protector on board, rumbles past Odyssey as she crosses the concert area between the De Young Museum and the California Academy of Sciences.
'Good thing Maria let me in on this meeting,' she thinks, hoping the hem of her toga doesn't stick out too far from under the trenchcoat -- or that any of the museum's staff were around this late on a Tuesday night to see it.
Protector kills the engine of the Harley, and steps from it. Just then, a woman's clear voice calls from the fog, behind the statue (often stretching her accent to make the poem rhyme):
"I found in Innisfail the fair,
In Ireland, while in exile there,
Women of worth, both grave and gay men,
Many clerics and many laymen.
"Gold and silver I found, and money,
Plenty of wheat, and plenty of honey;
I found God's people rich in piety,
Found many a feast, and many a city."
Maria Chow steps forward from behind the statue, bows slightly to bronze Robert Emmet, then to Odyssey and to Protector, now standing directly in front of her. "Sister Katherine made me memorize that in second grade, and I've never forgotten it," she apologizes to them, gesturing with her hands so that she's standing in the same position as the Irishman.
"That rhymed better in Gaelic," the Specter intones dryly from behind them, emerging from fog. "Of course, I believe it was all one word in Gaelic."
Odyssey chokes back a giggle.
Maria Chow whirls. "Ah, the Specter," she says. "Nice to see you again, sir. I am to give you the Golden Avenger's regrets, but he was called away on another mission. I have been looking into the case today, though."
"Is this everyone who's coming?" she says. "I was told a gentleman named Ralph might be coming as well?"
"No, he also sends his regrets," Odyssey responds. "He is still feeling ill effects from his adventure last night."
Odyssey adds to herself, 'If he knows what's good for him, he's sitting at home taking the vitamin C and eating Uncle Alex's chicken soup I brought him. The man can be so obstinate.'
"Well, let me begin, then," she leans against the statue's base, "By saying that the book which was found -- the Arabic one -- had been reported stolen from the British Museum last month. Supposedly it's in an esoteric script which is difficult to translate, and supposedly it's a book of -- get this -- mystical poetry. I'm not saying mystical in the summoning of demons sense, I'm saying mystical in the Saint John of the Cross sense." She gives the other three a knowing look, none of whom return it. She sighs. "Mysticism in this sense is of a spiritual relationship with God so strong, it's well, quite physical, and I mean that in the Baywatch sense of the word. But since the book is pre-Mohammedan, it's difficult to tell which god is being, ah, revered here. By the way, this is all according to the representative of the British Museum I spoke with this afternoon. They're sending someone out Friday to get the book."
"Also, after looking into the ownership of the house, I've found out that in the 1940s it belonged to a Rainald Thermond, a naturalized Frenchman."
Thermond... Protector rolls the name around in his head. Let's see, did I ever meet this guy... It isn't like I never got invited to parties in this town... hmm...Nope, not familiar.
Chow continues on, "He was reported killed in a fire in the house during a dinner party he was having, which caused the structural damage to the house. The house passed to his sons in France, who refused to sell it or to even tear it down. One of the sons is still alive," she fumbles in her black jacket pocket, and pulls out a yellow piece of paper, "Ah, that's right. Pierre-Michel Thermond," she stumbles over the name. "At any rate, he's fought to keep the land since then, tying the case up in the courts. It's been a big pain for the California Fish and Game people, who want the land for the preserve."
"Odyssey tells me that she has an idea about a way to bring these kidnappers out into the open," Maria Chow finishes, thrusting her hands back into her jacket's pockets. "Odyssey?"
"Well," Odyssey begins, "If we assume that at least some of the kidnappings were committed by the same people or things that nabbed Peter Bartholomew - and I don't think it's too big of a leap in logic to make that assumption - then I think we have substantial evidence as to what they need these kidnap victims for. The victims plus the book or magical items - remember several Eygptian artifacts were recently stolen from museums in Chicago - are needed."
"Given that - I think it's safe to assume that this group probably wants this book back."
"My suggestions is that PRIMUS allow the book to be housed at the De Young Museum until the British representative can pick it up," Odyssey says.
"I can arrange for this plus a press release that says the book is being transferred to the De Young because the museum has the facilities to keep the book in the best possible condition. You know, climate control, safe light, etc."
"Given the book's interesting background and the circumstances in which it was found, I think I can pretty much gurantee that at least some mention of this will end up in the newspapers and hopefully be seen by this nefarious group."
"Then we sit watch on the book. I believe sooner or later, probably sooner, the group will attempt to get the book back. That is our chance to nab them."
'Great, a stakeout' thinks Shawn. 'I *hate* stakeouts.' He disliked the idea of having to sit around and wait for the cultists to come to them. It might not even work, and then they had wasted another day and God Knows what was happening to Carol while they were sitting on their hands. 'Damn.'
Shawn waited for Chow to answer. There was little point to debating the merits of Odyssey's suggestion, if Chow wouldn't release the book.
Odyssey gives Protector a pentrating glance, noting the expression on his face. "What? Do you have a better idea?" she asks. "Because I'd love to hear it."
Shawn looks a little surprised, like his thoughts were not on the subject immediately at hand. "Oh, no, Odyssey." he replies. "I was just thinking about the victims, where they are right now, and what's happening to them." He sighs. "I was trying to think of something we could do that would be more immediate, but... I can't think of a thing."
"I think about their families," Odyssey replies. "At least we can do something. Their families are left waiting at home, never knowing if the next call or knock at the door will bring news that their loved one is dead. I'm thankful that I can at least take action."
"Well, using the book as bait will certainly take at least 24 hours," Odyssey continues. "However, doing that does not preclude taking other action. For instance, the house where we discovered Peter and the book had a history of cult activity, at least according to Ralph."
"It certainly would behoove us to ask him and anyone else who might have information on this, what other sites in S.F. have a history of cult activity. Those who are not on the book watch could start checking out those sites. Make sure they are not being reused."
"There's also this dead Rainald Thermond and his son Pierre-Michel Thermond. If Rainald was a naturalized French citizen, that means his original citizenship was something else, perhaps even American. He may have a history in this country. Social registers and gossip columns are a wonderful source of information. As for Pierre-Michel. Is he in town right now? Does anyone know anything about him? Can we talk to him? Both men bear investigating and that can certainly be done immediately. The Internet is open 24 hours a day."
The Specter thinks for a moment. "I like it. The plan has merit. I will continue to follow up on several other leads of my own. How can I contact you Odyssey?"
"Ummmm." Odyssey pats the pockets on her trench coat looking for a pen. What she comes up with is an eyeliner pencil and a grocery receipt. She scrawls her phone number on the back and hands it to Specter. "Here you go."
The Silver Avenger nods her head as well. "I don't know if the British Museum people will believe the parts about climate control, since they don't protect any of their exhibits that way," she says, "But I think it's a plan. I have been trying to get in contact with the Cal professor who heads the Arabic department, just to see if he can't figure something out about the script, too." She bonks herself on the head with her hand. "Sorry I'm so spacey -- that VIPER raid last night lasted until 11 this morning."
"As per the agreement I made with the British Museum, however, I can't let the book out of sight of a PRIMUS team." She looks at Odyssey. "I'll have Agent Kestler assemble whoever she wants for this one. I can have them 'dress down,' and keep the heavy weapons concealed. I know the board of directors aren't going to be happy about this one."
"Perhaps not estatic," Odyssey says. "But once it's explained that this is free, additional security I'm sure they will be a little happier. They've been paying $1,000-a-day extra for more security since those museum break-ins started."
"With the British Museum folks arriving by - what, Friday? - the additional men and any inconvience won't be for long. It will either work, or it won't." she adds, punctuated with a shrug of her shoulders.
Cassie's ears were burning by the time she escaped what could only be termed the "meeting-from-hell."
"Well, that certainly went well," De Young Museum director Jonathan Hawkes says as he walks out of the boardroom with her.
"That was good?!" Cassie asks in complete surprise. She had expected some resistance to her proposal to house the mysterious Arabic tome at the De Young until the Brits could pick it up. Instead she was met with all-out war, lead by none other than her old nemesis Carl Ponte.
Cassie knew the man hated her. It was a feeling she returned with enthusiasm. Ponte represents everything she despises -- he's obscenely wealthy, extremely conservative and completely stuck up. Cassie might tolerate it if he earned the money himself. But Ponte belongs to that minority group that was born filthy rich and even if they spent their fortune like it was water, they'd still never run out of money in their lifetime.
"I thought Ponte had my firing papers in his briefcase, ready for me to sign," Cassie adds, jokingly.
"He did," Hawkes says as they walk down the polished hallway between the board room and the museum administration offices.
"What?" says Cassie, looking slightly startled.
Hawkes continues on unruffled."He's had them in his briefcase since the day after you were hired. He's just waiting for the chance to use them. What ever did you say to piss him off that much?"
"I believe I called him an ignorant little tyrant who wouldn't know a chamber pot from a 4th century Ming vase," she says, regaining her composure.
"Well, that's true," Hawkes replies. "I heard he once bought a piece that was actually stamped 'Made in China.' The man told him that it was the only way to be sure he had an authentic Chinese piece." Cassie giggles at that. "How much did he pay for it?" "$30,000, or at least that is all he's 'fessing up to. But that still doesn't explain his anger. He's been called that before."
"Really," says a slightly incredulous Cassie. "And here I thought I had the distinction of being the first. Well, I also said he looked like a toad and smelled like one, too. And that I wouldn't be caught dead dancing with him at any of the museum's fund raisers."
"Ahhh, now we get to the crux of it," says Hawkes as he opens the office door. "You insulted his manhood and his perceived attractability. Well, I don't blame you, but you've made a dangerous enemy. For all his obvious faults, Ponte donates $5 million each year to the museum. That buys him friends and votes on the board. Be careful. The only thing that saved you this time was Marcia Thompson."
Marcia Thompson was a godsend, Cassie thinks to herself. The woman was the only daughter of a Navy admiral and has a slight crush on the Golden Avenger -- or at least that's what Cassie thinks. It's the only way she can explain Thompson arguing so vociferously for allowing the Arabic book to be housed in the De Young with PRIMUS guards. It's kind of cute to think of a silver-haired grandmotherly figure being sweet on D.J. Johnson.
Cassie could only smile when Thompson had come after the meeting and asked if it was possible to get an autographed picture of the Golden Avenger for her 'grandson.'
Opening up the door to his personal office, Hawkes pauses to add, "Don't forget, she was the one who swayed the two other Board members your way. 3-2, it was a close vote. I suggest you make sure that security is tight. If anything happens, Ponte's going to make sure you take the blame for it."
Groaning inwardly, Cassie heads back to her own cluttered office. The key to her plan is that something DOES happen. Those cultists better come looking for that book or the whole thing is for naught. Well, no sense worrying about it until it happens, Cassie thinks.
Instead, she's got more immediate problems. Pausing at the coffee pot, she pours half-a-cup of lukewarm mocha into her cup. Blech! Time to get a new secretary.
Let's see, what temp agency has she not spoken to? Simon and Garth pointedly told her that they would give her no more referrals. Honestly, Cassie can't figure out what she did to deserve such a reputation with the secretarial pool.
Must be a curse, she absently thinks. Maybe I should talk with Ralph about having it removed.
Speaking of, no, actually thinking of Ralph, Cassie reaches over and dials his home number. It rings for a while before the answering machine picks up.
"You had better be asleep or in the shower Ralph, " she says in a rather commanding tone. "I don't want to hear about you straining yourself after that fight last night."
The man has got her seriously worried. He's at least 70-years-old and he's still running around with superheroes hunting cultists when most men are enjoying their retirement and touring the country in an RV. I just don't want him to get hurt, she thinks to herself. Yeah, well, and maybe I'd miss the old coot. Even if he makes all those comments about my costume.
The rest of the message is devoted to updating him about the plan and asking him to make sure he gets his rest and to call her back. Next on her list is Uncle Alex.
"Uncle, I was wondering if you could arrange a large takeout order."
"Ah, Tony is back and you don't want to cook," Alex says. "Have you got a special evening planned? Perhaps I should make oysters."
"Uncle!"
"Don't worry, I won't spoil the surprise, but I expect any great-nephew to be named after me."
"UNCLE!"
"What? Did I say something wrong?" Alex asks with innocence.
"This is not for Tony. PRIMUS is sending a group of agents to the museum to guard a book we're holding until the British museum representatives can come pick it up. I thought I would stay around a while for the first evening and make sure everything goes OK."
"Oh," Uncle Alex, says, sounding slightly disappointed. "Does this have something to do with that incident up in Mill Valley last night?"
Knowing that she'll get nowhere until his curiosity is satisfied, Cassie tries to placate him without giving too much away.
"Well, from what I've been told, the book was discovered at the house. It had been stolen from the British museum and they want it back. Were just taking care of it in the interim. Silver Avenger Chow is coordinating the whole thing."
"Ah, for Ms. Chow I will bake my speciality -- roast lamb."
"Well, there's also going to be several Assault Agents there," Cassie adds.
"They can have cucumber salad and fish soup."
"Uncle!"
"Well, they become Avengers and I will cook lamb for them too. Until then, it's cucumber salad and fish soup."
A sigh issues from Cassie's end of the line. She knows he's joking, but still.
"Ok, for you, my niece, I will consent to use some of the lamb to make the keftethes."
"Thank you, Uncle Alex, you're a dear."
"I'm a lion, not a deer, remember, I was born in late July."
"Ohh, that's a bad one, Uncle."
"Down the stairs, around Rodin's 'Thinker,' vault over the 18th century sofa and come to a stop in front of the Cezanne," Chow says.
"You have GOT to be kidding," Cassie responds, slightly out of breath. "I nearly died trying to take the steps in the Trustee's Auditorium. Now you want me to clear an 18th-century sofa without scuffing it?"
Asking Silver Avenger Maria Chow if she wanted to roller skate through the museum to take up a little time on the first night of the stake out seemed like a good idea. Cassie loves to skate through the halls there. The marble floors make a perfect surface. How was she to know that Chow did the same thing through PRIMUS-HQ in San Francisco?
"If you fell, you could always heal yourself," Chow points out.
"I'm not worried about breaking a bone, I'm worried about breaking the sofa," Cassie gasps. Filling her lungs with air, Cassie wonders what Chow does to stay in such great shape. "Do you do like 100 sit-ups a day or something?"
"200 boxer's crunches. It really helps the abs," Chow says, taking off for the stairs.
"I'm going to die," Cassie mutters. "Ponte won't have to fire me, just have the coroner cart away the body. I better start doing aerobics or sign up for the Avenger Cyberline program if I'm going to keep up."
Pushing herself up, Cassie takes off after Chow, who has already cleared the stairs.
"WOO-HOO!" Chow shouts.
Summoning a reserve of energy -- probably Uncle Alex's meatballs -- Cassie makes the jump of the stairs. Skidding around the 'Thinker,' Cassie says a silent prayer to Rodin that he made that statue so heavy. It takes more than luck to clamor back up the stairs and pick up speed in the hallway and once again Cassie's breath is coming hard and heavy - her lungs searching for oxygen.
Reaching the Regency anteroom, Cassie is going at her top speed. Her leg muscles bunch up, launching her up just before she reaches the couch. 'I'm not going to make it," she thinks just as there is a flash of golden light and then she appears five feet past the couch, skittering across the floor, finally sliding butt-first across the recently-polished floor.
"Nice technique, but the landing could use some work," Chow says, sitting, legs crossed, on a Queen Anne chair. "Wish I could teleport."
Now lying flat on her back, Cassie glances up and back and the upside down figure of the Silver Avenger. "Well, I must not be dead," she says pulling her body off the floor.
"Are you sure? I could be an angel," Chow says.
"Wearing blue rollerblades?" Cassie responds, lifting an eyebrow.
"Hey, even angels have to get around," Chow adds.
"Somehow, I don't think heaven looks like a museum and smells like Pledge," Cassie says, sniffing. "They must have dusted in here recently." She then undoes her skates, "I think I'd better walk back to the office."
Standing in her stocking feet, Cassie hefts her skates over her shoulder. Chow, nary a hair out of place, skates in time with her.
"I appreciate all the help PRIMUS has been giving," Cassie says. "The Museum trustees weren't real gung ho about allowing the book to be here. I think it was the additional security by PRIMUS and the thought that an Avenger might stop by that swayed them."
"That figures. I don't blame them, worrying about the museum. But I'd hate for anything to happen -- I grew up coming here. I just hope that it pans out. I would hate for you to have wasted your time here, at night, and that you had to go out on a limb for it, too."
Cassie shrugs. "Well, I kind of promised Trustee Thompson that I'd get an autographed picture of the Golden Avenger for her. I think she's sweet on him. Do you think PRIMUS would mail her one? I've got the address in my office. We can stop by there on our way back to where the agents and the book are."
"Ah, D.J.'s following. For Trustee Thompson, nothing is too much. I'll get it from him at the Avenger Games next weekend."
PRIMUS' stake out doesn't include Iron Guardsmen -- they would be far too conspicuous, Maria Chow says -- but there are seven Assault Agents here.
Two are stationed in the bushes near the main entrance, two are dressed in plain clothes, armed with the smallest of PRIMUS gear, while the remaining agents have taken the place of the the De Young's regular security. The agents are coordinated by Agent Kestler during the day and by Maria Chow after hours.
Protector joins the stake outs at night, entering the museum incognito shortly before closing, and staying the night. Maria parks herself in the hall outside the vault door, though she brought Scrabble on Wednesday, and proceeded to trounce both paranormals and Tony Salvatore -- Odyssey's husband who brought Chinese food and flowers for both women -- with "quintessence" on a triple word score.
Mostly, Chow spends the evening on and off her laptop, working on various forms and plans. Her cellular phone rings nearly every ten or so minutes, nearly all the calls from PRIMUS. Once, though, around 3 am as Cassie and Tony are nodding off, the phone rings and Chow begins speaking in rapid Spanish. After she gets off the phone, she looks at Cassie and explains, "My older sister, Raphaela. She's a nun in Honduras -- she's been there for fifteen years, and I honestly think she's forgotten her English."
On Thursday evening, just as the museum is closed, Maria Chow enters (late) with a gray haired woman in her late fifties.
Protector is already waiting, and Tony couldn't make the stake out this night -- he had to fly down to Santa Barbara to meet with a client.
"Sorry that I didn't get her earlier," she nods to Kestler, "You can go, Terry, if you want to." To Protector and Odyssey, she says, "This is the British Museum representative, Lady Madeline Rennie. Protector, Odyssey," gestures the Silver Avenger.
"Oh, just Madeline is fine," the woman says, with a crisp, upper-class English accent. Her clothes are tweed, and she's holding a leather briefcase in one hand. "I do hope that you're able to capture the people who stole the book. It was terribly odd when it happened, you know, for it was the only thing that was taken. Not to much even known about it, really, just one of the things we got from the French after the Napoleon business."
Maria brings Lady Rennie tea from the machine in the hallway, and sits down beside her. "Lady Rennie has decided she wants to stay the night," she explains wryly to Protector and Odyssey, "And not in the St. Francis, where PRIMUS had already arranged for her to stay."
"Oh, you make it sound like I'll be such a bother!" the British woman laughs, nearly choking on her tea in a very unladylike way. "Hardly that. I'll just sit quietly on the couch and work on my knitting." As if to prove it, she pulls her needles from the briefcase.
"That wasn't what I meant!" the Silver Avenger says. "I'm just worried about your safety." Lady Rennie sighs, looking wounded, then turns to Cassie. At that point, the Silver Avenger's phone rings, and she leaves the room to answer it. "Arg!" she exclaims, poking her head back into the room. "Protector, it's your night to pick up the take-out. Would you mind?" she smiles. She sticks her head back out of the door and Protector leaves.
Lady Rennie pulls a piece of fax paper out of her briefcase as well, and looks gravely at Cassie. "Dear, I understand you're the expert here, and that you've been coordinating the efforts to try to determine what the book is. While we've never been able to accurately translate the work, perhaps this will help you understand why." She hands Cassie the fax.
"I know this might sound a bit odd to you, but I haven't made this information known to everyone just yet. I have reasons, and they're honorable ones. If you wouldn't mind, please don't say anything unless you absolutely think you have to." The phone number on the fax has been obliterated by a heavy marker. Most of it is in neat handwriting, and reads:
"Mom,
"Took a look at the book images you sent. It's a nasty business, that's for sure. From what I can tell, I don't even want to know what it says. Some business of summoning, like you thought, and some curses, that type of thing. Standard stuff. Also contains some references to singing chants which will summon a beastie called 'the ancient one' from her home in the deep. If you want more, I'll work on it, but it gives me the willies.
"Kev and Ed send their love.
"M"
"Well, your daughter has a remarkable command of languages," Cassie says. "I couldn't even handle modern Arabic in college and she's able to translate ancient Arabic. I've got a friend named Ralph who might have some work for her. He's always complaining that it's impossible to find good translators. Of course, I tell him it's just because he finds such smelly old books that no one would want to touch them."
"I don't think we need any more translation of it - at least for now. And to be honest, it gives me the willies too," Cassie says with a slight shudder. Of course large, slimy worms also give me the willies too. I thought I would puke when Tony brought Chinese. And here he was being such a dear and supplying food. I couldn't eat the noodles. They just reminded me of those worms.
Mentally, Cassie reminds herself to call Ralph. Perhaps, with this new information, he might know a date or a possible location where cultists might try a summoning like this.
"I hope you don't think I'm too presumptuous, but would you consider letting us keep this book for a few days more," she adds to Madeline. "I think these cultists will really want it back if they need it for a summoning. If we move it, they may strike when it's least protected -- in transit. I would never be able to forgive myself if they gave you a problem while you were returning the book to England. "
"If you stay, it would also give you the chance to help me beat Silver Avenger Chow at Scrabble. She trounced me last night with 'quintessence.' Want to put your college degree to good use? "
Lady Rennie laughs. "Of course, dear. I was Scrabble champion of my college at Cambridge."
It looks to be another slow night, Protector thinks glumly, recalling his sister, still missing. Calling Mom and Dad had been rough -- they'd flown down and were currently staying at a hotel on Nob Hill, near where Carol had disappeared from.
Since she was a federal employee, the FBI and PRIMUS were working jointly on the case. However, Shawn hadn't been given the assignment, and while the reasons given were valid -- he was way too close to it -- it still rankled. The agents handling it had indicated they'd inform Shawn as soon as they found out anything, but still. It had been four nights since she'd vanished from her deck, and still there was no news.
When the Silver Avenger's radio squawked at 2:29 in the morning, Odyssey and Lady Rennie jumped awake with a start. Protector, if he had been asleep, leaning against the doric column, gave no sign of it.
"This is Agent Andreas. The heat indicators on the room just went off the scale," a male voice says. "Two, no, three, no, FIVE people just appeared in a golden light above the Hearst Court. They're coming in."
"OK, Gretchel and Thomas, you with us?" Maria asks. "Gotcha, boss," one of the men responds. "We're waiting by the gift shop." The Silver Avenger turns to Odyssey and Protector. "I know you don't need the spiel, but make sure it's on the up and up." She sprints out the door.
Following the Silver Avenger through the darkened corridors, the two paranormals see a blinding golden light in front of them, followed by gunfire.
"Damn, I hope that isn't ricocheting into the Georgia O'Keefe room," Odyssey mutters.
"Arg!" a man's voice cries, followed by a crash.
The Hearst Court is a large open area. It's floors are stone. It is central to the museum, and from it there are openings which lead to the front of the museum, the rear, and on both sides. When Odyssey and Protector arrive, a few steps behind the Silver Avenger, they see that there are four men inside a glowing golden sphere of energy, and that there is one black-clad figure on the floor, outside of the protective circle.
There are four PRIMUS agents, two kneeling with heavy weapons aimed at the men, preparing to fire. These two (Gretchel and Thomas) are blocking the main entrance. Two agents are blocking one side, while another is stationed directly across from them. The Avenger, Odyssey and Protector enter from the museum's rear.
Maria Chow moves like lightening. The bursts of energy she fires from the gun dissipate around the golden globe.
"Mother of God," she mutters. "Magic. I hate magic." She reholsters her weapon and appears ready to leap forward. From what Odyssey and Protector can see, of the four men inside the globe, one is continuously chanting, his voice low through the bubble.
From what Odyssey and Protector can see, of the four men inside the globe, one is continuously chanting, his voice low through the bubble.
Odyssey, who for now has adopted the conservative dress of jeans, white button-down shirt and tennis shoes in case any of the museums employees or directors should stop by, comes through the back entrance to Hearst Court a few paces behind Silver Avenger Maria Chow.
"Please say they didn't damage the stained-glass cupola," she whispers, as she takes a quick glance up. "Whew! At least I won't be paying for that."
She moves hurriedly up to Maria Chow's position.
"The museum is open Wednesdays through Sunday from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m.," Odyssey says in what she hopes is a stern voice. "Admission is $6 bucks. Since it is neither visiting hours nor have you paid the $6, I suggest you surrender before anyone gets hurt." As she says this, Odyssey focus her attention on the guy chanting and prepares to start draining him if these dolts don't give up.
The chanting cultist continues, and the forcefield remains up. A burst of golden energy zaps Agent Gretchel in the chest. He cries out, and is flung backward nearly twelve feet, smoke rising from his chest.
"All right, you're dogmeat!" the Silver Avenger shouts. "Get 'em, boys!" The PRIMUS agents fire a volley of intense energy from their rifles, though it harmlessly dissipates around the force bubble.
Odyssey focuses for a moment and stares at the ringleader. He's tall, with black hair. Like the other men, he's dressed all in black. His hands are moving in an intricate dance as he chants, and his eyes appear to be glowing a dull red. Drawing a deep breath, she focuses on draining his energy. For a moment his chant and the forcefield's intesity waver.
But a moment is all it takes. Silver Avenger Chow, waiting for such an opportunity, leaps across the length of Hearst Court and slams her small fist through the bubble. It makes an audible "pop" sound as it falls, and the men inside look momentarily stunned at her gleeful expression. "Gotcha, you no-good demon-summoning creepy kidnappers!"
Protector leaps forward behind the Silver Avenger. "I'm gonna reach through that ball and knock your blocks clean off your shoulders, you cowardly scum! How brave are you against someone who can fight back?" He hauls back and punches the ringleader in the face, sending him sprawling.
Silver Avenger Chow sighs, looking at the hero from the 1940s and back at Odyssey. "Why is it that these guys have the best lines?" she mutters. "This is my job. I need to work on my delivery."
"I liked your line," Odyssey says. "Protector's just gifted with that naturally deep baritone," she adds, puffing out her chest. "It makes his voice sound 'Com-man-ding.' " The last line she stretches out trying to mimic Protector's trademark vocal boom.
The PRIMUS agents easily dispatch the remaining cultists with stun bursts. Odyssey rushes over to Agent Gretchel, and is able to heal his wounds with little effort. "Th-thanks," he says, sitting up and looking her in the eye.
To Odyssey he looks barely old enough to drink legally, more like a small boy playing army than a man charged with keeping the public safe from paranormal threats.
"So does your mother know what you do for a living Agent Gretchel?" Odyssey asks with a slight smile.
He grins at her sheepishly, and blushes slightly.
"There you go," she says, helping him up. "Though I would lighten up on the number of cultists you pound over the next couple of days."
The cultists are rounded up, and none are found to be seriously wounded, though Protector broke the ringleader's jaw in at least four places, so far as anyone can determine. "They're not saying anything," Maria explains to the group. "We're bringing Sherman to pick them up, just in case." At Protector and Odyssey's puzzled glances, she elaborates, "We call it Sherman - it's really the Special Paranormal Transport Vehicle, but it looks like a tank, so we call it Sherman."
"Avenger Chow," Agent Thomas says, "This one's got a passport on him!" He's standing over the body of the first cultist who was shot, and who remains unconscious. The other four cultists eye their fallen comrade with supreme disgust.
"Where's he from?" she asks, snapping her radio's holster shut.
"Um ...looks like Algeria," Thomas says, running a hand through red hair. "He's got some other stuff in here, too," the agent continues a search. "Darn. Some Arabic thing." He puts it down.
"Just a moment," Lady Rennie's voice calls out. "May I see that, young man?" she asks the agent. Thomas, who looks startled, glances at the Silver Avenger for approval before nodding. The British noblewoman gives the paper a cursory look, then laughs. "It's a set of directions," she says, "To some hotel called the Stouffer Stanford Court. Does that mean anything?" she asks.
"Yes, it certainly does. It's a hotel on Nob Hill." The Silver Avenger calls the information in to PRIMUS.
"Hey, didn't one of the kidnap victims live near Nob Hill?" Odyssey asks. "I'd like to come along and check that hotel out. How about it?"
"I'm going as well," Protector says quickly. "...you never know if they might have some creeping horror from the Hell of Being Eaten By A Chinese Noodle there." he intones seriously.