![Judgment Night [BUREAU 13 Book One]](/res/cobbf/book3.jpg)
necessary. “We have been tracked and pursued since the lake. We've managed to stay one jump ahead of our faceless enemy, but they're using the big guns now and there isn't enough clearance. Civilians are getting murdered."
"But I thought the van could scramble any electronic surveillance,” Raul stated weakly, his face almost white in color. He looked years older and reeked of sour sweat.
"Correct."
Trembling, Richard gestured in the air, his fingers leaving trails of light behind. “There are no magical tracers on us,” he announced.
Jessica tilted her head. “Psyonics, clear."
I scowled darkly. “Goddamn it, you're forgetting the obvious."
Crossing her arms, Mindy asked, “Visual tracking?"
"Why not?"
"So what do we do?” George asked, tapping a finger on the long vented barrel of his machine gun.
"Take advantage of a golden opportunity,” I stated. “The blast that hurled the van here, also masked our escape. If we play this quiet, our enemy will never know we survived until its too late."
They murmured hesitant approval. I went on. “We leave the van here and split up. First into groups of two, then individually. The plan is to scatter and converge. That way, at least some of us will get to Bureau headquarters."
"On 33rd and 3rd,” Raul said grimly. He sounded stronger by the minute, but mages were known to be fast healers. Already there was a faint aroma of Old Spice aftershave around the man.
"As far as we know, that is the place,” I agreed.
Returning to the van, I opened a small safe under the drivers seat and pulled out a wad of money. It was a bit dusty, but still serviceable. “Here's five thousand for each of you. Remember, use cash only, no credit cards. Sign nothing and never give your real name."
"What about you?” asked Jessica asked in concern. “How will you operate without funds?"
I patted her hand. It was nice to know there were some thing she couldn't read. “Thanks for the concern. But if I need more than fifty bucks to get from here to there, I've lost my touch."
"Special private eye training?” Richard asked curiously.
"Nope,” I lied. “Just cheap."
Climbing into the swivel chair before the console, Jessica got busy with the document forger. A fantastic device built by Dr. Roberston, the Bureau's pet genius. The compact machine was a combination computer, printer, embosser with the precise details of over 20,000 government documents in storage; passports, library cards, federal weapon permits, security passes, military ID, arrest warrants, drivers licenses, tax stamps, diplomas, writs of habeas corpus, stays of execution, season Yankee tickets, you-name-it. In short order, she made an assortment of documents and identification cards for each member of the team, ending with a new drivers license for me under the name of Joe Smith. I like a challenge.
"What about Amigo?” Raul asked, swiveling his chair around. The lizard waddled closer and he ran a finger over the scaly head of our tiny guardian who rumbled in pleasure.
"Take him with you,” I suggested, cleaning my wallet of unwanted material. I fed the cards into the ash tray where they burst into ash. “We can't leave him here, or let him loose."
"Fair enough.” Smiling, Raul slipped the lizard into a side jacket pocket. Amigo poked his head out and flicked his forked tongue as if to say goodbye, then withdrew and began squirming about to get comfortable. Mindy handed the mage a matchbox of chirping crickets.
After a brief dissertation on the practical uses of greasepaint, our disguise trunk was emptied of supplies and everybody changed their hair color, donned glasses and/or moustaches and stuffed clothing packs into pockets. In deadly silence, Donaher shaved his moustache off, his only consolation was the near weeping of George as he left his M60/Banjo on the floorboards. There was nothing silly about it. Took a soldier a long time to know the particular idiosyncrasies of a favored weapon. George was
"But I thought the van could scramble any electronic surveillance,” Raul stated weakly, his face almost white in color. He looked years older and reeked of sour sweat.
"Correct."
Trembling, Richard gestured in the air, his fingers leaving trails of light behind. “There are no magical tracers on us,” he announced.
Jessica tilted her head. “Psyonics, clear."
I scowled darkly. “Goddamn it, you're forgetting the obvious."
Crossing her arms, Mindy asked, “Visual tracking?"
"Why not?"
"So what do we do?” George asked, tapping a finger on the long vented barrel of his machine gun.
"Take advantage of a golden opportunity,” I stated. “The blast that hurled the van here, also masked our escape. If we play this quiet, our enemy will never know we survived until its too late."
They murmured hesitant approval. I went on. “We leave the van here and split up. First into groups of two, then individually. The plan is to scatter and converge. That way, at least some of us will get to Bureau headquarters."
"On 33rd and 3rd,” Raul said grimly. He sounded stronger by the minute, but mages were known to be fast healers. Already there was a faint aroma of Old Spice aftershave around the man.
"As far as we know, that is the place,” I agreed.
Returning to the van, I opened a small safe under the drivers seat and pulled out a wad of money. It was a bit dusty, but still serviceable. “Here's five thousand for each of you. Remember, use cash only, no credit cards. Sign nothing and never give your real name."
"What about you?” asked Jessica asked in concern. “How will you operate without funds?"
I patted her hand. It was nice to know there were some thing she couldn't read. “Thanks for the concern. But if I need more than fifty bucks to get from here to there, I've lost my touch."
"Special private eye training?” Richard asked curiously.
"Nope,” I lied. “Just cheap."
Climbing into the swivel chair before the console, Jessica got busy with the document forger. A fantastic device built by Dr. Roberston, the Bureau's pet genius. The compact machine was a combination computer, printer, embosser with the precise details of over 20,000 government documents in storage; passports, library cards, federal weapon permits, security passes, military ID, arrest warrants, drivers licenses, tax stamps, diplomas, writs of habeas corpus, stays of execution, season Yankee tickets, you-name-it. In short order, she made an assortment of documents and identification cards for each member of the team, ending with a new drivers license for me under the name of Joe Smith. I like a challenge.
"What about Amigo?” Raul asked, swiveling his chair around. The lizard waddled closer and he ran a finger over the scaly head of our tiny guardian who rumbled in pleasure.
"Take him with you,” I suggested, cleaning my wallet of unwanted material. I fed the cards into the ash tray where they burst into ash. “We can't leave him here, or let him loose."
"Fair enough.” Smiling, Raul slipped the lizard into a side jacket pocket. Amigo poked his head out and flicked his forked tongue as if to say goodbye, then withdrew and began squirming about to get comfortable. Mindy handed the mage a matchbox of chirping crickets.
After a brief dissertation on the practical uses of greasepaint, our disguise trunk was emptied of supplies and everybody changed their hair color, donned glasses and/or moustaches and stuffed clothing packs into pockets. In deadly silence, Donaher shaved his moustache off, his only consolation was the near weeping of George as he left his M60/Banjo on the floorboards. There was nothing silly about it. Took a soldier a long time to know the particular idiosyncrasies of a favored weapon. George was
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