Captain Cipher still had salt. He flung it, chanting at the top of his voice. Where it touched the corpsodiles, their skin blistered and peeled back. A sword or staff stroke on a salt wound caused the unfortunate creature to die a second swift agonizing death.
Griffin, shoulder to shoulder with Bishop, watched the man go into high gear. His sword was a flicker of liquid light. Griffin swirled his own borrowed blade in narrow arcs, smashing the corpsodiles until there was a wall of bodies (There was no real resistance to the creatures. Almost as if they were phantoms…)
— and finally there was no more movement from the graves. No movement, but a low moaning sound that came from everywhere and originated nowhere, filling the room.
'Something's coming,' Acacia whispered. 'Oh, shit, I don't like this.'
'Stay strong,' Tammi said tersely.
At first there was nothing but empty graves and stacked zombie crocs, then two pony-sized black figures came bounding along the park path toward them. Dogs. Brutes. Two-hundred-pounders, pit bulls the size of mastiffs. They stopped, hovered out of range of the Adventurers' weapons.
A shape appeared at the top of the hill, dimly backlit by a dying street lamp. A one-legged man on crutches. Slowly, painfully, he made his way to them. Every step was an effort.
He was an old, old black man, and the dogs at his sides seemed more guardians than pets. They sniffed at Tammi, and at Mary-em. When they nuzzled her tummy, one of them sat on the ground and rolled over to expose its belly. She bent and scratched.
Real dog, by God.
'You have destroyed many of the undead,' the old man said. 'You are powerful. I think not powerful enough for what you try to do. But powerful.'
Captain Cipher piped up. 'Are you Babalu-Aye?'
'I have taken that guise, yes. You know the truth about us now. You saved, or fought to save, many dogs. I love dogs. They are my friends. And you have weakened the bonds that hold me. I offer to you this.'
He held out one of the battered wooden crutches to Top Nun. 'It magnifies the power of healing. You will need this before your task is through.'
Top Nun slipped the crutch under her arm. It was dark, stained, heavily knotted wood. Her protective glow amped up until it was almost uncomfortably bright. With a wave of her hand, she brought it down to a milder level. She turned back to Babalu-Aye but he, and the dogs, had disappeared.
'Such a mensch,' she whispered, and fingered the talisman softly.
A decision was made: with Top Nun's new protective power at their command, they would take a final break, preparing for their ultimate assault.
They found a gazebo, a rickety white framework in the middle of the desolation, and the Adventurers shucked their backpacks and sat heavily, as though the fatigue had flooded over them in sudden waves.
Griffin was watching carefully. Nigel Bishop seemed to have no desire to relate to Acacia, or to Griffin, either. Alex would have liked it better if one or the other of them had been killed out of the Game. He had to get out for a conference, and he needed an ally. There was only one choice.
He walked over to where Mary-em sat, unfolding her bedroll. She was gazing across the mud-flat graveyard, the scene of recent battle, one hand resting gently over the unborn child within her.
'May I sit?'
The little woman glanced at him slyly. 'Absolutely.'
'Better still. Can we go for a little walk?'
'Could be dangerous. Could be buggies about.'
'We need privacy.'
'I'm a mother now-' she started, then saw how serious he was. She hitched herself up, following him out of the gazebo. They found a bench a hundred feet away and sat.
Alex pressed his earpiece. 'Message for Tony,' he said clearly. 'McWhirter. This is an emergency time-out, security matter. See we're not disturbed.'
There was a pause. 'McWhirter isn't here, chief,' Mitch Hasagawa said, 'but I'll pass the word along.'
Mary-em was watching him shrewdly. 'So. What is it this time?'
He laughed. 'I keep messing up your Games, don't I?'
'Is that why you're here?'
'No, but you know that I'm the head of Security, and Acacia knows, and… Bishop knows.'
'Uh-huh. Cut to the chase, Griffy.'
He sighed. 'Right. Bishop has conspired to fix this Game somehow. Acacia is in on it, or was. That's not all. Someone died.''
Her eyes narrowed in unspoken question.
'A security officer for Cowles Industries. Bishop might have been involved. If Acacia can implicate him…'
Mary-em was thoughtful. 'A Game like this wouldn't be a bad opportunity to take someone out.'
'I want you to stay close to Acacia. Don't let her out of your sight. I know that Bishop wouldn't try anything with a witness.'
She nodded, her nut-brown face crinkling. 'You've got it.'
Bishop watched as Griffin and Mary-em and Acacia did their little minuet. And laughed to himself. He excused himself from the group to do a little scouting. There was no reason not to, and Acacia's relief was a delight to see. He walked out into dhe graveyard, then disappeared into the shadows beyond.
35
Friday, July 22, 2059 — 5:46 P.M.
Griffln found one of the hidden wall panels and thumbprinted for entrance. It slid back, admitting him to a sealed corridor. A second door yielded to him, and he entered a deserted offlce. He flicked on one of the monitors and punched up Harmony's number.
Harmony appeared in the air in front of him, looking startled. 'Man, you look like hell. When was the last time you slept?'
'I got some sleep last night,' Griffln said lamely. If he looked half as dead as he felt, they should have played him alongside Baron Samedi.
Millicent's image appeared, followed by Tony and Richard Lopez. Griffin wasn't happy about that, but it took only a minute to understand the sense of it.
'Mr. Lopez,' he said finally. 'We assume you will hold the following discussion in strictest confidence?'
'Of course.' Lopez's image flickered a bit, and Alex adjusted it.
'All right. Thaddeus, what have we got?'
Griffln fought to maintain concentration while Harmony brought him up to date. God. All he wanted to do was crawl under a bush somewhere and sleep. 'So Bishop might have known Sharon. Big coincidence. And he can't con himself into believing he could pull off this Army thing? Because that was the obvious…'
Tony shook his head, an emphatic negative.
Richard Lopez spoke carefully. 'Understand, Mr. Griffin, that much of Bishop's strategy originates in his reverence for Sun-tzu's The Art of War. One reason that The Art of War is so easy to computer-model is that it suggests a very specific set of reactions certain stimuli. For instance: 'If you outnumber the opponent by a factor of ten, surround them. When five times greater, attack them. When two times greater, scatter them. When fewer in number, avoid them,' and so on. The combination of reactions creates infinite tactical variety. The basic reactions are If-Then propositions. At the very core is the constant reminder to never do what the opponent expects.'
'Reasonable enough.'
'But do you really understand it? The American military officer who came closest to Sun-tzu was probably Douglas MacArthur. During his Philippine campaign in World War II, he committed to retaking Manila. 'I shall
