“That’s fine, Logan. We’ll wake you if anything happens.”
While Logan napped, we discussed options.
“Can’t we port out?” asked Mike. “You’ve been working on the spell to get us back to Nevada.”
Manny’s eyes glazed over at the mention of magic, but he got the gist of the message. “We’d be leaving our allies in a bad spot if we bug out,” he said.
“Also, I’m not sure our ‘escape hatch’ will work,” I said. “At that distance, the energy requirement would be tremendous. It would be like juggling hand grenades.”
We were interrupted by a polite rapping at the door. Mike opened it to reveal Lady Birdsong and a middle-aged man in uniform.
We ushered them in and sat around the table.
Lady Birdsong started the conversation. “We are surrounded by Saudi military. They have tanks and anti-aircraft batteries that preclude an evacuation. All the local nationals have been released. Currently, we have only about fifty embassy personnel remaining.”
“Ladybird, can’t you just give them the magic lamp back?” asked Manny. “It’s just a fucking good luck charm. It can’t be that valuable.”
Lady Birdsong took a deep breath before answering, “I have been ordered to maintain control of the object until such time as it can be neutralized. Until then, it is considered a weapon of mass destruction. As such, it cannot remain in the hands of persons who have misused it.”
“Without the imprisoned genie,” I said, “the vessel is no danger.” At her look, I added, “I’m fairly certain the genie won’t be returning soon.”
“‘Fairly certain’ is hardly enough assurance for me to countermand my orders,” said Lady Birdsong.
Her questioning look irritated me. Should I tell her we had entrapped the genie in a home-made lamp? Then I would have to tell her we held the secret to manufacturing genie traps. Why not throw in that I could manufacture gold at industrial levels? Or any number of extremely valuable elements?
If Lady Birdsong and her superiors were willing to risk war for an empty genie bottle, what more would they risk for someone who could mass produce those bottles?
“Forget arguing about Indiana Jones artifacts,” said Mike, “and brief us on the tactical situation. Is there a back door to the embassy?”
“There are no other exits,” said the SAS officer, “and anti-aircraft batteries preclude evacuation by helo. Our armored vehicles cannot drive over the blockades they have set up.”
“And what are the Americans doing?” I asked.
“After a briefing by Mr. Jonathan, the US government has decided to urge a ‘diplomatic solution’ to the conflict and offered to broker a deal with the Saudis.”
“A deal brokered by Mr. Jonathan would be worse than no deal,” I said.
“You guys have any glassblowers in this dump?” asked Manny. At our surprised looks, he continued, “Give the bastards a fake genie bottle to get them off our case until we can blow this joint.”
Mike raised an eyebrow, but I shook my head. Sure, I had made a globe that could hold the genie. But that had taken almost all of my strength, coupled with all the magic I could channel from a magic sandstorm. Even if I wanted to risk revealing these talents, creating a fake would deplete all my magical resources—resources we might need to escape.
“Creating a convincing duplicate is beyond our capabilities,” said Lady Birdsong.
“If we can’t fake ‘em out, and we can’t run away, we’ll have to fight ‘em,” said Manny.
“Thanks to Luna, we still have our handguns,” said Mike. “Can you give us anything else from your armory?”
The SAS office briefed Mike and Manny on the firearms available. Soon we were supplied with several L1911 carbines and a dozen thirty-round clips.
The SAS officer tried to hand me one, but I refused.
“Princess, this is no time to be a pacifist.”
“I’m no pacifist,” I said, “but I’m such a bad shot that I’m more of a danger to my friends than I am to my foes.”
I popped my razor-sharp claws and held them in front of his eyes. “I prefer the weapons I was born with.”
He gulped, then nodded agreement.
When Logan woke, we briefed him on the situation. Unfortunately, he had no insight to offer that might resolve the situation.
Lady Birdsong’s phone rang and she answered. Her dour look improved and she smiled as she hung up.
“Good news. Our government deployed a ship for our evacuation.”
“A ship?” I asked. “Isn’t the Gulf over five hundred kilometers away? Even if they sent helos, your SAS man said the Saudis have anti-aircraft weapons.”
“But this ship has a squad of MI-13 magicians on board. Graduates of our Academy.”
“You have a magic academy?” asked Mike. “Like Hogwarts?”
“What,” interrupted Logan, “are we going to be rescued by a bunch of teenagers on flying brooms?”
“Nothing like that. These are adult magicians trained to the peak of their abilities.”
“How are they going to help us?”
“Not with flying brooms, certainly. We have a teleportation team that can set up a portal between the ship and our location.”
Fifteen minutes later, we had all gathered in a vault on the ground floor. This was deemed to be the safest location for the transfer.
It was also the location where the embassy held all their classified material. As soon as we entered, both Logan and I said, “C-4!”
The SAS officer nodded and said, “We’re prepared to destroy the embassy to prevent any invaders from getting their hands on our materials.”
“Timer or self-destruct?” asked Manny.
“Both.”
The vault room was crowded, with nearly fifty people inside. A clear space against one wall was roped off.
It was fascinating to watch how human magicians created a portal. Instead of one person performing the spell, it seemed a team of ten magicians on the ship were handling the incantation and spellwork.
At first, it looked like a projection on the wall, dim and blurry and jumping up and down by six feet or more. Then as the distant team poured more energy into the spell, the portal brightened and came into focus. It was like watching a large-screen monitor cycle through progressively higher and higher resolutions.
Suddenly, the image
