the chrome would stick to them.
The whole thing appealed to Bugsy’s sense of the absurd. He slouched over to the bar-because what better symbol of peace than an open bar-and got another rum and Coke. The Committee was out in force. Lohengrin, smiling and preening in front of the cameras for an international news network. Garou still smirking at him coolly. Toad Man filling up on free prawns.
Cameo folded her arm in Bugsy’s, smiling the way she did when she didn’t mean it. “I just talked to Babel.”
“Uh-huh. Um. You’re wearing the earring. Are you…?”
“Ali’s here, but she’s letting me drive. Jayewardene’s had one of his hunches. There is going to be trouble. He thinks something may happen with Dr. Okimba.”
“Ah. Right. Who’s that?”
He felt her go stiff. “You’re joking, right?”
“Yes, totally joking,” Bugsy said. “Okimba. Doctor. Jurist. Big name in the PPA, chief negotiator, hasn’t killed anyone we know of. So what’s the word? Do we think someone’s going to go for him? Or is he going to turn all ninja assassin in the middle of the talks?”
“I don’t know. But Lohengrin needs people near him and ready without seeming like they are.”
“I’m on the case, boss,” Bugsy said, giving a snappy salute only slightly marred by the lack of two fingers. “Don’t worry about it too much though. Hunches. Gut feelings. Jayewardene’s just nervous, right?”
“Not really,” Cameo said.
“Where is the object of all concern?”
Cameo nodded toward the center of the room.
And there, standing alongside the bad guys’ head good guy, was Noel Matthews, looking slightly less smug than usual. The little Brit had changed a lot since the days when he’d used his skills at sleight of hand to flummox the aces of American Hero. He’d even changed in the time since their adventures in Texas and New Orleans with the nuclear kid. If it was possible for a man to look relieved and hunted at the same time, that was Noel Matthews.
“Hey,” Bugsy said. “Want to go kill two birds with one stone?”
“It depends,” she said. “What exactly do you plan to kill?”
“Trust me. We’ve got the perfect excuse to go hang close to Okimba. Let’s go talk some shop.” Bugsy tipped the bartender and walked across the most elegant, civilized room in Western civilization.
Noel didn’t see him coming until he was too close to ignore. “Mr. Tipton-Clarke,” Matthews said with a half smile. “Or do you prefer Hive?”
“I answer to any of them. You know Cameo?”
Noel nodded politely. Dr. Okimba smiled like he was hoping they’d both go away.
No chance of that.
“I was hoping I’d run into you,” Bugsy said. “We’re doing some work for the Committee, and I needed to ask you something. Maybe you can help out too, Doc.”
“I’m pleased to be of service,” Noel said in a tone that suggested he might not actually be pleased, “but-”
“It’s a little thing. All history and background stuff. Nothing important. I’ve been finding out some more about our partners in peace over in the PPA. It’s been a trip. Have you ever been to Vietnam, Doc?”
Okimba’s eyes went a degree wider. “No,” he said carefully. “I don’t believe I have.”
“We just got back,” Bugsy said with a smile. “Nice place. Lousy traffic. Anyway. I’ve been looking at the early life of our man Tom Weathers, and especially the nice retarded lady Sprout?”
“I am sure,” Noel said, “that Dr. Okimba isn’t-”
“No, please,” Okimba said. “Continue.”
“Bugs,” Cameo said, and the tone of her voice was a warning.
“Well, we all kind of know the Radical’s not the world’s most stable guy. No offense, Doc. But it turns out this one girl, Sprout, is like the only person on the planet he’s not willing to sacrifice. So I was wondering how you knew to grab her in particular.”
“I do not understand,” Dr. Okimba said. “It was Bahir who took Sprout.”
“Well, sure,” Bugsy said, “but that’s Noel. Bahir, Lilith, and
… Oh. Shit. That was still a secret, wasn’t it? Look, Doc. Forget I said anything, okay?”
It took all of Tom’s self-control to keep from frying both men where they stood on general principles. “How dare this man show his face at a peace conference!” he boomed, volume rising. His bull-hippo bellow echoed from the pyramidal roof; everyone else had stopped talking at once. Heads turned to stare. “I demand that this man be arrested immediately! He is a spy, an assassin, an international war criminal! I demand justice.”
Jonathan Hive’s eyes had gone wide in a suddenly pale face. “I didn’t mean to pee on anybody’s parade-”
Around them voices broke the silence like so many falling crystal goblets, some brittle with confusion, others sharp with anger. Tom’s fury had welled up like lava as his own voice rose. It was the look in the Englishman’s indigo eyes-half stricken, half calculating-that convinced Tom of his guilt. “You ratfucker,” he screamed, making no pretense of hiding his own voice. “You kidnapped my daughter!”
He raised his arms as if reaching for Noel Matthews’s throat. Flame billowed red from his palms.
“Oh, shit,” Bugsy said, and his body literally exploded into a cloud of green wasps. His clothing puddled on the white marble floor.
Noel threw himself to the side, and the blast of flame roared past him. He felt its searing heat upon his cheeks, smelled burning hair, and felt the bite of fire on his shoulder.
Dr. Okimba’s round fat face was shimmering, running, changing. Into Tom Weathers.
And Noel was on fire. A quick glance revealed the flames dancing across his tuxedo jacket. He needed to get the fuck out of here, but he didn’t want to transform into Lilith in front of half the world’s media. Ripping off his jacket, he grabbed a glass of bourbon from a man’s hand and tossed it on the flames. They roared up greedily, consuming the alcohol. Noel whipped the coat into the face of an oncoming Leopard Man.
All around him people were shouting and guns were appearing, the muzzles like small dark mouths ready to spit death. Weathers was coming after him. Apparently incinerating Noel was not going to be enough. Weathers wanted his hands on him.
Noel seized a champagne bottle out of an ice bucket. He placed his finger over the top, shook it hard, and sent the resulting fountain of bubbly into Weathers’s face. As the Radical roared and cursed, Noel danced away from him, grabbed Prince Siraj by the back of his tuxedo jacket, and pulled him off his feet, out of the line of fire. Siraj landed hard on his back on the marble floor. The fire alarms were howling, and the sprinklers sprang to life. Water pattered onto Noel’s body. He kicked off his shoes. The force of the fall had driven the breath from Siraj’s lungs. He lay gasping in the center of the floor.
Fortunately, in addition to being hard, the marble was slick. More so now that it was wet. Noel tangled his fingers in Siraj’s collar and dragged the winded leader behind him beneath a banqueting table. “Stay down,” he hissed.
“Fuck!” Tom yelled in pain and anger. His eyes stung from the champagne, and the green insects were all over him. Each sting felt as if a hot needle had been plunged into his flesh.
He wreathed a hand in fire and slapped himself where he felt the insects crawling, then loosed another blast of flame at those buzzing around his head. Wasps fell to the floor like crisp black snowflakes, along with a few hapless bystanders. It didn’t help. The wasps kept coming. Tom went insubstantial, moved from the green cloud of pain. Then he phased back in and flamed them.
He became aware of his Leopard Man detail fighting to keep his back clear. Alicia’s pets had shape-shifted; those who couldn’t scythed bullets from Micro UZI and Beretta 93 machine pistols. Screams erupted from the crowd.
Pivoting widdershins, Tom jetted flame from his left palm. An operator from the home-team Service de Protection des Hautes Personnalites had jammed a hand inside his suit coat. The man shrieked as a plasma burst lit him up. He fell to the shiny floor, dead on the instant. The cartridges in whatever handgun he’d been going for cooked off like a string of fireworks.
Something heavy hit Tom on the back. His chin cracked against the polished concrete floor. White sparks shot
