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"Rats, doll, you've blown my cover. All these scars are fake. I'm actually
John Donne."
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"That was no island," she said. "That was a continen-"
The air rumbled around us. Ann stared at me. A dull, stunned expression spread
across my face. The library swirled about me and snapped like wet silk.
I floated in a totally black realm. From somewhere in the darkness, Isadora
screamed out a warning. The library returned to my vision, her words
reverberating in my head.
"Run, Dell!" she cried. "The Ecclesia's attacking!"
22
Blastoff
"Let's go!" I shouted to Ann. The throbbing sound around the library grew
louder as we threw on our clothes. I grabbed my Colt from beneath a pile of
abstracts and pounded down the stairs, Ann seizing her handbag and following
inches behind.
Something whumped against the side of the building. The subsequent concussion
knocked us against the wall.
"Ecclesia!" I yelled in answer to a look from Ann. We scrambled over scattered
books and shattered bookcases toward the northern exit.
Instead of the door, though, we clambered out of one of the windows-I figured
the bushes outside would serve as cover.
Six unmarked blue Hughes Cayuse helicopters roared over Old Downtown like
movie Indians around a wagon train. The tenement capping Auberge flared
savagely-a blazing funeral pyre. Thick columns of smoke rose overhead, chopped
apart by the copters' propwash. The crowds pouring from the Auberge exits were
greeted by machinegun and air-cannon fire.
One of the air-cannon rounds burst a section of the hill away to reveal the
crumbling interior of the Auberge Hilton. Bodies lay sickeningly still inside
the ruins.
A chopper roared above us, too swift for it to have seen us. It closed in on
Bunker Hill. From somewhere within Auberge, the defense systems were
retaliating.
Fifteen-millimeter machine guns opened fire on the aircraft. A couple of brave
souls crawled to the surface armed with TOW missiles.
"Can't they use their interruptors?" Ann asked.
"Not enough range for the power. Too strong a field would knock out everyone
on the fringes." I edged toward the west end of the building, Ann's hand in
mine, keeping behind the bushes.
A thunderous explosion shook through us. I looked past Auberge to see the
Union Bank building lose its top thirty stories. I had a feeling my office
wouldn't be in great shape after that. The chopper that fired the missile
landed atop the Bonaventure Hotel to hide from the action below.
"Where are the police?" Ann shouted over the battle's roar. "The army?"
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One of the copters disintegrated in midair. The guard who fired the killing
shot jumped up triumphantly, only to be blown from his perch by a cannon round
from another attacker. His body whirled and danced through the air before
tumbling down Bunker Hill and out of sight.
"Why should the cops or the feds get involved?" I said, looking down Fifth
Street for a safe escape route. "They figure anyone in Auberge is a criminal
of some sort. It'll give them an excuse to crack down on all the
undergrounds."
Another copter fell flaming into the World Trade Center.
"Someone high up may even have approved the attack. They'll call it a gangland
massacre."
"Dell-over there."
I turned to see pickup trucks racing toward Auberge, the beds loaded with
scores of young men-healthy, well-armed, and fit for a new crusade, another
jihad.
The Hueys drew back to safety as the boys stormed the hills, firing at
anything that moved.
"It touches my heart," I said, "to see how the world's different faiths can
work together for a change."
Ann grabbed my arm with painful tightness. "Where's Isadora?"
"I don't know," I said. I was concentrating on the truck pulling up to the
library.
"Go sensitive and find her."
"Go what?"
Ann crouched down to where I was peering out at the truck. "You can do it,"
she whispered. "Just calm yourself and concentrate lightly on her image.
Conjure her up in your mind."
"Calm myself? During this?" I felt like a kid on stage with a hypnotist. I
wanted it to work. I wanted everything to go fine, even though I knew it
wouldn't. I tried as hard as I could to believe that it would work while
inside me I felt it was impossible.
"The column of mirrors," I said as if I'd just remembered it.
"See? You're getting something."
I glanced back at the troops leaping out of the truck. Something shook the
earth. I stared up in bewilderment as a sleek black Learjet screamed over the
library, two Vulcan machine gun pods under its wings chattering like the
Fourth of July.
The Lear knocked two of the remaining three copters out of the sky. The third
turned to escape, the jet pursuing in an uncontested race. Twin Vulcans blazed
for an instant. The Huey's pilot bubble shattered. An instant later, the
machine wheeled about, twisting crazily toward the Music Center. It crumpled
into the Second Street overpass and hung there unburning-a dragonfly pinned to
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a rail.
The jet vanished to the northwest. I watched it depart, glancing at the fires
of Auberge reflected in the mirrored windows of the Bonaventure.
"She's in the hotel." I whispered.
"Let's go."
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