“And we don’t want to get closer because they’ll see us?” the wife asked.

  “They’ve already seen us. Spotters or drones or satellites. We want to be seen. We’re more of a deterrent than back-up. But if they’ve got more than forty guards and want a fight, we’re fubar. Then we don’t fight, we flee.”

  “Not not not that I want to change the subject. But you you you mentioned you had run into Bub.”

  God, that guy’s stammer is annoying.

  Grim nodded. “Red guy. Horns. Wings. Wants to take over the world. If you knew all the details it would make you think I’m crazy.”

  “I wouldn’t think you’re crazy. My team, we we we studied him. A long time ago. We tried to rid the world of him.”

  “You failed.”

  “I know. My own story is is is crazy as well. For a while, Sara and I I I—”

  That’s her name! Sara!

  Pretty name. I hope she screams pretty.

  “—have been trying to to to track him down. We should compare notes sometime.”

  “You guys are talking about a demon.” Roy perched on a rock like he was posing for Maxim. “A real demon. That’s a little out there, don’t you think?”

  “Isn’t your best friend a clone of Thomas Jefferson?” Grim asked.

  “Yeah. But Tom doesn’t fly around trying to steal your soul.”

  “Bub doesn’t steal souls. He he he mostly just tries to kill you.”

  Grim nodded again. “That’s the guy I met. Real pain in the ass. I’ve got a friend named Jake who knows a lot about him. Two friends named Jake, actually.”

  “I have a bottle of whiskey,” Van finally declared. He’d been waiting to announce that since they’d arrived. “Who wants to do a shot?”

  “I’m not a big drinker these days,” Grim said.

  “Not wise to drink on the job,” Roy said.

  “How about we save it for after the mission?” Sara said.

  “I I I agree,” Frank said.

  Van clenched his jaw and fists.

  No. Later wouldn’t work. Then there would be too many people.

  Four people is already too many. But if I can knock them all out, then I can kill the three men here, shoot some footage of the murder and blood and gore and gutsy-uts, then load Sara into the Jeep and bring her someplace private. Take my time with her.

  The others will think we were kidnapped. As long as I stay away from home for a week or two, they’ll never know it was me.

  I need to get my way. And there are two ways to get what you want; yelling and whining.

  “I don’t have friends.” Van winged it, because all genius musicians can improvise. He’d once done a four-hour atonal jazz piece on kazoo, all in one take. “I live with my mother. I’ve never been anywhere. This is the first time I’ve ever left Phoenix. All I do is create art. In real life. On the Internet. In my own head. Being here, right now, is scary to me. I’m nervous. But I want to get to know you people. I brought some whiskey we can share. But no one wants to drink it.” He added, “And I’m sad.”

  Van had no clue if these people bought his sob story. He had no clue about people in general.

  I’m a savant. Being brilliant is my thing, not being social.

  “I’m also a virgin,” he continued, riffing on the pity theme. “Probably because I still wet the bed. And sometimes I get a rash so bad my skin flakes off.”

  “Jesus H. Christ.” Roy held out his hand. “Gimme a shot.”

  “I’m I’m I’m in.”

  “Me, too,” said Sara, who would probably look amazing with a bunch of nails in her head.

  Mental reminder; stop somewhere to get a hammer and nails.

  Everyone stared at Grim, who still hadn’t answered.

  “Okay, one shot,” Grim acquiesced. “What can it hurt, right?”

  FABLER

  Twenty-Three Hundred Meters Northwest of Area 57 – New Mexico

  The desert, approaching sunset, threw crazy rays of purples, pinks, reds, and oranges across the endless, flat sand.

  If I were emotionally affected by beauty, this would move me.

  And maybe it would have if Fabler had been relaxing with Lori.

  While on an op all that affected him was the op.

  Plus he was still shaking off the effects of the Psytox.

  Memo to myself; never take N-Som again.

  Shortly after they’d unpacked at their observation spot, Abe plopped onto his belly and peered through the rifle scope, making POW POW! sounds while pretending to pull the trigger and kill imaginary enemies off in the distance.

  I’m glad I didn’t load that bad boy yet.

  No rush. We’re in a holding pattern.

  Joan appeared to be miserable. Fabler sensed something amiss between her and Tom. She also seemed to have some sort of issue with Catherine, which Fabler could understand.

  Catherine seems like one of those girls in high school who bullies others into suicide.

  “Leo, can you be a dear and get me some of your fabulous kombucha?” the high school bully asked. She reclined on a cushion, in the shade of their rented SUV.

  Rover fetched, like a good dog.

  Fabler sat on a rock and openly stared at Leonidas, noting how everything about the man was larger-than-life.

  He’s taller than I am. Weighs about sixty pounds more, all in muscle. Walks with the quiet assurance of someone competent. Notices everything. Shows no emotion.

  I have no idea what to think of him. Übermensch, or biological experiment gone wrong?

  Leo poured Catherine a glass of tea from a large thermos, then openly met Fabler’s stare. “Are you flirting with me?”

  “Just observing.”

  “I’m flattered you find me so interesting.”

  That’s putting it mildly. “We studied Sparta. When I was in the military. Every grunt knows molon labe. I’ve said it while fighting, once or twice.”

  “Come get some,” Leo translated. “So this is like meeting one of your heroes.”

  “More like glimpsing a rare animal out in the wild.”

  “Is that an insult?”

  “No. I don’t know you well enough to insult you.”

  Leo shrugged. “I never said molon labe. My donor, who shared my DNA, he said it. I’m not him. I was never king. I didn’t die at the Battle of Thermopylae.”

  “You’ve studied Thermopylae?”

  “It’s among many things I’ve studied.”

  “Leo is good at everything,” Catherine chimed in, looping her arm around his muscular leg as she sipped her tea. “Cooking. Shooting. Sports. Sex. He can drive or fly anything. He could be an MMA champion if I told him to be.”

  “You can fight?” Fabler asked.

  “He just beat the shit out of six mafia guys in a bar in Vegas,” Abe chimed in. “They didn’t even get a hand on him. It was like watching an 80s action movie.”

  Interesting.

  A hawk screeched overhead, gliding in a lazy spiral, looking for dinner.

  “Why do you think Leonidas died?” Fabler asked Leo.

  “King Leonidas died because he made a mistake. He thought the Persian army would turn back, so he sent away his reinforcements. Then, when he knew he was surrounded, he chose to stay and fight rather than retreat. He valued his own honor and glory above protecting his troops. He fell, and so did they.”

  A decent enough assessment of the events.

  “What would you have done differently?” Fabler was genuinely curious.

  “Xerxes, king of the First Persian Empire, lost both of his brothers in that battle. That enraged him. Fueled his resolve. It isn’t wise to piss off a superior force.”

  “The Spartan hoplites are considered by many to be the greatest fighting force in history.”

  “By modern estimates, Xerxes commanded an army between one hundred thousand and a million. The Greek army had less than eight thousand. They couldn’t win a physical battle. But they could have won the psychological battle.”

  “How?”

  “You dishearten the opposing force. Drain their will to fight. The best way to do this is through fear.”

  “How do eight thousand men scare a million?”

  “Sparta had no love for Thebes. There were four hundred Thebans at the battle. They lacked courage, and surrendered rather than fought to the death. Leonidas should have ordered them all crucified in the coastal path. Then when Xerxes arrived, he would have been greeted by the dying and the dead.”

  Fabler blinked, unsure he heard correctly. “Leonidas should have killed his own men?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thebes and Sparta were allies.”

  “The Persian army, confronted by the atrocities Sparta had inflicted on its allies, would have fled in fear. If you can do that to a friend, what horrors could you inflict upon an enemy? It would have scared them off.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “It was used to great effect by Vlad Tepes in Wallachia.”

  “Vlad the Impaler?” Joan’s eyes narrowed. “Not a psychopath to emulate. Trust me on that. He killed my dog.”

  What kind of asshole kills dogs? That shit isn’t even allowed in books or movies. It upsets people.

  “If winning is everything,” Leo kept his voice even, “do everything to win.”

  Fabler disagreed. “You don’t turn on your allies.” Or kill pets.

  “Don’t be naïve. The history of war is riddled with betrayal. It’s better to be the betrayer than the betrayed.”

  “Our plan here requires allies,” Fabler told him. “It requires loyalty. Trust.”

  “It’s a stupid plan.”

  I’ve now formed an opinion. This guy is an asshole.

  “We’re up against an enemy with superior numbers and unknown strength. First we have to get intel. To do that, we need comms. To do that, we need people inside.”

  “I’m familiar with the Trojan Horse. Deception to get behind enemy lines isn’t what’s stupid. That works well. What’s stupid is going on a rescue mission. Risking lives for others. Throwing good money after bad.”

  “That was the whole reason for the Trojan War,” Fabler reminded him. “To rescue Helen of Troy.”

  Leo folded his arms across his massive chest. “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.”

  Abe stood up and stretched. “You guys done measuring dick sizes? Or can I join in?”

  Fabler wasn’t close to done.

  “Some men would do anything for the person they loved.” Fabler spoke from experience. “Apparently you aren’t one of them.”

  “Leo would do anything for me.” Catherine gave his leg a squeeze. “Wouldn’t you, Leo?”

  “Of course. But loyalty to one doesn’t mean loyalty to all. We haven’t even met these women we’re here to save. And to go up against an enemy with superior numbers and unknown strength is foolish. It’s a bad idea, being executed badly.”

  “Maybe I should ram a pole up your ass,” Fabler suggested. “That will scare the enemy off.”

  “Maybe I should come over there and shut your mouth.”

  “Molon labe,” Fabler told him, standing up.

  I’m letting myself get irritated. And if this guy can really fight, he’ll probably tie me in a knot.

  But if he’s all about scaring his adversaries, I shouldn’t show fear.

  And if this is indeed adversarial, not just a dick measuring contest like Abe mentioned, then I need to keep a close eye on this guy and show him I don’t back down.

  Until I do back down. Unlike the historical Leonidas, I have no problem with retreating if required.

  A stare-down ensued. Fabler refused to blink.

  Joan broke the tense silence. “So if you feel this is a waste of time, why are you here?”

  “We didn’t come for a rescue mission,” Catherine told her. “This is a business deal. Well, part business, part pleasure. Revenge is a dish best served cold, isn’t that what they say?”

  Fabler saw Leo’s eyes narrow, and his instincts screamed at him that this op had gone horribly wrong. He instinctively went for his sidearm on his belt, but Leo outdrew him, pulling from a chest holster and pointing his gun at Fabler’s face.

  Catherine pulled her weapon almost as quickly, sighting on Joan.

  Fabler stood completely still, his hand resting on the butt of his .45.

  “Guys, quit screwing around,” Abe said. “This isn’t funny.”

  “It’s not a joke,” Fabler told him. “It’s a double-cross.”

  “We’re the Trojan Horse.” Leo’s expression hadn’t changed. “All of you raise your hands up and lace your fingers behind your heads.”

  Abe whooped out a war cry, did a pathetic dive and roll, and then picked up Fabler’s rifle and aimed in Leo’s general direction. He pulled the trigger several times, nothing happening.

  When Abe finally realized the gun wasn’t loaded, he dropped it to the sand and put his hands behind his head. “Well, I’m out of ideas. But I must firmly express my highest level of disappointment. You both are clones. We should be on the same side.” His eyes widened. “Hey, do you want me to be on your side? I’ll do it. I’m morally ambiguous.”

  “Everyone on your knees,” Catherine ordered. “Take your ear radios out and throw them away.”

  “Me, too?” Abe asked.

  “You, too.”

  “Well, fine. But I don’t want to have sex with you anymore. With either of you.”

  Joan and Abe knelt and removed their earpieces, ditching them into the desert.

  Fabler didn’t move.

  I can’t let them incapacitate me. Surrender is the very last option.

  Leo approached him, the gun never wavering from Fabler’s face.

  “Catherine told you to do something. You can listen, or I can make you listen.”

  Fabler didn’t flinch. “You’re getting us confused, Leo. You’re Catherine’s little lap dog. Not me.”

  “You actually think you can take me?”

  “Why don’t we drop our weapons and find out?”

  “Maybe later. It’s been a while since I beat a man to death. But right now you’re going to give me your gun, or I’m going to break your nose.”

  Leo reached for Fabler’s sidearm, and Fabler shot out a hand, chopping at his Adam’s apple, putting all of his weight into it. Leo turned down his head and Fabler missed, catching his chin and bouncing off, while Leo punched Fabler straight in the face.

  Fabler had been hit plenty of times in his life. But never as hard as that. The pain came instantly, blindingly, and with such force it laid him flat out on his back.

  As the stars came out and the bells rang and Fabler choked as the blood from his broken nose leaked down his throat, his training kicked in and he slapped at his holster.

  Empty.

  Leo had not only busted up Fabler’s face, he’d also disarmed him at the same time. He stood over Fabler, holding two firearms, expressionless.

  “I pulled the punch so I didn’t kill you,” Leo said. “I won’t be so generous next time.”

  Fabler couldn’t think of any appropriate comeback. He coughed, spat out a wad of blood, and managed to sit up.

  “Now throw your earpiece away, and raise your hands. Or I’m going to punt your balls up into your skull.”

  And now I’m incapacitated.

  This didn’t play out liked I’d hoped.

  Can’t fight. Can’t retreat.

  Surrender is my only option.

  Fabler took out his ear radio, tossed it away, and raised his hands.

  “You caught me by surprise,” Fabler told Leo. “Twice. I won’t underestimate you again.”

  “Molon labe,” Leo said.

  It gave Fabler chills.

  “What’s the endgame here, Catherine?” Joan asked. “You working with Ziggy?”

  “Ziggy? No. I’m doing this for an entirely selfish reason.” Catherine smiled at Joan. “I’m here to kill Joan of Arc.”

  HARRY

  Bakersbad, New Mexico

  Okay, I lied. I have one more big, important scene before the bloodbath ending.

  Call me an unreliable narrator.

  Go on. Do it. I can handle the criticism.

  With what happens next, I might not even make it to the ending. How weird would that be? Your favorite character dying before it’s all over?

  It would be weird, for sure. But this book already has a dodo bird, a bunch of clones, too many characters to remember, and several mentions of demons. Me dying would fit right in with the craziness. You should probably brace yourself.

  Being back together with Jack and Phin was sort of like reuniting The Beatles. Except none of us played music. And we weren’t British. Or a quartet. Plus we all just saw each other not too long ago.

  Other than that, it was exactly the same. The fans demanded it. And who am I to deny the fans what they want?

  “We’re the perfect formula.” I somehow got delegated to the back seat even though I was the one who rented the car. “Phin is the brooding loner, dark and edgy and dangerous with a moral ambiguity, but deep inside is a good person. Jack is the super-competent female stereotype who hides her humanity with a hard exterior to compete in a man’s world. And I’m the loveable bad boy who flirts with the boundaries of good taste to get a laugh, and then always shows up to save the day.”

  “You’re more like the uncle everyone is embarrassed by,” Jack opined, braking at a red light.

  “I think he’s more like a butt plug,” Phin countered. “It’s not something you ever wanted, but maybe you try it once, and it isn’t as bad as you thought. But you only use it once in a while. And you wouldn’t ever admit that to anyone.”

  “You’ve used a butt plug?” Jack asked.

  Phin shrugged noncommittally.

  “A butt plug is an underrated yet extremely popular sex toy,” I said. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “It was more like an analogy for you being a pain in the ass.”

  “He does kind of look like a butt plug.” Jack squinted at me in the rearview mirror.

  “You mean his pointy head, and wide hips?”