“Yeah,” said the man. “I’m very aware of that at the moment.”
The sergeant shot a look over his shoulder. John was sitting very still. His arms were at his sides and his head was tilted back. Monroe gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the shadows inside the Black Hawk and saw the harness straps pulled tight across the man’s arms and body. His collar and tie sat funny, and another second of light-adjustment let the sergeant pick out the black chrome bar pressed against the man’s throat.
Monroe blinked. It had only been a few seconds since he turned his head, but now he could see the very feminine shadow behind John. She gave a slight dip of her head, an acknowledgement he’d spotted her. Then she pulled herself closer to the man named John. On either side of the helicopter soldiers raised their weapons.
“The M240B has a prodigious rate of fire,” she said in a clear voice. “Seven hundred-fifty rounds per minute at its lowest setting. It is not a weapon designed for pinpoint accuracy, however. Firing into an enclosed space will almost guarantee you hit your civilian advisor.”
The weapons stayed up.
No one moved.
“You know what I think?” said the man in the suit. “I think we should all take a moment here and relax. Wouldn’t that be good? Let’s all stop and calm down for a moment before this gets any more out of hand.”
Chapter 12
NOW
A huge crowd gathered a little before noon to watch the second Black Hawk land in the Pickford lot on the other side of the Melrose Gate. Thousands of people packed the streets and rooftops. A few of them glared at the helicopter as it settled down and the wind whipped up clouds of dirt and dust, but most of them stared in amazement. Some applauded.
St. George and Stealth stood on 3rd Street with the crowds behind them. She had slipped back into her cloak and the bullet holes vanished in its folds and gathers. Every now and then a shaft of light would slip through one of the dime-sized holes and St. George would feel his jaw tighten.
Barry sat in his wheelchair next to them. He’d powered down as a concession to Freedom’s people shouldering their weapons. Danielle lurked behind the chair. She’d given up on anyone helping her with the armor and stood with her head bowed and her arms crossed.
Freedom was a few yards away with his soldiers standing at ease behind him in a loose circle around their helicopter. The man in the suit was inside the circle. They’d insisted on separating him until they could have more troops on the ground.
The Black Hawk had barely settled when a second group of soldiers leaped out and loped across the pavement. Each of them carried the same oversized rifle with the bulky ammo box. They formed their own loose circle around their helicopter.
“Supporting units,” said Stealth. “Each positioned to keep us in line of sight.”
A woman with a collection of chevrons on her jacket gave a set of hand signals across the way to Freedom. He looked back at the man in the suit and gave a nod. The young man called John whispered a few words to the captain, and then made his way across the space to the heroes. Freedom followed a few paces behind. The man in the suit beamed a broad smile. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”
“Sure,” said St. George.
“The Mighty Dragon,” said the young man. “This is a real honor. Wow.” His smile got broader. “Can I shake your hand?”
St. George was caught off guard. He held his hand out without thinking and the man pumped it five or six times. People cheered and applauded. “I’m going by St. George these days.”
The smile shifted. “St. George,” he echoed. “Clever. I like it. And you must be Stealth,” the suit continued. He stepped past St. George to stand before the cloaked woman. “You’re just as formidable as I’ve always heard. I’d love to shake your hand too, if that’s okay? No hard feelings?”
It was so unexpected; she held her hand out. There were more cheers and applause.
“It’s just amazing,” he continued. “You’ve saved so many people. People talk about superheroes and you think about fighting monsters and supervillains and stuff. You don’t think about things like this.”
“I’m sorry,” interrupted St. George. “I didn’t catch your name.”
The young man’s smile faltered and in that instant the hero realized the man in the suit was probably older than he was. “Sorry,” he said. “Caught up in the moment. This is just... It’s so rare we find survivors, let alone such a huge group with, well, people like you.” He straightened his tie. “I’m John Smith. Department of Homeland Security, seconded to DARPA and working with Project Krypton as... well...” He shrugged. “These days I just try to help out wherever I can, like most people.”