Chapter 21
I COULD NOT believe my eyes.
Washington, D.C., looked worse than it did in the movie Independence Day.
All across the capital, buildings were imploding—coming down on themselves and sending up swirling clouds of dust and debris.
Happy Fourth of July, everybody.
This had to be Number 2’s doing; Washington had been the first city mentioned on his hit list back in the bat cave.
“We need to be there,” I said to Agent Judge. “Now.”
“A chopper is on the way. It’ll ferry us down to Fort Campbell, where we can hitch a ride on a C-140 transport plane. They’ve already loaded IOU’s ATV into the cargo hold.”
“With all due respect, Agent Judge,” I said, “we’re going to need a whole lot more than an all-terrain vehicle to go up against the universe’s second-most-vicious alien outlaw.”
“It’s an Alien Tracking Vehicle, Daniel.”
“Still, I’d rather—”
“Your father designed it for us. We still don’t know what half the gizmos and gadgets inside the thing do.”
“Don’t worry,” said Joe, my own personal Geek Squad. “I’ll figure it out.”
“We need to hustle,” said Willy. “Check out the creepy-crawlers Number 2’s found to do his dirty work.”
CNN was airing live footage of Number 2’s insect-like minions herding terrified citizens toward the entrances to D.C.’s underground Metro system. The beasts appeared to be about seven feet tall, with curled tails, see-through locust wings, and hideous human heads. They used their pointed tails as cattle prods to drive the hordes of humans down steep staircases and into the subway tunnels.
“Wait a second,” I said. “What do we know about their weaponry? How did Number 2 bring down all those buildings?”
Special Agent Judge consulted a handheld computer that was feeding him real-time updates from the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s former headquarters in downtown D.C. I say “former” because the J. Edgar Hoover Building, a massive structure made out of raw concrete poured over steel beams, was now a pile of chunky gray gravel on Pennsylvania Avenue, just a few blocks east of what used to be the White House.
“My guys on the streets report seeing no incoming missiles, no blasts from orbiting spacecraft, nothing,” said Agent Judge.
“No way,” said Dana. “That’s impossible.”
“He must’ve used stealth weaponry of some sort,” said Willy, our intergalactic arms expert.
That’s when I remembered the laser-beam blasts Number 2 used to throw the hench-lackeys who had dared to laugh during his underground pep rally.
“I saw Number 2 take out a couple of his goons back in that cavern just by glaring at them. His eyes are like high-energy laser beams.”
Maybe when he took down the class clowns, he had his eyeballs set on Stun like they used to do on Star Trek. Then, once he arrived in Washington, he’d flicked his high beams up to Total Devastation.
“Have we heard anything about casualties?” I asked Agent Judge.
“Affirmative. There aren’t any.”
“What? That’s impossible. I just saw—”
“So far, no one’s been killed or injured. Number 2 is destroying the entire city, but not the citizens.”
“So,” said Willy, “whatever he’s using, it’s the complete opposite of a neutron bomb. Instead of killing all the people and saving the infrastructure, he’s wiping out the structures while sparing the civilians.”
“This makes no sense,” I mumbled. “None of it.”
“There’s only one way for us to figure out what’s really going on,” said Mel. “We need to be in D.C. Now!”
“Us?” said Dana, arching an eyebrow. “We?”
“What? You don’t seriously think I’m going to hang here while the country I love is under attack?”
“Now, Mel,” said Agent Judge, “we’ve talked about this before. It isn’t safe out there.”
“Dad!” Mel exclaimed, gesturing at the TV screen. “I don’t think any place on Earth is safe right now.”
“You can’t come,” I said to Mel. “I’ve made a vow to never risk human life when dealing with alien outlaws on Terra Firma.”
“Really?” said Mel with a crooked smile. “Well, Daniel, I’ve made a vow, too: to never be a wimp. So come on. Like you said, we need to be in D.C.!”