When they’d arrived, the princesses had been able to create shields that repelled and/or surrounded people. That had been a nifty skill we’d employed during Operation Sherlock. However, it had turned out that it wasn’t a skill so much as a device—jewelry they wore that allowed them to create and manipulate the shields.
Unfortunately, the jewelry had gotten broken, years ago now—during a training session, to add insult to injury—and without the right supplies, supplies from their home planet, nothing anyone had tried had been able to fix them. Most of us rarely thought about that ability these days, but under the circumstances, figured it wasn’t a bad idea to ask.
Rahmi shook her head. “Our mother did not know of our . . . clumsiness and so did not come equipped to refurbish our tools.” She stood up straight. “However, a true princess of the Free Women is ready to fight with only her bare hands.” She sounded proud, but her eyes were pleading.
Broke down and decided a shapeshifting Amazon wasn’t overkill but thinking ahead. “Fine, Rahmi, you’re in.” She managed not to squeal and jump up and down, but I could tell she wanted to. “Mossy, I’d like you to come, too, if you’re up for it.”
“I was going whether you asked or not,” he said with a grin.
“I figured. The rest of you, don’t even think about it. No one appears to be as mobile as the Turleens and he’s the smallest and my bet is that we’re going to need small somewhere along the way.”
Buchanan shook his head. “Half of these should stay here as well.”
“I’d agree, only that tower is huge and we have no clear idea where all of the Crazy Eights may be. That they’re there is likely. That they’re together is not.”
Jeremy came out, dressed for our kind of success. We all matched now, everyone in black jeans, black on black long-sleeved t-shirts, and those flexible and non-slip shoes. We looked like a bunch of commandos, or like we were a troupe about to go out and do some hip-hop for So You Think You Can Dance. Rahmi shifted to match us. Mossy didn’t bother. Presumably he’d be our stage manager if we landed on TV. Everyone dug through the bag Serene had sent over and ensured we were all equipped.
“Why are you bringing that extra bag?” Christopher asked as we finished up, all of us putting on the communicator watches and goggles and clipping gas masks to our pants. The goggles were the fancy kind, and I sincerely hoped they’d work for us like the ones we’d used during Operations Epidemic and Madhouse, because we were going to need all the help we could get.
“It’s got more supplies, and it’s mobile and smaller than the bag you brought over.” And Algar wanted me to have it.
“I’ve been carrying it, Son,” White said calmly. “It’s fine. And a useful weapon, too, if necessary.”
Checked Mr. Watch and Mr. New Watch, which looked a lot like an iWatch. Chose not to ask Serene about it at this precise time. They both shared the same time, 7:15, so I had that going for me. We’d only spent about forty-five minutes on this. Which was too long. “Tim, Tony, have you heard anything, good or bad, from Jeff or Chuckie?”
“Impatience from your husband,” Tony said.
“Suspicion from Chuck,” Tim replied. “And I’m running out of ways to be vague that won’t tip him off that something’s really wrong. And I’m also not sure I shouldn’t tell them that something is wrong.”
“I point out that the moment Cliff knows that they suspect something, he’s going to stop waiting for me and just roll his latest Death to All But Metal campaign. Camilla, take over the Chuckie wrangling, would you?”
“Oh, it’s what I live for.”
Serene pinged in my ear. “Kitty, you need to hurry. There appears to be some sort of dust storm starting near your target location.”
“Crap. Okay, gang, we’re rolling right now, a haboob we didn’t create is forming. Camilla and Tony, do your best to keep Chuckie and Jeff respectively misinformed but prepared in some way. Do your best to have them explaining why I’m late out loud to people, because I’m sure Cliff’s listening in and he needs to be reassured that I’m just making an entrance versus coming to get him. And good luck with that.”
“It’s all conjecture at this point,” Buchanan said to those two. “But still, conjecture based on history.”
My goggles shifted and I had a schematic of the Burj Khalifa in front of me, though I could still see everyone else, too. Looked for where to go and found it. “Serene, we’re ready, get us a floater gate over to the Burj Khalifa, Floor One Hundred and Twenty-Four.”
“Why above the restaurant, not below?” Mona asked.
“The most likely gasses being used will be heavier than air,” Siler answered for me. “So we need to be above them in order to ensure that we aren’t affected.”
“And this deck is open-air and currently closed for maintenance.”
“Go fast, all of you,” Serene said. “That storm is about to hit.”
Shared this with the team as the floater gate shimmered into view. “Silent exit, just in case,” Buchanan admonished.
White grabbed my hand and we went through first and fast, but not yet furious, the others coming after us. The gate left us out on what was indeed an outdoor deck. It was all glass and shiny metal, and the theme was sleek and rounded geometric shapes.
There was an overhead structure that was another rounded geometric with metal slats that wouldn’t really block the sun. But it looked cool. We’d landed on a beautiful wooden floor in front of an all-glass revolving door. There were glass walls that were at least twelve feet high all around, and even some comfortable chairs scattered about. The deck curved around to both the right and left from where we’d landed.
The heat was intense but not as bad as I’d been expecting. It felt like home, really. My home, Pueblo Caliente, not D.C. And there was something else, too. Wind.
“It shouldn’t be windy, not as much as we can feel right now,” White said softly, as the last of the team stepped through and the floater gate disappeared. “Not with the height of the glass.”
“Serene said a haboob was forming. I’d assume it’s having help. Abby, Mahin, you’re with me and Mister White. Malcolm, we’ll take the exterior, at least until we have to take cover.”
Tim tried the door. It revolved without issue. “I have a bad feeling about this,” he said.
“So it’s a typical mission. You guys find a way for us to get in and around without being spotted. Everyone remember, speak softly, use the wrist communicators sparingly, just in case, and if it’s one of the Crazy Eights, aim to kill.”
While Buchanan and Siler divided the rest of the group into teams, White, Abigail, Mahin and I stepped off a bit and conferred. “What’s the best place to draw sand from here?”
“The opposite side from the sea,” Mahin said, sarcasm meter at only about four on the scale.