John Ringo - Princess of Wands

“Everyone who just drew a weapon has a concealed carry permit,” Duncan said. “In one state or another. And they all meet the minimum criteria to carry around everyone else in the room.”

“They all cleared their weapons?” Barbara asked, dipping into her purse and drawing, clearing and setting down the H K next to his.

“A lady after my own heart,” Duncan replied, grinning.

“Perhaps,” Barb said, picking the weapon back up, loading it and setting it back in her purse. “Could we talk for a moment, alone?”

“With you?” Duncan said, getting up. “Any time.”

“Where?” Barbara asked.

“The adjoining room,” Folsom said, gesturing. He led her into the room and shut the door. “You’re not bothered by that, are you?” he asked, cautiously, gesturing at the door.

“I’d be more bothered if you hadn’t asked,” Barb admitted. “Do you know Timson?”

“Can’t say the name rings a bell,” Duncan said. “But I’ll admit I’m lousy with names.”

“He was the head of the Hunters in the LARPers,” Barbara said. “He’s been found dead. Overdose, apparently.”

“Oh, I know who you mean,” Duncan said, his eyes lighting. “He’s a friend of Krake’s.”

“Really?” Barb said, surprised.

“He was on a panel with Krake on research in writing,” Duncan said, nodding. “He and Krake had been thinking of doing a series together since Krake’s specialty is Greek and Roman history and that guy… Timson? He’s an expert in really ancient writings, all the way back to cuneiform from what Krake said.”

“Well, there’s not going to be a series now,” Barbara pointed out. “He’s most sincerely dead.”

“And there’s a rumor,” Duncan said, his eyes narrowing, “credibly traceable to you, that there’s a serial killer at the con.”

“The body had no indications of violence,” Barb said.

“And what would a homemaker know about that sort of thing?” Duncan asked, exasperated. “I’m sorry, the next thing you’re going to tell me is that your name is Miss Marple.”

“What?”

“Agatha Christie? Never mind. Look, I don’t know who you are or what you’re playing around with-”

“I’m a consultant with the FBI,” Barbara said, throwing up her hands. “Okay? You know Greg Donahue is an FBI agent, right?”

“But he’s on leave…” Duncan said then paused. “He’s not, is he? He’s actually on assignment, isn’t he?” His face had gotten very blank.

“Yes, he’s on assignment,” Barb said, sighing. “And, yes, we spread the rumor to try to get the killer to bolt. But instead he’s changing MO. Timson looks like an OD, we’re… not sure how he was killed.”

“And you’re not a very good liar,” Duncan said, angrily. “Somebody already tried to call out and we can’t. Now you’re telling me we’re playing Ten Little Indians?”

“If you mean he’s hunting us, yes, it looks like it,” Barbara said, unhappily. “There’s an HRT team on standby at the Roanoke airport. But we can’t call them in. We can’t even get a sheriff’s car in here.”

“Shit,” Duncan said, standing up and pacing back and forth. “Herding cats…” he muttered.

“What are you talking about?” Barb asked.

“How to keep people alive,” Duncan snapped. “Greg’s worried about catching the perp and so are you, although from your eyes ‘catching’ probably isn’t what you’re thinking. Me, I’m trying to figure out how to cut down the casualties. And the first thing we need is solid police response. We need to get in contact with that HRT and get them in here. Get sheriff’s deputies in here. Seal this place down, vet every single person, pull out all the suspects and find out which one did the killings. Which means we need to get back in contact.”

“The roads are packed,” she pointed out. “And it’s a half mile to the nearest intersection. And there’s no guarantee that there will be anything there. Trying to move through this snowstorm is suicide.”

“We’ve got, among the Wharf Rats, a half a dozen people with serious cold-weather training and background,” Duncan said, shaking his head. “This isn’t a horror movie. We just get the experts in and let them run wild. And to get them in we send out a team with all the gear we can make or scrounge. If they take a few hours, if they take all night, whatever it takes. I’m thinking about what happens in the meantime.”

“What if he attacks the team?” Barbara asked.

“Hah!” Duncan laughed. “Let him. None of these guys learned about hiking by taking happy little walks in the woods. They’re all former military and they’ll all be armed. We’ve got, among the Rats present, at least six former infantry, two former Special Forces and a SEAL. And before you ask, if he’s one of them it won’t matter. They will be fully briefed. By Agent Donahue. There’s no way that he could take all of them out. Even if he’s on the team. They go to a phone, pass on Greg’s message and HRT gets in here if it takes calling out the National Guard with armored personnel carriers.”

“Well, actually…” Barb said, cautiously, just as there was a furious knocking on connecting room door.

“Miz Goldberg,” Duncan said, raising his eyebrows at the slight Jewish woman he saw when he opened the door.

“Where is she?” Goldberg said, striding past him and into the room. “You stupid-”

“I know,” Barbara said, shaking her head. “You don’t have to beat me up, I’m already doing that. All three of us are.”

“Whose stupid idea was it to try to flush him?” Kay said, ignoring the oblique plea.

“I think that throwing around recriminations is a bit late,” Duncan said, sitting back down in his chair after closing the door. “We need to get ourselves out of this cleft stick and then throw around recriminations. But, never fear, the Wharf Rat Rangers are prepared to go as far as necessary to find a phone. At which point we can call in a Hostage Rescue Team and we’re all saved.”

“That’s what you think,” Goldberg said, looking at Barb. “Are you going along with this?”

“I was just trying to figure out a way to explain,” Barbara admitted, sighing.

“It won’t work,” Kay snapped. “If he wants to take down your team he can. The only reason he’s not going straight to mass murder is either Barb or her friend.”

“Excuse me?” Duncan said, frowning. “Barbara’s a charming person, but…”

“Shut your fool mouth, youngster,” Goldberg snarled, her accent clearly Hebrew. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with here.”

“Clue me,” Duncan said, seriously.

“Who are you?” Barb asked, looking directly at Goldberg.

“That’s nobody’s business, but…” Kay said, frowning.

“Barbara Everette,” Duncan said, nodding in her direction and waving at Goldberg. “May I make your acquaintance of Lieutenant Colonel Hega Moshen, Israeli Defense Force and later Shin Bet. I believe your highest rank in the IDF was, in fact, major, correct, Colonel?”

“You were a colonel in Shin Bet?” Barb asked, surprised. She’d thought the tough little Jewish woman was probably a former sergeant or low-level Mossad agent.

“Yes,” Kay said after a long pause. “I was the Shin Bet commander for Israeli Special Circumstances.”

“Okay, I got all of that except that last bit,” Duncan admitted, waving his hand vaguely. “Hell, I knew all of that except the last bit. What’s Special Circumstances? Serial killings?”

“Special ones,” Kay said, looking at Barbara. “She’s SC,” she added with a jerk of her chin at the homemaker. “American SC.”