man preparing for a fight. Then he smacked his right fist into his left
palm and stared out into space.
“All right,” he said finally, “what you’re telling me is that it’s vital
to the security of the United States that we find out what the hell these
things are?”
The IO chewed that over for a minute and then nodded. “Not ‘vital’ maybe,
but damned important. Yessir, that’s my assessment.”
The general slammed his palm down on the desk. “Then we’re by damn going
to find out, and soon! I want some F-15s prepared with long-range ferry
tanks and recon gear up the wazoo. Damn, I wish I had some EF-111s!” He
looked over at his intelligence officer.
“The next time that thing shows its nose we’re going to be ready. We’re
going to find out what this sucker is and we’re going to nail him!”
Nineteen: MOUSEHOLE
“Behold, the Mousehole!” Wiz Zumwalt said, standing in the lobby of his
new secret headquarters and gesturing grandly. Moira, who was standing
beside him, only sniffed.
The Mousehole-no one could remember who came up with the name-was a
one-story complex of glass and stone raised overnight by magic. It
meandered beneath the trees in a small valley like a giant’s game of
dominoes. In addition to the labs and workshops, the complex included
wings of private quarters for the programmers, wizards and their servants
and helpers, storerooms and, most importantly of all, a room for their
soon-to-be-acquired computer.
Wiz put his hands on his hips and surveyed the scene. With its airy
spaces, hidden fluorescent lighting and non-static carpeting, the complex
would not have looked out of place in a Silicon Valley industrial park. Of
course, it did have a few features most Silicon Valley complexes
lacked-such as windows that opened and the smokeless torches in brackets
along the walls because the electricity wasn’t hooked up yet.
“You know,” Wiz said, “the Wizard’s Keep has a lot of atmosphere, but this
is still pretty neat.”
“This is still madness,” Moira responded grimly. “I just hope we do not
all live to regret this.”
“You mean you hope we do live to regret it.”
“You know perfectly well what I mean!” the hedge witch snapped. “And here
on this island, of all places!” She growled in frustration, crossed her
arms and turned away.
Wiz came up behind her and put his arms around her. “I don’t like it
either, darling. But we’ve got to be able to use a computer and that means
taking risks.”
He felt her stance begin to soften. “And they don’t patrol this island
regularly. So we’re safer here than anywhere else. Besides, we’ve taken
precautions.”
In fact the precautions had taken more time than the buildings. Not only
was the glass carefully dulled to avoid any hint of reflection and the
stone colored to match the surrounding rock, but powerful blocking spells
had been erected over the place. From the air the valley appeared as
simply another hill. Magical emanations were blocked. Even infrared, UV
and radar signatures were tightly controlled.
Moira sighed. “Oh, I know, love. But on the same island as our enemies!”
“It’s a big island. We’re nearly a hundred miles away from them. As long
as we don’t have dragons flying in and out of here or something we’ll be
safe enough.”
“I suppose,” Moira said in a tone that suggested she supposed nothing of
the sort. But she relaxed and turned back toward Wiz.
He smiled down at her. “Besides, look at the bright side. In this world
there are no dwarves trying to kill me.”
Glandurg was bent over his locating talisman. For two days there had been
no sign of the Sparrow even on his searching device. Now he was attempting
a difficult spell to increase its power temporarily.
His followers were crowded around the stump where he sat, watching as he
poured all the magical energy he could muster into the device. The sweat
was running down Glandurg’s brow and even Gimli was uncharacteristically
quiet.
The device pulsed, flickered and then lit with a faint blue glow. Within
it a shadowy arrow pointed south.
Glandurg jumped up off the stump so quickly he almost knocked Ragnar over.