A Calculated Magic

3

Cassandra waited patiently by the side of a 1967 Buick Electra. Piled at her feet were three AK-47 automatic rifles, a trio of mismatched handguns, five knives, over a dozen hand grenades, and several lethal-looking items Jack didn’t recognize. The Amazon looked grim. The blood drained from Jack’s face.

“Where did the heavy armament come from?” he asked.

“Courtesy of our friends in the woods,” replied Cassandra, “This stuff was all I could carry. You should’ve seen the stuff I left behind. Those characters were walking arsenals. They definitely meant business, Jack. What they lacked in style and grace, they made up in firepower.”

“Aren’t hand grenades illegal?” he asked, not able to think of much else to say.

Cassandra shrugged. “I doubt if they worried about the police.”

Reaching down, she lifted a cloth sack off the ground. Inside it, something wiggled. “I dislike modern weapons,” said the Amazon. “Guns are so… uncivilized. So I brought along my own secret weapon.”

“You’re expecting another attack?” he asked.

“They found us at the camp,” answered Cassandra. “I discovered a radio transmitter back in the woods. Which probably means that their confederates realize the first attack failed. Chances seem pretty good that they’ll try again. I’d be very surprised if we make it to the city without an encounter.”

“But we’ll be on the highway,” he declared. “Nobody fires a gun on a highway.”

Cassandra smiled. “Ever hear of drive-by shootings, my naive young friend? Assassins don’t worry about breaking city or state ordinances,” She patted the mysterious sack, which shook violently under her touch. “Better we’re prepared than dead.”

Jack nodded unhappily, Cassandra actually appeared quite cheerful. Which was not surprising. As an Amazon, she lived for danger. Violent action defined her existence. The one thing she never walked away from was a fight.

“You think they’ll try an ambush on the road instead of waiting till we get to the city?” he asked, opening the door to the Buick.

“If I wanted to kill someone,” answered the Amazon, sliding into the driver’s seat, “I couldn’t think of a better location than the Chicago highway system.”

“The traffic is murder,” admitted Jack.

“The major roads are always under construction,” stated Cassandra, turning the key in the ignition. “There’s potholes big enough to swallow a truck. Drivers in this area are the worst tailgaters in the country. Entrance ramps barely exist, making high-speed merges a crapshoot. Everyone drives twenty miles above the posted limit.” She grinned. “Who would notice a few guys shooting at each other from car windows?”

“Well,” said Jack, settling back in the sedan’s lush seat, “at least this car’s built like a tank. I remember you saying that when we bought it. And it does have its secrets.”

The Buick was no ordinary vehicle. It had been rebuilt inside and out by Fritz Grondark, one of the fabled dwarven mechanics. Already possessing one of the biggest engines ever put in an automobile, the magically enhanced Buick was capable of outrunning anything on the road. Incredibly responsive to its driver’s touch, it could make impossible turns and stop in half the time of a normal vehicle. The unmarked condition of its exterior proclaimed that it could not be scratched or dented. Jack wondered if that also meant the car was bulletproof. He hoped so.

Stepping on the gas, Cassandra gunned the car onto the country road that led from the trailer camp to the highway into town. Nervously, Jack kept a lookout for anyone following them.

The first fifteen minutes passed without incident. Jack liked jazz while Cassandra preferred classical music. After much debate, they settled on an oldies station. Weekday traffic was light and they made good time. Cassandra kept their car in the middle lane, maintaining several car lengths between them and any other vehicles. The mysterious sack remained untouched in the backseat.

“Seat belt fastened?” she casually asked Jack, adjusting the rearview mirror as she spoke.

“Of course,” he answered. “Why?”

“It’s against the law to sit in the front without your belt buckled,” said the Amazon. “Besides, there’s two cars coming up fast behind us. I think company’s arrived.”

Turning, Jack caught a glimpse of a pair of black Cadillacs a half dozen car lengths behind them. There were two men in each car—one driving while the other was in the rear seat. Jack noted they were dressed in the same khaki greens as his earlier attackers.

“If they’re pros,” said Cassandra, “one car will pull up on our side while the other remains behind. That gives them a second chance if we manage to evade the first attempt.”

“Wonderful news,” said Jack, slumping in his scat. “Can’t we outrun them?”

“Not with this traffic,” said Cassandra, waving at the congestion ahead. “There’s too many trucks for us to weave safely in and out of traffic. We’re moving at a steady fifty. Don’t worry. We can take them.”

Jack suspected the Amazon was using the heavy traffic as an excuse. She hated running from a fight. No matter what the odds. He only hoped Cassandra’s honor wouldn’t get them both killed.

The Amazon grunted in satisfaction. “Here they come. The first car is making a move. They’re pulling up on your side. Obviously, you’re the primary objective, Jack. These guys want you dead.”

“Terrific,” said Jack. “You have a plan?”

“Of course,” said the Amazon. “Something nice and easy and unexpected. Grab the sack. Don’t be afraid. There’s nothing in it that can hurt you. At least, not as much as a bullet.”

Immeasurably cheered by that remark, Jack reached behind him and pulled the cloth bag onto his lap. Something large and active wiggled on his legs. But he was too concerned about the assassins to care.

“Now what?” he asked, terribly aware of the other car’s hood only a few feet away from their rear bumper.

“Shooting accurately from a moving car isn’t easy, even for trained killers,” said Cassandra. “The man in back won’t risk firing until they’re right on our side. Loosen the string on the top of that sack. Be ready. When I yell, toss the bag out your window. And then duck.”

Jack untied the cord on the cloth bag. Putting both his hands beneath it, he waited for Cassandra’s command. Behind them, a motor roared.

“Now!” the Amazon shouted, and spun the steering wheel to the right.

Metal screeched against metal as the Buick slammed hard into the black Cadillac. Jack caught a glimpse of the driver of the other car, feverishly fighting to keep his vehicle on the road. Then, obeying orders, Jack hurled the cloth bag out the window. Sending it hurtling directly into the front seat of the other car.

Immediately he ducked, expecting the roar of gunfire. Instead, there came a horrifying scream, the screech of tires, and the sound of steel hitting concrete. Seeing the ghost of a smile appear on Cassandra’s lips, Jack slowly straightened in his seat.

“Perfectly executed,” declared Cassandra, her gaze fixed on the rearview mirror. “They collided with the cement guardrail on the shoulder. The Cadillac is pretty well demolished, but that’s their worry. No other vehicles involved, but traffic behind them has slowed to a crawl. As usual, nobody on the highway can drive past an accident without gawking for a few seconds. By the time their buddies in the following car make it past the scene, we’ll be downtown.”

“What was in that bag?” asked Jack.

“A snake,” said Cassandra. “A nice big one I found in the woods. Not the least bit dangerous, but it sure looked vicious. I thought it might distract the driver at a crucial instant. Guess I was right. Surprising how the coolest professionals are suckers for large, ugly, nasty reptiles.”

Jack drew in a deep breath, glad he had not asked Cassandra earlier about the contents of the bag. He was not particularly fond of reptiles himself.

“They were both mortal,” he said, as much to himself as his companion. “Neither of them were supernatural.”

“I noticed,” said the Amazon. “It looks like not all of your enemies are mythological beings. Any idea who the killers might be? Or why they are after you?”

“Unfortunately,” said Jack, “I suspect I know the truth. Something the first killer said set off alarm bells in my mind. I think I’ve finally placed the reference. And I’m not happy about it.”

He paused, gathering his thoughts together. The more he considered the clues, the more positive he grew that he had correctly deduced the identity of his attackers.

“You’re wrong about the supernatural element,” he continued. “The evil mastermind behind these assassination attempts is a particularly notorious mythical being. He’s definitely not mortal. The problem for us is that his followers are. They’re usually the dregs and lowlifes of society. In these times, that means there could be thousands of them. And most likely, they’re all programmed to try to kill me—without any regard for their own safety.”