Chapter 14

   
   
The planning room was what Sean had expected it to be like.
A giant, round table in the middle of a rectangular room that was in sore need of an aesthetic touch. It was faint in the light, but Sean could spot an intricate relief of a shield on the face of the table. The only furniture that occupied the room besides the large circular wooden table were padded bar stools, black filing cabinets that looked just as ancient as Smyth, and a red and black rug that the round table stood over. The only source of light came from two tubes of overhanging fluorescent fixtures from the low ceiling. If Sean jumped high enough he would smash the top of his head on the roof. Lance barely skimmed the top of the ceiling as he assumed a position Sean guessed was his natural place at the table. At the head.
Percy and Sean and Smyth took adjacent sides to Lance’s head position at the round oak table. Percy on Lance’s right and Sean and Smyth on the left. Sean noticed there was nothing on the table. No diagrams, no charts, not even food. His stomach growled and jumbled around in Sean’s gut at the thought. He pushed away the feeling and tried to concentrate. His family. They were in danger. His mom. Emily. They needed him.
“Tryss and Elise will join us shortly.” Lance said, his voice barely a whisper as he looked around the table. Staring each person in the eye with purpose, giving each one at the table a look of an experienced commander and soldier. Hard as nails, not afraid to take equally hard decisions. Lance’s gaze landed on Sean and lingered. He spoke again, his words projected at Sean.
“They will no doubt remember our previous exfiltration missions in the past, and this situation seems pretty cut and dry to me. Percy?”
“The situation does seem familiar in many aspects.” Percy agreed, setting down his rucksack on the table and setting up his laptop. “Although there is one, very big factor that sets this operation aside from every other exfil mission we’ve done before.”
Percy’s other hand came up and over the lip of the table. The black shafted message arrow clattered loudly onto the rough face of the table. It spun once in a lazy arc before settling quietly. Its broadhead glinted the single light source that shone down from above. The arrow pointed at Sean, as if ready to be plunged into his waist. Sean swallowed, then, realizing his throat was dry, hacked a cough. He cleared his throat as Percy continued.
“The Angel of Death. He provides for us a monumentally sizable hurdle. He’s aggressive in his tactics; likes to strike at the most unexpected times. Very effective and has a ninety-nine percent certainty of expected casualties.”
Percy looked sideways at Sean.
“This is obviously a really, really, big problem for us.”
“I can understand what you’re saying, you know.” Sean said, his mouth in straight line. “I’m not a child.”
“No one’s saying you are.” Lance said, his hand reaching down underneath the lip of the table. He pressed a button as he also added without hesitation, “You succeed in doing that all by yourself.”
Sean began to respond with a cutting insult, but then the table came life. The oaken wood of the table’s face broke in the middle. Triangular slats hinged up and down leaving a star-sized hole in the center of the table. Inside of the hole, sparks and flashes of light grew in the shadows the star-silhouette. It was like there were a hundred lightning bugs skittering inside of the table. Then an image popped up, in front of Sean’s face. It was a shield, with two short swords crossed in front of it. Latin script carved onto the face of the shield. It was the same emblem that was on Elise’s Medallion. The image was nothing Sean had ever seen before. Sean wanted to say it looked like a hologram, like the kind of technology you would see in the science fiction movies. But that seemed inaccurate. This was much cooler than a hologram. It was more clear and vibrant. The insignia had true depth and shadow to its form. No rippling lines like an old-fashioned TV, no distortion. The swords and the shield were more than three-dimensional, it looked like it had weight to it. Sean could almost smell it. It was almost as if the shield were actually there. It looked so real, Sean held out his hand to one of the short swords as the shield emblem spun lazily around. Sean’s finger passed through the hilt. His fingers passed through the handle, the hand simply disappearing into the sword and coming out the other end as the image made its lazy circle in the air.
“Just like a child.” Lance snorted, shaking his head at Sean and then looking down at a screen inlay that appeared in a slide-out panel in the table.
Sean put down his hand and gave Lance an annoyed glance.
Sean murmured under his breath, but loud enough for Lance to hear. “If I’m a child, then you’re an old man.”
Smyth slapped both palms down hard on the scratched oaken wood of the table, the sound a loud clap in Sean’s ears.
“Enough! If anyone of you have ever heard the word ‘mature’, I suggest you all start putting that into practice.” Smyth glanced in between Sean and Lance, his hard glassy green eyes blazing like an earthen hearth. “Stick to the situation at hand. Stay focused. We have no use of silly, cartoonish banter at this table.”
Smyth stared at Lance for a hard second, then gave Sean the same treatment. “Human lives are at stake.”
Sean chewed the gum lining inside of his mouth. Lance looked down and stared hard at the wooden leaf panel in front of his hands. Percy stood at his position at the table, taking out a second laptop. Much thicker and more bulkier than the previous model. He set the second computer next to the first one. Percy scratched his chin.
“So, I’ve got the bare bones of what people might call a feasible plan. Anyone want to hear it?”
Smyth nodded. “Go ahead.”
Percy gulped. “Although, there is a hitch. I have two versions.”
Sean said. “Okay. Why two versions?”
Percy blew air out of pursed lips and his gaze bounced from Sean to Smyth to Lance. Percy’s face spasmed, twitching violently as ever. His expression was cluttered with nervousness and doubt.
Percy sighed. “The reason is you, Sean. Version one of my exfil includes you, and the second doesn’t.”
“Okay,” Sean said again, his voice neutral, his eyes slitted. “I still don’t get it.”
Smyth leaned on one hand, stabilizing himself. “Percy is inadvertently and clumsily asking you a question.” Smyth stared at Sean from over the top ridge of his glasses. “Do you wish to be part of this operation?”
Sean frowned, tilting his head back. “What kind of question is that? Of course I’m coming with you guys.” Sean turned to Percy, nodding. “Version one sounds good to me.”
Lance held up a finger poignantly. “Hold up.” He frowned at Sean, and then at Smyth. “Smyth? Really?”
Smyth gave Lance a reassuring nod, then glanced back at Sean. His voice was low and clipped. No nonsense.
Smyth said. “Sean. You have absolutely no basic training for this kind of operation. Not even negotiating skills.”
Sean smirked. “Gee. Thanks, Smyth.”
Smyth shrugged. “I am just telling the truth. You won’t have much of a role to play, if at all. So. . . Do you really want to do this?”
Sean stared at Smyth for a long second. Stared at Percy. At Lance. Sean returned his gaze on the floating shield emblem. He stared at it, examining its curves and edges.
Sean said. “Do you love someone, Smyth?” Sean returned his gaze back onto the old curator. Smyth sighed, took of his glasses and cleaned them with a small white rag. He said, “Yes.”
Sean replied. “Then if you loved that person, and if you knew that person was in mortal danger, wouldn’t you want to save them?”
Smyth stared down at the table, cloth rag in between thumb and finger. He paused cleaning his glasses and looked up at Sean.
“Yes.” Smyth said, barely a whisper. “Yes, I would.”
Sean nodded, crossing his arms defiantly. “Then you know my answer. I’m going. I know I’m not trained like the rest of you. I don’t have any fancy magical totem or any combat skills. Heck, I barely know any of you and it looks like I have a death wish.” Sean gave Lance a challenging stare. “But I don’t care. I want my family back. That’s all that matters.”
Lance matched Sean’s stare second for a second. Then he blew a short gust of air out from his nostrils and raised an eyebrow.
“You do have a death wish.”
“Sean’s right.” Percy agreed, looking in between Smyth and Lance. “I say he should be there. If he wants to, of course, no pressure or anything.”
Sean shrugged. “Well, Smyth?”
Smyth put away his rag. Readjusted his glasses on his head. He blinked hard, rubbed his eyes, and focused on Sean.
“Are you sure?” Smyth asked. “You will be strictly non-combatant status. And there is a good chance the Angel is setting a trap. You might endanger yourself, or your family if you make the wrong move.”
Sean nodded grimly. “I won’t be making any moves. I don’t intend to take on the freak by myself. Just let me do something; I can’t just sit and watch.”
Lance shook his head. “You can stay in the van with Trys and Percy.”
Sean gave Percy a pleading glance, who in turn, gave him a simple shrug.
“I mean, I don’t know.” Percy mumbled. “It gets pretty stuffy in there when there’s more than two. And that’s not even on long hours of waiting. Of which we will be doing.”
“You’re not helping.” Lance said, his stone faced expression hardening.
Percy shrugged, pursing his lips. “It would help if I had another look-out. I can change the plan up a bit, switch a few roles-”
Lance’s brows scooted lower down his forehead. “You can’t be serious.”
Percy held up his hands and chuckled, looking at Lance and then at Sean. “What I’m saying is, I think Sean-if he wants-can have an important role to play in this operation.”
“That’s too much responsibility.” Lance retorted.
“He’ll be on top of a building.” defended Percy, gesturing with his hands. “Sean will just call out what he sees, it’s easy!”
Lance put both hands on the table, his face reddening slightly. “Are seriously willing to put an underage minor in mortal danger?”
“It’s only if he wants to, I’m not forcing him to do anything!”
“He’s not even part of the Vanguard and you want to send him out there? Without any training whatsoever?”
Sean held up a finger. “I do kinda work for you guys, you know.”
“That’s different, and you know that.” Lance responded, his glare still fixed on Percy. Lance whispered, “Percy. What are you doing?”
The room fell silent. Deathly silent. Lance stared at Percy for a long time, for almost a complete ten-count.
Then Percy said quietly. “We’re short a man. The plan can barely ride with the four of us, now that Harry’s gone. We need another man.” Percy glanced sideways at Sean, then reverted his gaze back on Lance. “You know this.”
Sean counted quietly in his head. Lance. Percy. Tryss. Elise. Four.
Looking at Smyth, Sean said. “Well?” Smyth glanced at Sean. “Well? Well what?” Sean raised his eyebrows, leaning over the table and planting a hand on the table.
“Well? Sign me up! Swear me in. Whatever you guys do.”
Grunting loudly, Lance said. “Again. No training.”
“I don’t have to be a non-combatant.” Sean replied. Lance shook his head.
“If you’re trying to level yourself with the status of Elise and Tryss, then just stop. They can lay you flat in three seconds, physically and mentally. They didn’t get where they were today by just spontaneously crying out, ‘Oh, swear me in! My family’s in danger and I have a deep-set heroic complex I didn’t know I had until now!’ No. That’s not how any of this works, that’s not how the real world works. And most of all, that’s not how the Vanguard works.”
“Lance.” Percy began, but his friend continued. Jabbing his index finger at Sean, Lance’s chiseled face broke its stony pattern, giving way to annoyance.
Lance said. “I’m not going to jeopardize this mission just at the whimsical thought of an underage minor who thinks that he’s so special all of a sudden because his dad was a custodian.”
Lance breathed heavily and lowered his finger. Sean gulped, took off his from the table and stared at Lance.
“Real low, man.” Sean murmured, his jaw deep rooted all the way back to his neck. “Real low.”
Lance huffed, saying nothing. He poked a few spots on the panel leaf inside the table. The image of the floating shield vanished into nonexistence. A three dimensional diorama of a city street hovered a foot off the star shaped hole.
Then Smyth intervened.
“Percy?” he asked, his words slow and calculating. “Does this plan of yours require a specific number of people?”
Percy scoffed and nodded emphatically. He leaned down to his first laptop’s screen and squinted at it. He glanced up occasionally at Smyth and Sean as he spoke.
“I mean, I have to say, I’m really envying the manpower and resources of Alpha and Beta Team, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.” Percy slitted his eyes, sucking air through his teeth. “At the least, the exfil plan I have requires. . . five or higher. Five as in five minimum. I’ve done the calculations and I can’t take away any roleplayer from the plan. It would be like taking out a card from a house of cards; it would completely undermine the design.”
Smyth asked. “Do you have any other plans that are more suited to our limited manpower?”
Percy came up from his screen blinking. The man’s face spasmed a violent trio of half blinks.
Percy said. “It take me a while.”
“It didn’t take you that long back in the hallway.” Sean noted. “Why can’t you just adjust it?”
“It’s not that I can’t adjust. It’s just,” Percy said, cracking his knuckles. “By the time it takes for me to formulate a new plan, our operation would only be one-sixth of the way finished. I may be fast, but I’m not inhuman. Most normal situations like this would take an average group of people a few weeks at best, a few days at minimum. For a something such as this: there’s appropriation of the right gear according to the plan, variances to take into consideration, and that has sublevels of sublevels I don’t care to mention. Realistically speaking, it would take more than three and something hours-if I had a good pot of coffee-and that’s just the planning phase.”
“That’s too late.” Smyth said, pulling out a pocket watch, clicking it open and frowning at the face of it. “It’s already two twenty-five.”
Lance pumped his fist into the table. Not exactly a punch, but it was hard enough to shake the table and surprise Sean.
“Wasted time.” Lance hissed to himself, then looked at the other men at the table. His gaze fell on Percy. “How fast do you think you can form a plan without the use of a fifth man?”
Percy shrugged. “We’re still talking about exfil, right?”
Lance nodded hurriedly. “Yes, yes.”
“And we still in agreement that we want this night to be the last for the Angel?”
Lance waved his hand, gesturing for Percy to continue. Percy sighed, moved over to his more bulkier, second laptop and clacked away on the keyboard. A minute later, Percy swiveled the large laptop around for everyone to see. The screen had a background of black with white lettering covering most of the screen. Sean could see a visible outline, with headers and subheaders, points and roman numerals. Sean saw that there were five levels. At the top the outline was labeled in Courier Text all caps, REVISED PLAN V.3
Percy said. “This is as simple as it gets, for what you’re asking for Lance.”
“How long?” Lance asked. Percy frowned, and Lance repeated himself. “How long would it take to get it complete and ready for execution?”
“How long?” Percy said, tilting his head to the right, his eyes far and distant. “About two hours.”
Lance sighed. “Two hours? Seriously?”
“Yes. Seriously. Two hours?”
Sean looked at Lance. His stone hard expression was falling down, breaking apart. It was obvious that Lance was keeping it all together calmly, but annoyance, doubt, anxiety, and fear could be seen brimming at the edge of his eyebrows. Lance looked at the outline. Asked for the laptop. Examined the revised plan thoroughly for over two minutes. Then he sighed again, closing his eyes, a hand to his temple. Once Lance opened his eyes, he stared at Smyth. The old man just shrugged, his hands in his pockets.
“Don’t look at me. I’m not an operations leader.” Smyth said. “I’m just here as a witness, give advice, and to . . . curate.” Smyth chuckled, then waved at Lance with a vague gesture. “Go on. Your move.”
Sean could feel Lance’s deep, defeated sigh reverberate through the table as he simply said, “Put your right hand over your chest.” Sean did so. Lance said. “Sean Knite Jr.”
“Yes?” Sean asked.
“Do you swear to support and defend the International Charter of Byzantium and all that it stands for against all enemies, national and inhuman, seen and unseen?”
Sean’s throat was dry as he said. “Yes.”
“Do you swear to obey all orders from me or anyone else in Team Delta of the Vanguard under all and any circumstances that may occur?”
“Yes.”
Lance squinted at Sean, his eyes dark in the single hanging light from the above. “Do you?”
Sean nodded, then added quickly, “Yes.”
Lance continued, his laser focus stare drilling into Sean. “Do you, Sean Knite Jr, understand if you disobey any order or command from me and my team members, it will be seen as an immediate action of insubordination and you will be prosecuted with extreme force?”
Sean gulped. “Yes.”
Lance paused, as if waiting for something. As if awaiting some kind of cue or permission from somebody. His stare lost its fervent glare. But he continued, Lance’s eyes returning back to its former rigid stare.
Lance said. “Then in the name of the Vanguard, the Charter, and all things that are holy, I pronounce you, Sean Knite Jr, a member of the Vanguard with the current status of strictly non-combatant until further notice.”
Lance’s mouth worked around, as if uncomfortable on his face. Like a wriggling worm earnest to wiggle right off its perch in between his nose and chin. But Lance licked his lips. Squared his brows and pursed his lips. He nodded rigidly at Sean.
“If you love your family as much as you say you do,” Lance’s voice was low and dark as the wall behind him. “then I suggest you don’t do anything heroic.”
Sean put down his hand slowly, looking at Smyth and Percy. Smyth smiled a smug grin. Percy smirked and winked at Sean, then turned his big laptop screen back to face himself. He began to type away.
“So,” he said, stretching out the word. “Now that we got that out of the way. Who actually wants to hear the plan?”

The plan sounded horrible. At least, that’s what Lance said in the beginning. But after twenty minutes of fleshing out the plan, making revisions, and switching roles Percy and Lance finally came to a workable scene they could agree on. Compromise was rife, and Smyth had to act as a voice of guidance and sometimes reason most of the time. Sean felt awkward, not saying anything and just watching two people talk in heated and excited conversation. The two talked about tactical strategies. Contingencies for contingency plans. The word ‘parachute’ and ‘fall net’ were thrown around numerous times. The sparks that flew from Percy and Lance could’ve lighted a campfire’s dead embers back to life. But as Sean watched, Lance and Percy’s interaction wasn’t filled with smarmy remarks or spiteful comments. Instead, they were corrective.  Not at all argumentative. Just constructive statements that soon helped develop the once ‘horrible plan’-in Lance’s words-to a feasible one. Just when Lance and Percy were about to settle for an end goal and evacuation procedure, Elise and Tryss walked into the room.
“You guys are cutting this close.” Tryss said, bursting into the room. She walked up to the table and laid a hand on it. “Percy. Gear?”
“Oh! Right!” Percy said, his eyes wide as he looked down at a watch strapped to his wrist. He cursed, then said. “Take my rucksack. And don’t open compartment number three-whatever you do, don’t. And take the laptop.”
Tryss was already heaving the rucksack over her shoulder. She reached for the thick laptop sitting on the table. Then Percy said. “Compartment number three-”
“Is on the far right, yes,” Tryss responded tersely, turning away and passing Elise on her way out the room. She left the door open. Percy and Lance turned back to conversing in a mild tone. Elise took a pace to the table next to Sean.
“Percy’s really cranking it out, isn’t he?” Elise whispered, eyeing the first laptop and the floating image of the street. Sean nodded. He had been staring at the street image for a long time; ever since Lance and Percy had started constructing the plan. The diorama was just as realistic as the shield. Three dimensional. Clean edges. Magnificent shadows. It looked as if Sean were looking out a window or helicopter directly above the street view. Except it was being projected above a wooden table.
“Mainstreet.” Sean said, noticing Elise’s attention on the street view.
Elise nodded. “Seems like an appropriate meeting place.”
“But why, though?” Sean asked. “Why Mainstreet? Isn’t that the last place the Angel of Death would set up an exchange?”
Shrugging, Elise said. “It’s going to be four in the morning, Sean. Practically nobody’s there, and if there is anybody, they won’t see anything.”
“Why? How come?”
“Because of the fog. It conceals him and anything else he chooses.” Elise said, her eyes squinting as she leaned closer for a better look. She winced, her hand shooting up quickly to her temple. “Dangit. That hurt.”
“Maybe you should rest.” Sean suggested. But Elise just scoffed, rubbing the heel of her hand against the side of her head.
“I’m fine, I have the Medallion,” she said, then pointed at Sean. “Look at you. Look’s like you’ve crawled around in a woodchipper.”
Sean’s fingers drifted up to the medallion that still hung around his neck. He had forgotten all about it. It wasn’t glowing anymore; it just sat on his chest idly. The dull bronze face of the medallion glinting dully in the low light.
“I don’t really feel anything. No pain.” Sean looked at Elise, frowning a bit. “Is that good?”
“Would you prefer feeling a hundred wooden splinters in your flesh?”
“Well. No. Not really.”
“There you go.” Elise smirked, looking at the shot of Main Street. She stretched out her hands and pinched her thumbs and forefingers on the image. Then she opened her thumbs and forefingers, widening Main Street, blowing it up to twice its size. Sean began picking out the wooden fragments from his torn clothing, just now noticing how big the splinters embedded in his skin.
“So, I have a question,” Sean asked, then continued without a response from Elise. “What’s the difference between the medallion I’m wearing, and what you’re wearing?”
Elise stopped looking at the image of Main Street and looked at Sean through the corner of her eye.
“The difference is mine is cooler than yours.” Elise said, hooking her thumb under the leather thong and lifting up the golden circle. “Just kidding.” She added, smiling at Sean’s blank expression.
Elise said. “There are a lot of medallions out there. Many of them do many things; such as granting the wearer abilities. Some people have transmuted several hundreds of uses for medallions, but there is one problem. You can only transmute one ability per medallion. No single medallion can harness more than two powers.”
Elise pointed at Sean’s bronze medallion on his chest.
She said. “You see yours? It’s specifically made for healing. And it is the highest and most powerful of its type of medallion in Percy’s arsenal. Quite formidable in healing wounds superficial and some mild injuries quickly and providing pain numbing tendencies as a plus.”
“Cool.” Sean said, holding up the medallion to his face. Its blank dull bronze face stared back up at him. “And what about yours? What does yours do?”
    To this, Elise let out a chuckle. She held the Medallion in her palm and weighed it gently, tossing it up and down gently. It rhythmically bounced up and down in Elise’s hand.
    She stared at the Medallion as it glinted like a blade.
    “It does everything.”
    “Everything?” Sean scoffed. “Are you kidding? Like what?”
    Elise closed her hand on the Medallion, opened it again. It was no longer there. It had vanished. She closed her hand and threw up her palm. The Medallion appeared in front of Elise, the leather thong still around her neck. She put her hand underneath the golden coin and it stayed there, suspended in the air. Elise’s hand flinched and the Medallion fell back down with a quiet slap onto her palm.
    “Woah.” Sean coughed, his gaze affixed on the Medallion as Elise shoved it underneath the covers of her coat. “That was crazy.”
    “Not really.” Elise waved her hand, her gaze back on the street image. “That was nothing special. That was just some eye candy. This Medallion can raise the dead to life.”
    Sean stared at Elise. She looked away from the street view image and at Sean’s incredulous expression.
    “Well,” Elise said, scrunching up her face and looking up in thought. “It’s been said. I haven’t raised anybody from the grave. But this-” Elise patted her chest where the Medallion lay. “I’ve used it to throw my knife hundreds of yards with pinpoint accuracy. I’ve lifted several tons of metal before. You’ve seen me create magical shield barriers and golden strands that can rip anything apart. I can read minds too, if I put any real effort into it.”
    “Read minds?”
    “Yeah.” Elise said, turning to face Sean, her gaze solid and searching. Sean blinked a few times, suddenly feeling extremely uncomfortable. He stared back at Elise, saying, “You’re joking, right? That’s a joke. . .”
Elise squinted, her stare bouncing in between Sean’s right and left eye. Then she stopped.
She said. “You’re coming with us. To rescue your family.” Elise frowned. “How did you manage that? Lance would never allow it.”
Sean grinned, looking over at Lance. He was gesturing wildly with his fist, pounding it into his other hand’s palm.
Sean looked back at Elise, giving her a dry grin. “It was out of necessity, really. They were short a man since . . .you know. Lance was actually the one who swore me in. I’m part of the Vanguard now, I guess.”
Elise slitted her eyes and hummed. Then she shrugged. A small, limited gesture with her thin shoulders.
She said through the side of mouth. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Thanks,” Sean said, putting both hands on the table. “I hope so too.”
“That’s not what I meant, Sean.” Elise said, her voice low and grim. Her gaze was mild and even. She stared at the view of Main Street hovering above the table as if she were looking at a dead animal.
She turned to glance at Sean with a bleak gaze. “I don’t want to make you worry. But in a situation such as this, there's absolutely no room for rash decisions. Or else your mom and sister could die.”