30

The jet made quick work of the runway. Once airborne, I told the pilot to veer toward the hotel so I could witness the scene from above. However, within seconds, an F/A-18 Hornet pulled alongside us and escorted us northeast, out of LA airspace.

The co-pilot opened the cabin door. “Sorry about that, Mr. Creed.”

“You pussy,” I said.

He frowned and went back to work, leaving me to contemplate the smoldering bodies I’d seen just hours ago. I pictured families and loved ones across the country desperately dialing cell phones that would never be answered. I wondered if, when the roof fell, how many rescue personnel had to be added to the death toll.

After we hit cruising altitude, I called Victor. When he answered, I said, “How’d you do it?”

“If … you’re … talk … ing … about the … spy … satel … lite … you can … tell … your … people … I’m … sorry. I … won’t … do it … again.”

“You’re sorry?” I said. “You’re kidding, right? ’Cause they have ways to make you sorry. By the way, where’s Monica?”

I heard a shuffling sound, and a guy with a high-pitched but otherwise normal voice took over. “Mr. Creed,” he said, “My name is Hugo.”

“Hugo,” I said.

“That is correct,” he said.

“Your voice,” I said. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess you’re a little person.”

“Also correct,” he said.

“Okay, so I’m supposed to believe your names are Victor and Hugo. Who do you guys hang out with, HG and Wells?”

“I do not know any HG and Wells,” he said. “I am Victor’s spiritual adviser.”

“Spiritual adviser,” I said.

“That is correct.”

In the background, I heard Victor say, “Tell … him … the … rest.” Hugo attempted to cover the mouthpiece with his hand but it was a small hand and I could still hear them talking, plain as day.

Hugo said, “He’ll laugh at me.”

Victor said, in a commanding voice, “Tell … him!”

Hugo removed his hand from the mouthpiece and told me he was something, but his voice was so small I had to ask him to repeat himself.

“You’re the what?” I asked.

“Supreme commander of his army.”

“I’m trying to think of something funny to say,” I said, “but you’ve rendered me speechless.”

Hugo said he and Victor had amassed an army of little people all over the country. “We have soldiers everywhere,” Hugo said. “Hundreds. Some are captains of industry. Others have access to information surpassing all but the highest pay grades. We’ve even got a little person on the White House kitchen staff,” he boasted.

“What is he,” I asked, “a short order cook?”

He covered up the mouthpiece again and I heard him tell Victor, “Say the word and I’ll kill the bastard. Turn me loose on him, that’s all I ask. I’ll cut out his liver and dance on it.” He was shouting now: “I want to dance on his liver!” Victor took charge of the phone.

“Mr. … Creed … you … have up … set my … gen … eral.”

“C’mon, Victor, cut the crap,” I said. “I need to know if Monica’s alive. If so, I need to kill her. Thanks to you, it’s become a matter of national security.”

“We … should … meet,” he said. “There … is much … ground … to … cover.”

We agreed to meet Tuesday morning at Café Napoli in New York City. “You got an address for me?” I asked.

“Hes … ter and Mul … berry,” he said. “In … Little … Italy.”

“Little Italy,” I said.

“You … see I’m … not … without … a sense … of hu … mor, Mr. Creed.”

“You gonna have soldiers at the restaurant?”

“Eight o’ … clock be … fore the … place … opens up,” he said.

“I’ll be there,” I said.