Mr Brown woke instantly, the incessant chirp of his alerter sending him into a reflexive response. Snatching his comlink, he ordered, “SWAT Teams One and Two, seal off Accommodation Level Three. Team Three, close all service access to the accommodation.”
He had his boots on and was fastening his armoured jacket before the teams had finished acknowledging his commands.
He burst into the adjoining guardroom and gave additional orders. “Teams Four and Five, you’re with me. Med Team, head for Unit 315. Take precautions—the people we’re dealing with get a kick out of trapping their victims.”
The security teams raced to their allotted positions and set up their blocks. The residents of this level were ordered back to their suites and told to remain there until informed that it was safe to leave. Weaving her way among them was the assassin Bast of the Pantheon, pretending to be frightened and confused.
“Your ID, please,” the armoured security operative demanded of the smartly dressed woman, and stood in her way.
“Oh! You startled me. Just a moment, officer.” She fished in her utility bag. “Here it is.”
Taking the offered chip, he inserted it into the reader clipped to his belt. “Thank you, Ms Cardington. Your suite is on Level Eight. What brings you to this level?”
Shaking her head in a self-deprecating way, she smiled nervously. “I got a bit lost, actually.”
A shout and the sound of plasma fire distracted the security team for a fraction of a second.
“Oh!” Bast exclaimed, playing the role of frightened woman. She briefly wondered if she could take out all three security officers, but before she could act, they were giving her their attention again. Inwardly she chided her indecision, but managed to stay in character. “That was scary! What’s going on?”
“Nothing to concern us at present, Ms. Cardington. I need to see what you have in your bag and pockets, please. You can empty them on this table.”
“What for? I’m no thief! What are you accusing me of doing—murder?”
“We’re not accusing you of anything. There’s been an incident involving a member of the dock staff on this level. Now, if you’d empty your things on the table, please.”
She weighed her chances. There was no way she could take down all three security guards, as there were too many witnesses and bystanders, and these men were professionals, not her usual opponents. These guys were the best of the best, and they were now very much on the alert.
“Okay, if you insist.” She unclipped the bag from her shoulder strap and opened it, but before she could carry out the next move to empty it, an explosion sent smoke billowing along the corridor. The shockwave sent her and the trio of guards staggering, but their recovery was far too rapid for her to deal with them as she wished, and it took a few seconds for her to recover as well.
Then she got lucky.
“Ms Cardington, take the elevator to your suite immediately. Secure your entry and don’t leave it until you’re given the all clear.” The leader indicated the elevator access. “Straight into the elevator, please, and directly to Level Eight.”
She couldn’t believe her luck. Leaving the elevator on Level Eight, she raced to her suite, and re-emerged after a considerable amount of time and effort dressed as a shuttle pilot. The long blonde hair of her Ms Cardington disguise was now a short crop of dark hair, and her face had been modified. Her cheeks appeared rounder, her eyes were brown and her nose less patrician. The name tag on her uniform proclaimed her to be Flight Officer Polenski. Checking there were no witnesses, she used a service tube to reach a different part of the level, and then she descended to Level Six. There she entered another elevator car, and set it in motion for the Shuttle Bay level. Climbing to the ceiling, she opened the hatch, pulled herself up and closed it again just as the car slowed to a stop at Level Three once more.
Below her she heard the security detail check for passengers.
“Empty. Responding to a call at Shuttle Deck Zero One according to the display.”
“Okay, release it. Stop it on the return if it comes up again.”
She let out a sigh of relief as the car began to move. She lifted the hatch, checked that all was clear, then dropped lightly to the floor, allowing the hatch to close of its own accord. As the doors opened on the Shuttle Bay level, she stepped out and made directly to the doors labelled Pilot Clearance—Shuttle Crew Only.
The great white horse galloped through an unfamiliar landscape, bridled but not saddled. With its noble head held high, the horse arched its neck and flared its nostrils as it approached him. James Heron watched, mesmerised, as the landscape changed and a great chasm opened between him and the horse. The sky changed from cloudy and windswept to a blaze of stars stretching across the heavens. The horse stopped suddenly and reared, then stared at him across the chasm, its nostrils flaring as it tested the air. It seemed to be searching for something, seeking a scent.
Then, the horse reared again as if reaching out to him, its forefeet slicing the air. It snorted loudly then sent a piercing whinny across the chasm.
James woke, startled, tangled in his bedding.
“What the hell?” He activated the lights. Had something happened to Niamh or Theo? The horse only visited him in his dreams if someone close to him was in danger, and his only close family now were his sister and her husband. The dream unsettled him, and he couldn’t shake a pervading sense of unease. The last time the horse visited was just prior to Veronique’s death, but it had been saddled in that dream. Was there significant meaning to it being bridled yet unsaddled in this dream?
He got up. It wouldn’t hurt to check in with Theo and Niamh, but then he remembered the landscape in the dream, and the chasm—nothing like the landscape in Ireland where his sister and her husband lived. He considered this as he made a cup of coffee for himself, not bothering to summon the android steward to do the task for him. The chasm could mean someone separated by a great distance, which brought him back to Niamh and Theo. Or perhaps Felicity? His stomach flipped at the thought of something bad happening to her. Was she visiting Mars as she’d said she was scheduled to do? Or was she on the base station again? Maybe she was in danger. Hell, they all were with these damned Pantheon assassins stalking them.
He considered the horse as he sat up in bed and sipped his coffee. It hadn’t appeared distressed, rather as if it were seeking someone or something. It wasn’t saddled, so whoever it represented wasn’t dead, just in danger—but who? Which member of the family? And where? He made a note in his personal log then tried to settle himself again.
For a moment he considered sending a message by interface to his sister Niamh, then remembered it would be some hours before she and Theo would be able to read it. He checked the time. A holocall was also not an option. Mars Dock time was the same as Dublin time. If he put a call though now, it would get his sister or her husband out of bed, something he definitely didn’t want to do knowing Niamh’s annoyance at having her sleep disturbed, but then who could blame her at three in the morning! The same applied to any contact with Felicity.
He settled for a simple message to his sister’s tablet asking her to contact him at her earliest convenience regarding his horse dream. She would know what that meant. Then he booked a holocall to Felicity for seven in the morning and tried to sleep again.
“Ms Hollister is lucky to be alive, sir. The intruder used a needle dart. Silent and deadly if you don’t get immediate treatment. We’ve administered the anti-toxin, and she should recover in a half hour or so.”
Mr Brown nodded, his eye on the open safe. “They got what they came for. The question is how did they get in? Who gave them access? Terri was in the shower, so it wasn’t her.” Turning abruptly, he snapped, “You medics stay with her. Two guards on her, on the entrance, inside and out.” Activating his voice link, he ordered, “Complete lockdown. Nothing and no one leaves the station.”
“There’s a shuttle just left, sir. Destination given as the recovery plant
at Olympus Mons.”
“Recall it. Contact the Mars office. All traffic suspended, all arriving shuttles under quarantine. Crew and passengers to be held pending my arrival.”
The operative listened to the response. “Shuttle has started atmospheric entry procedure, sir. It’s beyond the recall point.”
“Damn. Have it tracked, and when it lands, check everyone, and I do mean everyone.” Mr Brown looked up as Commander Brandeis entered. “Have you got IDs on the two we killed, Piet?”
“Yes, sir. Both believed to be part of the Pantheon organisation. We’re running checks, but these two are reputed to be specialists in running distraction operations for principal players.”
“Two of the so-called gods themselves then.” Mr Brown glowered. “This whole bloody thing stinks of their handiwork. Order my shuttle prepared. We’re going to the surface. Whoever these gods or goddesses are, they have the schematic chips, and they’re probably on the last shuttle that departed. Have the ghost teams activated. I’ll want them with us when we land.”
“Yes, sir. Just one more thing, sir. Ms Rowanberg was on that shuttle. She’s scheduled for a meeting to analyse the latest status reports for the build, and she was chasing up several outstanding deliveries.”
“Felicity? Damn, of all the bloody luck. Get my shuttle ready. I want to be underway in fifteen minutes!” He strode into the room where the medical team were busy round Theresa Hollister. “How is she?” he demanded, not expecting Theresa to be lucid enough to respond, but she did.
“Sorry, sir. I’m not at my best at the moment….” Her voice was weak, but she managed a smile. “Sorry to have let everyone down, sir.”
“Nonsense, Terri. Now relax, we’ve a Pantheon goddess to catch, and we will.” He practically spat the word goddess, and the derision was obvious in his tone. He didn’t care how loftily they styled themselves. They were no better than street thugs in his opinion.
Still annoyed about the whole damned situation, he snapped to the medics, “Make sure you get everything out of her. Those needle projectors are an assassin’s weapon. Run double and triple checks in case they planted something in her.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned to the guard. “Get a sweeping unit in here. Sweep everything. They opened the safe, which needed a voice command and voice pattern match, which tells me they must have used a recorder. I want it found.”
Chapter 13
The Hunter and the Hunted
“Shuttle Hotel-Golf-Papa-Fiver-Fiver, land at Olympus Mons Landing Bay Three One. No personnel or passengers may disembark until clearance is given. Repeat, no personnel or passengers to disembark until cleared to do so.”
“Mars Control, Fiver-Fiver, understood.” Bast glanced at her crew and reminded herself to maintain the logical, steady-plodder persona of the real Pilot Polanski, who no longer existed because she’d had an ‘unfortunate’ accident. Bast had studied her carefully and was skilled at subterfuge, but she wished Polanski hadn’t been such a boring character. Bast would’ve preferred to impersonate someone more exciting.
The product of extreme wealth, remote parenting and expensive private schooling, Bast had discovered a taste for martial arts and then a love of the challenge offered by living a dual existence—publicly as a socialite engaged in running a company, and privately in espionage against rivals. That had soon led her into even more exciting activities. She enjoyed the chase, and discovered that she particularly enjoyed stalking her targets. Polanski, the Shuttle Pilot, an introverted loner with a droll sense of humor and a logical mindset toward everything, had been no challenge at all, a disappointment in the end.
“What’s the flap?” she said in a flat, expressionless tone. “We’re just here to deliver passengers and load components according to our instructions.”
“You’ll be told on arrival, Fiver-Fiver. Land and follow Ground Staff instructions.” The comlink went silent.
“Sounds as if someone’s stirred something up,” the flight engineer commented.
Concentrating on her instruments, the pilot shrugged. “If you believe the news feeds, there were already a lot of problems with this lot. Same shit, different day, different team.”
Expertly bringing the shuttle round in a long curve, she lined it up on the landing pad and brought it in to a perfect landing despite a fierce crosswind. Ahead of her the gaping doors of the bay opened to receive the shuttle. Behind the dome loomed the enormous bulk of the extinct volcanic cone of Olympus Mons. She eased the shuttle into the open bay and turned it as directed into a parking spot.
“Shut down engines,” she ordered, watching the armoured Marines fanning out around the stationary shuttle. “Here come the goons.” She snorted a brief laugh and smirked her disdain. “Barking up the wrong tree as usual.”
Her companions grinned. Surprised at her uncharacteristic boldness, the engineer commented, “Nice one, boss.”
“They say they want to board and examine everyone, Pilot,” remarked the communications operator.
“I better warn the passengers.” Pushing herself out of her seat, she strolled out of the command deck and entered the passenger space. “Your attention, please.” She waited for the buzz of conversation to cease. “I’ve been told we are to remain aboard for a security check. Please remain seated. You’ll probably be scanned to verify your ID, and your baggage will be searched. There was some excitement on the Dock just before we left, and they want to check that we aren’t carrying who or what they’re looking for.” She waited as the passengers gasped and made alarmed comments.
When the din died down, she said, “I don’t think we have anybody on board they’d be interested in—but with these security types, who knows? Best to keep them happy and comply, and then we can all get on with our lives.”
Felicity Rowanberg watched the security team board, and wondered what had sparked this. She wasn’t long in doubt. The leader approached the pilot, who lounged against the bulkhead looking bored.
“There’s been an attempted murder on the Dock,” he announced. “My orders are to check the IDs of everyone aboard this shuttle and examine their baggage and personal effects. I’d appreciate your cooperation so we can make this as painless for everyone as possible. Please remain seated until you are asked to identify yourself.”
Bast, alias Shuttle Pilot Captain Polanski, watched with professional interest as the leader positioned himself far enough from her that it would be impossible for her to disarm him. His weapon, though apparently casually held, could be brought to bear rapidly enough to make any attempt to attack him unwise. Besides, two more of his team were positioned where they could take down anyone foolish enough to attempt a hostile move.
She had to admire the professional manner of these operatives; clearly they were not the usual ‘standard issue’ military types. These officers were an elite force and well trained. She’d have to be very, very careful.
The pair of security officers were methodical and on their guard as they accepted the ID chips, read them and returned them. Bast noticed, however, the slight hesitation of one guard as he examined the ID information while a certain attractive administration manager stood in the frame of the scanner.
There’s something about that one I should know, she mused, and reminded herself to check on it later.
After the passengers were scanned, they were instructed to empty their bags for inspection, though the bags had been scanned as well. As each was cleared, he or she was allowed to disembark.
Bast watched, her senses alert to any sign of alarm.
Felicity had only her briefcase with her, and watched as it was scanned and visually inspected by the security officer.
“You’re all clear, ma’am. Head for the reception door. If you’re being met, you’ll be collected there.”
“Thanks.” Felicity scooped her things back into the bag and closed it. “What’s all this about, anyway?”
“Can’t say, ma’am.” The trooper gave her a stern look.
“Go straight to reception, please.”
Marcus Grover studied the distant ridge through the high-powered optics his wife’s uncle had supplied. The site that had previously been occupied by his three small bio-culture domes was gradually returning to its original appearance as the traces of the excavation and new construction were carefully concealed by the landscaping work. Only someone familiar with the original domes and the ground they’d stood on would know that the replacements were larger. In a few more weeks, signs of the massive construction beneath them would also have been erased. The whole installation beneath the three domes went very deep into the ground, and comprised multiple levels.
“What the hell are they hiding?” he mused. Since the Johnstone Xenobiological Research people had arrived on New Caledonia—and essentially taken full control of everything on the island—the original colonists found themselves increasingly restricted in their activities.
Coupled with the arrogant and often arbitrary behaviour of the private security personnel who’d replaced the island’s police, and the blatant attempts to ruin businesses, take them over, or simply seize assets—well, Urquhart, the main town, now renamed Johnstone, and New Caledonia in general, were no longer happy communities. His having ‘given’ Terrien Hurker a share of his business had caused a few tensions between himself and the rest of the community, but that suited him for the moment. It meant he and the small group of trusted collaborators stayed under the security radar. It also gave them cover for redirecting relief to those who needed it.
Sliding backward into cover, he recorded a message to accompany the video he’d just taken of the site. “Pete, I hope you can figure this out. Something very strange about this whole thing. They went a hell of a lot deeper than they needed to for what they said was being built there.” He carefully erased the marks he’d left on the ground, and scattered vegetation debris over it. When he was satisfied with the camouflage, he followed an animal trail down the hillside through a stand of trees and then traversed a steep ravine to where Heiko waited in cover.
Captain James Heron: First into the Fray: Prequel to Harry Heron: Into the Unknown of the Harry Heron Series Page 15
