The waitress bent to her task, applying the towel to Garza’s jacket and pants leg, its absorbent ActiveFiber material efficiently wicking the moisture away from the prime minister’s clothing.
“Excuse me, sir,” Micah heard her murmur as she grasped his wrist with her left hand, her attention on the red wine staining the cuff of his white shirt.
As she dabbed, Micah noticed she wore no jewelry except for a plain gold band that adorned her ring finger.
A few seconds later, she straightened, and stepped away. “There you go, sir. I apologize for the inconvenience, and I’ll be right back with a fresh glass of water for you.”
Micah sat back, frustrated, as the waitress told the agent that she would also bring out a refill for her red wine.
Dammit.
He knew Sam wasn’t normally that clumsy; no doubt, that had been her attempt to make contact with Garza and, in the process, take a sample with the bracer disguised as jewelry around her arm.
His mood grew more foul when he chanced to catch the contemptuous glance of Garza’s assistant. The man wasn’t exactly smiling—he wouldn’t be that overt about it—but there was a knowing glint in his eye that told Micah that he, too, knew Sam wasn’t the clumsy type.
As dessert was served, the emcee for the evening invited Garza to come to the stage, along with the president of An-Yang, to talk about the foundation that would benefit from the exhibition race, thanks to the generous donation of the one who lost the race.
Garza stood, and Micah’s jaw clenched in anger when he saw both his assistant and the agent stand.
He knew… he knew that they were planning to spirit the man away after this. That meant their window of opportunity had now officially closed.
Micah forced himself to smile at the appropriate times as the two leaders engaged in a jovial bit of ribbing, but inside, he was steaming mad.
The whole evening had been a bust.
* * *
Micah tossed his napkin down in the center of his plate as Garza was escorted off stage and out a side door, disgusted by how the entire evening had turned out. “What a colossal waste of time,” he muttered softly.
He braced his hands against the table, but before he could shove his chair back, Cutter’s hand came down on his forearm.
{No scenes.}
The words came over a private channel the director forced into his head.
Cutter’s hand squeezed, and he gave Micah a warning look. {This is a high-profile event, and you’re here as Garza’s trainer. Newsnet reporters are present, so plaster a smile on your face, Captain, and look like you’re enjoying yourself. And in case it wasn’t perfectly clear—that’s an order.}
On a sharp inhale, Micah nodded, reaching for his wineglass.
Cutter flashed a brief smile of approval before turning to Samantha to ask a question.
The people across the table seemed not to have noticed, their attention on the stage as the next speaker approached the lectern. Micah glanced surreptitiously around, relaxing when it appeared his aborted action had gone unnoticed.
It was another hour before the ceremony was over, and they could exit into the cool evening. Coming to a stop, Duncan turned to look at Capitol Hill, the star nation’s government center glowing softly under its nighttime illumination. Micah followed his gaze.
“Come on,” Cutter said abruptly as a transport pulled up to the curb. “You’re both with me.”
Micah peered inside, unsurprised to see Gabriel Alvarez at its controls.
They piled inside, the silence broken only by occasional idle chatter as Gabe expertly piloted them to the headquarters of the National Security Agency. By unspoken agreement, the silence held as they passed through security and into the warren of underground tunnels that linked the NSA to Parliament House.
The destination Cutter led them to was directly beneath the government seat, in a SCIF buried dozens of floors below the Great Hall.
As they were ushered through its doors, Micah was surprised to see both Admiral Toland and Major Reid already inside. Between the two sat a young woman whose face looked vaguely familiar.
Micah began to turn toward Gabe, but then his head swung sharply back around when the pieces came together in his mind.
The woman was dressed exactly like the waitress at the Driscoll.
He slanted Cutter a questioning glance, and caught a mix of anticipation and barely contained elation on the man’s face. No one said a word until the doors sealed and the connection to the planetary network cut off.
“I told you you’d make a kickass spy.”
It was the last thing Micah expected to hear, especially from Sam. His head jerked around in surprise, only to see her attention directed toward the stranger in the room.
“What the hell?” He looked around in confusion.
Gabe appeared equally bewildered, but Reid, Toland, and Cutter all seemed as pleased as Sam sounded.
The director clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Afraid you were the victim of a bit of subterfuge, tonight, Captain. Sorry we didn’t have the time to let you in on it.”
Cutter grinned. “By the way, your barely concealed frustration toward the end was a nice touch. Really ramped up the believability factor.”
Micah scowled. “Believability factor? Believability about what?”
Sam shot him an apologetic look. “It was a last-minute idea we came up with. I didn’t have a chance to introduce you to Linnet before we put the plan into play.”
“Linnet?” Micah turned to stare at the woman seated between Toland and Reid.
“Linnet Thompson. We were college roommates,” Sam said, as if that explained everything. “Linnet, this is Captain Micah Case.”
The brunette smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Captain.”
A mischievous twinkle in her eyes told Micah it’d be best not to pursue those details just yet.
“Linnet was Admiral Toland’s first choice for the position Clint Janus filled on deGrasse Torus,” Sam added. “It nearly got her killed.”
“Come again?” Confusion colored Micah’s voice.
“I was employed at the Merki Institute on Hawking,” Linnet explained. “At the time, I had a year left on my contract, so I couldn’t accept.” She shrugged. “Turns out Akkadia had already dispatched an assassin to eliminate me, but they called her off when I turned down the admiral’s offer.”
Micah glanced at the Admiral Toland. “She’s aware of what happened on deGrasse?”
“Only peripherally, and only because she recently left Merki to join Project Rufus at the CID. I just got into town this morning.”
As Rufus was the code name for the classified chiral project under Toland’s leadership, Micah supposed she knew a bit more than just the ‘peripheral’ things.
“In any case, she was our backup plan in case Doctor Travis’s attempts to obtain a sample of Garza’s DNA were blocked.” Admiral Toland glanced at Cutter. “From what I hear, that’s exactly what happened.”
“It worked, too.” Sam’s voice was smug. “No one paid any attention to the waitstaff who came to Garza’s rescue, they were too busy preventing me from touching him.”
Micah looked over at the woman by his side. “You could have said something ahead of time.”
“No time,” Reid interjected. “It came together fast. There was someone on the waitstaff with similar physical features, and we were able to substitute Linnet in her place at the last-minute.”
“So you’re saying you got the sample from Garza after all?” Micah pressed.
Linnet nodded.
He turned to Cutter. “So… I was just window dressing.”
“You were the distraction we needed in order for them to forget Linnet was there. Waitstaff often disappear into the woodwork, and we needed to ensure that that was the case today.”
“And Sam’s attempt?”
Cutter smiled. “Was a legitimate one. But it was also a bit more predictable. It also provided further cover to hide Linnet’s att
empt.”
Micah considered the man’s words, nodding reluctantly. He turned to Linnet. “How’d you do it?”
Linnet lifted her left hand.
Micah saw the simple golden band he’d noticed around her ring finger earlier. When she rotated her palm outward, he recognized the same intricate web of circuitry that laced Sam’s, descending down her wrist and wrapping around her forearm.
“You’re wearing a bracer.”
She nodded.
“And you got the sample?”
“I did.”
“And?”
Linnet’s gaze shifted to the director, her expression suddenly sad. “I’m afraid you were right, Director Cutter. The man who was there tonight is chiral.”
MORRISON
Location: Unknown
Thad fought a wave of vertigo, the disorientation something he’d been warned about. While perfectly safe, stasis used for shipping wasn’t built for comfort. It was an instantaneous thing, not the gradual return to consciousness that stasis pods built for humans employed.
He blinked hard, fingers tightening around the CUSP energy pistol in his grip. Across the aisle, Ell stirred. Mentally triggering his suit to release its magnetic grip on the container’s walls and floor, he held up a warning hand as he strained to focus on the footsteps drawing closer.
An alert came across his wire, indicating an incoming communication request from an unknown source. Ignoring it for the moment, Thad slipped a hand inside the pocket of his tactical vest, where he retrieved a pair of surveillance microdrones that he released into the air.
The feed from the small machines told him there were two figures standing at the entrance. Both wore concealing garments that shrouded their faces, obscuring their identities. They were armed, with one focused inward, while the other kept watch outside the shipping container.
In the next instant, the drones sent a warning ping to his overlay, letting him know they’d detected another set of drones in the air. Telemetry from the feed indicated they were of Alliance origin.
Thad relaxed slightly at that.
He accepted the ping, and heard the correct challenge phrase uttered from a voice he recognized.
{Morrison?}
{Severance. Long time, buddy.}
{Who’s your friend?}
{Aviva. She’s good people. Been with the NSA since ‘37.}
{Copy that. Coming out.}
Thad motioned Ell to cover him, and Jonathan to sit tight. He kept to the shadows as he made his way forward, stopping just inside the lip of the container, where Morrison stood.
What limited view he had of the outside reminded him of old 2-D photos of pre-diaspora trainyards back on Earth. Empty maglev tracks stretched as far as the eye could see. Old, worn-out boxcars were lined up in long rows, just visible between shabby, rusted warehouse buildings.
“Sitrep?” he asked in a low voice as he turned to face the Agency man.
Morrison inclined his head outside. “You’re in the warehouse district at the back of the shipyards adjacent to the main spaceport. Base of the elevator, just outside Central Prefecture. We requested that Allied Worlds drop you in this spot because this sector has the weakest security.”
The agent shot Thad a warning look and then added, “That doesn’t translate to no security, though. We need to get moving. Got any equipment you plan to bring along?”
Thad shook his head. “Let me get a lay of the land, first.”
The lower part of Morrison’s swarthy face—what little he could see of it, hidden as it was under a cowl—creased into a grin, white teeth flashing as he motioned Thad forward. “That’s a good copy, amigo.”
The man shifted to one side, widening Thad’s field of view, but before the Marine could move, Morrison put a hand out to stop him.
“Look, but don’t step out. Not dressed like that.”
Thad cocked a brow at the man and glanced down at the plain tan shirt and pants he’d been given to wear over his drakeskin suit. Then his eyes landed on the agent.
Morrison was shrouded from head to toe in some sort of local robe, made of a coarse, off-white material.
Morrison’s eyes met his knowingly as he hefted a bundle of cloth in his hands, tossing them to Thad. “They got the inside dress right, but you’ll still need a robe if you want to blend in. Put that on before you stick your head out and take a look around.”
“Robe, huh?”
Catching the bundle midair, Thad dropped it on top of a nearby crate and untied the package. Several articles of clothing were inside, the fabric of each similar to what Morrison wore.
“Loose weave lets air in,” Morrison explained, “and the light color reflects that damned star’s heat. Least miserable way to get around, considering most of these folks don’t have the credits for the kind of temperature-modulating clothing we’re used to.”
Thad nodded his understanding.
He held up the top piece; the cloak fell to mid-calf, hitting the tops of his boots. He shrugged into it, flipping the cloak’s hood over his head. When he turned back to the entrance, Morrison gave him a silent thumbs-up.
Edging his way out into the sunlight, Thad started to call his microdrones forward, but Morrison shook his head.
“Trust me, we don’t want those outside the container. They’ll set off alarms for sure.”
The woman whose gaze was tracking back and forth from one side of the building to the other shot the two men a look at that comment.
Morrison took that as an invitation to introduce the two operatives to each other.
“Aviva, this is Captain Severance. Thad Severance, Agent Aviva Hebbart.”
Hebbart jerked a quick nod, her eyes returning immediately to the surrounding area.
As satisfied as he could be with the situation, Thad turned back to Morrison. “I have two more inside.”
The other man’s brows lifted. “I was told you’d only have one with you.”
He shifted another bundle of cloth he’d tucked under his arm, and held it out to Thad as Jonathan and Ell edged closer to the container’s opening. Morrison eyed the three of them doubtfully.
“We only brought the two bundles of clothing. You’ll have to make do. Sort through it and figure out how you can split it three ways.”
Ell was already sifting through what was left of the first parcel, so Thad tossed the bundle in his hands to Jonathan.
The man’s pilot reflexes snatched it nimbly out of the air.
With an impatient sound, the woman standing guard reached up and unwound the scarf she wore around her neck. “Here.” She tossed the material to Morrison, motioning to Ell. “Hand that to her.”
“Thanks,” said Ell, taking the scarf from the man. She studied the material, sliding it through her hands before murmuring, “I can work with this.”
With a quick flip of her wrist and a few deft twists, she had the material wound into a believable cowl. Thad shook his head, completely unable to fathom how she’d done that.
A bemused look crossed Jonathan’s face. “Watched her the entire time, and I still couldn’t tell you how she managed that.”
The look of disdain on Ell’s face was priceless. “Really? I can accurately place a shot five thousand meters away, and you’re impressed by the way I tossed a scarf over my head?”
Thad stifled his flare of amusement, totally inappropriate to the situation, but damn. He could tell the normally stoic sniper was one step away from cuffing the pilot on the back of the head. Since the woman rarely showed emotion, it was funny as hell.
Instead, she opted for a scathing, “Shouldn’t we be going?” and lifted an eyebrow to emphasize her point.
As if on cue, Aviva called out in a low voice, “Time to move. We have another five minutes until the guards come this direction. We can only keep the SIs offline for another two.”
Thad nodded to Jonathan. “Grab the equipment—and the cat.”
Morrison’s eyebrows rose at that last, but he handed over two
woven, rucksack-like bags. “Prioritize what you need to fit inside these. Hustle, amigo.”
Thad passed them to Ell, who, with a quick nod, disappeared into the back. A few seconds later, she and Jonathan returned, rucksacks bulging.
All three hopped to the ground, Jonathan directing Joule’s crate over the lip of the container. Morrison swung the doors closed, and then motioned Ell to his side.
“It’s best if we split up,” he explained when Thad lifted a questioning brow. “You two go with Aviva. We’ll rendezvous at the safehouse.”
Before they headed out, Morrison instructed them all to pull their hoods forward.
“To shield our faces from the locals?” asked Thad.
Morrison shook his head. “The locals learn early in life that it’s not healthy to pay too much attention to their neighbors—or to anyone else on the street, for that matter.” He pointed to a pair of tall posts Thad could just make out in the distance. “The Empire has a ‘social monitoring system’ in place. Cameras embedded at every street corner, outside nearly every business, too.”
“Geez, controlling much?” Jonathan muttered.
“Welcome to Akkadia,” Aviva said in a dry voice.
Thad clapped a berobed Jonathan on the shoulder and steered him toward Aviva. “See you in twenty.”
* * *
As Morrison had predicted, not many spared them a second glance as they wound their way through narrow streets and down a steep hill. The echoing din of an indoor city market grew louder as they neared its base.
Peering inside as they passed, Thad caught brief glimpses of produce stalls, booths had been worn away in some places, revealing a scarred and pitted surface.
From what Thad could see, the dun-colored undercoating matched the description of the formation material used by the original settlers. That meant this building had to be going on three centuries now.
Footsteps heralded the arrival of Ell and Morrison.
As he came to a stop beside them, Morrison lifted a cupped hand, and a pair of microdrones exited the man’s palm. They flew to a stairwell that descended beneath the building’s ground floor, hovering before a shadowed doorway.
Chiral Justice: A Hard Science Fiction Technothriller (The Biogenesis War Book 3) Page 21
