by TR Cameron
The troll had rewarded the scientist with a huge grin. “Is good. Must train.”
Diana blinked to clear the memories and found her team staring at her with amused smiles. “Sorry. Woolgathering. Your fault for not bringing me coffee. What kind of subordinates are you?” They laughed and she grinned. “Okay, this scenario’s a simple one. We go in, we try to survive, and if we take them out before they take us out, we win. If the sensor goes off, you can’t use that limb anymore. If it’s your head or chest, you’re done.”
Cara asked, “Only weapons? No hand-to-hand?”
She triggered her comm system and spoke in the most casual and innocent tone she could muster. “Bryant, Cara wants confirmation that hand-to-hand is okay. It is, right?”
His response came back immediately and enthusiastically. “Oh, hell no. We’ve all heard about what she did to that bounty.”
Laughter sounded across the channel.
Diana grinned. “Gotcha. Switching to team.” She flicked the selector and motioned her people to do the same. “Cara, you can be tactical lead on this one. We’ll mix it up throughout the session and probably run it at least once with each of us in charge, then switch sides and play defense.”
Cara nodded. “All right. I’m first, Tony is second, and Diana third. If we find an intersection, I go forward, Tony takes left, Diana right.”
“Remember that Johnson is a sniper,” Diana cautioned. “He likes to cause trouble from up high.”
The other woman grimaced. “Enemy snipers suck. That’s a really good argument for getting at least one set of gear that causes pain. It’s not like we’d have to tell them ahead of time.”
They laughed and advanced into the labyrinth. At an almost immediate right turn, Cara led them safely through it. A left followed, and she peeked her head around the corner. “There’s a short staircase made of crates, so we’ll have to either jump or climb.”
Each crate was a two-foot square, so it wasn’t a ridiculous leap, but the day would certainly qualify as a leg day if they had to traverse many of them. She gestured to illustrate the scene with her hands. “Beyond it is what looks like an intersection—a perfect choice for an ambush. I’ll go through fast. You stay a beat or three back and see if they bite.” They climbed quietly up the stairs before Cara surged up the final one and raced to the crossed corridors ahead.
The characteristic whine of a laser rifle sounded, but there was no answering buzz to signal a hit. Tony hurtled forward and to the left as instructed. Diana followed a step behind and focused on the right. She dropped when she saw the enemy, and the bolt intended for her nailed Tony as he turned to support her. Her triple-pull on her rifle’s trigger fired to strike Gillians at chest and shoulder, and the woman sat with a grin. “Nice shooting, Diana.”
Tony stepped beside her. His arm hung dramatically. “Couldn’t you at least have killed me so I could get some rest?” They all laughed, and he set his rifle down and drew his pistol. “No reloads for me.” He swung the “dead” arm for emphasis.
Cara’s voice crackled over the comm. “Enough playing. Let’s move.” They fell back into line, and their leader adjusted their order. “Diana, middle. The rifle-less can bring up the rear.”
He shot her a grin.
Diana was sure Bryant would have warned Johnson against using magic, which made her concern about the sniper that much greater.
I can’t allow myself to depend on early warning, but it's nice when it happens.
They advanced and the level appeared to widen at the end of the corridor.
“It looks like a room ahead,” Cara whispered.
Diana whispered, “Yeah. That’s not a good sign.”
“I’m thinking run and gun since they probably have the sniper watching the entrance.”
She nodded. “That's what I’d do.”
Tony sighed. “I guess it’s time for me to be the action movie sidekick and sacrifice myself for the team.”
Cara grinned. “You know it. In addition to being one of Hollywood’s favorite stories, it’s also sound strategy.”
He moved to stand beside her. “Suggestions?”
She patted him on the shoulder. “Run fast and keep running fast. It’s important to identify enemies and shoot them, especially the sniper, but don’t stop for anything. Find the room’s exit and reach it. Then, once you’re through, turn to eliminate anyone who follows.”
Diana added, “As long as it isn’t us.”
“Right,” Cara clarified with a laugh. “Please do not shoot your teammates.”
Tony frowned. “Not even for fun?”
She shook her head. “Go in five.” She counted down as he took position. The sound of laser weapons discharging followed as he pelted across the room. The marshal followed quickly, and Diana brought up the rear.
She immediately raised her rifle and looked for Johnson. The barrel of his weapon protruded between two crates stacked high and to the right, but she couldn’t get an angle on him. She hurtled in that direction while Cara went left. Dimly registered shots were immediately followed by the sound of a fatal strike. Return fire rattled from her side, a different pitch than their foes’, and a shout of anger from Bryant put a smile on her face. A simultaneous beep declared a limb hit, and Cara cursed.
Diana continued to track right as she sought the sniper. She wasn’t in time to stop his next attack. Another fatal shot chimed unmistakably, and Cara shouted an even louder curse. Diana thrust forward, acquired a target on Johnson in midair, and delivered a single shot to his head in the same moment he was visible. She’d already yanked her rifle around to eliminate Bryant when she landed, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Bastard.
She scrambled to her feet, kept her weapon trained on the doorway, and stopped beside Cara. Since she was dead, she couldn’t share any useful information such as where BC had been wounded. Diana popped her magazine and swapped it with a full one. Her eyes locked on the entryway. The smooth exchange took only seconds, and she glanced at Cara. A broad grin stretched across the woman’s face. “It’s always nice when work feels like play, isn’t it?”
Diana laughed. “Enjoy it while you can.”
She nodded. “My rule for living. Now, go shoot that jerk.”
From the corner of the room, Tony moaned. “I’m also dead. Heroically, even. Doesn’t anyone care?”
They laughed, and Diana followed her opponent’s only possible flight path. The passage rapidly became a tunnel created by boxes stacked high overhead, and her senses protested the claustrophobic space. Her instincts told her she was about two-thirds of the way through the warehouse when an opening appeared ahead. She held her rifle trained forward as she stuck her head in to peer in all directions.
It was a wide space littered with obstacles—some two crates high, and some three. She sprinted forward and flattened her back against one, noting as she did so that there was no exit other than the one she'd used.
Unexpected. And bad. He could be behind any one of these boxes, waiting for me to make a mistake.
She sifted through her options, which weren’t many, and surveyed the room. It seemed that the stacks were arranged three or four rows deep. The only real choice was to move along an outer wall so she could at least be protected from one direction. She looked up and considered climbing to the top of other close columns of crates. While she quickly discarded that plan as tactically unsound, she stored it away as a last-ditch option if she was ever really in such a situation.
She stalked toward the right wall with her rifle trained forward and her ears open. When she reached the final stacked cover before it, she fished a spare pistol magazine awkwardly from her right thigh pouch with her left hand and took a breath. She flicked her weapon to auto fire and threw the magazine back the way she’d come, then dashed for the rear of the room. She raced through the first and second rows and found him in the third, already recovering from his instinctual reflex to turn toward the decoy.
She depress
ed the trigger, and his suit registered a fatal shot. Bryant responded with a dramatic fall to the floor. She let her rifle dangle from its strap and crossed to where he lay turned on his side with his face down. Her laugh smug, she poked him with a foot to roll him over. “Okay, Bryant, that’s one to nothing for me.”
Her eyes widened when she saw his grin, and she heard the grenade tumble from where it had rested in his hand, secured by his body weight. Again. That was, regretfully, the only thought she had time for before the virtual laser spat death in all directions.
After an exhausting day of training runs—twelve in all—they took over the back room of a neighborhood bar Bryant had heard positive things about. Cracked paneling and band posters covered most of the walls. They shot pool and snacked on plates of appetizers while they waited. Diana took a sip of her local lager, pronounced it good, and watched Bryant line up his shot on the eight ball. “Miss it, Noonan. Miss.”
He laughed and screwed the shot up, allowing Gillians back in the game. She gave Diana a thumbs-up. He came over and shook his head. “You suck, Sheen.”
“No, you suck. What the hell was up with that grenade?”
He looked slightly sheepish. “Yeah, that was a little unfair. The DC folks brought them up—a present from Kayleigh.”
They laughed simultaneously, and Diana said, “I’m glad you could make it.”
His smile was familiar and oddly comforting. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”
They spent another hour together before Bryant and the DC crowd had to jet off to their various responsibilities. Diana and her team took seats at the bar for one more drink. Cara sat on her left.
“We have a strong core for the unit here,” the marshal said.
“Agreed.” Tony shuffled on his chair on her right. “And that training was fun.”
Diana nodded. “It’s good that we work well together because I think we’ll be called to real action sooner rather than later.”
The others nodded. Cara finished her drink, stood, and yawned. “I need thirty minutes in a hot tub, followed by a solid ten hours of sleep. But after that, bring it on.”
Chapter Nine
Vincente set the power crystal statue carefully into his safe, closed the door, and spun the lock. He slipped the coin into a small pocket sewn on the inside of his black button-down shirt and secured the fastener to conceal it again. A little disgruntled, he shook his head.
Plans are not proceeding apace.
The sound from below alerted him that some things still ran on time, though. He crossed to the tall windows that comprised one side of his office. They were the best feature in the space and the rest was purely utilitarian—a metal desk, metal chair, and metal bookshelves on the wall over ugly paneling. The safe was the only quality item present, and he’d had to add it after he’d taken possession of the warehouse. The panes of glass overlooked the storage floor twenty feet below filled with pallets and crates of valuables. Some were legitimate but most were not. He turned and exited through the office’s only door onto a metal staircase leading down to the lower level.
The business created operating funds by selling goods of questionable provenance to anyone willing to buy. The warehouse itself had formerly been part of a steel mill complex and had access to the river and the nearby highway. It even had a rail line positioned beside it which made it infinitely easier to meet his customers’ needs. Plus, only empty shells of buildings stretched for miles around, which assured the privacy he and his operations required. Gentrification hadn’t quite reached this far upriver. Yet.
He deliberately held a scowl on his face but smiled inwardly when those who entered the warehouse separated into two distinct camps. The true believers stood on the left. Their leader Sarah was a highly skilled witch who devoutly believed in the vision Rhazdon had created for Oriceran and later, for Earth. Those with her varied in their levels of commitment, but the woman’s charisma kept them all in line. They would be completely reliable provided that she was.
Those motivated by more mercenary interests gathered on the opposite side of the room. Their leader Marcus described them as, “Opportunists with a certain moral flexibility.” The description always prompted a grin, even though he never allowed such an expression to reach his face. Aside from Marcus, they were little more than street-level thugs. The man bound them into a usable force, however, and they possessed the requisite skills to slip in and out of the circles that his customers inhabited.
Vincente nodded as he stepped off the metal stairs. Sarah was the muscle and accomplished at acquisition. Marcus was the middleman and forged connections that allowed them to sell the goods and reap the rewards they needed. It was a good arrangement. Of course, both groups participated in the occasional robbery, either for operating capital or for other items of interest. It was this that had brought them together today.
He arrived as the two faction leaders faced off in a heated argument, as they often did. Marcus was a wasp who snuck in to sting and then retreated to plan his next attack. Vincente often despaired over the thin skin that compelled Sarah to engage with him. At other times, he admired the restraint that kept her from crushing the man where he stood. Today seemed to be a good example of that restraint.
Marcus sneered. “That woman has not only been dead for twenty-some years, but she also lost. She seems like a strange bitch to worship.”
Sarah scowled at his smirk. “We do not worship Rhazdon, as you well know, human. We simply believe in her vision.”
He tapped his chin. “What was that again? To take the power from those who have it?” He shrugged. “That’s noble. Not.”
She bristled. “Like you understand anything about nobility, street rat.” The two groups drifted closer and hands inched toward hidden wands or weapons. That was enough of that. There would be no bloodshed this day.
Vincente stepped forward and clapped loudly. “Sarah, Marcus, thank you for coming—and thank you all as well.” He turned and waved an arm at the gathering. “We will sit and discuss matters over here.”
He led them to a circle of metal chairs arranged with a gap at each pole. As expected, one group took the seats to the left, and the others those to the right. An argument could be made that this lack of unity would lead to suboptimal results. The counterargument contended that pitting them against each other would bring out the best in all of them. Vincente didn’t know which was best, and he didn’t really care.
One has to play the cards they are dealt, and these are mine.
He found the exact center of the circle, pulled on his black vest to smooth it under his coat, and straightened his indigo tie. “We have been assigned two vital tasks from above.” Only Sarah and Marcus were privy to the true nature of the Remembrance. The rest simply knew others were positioned higher in the food chain. “First, we must begin to set the stage for a larger undertaking. We will do this by inflaming the public against the new prison that has been built nearby.”
A member of Marcus’s group who was more impulsive and perhaps less intelligent than those around him piped up in a thick Pittsburgh accent. “Yeah, I heard about that. What, one wasn’t enough?” A smattering of laughter followed his words. “Do you think it’s gonna be a problem for us?”
Not for you, at any rate, my friend.
Vincente rotated to face the man. “No, not a problem. Instead, it’s an opportunity. It is disguised and intended to be hidden. We confounded our enemies and sowed chaos by revealing it, which was the first part of our efforts. Now, with the right words in the right ears, we will alarm the populace and convince them it is a danger, that the magical prisoners housed there are a threat to their own lives and those of their children.”
Another member of Marcus’s crew added, “It’s not like we’ll be lying.” That drew dark laughs from both sides of the circle. Even Vincente’s lips twitched.
“The second task is more important. Indeed, it is vitally important and thus more complicated.” The groups fell silent, and he co
uld sense them leaning forward in interest. “The nearby Museum of Natural History has received a shipment of antiquities discovered somewhere across the planet.” He waved a hand to indicate that the precise location didn’t matter. “They do not realize that stored among them are a number of powerful artifacts left by those who crossed over long ago.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and turned to the magical side of the area. “They have hosted Oriceran exhibits before, and the place is appropriately well-defended. The Silver Griffins would have envied their equipment.” A laugh swept through those he faced, as their knowledge of the magical history of Earth allowed them to appreciate the reference. “They have wisely employed magic to prevent us from simply creating portals into the building. We will have to do it the old-fashioned way.”
Marcus sneered. “My people are very good at old-fashioned.”
Sarah scoffed and tossed her mane of black hair. “Witches and wizards handled matters like this long before you were a child.”
Vincente held his hands up before the sniping could devolve into a group discussion. “Focus, please.”
The two leaders both nodded before Marcus spoke. “We can put the word out on the street about the new prison. While we do that, we'll get some heavier weaponry and maybe a line on people inside the museum to exploit.”
Sarah added, “If we time the attack with an assembly in protest of the prison, it might distract the human authorities.”
Vincente nodded. “Excellent. You two can work with your groups to plan it in a moment. First, though, I would like you both to join me in the office.”
He led them up the stairs, which clanged with each footfall. Once inside, he directed them into the chairs on the far side of his desk but remained standing to gaze out the window. The minions below avoided one another carefully.
