“Deactivate the battle suite, Chief.”
“Five minutes, twenty seconds. Not bad.”
His vision returned to normal, his read-outs appeared onscreen again, and Chief appeared in the corner. “How do you feel?”
He felt no trace of a headache and his limbs felt normal, perhaps even a little lighter. “I’m accustomed to it by now.”
“You’re making gains, partner.”
The turret tried to aim at him once more before it also deactivated and the last flickering lights faded. He chuckled. “I’ll give it some respect for being a tough son of a bitch.”
“Kaiden, are you there?” Genos asked frantically. The comms had evidently cleared.
The ace smiled. “ʼCourse I am. No friend this time?”
His teammate chuckled. “My apologies, friend. I was beset by a group of Havoc droids and these seemed to be closer to normal standards than the original group.”
“Havoc droids?” he asked and glanced at the defeated Dragoon.
“It appears they did send reinforcements in after all—or perhaps had a trap prepared would be more accurate,” Genos suggested. “It’s dealt with on my end and I’m on my way toward the entrance. Did anything happen on yours?”
He grinned at the Dragoon before he turned to make his way toward the gate. “Nah, nothing happened.”
Chapter Thirteen
Merrick studied the hologram that displayed the companies under their control, the progression of certain missions, and a message that brought him considerable pleasure.
The sleeper cell had officially made its way into the World Council. One of the most important pieces was in place.
He turned at a knock on his door and sat at his desk before he called out for the person to enter. His servant, Cole, walked in and approached with a glass of cognac. “Good evening, sir. I’ve heard the good news.”
The AO leader smiled and closed the hologram before he accepted the glass. “Yes, it’s good news indeed. I was actually worried about how long it was taking.” He took a sip and placed the glass on his desk. “With them in place, we’ll have the time we need. More importantly, we’ll have the council in check before the game even starts.”
“Not checkmate, sir?” Cole asked.
“No, not quite yet,” he conceded and traced his finger on the rim of his glass. “Fortunately, I think Dario will be able to help with that once he’s completed his current errand.”
Zachary Baylor was incredibly close to falling asleep. His small monitor had remained unchanged for almost four hours and he had sat on his ass for a total of eight. Once the main shipping crew left for the day, almost nothing happened on his side of the dock. He’d been able to trade positions with his pal Billy when he grew frustrated with all the paperwork and bureaucracy involved in heading the security at the Icarus Station’s cargo hold and was able to file for a change to night watch for shipping. Little did he realize that he would still be in a frustrating position, although this time, due to boredom rather than statistics.
Damn near nothing happened there. He called in to check with the rest of the night crew and stared at the nearly always blank screens. While it was easy money, it was hardly exciting. The most action he saw was when the occasional vagrant wandered over in a drugged daze or a group of kids tried to hack the pass terminal to get in and steal something from the hold as a trophy to brag about to their friends. Both could be run off with a quick beam of the flashlight and some loud, gruff words. What a way to live life on the edge.
He glanced at a static white hue in the corner of the monitor. It told him it was 12:32 a.m. and that he was a couple of minutes late for check-in, but that was as much the fault of the knuckleheads he worked with as is own. They should have taken the opportunity to call in and save him the trouble, which had been discussed at the meeting the previous night. He grunted and reminded himself that he had taken the gig knowing he would merely end up being the world’s most official-looking babysitter.
Zac sighed and picked up his comms device. “Boys this is Bay. Check-in.” He released the talk button, folded his arms, and slipped the device around his ear. A full minute of silence brought no response from any of the eight team members. He should have been confused or worried but he knew them—good men but jokers, they grew as bored as he did and as the ‘old man,’ he was the target for most of their pranks and oddball routines. At any other time, he might have humored them, but he was in a foul mood and this was plain lazy.
The security chief verified the positions of the others on his tablet before he stowed it in his back pocket, retrieved his jacket, and slipped it on as he left his office and entered the freezing temperature of the terminal hallway. His station was only a little over one hundred yards from the warehouse bay, so it was really a quick jog, but after he gave the others a half-hearted tongue lashing, he might stick around to shoot the breeze.
He entered the main building and closed the heavy metal door behind him. It was dark as the policy to save energy was to use a minimum amount of lights after 11 p.m. Zach turned his flashlight on and called to his men. There was no response. He took a large breath to bellow once again but his voice caught in his throat. A sound now issued from the darkness. Someone was singing, but it didn’t sound like anyone in his crew.
“You made me what I am today. I hope you’re satisfied.” The low-pitched voice seemed almost like a mixture of sing-speaking and humming. “You dragged and dragged me down, until the soul within me died.” The large chamber of the bay made it difficult for him to really locate the voice but it definitely grew louder.
“You’ve shattered each and every dream. Fooled me right from the start,” it continued. He paused in confusion when he turned the corner. While he could have sworn he had found the source, he now merely stared at a dead-end. “And though you’re not true, may God bless you…” Shoes clicked on the linoleum and approached from behind him. “That’s the curse of an aching heart…”
The chief turned slowly and stared at a man in a button-down black shirt, red suit jacket, and shiny leather shoes—the singer, no doubt. He looked at the security officer with a lazy smile. A white-gloved hand removed a silver box from his lapel, took a small cigar out, and put it to his lips.
Zach grimaced, rested his free hand on his belt, and shined the flashlight on the intruder’s face. “Am I supposed to applaud?” he asked wryly. The singer didn’t even bother to shield his eyes and merely chuckled and gave a little bow.
“Did you like it? I’m certainly no professional but I like to think I can carry a tune.” He looked out the window into the blackness of space. “When I see such beautiful sights like this, the mood simply feels right—it captivates me, you understand?” he continued, genuinely sincere. He took a drag from his cigar and Zach did a double-take. When had he lit it up? Smoke billowed from him as he released an overdramatic exhale. “My work now is a little different, but I used to love being around the entertainers and artists. Old habits and all that lead me to approach everything with a little flair.”
He had already grown to despise this snarky asshole, and if this was the friend of one of the other security officers, he would have words with the culprit. “All right, Mr Showbiz, you need to go. This is a private sector and if you do not leave the premises immediately, I will call the station security on you.” Sweat appeared on his brow for no apparent reason and he wondered how had it gotten warm so suddenly. He scratched his neck and pinpricks trickled in the wake of his fingers.
The stranger nodded and after another drag and plume of smoke, he retorted, “I’m actually here for a pickup, good sir. My shipment came in through ‘unconventional’ means and I have to come here personally.”
The chief gave him a suspicious look. Had this man actually admitted to smuggling? He removed a small towel from a compartment on his belt and dabbed his face and neck. The unexpected heat had begun to bug him. He needed to check the heating system once he ran this jackass out. How had it gone from fri
gid to hot so rapidly?
“If you need to make a personal inquiry, come back in the morning and talk to someone. Until then, get the hell out of my…of my…” His tablet fell from apparently lifeless fingers and skittered across the floor. The heat had enveloped his entire body now. He fell, burning up, and no longer merely hot but as if he were truly ablaze. Flames seemed to surge through his veins and he wanted to scream but no sound escaped. He thrashed reflexively but his limbs would not respond. In horror, he realized that his legs were gone, turned to ash as the flames poured from him and crept up his body. Fire consumed his chest and licked at his face. He opened his mouth in a wordless scream before his vision darkened.
Dario walked up to what remained of Zach and took another drag as he picked up the man’s tablet and confirmed that the others he had already dealt with were still displayed as alive. Good. The program he’d used to trick the system had worked, at least. He addressed the pile of ash while any remaining nanos returned to their compartments.
“I would have continued this conversation if you weren’t so grumpy. Your coworkers, at least, humored me for a time.” He turned and walked away before he stopped abruptly and looked over his shoulder. “Before you go, you wouldn’t happen to know where the shipping manifests are kept, would you?” He grinned at the fading cinders of the corpse strewn along the floor. “So much for that.”
The assassin approached a large metal container and snapped his fingers, and the lock fell off with satisfying pop. The door opened for him. He walked inside and saw his prize, a chrome box with ornate detailing across the top and the emblem of a blinded snake eating its tail in the style of the ouroboros stamped on top. Satisfied, he stepped outside and tapped a number on his phone. He hummed to himself while he waited for his contact to answer.
“Evening. It’s Dario.” He leaned against the container door. “I’ve received your package. Well done, Jensen, that’s great detailing. But I really don’t need to lug this thing around with me, do I? You only need the box inside the box… Hold on, I’ll check.” He snapped his fingers once more and the chest opened with a soft click. A small, featureless black carton lay inside.
“Yeah, it’s there. I beg your pardon? Of course not. There won’t be a trace. I’m a professional and I take great care in my work, compagno,” he asserted. He stretched his gauntleted hand lazily. Amber lights sparked and spun away in all directions before they faded. In an instant, an inferno burst into existence around him. Dario casually retrieved the smaller box and strolled leisurely toward the exit.
“No, no trouble at all. I was a little bored and played with the staff first but they were not too entertaining. Nothing like the last mission Merrick sent me on.” The fire raged and now swept through the rooms to devour everything in its path as he strolled with an almost dance-like grace to the door.
“No, I am not being ungrateful, but Merrick promised me a good mission after I did his little chore and he then made you do it for him? I swear he’s become so obsessed with the mission. Almost as robotic as the Asitons,” he grumbled as he stepped outside the bay that was now about to collapse in on itself. The alert already blared around the station “Hmm, the port? There may be some residual damage. It depends on how fast the boys in yellow do their thing. This is a relatively new station so things may not be quite at the ready.” He opened a door that led into the dark tunnels of the maintenance halls and chuckled. “You should have come. The smell of a warm fire on a fall night is truly magical.” A screen appeared in his HUD to display firefighters and security rushing to the bays. Orders barked and yells filled the air as they rushed to extinguish the blaze.
“But enough about me. Is there anything new going on in Australia? Oh, really now? Poland? What are you doing there?” He nodded after Jensen’s response. “I see. Well, I’m obviously between gigs now. I could show up to offer ‘incentive’ if that helps. No? You don’t like me that close, do you?”
At a large explosion, one of the camera feeds cut off. From the other, it seemed that the personnel raced toward the fire in their efforts to rescue personnel trapped by the unexpected blast. He chuckled and returned to his call. “Something ignited in the bay. Ten gets you twenty it was a smuggled shipment of chems. That should make the evening more festive.” As he continued down the path, the sounds of the fire faded at his back and the darkness of the tunnels consumed his path ahead.
“I guess I’ll have to make my own fun for a while. Tell me, Jensen, were you playing a part when Kaiden’s EI was a hot topic? Not so much? I have to say he’s become such a strong fighter since the initial vids. I may have been a little cocky, but it’s been so long since I’ve had a good fight. I can’t wait for round two myself.”
While the other man spoke, Dario thought back to Kaiden and wondered if he should make the effort to target him. Technically, Merrick still wanted the EI. As if his boss had read his mind, he was notified that he had received a message from the man. Amused, he opened and read it. “I’m sorry Jensen. I’ll have to let you go. It seems the capo has a real mission for me now. Doing what?” He smiled and sauntered on through the darkness. “He’s letting me do what I do so well, of course.”
With that, he ended the call and began to sing once more—merrily, too as he recalled the screams that had long since faded.
Chapter Fourteen
Magellan lit a cigarette in the shadow of the outpost's eaves. He wasn't worried about the low light of his habit giving his position away to any guards in the complex in the distance, not in this dark, howling downpour. He might have been concerned about the smell alerting the guards in the outpost itself but considering that two out of the three were tranquilized in the one-man-sized bathroom and the third was locked inside the supply closet, knocked unconscious after a short chat, they weren’t an issue.
“He really should have made the recording first time around.” he murmured before he took another drag. “You find two of your buddies on the floor and you think the guy responsible is willing to negotiate?” He smirked and uttered a slow, gravelly chuckle. “If you're going to pretend you have guts, at least don't scream that loudly when someone grabs you by the shoulder.” He exhaled and a grey plume of smoke drifted slowly on the frigid night air. It disintegrated into a haze to frame the Normandy Co building before him. He had observed the company's headquarters over the last four days, blending in with groups of investors, potential clients, and even tourists who came to see the structure that was the oldest established company among the stars—as far as they knew anyway.
To pass the time, he wondered if every individual working there was corrupt or if it was merely a handful puppeteering a poor group of innocents. He believed it was the latter, as it was far too easy to get numerous photos and blueprints from them by simply masquerading as a tourist and being able to find easy access and getaway points. His tablet rumbled and he retrieved it to read another message from his dealer. The CEO—the ‘lovingly’ eccentric Oliver Solos—who had hired him wanted another update. It had only been an hour since his last one.
The bounty hunter leaned back and considered the meeting. Solos came off as…wrong, for lack of a better term. He’d said this was a retrieval mission, that he had a stake in the company and was currently at odds with the other stockholders but needed something taken back.
Both experience and instinct joined ranks to make him utterly certain he was being played.
“So you see, Mister...” Count Oliver Solos trailed off as he poured another generous serving of wine into a freakishly large glass. The man honestly might as well simply use the bottle.
“Magellan. And if you forget again, feel free to look at my liquor cabinet you took that one-thousand-credit wine from,” he suggested. While he tried to sound somewhat jovial, he masked his sarcasm poorly. He set his feet on his desk and motioned to a chair in front of him. “Do you care to sit down, sir? I need to hear all the details you can provide before I agree.”
The man raised an eyebrow, his expre
ssion scornful. “You act as if I have held something back. If you can't understand my proposal, I don't see how that is any error of mine.” He sat, however, and slid a hand inside the pocket of his jacket to retrieve a small box decorated in red and yellow, adorned with symbols that looked like a serpent eating its own tail.
“My apologies.” The bounty hunter sighed. “But I can only gather so much from what you’ve told me. In fact, I have to say I can’t see a reason why you need me specifically. If this device is yours and you have a stake in Normandy, go and reclaim it.”
Oliver snorted with contempt. “You don't get much work, do you?” He took a cigar from his ornate box, lit it, and smoke drifted in a slow, lazy cloud. “At least not with a pompous attitude like that.”
Magellan eased his hand toward the lower drawer of his desk and silently unlocked the tab to snake his fingers to the gun therein. “I don't have too many billionaires coming through my doors—at least, not in person. I’m willing to hear you out, but I’m a high-ranked bounty hunter. I can’t afford to take a gig that could end up with me as a wanted man.”
“I can assure you that I am asking no such thing!” The man hissed outrage. “And I can also assure you that it angers me that you would make such an accusation.”
He gripped the handle of his pistol and the metal of its hilt against his palm cooled the heat of his anger, at least a little. “My apologies,” he said and clenched his teeth. “It is obvious that this means much to you, so I am willing to hear you out. If you can begin again, please?”
“Fine, fine. Very well, I shall repeat myself, if only because my request is so important to me and my legacy.” Oliver took another drag followed by a sip, his expression one of long-suffering. “Give me a moment. Every time I think about this travesty, I think I might lose my mind and die.”
Raid (Animus Book 9) Page 8
