The Operative : A Division 13 Story

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “What’s on the USB?”

  He turned the laptop back and typed for a few seconds. “It seems Luca has been trying to track Tigris’ activity. She’s good, but what she has is thin.”

  “Anything about the last human sale or the Abyss?”

  “You mean the club you erased this morning?” He typed again and pointed to a spreadsheet.

  “How did you know about that?”

  He gave me a withering look. “You’re getting to be as bad as that supposed detective agency that goes around demolishing half the city.”

  “I’ve been meaning to look into them, actually. The mage has been engaging in some questionable casting.”

  “Here. Line-item thirty. Purchase of goods to be transferred through ABY Inc. and shipped to EGY. Not very creative, if you ask me.”

  “Egypt? They’re going to ship them to Egypt?”

  “If they aren’t on their way there already.”

  “No, this sale just happened. Why not use teleport circles?”

  “Distance is too great and the children wouldn’t make it. Their bodies can’t handle the stress. Call the NYTF. Get them in on this and they can stop them.”

  “Tigris will have paperwork. NYTF won’t be able to go near them, you know that. I need to know how they’re transporting them.”

  “How would you do it?” Honor sat back in his chair, sipped his coffee, and stared at me. “If you had to get an unspecified number of people out of the country without alerting the NYTF or any port authority for that matter, what would you do?”

  “Containers wouldn’t work and smuggling on a ship would attract attention, same with a plane, even private. They would have to be dead to pass the runic detection.”

  “Exactly.”

  SEVENTEEN

  “WHAT DO YOU mean ‘exactly,’ exactly what?”

  “If you take a human and cast a stasis on them, all bodily functions are essentially reduced to zero. More importantly their signature disappears for a short time.”

  “True, but the spell itself would leave a trace.”

  “Then they must be using more conventional methods. Something as effective as a stasis spell, but not magic-based.”

  “This is what Luca uncovered,” I said quietly. “But why didn’t she tell me? We could have gotten all of Division 13 involved.”

  “She didn’t know if she could trust you. It appears Tigris has people inside of your Division.”

  “Delilah.”

  He typed again and a different screen came up.

  “There’s an audio file.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “It needs a password,” he said, turning the computer to me again. “She’s serious about security, isn’t she?”

  “You have no idea.” I typed in the same password I used for the brace earlier.

  “Drama queen?”

  “Long story.” I pointed at the laptop and made a whirling motion with my finger. “Play?”

  He pressed a few keys and the audio file started playing.

  Ronin, if you’re hearing this it means you made it to Honor and the Archive. Sorry, Honor, I didn’t want to get you or the Archive involved, but I didn’t know who else to trust. I took a calculated risk with Ronin. I promise dinner on the Riviera if we survive this.

  “It’d better be dinner at Elsa’s,” Honor said, leaning back.

  I think Delilah is alive and has turned some operatives inside of Division 13. When I approached the Director, he brushed me off and told me to stop chasing ghosts. I don’t know if he’s been compromised or just didn’t believe me. I followed my leads to Franco.

  “And used me as bait, thank you very much.”

  I’m sorry I had to use you as bait, Ronin. But this thing runs deep. I don’t have all the details on this Tigris group, but they seem to be backing Delilah for some reason. Everything I was able to get on them is on the drive. They’re larger than the Division and well-funded. From what I was able to uncover they operate globally.

  I don’t know how they’re moving the women and children, but I noticed a lot of activity tied to Franco and Bruce at this address. Go there and see what you can uncover. Stay off the Division’s radar.

  She read off an uptown address and I looked at Honor, who slid the computer over to me. I typed it in and it pinpointed Trinity Memorial Services.

  “What do you know about Delilah?”

  “You mean aside from the fact that she should be deceased?”

  It was my turn to give him a withering stare.

  “Yes, obviously. Can she be part of this Tigris?”

  “We both know anything is possible. Let me see what I can find. Are you taking your tank to this Trinity Memorial?”

  “No, they’ll be looking for it. Do you have a ride that doesn’t cost over two mil?”

  “Your first error is thinking I would loan you the Centenario.” He shook his head and picked up the phone. “I have some SuNaTran vehicles I can lend you. Those are designed to be punished.”

  Supernatural Transportation, or SuNaTran for short, provided a car service for the supernatural population. SuNaTran provided discreet service any time of day or night to any of the five boroughs and beyond—for a price. They provided transportation. I use the term ‘transportation’ loosely since each Rolls Royce Phantom, their signature vehicle, was just a small tank disguised as a car.

  “Perfect. Can you have it delivered to Haven?”

  He covered the transmitter on the phone. “Haven? Are you hurt? I have people here who can handle any medical situation except for brain damage. Which, in your case, seems irreversible.”

  “Oh, the wit. No, I’m not hurt, but I may need an assist on this and the only person I can trust right now, besides you, is in Haven.”

  “Very well, I’ll have it sent over. Is a Duster acceptable?”

  I nodded and he spoke into the phone and made the arrangements.

  “I also need to go to the Beach.”

  He hung up the phone and frowned.

  “I can help you get in. After that you’re on your own.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me. Few survive a trip to the Beach.”

  EIGHTEEN

  IN 1870, ALFRED Ely Beach completed a pneumatically powered subway line under Broadway. The initial project was never funded past its single, block-long tunnel.

  After the project was shut down in 1873, the tunnel entrance was sealed to the public. Construction began on the first section of the Archive in 1899. This was after a fire destroyed the Rogers Peet building a year earlier. The abandoned pneumatic system was discovered in the sublevels of the new Archive building.

  A faction of rogue mages took over the station in the early 1900s, dubbed it the Beach, to commemorate its creator, and expanded the network of tunnels throughout the city. It no longer ran as a pneumatic system but was powered with a combination of magic and tech.

  As far as I knew, no known map existed of the tunnels, but I knew it had a station underneath Haven. The difficulty would be getting access. Most of the inhabitants that populated the Beach now were Transporters. They were magic-users with one specific ability: they were master teleporters.

  From what Honor told me, no mage could match a transporter’s speed or level of precision. They frowned upon non-mages using their transportation system and I was about as non-mage as you could get.

  I had a feeling that the power behind the Beach subway system was more magic than tech. Honor downloaded the contents of the drive onto the laptop, replaced the file and drive in the ghostcase, and slid it over to me.

  He stood and led the way out of his office. I grabbed the ghostcase and followed him downstairs to the rear of the Archive. We stood in front of a stone wall covered in shelves. Each of the shelves held large books on subjects I couldn’t decipher. He started removing them.

  “Are you certain you want to use the Beach?” he asked as he handed me a tome. “Here, make yourself useful and put these ov
er there.”

  “Fastest way to Haven without having Bloodhounds on my tail.” I grabbed some of the books and put them to the side of the wall.

  “The multiple teleports have been fatal to some.”

  “Haven isn’t that far from here. I’m pretty sure Cait can handle the teleports.”

  “I still think you should step away from this one, Ronin. I get a bad feeling from this Tigris group and every memory I have of Delilah involves death. Call in the NYTF or the Dark Council. Let them deal with this.”

  He removed the last of the books and started on the shelves.

  “We both know that would be pointless. It would be a pissing match about who has jurisdiction. By the time they get it straight it would be too late.”

  “I have an alternative. If you won’t contact the NYTF, there’s another group out in Vegas.”

  “Vegas? You’re referring to the Vegas PPD?”

  “I could make a call and they’ll send over their lead. He’s a little unorthodox, but he gets results.”

  “Unorthodox? I’ve heard of him. The guy’s hornier than a ram. No woman in the city limits would be safe. No, thanks. I have enough to deal with.”

  “You’ve never worked with him or his team. It may be a good match.”

  “It’s too much of an unknown. He’s an amalgamite and even the high-powered craniums in the Division aren’t sure what that is. Pass.”

  “There’s always the recourse of the wizards or mages. Chicago has one, although he may not play well with your techbrace. And we have several in our own city. They even have a hellhound.”

  “No wizards, mages, and did you say hellhound? What am I going to do with a hellhound?”

  “Evidently they are useful in dealing with the supernatural, being supernatural themselves.” He rubbed his chin. “I wonder how they got a hellhound? They’re extremely rare.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Don’t want one. Magic-users have a tendency to break things, like reality.” I looked at the stacks of books on the floor. “Is there a reason you don’t have a dedicated entrance to the Beach?”

  “Yes. There is,” he said, placing the last shelf on the floor and leaving the wall bare of any obstruction. “It prevents ‘fatal accidents’ from occurring.”

  He turned to the wall, narrowed his eyes, and pressed his hands on several sections in sequence. A large section slid away that revealed a staircase leading down. He spoke some words I didn’t understand and the runes on the stairs burst into a bright orange light before fading away and disappearing again.

  We traveled down several flights of stairs until we reached the lowest sublevel of the Archive. I saw the symbols on the stairs as we descended. From what I could make out using my gaze, I would have been fried or dismembered several times over if I had tried to use these stairs alone. I saw what he meant about ‘fatal accident.’

  “I see Grace is still taking precautions with visitors.” I pointed to the runes along the stairs. “Do you still think she remembers?”

  “Remember you or your suggestion to place the Beach under new management?”

  “Both?”

  He smiled. “I’m sure you were a direct influence on her adopting a ‘new’ visitor policy.”

  “There shouldn’t be any?”

  “Pretty much. It’s not that she doesn’t like visitors. She doesn’t like anyone.”

  “She likes you.”

  “She tolerates me. There’s a difference.”

  “Are they still doing the ‘hiding in plain sight’ thing that they do with the fifty layers of clothing?”

  “Yes. It allows them to blend in and roam the tunnels unbothered. The homeless have that effect on people. Most pretend they don’t exist and so they don that disguise.”

  Every Transporter appeared the same—an old homeless person wrapped in too many layers. It was the perfect camouflage in the city. Only, Grace looked different.

  Grace personified her name. I was never able to determine her race, but I knew she wasn’t human.

  As the leader of the Transporters, Grace was known to be fair but ruthless. No one encroached on her domain without her knowledge or paying a price. The last time I was at the Beach in an official capacity, a magic-user had snuck his way down and had attempted an unauthorized transport.

  He’d tried to use the subway and tripped one of the many failsafes. He was daring, but not too bright. I don’t know where he was headed, but his trip was cut fatally short. The result was smeared mage across one of the tunnels. It wasn’t pretty.

  The Division was called in to make sure the integrity of the central hub of the Beach hadn’t been comprised. A network of unmapped tunnels that ran under the city was a liability in the wrong hands. I suggested the Beach be placed under Division control. That idea didn’t go over well with the powers that be, including Grace. I was vetoed and politely informed never to show my face at the Beach, if I wanted to continue breathing.

  We made our way to the main station. Remnants of the original work could be seen in the dim light. Frescoes lined the walls and easy chairs were evenly spaced along the sides of the platform. Ornate lamps illuminated recessed statues of messenger gods. We walked by Agni, Hermes, Nirah, and Zaqar. Across the station, I saw more statues but couldn’t make out who they represented.

  “Is it true they can ‘throw’ teleportation circles?” I asked, admiring the artisanship of the station. “Is this a real skill or just rumor?”

  “Yes. Every transporter has this ability.”

  “I’ve never seen a mage or wizard do that. They usually cast a fixed circle.”

  “I’ve heard there are a few who can, but it’s an elevated skill. If they know how, they learned it from a Transporter.”

  “I don’t see the use. Is it effective? Throwing the circles?”

  “I once saw Grace teleport an enemy across a short distance.”

  “So it’s only for short-range ports?”

  “She teleported him in five separate parts.”

  “Oh, that sounds effective.”

  “I agree.”

  “I do wish you would stop telling that story, Honor.” We turned at the voice. “It makes me sound positively horrible.”

  “Hello, Grace,” Honor said with a small bow.

  NINETEEN

  UNLIKE EVERY TRANSPORTER I’d seen, Grace wore a simple black dress. It covered her thin frame and rippled gently as she stepped toward us. Her bare feet made no sound as she crossed the stone platform. She stood about Luca’s height and kept her gray hair in a tight braid that ran down to her waist.

  I didn’t need to use my gaze to sense the power that flowed from her. That and the fact that her eyes glinted silver in the dim light were enough to convince me she was in the ‘erase you with one spell’ category.

  “Honor, it’s been too long.”

  “Yes, it has. You know how the Archive keeps me busy.”

  “Well, that and the sealed entrance, I’m guessing,” I said, looking around. “Is this all the original station?”

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” She narrowed her eyes at me.

  “He needs to use the Beach.”

  “Ronin.” She stared at me for a few seconds. I used the same tone when ogre odor assaulted my senses. “Have you grown tired of living?”

  I gave my next words careful thought. Pissing off someone who can port you piecemeal all over the place did little to extend my life expectancy. Diplomacy and tact would be the wisest course.

  “Hello, Grace. I’d like to keep breathing if that’s okay with you or we could battle to the death right here and now—your call.”

  I never claimed to be especially wise. Honor shook his head and rolled his eyes. Grace cocked her head to one side and gave me a crooked smile.

  “That would be a very short battle, Ronin. You must be desperate if you’ve come down here.”

  “I am. The Division is compromised and I need to find some women and children before they get shipped o
ut of the city.”

  “The same Division you wanted to put in charge of my home?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I was being shortsighted. Can you help me?”

  “Yes, for a price. Where do you need to go?”

  “Haven. I heard you had a stop there.”

  “We have a stop everywhere. The women and children are in Haven?”

  “No, but the only person I can trust to help me with this is there and I need to get him out before he’s put to rest permanently.”

  “A trip to Haven can be arranged.”

  “What’s your price?” I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be chocolate.

  “I need one of my Transporters escorted to a fringe station. It’s in the midst of what I consider hostile territory and I’m concerned for her safety. You do this and I will get you to Haven…intact.”

  Escort jobs were the absolute worst jobs to undertake. It usually involved some clueless individual who was doing their best to get themselves killed and was generous enough to risk your life in the process.

  “And if I refuse?”

  “I’ll allow you to leave here, but you’ll not return to my home and live to speak of it. What is your answer?”

  Honor glanced in my direction, his face an unreadable mask. I could tell he was tense. I brought that out in people. If it came to confronting Grace, I knew he would back me up, but that wasn’t why I was here. Besides, fighting Grace in her home was suicide. Who knew how many Transporters were lurking around or would port in to deal with the threat?

  Her eyes glinted silver again and I understood this really wasn’t a choice. It was closer to self-preservation. I really needed to get to Haven without a pack of Bloodhounds on my tail. This was where I needed to use my skills of tact and diplomacy or die a horrible a death.

  “When?”

  Honor let out a breath and visibly relaxed.

  “In a few weeks’ time. I will contact you.”

  “What if I don’t make it through my current situation?”

  I just wanted her to understand I was in the middle of something that had the potential to retire me indefinitely.