“What did you find?” Ryan asked.
“Yamada came through. There are files and files of information. Properties Offenheim owns all around the world. His family owns at least a quarter of Denver, most of midtown. It’s incredible. Think of a commodity, Offenheim has a finger in the pie.”
“Anything on The Eyrie?”
“Some. It looks like YamTech installed all the satellites and telecommunications. There are engineering drawings.”
“Blueprints?”
“Nothing with a floor plan.”
Ebony sipped the coffee she had poured for herself and finger-brushed her red hair behind her ears. She looked at Sofia. “You’re from Columbia, right?”
“No. I was born in America. My parents were Columbian. Why?”
“Something I’ve been thinking about while you guys were at the spy station. Do you know how they finally caught Pablo Escobar?”
“On a roof with a bullet to the head,” Sofia said.
Ebony took a big breath. “True, but the lead-up to the moment. He was untouchable. The locals protected him, loved him, even. He had police, judges and politicians in his pocket. Different people tried but no one could stop him. They realized that if they couldn’t get to Pablo, they had to take out his lieutenants first. Chip away at his organization until only he was left. Not long after, he was lying dead on a rooftop. The Medellin Cartel, finished. Maybe that’s how we get Offenheim. Take out his officers, expose him.”
Ryan yawned and stretched. It was sound logic, but did they have time for such a plan? His mind said to attack The Eyrie and put a bullet into Offenheim’s head. Was it too risky?
“How do you know so much about Escobar?” he said, looking at Ebony.
Ebony gulped down the rest of her coffee and wiped froth off her upper lip. “Funny thing. My goal was to be a DEA agent. That was my dream. I grew up in a poor area of Honolulu. It ain’t all sunshine and coconuts. Mom got sick with multiple sclerosis. The bills mounted and mounted. After a while, the insurance ran out. A friend told me about how much money she was making as a hostess in Tokyo. So I went. I did it to help. Ironic, isn’t it. I wanted to stop the flow of drugs and I ended up being an addict.”
Ebony cast her eyes to the floor and wiped away a single tear. “I guess Mom is long gone by now. The other ironic thing is, I could cure her with some of my blood. That’s why I want to stop Offenheim and OPIS. Take them down. One by one. All of them.”
Ryan yawned again. “We’d be glad to have your help.”
The storm in his mind returned as he ran through all the scenarios. Whatever they agreed to do, one point was certain: They were going after OPIS.
Six
Portland, Oregon
Zanzi and the others had spent the morning moving through the city with Lisa, switching vehicles regularly, sometimes finding a car in a valet parking garage or taking one from the street. They kept on the move, staying silent and hidden. Lisa showed her talent for moving unseen. She led them through shops, made them change clothes, break apart into groups. Zanzi took it all in, learning. Occasionally they spotted other groups of survivors driving through the city and, once or twice, Black Skull patrols.
When it neared midday, Lisa called a halt at the back of a bakery. The scent of spoiled food hung in the air.
“Last leg. The new safe house is on the next block over, an old cannery. Jacqui, Reid and I will go first. Zanzi, wait here with Tilly for thirty minutes, then come. Side door, close to the river.”
“Got it,” Zanzi said.
Reid winked at her as he shuffled past. He was putting on a brave face but, despite the new nanites in his system, his injury was paining him. He hadn’t said anything, but it was all there in his expression, his gritted teeth. The sucking in of breath when he thought no one was looking.
Once Lisa, Reid and Jacqui were out of sight, Zanzi ducked behind a row of rotting garbage cans and pulled Tilly down. “How are you doing?”
“Still tired, but okay.”
“Good.” Zanzi slipped out her magazine and clicked it back in, then pushed the stock into her shoulder and looked down the length of the barrel, checking the vicinity. The alley remained quiet. She hadn’t spotted any Rabids for a couple of hours, but she didn’t want to drop her guard, even for a second.
Tilly nudged Zanzi with her elbow. “Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Check the bullets.”
“It’s just a habit. I can tell by the weight that it’s fully loaded but checking them gives me reassurance.”
A Rabid’s shriek interrupted their conversation. From the muffled sound, it was inside the bakery. Zanzi reached out and checked the door. The handle gave and started to swing open. She shoved it closed as another shriek rang out. Accompanying the shriek were two childlike squeals. Not squeals of enjoyment, like when kids open presents on their birthday, but squeals of horror.
“Are those kids?” Tilly asked.
Zanzi activated her comms in response. “Lisa, we’re hearing kids inside the bakery. Rabids as well. Going to investigate.”
“Copy that. Watch your back. I’m on my way.”
“Wilco.”
More squeals sounded, followed by cries for help, high-pitched and desperate. Something metal clanged to the ground.
Zanzi cursed and eyed the unlocked door. “Lisa, hurry.”
“A few minutes.” Her voice came over the airwaves broken and thin, like she was breathing hard.
More cries for help, and several more metal objects clanged to the ground. Zanzi jumped up and went to the door. There was no more time.
“Tilly. We must go in there. Follow me, okay. Once inside, look right. Shoot any Rabid you see.”
Tilly pulled her Glock free and held it at her side, ready. Zanzi had a proud parent-like moment. After the run-in with the motorcycle gang and the attack on the cellphone tower, Tilly had asked to be shown how to effectively use guns. The Glock was her first, and so far she was showing that she had absorbed everything she’d been shown.
Zanzi put her hand on the door and placed an ear against it. The children’s squeals were coming more frequently now, and the Rabid’s shrieks sounded more desperate.
She swung open the door and stepped inside. Zanzi found herself in the kitchen. Everything was stainless steel. Benchtops. Ovens. Suction fans. The walls, the mixers, and the rows upon rows of baking trays. She stepped heel to toe and swung her M4 from side to side, covering every nook and cranny. Now that she was inside, she could see what the commotion was. Four Rabids were desperately trying to reach two African American children who had climbed to the top of a shelving unit inside the store. They were throwing bread and baking trays at the Rabids.
Zanzi’s years of training flowed through her all at once. In a split second, she observed the threat and came up with a plan of action. She shot the two closest Rabids in the backs of their necks. They stumbled and toppled over, knocking a third down. Zanzi had time to shoot each of them in the head before the fourth Rabid understood what was going on. A quick stab to the base of the skull with her knife silenced the fourth Rabid. When it dropped out of sight behind the counter, she stabbed it again to destroy the alpha nanite.
She looked up at the kids clinging to the shelves. They stared down at her with wide eyes. One of them, a boy maybe eight years old, pointed over her shoulder.
At the same moment, Tilly screamed. Zanzi spun to see her struggling against a man who held her tight in his grip. He had a ratty face, and his eyes were sunken and too close together. His beady eyes watched Zanzi.
One hand was clamped across Tilly’s neck while the other was locked around her side, pinning an arm. Tilly’s other arm flailed, the Glock clenched in her hand.
Zanzi pivoted and lined up the man’s head. It was then she saw the knife against Tilly’s jugular.
“Put the gun down or I’ll drain her.” His voice was raspy, like he was a pack-a-day smoker.
“I don’t thi
nk so,” Zanzi said.
Two other men appeared behind Tilly. They had the same ratty features and beady eyes. Zanzi caught wafts of cow dung.
“She’s a looker,” one of them said, licking his lips.
Zanzi half expected to see a snake tongue come slithering out. All she had to do was keep these guys talking until Lisa arrived. How many minutes had passed? “What do you guys want?”
“Put the gun down.”
“Not going to happen.”
“I’ll cut her.”
“No you won’t. I’ll put a bullet through your face before you start.”
Raspy-voice smirked. “I’ll make you a deal. Those two chocolate babies and you two can walk out of here.”
“Oi. What about us? Don’t we get a say?” one of the other men said. “Shit, Adam. C’mon.”
Adam didn’t get to answer. Tilly went limp and dropped. Adam, dazed at her sudden movement, didn’t react for a split second then snapped to attention, only to grasp at thin air. When Tilly’s butt hit the floor, she raised her Glock and fired. The bullet entered Adam’s chin, went through his mouth and exited above his right eye.
Zanzi froze, her finger resting on the trigger. Somehow the young woman had ended up doing exactly the right move. Training could only go so far. Tilly had transcended what she had learnt and shown initiative. The men standing behind Adam reacted first. Backpedaling, they dashed out the backdoor and out of Zanzi’s line of sight. Moments later, an engine revved from the front of the bakery. A bright yellow Humvee peeled away from the curb, tires smoking.
Blood rushed in Zanzi’s ears as she stared after the garish vehicle. Sprinting through the bakery, she clicked her M4 to full auto and started firing, shattering the windshield and puncturing two of the tires. The Humvee swerved across the road, bounced off a parked car, and fishtailed around a corner.
Zanzi slung her carbine and returned inside. She ignored the dead body of Adam and pulled Tilly to her feet. “That was really brave.”
“Is he dead?”
“Yes.”
Tilly gagged and, leaning forward, vomited up her last meal. Zanzi stayed silent, remembering the nausea that had followed her own first kill. Witnessing the life leave someone by your own hand put a weight on your conscience. Often she could block the feelings of guilt out and carry on, but at night she lay awake, replaying the scenes over and over.
“Is he really dead?” Tilly said, wiping her chin with her sleeve.
“He’s dead.”
“At first I was just trying to get free. Then I remembered you saying to keep shooting, so I pulled the trigger.”
“You protected yourself. That’s why we have guns.”
Tilly looked down at the Glock in her hand as if it were possessed.
“He was a bad guy, Tilly,” Zanzi said. She couldn’t think of any other way to comfort her.
“Like the bikers?”
“Exactly.”
The two children slowly climbed down. Tears had tracked wet pathways down their cheeks. Their clothes, faces and hair were encrusted with dirt and leaves. The youngest, a girl, maybe five, squeezed her eyes shut and hid behind the boy.
“I heard shots. Are you guys okay?” Lisa said over the radio.
“We’re fine. Hurry, though. We found a couple of kids.”
“Almost there.”
Zanzi led the children into the kitchen and shut the door on the scene inside the store.
A few seconds later, Lisa was standing in the alley, weapon raised. Her features softened when she saw the children. She knelt next to them. “Hey. I’m Lisa. You’re safe now.” She opened her backpack and gave them a candy bar each. “I bet you’re hungry, huh.”
The kids took the candy and devoured it. The boy glanced around and looked at Zanzi. He mumbled something and pointed in the direction the Humvee had gone in.
“What’s that?” Zanzi asked.
The boy spoke again, his voice barely a whisper.
“The bad men have their sister,” Tilly said.
Zanzi cursed. It didn’t matter that a catastrophic event had happened. Bad people always did bad things. She checked her supplies in her rucksack and secured her weapons. “I’m going after the Humvee. I can’t leave their sister with those men. There was something really odd about them.”
“Once the children are at the safe house, we’ll both track them down,” Lisa said.
“They could be miles away by then,” Zanzi said. She looked the young boy in the eye. “Did they take you to a house?”
He shook his head. “They grabbed our sister up the road and we ran. Then those monsters came.”
Zanzi was wracked with indecision, her mind a whir. Until that moment, she had been formulating a plan to rescue Doctor Josie Lahm. They needed the doctor to join them in their fight against OPIS. But this girl needed help, and she didn’t want to think about why they had kidnapped her.
Lisa threw her a couple of spare mags. “Go. Stay in radio contact. I’ll come after I drop the kids at the safe house.”
“Will do.”
“I’m coming too,” Tilly said.
“Not this time. I don’t want to put you in any more danger.”
Tilly nodded.
Without looking back, Zanzi shouldered her rifle and jogged up the street.
Seven
Aleutian Islands, Bering Sea
The flight deck hummed with activity. Fighter jets screamed as their thrusters engaged. The deck crew, in their brightly colored shirts, carried out their assigned tasks with skillful precision. Blast shields were raised, and the steam-powered catapult hissed as the next jet tore off down the short runway and shot into the sky. It immediately banked and blasted away.
The Nameless were each given a green life jacket with a serial number, a helmet and goggles, and escorted to their plane. The C-2 Greyhound’s primary mission was carrier onboard delivery – COD – used to carry high priority cargo between carriers and bases. The back ramp was lowered, and they were ushered on board and to their seats. Ryan fumbled with the four-point seatbelt, trying to tighten it. The seats faced backwards for safety reasons. He caught Keiko’s worried expression as she sought comfort from her mother.
“Hold tight. This is going to be fast,” Ryan said.
“Is it safe?” Keiko asked.
“They do this every day, all day. We’ll be fine.”
“I’m here just in case, Keiko,” Ebony said. She leant over and checked Keiko’s belts.
“Thanks,” Sofia said. She had her tablet open and was running her finger down the lines of code on the screen.
Sofia had expressed her regret at them not stopping wave two completely. They may not have, but they had disrupted it, giving themselves a fighting chance.
Booth grinned at Ryan and laced his fingers through Allie’s. “Buckle up, sweethearts. US Navy thrill-ride coming up.”
The flight crew instructed them to each hold onto the seat in front of them. The twin props engaged, whining as the pilot revved the engine. Ryan breathed in the odors of Avgas and oil. Fond memories flooded his mind, memories of his Army days and taking part in war games. He shut his eyes and steeled himself for the sudden acceleration.
Within two seconds, they’d hurtled off the flight deck at one hundred and twenty miles per hour and banked to the north-east. But instead of climbing to cruising altitude, they leveled out at five hundred meters, hoping to avoid the Russians’ radar.
Richmond had agreed to deliver them to Anchorage. From there, they were on their own. All attempts to raise someone in Alaska’s largest city had so far failed.
The roar of the engines made conversation difficult, so most of The Nameless caught up on sleep as they flew through the skies. Sam’s head was in Keiko’s lap, and he wagged his tail every time Ryan glanced at him. Ryan smiled to himself; dogs had an amazing ability to calm people.
He turned and stared out at the rolling gray of the northern Pacific Ocean. His mind drifted to childhood days spent at the
other end of this gigantic body of water in New Zealand, his country of birth.
The youngest of four boys, he had struggled to fit in, not only with his brothers, but also his parents. Where they had been into sports and excelled at everything athletic, he had been wrapped up in books, preferring to lose himself within the pages of a science fiction or fantasy novel. While his brothers ran around chasing ball, he’d searched for swords of truth or traveled to distant planets to quell alien uprisings in the name of the human defense force. Later, his brothers moved on to cars, and still he read. He’d dreamed of becoming a scriptwriter or author, but his short temper always got him into trouble.
After high school and a year of travel, having been traumatized by something that had happened in India, Ryan joined the Army. He hated it at first, even loathed it, but over time he’d grown to love it. The endless marching and drills. Weapons and radio training. Orientation. Survival. He discovered he had a knack for recon, for staying undetected. For sneaking around. And then he got lucky and caught the eye of LK3 recruiters. It wasn’t until years later that he found out it was Booth who’d recommended him.
***
Ryan must have drifted off to sleep. Before he knew it, the plane had bumped to the ground and was taxiing, winding its way past stalled planes and crashed vehicles. The pilot took them as close as he could to the long, rectangular terminal building.
The first thing that struck Ryan was how eerily still it was. Everywhere he looked, nothing moved. No birds flying, no one hurrying from their cars to the terminals, pushing trolleys piled high with luggage. All the planes sat, snow built up around their wheels and covering their wings. Baggage was loaded on trucks, unclaimed. Fuel trucks still with hoses attached. There were a few ash remains to be seen, but no other sign that humans had been present.
The Nameless grouped toward the back of the plane as the rear cargo ramp lowered. “Lock and load. Eyes sharp. We don’t know what we’re walking into. You know the mission. I’ve got point with Cal. Move out,” Ryan said.
Masks of Ash Page 6
