She’d done none of that, of course, but the Society was still determined to prevent her from becoming president for a third term. It made me wonder how many lives would have been saved if the Society hadn’t had the Constitution changed for their lame duck candidate back in the eighties.
Marissa adjusted her uniform, standing at attention. “Ma’am.”
I, however, wasn’t considered a person by law, let alone an American citizen, so I saw no reason to rise. “A phone call would work just fine.”
President Douglas gave a half smile. “Black Technology has its appeal. In a few more years, I’ll be able to address the whole of the nation like I’m actually there.”
I almost mentioned television, but decided not to push my luck. I was disrespectful to almost everyone, but President Douglas frightened me.
Consequences would fall on the people I cared about if I gave her sass.
“How may I serve you, ma’am?”
That sounded a bit too servile, but President Douglas smiled. “We’ve found the Tribunal.”
I was now paying rapt attention and leaned forward. Marissa, already standing completely straight, suddenly leaned forward. We’d been hunting them for months and with Delphi’s betrayal, I’d honestly not expected any leads.
“May I ask how, ma’am?” Marissa asked.
President Douglas raised an eyebrow, then gave a half smile. “I received an information package regarding their whereabouts, known associates, and other matters an hour ago. My people have authenticated it seems to have been sent from Delphi just before her destruction.”
Marissa’s eyes widened. “She shouldn’t have been able to do that, ma’am, and if she did, then—”
“Bring it up with my people, Major.”
“But—” Marissa tried to continue.
“That’s an order,” Sarah Douglas said.
Marissa fell silent. I could tell she wanted to say it was a trap or a fake-out, but you didn’t contradict the President unless you were insane, a fool, or me. Which, now that I thought about it, wasn’t really a compliment.
“I suppose my little expedition wasn’t a waste of time after all.” I smirked, realizing Delphi had thrown me a bone. The first of many, perhaps.
“I’d be more careful about when I say things like that, Agent G,”
President Douglas said, not missing a beat. “After all, you don’t want me to think I’m overpaying you.”
“Am I getting paid, ma’am?” I asked, abandoning my earlier pledge to give no sass. “I thought my last paycheck was a snack budget.”
President Douglas smiled. “Here are the names and identities of the Tribunal’s members as well as their locations.”
Alongside her hologram appeared three spinning profiles of the Tribunal’s members: Elizabeth “Persephone” Patterson, Viktor Karl Nechayev, and Colonel Tom Matthews. All three were famous, all three very powerful, at least until recently. After the International Refugee Society had been targeted by the President, they’d gone to ground and done their best to cover up all their association with the organization. It hadn’t really worked since all three were well-known associates. However, it had been ambiguous whether they were the leaders of the organization or just high-ranking members.
Persephone’s image took prominence along with various statistics about her I already knew. She was an older, white-haired woman, a tad on the plump side, with a steely penetrating stare. Persephone was a former SIS analyst the Society had recruited because of her greed and willingness to do whatever it took to get results. Back when I’d been working for the Society in Boston, she’d been the local branch’s head of operations, and it surprised me to find she was a member of the Tribunal. Apparently, she liked a hands-on approach to the management.
The President looked at Persephone’s image with disdain. “She’s been staying in Kobe, Japan in the Hotel Ozara Kobe. It’s a front for the Yakuza, and she’s barely left her penthouse in the entirety of the time she’s been there. Everything she needs is brought to her and business has been booming.”
“Can’t the Japanese be convinced to extradite her?” Marissa asked.
President Douglas’ look was withering. “Major, if I could handle this officially, I wouldn’t need you.”
“Sorry, Madame President.”
President Douglas swiftly contradicted herself, though. “I don’t necessarily want her killed. If you can recruit her, fine. The New Society needs to be built from the ruins of the old, but saving as much as we can will make things easier all around.”
I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea to save anything from the old Society, but given that I would be one of those elements being saved, I wasn’t about to bring that up. Honestly, I felt Persephone was probably the best choice of the Tribunal to approach since my impression of my old boss was she preferred money to politics. It surprised me she’d gotten involved in the conspiracy against President Douglas to begin with.
“Understood,” I said. “What about the other two?”
I knew something about both individuals, though not as much as I’d have liked. Viktor Nechayev was a former Russian oligarch who’d had the good sense to move out of Russia and its politics when Vladimir Putin had risen to power. He was heavily involved in arms trafficking, Black Technology smuggling, and various illicit activities which could be made legal with the right greased palms. Rumors held he was a raging misogynist and was involved in human trafficking, which seemed like lurid gossip, but I suspected it to be true.
Colonel Tom Matthews, by contrast, was someone who bled patriotism and respectability. A former Navy Seal, he was the founder of Universiti PMC. Despite the rumors of Universiti’s wartime atrocities and the fact that they put guns in the hands of barely trained psychos, Matthews was still a much-beloved figure on Capitol Hill as well as a firm contributor to Sarah Douglas’ opposition. It was amazing these three could work together at all. Money talked, I supposed.
“We’ll see to them with our other teams,” President Douglas said. “W is finishing her present assignment.”
I wondered if that was related to the recent death of Supreme Court Justice Travis. He’d been a major opponent of Sarah Douglas’ “reforms” and the principal voice against her striking down the law against a president serving an indefinite number of terms. With his death and her next appointment, it seemed very likely a third Douglas term was in the cards, and perhaps another after that. I wasn’t about to bring that up, though.
“Of course,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Is there anything else, Madame President?”
The President adopted a fake-looking smile. “It’s come to my attention you’ve been displaying less than adequate job satisfaction.”
Marissa reached over and squeezed my shoulder.
“Have I?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“I’m quite pleased with your work, and while it’s all for the benefit of removing the crimes of treason, murder, espionage, and worse from your record, I can understand how you might feel this is not the best place for you to be.”
“Better than Guantanamo Bay,” I answered.
“Better than the scrap pile,” President Douglas corrected. “However, it occurs to me the carrot is better than the stick in this occasion. I’d like to make you an offer to pass along to the other Letters as well as any others of your kind you might find.”
“My kind?” I asked.
President Douglas didn’t stop to explain, though. “DARPA has been experimenting with Shells as an alternative to the overtaxed human body carrying your cybernetic enhancements. We can move your electronic brain from your present dying body to one specifically designed to accommodate you and buy you an indefinite number of years inside it.
The current rate of projected operation for a top-of-the-line shell is sixty years. A full lifespan, and who knows what might happen from there?”
My heart skipped a beat as the full force of her words struck home.
Shells were things I lo
oked down upon as something inferior to an actual human body, but it was an opinion I was revaluating. I wasn’t sure if, once my IRD Implant was transferred to one, I’d still qualify as human. But I’d do almost anything to survive. I wasn’t ignorant of the possibility this could be a smokescreen, though. Dangling the carrot of hope in front of the Letters was how the Society had managed to keep us under control for our short lifespans, after all. This could be simply a way of making sure we obeyed her until our existing bodies decayed and passed on. Or it might not.
“I’ll pass that along, Madame President.”
“Excellent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a country to run.”
President Douglas cut the feed and I was left to ponder her words.
Heedless of the White House staffer still present, Marissa said, “Do you believe her?”
“I don’t have a choice,” I said, honestly. “I want to live.”
Marissa was silent.
I took a deep breath. “Well, I suppose—”
Gunfire and screams cut me off.
Chapter Nine
High-caliber rounds tore through the flimsy walls of the building and I saw the cafe’s guards’ bodies on the ground. Their bodies and armor had been sliced by bullets and lay like ribbons in large pools of blood.
“God dammit!” Marissa shouted, falling to her knees and covering her head. “What now?”
“The Society is showing its teeth,” I said, following suit.
This wasn’t an attack from the ground but one from above. Given the fact that a jet would have pulverized us and there wasn’t the sound of helicopter blades nearby, that left only one option: drones. Shit, I hated drones. They changed the nature of warfare and assassination too much, and this was coming from a cyborg.
Getting down on my knees, even though that was unlikely to do much good, I started toward the door. A second volley of gunfire passed through the walls and I saw the White House staffer fall to the ground, a spray of blood shooting out and splattering my wingsuit. Marissa followed me as we continued out the cafe doors, past the dead guards. My hands and knees became sticky where they moved through the remains of the blood pool, and Marissa’s attire started to look like something from a horror movie.
The glass doors to the building were shattered and gave a clear view of the outside where panic had ensued among Strike Force-22’s personnel. I couldn’t see the drones, but I knew we had weapons that could take them down. Unfortunately, I’d killed and disabled two of our best soldiers, who would have been useful right now. The third was also locked up for questioning. I needed to get out there, get to the weapons, and take those things down.
“Why are they doing this? They can’t beat the US government!” Marissa hissed, following me as we shuffled across the ground toward the doorway.
I wanted to take her some place safe, away from danger, but there was no place to put her. I also suspected she’d react poorly to my suggestion to stay out of the fight. Worse still, I needed someone to help me operate the anti-drone equipment. They were designed for two people working in tandem, like a sniper and his spotter.
“They don’t have to defeat the US government,” I said. “Strike Force-22 is a deniable asset and one entirely belonging to the President. If we’re eliminated, it’s very likely she won’t be able to create a new one before the next election. If she loses, which is very possible, I might add, then the Society can go back to business as usual.”
Honestly, the International Society’s strategy was a sound one and meant time favored the Tribunal. If they killed Sarah Douglas, the United States would use every force at their disposal to find the assassins, but if they just outlasted her, then it was a private crusade no longer worth the next administration’s time. Especially if the Society was behind their campaign, as I suspected.
“Dammit,” Marissa cursed. “I fucking hate black ops.”
“The pay is shit too.”
As we moved past the broken doors to the outside, another round of gunfire tore through the building, and I saw how badly the attack was going. There were bodies everywhere, equipment was destroyed, and the Whisper helicopter was now a smoking ruin. Apparently, the drones were equipped with mini-rockets, which made the fact that the jet was still intact curious. Then I saw the number of bodies gathered around it. The drone operator had used it as a stalking horse to lure out Strike Force-22’s men and then kill them as they tried to flee.
As I heard drones buzzing above, I realized they were getting closer and it was going to become all too easy for the operator to slaughter the remaining personnel here.
“Over here!” Marissa called to me.
Turning back, I saw she’d grabbed James and was pulling him off the ground. The poor bastard was having a spectacularly shitty day since both of his artificial legs had been torn to pieces by gunfire. I hesitated to call him lucky for the experience, but it certainly beat the alternative. I was also impressed by the fact that she was able to put him on her back and carry him off.
Where Marissa was taking him changed everything, though, as I saw it was where an enterprising soldier, the last member of the trio I’d travelled with, in fact, had brought out the anti-drone equipment. It was gathered behind a set of rusted oil drums and other equipment that had been unloaded. There was an R-172 cannon with computer link-up and scanner as well as several Dragonfly rockets. They were the kind of technology Karma Corp had started selling to the Taliban to force the US government to buy better drones.
As I ran over to the side, a set of bullets flared across the concrete behind me, showering my back with little pieces of debris that stung like hell but didn’t penetrate my suit. Getting behind the oil drums, I saw Marissa was already pulling up a laptop scanner. Where she’d put James was not immediately apparent but I had bigger problems right now.
Picking up the R-172 cannon, which was like a big Star Trek-looking bazooka two sizes too large for a normal man, I started looking through the holographic computer monitor for signs of the drones. There were two of them.
“Gotcha,” I said, smiling as I locked on target for the first one of the small bird-like death machines.
A rocket poured out of the R-172 and sailed through the air, dodging the drone’s fire before slamming into it and causing a fireworks-like explosion in the sky. The second drone immediately turned around to start coming our way. I aimed at it and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. It only had ammo for one shot.
Shit.
In that moment, I imagined the drone using its target identification software to pick up who me, Marissa, and James all were. We were the enemies of the Society, and the people who’d caused it the most grief over the past six months. Whoever was piloting the drone was probably going to get a bonus when they gunned us down.
I had a chance of survival. I could have dropped the R-127 and made a break for the side. I was faster than a normal human being, and stronger, and I could jump farther if it came to that. Marissa, however, wasn’t, and James was crippled. I could have lived with James dying, but in that moment, against all logic and reason, I decided I didn’t want to live without Marissa. I never thought I’d reach a point where a moral line being crossed was worse than survival, but abandoning her to die proved to be it.
Strange.
Another round of machine gun fire shot forth from the drone and I was surprised when it didn’t hit us. The albatross-sized, V-shaped attack unit then zoomed over our heads, flying into the air and detonating. Little pieces of plastic and metal flew down over the building, signaling its end. It was over now.
“What the hell was that?” Marissa said, looking up into the sky. “We didn’t hit it.”
“It must have had a self-destruct!” James shouted from behind some oil drums. “I guess we have to evacuate Hoth now.”
“Not the time, James. If I can’t make quips, you can’t,” I said. I shook my head. “There’s no way it could have missed. Its operator deliberately didn’t kill us.”
Marissa looked around the airfield, surveying the carnage. “So, what, this was a fucking warning?”
“No,” I said, taking a deep breath. “It’s something else.”
“While it was still in the air, I tried to hijack the signal,” James said, looking over at a destroyed laptop several feet away. “I figured I could use the programs we used in the Society to try and backdoor myself into their system.”
“It didn’t work, I take it?” I asked.
“Without Delphi, no,” James said reluctantly. His voice was hollow when he spoke the program’s name and I wondered if he’d come to love the AI. It was the same tone he used to refer to Marissa. “I did, however, get an idea of who was behind the attack.”
Marissa did a double take. “What? How?”
“I’ll explain later, G wouldn’t understand,” James said, using a patronizing tone. It was doubly annoying because he was right. I knew approximately jack and shit about computers.
“Spill it, Poindexter.”
“Poindexter?” James said.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Right,” James said, quickly recovering. “It was S, G. She was the one piloting the drone. I recognized her IRD implant signature.”
“Was that so hard to explain?” Marissa said.
I, however, felt like I’d been kicked in the gut. It was one thing to know you were probably on the other side of a conflict from a loved one; it was quite another to have them shoot at you. S and I had our differences, but I’d never expected her to try to hurt me. It was more than a kick in the gut—it was a revelation that made me wonder why I was fighting for the United States at all. A country that didn’t even recognize me as a person.
Agent G: Saboteur Page 6
