Everything was quiet.
Then another few minutes passed and she saw the three people get into the two Pods and return to the police encampment.
A few seconds later, she caught the Pods heading into the sky again out of the corner of her eye.
---
Roll call done, Joel looked at Sean, whose expression was way too smug.
“Tell me again where you did your military training?” Joel asked as they jogged to the Pods.
Sean moved incredibly well for someone his size. “Not in your system,” he retorted.
Joel glanced back at him as they jogged. “Well, let’s just hope you can keep up. With all your cockiness, it would be embarrassing for you if I managed to tap more tangos than you.”
Sean smirked. “Yeah, that’s going to happen. In your dreams!”
Joel chuckled as they jumped into their respective Pods.
Seconds later Oz had them outside the fourth floor of the building. Through the big windows, they could clearly see the eighty-something hostages. The unsub was clearly identifiable, holding a weapon and walking around casually. The hostages were mostly sitting huddled on the ground.
Joel signaled to those who could see to get back from the window. Hushed whispers alerted the others to move away. Oggs, Estarians and a couple of humans eased their way back from the window, carefully avoiding drawing attention from the sole lame-ass guard, who hadn’t noticed anything yet.
Joel shuffled in his Pod. “Oz, can you position us to lay these charges better?” he asked.
“Yes,” Oz responded. “But you will have to open the door, which means you should be wearing a seatbelt.”
Joel grabbed the belt and wrapped it round his arm a few times so he’d be able to hang.
Sean’s voice came over the comm. “You realize seatbelts are for pussies?”
Joel retorted, “Let’s see who the pussy is when we do a tally, eh?”
Sean chucked again.
Molly coughed over the comm.
Joel ignored the cough, but focused on the mission again. “Ok, Oz, let’s get these doors open.”
Oz opened the Pods and moved them closer so the boys could lay their charges. Joel coordinated removing the pins.
“On my mark,” he told Sean. “Three, two, one, mark.”
Each extracted their pins, then Oz whipped them well out of the blast zone. Joel watched the explosion below, praying that none of the hostages had been hit. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Crash had already lifted off and was moving in their direction.
Joel made a quick assessment. “Ok, Oz, just as soon as we’re blast-safe, drop us back in and then take these Pods out of here.”
Oz acknowledged the order. “You got it, Joel.”
A few seconds passed, and some of the smoke and debris cleared. Joel could hear a commotion inside the building now, and gunshots were being fired, hopefully not at the hostages.
Crash nearly had the ship at the window, and Oz slipped the two Pods down to allow Joel and Sean to exit.
Sean did a tuck-and-roll, landing in a squat, one knee bent, gun ready.
His eyes had been on the guard during his entry and he took him out before Joel’s boots had even hit the floor. There were shouts from the corridor, along with the requisite crying and screaming from the hostages.
Joel made an announcement:
“It’s ok. This is your rescue service. In just a few moments you will be able to make your way onto a ship that will be picking you up from your door, and taking you to Safety Island. Please keep your howling to a minimum, and remember to tip your driver.”
The hostages started gathering by the open wall. A few even chuckled and patted Joel on the back as he made his way to the door at the other side of the room. The open-plan room was large. At one time it might have been a lab.
Sean was already at the door, taking out the unsubs left, right and center.
“Looks like I’ve got the tally on this mission!” he yelled at Joel, who had now knelt at the door and started taking out bad guys as they appeared in the corridor.
“How many do you think there are total?” Joel asked.
“Think the estimate was fifteen. Pretty sure I’ve killed eight.” He shot another who rounded the corner. “Nine,” he corrected himself.
Joel looked around, assessing the bigger picture. “Ok, you’ve got this position. I’m going to help Molly get these hostages on board,” he decided.
He turned around and saw that the ship had docked and half the hostages were on board already. Molly was in the building, helping some who were having trouble walking.
Joel noticed movement from a second door they hadn’t seen before. It looked like it adjoined the lab, maybe a prep room or something.
He quickly stalked to the room and opened the door. Another three tangos tried to come through, but he took them out, in rapid succession. Stepping over the bodies, he made sure the rest of the room was clear. Satisfied, he turned around to see Molly face to face with a baddie who had shown up from ancestors knew where.
Sean had seen she was in trouble too. “Joel! Help Molly!” he shouted. He was pinned, picking off the guys who were still coming up the corridor.
Joel was across like a shot, but Molly had somehow managed to disarm the guy.
“Don’t you fucking dare, Joel Dunham!” she shouted at him between shots. “This fuckhead is mine!” She dropped the handgun she had been using and drew her wooden baton.
Joel stood by, looking horrified at her latest weapon.
Said fuckhead lunged at her again, and she sidestepped him. As she landed, she whipped her hips around and continued the motion with the stick in her hand, arms extended.
Schlap!
It made a satisfying sound as it connected with the side of his skull. Joel noticed that she had practically taken his head off. The guy fell forward and sideways, carrying the momentum of her baton. Before he lost enough height, she whipped her right leg up and slammed it down on the back of his head in an axe kick.
Joel guessed the guy was dead before his body hit the ground.
Sean turned and saw Molly standing over the bloody body, stick in hand.
She looked at it, wiped the blood off on the body’s jacket, and shoved it unceremoniously back into her vest. “I think I could get used to this,” she said, turning to see that the last of the hostages were on the ship. A group of civilians had been watching the operation in amazement.
“We good to pull away?” Crash asked.
“Go ahead,” Molly told him. “I’ll get a ride with these guys once we’ve cleaned up.”
She and Joel headed toward the corridor. “How about we go make sure there are no loose ends?” Joel suggested.
Molly smiled. “I think I’d like that.”
Sean had stopped firing, but remained vigilant.
“Count?” asked Joel.
“Twelve for sure.”
“That means three more left. Let’s head down.”
The team swept their way through the empty corridors and eventually found their loose ends. Two didn’t pose an immediate threat, and could have proven useful for information. Molly restrained them together, in sixty-nine position.
Sean chuckled when he saw what she’d done. “You are one mean lady,” he commented.
Molly winked, and strode past him. “Remember that, Sean Royale.”
The three headed back up to level four, where they hopped into the Pods and headed back across the road to the police camp.
---
BANG. BOOM.
Two charges.
Donald Scott screamed at the assembled group of mercenaries. “Get your asses up there and stop whatever is going down!”
Panic filled the room.
The mercenaries grabbed their guns and headed out of the room, moving as fast as they could in close quarters.
Donald could hear gunfire. And screaming. He hoped that he wasn’t going to lose too many of the hostages to bul
lets. Or his men, for that matter.
He waited, listening.
There was a roar, as if a starship had just pulled up outside the building. He went to the window to look, and saw the ship maneuvering to a hole in the side of the building.
He relaxed a little and tried to breathe. Ok, so the hostages were on their way out. The assault team wouldn’t be coming this way if they had what they came for.
He could hear footsteps reverberating through the corridors and stair wells. Quietly, gun drawn, he ventured out into the corridor to find out what was going on. No one had reported back to him yet. Which was…worrying.
The gunfire continued.
He tried to think. His men were trained ex-military. Ex-commandos. Ex-Space Marines. These were the guys who could take out any threat in minutes. And yet, something in his gut told him that they were the ones being taken out.
For the first time in a long time, he felt afraid. Not social fear. Not fear of losing people’s respect. But fear of dying. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he noticed it was hard to hold onto his pistol because the sweat on his hands was making it slippery.
He switched the gun in his other hand and wiped his palm on his trousers.
He tried their comm channel. “Report!” he demanded.
Nothing came.
Then he heard the sound of someone gasping and dying.
Shit! This army had taken them down. He was told this was going to be a small team of nobodies. Why did they send in an army then?
He scurried into one of the rooms off the main corridor and looked around for somewhere to hide.
He heard footsteps coming down the corridor. Maybe it would be one of his men, to tell him that the battle was over, and the assault team was decimated.
He doubted it though.
He was in an examination room with a screen in front of a couch, a cupboard and a sink. He dove between the couch and the cupboard, hiding from view.
He heard the door open, and steps came into the room. He could see boots across the floor. He tried to not breath, but the boots were onto him. They walked toward him, seeming to know exactly where he was already.
The curtain was pulled away suddenly, noisily exposing his cowering form. He looked up and saw…a woman?
She glanced down at him, a look of disgust on her face. Similar to the way his mother had always looked at him. She snarled, “Hello, dickwad,” then reached over and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, dragging him into the center of the room.
Without warning, she punched him on the side of his head, making him dizzy. He couldn’t use his arms or legs. He fell, landing spread-eagled on the floor.
He saw the boots leave, and the door swung closed behind her. His head throbbed, but he was alive! He had survived. Relief flooded through his entire body.
He heard shuffling and boots in the corridor, then the door opened again. The woman came back in dragging a body. One of his men, his Second-in-Command. His face was bloody, but he seemed to be alive. Just.
She pulled the two of them together, almost head to toe, but a little lower so that each of them had their crotch by the other’s mouth.
The woman spoke to him as she secured them together. “There is so much worse I should do with you two. You don’t deserve to live. But I’m leaving you alive so you can come clean to the police and help them bring justice to your employers. Also, I want you to live to experience the rotting shit of the life you have made for yourselves.”
The woman fastened the final restraint roughly. The last thing Donald saw was a boot coming at his head.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Police encampment, Tiecoon Research Facility, Outskirts of Spire
Molly, Joel and Sean landed on the grassy patch and jumped out of the Pods. Molly ran toward the ship to check on the hostages.
“Any gunshot wounds?” she asked the nearest paramedic.
“Doesn’t look like it,” he answered. “Fokking miracle, if you ask me!”
Molly wandered around looking at all the people. Some were being given oxygen. Some had blankets for shock. But there wasn’t any blood. She saw Joel talking to someone.
Then he moved to another and seemed to ask a question.
He stood among them and held his hand up. “Listen up, people. I need you to pay attention for a moment. This is vitally important.”
The activity and noise stopped, everyone spontaneously obeying the Space Marine with the muscles…and the guns still strapped to him.
Joel spoke so they could all hear. “You were fed, right? What did they give you?”
One man answered “Pizza.”
“And donuts,” someone else answered.
Joel’s worried facial expression deepened. “Had anyone been experiencing dancing lights in their eyes? Shortness of breath?”
A few hands went up.
He walked over to one person who had raised their hand.
Joel crouched to the sitting male Estarian’s eye level. “Tell me your name, date of birth and who the current prime minster is,” he told him gently.
The man nodded, and swallowed. “My name is Johnny Locklen. My date of birth…is…” The guy shook his head, as if he didn’t have access to the information.
Joel looked at Molly, and beckoned a couple of the paramedics over. He spoke quietly but quickly. “His speech is slurred. I think these people have been poisoned with Assergen. We need to get the antidote administered fast, or we’re going to start losing people.”
Molly looked at him, and then the paramedics. “Do you have the antidote here?”
The paramedic shrugged.
Joel’s hands went to his head. He gripped it, trying to think.
“Oz?” he said out loud. “We need to know the active components in the antidote to Assergen. I heard about it in Marine advanced training. It’s a familiar plant. I just can’t remember what it was called.”
Molly watched him. “How come you know this?”
Joel shrugged. “It’s an easy poison to access. Plus, it has a faint odor. A sugary kinda smell to it. I recognized it from an op I was on once, where they took out a school with it.”
Molly looked horrified.
Oz spoke into their ear implants. “Got it. It’s a chemical found in the bulbous roots of the palm bushes. It’s found on the Inner System planets quite readily. I’m sure if you step outside you’ll see some.”
Joel was out of the ship like a shot. He looked around and saw that the right trees were just a little farther back from the road. He started running toward them.
He spoke to Oz as he ran. “Oz, have you any way to do a chemical analysis?”
Not here. Not right now.
Joel had pulled up some of the bushy roots around the verge. Sean helped him. Joel tore open one of the roots, and exposed the fleshy part. He lifted it to his nose and smelled it.
“I think this is it. Help me gather some.” Sean and Molly tore up some more, then followed Joel back to the ship.
Within ten minutes, paramedics and police were working together to gather enough of the root to administer to the hostages who had eaten the food the unsubs had given them.
Police encampment, Tiecoon Research Facility, Outskirts of Spire
Within an hour, the hostages had all been moved to the hospital or sent home after thorough examinations.
The fire companies were wrapping up, and the police were finishing their clean-up, having gathered statements and contact details.
Molly stood in the clearing on the police side of the tape, out of the way of the bustling officers. “Any idea who the unsubs were?” she asked Lato. “I left a few of them alive for you.”
He looked at her. “Yes, the officers who found the pair you had restrained were very amused” he told her, trying to remain professional and not smile at her antics. “In fact, a couple of them want to meet you.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “Did they tell you anything?” she asked.
Lato shook his head. �
��No, those who are conscious aren’t telling us anything. It looks like they were guns for hire. No rhetoric. No slogans in their speech. Nothing.”
Molly frowned. “So they were paid hostage-takers?”
Lato took a swig of his mocha, then answered her. “Seems like,” he muttered, swallowing.
She looked at the building and the hole blown through its wall. “That’ll be why my team aren’t able to find any information or motives,” she mulled.
Lato shrugged. “Well, maybe the fact that they were paid to take hostages and kill them all with poison is the lead.”
Molly screwed her face up briefly. “Why use poison? It’s slow working—”
She stopped mid-sentence.
Oz, what if the whole point of this was that the hostages would be rescued and still die. What would be the implications of that?
Well, we wouldn't get our bonus.
What else?
It would be unusual enough to draw media attention.
And we’d look like idiots.
Molly rubbed her chin. Can we find out how the cases within Framan are allocated? Do a bit of digging. See if they are using an algorithm to assign jobs. See if we’re being manually allocated these deliberately.
Ok. On it.
Molly had another thought. “Maybe their identities will bring up something useful,” she suggested to Lato.
The detective turned and looked at her. “Yes,” he said slowly, swilling the remaining mocha in his paper cup. “Yes, they might,” he said thoughtfully. He glanced at her. “Want me to loop you in on anything that we find?”
Molly smiled brightly. “That would be super helpful. I’m off-world most of the time. Perhaps I can give you a secure server to send stuff to?”
Lato looked nonplussed. “Sure,” he agreed.
She bumped her server address from her holo to his.
“Got it,” he told her, checking the notification on his device.
Paige wandered over, her kit now packed and ready to go. Brock, Pieter and Crash were also heading over to the clearing near the police tape.
Paige smiled. “Everything ok?”
Molly narrowed her eyes “I’m not sure. This is all feeling a little…odd.”
Called Page 11
