She pulled out a scrap of paper, leaving it on the kitchen table. She started towards the door, and then turned back to add, “You should keep a gun on you at all times. There are worse things in this city than me.”
Securing her facemask in place, Liane walked out of the flat.
Chapter 6
There was a buzz of excitement in the air when Liane entered the darkened tactical room the next morning. Damian was standing next to the long, black table, around which sat a dozen or so Handlers and Agents. There was an empty seat at the head of the table for Liane, and she went to it quickly, embarrassed to be the last to arrive. Damian gave her a nod, and she smiled slightly at him; she knew how much this mission meant to him.
Damian tapped a few keys on the table board, and the hologram of the building arose from the table. He glanced around at them as he said, “There are three Party members and approximately thirty terrorists holding them hostage. You don’t need to know the group’s objectives or motivation; just know that they are willing to kill these men and have tortured them already in order to get the information they need.”
He tapped another key, and the hologram moved to a closer view of the building, showing an interior room on an upper floor. There were three figures colored in blue, alongside fifteen or so figures in red. Damian gestured, saying, “They keep this many in the room itself, and the rest are used to guard the perimeter of the building. All are armed and trained in combat.”
Another key, and figures outlined in white swarmed the building at ground level. “The first team, comprised of Handlers, is a distraction; you’ll hold their attention and their fire while the second team of Agents arrives by copter.” A virtual cluster of helicopters swooped to the roof of the building, and a dozen figures moved to the roof. “Liane will lead. Second team goes down through the elevator shaft to reach the hostages on the fifty-first floor. The terrorists are neutralized, the hostages are removed to the roof, and the copters carry everyone away.”
The hologram faded, and Damian leaned forward to brace his forearms on the table. “You have your individual instructions. Follow them, and you’ll live through the mission.” He looked down the table to Liane, adding, “And if you’re forced to deviate from the plan, you clear everything with Liane first. If she says no, then so do I.”
Liane felt her cheeks warm as all eyes swung to her, ignoring the hostile looks from the Handlers. They could be as irritated with the instructions as they wanted. It was Damian’s mission, and his voice was the only one that mattered. The fact that he was willing to defer to her on the ground was unusual, and an honor that wasn’t lost on Liane.
The sun had set the next evening when they assembled on the roof of the Agency. All of the Agents were equipped with sleek black body armor, while the Handlers were in civilian wear to better blend in. Damian accompanied them, his coat and dark hair blown by the wind of the copters. The Handlers loaded into one, and the Agents into the second. Liane lagged behind, the wind tugging strands from her braid as she fitted her earpiece com in place.
“Stay to the plan,” Damian instructed, his voice raised to be heard over the noise. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than effective.”
Liane couldn’t keep from smiling as she said, “You know I like to show off at least a little.”
Damian shook his head, mouth quirking in stifled amusement. “Try to keep it in check. I want to see you alive and well at the rendezvous.” He nodded to the copters, saying, “Go on; they’re waiting.”
Liane turned and stooped, running towards the first helicopter and climbing up through the open door. She caught a glimpse of Damian standing there, his eyes fixed on her, and then the door slid shut and blocked him from view.
It took them two hours to reach the outskirts of Vienna. When they were five minutes out from the targeted building, the Agents all began to prep their weapons and slide night-vision goggles into place. The Agent nearest Liane, a good-looking blond man, turned to her and commented, “So Damian takes orders from his Agent now? I heard he was going soft, but now I believe it.”
“You can believe whatever you want as long as you do what you’re told,” Liane said, loading the last of her handguns and strapping them into holsters. “Now shut up.” Raising a hand to her com, she turned it on and said, “Three minutes out.”
“Good,” Damian’s voice echoed through her head. “Everything looks fine from here. The terrorists are holding their positions. Team one is a go.”
Liane strained to hear sounds of gunfire, but she could hear nothing above the roar of the copter blades. They lowered, and then the pilot brought them to a hover. The Agents nearest the door slid it open, and Liane moved towards the opening to see that they were fifty feet above the roof. Below them, the city of Vienna sparkled with light and color.
“Team two prepare to move in,” Damian announced. Liane crouched by the opening, gripping the handhold and leaning out to place her feet on the landing skids. She knew that, behind her, the other Agents were readying as well. There was a pause, and then Damian said, “Team two—go!”
Liane released her hold on the door, and then everything fell away. She fell fast and had just enough time to get her feet under her before she hit the hard cement of the roof. She rolled to a stop, leaping to her feet just as the other Agents landed around her. Without waiting for them, she moved to the grate that led to the elevator shaft. Another Agent was at the generator, and as soon as the power to the building was shut off, Liane cut through the grate and threw it aside. The fan inside was slowing, and a heat-torch let her remove it completely. Once it was gone, there was only the shaft itself, wide, dark, and silent.
Liane reached into the slim pouch at her waist, pulling out the end of a thin cable with a metal clasp at the end. She secured it to the edge of the shaft opening, and then leapt down into the darkness. The cable caught quickly, slowing her descent. Above her, she could hear five of the other Agents following after her. She glanced at her watch as they went, calculating how far they had to go.
Through the earpiece, Damian said, “You’re nearly there. Team one is drawing their attention, but there are still ten in the room with the hostages.”
Liane halted her descent, hanging with her feet dangling as she looked over at the elevator doors. The second Agent halted next to her, and together they went to work prying the doors open. It took several precious minutes, and by then the other Agents were waiting, their weapons held at the ready.
Finally the doors creaked open, but Liane could hear a distant shout of alarm from somewhere down the hall. Jerking a smoke bomb from her waist, she ordered, “Masks on.”
Mouthpieces were shoved onto their noses and mouths, and Liane did the same before activating the bomb and tossing it out into the hallway. Thick, black smoke began pouring everywhere, and several wild shots struck against the walls near them. They all crowded to either side of the door, waiting for the bullets to subside.
“Two targets approaching,” Damian said, “One at twelve, one at ten.”
Liane darted out of the elevator shaft, crouching low and firing two silenced shots. Two heavy thuds resounded through the smoke-filled corridor, and then she motioned for the other Agents to follow her. Liane had studied the blueprints, and she moved with absolute certainty.
“You’re close,” Damian told her. “Five metres to the blast door.”
They reached the heavy, locked doors, and two of the Agents began carefully applying explosive tape around the lock and hinges. Liane stood back, asking Damian, “Where are they inside?”
“Four are by the windows, the other four have their weapons on the hostages. The hostages are sitting on the floor.” Though Damian didn’t say it, Liane could hear the tension in his voice. They were very close, but things could still go wrong.
Liane looked to the Agents working on the door, asking, “How soon?�
��
“Ten seconds,” answered one, swiftly moving back, “Nine, eight, seven, six . . .”
They all took cover on either side of the doors, which blasted out into the hallway and destroyed much of the opposite wall. Bullets began flying, but still they charged into the room. The terrorists were shouting in fear, shooting wildly. Liane moved out from the other Agents; in an instant she took in the frightened, bound hostages, and the four lowering guns to fire on them. Liane shot without needing to think, killing two of the terrorists and gravely wounding the others. It was over in mere moments, and as the last terrorist near the window fell, Liane moved to the hostages. One of the terrorists was lying next to them, reaching futilely for his dropped weapon. Liane kicked it aside, raising her gun and training it between his eyes.
He was young, perhaps her age, and shaking in fear. His voice was wracked with pain as he cried out, “Who are you?”
Liane lowered her gas mask with one hand, answering, “Your executioners.” Her shot was silent, and the man died without another sound.
She turned her attention to the other wounded target, but there was no need to deliver a killing shot. The woman had caught a bullet in the chest and was steadily bleeding out. Liane kicked aside her weapon anyway, then turned her attention to the restraints on the three hostages. She was unlocking the cuffs on one when she heard a rasping voice behind her. Turning, she saw that the wounded woman was looking at her and was trying to speak.
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” gasped the woman, close to death. “Ragnarok . . . is coming . . .” The woman gave one last shudder, and then was gone.
A nearby Agent looked back at Liane, demanding, “What the hell does that mean?”
“It’s Old Norse,” Liane said with a frown. “It means the end of the world. I don’t know why she said it now.”
“Please, help us,” said one of the hostages, a pallid man in a ruined suit. “Get us out of here.”
Trying to shake off her unease, Liane returned her attention to the cuffs.
It was slow-going back to the roof. Three exhausted, wounded hostages needed more care than Agents could offer, though Liane tried her best to be polite to them. By the time they emerged from the elevator shaft, the copters were already hovering in wait, several ladders and patient lifts waiting for them. Liane sent several Agents up the ladders while she strapped in the hostages to the backboards. Several minutes past her comfort level, both hostages and Agents were inside, and the copters were swooping away to retrieve the ground team. Only then, as Liane sat in the corner of the copter, did she allow the tension to leave her body. Exhaling deeply, she closed her eyes and rested her head in her arms, savoring the triumph of another successful mission.
They landed on the rooftop of a private hospital within the city, and Liane was glad to hand over the care of the hostages to the team of waiting medics. She spotted Damian immediately, going over to stand with him. He eyed her armor, noting, “You took a couple of hits.”
She slid a hand over the bullets embedded in her chest plate, saying, “That’s the point of body armor, isn’t it?”
He frowned, gesturing her into the building. “You’ll need a health check before you leave. You may have injuries.”
Liane covered a smile, watching as the copters rose into the air above them. “No need to worry about me.”
“I always worry when you’re on missions,” Damian said, so quietly that she almost missed it. He moved past her after the hostages, ordering, “Get medical clearance, then go to your hotel. I’ll see you tonight at seven.”
|| | || | | || |
It took longer than Liane would have preferred to get cleared from hospital. She had taken some deep bruising to her chest, and the medics insisted on putting her through a tissue recovery scanner before they were content to let her go. When she emerged in civilian clothes, a chauffeured car took her to a hotel. Tired and sore, she barely registered anything about the fin-de-siècle building around her. Her things were waiting in the room for her, though she took a long shower before bothering to look at them. She dressed without care, pulling on her favorite asymmetrical jacket, and at a quarter till seven she was waiting in the lobby to be retrieved again.
The driver took her to another hotel, this one a more modern construction in the heart of the city. As she rode up the elevator to Damian’s room, she realized that he had a perfect view of the building they’d just besieged. Shaking her head at Damian’s caprices, she exited the elevator and headed towards the appointed room.
The door was propped open for her, and Liane strode in without knocking only to stop short when she saw what was waiting for her. A small table for two stood by the window, laid with white linen and gleaming silver. A server was just lighting the candles, bowing when he spotted her. Damian stood nearby in a dark, perfectly tailored suit; evening clothes, as if this was an excursion.
Or a date, Liane thought, flushing at the realization.
Damian seemed not to notice her discomfort. He turned to accept a glass of wine from a server, then glanced at her and commented, “You’re underdressed for the occasion.”
Liane handed her jacket over at the prompting of a butler, noting, “I thought this was a debriefing.”
He smiled. “I didn’t see the need. The mission was a success, so a celebration felt more appropriate. Please, sit.”
She did, and Damian joined her as the appetizers were served. He waited until the servers vanished into the adjoining kitchen before saying, “You did very well today.”
“So did you,” Liane said. “Not a single casualty. I’m sure that got the attention of the Administrators.”
“It did.” He set aside his silverware, looking at her over his clasped hands. “Before the end of the year, I’m to be promoted, and your status is to be reconsidered. You know what happens to Agents without Handlers, don’t you?”
Liane swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “They are either promoted to Handler themselves, found a new Handler, or they face retirement.”
“You mean ‘termination,’” he corrected her. “You don’t need to use the euphemism, not here.”
“Is that what you’ll recommend for me?”
Damian lowered his wine glass, saying vehemently, “No. Never. But I did advise the Administrators against making you a Handler or having you work with anyone else. We both know that neither role would suit you.”
“What else is left for me, then?”
Damian drew out a thick trifold of papers from his jacket, dropping them beside her fork. As she slowly opened them and scanned over the official wording, he said, “Tactical Advisor to Administrator. You would work with me alone and have just as much say as I in the planning of missions. You’d even be able to argue freely without risk of punishment. I thought it might appeal to you.”
Liane stared down at the papers, lost for words. She had no idea how he’d managed to talk the Agency into offering her such a position and wondered what it had cost him. Raising her eyes to his, she asked wonderingly, “Why did you do this for me?”
Damian set his glass down carefully, long lashes obscuring his gaze as he noted, “Your analytical skills are strong. Reason it out.”
Liane lapsed into silence, fairly certain that she knew the answer to her riddle. But something stopped her from saying it aloud. Damian resumed his study of her, going on, “I made only one mistake with you during your training. At the time I thought I knew what I was doing, but since then I’ve grown to regret it. You remember, I think, the night of which I’m speaking . . .”
Liane flushed, nodding and taking a sip of water to hide it.
“I miscalculated with you,” Damian said quietly. “I’d like an opportunity to correct that mistake, if you’ll let me.”
“I . . .” Liane swallowed, her voice embarrassingly unsteady. When she went on,
it was only slightly better. “I’ll need time to think about it. Not the job, but your other proposition.”
Damian shook his head. “Don’t think of it as a proposition, Liane. Think of it as a possibility.”
She nodded. “I will . . . think on it, I mean.”
“That’s all I ask,” Damian said, leaning back as the servers brought out the main course.
|| | || | | || |
It was nearly midnight in Vienna when Liane was returned to her hotel room. She ignored the bed in favor of the balcony, looking out over the lights of the city, savoring the fresh air. Damian’s words were still running through her head, distracting her so much that she jumped when a phone rang behind her.
It was the burner cell, and she had to fumble deep in her bag before she was able to find it. Raising it to her ear, she said, “Seth?”
“Hey,” he said. “I tried earlier, but it just kept ringing. Can you come over?”
She walked back onto the balcony, leaning on the metal railing as she said, “I’m not in London right now. I should be back tomorrow, though. What’s wrong?”
He paused, then said quietly, “I don’t know if we should talk about this over the phone, but . . . I was pulling up the case files of the mod murders today, to go over some interviews again. I checked the log and noticed that they had all been accessed from a government-registered computer.”
Liane straightened, her mismatched eyes staring out at the city lights without really seeing them. “Did they change anything, modify the files in any way?”
“Not that I’ve noticed, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t try.” A chair creaked as Seth turned, and his voice lowered even more as he said, “Whoever did this is placed high within the government; they would have needed an absurdly high security clearance to get into our system. So someone powerful is checking up on us and this case.”
“I know,” Liane agreed. “The only question is ‘who.’”
The Titan Strain Page 9
