Sunset (Pact Arcanum)

by Arshad Ahsanuddin

  SUNSET

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Part II

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Part III

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Part IV

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Part V

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Part VI

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Part VII

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Part VIII

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Dedication

  Glossary

  The Principal Cast

  Timeline

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  Other Books

  Copyright

  SUNSET

  PACT ARCANUM: BOOK ONE

  ARSHAD AHSANUDDIN

  Third Edition

  April 2012

  PART I

  REVELATIONS

  CHAPTER 1

  January 2040; Los Angeles, California

  Everything seemed set for a celebration, whoever would be the victor. The award ceremony was widely televised, and people were actually tuning in this year because the outcome of the contest for Best Picture was a matter of contentious debate. The viewers watched the celebrities strut down the red carpet in their jewels and finery, the ladies’ colorful gowns forming a rich kaleidoscope that contrasted with the more somber styles of the men’s tuxedos.

  Stars gathered under the refracted light of the chandelier in the center of the theater. Its multitude of angular crystals made the light dazzle and dance as it rotated, burnishing the curtains that concealed the stage and illuminating the azure and gold scrollwork that ran down the walls.

  Jeremy Harkness noted all this on his television handset as he followed the rest of his team backstage. Ignored by everyone else, who thought him just another stagehand, he was conscious of the holstered pistol on his belt, covered by his loose shirt. If everything went to plan, Alpha team would have already secured the television control room. He glanced at Medusa. A middle-aged woman in a dark gray suit, she stood apart, calm and collected as always. Soon enough they would make their move, and his team would be front and center to secure the stage.

  Under cover of the strident music, Gamma team pushed aside the risers for the final presentation and maneuvered the forklift into the open space. So far, everything was going by the numbers. Jeremy turned his attention back to the miniature television monitor in his hand. Timing was everything. It was his job to give the signal that would ultimately set the plan in motion.

  As the final announcement of the ceremony approached, the shimmering curtains framed a holographic virtual screen that appeared over the stage. A hush fell over the audience. The dramatic music ceased. Glittering celebrities leaned forward in their seats as they watched clips of the nominees projected in mid air.

  After the final clip, Gavin St. Cloud, one of the hottest actors of his generation and the previous year’s Best Actor, stepped forward to the lectern.

  “Are you ready?” he asked with a smile, picking up the white parchment envelope to a smattering of applause. He grinned wider. “I said, are you ready?” The applause came again, louder this time.

  Jeremy signaled to the others, who pulled on their masks and drew their weapons as Medusa stepped up to the second curtain and waited.

  On his monitor, he watched the actor tear open the sealed envelope and pull a printed white card from within. As St. Cloud faced the cameras and dropped his gaze to read, Jeremy signaled again. Medusa stepped out onto the stage in full view of the cameras, her combat shotgun in hand. Striding up behind the unsuspecting actor, who was milking the announcement for every last drop of suspense, she clubbed him over the head and he dropped, writhing, to the floor. Ignoring the gasps and screams of the audience, Medusa calmly beat him into unconsciousness with the stock of her weapon.

  Jeremy snapped his fingers and followed his team onto the stage, his machine gun hanging from its strap. Two of the men from Beta team grabbed the unconscious actor by his limp arms and legs and dragged him off. Noting the appearance of more armed men at the exits, Jeremy and the rest of the team stood guard over their leader as she adjusted the microphone headset she wore over her close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair.

  She fired her weapon in the air. “Silence!”

  The celebrities paused, rigid with fear.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, you may call me Medusa. Currently, my people have weapons trained on all the access points to the building, and this room in particular, as well as the television control room. I am now in complete control of your lives.” She signaled to her team in the control room.

  The curtain behind her rose, revealing the forklift at center stage. It carried a white metal cylinder about four feet long and eighteen inches wide.

  “The object before you is a nuclear bomb controlled by this remote.” She raised her right forearm, revealing a metal box strapped to her wrist. “I am prepared to detonate this device if my demands are not met. I hereby invite a single representative of the government to enter the building and inspect the bomb, just to demonstrate that I mean business. This invitation is good for one hour. I will issue my demands at that time. You should all get comfortable. None of you are going anywhere for a while.”

  Jeremy watched the celebrities wilt in their seats; any thought of resistance cowed by Delta team covering the exits and even more armed men spreading out down the red-carpeted aisles. An actress in a red gown caught his eye; she clung to her husband in fear, real tears washing mascara down her face. Ironic, he thought. She had just received an award recognizing her impressive portrayal of a woman renowned for bravery in battle. I guess you never know what your limits are until you’re tested. Jeremy held his weapon at the ready, but inwardly he was calm, relaxed even, as he settled in to wait. The dice had been rolled. It was only a matter of time before the gamble paid off.

  Thirty minutes later, Medusa still stood silently at the lectern, the shotgun cradled against her right shoulder. Gamma team, reassigned to perimeter duty, stepped onto the stage, leading a tall man in a navy blue suit. Medusa looked him up and down. Then she pulled the microphone free of the lectern and pointed it at the newcomer. “Tell the folks at home who you are.”

  “Agent Jeffries of the Los Angeles branch of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I am here to evaluate the nuclear threat.” The agent’s voice was calm and controlled.

  Medusa waved at the bomb. “Be my guest, Agent.” Beta team escorted the agent to the white cylinder and pulled back the metal casing so he could view the compact, intricate workings. Taking no chances, Jeremy kept his weapon trained on the agent the entire time the man examined the weapon’s components.

  “Do you believe me, Agen
t Jeffries?” she asked.

  “It looks authentic,” he said in a noncommittal tone.

  Medusa snorted. “Proof can be easily provided, Agent, but you really wouldn’t like it. Are you prepared to hear my demands?”

  “I am.”

  She smiled. “It has come to my attention that the United States government has secretly developed a new ground-launched cruise missile system suitable for nuclear deployment, in clear violation of our arms reduction treaties. I demand the United States acknowledge the existence of this illegal weapons program and make ready to turn the prototype delivery vehicle and projectiles over to a more responsible party for safekeeping.”

  The agent stared owlishly at her as she turned the microphone on him. Finally, he blinked away his surprise and answered, “I have no knowledge of the weapon you describe. Even if it were real, I find it hard to believe that it would have come to anyone’s attention.”

  Medusa gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, I assure you I am quite capable, Agent. I am also an honorable patriot. Therefore, I have decided to give the Daniels Administration the chance to come clean of its own accord.” She pointed her shotgun at the bomb. “Naturally, I needed to offer some incentive. It wasn’t that hard to put the right people in place to acquire the warhead from our outdated stockpiles. Now, I assure you that the weapons program exists. What are you going to do about it?”

  Agent Jeffries watched her through narrowed eyes. “Suppose it does exist, and the government confirms it. What will you do?”

  Medusa shrugged. “Once the weapon platform is safely in my hands, I will simply leave and take the bomb with me. Relatively simple, really.”

  “Safely in your hands?” Agent Jeffries straightened up and his voice was cold.

  “I will take possession of the missile launcher, Agent. You will bring it to me here, and my men and I will dispose of it to my satisfaction.” The terrorist’s smile grew wider. “Until then, consider the bomb my insurance policy against your inevitable attempt at betrayal.”

  Agent Jeffries stared at her, stunned by her brazen request. “You want us to give you a missile launcher? I’m afraid that is quite unlikely.”

  Medusa casually let the barrel of her shotgun drop to point at the agent as she checked her watch. “Then the city is going to die. That missile platform will be destroyed one way or another, Agent. You have twenty-two minutes left before my original deadline. If I do not receive confirmation of the disclosure within that time, I will detonate the bomb. I will graciously allow you another two hours after the deadline for actual delivery of the launch vehicle from its current location at the Los Angeles Air Force Base.” She waved her people forward. “My men will see you out, so you can communicate with your superiors.”

  Gamma team escorted Agent Jeffries from the stage.

  A high-pitched chime sounded throughout the hall and Medusa hesitated, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. Behind his gauze mask, Jeremy frowned. Something was not going according to plan. A bright light flashed to his left and coalesced into the shape of a fair-skinned blond man about thirty-years old who stood on the stage a few yards away from Medusa. He was dressed casually in a short-sleeved white linen shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers. Jeremy lowered his weapon into position to cover the intruder while the rest of Beta team surrounded him.

  The man raised his hands calmly. “Peace, Medusa. I am not here to hurt you.” His voice echoed through the hall, perfectly relayed by the audio system even though he didn’t have a microphone.

  “Who the hell are you?” asked Medusa, her composure slipping momentarily.

  He dropped his hands, meeting her eyes with casual arrogance. “My name is Nicholas Magister Luscian, but feel free to call me Nick if it will help you relax.” He nodded amiably at the armed men that surrounded him. “I assure you I am no threat to you at this time. I am constrained by law from interfering in your operation.”

  “How did you get in here?” she barked.

  “Phased dimensional manipulation, otherwise known as class three teleportation.” Nick grinned at her. “And I came because I was invited.”

  “Teleportation.” Medusa stepped closer, her show of temper ruthlessly suppressed and her shotgun never wavering from its target. “An interesting claim. I don’t know who you think you are or how you got past my men, but I know you weren’t invited.”

  Nick crossed his arms over his chest, completely at ease as he ignored the weapons pointed at him. If this guy wasn’t screwing up months of planning, Jeremy would have admired his self-possession. He had to admit that Nick cut an impressive figure, standing tall and unconcerned in a forest of machine guns, even if he was dressed to go bar hopping.

  “Actually, I was. You issued an invitation for a single government representative to enter and inspect the bomb. You didn’t specify which government.” Jeremy stared at him through the thin layer of gauze. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  Nick glanced at him, as if he had heard Jeremy’s unspoken question, and then proceeded to answer it. “There are four national governments in North America: the United States, Canada, Mexico, and the Triumvirate Council. I am here on the Council’s behalf to evaluate the nuclear threat. You let the Americans have a look—now it’s our turn.”

  Medusa regarded him coolly, but Jeremy could see her curiosity was piqued. Shit. She never let go of a problem when it sparked her interest. It’s what made her such a gifted intelligence analyst, but it was only going to serve as a distraction here. “What exactly is the Triumvirate Council?” she asked.

  “The Triumvirate rules over the Free People of North America and keeps the peace.” Nick maintained eye contact with Medusa, ignoring Jeremy and the rest of his men. “Generally speaking, our laws require us to leave your people alone to clean up your own messes, but this time, since you’ve placed a significant number of our own people at risk, the Council has chosen to intervene up to the stated limits of your invitation.”

  Medusa smiled, amused despite herself. “And who do you mean by my people?”

  Nick looked around at the armed men surrounding him. “The humans.”

  Medusa laughed aloud. Turning to Jeremy, she commanded, “Get rid of him.”

  Jeremy waved forward one of his largest men. The other terrorist let his weapon hang from its strap and stepped forward to grab Nick’s shoulder. Reaching up, Nick caught the man around the throat with one hand and casually lifted him off the floor. The rest of the men stepped back in surprise as their colleague choked, held firm in the intruder’s grasp.

  Jeremy snapped out of his shock. “Keep your weapons on the target,” he ordered his men.

  Nick turned to look at Medusa. “It’s against my honor to kill human beings, but I will cripple him without a second thought. Now why don’t you just let me do my job, and I will leave you to do yours?”

  Medusa stared at her man, who was desperately trying to pry Nick’s fingers away from his windpipe. “Put him down.”

  Nick dropped the man to the floor with a thud.

  “The terms of your invitation were very specific, Medusa. Are you going to let me take a look at your bomb, or are you not so honorable after all?”

  Medusa’s face reddened. “Fine. If that’s what it will take.”

  Jeremy could see she was annoyed at the insult, but she was too smart to be baited. Whoever this guy was, they could control him until he could be disposed of.

  Nick walked toward the metal cylinder, stopping a few feet away. Jeremy and three of his men followed, their weapons tracking his every movement.

  “Rapier,” said Nick, “give me a tactical analysis of the device in front of me.”

  A new voice echoed throughout the hall. “The device is a B83 thermonuclear weapon, estimated yield 1.2 megatons. It is primed to detonate by microwave remote control. Ground burst detonation will immediately destroy all artificial structures in a two-mile radius, with extensive damage to civilian buildings for several miles beyond that, followed by prog
ressive destruction secondary to the ensuing thermal firestorm. The subsequent radioactive fallout will render the greater metropolitan area inimical to virtually all forms of life for at least three hundred years.”

  “Projected casualties?”

  “Estimated human casualties exceed three million deaths. Metahuman casualties are estimated at twenty thousand deaths.”

  “Inform Armistice Security that the threat is credible and recommend immediate evacuation of all our people in the greater Los Angeles area.”

  “Confirmed.”

  Walking back to the front of the stage, he confronted Medusa. “Rapier seems to think you’re telling the truth.”

  “Your partner must have a good view of the stage to be able to identify the weapon so precisely,” Medusa said, squinting into the shadows offstage. “Where is he hiding?”

  “He’s not hiding. He’s right here. Introduce yourself, Rapier.”

  “Greetings, Medusa,” said the voice. “I am Rapier, a third-generation artificial intelligence in contractual service to Nicholas Magister Luscian on behalf of Armistice Security. My function is to provide personal, administrative, and logistical support in his capacity as Triumvirate Council Ambassador to the Court of Shadows. My program is currently resident in a network of implanted cybernetic biocircuitry throughout the Ambassador’s body. My voice is generated by manipulation of the surrounding air to generate simulated sound, and I am transmitting the Ambassador’s voice and ambient sound directly to the local audio and television broadcast systems.”

  As Rapier was speaking, Jeremy heard a faint whisper of sound, and then something changed. The colors of the room seemed too bright suddenly, and he felt the beginning of a migraine. Great. I haven’t had one of those in years. Why now? The noise level rose as the room filled with voices—too many to make out the words. He tried to focus on Medusa. I don’t have time for this. I have a job to do.

  “Teleportation would be hard enough to swallow, without believing in AI.” Medusa snorted and glanced at her watch. “This has been a pleasant distraction, but you have now wasted eleven minutes of my time, and I am quite busy at the moment. I suggest you leave, or I will have you shot.”