Do Unto Others-ARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  "It happened the same day, too." Aramis twitched in frustration, but clearly knew the score intellectually.

  "Of course," Jason said. "They were waiting to exploit that, and obviously had inside intel."

  Cady stuck her head in the door and interrupted, "Alex, Mister Prescot is across the hall. I've cleared the room and swept for bugs. The building is secure. He says he'd like to come in and talk to us."

  "Roger that," he said. He breathed a deep, steadying breath. "Time for me to earn my pay. Invite him in." Still, the man was asking politely and coming to them, not demanding they fall on their swords on his carpet.

  Alex would have felt better if the team hadn't waited in stony silence. On the other hand, they were reviewing the event and planning and worrying. This part was all his.

  Cady opened the door, nodded and stepped past. Prescot walked in and assessed them with a glance. He looked tense, but non-threatening. He nodded curtly, and spoke.

  "I'm wondering, Agent Marlow, if you can do something to recover my daughter."

  That was direct.

  Alex spoke carefully. "Sir, personally I'll do whatever I can. We all will. But it has to be formally contracted for liability reasons, and I don't know if Corporate will do so. If things go south, the whole company suffers, not just us."

  Prescot looked troubled.

  "As a businessman I of course understand that," he said. His tight and controlled reserve cracked. "As a father . . . please, tell me what I can do? If it's money, I can guarantee you'll never need to work again."

  "Yes, sir, but it's not just money," Alex said. "All our friends and associates would suffer for our mistakes."

  "No amount of money will persuade you."

  "Sir, I won't say no amount would . . . but I'd rather not find out what my price is. My, our services, can be bought. Our loyalty has to be earned. Our loyalty to them comes first, unless we are already contracted. I'm sorry."

  Goddam, it sucked. But there were limits. How many millions would this man offer? Alex really didn't want to know.

  Prescot leaned back.

  "I respect that," he said with a slow, thoughtful nod. "If I call the company, will you give them an honest assessment of your interest and ability? Please?"

  "Yes, sir," he agreed. "If they give the word, we'll do it."

  "Very well. If you'd please wait here? And do avail yourselves of refreshments."

  "Yes, sir," Alex said.

  In the broad parlor, Jason said, "Do you think they'll go for it?"

  "I don't know," Alex said. Morally, he wanted to help. Professionally, it wasn't really what they did. Investigation and security were related, but discrete specialties.

  His phone rang, and it indicated scramble. He enabled encryption, accepted the algorithm, and connected.

  He was on the phone with Ripple Creek CEO Don Meyer himself.

  "Alex, man to man, can you really do something?"

  "I think so, sir. We have biometrics, those others no one knows about, we have intel on some of the hostile parties, and we'll have the resources, obviously."

  "'Think so' isn't enough," Meyer said brusquely.

  "Sir, if I don't think we can do it, I won't start an actual op. I'll just share intel."

  "That's fair. We'll talk again in a moment. Stand by."

  "Holding, sir," he agreed.

  Shortly, Meyer was back, as was Prescot.

  "District Agent Marlow, I have finalized negotiations with Mister Prescot. You are to attempt location and recovery of Miss Prescot if it can be done without violations of law. You should provide any necessary information to appropriate government agencies if they ask or if you deem it prudent."

  That was a pretty ass-covering set of limitations, Alex thought, but that was to be expected on record.

  "Understood, sir," he said.

  Prescot spoke for record, even though he was just in the other room.

  "I will provide any legal services needed should there be any questions regarding your actions on this matter," he said. "Personally, not through company assets." That was good. It wouldn't be subject to a board vote or otherwise called to question. It was Prescot's word, and they knew they could trust that.

  "That's all," Meyer said.

  "We'll get on it at once, sir," Alex agreed.

  "Good man. We'll talk later. Meyer Out."

  "Marlow out."

  He cut the phone, and Prescot came through from the other room.

  "Thank you, all of you," he said, looking at them. Aramis rose from the seat he'd sprawled in. Elke stood politely. Bart came over from near the door. The rest were already standing.

  "We'll do our best, sir," Alex said, and the rest spoke agreement.

  "As to legal aid," he said, "I won't ask you to do anything illegal, but if there are questions, I have excellent lawyers with both Parliament and General Assembly connections, and I'll spare no expense."

  You're asking us to do anything illegal that will help, Alex thought with a mental grin. Well, they'd been on the wrong side of someone's law more than once.

  "Understood, sir," he said. "We'll start now."

  "Thank you. I don't need updates, but please, make them to me personally. Only."

  "Of course." He extended a hand. Prescot shook it, then, with a troubled expression, turned and left.

  "Well, we have his office to work from," Jason said. "Let's avail ourselves of some massive information power."

  Caron twitched when the door rattled. She hurried back to stand facing it, hands out of her pockets, feeling like a schoolgirl trying not to look guilty. Had they seen her?

  One of the goons came in, closed the door and laid down his gun on the vanity.

  "They'll be arranging your release soon," he said.

  "Thank you," she replied. Communication was a good sign.

  "Our people promised you'd be unhurt."

  "I appreciate that," she said. She really did. A rush of relief swept over her.

  Then he stepped closer.

  "Hurting would be bad," he said.

  Her stomach shriveled into a ball and dropped.

  "The way I figure it," he said, "as long as there's no marks, it's a fair exchange. Just a sample of the merchandise, so to speak."

  At least he was clean physically. She shuddered and couldn't control it. They planned to return her alive, good. They weren't above raping her for fun first, though.

  She'd had a class in this way back, on how to negotiate, but she hadn't paid attention. Caron Prescot would never be unescorted in a place where that might happen.

  She wasn't sure how she wound up against the wall, but he was pulling at her clothes with creepy hands. They were caresses, almost loverly, but he was not a lover, and the imposition was already criminal and terrifying.

  She cringed, and wondered if this justified using her ring. It would definitely put him down, but how would they react? Violence on top of rape? Gang rape? Take the possessions she had, which might or might not help her escape?

  He slipped a hand down her slacks, and she decided yes, she should stun him. She tried to angle her hand to make contact.

  Someone shouted, "What the fuck are you doing?"

  Two very large men yanked her rapist away and slammed him over the sink counter. One of them proceeded to pummel him, while the other turned to her.

  "Miss, are you okay? Do you need a doctor?"

  Decide fast. Doctor, certain to be an insider. She might lose the gear she had, might be secured somewhere else. No actual injuries, creeped out, I want to be left alone. Please, just leave me the fuck alone!

  "No. I'm fine," she said, and pulled her disarrayed clothes back. She realized she wasn't making eye contact, and should. She did, but he was masked anyway.

  The guard turned to his compatriot and said, "Take him out and shoot him. Do it now!" He turned back to her and said, "I apologize for the behavior. It won't happen again."

  They half-dragged the aspiring rapist out the door, as he cu
rsed and screamed and called her a "filthy elitist whore!"

  The door slammed, the shouts continued, and then a loud BANG! echoed tinnily. There was a thudding sound, and the curses stopped.

  For some reason, she didn't find it reassuring.

  She cried again, and hugged herself tightly, sinking down to the floor.

  Joe wanted to know how they were handling this. Bryan got here in minutes. His flight was later, but as fast, and hang the expense. It was an investment, even if personal.

  He knocked at the door, and that Jason Vaughn answered. Vaughn seemed like a reliable man. Behind him the room was abuzz.

  Joe gave them this, they were good at reacting. The suite had comms all over, wires, antennae and chatter.

  Vaughn asked, "Yes?"

  "Is there anything I can do? How is it proceeding?"

  "Your offer is appreciated but this takes professionals in the field. Thank you, though." Vaughn said, and didn't that sound like a rote speech for such occasions.

  "Sorry, it's just that I feel partially responsible."

  "No incriminations at this point. First we'll handle recovery. Discussions are for afterward. Sir, we are rather busy, with all due respect."

  "Sorry. As CFO, can you give me an update?"

  "This is not a company matter."

  "Of course not. It's a family matter, about my niece."

  "Well, your brother has the information."

  "He hasn't gotten back to me yet. Busy."

  "Then, sir, I suggest you will have to wait."

  The door closed, leaving Joe feeling put upon and left out. Dammit, he needed to know. Bryan would be too personally involved to get any actual information. This was where Joe could best help.

  Grumbling, he figured he'd better go help his brother. That was useful, too, and he'd find something out that way, eventually.

  Caron shook off the incident. That just made it more imperative she get out.

  If she got above the ceiling, could she get a message out? Her phone had an override that was line of sight, and supposed to get through interference. Would it get through a deliberate screen, though?

  It was worth a try. They wanted her alive. They wanted her intact, at least officially—she shuddered again. That decided her. She didn't want to face anyone else who wanted favors.

  They might have a camera, so she'd have to do this fast. She walked back, stepped on a bench, opened a locker and used it as a high step, stretching to reach it, shoving a tile up and gripping the frame precariously as it bent.

  There was extruded concrete behind it, and she got fingers atop that. Not the most secure hold, but enough to let her lean and stretch and get both feet onto the edge of the locker. Then she was through the panel, grit and dust and spiderwebs all around and on her.

  The top of the locker bank was sloped, but she leaned and got both hands over the concrete wall, and shimmied. Her belt caught, and she wiggled to free it.

  Her slacks tore at the knee and she felt a burn as something gouged her. It wasn't severe, though, and she was now into the dead space, under a sheet polymer roof and over the dropped ceilings, with old insulation crumbling all around, and barely any light, though she could see pinholes of daylight here and there.

  A quick look revealed her luck or training had paid off. The main part of the room below had a solid structural sheet over it. This corner and an access above one commode stall were all the openings there were. Either they'd assumed it was all covered, or figured she wouldn't do anything.

  Her phone got no signal.

  Sweating, and not just from the heat, she wondered about trying to throw it through a crack and hoping it would work outside—if their damping field extended too far, someone or their phone would quickly report the service problem. Of course, this could be an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere, given the way new construction was shifting everything. But that would leave her where she was—no phone service, and someone might find it and report it.

  She looked around at the slits and holes of light, and saw one that might be long enough to be pried open. She squatted onto the concrete and pretended it was a balance beam in school. She used her hands above her against the roof—it was that low.

  Perhaps she should have reached down to close the locker and put the tile back? They'd waste some time looking for her. But she didn't want to turn around, and she was on her way now.

  It got darker as she moved away from the opening, even as her eyes adjusted.

  The wall was rough and crumbled, and she shuffled along, sweating and itching and aching. Her pulse hammered and she wondered when they'd notice.

  Jason and Elke shouted in unison.

  "Yes!" "Prosim!"

  Alex said, "Talk to me."

  Jason said, "We have a faint but definite pheromone trace. We've got it within three blocks."

  "Tell Cady."

  "Yup." He keyed a mic. "Cady, you there?"

  "I am."

  "I have a general location for you. Get over there and look for phone signals or pheromones."

  "I see. We'll be there in three."

  Alex said, "That's a lot of buildings, and we can't search them. Though the odds of seeing them if they try to E and E are better."

  "Tracers in the food were brilliant," Jason said. "We need to make that a regular option with the company."

  "Not too regular, or word will leak."

  "Ah, yes. That's why you make those strategic decisions. I'm just going to supervise while Elke does aerial analysis."

  Elke said, "Already have done. There, there or there are my first choice," she said as she pointed. "This pair is second. Then these." Her accent was a little thicker under stress.

  "Why?"

  "Disused, access is on quiet streets and usually recessed or sunken. Major operations will not use their own buildings, nor will most people use their employer location."

  "Sound enough. That gives us six areas, but spreads our people thin."

  Cady said, "We'll pop sensors all over. I have aerial coming."

  Alex said, "Do it." Good people. It was still a large area of big old warehousing and industrial capacity, though.

  Below her, Caron heard clattering and shouts. They were coming for her now.

  There was a gap in the sheet metal she might squeeze through. The ground was four meters down or a bit more, but that was manageable if she could hang. It would bang her up if she tried to jump. First, though, her phone. She reached down under the crack and tossed it straight out.

  Shouts behind her. She didn't look, but it sounded like they were much better in the scaffolding than she.

  She felt nicks and tears and gouges as she bent the metal back, stuck her legs down and felt for grip. She had wobbly metal on one side, extruded concrete on the other. She tried to squeeze through and hang, slipped, banged her elbow enough for electric tingles, and landed hard enough to smack her teeth, then hit her chin on her knee. She staggered and stumbled but stayed mostly on her feet, and was on the ground.

  She ran for her phone as noise up above turned to what was probably stunner fire. She scooped the phone and a handful of sharp rubble and ran.

  The gap between these buildings was overgrown with two meter stalky weeds, rubbish and construction debris from decades before. She picked her way fast and hoped the growth would stop any stuns.

  Then she was out on an old, disused street that served these derelict blocks.

  Right across the way were three men in suits, obviously muscle, and with bulges she recognized as body armor and weapons.

  Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

  And they definitely recognized her and started moving faster.

  There was no traffic to dart into, and she was limping and couldn't run. She punched at the panic button, visibly, because it didn't matter now.

  Then the men were on her.

  "Miss Prescot, Agent In Charge Marlow sends his regards. I'm agent xxnamehere with Cady's team. You may have heard of me. Are you al
right? Do you need medical attention?"

  Caron heaved a deep breath.

  "Can you prove that?" she asked. Not that it mattered, but . . .

  "Of course. We will wait here until you are satisfied," he said, and kept speaking into the air, "Playwright, please give Miss Prescot a call."

  Her emergency phone rang.

  "Hello," she said at once.

  "Caron, this is Alex. I'm almost as relieved as you and your father must be. Mr xxnamehere is one of our agents, you may have seen him at the house. Here's your father."

  There was a pause and then, "Caron?"

  "Tad," she said, and relief washed over her.

  "The code is Ysbaddaden. And now we'll have to change it."

  "That's fine, Tad," she said, tears welling out. "I'm safe. I'll be home in a few."

  "I love you, Merch."

  "And you."

  She lowered the phone slowly, and breathed deeply.

  "Yes, Agent xxnamehere, please take me home."

  "Yes, Miss. Right this way."

  Their car pulled up a few seconds later. It was a heavily reinforced Mercedes sedan. She sunk into the cushions and closed her eyes, trying to pretend the world didn't exist.

  Chapter 9

  Alex thought he'd enjoy this after action review. He held good cards and Bryan was indebted to him.

  After the thanks and grins and all around ice cracking, he got to the point fast.

  "One of the positive things, if there is such, is that it's helping the claim with the government to allow us heavier weapons."

  "Obviously I support safety, and the best tools for the job," Prescot said. "However, there's also a PR issue and a personal moral issue. I can't have anyone killed, no matter how richly they deserve it, by my daughter's security detail."

  "That complicates things for us, sir."

  "I'm aware of that and I'm sorry," he said firmly. "I hired you in part based on the expertise and dedication you showed evacuating President Bishwanath. However, there was a lot of bad PR over injuries, death and property damage."

  "Yes, sir, though that was a war zone with different rules of engagement. Obviously, the streets of Greater London are not the place for that, though we have a shooting and a kidnapping at this point. The best weapons available act as a deterrent prior to any threat, and can serve to de-escalate a situation in progress. In worst case, selective, very selective fire can end an event before it gets out of hand."