Discarded

by Mark A. Ciccone

  ‘A little late for that,’ Flynn retorted. Instead of building on that, he went on, ‘If you’re suggesting we deploy another team of Rangers, or other ground troops, the answer is no. Radiation and other dangers aside, I’m not sending one more man or vehicle into the Zone. Not until we know one hundred per cent what it is we’re up against.’

  ‘Then we’re in agreement, Colonel.’ When the other man looked perplexed – and suspicious – he continued: ‘We can’t risk sending in any more of your people, or any boots you could pull from other garrisons in the area. Nor can we risk the aircraft we came in with – God knows what other countermeasures the insurgents have, along with what they used on the drone. On top of those, we still have only patchy information about the lay of the land itself. We can write off downtown Seattle and most of the waterfront areas of the Sound – they were in the bullseye, almost, when the Bomb went off, and the radiation’s still high enough in some of those spots to kill within an hour, two at the most. But that still leaves between eight and ten thousand square miles to cover. Satellites can give us the general details, but we need ground observation.’

  ‘What exactly are you suggesting, then?’

  ‘Just this: me, and the members of my team, will enter the CZ, alone. Once we find the main camp, we hunker down and observe, then infiltrate and recover the canister. If we succeed, we signal for evac or make our way out ourselves, and paint the site for airstrikes. If we fail… We paint it anyway.’ Hargrove squared his shoulders. ‘Upstairs won’t like losing the canister’s data – but if destroying it means it stays out of the wrong hands, they’ll get behind the idea. And you’ll have the pleasure of dropping the payload on those that killed Colonel Patrick and his team.’

  For a moment, the colonel seemed struck dumb. ‘That’s… a bold idea,’ he said at last. Composing himself, he went on, ‘Forgive me if I sound just a bit sceptical. A man of your… years, dropping into the world’s largest hot zone, with just four men? Against potentially hundreds of insurgents?’ He must not have been fully informed about Hargrove’s team in action, then – from Patrick or Costa. A bonus.

  ‘I’m not ready for the boneyard yet,’ Hargrove replied shortly. ‘As for the odds, my men have dealt with worse.’ Flynn gave him a querying look. He pretended not to notice, continuing, ‘All we need is a Black Hawk, ruggedised comms gear and additional light weapons – we can’t be burdened with anything heavy. You provide that – and suitable discretion, of course – we can be in the air within half an hour.’

  Flynn studied him, and his guards. At last, he gave a single, abrupt nod. ‘Have your people armed up and on the tarmac in fifteen. I’ll have the transport ready, and the gear, too.’ Without another word, the Air Force officer marched away, heading for the comms centre.

  Hargrove nodded back, though Flynn couldn’t see him. When he turned back down the hallway, he allowed the relieved grin he’d been holding back to show. The pardon still had its effect, after all – so long as it was used on the right people. Flynn had been a tougher nut to crack; the loyal but suspicious kind of soldier always was. Odds were he would get hold of someone back East, in order to get authorisation for the strikes. They would want to know why and how he wanted it – and the colonel didn’t seem the subtle type. When he answered, the reaction to Hargrove wouldn’t take long at all.

  His guards came up on both sides. All team members notified, his glasses flashed. Suitably intact water transport locatedat Tacoma waterfront, through Army satellite recon; additional fuel suppliessecured aboard waiting chopper. Request specs as to other appropriate equipment.

  Hargrove thought for a moment. Standard field gear, he pulsed back. Anticipate entering primary irradiated zone: downtown Seattle, and immediate surroundings; anti-rad protection to be kept in reserve. Any renewed signal from team member’s stolen comms device?

  Negative. Last activity pinpointed to within 20 mile s of suburbs of Olympia. Progression of prior trail suggests targets proceeding to base near waterfront, seeking additional cover from visual and thermal tracking due to lingering secondary radiation and other Bomb effects.

  That was Hargrove’s impression, too. There was still no clear idea how many rads Golems could take before they bit the dust – although he had a good idea himself, he thought, his grin widening a touch. No sane human would come within a hundred miles of the Puget Sound shoreline, not unless they wanted a slow death before seeing the next day’s sunrise. Golems were obviously made of stronger stuff, from everything he’d learned and seen, but Hargrove suspected they weren’t looking to stay long term in the glowing basin – not without serious protection, at any rate. The canister’s theft was confirmation enough. They wanted a shield, be it tech from the Project, or just the threat of its exposure, before things got desperate and they had to migrate – or expand. Armed with its contents, they just might, too.

  Hargrove pushed open the doors to the next hallway, brushing past a pair of startled Air Force clerks. One last shot – that was all he had to end this. And this time, he’d damn well pull the trigger himself.

  Chapter 17

  Longhouse, Old Evergreen State College Campus

  Greg paced in measured steps, back and forth, back and forth. The soles of the clinger made only a faint whispering against the concrete floor. Above him, the wooden beams and rafters of the Longhouse creaked in a steady wind coming down out of the north. Most days, the Council handled any issues where they happened – in the field, in the Library, anywhere – and without much formality. Nonetheless, when the Sanctuary was first put together, it had been decided to set the small building aside as a meeting house, to give him and the other members a spot to go over matters in more detail.

  A huge, carved wooden eagle, wings rampant and painted in vivid black, white and red, hung over the main doors. The inside was stark and simple – concrete floor, brown wooden walls polished to a high sheen and vaulted ceiling. A round fire pit sat in the middle of the central area, dark and cold. There were wide benches along the wall to the left, and another exit at the end of a short hall. To the right of these, a collapsible wall gave onto a larger assembly area. Three long conference tables had been set up end to end against the far wall and covered with plain forest green cloth. It was this area that Greg paced now.

  The main doors opened. A man strode into the Council room, dressed in a brush-patterned clinger; he must have come straight from patrol. His deep black hair was close-cut and swept back from a high forehead. His eyes – a bright brown – were probing and intense. At the sight of the other man present, a pleased smile bloomed across his Asian features, tanned and weathered by sun and wind. ‘Greg! Good to have you back.’ He extended a hand.

  Greg shook, firmly. ‘Same to you, Hiroshi. Any trouble on the Kitsap run?’

  ‘No,’ Hiroshi replied. ‘Nothing really worth salvaging, either, not with the gear we had. The radiation was too high to search closely, either, in some spots.’ The smile became fixed, for a moment, before returning to normal. ‘We did find one interesting thing, or close to it… I’ll fill everyone in once they’re here.’

  As if on cue, the doors opened again. Jorge, Leah and Megan walked in, Jorge carrying the canister in both hands. After everyone had exchanged greetings, Hiroshi beckoned them into the meeting area. He took his place at the centre; Jorge and Megan moved to his left, Greg and Leah on his right. When they were all seated, he held out a hand to Jorge, unspeaking. With infinite care, the engineer placed the canister in his hand. The Council leader stared at the device, eyes raking over every inch. Beneath his ever-present calm exterior, there was a glimmer of excitement. ‘This is really it?’

  ‘No question,’ Greg replied. ‘We still don’t know what’s on it – but the amount of effort being put to recovering it argues for something major.’

  Hiroshi nodded. ‘Leah gave me the gist of your trip last night, and Jorge has done the same with his work on this.’ He hefted the canister. ‘I’m also told you’ve brought some gue
sts who can fill in more of the gaps.’

  ‘They’re on the way now,’ Leah said. ‘In fact—’

  The doors opened a third time. There was a sound of struggling, followed by a grunt of pain. Three figures entered the Council area. One was Cayden, wearing plain blue coveralls over his clinger. He held two men before him by the collar. Shapeless black hoods were draped over their heads, and their hands were bound in front of them with plasticuffs. One wore an Army Ranger’s uniform beneath the tattered remains of his NBC suit; the other wore a plain green coverall.

  Cayden pulled the two prisoners to the middle of the room. That done, he released them, and yanked the hoods away. Both squinted at the sudden flash of light. The Ranger sagged, breathing hard, but still alert. The second man shrunk back a little at the sight of the five Council members, but otherwise showed little obvious fear, eyes darting over them and the room in automatic assessment. Standard Agency, Greg mused.

  Cayden stepped in front of the prisoners, drawing his knife from beneath a flap of his coveralls. He made two sharp swipes, slicing through the cuffs – then he was behind them again, knife sheathed. The prisoners flinched, and edged away. Hiroshi only nodded. ‘Thank you, Cayden. Please stay. It seems we have a lot to discuss.’ Cayden moved back several paces, keeping himself between the prisoners and the doors. The Ranger faced the Council, back straight and proud. The agent – if he was one – did the same, though there was a faint, visible quiver in his legs, as though he were ready to take off at any second.

  No one spoke, for several long seconds. Greg glanced at Hiroshi. The other Golem had set the canister at his right hand, and was studying the prisoners, his face unreadable. Greg had been the one to call this meeting, but Hiroshi was still the Sanctuary’s leader. It was he, Jorge and Megan who had first come together in late ’51, after straggling in from their mutual assignments in southeast Asia. They’d formed the first group of Project survivors at this campus—‘discards’ was the term many members used today, in jest and bitterness. When Greg and Leah had joined later that year, they’d started reaching out further, bringing in more members by coded radio, encrypted email and other electronic message drops, and, where possible, face-to-face recruiting. Hiroshi had coordinated all of this, often going out on missions himself, and amassing more knowledge and details than Greg could hope to match. It had taken massive effort and not a small amount of blood, but the Sanctuary had become reality. Now they were on the verge of setting that reality in stone, courtesy of the canister – and these men. It was only fair that its creator should do the honours.

  Hiroshi continued to stare at the prisoners. They stared back – one passive, the other edgy. At last, the Council leader spoke, in a quiet, firm voice. ‘I suspect that at this point you’re expecting some form of interrogation. Sodium pentothal and bright lights, if we were gentle; waterboarding, electro-shock and sleep deprivation if we weren’t.’ He paused, gauging their reactions. Neither man budged. ‘Given the circumstances, however – and some new information that’s just come to us – we’ve decided instead to speak openly with you, in the hope you will do the same.’

  The Ranger looked above their heads, at the far wall. ‘Patrick, David,’ he rapped out. ‘Colonel, US Army Rangers.’ He fell silent, lips pressed tight.

  Unsurprised, Hiroshi turned to the agent. ‘And you?’

  The agent glanced at each of the Council members in turn, suspicious or nervous. ‘Benjamin Costa – Central Intelligence Agency,’ he said finally. When none of them showed any reaction, he went on, grudgingly, ‘What’s this… “new information”?’

  Patrick shot him a warning look. Hiroshi gave the agent a polite smile. ‘Before I go on, Mr Costa, I—’

  ‘Wait.’ Megan’s sharp voice cut him off. She leaned forward. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Costa? From Special Activities?’

  Costa stared at her. ‘How—’ He stopped, and set his chin, keeping a careful, studious eye toward Megan, probably gauging whether she’d come at him in the next second. By the way his hands and shoulders tightened, he expected it – and maybe worse.

  Leah swivelled to face Megan. ‘You know him?’

  Megan nodded. ‘June of ’38,’ she half-recited, unsmiling. ‘The rest of my team was down for recovery, after a clean-up op in Peshawar, so I was attached alone to a SAC operation operating out of the Taurus Mountains. No other Golem presence – just me, two squads each of SEALs and Force Recon, and one guy from the Agency to babysit and cross all the T’s. Southern Russia and the various Caucasus republics were tearing themselves apart, and the usual jihadist and smuggling groups were making money hand over fist – guns, heroin, stolen oil, sex trafficking. My group’s goal: eliminate the key players, in both cases, and wreck their capacity to fight or ship. When the Russians started moving to “adjust” their border with Ukraine – again – in late July, we switched targets. That’s to say, I did. By August, their armies were grinding to a halt, and half the terrorist groups in Central Asia were decimated or leaderless.’ She pointed at Costa. ‘He was the babysitter. He stayed in his tent so often, I barely saw his face – but the name stuck.’

  ‘Did he know what you were?’ Greg asked Megan. ‘Where you’d been trained?’ He looked to Costa once more. He saw Patrick doing the same, his opaque visage cracking to show dismay. The agent still wouldn’t meet any of their eyes.

  The other Golem shook her head. ‘Doubt it – not at that time, anyway. I was listed as a “highly skilled recon asset”; a lot of us had that label, when we were around non-Project personnel for extended periods. Since then—’ She paused. ‘Seems he’s picked up a few details, or he wouldn’t be here.’

  Hiroshi folded his hands before him on the table. ‘Is that true, Agent Costa?’ He showed no anger, only professional calm and curiosity. ‘Were you aware of our existence and capabilities, prior to the Turmoil and your assignment to pursue my colleagues?’

  Costa remained silent. Patrick edged closer to his fellow prisoner. ‘Dammit, Costa,’ he growled. ‘If you screwed me and my people over some eyes-only bullshit—’

  Anger flashed across Costa’s face. ‘No,’ he snapped. ‘I—’ He hesitated, then sighed. ‘I had suspicions, when I first worked with her.’ He pointed to Megan; she stared stonily in return. ‘She always kept to her quarters, except when out in the field or called for briefings. The other teams went out every mission carrying a mini arsenal; she never hefted anything heavier than an MP5, and no other gear besides the knife and “prototype armoured bodysuit” we always saw her wear. At the time, I thought it was part of her training, or maybe just her personality. Minimise contact with others, even allies, in order to maintain necessary distance for operational duties.’

  He rattled off the sentence as though reading it from a manual – which he probably had, at some point in the past. ‘I thought she was a special project, shared between the Agency and one SF branch or another; all I knew for sure is that she’d been assigned to the operation for reasons way beyond my clearance. It wasn’t until I saw some of the after-reports, containing photos of her work in Grozny, Tblisi and Maripol, that I realised there was more to her story – and maybe those from Pakistan and North Korea. But I never heard anything about the Project, until I was read into it a short time before the break-in at the Advent facility.’

  Patrick’s face was turning red. The set of his body showed he wanted to pounce on Costa and beat his brains into the floor. Seeing this, Hiroshi addressed him. ‘I’m guessing you’ve been read into some of these matters yourself, Colonel?’

  The colonel’s face worked furiously. ‘Not as much as some,’ he grumbled, sending Costa another glare. ‘Up till a day ago, I’d only heard rumours – stories, like he said. Walking patrol in Lahore, Panmunjom and Luzon, I picked up a lot of tales. Huge men, or women, covered in black, coming outta nowhere to slice or snipe, or blow up arms caches or supply convoys. Back then it sounded like just stories, propaganda to pump up the Measured Response idea. At a stretch, I thought it
might’ve been some balls-out Delta Force, or an off-the-books Agency team with classified gear. Nothing ever crossed my mind about… you.’ He scowled at the assembled Golems. ‘Wasn’t until Agent Costa and his “colleagues” showed up that I heard the first about this “Project”, either.’

  ‘And who were these colleagues?’ Hiroshi asked. The words were polite, but Greg saw the coiled awareness in his old comrade.

  Patrick jerked his head at Costa. Hiroshi looked to the agent, silently asking the same question. Costa licked his lips, the first sign of real nervousness he’d shown. He doesn’t know, Greg realised. Or he knows– but not enough. And what he knows terrifies him, Agency and all. The agent cleared his throat. ‘He’s… a special contractor. My people’ve kept him around since a couple of years before the Turmoil. From the little background I was given, he used to be on the staff of half a dozen Pentagon pet projects, and a major shareholder in Advent Tech.’

  Greg whipped his head around. He saw the same surprise on Jorge’s and Leah’s faces. Megan’s visage darkened even more. The tiniest edge crept into Hiroshi’s voice. ‘I see. And you were aware, correct, of Advent’s role in the Project?’

  ‘Its initial role, yes. What happened after the Project was separated and became a wholly Pentagon operation, I have no idea. Same with the man I was assigned to, when this all started. He became de facto head of Advent during the Turmoil, when the company really started circling the drain. I heard rumours he was putting it to use on other work for the Agency or the brass, but nothing more than that. From what I’ve seen of his operation and people, there’s not much doubt in my mind anymore.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Leah demanded. ‘The man you’re supposed to be supervising?’