by Nya Rawlyns
The tech blanched with an oh crap I'm gonna die look on his sallow face, as well he should. Lately he'd been operating on a short fuse, even on good days. Today didn't look like one of those.
"Sorry, sir. I came on at 16:00. Tank didn't log nothing in, and I didn't pick it up 'til it was time for the next report."
"So," he paused for effect, "let me take a wild guess. It never came in."
"No, sir. I've been dialing for maybe two solid hours. Nothing. Nobody home."
He stared hard at the hapless com specialist, enjoying watching the boy squirm. It had been a dull-as-dirt day waiting on word from the team. Knutr had been on his ass, giving him the 'time is money' spiel all day long. He had an itch to pass it on and the tech happened to be in the line of fire. Like he was fond of saying, 'it all flows downhill.'
"And maybe it might have been a good idea to pass your concerns up the line. Or am I wrong about that?"
"Yes, I mean ... no sir, Mr. O'Brien."
"Gunny, boy. Just Gunny. Now, move your ass over and let me have a go at this."
Jake sat on a swivel chair and poked at the gain. He ran a quick diagnostics just in case the idiot had forgotten that crucial step when he'd come on shift. Knutr's focus on the bottom line had him hiring subpar techs, some fresh out of school, still wet behind the ears. He'd have preferred a former Marine comspec, or even some teenage hoodlum off the mean streets of Baltimore who knew his way around electronics.
"Falcon, this is base, come in please. Falcon, do you read?" Jake checked the time on the monitor, set to elapsed time since last contact with the team. He didn't like what he saw or what he wasn't hearing. Nothing, black hole nothing. The team could have run afoul of some indigenes and shut down the Portal to protect their delivery, or it was a technical glitch. Neither option gave him a warm fuzzy.
He took a deep breath and moved away from the console. "Keep trying, son. I want to hear the minute you make contact."
The tech moved into position and reacquired his headset, obviously anxious to rid his station of unwanted interference. Pausing at the doorway, with clear line-of-sight to the console, Jake saw the kid, name of Fletcher if he remembered correctly, get up from his desk and saunter over to a young woman deep into a PC World magazine.
The young man nodded to the girl and hitched a hip on her desk. She gave her monitors a quick check, made a note in the log, then turned expectantly to Fletcher. Clearly he was her only entertainment option for the next six hours of her shift.
"What's up?"
"Ah, Kier's off the reservation again. Between him and that scary new dude with the limp, I don't know who's worse."
The girl snorted, "I'd put my money on Kieran. That asshole's probably hangin' out, shooting up somewhere. Don't see how Jake gets off being all 'I'm the badass guy in charge' when his baby boy is such a fuck up."
"Yeah, this is the third time this month. And I'm the one who gets the shit thrown at 'em, know what I mean, Addy?"
Addy nodded and settled in for what looked to be an extended bitch session over their crap jobs. She asked, not trying to mask her curiosity, "What's with the new dude, Trey? And what's with the Falcon moniker?"
Jake waited for Fletcher's take on the situation. It was a question he'd entertained more than once.
"Well, I heard something interesting from the first shift, something somebody let drop by accident." Fletcher had her undivided. He paused, letting the tidbit sink in before unleashing the big tah-dah.
The girl scowled, her patience running thin. "So? Do you see a crystal ball here?"
"Alright, alright. Don't get your thongs in a twist. What I heard was that this guy called Falcon is actually—are you ready for this—the big boss' son!"
"You're kidding. No way. Knutr's kid?"
Fletcher chuckled and shook his head no. "He's Gunnarr's youngest son."
Addy's mouth fell open. "You don't mean the one from...?"
"Yep. From opposition central, the great and good Althings. That's exactly who I mean." Fletcher crossed his arms, pleased with the girl's look of awe and respect. "I guess he got the Falcon tag 'cause it's, like, oooh scary or some such shit."
Jake was impressed. Knutr and Gunnarr had played it cagey when it came to Trey and his role in Greyfalcon. They should have known better. Down here in the nerve center, their currency was information, as he was so fond of reminding his charges, and Fletcher had enough with that tidbit to set himself above the others vying for the girl's attention. The kid reached over to Addy's earbuds and slipped one end into his right ear, leaving the other for her to share. Neither heard his chuckle as he left to make his way to visit Gunnarr.
****
"O'Brien, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Gunnarr lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. He offered the pack to Jake who accepted one gratefully.
The two men leaned comfortably on the ledge overlooking the parking lot. Jake took his time, brow knotted in concentration as he composed his thoughts. Gunnarr pulled the collar of his coat higher around his neck. The unusual warm spell over Thanksgiving had lulled everyone into thinking they were going to have a mild winter.
While Gunnarr waited, the man took a drag and exhaled with a rush. "We may have a problem, Capo."
Gunnarr raised an eyebrow, interested. O'Brien was a man of few words so when he spoke, it behooved him to listen. When he said there was a problem, he was not exaggerating. Gunnarr looked around the roof of Greyfalcon headquarters and recalled the night only a few short months before when his men had shot and captured his former employee and sometime friend.
He hadn't been there when the old fool and his daughter had tried a snatch and grab on Jake’s loser son, Kieran. His second-in-command, Knutr, had had the unpleasant task of informing him that they'd confirmed that O'Brien's daughter was a shifter. In the process of mounting a full-scale retrieval, Knutr’s men had nearly killed Jake. That was bad enough but then the idiots also managed to lose their most valuable asset in history. That hadn't ended well, for any of them.
Gunnarr attempted to keep his voice calm, though his gut clenched in anticipation of news of the you’re fucked variety. "Which one this time, Jake?"
"Both of them."
"Shit. Now what?" Gunnar pitched his smoke over the edge and lit another. What he wanted was a stiff drink. They could ill afford any more screw ups by either Kieran or Trey.
"There's been no communication with the Portal for over six hours. And I checked the comlink. Everything is operational."
"Damn it. We can't afford to lose that delivery. We were taking a huge risk going through such a technologically advanced dimension as it was."
Jake glared and stated flatly, "Knutr was the one who wanted the short cut to avoid the Feds. I know you all are worried about the Somalian pirate situation, but sending that much ordnance at one time's more than risky." Jake paced along the ledge, his shoulders hunched, determined to have his say. "Knutr's up to something and, whether or not you trust him, or that goddam son of yours..."
Gunnarr held up a hand, a warning gesture Jake usually respected. But his old friend was too worried about his son going out on mission after mission with a man clearly looking to get himself, and everyone around him, killed. Reckless didn't begin to touch Trey's behavior. Unfortunately, Kieran had developed a serious case of hero worship and slavishly followed Trey's lead, including activities during their downtime that threatened to spill over into their assignments.
As Capo he was painfully aware of the undercurrents in the gossip network. Few were happy about Trey and his disregard for protocol but he'd allowed him free rein, praying to Freyja that decision wouldn't come back and bite him in the ass. For all intents and purposes his son looked and acted like a psychopath, but so far no one could fault him for not getting the job done.
"It would be wise of you to remember that he is my son, Jake. I sent Kieran with him because that boy is a stone-cold killer and the best marksman I've ever seen. They make a nearly invincible team." Jake mout
hed an obscenity but the capo ignored him and continued. "What they do for recreation is no concern of mine ... or yours."
Jake growled, "You'd better be concerned, Capo. Because one of these days, one or the other—or both—will go out there, stoned out of their gourds, and whole teams will be lost. Along with your precious arms shipments."
Gunnarr turned away from O'Brien and gnawed on his lower lip. While he preferred to let the dynamic with Kieran and his son play out without interference, he did share O'Brien's concerns over Knutr. He suspected there was more to this operation than even he was privy to. It irked him to be out of the loop, and he was coming to the painful conclusion that his trust in his cousin had been misplaced.
To make matters worse, ever since they'd recovered Trey, close to death, he'd sensed that his son cared little if he lived or died. He'd strong-armed a team of surgeons into saving Trey's leg. Then he'd brought in the best healers from every clan, working around the clock to repair the shattered limb. He'd called in every chit owed him, running roughshod over his semi-independent contractors, building a debt it would take years to pay off. With so much at stake, if his son wanted to take risks, it was only right that he do so in the service of family and Greyfalcon.
The problem was complicated in that if he pulled Trey out of service it would cast a shadow of weakness and distrust that his clan could ill afford. He and his sons, all of them, had to be united on this matter or all would be lost to the competing clans or the Russian mob. He needed more options. He lit another cigarette, buying time, thinking hard.
Yes, it was the perfect solution...
He looked at Jake, not bothering to hide the smirk of satisfaction at coming up with a workaround sure to irritate all involved. "I will put you in charge of seeing to their good behavior. And it will be your responsibility to make sure nothing happens to those shipments. We've already lost too many assets..." Too late he stuttered to a stop as O'Brien blanched and wavered, his face a mask of pure agony. He backpedaled quickly, appalled at how that had sounded. "I'm sorry, old friend. I didn't mean..."
Jake straightened, his face tight, mouth set in a grim line. "If there is nothing else? I will let you know if and when the situation changes." Jake marched to the access door but paused before he went down the stairwell. He turned back and said, so quietly Gunnarr barely heard him, "He's my son. He's all I have left."
Gunnarr felt sucker-punched. He hadn't meant to bring up O'Brien's loss. Wife and daughter—assets of inestimable value—were both gone. He had regrets and the parties responsible had been punished. Partially to salve his conscience, he'd offered Jake a position with Greyfalcon, feeding the man half-truths that lay blame at the Althing's door for the deaths of his wife and daughter. The sad reality was that it had been an unfortunate sequence of events in which his people had played pivotal roles. There was plenty of blame to go around.
Fortunately for his organization, Jake and Kieran served a useful purpose, each having unique skills that made recalcitrant clans think twice before challenging his hegemony over the arms and drug trade.
But, damn his son to hell. It was bad enough he'd deserted his family to take up with the do-gooder Althings. Killing his brother, Bryn, was unforgivable, though he suspected the boy had acted in self-defense. Neither ever brought the topic up, but both were acutely aware of the implications of that act and how it placed Gunnarr in a shaky position as titular Capo.
Yes, the boy was becoming a problem.
****
"Base, do you read? Out. Base, do you read." The comspecialist, Zack, threw the handset onto the soft sand. "Dammit, Kier, why don't they pick up?"
"Keep trying. We can't move out until Falcon gets back from reconnoiter."
"Why'd it close? It's never shut down on us before." Zack was close to panicking and he didn't particularly care who knew it. "We're not getting out of this one, are we," he whined, more a statement than a question.
"Shut up, let me think. There's a reason we can't get through. Either they changed the code or we fucked up." Kieran ran through his check list but as far as he could tell, they'd keyed the sequence correctly. There was no way this mess was their fault.
He barked at Zack, "Gimme the specs on the indigenes. Maybe we missed something there."
Pulling his notepad from the com-unit's backpack, Zack tapped in an access code. He scrolled down the pages, then handed the compact computer to his commander.
"Boss, I don't see how they've got enough techno smarts to learn how to find one of these things, let alone how to dial it."
"Well, they have enough smarts to make weapons."
Zack scoffed, "Swords, bows 'n arrows."
"You think that’s funny, asshole? We have one dead and one who's not gonna make it unless we get him out of here. They managed just fine with primitive weapons.” He glanced quickly over the pile of rocks offering shelter, worry creasing his brow. He muttered, “How smart do you have to be to learn how to pull a trigger? We let this stuff fall into the wrong hands, we have Star Wars, not just World War III." Kieran pointed to the man on the ground. "Check his pulse. He hasn't moved for a while."
Crawling over to their companion, Zack checked the prone man's vitals and shook his head. "He's gone, Kier. Damn."
After a quick sweep with the scope, Kieran growled low in his throat, "Get behind me. Now. And stay low."
Zack crab-walked to the shelter of a granite outcrop and drew his Sig Sauer P226. He did a quick peek around the boulder. Teeth clenched he hissed, "I got two at ten and another at seven o'clock." With his back against the outcrop, Zack settled into a crouch, listening hard.
Motioning with three fingers, Kieran pointed off to his right. He swung his M40A3 sniper rifle toward the advancing party and made minor adjustments on his Nightforce scope. They'd taken position on high ground with limited visibility to the off side of the Portal. But the advance party still hovered just out of range. Kieran settled in to wait.
"Where's Falcon? Do you think they got him?"
Kieran shrugged. He disliked questions for which he had no answers and idle speculation interfered with his concentration. But Zack persisted, his impatience translating to loose lips and nervous movement that would attract attention to their position.
"Shut up or I'll shoot you myself." Kieran knew that wouldn't keep him quiet for long but it was the best he could do.
He reached into a pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, wrapping it around his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes. He never got used to the wild changes in weather as they traversed the Portals. He'd thought of inter-dimensional travel as simply stepping from one geographic location to another—roughly similar, like a mirror image perhaps. There'd been no way to prepare for the upside down, inside out nature of the alien worlds. Few of them resembled Earth and mercifully few had populations anywhere near his own planet's level of technology and sophistication. But, as Trey was quick to point out, that didn't mean there weren't any. It just meant they hadn't run across them yet. Not a comforting thought.
The whereabouts of Trey was getting worrisome. He was the closest thing to a friend he'd had in a long time, if ever. But there were a lot of things he didn't understand about the man they all called the Falcon.
Why did he stay when no one trusted him and he clearly didn't give a shit about anything or anybody? There was a story there but so far he'd come up empty. As for the rest of the hierarchy at Greyfalcon, he'd been with them long enough to have gleaned intel on each of the principals in the organization. It always amused him that conversations would flow about him, even those meant for someone far above his pay grade, and he could absorb it all like a sponge to look at when he'd come down off his high.
His tours in the 'Stans had given him a taste for adventure and experimentation. Gunnarr’s organization had provided him the perfect mix of targets and toys and recreation. He kept his head down and did his job. When Trey showed up the stakes changed and the adrenalin peaks reached new heights, along with the r
isks.
Then there was the small matter of his father ... and his sister. Kieran knew he'd better shut down that line of thought. He looked over at Zack, who had dozed off. The man was going to be road kill, probably not worth trying to save. He'd let the Falcon worry about that. All he needed to do was take out any targets that got within range. And wait.
A ping of gravel to his left alerted him to Trey's approach. He did a quick sweep to make sure the advance party hadn't changed positions significantly. If silence could be loud, this was the place for it. It wasn't an absence of sound but one with a low ambient rumble, just at his threshold, easy to block and too easy to ignore. He felt like he'd been dumped into an alien slumber party.
Trey slid next to Kieran and muttered, "We're locked out."
Speaking low, the two men crouched below the rock face. Kieran didn't like that his friend seemed worried. It was not a good look for him. He asked, "How do you know?"
"I just do. We have to find another Portal. There's a fair-sized settlement about ten klicks from here. There should be a jump point close-by."
"Are you nuts?" Kieran pointed to pile of crates scattered across a flat section on the outcrop. "We can't haul this crap that far with just the three of us. And besides, a settlement means people, people trying to kill us. Or hadn't you noticed we've got two dead, and one who's gonna be if he doesn't wake his lazy ass up."
Sneering, Trey said, "The Portals are mostly near population centers. If we're lucky, we won't need to go that far. And the shipment's not coming with."
"Falcon, man, you can't leave it. Your dad makes like it's the prime directive. We leave this stash and that scouting party becomes the big bad on the planet and we get our heads handed to us on a platter."
"Don't worry. Nobody's going to use it. Do you still have that C-4 with you?"
"You can't mean that..." He swallowed the objection, knowing they had little choice.
Leaning against the rock, Kieran shaded his eyes from the intense silver-white light. They sat on a sandstone outcrop heavily laced with iron that turned the layers brilliant shades of red and orange. The land below undulated under a heavy growth of some sort of grass or reed he couldn't identify. It looked to be six-to-seven feet tall, useful for hiding, not so good for navigating as there was no way to determine direction.
