Kris turned to Jack, muttering under her breath, “Where are those ambulances?”
They headed down the stairs. “Boys, stay close to us or you may be mistaken for prisoners. You deserve our gratitude.”
Admittedly, they’d turned their coats several times in the last—Kris glanced at her watch—only a half hour! Still, Bronc and his friends had done the right thing after doing the wrong thing.
“Marines coming in,” Jack called as they approached the main floor. It was good he did.
They were still blacked out from head to toe, a shadow of a shadow. That camouflage had probably saved their lives tonight. But now they were approaching fellow Marines.
There had been a fight here. Kids with rifles and men in dark clothes lay where they’d fallen.
Several of Penny’s hand grenades had been used here.
A statue had been rolled up to the stairwell exit. A marine and a security guard looked at Kris over pistol sights. Beside them, two or three more lay where they had died.
The Marine raised the aim of his automatic and whispered a dry mouthed “Semper Fi.”
And they passed within.
The south hall had gone from being a bright, gala party to a dark, bloody, slippery mess of groaning humanity. At least it groaned where it wasn’t deadly silent.
It was far too quiet for Kris’s tastes. She concentrated on watching her step and getting where she needed to go.
Behind her, one of the teens added the contents of his stomach to the slime they waded through.
Penny and several surviving Marines held the middle of the hall. The Navy lieutenant and those around her were just risking sitting up.
While several of the Marines stood to greet their comrades, Penny settled for just sitting there. A long sliver of bronze had sliced through the flesh of her upper right arm.
The lieutenant eyed the spear point in her flesh and shook her head ruefully. “I survived this whole bloody mess, and then you make your usual entrance and whack me one.”
“Sorry about that,” Kris said, and tried to put some actual feeling into the words. Even she didn’t hear any. “I’ll try to get someone to look at that.”
“In a thousand years after the really bad cases are cared for,” Penny said, looking around. “Where are the ambulances?”
“I don’t know.” Kris hated to admit it. “And Nelly says we’re still being jammed. Can’t say squat.”
“Kris, I think I can home in on the jamming,” Nelly said. “It seems to be coming from below us.”
Kris took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. So this thing wasn’t over yet. Maybe she could hand Nelly over to a fresh Marine and let a couple of them go chasing into the bowels of this building.
So there is a limit to just how much a Longknife can take, a small voice said somewhere inside her.
And this isn’t it, another part of her growled.
“Thank you, Nelly. Jack, you and your Marines up for another ramble through the artwork?”
Jack nodded. The “Ooo-Rah” from the Marines might have been a bit below their usual enthusiasm, but they got it out.
From outside somewhere came the familiar sound of M-6s barking on single shot. Marines had someone under fire.
The rapid staccato of machine pistols answered them, but only for a few seconds. Then the night got quiet again.
“Nelly?” Kris asked.
“I am still jammed.”
Kris turned back for the stairs.
“Be careful, Kris,” Penny called. “Don’t be the last one killed in this shoot-out.”
“I’ll do my best,” Kris answered over her shoulder.
“So will I,” Jack shot back.
“Us, too,” the Marines added.
“Me, too,” came from the kids who trailed right along.
“I guess I better go along with you,” one of the Marines with a rifle said. “Someone might have left a little gift behind and I suspect you’ll want a demolition tech,” he muttered.
And so Kris led her scratch team once more into the black mouth of hell.
56
The emergency lights in the stairwell had been a casualty of the fight here. Kris found herself searching for a foothold among the dead bodies and failing.
Jack brought up his flashlight without being asked.
The defenders above had put up quite a fight.
Kris made her way carefully, avoiding the bodies, going from one patch of damp blood to the next open bit of gore. Behind her the others followed in her tracks.
She reached the ground floor and peeked out over the sights of her rifle.
The butcher bill for tonight was going to be huge.
These people must have been mowed down early in the attack. Many of them appeared to be security types taking a break, or actual government workers who’d picked a bad night to work late. Grant hadn’t considered these folks important enough to keep alive.
“Nelly, where’s that jammer?” Kris bit out
“Not on this floor.”
“Is there a basement or sub-basement?” Kris asked over her shoulder.
“There’s a door here, in the back of the stairwell,” a kid’s voice called.
“Don’t touch it,” the demolition tech called.
Too late.
The explosion was subdued, but the boy’s scream was harsh on the taut nerves left by this evening.
Kris and the Marines got back to the stairwell to find two boys bleeding. One badly.
Jack stripped off the boy’s belt and made a tourniquet for the shattered arm. Another Marine cut strips from the boy’s shirt and used it to bandage his chest.
The demolition expert ran his fingers around the door. It was still solidly closed.
“Why don’t you wait outside?” he suggested to Kris and the rest.
Nobody argued with him.
A long moment later there was a click, and the sergeant said, “The door’s open. You all stay here while I check out the stairs.”
Kris felt guilty, but she stayed put.
“Do you need some light,” Bronc said, eyeing the darkness yawning from the newly opened stairwell.
“Don’t mind if you do,” the expert said, “but you stay well behind me and don’t touch anything you don’t have to.”
Bronc followed the sergeant, one hand holding a light, the other hand in his pocket.
The other kids and the Marines moved as far from the door as they could.
“It’s clear to the next landing” came a full minute later. “Stay to the center of the stairs and don’t touch the walls.”
They followed, Jack first, Kris second, the remaining three kids coming up the rear.
“Is it on this level?” Kris asked Nelly.
“It is at the other end of the building, the north end, and I think it is a floor lower. Or maybe the floor angles down. I do not know, Kris.”
“There’s more stairs here. Give me a second to check them,” the sergeant said, and moved off, with Bronc two steps behind him.
Kris glanced up. There were emergency lights in the corners. Tiny red lights flashed, testimony that they worked, just turned off. She announced that.
“Yeah, I noticed that, too,” the sergeant drawled back. “I didn’t really want to see what happened if I turned them back on. Do you?”
Kris agreed to the dark.
A moment later they were descending to the next level.
Emergency lights were on here, making this concrete sub-basement seem almost cheerful after the rest of the evening.
There also were no bodies. No wreckage from the fight. Here was a simple, functional area where workers did what needed to be done to make the rest of the place work.
It seemed almost painfully normal.
“The jamming is coming from the far end of the hallway,” Nelly announced.
The sergeant led off, carefully doing his job. The rest followed in his footsteps.
It seemed easy.
Right up
to the discovery of the jammer.
It was in a squat black box, sitting on a table, with antenna leads connecting it to pipes and power lines.
The sergeant studied it and shook his head.
“How much do you want this thing?”
“I’d like to take it home for study. It’s the only thing that’s managed to jam my computer’s net,” Kris said.
“The only thing,” Nelly added for emphasis.
“But right now we need to turn it off. Kill this jamming and get some ambulances in here,” Kris added.
“This baby looks to me to be rigged to explode. Say twelve different ways to Sunday. It is not meant to be turned off,” the sergeant said, shaking his head.
“You need some explosives?” Jack asked. “Penny gave me her last grenade.”
“That and some wire.”
“Here’s some wire,” a kid said.
“Don’t touch it!” came from half a dozen others.
“I wasn’t going to,” the kid answered.
“Smart kid, you’re learning,” the sergeant said, pulling off his belt and beginning to unwind a long filament from it.
The others backed out of the room. The sergeant did, too, a half minute later, the end of the string in his hand.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen when I yank on that grenade. They could have put a small charge in that jammer, but…so far…they ain’t done nothing small.
“What do you say that the rest of you mosey on down to the other stairwell. I don’t think we’re going to bring the whole dang building down on us.” He glanced back in the room. “I don’t think.”
Kris and the others moved down the hall. “Nelly, could you drop off some nanos. Something to activate once the jammer goes down.”
“I am doing that, Kris.”
Kris and her team reached the possible safety of the distant stairwell and she waved back at the technician.
He almost closed the door to the jammer’s room, stepped back across the hall, held up three, then two, then one finger.
Then yanked.
He started jogging toward them as Kris counted, “Four, three, two, one.”
The grenade went off.
A second, louder explosion followed a moment later, blowing out the door to the room that had held the jammer.
“Something is going on down the hall,” Nelly shouted.
The sergeant took off at a flat-out sprint.
And the north end of the corridor exploded into a roiling ball of flame, reaching out to engulf him.
The Marine reached the hall that led off to the northern stairwell. He threw himself into it.
Kris and the rest of her team fell back into their own stairwell and slammed the metal fire door shut.
A half second later, the door blew open swinging around to bash Bronc and the kid standing beside him.
Overpressure knocked Kris against the stairwell, popped her ears, and left her with an overwhelming need to yawn.
Around her, Jack and the other Marines, black as witches’ hearts since Nelly turned on their camouflage, went back to wearing red and blues, their faces brown, pink, or black as they’d been born.
And Kris found herself in a gray dress.
“I am no longer jammed,” Nelly announced. “But your protective coloring controls are all dead.”
“I think that’s okay,” Kris said. “Commander Tordon, can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear. What’s been keeping you, dearie?”
“This and that. And some of the other. Listen, we’ve had a really bloody situation here. We’ve got a major medical incident on our hands and require maximum medical assistance. Where is it?”
“I don’t know, Kris. The rest of this burg ain’t exactly been sleeping. Your friend Martinez and his Fraternal Order of Proud Caballeros managed to hold the warehouse that I have such fond memories of. The streets over there are covered with the bodies of optimistic gangers who weren’t as good as they thought they were. But it wasn’t easy. Martinez was talking about his stand at the Alamo.”
Kris did not remark at the historical reference. It was a different planet and if the words worked, fine.
“Anyway,” Gramma Ruth went on, “Martinez and some of his crew took off a couple of minutes ago to help you. Let me patch him through to you.”
The sergeant rejoined Kris. He signaled that he could not hear a thing. His eyes were bloodshot, and burst blood vessels showed on his face, but he seemed about as chipper as someone in his profession could be who had faced the monster in its lair and lived to tell the story.
Carefully, Kris and company worked their way back up the stairs.
And Martinez came on the net.
“Where are you?” Kris demanded.
“I’m stopped at a roadblock.”
“Well blow the dang thing.”
“It’s not their roadblock, Your Highness, it’s our roadblock. Some of my brother cops seem more interested in keeping the media reporters out of there than in letting the ambulances in.”
“Oh my” was about all Kris could muster.
And as she arrived at the main floor, who should she meet coming down from the upper floors, but the third vice president. His tie was cockeyed, and his shirt’s buttons were now done in the wrong order. And the gorgeous blonde following him had a very proud grin on her face.
“We spent the entire attack hiding under a table,” the third vice president said, with almost enough conviction to persuade a four-year-old.
Kris knew, even as she did it, that she’d be in deep trouble for this. But it didn’t keep her from reaching into her totally wrecked hairdo and pulling out her automatic.
Then she jammed it under the jaw of Eden’s third vice president.
“What do you want to bet me that your Inspector Johnson is commanding the roadblock up the road from here?”
“Of course he is.” It was the wrong answer for this politician.
Kris grabbed the man by his tie and hauled him out of the stairwell. She aimed his head so he got a good look at the slaughter yard that the main hall had become.
“Oh my” was the man’s shocked reply.
“Tell your man to open the road. To get the ambulances in here.”
“We can’t do that. They’ll talk to the media. This is horrible.”
“Yes, Mr. Third Vice President, this place is horrible, people are dying, and you and I are talking about totally irrelevant matters.
“Tonight people have been trying to shoot me dead and blow me to bits. And I have shot people dead and hurled explosives that blew them to pieces. It would be no bother at all for me to add you to the long list of people who died here tonight.”
“Oh” came low and slow to the man’s lips.
“Take down the roadblock.”
The politician looked down at the automatic at his throat. For a long second he eyed it, alarm growing in his eyes. Kris could almost hear his brain grinding as the pistol changed from a party prop to an instrument of death.
To the source of his impending doom.
Eden’s third vice president brought his wrist up to his mouth. “Inspector Johnson.”
“Yes, sir” came only a second later.
“Allow the emergency services vehicles in. Allow everyone in. Close down the roadblock. We need help here. Lots of it. Now.”
“What about the media?”
“Don’t worry about them. Just get help in here.”
“Sir, is Kris Longknife pressuring you?”
“Inspector, do it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The line went dead. Kris didn’t let go of the politician. She didn’t lower the gun. Open covenants openly arrived at was one of her father’s favorite sayings. But until this covenant started to pay off with medical care here, it hadn’t been agreed to and Kris wanted this man to know that his chances of living to see the morning were not getting any better.
Gunnery Sergeant Brown kicked in the front door of the rotunda
.
“I think the ambulances are moving, finally,” he announced, “Yes, those blasted whirley gig lights are finally moving.”
“Let me know when the first one gets here,” Kris ordered, not releasing her grip on one pale, political fish. Maybe he was finally getting a good look at what lay around him.
Or maybe the closeness of his own brush with mortality was settling in.
A long minute later, the first ambulance arrived.
Kris didn’t even waste a sigh when she tossed the politician aside. His knees failed to support him, and he fell on a still oozing body. The lovely blonde did not stoop to offer him solace.
She’d spotted a newsie coming in and made a beeline for him.
Lieutenant Martinez arrived in the first wave, a pair of alternate media reports at his elbow. They looked around wide eyed. One lost her lunch, but they kept their cameras rolling.
This was not something that would be lost somewhere between the happening and the eleven o’clock news.
Oh, and Inspector Johnson showed up.
He made a beeline straight for Kris.
57
Kris had a command to care for. One that had bled deeply.
Gunnery Sergeant Brown announced he was the proud owner of ten prisoners. “Would have been eleven, but dang if the officer that I personally plugged didn’t managed to smash a tooth or something and kill himself.”
“I sure wanted to talk to him,” Gunny finished.
“So did I, Gunny, but I’m starting to think Greenfeld’s powers that be don’t want to be at war with us any more than our honchos want to be at war with them, official like.”
Which seemed to leave Gunny Brown with something to chew on.
Kris knew that the first thing she should have done was go hunting for the ambassador. Instead, she trotted for the riverside walk to check on Captain DeVar. No surprise, the zoo collecting around her, trotted right along. Even Johnson.
The wounded captain was just being lifted onto a stretcher.
“He going to be okay?” Kris asked the nearest medic.
The woman looked worried. “He’s lost a lot of blood. We got to get him to Doc fast.”
Kris Longknife Audacious Page 32
