Black Sword (Decker's War, #5)

by Eric Thomson

  “Nothing’s perfect, Zack.”

  “Did Ari show you her results so far?”

  “Yes, she did. Now go to sleep. Tomorrow will be unpleasant.”

  *

  “How’s our guest?”

  Decker, feeling less than fully refreshed after five unsettled hours tossing and turning, peered over the duty sergeant’s shoulder at the video feed from Wynt’s cell.

  “Shivering, confused, frequently angry. He’s been yelling on and off for someone to open the door. Every so often, he’ll threaten us with dire consequences. Should I have him fed and watered?”

  “No. We want him as uncomfortable as possible for the first round of questions. He’ll be treated no different from any insurgent or terrorist we might have captured.”

  “Harsh.” Decker understood the sergeant’s comment was a statement of fact, not couched as a criticism. “Going from staff colonel to rebel scum. Live by betrayal; die betrayed, as an old CO of mine used to say.”

  “That sounds like Kal Ryent,” Decker remarked.

  “Yep. One of the best squadron commanders out there. He recommended me for the Special Forces Regiment.”

  “I know him well. He’s been Talyn and my backup on a few missions, and his sergeant major, Gus Vanleith, is a buddy.”

  “Good old Gus.” The sergeant grinned. “I’d pay money to watch him and Josh Bayliss tie one on at the Pegasus Club. I think the universe would implode from sheer awesomeness.”

  Decker chuckled.

  “Probably, but not before they clean out the bar.” He paused when movement on the monitoring screen attracted his attention. “Looks like our boy’s yelling again.”

  “Yeah, he is. I cut the audio because it turned annoying real fast. Everything’s being recorded anyway.”

  Soft footsteps caught Zack’s attention, and he turned to see Talyn with a mug of coffee in each hand. She offered him one.

  “I trust our pensioner is becoming suitably agitated?”

  “That he is, Commander,” the sergeant said. “He’s had a snit fit every few minutes since waking. I’m getting exhausted just watching.”

  “Good. Let’s let him stew for a few more hours.” She nodded towards the hallway. “Breakfast?”

  Decker gave Wynt, shouting silently at his unseen jailers, one more glance, then said, “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Redmon joined them at a narrow table a few minutes later.

  “Now that we’re seeing things in the cold light of day, am I the only one mildly weirded out by our illegal imprisonment of a Marine Corps colonel? Especially one who works on the Commandant’s staff?”

  Decker considered her question while chewing on his breakfast sandwich, then swallowed and shook his head.

  “Nope, not me. Not anymore. Whatever qualms I had vanished once we threw him into the cell. At that point, it was way too late for regrets, so now he’s no more than a traitor needing interrogation, followed by termination.”

  “Harsh.”

  “Yeah, that’s what the duty sergeant said. Mind you, this isn’t our first time, although it’s our first Marine colonel. You get used to it.”

  “You’re not supposed to get used to it, Zack,” Talyn said, scowling. “Remember our conversation a while back?”

  “Fine. Ari, you never get used to it, but there are times when unpleasant things must happen to nasty people for good reasons. Is that better, honey?”

  “Marginally. And changing the subject, did you find any persons of interest on the video of Kydd’s party, Ari?”

  “Other than the ones you’ve already seen, I picked up a few high-ranking civilian Fleet officials, a couple more three and four stars, some Caledonia government civil servants and the odd interstellar conglomerate executive. You’ll be glad to know I saw no one remotely connected to intelligence, counterintelligence or security.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Talyn said. “If any of our own brass are in cahoots with the political side, they’ll make sure to stay utterly deniable, and that means no fancy soirées. Not that I can see the Chief of Naval Intelligence hobnobbing with that lot anyhow.”

  Decker drained his coffee.

  “I think Josh and I will take a walk around the block, check our perimeter, and enjoy the fresh air while Wynt marinates in his own fear. Perhaps a cold-water hosing before the first round of interrogation would be a good idea.”

  “Speaking from experience again?” Talyn’s eyes took on a mischievous glint. She glanced at Redmon. “Zack’s been where Wynt is, and more than once.”

  “Yup. Mind you, that particular situation is something I won’t ever get used to.” He pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “Since you’ve been on the giving end more often than I have, let me know when you think Wynt’s ripe.”

  *

  “Ah, there you are.” Talyn looked over her shoulder as Decker entered the command post shortly before noon. “Had a good walk with Josh?”

  “Two grumpy old Marines giving vagrants the evil eye? You bet it was a good walk. How’s Wynt?”

  “Ripe. QD’s about to give him an impromptu cold shower, then take him to interrogation room number one. Come and watch.”

  When the door to his cell opened, Wynt froze, eyes widening at the sight of two burly, masked men in dark civilian clothing, pointing wicked looking Shrehari weaponry at him. A third, dragging a hose, stepped into the cell and aimed the nozzle at Wynt’s chest. Before the captive colonel could react, a stream of cold water made him stagger backward until he hit the far wall. The trooper gave him a good soaking before he withdrew.

  Another masked man entered, this one QD, judging by his size and the way he moved. He held out wrist restraints and gestured that Wynt should raise his arms and place his hands together. When Wynt hesitated, one of the armed guards stepped forward and raised his weapon to take aim. It was enough to ensure Wynt’s cooperation.

  With one of Vinn’s men on each side, holding him by the upper arms, the captive shuffled across the hallway, bare feet on cold concrete, to the nearest interrogation suite. They forced him into a metal chair designed to be thoroughly uncomfortable. After shackling his arms and legs, they left, closing the door behind them.

  “How long do you intend to leave him like that?” Decker asked, fascinated by the wide range of the emotions coursing across Wynt’s face, fear being dominant among them.

  Talyn glanced at the time.

  “As long as it takes us to have a leisurely lunch. I prefer to interrogate on a full stomach. There’s nothing worse than to feel sympathetic hunger pangs with a prisoner who hasn’t eaten for a while.”

  “Now that,” Decker told Redmon as he pointed at Talyn with his thumb, “is actually harsh.”

  Forty-Five

  As soon as Decker and Talyn entered the interrogation room, a wild-eyed Wynt demanded, “Who are you? What’s the meaning of this? Do you know who I am?”

  Neither answered. Decker took one of the two chairs and sat, crossing his legs with the nonchalance of a dandy in a café. Talyn stopped in front of Wynt and leaned forward until her face was mere centimeters from his. She let him read the emptiness behind her eyes in silence so that he understood she would show no mercy. Then, Talyn straightened without releasing eye contact.

  “You are Colonel Allister Wynt, Commonwealth Marine Corps, assigned to the Office of the Commandant. You’re fifty-five, single, served in the Corps since graduating from the Academy, and will never be promoted again. Infantry officers who spend their careers in staff jobs must show exceptional talent for promotion beyond colonel. You’re not known to possess such abilities. Thus, your failure to become a general officer has left you a bitter, twisted man with questionable loyalties and a fixation on extracting payment for every slight you’ve suffered.”

  “Who are you?” He repeated in a whisper, eyes darting from one to the other.

  “That depends entirely on your degree of cooperation,” Talyn replied. “If you play ball with us, we’re the peopl
e who’ll let you go on with your life unmolested. If you don’t, we’re the last living humans you’ll ever see.”

  She picked up the medikit waiting for them on a shelf and removed a shiny cylinder which she applied to Wynt’s neck. The colonel flinched. Then, Talyn inserted the cylinder into an analyzer.

  “This,” she said, “will tell us whether we can safely use interrogation drugs on you. Sadly, about ten percent of humans show adverse reactions that can lead to death, and we wouldn’t want to send you to a premature grave. At least not without having our questions answered. The odds are worse with a mind probe, however. It can leave a fair proportion of people in a vegetative state, and there’s no way to test beforehand whether a subject is susceptible to an adverse reaction. My colleague here, who specializes in field interrogation unaided by chemicals or machinery, has expressed the hope you’re allergic to drugs.”

  Wynt’s half-panicked gaze shifted to Decker, who gave him a cold smile, accompanied by a wink that promised a universe of pain.

  The analyzer beeped. Talyn glanced at its screen, then at Zack.

  “Sorry, darling. He shows none of the antigens that would make him allergic to chemicals. You won’t be able to refine your techniques on him.”

  Decker shrugged.

  “No matter. Perhaps the delectable Sera Kydd can’t handle drugs, and I’ll get my chance with her shortly.”

  Upon hearing Zack mention his paramour, Wynt’s eyes nearly bugged out.

  “It’ll be a shame to ruin such a classic face,” Decker continued in the same dispassionate tone. “But needs must. I’m sure she’s wealthy enough for the best cosmetic surgeons in the galaxy.”

  The door opened, and one of the masked guards stuck his head into the room.

  “You’re wanted.”

  Talyn gave Wynt a faint smile.

  “We serve at the pleasure of our masters. Please excuse us for a moment.”

  She nodded at Decker to follow her. Zack took his time climbing to his feet while keeping a hungry stare on Wynt. They joined Redmon, Bayliss, and Vinn, who’d been watching via a live video feed in the command post.

  When Redmon saw Talyn, she said, “A little extra cruelty there, Hera? Not that I mind. The bastard deserves every bit you give him.”

  Talyn shook her head.

  “It was calculated. Zack and I rehearsed what we’d say and do beforehand. The drugs work best if the subject’s mind is already wondering about the wisdom of giving his tormentors what they want. It wouldn’t help with trained agents or special operations folks such as you. But a man playing conspirator after years of swimming in HQ’s political swamps? He thinks in terms of trade-offs, survival and the chance of scurrying away to back-stab another day.”

  Bayliss nodded towards Redmon.

  “She cackled with glee when you listed Wynt’s character defects.”

  “I did not cackle. But I’ll admit that the look on his face was almost worth the aggravation he’s caused me — almost. How long will you let him stew this time?”

  “Ten, fifteen minutes. I want him to ruminate on the idea we’re working for a higher power. If he thinks we might be Fleet, it’ll make him wonder whether he’s been left to hang by his fellow swordsmen.”

  “All in the name of making him more suggestible under chemical interrogation?” Bayliss asked.

  “Exactly.”

  They returned to the interrogation room fifteen minutes later, Talyn entering first. She gave the prisoner an aloof glance and said, over her shoulder, “Be a dear and make sure you have the defibrillator on hand. The test might not show him to be sensitive, but some subjects go into cardiac arrest nonetheless.”

  “As you wish. Of course, there’s less risk of anaphylactic shock with my methods,” Decker replied, giving Wynt a knowing smile. He took the same chair as before and crossed his legs again.

  “Perhaps we can discuss methodology when we turn our attention on Sera Kydd,” Talyn said. “This one’s mine.”

  Wynt opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sounds emerged.

  “Maybe we should ask our friend? After all, his life’s on the line. How about it, Allister?”

  Talyn brushed Decker’s words aside with an irritated hand gesture.

  “Since when do we consult a subject about his own interrogation?” She retrieved an unmarked box the size of her hand from the shelf by the door and flipped it open. “But just in case, we’ll start with the lowest dose. If he reacts, it should be salvageable.”

  “Wh-what do you want?” Wynt rasped.

  “Right now? I want you to relax.” Talyn placed the hypodermic injector on his neck. “There. You’ll feel a slight tingling in your extremities.”

  She stowed the injector and sat beside Zack. They studied Wynt as the drug took effect, noting the gradual relaxation of his tight facial muscles, then a slight loss of eye focus.

  “One of the interesting features of this drug,” she said in a casual tone, “is the way it leaves a subject acutely conscious of having lost his inhibitions against revealing the most intimate things. This often leads to intense self-loathing after the fact.”

  “A good thing it doesn’t work on me,” Decker said. “I’d rather not waste time with self-loathing. There are plenty of other people to loathe in this universe. How about you, Allister?”

  Wynt seemed to give the question serious thought, then a brief snigger escaped his lips.

  “Great,” Decker sighed. “A giggler. This’ll be a pain the ass.”

  “But it proves the drug is having an effect. I doubt he ever cracks anything more than a viper’s smile.”

  Wynt snickered again.

  “That’s not very nice, but you’re right. I find humor of any sort to be a distraction. But I could let you distract me, my dear.”

  Talyn held up a tablet with Redmon’s picture.

  “Who is this?”

  “Ah.” A sad expression replaced the giggles. “Ariane Redmon. Ari to her friends, and we used to be such good friends. A shame she refused me. I would have taken her along, all the way to the top.”

  “The top of what?”

  “The Marine Corps, of course, once those useless fossils clogging up the senior ranks are put out to pasture.”

  “How did she refuse you?”

  Wynt gave her a soggy smile.

  “Not in the way you think. She’s hardly my type. You’ve seen Anthea Kydd? That’s my type — refined, wealthy, powerful and oh so feminine. No, Ari refused to honor the quid pro quo I requested after fostering her entry into some very exclusive circles. Of course, one doesn’t refuse once one’s been granted admission.”

  “What happened after she said no?”

  A disconsolate expression replaced the prisoner’s droopy smile.

  “Sadly I had to engineer her removal, both to preserve the sanctity of our plans and provide a lesson to anyone else who wavered in their dedication. To think she might have enjoyed such a splendid career...”

  “How did you engineer her removal?”

  “In much the same way as I rid myself of others who stood in our way. Trumped up charges resulting in guilty verdicts. I daresay I’ve arranged for many a one-way trip to Desolation Island. But not to the nice part, no. To the part where the most degenerate examples of ours species eke out a savage living. A nice touch, don’t you think?”

  “What quid pro quo did Ariane Redmon refuse to honor?”

  “She refused to give us information that would help our cause.”

  “Classified information?”

  “Of course. If it had been freely available, I’d hardly need someone at the heart of our Special Forces Regiment.”

  “And this information was in aid of what?”

  A sly expression tightened his slack facial muscles.

  “Now that would be telling.” Another giggle. “But I’ll tell you anyway. The Commonwealth government isn’t pleased with how the Fleet conducts its covert operations. That means we must arrange for the disco
ntinuance of certain things.”

  “And Ariane’s information would have helped?”

  “Indeed.” He nodded vigorously. “It would have allowed our allies in other government agencies to eliminate anything they considered a threat.”

  “A threat to what?”

  “To the Commonwealth’s future as a great empire, of course.”

  “You keep saying we, Allister. Who is this we?”

  “I’m not sure I should mention its name. I don’t recall either of you being members. But since you’re asking so nicely, we call ourselves Black Sword.”

  “What sort of people make up this Black Sword’s membership?”

  “Patriots, men, and women of ability who’ve been passed over in favor of those professing a great love for Admiral Kowalski’s legacy. We’re the ones who see a better future for humanity and are willing to step outside the sclerotic chain of command.”

  “Self-aggrandizers whose ambitions were thwarted.”

  “Abilities, not ambitions,” Wynt replied in a comically prim tone.

  “Heh,” Decker snorted with derision. “A bunch of deluded losers who get together for a weekly circle-jerk at a fancy private club. I bet that there are no more than a dozen of you idiots.”

  “Not true. We are legion if you must know, and we’re in every part of the Fleet, be it Navy, Army, or the Corps. We even have brothers and sisters in the Constabulary.”

  “The Legion of Losers.” Decker chuckled. “I like that.”

  “As you can see,” Talyn said, “my colleague is rather skeptical of your claims. Perhaps you can name Black Sword members, to prove him wrong.”

  “I can name several — maybe even officers you know — but I caution you that we operate as interconnected circles. None of us are familiar with everyone else. We know those of our circle and one member each from a number of neighboring circles. Even a senior member such as I doesn’t stray beyond his area of influence.”

  “You area being?”

  “Special operations, of course. I’d have thought that to be blindingly obvious. I’m the Commandant’s advisor on such matters, and it allows me access to information helpful for our cause.”