China Mike

by P. A. Piatt

“You’re out of line, Chive!” Schultz shouted, getting close to Chive’s face. “I’ve had enough of your innuendoes. I’m the chief law enforcement officer on Eros-28, and I’ll be damned if some two-bit mercenary is going to insult me.” He pointed a meaty finger at Chive. “If it wasn’t for you and your men there wouldn’t be a drug problem or a resistance. In fact—”

  Chive’s hand flew up and slapped the chief’s fleshy cheek with a resounding smack! Before anyone could react, Chive shoved Schultz against the wall and pressed a forearm against his throat.

  “You fat piece of shit, I should kill you right now,” he snarled into the astonished policeman’s face.

  “Chive! Stand down!”

  The governor’s order snapped Fortis out of his shock, and he lunged forward. It took all of his strength to peel the mercenary off the chief, and when Chive finally relented, the two men stood toe-to-toe and glared at each other.

  “Chive! Stand down! That’s an order!”

  Chief Schultz choked and clutched at his throat as he sank into a chair. Chive straightened his tunic with exaggerated motions and looked at the governor.

  “When you’ve got some free time, we need to talk. Before you release the Space Marines.”

  The mercenary leader spun on his heel and strode out of the office before the governor could reply.

  “Chief, what the hell was that?” demanded Governor Czrk.

  Shultz cleared his throat and heaved himself to his feet. “Chive and his mercenaries are up to no good, Governor,” he growled through his damaged throat. “Haven’t you noticed that every time something happens around here he’s involved?”

  “Director Chive is a corporate employee, Chief. There’s no reason why he would involve himself except as a matter of maintaining security.”

  Schultz shook his head. “You’re a good governor, but you’re a damned fool.”

  Czrk and Fortis only stared as the chubby cop stormed out of the office.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “And that’s where we left it,” Fortis told Ystremski as they ate supper. “The governor told me we had to wait to get Marx and Landis until he talked to Chive about this ‘development,’ whatever the hell that might be.”

  “Another hot tip he tortured out of somebody, probably.” The corporal nodded toward the door. “Speaking of torture, here comes trouble.”

  Fortis turned and saw Security Director Chive and two of his men standing at the door. When Chive saw him look, he waved to the lieutenant.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Chive and his men led Fortis into the corridor.

  “Sorry to interrupt your meal, Lieutenant, but I’ve got a high priority target with a short fuse. Are your Marines up to the task?”

  “What’s the source of your intel, Baird or Root? Maybe West?”

  Chive cocked an eyebrow at Fortis’ question.

  “What are you implying?”

  “I’m not implying anything. But Root’s dead, and nobody’s seen Baird since we turned her over to you two days ago. I’m beginning to wonder what happened to Choon since we gave you custody last night.”

  “I heard Chick Root died of a China Mike overdose. Like the drug dealers say, ‘Don’t get high on your own supply.’ I guess he didn’t take his own advice.”

  “I saw his body. It didn’t look much like an overdose. Too many bruises.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Chive studied Fortis for a long second and then shrugged. “Is there something going on that I don’t know about? If you want to pass on this one, we should go and tell Governor Czrk.” He took two steps down the corridor and stopped. “Coming?”

  Fortis felt his anger rise, and he struggled to control his temper. If he refused the mission, the governor might renege on their agreement regarding Marx and Landis.

  An image of Chive snapping Jandahl’s neck flashed in his mind.

  “I’m not refusing the mission, Chive,” Fortis said carefully. “I just want to know what we’re doing and why. People seem to disappear after you get them out to your site.”

  Chive smiled and patted Fortis on the shoulder. “Tell you what, Lieutenant, tomorrow I’ll take you out to the site, and you can see for yourself. Frankly, if you succeed tonight, I doubt we’ll have any reason to hold Baird or Choon any longer.”

  “There is no tomorrow, Chive. We’re due to leave in fourteen hours, remember?”

  “Ah, I forgot. What a shame. I would have enjoyed having you out there.” He held out his hand, and one of his men passed him a target folder.

  “Tonight’s target is rumored to be the leader of the cartel as well as a leader of the resistance.” He handed Fortis the file. “Meet Dask Finkle.”

  Fortis flipped open the folder and saw a blurry picture of a dark-haired man taken from a distance. He had a squarish head and wavy black hair that clung to his scalp. His profile was sharp and a jaw that jutted out as if in challenge to anyone who spoke to him. Fortis couldn’t tell if the man had a neck as his head seemed to start where his thick shoulders ended.

  “Not much to work with. This man is the China Mike cartel leader?”

  “We believe Dask Finkle is an alias,” said Chive. “We don’t know much about him, and this is the only photograph we have of him. He’s something of a mystery. My information is that Finkle arrived here about two years ago and that the real labor unrest started shortly afterward. For such a small place, he’s been very successful in evading law enforcement.”

  “Until tonight. You know where he is?”

  “We know where he’ll be tonight. He’s scheduled to meet with one of my sources. That’s where you come in.”

  “I’ll alert the men.”

  Chive held up a hand. “There’s an issue we should discuss. Speed is of the essence, so you’ll be inserting by hovercopter.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the Space Marines were standing on the landing platform and examining the aircraft parked there.

  “This is our hovercopter,” Chive announced to the group. “Dolph is the pilot, and Rentz is the flight engineer.”

  The two men raised their hands in turn, then Dolph stepped forward.

  “This is an older variant of the standard hovercopter configuration you’re probably familiar with during your time in the ISMC. This craft has not been militarized; there are no armor plates or bulkhead between the flight deck and the crew compartment. There are no hard points to mount weapons, and the wing tanks have been removed. When we insert, I’ll put her into a hover and you guys fast-rope out the ramp.” He patted the squat craft. “She’s just a big taxi.”

  Ystremski and several other Marines walked up the ramp into the craft while Fortis inspected the outside. There were several rough patches and large dents, and shiny metal glittered through a scrape along the belly.

  “She’s seen some hard service,” he said to nobody in particular.

  “Yeah, the terrain can be pretty unforgiving here,” said Dolph from behind him. “I hadn’t flown in a while and it took me a few tries to knock off the rust.”

  Fortis turned and looked Dolph in the eye. “Where did you learn to fly hovercopters?”

  Dolph smiled. “The International Space Marine Corps.”

  Before Fortis could respond, Chive sidled up.

  “Questions, Lieutenant?”

  “I was just about to ask Dolph why we’re using the hovercopter tonight instead of the crawler.”

  “That’s easy enough to explain. The crawler is reliable but slow on these streets, and whenever it leaves the compound word spreads quickly. We’ve used it three times now, so it’s time to mix up our tactics.” He leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper. “The target location tonight is in an area we call Old Boston, on the far edge of the city. The streets out there are too narrow for the crawler, so you will insert by fast-rope directly in front of the target. Your men can fast-rope, can’t they?”

  Fortis wanted to snap back at the insult, but he smiled
instead. “We certainly can, as long as Dolph can hold a hover.”

  “No sweat, LT. I’ll hold her steady as a rock.” Dolph clapped Fortis on the shoulder. “We’ll be so low you could jump, anyway.”

  “Lieutenant Fortis.” Ystremski’s voice from inside the hovercopter interrupted the conversation.

  Fortis gestured at the ramp. “Excuse me, I need to see what Corporal Ystremski wants.”

  He climbed the ramp into the dark interior and found Ystremski near the cockpit.

  “What’s up?”

  “This heap isn’t much to look at on the outside, but everything in here looks pretty well maintained. I’m going to take this one with Assault Team One. Fast-roping isn’t something we’ve trained on lately.” He tipped his head at the open ramp and lowered his voice. “You think we should do this mission?”

  “What choice do we have?” Fortis shook his head. “If we get this Finkle character, maybe that will be enough to satisfy the governor and we can get Marx and Landis back.”

  “If I get a chance, I’m going to shiv that Chive motherfucker.”

  “Get in line.”

  “DINLI, sir.”

  “Damn right.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, Fortis, Ystremski, and Assault Team One loaded into the hovercopter. Dolph lifted off and piloted the craft in a wide circle around the outskirts of Boston. He and Fortis had agreed that they would approach the target location from the desert to avoid alerting the city.

  The hovercraft relied on engine power and not aerodynamics to fly, and the result was a rough ride. The Space Marines frequently trained with hovercopters, but the herky-jerky motion of the aircraft was unsettling.

  Fortis watched through the open cockpit door as Dolph and Rentz brought the hovercopter in, guided by a pulsing red locator on the navigation screen. When the pilot held up two fingers, Fortis keyed his radio.

  “Two mikes. Stand by the ramp.”

  The assault team lined up in two columns at the ramp door. At their feet, two coils of thick rope waited. The ramp opened with a hydraulic whine and the interior of the hovercraft became a maelstrom of sand and noise. Rentz clambered through the crowded compartment and hooked up his safety harness above the open ramp.

  The indicator light next to the ramp switched from red to green.

  “Go, go, go!” ordered Fortis, and the head of each line kicked out the coils and practically dove down the ropes. Fortis and Cowher were the last out the door, and Fortis barely had time to get a grip on the rope before his boots hit the ground.

  That wasn’t even five meters.

  Cowher grabbed his sleeve and pulled him clear just before Rentz unshackled the heavy ropes and they dropped free of the hovercraft. Fortis thumped the medic on the shoulder, and the two men dashed across the street to their assigned positions.

  The aircraft engines howled as Dolph pulled up in a steep climb and headed back out over the desert to orbit and wait for Fortis and his men. A giant cloud of dust filled the air, but the target area was quiet.

  Corporal Ystremski led the assault team to the door of the target house. After a brief pause, the breacher hammered the door down, and the Space Marines ran inside. After several long minutes, the assault team emerged, empty handed. They took up positions crouching along the wall of the house, and Ystremski ran to where Fortis and Cowher waited.

  “Nothing there, LT,” reported the corporal. “Nobody home, and the place looks like it’s been empty for a long time. You sure this is the right place?”

  “Yeah, this is it.” Fortis thought for a second. “No point hanging around. Grab the ropes and let’s haul ass to the extraction point.”

  Twenty minutes later, Dolph brought the hovercraft down to the desert floor, and Fortis and the Space Marines climbed up the ramp. They dumped the fast ropes on the deck and slumped into their seats. Fortis took a head count and gave Dolph a thumbs up. The ramp closed, and the hovercraft lifted off.

  The ride back to the GRC base was quiet. Even though their intelligence had been faulty, the Space Marines felt responsible for the failure of the mission. Even the antics of Private Queen couldn’t elicit more than half-hearted smiles.

  Chive met the Space Marines when the aircraft touched down back at Fenway.

  “What happened, Lieutenant?”

  Fortis shook his head as the Space Marines filed off the hovercopter and headed inside.

  “The target location was empty. The assault team reported that the place looked like nobody had been there for a long time.”

  “Huh. That’s odd. My source is usually reliable.”

  “Not this time.”

  “There was always a chance we’d miss him. Don’t go too far; I’ll contact my source to see if there’s more recent information.”

  * * *

  Chive waited until the door closed behind the Space Marines before he whirled and faced his men.

  “It’s time to play hard ball with Spears,” he spat. “Grab the kid and find his father.”

  Forty minutes later, two mercenaries shoved Spears into an abandoned house in Boston. Chive waited inside with a small, tear-streaked boy at his side. When Spears saw the child, he fell to his knees and hugged him.

  “You bastard! You said he’d be safe.”

  “I said he’d be safe as long as you did exactly what you were told.”

  “I did what you wanted. I set up the meeting, just like you said.”

  “Finkle wasn’t there.”

  “That’s not my fault. Finkle does that all the time. He skips meetings, he shows up out of nowhere. He’s paranoid.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody knows.”

  Chive grabbed the boy by the arm. The child screamed and clung to his father as the mercenary leader pulled him away.

  “Please, stop!” cried Spears. “I might know where he is. There’s a safe house…”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “My source says that Dask Finkle and others were at the target location, but they fled into the desert as soon as they heard the hovercopter. He gave me a location he says will be good for the next thirty minutes or so. Are your Marines ready?”

  “We’re ready to go,” affirmed Fortis. “What’s your intel?”

  Chive unfolded a rough map of Boston. “The target is a house located on the edge of Old Boston. If you can get on the ground fast enough, you ought to be able to catch him before he can get out into the desert.”

  “Getting on the ground isn’t the problem. The problem is clearing the house. It takes time, and even a two- or three-minute delay gives Finkle a big head start.”

  “LT, how about if we use both assault teams?” Ystremski traced a wide arc over the desert on the map and tapped a spot outside the city limits. “Drop me and my guys four klicks out, far enough to not alert the target. Then Dolph orbits the city with Assault Team Two for a few minutes while we approach on foot to set up a blocking position. Then Team Two drops in on the front door like before, and if Finkle scoots for the desert, we grab him.”

  Fortis, Chive, and Dolph nodded.

  “That’s a good idea, Corporal. What about blue-on-blue? It’s pretty dark out there.”

  Ystremski shrugged. “Tell Team Two not to go out into the desert until they get the all clear unless they’re in hot pursuit, and I don’t mean chasing noises in the dark, either. If they don’t have eyes on the target, don’t come out into the sand.”

  “Can you execute a plan like this on short notice?” asked Chive.

  “The assault teams are standing by, Mr. Chive. What Corporal Ystremski is proposing is a pretty straightforward plan. Honestly, I should have thought of it myself.” He turned to the pilot. “Dolph, we’ll meet you at the hovercopter in eight minutes. Wheels up in ten?”

  Dolph nodded and gave two thumbs up. “Can do.”

  Eleven minutes later, the hovercopter was roaring into the night sky and headed out over the desert. T
he aircraft bucked and bounced more than it had before, and Dolph’s voice crackled in Fortis’ headset.

  “Hey, LT, the tower just reported a sifter starting to blow up on Dirt Mountain. They said it shouldn’t be a problem, but they’ve been wrong before.”

  “Is the mission still a go?”

  “Yes, sir. As the hovercopter commander, I’m okay with flying through a light sifter. You’re the ground commander; are you okay with operating in a little dust storm?”

  Fortis looked at Ystremski, sitting on the jump seat next to his. The corporal nodded and gave a thumbs up.

  “We’re good to go, Dolph. If it looks like the sifter is going to shut us down, give us a heads up and we can exfil.”

  “Roger.”

  Dolph brought the hovercraft down with a gentle thump, and Corporal Ystremski and Assault Team One raced down the ramp. A gust of wind buffeted the hovercopter as it climbed back out over the desert and it lurched sideways.

  “Whoa!” exclaimed Dolph over an open mic.

  “Are we good?” asked Fortis.

  “Yeah. Yeah, we’re okay.” The pilot’s voice sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth. “I might have to drop you guys in sooner than planned, though. Conditions are worse out here over the desert; let’s see how they are over the city.”

  The weather seemed to settle down as the aircraft orbited over Boston, but the wait was interminable. Fortis stared at the darkened indicator lamps by the ramp and willed them to light up. They finally glowed red and when he looked toward the cockpit, he saw Rentz hold up two fingers.

  “Two minutes!” he shouted over the whine of the engines.

  Assault Team Two stood up and braced themselves on the overhead handrails as the ramp went down and a blizzard of sand roared into the compartment. Fortis felt Dolph bring the aircraft to a hover and the lights turned green.

  “Go, go, go!”

  The Space Marines poured down the ramp and dropped to the ground below. Fortis and Dolph had agreed to forego the fast ropes, and the pilot held the hovercopter rock steady two meters above the ground. As soon as the last Marine was off the ramp, the engines howled, and the aircraft moved off.