Escape Velocity (The Quantum War Book 1)

by Jonathan Paul Isaacs

  Finn tugged on the latch again. This time the door cracked open. He peeked past the edge.

  “Clear.”

  “Move.”

  The door swung wide open and four bodies flowed into the hall, each with a hand on the shoulder in front of them. They were in a utility area separated from normal traffic. It had been a long time since Wyatt had been inside a groundside office building. The coziness of bland walls and a carpeted floor felt alien and unfamiliar.

  “Security should be forward, then left,” Chris whispered through the comm.

  Finn led the way. They passed several closed doors and one open arch that revealed translucent boxes full of office supplies. A moment later they came to a hallway intersection with a heavy door on the far side. A black camera bulb protruded from the ceiling above it.

  “Camera. Stack against the wall by the door, move!”

  They split into two groups and hugged the walls on either side of the security door. Wyatt saw another keycard mounted above the latch.

  “Finn, go,” Chris said.

  The Marine repeated the process of melting the lock mechanism.

  “We’re in the open. Can’t they see us right now?” Wyatt said, eyeing the camera bulb.

  “It’s probably pointed at the hallway we came from. Just be fast. Get ready.”

  Wyatt tried to slow his breathing and manage the adrenaline.

  “Lock’s gone,” Finn said.

  “Go!”

  The security door swung inward and the four of them moved silently into the building operations center. Wyatt was third in the stack behind Finn and Chris. In front of them, an L-shaped desk stretched out underneath a bank of ancient flat panel displays with video of the campus and garage. A lone guard in a private security uniform had his feet up on the desk, sound asleep.

  Chris didn’t miss a beat. He glided over to the guard, grabbed his jacket in one hand, and punched him square in the mouth. Arms and legs flapped out into a giant X as the man flew out of the chair. A few seconds later and Chris had him on his stomach, flex cuffs around his wrists.

  “Keep your head down and mouth shut,” Chris told him. He raised his head. “Clear.”

  “Clear,” said Finn and Maya.

  “Clear,” Wyatt repeated. He lowered his weapon and walked over to the monitors. He spotted the feed in the garage below them, a truck and cargo pod filling most of the image.

  “Nice parking job. You can’t see anything.”

  “Uh-huh,” Chris said. He scanned the other monitors. “A single guard at the front desk. Don’t see much else.”

  Wyatt walked back toward the security room door. “Chemo One, Acid One. Status check, over.”

  “All clear, Acid One,” Laramie said.

  “Copy.”

  He turned back to find Finn sitting on the guard’s chair. He was cycling the cameras through the building, searching for their target.

  “Who are you people?” the guard asked from the floor.

  “Shut up,” Chris said. He gave him a kick.

  The guard persisted. “You know there’s a ton of security here, right?”

  Chris crouched down over him. The guard was an older man but had the blond buzz cut of someone who had never let go of a prior military career.

  “Hey there, pal. Let me explain how this is going to work. You’re going to be still and study the dirt on the floor. I’m going to leave one of my guys behind here to watch the cameras. If he has to watch you, he won’t be watching the cameras. That’s bad. He might have to kill you. So don’t distract him and just study dirt. Understand?”

  The guard’s expression remained the same, but his color paled a tiny fraction. “Yes.”

  “Good boy.” Chris turned and glared at Finn. “Well?”

  “I think I found him.” In the monitor in front of him, a black man in a lab coat was sitting at a large desk, talking with an older woman standing on the other side. He seemed to alternate between gesturing at the door and rubbing his eyes with his fingertips.

  “Can you get a better view? We can’t see his face from behind.”

  “The camera is where the camera is,” Finn said. “But I’m sure that’s him.”

  The Marines stared at each other for a long moment, as if sharing some secret insight that was only known to them. Chris finally nodded. “Where is he?”

  “Fifth floor, west side of the building.”

  “Okay.” He turned to Wyatt. “You ready?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Wyatt unsnapped the buckles of his ARC vest and pulled it over his head. Chris shrugged off the small duffle bag at his waist and did the same. Underneath, they had each dressed in a button-down business shirt. Chris unzipped the duffle and produced two white lab coats, each rolled neatly into a tight bundle.

  Wyatt pulled the coat on one arm at a time. “Do I look official?”

  “Works for me,” Chris replied. “Side arm?”

  “Check.” Wyatt patted the holster where his Beretta R-40 was snuggly strapped in, either the largest pistol or the smallest laser weapon in use in RESIT.

  “Acid on the move,” Chris said.

  Wyatt and Chris exited the security room and traced their path back through the hallway until they came to a different stairwell, one that climbed upward without garage access. This fire door was unlocked and opened easily. Then they began the ascent up multiple flights of stairs until they reached a door that said Floor 5.

  “Exiting the stairwell,” Chris muttered.

  “Copy,” came Finn’s voice through the comm.

  They opened the door and entered an administrative area. Offices lined the exterior walls, most with closed doors. Carbon-fiber cubicles stretched through the open space with the low buzz of workers talking on video circuits or with each other. The white walls offered a clean, clinical contrast to the dark gray of the carpeted floor. Wyatt glanced at several of the people moving about and felt a knot of angst at the realization that he and Chris were the only ones wearing lab coats.

  Chris moved forward with a purposeful gait. Wyatt followed, scanning the room for anything that seemed like a threat. A young woman with her dark hair pulled into a ponytail stood up from her cubicle and made inadvertent eye contact with him.

  He smiled and gave her a nod. She smiled back, quickly looking away.

  They continued through the hallways, navigating twists and turns while checking name plates outside each office door. When they came to the one that said Jack Bell, Chris paused and looked over his shoulder at Wyatt.

  “At target location.”

  “Copy,” Finn said. “Cameras show he’s still sitting there. No security spotted.”

  Chris looked at Wyatt. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Without any further hesitation, Chris put his hand on the door latch and pushed it open.

  25

  Department of Health Campus

  Juliet, Alpha Centauri A

  2 March 2272

  Laramie heard the ding of an elevator before she saw anything.

  She waved her hand at Kenny and the corporal pressed himself flat on the pavement. She crouched behind a gray cargo pod. They had set up their defensive positions about ten meters apart, Laramie watching the entry ramp, Kenny remaining by the hijacked truck. She couldn’t see the cargo elevator, but the sound of two voices had already intruded into the garage.

  “… still can’t believe Jensen got promoted.”

  “I can. He kisses so much butt, he’s going to need a lip transplant by the time he’s thirty.”

  “I know, but … I just figured Director Horst could see through all that, you know?”

  “Yeah. Look at it this way, though. At least you don’t have to work with him anymore.”

  “I guess.” A pause. “Where’s—oh, there it is.”

  Leaning around the edge of the pod, Laramie saw two men wearing maintenance coveralls dragging a cart toward Kenny’s position. They didn’t seem in any hurry and were to
o caught up in their conversation to be particularly observant. But Kenny was boxed in between the garage wall and the truck. He couldn’t displace without being exposed.

  “I see them,” she whispered into the comm. “Stay low.”

  One of the men bobbed his head side to side like he had a stiff neck. “I tell you, Jensen’s good at bending ears. He’s going to start empire-building. Next thing you know, we’ll both be reporting to him.”

  A laugh. “That will be the day.”

  “It’ll happen. Just you wait.”

  “Well, he might have to have an accident with something heavy.”

  The two men chuckled. Laramie watched them walk toward the back of the cargo pod. One of them was taller than the other and had some sort of metal hook in his hand. The shorter one grabbed the latch on the pod door and opened it. He abruptly looked over his shoulder in confusion.

  “This isn’t it. Is it?”

  Both men peered into the dark interior.

  “Where are the bodies?”

  The hairs on the back of Laramie’s neck stood up. The team had stuffed all the body bags in some alleyway. They thought the shipping and receiving crew would exchange the incoming and outgoing pods, not unload anything.

  This was bad.

  The shorter man keyed a transmit button on an earpiece. “Bobl to Fitz. You there?” A pause. “I thought you said the last field collection rolled in?”

  The taller man wandered around the truck and scanned the garage, clearly wondering if they were looking in the wrong place.

  Laramie raised her Vector. Her CORE helmet painted each of the targets. “I have the guy talking,” she whispered to Kenny. “You take the other.”

  “… no, I’m looking at it right now, and the pod’s freakin’ empty.”

  The tall man’s eyes drifted to his right, past empty pods sitting on the cement floor.

  “… well, call Security, because whatever they said they let in, it ain’t here and there ain’t no flippin’ bodies to unload.”

  Laramie clicked her safety off.

  The tall man took a couple steps around the end of the truck. He rubbed the hook absent-mindedly in his hands. His eyes drifted across more cargo containers. Kenny lay four meters in front of him in plain sight, his weapon aimed.

  “Good. We’ll wait here,” Bobl said.

  The tall man finally turned toward the garage wall and saw Kenny. He froze.

  “… they’re sending some guys down to take a look,” the shorter man said to his companion. “Fitz says they’re positive the delivery truck came through, though.”

  It happened in almost slow motion. The tall man stared right at Kenny, uncomprehending that another human being was lying on the garage floor with a weapon pointed at him. Then the realization hit.

  He took a startled step back. The arm holding the hook stiffened with an impulsive, defensive gesture.

  Laramie stepped out from behind the cargo pod with her Vector raised. “Hold it right there, pal. Both of you. Hands in the air.”

  The two men froze. Bobl’s eyes locked on Laramie. “Who are you?”

  “Shut up.” She walked toward them. In her optic nerve, a square red reticle hovered over each of their torsos. “I said, put your hands in the air.”

  Kenny got to his feet and approached the taller man. “Drop the hook,” he said, motioning with his Vector.

  The tall man let the unloading hook fall to the ground. It clattered noisily against the cement.

  Bobl raised his hands to the side but took a step back. He was older, maybe fifty, with receding bushy hair. “You guys aren’t supposed to be in here.”

  “Stop moving and get down on your knees.”

  Laramie hurried her pace to close the remaining ten meters between them. This was really bad, she thought. The workers weren’t armed combatants. They were civilians doing their job. She needed to subdue them and get them out of sight.

  “Hey, chica, we don’t want any trouble,” Bobl said. “We’re just here to unload the truck.” Another step back.

  Five meters now. Bobl took two more steps, each with more urgency. The stairwell lay just on the other side of him. She couldn’t let him raise an alarm, retrieve a weapon, or stumble into Finn in the security room.

  A clatter rattled behind her, followed by an electric whir. Laramie’s brain raced to match the sound with the implication.

  Kenny did it for her. “The garage gate’s opening!”

  She turned her head a fraction toward the entry ramp. Toward where Fitz’s people were entering. Toward police who might be armed.

  “Get down on your knees!” Laramie commanded.

  Bobl broke and ran.

  It took only an instant for Laramie’s finger to squeeze the trigger. The chem mag snapped its tiny explosion and sent its energy into the reaction chamber of her Vector. An intense beam of lazed light sprang from the end.

  Bobl fell with a splash of pink mist.

  The taller man let out a gasp, his body language screaming flight. “Gill …”

  A stream of curse words shouted their frustration in Laramie’s head. Why hadn’t he listened? What a stupid waste of life.

  “Get down, now!” Kenny yelled.

  The remaining worker complied and lowered himself into a prone position.

  Laramie twisted toward the garage entrance. The security curtain had retracted two-thirds of the way into the ceiling. A pair of figures stood frozen in the middle of the ramp. One of them was pointing in her direction.

  Bad, bad, bad.

  “Find cover, quick!” she said.

  She hurried behind a pylon. Kenny stayed low, covering their new guest. “What about this guy?”

  Laramie hissed at him. “Hey. You.”

  The man turned his head toward her.

  “Don’t be stupid like your buddy,” she said. “Do what I tell you. Stay down on the ground and don’t move. Understand?”

  “Yes.” His voice held a twinge of grief. Laramie peeked around the pylon and saw that the figures in the entry had disappeared. She felt her lips twisting into a snarl. Damn it.

  She opened the squad channel. “Chemo One to all elements. We’ve been compromised. Moving to defensive positions.”

  Maya’s voice hit the comm. “Copy that, Chemo. What happened?”

  “Building admin sent some guys to unload the bodies we took out.”

  Several seconds went by before any reply. “Understood.”

  Kenny installed himself inside the stairwell doorway and sighted his Vector at the descent ramp. Laramie left her pylon and set up next to a concrete construction barrier that lined the pedestrian walkway. She studied the ramp and thought through the angles of their respective vantage points, visualizing different fields of fire.

  “You cover the left side,” Laramie said. “I’ll cover the right. If I say displace, we go through your door, shut it, and arm it. Then up and out on floor one. Got it?”

  “Got it, Staff Sergeant.”

  An eerie silence fell over the garage as they waited. A minute went by before Laramie noticed a strange, intermittent whimper. She realized it was the dock worker.

  “Hey, tall guy,” she called out.

  Several seconds passed before a weak voice replied. “Yeah?”

  “You know your buddy? He’d still be with us if he’d just followed directions. Don’t you make that mistake. Stay put where you are. You understand me?”

  “I understand.”

  “Good.”

  Deathly stillness. This was the worst part, Laramie thought. Anxiety always built up before combat. Once things got rolling, it just became act and react, fire and move, attack and counterattack. She didn’t have a problem when the world was falling apart around her. But the anticipation of the start? It never failed to gnaw on her nerves, a sinister shadow that lurked underneath an ocean of fear and doubt.

  She caught a glimmer of movement at the edge of the ramp. Shadowy figures were hugging the wall. Off in the distanc
e, the growl of a turbine-driven engine echoed from somewhere beyond.

  Laramie scanned the area to find threats and let her helmet mark them. A line of sweat trickled down her back and she forced herself to push the sensation out of her mind. She was a professional and had no room for distractions right now. It was time to go to work.

  26

  Chris and Wyatt strode into an elongated office with steel-blue walls and light carpet, accented with plants in an array of clay pots in the corner. An expansive cityscape filled the view beyond a set of floor-to-ceiling windows. White noise speakers hissed softly from the ceiling.

  A man with dark skin and graying black hair looked up at them from behind a desk near the far wall. “Who are you?”

  “Dr. Bell?” Chris asked.

  “Were you expecting someone else sitting in my office?”

  “We need to borrow you, sir. Please come with us.”

  Dr. Bell sighed with annoyance. He reached for the tablet on his desk. “I told Gretchen I didn’t want to be disturbed, and here she is, sending in the whole blasted department. Let’s clear this up right now—”

  Chris closed the distance in a heartbeat, flowing around the desk and smacking the tablet away. Then he punched Dr. Bell hard in the cheek. The doctor went sideways in his chair and let out a grunt. Wyatt provided security by the door and listened for any sounds in the hallway that might indicate someone had heard.

  “You’re not calling anybody,” Chris said.

  “What the hell?”

  Chris grabbed a fistful of Bell’s shirt, drew his pistol, and shoved it into the man’s face. “Do I have your attention?”

  His eyes stared at the weapon. “Oh, you have my attention.”

  Chris glanced at the desk. Large diagrams of city streets filled the tabletop, each with an array of colored marks drawn in seemingly haphazard patterns.

  “Whatcha working on?”

  “City planning.”

  “My ass.” Chris reached up and picked off the neural stub adhered to Dr. Bell’s temple. “You’re a bastard, you know that? How many neighborhoods are you going to murder today?”