Running Black (Eshu International Book 1)

by Patrick Todoroff

  Colonel Otsu bowed again, “Yes, Director. What are your orders?”

  “Two items. First, you are to make contact with the mercenaries. At once. Asian Pacific cannot afford to break faith with private companies at any level, even black commerce. Get a hold of their handling agency and provide whatever assurances you deem necessary. We will honor our obligations.”

  “At once, sir.”

  “Regardless of how improbable the nanotech system is, Dawson-Hull has reacted swiftly with considerable force. Invoking the Crisis and Cooperation Act is itself an extreme contingency.” The director stroked his chin and continued. “I have to put aside my reservations on the remote chance this prototype is genuine. If this Eshu International has the device, we must get it before Dawson-Hull retrieves it.”

  “I’ll make every effort to contact the mercenaries, Director. And the second order?”

  “The Type Five clones are to be returned to our Chishima facility. When they contact you again, have them cease all activities and report to the Legation. This is a Tier One directive that overrides their previous orders, and they are to comply immediately.”

  Colonel Otsu hesitated. “And if they refuse?”

  “Then kill them, Colonel,” the director said sharply. “I suspect this entire operation is nothing more than a mirage formed out of Avery Hsiang’s febrile ambitions. He has single-handedly managed to jeopardize the Consortium’s global enterprise chasing a technological fantasy. He’d better pray those bio-units are not apprehended, and that we obtain this supposed nano-system. We are engaged in damage control here, Colonel. This debacle needs to end as quickly and quietly as possible.”

  “Yes, sir. And if Executive Hsiang contacts me again?”

  Colonel Otsu watched as the aging executive reached over and made a small notation on a piece of paper. “I will attend to Executive Hsiang,” he answered simply.

  And the world changes at the stroke of a pen, Colonel Otsu thought. The director was speaking again.

  “I appreciate an officer with perspective and a finely tuned sense of duty. You have my gratitude.” Yoshio Tetsuo inclined his head slightly. “Good luck, Colonel. Contact me as soon as you’ve heard from the mercenaries.”

  The connection cut and the screen faded to gray. Beyond the narrow slit of his office window, past the Dock’s tangled superstructure, the sky was dark and lowering. A major storm was brewing and he had to move fast before it arrived in full force.

  Colonel Otsu picked up his phone and called for his security officers.

  -------------------

  Barcelona Metro Zone, Sant Adrià de Besòs District. Guardia Civil Medical Clinic. 2:30 p.m. Day Five.

  Curtains. White curtains and machines. That was all Jessa Eames could see. Stacks of whirring, beeping metal boxes with tiny screens enclosed her bed like field emplacements, all of them back-dropped by tall bleached creases. In the hospital again, she thought.

  She tried to sit up, but she was weak. Her chest was tight, wrapped and stiff like a block of wood. She raised her right arm and saw wires and tubes coming out of it. Her hand was tingling pins and needles, so she clenched and unclenched her fist slowly to make it stop.

  Pain means you’re alive. Alive is good. She concentrated and tried her left arm next, but nothing came into view. In fact, from her left shoulder down, everything felt numb. That was probably not good, she thought. Her head fell back on the pillow.

  People were murmuring outside the curtain walls. She licked her lips. “Hello?” she croaked. “Who’s out there?”

  The voices stopped abruptly, the curtains parted, and a tired looking Colonel Estevana stepped in. The dark circles under his eyes looked more like bruises and fatigue etched heavy lines on his face. “You look like I feel,” Jessa Eames managed to say. “Report?”

  “Major, I think it can wait. You’ve been injured and—”

  “I figured that when I woke up in this bed.” She tried smiling to offset the interruption. “I want to know what happened. Tell me what happened.”

  “You survived, which is a start,” the colonel smiled back.

  “The shooters. Did… did you get them?”

  He shook his head quickly. “No. They escaped.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. Somehow she’d figured that. “How many?”

  “Three. There were three of them,” he answered.

  “No,” she said. “How many of the men were hit?”

  “Twelve, all killed. Both entry teams and one of the perimeter details. Two civilian bystanders were also killed when the suspects stole their vehicle.” The colonel’s face clouded with anger, and there was frustration in his voice. “We tried to pursue, but it happened so fast, so perfect, like they knew where we were. They were machines.”

  Jessa Eames only nodded again. She remembered the man’s speed, the brutal accuracy as her troopers died one after another with assembly-line precision. She closed her eyes and pictured the flat, unconcerned look on the man’s face, as if killing were as common as lacing up boots.

  Of course they escaped. She tried sitting up again.

  “No, no.” The colonel placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “The doctors say you aren’t going anywhere for a while.”

  “How bad am I?”

  Colonel Estevana looked down at her. “Major, I’m not a doctor. They should be the ones—”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Well, your vest plate shattered, but it stopped the chest shot. You’ve got broken ribs, cuts, one ugly bruise. Your arm…” he paused. “Your arm wasn’t so lucky. Shotgun almost tore it off. The doctors patched you up as best they could, but you’ll need extensive surgery just to keep it.”

  “Good thing I’m right-handed then.”

  “What?”

  “I can still shoot.” She licked her lips again and managed to grin. The colonel returned it, but his face remained tight.

  “What else?” Major Eames asked. “Sniffer teams get anything in the apartment?”

  “Nothing. The people there were small-time traffickers, into drugs, prostitutes. All with records, strictly bottom of the food chain. No connection to contract mercenaries at all.”

  “What about the other two priority leads?”

  “I sent units to pick them up. One group has gone missing, the other’s in lockup now.”

  “Missing?”

  Colonel Estevana nodded grimly.

  Major Eames sat up and winced. “And the other one?”

  “Just more thugs and junkies, but judging from this morning, it probably saved their lives.”

  “Yeah well, no good deed goes unpunished.” She frowned at her left arm. “One of them had a flechette gun. I heard it. Those shooters, they were at the mosque.” It wasn’t a question. She looked over at Colonel Estevana.

  He nodded back. “Reports indicate it’s the same weapon, yes. Why?”

  Her head was pounding. She concentrated to get the words out. “How did these guys know about our lead? And what did the mosque have to do with our boy?”

  “We don’t know. Security’s been tight, and I’ve got every available unit looking for them, but there’s a major storm coming off North Africa. Satellite cover is dropping to zero and all the UAV’s are grounded. We’ll have to find them the old-fashioned way.”

  “This gets better and better. You got any good news for me?” she spit out a laugh.

  The colonel held up a data pad. “More tips are pouring in, all in the northern district. We did get one break: a fingerprint match off one of the pistols in the mosque shootout. The prints belong to an Alejo García, former ship captain, smuggler. He’s an old-timer now, but very busy in his younger days. His jacket is about three inches thick. It seems he was wanted all over the Med.”

  He thumbed through to the next screen. “Middle East, North Africa and Southern Europe. Even a couple warrants in the Black Sea. This García fellow was slippery as an eel. No one could ever pin him for any real time. He supposedly retired
. Saw the light—got religion and the love of a good woman and all that.” He stopped suddenly and looked at Major Eames. “Connection is… his last known address is under surveillance by one of our militia members as a possible terrorist hideout. It had been flagged as low priority, but it might be another lead on the boy. Then again could be an angry neighbor who owes him money.”

  “But you’re saying he was in the mosque? A shooter?”

  “One of the guard’s pistols at least.”

  Major Eames stared up at the tiled ceiling. It didn’t help. The little white squares were blank and monotone. She tried putting her thoughts into the little blank boxes, but her head was throbbing, fuzzy from sleep and morphine. Images of the fight pit in the mosque started mixing with the riot in the plaza and the raid on the apartment. Screams and shouts and shots. A dead man with no fingers and thick blood swirling down storm drains. She looked back at the colonel.

  “OK. Do everything you can to find those shooters from the apartment. Nail them to the fucking wall, just make sure they’re alive enough to strip-mine their brains down to the core. And you’d better bring that García in for questioning. With three psychopaths somehow having a line on our intel, it’ll be for his own protection more than anything else. Some other party is definitely hunting this kid, and we’ve got to recover him before they get their bloody hands on him.”

  “Of course, Major. Anything else?”

  “Yes,” she lowered her voice. “Get me a beer and a couple cigarettes, will you? This place is killing me.”

  Colonel Estevana saluted and slipped through the curtains.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: ERASE ORDER

  Asian Pacific Consortium N. EU Division Regional Offices, Amsterdam, Netherlands Zone. 3:13 p.m. Day Five.

  Already tense, Avery Hsiang’s irritation ratcheted up several more notches when the thin, bearded face of one of the male clones appeared on the screen. He didn’t bother to hide his contempt. “Your cell leader, the girl. Where is she?”

  “She’s occupied,” the agent said.

  Avery waited for an explanation, but the small man only stared back with a bored expression and dark, dead eyes. “Occupied with what?” he snapped.

  “Monitoring the Guardia Civil communication channels for more leads, Mr. Executive. You still want the device, correct?”

  Avery’s rage flared. This thing could ill afford to be insolent. It owed its very existence to his orders, orders it had yet to accomplish, and if there was one thing Avery loathed, it was ingratitude. “Of course, I still want it,” he said acidly. “How close are you to getting it?”

  “We’ve intercepted a number of priority leads, and have exhausted two options so far.”

  “But you still don’t have it. Why is that?”

  “It’s difficult to pinpoint the mercenaries’ location with only half the information.”

  “What about Colonel Otsu? I placed his men at your disposal. Send them out.”

  “We don’t need more personnel getting in the way. We need accurate data.”

  “If you hadn’t blundered the initial meeting, I wouldn’t have to listen to these excuses,” Avery hissed.

  The dead eyes went sharp. “We didn’t blunder anything, Executive. Number Three is using the Legation. She ordered a decrypt on Dawson-Hull communications channels. Once that’s done, we should have the device in short order.”

  “She did what?” Avery said. “First a gun battle, and now a cyber-attack on corporate communications… what don’t you understand about covert operation?”

  “Given your timetable, she considered it an acceptable risk,” the clone replied.

  “Acceptable to whom? They’re already searching for you. What if you run into the police at one of these leads?” Avery demanded.

  “We eluded them in our last encounter,” the small man said with a shrug. “We’ll do so again.”

  Avery’s composure fled. “Last encounter…” he sputtered. “You ran into the Spanish police?”

  “They were Dawson-Hull armed response teams. There were no survivors.”

  Avery sat back in his chair, stunned. These things, these clones, had killed British corporate security troops in an open confrontation? These things were leaving a trail right back to his office. He was about to explode when the intercom beeped.

  “Mr. Hsiang?”

  He stabbed the button with his finger. “I thought I told you no interruptions.”

  “Yes, sir, I know, sir. It’s just that there are some men here to see you,” his secretary said.

  “Some…men?” Avery asked icily.

  “Four of them. From Head Office. They say they’re here on Director Tetsuo’s authority.”

  At the sound of that name, the world slammed to a halt and collapsed inwards. He knows, Avery thought. That old vulture knows.

  Avery forced himself to look back at the monitor. The thin agent sat there with a bemused look in his face, waiting.

  A tight fury jolted through Avery. Not now… I’m on the edge of triumph.

  Two sharp raps at the door startled him. Had Tetsuo even ordered them to break down the door, barge into an executive office and seize him like some common sprawler? The decrepit bastard had gone too far.

  Is the scent of fresh blood rising in the updraft, Yoshio? Am I prey kicking out the last of its life in the dust?

  The Honorable Tetsuo is making a fatal error if he thinks I’m helpless, Avery thought.

  “Mr. Hsiang, sir?” his assistant pleaded.

  “Tell them…” Avery heard himself speak.

  “Mr. Hsiang,” a different voice spoke over the intercom. It didn’t plead. “Open the door.”

  The moment teetered.

  Avery dragged his gaze back to his screen, back to the thin face, still insolent, still waiting. Perhaps he’d made a mistake releasing them, but he could deal with that later. Right now, they were instruments of his will, there in Spain.

  Old Tetsuo was a fool. Suspicion is one thing; proof is quite another.

  There’d be nothing left to incriminate Avery.

  More hammering at the door.

  He gathered himself. “You will wait. I’ll be with you momentarily.”

  “Executive Hsiang, I insist—” the new voice demanded, but Avery cut off the intercom with another stab of his finger and looked up at the screen. “Change of plans. I’m enacting Directive Two, the erase order. I want all evidence of my involvement eliminated.”

  “The erase order,” the small clone repeated deliberately. “Number Three is confident we’re closing in on the objective. The deadline—”

  The intercom beeped again and more knocking erupted from the black paneled doors—louder, sharper, obstinate.

  “Mr. Hsiang, sir? Sir?” his secretary was back on the intercom, wheedling, cringing. Avery ground his teeth. When this was over, he would ruin this worthless excuse of a man. He was nothing but dead weight.

  The doors were shuddering now.

  “Directive Two!” Avery bit off the words. “Find the mercenaries, and erase everything. There must be no one left. No one. Do you hear me?”

  The agent let out a little sigh, as if condescending to a child’s petulance. “Yes, Mr. Hsiang. Erase order confirmed. Barcelona cell out.” The small man gestured and the screen cut to black just as the doors burst opened. Four large Internal Affairs men strode into Avery’s office.

  He stood to face them. “What do you mean breaking in here? Do you have any idea who I am?”

  Three of them fanned out in his office, drawing neural stunners as they took positions around the desk. The fourth man wore old-fashioned spectacles and carried a single page Council Directive. He halted in front of the desk and held it up. Avery saw the black and gold icon winking across the top of the smooth cream paper.

  “Yes, Mr. Hsiang, we do.” he said smoothly and began to read the charges.

  As they put restraints on his wrists and led him out, the one in spectacles leaned close. “I hear the view o
f Earth is quite impressive from Luna Penitentiary, Mr. Hsiang.”

  CHAPTER FORTY: NEW DEVELOPMENTS

  Barcelona Metro Zone, Sant Adrià de Besòs district. Callejón del Apuro, “Trouble Alley”. 5:25 p.m. Day Five.

  The man called Hester stood at the kitchen sink and watched the figure steal out of the dark sliver of an alley across the street. It joined the crowd and started walking up the crowded avenue. A younger man, lean and fit, clean-shaven, dressed like a street thug. Even though he hunched over, there was no mistaking the way he scanned the area and moved through the flow of people without breaking stride. Hester smiled, it was nice to see talent even in the little things. He amped up his vision and focused in on the side of the man’s face; strong resemblance to Jace Manner of Eshu International right there, he thought. The tracker in his pocket was still humming.

  Hold the phones, I’d say we have a winner.

  Now he could nudge everything over the edge like Mr. MacKinnon wanted.

  ----------------

  Barcelona Metro Zone, Sant Adrià de Besòs District. Guardia Civil Medical Clinic. 5:48 p.m. Day Five.

  Major Eames motioned to Colonel Estevana. “Help me up.”

  She struggled to sit up in the hospital bed, but he stood there shaking his head. He was sure she was crazy. Her face was drawn and haggard, and when she’d yanked the bio-monitor lines off her good arm and chest, a shrill chorus of electronic alarms sounded. She’d almost made it to her feet when a doctor and nurse rushed through the curtains.

  “No, no, no, Major. Rest. You have to rest,” the doctor said. “You must stay. Your wound hasn’t even begun to heal.” He looked at the Spanish colonel. “Tell her.”

  The older soldier frowned. “Major, the doctor is right. Your office contacted me, and Señor MacKinnon ordered me to continue the search. Don’t worry, I will find the boy, and these killers. Please, rest.”