by Lee Doty
Then, so softly that at first Jo thought it was an unbidden memory, a voice came from the speaker of Jeremy’s phone, “Ash.” The voice was gentle, careful and yet piercing, “you don’t need to trust them if you can still trust me.”
Smith felt an odd pressure in her throat, a constriction that only intensified as she looked at Jo’s stunned face. With the shock eating her expression, Jo’s scars somehow seemed more prominent, more painful—more tragic. Normally, Jo wore them as a badge of a trial cheerfully borne, of a pain overcome, but seeing her like this, it occurred to Smith for the first time that it had been a young woman and not just a killer that had endured those trials, suffered those wounds, and had bounced back hard and even playful. This tragic empathy filled her with wonder at the depth of strength that normally covered those scars in optimism, in glory.
As the seconds ticked by in silence, Jo’s blank eyes stared, her mouth hung slack, then her lips twitched, twitched again.
“You.” She said, her voice a dry whisper. “You are working with them? You are playing with me like a toy? Even you?” Her voice was soft, as if talking only to herself and repeating a fact that could not be, “Even you.”
“Oh please!” the man’s voice not quite shouted through Jeremy’s phone, “What about ‘new ally’ is a mystery to you, you complete knucklehead McSpazitron?!”
“Don’t you,” Ash said, an odd straining in her voice, “Don’t you take that tone of voice with me, young man!” The indignation in Jo’s voice sounded hollow to Smith.
The man on the phone laughed, the sound was surprised and filled with a pure sense of enjoyment. It was odd to hear such unguarded laughter, not alloyed with sarcasm to belittle, not mixed with any pretension or to further any agenda… just something that a human did when feeling amused, “Ah, so I see you have grown not only stupid but indignant in your new, unreasonably soft life.”
Not hollow, Smith realized: amused. “Still punctuating with silverware?”
“Now I just thump my bible.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“No.”
“Oh yes. So, what did you do with your summer, Ash?”
“Disneyland.”
“No!”
“Okay, no.” She gave Smith an accusing stare, “But now I realize they didn’t want me to blow a gasket and turn Space Mountain into a pile of corpses.”
As Smith listened, she was struck with the image of puppies wrestling.
“I was jealous there for a second. I went to a monastery.”
“No!” Jo said.
“Yes… well, sort of. I went to a week-long silent retreat in Colorado. It was stimulating.”
“If you’re a rock or a toaster, I guess.”
“The pancakes were delicious.” the man’s voice from the phone exclaimed. “It was great.”
“If you’re a frumpy old man with a bald spot and onion halitosis.”
“There were very many frumpy old men with bald spots.” The man on the phone said, as if considering a new theory that might explain a lot, “Though I was spared the halitosis by the whole ‘silent’ part of the retreat… tender mercies.”
“How is your frump coming?” Jo asked as if talking to an old high school friend encountered by chance at the mall.
“Well, I’ve done a lot more eating and a lot less exercise.” He paused, “I think by next year, I’ll fit right in. Miss Love tells me you’re a mental patient.”
“Oh, that’s low.” Jo said with an open smile, “Next you’re going to be making fun of my wheelchair and my colostomy bag.”
“You have already savaged my frumpy bald spot… It only seems fair, stinky wheels.”
“So that’s how it’s gonna be is it, Grandpa shiny.”
“Baggage car.”
“Touché.” She laughed, and they both lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.
“Maybe those could be your secret agent names if you decide to join us,” Smith said drily, “an option I’d like to just plant a seed about… we do have excellent family health coverage. However, we do have a rather pressing issue to deal with now, so if you’re done with the conversational puppy wrestle, perhaps we could focus on our rather difficult situation before we’re all killed or captured.”
“It’s good to talk to you again, Ash.” The man on the phone said.
“You too, Crow. I’ve missed you… I didn’t remember, but I think I felt the empty spot where my friend went.”
There was silence on the phone.
“Oh Jeez,” Jackie said from the phone, “here we go again. What do you want me to…” Jackie sighed, “He wants me to tell you that he’s not crying… again.”
Silence.
“I didn’t pinky swear to help you hide your girly emotions…”
Silence.
“I think he wants to get back to the problem at hand… only in a more macho way… no, he wants me to tell you how macho he is.”
Silence.
“Sorry, I’ve never been good at charades.” Jackie said, a tightly controlled mirth coloring the words.
Silence.
“I know you’re glad you didn’t shoot me. Are we good now? You need a moment to powder your nose or anything?”
“Enough.” He said like a child between the reprimand and the hug.
“Do you need a hug?”
Silence.
“Oh… not from me? Well, then from who?” Jackie’s voice crackled with irony.
Silence.
“Join us or continue to suffer at my merciless hand.”
Silence.
“Dr. Smith,” Jackie said after a pause, “Do you have any doubts of my assessment?”
“No, Agent Love.” Smith said, finally understanding, “None.”
“How’s that for subtext?” Jackie said quietly, though it came through the phone plainly enough.
There was another second’s pause, then the man with her simply said, “Impressive.”
“Okay.” Jackie said louder, for the whole audience, “So, since we’re together for now, please can we get back to the business of surviving?”
***
Xian stood on the roof of the small five story apartment building, surveying the scene around him. He stood near the small waist-high wall at the edge of the roof, looking down at the street below. Around him, the low buildings of the near south side of Chicago rose into the clear night sky, the well-lit streets around him shining like rivers of yellow-tinted light. Though there were some smaller two and three story structures, most of the buildings around him rose high above him, obstructing his view of the skyscrapers of the Loop proper less than ten blocks to the north and the lake about as far to the east.
Across the street, one block south of his vantage point, was the hotel that Crow and his companion had entered after their little charade. Xian swept the scene quickly, looking for anything out of the ordinary, then again put his eye to the optics of the stolen sniper rifle. He used the knob on the side to adjust the zoom of the scope, bringing it back to its minimum magnification, then he methodically swept each window on the hotel. He didn’t find his quarry, but that was no surprise. Crow was as likely to carelessly walk before an uncovered window as he was to dangle outside of one taking flash photos and waving a flag with a fluorescent target painted on his head.
A clear tone came from the stolen earpiece Xian wore. “Status.” A harsh male voice demanded.
Xian listened intently, but said nothing. After a pause, the voice asked again, “Bravo-two, status?”
Xian smiled, keying the microphone, “Bravo-two. Clear.”
“Bravo-two. Open?” the voice from the radio challenged.
Xian’s smile faded, “”Bravo-two open.” He guessed, clearly in a challenge response cycle. There was no way he had just guessed right. As the silence stretched on the channel after his response, Xian swore and kicked the corpse of the OSI sniper at his feet. Oh well, he thought, though he hated the idea of being beaten in any way, he
took solace from the two bodies at his feet and the knowledge that they were just the first of many tonight. He took solace from the knowledge that even if their prey knew they were being hunted, that it wouldn’t make any difference except to possibly increase their fear before the end.
Xian’s smile returned, but the amusement it conveyed was more primal this time. He keyed the channel again and said, mocking laughter in his words, “Bravo-two down.”
There was only a slight hiss on the channel and Xian knew that his stolen headset was now useless. The prey had realized he was listening and changed channels and encryption. Xian threw the earpiece casually over his shoulder and heard it tumble away across the roof.
He raised his own phone to his ear and opened a secure channel to the command trailer.
“Bai.” The Cleric said.
“Do we have video of Crow and the woman on the street?”
“Yes,” Bai reported, “we only have one feed, but it’s clear and we’ve got passable audio.”
“Send it to my phone, now.” Xian smiled, realizing that he used the word ‘now’ like most men use ‘please’. He broke the connection without waiting for confirmation.
In less than thirty seconds, the phone vibrated with a notification of the inbound video feed. Xian sat on one of the bodies, back against the wall, and scanned quickly through the video feed at 4x speed. He then started at the beginning and watched it at regular speed with audio. As Crow and the woman passed the last apartment building before the hotel on the corner, he smiled. “Gotcha.” He said. He then let the feed play out until they entered the lobby of the hotel and were lost to the camera. He then scanned back to just before they had done their little melodrama in front of the hotel and played through it again, making sure he’d caught the nuances of the communication. The Falcon who had taken the video had been across the street and at an open window one floor up, so the audio was passable… it was enough.
Xian closed the video and again called Bai.
After he had listened to Bai’s report, such as it was, Xian said, “I see.”
“Do you understand the point of their little act?” Bai asked in the attitude of an acolyte to master.
“Well, isn’t it obvious?”
“To me sir? No.” Bai’s voice conveyed the deferential bow of his head through the phone line. “I have guesses. Would you care to hear them?”
Xian grunted out a negative. “Let me answer in the form of a question: What were you about to do?”
“When the act started?”
“Of course, Bai.”
“I was about to call you to confirm the strike before they got to cover…” Bai broke off. He got it. The ruse was designed to make him doubt, to make him cede the initiative.
“And is he in cover now?” Xian asked with playful petulance.
“Yes sir.” Bai said, the requisite sorrowful deference in his voice. “I understand.”
“Don’t kill yourself about it.” Xian said casually, but the way he’d said “yourself” with the most subtle emphasis made Bai’s hands clench into fists. Bai had already passed on the information about the woman with Crow, so he was regrettably unable to use it now to distract Xian from his failure. There’s nothing you can do about it, Bai thought. There’s nothing to do now but focus on providing value in the time you have before you are murdered by this sadistic madman.
“I of course will leave that to you, sir.” Bai said with a cool detachment that he did not feel.
Xian laughed. “Just so, Cleric. Just so!”
“Now, I of course would not have authorized this strike, so it was no loss.”
“You intended continued pursuit?” Bai asked, wonder in his voice, not doubt, “But we lost the tracker when they abandoned the car and this is a densely urban environment providing both cover and escape. May I know your plan, sir?”
“How many agents have you neutralized on-scene?”
“Two pairs on the street, one sniper in an aerie on a rooftop.” Bai reported.
“Implication?”
“This is their destination.”
“Good! Continue.” Xian said.
Bai thought, closing his eyes, clearing his mind of distractions, waiting for the connection to form. “This is not an installation. This is ground protected temporarily.”
“Yes. Why?”
“I see two alternatives.” Bai said, “This is a temporary command post or Ash is here, either hunted or protected.”
Xian’s voice carried a contentment that Bai thought meant that Xian had forgotten killing him today. “It is so nice to work with professionals. What would you recommend now?”
“Sir, I do not have your powers of observation, of deduction. What did you see?”
“Very perceptive, Cleric! Honestly, now you have surprised me. I have now revised my opinion of you up to barely functional moron.” This was the first and best compliment he’d ever received from Xian. Not because it was said with irony, but because it was a statement of fact. From Xian’s perspective, the title moron would be reserved for geniuses and prodigies among non-engineered humans. From his perspective, the rest of the human race were barely interesting as pets or prey, and Xian did not like pets.
“Later, you should review the surveillance logs from the cameras on the street.” Xian continued. “Focus on the time between when Crow checks his phone and when they turn the corner. What you may see—what you should see—is that the woman intends to turn into the apartment building at the end of the block. You can see it from her body language, the intention of her steps. You can see that Crow vetoes this act, then he leads her around the corner. Crow then initiates his little melodrama, indicating that they don’t know where Ash is, but if we keep following they will lead us to her tomorrow.”
“She is in the apartment building.” Bai said.
“I believe so.” Xian replied, “And there are two more inferences we must draw: First, that they believe they had an audience, which means that they either spotted the OSI teams or our teams. Second, that they were hoping that the OSI was listening and that they would take Crow for an ally based on the woman’s tacit acceptance of the deception.”
“What do we do, sir?”
“We wait.” Xian said oddly, as if he were testing a theory rather than stating a fact.
“But sir, if you are correct about their intentions, shouldn’t we move before they can establish contact with the OSI and begin to coordinate their efforts… before we have to deal with Ash and Crow as a team?”
“Bai!” Xian exclaimed, “You are merely an idiot! You are a veritable orangutan among monkeys!”
Bai had the distinct impression of being a puppy in a pet store, receiving the serious consideration of a potential owner who is seriously considering both temporarily swearing off torturing puppies, and a purchase. Behold, Bai thought, the wonder of my life.
“Yes, Bai!” Xian continued, “We locate them and hit them immediately. I assume you have a search running on the building’s occupants?”
Priorities
OSI Headquarters, Rural Virginia, 2019
Chrome slipped silently down the hall behind his ready weapon, mind full of the clarity of the Hallow, his purpose clear. His purpose, of course, was the bright purpose of his mission, of obedience, of victory. Victory is Life!
But today’s purpose seemed brighter than normal. Brighter than victory, he thought, turning the strange concept over in his mind. In the four years of life that he could remember since his last catastrophic seizure, Chrome had never considered that there could be a purpose more sublime than victory. Today’s brighter purpose was his team’s rightful ascendance back to the top of the leaderboards. No, Chrome thought, if he was to be honest, he must admit that the real luster was the idea of putting down Phoenix. And not just in the way he’d been thinking about for years, not just taking their number one ranking on the leaderboards, but actually putting them down—leaving them ghosts bumping around in the library.
Se
cond in the league, Chrome thought. Second! How could there be any joy in that non-accomplishment? When Phoenix had formed three years ago, they had burst from the recovery room, rising quickly past other teams, then finally past Delta to take the first spot in the league. For the next two years, as Chrome and the rest of Delta had trained and executed in the Hallow, he had been sure it was just a matter of time and training before Delta retook the position and glory they deserved. But as the months and years had dragged on, Chrome had begun to despair, then to believe, then to know, that Phoenix was simply better than his team. No amount of work, no clever changes in the training regimen, no risk or caution in the field had helped. Sure, Delta had improved, but never enough to pass Phoenix, and only rarely had Delta even narrowed the gap between their aggregate scores.
In the confessional interviews over the years, their Cleric had counseled Chrome to seek for gratitude, that he should thank Phoenix for the competition that had challenged Delta to be better than ever, just like Phoenix should thank the rest of the league for pushing them to be better. Iron sharpening iron, he had said on a number of occasions, but Chrome could never manage it. No matter the hours of the canned prayers or deep meditation, no matter the focus or effort, Chrome was always left faking it… strained smile and bitter heart. The Clerics taught that there is only victory and death, and that every team’s success was a success for the league as a whole. Of course the Clerics were right. They were always right, but when Chrome saw anyone from Phoenix, whether in the bright violent Hallow or the shadowy numb of the Hollow, all he felt was a burning, frustrated rage. It didn’t help that the friendly rivalry that was expected between team captains also had a consistent victor whenever Chrome and Crow traded “friendly” barbs.
But today not only would Delta take first in this multi-team operation, but it would be the only survivor. With the relegation of FatalError and HoldFire to the hospice or the library, with Ash starting play in captivity, with Tink lying dead on the floor fifty feet ahead in the hallway, and with their Cleric’s unexpected but wonderful command to terminate the remnants of Phoenix, Chrome felt two elations rising through his body. The first was that he had been ordered to destroy a hated rival who he had long been commanded to respect. The second was that he would be able to do it. In a fair fight against all four members of Phoenix… especially Crow and Ash, he was honest enough to admit that he knew Delta had almost no chance. Yet here he was with his full team hunting Crow and Shadow, and he wasn’t even sure that Shadow had yet fully recovered from being shot several times minutes ago. Chrome deserved this… deserved this fortune, this grace. He had prayed so long and hard for forgiveness, for gratitude—for the impossible. But today the Clerics had rewarded his faith with a much more precious gift: the sweet, sweet gift of revenge.
