by Jay Allan
The reflexes of a career assassin took over. This was an attempt on Samovich’s life; he was sure of that. He whipped his head around to both sides, scanning the room. Fuck, he thought, the windows…they’re coming through the windows. An instant later he saw the shadows outside, descending rapidly from above.
He jumped up, grabbing the desk and pulling hard, tipping it over to shield Samovich from the approaching assassins. He jumped over the desk himself, but too late. Three cables had dropped down outside the shattered windows, and the attackers were already leaping in the room, firing as they did.
Drogov caught a round in the leg as he leapt behind the desk. He felt the adrenalin coursing through his bloodstream as he pulled himself up, ignoring the pain from his wound. He held the auto-pistol over the desk, emptying a clip to spray the area with fire. The assassins were in the open. He knew that advantage would only last a second, and he intended to make it count.
He didn’t dare raise his head to see if he’d hit anyone, but there was only one gun returning fire. I must have gotten two, he thought. His satisfaction was short-lived, though. There were shadows descending from above the window again, more assassins about to leap into the room. He slammed another clip into the auto-pistol and fired just as they came into view. He watched as all three slipped from the cables and dropped, one of them making a brief effort to grab onto the window frame before he too slipped and fell almost a kilometer to the ground below.
There’s one at least still out there, he thought, just as he saw the grenade sail through the air and land behind him. He dove to the side, shoving Samovich harder into the space under the desk as he tried to take cover himself. He heard the doors swinging open, Samovich’s security firing on full auto as they poured into the room. An instant later there was a deafening blast…then pain. He tried to raise his head, to see what was happening. But he couldn’t. Then the blackness took him.
* * * * *
“I cannot express my joy at seeing you safe, Secretary Samovich.” Li’s words sounded sincere, his voice tinged with equal parts sympathy and outrage. “We have had our differences, but when the Secretariat itself, or any of its members are threatened, we must stand together as one.”
Samovich nodded to his rival. “Thank you, Secretary Li.” You lying motherfucker, he thought, but he kept it to himself. “I appreciate your support, and I agree with you completely. Whatever our disagreements, we must stand together when the sanctity of this great body is at stake.” He held up his neatly bandaged arm. “Fortunately, my injuries are quite minor.” He stared directly at Li. “And my security was able to capture one of the would-be assassins alive. They are questioning him now.” It was a bluff – all of the attackers were dead. He watched Li’s reaction carefully, but his rival was silent, maintaining a solid poker face. Samovich wondered if he could read anything into the lack of a response.
“When I find out who is responsible for the attempt on my life…” – his voice became emotional and he paused an instant, sucking in a mouthful of air – “…and for the murder of my very good friend, Alexi Drogov, I will make a full report to this body along with my request for a Secretariat Warrant of Execution against all conspirators.”
There was a flurry of nods rippling around the room. Li bowed his head toward Samovich and stared across the table, his expression one of apparent sympathy. “Of course, Secretary Samovich. An attack on any of us is an attack on all of us. I will be the first to sign the Warrant when the perpetrators of this heinous act are found.”
Damn, he’s good, Samovich thought, forcing himself to offer a smile to his enemy. No wonder he’s given me so much trouble. He hadn’t expected Li to confess, but there wasn’t a glimmer of guilt or doubt in the Chinese politician’s expression, not even an instant of hesitation. It was going to take a lot of digging, and probably some luck too, if he was going to expose Li as the mastermind behind the assassination attempt.
“If you are feeling well enough then, perhaps we should begin the session.” Li’s eyes glanced to the empty chair at the head of the table. It was the first meeting of the Secretariat he’d attended without Raul Esteban presiding. Unavoidably detained…that was the word from the Secretary-General’s staff, and his absence was driving them all to wild speculation. Was Esteban just having a bad day? Or was he near death? Would the final power struggle begin sooner than they had all expected?
“By all means, Secretary Li, let us begin. First on the agenda is the status of the combat on Juno.”
“I have heard our forces there suffered a severe reverse.” Li spoke up before Samovich had a chance to continue. “Also, I am told there was some dissension among our own personnel.” He stared across the table at his rival. “Is the campaign experiencing difficulties, Secretary Samovich?”
“Indeed no, Secretary Li.” Samovich could play the game as well as Li. “There was no reverse, merely a diversionary attack intended to cause enemy attrition. A successful operation by any measure.” It was a lie, but Samovich’s voice was utterly convincing. He knew no one really believed what he was saying, but his performance was strong enough to deflect any open challenge. For a while.
“What of the dispute between General Ralfieri and Inquisitor Vanderberg?” It wasn’t Li this time; it was Simon Yardley, one of his cronies.
They’re well-rehearsed, Samovich thought, holding back a sigh as he did. “I believe the reports you may have seen are in error, Secretary Yardley. Indeed, the general and the Inquisitor were simply discussing strategy, and it was misinterpreted as a conflict.” It’s going to be a long afternoon, he thought wearily. A long afternoon.
* * * * *
Samovich stepped into the brightly lit room. He was deep beneath his villa, in a sub-level that didn’t officially exist. No building plans anywhere showed the subterranean complex, and only Samovich’s most trusted subordinates and henchmen had ever seen it. It was his secret refuge, accessible only through a heavily camouflaged entrance, one shielded against all detection devices.
He turned and looked at the large bed at the other end of the room, positioned near a bank of machines. “You look pretty good for a corpse.” Samovich smiled as he walked toward the bed. Alexi Drogov was propped up on a pile of pillows. He was ghostly pale, and he had heavy bandages on his chest and head. Two IV lines were attached to his arm. One was filled with clear fluids, but the other was attached to a strange machine, and it was filled with a sickly yellow liquid. The patient looked like he was in rough shape, but he was very much alive. Contrary to the belief of everyone in UNGov.
“If you think this is good, you need to get out more.” Drogov’s voice was hoarse with fatigue, but otherwise he sounded normal.
“Well, the entire Secretariat thinks you’re dead, my friend.” Samovich smiled as he walked toward the side of the bed. “Everybody thinks you’re dead. Except a well-chosen few…and none of them will leave here until we’re finished with what needs to be done.”
“I have a pretty good idea of what has to be done, but I’m not exactly in top condition right now. You’ve got to deal with this situation long before I’ll be back on my feet.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “Who’s your second stringer for pest control?”
“Don’t be so skeptical of modern medicine, my friend. We live in wondrous times.” Samovich smiled. “Do you feel a tingling feeling?”
Drogov nodded. “Yeah, as a matter of fact I do. What the hell is that? It feels like it’s coming from the IV.”
“It is. It’s nanotech, the same stuff the Supersoldiers have. Although your nanobots are being produced outside your body and manually injected. It’s fixing you up…a hell of a lot faster than anything else could. You’ll be on your feet in two days and almost 100% in a week.”
“That’s amazing.” There was surprise in his voice, and some disbelief. He’d believe the prognosis when he saw it happen. He forced a tired smile. “And my captive doctors? They must be some serious specialists. I hope they don’t mind being st
uck down here 24/7.”
“Oh, don’t worry about them. They’ll walk out of here wealthy men and women. It’s all been arranged.” Samovich shot his friend a devious smile. “They have a lot to gain from your complete recovery. And a lot to lose if you’re not ready for action in time.”
Drogov nodded slowly. “I hope you’re estimates are right. Then I will take care of that fucking worm, Li. I’ll have him in a hole in the ground in no time.” Samovich’s rival was more than just an enemy now. Drogov knew how to respond to a failed assassination attempt.
“No.”
“What?” There was genuine surprise in Drogov’s voice. “After what he tried to pull?” He paused for a few seconds. He knew Samovich’s political scheming was moving at full speed. But this was more than politics. It was life and death. And that was Alexi Drogov’s game. “Anton, it’s too dangerous to leave him alive. What if he tries again?”
“That’s a risk, Alexi, but one I think is manageable. My security has been tripled, and Li has to lay low for a while. He’s already suspect, and he can’t risk getting tied to another assassination attempt.” Samovich sat on a small chair next to the bed. “No, we’ll take him out if we don’t have a choice, but only if we have no other options. What I really want you to do is try to get me some proof he was behind this attempt. If you manage that, he’s done. I’ll have a Secretariat Order for his execution in a day. And that will be the end of Mr. Li.”
“I’m not a detective, Anton. You know what I do, what I’m good at.”
“I know indeed. And don’t underestimate the value of your skills. You can grab as many of his people as you want, roast them on spits if it helps. Just leave Li himself alone. Every eye on the Secretariat is looking my way, waiting for a revenge attempt. But they’re not going to see one. I’m going to turn this back on that piece of shit…and I’ll lock up the votes I need to succeed Esteban.” A wicked smile crossed his lips. “And then we’ll escort Mr. Li to a shallow grave somewhere.”
Drogov nodded. He always enjoyed watching Samovich think. His friend had a master politician’s mind; he was a manipulator without compare. But Drogov had the expertise in understanding threats, and he knew if he was Chang Li, he’d try again. As soon as possible. The Secretariat might dislike attempts on its members’ lives, but that didn’t mean they were immune from fear. If Li managed to get rid of Samovich, Drogov didn’t doubt he’d quickly seize total control, and no one would dare challenge him on anything. They might whisper in the shadows, but they wouldn’t do anything. If his friend had a weakness, it was giving his colleagues credit for more intellect and courage than they possessed. Drogov knew Samovich and Li were the only two on the Secretariat with any real balls, other than Esteban. And the present Secretary-General was a dead man walking, no longer a factor in the struggle that had begun for the succession.
Drogov pulled himself up higher on the pillows, wincing at the pain the motion caused. “That all sounds good, old friend.” He paused, taking a deep breath as he fixed his gaze on Samovich. “As long as he doesn’t manage to take you out before we get it done.” He figured the odds on that were a coin toss.
Chapter 17
From the Journal of Jake Taylor:
My army is being destroyed. The battle we fight is one to the death, against an enemy well-equipped to face us. The easy victories are a thing of the past, and my soldiers die now…they die in the thousands.
I knew when this crusade began that we faced an almost impossibly difficult road, that few of those who followed me would survive the journey. Nothing happening on this field of battle should be a surprise to me, yet it always is. There are some horrors you cannot prepare yourself to endure, some nightmares that shock and scar your soul no matter how much you expected them.
But there is no choice, no alternative I can embrace. I am the only one who knows the doom of which T’arza spoke, and I will shoulder that burden myself for now. But UNGov must be destroyed and Earth united to face another challenge, the Darkness that is coming from the depths of space.
I must get my people back home, back to Earth. But I cannot leave live enemies behind me. I will not. I must find a way to end this battle, to destroy our adversaries before they do the same to us.
The black, moonless sky was lit every few seconds by blinding flashes, as the battle continued unabated deep into the night. The ferocity of the fighting hadn’t ebbed, not a bit. If anything, darkness had brought an increase in intensity as both sides, exhausted and bled white, threw in their last reserves, hoping to maintain their effort, to outlast the enemy.
The ridgeline in the distance was alive with explosions and the sounds of war. The two sides had been fighting since dawn, when Taylor’s army launched an all-out attack on the main enemy positions. The front was vast, over 20 kilometers, and battle raged over every centimeter of that bloodsoaked ground. But the ridge was the key. If the enemy held on, the attack would falter. If it fell, Taylor’s troops would break through into open country and have a chance at victory.
“Get your battalion forward now, Sanchez.” Tony Black shouted into the com, his voice barely audible over the din of battle. He was exhausted and wracked with stress, and his urban Philly accent was thick as he barked out commands. “You are to reinforce and support Major Young’s forces.” Young’s men were advancing steadily, but Black knew their losses had been brutal. They’d need reinforcements to keep their forward momentum, and Sanchez’s group was all he had left to give them.
“Yes, sir.” Sanchez’s reply was crisp, immediate. His people were still fresh, the last of the uncommitted veterans from Erastus. Now the army’s reserve was down to a few battalions of unmodified soldiers, formations assembled from the men who’d responded to Taylor’s recruiting on the other worlds. Black knew they were good soldiers, but they were unmodified, and he couldn’t have the same confidence in them he did in men who’d fought on the burning sands of Erastus. Black knew, almost better than anyone, just what it meant to be a veteran of Gehenna.
He stared out over the darkened plain, at the grim silhouette of wrecked vehicles and abandoned weapons. He could see the devastation in the flickering light of the fires, the shattered and pockmarked ground where the Army of Liberation had been fighting a horrific battle of annihilation for almost 18 hours without a pause. Soldiers were battling on that line, low on ammunition, with empty water bottles and parched throats. He knew the men of the army, and he was sure there were hundreds still fighting with wounds that should have sent them to a field hospital. One thing he knew for sure – if the battle was lost, it would not be for lack of good men giving all they had.
Taylor had surprised him with the orders for the attack. Black didn’t understand what had gotten into his friend. He knew as well as Taylor that time wasn’t on their side in this fight. The enemy would only grow stronger and they weaker and lower on supplies. But Taylor was possessed now, insistent the attack continue without stop until the enemy forces on Juno were completely destroyed. He kept pushing more forces forward, driving his men past the breaking point. Black had tried to talk to him, but he’d gotten nowhere. Taylor had been adamant. The battle would continue without pause until the enemy was defeated.
Black watched as Sanchez’s soldiers began to file past his position. Young’s people were about four klicks forward, assaulting the fortified enemy positions on the ridge. Black didn’t like releasing his last real reserve force, but he couldn’t see how Young’s 1,300 troops – how any 1,300 men – could take that position. And smashing through on that sector was crucially important. A breakthrough there would open up the battlefield and get some maneuver back into the operation. Black knew there was no way they were going to win the battle charging fortifications nonstop. Maybe, just maybe, if they could punch through on a wide enough frontage, they might break the stalemate and gain the upper hand.
“And then what?” he whispered grimly to himself. The enemy will just fall back to another position, he thought. Yes, they would t
ake heavy losses in the retreat, but they could afford the casualties, and they could always get more reinforcements from Earth. Black was well aware that the men Taylor had brought to Juno were all he had, all he could get. Every casualty was irreplaceable. They were pushing forward, driving the enemy back, meter by meter. But they were losing too many men in the process.
“Too many,” Black whispered to himself, watching the last of Sanchez’s people jog by.
* * * * *
“You outnumber the enemy 2-1, and they are attacking your prepared positions.” Keita was angry, and it was apparent in his tone. “Yet your forces keep yielding ground, General.” Keita stared at Ralfieri, his eyes ablaze. The political disasters of the past year had tempered some of Keita’s arrogance, but now he was on Juno, the only member of the Secretariat on the entire planet. Far away from his political rivals and clearly the highest ranked individual present, his pride and ego were waxing once again. He spoke to Ralfieri, veteran commander of two victorious Portal world campaigns, almost as if issuing commands to a servant.
Ralfieri bit back on his anger, trying to ignore the heat building around his neck. He wanted to grab the loud-mouthed politician by the throat and choke the life out of him. But he’d served too long to allow himself to give in to such desires. He understood the arrogance of politicians, and he also realized it was they – not the soldiers, not the citizens – who truly held power. Dealing with them was a necessary evil, and he was too seasoned a veteran to let his temper lead him into an argument with a member of the Secretariat.
“But, Secretary Keita, the situation is far more complex than that.” Ralfieri paused. He, too, was shocked at the fighting ability of Taylor’s men. The Supersoldiers of the Black Corps were the physical equivalent of their adversaries, but Taylor and his warriors had been forged on Erastus. Throughout all the Portal worlds, the name Erastus had been synonymous with hell itself. On a dozen planets, grim warriors prodded each other with sayings like, “At least we’re not on Erastus.” But for all the token acknowledgements of the brutal conditions faced by the soldiers who’d actually been sent there to fight, Ralfieri hadn’t realized just how hard and grim those veterans had become. Until now.
