He checked the bathroom, the closets, and the storage alcove. Once he’d combed every square inch of the apartment, he returned to the front room in dismay.
“No luck, eh?” asked Nikolai. He’d helped himself to a sandwich he’d made from materials left in the refrigerator. Rather than getting on his case about tampering with potential evidence, Calvin went to the refrigerator and inspected the meat. It didn’t smell foul. True it remained in its original airtight container, but that was some indication of how recently it’d been placed here. The bread too showed no signs of mold or decay. The lettuce on the other hand did. So he guessed that his mother had last purchased groceries and left them here no more than ten days ago. Or, if she hadn’t, someone else had.
“So now what do we do?” asked Nikolai once he’d polished off his sandwich and wiped the mustard off the corner of his lip.
“Radio down, tell them to send the forensics team up. Dust for prints and search everything over multiple times—they know the drill,” said Calvin. He didn’t like being back here, he’d never had fond feelings for this apartment, but now that his mother was missing it made him feel especially uncomfortable being here.
“And what about you and me?” asked Nikolai.
“We’re going to ask the neighbors some questions.”
“All right then,” said Nikolai. He radioed Calvin’s instructions and then followed Calvin out of the apartment. Calvin locked the door behind him—he didn’t want anyone else to disturb apartment nineteen eleven until his investigation team had a chance to go over it.
While he waited for them, he began calling on the neighbors and asking them questions. He didn’t forcibly round them up for interrogation, but he and Nikolai made it clear that non-cooperation was not an option. Using his authority as the Executor of the Empire, he compelled even the shiest of the resident of the nineteenth floor to answer a few questions for him. But, in the end, he needn’t have bothered.
Ultimately they all said variations of the same thing. They’d last seen Olivia Cross weeks ago, some claimed not to have seen her for months—though most of these claims were by people who were not very outgoing and, by the look of things, left their apartments under only the rarest of circumstances. No one said they’d seen anyone calling on Olivia, nor did any of them notice anything suspicious or hear any noises. The likeliest thing, based on the lack of evidence of a struggle, was that Olivia had left of her own free will. The question was, however, why would she? And why wouldn’t she tell anyone? Calvin wondered if that meant she had been abducted while she was out and about, leaving no evidence of her capture behind at her apartment.
By the time he was through interrogating the residents of the nineteenth floor, and had managed to talk to every one of them—which had meant waiting around for some of them who were away to return home—his forensics team had a preliminary report for him.
No sign of anyone inside the apartment, other than Olivia and now Calvin and Nikolai, and there was no indication that there had been anything unusual—such as an altercation—that’d gone down. No scratch marks, no slammed doors or forced locks, nothing suspicious whatsoever.
Calvin nodded. He gave them instructions to complete the investigation but he realized this was a dead end. He would never give up on finding his mother, just like he would never give up on finding Rafael, but he knew that throwing all of his resources and attention at this wasn’t going to buy him anything. Whoever had taken her—if she had indeed been taken—had gone to great lengths to ensure that there was no trail left behind. That meant, as much as he hated to admit it, he had to focus on his other priorities and await either a ransom note—if that was the abductors’ intentions, assuming they were going to use Olivia as leverage on him—or else wait for new leads to be found by his investigation team. In the meantime he had to do his duty and focus most of his efforts on the Phoenix Ring and finding Rafael. Hopefully his mother would resurface along the way, and that she’d be unharmed. He wished for nothing more than this whole thing to prove to be a false alarm.
***
He raised an arm to screen his face from the raging fire as he walked down the street adjacent to the burning building.
“Oh god!” croaked an old man who stood in the street, staring aghast as his flat—and those of hundreds of others—was consumed by the inferno. “Why?” he said, staring up at the sky.
He was one of the many in the crowd who’d escaped when the alarms went off. Now people from adjacent buildings were pouring into the street, joining the mob, curious and terrified. A few ran around in a panic, shouting, or struggling to find a way to combat the flames—to no avail—but most were too stunned to do much of anything but chatter nervously amongst themselves and stare up stupidly at the dying building. Little did they know that thousands of such incidents were going on across the planet’s surface right now. And not one of them an accident.
“You?” the old man pointed a crooked finger at Ryker as he approached. “You did this!” the old man turned to get support from the mass of people around him. “I saw him come out of the building—he started that fire! I’m sure of it!”
Ryker did nothing to contradict the rumor. On the contrary, he welcomed it. Even though it wasn’t technically true—Micah had started the fire. Not Ryker.
“You did this?” a large man shouted. He was looking at Ryker. They all were.
“For crimes against the Crown and the Empire,” said Ryker. “I hereby sentence this building to burn in the Name of the King.” He stopped when he was a few meters away from the crowd and took them in—they were an innocent enough looking lot, probably loyalists who’d avoided getting involved in the rebellion sweeping the planet, just like he’d hoped.
“We’re no rebels!” a voice shouted. Others joined it. Some of them screaming at the top of their lungs. A woman shrieked and babes in arms began to cry.
“Continue to rebel, and next time it will be your lives,” said Ryker, loudly and clearly. So as much of the thick crowd as possible could hear him.
“Our lives?” someone asked.
“The King? What right does the King have here?” someone else asked, louder than all of the others yelling. Shouts of agreement joined him. “These were our homes! The King has no right to do this!”
“The King has every right,” said Ryker. “Everything you are, everything you have, you have at the pleasure of the King!”
The crowd reacted very negatively to this, just as Ryker had hoped. There were shouts of “Get him!” and a few of the men broke away from the others and headed Ryker’s way. He raised his rifle but the shot that burst into one of the approaching man’s head—killing him on the spot—didn’t come from Ryker’s gun.
The men approaching him stopped in their tracks. Two of them dropped to their knees to examine the newly made corpse of what Ryker supposed had once been their neighbor.
“He’s dead!” someone yelled.
People shrieked. Some turned away. Others rushed forward to see the body. “He killed Tommy White!”
“Murderer!” someone else shouted. The crowd became increasingly hostile and Ryker knew it was time to make himself scarce. “Murdered by the King!”
“Do not forget the lesson!” said Ryker. He took out a stun grenade and tossed it into the crowd, deliberately aiming for a group of women with babes in arms. Hoping that at least one of the babies was severely injured or killed. The death of one baby—or even a million babies—didn’t matter. Not on Renora. They were too young to raise arms and rebel. But if injury to them could aggravate the populace—and help Mister Martel’s cause, and by extension Ryker’s—then all the better.
He turned his back to the crowd, dropping another stun grenade as he went, and walked away. Micah joined him, getting away from the rubble, the refuse, and the scorching building. He was dressed like Ryker and all of the other Black Phantoms—they wore the military fatigues of the Imperial Marines. Light-weight, durable, and most importantly—easily identified. Ryk
er doubted a false flag operation had ever been so large, and yet it was almost too easy. Everything was going just as Martel said it would. Ryker had to give the man credit, scheming bastard that he was. He’d managed to plant the uniforms, weapons, and other supplies in warehouses and storage units all over the planet months in advance, and all without letting anyone get the least bit suspicious.
In the distance, emergency sirens could be heard and at least one Foxtrot Transport was closing in, flying low. Its troops no doubt were coming to help fight the flames but they’d get a lot more than they bargained for once the locals caught sight of them.
“Report,” demanded Ryker.
“Tank says the other cells are active. They know their instructions and are doing like they’re told. Major cities are being lit up like candles.”
“Good,” said Ryker. “So long as they know to fade away once they’re seen. Do not engage the enemy.”
“They know,” said Micah. “Everything is happening just like you said.”
“And this is just the beginning. Once we begin Phase Two…”
“Why do we wait? Do it tonight!” said Micah. “Let the whole world shake at its core and not know what hit it.”
“Phase Two cannot be the same night as Phase One, that would be far too much at once. We want to create sympathizers, not crush the spirit of everyone on the planet. Besides, Phase Two is impossible so long as that damn Harbinger is near.”
“How do you know that ship is even out there?”
“Martel will tell me when it leaves. We will do Phase Two then, not before.”
“Whate’er you say. I still think we should do it now, and be done with it. Let someone else clean up the mess.”
“And that is why you follow and not lead.”
They caught up with Vulture, who’d been covering them with his sniper rifle. Together they ran to their waiting vehicle. It was time to disappear and move on to the next target. Even if the Imperial troops were wising up to their tactic, there was far too much planet for them to try to cover. Especially when the rebellion was growing with speed and strength like never before. A fire of anti-Imperial hatred was burning across the planet tonight, and all Ryker and his Black Phantoms had to do was give it kindling.
Chapter 16
After spending four hours making the plans and moving everyone into place, Calvin gave the order for his forces—soldiers and investigators given to him by the Akira House—to storm the three most important facilities where the Intel Wing Archives were stored.
“Companies Bravo, Delta, and Charlie, you are go,” said Calvin.
“Roger. Execute!” the call came over the radio.
He watched on the command display in one of the offices he’d been given. On each of the screens he’d displayed maps of the target buildings and surrounding areas. As well as the positions of his teams who were being tracked.
The red dots that were his men moved swiftly into the compounds and into the structures. He didn’t have enough men to maintain a complete perimeter around each of the buildings but that wasn’t important, they weren’t here to stop fleeing Intel Wing agents, and they hadn’t come to make any arrests, so long as no one flushed or destroyed the hard drives they’d find what they were looking for.
Since arriving on the planet, and indeed since being cut off from Intel Wing when he’d gone to Abia, Calvin had been kept out of the secure archives. Now that he was here, had his name restored, and had been appointed to the post of Executor of the Empire, he had the legal authority to access the archives. However, rather than giving a formal order to Intel Wing to restore his access, and allow the organization the chance to sweep things under the rug before allowing him access to their data, Calvin had decided to take access swiftly and forcibly so that no intelligence was lost. There would be a lot to comb through, and most of it would prove useless, but he believed some of the most critical answers were there.
“Bravo Company confirms, Facility Aveline is secure.”
“Roger,” said Calvin. “Commence linkup.”
“Wilco.”
He shifted his attention to the other teams on the other displays. Charlie Company had to secure the largest facility, so it made sense that they were being slower, but Delta Company seemed to have stopped their advance. Calvin stared at the red dots until his eyes hurt.
“Delta Company this is Executor Actual, report.”
“Delta Company here. We’re meeting some resistance. Staff is armed and has initiated lockdown protocols. Request further instructions, over.”
Calvin imagined the situation, soldiers in arms making slow progress against a dozen Intel Wing agents with small arms trying to disable the computers and lock the doors. Perhaps holding out for reinforcements, but most likely just trying to stall long enough to flush sensitive data. He wished he was on the ground with his team, but understood why he needed to remain at control. “Proceed with force,” he said. “Engagement is authorized.” He didn’t like giving an order that would lead to violence, and perhaps even the deaths of some of his men, but he had to secure that information before it was too late.
“Understood.”
“Charlie Company confirms, Facility Aurora is secure.”
Calvin glanced away from Delta Company’s screen for a moment to note that his second team had taken control of the largest facility. “Roger,” said Calvin. “Commence Linkup.”
“Confirmed, linkup in progress.”
“Bravo Company to Executor Actual, linkup is established. Over.”
“Roger that Bravo Company. Commence lockdown protocols and maintain facility security. Hold that position until further instructions are given.”
“Understood, Executor Actual. Wilco.”
Delta Company was now moving swiftly to the core of the facility. Three of the red dots were not moving and had turned green—their trackers no longer detecting a pulse. Calvin bowed his head out of respect for his fallen men, and told himself once again that this was necessary. That there had been no choice. Their sacrifice was essential for saving the Empire.
“Delta Company confirms, Facility Adalia is secure.”
Calvin breathed a sigh of relief. “Roger, commence lockdown protocols and then establish the linkup.” As much as he wanted the data they’d bled to capture, he decided it was best—in the case of Delta Company—to secure their position before brute-forcing into the local archives’ mainframe.
“Understood. Wilco.”
“Charlie Company to Executor Actual, linkup is established.”
“Roger,” said Calvin. He entered some commands into his terminal to test his newly established access to the Archives, and to check their security. As far as he could tell, all had been done according to plan. And once Delta Company completed the linkup operation on their end, Calvin and his people would have total access to all levels of the Intel Wing Archives.
He gave instructions to his analysts to begin processing and studying the data they’d just acquired, and then Calvin sent a request to Kalila for additional security to be provided, particularly to the Adalia Facility where his forces had met resistance, and lost three men. After he’d finished, he got word that the third linkup had been established. The archives were ready to be mined.
The software experts, professional analysts, cryptologists, and others were the ones who would extract the most meaningful secrets from the secure Archives, but Calvin intended to do what he could—be it a little or a lot.
The first thing he did was to pull every file that made mention of Third Lieutenant Rafael Te Santos. Calvin ignored the useless documents—such as the man’s biography and family history, and focused in on the most recent documents. The paper trail wasn’t very complete and he made inferences where he found gaps, but after some time he was able to determine a few key things. Rafael, like the three other agents who’d gone with him from the Nighthawk to Capital World, had undergone an intense interrogation and psychological analysis to vet his fitness for duty and test
his loyalty. He and two of the others had passed the tests with flying colors, one was dismissed. Rafael then had been returned to duty. The list of his assignments seemed limited and incomplete and there was a report from a “trusted asset” that suspected Rafael and the others from the Nighthawk as being an intelligence leak back to “the still at large Calvin Cross.” An investigation followed resulting in the arrest of Rafael and the other suspects. After that the paper trail went completely dead and Calvin could find no information.
Calvin tapped his desk and thought of what to do next. He now knew for sure that Rafael had been taken and was not in hiding of his own volition. Calvin’s hopes were dashed but he wasn’t surprised, this was what he’d suspected. At least the Phoenix Ring—or whoever had taken Rafael—hadn’t seemed to identify him for sure as Calvin’s mole, since they had two other suspects. But Calvin wasn’t naïve to think that meant they were treating Rafael well. Or that they wouldn’t eventually get it out of him that he was working for Calvin. Perhaps they’d even flipped Rafael and he was now sharing everything he knew about Calvin. Whatever the case, the sooner Calvin found Rafael and got him out of their hands the better.
Calvin did a bit more digging and identified the officer who’d been sent to make the arrest and bring Rafael into custody. Merrill O’Reilly. Military Police. It wasn’t unheard of for Intel Wing to use the muscle of the military to perform arrests and other aggressive operations, but for solo arrests it was rare. Intel Wing would typically use their own people to make a secret arrest. But, because they’d used a fairly non-descript and obscure military police officer—and whatever support he’d brought—to make the arrest, Calvin had nearly overlooked that detail. On his first few passes over the intel it looked like there was no information about the arrest itself. He was sure that the military police had been involved for that exact reason, most analysts would probably have missed the subtle detail that had pointed Calvin to identify the arresting officer—namely that there was no other place he could have been, and what he’d officially been assigned to do, his cover assignment, was not possible because it was too far away and he couldn’t have been in two places at once. Calvin smiled at his work and counted the finding as a stroke of luck. “Looks like I’ve still got it,” he whispered.
The Phoenix Crisis Page 17
