"They are all together, and not far. It looks like a large industrial site near the airport. Let me get information on the building." His eyes traced the movement on the screen. He stiffened. "It's Forward Aeronautics. That's an affiliate of Open Sky."
Vinicius said nothing. This was a dangerous development. Open Sky was apparently not going through regular law enforcement channels, and they had evidently been bold enough to capture his men. But he had expected this would happen eventually. He was making a global play, and the risks would sometimes be quite large. The small-time operators were all falling in line — he would have to make sure the big corporations did too.
"Obviously we have to move quickly," he said to Mr. Blue.
His chief lieutenant's eyes shifted to the doctor. "What about him?"
"We have reached agreement. Release his wife. But remove another of his fingers for wasting so much of my time. And then assemble your men. All of them."
****
Vinicius knew the men were intimidated by his presence. He never went on missions directly, at least not any more. They were clearly nervous at the thought of being judged in action by the boss. But he saw that there was also a certain restrained eagerness, perhaps an undercurrent of curiosity. He was larger than any of them, and had every Modification known to man — at least, that was the image he had deliberately cultivated. No doubt the rumors had raced beyond the truth, but the truth was still formidable.
Even with all his enhancements, he was eager to add the Open Sky product to his own portfolio. If the research on that treatment was even remotely accurate — specifically, how it combined with other enhancements — he would make a fortune on that Modification alone. Or maybe he would keep the secret to himself and trusted associates. The idea of it gave him the little thrill of anticipation he always got when he was on the verge of a new physiological improvement.
But that would have to wait a little longer. After this action he would have to return to Brazil, of course, as there was no way the assault they were about to undertake would fail to bring out every law enforcement agency in the nation. Not to mention the resources of Open Sky.
He was in the lead vehicle of four large, rented SUVs. They were nearing the airport at a high rate of speed. There were only a few more minutes left to go over details before they arrived. He cursed himself for letting his mind wander to thoughts of home and future Modifications. He returned his focus to the raid at hand. He had been putting off a key decision until the last minute, but finally made up his mind.
He turned in the seat to face his associates. "There is a bonus for all if we get our red men out of there alive," he said. He had seriously considered having the red men killed along with whatever abductors they found. There was no telling what they might have told their captors. They were not high up in his organization, but they could still make things extremely inconvenient if they revealed information.
But the red men had been useful, and may yet be again. He employed 20 of the 34 on earth, and they had been grateful for the work. After all, where could men with ridiculously bright red skin find employment?
Plus, it would not do to treat their lives so cavalierly, especially with so many of his people involved in this raid. True loyalty is cultivated, not simply demanded, and having so many of his men witness the brutal dispatch of their fellows would make it that much harder to convince his associates they were genuinely valued. It is good business to let them live, he finally decided.
From the middle seat, Mr. Blue led the team in a final check of the weapons — flechette shotguns, crossbows, traditional handguns, flash-bangs — while Vinicius relayed his final commands to the other vehicles. They had called up all available satellite imagery when planning the raid an hour ago, both overhead and low horizon angles, and were confident they had identified the proper entrance points and escape routes. They had found some building layouts on the web from when the facilities were under construction and were still for sale, giving them a basic read on the floor plan. It seemed doable, much easier than the assault on the Open Sky headquarters had been.
Even so, Vinicius reflected on the risks he was taking on this expedition of acquisition. In building his organization he had often taken risks, some of which could be classified as skating on the verge recklessness. All of his moves had been bold and direct, of course, as businesses such as his could not survive indecision and weakness.
Reckless. The word echoed in his mind. He did not like the thought of being reckless. Recklessness was unprofessional. Amateurish.
No, he was not reckless, he decided. He was building an empire. And an empire needs an emperor who is not afraid to take risks.
****
Angie 6 decided that the men's red eyes — some sort of ocular hyper-rosacea? — were the creepiest part about them. Even though they were well-restrained and completely in her power, it was hard to look them in the eyes and conduct a proper interrogation.
She hated to admit it, but the creepy red eyes were throwing her off.
She was also restless. She was eager to get these men back to Open Sky headquarters in New Mexico territory, where they would be much more secure. But time was crucial if they were to extract information and gather up the others who might be nearby, so they had been directed to this location by Mr. Rohm himself. Forward Aeronautics was an affiliated company, and was a convenient temporary base to draw out as much information as possible, as quickly as possible. It was a Sunday as well, which simplified her task somewhat, as the usual scrum of employees would not be wandering the halls.
So far, the information gathering was going well enough. Two of the men were not talking. But apparently, one of the three red men was not mixed up with the others. He appeared genuinely ignorant as to why he was being held and, when separated from the others, had talked a little bit about his compatriots before going silent.
From him they learned the names of the three men. He also told her the two less talkative red men had some sort of business relationship with a group of Brazilians, which was interesting. She had sent regular brief reports to Mr. Rohm as they uncovered bits of information.
She asked him more about his skin and learned a great deal about the man's personal background and condition. She had, of course, done some quick research once Rix had linked to her with the image of the three red men, and so had learned the basic story of the failed Peruvian steroid and its brutal side effects. It was astonishing, really. Men. They'll put anything in their bodies.
Using Open Sky's private network she had accessed some South American news clips from shortly after the steroid came to light, a couple medical reports of the victims, and even watched a few minutes of one of the Modified Fighting Organization vids. These Fightin' Mads appeared to have their own little subculture, although there were few enough of them. Most estimates put the number of red men at less than 50. Oddly enough, no actual samples of the steroid itself seemed to exist, and its creator had turned up dead in Lima a few years ago. Peruvian Numero Dos was considered a tragic failure, but no one had been able to break it down and explain with precision where the mistakes had been made.
She sighed. I really am going to have to make a better effort to stay on top of all the new Modifications. These people are turning up everywhere. They're going to make my job a lot harder in the future. Not that it's easy now.
The nature of the security work had taken a definite detour since she had started with Open Sky. She was originally hired to oversee security at the launch sites, keeping terrorists and industrial spies at bay. But the company had grown so large so fast that she had been forced to deal with entirely new security situations. These hyper-modified thieves were only the latest, but the most discouraging. Besides their brutality, they had attacked so brazenly, so unexpectedly, exposing holes in Open Sky's security that she was certain would ultimately be pinned on her.
Angie 6 was starting to resign herself to the idea that her original goals were never going to be achieved. She had b
een attracted to the job as a way to get off-planet. She was no pilot or asteroid miner, and possessed no particular scientific expertise that could be expected to land her a spot through the usual channels on one of the off-world stations. But Open Sky's asteroid mining operations employed whole communities, requiring support personnel of all types, including law enforcement and security. Everything she had been working for since hiring on was aimed at positioning herself for one of those assignments. It was her best shot seeing the world from space, her oldest dream.
She rubbed her forehead. It had been a long night. She called her second over.
"I need a couple hours shut-eye. I'll be on a couch in one of the executive offices down the hall."
He nodded and spoke quietly into his com, updating the other security team members.
She left the room and headed down a hall to her right. She was turning a corner toward a quiet-looking conference room she had scouted earlier when she came face-to-face with Allen Venway, the president of Forward Aeronautics. Speaking of creepy eyes….
She had met him before — he was one of Mr. Rohm's inner circle, and was at headquarters frequently. Rohm had about a half-dozen high-ranking associates in various related industries that he met with regularly. She had plotted the security requirements for many of their visits.
Angie 6 was never very comfortable in their presence. There was something about them that threw her off. Venway especially. Like Open Sky's CEO, he had that peculiar stare, as if his focus was boring into you, but also occupied somewhere else.
"How is the information retrieval proceeding, miss Angie?"
"Well enough, thank you. We have them all identified, basic bios, day-to-day patterns, and leads on some associates. One of them was definitely a part of the assault on our offices."
"Very good," he said, then slightly cocked his head as if listening to another voice. "When you are finished, I should like to hear your evaluation of our own security, in light of the capabilities of these new Modified men. But you are tired, I see. Please feel free to set up in conference room 4. There is a suite with facilities there, and a most comfortable sofa."
"Thank you," she said tightly. And thanks for the crack about looking tired, old man.
"My pleasure. In the meantime, I wish to observe these men under questioning. And then I wish to examine them. I have never encountered men altered in such a way. I have certain… instruments… in another area of the building that will reveal much."
She tried to conceal her surprise. Was he some sort of doctor as well? She had never known a corporate CEO to make such an odd, hands-on request. This whole operation was getting stranger and stranger.
"The men are separated, of course. My second, Mr. Keith, is interrogating one of the uncooperative ones in room 15a. Feel free to observe. As for a more invasive physical examination, I have no objections if it is alright with Mr. Rohm."
He closed his eyes briefly. As he opened them, a satisfied smile settled on his face. "I have made my request, and he is in favor of the idea."
She watched him walk away. Weird damn person. She started to turn toward the conference room he had mentioned, when her eye caught an unusual, but familiar pattern. Venway had a very faint web of filaments at the base of his skull, barely visible through the skin on the back of his neck. It was the same strange pattern that Mr. Rohm had, a feature that had puzzled her since she first met the man. And now, Venway too. That couldn't be coincidence.
One more mystery. But it can wait. I need some sleep. She found conference room 4 and found that it was, indeed, much more than a simple "conference room." The bathroom was clean and well stocked, and there were even sheets for the large sofa positioned beneath the windows.
She closed the blinds, quickly threw the sheets over the sofa, and stripped off her jacket. Her head was on the pillow for only seconds before she fell asleep.
It was brief respite. She was torn from her shallow sleep less than an hour later by the insistent chiming of her E-Thing. She groggily reached for the device. The message was from Venway, with a highest priority alert attached.
"Yes?"
"I need you in lab 27 immediately," he said tersely. He cut off the signal with no further explanation.
She sat for a moment, forcing herself to fully awaken, gathering together the strands of conscious thought that had wandered loose during her brief sleep. She pinged Keith, her second, but he reported nothing out of the ordinary. Mister bug eyes must want a fresh cup of coffee, she grumbled to herself. She checked her weapons, left the room, and navigated the hallways to lab 27.
Venway did not bother with any greetings when she passed through the door to the lab. "These men are being tracked," he said, not looking up from the red man he had lying on an examining table, unconscious. He was slowly manipulating some sort of hand held imaging device over the body. "Also, none of these red men are going to live very long. Five years, tops. Yet another dead end on the road to human development, and no help at all for my purposes."
Angie 6 stood silently a moment, watching him, not sure what to make of his scattershot commentary. Focus. No time for distractions.
"Tracked?"
"Yes, a fairly sophisticated bug implanted under the skin. Whoever these men work for, they know they are here." He put down his imager and looked up at her. "This is really going to cause an enormous amount of grief for me."
"Can you remove the trackers?"
"Sure, but it's probably too late. In fact… wait… ah, the drones are sending an alert."
At that moment a series of muffled thumps rumbled through the building.
"Yes, definitely too late," Venway said, as his eyes tracked over to a screen on the far wall. Angie 6 could see the screen from an angle, and caught the movements of masked people running, lights flashing, red text jumping to the fore.
She reflexively reached for her gun and bounded toward the door. As she gripped the door handle, she paused a second and turned back to Venway. "Hide yourself," she said.
He looked at her, no emotion visible in his eyes.
Angie 6 sprinted down the darkened hall toward the noise. She tugged her optical mask over her eyes as she ran and rolled her finger across the pressure switch that turned it on. She had nearly reached the double doors leading to the room where the two other red men were being held when a rending concussion blew the doors off their hinges. She stumbled to one knee, reflexively covering her head.
She crawled against the wall to her right and dropped flat on the floor. With shaking hands she aimed her .40 caliber pistol toward the remains of the doorway. The laser sight cast a web of light through the smoke billowing into the hallway.
Two men emerged — large, masked — with weapons drawn. They glanced both ways down the hallway. One pointed the direction Angie 6 had just traveled, toward lab 27.
The roar of her gun echoed down the hall as she fired. One of the men crumpled instantly; the other staggered, trying to raise his weapon and find a target. She fired again. He collapsed and was still.
Angie 6 struggled to her feet and coughed from the smoke. She slid along the wall, weapon raised, toward the smoldering opening. Taking a heartbeat to steel herself, she darted inside, rolling to a secure spot behind a desk. She exposed her head for an instant to read the situation in the room. She could make out one of her men across the room from her, behind a desk as she was, firing his weapon toward what was left of the glass wall and door at the entrance to the large room. The unmoving bodies of four of her team lay sprawled in unnatural positions across the floor. Among them was one of the invading giants. The fire suppression system in the ceiling sprayed the entire scene with a fine shower.
She could also make out at least five members of the opposing force darting between covering positions, occasionally rising to fire a variety of weapons. As she peered through the dust and smoke, she saw that two of the men were the Fightin' Mads, her former prisoners. Released from their bonds, they were eagerly joining the battle against
their former captors.
She attempted to com Martin, her surviving team member, to coordinate a counteroffensive, but through the noise, water and chaos could not raise him. The invaders were so focused on him, however, they had not noticed Angie 6 enter the room. She ran, crouching, along the wall to a position closer to the remains of the front entrance.
She took a breath to steady herself, and raised her gun to fire. Her optics outlined her targets, pulling coherent shapes out of the shadows. The smoke and dust cleared momentarily, revealing a familiar face among the attackers. It was one of the men who had been on the raid on Open Sky, one who had killed the people she had been hired to protect. It was the copper-colored man, she felt sure.
She squeezed the trigger. Simultaneously, she felt the bark of the gun and witnessed the look of surprise on the man's face as her shot found home. Vicious bastard… She felt a split second of satisfaction knowing that at least one of the murderers had met justice.
She moved to target one of the others, but they were suddenly falling back as a unit. Before she could isolate another target, a blinding flash of light seared her vision, followed instantly by a thump she felt to her core.
Flash-bangs…
She staggered backward, supporting herself against the wall.
Her optics protected her sight from the worst of it, but even so, it still took a moment to clear her vision.
She blinked away tears and saw the outline of two large men lift a conference table, wielding it as a shield, and rush Martin on the far side of the room. A third man, larger than the rest, wearing some sort of facial covering that shimmered and distorted his features, walked upright behind the table, almost casually. She watched Martin fire blindly into the table. The large third man dropped to one knee and slid to his right from behind his cover. He raised his arm, a chunky weapon in his hand she did not instantly recognize.
The man fired. With horror Angie watched the barrage of darts and blades from the flechette shotgun shred the desk Martin was using for cover, and with it, Martin as well.
Connor Rix Chronicles 1: Rules of Force Page 5
