That was a canned speech, Joniver thought. It was also out of touch with the reality of the street. He said nothing, but listened intently.
“But Joniver,” Hunter said, “it did not happen this way. We saw the threat, recognized it for what it was, and we were charged with the people’s protection. We responded in an appropriate way, and we eliminated the threat. We were empowered by the people, and we still are. We must do what is necessary to eliminate terror wherever it is and provide security no matter the cost.”
Hunter paused. ”Do you not agree with this, Joniver? We can’t tolerate terror can we?"
Joniver was not comfortable saying “No,” but he knew for certain the answer was not “Yes.”
He said nothing for a long while, to the point the silence felt awkward. The two men stared at one another.
“You’re wondering what to say,” Hunter said. “I can see your heart rate is increasing and perspiration is just now forming on your brow." Hunter stood and walked around to the back of the desk.
This guy is creepy, Joniver thought. The sword lay in its scabbard on the couch to his left, and he ran his hand across the leather of the couch and rested it on top of the sword.
“You see, I know a lot about you. I know about Emily, and your Nana, and I know about the apples, and I know Olinar is not who he seems to be.”
Joniver’s head shot up and his neck stiffened.
“Why do you steal apples and candles at the market? Emily loves you; why would you risk your life for apples that aren’t worth twelve cents? I know you’re better than that, and I know there is a lot I can do to help you. In turn there is a lot you can do to help me." Hunter gazed at Joniver with that creepy stare.
“Why should I believe a thing you are telling me? You kidnapped me and now you’re holding me prisoner.”
“Prisoner? I think not!”
“When can I go then?”
“You may go at any time. You are free to go whenever you wish.”
Joniver picked up the sword and headed toward the door.
“A shame about your father,” Hunter said.
Joniver stopped. He turned his head and spoke over his right shoulder. “What about my father?”
“A shame, a real waste, that’s all,” Hunter said. “I knew your father well, you see, and the incident with the car was just so regrettable - just too bad. I know your mother, too.”
“What about them?” Joniver asked. He turned his face toward Hunter, with his body still half-turned toward the door.
“They wanted very much for you to be successful, as well as your, uh…your brother,” Hunter said. The last word hung thick in the air between them.
“What?”
“Oh, you didn’t know?”
“You knew I didn’t know! What about my father and mother and brother? Where is my brother?” Joniver stormed back toward Hunter, who stood unflinching.
“Half-brother, in reality,” Hunter said. He glanced down for dramatic effect. He enjoyed this part. The part when he played with the emotions of his victim. The part when he manipulated and twisted and excoriated the subject until they were writhing in self-doubt and confusion. Then when he suggested a refuge of hope, they would run to it, unaware they were running straight into his lair. A predator heart welled up inside of Hunter. He felt powerful, and he felt invincible. This young punk was just another piece of meat, and he would chew him up and spit him out.
“You see your mother had an affair, and you are the result. The pictures you’ve seen and stories you’ve been told are about your brother’s - uh...sorry, half-brother’s - father.”
Excitement and anger and hope and confusion all rushed to Joniver’s head like water after a ruptured dam. He felt pressure - the pressure to act, to run, to fight, to scream, to do something. Adrenaline coursed through his veins like the turbulent rapids of a river.
He looked into Hunter’s eyes. Could he believe this guy? Why had Nana not told him of his brother, half-brother or no?
“What do you mean it’s a shame?” Joniver asked.
“As I said you can walk out, but they were part of the company and would want you to be as well. You can help make the world a better place. You can help make it as it should be, if you choose to, Joniver, my young friend.”
“I’m leaving!”
“That’s fine, but you won’t see Emily again or your Nana.”
Joniver had turned toward the door but froze. For the first time, Hunter had seized his full attention. The predator had matched speed with its prey and was about to leap and break its neck.
I have the boy for good, Hunter thought.
Chapter 11
They burst into the back of the van and lined up on each side, prepared for their mission. These black-clad commandos were trained to make an assault on the Old Airport Harvesting Center, and at last their skills would be tested. Olinar was correct; the squad was on standby and as soon as Olinar’s signal was relayed, they went into action. The intelligence provided by Olinar was confirmed by an inside source at the compound.
They had planned and trained for months for an eventuality like this, but the real thing is always nerve-racking no matter how much you prepare. They had hoped to take Joniver themselves when the time was right, but Hunter’s actions tonight forced their hand. They prayed their intelligence information was enough for them to enjoy at least a margin for success, no matter how small.
Many in the resistance at North Command gave them two chances: slim and none.
A direct assault would be futile, so they meticulously planned an entrance using a string of delivery trucks. The compound needed supplies all the time, and deliveries at this time of night, though rare, were not unheard of.
The man named Dunston was their leader. He was a tall, broad shouldered soldier of 6 feet 3 inches and 218 pounds of dense muscle. Unlike most he still possessed his Scotch-Irish heritage. He had fair, freckled skin and reddish hair with large blue eyes, which saw everything. William Wallace would have welcomed him in his army, but Dunston was trapped in the twenty-second century. Dunston was dangerous, and he was a leader.
He had been trained as a soldier as a young boy in the southeastern region of Afurope. He was destined to serve the company, but a band of resistance fighters attacked his patrol one night and because of his age, spared him. They brought Dunston to North Command, and over time, he had grown to hate the company system.
His second in command was named Jones, but had been dubbed with the moniker Sarge. The resistance did not have much in the way of formal rank, but Sarge fit Jones. He specialized in computers and signal. Jones was smaller at 5 feet 7 inches, but he was strong. He could bench press three times his 165-pound weight, and he had faced death more than anyone. His men not only respected him, they feared him.
Like Dunston, Jones clung to his heritage. In his case both his parents and grandparents were German, and when he was with them, German was all they spoke. He named the resistance fighters the Angriff Troopers, or Attack Troops. Over time it had been shortened to the Angriff.
Discipline came from the second in command, and it was severe. The resistance had no time for a big learning curve. They approached the process simply: If we kill an individual now through discipline or training, we have saved dozens from being killed by weakness or incompetence in the field. Jones killed men while disciplining them and thought nothing of it. He had also killed his share of Guardsman and lost no sleep over that, either.
Dunston and Jones were a tough, focused, committed and expertly trained team. Dubbed Batman and Robin, they made a dynamic duo if you were on their side. They were a formidable enemy of you were not.
***
Emily steadied herself with an outstretched arm against the van wall and moved to the doors as she felt the vehicle come to a stop and rest on its globed tires. The door opened and two Guardsman stood on each side of the van, each extending a single hand. The Guardsman on the right extended his left hand and the one on the left his r
ight. Emily took each and walked down the vehicle’s back three steps like a princess descending from her carriage.
She could not identify where they were. She expected to see the inside of a parking garage, but instead she was outside. The air chilled their breath, making what seemed like smoke signals as they exhaled. They walked toward the building entrance. The cool night air and the crisp cleanness of an autumn evening felt very much out of place, she thought.
She turned the corner of the building with her captors when she spotted the towers. There were eight huge water towers standing at the rear of the compound, and she knew at once this was a harvesting center. The sight of the towers stopped Emily in her tracks, but the Guardsmen pulled her forward. This building did not have the typical glowing stone walls of a harvesting center, but the towers were certain indictors. She put it all together. They headed south from her building, so this had to be the Old Airport, and although the mystery was resolved, Emily was not encouraged by its solution.
Despite the polite manners of her captors, the closer they walked toward the building the more foreboding filled her mind. They weren’t being nice because they were nice, they were instructed to be nice. The terrors of rape and torture again crept back into her consciousness like dark shadows crawling over the edge of a ravine and into the camp of her mind.
She trembled and a shudder ran down her spine.
She walked with her head down, fighting back the tears and the fears.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” one Guardsman asked. The voice belonged to Mr. Husky Voice.
“No,” Emily said. “I want to be returned to my flat.” She fought the tears with all her being.
“I am very sorry, ma’am, we can’t do that. The Director wants to see you in person.”
What? The Director wants to see me?
Emily felt the tremors run through her skin, and all of her fear suddenly seemed justified. Why would the director want to see me? Her thoughts reeled with the possibilities, but she could come up with only three:
1. He wants another mistress, the thought of which made her stomach turn.
2. He has some harvesting experiment to perform. Wanting her specifically made no sense, though.
3. He plans to torture me. Does he think I’m part of the resistance? Did Joniver say something the night he was taken, and that is how he managed to get out - by giving them names?
Joniver wouldn’t do that, she told herself. He knew nothing anyway.
Emily’s trepidation grew, and she felt her options shrink in its shadow.
She moved on, guided by the Guardsmen, toward the building door.
***
Bouncing along on old-fashioned tires, the resistance fighters rode in the back of the three delivery trucks headed toward the Old Airport. Their mission was simple - go in, neutralize Hunter (code named Cougar), get the Joniver kid (code named Bishop) and deliver Bishop to North Command. After the Angriff team received a detailed brief on Joniver, several decided Bishop was much too flattering a code name, so they took to calling him Blueberry.
They preferred using Blueberry because they judged him soft and easily squished. Blueberry was not the official code name, of course. Dunston never used the term, but neither did he stop his men.
The plan was simple, but it was not going to be easy. Dunston was not foolish or inexperienced enough to believe mission plans are never modified in the field. However, as objectives went, this one was straightforward. At this point, he had no way of knowing the trouble he was about to encounter, nor the command decisions he would be faced with tonight.
The delivery trucks arrived at the compound and as usual took the ring road toward the back. At the checkpoint, the drivers were known to the Guardsmen from previous deliveries. The trucks were scanned, and the scans revealed containers of fresh meat, fresh fruit and vegetables, and a load of armaments and ammunition. In reality, they contained nothing but troops, but the back of each truck held a Solid Object Frequency Modulator. The device broadcast a signal that the scanner interpreted for whatever the programmer desired. The Solid Object Frequency Modulator was another Olinar brainchild.
The Modulator worked as designed and soon they were past the checkpoint and well on the way toward the delivery ramp. The Guardsmen at the ramp will be their first real challenge, Dunston thought. There are two lightly armed Guardsman outside, and just inside there is a group of up to three. The Guardsmen at the ramp are tasked with checking deliveries and managing the warehouse-bots and pickers.
The plan called for the drivers to take out the entire group, while the troops in the vans unloaded and moved inside. The Guardsman would be hidden, stripped, and Angriff Troops would take their place. This would take at least three Angriff away from the assault, but give the remaining group time to get deep into the compound before raising any alarm flags.
During their training, Dunston repeatedly emphasized the importance of moving quickly during the early stages of the mission in order to have a chance in the latter. He was not satisfied with this plan, but it was the most reasonable he or anyone else had proposed.
The trucks slowed as the unloading ramp approached. The ramp was a holdover from earlier times and did not accommodate all types of trucks, but the Angriff trucks fit perfectly. The ramp area was well lit, and they saw one Guardsman walking the raised concrete surface on patrol. An overhang kept the ramp dry during a rain and provided shade from the sun. As he watched, Dunston wondered how it had ever gotten the name ramp since it was more of an unloading dock, and there was no actual ramp visible.
The night was good cover for this part of the plan. They reached the unloading ramp, and the three trucks backed in side by side. Three drivers hopped out of their cabs holding pads containing fake manifests. One driver walked ahead of the other two.
The Guardsman said, “Hey Munster! How ya doing? Hey, I think the one van with the munitions needs to go to Ramp 34, not here.”
Munster walked slightly past the Guardsman holding his pad out as if to look at it with him, and said, “Ya know, Gene, I think you may be right.”
Gene the Guardsman turned to look at the pad with Munster, not realizing the danger posed by the other two. One of the Angriff, called Roberts, came up behind and put his left hand over the Guardsman’s mouth. With his right hand, Roberts stuck an injection needle in the Guardsman’s neck.
The injected liquid, called Nasyptalcoliese, caused the victim to sleep for approximately four hours remembering nothing upon awakening. An additional feature was the time lapse would mean little to the victim. If it were possible to put a victim in exactly the same spot and pose they were in when injected, upon awakening they would continue with whatever it was they had been doing. They would yawn, take a quick moment to collect their thoughts and continue as if nothing had happened. Unless told, they might possibly never realize they had just lost four hours of life. There were almost zero side effects and no detectable trace elements in the blood stream. The stuff was wonderful.
As the first Guardsman fell from the injection, Roberts caught him and eased him to the concrete. Munster kept talking as if replying to Gene the Guardsman while he and the other driver, Peters, moved to the door.
“Gene, you are right. I’ll go inside and get a relocation pass and then move the truck. Thanks, man! Good catch on your part. I’m sorry not to have realized it earlier, or I would have taken it there originally.”
Munster and Peters went through the door and found just one Guardsman sitting behind a desk. He glanced up when they entered. “Need a transfer ticket generated, Munster? No problem.” As he reached down to pull a pad from a lower level of the desk, Peters moved to his right and came from behind. Just like Roberts before him, Peters put his left hand over the man’s mouth and injected him with his right hand in the neck. The Guardsman slumped forward.
Within seconds Roberts had Gene the Guardsman dragged inside. He stripped him of his uniform and weapons and took his place on the ramp. In the event patrol
s came by, or if there was a call down to the ramp for a security check, Roberts would be there as a Guardsman. Within three minutes, both Guardsmen were hidden and replaced with resistance troops.
Munster tapped his earpiece. “All clear.”
Dunston gave the signal and all remaining Angriff unloaded and moved out the back of the vans and onto the ramp. They moved inside and regrouped. All rechecked their communications gear and gave the thumbs up. Dunston took a head count and found twenty-one, the same he started with.
He was not a believer in luck, so he double-checked plans with his two team leaders. Each would have seven men in their group and he would have four. Jones led one group and the other was led by a young, but good soldier called Beetle. Three Angriff - Munster, Roberts and Peters - would be left here, dressed as Guardsman. They maintained an informal perimeter as well as the appearance of normalcy at the dock. With all the gear ready, and the next few minutes’ movements choreographed, Dunston ordered his teams to move out.
The plan was simple, divide into three teams and find the kid, young man, Dunston reminded himself. What remained of the Old Airport meant there were three places Bishop could be held. Because Hunter was part of the convoy that kidnapped Bishop, Dunston reasoned Bishop was probably in the section of the compound housing Hunter’s office.
That section was in the building west of their location, and they planned to use the old tunnels to move between buildings. The underground trains that ran between the old terminal buildings were still in use, but the walkways had been abandoned. Dunston hoped moving through the wreckage would not be too difficult. Besides, trying to use the trains was too big a risk despite the potential time savings.
The terminal buildings that still stood were close to the same size as they were when the airport had been in use. In its prime, the airport had serviced almost a million flights per day, which was impossible for anyone in this group to get their mind around, since air travel was now all but banned for ordinary citizens. They were in one of the buildings that had served as a terminal for loading and unloading airline passengers. Each terminal building covered a footprint of approximately 120,000 square meters, depending on the original construction and company modifications. The size alone would make the job of finding Joniver impossible if they had not been confident in their intelligence information.
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