Momentary Stasis (The Rimes Trilogy Book 1)

by Adams, P R

  Rimes wiped away the blood, pulling a pinky-length splinter from his forehead. He waited a few heartbeats, then glanced around the corner again.

  The car was gone.

  The gunman was on the ground. He was breathing shallowly and reaching for his pistol.

  Rimes jogged forward, picked up the wounded man’s gun, and took away his earpiece, kicking the man’s hands away. Rimes muted the earpiece, then kicked the gunman in the head, stilling him.

  Rimes took in the carnage along the eastern wall. Two more gunmen were slumped on the ground, their blood-soaked shirts testament to Djerrkura and Metcalfe’s ambush.

  Rimes jogged back to the building.

  Inside the doorway, Djerrkura lay on the ground. The back of his head was blown in, and a tranquilizer dart stuck in the wall beside him.

  Rimes pulled the dart from the wall and examined the room, imagining what had happened.

  Kwon must have sneaked up on Djerrkura during the gun battle, then was knocked out by the mercs. Whoever they were, they weren’t Kwon’s friends.

  Two meters beyond, Metcalfe was slumped over a table, his head twisted at a horrific angle. He was still alive, barely. He wheezed as he struggled to breathe.

  His gun was gone.

  “Brent?”

  Metcalfe’s eyes opened, reflecting fear and a terrible awareness. Tears rolled down his face.

  He tried to speak, but didn’t have the breath.

  Rimes touched Metcalfe's shoulder. “Dana’s okay. She’s going to be all right. We’re going to find these bastards. We—”

  Rimes stopped.

  Metcalfe was dead.

  26

  7 March 2164. Darwin, Australia.

  * * *

  Rimes crept back to the front room and knelt beside Kleigshoen. He positioned himself between her and Unu’s corpse. Kleigshoen was still a mess.

  “We have to go,” Rimes said, softly at first, then again more firmly, as she didn’t respond.

  “Get Brent first.” Kleigshoen’s head shook in time with her breathing.

  Rimes hesitated.

  She knows he’s dead. She just needs me to tell her for her to accept it.

  “He’s gone.”

  Kleigshoen cupped her hands over her eyes. Her body shook, but no sound escaped.

  “Dana, we don’t have time for this. I need you to call the police. You need to tell them what happened, and they need to locate the mercs’ car. There was—”

  Kleigshoen shook her head and released a loud sob. She reached for Rimes and pulled him to her, clutching him tight. She shook violently for several seconds before sucking in a big gulp of air and slipping into a loud cry.

  There was nothing he could do to stop it, so Rimes let her get it out of her system. He wrestled with conflicting feelings: anger, confusion, sorrow.

  Foremost, though, was the anger. Not only over Metcalfe’s death but over Metcalfe and Kleigshoen’s deception, their games and secrets, the way they doled out information and manipulated him.

  From the start, something had been amiss in the Bureau’s request for his assistance. Pursuing Kwon had been legitimate, or at least there had been legitimate reasons to pursue him. But they’d never come clean about the true motivation, either about the mission or about their need to involve Rimes.

  He held Kleigshoen. Her crying diminished slowly.

  A chill wind blew in from the sea. Darkness was approaching. He pulled away from Kleigshoen, but her hair had matted to his bloody forehead. He gently tugged the hair free.

  “Dana?” he whispered. “Can you contact the police? There was a security camera back up the road, just out of sight when we came off that dirt trail. They can get an image of the car off that.”

  Kleigshoen nodded. Rimes handed her his handkerchief, and she wiped her face. After a moment, she walked down the hallway.

  He watched her go. When she was out of sight, he returned to the unconscious gunman on the front lawn.

  Rimes pulled the gunman’s belt from his pants, rolled him onto his stomach, then started to bind his hands behind his back. The man began to struggle. Rimes planted a knee in the small of the man’s back, pinning him down, then finished the crude knot.

  Rimes pulled a knife and put the blade against the man’s neck. He quit struggling.

  Rimes paused, letting the man imagine what might be in store for him.

  Sometimes, imagination is worse than the reality.

  On the back of the man’s neck, Rimes found the edge of a partially hidden tattoo. Rimes pulled the man’s collar back. The tattoo was a stylized fist—clenched and armored. A combat knife and a pistol crossed behind the fist.

  Brotherhood.

  “We don’t have long to talk,” Rimes said. “So I’d suggest you think carefully about what you say. The police will be here soon. There are four of their own dead in the building back there. What’s T-Corp want with Kwon? Tell me and you’re free.”

  The man tried to glare at Rimes from the corner of his eye. “They never told us. They want him alive. There is a ship. We were supposed to get him onboard.” His voice had a nasal quality to it.

  “Name?”

  “The Argo.”

  “How many were on your team?”

  The gunman hesitated. “Nine.”

  “Counting you?”

  “Ten.”

  Rimes considered the numbers. “You only brought eight.”

  “Basu, he got sick with the malaria. Atish ran the operation from the motel.”

  Rimes set the man’s earpiece on the ground, then untied him and rolled him into a sitting position, still holding the knife at his throat.

  Rimes fit the other earpiece in his ear. “I need you to do one last thing. Tell Atish you escaped and want to get back to them when things cool down. You’ll need some medical attention, but you’ll live.”

  The gunman looked at the earpiece uncertainly. He hesitated for a moment, then gritted his teeth and put it in. “Atish.” He blinked slowly, waiting for the connection. “Atish, hello?”

  Rimes tightened his grip on the knife, watching the man’s face for any hint of artifice. The silence dragged on for several seconds.

  Through his earpiece, Rimes heard a voice ask, “Anwar? Where have you been?”

  “Atish, I am hurt.” Anwar rubbed at his ruined face. “The bastards, they got me.”

  “We can’t get you. It’s too much trouble now.”

  “I know, I know. I need medical help, but I will be okay,” Anwar said. “My nose, it is broken. I think my cheek too.”

  “Okay, yeah,” Atish said after a moment. “Tomorrow. On the ship. Now don’t call me again.”

  “Tomorrow. Do not leave me.”

  Rimes smiled as the link closed. He held out his free hand, and Anwar returned the earpiece.

  “Don’t try to contact them again.” Rimes pulled the knife away from Anwar’s throat and pointed to the west. “Go that way. I wouldn’t go near the ship if I were you.”

  Anwar rose with one eye on Rimes, backed out of reach, then jogged away.

  Kleigshoen stood in the north doorway. Her eyes were puffy, and she was shivering but otherwise in control.

  “You shouldn’t have let him go.”

  He looked Kleigshoen in the eyes. She held his gaze without blinking or looking away.

  Good. I need your head in this. I’ll need your help getting Kwon back, then you can answer whatever questions he can't.

  The anger was back. He was going to get answers, no matter what it took.

  “Did they identify the car?”

  Kleigshoen nodded. “They found it dumped off Stuart Highway. They’re gone.”

  “All right. I guess they’re not totally incompetent.” Rimes handed her Anwar’s earpiece. “Can you run a trace on that, get a log of the calls? I want the location of the most recent one first. That’s where we’re headed.”

  Kleigshoen took the earpiece, still trying to stare him down. “You’re not giving t
his to the police?”

  “No,” Rimes said. “We’re going to handle this ourselves.”

  27

  7 March 2164. Darwin, Australia.

  * * *

  The Darwin Seaside Resort Lodge consisted of three dirty, peeling two-story buildings in an inverted “U.” Despite its name, it was positioned closer to the McMinn Street ramp onto Stuart Highway than to any shoreline.

  Rimes watched the parking lot through his earpiece’s display.

  “What a sad little dump,” Kleigshoen said.

  Compared to the rest of Darwin City, it looked old and neglected. The place reeked of hopelessness, desperation. They’d seen an example of its typical clientele earlier: a lonely businessman opening his door for a grungy prostitute. It would appeal to unsavory sorts who preferred to be left alone.

  Like the Brotherhood mercenaries.

  “You see anything new?” Rimes asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Rimes drilled down on the image on his display until he saw a grainy “122” on the door. He pulled the zoom out, stopping when “123” showed on the adjacent door.

  “At least the camera’s working. Perfect placement.”

  For the last half hour, they’d been parked beneath a broken lamp, twenty meters from the parking lot. The only activity had been one of the mercenaries leaving from, then returning to, Room 122 with dinner, using a blue van.

  For the third time since their arrival, Rimes checked the assault rifle he’d taken from Anwar. It was an ARDE AWS-3, a knockoff of the Cytek Advanced Assault Weapons System, and not a particularly good one. It had a reputation for jamming after less than a hundred rounds. The three magazines he’d taken from Anwar held twenty 6.8-mm rounds; one was already half-empty.

  I don’t even have enough rounds to worry about it jamming.

  Kleigshoen had settled into a quiet calm. “What’s your plan?”

  Rimes adjusted the holster to Desai’s pistol before replying. “When the time comes, I’ll retrieve Kwon from our Brotherhood friends.”

  “And when is that?”

  “It shouldn’t be long.” He locked eyes with her. “While we wait, why don’t you tell me what you and Brent were really up to? It sure as hell wasn’t figuring out what was behind T-Corp 72.”

  Kleigshoen looked out the passenger-side window, into darkness.

  After a long pause, she sighed. “That’s not completely true. We were very interested in what happened at T-Corp 72, just not in the compound.”

  “All right. What were you interested in?”

  “The X-17.”

  “You knew all along they had that?” Rimes shook his head. “Wait. You knew those genies were going to be there?”

  “We suspected. Jack, it’s complicated.”

  Rimes’s eyes narrowed. “Give me a try.”

  “You don’t want to—wait.” She held up a hand. “Who’s that?”

  She sent Rimes an overlay on the camera image through her earpiece. Rimes squinted at the image, then grabbed the assault rifle.

  A man with a swollen nose was edging toward the motel parking lot, looking over his shoulder. Anwar.

  “It’s the gunman you let go. I told you not to—”

  After a few seconds, Rimes opened the car door.

  Kleigshoen turned. “What are—”

  “Get ready.”

  He walked across the street and into the parking lot. He held the assault rifle vertically off his left hip, shielding it from the view of anyone looking from the front of the motel and maintaining a normal stride as he crossed the parking lot.

  Anwar knocked on the door, talked to someone inside, then disappeared inside Room 122.

  Rimes stopped at the door to Room 121, leaned against the wall, and edged to the right of Room 122’s window. He shifted the assault rifle into both hands.

  Raised voices leaked through the window. Anwar’s voice was recognizable, although it was Atish and someone else doing the shouting.

  Rimes was almost sure that Kwon was in the adjoining room, 123, away from the argument, with maybe a couple of guards. Rimes had planned to start with Room 123 and eliminate any men guarding Kwon first, but the shouting gave Rimes second thoughts. He’d wanted a distraction, and the mercenaries were as distracted as they were going to get.

  He listened a moment longer, trying to visualize as well as he could where Atish and the other shouter were. Before planting the camera in the parking lot, Kleigshoen had managed a few image grabs of other rooms, so Rimes had a good idea of the rooms’ layouts: rectangles, deeper than they were wide, with a bathroom and small closet at the back, a table and two chairs beneath the window looking out onto the parking lot, two beds on one wall, a dresser and console on the opposite.

  Atish and the other shouter were near the window; Anwar sounded like he was still near the door. The one who had malaria should be in the room with them, too, away from the prisoner, on one of the beds.

  The door to Room 123 opened.

  One of the mercenaries started to exit, holding a plastic food container in his right hand. He froze.

  Rimes sent a burst into the mercenary’s chest and stepped in front of Room 122’s window, spraying four short bursts at waist level, focusing on the occupants’ probable locations.

  Rimes edged toward Room 123’s door, then squatted by the wounded mercenary, waiting.

  Three rounds flew through 123’s door, giving away the shooter’s position. Rimes ducked around the doorway and fired, then ducked back.

  Nothing.

  Rimes reloaded, then crawled past the door toward Room 123’s window.

  Kwon should be on a bed on the left wall, unconscious, bound.

  There was no movement from Room 122 yet.

  Rimes stood and sent five bursts into Room 123. A satisfying gasp and slumping sound told Rimes he’d guessed right.

  He replaced the magazine and kicked in the door. Kwon was facedown on the room’s farthest bed. The second mercenary was on the floor near the console, bleeding heavily, still clutching his pistol but unable to lift it. Rimes kicked the pistol away.

  He checked Kwon for any obvious wounds, then felt for a pulse.

  Alive.

  Rimes threw Kwon over his shoulder and edged toward the door, assault rifle at the ready.

  As Rimes peeked out, the door to Room 122 burst open. Rimes squeezed off a short burst just as one of the mercenaries appeared. The mercenary returned fire.

  Rimes stepped back into Room 123 and sent three bursts through the wall, angling down and toward the parking lot to avoid collateral damage. A hail of gunfire answered him. He flinched, but one of the rounds grazed his leg, another his back.

  “Bring it around,” Rimes shouted into his earpiece. He fired into the wall, aiming low until he emptied the magazine.

  He released the assault rifle, pulled Desai’s pistol, and stepped into the parking lot.

  He sent several shots through Room 122’s front wall as Kleigshoen swung the bouncing car into the pitted parking lot.

  Rimes fired into Room 122 again, stopping only long enough to heave Kwon into the car. Another three shots, and he dove into the car beside Kwon.

  Kleigshoen coaxed as much as she could from the HuCorp, getting it up onto two tires when she turned onto the Stuart Highway. Rimes felt the world shifting beneath them.

  Kleigshoen glanced back at Rimes. “Are you okay?”

  Rimes smiled at her weakly. “Yeah.”

  “Bullshit. You’re slipping into shock.”

  Rimes chuckled. It was a quiet sound that ended suddenly. “I was going to visit Major Uber anyway …”

  “Darwin City Police Dispatch. Yes, constable, this is Special Agent Dana Kleigshoen of the Intelligence Bureau. Check my credentials through the embassy, if you don't trust them. There’s been an attack on Intelligence Bureau personnel at the Darwin Seaside Resort Lodge.”

  Rimes listened to Kleigshoen’s side of the exchange, admiring the sudden calm in her voice. H
e had to concentrate to keep up with it. He was feeling woozy after the engagement.

  “Yes, McMinn Street,” Kleigshoen said. “Several wounded. What? Look, these are the bastards who killed your own officers, so I don’t think you should be yelling at me. Yes, thank you.”

  Kleigshoen terminated the call. “I thought they’d never—” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Jack, you’ve been hit. Can you understand that? I need to get you to a hospital.”

  Everything seemed to be moving slower.

  Kleigshoen went silent for a second. “Royal Darwin Hospital. Yes, this is Special Agent Dana Kleigshoen of the Intelligence Bureau. I’m two minutes out. I need priority treatment for my teammate. He’s been shot.”

  Kleigshoen’s voice was smooth and husky, dreamy. Teammate. I like the sound of that.

  Rimes wondered how he’d ever escaped Kleigshoen—or how he’d ever let her escape him; he wasn’t sure which. His memories were a jumbled mess at the moment. He smiled contentedly. It didn’t matter. He would never be alone. He had someone waiting for him back at home. For a moment, he tried to remember what home meant, then slipped into darkness.

  28

  8 March 2164. Darwin, Australia.

  * * *

  “Jack?”

  Rimes’s eyes fluttered open. He was thirsty and tired, and his left side ached. He was on a hospital bed, dressed in a pale blue gown; his left arm had an IV in it.

  A young, skinny Aboriginal Australian woman in nursing grays looked over at him from one of the monitoring system displays as he blinked. “I’ll be right back with the doctor.”

  Someone touched his hand; Kleigshoen sat to his right. Her shirt was blood-stained, and her hair was a mess, but she was beautiful in the harsh light.

  He tried to speak and at first found his throat too dry. He swallowed and finally managed a very weak gasping sound that made Kleigshoen smile.

  Rimes saw a water cup with a straw sticking out of the top. He reached for it and missed. Kleigshoen guided his hand and helped him clench it. The water was surprisingly cool and sweet.