Interceptor (Strike Commander Book 2)

by Richard Tongue

   “Good,” she said, nodding in agreement. “Then we're both thinking along the same lines.”

   His eyes widened as he replied, “Wait a minute. What...”

   “Without help, I'd never find this place again. You're going to have to stay here and guide me back towards you, call me in.”

   “Or anyone else who happens to be in the caves. One distant echo sounds a lot like another.”

   Dredging back the military history classes from her training, she replied, “I'll shout 'Flash', and you reply 'Thunder'. That way we'll both know that we're not being tricked.”

   “That will work exactly once,” he replied, shaking his head. “Even those idiots will catch on soon enough.” His eyes darted around, and he said, “I don't want to be left alone down here. What if you don't come back? What if they catch you?”

   “To be blunt, that won't be my problem.” She flashed what she hoped was a reassuring smile, and replied, “Relax. This is the sort of thing I've trained for. I know what I'm doing.”

   “I hope so.”

   Turning, she pushed off down the corridor, bounding back the way she had come, trying to keep a fix on her position, to mentally note the twists and turns she took as she weaved her way through the passages. She paused for a moment, smiled, and raised her finger into the air, trying to work out which way the airflow was moving. If they had turned all of the support systems off, the only place any air would be coming from was the cave she was trying to reach, through the shaft that led back up to the dome.

   With fresh determination, she turned down a side shaft, almost too narrow for her to crawl through, and dropped down into a familiar passage, a multi-armed statue on the wall that she could remember seeing before, during her first visit into the caves. She had to be close, and she brought herself to a standstill, listening out for any signs of activity beyond.

   Muttered voices, quiet and soft, but more than one person waiting for her down in the cavern. It was too much to hope that the entrance to the dome would have been left unguarded, but she'd thought there was a chance that they might have been waiting up in the warm, rather than down here in the dark. Most of the searchlights were on, flashing around in a random sequence from their position on the edges of the city, and she smiled as an idea started to dance into her head.

   She waited in her hiding place for more than a minute, trying to work out the pattern of the searchlight sweeps. As she had hoped, they hadn't changed the sequence, one designed to cause maximum illumination rather than full coverage of the entrances. While she would never be able to get to the guards without being detected, there were plenty of blind spots around the perimeter, and she could take full advantage of them, slowly moving inside, hugging the wall and dropping behind cover whenever one of the beams drew too close.

   Neither of the two guards moved, more intent on their conversation than anything else. Both of them were armed, pistols tucked into holsters at their belts, and none of the equipment seemed to have been moved, instead simply dumped into piles close to the shaft leading to the surface. She looked around, trying to work out what to take, and focused on a stack of datapads, dumped into a bag with a collection of spare parts. Even without full transmission capacity, networking them together might just give her the power she'd need to contact Churchill.

   As the searchlight swept away, she continued on along the perimeter, dancing between the shadows as rapidly as she could, careful not to disturb anything, to make any noise from the loose rocks that littered the floor. One of the guards looked up, almost directly in her direction, and she froze behind an alien statue as the beam raced overhead, throwing a strange pattern of shadows around.

   “Damn things,” the guard said. “Larson should spend some time down here in this freak show.”

   “You want to be the one to tell him that?” the other replied. “Besides, it's nice and quiet down here. No whining prisoners to get on our nerves.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “Isn't it about time they came down here with lunch?”

   Morgan's eyes widened, and she glanced up at the shaft. Anyone dropping down would have to be blind not to see her from above, and she might have only a few minutes to make her approach. Caution had to be cast aside for speed, and she quickly moved to her destination, the nearest searchlight cluster, three of them together that provided most of the light in the cavern. Dropping into position, she pulled down the manual control overrides, quickly tapping in a new command sequence.

   As one, they paused, the guards turning just in time for the full glare of the beams to shine into their eyes, their hands reaching up to shield them an instant too late to avoid blindness. Morgan raced forward, using their momentarily vulnerability to snatch the components she wanted, leaping up to kick one of the guards into the other before they could react.

   A gunshot smashed into the floor beside her, smashing a statue that had rested there since before humanity had mastered fire, and she looked up to see another guard dropping down towards her, tossing a tray of food away as he leveled his pistol for a second shot. Instantly, one of the lights swung up, continuing the orders she had given the beams, moving towards the target moving from the ceiling and dazzling him just as it had the others.

   She had no time at all to make her escape, and raced back the way she had come, datapads in hand, sprinting towards the exit before they could recover. Wild shots ricocheted around the cavern, the guards firing at the sound of her footsteps, but their sight still hadn't sufficiently recovered by the time she'd reached the safety of the tunnels. That didn't stop them from following her, either infuriated by her attack or afraid of Larson's wrath if they reported the loss of the equipment and their inability to catch her.

   Distant sirens echoed from the rear as she danced through the tunnels, attempting to retrace her steps in the gloom, tightly clutching the precious equipment as she returned to the waiting Petrov. She could hear a single set of footsteps, one of the guards smarter or luckier than the others, close enough to track her movements with precision.

   Redoubling her pace, she continued her attempts to shake her pursuer, but it was no good. It was difficult enough for her to find her way through the caverns as it was, without adding the additional complications of taking detours. She glanced back, catching a brief glimpse of the guard before she turned another corner, and spotted a hiding place that might serve, a crack in the rock that she swung into, a jagged rock cutting into her cheek as she settled flush to the wall, the guard moving towards her more tentatively now, cautious, anticipating a trap.

   His caution was justified, and as he moved past the crack, she jumped out at him, lashing up with her feet to kick him in the face, sending him sprawling, his pistol dropping out of his hand. He swung out with his fist, catching her in the side and knocking the wind out of her as she struggled to recover, the two of them diving at the same time for the pistol resting on the floor. He reached it first, his hand wrapped around the grip, but she was able to clutch the barrel before he could aim, the two of them writhing back and forth, tumbling through the tunnel as they pushed off each other, both of them trying to get the advantage that would save their life.

   The pistol fired with an ear-splitting crack, and the guard fell limp in her arms as he dropped away, his mouth opening, a scream echoing from the walls as blood spurted onto her from the wound in his chest, the dying man falling back, looking up at her in anguish and fear as he took his last breath, dying almost in the arms of a statue fixed to the wall. She took the pistol, wiping her bloody hands on her jacket, and looked down longingly at the man's communicator, the signal open and ready to transmit, but she knew that it wasn't an option, tossing it away in the hopes that it would distract any pursuit, at least for a time.

   She turned back down the corridor, the voices and footsteps growing distant as she returned to the depths of the complex, and finally found herself back in familiar territory, looking around for the passage where Petrov
was hiding.

   “Flash,” she hissed.

   “Thunder,” Petrov replied, barely loud enough to hear, and she turned to the wall, sliding through a narrow passage towards the dead end, the archaeologist waiting with a piece of stone held in the air, his arms raised, ready to hurl it at her.

   “Watch it,” she said.

   “You're alone?”

   “I am now,” she said, waving her pistol on the air. “I got everything we need.” Tipping the contents of her bag onto the floor, she started to lock the datapads together, networking them into a single unit, the transmission strength growing with each addition, the system seeking out a friendly signal from Churchill, until finally, with a glorious green light, a connection was established.

   “Morgan to Churchill. Come in, please.”

   “Ensign?” a startled voice replied. “I'll get the Captain.”

   “Hurry,” she said, looking at the rapidly diminishing power levels. “We don't have long.”

   “Mallory here, Ensign,” a deeper voice answered. “What's your status?”

   “I'm free and armed. Petrov is with me. We've found what we were looking for.”

   “That's good news, anyway.” She paused, and added, “We've got a strike mission planned in four hours. Can you be ready to move by then?”

   “What do you need us to do?”

   “We've arranged to pull the fighters away, but there's nothing we can do about the missile emplacements from here. If you can arrange a distraction...”

   “I think I can,” she said. “When?”

   “Two hundred and thirty-seven minutes, mark.”

   “Mark.” A red light flashed on, the batteries fading away from the overload. “I'll call when I can. Morgan out.”

   “That's it?” Petrov asked, shaking his head.

   With a smile, Morgan said, “In four hours, this will all be over, one way or another. Be grateful for that. All we've got to do is take on the guards by ourselves, prevent them massacring the prisoners, and knock out the missile defenses to allow some bombers to launch a strike on us. Simple.”

   “Well, when you put it that way...”

  Chapter 15

   With a smile on his face, Conway walked up the steps to the entrance of SinaloaCorp's headquarters, a guard stepping in front of the door before he approached.

   “I'm sorry, sir, but I have explicit instructions not to let you in.”

   “Is that so?” he replied, pulling out his datapad, the young guard flinching as though fearing he was about to draw a pistol. “It was my understanding that the five largest shareholders have an invitation to the board meeting that is about to begin.” Holding up the screen, he said, “As of five minutes ago, I am the fifth largest shareholder in SinaloaCorp. I suggest you contact your superiors and inform them of this change right now. We wouldn't want a nasty little lawsuit, would we?”

   The guard's eyes widened as he scrutinized the data on the screen, reaching down to his communicator and taking a step to the left, frantically trying to contact his superior, his attention stolen for long enough to allow Conway to step past him into the building, jogging into the elevator before the distracted guard could stop him. For a brief second, an alarm sounded, before being silenced, someone evidently deciding it made more sense to simply allow him to proceed.

   Reaching into his pocket, he tapped a control, activating the hacking datapad once more, overlaying it with a recorder providing a direct feed to Churchill. If anyone spotted the upload, he had a cover story already in position. After a long minute, the doors slid open, and he walked out into the room beyond, the board members and shareholders sitting in a loose circle, around a table, a screen flashing financial information as they watched.

   “What is the meaning of this?” Moran asked.

   “I think I made that quite clear,” Conway replied. “As of now, I'm the fifth-largest shareholder of this company, and according to the standing orders, that entitles me to a non-voting seat at this meeting.” He glanced at one of the board members, an old man with a fearsome mustache, and said, “My apologies, by the way, for eclipsing you.”

   The man shook his head, and said, “That won't last for long, Captain, I assure you of that.”

   “Perhaps we should adjourn this meeting,” Moran said.

   “Now why would you want to do something like that?” Conway replied, turning to the Chairman, a dark-haired woman wearing a conservative business suit as though it was a uniform. “Walensky, yes?”

   “Chairman of the Board,” she replied. “And former Mayor of this colony.”

   Nodding, he said, “Then you have the final say about whether to continue.”

   “Given that the meeting has already begun,” Walensky said, “and that we have been informed that this matter is extremely urgent, I see no reason not to proceed.” She smiled, and continued, “Captain Conway, the Mayor has already tabled a motion for the immediate dismissal of Sheriff McCormack, and given that I presume that this stunt relates to that, I think it would expedite matters if we simply give you the floor.”

   “He is not a member of the board,” Moran protested.

   “Neither are you, Madam Mayor,” Conway replied. “You are here by the virtue of being a substantial shareholder, nothing more. As am I.” He looked around the room, and said, “Just to make it clear before I begin, I am recording this meeting, and a record of the proceedings is being transmitted to my ship, just in case anyone decides to try and do anything foolish.”

   Rising from her seat, Moran said, “This is a farce. I don't know what sort of a game you think you are playing, Captain, but I have evidence that Sheriff McCormack is in league with the pirates up in orbit, along with Zharkova, and...”

   “Funny,” he replied. “I've got evidence that indicates that both of them were framed, and in such a clumsy manner that my security team were able to trace it back to the source.” He looked at her face, still implacable, and decided that Moran was not someone he ever wanted to play poker with. “I'll get to that later.”

   “Such statements demand proof,” Walensky said.

   “And I have every intention of providing you all with the proof you need in a few moments. Unless, of course, Mayor Moran would like to expedite matters by admitting her guilt here and now.” He reached for his unmodified datapad, calling up the one piece of information he'd been able to find. “All of you served during the War, am I correct?”

   “Yes,” Walensky said. “And we all pooled the prize money we earned as licensed privateers for the Confederation to establish this colony. Which makes it impossible for me to believe that anyone here would betray this colony or the Confederation.”

   Nodding, he turned to Moran, and said, “I looked over your personnel record, and I found something very interesting. You didn't serve on a privateer. According to the files I have, you spent five years serving on Mariner Station as a sensor technician.”

   “That's wrong,” the moustachioed man replied, ignoring her glare. “She served on Gilgamesh for at least three years.”

   “Care to explain the discrepancy, Madam Mayor?” Conway asked.

   “I am not responsible for any errors made by the Records Office of the Triplanetary Fleet.”

   He shook his head, and said, “That was a mistake. You see, if you'd served on another ship, I might have missed it, but it just didn't match what you told me before. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Operations Officer of Gilgamesh was a young officer during the War, one who remained in the Fleet and continues to serve until this day. Then-Major, now Counter-Admiral, Teresa Knight.”

   “What does this have to do with...”

   “Counter-Admiral Knight is the leader of a terrorist group seeking to undermine the Confederation, a group that I have been tasked to bring down.” All eyes were on him, and he continued, “All of this is highly classified.”

   “He's a traitor,” M
oran said. She pulled out a datapad, and said, “There were reasons I was reluctant to make this public, but I was going to inform you all in any case. Captain Conway is wanted on charges of treason, piracy and murder.” Turning to him with a smug smile on her face, she said, “I ordered the Sheriff to arrest him, and he refused. That was when I knew they were working together.” She passed the datapad to Walensky, and said, “The proof is all right there.”

   Nodding, Conway said, “I don't deny those charges. For the record, Knight framed me and my crew, but that's irrelevant.”

   “I don't think...”

   “What is the primary interest of this group?” he asked. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but are you not answerable to your shareholders to get the best deal for them, as well as seeing to the proper running of the company?” Finally, mercifully, his hacking datapad sounded a light tone, McGuire finally completing his work, and he pulled it out of his pocket, scanning through the data.

   Turning to her side, Walensky said, “Call the guards up here, and have them...”

   “She's selling out,” Conway said. “To a consortium of Titanian petrochemical companies, through a series of shadow companies.” He tossed the datapad to Walensky, who read through it in disbelief. “They offered her a premium of nine credits a share for her complete stake. That would give them, what, twenty percent of the company?”

   “They couldn't buy it all,” Walensky replied. “That...”

   Looking around the room, Conway said, “The plan is obvious, isn't it. Pick up a nice big stake to get them started, though that's more of a bribe than anything else, and then wait for the pirates to send the value of the company through the floor. We already found signs that the smaller shareholders are selling up while they can, and I'd guess that an investigation would find them nicely tangled up with Moran.”

   “I don't know how you've done it,” Moran protested, “but all of this has been planted by your people to discredit me.”