Armchair Safari (A Cybercrime Technothriller)

by Jonathan Paul Isaacs

  “Come and get me, jerk.”

  Megan watched him. The Greek seemed uncertain about just charging up at her like the Kenzen. But after a moment of consideration, he held his shield before him for protection and began a careful climb up through the vines.

  This was bad. That great round shield would be able to deflect any spear thrust that Megan sent his way. So she dropped the spear and ran.

  The ramparts took Megan to a ruined tower off the front corner of the fortress. The side was completely missing and the roof was now just a pile of debris littering the floor. When Megan reached the crumbling doorway, she saw what could only be described as total destruction—and a perfect place for a thief to set a trap.

  * * *

  Ardmore had just reached the top of the stairs when he heard a shout from behind him. He looked down to see Gareth making his way through the vines of the staircase—much faster than Ardmore had been able to do himself, he noticed cynically. Then again, there wasn’t anyone waiting with a spear up top anymore.

  “Oh, good, you’re still alive,” said Gareth.

  What was that supposed to mean? “Yes.”

  “I’ve wounded the ranger. He’s still tough, though. Go help Klaus finish him off. I’ll handle the thief.”

  Ardmore bristled. He really wanted to execute this woman. “Why do you get to finish her off?”

  “Because—I don’t want us to finish her off. She knows where the money is. We need to take her alive, and that’s something that I’ll handle more effectively than you.”

  “I’ll take her alive,” Ardmore lied.

  Gareth shot him a withering glare. “Go help Klaus. Now.”

  “Fine.” Ardmore trotted in the other direction along the ramparts. He could see Klaus and the ranger locked in a desperate battle atop the opposite wall near the gatehouse.

  * * *

  The blows were vicious.

  Haas had his back to the gatehouse and was trading left-handed strikes with the top-knot warrior. He was not nearly as effective as he had been before his injury. Now he was barely holding on.

  “You’re a dead man, ranger!” snarled Top Knot after a particularly wild swing.

  Haas ignored him, instead knocking his sword aside and pinning Top Knot against the rampart with his shoulder. With one good arm, however, Haas couldn’t strike another blow to finish him off. Top Knot snarled as he struggled to get free.

  Haas had an idea. His opponent liked to do big wind-ups when he swung his sword to inflict more damage. And he was right-handed, which was the side of his body immobilized against the wall.

  The ranger backed off and lowered his sword, balanced and ready.

  Top Knot took the bait. He wound up for a huge attack, but since his right side was too close to the battlement, he immediately hit the wall with a loud clank. It was all Haas needed. The ranger stepped forward and ran him through with the wavy steel of the Gaussian blade.

  The two men fell against each other. The sword had punctured all the way through the other side of Top Knot’s armor. Haas saw the surprise, and for a moment, the fear of a man who knew he was about to die. Then the calm peace of oblivion slipped in as Top Knot sped off on his way.

  The body started to fall sideways toward the edge of the walkway facing the inner courtyard. And the Gaussian blade, as it was prone to do, was stuck fast.

  Haas frantically tried to pull the sword free with his left hand, but it was not enough. The top-knotted warrior plummeted off the side and down into a jagged pile of rubble, taking Haas’s weapon with him.

  A rote check of his other scabbard reminded Haas that his short sword was long gone.

  He was unarmed now.

  Haas thought quickly. He was injured and had no weapon. The enemy would intercept him if they saw him searching the courtyard for an alternate.

  The escape rope Haas had planted was just up on the roof of the gatehouse. It was time to leave.

  * * *

  Megan crouched behind a pile of broken timber and waited. The sun was low enough that all the shadows of late afternoon were gone, so she had twisted her body into a small, tucked-away space as thieves often did. She had good visibility of the arch leading to the open tower floor. The whole space was perhaps fifty feet in diameter—a good size—and she lay in wait near the outside edge.

  Footsteps signaled the approach of her enemy. To Megan’s surprise, it wasn’t the Greek who entered the tower but the rough-looking captain with blond hair.

  Megan quietly tossed a smoldering piece of punk at the flagstones underneath the captain’s feet.

  The slippery Furnace Film oil that Megan had poured around the doorway instantly ignited. The blond warrior howled in anguish as he leapt out of the center of the massive fireball. To Megan’s disappointment, the captain didn’t panic but instead dropped and rolled to smother the flames. He still looked formidable—even though he was on fire and in pain—so Megan shelved her plan of attacking with a backstab. She decided to make a break for it and set up another ambush somewhere else to whittle down the captain’s strength.

  Megan launched herself out of her hiding place toward the staircase on the far side of the tower.

  The captain saw her.

  Megan knew she had to be quick. She darted around the debris, vaguely aware of movement behind her climbing the rubble. The next thing she knew, a something heavy landed on her back and slammed her to the ground. She frantically tried to roll to cover, but she couldn’t... there was something on top of her... standing on her...

  A hand reached down and grabbed her by the hair. The captain brutally pulled Megan to her knees and brought his face up close. Flames from the Furnace Film still danced on his forearm.

  “Thought you could get away, little thief? I can run fast, too,” he growled in a thick, unfamiliar accent.

  Megan grunted, trying to click her way to freedom.

  The captain yanked her head back. A cold, steel blade flashed beneath her chin. Megan froze.

  “I want to know where my money is,” said the captain.

  Megan remained silent.

  “WHERE IS IT?”

  “I—I... don’t have it.”

  The sword blade disappeared, followed by an intense flash of pain in Megan’s hamstring. She howled desperately as she tried to thrash her way clear. But the grip was too strong.

  “That’s not what I asked,” hissed her captor. “No one carries that much gold and jewels. Where have you hidden it?”

  Megan’s mind raced.

  “You better answer me. I can cut all kinds of parts of you open, you little fool. I’m not going to sit here all day. Tell me what I want to know and maybe I’ll let you go. I might even let you keep a penny or two. But I want my money back, and I’m going to get it one way or—aaagh!”

  Megan twisted the knife she had stabbed into the blond warrior’s foot. His grip loosened enough for her to elbow him in the crotch and pull herself away, but when she tried to sprint to safety her wounded leg betrayed her. Megan splayed out onto the floor of the tower.

  “You fucking bitch!”

  Megan crawled as fast as she could in a desperate bid for safety. It was no use. She heard the boot steps as the captain marched back over to her and, this time, kicked her in her side and stopped her cold.

  The armored brute struck her again and again. Her vision momentarily dimmed.

  “Does it feel good, you little goddamn fuck, you stupid whore? Where... is... it?”

  Megan tried gasping for air but none came.

  The kicking stopped. All that Megan saw was black. She realized with a start that it was because her eyes were closed. Terrified, she opened them and saw a blur of rock and rubble.

  A sword blade swiped roughly against her throat.

  “Where is my money?”

  She locked her eyes on the fuzzy form that towered commandingly over her. A dim, desperate thought that she should redirect blame onto Haas entered Megan’s mind, that she should scream the ranger ha
s it in a last bid for life. But Megan knew there was no way out. If she confessed that she didn’t have any influence over the stolen treasure, then she was useless to the captain and as good as dead anyway.

  So this was it.

  A bitter resolve settled in her heart. Megan the Student felt the tears running down her cheeks as she clutched her stomach. Megan the Thief glared defiantly at the warrior holding the blade to her neck.

  She saw the comprehension dawn in the captain’s eyes that this poor thief was a dead end for him.

  And that’s when he leaned forward on his sword.

  * * *

  Haas managed to get back to the gatehouse without attracting attention. At this point, few enemies were either alive or nearby to notice. It was a shame that he had to withdraw, but he hadn’t achieved his status by being stupid. The captain was stronger than him because of the money he had in his vault. And now, with Haas unarmed? It was over.

  Once on the roof, Haas trotted past the ballista toward the rope he had prepared earlier and tossed it over the side. If discretion was the better part of valor, then it was it was far better to flee with the money in the Portable Hole. Letting that blond captain kill both of them would leave nothing for anyone.

  A man’s anguished scream caught Haas’s attention.

  On the adjacent front tower—a large, caved-in affair with little wall remaining between the interior and a deep, rocky fall to the death—an angry figure was dancing about. He looked like he was on fire.

  Intrigued, Haas paused to watch as the figure dropped down to smother the flames. Then he saw Megan start running to the opposite battlement. The first figure saw her and, still smoldering, leapt up behind her. Haas was amazed at how fast he was, and he charged up a pile of debris before jumping onto Megan’s back and flattening her.

  Nice try, Megan. He is too strong. But it was a good effort.

  Haas prepared to rappel down.

  Another scream from the same man, with profanity. Haas shifted his stance so that he could see the tower again. The enemy fighter was now hopping on one foot and Megan was scrambling for cover. The girl still had her spirit. She was moving awkwardly, though, like she had been injured. Her opponent, also hobbled, recovered and strode purposefully over to the frantic girl and began kicking her.

  Haas saw many things from his position on the gatehouse. He could see Megan convulse in pain every time the blond captain’s boot connected. He saw a money-laundering criminal bullying a college student trying to earn her way to a better life. He saw the explicit injustice of survival unfolding before him.

  A solid thud, and this time the groan that he heard was a female voice. Another, unyielding kick and it wasn’t hard to imagine that there were ribs breaking.

  Haas stood motionless on the gatehouse roof.

  Megan writhed on the ground of the other tower, hopelessly trying to protect herself. Unable to protect herself.

  So this was how the final, ignoble end was to be for her.

  The ranger’s eyes burned brightly as he watched.

  And then he ran.

  52

  Haas was sprinting along the ramparts toward the tower when the Greek-helmeted fighter rushed to the top of the nearest staircase. The Greek seemed to grunt in satisfaction at seeing the ranger unarmed.

  Haas reached over his shoulder and pulled the empty scabbard from his Gaussian blade off his back. He stuck the end of the scabbard rudely toward his opponent’s face, like he was going to poke him in the nose.

  The Greek snarled indignantly at the taunt. He swung his sword across his body and shattered the scabbard with a massive stroke.

  With his target wide open, Haas punched him right between the eyes.

  The Greek staggered. Then he slipped backwards, landing on his back and sliding all the way down the stairs back to the courtyard.

  Precious time lost. Haas ran harder toward the tower. He could see that the blond captain had his sword tip at Megan’s neck. They were still thirty yards away. He wasn’t going to make it.

  Rubble everywhere made for treacherous footing on the battlements. Haas reached down with his good arm and scooped up a fist-sized stone. He locked his eyes on the captain, and with as much focus as he could muster he threw the stone in a desperate gamble.

  * * *

  Megan expected the end to be searing and quick. It was curious, in a way, how detached she suddenly became from the end of her own existence, especially after so much time and energy invested in this crazy, dangerous endeavor. All wasted time.

  A strange object slammed into the side of the blond captain’s head with a resounding thunk.

  The captain staggered. He turned to the direction from which the object—a rock?—had come.

  The broad, dark shape of a man flew across the tower top.

  The blond captain yelled and brought his sword around to defend himself.

  Megan caught a glimpse of the captain struggling with the dark shape clamped around him. There was the roar of a single male voice, and then there were two, each competing with the other in a battle of adrenaline.

  The dark shape pushed forward toward the edge of the tower. And then there was no more floor—and suddenly no more blond warrior.

  The dark shape collapsed onto its hands and knees.

  Megan watched, trying to comprehend. It had all happened so fast. Gradually her brain caught up with her eyes and she realized that she was staring at Haas.

  * * *

  Panting, Haas glared over at the body crumpled against the jagged rocks. Take that, you grubbing bastard.

  A small hand put itself on Haas’s arm. He grabbed it instantly, his other fist pulled back to deliver a crushing blow.

  It was Megan.

  It took him a moment to relax. He lowered his hand and frowned—he had almost clocked her in the face. But she was alive. He turned back to the edge.

  Haas noted how brilliant all the colors around him looked, from the yellow of their enemy’s hair to the deep greens of the algae on the rocks. Even the blood on the captain’s sword seemed bright and vibrant. No matter. Pretty clever to push him off the tower, Haas thought smugly. No weapon to attack with, just his skill and his wits. Why was he still panting?

  Megan put her hand on his forearm again. She looked afraid. Haas was trying to figure out why when she started pushing him backward until he was laying down. Now her face was blurry. She was unbuckling his armor and frantically searching her hip pack for something. What was she doing? There was a strange air about her, perhaps desperation. What was going on?

  Megan pulled out something white and gauzy and pressed it against his torso. Then she was pulling it off, only now it was a deep ruby red. Haas watched for a moment before he found his eyes drawn to the deep blue of the twilight sky above.

  He could feel the cynical smile forming on his lips as the blue slid into black.

  53

  Bucharest, Romania.

  The door exploded open. Krystian flew off his couch in surprise.

  “Hello there,” said a dark, burly man in an overcoat. He walked nonchalantly in.

  A second man followed into the apartment and pushed the door closed behind him. It swung limply on loose hinges, so the man dragged a small table in front of it to keep it shut.

  “What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” Krystian demanded.

  “Some friends of Anton’s.”

  All the blood drained from Krystian’s face.

  “Misha,” said the first man, “would you mind?”

  “Da, Dimitri.”

  Krystian was so terrified that he barely noticed Misha’s limp. The Russian hobbled over to the couch, grabbed Krystian’s scrawny shoulders, and hauled him up to his feet like a rag doll.

  “Where?”

  “How about back there? More soundproof, maybe.”

  “Wait—guys—”

  Misha forced Krystian backwards into his bedroom, and without releasing his grip sat him down on his bed. When he stepped aside, D
mitri immediately plastered a strip of duct tape across Krystian’s face.

  “Hands,” Dmitri directed.

  Misha grabbed both of Krystian’s wrists in a vice grip while Dmitri wrapped them in more duct tape. Then the Russians forced him onto his bed and duct tapped his hands to the bed frame.

  Krystian was screaming at the top of his lungs. All that came out was muffled panic.

  “Ankles.”

  More duct tape. Krystian was stretched across his mattress now, wriggling to get free, flopping and thrashing.

  “There, that’s better,” said Dmitri. “You see, Misha? You did good again. That Cymbalta works wonders. Your nerves are really settling in.”

  “My foot is throbbing.”

  “Lest you forget, da?”

  Misha grunted.

  Krystian was still yelling, panicked.

  “Now, little Krystian,” Dmitri said, taking off his overcoat. “It seems you’ve caused a bit of damage to the organization. You realize this, yes?

  “Mmmmmmmmmpf!”

  “U.S. federal agents monitoring your discussions in online chat rooms? A sting that put Anton in the pokey and Johan in the morgue? We have a big mess because of your indiscretions. Yuri’s even had to go into hiding because of you. And Krystian—Yuri doesn’t like to hide.”

  “Mmmmmmmmmpf!”

  Dmitri sat on the edge of the bed next to Krystian. “You know, it’s just a shame. Anton was a good boss and I hate to see that he got fucked. Really fucked. He’s stuck on a banana island until he gets extradited back to Romania. Once they figure out who he is, he’s going to spend the rest of his life in prison. And Krystian—Anton doesn’t want to be in prison.”

  “Mmmmmmmmmpf!”

  “And, the worst part is, it was all unnecessary. Wasn’t it? All you basically had to do was data entry with those credit cards and you’d have had all the cash you needed to fuel your... hobbies.” Dmitri looked around at the posters of naked women adorning the walls. “But no. You had to go out of bounds. You had to break the rules. You had to steal from Yuri. Didn’t you? Krystian—there are penalties for stealing what’s not yours.”