Invasion: Book One of the Secret World Chronicle-ARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  In the weeks spent planning this job, Vivian had become close to this man. It was almost eerie how much they were drawn to one another. He opened up to her, told her things he probably shouldn’t have, and when she saw him for all he was, from the hardened mercenary to the vulnerable child he keep hidden away, she was lost. She was lost in a love she had not thought possible. She responded to him with everything in her. She embraced what he was, had revealed her own naked self to him, and after the job was done, he would follow her. Her and Adele. He had said so, and she believed him.

  He was the answer to all her problems, to all her desires. And damn if you couldn’t bounce a dime off that ass of his.

  She felt another shiver and fought it down. This wasn’t a good time to laugh. The slightest twitter would be disastrous. She spared a brief moment to look at the alarm. The red light blinked back, daring her to make a sound, just one clear sound to trigger the security siren and alert the forty-odd men with big-ass guns that intruders were in the building.

  And again, as he placed a soft hand on her back, she clenched her teeth to fight from shaking. Just his touch, damn him. He knew what he did to her, insane man. Just enough pressure to let her know he was there. Just intimate enough to keep things interesting.

  She bit her lip, enduring a frantic moment of ecstasy as his mouth closed in on her ear. It was hardly a whisper, he barely exhaled, but in the still, she heard it.

  “Set the stage.”

  Vivian nodded, and with practiced precision her fingers delicately turned the dial. The small portable speakers crept to life and soon a low humming filled the room. Vivian watched the alarm, gauging the flickering light against the crescendo of white noise. She kept her breathing deep and silent. The flicker of red stuttered and briefly accelerated as the alarm adjusted to a new baseline of sound, then fell back to a plodding blink.

  She felt his breath on her ear again.

  “Flash test,” he whispered.

  Vivian held up her hand, and let a current ride across her fingers. The soft crackle went unnoticed, masked by the hum of the sound machine.

  “Showtime.”

  Vivian pressed her hand to the vault console, and fried it. The digital display went black, and the small door swung open with a barely audible hiss.

  He pushed her gently aside and reached in. Retrieving the files with one hand, Red Djinni pulled down his scarf with the other and brought her close for a kiss.

  “Was it good for you too?” he whispered, and she smothered a mad desire to laugh.

  “Aren’t you going to miss this?” she whispered back. “I know what it means to you, I can feel it.”

  “You’re worth it,” he said. “You’re all I want now.” He held up the packet. “And this is our ticket out.”

  Later, at the safe house, the need for silence was long gone. There was much cheer and celebration. Jon was taken with the music, her body an extension to the beat. Duff was taken by the booze, but his exuberant praise for Vivian was genuine. Vivian took his compliments with good-natured laughter, but she was starting to look restless. She had been away from Adele for days now. Soon, Red had promised her. They would make the drop, receive payment, and would be on their merry way to a long, blissful retirement. Vivian and Adele would never need to run again. He sealed it with a kiss. It seemed to reassure her, and she sank deeper into the plush cushions of the loveseat, sipping her scotch from a tall glass.

  Red stepped out into the cool bite of night air. Jack was muttering into his cell. Looking up, he grunted and closed the handset.

  “We’re set,” Jack said. “Package One is secure. Package Two?”

  “It’s complete,” Red nodded. “The raw data is intact and ready for delivery.”

  “How do you want to do the ditch?”

  “I don’t,” Red answered. “Job’s done, and there’s no way she can catch up to the boss now. I’m going to tell her.”

  Jack swore. “Great. You fall for this one too?”

  Red nodded. “I owe her the truth, from my own lips. She’s no idiot. She’ll figure it out anyway.”

  “This I’ve got to see. The last time you pulled this too-little, too-late crap, the girl in question almost tore you apart with her screaming. This one can fry your brain with a touch. You’re a sick man, Red. Ah well, should be entertaining, if nothing else.”

  Red didn’t answer and reached for the door. He stopped, his hand resting on the doorknob.

  “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. “For once, I don’t have the words.”

  “Sure you do,” Jack said. “You give it to her straight. Hey, Viv? Surprise, darlin’! Your ex hired us to keep you busy while his boys took your little girl away. She’s with her scumbag crime lord of a dad now, and you’re never going to find them. Since the day we met I’ve done nothing but lie to you, just to keep you stupid and romantic and oblivious.”

  “That’s not the truth,” Red muttered.

  “Yeah, it is,” Jack said. “You played this one, like all the others, and we got the job done. This one got under your skin though. Enough that you feel you have to stick around to satisfy your warped sense of morality. It’s all a game until Red gets that twitchy feeling. You’re lucky we find it funny, would have plugged you with bullets long ago if we didn’t.”

  “You think you could?” Red asked. “You think you could go that cold on me?”

  “You think a few honest words to Viv will tip the karmic scales in the least?” Jack countered.

  “No,” Red said. “But I’ll say them anyway. I just didn’t think this one would get to me. I’ve seen the best of her, Jack. I told her I’d be there forever, and it almost felt like the truth.”

  Jack shrugged. “Yeah, well, get ready. You’re about to see the worst in her.” He motioned to the door. “Let’s go see what she’s like when she’s mad.”

  * * *

  The Tunnels.

  The cops knew of them mostly by rumor. Rumor painted them as a complex maze of underground burrows and corridors that might date all the way back to the days of the slave trade, and at least dated back to Prohibition. What the skeptics said was that a few tunnels ran from a couple of basements down to the river, where illegal hooch was brought up from Lake Michigan via rowboat and offloaded for the speakeasies. And as usual, the truth was somewhere in between.

  What certainly was true was that the cops didn’t know most of what lay beneath the streets. And Red knew the Tunnels like he knew every line and crease of every face he’d ever had to wear.

  He hadn’t used Viv’s exit; no sense letting her know he knew the location. Instead, he’d used an old riverfront entrance, currently hidden in the old storage areas of what was now a very high-end restaurant. A white kitchen jacket and a harried expression got him into the basement; the hidden catch in the back wall opened the door into a dank, cold, brick-walled corridor lit not at all at this point. Which was why he had also filched a flashlight.

  His only company until he got to the rendezvous point were the rats the size of cats. Their eyes glittered at him in the flashlight beam, but they seemed inclined to leave him alone.

  Two more sets of eyes glittered dangerously at him out of the darkness; there was a low-wattage bulb here and he shut off his flashlight as he faced those pairs of eyes. One set blazed with anger, one set regarded him as coldly as the rats had, measuring him up for something.

  “Jack,” he acknowledged that second set. “Viv. You’ve been a busy guy, Jack. So how’s Blacksnake as an employer?”

  Jack had picked a “neutral” spot for the meet; above them was a Cafeebucks. Then again, what wasn’t under a Cafeebucks these days?

  Jack grunted. “They got dental.”

  When Jack’s escape plans had been slipped under the door of Red’s cell at Echo HQ, his first thought had been, I’m going to kill that son of a bitch! Maybe he would, someday—but not now. Not until he knew what the score was. Not while Jack could be useful. Just as Jack wouldn’t kill him—not
while Red was, or held, something he wanted.

  Red’s second thought had been, I wonder which shiny, mild-mannered Echo agent is really a Blacksnake plant? There had been no scent, no distinguishing stomp of Echo standard issue bootheels on the cold cement. Just a single sheet of paper with Jack’s signature snarky handwriting. Somehow, Jack knew Bulwark’s intentions, and he had an idea how to turn it around. But they needed a third party.

  Red gave Viv a quick, appraising glance. Jack might have wanted Red alive, but Viv, on the other hand, might kill him any second now. Sure, she’d been recruited to get him free of the bracelet, but that could have been for her own reasons. And after what he’d just done to her back in her bar…

  Red crossed his arms and leaned against the damp brick, keeping Jack between himself and Viv. “So. What’s the pitch? You’re working for Blacksnake. And Blacksnake, God knows why, wants me. Right? Okay, I’m valuable, but not that valuable, not with Tonda breathing down my neck.”

  Vivian was looking now between him and Jack, enlightenment and outrage showing on her all-too-expressive face. She was, for once, speechless.

  Not for long, however.

  “You…you…you rat bastard!” she spluttered, her eyes finally staying on Jack. “You…this was all so you could recruit him? For Blacksnake?”

  “Not just him, darlin’,” Jack drawled. Before Viv could react to that, he’d turned back to Red. “Tonda’s been taken care of. With extreme prejudice. That was part of my deal. Viv here was happy to help spring you after I offered her that. No more Victor Tonda, no more problems for either of you.”

  Red sketched a nod. No doubt she was—since Jack undoubtedly included getting his hands on Adele as part of that deal, and Viv would have nominated Red Djinni for Pope if doing so would get her little girl back to her. He didn’t show his relief at hearing that Tonda was dead, but that fact changed the entire landscape of the future. With Tonda out of the picture, there would be no one left who knew anything about that little contract to rob Echo…and even if there was, Tonda’s lieutenants would be so busy fighting each other for the empty seat at the head of the table and restructuring the organization in the wake of the invasion that no one would care about administering the penalty for Red’s failure.

  With two hot spots of red burning her cheeks, Viv turned on Red. “You didn’t tell me you were going to do that to me!” she accused.

  “Couldn’t,” Red replied curtly. “You have to be angry to go boom like that, Viv. And without the boom, I’d still be wearing that Tiffany knockoff.” He raised an eyebrow. “And nobody told me I wasn’t the only one he’d asked to the prom.”

  “And you—” she continued, rounding on Jack. “I thought all you wanted was to cut Red free of that bracelet! You didn’t tell me you wanted to recruit out of my address book! I thought all you wanted was him!”

  “You were both told only what you needed to know,” Jack said curtly. “Viv, you’ve got what you wanted. Djinni, Tonda’s dogs aren’t sniffing after you any more. Either of you going to argue with my results?” He waited while they both fell back a mental step or two. “Thought so.”

  Viv’s eyes burned and tiny crackles of electricity arced across the knuckles of her clenched fists. “I am not going to help you track down my friends so you can shanghai them into—”

  “Hold up.” Jack spread his hands wide. “Relax. There will be no shanging of anyone’s hai, and that’s a promise. I’m just here to give them my pitch. No coercion. Not for anyone. But, darlin’, the world’s not the same anymore. They’re gonna start running out of places to hide before long. Sooner or later they’re gonna have to sign up with someone. It might as well be us. No?”

  “Well,” Djinni drawled, pushing off from the wall and bracing himself. “In my case…that would be a no. No thanks, Jack. I’ll pass. I’m not joining Blacksnake, and I’m not going to help you recruit for them either.” He smirked. “Echo has a better dental plan. And chiropractic.”

  For a moment Jack stared at him, and Red felt a grim satisfaction rising in him. Jack had actually not expected this. It was sweet. It didn’t make up for Jack trying to kill him—

  It didn’t make up for Amethist—

  But these days, the Djinni was grabbing every molecule of pleasure he could salvage out of the train wreck his life had become. And the look on Jack’s face was one to be savored.

  As Jack’s teeth ground, he growled out, “When I get done with you, you’re gonna need chiropractic, you—”

  “Now, now, no coercion, you said. For anyone.” Djinni’s smirk turned into a mirthless grin. “I’m just going to make my offer, like you are. Let ’em choose between us, or go back to their holes, all fair and square.”

  “Why the hell did you go along with my plan, if you intended to do what they wanted all along?” Jack burst out.

  And for a moment, Red was unable to answer.

  Finally…“When I do a job, I do it on my own terms,” he muttered. “I don’t like leashes.”

  It was more than that, of course. When that shackle had been snapped around his wrist, he’d had the same visceral reaction of any wild animal in a trap. He’d have appointed Jack as World Dictator if it would have gotten that damned thing off his wrist.

  “Anyway, same deal. I say my piece, no coercion. Just like you.” He matched Jack glare for glare as Viv’s eyes narrowed. She looked him in the eyes and licked her lips.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You’ve changed, but not too much.” She paused as an expression of bitterness and anger spread over her features. “You’re still using people.”

  She turned back to Jack, pointedly ignoring Red. “All right. Follow me and you can make your pitch. Both of you. And after that…” She paused again. “After that, it won’t matter. You’ll never find us again.”

  She turned to look at Red. “Jack tells me you’re bulletproof now,” she said levelly, looking him right in the eyes. That look…

  “Well, not really—” he began.

  Before he could react, she reached around to the small of her back, pulled out a .38, and fired it point-blank into his gut.

  He had just enough time to harden his skin, so the bullet didn’t penetrate far—not to the vital organs—but it felt as if it had. The impact drove him back into the wall and he folded up around the wound, dropping to the cold cement floor.

  “I’m not ready to kill you,” she said, looking down at him, her eyes hot and cold at the same time. “But I wish you a world of hurt.”

  She turned and stalked off into the darkness, leading Jack away.

  Behind them, Red caught the bullet as it pushed out of his stomach; with one hand clutched to the healing wound, he lurched to his feet and followed them, stumbling against the walls, half-blinded by pain.

  I am really getting tired of getting shot.…

  * * *

  Bulwark stood at stiff, and very military, attention as Yankee Pride hauled him over the carpet. “You think that just because we’re in a crisis you can pull some maverick stunt and no one is going to notice? You think because of all this”—Pride waved a hand, at the window, showing the construction and demolition outside—“that the rules don’t mean anything? You were on thin ice before, Bulwark, and you just broke through it. Maybe you thought your record went away when we lost the computers. Maybe you thought we would just ignore thirty-one citations for insubordination. Did you?”

  An answer seemed called for. Bull answered stiffly, “No, sir.”

  “What is your malfunction, Bulwark?” Pride continued, scowling. “Do you get some kind of kick out of being the champion of the underdog? Or do you just enjoy being the best of a lot of misfits that no one in their right mind would take on or even give half a chance to? How many times do you think you can pull this kind of crap before—”

  He was interrupted by a delicate cough. “Sir, Bulwark’s record is not that bad. He does get things done. And the recent unfortunate—”

  “I am well
aware of his circumstances, Operative Jenson. That’s why we loosened his leash. And this is what we get. First the Incendiary Incident—”

  “Sir, you said you wouldn’t bring that up again.” Jenson looked pained.

  “Now this. Not only did he drop the baby, he brought home his team half dead from a bar fight—a bar fight—and he lost the Djinni.” Pride turned to face Bulwark again. His index finger was extended. Bulwark knew he was about to pronounce a permanent demotion—

  That was when the intercom buzzed urgently.

  Pride whirled. “What?” he barked.

  “Uh, sir, this is the front gate, sir. There’s—you need to take care of this, sir.” The gate guard was almost stuttering. Bulwark felt his hackles going up. More Nazis? Another invasion?

  “Excuse me?” Pride’s tone nearly froze the intercom.

  “Sir, please turn on the video. You’ll see.”

  With a growl, Yankee Pride stabbed at the buttons on the intercom, activating the tiny screen. And his jaw dropped.

  It didn’t show much but what it did show…

  “Come on, get the boss on the horn,” said Red Djinni, hanging half out of the driver’s side window of a rusted Winnebago. “I got a dozen metas in here, the can is backed up and the shower doesn’t work. Get me clearance and get us in there before something bad happens in here.”

  * * *

  The Djinni had not exaggerated. He did have a dozen new meta recruits, and the smell inside that Winnebago was probably banned under the Geneva convention. There was a hurried conference among Yankee Pride and several of Tesla’s aides. Finally, one of them turned and addressed Bulwark.