A fresh wave of pain washed over him as he knelt beside Wolfe’s body, so forceful and all-consuming that it nearly knocked him unconscious. He grunted and clenched his jaw until the agony passed. Once he could breathe again, he reached for the energy cells of Wolfe’s combat suit. The simple act of prying them loose from their sockets proved utter torment. It took the better part of two minutes just to pull them free, and he didn’t bother trying to put them in his suit—not until he healed up a lot more. Last thing he needed was to reopen a cauterized wound and bleed out. His suit had energy enough to get him out of Foundry District before the IDF showed up.
“You’re assuming he acted alone,” Taia said. “It wouldn’t be the first time government agencies have put guns into the hands of people they intended to use to further their own ends. It’s something both the Nyzarian Empire and the old governments of the Terran League did countless times.”
“I know.” Nolan’s Silverguard training had included a great deal of research into military history—both the engagements recorded in history books and the covert actions few outside special operations units ever knew about. “There’s a chance this goes way high up in the Protection Bureau, or the Imperial government at large. And that’s what I intend to find out, one way or another.”
Nolan gritted his teeth as a dizzying wave of pain washed over him. He reeled, head spinning, but the AI-controlled combat suit kept him from falling. It felt like an eternity before the sensations retreated, leaving him gasping for breath. “You with me on this?” he managed to gasp out.
“You know my job is to protect you and to aid you in your work for the Protection Bureau.” Taia’s voice had an edge of worry. “But I’ve spent a lot of time in your brain, seeing how you think and what you feel. When I see the footage of what happened in the Spacer’s Paradise, something in my programming tells me that I should do something to stop it from happening. That I should also protect the people you care about.”
Nolan couldn’t help grinning. “Sounds like you really are becoming a lot more human, Taia.”
“I hope so,” the AI said. “I find I want to learn more about the emotions and sensations that drive the actions of humans. Keeping you alive and helping you in your mission will give me a chance to do that. So yes, Nolan, to answer your question, I’m with you on this. I’m with you all the way to the end. The question is: where do we start?”
“We start by paying a visit to Agent Styver.” Nolan’s grin deepened to a scowl. “I need to find out what he’ll say when I tell him about Wolfe. His response will give us an idea of his involvement, maybe even drop a clue as to how deep this thing runs. Like every other job we’ve taken on, we dig into our target, learn as much as we can, then figure out how to proceed.”
“Understood,” Taia said. “Would you like me to dig into Agent Styver and see what I can find out about him?”
“Sure.” Nolan nodded. “I’m pretty sure the Protection Bureau will have erased him from any public records, but if you can find something out about him, we may be able to figure out what his angle is, or what he’s doing here.” The notion of arming gangbangers with military-grade weapons didn’t make any kind of rational sense. Either Agent Styver was insane—a fact Nolan very much doubted—or had acted on a plan far too sinister for Nolan’s liking.
We’ll see what you have to say, Agent Styver. Nolan’s jaw clenched. See what kind of man you really are beneath that bland façade. Whatever he’d find, it would be something more insidious than he could have believed a few days ago.
But first, he had one last detail to take care of.
Reaching into his combat suit’s pack—a movement that sent more pain coursing through his still-healing torso—he drew out the bottles of Blitz and the applicator.
“Nolan—“ Taia began.
“Easy, Taia.” Nolan shoved one bottle into the mechanical injector. “It’s not for me. There’s nothing Blitz can offer me. Not now, not ever.”
His near brush with relapse had filled him with a new respect for just how strong the addiction could be. Seeing Bex on the verge of death only drove the point home deeper.
He had come close to losing himself before. Tanis had died because of it. That day, he’d vowed to get clean and stay clean. It was the only way to find a path forward despite everything that had happened to him—or because of him.
The burden of guilt hadn’t grown any lighter or easier to bear. If anything, Clive’s death and Jadis’ injuries only added to the weight pressing down on him. But bear them he would. It was the only thing he could do; otherwise, he would once again be that empty shell of a man he’d been before. A man like that was good for nothing and useful to no one. Quite the contrary—he’d be a liability that wound up getting people killed.
And that was a point he wanted to make extremely clear to Agent Styver.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“You look...” Disgust flashed across Agent Styver’s face. “…messy.”
“Hazards of the job and all, right?” Nolan made a show of leaning on Agent Styver’s office table. Not much of an act, if he was being honest. His battle with Wolfe had left him drained, so much so that he’d nearly passed out twice on his way to the Protection Bureau’s office in the Bolt Hole. The wounds he’d sustained hadn’t all fully healed—the worst still let off a few trickles of blood that seeped through tattered shreds of his chestplate and pauldrons. Just enough to bleed onto the table’s pristine white surface.
Agent Styver’s expression went rigid at the sight of the crimson dripping from Nolan’s armor. “Careful, damn you!” He leaped to his feet and shoved Nolan backward. “This is extremely expensive equipment you’re bleeding all over!”
Nolan allowed himself to be pushed away, though the movement sent another flash of pain rippling through his torso. The bleeding might soon stop, but it would be at least a day or three before he could move without discomfort.
“I’d say this is indicative of your work lately!” Agent Styver snapped, his eyes flashing as he reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief as white and spotless as his desk had been. “Sloppy, starting with that business with German French, and now this! Quite the mess you left me to clean up.”
Without taking his eyes from the spot of blood he was rubbing furiously in an attempt to clean, he summoned video footage onto his wall screen with a gesture. The images showed the wrecked starspeeder in Foundry District, along with the still-blazing wreckage of what had once been Declan Tian’s vehicle and the smoldering ruins of his stolen skimmer bike. Three more scenes played out on the split-screen: the flashing lights from IDF cruisers illuminated dozens of White Sharks being hauled into custody.
“You had one job, Nolan.” Agent Styver spoke the name as if spitting a curse. “Take down the two names assigned to you, nothing else.”
“If I didn’t know you better, Agent Styver, I’d almost say you’re pissed that I did New Avalon a favor by putting a dent in its gang problem.” Nolan kept his expression carefully neutral. “That seems hard to believe, given that the Protection Bureau is set to, you know, protect people.”
Agent Styver finally gave up on the smear of blood and turned an exasperated glare on Nolan. “Which is what we do, though I’d imagine our methods are a bit beyond your troglodytic understanding.”
Nolan quirked an eyebrow. “You mean taking a cut of the White Sharks’ revenue and using it to pad out whatever Imperial funding is assigned to you to keep the lights on in this place?”
The sudden icy deadpan look on Agent Styver’s face told Nolan he’d hit the matter dead-on.
“So, yes, you’re right, by messing with the White Sharks, I did do more than you asked me to.” Nolan leaned forward, this time careful not to drip blood on Agent Styver’s desk. He was already pushing the man enough—he didn’t need the Protection Bureau against him just because he pissed off one pencil pusher. “I made sure that the man who took over the White Sharks wasn’t the sort who got high off his own product.”
&n
bsp; Agent Styver’s eyes narrowed, just a fraction, but it was enough to reveal his surprise. “What are you talking about?”
“Wolfe.” Nolan straightened and folded his arms over his chest—a movement that brought a fresh twinge of pain. “The fact that you didn’t instruct me to take him out made it clear that you wanted him in charge of the White Sharks.”
He paused, only a heartbeat, but it gave him a moment to choose his words carefully. He had to tread with caution if he wanted to see what Agent Styver knew without showing his own hand.
“But if Wolfe had been the one to run the White Sharks, you’d have ended up dealing with someone far more unbalanced and unpredictable than Gustav Wylun.” He stepped forward and placed his hand on the table. “Taia, show him the picture.”
The AI extended the smart filaments from his glove and connected them to Agent Styver’s desk. A moment later, the screen flicked to life, and an image of Wolfe’s corpse popped up.
“Look at his arm.” Nolan pointed to the crook of the man’s elbow. “See the needle marks?”
Agent Styver looked, and again his eyes narrowed, his lips pursing just enough to reveal a hint of wrinkles around his otherwise smooth, bland face.
“Taia took a sample of his blood on the scene,” Nolan continued. “Want to guess which drug we found in his system? I’ll give you a hint, it rhymes with Ditz and looks like unicorn jizz.”
Agent Styver’s expression deepened to a scowl, and he got the look of a man wanting to argue. But he said nothing, simply stared at the image of Wolfe’s corpse.
Of course he’s not saying anything. Nolan’s jaw muscles worked. If he says anything to contradict this evidence, it’ll give away what he knows about Wolfe. The fact that the man hadn’t indicated any connection with the White Sharks lieutenant in his briefing hinted at the importance of maintaining that relationship as a secret. At least to those outside his chain of command, including one Nolan Garrett, assassin-for-hire-and-extortion, unwitting pawn in whatever game was being played.
“And that’s not the only surprise.” Now was the time to drive home the dagger. “Wolfe and his goons were ex-IAF and armed with IAF weapons. Just like German French’s goons. Which leads me to believe whoever sold to the Rücksichtslos also sold to the White Sharks.” He leaned forward. “Tell me you’ve got some leads on where those weapons and tech came from.”
Agent Styver’s expression never changed, but Nolan noticed the barest hint of a stiffening in his spine and shoulders. It was so small he’d have missed it if he hadn’t been looking, yet there was no mistake. The Protection Bureau agent knew something.
When he turned, he gave Nolan a slow nod. “Yes, in fact, I do have some leads.”
Nolan tried to mask his surprise. He hadn’t expected Agent Styver to come out with it so easily.
“Your next job, in fact.” Agent Styver reached into one of his suit’s pockets and drew out a flash drive, similar to the one he’d left at the dead drop. “One that I believe you will agree is highly time-sensitive.”
Nolan narrowed his eyes at the drive. “Why?”
“Because of the who and what,” Agent Styver said. He thrust out the little memory stick to Nolan. “The full details are on the drive, but suffice it to say, I’ve identified the two individuals who broke into the IAF armory outside Phobury.” With a couple of taps on the surface of his table, he summoned two images onto the screen. “This is the pair the Protection Bureau needs you to eliminate.”
Nolan opened his mouth to protest—Agent Styver had promised that he’d be able to visit Jared in person after he finished with the Gustav Wylun job—but one of the two faces on the screen drove all other thoughts from his mind.
“Is that—?” Taia asked, but Agent Styver’s voice drowned out her words.
“The job will not be easy,” Agent Styver said, “but I trust you are up for the task. I will make arrangements for transportation to Phobury and ensure you have all the intel you need to complete the task.” He looked at Nolan’s combat suit—or the shredded remains of it—and his nose once again wrinkled with disgust. “And better equipment.”
With effort, Nolan ripped his gaze away from the familiar face on the screen. He couldn’t think about that now. His primary focus had to be on Agent Styver and the information the man was telling him—and, by omission, covering up.
“So these two broke into an IAF armory, lifted millions of credits’ worth of guns and gear, and are selling it to the street gangs?”
Agent Styver gave him a little nod. “So it seems. I have yet to find where they are storing what they haven’t yet sold and how they are getting them into the hands of the White Sharks, the Rücksichtslos, and anyone else they’re dealing with.” With another quick tap on his desk, he shut off the screen. “But the Protection Bureau will see to the recovery of what they stole. It falls to you to deliver the Nyzarian Empire’s punishment for their crimes.”
This only added to Nolan’s suspicion. “Isn’t a court-martial or secret rendition camp more suitable to this crime?” He gestured to the now-blank screen. “After all, they stole from the Imperial Assault Forces, which makes this a military matter.”
“Under normal circumstances, perhaps.” Agent Styver inclined his head. “But we have been asked to handle the matter, and so we shall.” He jabbed a finger at Nolan. “Handle it, properly this time. Find them, eliminate them, and don’t make a mess of it. Once it’s done, I will make certain your request to see your brother is expedited.”
Nolan’s eyes narrowed. “You said—“
“And I stand by my word.” Agent Styver cut him off with a dismissive wave. “You know as well as I that the wheels of the Empire grind exceedingly slow. Eliminating these particular targets will go a long way toward speeding those wheels up. Understood?”
Nolan understood all too well. Agent Styver might as well have said, “Your brother’s life is in our hands, so you do what we want or else!” The Protection Bureau had all the leverage on him; they could continue stringing him along. Playing their game was the only way to get what he wanted. He had to get into the Vault to see Jared, even if that meant taking a few more jobs.
But the rest of what Agent Styver left unsaid was just as troubling. The Protection Bureau man had reacted to his question about finding the White Sharks armed with IAF weapons. He’d played it off as the work of the two traitors he’d claimed broke into the IAF armory, but Nolan had spotted that sudden flash of fear, the tension around the usually smooth corners of his eyes. There had been a part of Agent Styver worried that Nolan had learned of his connection to Wolfe.
Now, by not saying anything about his dealings with the White Sharks, the Protection Bureau man had confirmed his involvement in something shady. Either extra-legal, something his superiors here at the Bureau might find interesting, or something sanctioned by his higher-ups. No matter what, it could be nothing good.
One more reason to appear to go along with Agent Styver’s coercion. As long as he played submissive assassin and desperate man trying to free his brother from the Imperial Reformation System, he’d have a chance to get more insight into what Agent Styver was doing.
“Be ready for my call, Cerberus.” Agent Styver took a seat in his white chair and set about scrubbing the last bloodstains Nolan had left. “And for the love of decency, clean yourself up!”
Nolan didn’t hurry his pace as he skimmed across the rooftops. Solaria filled the air with its red-gold brilliance, bathing Grove District in a warm glow. In the far distance, the neon of Shimmertown shone like a garishly colored beacon calling him home. He had only a few kilometers to go—he could make the trip using up the last energy from the fuel cells he’d stripped off Wolfe’s suit—but he found himself preferring the slower pace of the anti-grav skating. The fatigue after battle and the pain of his still-healing wounds certainly gave him reason to take his time.
More than anything, though, he wanted a chance to think.
No doubt about it, Agent Styver�
�s up to some shady shit. Nolan shook his head. The question is: what? And why Wolfe?
The White Sharks lieutenant wasn’t exactly the model of sanity and level-headed rationale. As he’d proven time and again, he was the sort to shoot first and forget about asking questions. An attitude like that would make him damned difficult for Agent Styver to control.
And no doubt about it, the Protection Bureau man had wanted Wolfe in place in the White Sharks for that very reason. He’d given him IAF weapons, armor, and tech for his ex-IAF gangbangers—just as he had German French’s Rücksichtslos.
But why? Nolan could find no reason that made any kind of sense. Why does the Protection Bureau want to put that kind of firepower in the hands of men like that?
There was a purpose; he simply couldn’t see what. But what he could see was the aftermath left by men like that. Ledren would have murdered a cripple for a few hundred credits. Riath and his fellow White Sharks had killed sixteen innocent bystanders and injured scores more all so he could take down one man for his boss. Wolfe would have killed Stedd, Mimi, and everyone else in the Spacer’s Paradise—probably the whole building—to get his hands on the man who killed his brother.
That wasn’t the sort of thing he could allow. New Avalon—and all the bits of the Nyzarian Empire he’d seen during his years traveling with the IAF—had hardships enough without putting such terrible power in the hands of men like that.
He’d have to stop it from happening, however he could. He had no desire to go against the Protection Bureau, not when they knew everything about him and had access to Jared in the Vault. But he would dig deeper into whatever was going on. If he found something shady, something that could lead to more senseless death, he’d have to put a stop to it.
That was the Silverguard way. Silverguards were the point of the sword, the sharp tip of the weapon that cut down the Nyzarian Empire’s enemies before those enemies put the hurt on the Empire’s subjects. During his years at war, he’d fought to protect the IAF grunts fed into the Imperial war machine. Now he fought a different war. A war to protect people like Bastien, Mimi, Stedd, and Jadis—people who couldn’t protect themselves.
Assassination Protocol: An Intergalactic Space Opera Adventure (Cerberus Book 1) Page 25
