V-Day

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  Cristián lowered the field glasses, got to his feet and moved back up the slope to where Parris sat. He crouched beside her and handed her the glasses. “I know where the control room is for the drone.”

  “Can you point it out?”

  “There’s a mix of air regiment and field regiment personnel on the base, and every building but one is co-ed.”

  “Please tell me it is not at the bottom of the flight control tower,” Parris said. “If they’re that obvious about it I’ll be even more disappointed in these jerks. They take all the challenge out of it.” Her mouth curved up in single-sided grimace.

  “It’s a wash-house attached to a barracks. One of the buildings toward the center, although way out of the normal path of business,” Cristián replied. “I waited this long to see if anyone went in wearing bath slippers, carrying a towel or a bathroom bag. Everyone in and out is wearing a full uniform. No damp hair, not a toothbrush in sight and it’s just before the seven-thirty chow time. There should be a steady stream of people coming and going. Instead, two entered at five-thirty and two came out.”

  “Pilot and backup,” Parris murmured. “Damn, Cristián.” It was all she said, although the admiration in her voice said the rest.

  Cristián held up his hand. “There’s a complication.”

  “Of course there is,” Parris said, her tone dry.

  “You can’t just waltz up to the fence, hold up Pia’s laser painter and not expect them to take the top of your head off,” Cristián said. “The security sweep will pick you up within four minutes.”

  Parris looked at her watch. “The drone coming to take out the control center will need coordinates in twenty-eight minutes.”

  Cristián nodded. “Chloe can hack the security AI and make it think it’s seeing nothing.”

  “That’s the catch?”

  “The catch is, she needs to be by the fence to do it. Her laptop won’t be able to plug into the network if she isn’t that close.”

  “It can plug into the network from the fence line?” Locke asked, looking interested.

  “With a dongle I’ll give her, yes,” Cristián said.

  Parris rubbed her forehead. “Wait. Let’s lay this out. We have to get Chloe down to the fence. Then make sure she isn’t drilled through the temples with a fifty caliber while she hacks the security feeds. Chloe makes the AI think it can’t see anything, then the rest of us get to the fence and paint the bathhouse for the drone. All that in less than thirty minutes, when the drone gets here. Have I missed anything?”

  “Yes,” Cristián said flatly. “We don’t get Chloe to the fence. She’ll get herself there.”

  “Me?” Chloe gripped the cup even tighter. She already had visions of her brains erupting from the impact of a large caliber bullet.

  Cristián didn’t look at her. He was watching Parris. Convincing her this madness would work with the power of his own conviction. “There’s a weakness in the pattern of the stops the cameras make. It leaves a straight line to the fence which someone can cross in under three minutes and stay undetected.”

  “You happen to know what square footage the cameras focus upon with each stop?” one of the resting soldiers asked. Chloe thought his name was Donaldson. His tone was withering.

  “I monitored them while I was scanning the base,” Cristián told him. “There’s a blind line about a meter wide. If someone moves down that line at a fast enough pace, the cameras will miss them.”

  “Jesus…” Donaldson breathed.

  “How fast a pace do they have to move?” Parris asked with a light tone which made it sound as though she was asking for football scores.

  Cristián stood and turned to look at the distant fence. “I estimate it’s nine hundred meters to the fence.”

  “Eight hundred and fifty,” Yardley, the navigator, said.

  “A small bonus, then,” Cristián said. “Chloe will have to cover the ground in under two point nine minutes.”

  Three minutes! Her heart pounded, as if she was already trying to run it.

  “Impossible,” Parris said flatly, as Locke and Yardley and the others made whistling noises, their eyes rolling.

  “Chloe was the eight-hundred meter sprint champion at the academy,” Christian said.

  Parris looked at her sharply.

  Chloe shrugged. “Track and field. It was that or team sports.” She grimaced.

  “That was years ago. What condition are you in now?” Parris demanded. “I’m not sending you in there if there’s even a remote chance you’ll be spotted. And not just because I don’t want another civilian injured on my watch. If you’re seen, this whole operation is blown to hell.”

  “I still run,” Chloe admitted. Cristián had nagged her into taking care of her physical fitness, years ago, when she would have remained in her chair for 24/7, drinking energy drinks for sustenance. “Only, I haven’t trained for a sprint for years,” she admitted.

  “She can do it,” Cristián said. “She’s faster than any of you and she’ll have adrenaline to give her an edge.”

  Damn right, Chloe thought, swallowing hard. If she had to break the World record to do this, her fear would make sure she did.

  *

  PRESIDENT COLLINS PUSHED BACK FROM the dusty tin desk and leaned back in his chair. He beckoned with his finger.

  Rosa Bergen stepped away from the steel bunker wall and bent to listen.

  “Our drone must have taken out the flight control center in Vistaria by now,” Collins said. “Have you heard anything?”

  “No, Mr. President. I wouldn’t be the first to hear, though,” Rosa told him. “I can find out.”

  He shook his head. “Damn Airforce are hedging their bets and won’t tell anyone the direct truth right now.” He looked around the bare room. Six of his senior staff sat on the old-fashioned sofas ranged against the other wall, all working on laptops. There were four Secret Service people in the room with them. They made it a crowded space. “I need to breathe fresh air,” Collins added.

  “The Airforce are embarrassed about having their trial drone go missing, Mr. President,” Rosa pointed out. “They don’t want to screw up again and give you another wrong answer.”

  He looked at her sharply. “Yes, I know,” he added. He hesitated. “I wanted to thank you, by the way. You could have clocked off after the bombing, even after Doug…” He drew in a breath. “No one would have thought badly of you. Yet you’re here in the bunker, still at my back. That’s impressive, Bergen.”

  “It’s my job, Mr. President,” Rosa told him.

  He didn’t try to correct her a second time. He turned back to his desk and the file he had been working on there. “If you hear anything, though, you’ll tell me.” It wasn’t a question.

  “There is one thing, Mr. President,” Rosa said.

  Collins turned the chair around so he didn’t have to twist to talk to her. He looked at her.

  “I overheard General Howard-Jones asking what the protocol is for securing the drone when we get control back. We can’t blow it up. Anywhere we land the thing will be exposed to radiation. No one seems to know what to do with it.”

  Collins shook his head. “As far as I am concerned, they can turn the damn thing around and fire it right back at the bastards.”

  Rosa glanced up and around the room, then brought her gaze back to the President. “I’m sure the idea has occurred to someone,” she said diplomatically.

  Collins shook his head. “Forget I said it,” he said gruffly and yanked at the knot of his tie. “I need to get out of here,” he added.

  “I’ll see if there’s news about the drone,” Rosa said.

  “Never mind,” Collins said, getting to his feet. “I’ll find out myself. It’ll give me something to do.”

  *

  IF HE HAD THE TIME to spare to indulge in sentimental thinking, Nick would have laughed about his mode of entry into the Palace. After watching the building and the perimeter from the hills behind the grounds,
he had determined the weak point and the best way in was to climb the decorative cinderblock wall which capped the end of the verandahs on the north side of the building. The north end was farthest from the admin offices and the president’s suite, at the south end.

  It was an ironic decision, for Calli had used that same wall, just before the war had broken out, to come and find him in his quarters.

  Nick had double-checked his decision, knowing the personal connection to the route might influence him to make the choice when a better one was available. Stringent reasoning determined that no, this was the best way. It was risky, especially in broad daylight, only he couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

  He worked his way down the hill and onto the grounds, moving through the fencing with the help of the small wire cutters he’d brought along just for this moment.

  There were only five cars sitting on the concrete behind the Palace. They all had bullet holes and scrapes and dents. Nick picked the lock on the trunk of the faded green Ford and stuffed the wire cutters and his pack inside and locked it.

  Another short reconnaissance, then he eased across to the north end of the Palace itself and floated down the side of the building to where the cinder blocks began.

  A glance around for observers. Nothing. He shook his head. It was pitiful. Was Serrano so short of men, he couldn’t afford to put two of them on this end of the house? Or had he really thrown everything he had at the triumvirate of armies marching toward the city?

  It was Nick’s lucky break, either way.

  He slid his fingers through the sharp-tipped petal-shaped opening in the cinder block and climbed.

  When his feet were level with the foot-wide stone balcony rail of the second floor, he checked along the verandah. It was empty. The doors to the rooms along the verandah were all closed. So were the windows. He stepped onto the balcony rail, then jumped lightly onto the verandah itself and took out his knife.

  He eased along the verandah, trying to make it look as though he belonged there, in case anyone in the admin building at the front of the grounds happened to look through a window and notice him. At the edge of the tree line behind the Palace, he had changed into gray fatigues from the green camouflage he had been wearing while moving south to the city. From a distance, the fatigues might be taken for the ugly new Insurrecto uniforms. At the very least, he wasn’t wearing a dark green uniform which screamed Loyalist. Any Insurrectos he ran into would hesitate for a split second, if they saw gray.

  A second was all he needed.

  The door to one of the rooms opened inward and an Insurrecto officer stepped out. He nodded at Nick automatically as he turned to head down the verandah in the same direction as Nick was moving. Then he jerked his head back, his eyes narrowing. His hand flashed to the holster on his hip.

  Nick leapt at him. He gripped the man’s chin with his free hand and sliced with the other.

  The man gurgled and croaked as Nick hauled him backward into the room from where he’d just emerged. He dumped him on the carpet and wiped off his knife and shut the door, staying inside.

  He looked around. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, as he spotted the little carriage clock on the shelf over the desk, ticking off the minutes with a hypnotic spinning of the circular pendulum beneath.

  This was his room.

  He looked down at the dead body, eyeballing the man’s length with his gaze.

  Then he got to work, the mental clock in his head ticking louder than the little golden globe on the shelf.

  14.

  “YOU DON’T HAVE TO BREAK the world record,” Cristián told Chloe, as he settled her backpack on her back. “You just have to do it in under three minutes. That’s easy, for you.”

  Chloe tried to ease her rapid breath. It wouldn’t do to start this sprint already out of O2. She nodded instead of saying anything because she knew her teeth would chatter as she spoke.

  Parris lowered the field glasses. “There’s a place you can drop to, when you reach the fence. You won’t be seen. See the plastic shopping bag caught up in the wires down there?” She nodded.

  Chloe looked. A white shopping bag with red lettering was plastered against the base of the fence where the wind had tangled it with the wires.

  “Damn sloppy,” Donaldson muttered. “Colonel Strickland would strip ranks for something like that.”

  “It’s tiny!” Chloe gasped.

  “It’s pizza box sized,” Parris assured her. “It only looks tiny from here.”

  It looked like the size of a matchbox from here. Chloe considered the white spot. “They’ll see my head over the top.”

  “So scrunch down when you’re behind it.” Parris shrugged. “Or don’t do it.”

  Cristián’s face gave away nothing. He wouldn’t help Chloe decide.

  “I have to,” Chloe said.

  Parris nodded, her eyes warm.

  Cristián turned to watch the clear dome on the top of the tower again, the field glasses to his eyes. “Maybe thirty seconds,” he warned.

  Chloe gripped the trunk of the nearest trees. It wasn’t starting blocks, although it would let her leverage herself into motion. She traced the route she had to take. It was a straight line which would slide her through the places where the cameras were not monitoring.

  Cristián had explained it. “This is an extended range for security cameras. Usually, they remain still and record what is happening in one location. These are moving about, adjusting their range each time they stop, so they can cover a complete circle for a long distance. It’s a good idea. They failed to make sure all the stops the cameras make cover the complete circle, though. You can slide through the spaces they fail to cover.”

  As she recalled his explanation, which had reassured her far more than Parris’ determination that no one else would be injured on her watch, Chloe braced herself.

  Cristián’s hand came down on her shoulder. “Ready,” he breathed.

  She took a breath, hauling in the air.

  His hand slapped her shoulder.

  She pushed off from the tree, letting the gentle slope down to the flat ground between the tree line and the fence give her impetus. As soon as the ground leveled out, she dug her toes in, pushing for maximum speed.

  There was no need to adjust her gait for bends around a standard track. It was full tilt, straight line, don’t stop. Her breath gusted in and out, three paces per breath. Then down to two. Shit, she was running out of breath!

  Panic would shorten it. So breathe. Pretty thoughts.

  Cristián’s mouth against hers.

  No, no! That would shorten her breath again.

  Chloe focused fiercely on the plastic garbage bag just ahead. Yeah, it was bigger than she had thought, although she would still have to hunch over hard. She pushed all other thoughts out of her mind, except the need for speed.

  Then she realized her mistake. She was used sprinting like hell until after she crossed the finish line. Her coach had screamed at her for weeks for daring to slow down a micro second before the line was crossed. It would lose races for her. It would let down her team mates. It would disgrace the Academy.

  The instinct to keep sprinting was ingrained. Only, the finish line here was a big fucking fence with Insurrectos on the other side.

  Chloe had no idea how much time had passed. She never did. Eight hundred meters lasted two seconds and two years when she was running it on a track. It was the same, now. Logical time stopped. It was just her and the ground.

  Slow down! Slow down! You can’t hit the fence!

  A shimmering, shaking fence would tip off someone for sure.

  Only, if she slowed down, she might run out of time and the cameras would see her.

  She didn’t know where the inspiration came from. It was a barely seen visual in her head, then she knew what to do.

  Four meters out from the fence and the innocent shopping bag which was about to save her life, Chloe flipped herself sideways, pushed her feet out ahead of her and s
lid into the home plate. Her runners thumped up against the mounds of weeds growing about the base of the fence. The bag flapped in front of her, obscuring her view of the base.

  She waited, lying in a curled-up fetal position behind the bag, listening, her heart hammering and her lungs bellowing.

  Nothing.

  A cricket whizzed by.

  Chloe hauled herself up into a cross-legged sitting position, her back to the bag. She hunched over and peeled off her backpack. Her hands were shaking. It took two tries to unzip the pack and pull out her laptop. She dropped the pack on the ground and rested the laptop on it. The dongle Cristián had given her was one of Pia’s inventions. It slid into the USB port without issue and lit up at the end, a reassuring green color.

  Chloe narrowed her focus down to the steps needed now. She searched for the network. Admiration touched her. Damn, Pia was good. The dongle was picking up over thirty networks, most with five bars.

  Chloe found the right one and hacked in. This was easy stuff she could do with her eyes closed. The Insurrectos had minimal security measures and a dozen back doors some enterprising hacker had built for himself, which made the job even easier. Chloe unlocked one of the back doors and stepped inside.

  The security AI was smart about images it saw in the camera and completely stupid about anyone talking to it inside the network. It rolled over obediently and showed its belly.

  Chloe electronically scratched and tickled it, while she grabbed thirty seconds of feed and rolled them into a loop and set the loop spinning.

  Then she watched the security feed for a full circuit.

  Nothing.

  Keeping the network open, she tabbed over to another screen, remotely connected to her phone and sent a text to Cristián.

  ALL CLEAR.

  It wasn’t exactly all clear. They couldn’t just lurch out of the trees and amble to where she hid, because someone in the control tower may notice them lingering at the fence. Only Cristián, who must paint the washroom electronically, and Parris, who would pass the coordinates to the drone, would come down to where Chloe was hunched. The others would cover them. They would dodge from bush to stump to tall grass patch and watch the tower as they came.