“Amen to that.”
His partner was right. Salt City was not only a huge, sprawling conurbation of buildings both makeshift and permanent, a mix of a thousand architectures and building techniques brought with the influx of refugees from the Southern Hemisphere, but it was largely ignored by the Fleet. That wasn’t to say it wasn’t well-known—the slum was mapped, the skies patrolled by surveillance drones sent over from New Orem proper—but whatever went on in its crooked streets, whatever crimes and vices and villainy, so long as it stayed within the bounds of Salt City, the Fleet simply didn’t care.
“We’re five minutes away,” said Braben. In the HUD inside Kodiak’s short visor, a small red indicator appeared, hovering over a location in the middle distance. A line drew itself from the edge of the visor to the point indicated, and a counter began to wind down the closing distance between them and their target.
“Roger that,” said Kodiak. Then with just a thought he flicked the comms to the public channel, allowing not only the members of the raiding team seated around him but Avalon and the other agents back in the Bureau bullpen to listen in.
“Okay,” said Kodiak. “Listen up. We’re going in a few minutes. The drones have been over the area, so you’ve all seen the layout, and you know what to expect. You also know what we’re looking for. This is an extraction. Nothing more. We are running on the assumption that the target is alive. Which means, if they’ve somehow been hiding, they won’t be too happy to see us. But we do not engage unless they engage us first. As far as we know, the target is on their own down there, but it’s possible they have company. We need this to be smooth, and we need this to be quick—in and out before they even know it. That’s the whole plan. Understood?”
The agents each indicated their acknowledgment.
Kodiak nodded. Then, for the benefit of those back at the bullpen, he ordered the team to link comms. Inside Kodiak’s HUD, a new indicator appeared on the left of his vision: ten green icons. The raiding team. His raiding team.
The transport’s engine thrummed, and the view outside changed again as the vehicle came to a stop and spun about its axis, then descended gracefully to a height of two hundred meters. There was a double chime in Kodiak’s ear, indicating they had arrived, the pilot ready and waiting for orders. The carrier was stealthy, with baffled engines and no external lights—at this altitude they were not invisible, but unless someone looked directly up, they were hard to see. The secrecy of their arrival would be gone as soon as the agents rappelled from the side of the carrier and hit the ground, but they were right on top of the target location, and the team was primed, ready for a lightning strike.
Another tone in Kodiak’s ear and in his HUD—and everyone else’s—a green icon flashed as the destination counter hit zero.
Showtime.
Kodiak and Braben looked at each other; Kodiak gave a thumbs up, and at once the team slid out of their harnesses and, in a well-drilled routine, lined up along the open side of the compartment, the first four reaching up and clipping the end of their rappel cables to the frame that ran along the edge of the opening as, behind them, the remaining agents held their cable clips at the ready.
“Tac One and Two going in,” said Kodiak. At this, the first four agents dropped over the edge of the carrier and vanished from view; then the next batch clipped their cables to the rail and followed. Last to leave were Kodiak and Braben. In perfect synchronization, the pair reached over their shoulders and yanked their own cables out from the reel secreted in their packs. Clipping them to the rail, they paused on the threshold, Kodiak’s booted foot hanging over the edge. With one hand on the cable, he drew his staser with the other and turned to his partner. The upper half of Braben’s face was hidden by the visor of his light helmet, but his teeth were brilliant white against his dark skin as he grinned at Kodiak.
Braben lifted his staser pistol. “Let’s go!”
Braben jumped first, Kodiak close behind. The ground approached at a surprisingly fast rate, but aside from the whirr of the cable reel, it was quiet outside of the carrier. Looking down, Kodiak saw the eight armored agents on the ground scoot forward, guns raised. Then he hit the ground with a bump and the cable pack detached automatically from his back and began reeling itself back up to the carrier.
Kodiak looked around. Beside him, Braben nodded and, holding his staser in both hands, moved forward.
They’d touched down on a wide, dusty street in one of Salt City’s industrial thoroughfares. The place was quiet and washed out in a sickly orange-yellow by the weak streetlights. Directly in front of them a large warehouse squatted, the front a gaping maw of blackness. According to Kodiak’s HUD, the target—Caitlin—still hadn’t moved. They’d made it in, so far, without detection.
The comms in his helmet clicked as the assault squad checked in, gathering themselves around the warehouse. No sign of anything yet.
“Split up,” said Kodiak. “Tac One, take the main entrance. Tac Two, secure the rear.”
The lead agents acknowledged, and the main assault party split into two pre-arranged teams of four. Kodiak and Braben held back by the warehouse entrance. As Kodiak watched his team move in, he had the feeling that eight agents didn’t really seem like that many. The building was huge—although they had Caitlin’s tag pinpointed, who knew what else, who else, was hiding inside the warehouse.
Within moments the two teams were gone, the first melting into the blackness of the warehouse entrance, the other splitting into pairs, each vanishing around opposite perimeters.
Kodiak glanced at Braben. “Rear?”
“Sure thing.”
They split up, Kodiak following the first team, Braben jogging around the edge of the building.
Inside, Kodiak’s visor switched to night vision, lighting the warehouse up in a blue monochrome. He could just see the backs of two agents on the other side of the large, empty space, heading toward a doorway that led farther into the building. Kodiak jogged toward them, keeping close to the cargo containers that lay scattered around the warehouse.
Then there was a sharp popping in his ear, and he skidded to a halt as his comms sprang to life, the two teams coordinating with calm, rehearsed ease.
“Shots fired, two-ten, northeast corner.”
“Confirmed.”
“Tac One, report.”
“Negative. Heading in.”
“Tac Two?”
“One target sighted, four shots fired. Think we got the jump—target opened fire then ran deeper into the building. They weren’t expecting company. Tac Two in pursuit.”
“Copy,” Braben’s voice came over the comms. “Rear exits secured.”
Kodiak adjusted his grip on his gun. He ground his teeth, gaze darting around the empty warehouse in front of him. There was no sign of any movement, and so far, no further shots.
Despite the action, Caitlin Smith’s manifest tag hadn’t moved. They’d disturbed someone else, and Caitlin was either still hiding, or maybe she was dead and they would find her body. As Kodiak scanned the warehouse, he began to think that was the most likely option. Still, the recovery of her body might provide them some clues as to her brother’s whereabouts. It was still too big a coincidence to ignore.
Kodiak swore under his breath and ran toward the doorway. As he crossed the threshold, entering a wide but featureless corridor, there were more pops, more gunfire. In his HUD, one of the green icons indicating the status of his team changed to red as the biosystems of the agent’s combat suit sent out a high-priority alert.
Kodiak, heart pumping, stalked forward, gun raised. That meant just one thing.
One agent was down.
“Tac One, report,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Instead of the Tac One leader, Braben answered. “Celestin is down. Shooter still running, heading toward the northeast corner.”
Shit. That wasn’t as planned. Whether the shooter was connected to Caitlin or not, it was impossible to tell.
Shit, shit,
shit.
“Cut them off, but take them alive if possible.”
Kodiak moved forward, his HUD picking up the team’s trail on the dirty floor and highlighting a path for him to follow.
Shit shit. Celestin? One agent down already. Fuck.
More pops of plasma gunfire. Kodiak took a left and a right and a left again, heading toward the sounds, letting his HUD lead the way. He saw movement ahead, someone vanishing around a corner, the hard interlocking plates of the armor on his back catching the dim light and flaring in Kodiak’s night vision—an agent in pursuit.
The comms crackled as one of the team leaders handed out orders.
“Tac Two, take the stairs, south corner. Tac One, with me. We can cut off their escape.”
Kodiak burst into a room, gun at the ready. Braben was there, kneeling on the ground over the fallen body of Agent Dan Celestin. Braben looked up as Kodiak entered, then shook his head.
“Negative,” he said.
Kodiak bit his tongue. One man down was one man too many, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted now. With the remaining agents fanning out across the building to get a squeeze on the runner, they needed to focus on finding Caitlin. Without a capture the mission was a bust.
Kodiak took in the room. It looked like a storeroom, no doubt one of dozens in the warehouse. It was roughly square and nondescript save for the equipment in it: a stretcher bed with foil blanket shining brightly in his night vision; electronics—some kind of medical monitors—on wheeled trolleys, thick power cables running to an outlet on the other side of the room. It looked like a field hospital, not dissimilar to the temporary set-ups used by both the Bureau and the Fleet. The bed was pulled out at an angle from the wall, and the equipment cabinets were partially turned around. The room had been disturbed, presumably during whatever skirmish had led to the death of Agent Celestin.
The equipment was strange. It looked new. Expensive. Not at all the kind of gear commonly found in Salt City, let alone in the back of an old, empty warehouse.
Another coincidence, too good to be true. Kodiak bit his lip, thinking, thinking. They’d stumbled into something. There had to be a connection with Caitlin, with Tyler. Had to be.
They had to stop the runner, whoever he was. He’d killed one agent already, but Kodiak’s gut told him the runner was involved with the bigger picture.
Braben raised himself from his crouch. He still had his staser in one hand. He looked down at the body on the floor.
“I was right behind,” he said. “Celestin came in and surprised whoever was here. I managed to get a shot off but the target ran out the back.” He gestured to the other side of the room, where another door led out to a dark corridor.
“Did you hit him?”
“Yeah,” said Braben. “Think so, but it just clipped him. Hopefully it’ll slow him—the rest of Tac Two were behind me, and they went after him. Sounds like they have a bead on the runner.”
“I heard,” said Kodiak. He walked around Celestin’s body to the doorway opposite and poked his head through. The corridor was empty. His HUD chimed, reminding him they still hadn’t found the primary target. He looked around as the HUD indicator pointed him in the right direction. Then he waved at Braben. “The target still hasn’t moved. Come on.”
Leaving Celestin’s body, the pair crept out of the storeroom and into the next corridor. Kodiak’s HUD chimed again, and the target indicator began to move. He turned to Braben, knowing he was looking at the same thing. Braben nodded, and without saying a word, the two sprinted down the corridor.
The comms sprang to life.
“Tac One, target found. In pursuit.”
“Tac One, do you have eyes?” asked Kodiak. “Primary target is on the move too. Unless you can take out the runner now, you need to break off and acquire Caitlin Smith.”
“We have eyes,” came the response. “Computer confirms primary target and runner are the same signal, sir.”
Kodiak and Braben stopped together and looked at each other.
What the hell?
“Confirm, Tac One.”
“Confirmed, sir. Closing in.”
“Advise caution,” said Kodiak. “Target may be injured. Do not engage. We’re on our way.”
The Tac leader confirmed; then Kodiak turned to Braben. Braben nodded and raised his gun to indicate readiness.
And then the comms sprang to life as members of both teams started screaming at someone to get the fuck down and don’t fucking move and get on the ground now get on the ground now get on the ground now.
Kodiak sprinted toward the fray, Braben on his heels.
* * *
The corridors led back to where they had started—the main warehouse floor. Kodiak and Braben emerged from a side door and skidded to a halt on the dusty floor. So, eight agents—seven, Kodiak reminded himself—had been enough, and their tactics had worked, one team in pursuit, the other doubling around and coming in from the other side of the building. The runner—the target, according to the blinking indicator in Kodiak’s HUD—was caught right in the middle.
Yes, the plan had worked. But the result was nothing like what they’d expected.
The man was wearing a long pale trench coat, the edges of which flapped in the breeze as he stood with his hands raised as the seven agents tightened the circle around him, seven blue target dots painted into his body by Kodiak’s HUD. The inside of his visor was filled with data—line of fire, distance to target, probability of success, mission statistics. It was too much. Kodiak clenched his jaw as he concentrated, the weak psi-fi field in his helmet picking up his thoughts and clearing the HUD almost completely so he could see what the hell was going on.
The agents continued to bark orders at the target—who definitely wasn’t Caitlin Smith—but aside from remaining stationary, he was doing little else to obey their instructions. As the agents stepped closer, he turned on an axis until he was facing Kodiak. He was middle aged, thick brown hair on his head and thick-rimmed glasses on his face. Under the coat, he was wearing a smart, if nondescript, civilian suit with matching shirt and tie. He looked ordinary, a regular guy, citizen of New Orem—a man with absolutely no business standing in the middle of a deserted warehouse in Salt City, surrounded by a Bureau tactical assault team.
Was this Caitlin Smith’s handler? Kodiak focused on his HUD, on the manifest tag indicator which was the only thing left on display. The indicator that said the man in the pale coat was, somehow, Caitlin Smith herself.
The man was holding something in one hand. Kodiak glanced sideways at Braben, but Braben was in a firing stance and had the mystery man lined up along the top of his staser.
Kodiak stepped forward to the line of agents, staser ready but feeling safe enough with eight other weapons pointed at the target. As he approached, Tacs One and Two ceased their barrage of orders, and the warehouse suddenly felt very, very quiet.
“I’d get down on the floor if I were you,” said Kodiak, his voice echoing metallically in the huge warehouse space.
The man met his eye, but didn’t speak. He looked calm, one corner of his mouth upturned by a tiny degree. There was amusement in his expression that Kodiak didn’t like one little bit.
Who the hell is this guy? He’s calm. He’s professional.
This isn’t right.
“A staser hurts like hell, even on stun,” said Kodiak, aloud. “Believe me, I’ve had firsthand experience. If you don’t get acquainted with the floor in three seconds, we’re going to have to put you down there ourselves.”
The man didn’t move.
“One.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Kodiak saw his agents, ready and waiting for his command.
“Two.”
Kodiak raised his gun. If anyone was going to shoot this guy, it was going to be him.
“Three.”
The man reached for something in his coat pocket. A warning flashed onto Kodiak’s HUD, large red text along the top of his vision.
&nb
sp; POSSIBILITY OF AGGRESSIVE ACTION 87.5%
It happened quickly. Kodiak clenched his back teeth, lifted his gun just a little to get better aim, when there was a blue flash and the man careened backwards, a staser bolt slamming him square in his chest. The shot lifted him off his feet, and he hit the deck on his back and didn’t move.
“Shit.”
Kodiak ran over, Tacs One and Two quickly closing in, keeping their weapons trained on the body. As Kodiak reached toward the man’s neck to feel for a pulse, his HUD flashed another warning.
LIFE SIGNS NEGATIVE. TARGET DECEASED.
Kodiak’s hand stopped before he touched the body. The man’s eyes were open and staring behind his glasses. Kodiak rocked back on his haunches and waved at the agents behind him. He sighed.
“Stand down,” he said. “Target is deceased.” He stood up. “Well, shit.” He turned to Braben, standing at the back of the group, his pistol still drawn and aimed.
Kodiak marched over. “Weapons were supposed to be on stun, Agent.”
Braben shook his head and lowered his gun. “It is on stun, Von. He must have been injured from where I clipped him with the first shot.”
Kodiak sighed and turned back to the body. The Tac teams were standing around, awaiting orders.
“Tac Two, go and get Celestin and signal the carrier for pick-up.”
The three remaining members of the downed agent’s team moved away. The Tac One leader gestured with his plasma rifle to the body on the ground. “Sir?”
Kodiak licked his lips and nodded. The target indicator in his HUD—in all their HUDs—said the dead man was Caitlin Smith.
Kodiak stepped over to the body. The dead man still had his hands raised, the fingers of the left curled around the mystery object. Kodiak knelt down and lifted the man’s hand. The fingers were cold and, surprisingly, very stiff. Whatever he was holding, he was holding onto it tight.
“So who is this guy, do you think?” asked Braben, kneeling beside his partner. “Some kind of Fleet agent? Blacker than black ops?”
“Her handler, you mean?” Kodiak nodded. “Let’s run facial recog and see what comes back. We can confirm his ID once we get the body back to the Bureau. Aha!”
The Machine Awakes Page 15
