Fear the Future (The Fear Saga Book 3)

by Stephen Moss

  “Bitte schön,” he said with a wave of his hand, and she stepped past the man and his cohorts and into the complex proper. She was screened once inside the building, both with a metal detector and a pat down. It was slightly more stringent than might have been usual, but in these uncertain days it was hardly exceptional. A seat was indicated once she had passed their inspection, along with instructions that she should wait here.

  It was a beautiful building, resplendent in all the glory, both past and present, of the Austrian State. It had once been the sister city to Budapest in the days of the mighty Hapsburg Empire. But its diminished influence since its poor choice of allegiance in the Second World War had done little to diminish the splendor of beautiful Vienna. There may have been greater examples of that splendor than the Ministry building she now sat in, but even this waiting area swam with gold leaf and baroque majesty.

  She sat and waited, but it was not long before an attractive but stern-looking secretary came to guide her into the complex. She was not here to see the minister, per se, though her appointment said so. She was here to see one of his many underlings. To speak with one of them, whether it be to petition them or proffer some support, was the first stage in gaining an audience with the minister himself, such was the bureaucracy of old power. Though such stages were not uncommon in younger states as well, if only in an attempt at feigning that same auspiciousness.

  It was a function of the process, a vestige of power, but one that Cara was relying on even now. For this was a fact-finding mission. She actually had little if any business with the minister himself. She was there representing an organization that Ayala had co-opted for the purpose of offering a political donation, a donation they had been coerced into putting forward. Whether that donation materialized or not did not matter to Cara. She sought only the source of a secret. She sought a leak.

  As she walked down the corridor, she glanced this way and that. Somewhere within this building was a person selling information about TASC, about their capabilities and the greater mission they were embarked upon. Saul had traced it here. But the path had started thousands of miles away in China.

  With sensors built into her glasses she was recording data about the corridors she was walking down and the rooms she was passing. She was detailing alarm systems and security sensors, she was noting guard details and numbers of people. They had deliberately pushed for a later appointment so they could see how many people were still around toward the end of the workday.

  Like most government institutions, the majority of the employees here had a strict interpretation of their hours, and they were all either packing up or already gone as 5pm approached. There were some ambitious souls about that still worked diligently away, like the one she was going to see, no doubt, but not many.

  As they approached the minister’s wing, she noted the cameras and even a laser motion detector system that lined the main door and the two windows she could see from here. Interesting. That would be slightly problematic. They turned left inside the main wing, but as they walked on toward a side corridor that was lined with offices, Cara caught sight of something that was even more unusual.

  She could see the main doors to the minister’s inner-offices. She could see a secondary guard detail there, again more protection than was usual, but not unheard of, not now, not with the world in such a state of unrest. But the guards were different. They were not ordinary bodyguards. It was only the slightest of things, but it was of the utmost importance: just above their shirt collars, almost innocuous, she noted a thin black line of something underneath. They were wearing tech ten armor.

  And as she looked, she noted the keenness with which they were studying her as well. She looked away, cursing. She had forgotten herself. Her guise had fallen. This was not what she was trained for, this pussyfooting around. She walked on as innocently as she could, and two sets of eyes followed her as she was led to her appointment.

  - - -

  Her meeting was uneventful, passing with a blandness that gave her some comfort as to her safety. She wanted to leave this place. She wanted to be back in her suit. She longed for its speed and strength. She wanted her guns.

  As her meeting came to an end, the undersecretary smiled ingratiatingly. He had been more than happy to switch to English, which he spoke impeccably, and had even spotted her Israeli accent as they had discussed the details of the generous offer she was there to bestow.

  “I want to thank you again, Miss Woods,” he said, standing. He walked to the door as they exchanged final pleasantries, opening it and calling to his secretary to escort Cara back out of the Ministry.

  But she was not there. She had been sent home. More specifically, she had been sent home by the two guards who now stood at her desk. They exchanged brief words in clipped German with the undersecretary, and he nodded appreciatively. Cara had understood most of it, but he translated anyway.

  “If you have time, Miss Woods, I am informed that the minister himself would like to speak with you.” The undersecretary was excited by this, as if the honor bestowed some measure of glory on his own status as well. “If you would like to follow me, I will escort you to his office.”

  But as the undersecretary stepped forward, one of the guards motioned for him to stay. He remained admirably diplomatic, despite this rebuff, saying, “Ah, naturlich, meinen herren. Umm, Miss Woods, I believe these gentlemen can show you the way.” He proffered his hand, “It appears, then, that this is good night, Miss Woods. May I say it was most pleasant meeting you.”

  She smiled as ingratiatingly as she could, fighting every instinct she had. “Viele danke, Herr Staatssekretär. Guten Tag.”

  Then she turned to the two guards with feigned calmness. “Shall we?”

  As one led her away, the other notably fell in behind. She calculated her chances of making a break for it, running through the motions in her mind as if playing a game. How she would lash out at each, how she would look to incapacitate them. But as she studied the man in front of her, she saw telltales pointing to machine augmentation under his suit. He was not nearly as bulky as he appeared. She couldn’t tell if he was wearing a full-contact battleskin or an earlier generation, but it was still more than she could boast.

  She looked for signs of a spinal interface under the back of his collar, but either way she would be hard pressed to take them out without going for kill-blows to their unprotected heads or necks. So she filed fighting away under ‘if things get out of hand’ and walked on.

  - - -

  The minister’s office was, of course, a large leap upward in size and adornment. Even here in the receiving area, the walls and ceiling were exercises in woodwork and molding that bordered on the ridiculous. She continued to note her surroundings as they checked her once more. They were more thorough this time, and her concerns started to grow as they politely but insistently removed her glasses and held them up to the light.

  There was, of course, no prescription to the lenses, and that led, in and of itself, to proscription. It seemed she would not be allowed to have them back. She went to complain, but the expression she was greeted with could simply be categorized as nonnegotiable. She shrugged. They were fake, to be sure, but they were more capable than this man knew.

  Well, thought Cara, if this minister was the source of the secrets about TASC’s capabilities, as it was becoming increasingly likely he was, then he was about to find out a few new ones.

  “Good evening, Miss Woods!” said a bold and hearty voice as she was ushered into the office proper. His smile was genuinely charming, his demeanor nothing if not amiable. He strode over to her with all the confidence and bonhomie of an old friend and proffered his hand as if it were his true delight to meet her.

  She took it, noting the briefest of sideways glances as he stepped up to her. Confirming, with his guards, no doubt, that she had indeed proven to be unarmed.

  “Herr Pahr. Rudolf, if you please.”

  His eyes spoke a question: ‘and you are �
��’ and she responded, “Miss Woods. Cara, if you please.”

  She smiled, perhaps without conviction, and saw that he was evaluating her with practiced ease as they stared at each other. She thought she might have seen him coming to a conclusion about her, no, she did see it, and with that he nodded and turned to walk over to where two large armchairs faced each other on one side of his large office, along with a couch, a small but ornate coffee table, and a large and far more ornate fireplace.

  “Please, Cara, sit … sit.” he indicated the armchair opposite his own, and waited for her to take a seat before doing so himself.

  After a moment of staring at his smile, one that was now bordering on smug, she said, “I wonder, Herr Pahr … Rudolf, if I may have my glasses back, please.”

  He looked at the more senior of his guards with some measure of alarm at the thought that his guest might have had her personal property seconded by them, but when the guard in question shook his head, the minister’s look turned to one of surprise, then one of curiosity.

  He said, “I am afraid it appears that my head of security does not think your glasses are all that they seem. Or rather, he seems to think they are somewhat more than they seem. Do you have any idea why he might think such a thing?”

  She looked at him. He was toying with her, but he was also treading carefully. He could not know whom she represented. If he wasn’t careful, though, he was about to find out.

  “Well, Rudolf,” she allowed some of her derision at the name to bleed into her voice, and noted as his expression shifted ever so slightly at her mockery, “all I know is that I would like them back. If your gorillas choose to keep them then that is up to you, but I will ask once more, politely, if they may be returned to me before we continue this conversation.”

  She was trying to be meek, compliant even, though it was not an art she was familiar with. He mistook her tone for a weakness, and decided to keep the glasses as a trump card.

  “I think not, Cara. Maybe after we have concluded our business we might return them to you … maybe.”

  He smiled again. She shook her head. Any moment now. The ping came to her as question in her mind. The glasses were an insurance policy. They had been silent for a while, but they were designed to know if they were on her or not. If they were separated from her for too long they were designed to ask why. If she did not respond, well, then they would ask for help, and that would bring in Hektor, most probably with all the diplomatic grace of a stampeding rhino.

  She silenced it immediately. Maybe the minister’s security would not notice it. This was the question. TASC did not know yet how much this man was aware of. But the sudden entrance of another guard and the shared whisper with Herr Pahr’s head of security was too well timed to be a coincidence.

  The minister looked curious, and that inquisitiveness only increased when his head guard came over and whispered into his ear.

  “It appears that your glasses, such as they are, have begun transmitting a signal,” he said with a smile. “Not, I think you will agree, the normal behavior of a pair of spectacles. I don’t think mine do that. Do yours, Karl?” he smiled at his guard, who shook his head without humor.

  “Now,” he said, also without humor now, “maybe you can tell me what you are really doing here, Miss Woods, and who you really work for. Spying is a very serious offense here in Austria, and one for which you will be held fully accountable, if you do not cooperate.” He waited a moment, and then after he was met with only silence, added simply, “So?”

  She sat a while. Then she glanced around once more. This was not going as planned. Then again, to say that she had found what they were looking for would have been an understatement. It was not part of her mission to be here, now, in contact, but it was not exactly her choice either. Clearly she was going to have to go a little off-reservation.

  Deciding to face him rather than dissemble further, Cara took a deep breath and said, “Well, Herr Pahr, if you really must know, I am here trying to find out who might have been selling some rather important information to some of our more unreliable neighbors in the east. And as of a short while ago I am now also here investigating the nature of your guards’ armor.” She let that sink in, then said, “Does that answer your question?”

  He looked surprised, the coolness of his veneer cracking ever so slightly, like the intricate but well-worn pattern on the wooden table between them. She held his stare. He may think that he had her in his custody, but to do so underestimated her, and most certainly underestimated the man waiting for her a short way across town.

  “To a degree, I suppose …” he looked less calm now, but still resolute in his belief in the capability of his guards. But now there was something else in his expression. He was plotting. He was calculating risk. He was thinking of how to ensure the silence of the woman in front of him. In short, he was thinking of how to dispose of her.

  He went on, “… to a degree, Miss Woods. But you have still not told me who, exactly, you are working for,” he said, still with an air of friendliness.

  “No, I have not,” she said, their eyes locked. She was calculating as well. She was calculating whether to try and fight her way out. Whether to call in Hektor. Whether she was about to be attacked or restrained. How they would come at her if they did. With her safety threatened, her face now became like stone, her eyes cold points looking out from behind her resolve, and the sight unsettled the minister.

  “I’ll tell you what, Rudolf,” she said after a moment. “I’ll tell you who I work for, if you tell me who, exactly, you have done business with.”

  “I am afraid I do not know what business you are referring to, Miss Woods,” he said, trying to match her stern stare.

  “Well, maybe the name of my employer will help you remember,” she said. He was curious. The Americans? They were damaged, crippled perhaps, but the CIA still remained a powerful ally and an even worse enemy. The Israelis? Her accent would certainly point to that, but they did not have the motive to come after him, indeed, they were even clients of his, to a small extent.

  But wait. Israeli. No … surely she wasn’t one of …

  She smiled coldly as she saw realization dawn on him.

  “Yes, Herr Rudolf Pahr,” she said. “I do not work for any of your so-called allies or your customers. I work for the organization you have been so happily selling information about. I work for TASC.”

  His expression now became one of fear. He tried to mask it with a sort of righteous indignation but she knew the expression too well. She had seen it too many times.

  Tension in the room began to mount as all parties felt the coming escalation. The clock seemed to slow and then suddenly the minister was barking a harsh order in German, and with that it was begun. They were moving toward her and so she was moving too. She kicked at the table with all her strength, pushing her chair backward. She had to stay moving. She must control the contact. She could not win if they got their hands on her.

  As her chair pushed backward, she noted they were drawing weapons. She could not know if he had ordered them to kill her or capture her, his words had been too fast and too clipped, but her tactics remained the same regardless.

  As she flipped backward, she brought her legs up hard. She fully expected one of them to be right behind her and she was right. Her heels were not long, but the rubber at their base was merely a cover. As her two heels connected with the man’s chin, the base gave way and revealed sharpened blades beneath. Driven with her full force they opened up his neck above the line of his armor. His eyes were wide as his head was pushed backward and all but disconnected from his body.

  But she was still moving. She longed for the already dead guard’s armor to be on her, but would suffice with having it in front of her. Two more guards, including the minister’s head of security, were leveling their weapons.

  This was no spy. This was a warrior, and their priorities were changing by the second from containment to survival. She had only a moment before th
ey were firing. She pulled at the decapitated guard’s body, wrenching it down on her as she rolled to ground and tried to grapple his gun from his lifeless hand.

  Then the bullets came. Most hit the guard’s torso, but the smarter of the guards aimed for her exposed legs.

  She felt a bullet impact her, and felt her leg scream and rage at the pain resonating up and down its length. The suit stopped the bullet from opening her up, but her knee still dislocated under the pressure. She scrambled for the gun. Another bullet hit almost the same spot. The pain this time was mind-numbing.

  She had sent her distress signal to Hektor as soon as events had come to a head. She had classified it Evac Priority 3. This meant come in hard but use side windows rather than the front door to avoid unnecessary casualties. Priority 2 would have meant come in through the front door and don’t spare the horses. Priority 1 meant come in through the bloody wall if you have to.

  She was thinking about upgrading the call.

  She could feel a timer in her mind. His estimated time to arrival. It was a fluid estimate that updated as he came in based on distance and resistance met, but it was counting down quickly. He would need to triangulate her exact position and he would need to get past a perimeter guard or two. No doubt those guards would not be having a fun time right about now. But then neither was she.

  She managed to get the gun free from the guard’s hand as another bullet hit her exposed flank.

  “Enough!” she heard the minister scream.

  “Miss Woods!” he shouted. “You are surrounded. You have killed one of my guards and insulted the Austrian government beyond measure. Put down that gun and come out from under that poor man’s body … immediately!”

  She paused, happy for the respite. She was badly hurt. If she’d had her battleskin on, the bio-med AIs it came with would be telling her she had multiple cracked ribs and the muscles of her left leg were badly torn in multiple places.