Alliance of Shadows (Dead Six Series Book 3)

by Larry Correia

  She went back to staring at the ceiling. “I lost that at the Crossroads.”

  “No. You became what I used to be, because you had to.”

  “I chose it.”

  “Yeah? So what? Bad things happen in war, and don’t kid yourself, this is a war. I got drafted when Bob tried to make a difference, but you had guts, saw something that needed to be done, and volunteered. All that stuff you’ve said over the years about believing in me, it applies to you now too.”

  “I made a mistake.”

  “You think you’re the first?” I was heartbroken and angry at the same time. I remembered waking up injured in a hotel room in Las Vegas to the sound of Jill singing in the shower. Even after surviving Quagmire she’d been a ray of sunshine. Valentine had warned me then to get out of this life and stay away, not for my own sake, but for hers, so that she wouldn’t end up screwed up like us. Valentine had been prophetic. “I don’t know. Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. Hell, maybe God dropped that call. Shit happens. When you’re tangling with the evil assholes, sometimes law abiding citizens get in the way . . . I can’t complain about that too much, since it’s how we met.”

  Jill looked back and gave me a sad smile. The kind, loving woman I’d fallen for was still in there, only she’d been stained and hurt by the cruel world I’d introduced her to.

  “No matter what, I’m with you, Jill. We’re in this together.”

  Then she squeezed my hand.

  I hoped she’d be okay.

  VALENTINE

  Paris

  September 28th

  Focus. I took a deep breath, and squared myself off with the mirror. Go.

  I drew my gun and dry fired at my reflection. Too slow. I reholstered and tried again.

  Go. My left hand found the grip of my .44. I rocked the gun back, out of its holster, and then pushed it forward. My hands came together as my arms extended, and everything was blurry except the glowing tritium front sight. My arms reached full extension, the sights aligned on my own reflection in the mirror, and I smoothly worked the trigger: CLICK.

  It took less than a second. Too slow. I sighed in frustration. Too damned slow. If I’d been just a bit faster, just a bit more accurate, when I’d had my shot at Katarina, I could have shot her and solved half my problems right then and there. I habitually opened my revolver’s cylinder, verifying that it was still loaded with dummy cartridges, and reholstered it. I’d ditched the shoulder rig I’d been using for my .44 and went back to a leather hip holster. It wasn’t as comfortable when sitting down, but it was a speedier draw.

  Go! I drew again. The hammer spur snagged on my shirt, screwing up my draw stroke. “Damn it,” I said aloud, returning the gun to its holster. Again. Better this time, a little smoother. Smooth is fast. Trying to rush ends up costing you time, every time. Again.

  Repetitive practice was a good way to lose yourself in thought. As I repeatedly sighted on him, I barely recognized the man looking back at me from the full-length mirror. I had picked up so many scars that it often surprised me when I saw my own reflection.

  I was far from being a chiseled pretty boy, but I was more muscular than I’d been in a long time. I was no longer the gaunt shell of a man I was when they’d pulled me out of North Gap. Regardless of what Dr. Bundt thought, I’d gotten back to a healthy weight, and a modest exercise regimen had paid off for me. Actually, considering just how modest it was, I was far better shape than I should have been. I suspected that had something to do with Dr. Silver’s science experiment.

  Dr. Bundt had called the project XK Indigo. I had no idea what they’d been doing to me in there, but I vaguely remembered Dr. Silvers telling me something about my fulfilling my potential. They had put me in a thing called “the Tank” countless times, and I still didn’t know what that machine did other than make nightmares. There was conspiracy theory stuff on the internet about XK Indigo, but it was all stupid rumor and wild conjecture. Popular—if you can call a few dozen kooks commenting on a web forum that— belief held that it had its origins in Nazi Germany, some kind of desperate, late-war program. It would have been nice to have answers rather than comic book bullshit, but I wasn’t going to get that online.

  It occurred to me then that Reaper might be of help. Lorenzo’s buddy was a huge conspiracy theory nut, but he was actually smart. I resolved to ask him about it next time I saw him. I’d have to do it delicately, though. I didn’t know what the hell had happened to him at the Battle of the Crossroads, but the kid just wasn’t the same after that. He hadn’t even participated in the fight, as far as I knew. He’d just been flying Lorenzo’s little UAV, but he probably saw a lot of people getting killed. I knew a thing or two about PTSD, and Reaper displayed a lot of the obvious symptoms. Maybe it would help if I sat down and talked to him about it.

  Enough thinking about things that didn’t matter. It was time to get back to practicing.

  Sooner or later, I was going to have to face Underhill again. He was old, but he got to be old in his business by being fast and lethal. I swore to God, or to whoever might be listening, that when I met him again I’d be ready. Give me the strength, Lord, I thought to myself, and the swiftness, to shoot that bastard in the face and send him straight to hell.

  I paused when someone quietly knocked on, then opened, my door. “Is everything alright?” Ling asked. She stepped into my room and closed the door behind her. “What are you doing?”

  I was standing in front of a mirror with a gun in my hand. A few hundred repetitions and I had sweat rings on my shirt. “It’s, uh, not what it looks like.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “You were practicing quick drawing your gun, I take it?”

  “I guess it’s exactly what it looks like, then.”

  “You know, you might be faster if you carried a more practical pistol.”

  I smiled at her, unloading the dummy cartridges from my gun as I did so. “The lady with the engraved Browning 9mm is going to lecture me about practicality, now?”

  “It was a gift from my team.”

  “And this,” I said, loading real rounds into my .44’s cylinder, “is my good luck charm. If I’d have brought this when I went after the Montalban woman I might have succeeded.”

  “You never struck me as the superstitious sort.”

  “I’ve had this gun with me everywhere and I’ve always come home alive. Can’t argue with success. But it isn’t superstition. I just shoot this better.”

  “We need to talk.” Uh oh. Ling was giving me that look that told me that this was serious. “What you did at the hotel was stupid, Michael.”

  “I had to improvise.”

  “You were improvising stupidly.”

  “The plan could have worked, and Tailor was ready in case I got captured.”

  “And that would not have mattered if the Montalbans had shot you immediately, or if Underhill had executed you on the spot.”

  “Damn it, let it go, Ling! I saw an opportunity and I took a chance! You know what could happen if we fail. It’s worth the risk.”

  “You would risk one, but not six.” Ling put her hand on my arm. “Listen to me. Risks are necessary, especially when so much is at stake. I understand that, but we can’t afford to lose you. We need you.”

  There was something else going on. Sure, she was mad at me, but it felt like she wasn’t telling me everything that was on her mind. “What’s wrong, Ling?”

  “I need you. That’s all. Don’t tempt fate unnecessarily. We may die, but let’s make sure our deaths mean something, yes? Don’t throw your life away on a long-shot gambit.” She gently touched the side of my face. “Promise me.”

  I looked into Ling’s dark eyes. She was right, of course. I wasn’t much for arguing, especially when I knew she was right. I had known, going into it, that my idea was desperate and risky, and it had really managed to do was drive Katarina underground.

  “I promise,” I said after a moment. “I’ll only die if it’s for a good reason.
”

  “Good,” she said, giving me a quick kiss. “Now stop sulking and come downstairs. It’s almost dinnertime. Antoine made a lovely fish and vegetable soup. You need to eat.”

  Ugh. I needed to introduce these people to junk food or something. I forced a smile onto my face. “Sounds great!”

  “You are such a terrible liar. I am amazed Katarina did not cut your throat as soon as you opened your mouth.” Shaking her head, Ling turned for the door. “Oh, and fetch Ariel.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “She’s been acting strangely, holed up in her room, buried in her work. She’s barely eaten and barely slept.”

  “Okay, I’ll go talk to her. I knew this was too much pressure for her. I’ll see you downstairs.”

  The Oracle was in her room, listening to music through headphones. I had to bang on the door several times before she heard me.

  “What?” Ariel sounded annoyed when she opened the door. She really looked frazzled. “I’m busy!”

  “Dinner.”

  “I’m busy.” She tried to close the door in my face, but I blocked it with my foot. “Michael!”

  “First off,” I reached out and picked one of the ear buds off her shoulder. I could hear the music clearly from an arm’s distance. “This is too loud. You’re going to damage your hearing, and worse, if we have an emergency and have to bail, we’re not going to have time to keep uselessly shouting your name, so turn it down.”

  “Fine, Dad.”

  “Second, come eat something. You look like hell, kiddo.”

  She looked down at herself self-consciously. Her hair was a mess, and it was obvious that whatever sleep she did get, she got in the clothes she was wearing. “I’m working. Reaper’s been sending me packets of information. He’s a gold mine. He can reach anything, I mean nothing is safe from that guy, but he can’t put the pieces together like I can. The Montalbans are up to something. I’m the only one who can figure it out.”

  “You can figure it out after you get some food in you.”

  “No time. I’ve got to make the pieces fit, Michael. This keeps getting bigger. They’ve hired a bunch of hackers, really good ones. They’re moving money, paying bribes. There’s pieces within pieces, but they’re all secrets covered in lies. Until I make it work in my head, you guys are going to be in danger. I have to make the pieces fit. Garbage in, garbage out. If you guys don’t know what’s going on, you can’t make good decisions. That’s my fault.”

  Suddenly it made sense. She was working herself to exhaustion because I’d nearly gotten myself killed. “Hey, come here.” I took her by the shoulders and pulled her out of her room. “Look at me. None of this is your fault.”

  Ariel’s expression softened to the point where I thought she was going to start crying. “You almost died.”

  “But I didn’t. Ling just made me promise not to unless I had a good reason.” I gave her a hug. She squeezed me tight, and I could tell she was scared. “It’s all right,” I said, trying to sound comforting.

  “I know.” She broke away, and rubbed the moisture from her eerie blue eyes. “We can make it better.”

  “Now come on. You can fix the world after you have some of Antoine’s nutrient-rich fish gruel.”

  Ariel wipe her eyes, then grimaced. “I’ll eat, but can we order a pizza?”

  Chapter 12: Beauty and the Beast

  LORENZO

  Paris

  September 29th

  “Lorenzo, get in here!” Reaper shouted.

  I entered the flat’s other room with a gun in my hand. My first worry was that he’d seen something threatening out the window. “What?”

  Reaper was sitting in front of a little table that had several computers running on it. He’d probably be using even more if the Internet here was faster. “You’ve got to see this.” He was pointing at something on one of several screens. I was afraid that it was the feed for one of the security cameras Jill had hidden around the block, probably showing Anders and a team of murderous scumbags bearing down on us, but those were all clear.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “Kat!” Reaper pointed at the screen like it was obvious. There was a black box flashing the word pending. “She wants to talk to you.”

  “Hold on. Katarina is calling us?” She was crazy, but not that kind of crazy. If she was reaching out there had to be a reason, like keeping us in one place while we were being surrounded. “Does she know where we are?”

  “No way. Her guys are good, but they’re not that good.” He started talking about drop something cache packet cryptofuckery, but Reaper trailed off as he remembered everything he did was voodoo to me. “Basically I’ve made it look like we’re somewhere else.” Reaper was jittery and excited, but replacing sleep with Red Bull had that effect on him. “They know I’m all up in their shit, and they’re having a hard time keeping me out. But look, she pinged me, asking for you, wanting to video chat.”

  It had to be a trap. “Can she trace the call?”

  “Trace the call . . . Man, you are old. No! It doesn’t work like that, but sort of, not really, but I won’t let her.”

  “Could you trace it back to where she is?”

  “Unless her dude screws up, I probably won’t be able to. It’s worth a shot though.”

  I liked how Reaper thought it was possible Kat’s equivalent to him could slip, but Reaper making a mistake was impossible. “You sure about that?”

  Reaper snorted. “Obviously.”

  “Hang on. Where’s the camera?” He pointed, and I made sure there was nothing on the wall behind me that could give her a clue to our location. The curtains were closed. The room was dark. But to be safe I picked up one of Reaper’s empty snack wrappers and put it on top of the camera anyway. This flat was in a quiet neighborhood. I couldn’t think of any sounds that would give us away. We weren’t even close enough to hear any public transportation that she could match up against a bus or train schedule.

  Once I was certain she’d get no clues as to our whereabouts, I pulled up the other chair. “Go.” It wasn’t even a question of whether to answer or not. When she was rational, Kat was damned smart, but when she was furious, she made mistakes. And I’d always had a gift for making her furious.

  “You sure you want to talk to your psycho ex right now?” Reaper asked hesitantly.

  “I might be able to get her to slip up and give something away. Record this. Maybe she’ll say something we can pass on to Underhill or Romefeller to push them over the edge. Kat’s manipulative and sharp when she’s being rational, but get her riled up and she’s got serious rage issues.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “Not like that,” I snapped. Though to be fair to Reaper, with Jill getting shot, I hadn’t been in the brightest of moods over the last few days. “Answer the call.”

  Reaper hit the button. Katarina Montalban appeared on one of the screens.

  She hadn’t covered her camera. Kat had always been gorgeous, and she’d aged well. Maybe she was prideful enough to think she could still charm me like the old days. There were some recent bruises on her face, mostly covered with makeup, and she was wearing a scarf, probably to hide the marks Valentine must have left on her throat. Behind her was a plain white wall, so I’d be getting no hints about her location that way. She tilted her head to the side when she saw nothing but black.

  “Lorenzo? Is that you?”

  “Hello, Kat.”

  She had this kind of white, blonde, too smooth Nordic look, and her attitude was either fire or ice, no in between. Since she was a superb actor—anyone who didn’t know her found her remarkably charismatic. Those of us who got to know her—without getting killed in the process—knew she swung between charming and terrifying. Even when we’d been lovers, I’d always suspected I was one mood swing away from getting shot. She flashed me her big, fake smile, with her perfect, capped, bleached white teeth. Her eyes twinkled. This was fun for her. Say what you will, psychotic or
not, Kat really loved her work.

  “You can’t imagine my surprise when I found out you were still alive.”

  “Despite your best efforts.”

  “Indeed. Why don’t you show me your face? I’ve missed seeing you.”

  “I don’t feel like giving your boyfriend a current snapshot of me to pass around.”

  “Ah, yes. It is unfortunate how easily you change your face.” Kat’s accent—when she didn’t bother to hide it—was Swiss, and she often turn the S into a Z. “I thought perhaps Sala Jihan had put his brand on it and you were too ashamed to show me.”

  Just saying that name made my chest hurt. “I’m still plain and boring as ever.”

  “Better to sneak up on me then.”

  “I promise. You’ll never see me coming.”

  Kat laughed. It seemed genuine, but most things with her did. “Oh, Lorenzo. Never change. Lucky for you, I didn’t fall for you because of your looks.”

  Or my charm. “How’s your neck?”

  “You know I don’t mind getting a little rough. Mr. Valentine has strong hands.” She ran her fingers down the red silk scarf suggestively. Despite the act, I could tell she was still sore. She flipped the subject to something personal to try and throw me. “How is Jill?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Really? I’d love to speak to her again.”

  “Jill can’t come to the phone right now.”

  “Because Anders shot her?” Kat had a malicious, evil grin. “Did she live? Die? Did you have to bury her in a shallow grave? Or are you too pragmatic, and she didn’t even rate that? I bet you put rocks in her pockets and shoved her corpse in the river. I wonder, Lorenzo, can you even truly love someone?”

  I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t going to let her get off on my pain.