Sonora IV

by G. F. Hellstern

  Germán looked down at his shoes with an expression Josué recognized. It was the same look Héctor used to use when Josué’s father would talk about visions and plans.

  “I’ll be glad to learn all I can from Germán,” Josué found himself saying.

  Chapter 8, Sicario

  Stu shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away from the dark-haired, long-featured Atlantos. He furrowed his brow and cursed under his breath. He wasn’t cold. Why was he trembling? He hoped it was slight enough to escape the eagle eyes of Atlantos.

  Returning his attention to the photos, he wiped all emotion from his face like his brother Lenny had done so well. Why these two? They’re just ordinary people. Stu stopped himself. Thankfully, the trembling had moved to the small of his back where it could go unnoticed.

  Stu wondered if he was starting to go soft. He ran his fingers through his hair. But who wouldn’t balk at a hit on a kid?

  “The old man is in Sonora City Jail – fifth floor. Political prisoner. Melanion has passes for you. The boy is in Germán’s Cell . . . according to our informants.”

  Stu looked up. The name Germán brought the steel back to his arms. He took a relaxed hand out of his pocket and lifted the picture of the boy for a closer look. Sorry, kid. Anyone associated with Germán . . . .

  Atlantos continued, “They are high-profile targets. You’ll each receive double for the hit and four times the regular compensation if you get them both within 48 hours.”

  If Stu had had any reservations left, the money would have spoken for them. His foot began to tap. “48 hours?” Stu put the photo in his pocket. “We’ll do it.”

  Stu glanced at Lenny and smiled. This job had their names written all over it. “Is that all?”

  “Melanion’s downstairs.” Atlantos’ piercing eyes studied him a moment. “Don’t screw it up.”

  Stu nodded and squinted at Atlantos. “Do I detect doubt? Have we failed you yet?”

  “I mean it. Get the job done.” Atlantos sat down.

  Stu bristled, but turned to the doorway. Atlantos was Atlantos. Nobody messed with Atlantos. “We’re on it,” was all he said. He could smell the money already.

  Stu wondered if he would settle down after this one, maybe find a wife? Nah, he decided. Lenny should settle down, though. He’d make sure of that. The sicario life really wasn’t for his brother. He looked at Lenny out of the corner of his eye and wondered if his brother had fully recovered from their last hit.

  Germán. His skin crawled at the very name. Germán, the man who had killed their brother Felipé. Stu couldn’t think of Germán without a sour taste in his mouth. They would manage collateral damage on this job.

  On the stairway, Lenny caught up to him. “How are we going to kill a kid?” He whispered, removing the mask he’d worn so well in Atlantos’ presence. “The woman was bad enough.”

  “Didn’t you hear?” Stu mouthed the name Germán. “This job was picked for us. We can do it.”

  “Yeah, but he’s just a kid.”

  Stu paused on the steps. “We’ll use explosives. We’ll wipe out the whole cell. It won’t be the kid, it will be Germán.”

  Lenny continued down the stairway step by step. Stu didn’t wait. He was in Melanion’s office before Lenny reached the bottom.

  “You’ve got some things for us, boss?”

  Melanion stood up from his desk, walked over to a chair piled high with utility belts and grabbed a box off the top. “Here you go. Uniforms, badges and a map of the prison.” The methodical man lifted them one by one and dropped them back into the box. “The chief guard works for us. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting in. Make it quick and clean.”

  Stu carried the box over to a shelf of explosives. He threw in a few bricks of plastic and a detonator. He lifted it to check its weight then added more plastic.

  “Why is Atlantos so dramatic about these things?” Stu asked. “I liked how you used to do it. It seemed less . . . I don’t know – personal.”

  Melanion sat on the corner of his desk and folded his arms. “You guys have moved to the big leagues. Atlantos is in charge of the high-profile hits.” Stu detected a glint in Melanion’s eyes.

  “I’m just saying I liked the way you did it.” Stu picked up the box and headed for the door.

  “If you aren’t moving up, you aren’t moving,” Melanion replied, a grin spreading across his face. “From what I understand, you’ve got an important job.”

  Stu wasn’t convinced. He wished Melanion would move up with them.

  ***

  Less than forty-five minutes later, Stu watched the boy through his binoculars.

  “Do you see anything?” Lenny asked over the radio.

  “It’s the kid,” Stu whispered over their link. “He’s flying into the hideout.” Then he added through clenched teeth, “Germán is with him.” Stu fingered the trigger on his blaster. “How are things in there?” He swung the binoculars to scan the warehouse roof, unable to spot Lenny.

  “I’m almost done. You grabbed enough plastics to take down the whole city block,” Lenny grunted.

  “You can never be too sure.”

  Stu thought over how it would happen. It seemed like robbery to get paid for a hit like this. They would be done with the first target in less than an hour. “Did you leave us a way in? We’ll need to verify the kill.”

  Lenny cursed.

  “What? Don’t tell me you forgot?”

  “Give me twenty minutes. You’ll be able to fly in.”

  “Good. It’ll be one picture I want a copy of – Germán’s corpse.”

  A little longer than twenty minutes later, according to Stu’s watch, Lenny’s voice woke his brother from a daydream of a world without Germán. “Ok, looks like we’re set. Give the go and we’ll see what kind of plastics Melanion has.”

  “All clear?”

  “All clear.” Lenny’s voice caught.

  Stu would definitely have to get his brother out of the business after this hit. These kinds of pauses and mistakes would cost them someday. “Okay, here goes.” Stu pressed the detonator and felt a low rumble shake the ground.

  A cloud of smoke billowed from the walls and roof. The warehouse doors flew across the street. A gigantic crater opened inside the building. The metal frame of the structure wavered like a house of cards, sighed then leaned against the adjacent building.

  Chapter 9, Lenny

  Josué watched Germán’s feet on his way back through the tunnel to the restaurant. His grandfather’s words echoed around him in the small space below the jail. Nothing made sense. How could their family ‘rise again’ without his father? Who was Apolino? And why would Galactic Parliament work with someone like Ormand?

  Back on the streets, Germán thankfully still hadn’t said a word. They started their vipers and roared back to the warehouse.

  Josué trailed the big man and tried not to think. The biggest questions of all wouldn’t let him go – how could Sonora City be more dangerous than the Omri Manor slave camp? Maybe his grandfather really had no idea how bad it had been there.

  Josué looked at Héctor’s cousin. He sensed he could learn a lot from this man. He would stay with Germán. Perhaps things would become clearer, and it may not even take that long.

  He closed his eyes. A vision of the woman from the jungle filled his mind. She blinked. Danger glimmered in her eyes.

  Josué looked around. They were in the warehouse bay. He followed Germán down the steps and into the tunnel. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

  “Where’s Felisa?”

  “She mentioned she would be with Marko this morning.” Germán opened the door to the cage.

  “I’m going to find her.”

  “Good. I’ll go with you. I could use a sparring session.”

  “No.” Josué stopped. The skin on his arms tingled. He closed his eyes and imagined he saw a man. “There is someone here . . . someone placing explosives on that wa
ll.” Josué pointed back toward the stairs. “Germán, you have to get your men out of here! I’ll get Felisa.” Josué turned and ran to Marko’s training room.

  Halfway there, he slowed to a walk. What he had just said? What he had seen? Rubbing his eyes, he wondered if he was losing his mind. Perhaps the pressure was getting to him.

  He heard Marko give an instruction on sword swings as he rounded the corner. The man was hanging a sword on the back rack when Josué stepped into the room. He cleared his throat. Marko turned around just as a red light on the ceiling started to blink.

  The trainer’s face turned grave. “Josué, Felisa, Follow me! We’ve got to get down the tunnel as quickly as we can.”

  “Why? What is it?” Felisa asked.

  “The emergency signal. We must evacuate!”

  What is it? Felisa echoed her question to Josué.

  I don’t know. Josué was unable to put into words the urgency he’d felt earlier. Perhaps he had been right.

  Felisa led them out of the training room and into the dimly-lit tunnel. Marko secured the door after Josué. The oasis of light from the cage was a familiar beacon to their left. A large group of cell members passed in front of them, moving swiftly down the corridor. Josué ran to catch up with Germán at their lead.

  “You were right,” the big man whispered. “They cut into our surveillance system. Paco figured out how. Keep moving.”

  Germán pushed on and the group broke into a run. Felisa caught up to him. They ran together. He hadn’t been crazy after all.

  Ahead, the tunnel branched to their right. As they rounded the corner, a deafening roar washed over them. A body pushed into Josué from behind. He fell forward. The wall beside him buckled like a giant fist had punched it from the other side. A boulder crashed into the ground inches from his head. Rock and sand poured down his shirt.

  The large silhouette of Germán rose over the wreckage. “Is everyone alright?” The big man bent over a body next to Josué. A weak groan escaped the man’s lips.

  Josué reached for Felisa. Her eyes met his. Germán stepped past him. Josué almost got up to follow him then turned to Felisa.

  Go with Germán. Felisa pushed his hand. I’m alright.

  Josué stood up and scrambled after his new mentor. It was slow going over the rubble, but the big man moved like a lightning over the rocks and boulders.

  When they reached the place where the stairway should have been, a hole the size of a house gaped. Grey daylight streamed through billowing dust. Josué only recognized a small corner of the flattened metal cage peeking from beneath a large chunk of rock. The rest was a shamble of twisted concrete and boulders.

  The high pitched whine of a viper in low gear hissed toward them from street level. The gray shadow of a thin figure atop a hover-bike appeared at the hole, descending through the wreckage. The white-hot engine burned through the haze.

  Germán crouched like a raptor before launching himself at the figure. He landed square on the rider’s chest. Two bodies tumbled to the ground. The big man’s fist rose then fell. Josué watched his friend raise a large rock over his head. With trembling arms he brought it down on the viper-rider. The man’s legs kicked then fell still.

  Germán’s chest heaved. He looked around, leaned back and shouted into the wreckage. “Lenny! I know you’re out there. I’m coming for you! Do you hear me, Lenny? You are a dead man – like your two brothers!”

  The big man walked back in determined silence. “Sicario,” was all he said when he reached the other Syndicate members.

  Felisa turned to Josué. Is everything alright?

  Josué nodded, afraid to say anything. Germán was on a mission, he could sense it.

  Four Cell members lay covered with coats and shirts in the tunnel wreckage. Several others sat with their backs to a wall; dark bandages tied on or clutched over wounds.

  Germán caught his breath before turning to Marko. “Get these people to Dr. Pepe then Garvin’s. Josué and I will meet you there tonight. We have something to do.”

  Marko nodded and turned to help Felisa place another bandage.

  Josué touched Felisa’s shoulder as he passed. He felt her squeeze his hand.

  Germán was off. Josué followed. They came to a tunnel, passed through it and out onto the streets. Josué could taste the vengeance emanating from his friend.

  “How did you do that down there?” Germán asked after they had walked in silence through two or three alleys.

  “I saw the man in my mind.”

  They entered a building and raced down steps to a well-lit tunnel.

  Germán stopped in front of a pair of doors with the words ‘FIRE EXIT’ across them. “Can you do it again?”

  Josué didn’t want to disappoint his friend. He closed his eyes and hoped. With no idea how the link was supposed to work, he squeezed his eyes. First there was nothing then he did see something. “I see a man . . . running . . . in a street. He’s ducking between two large buildings. He’s walking now.”

  “Can you recognize the buildings?”

  Josué opened his eyes. “No . . . they looked like apartment buildings.” He closed his eyes again. “One of them has green balconies on the side facing the street.”

  “Excellent.” Germán burst through the door.

  In the alleyway before them stood the man Josué had seen. He stopped, turned and broke into a run before ducking into a doorway. Germán tore after him faster than Josué would have thought possible for the man’s bulk.

  The big man reached the door and kicked it open. Josué caught up to him in front of a flight of dingy wooden stairs.

  Germán threw himself back, catching Josué by the arm. The heat of a laze blast burned past Josué’s leg, scorching the street beside him.

  From his belt, Germán pulled a blaster and returned fire. Two shots later the man tumbled down the stairway. Germán kicked the body over and breathed a sigh.

  “Who is it?” Josué looked at the kind, almost peaceful face of the man at their feet.

  “Sicario. Ormand’s death squad.” Germán sat down hard with his back against the brick wall. “They were sent to kill you – and me for helping you.”

  Chapter 10, Micromanagement

  Mr. Ciro couldn’t find a comfortable way to sit in his chair. He had dreaded this day ever since Apolino had asked for a report on Sonora IV. Now Parliament wanted to hear it and he knew how Apolino wanted it to go. Mr. Ciro straightened his tie and breathed into his hand to check his breath. It was fresh enough, not that it would matter. If only he had had time to . . . use the facilities.

  “Since we’re discussing the spiraling conditions of Sonora IV politics.” Apolino pressed the tips of his fingers together. “Mr. Ciro, why don’t you detail for the council your findings on Sonora City?” Apolino smiled at the men and women seated around the council table. “I trust you will find his testimony highly pertinent to the issues at hand.”

  Mr. Ciro stood, hoping his knees would stop trembling or that no one would notice them if they didn’t. “You’ll find a complete description of my talking points in the report submitted to the council earlier this week.” Mr. Ciro managed a smile. “Our Parliamentary Leader’s assertions are correct. The Sonoran civilization has descended into a lawless class struggle.” Mr. Ciro cleared his throat and tried to control the pitch of his voice. “Assassinations, indiscriminate bombings and death squads are just a few signs of the state on Sonora IV. I’ve included 3D photos and hologram feeds from the local news and a single, dangerous walk I risked on the streets of their city.” Mr. Ciro wiped the moisture from his palms onto his pants. One more point and he could sit down.

  He flipped an image onto the briefing wall. A gasp went around the room. A mutilated body from a local newsreel showed in all its uncensored gore. “As you can see, killing isn’t enough for the Sonoran death squads. Bodies are mutilated in horrific ways. Signs of torture, ‘signature’ cuts and in some cases surgical procedures are perfor
med to desecrate the dead. These methods strike fear into enemies and identify kills.”

  He selected a recording he’d made from his hotel room. It sounded as if a battle had started inside the conference room. Bomb blasts and laser shots echoed around them. “The night I stayed in Sonora City I lost count of the explosions and laser blasts I heard. It is a low-intensity war by anyone’s classification.”

  Mr. Ciro took his seat and glanced at his benefactor. Apolino’s smile creased his eyes before he leaned forward and spoke. “Over the past week, this year’s death toll has reached 50,000 – to include the brutal slaughter of the Trevino Household.”

  Mr. Ciro watched those around the table. Nods of affirmation and grim agreement passed from face to face. “The facts speak for themselves.” Mr. Apolino sat back in his chair.

  “What are you proposing?” Minister of Defense looked directly at Mr. Apolino.

  “I wouldn’t think anything more than a small peacekeeping force would be necessary – led by the Revisionist Party’s elite guard, of course.” Apolino sat back and tapped his fingers together. “We’d risk our troops first . . . any of the colonies will be free to contribute their men if they’d like.”

  Mr. Ciro was sure Apolino didn’t mean that last point. From what he understood, his boss wanted to lead and run this one, without any interference.

  “I’d like this to be a minimum cost to the colonies with maximum benefit to humanity.” Mr. Apolino said the word humanity with the humblest of expressions and folded his hands on the table.

  Everyone nodded their approval. The proposal passed without a single dissenting vote. Mr. Ciro knew his boss would be pleased. The presence of their personal guard would solidify Revisionist control over the renegade planet and pave the way for a full annexation of its abundant natural resources. Peace on Sonora IV would be a crowning achievement for Mr. Apolino in more ways than one.

  Within the week, Mr. Ciro found himself back at Omri Manor. He’d anticipated a wait in the furnace room and had dressed appropriately. His short sleeves and thin linen slacks were anything but adequate for the meat-locker they placed him in this time. Mr. Ciro could not stop his teeth from chattering or feel his blue fingertips by the time Atlantos arrived.