Into Twilight (The Stefan Mendoza Trilogy Book 1)

by P. R. Adams

  A flowery scent brought my attention back to the window. Chan leaned out, stunned.

  I croaked, “She’s gone.”

  Chan straightened. “Below. Hanging below.”

  Hanging. She could still be alive!

  I jumped to my feet and stuck my head out. Ultraviolet picked it out despite the blood: fingertips on a windowsill. Ichi swung ever so slightly into view among the fluttering curtains.

  I turned on Chan. “Sheets! Get your sheets and blankets!”

  I rushed into Danny’s room, my pain pushed down by hope. Sheets and blankets came free with a single pull. I knotted them together on the way back to the window. Chan brought me more, and those were tied on to the end. I had enough to get down to Ichi, but I didn’t have anything to anchor it to.

  The sofa!

  I hauled the piece of furniture to the window. It wasn’t heavy enough to completely anchor me, especially if I hoped to haul Ichi up, but it couldn’t fit through the window, either. I punched a hole in the bottom and knotted a sheet around what seemed like the most solid part of the frame, then punched another hole to give me multiple places to wrap the fabric around.

  Chan fell back as I climbed onto the windowsill. The sofa crept forward as I leaned out. It filled the window above as I rappelled down toward Ichi. She held on to the windowsill three stories below, despite the cold and the glass and the curtains pulling and pushing her around.

  She blinked at me with wide eyes, and her cracked lips parted.

  I kicked out and dropped another ten feet.

  The knots slipped but held.

  I was at her side. So close. Tears welled up in her eyes and she sniffled, barely louder than the wind in my ears.

  I shifted all my weight to my right hand and tangled my left in the fabric just beneath, then I switched my grip and wrapped my right arm around her waist.

  “Come on, Ichi,” I whispered. “I’ve got you. Trust me.”

  Her lips quivered. “That won’t hold our weight, Stefan-san. Let me go.”

  “I’m never letting you go.” I yanked her off the windowsill.

  The knots slipped again.

  Fabric tore.

  I lifted her above me, and when her hands had a good grip, I shoved her up by the butt. She climbed up with the sort of confidence she could only have learned from her father. I looked down and wondered if my reinforced skeleton and cybernetic limbs could withstand such a fall. Not likely.

  Ichi clambered over the sofa and through the window, and I began climbing.

  The knots slipped again, and fabric tore as I reached for the windowsill.

  Wood snapped and I fell.

  Strong hands grabbed me by the wrist.

  My weight pulled Ichi through the window until I was sure she would be pulled to her death after me. Somehow, she braced herself. Her hips hung over the windowsill, but she refused to let me go.

  Slowly, she pulled me up and into the room, the last with Chan’s help.

  I set shredded hands to banged-up knees and gasped. Any thought of abandoning the operation was gone. Dead.

  Stovall had made things all sorts of personal.

  Heidi had Danny on his feet. He rubbed the back of his head tenderly.

  I looked to Chan. “This location has been compromised. Heidi, we need to move. Have Chan manage the transaction. No chance of tracing it. Get us someplace northwest of here. Hire out a dozen cars, multiple services, bring them here. We’ll need to dump our old vehicles. Ichi, when we—”

  I heard jingling and the whuff of shoed feet hurrying across carpet.

  Heidi moved to the door. I put an arm around Ichi and escorted her out, whispering to Danny as we passed, “Get your birds airborne. I want to know if anyone’s monitoring us when we leave.”

  Once at our door, I took a moment to enjoy Heidi in action. She coldly dressed down the head of security; he quickly backed down from the standard attempt at establishing authority. The pale flesh of his bald dome was bright red as his head bobbed up and down, and his speech was little more than a series of “yes, ma’am” and “I understand.”

  I got Ichi into the suite and looked her over. Her injuries were superficial: cuts and scrapes. I looked them over anyway and ran hot water over them in her bathroom, then helped her pack quickly. We returned to the other suite just as police lights lit up the snow floating down through the shattered window.

  A few minutes later, Heidi joined us, shaking, bowed beneath a couple travel bags. I took one and leaned in close to her.

  “Are you up to this?” I asked.

  The fiery strength in her eyes was answer enough. “There has never been any other choice for me. This is all I have.”

  There had never been much choice for either of us.

  Chan and Danny huddled for a moment, then Danny flashed a thumbs-up.

  I took the elevator first, leaving them to follow in pairs. We got off on the second floor, and I moved ahead, staying fifteen feet in front. Ichi pulled up the rear.

  Cars were waiting for us in the parking garage, motors humming, lights on.

  I ran to the front of the parking structure and glanced down into the narrow parking lot below. Police cruisers were arrayed around the front of the hotel, with several parked immediately outside the lobby. Uniformed officers were gathered there, comparing notes.

  I checked the waiting cars for unexpected passengers or payloads, then selected three. Heidi and Danny went into one, Chan and Ichi into the second. I transferred my weapons cases to the trunk of the third and climbed in with the last case, then I called Heidi’s data device.

  “I’m about to have Chan send two of these cars out. Send the limo out with them. I’ll send my old car out with the second wave. We’ll each go out with the three subsequent waves—me, then you, then Chan and Ichi. Got it?”

  “Of course.” She sounded agitated and impatient.

  I passed the plan on to Chan and Danny. The first two cars jumped forward, followed by the limo. Our cars followed and waited about twenty feet back from the exit.

  The first set of cars and limo had barely cleared the parking structure when a fiery tail descended from above and struck the limo. An explosion lit up the street entry to the hotel. Flames snaked across the police cruisers and swallowed the gathered police officers.

  I opened the case and pulled out an R60. As I slapped a magazine into place, I established a conference line to everyone. “Chan, send half now, then our cars, then the rest! Multiple destinations, all over the city.”

  Four more cars accelerated forward, and a few seconds later, another three. They continued into the street without braking, half turning left, half right.

  Another fiery tail descended, and the last car—the one I’d been using—blossomed.

  Our cars lurched forward.

  As we cleared the parking structure, I looked skyward. I could make out the shape of a pair of drones: forty, maybe sixty feet long, low in the sky.

  Military. Or Agency.

  They were shifting position. Getting ready to fire.

  “Danny?”

  “I see them. I can’t get them both.”

  “Pick one.” I rolled my window down and leaned out just as something dark and sleek crashed into the closer of the two drones.

  Danny’s birds. Too small to destroy the bigger drone, but it was damaged.

  The second drone spun and launched a rocket at the tangled aircraft, destroying everything in a brilliant ball of flame.

  I opened fire, spraying the remaining drone as our cars turned onto the street. Chan had the other two vehicles heading away from mine. The drone hovered, slowly spun around, and followed my car.

  I emptied the magazine and pulled out another one.

  The two wounded drones plunged from the sky, falling into the street behind me with a wounded, fiery machine groan.

  My car accelerated and began swerving wildly. Danny was running it now. It was pointless but appreciated.

  I leaned out the win
dow and opened fire again as the drone closed, aiming at one of the engines. Sparks ripped across the skin of a wing and the aircraft wobbled. More sparks lit up the night, and a strange whine came from the drone. I finished off another magazine and reloaded.

  A fiery tail descended, kicking up a section of the road ahead. A glowing, black clump cracked the windshield, sending pieces of glass rattling into the vehicle. The pungent stench of burning asphalt filled the car.

  I fired, this time focusing on the bulbous protuberance that held the drone’s optics. More sparks, and after a moment, the rewarding sight of the drone pulling up.

  Heading for safety. Possibly blind.

  I threw the R60 down and grabbed the chunks of asphalt. The fire was already sputtering out, but the rush of air was whipping the smoke around the interior.

  I leaned out the window, coughing. “I owe you.”

  Chan said, “Sure.” That was it.

  A few seconds later, Danny said, “We’re going to need to replace the Eagle.”

  His favorite drone.

  I smiled, still fighting the rush of adrenaline. “Let’s get to safety before we worry about that. Have one of those spare cars tail me. Find a spot where I can transfer these cases while out of sight.”

  I disconnected and sat back. Police sirens preceded lights, which preceded cars. I took control and pulled over until they shot past. I waited, then turned control back over to the smart system, which pulled us back onto the road. A few minutes later, the car pulled into a darkened parking structure and I switched to the undamaged car Chan had sent to follow me. Once loaded, I crawled inside and leaned back.

  Fifteen minutes passed with the car taking side roads and parking in empty lots. I reloaded the R60 and pulled a holster on during the drive.

  Something had escalated the stakes. The violence was out in the open. Innocents had been killed.

  Lyndsey would catch wind of the attack. Would she connect it to me? To Stovall?

  I wasn’t even sure this was Stovall’s doing. It seemed excessive, even for him.

  The car pulled into the parking lot of our new hotel. It was modest, an older building lacking pretension and many of the automated amenities of the Glorious Shining Star. I was fine with that. We were on the fourth floor this time, our suites replaced by connecting rooms. Ichi left the door between our rooms open.

  She moved her toiletry items into my bathroom, and we took turns pacing the two rooms while the other one showered.

  When I came out of the bathroom, she was seated on the foot of my bed, arms curled around knees that were tucked beneath a tired-looking face. She wore gym shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt. Skin that had been a pale gold and smooth just a few days before was covered by bandages and sealant and discolored by scrapes and bruises. Her posture told me that the first dent had been made in her youthful cockiness. She had left a cold compress on the nightstand for me; I put it to my face.

  Her tired eyes looked up. “Norimitsu-san never said anything about this.”

  “By ‘this’ you mean military strikes against civilian targets?”

  She nodded.

  “We were never this compromised.” I sat near the pillows. My body ached, real and cybernetic. My face was puffy and already purpling around what I thought might be a cracked cheekbone. Breathing sent pain arcing through my chest. My ribs were probably okay but certainly tender.

  Ichi shook her head. “Why not use those drones to kill the senator?”

  Because it wasn’t about killing her. “This is bigger than that. I think things might have gotten out of control.”

  “They want to kill us?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her chin sank between her knees. “It seems so dangerous.”

  “There was a time things were worse.” It was a lie, but one she needed to hear. “Ukraine. About five years ago. Your father and I got caught up in a mess. It was supposed to be small, not something we really had to worry about. Except everything there is a mess. The bitter history, the way the Russians just can’t let go of their stupid dreams of empire. Anyway, we ended up in a running gunfight with what was supposedly the local police force. By the time we got back into friendly territory, the claim coming out of Russia was that we had killed members of a security detail for the Russian ambassador. Stovall never did tell us what had really happened.”

  She turned toward me, stiff where before she had been so full of energy earlier. “This Stovall, you hate him?”

  “I think he’s the reason our mission in Korea failed. I know he abandoned me.”

  “He killed Norimitsu-san.”

  “If he set the mission up to fail. I don’t know that yet. I want to give him the chance to tell me.”

  Her eyes widened. “Before you kill him?”

  “Always remember that we’re never supposed to make this business personal. That’s rule number one.”

  “Of course.” She looked away.

  “But here’s what I call rule 1-A: When someone else makes it personal, rule one goes out the window.”

  She giggled. It brought out her resemblance to her father, especially around the nose and the corners of her mouth. “You were close to retirement?”

  Like Norimitsu. “Less close now.” I didn’t feel right asking where his money had gone. If Tae-hee had cut Ichi off, I didn’t want to get involved.

  “This money…” Ichi pressed her lips against a purple knee. “This life, you have been content with it?”

  “It’s not just the money, Ichi.”

  “For some of us, it is. Heidi and Chan, they want the money. They are terrified but want the money more.”

  “That’s a real part of the career. But for me, this is my life. It’s all I’m good at. Someone like me, I’m not an engineer or a researcher or a politician. I solve problems. I need action. But someone like you, with all the things your parents exposed you to—”

  She jerked her head hard. “This is who I am, Stefan-san. Like you. Like Norimitsu-san.” She looked at her taped-up fingers. “We must do better. I failed today.”

  “No one failed today. Except me. I should have seen the threat. Chan said we’ve been compromised. Maybe this simulacrum thing is more in control than any of us thought. Even if it isn’t, I should have moved us right then. Lesson learned.”

  “And what is next?”

  “Next I have to figure out who’s directing these assassins and how they’re connected to this crazy mess of an operation. I think it’s the Agency, but maybe Stovall really has gone rogue. My brain’s too fried for that right now.”

  She got to her feet. “Sleep, Stefan-san. I will guard.”

  “We both need sleep. If you want, you can have my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  She glanced at the open door. “No. I must learn how to turn this into a lesson, too. Strength from defeat.”

  It was the right attitude. I waited for her room light to go off before turning mine down. As I slid under the covers, recent events became a crazy mix, and I found myself entangled first in Gillian’s smooth limbs and then Ichi’s bruised ones. Their sighs and moans intertwined and became one, and when I finally collapsed, spent, drifting into sleep, I realized they were on either side of me, watching, evaluating.

  Waiting to tear me apart.

  Chapter 22

  A hot compress settled softly against my face. I sat bolt upright.

  Ichi glared at me, intimidating in one of her sleeveless T-shirts and gym shorts. Despite all she’d been through, despite the bruising and scraped skin visible beneath the gloss of sealed skin, she stood erect. Muscles bunched beneath her skin.

  She crossed her arms. “You must go to a doctor.”

  “I’m fine.” I tried not to groan as I shifted. Everything ached. My face was one massive bruise that ached just from breathing, and the bad eye was completely swollen shut. There was a distinct, foul smell and taste of clotted blood in my sinuses. Nausea and hunger wrestled for control. She was right: I needed to see a docto
r.

  I got out of bed, resenting the hell out of her youth. After what she’d been through, I should have been the one tending to her.

  A quick peek out the window revealed a thick fog, ghostly white in the street lamps. The sun was a reluctant visitor, hanging near the horizon. Early commuters were little more than gold beams.

  While Ichi showered, I called Dr. Jernigan.

  She answered on the second ring. “Yes?” There was a tinge of impatience in her voice.

  “Hi.” A gasp as I shifted. “It’s your favorite clumsy patient.”

  “What happened now, Mr. Mendoza?”

  “I think we know each other well enough that you can call me Stefan.”

  She took a deep, frustrated breath. “What happened?”

  “To the toys? Scrapes, mostly.”

  “These are not toys. Getting you up and running again required a significant investment.”

  “Bad choice of words. My significant investments need some attention.” I looked at my left pinky, which refused to bend fully. “Do you do organic parts? I’ve got a shiner the size of China. I think I cracked my cheekbone.”

  She brought video up. Her hair was pinned back, her cheeks were red and damp. She had somehow managed to find an oversized T-shirt. The wall behind her was split diagonally, half an awful sea green, the other half a dull tan. The clinic’s gym. “Who did that?”

  “Maribel Clavel’s boyfriend. He threw a punch, and the only thing I had handy to stop it was my face. I don’t mean to keep inconveniencing you with my pain and malfunctions—”

  She toweled sweat from her brow. “I’m not trying to minimize your suffering.”

  “Can you help me?”

  A pause. “I can see you in an hour.”

  I showered and left the hotel on foot. There was a metro station a quarter mile away. The pressed mass of bodies seemed safer after the previous night’s assault. People watched me with a mix of surprise and revulsion, but that was replaced quickly enough by apathy. I was just another wounded, violent creature.