The Suns of Liberty (Book 3): Republic

by Michael Ivan Lowell

  Rosalie’s allies in the room snickered.

  Leslie waited for the noise to die down, then she said, “They’re asking to be repaid, Rosalie.”

  “Hear, hear!” Livingston Roosevelt cried out, and the assembly joined with him.

  Leslie knew she had won this debate. Rosalie’s supporters could never top winning over the EU to their side. Now the questions that hung in her mind were: how would Bannister Tarleton respond and would the Suns of Liberty be ready?

  CHAPTER 26

  The Stealth Hawk-2 flew low across the Manhattan rooftops.

  “Sir.” The stocky pilot with a deep Tennessee accent leaned back toward Drayger and his wife, Paris, who were both suited up for an assault. Weapons, high-tech surveillance equipment, the works.

  Drayger was methodically exercising the artificial leg, keeping it fresh, keeping his nerve endings “talking” to the leg’s CPU. It took a second for Drayger to realize the pilot was addressing him.

  “We’re going to drop you on that rooftop and let you take it from there,” the pilot said.

  “Okay.” He saluted the pilot awkwardly. Drayger peered over at Paris, who shot him a determined smile. There was no way he was going to fail her. Paris’s sister meant everything to her, and that meant she was everything to him.

  Paris and her sister Angel were constant companions. He’d lost count of how many times she had stayed at their apartment when her no-good (now, ex-) husband Bobby had kicked her out. He and Paris might have had an unconventional relationship—long periods apart, the other lovers on the side—that few understood (not even the two of them), but he had no question how his heart felt about her.

  “Ritzy neighborhood for a street gang,” Paris said, eyeing the swanky rooftops. Shiny steel, well maintained, unlike so much of the rest of the city.

  Drayger checked his utility vest. He felt the weight of his laser pistol against his chest, just above his pounding heart. He pulled the Luger from the chest holster. With his other hand, he reached over near his hip and pulled out the long, cylindrical silencer that Leslie’s team had recently made to fit the pistol. It had been modified to withstand the luminized ammunition the gun could fire long enough to get it down the elongated-barrel. It wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, the metal would degrade from the force of the luminescent energy, he’d been told. But it would work for now.

  Ward had offered to build a portable version of his wrist-canisters to shoot his paralysis darts instead, but Drayger had no interest in just putting these bastards to sleep. He remembered the strange look on Ward’s face when he turned the darts down. “Guaranteed takedown,” Ward had told him. And that was true. In some ways, Ward’s little darts were a safer bet. All they had to do was break the skin and your target was down in a heartbeat.

  Maybe he should have felt guilty about it, but no, he knew the only sleep he was going to put these assholes in was permanent. Ward might have his qualms with killing people, but Drayger did not. Besides, he wasn’t sure he’d classify this street scum as people. They were going to their graves for what they’d done to Angel. Hopefully, they’d be going there scared out of their tiny minds, too.

  Drayger reached up and made sure the odd-looking, gold-colored device he called his Neurolyzer was firmly attached to his head. He knew he could not afford for it to fall off during the operation. Even though the main signal came from the Neural Transmitter inside his own brain, without the little golden device wrapped around his forehead he would not be able to focus the brainwaves with pin-point accuracy. And he would need every bit of accuracy he could muster to accomplish this mission. As his mind wandered over these things, he caught Paris grinning at him, and she nodded her head. He smiled back and gave her a wink.

  Sometimes he wondered if she had a Neurolyzer of her own tucked away somewhere inside that beautiful head of hers. She seemed to always know what he was thinking. It hadn’t taken her thirty seconds of being with him again in Boston for her to realize what Drayger himself was trying to deny: that his membership in the Suns hadn’t gone how he had hoped.

  He couldn’t even put his finger on what bothered him. It was like they didn’t respect him. Maybe it was the leg. The thing was finally starting to respond normally. Or close to normal. He still didn’t have the speed he’d had before the injury. Ironic thing about it was, if he’d been on the Council’s payroll they probably would have gotten him the best of care and made sure the leg worked the way a bionic leg was supposed to work: give you strength and speed. Let you kick some ass—literally!

  Everything in the Resistance was on a shoe-string budget. Had to stretch every dollar. Once he’d had the surgery, the Suns had pretty much abandoned him to his own therapy. It was all on him to do by himself. He knew they were all busy, they all had their own problems and responsibilities. But it still stung.

  He was the one who had rescued them from Freedom Rise. How the hell did they think they were going to get out of that one? You can’t fight a whole city, let alone the whole city of New York! They owed him more respect, that’s for sure. True, they’d said he was the hero of Philadelphia, but inside he’d felt from day one they only said that because he’d lost his leg. He couldn’t even think of one thing they’d done for him concretely. Why couldn’t Lantern be helping him on this little mission, for instance? Revolution knew how important this was to him.

  “Here we go,” said the pilot. “Good luck.”

  Drayger nodded to him, still thinking about how much easier all this would be with Lantern’s help, and grabbed Paris’s hand. How busy could he possibly be that he couldn’t lend them a hand? The guy was known for his multitasking. That was his superpower, after all.

  The bay door slid open on its own, and Paris leaped out onto the tar roof. Drayger followed her. The helo turned immediately and shot silently across the New York skyline. They watched it shrink away.

  The duo was alone on the roof. The building they were standing on was adjacent to the one Paris’s sister Angel was being held in. Like a lot of buildings in Manhattan, they were both incredibly tall and very close. This building was slightly taller than its neighbor—by about three feet—which would make Drayger’s job a bit easier. In the distance, they could see the towering spire of Freedom Rise. Drayger leaned over and kissed Paris on the mouth, lingering there for a second.

  And then he was gone. Sprinting toward the other side of the roof. Willing the stiffness out of his leg. He reached the gap between the buildings and leaped. He didn’t pause to think about it, didn’t make sure the leg was working. He just went for it.

  When his feet met concrete he felt the ledge of the roof under his heel. The lousy leg had barely given him enough lift and had weighed him down, but he’d made it. Glancing back at the gap as he kept trotting forward. He realized it had been no more than about five feet. He cursed the leg.

  To his right was a tall air-conditioning/heating unit. To his left, a thirty-five-story fall to his death. The roof was faux-gravel, and as he sprinted forward the covering made more noise than he’d anticipated. Noise someone might be able to hear.

  He drew the pistol from its holster.

  Finally, he reached the end of the large air unit. There was a good fifteen more feet to go to the edge of the roof. With his back against the unit, he peered around the corner. No one was on this part of the roof. And that was a good thing because he knew there would be armed guards on the floors further down. One thing at a time, he thought to himself.

  At that moment a crackle in his earpiece took his attention.

  “I’m in place, baby,” Paris’s voice said over the com.

  “I’m at the back of the air unit. No one over here. Anyone out front?”

  “No. The front of the unit is clea—wait.” Paris’s voice trailed off in panic. Drayger turned, ready to race back to the other roof to help her. “One armed guard came out of a doorway. Looks like he’s guarding it. About mid-way down the unit.”

  “That’s an entrance we didn’
t know about. Lead me to him.”

  Drayger snatched up the silencer from the vest and screwed it onto the barrel of the Luger. Three quick twists and it threaded on and clicked in place. Drayger rounded the corner of the air unit, still keeping close to the unit’s metal wall and his Luger pointed out in front of him.

  “He’s just staring straight ahead, smoking a cigarette. Sitting duck.”

  Sitting duck sounded good to him. He scurried down the wall to the end, stepping awkwardly over large exhaust vents that snaked across the floor of the roof. The guy guarding the door was just on the other side. He wasn’t sure how far, but somewhere near the middle. Drayger clicked off the luminized setting on the pistol. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself by shooting small glowing missiles that could penetrate anything across the sky. Conventional ammo for now. He’d only turn on the luminescence if he had to.

  “Hang on. He’s talking on his cell phone now.”

  “You think it’s about us?”

  “Don’t think so. Looks personal. Lots of smiling, laughing.”

  “Distracted,” Drayger surmised and got ready to charge him.

  “Wait till the call’s over, baby,” Paris warned.

  She was right, of course. If he killed the guy while he was talking, the person on the other end would know something was wrong and could warn the others. “Good point.”

  Drayger waited. His nervousness surged. He’d learned a long time ago not to overthink things. To just dive right in. If he overthought something, he might freeze up, chicken out, or just plain screw up. For that reason, he resisted the idea of getting a peek around the corner. Much better to just burst around it and open fire at the first possible opportunity.

  “Okay, he’s off now.”

  Which is just what he did.

  The thug never had a chance. The sound suppressor on the Luger muffled the blast, but the bullet traveled straight through the bad guy’s head and it opened up before he even looked Drayger’s way.

  The gang-banger was dressed nice—black suit, no tie. Keeping up appearances, Drayger surmised, given the ritzy part of town they were in. He still wondered about that part of it. These guys were based out of Brooklyn—why come to Manhattan?

  Drayger sprinted to the body and found the door the guy had come out of. It was actually a small set of stairs that led down to a door located below the air-conditioning unit. Five steps in all. Drayger eased himself down the steps and tried the door gently. It was locked. Just as well. Even if the thug had a key on him, Drayger had no idea what was on the other side of that door.

  Better stick to the plan. “Door is locked. Heading down to the landing.”

  “Be careful,” Paris shot back. He knew this was one of the parts of the mission she most worried about.

  Drayger stuffed the pistol back in his vest and pulled out his i-hook gun. Intelli-hooks, or i-hooks weren’t really hooks at all, but steel cables that could morph to nearly any form needed and used magnetized microfibers that allowed them to cling to nearly any surface. The “intelli-” part referred to the AI that was programmed into the hooks that allowed them to scan and adjust to different surfaces as needed.

  He fired the hook at the corner of the roof where a metal air vent snaked down the side of the building. Drayger took the gun and attached it to a hook on the front of his vest that also doubled as a harness. Grabbing the cable in one hand and the gun’s trigger in the other, he lowered himself awkwardly over the corner of the building and tried his best not to look down. He slid on his belly off the side and hung there. A few kicks later, he’d brought both legs up near his chest, with the soles of his feet flat on the building’s side. He rappelled down carefully and quietly until his feet touched down on concrete.

  Finally, he let himself peer down. Drayger gulped. He was standing on a small square section of roof. Barely enough room for his feet.

  To his left, on the front side of the building, the concrete expanded to form the balcony that was his target destination. If he could just get over there, he would have plenty of room to stand. Unfortunately, that’s also where the army of thugs were guarding the luxury apartment Angel was being kept in.

  Drayger held the i-hook gun above him and let the cable release, and it snapped back into the gun with a shoop! He winced at the sound and held his breath, listening for any sign that anyone on the balcony might have heard it.

  Nothing.

  So Drayger holstered the i-hook and retrieved the Luger. “Babe, do you have a visual on the balcony?”

  “Negative. I’m just too far up. Want me to move down, see if I can get a—” Drayger cut her off. He didn’t want her to risk being spotted. He knew there were men on the other side of the wall; he just didn’t know quite where they were or how many. But he did know one thing: they were all susceptible to fear. He focused on sending a fear signal toward the balcony.

  “No, stay where you are. I’m in position. I’m going in hot.”

  Drayger sent an image of an aerial assault. He thought of the pterodactyl drones they had fought off in Trenton and sent an image of those toward the balcony.

  And stepped out onto it, pistol at the ready—

  He ran head-on into a panicked thug.

  Shit!

  The thug’s eyes were up, searching the sky. He hadn’t even seen Drayger—who fired his Luger, sending a bullet straight into the guy’s heart. He seized up in what Drayger recognized immediately as a death lock. Drayger grabbed him by the arm and pulled as hard as he could. The guy stumbled past him and fell straight off the roof without a sound.

  Drayger hugged the wall. There were three other gang-bangers he’d yet to deal with. All three were still scanning the sky. None of them had even noticed the fate of their comrade. They had their handguns drawn, eyes wide.

  Could Drayger take them all? Maybe he’d miscalculated, having them focus on fear. It had made them alert. He needed them in disarray.

  Drayger sent a new signal, this time aimed at the emotion of disgust. He focused on the scent of rotting flesh. The men looked down, back, around, trying to find the source of the smell.

  And one of them glanced right at Drayger—who shot the guy in the face.

  The last two spun to face him, guns raised. Drayger burst forward. He fired at the next closest thug, hitting him twice in the chest, and the man crumpled. But the last man was smarter and quicker. He set his feet, took close aim, and had Drayger dead to rights as he squeezed the trigger—just as a bullet entered his brain and sprayed the contents of his skull across the balcony.

  Drayger spun around and saw Paris on the adjacent roof wave him the “a-okay,” smoke trailing from her silenced Glock. He’d told her not to move down and what had she done?

  Moved down.

  And saved his ass.

  Typical.

  Paris had risen in the ranks of the Big Apple Minutemen for a reason. Not only was she great with a gun, she had natural leadership qualities and a first-class mind. The Neurolyzer was her idea, her concept. Without Paris, there would be no Neuro. A relieved smile on his face, he waved back, shook his head at her, and turned toward the door.

  The door. No way to know what was beyond it.

  Damn, it would be nice to have Lantern on this mission, he thought again. Lantern could have told him what was on the other side in a heartbeat. Drayger waited sixty seconds. Then he readied the pistol, opened the door, and stepped inside.

  To an empty room. A master suite. Devoid of any decorations. White walls, white carpet, white bedding. What kind of master bedroom had a balcony, but no window? The kind where you do things you don’t want anyone to see, that’s what kind.

  Drayger felt the blood in his temples throb.

  Just before he’d stepped through the doorway, he’d concentrated on sending a fear image to anyone inside of an intruder coming up at them from the elevator or stairs—the likely route a ground assault would take. Scanning around the near-empty bedroom, he could only hope that the
y all took the bait and were rapidly headed away from the apartment. He only need a tiny window of time to get himself and Angel out of there.

  He waited. Listened for sounds. A strong aroma of cooked food, spices, melted cheese, met his nose. It smelled pretty damn good.

  He heard nothing.

  Drayger ran to his right. A door leading out to a dining area straight ahead and a kitchen off to his left met his gaze as he peered cautiously out of the doorway. They seemed empty.

  They were not.

  He sprinted forward and caught the sound of two low voices just before he reached the dining area, and he realized there were two thugs in the kitchen area, just beyond it. He’d already opened up on them with the Luger when he realized they were actually wearing kitchen aprons. Okay, that was weird.

  Drayger had put two bullets in their brains anyway.

  To his right was a large living area with a big wrap-around couch and wall-mounted monitor. The room was empty.

  Then he heard the muffled laugh of a woman from a far room straight ahead. The food smell was getting stronger even though he was exiting the kitchen area. Drayger sprinted forward, the adrenaline pumping in his veins.

  He heard the woman again and this time determined it was coming from a bedroom just ahead. The door was to his right. He readied the gun and burst in.

  And there, dressed in an expensive evening gown, sipping red wine from an elegant tall-stemmed wine glass, seated at a small table topped by roses and flickering candles, sat Angel. Dining on roasted duck and some kind of white pasta dish dripping in melted cheese.

  “Bennie!” she squealed excitedly, not a trace of fear, threat, or anger in her voice. Just exhilaration to see it was him.

  Drayger stopped short, his mind a maze of confusion. A thug dressed just like a waiter stepped up from the right, tray in hand, bottle of wine at the ready, only getting out, “Sir, may I—” before Drayger had leveled the pistol at his head and—

  A rustle in the far left corner stopped him, and he turned to see a Japanese-styled shoji screen. Something clicked in his mind that there was a greater danger concealed by that screen. A shape stepped out from behind it, and a blinding light stabbed into Drayger’s eyes.