Enemy in the Dark

by Jay Allan

  Okay, it’s time. He didn’t know exactly what he was going to do, but he knew he had to do it now. He took a breath and slipped out of the alley, heading swiftly through the streets toward the Grand Palais.

  “Lucas, we’re at the airlock. Armed and ready.” Tarq Bjergen’s voice was so deep it rattled the speaker on Lucas’s workstation.

  “You have the extra weapons with you?” Lucas didn’t know what was happening to the rest of the crew, but he was sure of one thing: if they’d moved the op to the Grand Palais, they weren’t waltzing in there with assault rifles. They’d be practically unarmed, and if he had to send the Twins in to rescue them, he suspected some extra guns would come in handy.

  “Yes, sir. We each have three extra rifles and pistols and a sack of flash grenades.”

  Lucas nodded his head. That was a lot of extra crap to carry into battle, but then the Twins weren’t average fighters. He’d seen the two gargantuan brothers flip over an armored vehicle once. They could handle a few extra guns, along with the giant autocannons the two normally wielded

  “All right. Stand by.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lucas smiled. He wasn’t remotely a “sir.” No one on Wolf’s Claw really was, except Blackhawk. And the captain was the last one to make a big deal out of rank. The crew had a variety of respectful names for their leader, but just as often he was simply “Ark” to them all.

  Below Blackhawk, though, there really was no rigid hierarchy on the Claw. Lucas and most of the rest of the crew generally thought of Ace as second in command. All except Shira. And Lucas knew that in a crunch she’d swallow her pride and accept Ace’s orders, too. Truth was, in the end they were a team, and whatever disagreements or rivalries they had disappeared when any of them was in danger.

  He stared at the power readouts. He had the field up at full strength. The Claw was as good as invisible to any casual observer, and even to a serious search effort unless it was extremely targeted. The distortion field was another of Blackhawk’s mysteries. None of the crew knew where it had come from, but they were well aware how useful a device it was. It had probably saved their lives more than once—a lot like Blackhawk himself.

  For the millionth time, Lucas wished he could run the engines and the field at the same time, but the strange artifact drew an enormous amount of power. He’d been planning to test the new reactor Marshal Lucerne had given them to see if it could manage the strain, but that was an experiment for a time when they weren’t in the middle of an operation—and when Sam was down in engineering where she belonged.

  Still, he was tempted. Castilla wasn’t one of the Prime worlds by any means, but it wasn’t a backwater shithole like Saragossa or Kalishar, either. It wouldn’t take long for the Castillan defense forces to detect a launch after he dropped the field. From then he’d have maybe ten minutes to get to Madrassa and grab everyone—or the Claw would end up in a battle with the entire Castillan fleet. Not an attractive prospect.

  Lucas stared down at the readouts, but his thoughts were with the rest of the crew. Should he blast off and rush to Madrassa? Or should he sit tight and see what happened?

  They may call me sir, but I hate being in command.

  “Sam, I need you to go back in there.” Blackhawk had linked up with Sam and Shira just outside the Grand Palais, and he was doing something he hated to be forced to when he’d had a perfectly good plan: he was improvising.

  “Whatever you need, Captain.” Sam Sparks was one of the best engineers in the Far Stars, but she was also incredibly capable in a fight. Her age and introverted nature tended to make people either want to protect her or dismiss her, but that’s because they’d never seen her in action. Blackhawk had. And he knew she’d killed a lot of people for a twenty-seven-year-old.

  A lot of people.

  “We have to get Katarina and Aragona out of there,” he continued, “and we need a diversion of some kind to do it. Do you think you can get down to the mechanical level and knock out the building’s power?”

  She looked back at him for a few seconds before she answered. “I can try, Ark.” She paused again. “I’ll manage it. Somehow.”

  “Be careful, Sam.” Blackhawk reached out and put his hand on her arm. “I know this is dangerous, but don’t take any unnecessary risks. If you can’t get down there, back off. We’ll manage some other way.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be careful.” She smiled and turned to walk back toward the hotel’s entrance.

  Blackhawk watched her go, a little worried about just how careful she would be. He spent most of his time worrying about Ace doing something insane, but he knew Sam had a little streak of craziness in her too. It put a knot in his gut, but it also made him proud as hell.

  “What do you want me to do, Cap?” Shira stood next to Blackhawk, also watching Sam walk toward the hotel.

  Blackhawk turned back toward her. “Stay close to Ace. If the shits hits it, he’s vulnerable.” At this point, the mission was of less concern than his crew. For all his skills and enhancements, Blackhawk knew his people were his greatest weakness. Not that they’d let him down, but that he’d let them down. He could face his own death, but the thought of his crew being killed tore at him inside. Other than Augustin Lucerne—and Astra!—they were all he cared about in the universe.

  “Don’t worry, Ark. I’ll make sure he gets out.” She turned her head, looking down the street. “But where are Sarge and his boys? You aren’t thinking about going up there alone, are you?”

  He nodded. “How are half a dozen of us going to sneak up to the top floor of that hotel without being noticed?” He could see the concern taking over her expression. “It’ll be okay, Shira. I’ll handle it. And Sarge and his boys will be here by the time we’re on the way out, in case we need backup.

  “Besides—Kat will be there to cover my six.”

  Shira didn’t look convinced, but Blackhawk knew she wouldn’t argue with him, not in the middle of an operation.

  “Good luck, Ark.” Her voice was soft.

  “To you too,” he responded with a quick smile. “Take care of yourself.” And with that, he was gone, slipping through the front door and looking like a wealthy Castillan in his exquisite, if poorly tailored, suit.

  Katarina felt Aragona’s hands sliding down her back, pulling down the zipper on her dress. He had a gentle touch, something she’d found to be quite rare among the butchers and powermad politicians who’d found their way into her crosshairs over the years. It made no difference. Skilled lover or brutish lout, Arragonzo Aragona was just a mission to her.

  She leaned back and moaned softly, feeding Aragona’s ego. She reached back behind her, rubbing a hand on his face as her dress slid down her body to the floor.

  She felt another tingle from the ring on her finger. A signal from Blackhawk. He was ready. It was time.

  She arched backward and reached up to Aragona’s head, running her fingers through his hair. She let her hands drop slowly toward his neck then she spun around behind him in one swift motion, pulling upward and jamming her left hand into the side of his neck.

  His body tensed for an instant, and she could feel him pulling away, but then he went limp and slid to the floor. The nerve pinch was an ancient Sebastiani technique, one she’d learned as a child acolyte. Most of Katarina’s moves tended to be fatal. She was a trained assassin, not a kidnapper. But her arsenal included a few nonlethal maneuvers, and this one was more than enough to deal with the likes of Arragonzo Aragona.

  She slid off to the side, pressing her ring hard against her finger, sending the expected response to Blackhawk. She reached down and scooped up her dress, just as the Claw’s captain slipped through the door. His shirt was covered with blood. Her stomach tightened for an instant, before she realized none of it was his. “Guards,” he said grimly, as if reading her thoughts. “How long will he be out?”

  She could see he was trying not to stare, with mixed success. She paid it no mind. She was used to men’s reactions
to her wearing a few wispy pieces of silk and nothing else.

  That’s one of the main reasons I’m in this suite in the first place.

  “An hour, perhaps. Possibly a bit less.” The nerve pinch worked differently depending on the subject’s body chemistry and recovery time, but she was sure he’d be unconscious for at least forty-five minutes, and probably longer. Which was enough to get out—or get killed trying.

  She slipped gracefully back into her dress. “So, shall we get out of here, Arkarin?” She was the only one who used Blackhawk’s full name. “I have had quite my fill of Castilla, and I suspect you have too.”

  “I have indeed,” he replied, reaching down and hoisting Aragona over his shoulder. “I have indeed.”

  Sam crept down the concrete hallway, stopping every ten meters or so to listen. She was looking for the Palais’s power core, and she was tracking it like a hunter stalks his prey. Finally, she caught a hum in the air, and she knew it was the reactor.

  The subbasements of the massive hotel complex were labyrinthine, and the corridors stretched on seemingly forever, taking her past storage areas and conduits bringing fresh water in and taking waste out. Finally, she could see she was moving into the main engineering area.

  She’d never get to the reactor itself—she knew it would be too heavily guarded. But if she could find the main conduit, she might be able to shut down the entire complex, at least for a while.

  She crept forward, her eyes focusing on the pipes and other mechanicals running along the ceiling. She was moving as much on instinct as anything else. The hum was getting louder, and she was sure she was close to what she wanted.

  Suddenly, Sam heard footsteps come around the corner behind her. “Halt. Who are you?” The voice was gruff, suspicious.

  She turned slowly, grabbing the tiny gun she always carried in her waistband as she did. They teased her about the miniature weapon, told her it looked like a toy. But it was compact and easy to hide. And it was made entirely of hardened polymer, so it slipped past metal detectors and most other security devices. It only held four projectiles, but that was all she’d ever needed.

  “I was on my way to engineering. They called with . . .” She fired as soon as she came around, and the guard fell onto his back, a small round hole in the center of his forehead.

  Better get moving in case somebody heard that. She jogged down the hallway, turning at each opportunity in the direction of the reactor’s hum. She was close, and she started to see heavy electrical conduits along the walls and on the ceiling. They were major trunk lines leading to various subsystems. The main nest of cables had to be close, then.

  She pushed onward, tracing the wires backward toward their origin. Finally, she turned a corner. Two technicians were standing in the middle of the hallway, staring right at the main power conduit. When they saw her, they seemed frozen in surprise. Then, as one, they turned to sound the alarm, but she dropped them with one shot each.

  Now, I just need to knock this thing out and get the hell out of here.

  Blackhawk raced down the stairs, carrying Aragona wrapped in a sheet and draped over his shoulder. He’d considered trying to take out the surveillance cameras in the hallway, but he knew that was a waste of time. He doubted he could find them all anyway, at least in the amount of time he had available. Besides, knocking out a camera was like flashing a warning sign to anyone watching. All they could do was get the hell out before anyone could respond. With luck, they might shake any pursuit once they were outside. Then he could call Lucas and have the Claw meet them somewhere near the city.

  He touched his ring again, sending a signal to Ace. It was time for him to make an excuse and get the hell out of the casino. Blackhawk didn’t have an overwhelming amount of respect for Aragona’s people, but they weren’t stupid, either. When they realized their leader had been kidnapped, they would follow the trail right back to Ace.

  “You had to get him to take you to the top floor?” Blackhawk glanced back briefly toward Katarina. “Next time, maybe hold back a little.” They were two of the fittest human beings in the Far Stars, but eighty floors was a long way, even going down.

  Especially carrying eighty kilos of unconscious Castillan gangster.

  “I will keep that in mind, Arkarin. Perhaps next time our target will be a woman, and you can use your own not inconsiderable char—”

  Their heads whipped around as one. Someone had opened a door above them. They could hear the sound of boots, first walking, but then running down the stairs. There was shouting too, and more feet.

  “I think we’re busted.” Blackhawk quickened his pace, whipping around each flight of stairs.

  “Go, Arkarin. I will be right behind you.”

  “Katarina . . . no.” He knew what she had in mind.

  “We need weapons. And unless I am very wrong, those footsteps are bringing some guns closer to us.”

  Blackhawk wanted to stop and argue with her, but he knew there was no point. Katarina was going to do whatever she thought was best, and all he could do by arguing was make the maneuver even more dangerous.

  Besides—she was right.

  “Just take out the first group and grab their guns.” His voice was firm, commanding, though he didn’t know how much good it would do.

  “I will be right behind you.” She turned and raced back up the stairs, her footsteps silent on the concrete risers.

  Blackhawk continued down, listening carefully. He knew he shouldn’t slow down, but he did anyway. If it came down to escaping with Aragona or running to Katarina’s aid, he knew exactly which he’d choose.

  He heard a loud thud and then, a second later, another. No shots went off. There weren’t even screams. Chrono, she’s good. He kept moving down. Eventually, he heard something move up behind him, barely audible. “Well done,” he whispered.

  “Thank you.” Katarina reached around him, pressing a pistol into his hand. “Take this. You should be able to manage it carrying that putrid load.”

  “Got it. Thanks.” Blackhawk moved forward again, down the stairs. “But let’s try to get out of here without having to kill anyone else.” Blackhawk wasn’t going to bet on that prospect though.

  “I am sorry to disturb you again, sir, but I am afraid there are matters that require your immediate attention. Several of the nobles are vociferously demanding to speak with you.” Shira stood almost at attention, her hair perfectly groomed, not a wrinkle on her suit.

  Ace understood. It was time to get out. Now. “It is astonishing that nothing can get done without my direct intervention.” He looked across the table at Cordoba. “If you will excuse me, Lord Cordoba, I am afraid I must attend to this at once. If you are amenable to a short break, I would be very interested in continuing our game in, say, one hour.”

  Cordoba stared back at Ace. He was clearly annoyed at the delay, but he nodded and said, “Of course, Lord Suvarov. We must all attend to our work when it demands.”

  Ace stood up and stared at Shira with a frustrated scowl. “Let us go, so that I can finish your work and get back to my game.” He reached toward the table and started to scoop up his chips and coins.

  “There is no need, Lord Suvarov.” Cordoba’s voice was firm. “I can assure you no one will disturb your stake while you are gone. I will have my people guard the table until we resume.”

  Fuck, Ace thought. All that money . . . But he couldn’t risk insulting Cordoba. Not this close to getting the hell out of here.

  “My thanks, Lord Cordoba.” Ace tried to pull his eyes away from the stacks of money on the table, funds that were about to be written off as expenses of the op.

  “Come, Lord Suvarov. Your associates are waiting.” Ace knew Shira was afraid he’d get himself shot to pieces over a pile of chips—and he knew that fear wasn’t entirely ungrounded. But the mission came first for all Blackhawk’s people, even Ace Graythorn. Even when he had to walk away from a pile of money and an opponent he knew he could fleece.

  “V
ery well, Felice. Let’s finish this as quickly as possible.” He turned and followed her back toward the main casino floor. His eyes caught a pair of guards moving from a back room toward Cordoba as he and Shira were crossing the room. He didn’t get a good look, but their body language was clear. Something was wrong.

  “Fuck, I think we’ve got trouble,” he whispered to Shira. “Just keep walking.”

  “Lord Suvarov . . .” It was Cordoba, and the change in his tone was obvious. “I’m afraid I must ask you to wait a moment.”

  “I’m sorry, Lord Cordoba, but I really must attend to my business. I will be back shortly.” Ace could hear the guards starting to move toward him. His eyes darted back and forth, looking for something, anything he could use as a weapon.

  He saw a waiter walking by, carrying a large metal tray filled with glasses. He turned his head slightly, and he saw the guards moving toward him, reaching into their jackets.

  “Now, Shira.” He spun around and shoved the waiter down, grabbing the tray. Drinks flew across the room, and the crystal glasses shattered as they hit the ground.

  Ace turned, swinging the tray hard and hitting both guards in the face. They dropped the pistols they’d pulled out from their jackets, and Ace dove for one.

  He could hear the sounds behind him: more guards rushing forward. He lunged for the pistol, grabbing it and swinging around, bringing it to bear. His reflexes were fast, but not fast enough. He knew in that instant his adversary was going to get the first shot off.

  He braced for the impact, his enemy’s bullet slamming into his body. But it didn’t come. Instead, he saw something whip across his field of vision so quickly it was barely visible. Then another.

  He fired his pistol, but his enemy was already stricken, hit by the two tiny throwing stars Shira had hidden in her necklace. Ace pulled himself up and ducked behind an overturned table, motioning for Shira to take cover with him. There were half a dozen guards in the room already, and he had no doubt more were coming. He started firing, dropping two almost immediately before they started shooting back . . .