Shadow Ops 3: Breach Zone

by Myke Cole

  The goblin standing over him cursed, wrenching the spear, trying to pull it out of its comrade’s back. Another three goblins appeared beside it. One raised a jagged-edged short sword. Another held a pistol. The gun looked comically large in the small creature’s hands. The recoil would surely knock it on its ass.

  But at this distance, it couldn’t miss.

  Harlequin yanked the goblin corpse to the side, pulling the spear from its comrade’s hands, desperately trying to get it between him and the barrel of the gun. It was futile. Even a 9mm round would punch right through both the dead goblin and his head, and bury itself quite a ways into the street behind him.

  Harlequin roared, hurling his tide against the Suppression as the goblin raised the pistol, dark tongue poking out of the corner of its mouth, finger tensing on the trigger.

  Its head exploded.

  It sank to its knees, the gun tumbling from limp hands. The other goblins looked up. Two of them suddenly contorted, arms twisting at unnatural angles, embracing themselves so fiercely their bones cracked. Blood fountained from their mouths, and they fell, their comrades running for their lives, spears clattering to the street.

  Harlequin felt the Suppression drop away, his own tide racing back into him with such force that he fell back. He felt another tide, powerful and near, but the sorcerer made no move to Suppress him now.

  He looked up, blinking the last of the cotton from his vision.

  A man stood there, arms folded. Short, bull-necked, in jeans, work boots, and a button-down shirt hanging open, revealing his bare torso, dominated by a tattoo: the characters SUR3NO$ riding above the image of two crossed pistols. A yellow bandanna was tied around his head, and a necklace of thick wooden beads hung to his waist.

  The bones of his face had been raised into sharp ridges, forming a stylized skull. His eyes sank in circles of dark pigment, lips in black half-moons that formed a grinning death’s-head.

  Harlequin didn’t know the man, but he recognized the alterations. Only one gang used Physiomancy to bend their features like that.

  ‘You a long way from the barricades, my son,’ he drawled, folding his arms.

  ‘So are you.’ Harlequin struggled to get to his feet, wincing as his raw palm came in contact with the asphalt, and his strained wrist took his weight.

  ‘Jesus, man. You is all fucked up.’ He came closer, extending a hand. Harlequin felt warmth tingle in his hand and wrist, watched as the wound spat out the gravel from the street, knitting together until his palm was covered with shiny, pink skin.

  ‘Aw, man. I worked for years building up those calluses.’

  The man snorted, smiled. ‘I can fuck it back up again if you want.’

  ‘I’m good, thanks.’ He turned around. ‘I hit my head pretty bad. How’s it look?’

  The man grunted and warmth spread across Harlequin’s skull, making his scalp burn. ‘You got a bald spot now.’

  ‘I’ll live. Thanks again.’

  The man nodded, folded his arms. ‘You lost?’

  ‘Came looking for you, actually,’ Harlequin said.

  The man’s smile vanished, his tide spiked. ‘The fuck why?’

  ‘Easy, easy. I just . . . I need help.’

  ‘I helped you, man. Fixed your hand and your head.’

  Harlequin thought of the refugees, streaming in every hour. He thought of the help, from Mexico, from Canada, from his own country that was coming. Always coming. Never arriving.

  ‘And I appreciate it. Maybe you could come help me some more. We don’t have any Physiomancers at my camp.’

  The man jerked his chin at Harlequin’s shoulder patch. ‘You SOC, man.’

  ‘I don’t care about the Rending. I’ve already got one Probe in the fight.’

  ‘You think I’m stupid?’

  ‘No stupid person could have kept this block clear. How are you managing it?’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions. You keep sticking your nose around here, maybe you’ll find out how we look out for our own.’

  ‘Don’t try to push me around. If you were going to kill me, you’d have done it already. We’re clearly on the same side here. You don’t want monsters on your block? Neither do I. We can help one another.’

  ‘Looks like you’re the one needs help, Army man.’

  ‘How long do you think you’re going to last once the monsters are done with us? Once they can focus their full attention on you? You don’t want them here. Neither do I. You help us, maybe we can make an arrangement.’

  ‘I seen you on TV, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You famous. You in charge here?’ The skull ridges above the man’s eyes rose slightly.

  Careful. If they know you’re in charge . . . Screw that. You want help? You have to take a chance. ‘I am. Tell your boss that I’d like to negotiate.’

  ‘What’re you offering? What happens when this is over?’

  Harlequin wasn’t even sure he could convince the president to pardon Downer, and she was a known quantity. How the hell could he make promises to an international criminal gang?

  The man shook his head at Harlequin’s silence. ‘You fucking liar. Get off my block before I get sick of you.’

  ‘I’ll do whatever I can. I’m the best shot you’ve got of getting the ear of the government.’

  ‘Wrong government, asshole. You know who we are?’

  ‘You want to stop calling me names. I’m not stupid either. You don’t spend this long in the SOC without hearing about the Limpiados.’

  ‘Then you know we’ve been living in a fucking sewer for years because of you motherfuckers.’

  ‘Bullshit. The Zetas run Mexico. You could walk in the daylight if you wanted to. You choose the sewers. I remember El Perro’s speech.’

  The skull face smiled. ‘Man. You been paying attention. That’s good to hear.’

  ‘Help us. We’ve got all the bullets in the world, but they don’t hurt the mountain gods. We need magic.’

  ‘Those bullets still hurt us. You fucking politicians are the biggest liars in the world. You think the NYPD hasn’t made us the same offer? We saw what you did to Houston Street. Rending’s illegal except when you’re impersonating Big Bear. Or what you did to Oscar Britton? Fuck that, man. You’re a bunch of snakes.’

  Harlequin winced internally. Is he wrong?

  ‘You know Oscar Britton? Are you in touch with him?’

  Skull-Face looked incredulous. ‘You kidding me? I ain’t telling you shit.’

  Harlequin sighed. ‘Suit yourself. If you’d prefer the monsters, be my guest. If we lose, they win. That’s not going to be good for you, for anyone human.’

  ‘You’re asking me to choose monsters’ – Skull-Face leaned in close – ‘or monsters. Go on home, Army man. Go on home and make more laws. Tell the ratas you work for that Los Limpiados say they can suck our dicks.’

  ‘Battery Park. You tell your boss that if he changes his mind, he can find me there. Ask for . . .’

  ‘I know who you are, Harlequin. Go fly on home.’

  Harlequin swallowed his pride and rose into the air. ‘You know where to find me if you change your mind.’

  Skull-Face’s laughter chased him all the way down Canal, ringing in his mind long after he’d left him behind.

  Interlude Five

  Lunch

  The Ponaturi have an uncommonly strong bond with a race of whalelike creatures they call Kan-Nay, whom they seem to both worship and herd. I say ‘whalelike’ loosely. I saw humpback whales breaching off the coast of Nantucket. The Kanae are at least twice as large.

  – Simon Truelove

  A Sojourn Among the Mattab On Sorrah

  Six Years Earlier

  They spent the night entwined on the co
uch in her office, Grace softly snoring, Harlequin listening to the rhythm of her breathing, watching her face. As the sun began to fan pale light across the floor, Harlequin’s smartphone vibrated with a text message. BRIEFING GATANAS. NEED YOU TO COVER THE SHOP. COME IN BY 0700.

  Harlequin slowly disentangled himself from Grace’s limbs and stood. She moaned, flopped over on her side. ‘You. Breakfast. Now.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go to work.’

  ‘Tell them I said you could take the day off.’

  ‘I’ll pass it along.’ He bent to kiss her, tried to stand, but she pulled him back in, surprisingly strong.

  So he kissed her again. And again.

  By the time he finally got out of her office, he was rushing, his uniform sloppy, himself unshowered and unshaven. It was absolutely unlike him, and it felt fantastic.

  Crucible was gone by the time he arrived, and the NYPD officers at the liaison office didn’t say anything as he raced to the bathroom to clean himself up as best he could. Grace dominated his thoughts, but soon the day-to-day of his work stole them away, and he willingly gave himself up to the familiar rhythm. Special drugs and secret programs were exciting, but he much preferred helping the NYPD enforce the law. There were no hidden agendas there, no secrets. You ran, you paid. It was simple work. Sheepdog’s work.

  He stepped out of the liaison office in search of one of the food carts that lined the park outside the office. He spotted his favorite a few car lengths down from its regular spot. He was in luck. Instead of the usual line, there was only a single broad-shouldered man in a gray suit.

  Harlequin made his way over, ignoring the stares and sudden stilling of conversations around him. After all his time on this assignment, it was so much background noise.

  He moved his way around the man, trying to catch the cook’s eye, but found the cart empty. The man in the suit turned to face him, smiling. Harlequin smiled back. The man was thickly built, with buzz-cut hair and smart sunglasses. Definitely former military, with the easy confident nature that Harlequin had come to note in real operators who had gone on to civilian service. The sunglasses obscured his eyes, but Harlequin could tell he was looking directly at him. He nodded and went back to looking for the cook.

  But another man stood in the cart. His suit was black, but otherwise he could have been the twin of the man beside Harlequin. ‘Lieutenant Thorsson,’ the man in the cart said. ‘I’m Tom Hicks with Entertech. Nice to meet you.’

  Harlequin looked back to the man beside him, Drawing his magic and balling his fists. ‘What the hell is going on here?’

  Hicks raised his hands and spread his fingers. ‘Easy, Lieutenant. We just want to talk.’

  ‘So you take over my favorite lunch spot? Why the hell couldn’t you just call my desk?’

  Hicks smiled. ‘We figured a busy guy like you would appreciate the change of pace. This is more dramatic, don’t you think?’

  ‘It sure is,’ Harlequin said, then jerked his head at the thickset man beside him. ‘If you just want to talk, I’m going to need you to call off your dog and make me a sandwich.’

  Hicks nodded to his companion. ‘I got it, John.’ The thickset man pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, waved it at Hicks, and walked off.

  ‘Well, that’s step one,’ Harlequin said. ‘Now, where’s my sandwich?’

  ‘Just a minute of your time, Lieutenant, promise.’

  ‘Okay,’ Harlequin said. ‘Clock is ticking.’

  ‘You know who we are . . .’ Hicks said.

  ‘Entertech? Of course. You’re our main contractor. You guys are all over Quantico.’

  ‘Most of us are retired military. I was an O-5 in the army when I got out. Logistics.’

  ‘Am I supposed to be impressed?’

  ‘You’re supposed to feel a sense of kinship and trust.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m too damn hungry. Maybe if you got the cook back here?’

  Hicks smiled at that. ‘We’re your leading technical and manpower solutions provider. There are other Beltway bandits that build your tanks and planes, that staff your think tanks or develop your software. Magic is what we do.’

  ‘Wrong,’ Harlequin said. ‘Unless you’ve found a nifty new way to conceal your current, you’re not Latent. Magic is what I do.’

  ‘I . . .’ Hicks began.

  Harlequin cut him off. ‘Enough. Get to the point.’

  ‘You’re working with the Channel Corporation on an experimental drug, some kind of Limbic Dampener.’

  ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,’ Harlequin said. ‘I’m on a SOC LE support tour.’

  ‘You don’t move as far in the field as we have without keeping your finger on the pulse of important business developments,’ Hicks said, spreading his hands.

  ‘Well, then what do you need me for? Sounds like you’re all over this.’

  ‘So, you are working with Channel.’

  ‘I’m not confirming or denying anything except that I’m hungry.’

  ‘Jesus.’ Hicks made a dramatic show of looking around under the counter. ‘There’s got to be something here. Mustard . . . pickles . . . some . . . red-looking sauce. I have no idea what it is, but I’m pretty sure it’s edible. If I give it to you, will you hear me out?’

  ‘Let me see it,’ Harlequin said.

  ‘Look, Grace Lyons made her fortune in finance. Why the hell is she suddenly dabbling in pharmaceuticals? Doesn’t seem odd to you?’

  Harlequin swept a hand over the food cart. ‘You want to talk to me about odd?’

  ‘Channel has no experience with magic and, more importantly, no clue how to properly secure important developments in relation to it. You are taking a huge risk by working with them.’

  ‘I never said I was working with them. Where’s that red sauce?’

  Hicks went on without batting an eyelash. ‘We hope you’re keeping an eye on Channel’s lab security, Lieutenant. We hope you’re reporting any violations up your chain with alacrity. We especially hope you’re keeping a careful eye on Grace Lyons. If a problem were to be discovered in that program, we could step in and help out.’

  ‘Really? Would you not make sandwiches for them, too? Because right now, you’re the worst fucking cook I’ve ever met.’

  ‘More importantly, I can’t even begin to speculate on the damage it would do to your career if a security violation were discovered that you were remiss in reporting.’

  Harlequin felt his face flush with anger. ‘See, now it sounds like you’re a lousy cook who’s threatening me. That’s two strikes. One more, and I might just have to climb in there and teach you some fucking manners.’

  Hicks shrugged. ‘Speaking of careers. Do you know what most SOC officers do when they retire? They come work for us, Lieutenant, usually at roughly double what they were making as a field- or flag-grade. It’s a nice way to watch the sunset.’

  Harlequin snorted laughter. ‘Here’s what happens now. I go call my boss and report this insanely unethical and illegal conversation. Entertech gets investigated and brought up on charges. You get fired and go to jail. That sound about right?’

  Hicks’s smile didn’t falter. ‘Nobody has done anything unethical here, Lieutenant. We rented a truck and had a conversation. Both of those actions are protected by the First Amendment. Remember? The one you swore to defend?’

  ‘Yeah, I remember it. So, here’s my free speech. Go fuck yourself.’

  Hicks looked sad. ‘I’m sorry you see it that way. You’re young. You don’t know how things get done yet. I wish you had more time to learn before making a call like this.’

  Harlequin’s blood went cold, his righteous anger abandoning him. He remembered his conversation with Crucible in the Channel meeting room just yesterday. There are policies that exist t
hat guide those of us above your rank and level of experience.

  ‘You haven’t been very reasonable,’ Hicks said, ‘but, fortunately for you, I was many years in the Army and I saw a lot of JOs full of piss and vinegar just like you. Here’s my card.’ He extended a business card between two fingers. ‘You change your mind, you give me a call.’

  Harlequin took it numbly. A dozen snappy retorts rose to mind, but he couldn’t shake the sickening feeling that he was missing something.

  He turned and headed back to his office, his appetite gone, sliding the card into his cargo pant pocket. He walked a few steps, stopped, turned back to the food truck. Hicks was gone, the truck shuttered and locked. He had no doubt it would open again shortly, with no indicator that anything had happened other than his memory of the conversation.

  He shook his head. Snap out of it. It was one thing when Crucible, his supervisor and an authorized government agent, gave him lectures on policy. It was another when a contractor tried to push him around. He was not going to be intimidated.

  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and raised it to call Crucible, only to find it ringing in his hand. It was Grace.

  Excitement overcame trepidation and he had lifted the phone to his ear and answered before he knew what happened. ‘Grace . . .’ he began.

  ‘Get your ass back here,’ she cut him off. ‘Well, get your ass over here. I’m in my apartment. I never dismissed you.’

  He tried to chuckle, but the encounter with Hicks had stolen his mirth. It came out forced.

  Grace was no fool. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m fine.’

  ‘You sound out of breath. Are you fucking someone else already?’