“Very well,” Hanso said as the weapons pointed downward. “Come to the armory.”
The door slid left into a recessed opening, revealing a gently sloping downward ramp. This area was modern and in stark contrast to the older architecture of the upper level and the space we just left.
“Wood,” I said. “Are you in position yet?”
“Just about,” Wood answered. “That main gun moves fast. You coming out to play?”
“Can you get the gunner?” I asked as we reached the bottom of the ramp. “Hanso is going to give me something to even the odds.”
“He has nukes down there?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” I said. “Get in position, I’ll be right there.”
We turned left at the bottom of the ramp and headed down a wide corridor to another, smaller, secure door. This one unlocked as we approached. The armory was the size of a small hangar and equipped with every weapon I could imagine and some I’d never seen.
The rumor was that Hanso had been a fearsome operator in his day. He had managed to beat the odds and do the one thing few operators do—retire while still alive. Even as an older man, Hanso exuded presence. His thin frame and gray hair spoke nothing of the strength of his character. He commanded a small army in the Forge and getting on his bad side was considered unwise by every operator—everywhere.
I had just managed to bring a raving psychopath to his front door. To say he was displeased to see me would be an understatement of phenomenal proportions.
He turned with a small pistol in his hand. It was identical to my backup, the gun I’d given to Ren, a .22 caliber Beretta Neos.
“I should just shoot you somewhere painful and let you bleed out,” Hanso said staring at me. “Why did you bring this shitstorm to my home? How would you like it if I brought some C4 to your house and detonated it in your living room?”
Ren stiffened next to me and I shook my head, hoping she understood that trying to shoot Hanso was a fatal idea—for us.
“Put the gun down and cut the shit,” I said. “If you want to keep this place intact, you better give me a tank killer, and fast.”
After a few seconds Hanso smiled and holstered his gun. We had too much history for him to be upset for long, that, and I had saved his life. It was a debt he could never repay. Didn’t mean he wasn’t upset—just meant he wouldn’t shoot me. At least I hoped not.
“You could have at least given me a heads up,” he said, moving to one of the walls where racks of weapons were attached. “How the hell did Samael get a tank anyway?”
“The Nurse was supposed to call you and let you know we were on our way.”
“She said you were on your way with your apprentice,” Hanso answered. “Not you, your apprentice, and crazy Samael with a tank.”
“She’s not my apprentice,” I said. “You think Sam is in that tank?”
“No, he’s insane not stupid,” Hanso said, grabbing a tube. “If she’s not your apprentice, I deal in Amway Products.”
“She is, was, a target on my last contract,” I said. “The contract I broke.”
“That explains Samael, not the tank. Why didn’t you leave her for the cleaners?”
“The code and she’s been claimed.”
“I see,” Hanso said. “Are you certain?”
I nodded. “About as sure as I can be. This isn’t an exact science you know.”
“Death can occasionally be messy, but it is always exact.”
“She claimed her,” I answered. “That’s all I know.”
“Really,” Hanso gave her a once over. “The clothing ensemble says either junior operator or Nurse in training.”
“Do you have something to deal with the immediate priority here…you know, the tank?”
“What you need is this,” Hanso said, handing me a long tube about a meter-and-a-half long. “Try not to destroy it entirely. If you can, immobilize it, I will have my men liberate it.”
I took the long tube and noticed the small missile inside.
“This seems kind of light in the firepower department.”
“So, you say she’s been claimed?” Hanso asked, pausing when he looked into Ren’s eyes. “I see. We will deal with that later. First, you stop the dead man in the tank.”
“What do you mean, liberate?” I said, still examining the tube. “Is this is an ATGM? Since when did anti-tank guided missiles get so small?”
“Since technology,” Hanso said. “Go to the roof, aim for the center, and we will do the rest. It’s a controlled detonation thermal EMP device. Are you alone?”
“Wood is out there,” I said. “He’s working on a solution. I have him taking down the gunner.”
“Good,” Hanso said with a nod. “He will have Beautiful Bertha. Tell him to aim for the tracks instead. I want the crew alive—especially the gunner. Take out the main gun. My people will assist. Your padawan can stay here with me.”
“She’s not my—never mind.”
“Make sure you’re inside before the EMP goes off.”
I headed up the stairs. “You heard the man,” I said when I reached the roof. “Wood, new target. Let’s work on a mobility kill.”
“Mobility kill won’t stop that gun from punching holes into the building you know,” Wood answered as I got into position. “I hope he gave you something convincing.”
“Controlled Thermal EMP,” I answered. “Disguised as an ATGM.”
“A C-TEMP? I thought those things were a rumor,” Wood said. “Small missile? Looks too small to do the job?”
“Precisely,” I said, looking down the tube and moving to the edge of the roof. “This thing looks like it will bounce off the Abrams.”
“I’ll blow out the tracks and keep it in one place,” Wood answered. “When you fire that thing get back inside the building. I don’t know how powerful the EMP blast will be, but its safer inside.”
“Lucy?” I asked. “Safe distance?”
“EMP blasts have been known to disrupt SCAN devices in the past,” she said. “It would have to be a considerable blast and you would need to be in close proximity. I’d err on the side of caution and listen to Mr. Redwood.”
If Wood felt this weapon posed a threat, I’d make sure to get some distance—maybe.
“Got it,” I said. “Ready when you are.”
“We’ll do a one-two,” Wood answered. “Five seconds I blow out the tracks, on the sixth second you fire that thing or I’ll be a memory.”
“I’m ready,” I said, lifting the sight on the C-TEMP and aiming.
“Let’s hope they aren’t.”
TWENTY-ONE
Wood counted down five and fired.
The next second I unleashed my missile. It fell slowly, almost too slowly and landed on the turret gently.
“What the hell kind of missile is this?” I said surprised. “It just landed on the tank.”
“Get out of there, Huracan,” Wood said as the main gun rotated in his direction. “Do it, now.”
I ignored him and watched the anti-tank guided marshmallow as it sat there doing nothing. It wasn’t rolling off, which was surprising. I figured there was some kind of magnetic feature. Other than being a potentially overpriced refrigerator magnet, nothing happened.
“I’m not seeing the threat its just sitt—”
The EMP blast rocked the tank. The pulse hit me faster than I could react. The next moment, the small missile began to glow orange and melted its way through the turret and into the main body. I heard a muffled explosion a few seconds later. The tank came to a standstill as smoke poured out from the vents.
“Wood, tank is down,” I said. “I repeat the tank is down.”
Silence.
Men and women dressed in combat armor raced out of the Forge. Hanso’s crew. They descended on the tank like a swarm of angry ants and began dismantling it. Another group stood around the dismantlers armed with rifles. The second group extricated the tank crew. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t see Samael amo
ng them. I pushed off the edge and headed to the stairwell.
“Lucy, can you hear me?” I asked. “Anyone?”
No response. The EMP must have disabled my SCAN device. I felt a strange sense of freedom mixed with loneliness. I’d had someone’s voice in my head for so long, the silence felt alien and yet, peaceful.
I made my way downstairs. I was halfway down the flight of stairs when my peace was shattered.
“Huracan!” Lucy yelled in my head. “Are you there?”
I nearly slipped down the remaining stairs, grabbing the railing to keep my balance.
“I am now and nearly deaf, thanks,” I said with a groan. “Tank is neutralized and Hanso’s people are making quick work of it. I didn’t see Sam among the crew.”
“Shame,” Lucy answered. “but he wouldn’t make it that easy.”
“You didn’t listen to me did you?” Wood yelled in my ear. “Told you to get off the roof.”
“Both of you need to whisper right now,” I said, wincing. “Lucy can you recalibrate the SCAN remotely? It’s either that or I start bleeding from my ears.”
“The recalibration will take you offline for a few hours,” Lucy answered, now joined by a high pitch nails-on-a-chalkboard whine in the background. “I don’t recommend this right now. I won’t be able to assist you seamlessly.”
The whine torture died off a few seconds after she spoke.
“Don’t answer, please,” I said. “Your voices are off-the-charts loud and now I’m getting a feedback whine. Recalibrate the SCAN. I’ll get a phone from Hanso and we can go retro until the SCAN resets.”
“A phone?” Wood screamed. “You’re going to use a phone?”
I pressed my thumb and forefinger together for ten seconds. It was one way to mute any incoming transmission on the SCAN. It wasn’t a standard operating feature on The Cartel versions, but I made sure Lucy provided mine with a mute and shut off feature.
I arrived downstairs at the armory to see Hanso speaking with Ren.
“She needs a blade,” I said.
TWENTY-TWO
“A blade,” Hanso said. “Then I must see her spirit.”
Ren looked at me confused. I nodded. “Go ahead, its okay.”
“Come here, child.”
Hanso, for all the fear and menace he could project, was very approachable when he wanted to be. He gave Ren a smile, extended both hands palm up in front of her, and waited.
I stepped back and gave them some space. I remembered this ritual. It scared the hell out of me the first time. I had a feeling Ren wouldn’t spook so easily.
She looked at me and I gazed back into those twin pools of night and nodded again. She gave me a short nod and placed her hands, palm down on Hanso’s waiting hands.
“Teach her,” Death whispered in my ear and materialized a second later. “Like I taught you.”
She was grayer, shorter, and heavier, wearing a black dress, and standing with a white cane made of bones with a skull for a handle. This was her abuela-grandmother persona. A black and red, skull-covered bandana was tied around her head. She looked up at me with gray eyes that never failed to unsettle me.
“I’m not an instructor,” I said. “Besides she’s too young.”
“Not much younger than you when we met.”
“That was different.”
“Not to me,” Death said. “I have claimed her. I want you to teach her.”
“That would be a mistake,” I said, realizing that turning down Death wasn’t the best way to reach old age. “All I could teach her is to be—”
“The best,” Death finished. “She will be the best.”
“I was going to say a smartass. If you want the best you should have Picasso take her on, or Scythe. I’m sure she’s still out there, somewhere.”
“Both are closer than you can imagine, but they cannot teach this one.”
“One phone call and I can explain it all to Picasso,” I said. “You may need to give me some help with Scythe but I’m sure either of them could—”
“No,” Death said, chilling the room, and pointing at my chest with a gnarled and wrinkled finger. “Tu eres quien escogi—you are the one I chose and you will be the one to teach her.”
Ren looked in my direction and her eyes grew wide with surprise. She recovered quickly when Hanso coughed, his breath visible in the cold.
“Focus, girl,” Hanso said. “That doesn’t concern you…yet.”
“She can see you, did you know?” I said, looking at Ren. “It’s on the fringes of her senses.”
“Not fully, but yes, she is developing her sight,” Death answered, glancing over at Ren. “Soon she will hear me clearly. You must prepare her before then.”
“That was you on the street,” I said with sudden realization. “You showed her what to do. That’s why she fired on the Hostile.”
“She learns fast, as fast as you,” Death answered. “She will be a good student.”
“I’m not a good teacher, I’m not a teacher—period.”
“This is not a request, Huracan.”
“That’s why you should—” I started, but she was gone, “find someone else.”
I guess I was just given an apprentice.
TWENTY-THREE
“Don’t move your hands child,” Hanso said, holding Ren’s hands in his. “Keep still a few seconds more. Yes.”
A few moments later, he dropped his hands and fixed me with a look.
I nodded.
“Is that all?” Ren asked. “Do I need to do something else?”
“Yes,” Hanso said. “Look around this armory. Tell me, what do you see?”
Ren looked around. “Weapons? All kinds of weapons.”
“And what don’t you see?” Hanso asked. “Look carefully.”
Ren looked around again, squinting her eyes. After a few more seconds she shook her head.
“All I see are weapons.”
“Dust-free weapons,” Hanso said with hint of scorn. “This armory and the weapons within are meant to be free of dust. And both of you—are covered in it.”
I looked down and saw he was right. Hanso pressed a button and one of his people appeared at the door.
“Yes, sir?”
“Max, please escort this young lady to the living quarters,” Hanso gestured at Ren. “She’ll need a bath and real combat armor. Really, what was the Nurse thinking with that polykev?”
“Will that be all, sir?”
“Find some clothing for Mr. Karib as well. I have the feeling we will be entertaining some unwanted guests.”
“Yes, sir. Standard issue?”
“No, lets try the combat ready polyweave. In the meantime, feed Ren, get her cleaned up, and changed.”
“Yes, sir,” Max said. “This way please, miss.”
Ren gave me a quick glance before following. I waved her on after Max.
“I liked the little dust speech,” I said when Ren was gone. “For a second I thought you were going to pull out a white glove.”
“No need,” Hanso said, jumping on a stool and leaning back. “You two are buried in dust. I wasn’t kidding. You need to get that dust out of here. This is delicate weaponry.”
He was deflecting, which meant I was right. Ren was getting a blade.
“This name she has, Ren—who gave it to her?”
“I did,” I said. “Short for Renata—rebirth.”
“I see,”Hanso said, staring at me. “Did you realize what you were doing?”
“At the time, I was trying to get her off-site before a group of cleaners came and erased her,” I answered.
“Do you know why we have specific naming conventions?” Hanso asked. “Or did you never bother to understand?”
“The latter.”
“Of course,” Hanso said with a sigh. “Why be bothered with something so insignificant as a name, especially one given by The Cartel.”
“So glad you understand,” I said. “What are you giving her?”
“I’m not giving her anything,” he answered. “It’s true, she will be a blade master in time, probably one of the best. However, I will not be the one presenting her with a weapon. That burden belongs to the one who named her—you.”
“Me?” I asked in disbelief. “No, no, no, it’s bad enough I’m going to have to teach her. No way can I pick out a weapon for her.”
“You must,” Hanso said with a shrug. “Or don’t, and leave her with that toy you gave her. I’m sure she’ll make an excellent operator, if all her targets are balloons.”
“I don’t want her to be an operator.”
“Not your choice from what I felt,” Hanso answered, walking over to a wall covered in blades. “Death doesn’t make requests if I recall correctly.”
Hanso didn’t hear or see Death like I or Ren did. He operated more on intuitions, feelings he would get that almost always turned out right.
“I’m going to need a phone,” I said. “Tri-encrypted and SCAN capable.”
“A phone? What’s wrong with your SCAN?”
“Your tank-melter’s EMP scrambled my SCAN,” I said. “I’m having Lucy recalibrate it, but that will take a few hours.”
“I thought I advised you to stay clear of the blast?”
“You did.”
“And you didn’t listen?”
“Do I ever?”
“Not usually,” Hanso answered with a short sigh and then a quick smile. “I hope your new apprentice is every bit as pliable and obedient as you.”
“No need for the curse,” I said, scowling. “Do you have one?”
“A SCAN enabled phone won’t be as convenient as your actual device”—he looked through a case opposite the blade wall—“but it will keep you in contact with your handler.”
“That’s all I need,” I said, taking the thin, smartphone looking device Hanso handed me. “Can she connect Wood and Ren to this too?”
“Ren has a SCAN?” Hanso asked. “What did you do, drug the Nurse?”
“I can be very persuasive when I need to be.”
“No one persuades the Nurse,” Hanso said, heading back to the blade wall. “She looked into that girl’s eyes, didn’t she?”
The Birth of Death Page 7
