Movement blurred from above.
He raised his arm for a shot, but a boot slammed directly into his face. The world exploded in agony. Jinx's mocking laughter drifted somewhere outside the pain.
"Ay, hombre. That looked like it hurt!"
He gritted his teeth, shoving his assailant away and firing an errant shot that direction. The attacker swiftly rolled to the side, raising a metal-shod arm as if to deflect the next round. She was tall and lanky, lean muscle and sinew. Her clothes were tactical, her brown hair pinned back in an unglamorous bun. Scars crisscrossed her face like lines on a macabre map.
He stared in shock when he recognized her. "You. You're Happy—the assassin from the rooftop!"
She smiled, twisting the scars at the corners of her mouth. "Points for the obvious."
A high-pressure popping sound was followed by her bionic fist firing from her wrist like a missile. It struck him in the chest before he could register what happened. He rolled backward, gasping for air and clutching his sternum. The metal hand floated back, snapping into Happy's arm as she calmly walked over, pointing a Rhino revolver at his head. Flecks of light glimmered from her bionic right eye as she regarded him with a face cold as frost.
"I don't want to fight, bounty hunter."
"Yeah, I noticed," Cash said, wheezing. His chest was on fire, and he didn't want to do anything except curl into the fetal position and sob like a baby. He didn't know where his handgun went. Not that he was in any position to fire a straight shot in his condition.
"I hitched a ride to get out of TJ. Noticed your cargo floater had hoppers on the bottom. Typically used for unloading, but a lot of smugglers retrofit them for contraband transport. Figured I could sneak out that way. Didn't know it was your vehicle, but here we are."
"Yeah, you could've just introduced yourself."
"Didn’t think you'd be in an accommodating mood."
"You thought right. Deejay, take her out!"
Happy whirled around when a sentry gun popped out a panel in the corner. It aimed a targeting laser at Happy, who raised her hands with a grim smile.
Cash pushed himself to a sitting position, wincing from the pain in his chest. "Damnit, Deejay. I told you to take her out."
Deejay's face popped up on a nearby monitor. "I can't."
"Oh, what— you trigger-sensitive now? When I said 'take her out' I didn’t mean for you to kill her. Hit her with a stun round. Do I gotta spell everything out?"
She gave him a heated glare. "Someone needs to watch their tone. It's not hesitation. Something's wrong with the firing mechanism."
"What? I just fixed it last week."
"Just like you fixed the toilet? And the anti-grav thrusters?"
"What are you trying to say?"
Happy folded her arms. "You want me to wait until you're through?"
Mateo walked through the door, scrubbing his eyes and yawning. "Hey, what's with the noise? Jinx try to escape or something? He paused, blinking as he took in the situation. "Who's this?"
"This is Happy, an assassin trying to hitch a ride with us. Also, a thief who stole a sizeable bounty from me just a couple of hours ago. Mind showing her the door for me?"
Mateo pointed. "There it is."
Cash took a deep breath. "What I mean is will you assist me in throwing her out the door?"
Confusion flickered across Mateo's face. "Why?"
"What do you mean, why? She's trespassing and just beat the hell out of me."
"We're moving at one hundred forty miles per hour, Cash. She'd die if we threw her out."
"So we slow down first. Look, kid—that's all beside the point. She's not welcome here. This is my rig. So do your best to toe the line when I give you an order, okay?"
"An order?" Mateo's face turned surly. "I thought we were partners."
"Huh?"
"Partners don't give each other orders, Cash. And I don't think it's nice to throw someone out this far away from civilization. She might die of hunger or thirst before she finds help."
Cash's eyes widened in outrage. "Nice? You think we're in the nice business? You got no idea what kind of world you're living in, kid. I outta throw both of you out the door right now. I have a mind to—"
Happy slid her revolver into her leg holster. "The kid is smarter than you are, Nimrod. You can learn something from him."
"My name is Cash, not Nimrod or bounty hunter. And this isn't over by a long shot."
She gave him an amused look. "I attached an explosive to the bottom of this piece of junk hauler. It will detonate if it's tampered with. If I don’t reset the code every four hours, it will detonate. So don't fool yourself. I'll be your guest until I’m good and ready to leave."
A bead of sweat slid down Cash's brow. "You're bluffing. You won't detonate a bomb while you're in here. You'll be injured, possibly killed along with us."
She flexed her bionic arm. "I've survived worse. The question is: can you?"
He glanced over at Deejay, heart pounding. "Scan the bottom of the ship."
"I already have. There is an unidentified object secured there. Looks to be an explosive, as she said. I could send a drone to try to disarm it, but if she's right about it being tamper-proof—"
"Then we're toast. Not worth the risk. To you, especially." Cash stood, dusting off his cargo pants while glaring at Happy. "Okay, assassin. You win—we'll take you as far as Tucson. Should be far enough for you to avoid any tails and secure your own transportation. I don't like it, but I'm willing to play your little game for now. Just don’t push your luck."
"How gallant of you. But I don't have any business in Tucson. I do have business in New Haven, though."
He scratched his head in feigned indifference. "New Haven? Who said anything about New Haven? Isn't that some kind of urban legend?"
She gave him a look of strained patience. "I heard the entire conversation while I was hiding out." She glanced at Jinx. "You're taking her to New Haven to collect the bounty on her head. That's very advantageous for me because I've been trying to get into New Haven for years."
"Oh yeah? Why is that?"
Her face darkened. "Because a man I need to kill is there."
Mateo sidled closer, eyes wide. "You're going all the way to New Haven to kill someone? What did he do?"
Her face transformed into a mask of fury. "He murdered a woman a long time ago."
Mateo frowned. "That's not right."
"No, it's not."
"Can I touch your arm?"
She glanced at him in surprise, jerking back. "What? No."
"I just want to see if it's cold. How does it work? Is it connected to nerves in your shoulder? Does it register pain if it's injured?"
"You ask too many questions." She edged away, glancing at Cash. "I've been in that box a while. I'm hungry. Where's your galley?"
His arms folded. "Like I'm feeding someone who's holding my rig hostage. Forget about it."
"Never mind. I'll find it on my own." She brushed past him, heading for the hallway.
"Don't touch the steak. That's for special occasions. I'm serious!"
Cash turned to Mateo. "Just what is your deal, kid? How old are you anyway?"
Mateo's brow creased in thought. "Seventeen. I think."
"You think?"
"Can't be sure."
"Why not?"
Mateo's head dropped. "Don't wanna talk about it."
"Well, seventeen's old enough. Hell, I was a man at seventeen. So why does it seem like you're twelve years old sometimes?"
"I don't know."
"Well, if we're gonna be partners you better start knowing. Otherwise you get off at the next stop just like Ms. Cyclops."
"Ms. Cyclops? I thought her name was Happy."
Cash threw us his arms. "See? That's what I'm talking about."
Mateo yawned. "I'm hungry too. You said something about steak?"
"I said no one eats it. And we're not done talking."
"I don't wanna talk anym
ore." Thrusting his hands in his pockets, Mateo abruptly strode away.
"Hey, come back here. I'm not kidding, Mateo. You hear me? And don't touch that steak!" Cash's voice echoed in the suddenly empty room. He glanced at the monitor screen, which had gone dark. "Deejay?"
A tittering sound was the only answer. He turned in the direction of the cell in the corner. Jinx leaned against the bars, open amusement on her face.
"Looks like you're losing control of your little situation, el capitán," she said.
He growled and stormed out the cargo bay, followed by her mocking laughter.
$$
Special Agent Ryan Hessler ignored the stares. He ignored the noise. There were twenty-two other Agents on the scene. Four forensic androids, seven drones, twelve assistants, and an entire squadron of twitchy Marines. He tuned all of it out and compiled the data. In his eyes, the loss of thirty-seven lives and the destruction of a top-secret compound wasn't a tragedy. It wasn't a disaster. It was a puzzle waiting to be assembled. It was scattered data waiting to be collected and accessed.
He did the math.
"I hope to God you're not wasting my time."
Major Salter had the reputation of a sterling military man. Gruff but fair, a brilliant tactician, strongminded but honest. To Hessler, those qualities only meant that Salter was of the old guard. Believed in hunches and gut instincts, wary of numerical certainties. Salter was a pebble in Hessler's boot, something to annoy and slow him down.
The compound was a burned-out husk. A few corner walls still stood, the rest were rubble. The air still smelled like smoke, scorched metal, and burnt human bodies. It was close enough to the scent of a barbecue gone bad to make Hessler feel uncomfortable about feeling hungry.
He kept his eyes on the data feed from his holoband. "Not at all, Major."
"The HSSC say you're some kind of whiz kid. Say things just come together in your head." Salter's quizzical expression revealed his disbelief in the notion. "I met one of their Agents who actually did stuff like that. Mike…what was his last name?"
"Trudo, sir. And yes, I assemble evidence and facts in a shorter time than most people. I suppose Agent Trudo did as well."
"Whatever happened to him, anyway?"
"Dead, sir."
"Shame, I suppose." The Major harrumphed through his mustache. "Well, I don’t like wasting time. I have a squadron on hold ready to track and take down the ravagers who did this."
"It wasn't ravagers."
Salter's thick white mustache twitched. "The distress call we intercepted says otherwise."
"The distress call was faked. There's no ravager cell strong enough to take down a compound like this. Systematically wiping out two squads of Special Forces soldiers in close-quarters combat. Leaving no trace of their presence behind."
Salter shifted uncomfortably. Hessler knew the idea had been discussed, glaringly obvious as it was. The problem with some military brass was they just wanted an enemy to fight. In lieu of a present one, any enemy would do.
Hessler placed a hand on the holographic display of the building and flicked it to the burnt remains, creating a digital recreation of the compound as it looked before the attack.
He pointed to the main entrance. "The assailant entered here. No record of alarms or break-in, indicating legal access. He was either known or had proper clearance to enter. He detonated a small EMP device immediately on entry, disabling the security cameras, drones, and response androids."
Salter grudgingly nodded. "Smart."
"Definitely. That left human security to deal with. With the reliance on technical security, the soldiers may have been just a step off. Rattled at being blind and invaded. The assailant took advantage, wiping them out in a full-out blitz, one squad at a time."
"You keep saying assailant. One man couldn't take out two squads. Had to have backup."
Hessler tilted the hologram until it displayed an overhead view, then waved a hand over the building, creating a display of colored dots. Blue for the victims, red for the attacker.
"Look at how the bodies were found, sir. Had they been fighting another squadron, they would have chosen different formations. Looking at where they died, a pattern becomes apparent. They were fighting one man. Someone much faster, stronger, and more skilled than they were. In addition to perfectly aimed head and chest wounds, many soldiers suffered broken limbs from hand-to-hand combat. The attacker worked his way from one to the next, cutting them down with near-digital precision."
"No way. I don't care how you crunch your numbers; that's physically impossible."
"Impossible? No. Improbable, yes. But I don't think the attacker was a norm."
Salter scrubbed a calloused hand across his chin. "You thinking synoid? I thought those machines had unbreakable programming parameters. They're not supposed to be able to kill."
"Unless they're military HK models. But I don't think that's the case here. The EMP kills that theory. I think this person is enhanced. A rogue Elite, perhaps."
"One of ours? That's a loaded accusation, Hessler."
"It's the most logical explanation. And he wasn't alone. There were flattened grass and soil patterns equivalent to a hover ship. The pattern signature goes on for around half a mile before disappearing. The ground damage at the final point is more severe, indicating a thruster liftoff. So they're traveling in a hybrid ship that skims and flies. Which means they're well-funded. Boot prints on the ground reveal they're ex-military."
"How's that?"
"The organization of the tracks. Not haphazard or chaotic. Not the prints of an undisciplined ravager band. No, Major—this compound was assaulted by a rogue military unit, led by a single Elite. The others didn't enter until after he killed the squads inside. They knew what they wanted, got it, set up the fake distress call and burned the place to remove traces of their presence."
"What did they want? There's nothing here except a training facility and data storage."
"They came for the data. The pile of bodies in the server room confirms that."
"There's nothing of import on those drives. Old records, mission logs. Nothing more."
Hessler tried to keep the irritation from his voice. "Nothing of import? The door to that room was two feet of titanium alloy. No one can access the hardware inside without a high-clearance UH government contract. We're talking gateways to the most classified cloud systems in the nation."
Salter's face sagged when the realization hit. "I have to make some phone calls."
"Yes, sir. You do."
Hessler waved the hologram away, returning the scene to its natural state of burnt-out ruins. Aides and rescue workers scurried about or dug in the debris for the remains of the men and women who died at the hands of an unstoppable killing machine.
His holoband buzzed, flashing red for a priority call. He walked a few yards away for privacy before accepting. Dean Lynch's wizened profile appeared on the screen of his holoband. The Director of the HSSC was old enough to have retired but never appeared to want to. Rumors said he was replacing his physical body with bionic parts so he would never have to quit. Cold, cybernetic eyes gleamed from his angular face. His hair was the color of steel wire; the fine wrinkles etched into his skin as if carved by a scalpel.
"Hessler, I received your report."
"Already, Director?"
"I have eyes and ears on the scene."
Hessler figured that ahead of time. Lynch was renowned for his skills in information harvesting. Using everything from drones to tiny surveillance insects, there wasn't much that he didn't have access to. At any given moment he processed endless data streams, all processed within milliseconds through his eyes and fed into the implant in his brain to decipher.
"Then you know about the Elite?"
"He's no mere Elite."
Hessler was surprised by the certainty of the Director's tone. "If he's not an Elite, then who—?"
"Someone more dangerous than an Elite. It's Kilgore."
"I�
��thought he was dead."
"He's always dead. Until he's not. The main thing is finding out who he's working for."
"What makes you think he wasn't the one in charge? Someone capable of doing this doesn't seem the type to take orders."
"Someone capable of doing this is the exact type to take orders. Kilgore is a soldier. Someone is holding his leash. I suspect the leader of the New Legion."
Hessler tried to digest the stunning revelation. "The New Legion? I never heard of them."
"You haven't had a reason to hear of them. Most of their activity up to this point was rhetoric and posturing. Then three months ago they suddenly went underground. When they surfaced, they were careful to avoid surveillance. Like they knew what to look for."
"You suspect an inside man."
"I know a high-profile defector has joined their ranks. I just don't know who it is yet. He's been…evasive."
"And whoever he is, he's responsible for this."
Lynch's mouth twisted. "Yes. And for that, he can't be forgiven. But what's worse is the data he recovered from the site."
"What was stored here, sir?"
"Among other things, launch codes for missile sites that went missing during the Cataclysm. But more importantly, emergency access codes to individual Havens."
"Which Havens?"
Director Lynch's eyes whirred, making him look more machine than human. His words left Hassler cold.
"All of them."
Chapter 5
The Battle-Cat leaned drunkenly to one side, grounded. Mateo stared at the smoke rising from the underside of the Battle-Cat. "Hey Cash—is this what you meant when you talked about things getting real screwed up?"
Cash stood beside Mateo; fists on hips, a resigned glower on his face. "Yeah, kid. Something like this."
The heat was blistering. Dry heat—the shimmery, mirage-inducing, sweat-evaporating type. The landscape was a full spectrum of reds, oranges, and browns, all of it dulled by the choking dust that layered everything. The vegetation was reduced to stunted prickly plants too stubborn to surrender. Sand was shoved along by temperamental winds, flinging hot grit in their faces.
Nimrod Squad Page 5
