“Yes. Of that I’ve heard. It was quite tight a few times, wasn’t it?”
“Well, yes—when they were about to lose me, I slowed down. They weren’t in good shape, so I had to restrain myself. After about half an hour, they were done. Instead, the cops came.”
“Bad.”
“Indeed—they’ve got cars and guns. Only, to use their pistols, they had to come close enough first. So I took alleys and backyards and shook them off again and again. Some cops then followed me on foot.”
“Ugly. They played cat and mouse with you, as I’ve heard.”
“They’re better trained, I had thought. But they probably weren’t much challenged the last years and are quite lax. Become lazy, you know? So, allover I was disappointed. Instead of giving me an exciting hunt, I had to help the cops stay on my heels.”
“But you didn’t catch a bullet. It should have been quite a shoot-out.”
“Oh, yes, the longer the hunt went on, the more nervous they became, and the more they shot around. I had to watch out where to show myself so that no innocent was hurt.”
“And that you don’t lose your breath.”
“No, that was no problem. I could have continued for hours.”
“’Scuse me, that sounds a bit bouncing. Running for hours without stamina problems?”
“I can still win an Ironman anytime, even today.”
He paused. “Even today? What do you mean?”
Now I had talked myself away. Should I tell him everything? And thereby blow Velvet’s cover?
Yes. It no longer mattered. Velvet was no longer a cover identity for me, but just a role. The Cartel was history, and so Project Orchestra was, too. Sooner or later, someone would put the pieces together, anyway. The Fool was important for me to get the people gathered—he had to trust me, so I had to trust him some way, too.
“I’m still holding the absolute world record—of both sexes.”
“Both—then you’re faster than the men? That’s not possible.”
“But yes, with the Ironman, it’s happened. Ask around. You’ll find out that the reports on my death were somewhat premature.”
“Death?”
“I’ve been known as dead for years. That’s been useful while the Cartel was after me.”
“Then why do you tell me now?”
“Because the Cartel’s no longer after me. I’m after the Cartel—or what’s left of them.”
“What does that mean again now?”
“The Cartel’s torn down. Their head of security is dead, the headquarters has been cleaned up, the leaders arrested, and the regional organizations are on their own.”
“And how would you know about it?”
“I’ve played my part in it.”
He’d almost dropped his guitar out of his lap. He began to smile. “Either you’re entirely lunatic and fantasizing, or it’s truly time for a change.”
“I might be lunatic, but that’s no fantasy.”
“As little as the rumors that you’d been to the Bronx?”
“I’ve been there indeed. Ask the Father.”
He would answer something, but I raised a hand. “Quiet.”
A car with fusion reactor approached from the south—the first I had sensed in the city so far. Who’d drive a buzzer with reactor in this city? “The Syndicate.”
“You should leave.”
“They shouldn’t find us together. I’ll go to meet them.”
“That’s ultimately insane.”
“Take cover and watch.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
This was the conclusive next step in my strategy—to make the Syndicate professionals look the fool. As dangerous as the Bloods, Bones, and Skins might be for the ordinary New Yorker, they were no match for someone who otherwise took armor suits on.
Naturally, the Syndicate’s deterrence strategy was also based on their better men covering the street gangs’ backs. The town hall computers had contained a lot of interesting reports and images, so that I knew very well what I was going into.
So I stepped provocatively into the middle of the street, placed the hands on my hips, and watched the newcomers approaching.
The black Martian came toward me with flashing headlights—would they try to run me over? A little reserve in my knees couldn’t do harm.
The heavy car accelerated and stayed on track. Okay, so they hadn’t come to invite me for a talk.
Shortly before I could make a greasy spot on the hood, I jumped away, made a somersault with half twist, and came to a stand behind the car.
The Martian painted black lines on the asphalt, came to a halt a good hundred meters away, and spilled four men in black, long leather coats. Theatrical and impractical from my point of view, but of course, their appearance wasn’t primarily about usefulness.
However, they didn’t take time for big words. Almost synchronously, they leveled their plasma rifles.
Jelly crap!
With a giant leap, I brought the Seventy-Second Street subway station between me and the shooters. Under cover of the building, I ran ahead. Curses, then quick tapping sounds told of the Syndicate people trying to regain a free shooting range—and that to both sides of the small building. Very good, that made it easier for me.
A jump carried me to the small building’s side roof. From there, I aimed at my targets on Broadway.
They kept enough distance to not impede each other, but remained close enough together to give each other cover. Very professional, and yet they knew they were facing a single unarmed woman.
With claws reaching forward, I jumped into the foremost of the two. He didn’t manage to get his rifle up before I cut his throat. His partner’s hot plasma round flew over my hair tips. There was no time for a second shot because I tossed the dying first man into him, jumped after, and drew my claws through his tube, too.
As fast as they had faced their fate, the time had nevertheless sufficed for the two other shooters to round the station house. They were just going on one knee, the rifle pulled into the shoulder, the finger at the trigger.
I had only fractions of a second left. Again, I jumped up and toward them. Their kneeling position might be ideal to train to the sides, but it wasn’t at all suited to shoot steeply upward. They both learned that the hard way.
Not thirty seconds had passed, and four experienced Syndicate killers were lying dead in their own blood.
With four plasma rifles over my shoulder, I approached their Martian. The Fool joined me from the shadow of a tree.
“That’s madness. Just madness.”
I tossed the rifles on the back seat. “Do you know someone who’d hide a Martian?”
“You can’t drive it.”
“Sure I can. Hop in.” At the same time, I slid behind the wheel. “System check. Neutralize personalization.”
“Personalization neutralized,” the computer voice answered.
The Fool climbed the passenger seat, carefully balancing his guitar. “More surprises? Who can take over a Martian?”
“I can. So, do you know someone?”
“Drive north. Ninety-Seventh West.”
Fine. I had a destination and drove away.
“That’s madness,” he repeated. “They shot at you.”
“They weren’t good enough for me.” And that was why I had killed them cold-heartedly. To knock them out would have been out of the question this time. I had had to take out the first two shooters from absolute necessity. The two others would have been undesired witnesses.
The next police patrol couldn’t miss the corpses on the road. The cops wouldn’t have to guess long who was responsible for that. Only Velvet left those wounds, only Velvet would dare to face a Syndicate killer command.
“I’d say the time has come to talk to a few trustworthy New Yorkers about my plans. What do you think?”
“After having seen you in action, I believe you that you’ve been to the Bronx. And that show act in Brooklyn—that was a walk in
the park for you, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed. Nevertheless, I can’t fight the entire Syndicate all alone. They’re simply too many. And I can’t ignore the risk that they’ll eventually take the population hostage. So far, I’m the only woman nagging them. Once they see me as a serious threat, it’ll become uncomfortable.”
“Good to know that you see it the same way. I wouldn’t feel good if you thought only of yourself.”
“If I only thought of myself, I wouldn’t have come here in the first place.”
“Damn, yes.”
“So, how is it? Can you gather a few people?”
“Let me see. When?”
“Two days, same hour.”
“We should meet somewhere else. The square’s too hot now.”
“Fine, where?”
“At the Metropolitan Museum main entrance? I’ve played there before. From there, I’ll take you to the meeting.”
“Okay.”
“What will you do until then?”
“I’ll have a look at the Freedom Tower.”
“Stay away from there. That’s the Syndicate’s head office.”
“I know. That’s why I want to go inside.”
Chapter Fifty
He hadn’t even tried to talk me out of this mission.
“Watch out for yourself,” was all he’d said, and that quite well matched my plans.
The encounter with the Black Coats was part of the show, but the headquarters reconnaissance wasn’t. This was about Velvet’s core business—infiltrate, investigate, and steal.
Each time I approached Canal Street, I asked myself what was worse—the aura of threat that emanated from the barriers and the dark-clad guards beyond the buffer zone—or simply the infernal smell of garbage, excrement, and corpses. I had a hard time keeping the contents of my stomach inside, and it would be a shame for the tasty veggie burger.
The two guards thus kept a respectful distance. Their checkpoint for Church Street lay one block south at Lispenard Street. They were sitting in their car, music coming from the speakers, and were talking.
I squeezed into the dark corner of a house entrance and listened.
“How many cops?” the man at the wheel asked.
“Seventy, when Jerry told the story the first time. In the end, there were a hundred.”
“That’s typical for Jerry. Ask him next month, and there were ten thousand.”
“We don’t have that many cops here.”
Yes, they had. According to the computer, there were a little less than thirty thousand for the four controlled boroughs. There was no active unit for the Bronx anymore.
“So what? That won’t bother Jerry.”
“You may be right. Well, yesterday there were seventy, and they’ve chased the girl all across Brooklyn.”
“Must have been fun for them. She is supposed to be quite good-looking.”
“A hot one. Giant tits, giant ass, wasp tail. Actually a shame to pierce a hole into her belly.”
“Oh, she’s been hit?”
“No, she got away.”
“Got away? With seventy cops on her heels?”
“According to Jerry.”
“And if there were fifty. How can that be?”
“Everyone would like to know that. She’s swift as a rat and slippery as an eel.”
“Nothing wrong with a woman being slippery wet, but this way? Crap.”
“Increased alertness, the Capo said.”
“Here? Aw, come on, she won’t dare.”
The passenger moved in his seat. “This shouldn’t go around, but I’ve heard something. Hot stuff.”
“What? Come, spit it out.”
“She has been to the Bronx.”
“Bronx? Well, then the cops won’t have to worry anymore. Wait. You said been? She got out?”
“Exactly. Otherwise, she’d never have made it to Brooklyn—as it was before.”
“And? She escaped the Slicers?”
“So they say. But there’ve been casualties.”
“Who? She wasn’t alone?”
“She took out half a dozen Slicers. Allegedly, it was a tough fight, and she barely got away alive—but in Brooklyn, she was fit and unhurt. If you ask me, there’s something wrong. If you then count in that the Slicers would pay fifty grand for that woman—and that’s only why we know about it—then you can imagine what’s truly happened.”
“Dragon snot.” The driver produced his pistol and checked the magazine, retracted the slide, fumbled the round back into the magazine, replaced the magazine and chambered a round. “Well, she won’t have such an easy going with us.”
“If she comes here.”
“If she comes here, exactly. I’ve heard something, too.”
“What?”
“The boss sent out six cleaning teams. Increased readiness for Manhattan, Queens, and Brooklyn. If what you say is true, it’s for the girl.”
“Oh. Well, then she won’t keep up much longer. She can’t win against a cleaning team.”
No? Boy, if you knew, I thought. But even so, I had reached another partial goal—the news were spreading fast and causing uncertainty in the enemy ranks.
Chapter Fifty-One
In a certain way, it was horrifying. The southern end of Manhattan, especially the Financial District, once must have been a flourishing quarter. Now only organized crime, weeds, and rust were flourishing here.
The Freedom Tower once had been a symbol for the New Yorkers’ defiance of international terror. Now it had become a symbol of oppression by international crime.
Three more blocks, and I’d have a free view of the remarkable building where the Syndicate’s leaders had settled in, and where I expected the remaining two armor suits to be.
Stop.
Even before I had understood the reason, my movements froze. Listening with all senses, I tried to find out the cause.
No, I heard nothing, I saw nothing, I felt nothing, I smelled nothing. The armor suit fusion reactors’ stray emissions were far enough away and hadn’t suddenly moved toward me. What else? I had noticed something I could no longer notice. Had a scan touched me? Ultrasonic, radar, a laser light reflex? Was there a camera, had I registered the humming of a swivel motor?
After a quarter of an hour, the innocent victim thinks she’s been mistaken and runs deeper into the trap—no thanks. I still had another option.
Ghost. What’s been the cause?
—The concrete tile under the right foot gave in.—
Oh great! Now there were two possibilities—first, I had triggered an alarm, or second, if I now stepped off the tile, something nasty would happen, like, for example, a detonating mine. Of course, both possibilities could apply, too.
In any case, I didn’t want to test the second variant now. So, which options were left for me?
First option. Veeery slowly backward. Thereby, I’d unload the tile and—boom?
Second option. Jump as high and far as I could, and hope that my suit would withstand the rest. Boom?
Third option. I remained where I was and used my brain. No problem, I just first had to fight down the upcoming panic that only would tell me run, run, run.
Ghost. Did the tile give in vertically or did it tilt?
—It tilted. The rotation axis is on the forward edge.—
Okay. Then the trigger probably lay behind me. I took the chance of turning around very slowly. When nothing happened, I hunkered down equally slowly and reached for the free edge with one hand.
If I got a nano manipulator and a nanoscope under the tile, could I find out something? Oh, yes, and a nanosnooper.
It worked, and it confirmed my worst fears. First, there was a signal wire that had to have triggered meanwhile. Second, there was a nicely large explosive charge that should suffice to blow the entire concrete tile and all above up over the rooftops of the surrounding skyscrapers.
Maybe—with a lot of luck—the construction was designed in a way that dropping garbage,
debris and the like shouldn’t trigger the mine. Instead, a cleanup team could come, deactivate the mine, and remove the crap from the tile.
That still meant I’d have to leave. What would a cleanup team think if the tile had triggered but there was no triggering weight? A cleanup team that knew about camouflaged armor suits, by the way.
Perhaps I could deactivate the mine myself? Bad idea, as that could be noticed, too. Or block the mechanism that would unload the mine? There had to be a spring that could push the concrete tile up again. Mmm—and if this spring was broken due to material fatigue?
Yes, that might work. The spring—no, two of them, at the corners, naturally, as close as possible to the edge—the springs were made of steel, but with a material defect forged inside, and after a while they’d give in to even a slight load. Then a rat—or even a strong gust pressing on the tile—would suffice, and they’d go crack.
That had to be the solution. Nevertheless, I held my breath when I made the crucial step backward.
No boom.
Velvet hadn’t stepped into this trap, either.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Still unanswered remained the question of how I could recognize such traps before I stepped inside. The idea of stumbling across such a nastiness on a hurried retreat didn’t appeal to me at all. How tightly woven was this net?
The sidewalk was one tile wide on this side, and on the opposite side, too. On the driveway, I noticed two narrow grooves closed with bitumen.
I went back and checked the street one block to the east—that was Broadway.
There were no traps, otherwise I’d have come across them immediately after my arrival. But each street leading west was booby-trapped in the same way. Rector Street was the first free one again, only from there one shouldn’t innocently walk north.
The mines reached to the Esplanade. That might have appeared easier to the originators, but for me, it made things easy. The Hudson was my escape route. Or, if that wouldn’t work, I’d just balance along the curb. They seemed to have forgotten that.
Lioness’ Legacy IV—Torment Page 15
