by Terry Mixon
Brad’s strike sent the woman staggering back, clutching at her middle, but all her husband did was steady the teapot so that nothing fell and broke. Saburo and Papadakis were slow to react, but he could hardly blame them. No one could’ve expected him to abruptly attack a woman they didn’t know was an enemy.
The unexpected nature of the attack didn’t stop the woman for groping at her back, probably for a weapon.
Surging to his feet, Brad swept her legs out from under her and pinned her with a knee as he searched for the weapon. He found a pistol in a concealed holster and tossed it away.
“Secure her,” he ordered quietly, a hand clamped over the woman’s mouth. “Where are the kids?”
“In their bedroom,” Kutschinski said. “The ‘nanny’ has a submachinegun. Her orders are to kill the kids if things go sour. Please save them.”
“Saburo, you have the prisoner. Major, you’re with me.”
They’d made some noise but not enough to alert the other bad guy, he hoped. Brad started to lead the way, drawing his sidearm, but Papadakis got in front of him and had her weapon out. She moved surprisingly softly for someone in armor.
Not completely quietly, though. A woman with mousy brown hair stuck her head out into the hall, her eyes widening as she saw the two of them sneaking up.
She yanked her head back just as Papadakis snapped off a shot that splintered the doorframe where the woman’s head had been a second earlier.
The shockingly loud noise made the kids in the room scream as Brad and Papadakis barreled through the door. The kids were in a large crib to the side of the room, a pair of girls about two years old with bright ribbons in their hair.
The woman had yanked open a drawer and retrieved a submachinegun, and was already turning toward the intruders. That was good. Brad would much rather have someone shooting at him instead of at kids.
Papadakis dodged left, so he went right. The woman had to pick one of them.
She went for Papadakis, opening fire on full automatic. The heavy slugs slammed into the Marine officer and she went down, her return fire going wide.
Brad shot the woman in the chest until she dropped, dead before she hit the floor. Then he ran to Papadakis. She was still alive.
Everlit, she wasn’t even badly hurt. Her armor had taken the brunt of the attack, with only one slug grazing the exposed flesh of her left hand across the back.
“I’m okay,” she said, climbing stiffly to her feet. “We need to secure the children and withdraw. There might be others in the house or a team nearby.”
Kutschinski came running into the room and grabbed his kids up.
“It’s okay,” he said, stroking their hair. “Daddy’s here.”
“Director Kutschinski, is there anyone else in the house?” Brad asked.
“No, but I’m sure there are more of these bastards around here somewhere.”
Brad licked his lips. “How…ah, did your wife get involved in this and why would she kill her own children?”
“Because she’s a stone-cold bitch,” Kutschinski said sadly. “She fooled me when we met three years ago, and I never had a clue until the vote for the overriding contract came up for discussion. We have to get to the offices but quietly. I’m sure they have the headquarters under observation, and they’ll do literally anything to keep the Mercenary Guild from coming after them.”
“Bring the kids,” Brad said. “We’ll take your wife with us and leave the other woman here. We can’t waste a single second now. If they take out the directors, it will keep the Mercenary Guild out of the fight until they get here in force, and that would be the end of us.”
Chapter Twenty
Brad halfway expected someone to stop them on the way out of Director Kutschinski’s neighborhood, but the guards just waved them through the main gate. That didn’t mean someone hadn’t heard all the shooting and called the authorities. Their time was short.
Yet the director had been right when he’d said that they needed to stay low, because the OWA certainly had the Mercenary Guild offices under observation. If they were spotted going in, they’d almost certainly be attacked.
“Is there a less-obtrusive way into the offices, Director?” Brad asked as the two vans moved into heavier traffic. He really hoped they could avoid an ambush on the road. Vehicular gun battles had the proven potential to kill a lot of innocent people.
The man nodded. “We can use the freight entrance. I suppose they might have that under surveillance, too, but unless we plan to get in through the utility tunnels, that’s the best way.”
Brad pursed his lips. “Are the utility tunnels large enough to let us in?”
Kutschinski blinked in surprise. “I honestly don’t know. That was more of a nudge to the action vids I watched as a kid. I know the service tunnels enter in the basement and that we have them secured against intrusion.”
Brad started to suggest it might be a good idea to look there for a way in, but another thought floated up to his awareness. The Cadre had always been excellent at slipping through the cracks of whatever defenses they needed to penetrate a target. Could they have people in place to use something like the utility tunnels to get into the Mercenary Guild offices?
If so, the building might rapidly become a trap. If they were stuck on the upper floors of the building, then a force coming from below could grind them down. Or they could just blow up the building. They’d done that before, too.
“It might be better if we can get Factor Kernsky and the rest out of the building rather than going in to meet them,” Brad said slowly.
He looked at his wrist-comp. It was close to when normal folks would be breaking for lunch.
“Right now, the OWA is still confident they have you under control, Director. They probably won’t jump in any sooner than they have to. It would be much better from their point of view if they could keep things nonviolent. They want us divided, so shooting at people will be a last resort.”
Kutschinski shrugged, holding his daughters tighter. “So, what do we do?”
“Saburo, look up a map of the area around the offices. If we can get the other directors out, we’ll want a fast getaway from the reaction team they’ll have around here somewhere. That’s in addition to the troops they’ll have positioned to rush the building.
“You can bet the directors have mercenary guards inside, so the OWA will need a lot of people to overcome that when they hit. They’ll have teams in vehicles around here somewhere, too.”
Brad looked pointedly at the director’s children. “We’ll want to get you and your kids clear before we try this. It could end very badly.”
“We can put my kids off,” Kutschinski agreed. “And my bitch of a soon-to-be-ex-wife. I definitely want her alive to answer some extremely pointed questions later. As for me, I’m staying. If we can get the three directors that aren’t in the OWA’s pocket with us, we can authorize the overriding contract before they kill us.”
“I hope we can prevent any of us dying,” Brad said dryly. “Still, I take your point. Where can we drop your kids and your…um, former wife safely?”
“One of the satellite mercenary offices,” he said promptly. “The Pythons have a place they use as a headquarters nearby. I know them well enough that I think I can get them to help us out.”
“Make sure you tell them to keep their mouths shut when you go in. Leave the woman out here and go in with your kids. That won’t stand out like hauling a prisoner around.”
“I can call them to send someone to the curb, if you’ll share a com. She didn’t allow me one, for obvious reasons.”
One of the Vikings handed over his com to the director and the man was soon speaking with someone.
“Hey, it’s Gus. I need a personal favor. A discreet one. Meet me at the curb in ten minutes and bring some trusted friends. Parents, if possible. My kids are with me.”
He hung up after an inaudible response and handed the com back to the mercenary. “Thanks. They’ll be there. J
ust pull right up into the loading zone.”
It took them slightly more than ten minutes to work their way to the street outside the Python’s offices. Four mercenaries, all female, lounged against the wall, watching traffic with warriors’ eyes.
When Saburo stopped the van in the loading zone, one of the mercenaries straightened, walked casually over to the van, and opened the sliding door. She stared at the packed group of mercenaries and Fleet Marines.
“Well, it looks like someone’s having a party and forgot to send me an invitation. I’m hurt.”
Director Kutschinski grinned. “I think I can make it up to you. Admiral Brad Madrid, meet Captain Erika Dunham, one of the senior policymakers for the Pythons.”
“Captain,” Brad said, inclining his head.
“I’ve heard of you, Admiral. The Vikings are a stand-up bunch and we’ve worked together in the past, though not me personally. What’s the situation and how can the Pythons be of service, Director?”
Kutschinski gestured toward his bound and gagged wife struggling in the back of the van. “My wife turns out to have been Cadre all along. I need you to hold on to her and my kids while we go extract the rest of the directors from what I suspect is going to be a trap.”
“Done,” the woman said instantly, motioning for her friends to come up and take the children.
She eyed the prisoner with distaste. “We’ll get her inside and lock her down. Are you going to need armed support for this run? I can probably get a team ready in ten minutes, though we won’t be heavily armed and armored.”
“How long would it take to get a heavy team or two ready?” Brad asked.
“Half an hour or I’ll have some asses,” she assured him.
“Then I think I have a better plan,” he said with a nasty grin.
Once the mercenaries had the kids and the prisoner out of the van and into the building, they took off. The women had been clever in moving the bound prisoner through the curious crowd of passersby.
They’d laughed and joked, loudly proclaiming that the prisoner had gotten drunk and let her friends tie her up. That now she’d have to explain her awkward situation to her commanding officer.
Brad had to admit that was clever. It was plausible enough that none of the people walking by could dismiss it out of hand. If the authorities came calling to ask questions, the Pythons could produce a different woman with a similar appearance to verify the story.
Of course, all that would be moot if Brad’s suspicions were confirmed and they had a running gun battle down the streets of the city.
The next step in the plan was to get the directors—at least the three that were probably not in the OWA’s pocket—to come out so that he could rescue them without springing the trap he suspected was set up in the basement.
He used his com to call Factor Kernsky. She answered after a few moments.
“How did the meeting with the political representatives go, Admiral?” she asked in a low voice. “I hope better than things here are going.”
“That all depends on who you ask, I suppose. They’re still talking and told me they’d call me back in if they needed anything from me. My reading on the crowd was that it could go either way, though I’m given to understand that Arbiter Blaze is going to make the final decision.”
“I wish we could let her make a ruling here,” Kernsky muttered darkly. “We’re still missing a director, and the four we have seem more inclined to argue than look for compromise. I wish someone would go to Kutschinski’s house and drag his ass up here. We need him badly.”
The director in question snorted a little and shook his head at that.
“Well, you can’t tell the boss to do anything, if you know what I mean,” Brad said nonchalantly. “Why don’t we do lunch? We can go over everything and see if we can figure something out.”
“Sure,” she said. “Come on up.”
“I’d rather not,” he said firmly. “I’ve seen far too many conference rooms and offices over the last few months. I need fresh air and I’m sure you and your friends do, too. Bring them along and you can get back to arguing after a good meal. And maybe some alcohol.”
She chuckled. “I could use a drink. Everdark knows that might help loosen them up. What do you have in mind?”
“We’ve got room in our vehicle for four people, so bring three friends along and meet us out front. We’ll go to a place that someone recommended, and that’ll give people time to cool off and come back at the problem from a fresh angle.”
“Okay. How long until you get here?”
This was the tricky part. Brad had to assume that someone was listening in and that he might start the clock ticking on a hostile response.
“We’re a bit out, so you have plenty of time. I made a reservation at Midsummer for us, and they said they’d split the red wine four ways for us. Say we’ll be there in an hour.”
“One hour is perfect,” Kernsky said without missing a beat. “We’ll be in the lobby. When I see you pull up, we’ll come out and meet you.”
“Excellent,” he said. “See you then.”
Brad ended the call and looked over at Kutschinski. “We’ll pick her up in fifteen minutes.”
“Exactly how did you work that in there?” the man asked. “I gather midsummer is a code of some kind, as was the wine, but I don’t get it.”
“Let’s hope the OWA misses the significance, too. Factor Kernsky captained the frigate Midsummer for the Red Wings on the last overriding contract. She was the junior-most of four captains.”
Comprehension dawned on the man’s face. “So, she knew to divide the time by four. Interesting and creative. Something you discussed ahead of time?”
“I had to work it out on the fly,” Brad said with a shake of his head. “We’re lucky that she’s quick on the uptake.”
He leaned forward and addressed Saburo in the front passenger seat. “Tell me you have the course worked out, Saburo.”
The Colonel nodded. “We’ll be there on time. The other van is going to be behind us to slow down any pursuit. The most important part of the plan is getting the critical people out of the trap. Since she’s back there, Major Papadakis will have to be the delaying force.”
And a damned dangerous job that would be if they accidentally sprung the trap. He’d have to hope they slipped in and got the directors and Kernsky before the shit hit the fan.
That hope collapsed as soon as they turned onto the street where the offices were and saw the fighting already spilling out of the building. A cluster of people was exiting under fire and shooting back into the building in return.
“Take us in fast,” Brad ordered, pulling his pistol and preparing to shoot out the sliding door, over the heads of anyone coming in.
He had enough time to recognize Factor Kernsky with a thin man over her shoulder, charging for the van as it came to a screeching halt. Kutschinski opened the door to let her, her charge, and the men right behind her in.
Brad started firing over her head as she came in low, targeting the armored men firing at her and the mercenaries trying to buy them time for the directors to escape.
The attackers looked like Cadre—OWI now, he supposed—commandos. Well, except for the woman in a suit that was screaming for them to kill everyone in Brad’s van.
She wasn’t shooting the little pistol in her hand, but she was technically armed, so he shot her down, figuring that anything he could do to delay the direct attack on the van was a win.
She went down just as the last of the people making a run for the van piled inside and Kutschinski slammed the sliding door closed.
That was when every bad guy in sight opened fire on the van.
Chapter Twenty-One
A hail of bullets smashed into the side of the van moments after Director Kutschinski had slammed the door shut. Brad fully expected the barrier to fail catastrophically, but to his surprise, it stood up to the abuse. It had to have been armored. Score one for Major Papadakis.
&nbs
p; The impacts still managed to fracture the clear plate that acted as a window, but none of the bullets penetrated. Brad wasn’t certain how long it would last.
Even as the van accelerated away from the ambush, Papadakis and the guards with her opened fire on the attackers. As much as he wanted to order his van to stop so that the troops on board could assist her, he knew that his duty lay in getting the directors clear.
Factor Kernsky almost fell over in the face of the vehicle’s acceleration but managed to deposit the wounded man on her shoulder safely into the laps of two Marines, who started assessing his injuries.
“Did you get the bitch?” she demanded.
“You mean the one that was directing the attack?” Brad asked. “Yes.”
“Good,” she spat. “I knew that she was dirty, but I never expected her to be ready to have us executed at a moment’s notice. I hope you killed her.”
“Me, too. Who was she?”
“Director Evelyn Richards,” Kutschinski said. “It seems we have an opening on the board. I suppose we’ll have to have a meeting to talk about that.”
The injured man chuckled and then sucked in a sharp breath when one of the Marines finished opening his shirt and cleaning the wound. “We’ve got a quorum right now. Not sure how much longer that’s going to last. I feel like I might pass out.”
He looked at Brad. “The board requires four directors to be present to act as a quorum.”
“We need to vote as quickly as possible on the overriding contract, then,” Kutschinski said. “I move that we open this meeting of the board and dispense with the reading of the minutes from the last meeting. Do I have a second?”
“Seconded,” the wounded man said.
“I hereby move that we approve an overriding contract against the Outer Worlds Alliance. Do I have a second?”
“Seconded,” one of the other men said.
