“It’s been years. Leave it alone, and it’ll leave you alone.”
I knew that wasn’t exactly true, if it was the type of warhead I thought it was, but I really didn’t want to deal with it.
“Not an option. Radiation levels are growing around the device.”
Shit.
“So, you want me to expose myself to deadly levels of radiation? No, thank you. I’ve seen what it does to people.”
“Mr. Smith, if you are who we believe you are, you’re prepared for that. We have shielding suits which will protect you. And you will recover from any radiation you absorbed over time.”
They’d done their research, which was troubling. Exactly how much did they know? At this point, it didn’t seem to matter. They knew where I was, and though I could easily kill them, there were likely more, and I wouldn’t survive the week if they decided to take me down.
“We’ll be waiting at the road to the east. You have an hour to decide, Mr. Smith.”
With that, they walked off and didn’t trip a single sensor or trap on the way out.
Shit.
I knew I really didn’t have a choice, so I gathered my gear. It took me a bit to get it together. Over the years leading up to the big boom, I’d had ten shipping containers customized and buried in the middle of the Algonquin Provincial Park, about 150 miles northeast of Toronto. Then I’d added water filtration, well camouflaged solar panels, and other conveniences that would make life underground bearable.
I decided to use the entrance they knew about, rather than one closer to where they were. No use giving away information. Information could be worth more than gold or safety in this Fallen World.
* * *
Part 2
I carried my duffel bag, which contained my rad suit and tools, out to the road. They were waiting for me with a RG-31 MRAP—a mine-resistant ambush protected—infantry vehicle. So, they had plenty of fuel. That was somewhat surprising, as was the worn Obsidian logo on the side of the vehicle. Was Obsidian still organized and operational?
I had a Smith & Wesson M&P Shield 9mm on my hip, but they didn’t seem to care. Why should they? One of the men was holding the back door of the vehicle open for me, so I set my gear down on the seat and slid in.
He closed the door behind me and climbed into the front. He closed his door, and we drove away.
They knew about me; it was time for me to get some information about them. “So, Obsidian is still operating?”
The man who had done all the talking earlier shook his head. “No, but there are plenty of us left since the nuke didn’t go off. A member of upper management is still leading the effort to make Toronto civil and livable.”
“It’s been a few years. Why now? What the hell has he been doing?”
“Same as you, Mr. Smith. Surviving.”
“What should I call you? Quiet Man and Talking Man?”
“You can call me Jim; he’s Scotty.”
We rode in silence for a while. I looked out the window at the countryside as we approached downtown Toronto.
“Long way around, isn’t it?”
“Not all roads are safe; we only control a small area around downtown. And we’d rather not kill anyone we don’t have to.”
“That’s a first,” I muttered to myself.
They either didn’t hear me or decided it wasn’t worth replying. Honestly, I didn’t have much room to talk, but I was rather perturbed at having been removed from my home.
“What’s in this for me? How did you find me?”
Jim turned around and looked at me through mirrored aviator glasses. “You get to live, for starters.”
I smirked at him.
He shrugged and turned back around. “We’ve got orders to bring you back. Anything else is above our pay grade, Mr. Smith.”
I nodded. Some might have thought he was lying, but information compartmentalization is standard operating procedure in intelligence groups. I should know.
“Just shut up! You’ll be talking to the boss soon, and you’re starting to annoy me.” The driver finally spoke. He was obviously the muscled backup.
I could easily have killed them, and they knew it, but I was sure doing so would have been a death sentence for me. I decided to bide my time and see what happened next. I hadn’t been into the city since the war, so I allowed myself to relax slightly and look around. There was a definite armed military presence on the streets. Some looked professional, others not so much. People were going about their business, much as I remembered it from when I was teaching at the University of Toronto as part of my cover. Things were different though. There was fear on the faces of the people who were surviving day by day. They appeared calm, but there was something in the air, and it wasn’t radiation.
I noticed lights on in many buildings, so they had kept some of the infrastructure operational. Here and there, buildings had been demolished, by conventional bombs or by something else. I really didn’t care. I just wanted to go home. It’s possible that living in isolation for so many years had affected me, because I started getting impatient, which wasn’t normal.
A few hours later, we stopped in front of the Scotia Plaza Tower on King Street West in downtown Toronto. I had a feeling it was their base of operations.
Jim got out and opened my door, while Scotty stayed behind the wheel. “You can leave your kit here, it’ll be safe.”
I shrugged and followed Jim into the building. We passed more than a few well-armed and mean-looking guards. The glass exterior of the building had been boarded up. I guessed it was necessity over function. From what I’d heard on the radio in my bunker, civilization was having a hard time coping, even in areas not hit by bombs.
We got into an empty elevator. Jim scanned his RFID badge over a reader and hit the button for the 68th floor.
“Letting me keep my gun?”
“You don’t appear to be stupid or to have a death wish, Mr. Smith.”
“True.”
“So, we’re not worried about it.”
I shrugged and nodded.
After a few minutes, we got off the elevator on the top floor, and I was escorted to a door flanked by two armed guards, one on either side. I was feeling slightly underdressed in my cargo pants and faded Linkin Park t-shirt. One of the guards eyed the pistol at my hip.
“He’s the one the boss sent us after,” Jim said.
One of the guards held out his hand. “The gun stays here.”
I chuckled and pulled the gun out of its holster using two fingers so they’d know I wasn’t going to use it. I set it in his hand. He nodded and gestured toward the door with his head. “Go on in. She’s expecting you.”
Jim sat down in one of the comfortable-looking chairs and picked up an old magazine, which I was sure he’d read a hundred times.
I walked into the room and quickly assessed my surroundings. Everything was clean, tidy, and expensive. The only other door was behind and slightly to the left of the desk, and probably led to a private washroom. It was inconvenient, but expected. The windows in this room were still intact, and the view over the city was breathtaking, or would have been in happier times.
Once I had assessed the room, I turned to the woman behind the desk. She was no more than forty and had slightly Asian features. She looked vaguely familiar, and she was looking at me as though she recognized me too. Then the pieces snapped into place. This could be good or bad.
“Have a seat, Mr. Smith. Is that the name you’re using now?”
I sat in one of the leather chairs facing the desk. “At the moment.”
She pulled out a large folder and started flipping through the pages inside.
“Or perhaps, Mr. Stanton?” Another flip. “Mr. Collins?” Another flip. “Mr. Jones?”
She looked up from the folder and smiled. She’d made her point; she knew a lot about me.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Mmm hmm. Perhaps you’ve heard of my former boss, Carl A
viers?”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
I knew very well who he was. He was my last target before I ‘retired’ to my bunker. I didn’t know she was connected to him. So much for a thorough intelligence briefing.
She stared at me and smiled.
I sighed. Shit.
“Okay, fine, I know who he was. Carl Aviers, executive at Obsidian Company. Died a year or so before the war due to heart complications. Tragic. You are Marcy Chow. You were in my Nuclear Reactor Physics course. You were a C student and really didn’t seem to have an aptitude for physics. I had no idea you worked for Obsidian or had anything to do with Aviers. Anything else?”
“You orchestrated the heart complication, Mr. Smith. You’re an assassin, among other things, for Teledyne Industries.”
“Was. Teledyne no longer exists. I didn’t think Obsidian did either. Is this what this is about? A stroll down memory lane? Was the dud nuke a ruse to bring me in alive?”
“No, it’s real. I needed to make sure you were who we thought you were.”
“We?” I raised my eyebrows.
A flash of annoyance crossed her face. She hadn’t meant to let that out. Good. That put me slightly ahead for a moment.
“Look…” I leaned forward in my chair, pushing what little advantage I had. “You and whoever you’re working with not only went to a lot of trouble to find me, but also to find out who I am. That’s pretty damn impressive and not just a little annoying. They’ve left you alone with me, which means you’re expendable. Sure, you’ve got a gun under the desk, but before you can pull the trigger, I’ll be out of this seat and over the desk, and you’ll be dead. I’d be dead shortly after, but the simple fact is that someone doesn’t care if you die for information. I don’t like being toyed with. Maybe they thought I wouldn’t kill a pretty lady. If that’s the case, they don’t know me half as well as they think they do. Who knows? I’m an expert in many things. Maybe I’ve got a chemical weapon with me.”
I caught a glimpse of fear on her face and knew I was hitting home. So, I didn’t let up; it was time to really push.
“I’d take the two goons at the door with me. They have basic guard imprints, and I know exactly how to handle them. Jim might be a challenge, but I think his buddy, who is still downstairs in the MRAP, would be tougher. Getting out of the building would be difficult, but not impossible. As for the nuke, I could disarm it, or I could set it off now that I know it’s there. If we’re done screwing around, why don’t you introduce me to whoever’s in charge, so we can get this negotiation going? I’m not going near that nuke unless there’s something in it for me.”
As expected, we were being watched. Just as I finished, the door behind Marcy opened, and two men wearing tailored black suits walked in.
“Thank you, Marcy. Mr. Smith, if you’ll come with us, please?”
Marcy looked relieved as I stood and smiled at her.
“Good to see you again, Marcy.”
I followed the men through the door to the private washroom, then through a second door into a conference room. The glass windows were intact, and I pretended to look out over the city, as I studied the room in their reflection. A polished wood conference table with ten chairs, four on each side and one on each end, sat in the center, and there was another door in the far corner. I saw several cameras mounted in the corners, and there were probably a few I couldn’t see. There was also a large, blank monitor on the wall that they had probably used to watch Marcy and me in the outer office.
The men indicated the chair at the head of the table. “Please have a seat, Mr. Smith.”
I turned, smiling, and sat down. They sat in the chairs on either side of me.
“You have me here, and I have a general idea of what you want. What I don’t know is why you came after me rather than imprinting someone with the knowledge to do what you need done.”
The man on my right spoke first. “Our last imprinter suffered a catastrophic failure and killed the person in it. It’s taken us that long to track you down.”
“Really? Interesting.”
The second man grimaced. “I’m sure, at one time, we had intelligence about your location, but some recent incidents destroyed most of our intelligence systems.”
“You’re being surprisingly forthcoming, which makes me somewhat suspicious.”
“Mr. Smith, Obsidian doesn’t exist anymore, at least not as an organized entity. Yes, we worked for them. I was an executive in the northern sector. I’m sure you’ve heard my name, Jeremy Kent.”
I nodded. I mentally called up the file on Jeremy Kent, and the attached picture matched the man on my left if I allowed for a few years of aging. He had been the top man in the northern sector. I turned to the man on my right and searched my memory. After a moment, I identified him as Jonathan Hammond, the former head of intelligence for Obsidian in the northeast sector.
“Okay, now we’re all acquainted. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m afraid you were on my target list, but I assumed you’d been wiped out by the nuke, so I didn’t bother trying to track you down.”
Jeremy grinned and nodded. “We figured as much. We’re hoping that is all behind us.”
I shrugged. “The war is over. Everyone lost, just like I said they would.”
He nodded again and sat back in his chair, attempting to look relaxed, though I could tell he was still wary of me, which was perfectly understandable.
“Mr. Smith, we’re doing our best to keep the people of Toronto safe and alive. In the aftermath of the war, most of the infrastructure was abandoned, but we’re trying to change that. We’ve managed to locate people who can keep the necessities running, but there are lots of people out there who don’t want an organized society. We need help. That unexploded nuke has become a target for the Anarchists Legion.”
“The who?” I hadn’t really kept up with the goings on outside my bunker.
Jonathan leaned forward in his chair. “The Anarchists Legion. They’re a cult. Their leader, Star, controls a group of people who are convinced the entire world should have been destroyed in the war, and they want to make sure that nuke goes off to help complete the job.”
I shrugged. “So, kill Star.”
Jonathan grimaced. “We’ve tried, but we’re not exactly sure who he or she is. We’ve tried to infiltrate the group, but our agents always end up dead. Somehow, they know. The leader never shows his, or her, face in public. We’ve captured a few of their members and interrogated them, but even they don’t know what their leader looks like.”
“And, now, here I am.”
“Correct,” Jeremy said. “Mr. Smith, we want you to disarm that device, then work with us to eliminate the Legion.”
I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms over my chest. This was getting better and better.
“The past few years have made me somewhat anti-social, so I don’t trust you.”
Jeremy sighed. “Look, all three of us have pasts that contraindicate a compassion for the general public, but times have changed. We can’t let anarchy take over. These people are innocent victims of the system we worked for and propagated. I think we owe it to them to help them live as normal a life as possible.”
I studied Jeremy for a moment. His body language and his words seemed genuine. He actually did care. Deep down, so did I. I wanted to go back to my bunker and live the rest of my life alone. I’d lost count of how many lives I’d taken because of my orders. Most of the time, I didn’t know who my targets were or why they were on the list. It wasn’t my job to ask why, and I was very good at my job.
I’d helped design the bomb they wanted me to disarm. After years in the elements, the radiation shielding would be starting to degrade. Bombs weren’t meant to sit around; they were meant to be used.
I’d pushed for better shielding, hoping the bombs would never be used, but the people above me wanted the cheapest material they could get, and that’s what they got. Now, knowing what could happen an
d listening to these men, I started to feel the weight of the situation. Maybe there was still a bit of humanity left in me after all.
I sighed and stared at the tabletop and nodded. “Okay, I’ll help you. I suppose it’s time to help people live, instead of helping people die.”
Jeremy spoke in a softer voice. “Mr. Smith, make no mistake, there is a lot of violence out there, and death is a part of life, just as it always has been, but we’re doing our best to stop that. It starts with making sure that bomb doesn’t go off.”
“Okay, let’s do it.” I stood up. “Get me there, and I’ll disarm it, but we’ll need somewhere safe to put the core.”
Jeremy nodded as both men stood. “Darlington is the best option. It’s no longer operational since there’s no fuel for it, but it’s still solid.”
“Where do you get your power?”
“Wind and solar farms. We’re working on reconnecting to the grid from the hydro stations down south, but it’s a long run, and there are several factions in the way.”
I nodded. “Let’s get this nuke taken care of.”
They led the way through the washroom and office, which was now empty, back into the open area. Jim stood as we entered.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
I nodded. “I assume you have a container to transport the core?”
“We have a Type A container in the MRAP.”
That was good. Type A containers were small, but rated for radioactive materials, and designed to withstand any accidents along the way.
We exited the room, and they returned my gun, which I tucked into the holster. I hoped I wouldn’t need it. Still, protection is good in this Fallen World.
* * *
Part 3
We headed out of downtown Toronto in a convoy of military vehicles. There were several armored personnel carriers, as well as troop transport trucks without covers, and all of them were filled with well-armed men and women. Apparently, they were expecting trouble.
From the Ashes Page 21
