Soul Raging

by Ronie Kendig

  Iliescu stepped from his office, glanced their way, and hesitated. The elevator door dinged, a strangely regular sound that felt out of place now. However, when the doors opened, Cell emerged, holding his side and walking slow and stiff under the aid of Alisz Vogt.

  “What in blazes are you doing?” Iliescu growled. “You should be recuperating!”

  “I agreed to go to the hospital for a CAT scan to make sure I wasn’t going to die in my sleep tonight or something,” Cell muttered. “But I’m not staying there. You have no idea where they put things when you’re unconscious.”

  Baddar touched his shoulder. “It is good to have you back.”

  “I’m only back because we need to find out where those guys went.” Something had shifted between Cell and Alisz, considering the way he didn’t mind her assistance or hovering.

  “Here.” Alisz rolled the chair over to him. “Sit, and I’ll wheel you around.”

  “I don’t need a wheelchair.”

  “Sit,” Saito said, “or I’m going to recommend restricted bedrest for a month.”

  “Restricted my big hairy—”

  “Purcell!” Iliescu barked. “Sit down or leave. I won’t have you dying on us because you pushed it too hard, too fast.”

  Alisz pushed him to a station. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Yeah, some space,” Cell bit out, then winced. “Sorry. Can I blame that on the pain and meds?”

  Though Alisz cringed, she plastered on a smile.

  “We’ll see how long she can keep up that charm,” Mercy said with a smirk. “Barc is testy even when he’s not acting like a baby.”

  * * *

  Fire shot through his side as Cell turned to the analyst bent over a dolly stacked with new computers. Tensing to ward off the pain, he gritted his teeth. “Derrick, how long till we’re up and running?”

  “Ten, twenty minutes.” When Cell groaned, Derrick shrugged. “There are six guys working on it.”

  “Anybody got anything on the Neiothen’s exfil or tracking them outside the building?”

  The lanky analyst walked over and offered a tablet. “DIA sent surveillance pulled from a bank two klicks away. We haven’t been able to check it out because of the situation.”

  Leaning on the desk, Cell glanced at the others. “They crippled us—it was intentional, to slow us down.”

  “That and the security protocol,” Saito said from the main conference table.

  “So we have no idea why they came, how they got away, or where they went.” Iliescu shook his head. “They made no demands.”

  “No, but they sure left a lot of reminders,” Saito said, touching his leg.

  “Okay, here we go,” Derrick announced. “This system’s up.”

  Cell lunged forward. All kinds of fire and pain roared from his gut. He grunted, tightening in on himself, which seemed to make it worse.

  “You should go home,” Mercy said. “You need—”

  “I need to find him.” Cell knew this was his problem. His fault. It was messed-up psychology, but what could he say? Everything about him was messed up these days.

  “Where do you want to go?” Alisz’s voice was soft as she leaned over his shoulder.

  Ashamed to need this much help and feeling even more awkward toward Alisz, he pointed to Derrick. “That system. I need to—”

  Without waiting for him to finish, she nudged the chair in that direction. Once he was in place, she sat next to the station. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing,” he muttered as he tried logging in and was rejected. He hadn’t wanted to trust her. She knew too much about Mercy, but she’d legit been there, caring for him at the hospital. And now. Her kindness was wearing him down—but was it an act? Did he care? With this much pain, he didn’t.

  “Oh,” Derrick said, indicating the computer. “All logins have been changed because of the breach. You’ll have to code in for a new login.”

  Cell grabbed his phone but hesitated. The woman at his right was supposedly very gifted with systems. If she saw his login . . .

  Her hand rested on his shoulder, drawing his gaze up. She smiled, squeezed his arm, then walked away. A gracious exit so he could secure what he needed. Another way she was whittling down his misgivings. She was beautiful and smart. Which meant she wasn’t going to stick around. Not for him, anyway.

  He coded in, provided his bona fides, and got set up. In minutes he was surfing his way through the surveillance cameras.

  “I need to make some calls,” Iliescu said, returning to his office.

  Iskra shifted, her lips thinning as she watched the director. She started after him, then slowed to a stop. Hung her head and turned back to the hub.

  Cell frowned. “Did I miss something?”

  The concern that had been evident on her face pulled in close. She looked at his computer. “Think you can find the Neiothen?”

  “That doesn’t work,” he said wearily, his gaze back on the feeds. “Y’all keep doing that thing where you don’t answer my questions but instead divert to some other topic. It doesn’t work. I still want to know what I missed.”

  Mercy popped his head.

  “Hey,” he balked, “wounded soldier here.”

  “That’s what you get for worrying us. And . . . you missed a lot.”

  “Wait, you were worried?” He wanted to milk this, but he really had no energy. “Well, you’re too late. My heart already belongs to someone else.”

  “Would that be me?” Alisz parked herself back in the chair.

  “No.” Cell flinched—his quick retort had hurt her, but he didn’t have anyone in mind. “I mean . . .” She was attractive, but . . . “It was just a joke. To make her jealous.”

  “Jealous?” Alisz smiled around him. “But Mercy already has a special someone in her life. The Arab, right?”

  “Baddar,” Cell corrected. He cleared his throat but felt even that pull on the muscles in his stomach. “Anyway . . .” He scanned the footage at a fast clip, then rewound it. Repeated the viewing. Next he watched the various feeds from the access passages.

  “What’s going on?” Saito muttered as he took the chair on Cell’s other side.

  “That’s what I want to know,” Cell said slowly as he worked. In one feed he found Iliescu waiting at a locked hatch, then he was joined by a Marine . . . then two, three . . . until there were more than a dozen standing there while two men worked to hack the locking mechanism.

  “What am I missing?” Canyon asked.

  Cell switched to an exterior feed and ran it forward fast enough that he wouldn’t be sitting here all day but not so fast he’d miss something important. “Well . . .” He loaded the final angle. “There are only four access points to this hub, and I’ve viewed all footage and found exactly zero unfriendlies. And I am calling them unfriendlies, because hello? Bullet in the gut, thank you very much.”

  “It was a ricochet.”

  “I don’t care what kind of chet it was,” Cell said. “It hit me and hurts like crazy.”

  “Which is why you should be resting,” Mercy chastised.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, looking at her, which made him cringe in pain. “But you have no say in my life. Remember, you have a man now.” He nodded to Baddar.

  “Jealous much?” Mercy smiled.

  “Wait. You didn’t argue. Seriously? You’re a thing, the two of you?”

  Canyon tapped Cell’s arm and pointed to the monitor. “Can we pay attention here?”

  “I am paying attention,” Cell grunted with a glare. “Are you?”

  Canyon frowned.

  “What did you see? On those feeds. Tell me.”

  “Nothing. The access tunnels are empty.”

  “Exactly.” Cell pulled up the parking garage and let it run for a few minutes. “And here?”

  “Nothing,” Saito muttered.

  “Exactamundo.” Cell lifted his hands in question. “So where, ladies and gentlemen, did our psychotic Neiothen go?” He sent the v
arious feeds to the large screens around the hub, then let Alisz roll him around to face them. “That’s every possible way they could’ve entered or left, yet . . .”

  “They’re still here?” Saito wondered.

  “No,” Canyon said. “Iskra saw a hidden hatch close here.” He tapped the screen. “But like you said—the feeds don’t show them exiting.”

  “Wait, you have intel and didn’t share?” Cell meant to tease, but by the look on her face, he’d failed. And yet . . . he hadn’t. “Isn’t it time we moved past hiding things from each other?”

  Iskra swallowed but couldn’t hide her guilt-ridden expression.

  “You mean, like you hiding that Leif was a Neiothen?” Saito challenged.

  “That’s my point exactly. I screwed up. If I’d come clean, maybe he wouldn’t have choked the breath out of me. Maybe if Iskra had mentioned that she had the Book of the Wars and this whatever painting—”

  “Okay, hold up,” Canyon said, lifting his hand. “Let’s just—”

  “You seriously saw them leave?” Mercy asked, frowning at Iskra.

  “Not directly,” Iskra said. “I saw a hatch close. It’s hidden behind a panel on the other side of the elevator.”

  Cell gaped, trying to figure out why she hadn’t told them sooner, but more importantly—was there a camera on that tunnel? If so, why hadn’t Command sent that their way? “But you did know that much, and we could’ve had analysts all over it for the last hour.”

  He lifted his phone and dialed Braun’s extension, knowing he did not have the strength or willingness to walk the twenty paces to her office.

  “This is Braun.”

  “We need to talk about the secret passage by the elevator.” He waited for her response but didn’t hear anything. “Admiral?” He glanced at the phone and frowned.

  “How did you know about that?” Her stern voice closed in from behind him.

  Cell swiveled and peered through Reaper, who were clustered around him. “I didn’t.”

  “After the flashbang,” Iskra said, “I saw the hatch close and the panel slide into place over it when the Neiothen left.”

  Braun’s face went ruddy. “Why didn’t you say something?” she nearly screamed. “Did you tell Iliescu?”

  “No,” Iskra said.

  “Admiral, are there cameras on that passage?” Cell asked.

  Braun threw a sharp look at Iskra. After a huff, she shook her head. “No cameras. That tunnel isn’t in use—it flooded two years ago during a hurricane. But it feeds into a parking structure, where there are cameras.” She gave him the location of the garage.

  Cell went to work and pulled the recorded footage. “And on the monitors . . . now.” He peered at the one dangling over his terminal. They watched and were met with the same frustrating result.

  “Nothing,” Saito muttered.

  “Wait,” Canyon said. “Back up.”

  Cell scowled but did as requested, then let it play.

  “Here.” Canyon pointed to the big screen on the wall. “Put it up here.”

  “What’re you seeing?” Iskra turned as the video sprang onto it and started playing.

  “Okay . . . there! Stop.”

  Cell clicked, his heart thumping a little wildly. Though he was staring at the same thing on his monitor, he saw nothing. “Dude, what—”

  “Tighten in on this vehicle.”

  “Vehicle?” But Cell complied, zooming and cleaning up the image.

  “Bingo.” Canyon thumped the screen, where the reflection of a man in black tactical gear was removing a balaclava.

  “I don’t understand,” Mercy whispered. “How is his reflection in that car but he’s not showing up on the video?”

  “They knew where the cameras were,” Canyon said, “and stayed out of view but didn’t think about their reflections.”

  “Good work,” Braun said, nodding as she considered the images. She patted Cell’s shoulder. “Can—”

  “Sharpen that up, son, and get me an ID on that face,” Nesto intruded into the conversation.

  “That’s as good as it gets,” Cell said, taking entirely too much pleasure in letting down the colonel. “It’s a reflection, so the facial quality is already hindered.”

  “Send it to me,” Nesto barked.

  Almost curling his lip, Cell rolled his eyes.

  “You rolling your eyes at me?” Nesto demanded.

  “No, sir,” Cell coughed, then grabbed his side. “Just this wound . . .” He saw the way Saito and Canyon smirked. “Corrupted image coming your way.” He did not like the way Nesto had barged in, and he found himself wondering if this guy was connected to ArC. Man, he did not like having a hunch about this guy. Because his hunches, more often than not, were right.

  “So you can’t find them?” Braun growled.

  “If we had more analysts and several very long days . . .” Cell said, trying to sound contrite but knowing it came out sarcastic. “Not with them knowing where the cameras are.”

  Nesto growled—literally—and stormed back to his tiny office, which had been a closet before his intrusion into the bunker.

  Braun massaged her shoulder. “Keep trying to find more, Purcell.”

  “Will do, ma’am.”

  Alisz shifted, her eyes a little brighter as she watched the admiral leave. Her gaze hit Nesto’s office, then Braun’s. She was on to something. He didn’t know how he knew, just did. It was still hard to trust her, to open up to her, but she’d stayed at the hospital. Helped him make his break and get back to the hub.

  “Alisz?”

  She started, jolting in her chair.

  “You got something?”

  She swallowed but then gave a clipped nod. “I . . . I think—no,” she corrected, looking down. “There is a way to track the Neiothen.”

  He wanted to laugh, but that was the last thing he’d do—it hurt his wound. Besides, he had this strange compunction not to alienate her. “What do you mean?”

  “They have these chips in their heads—RFID.”

  “What?” Canyon asked, scowling.

  “RFID,” Alisz repeated. “Resonant frequency identifier.”

  “He knows what it means.” Cell felt like a fool at her sudden interest in tracking the Neiothen—tracking Leif. It struck him that coming to the bunker had been her idea. Not that she’d said it directly, but . . . “I thought you were an art analyst. How do you even know about them?”

  “I am an art analyst,” Alisz laughed. “By day. But I’m—well . . .” Her gaze hit Mercy. “She and I aren’t too different.”

  “Don’t start that trouble here,” Mercy bit back. “Not now.”

  “What trouble?” Alisz’s innocence was a tad on the fake side.

  “Wrong tac,” he warned, shaking his head. He wanted this to be a bad dream. Couldn’t he just once meet a smart, sexy hacker who was really what she claimed to be?

  “Look, we may be similar”—she flinched when Mercy twitched toward her—“except I can’t track that RFID.” She nodded, her gaze too eager. “But Ariadne knows how.”

  “What? No!” Mercy surged toward Alisz and growled, “What’re you doing?”

  “Oh. That’s right—”

  “Airy-who?” It still galled him that he hadn’t known Mercy’s real name.

  “Stop.” Mercy seemed ready to kill. “Alisz, I swear—”

  “She hasn’t told you. After what just happened here, I’d think you’d want to know.”

  “You have no right,” Mercy hissed, her face coloring with anger.

  “Mercy, Miss Vogt?” Braun said with a curt nod from her office door. “With me.”

  “Wait,” Cell said, frowning. “What’s going on?”

  His stomach hurt, and it had little to do with his wound.

  * * *

  Anger trembled through Mercy’s limbs, making them heavy, and her head thickened with an explosion of adrenaline. When she entered Braun’s office, she couldn’t bring herself to sit. It felt lik
e surrender. So she crossed her arms and moved to the far side of the admiral’s desk.

  After all these years . . . She’d broken away from her nightmare past and had magnificently managed to evade its toxic tendrils. With Dru’s help.

  The click of the door shutting resonated like a hammer coming down. Or maybe a guillotine, severing her career.

  “I guess she wants us to talk it out,” Alisz said.

  Sure enough, she and Alisz were alone. At the door, the admiral stood with her back to the glass.

  “I’m not doing thi—”

  “Why?” Alisz shrugged. “I’m the same as you, Ari.”

  “Do not call me that,” Mercy growled, rolling her shoulders as if she could get away from that name and what it meant, where it came from.

  “Ariadne is your name.”

  “My name”—she drew in a leaden breath—“is Mercy Maddox.”

  “Is that how you deal with all the lies you’ve told over the last ten years?”

  “It is who I am, who I choose to be.” She glowered at Alisz. “Why?” She snapped her hands out for emphasis. “Why did you do this? You deliberately baited Cell, wormed your way into his search so that he’d ask for your help. You knew—knew he’d bring you here.” She was so angry, she couldn’t even find a Marvel parallel for Alisz. She didn’t want to. She’d wanted to erase this woman from her life. “This could not have happened at a worse—”

  “No,” Alisz said, her tone ardent as she swept forward, “it’s the perfect time.” Her braids shifted with her emphasis. “Don’t you see? That’s why I came now. This is—”

  “Have you been tracking me?”

  Alisz straightened. Then cocked her head. “She has been tracking you.”

  “Mina,” Mercy breathed. The name alone was acid on her tongue. She turned, rubbing her forehead as she fought burgeoning tears. “I left her and the school because I am not that person. I never was. I don’t want—”

  “How can you be so selfish?”

  Mercy scowled. “Selfish? I’m not being selfish—it’s for those people out there that I’m—”

  “Those people need the skills Ariadne has. Those people need you to act, to use your training.”

  Wait. Something . . . Why was Alisz telling her to help Reaper? Alisz was as much ArC’s pawn as Mina was, so why was she advocating for Mercy to help Reaper? “Mina’s with ArC.”