Thirty seconds passed. A minute, then two. Suddenly, she relaxed back into her seat and blinked sleepily at him. He took that as the signal to begin.
Half an hour later, Boone had heard enough. The woman was compliant, agreeably vacating the pilot’s seat for the passenger section, where he used the strapping cables to secure her to the bench. Grabbing the core on his way back to the cockpit, he slipped into the pilot’s seat and banked the shuttle into a tight turn that would bring the craft back on a sky park heading. Once the course was set, he turned the controls over to the ship’s SI and lifted the core to examine it.
A drunken voice behind him complained, “You’re going to ruin everything, you know?” Then the woman giggled.
He shot her an annoyed look from over his shoulder. “Do you have anything else to tell me about what you’ve been up to at Searcy? Anything else we should expect out of Mastai?”
“Nnnnope.” Jayden said, popping the ‘p’ as she listed to one side and leered at him.
He tried one last time. “What about the explosive devices you set? Other than the remote detonation codes, is there anything else I need to know about them?”
The woman held her index finger up, but since her wrists were bound together and her arms lashed to her sides down to her elbows, she couldn’t do much more than make an abortive attempt at the gesture.
“Nope. You dragged it all out of me. And I didn’t mind telling you, either.” Her brow creased in befuddlement. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you all of that. Especially not about those last three.”
She frowned, then straightened in sloppy indignation.
“You know, I was in the middle of setting those last four explosives when that bitch interrupted me? Things were going so well, too, until you showed up.”
He glanced over at her and saw she’d leaned forward, straining against the cables that confined her.
“How can one Marine do so much damage, huh? And a guy stupid enough to turn a canoe paddle and a cable into a zip line, too.” She threw her head back and cackled. “They were talking about it on the sky park’s employee channel. Wish I’d seen it.”
Boone had heard enough out of her. He reached for the analgesic cylinder he’d reprogrammed. “Didn’t realize I was that entertaining,” he said in a dry voice. “Okay, then. Nap time for you.”
She nodded solemnly and even presented her neck to him so that he could inject her with the second half of the dose. It didn’t take long; she slumped back in her seat and emitted a soft snore.
After one last, swift check of their heading, Boone turned his attention to the jammer. Synching with the unit once more, he ordered it off.
Instantly, the combat net snapped back into existence.
42: REPORTING IN
Searcy transport
It was immediately apparent that the team on the platform had been in contact with one another for some time. The conversation he joined was an active one and Boone knew better than to interrupt its flow. He waited for the rapid-fire exchange to subside before inserting himself into the conversation.
The flurry of mental communication began to die down, but before he had a chance to jump in and apprise them to his presence, Thad barked, {Boone. Sitrep!}
Boone repressed a smile. He should have known the Unit operator would have his eye on everything at once.
{I followed that hunch, sir.}
{The woman on the roof? Was she their sixth man?}
{Yes. Well, sort of. She’s the person they think of as their sixth man, except she’s not really. She’s not who they think she is. She’s also the one responsible for bringing Mastai in on this whole situation,} he told them.
{Well, hell,} Asha muttered. {What’s her angle?}
Boone didn’t immediately answer her question. {I inserted into her transport before it took off,} he continued. {I have her in custody now, as well as the dazzler core she was using to jam signals in the sky park.}
Thad’s avatar nodded. {Thought something like that must have happened when our combat net came back.}
{She’s the one who set the bombs. There are a few more scattered around the park like the first one that went off. According to her, they’re all programmed so that she can detonate them remotely. If what she told me under the influence of these med-bots can be believed,} he cautioned.
Boone pushed a map across the net, dropping pins on the location for each bomb. {I’ve transmitted the disarm codes, but…}
{But it might be wise to approach them as if they’re still armed. Agreed,} said Gabe. {What about that second explosion that went off?}
Boone grimaced. {They’re all rigged, sir. She seated each bomb inside a crawler and then sent it up the cable far enough so that it can’t be easily reached.}
{We figured the other cables were rigged. I’m at one of the access hatches, Ramirez is at another. Davila’s headed to the fourth one,} Thad replied. {Did they have remote codes, too?}
{They do,} Boone said slowly, {but I didn’t get a confirmation burst back from one of them.}
{Which one?} Thad demanded. He chuckled dryly when Boone highlighted it on the map. {Figures. That’s the one in front of me. Just my luck, I guess.}
{Have you reported this yet?} Asha interjected. {You’re outside the sky park; you might be far enough away to catch a node not impacted by the swamper.}
Boone smacked the side of his head. His first instinct had been to contact Thad and the team. Plus, he’d completely forgotten the swamper. He tried to access the pubnet and got the same ‘system busy’ signal that had plagued them on board the platform.
{No joy on the pubnet, but I know where the swamper is. It’s tangled in a mess of wiring on that clock tower’s roof. Davila’s good with comms; he should be able to disengage that thing without doing harm to the platform’s main node.}
Over the net, Boone saw Davila give him a thumbs-up. {Can do, sir, if you want me to head that way instead.}
Thad sent the PFC a curt mental nod. {Okay, since Boone received confirmation pings from the other two cables, we’ll assume they’ve gone dormant. Davila, head to that clock tower and get that thing offline.}
{Sir…} Boone broke in again. {About the last remaining bomb, the one that’s not responding to its shutdown code. I have an idea.}
He spared a look down at the Kingsolver in his hands.
{Shoot,} Thad ordered, causing Boone to cough a startled laugh.
{Actually, sir… that’s exactly what I was going to suggest. I have eyes on the crawler. I can target its legs. Shatter them, and drop the thing into the ocean.}
There was silence on the other end.
{You ever done anything like that before, hoss?} Thad’s voice was neutral, but Boone could hear the skepticism lurking just beneath the surface.
Boone took his time to consider the question before replying. {I’ve taken down grizzlies from horseback at three hundred meters,} he said.
Thad’s avatar took on a skeptical cast. {That’s a far cry from shooting a crawler holding a bomb, attached to a floating platform’s cable, twenty-five kilometers in the air.}
Boone shrugged. {Its cross-section isn’t that much different than a grizzly’s head at this distance. Like I said, I’m comfortable with the Kingsolver, and it’s comparable to the shots I’ve taken from horseback with the same weapon. Plus, it’s not like I can hurt the cable itself.}
Gabe spoke up. {He’s right about that. Hard to hurt self-healing carbyne fibers. What do you have loaded in there, son?}
{It’s .308.}
There was a pause on the other end.
{You got any idea how hard that shot would be for a Unit sniper, much less a Marine lance corporal?}
Boone tried not to let the lieutenant’s lack of faith in him rankle. Thad didn’t know his history with his dad’s Kingsolver, nor his proficiency scores, nor how many tens of thousands of rounds he’d shot with this very weapon.
{If I can do it} he said evenly, {it’ll save someone from having to craw
l up there and manually defuse it.}
{C’mon, Thad. Let him try.} Gabe said. {What’s the harm? Or are you that eager to climb that cable?}
Thad made a strangled noise that almost sounded like a laugh. {You make that shot, hoss, and I’ll owe you a beer.}
{I’m in, too,} Gabe added. {And there might even be—}
{Hold.} Thad cut in, the word brittle and hard, and devoid of its previous humor. The entire combat net went still, waiting for his next words.
{We have a situation.}
43: HOSTAGE
Tiki Hut
Outside Saltwater pool
Chris Reid continued to keep a covert eye on the concession stand’s newest arrival. The woman’s behavior struck him as off somehow. It wasn’t any one thing he could put his finger on. The woman was skittish, but that could be explained away as nerves. Stars knew the bomb that took out the support cable was enough to rattle the most seasoned soldier.
She was dressed in one of the t-shirts the sky park sold, which also worked in her favor. Asha Thacker had reported the smugglers were dressed as park employees. The dead man lying on the walkway a dozen meters away confirmed that.
Perhaps it was the way the woman stayed along the periphery. She kept her back to the wall, as if instinctively trying to keep someone from sneaking up behind her. That alone wasn’t a crime, and he wasn’t even certain she did it consciously.
The way she kept stealing looks over at the girls, though, was concerning. They’d gathered around his wife and were now busy relating the incident to her in hushed tones. The stranger’s expression conveyed an almost studied neutrality, but she’d drifted close enough so that she could overhear what was being said.
The woman struck Chris as a powder keg just waiting to ignite. Or a gun runner with a dragnet tightening around her.
He moved through the crowd, headed in her general direction.
When the jammer cut out, the woman’s head lifted. She turned to the tiki hut’s entrance, her body language telegraphing that someone had contacted her. She relaxed and nodded, her gaze cutting over to the girls once more.
That did it. Instinct had him interposing himself between the woman and the girls. As he moved, the woman straightened, her eyes cutting over to meet his. Before he could reach her, she bolted. She ran straight for Amy and the girls, seized Tatiana by the arm, and pulled her aside.
Chris didn’t need to hear the gasps to know the woman had pulled a weapon.
* * *
A priority ping cut into the combat net, drawing Asha to a stop. Minimizing the team’s chatter, she accepted the incoming call.
{We have a situation.} Chris Reid’s voice was grim.
{What kind of situation?} she asked.
{The hostage kind.} Reid paused. {One of the smugglers has your niece.}
Asha drew in a sharp breath. {Where are you?}
{Concession hut, just outside the saltwater pool.}
She changed direction. {I’m on my way. Keep her there. If she tries to leave, stall her,} she told him, breaking into a jog.
{I’ll do my best. And Specialist… Without any way to contact the authorities, Posse Comitatus doesn’t apply,} he reminded her. {You and your teammates are citizens who have the right to defend yourselves in a life-or-death situation. But if you feel you need an authority to justify your actions, you have mine.}
Asha sent him a nod. {Thank you, sir. I appreciate that. I’d like to bring my friends in on this conversation, now, if you don’t mind.}
{Of course.}
It didn’t take long to bring Thad and Gabe up to speed on the situation.
44: FIGHT OR FLIGHT
Transport outside sky park
Thad pushed a quick, {Archangel, mission’s a go; report back when complete,} and then the combat net lapsed into silence.
Boone wondered briefly what had developed on the platform but figured he was in no position to do anything about it, so dismissed it from his mind. Besides, he’d pretty much cut his own marching orders; now, he needed to prove he was up to the task.
He unwound from the pilot’s seat and strode aft to check on his prisoner. The woman’s pulse was slow and steady, indicating she was still out. Asha hadn’t said how much time the knockout dose would last, so Boone figured he’d better get moving.
After checking her restraints, he backtracked to the cockpit and pulled up the shuttle’s emergency procedures in case of catastrophic failure. As expected, the transport’s first line of defense was for the SI to take over, piloting the vessel to below three thousand meters, which was the point where atmosphere outside the craft became sufficient to prevent the occupants inside from experiencing hypoxia.
That wasn’t of much help to Boone. He needed a way to keep breathing while exposed to the nearly nonexistent atmosphere outside that cockpit door. He kept poking around until he found backup canisters of supplemental nitrox. These had a fine layer of dust covering them. Boone wasn’t surprised; he couldn’t recall a single incident in recent years where the canisters had been used.
They were, however, exactly what he needed to safely open the cockpit door—and take those shots the lieutenant was so doubtful he could make.
There was one more thing Boone wanted to arrange, to ensure his aim was as steady as he could make it. He hunted around in the aft hold for another strap used to secure cargo, but he’d used the only two the shuttle had to secure his captive.
Checking her pulse one last time and finding it remained slow and steady, Boone decided to risk it. He removed one of the two cargo straps securing the woman to the passenger bench, retreated to the pilot’s seat, and raised the partition, sealing off the cabin.
The cargo strap was made from a stripped-down version of ActiveFiber that would accept only a handful of commands. He elongated the band until it spanned across the cockpit’s hatch at shoulder level. With no way to mount a tripod, this would serve to steady the rifle’s barrel.
Unslinging the Kingsolver, he positioned the nitrox canister’s cannulas and affixed the unit to his tactical vest. Then he double-checked the seal between cockpit and passenger area one last time, to ensure there would be no loss of cabin pressure.
With a deep breath and a muttered, “guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” he overrode the lock on the cockpit door and slid it open. Air escaped in a rush, and a sheet of biofilm fluttered past—an old invoice, long forgotten. The transport’s drives ratcheted in volume, jumping from a low drone to a dull roar.
The shuttle’s sensor feed was less sensitive than the ones the military used, but it had been sufficient to spot the crawler. Taking temporary control from the SI, he nudged the craft higher until it was slightly above the bomb, and then locked it down, placing the SI autopilot into a hover.
He brought the Kingsolver to rest against the strap and peered through the scope. Slowly, he traced the cable until he found what he was looking for. Stroking the biometric handle, he released a scout. The drone flew from the transport, immediately gathering telemetry: wind speed, distance to target, angle of shot.
He dropped a targeting mark on the crawler’s top set of legs, and then its next, and its next. He’d begin at each end and work inward. After dropping marks on all of them, he sighted in on the rear set of legs, using the scout drone’s telemetry. He waited, timing the shot against the light buffeting of the craft, learning its rhythm.
Ordinarily, there wouldn’t be a rhythm. Chop, what pilots called air turbulence, wasn’t usually something one could predict. But this turbulence was caused by the heat signature of the sky park’s platform. And so, it had a rhythm of sorts.
He rode with it for several beats, getting a feel for it as the crawler bounced up and down in his reticle. He waited, cognizant not only of the beat of the wind, but also the beat of his own heart. When everything synced, on the next downbeat, he shifted his finger from the trigger guard to the trigger and, on an exhale, took the shot.
The crawler’s rear legs exploded in a shower o
f tiny fragments. Through his scope, Boone saw the crawler rock and then settle. He moved to the top, rode the wave, waited for sync, and pulled the trigger again.
The crawler had begun to sway; these next shots would be trickier but not impossible. He lined up on the center pair of legs, his finger stroking the trigger.
And then the shuttle began to rock violently.
Boone gripped the strap to steady himself as wake turbulence from a rapidly departing ship buffeted the transport.
{LT! Shuttle just departed the platform and is headed for orbit. Vessel is accelerating and will soon be out of range.}
{You planning on shooting her down, Corporal?} Thad asked dryly. {The Kingsolver’s badass, but it ain’t that badass.}
That hadn’t been what Boone had meant. Belatedly, he explained.
{Sorry, sir. The Kingsolver’s able to spike her, if you’d like. Then we can track it.
{Do it.}
Boone had already made the switch from his main barrel to the narrow barrel that ran above it, the one that was able to tag a subject with a spike from the Navy’s database. Once tagged, anyone with the app and that spike’s unique code would be able to track the shuttle anywhere in Alliance space.
Peering through the scope, Boone moved the Kingsolver’s barrel up and to the right, waiting for the scout drone to work the math and provide a firing solution. His reticle flashed red, and he pulled the trigger. Light erupted; through the scope, he saw an icon appear with a small ‘positive ident’ tag that indicated the spike had affixed itself to the shuttle’s port-side aft panel.
{Done.} Boone dropped the spike’s code onto the combat net.
{Good job. Has that bomb been dealt with yet?}
Boone’s attention returned to the cable and the crawler, which the wake turbulence had set to swaying.
Sudden Death (A Military Sci Fi Thriller) (The Biogenesis War Files) Page 19
