Running Black (Eshu International Book 1) Page 5
“Oh shit…” Poet9 said.
“Now!”
Too many moving things at once...
I snapped the grenade out with one hand and grabbed Poet9 with the other. As the EMP arced through the air, I started running, dragging him with me. I was trying to get both of us out of blast radius before it popped. But Poet was too astonished to think, let alone move. I saw the grenade stick fast next to the speaker grill on the robot’s chest, and Tam, cradling the boy, dove behind a stack of crates. The robot’s sensors blinked, and it lumbered after them.
As I turned away, the tangle web launcher belched wetly. I managed a few more steps, pulling Poet9 along, before the EMP went off. There was a loud crackling sound, and a sharp blue flash scrambled my display. Poet9 cried out, staggered and fell. I went down with him, skidding on the duracrete.
I lay there for several seconds too long, dazed, expecting a piston leg to stomp my spine into the pavement. Finally, I shook my head to clear it and looked around. Poet9 lay next to me, tangled and unmoving. His visor was up and there was blood seeping out of his ear. A cold feeling dropped into my stomach.
“Jace.” Tam’s voice.
I gritted my teeth and rolled over. Back down the alley, Tam appeared with Gibson under one arm. There were masses of stringy adhesive clotted all over the crates, draped like green-glow vomit. The Cerberus was motionless at the end of the alley; a sizzle of little sparks witching across its slumped chassis.
Right then, its handler peered around the corner of the building looking for his robot. He saw us instead, and his rifle came up to the ready. Tam fired his Tavor 24 twice. The guard dropped. Gibson yelped, clutching his ears at the sharp sound. Poor kid looked on the verge of losing it.
Tam pointed at Poet9. “Grab him. We need to move.”
I didn’t look. I didn’t think. I reached out and slung Poet9 over my shoulders. He wasn’t moving.
I need to check him. I need to check Devante. Why do bodies always feel lighter, like a sack of sticks? Even in armor.
My emotions threatened to hemorrhage, but I clamped down hard. We didn’t have time for that. I chinned the displays in my helmet and took off after Tam. The visuals flickered back, skittish and blurred. My meters climbed sluggishly, critical reds edging into orange before they stopped.
My trouble had dropped in after all, quick and brutal.
As we jogged across the broken ground, I heard breathing in my headset. Tam was angry, coiled tight. Good training locked everything down, brought it to a single white-hot point. Stay focused, stay alive.
“Rally point Three,” Tam spoke.
“Acknowledged. Securing Rally Point Three.” Cottontail answered.
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In the air
“Major,” the co-pilot called out.”Base Security is all bunched up at the north gate.”
“What are they doing there?” Major Eames said. “They corner the intruders?”
“Scans are up, but no signs yet.”
“Take us there.” she ordered.
Suddenly the co-pilot called out. “Wait... I’ve got a thermal. A single target. It’s small, heading toward the east wall. Christ, I’ve got signal bounce too. I’m reading multiple stealth shimmers in the same vicinity moving fast. Looks like they’re running, ma’am.”
“Forget the north gate. Bring us around. Go, Go, Go!” Major Eames yelled back into the troop compartment. “We got ‘em. Get ready.”
The pilot yanked the flying yoke and the big transport banked hard. Jessa Eames’ thin features went taut as the view outside the windscreen pitched sideways. She set her jaw, leaned into it, and held on.
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On the ground
The Triplets met us at the eastern perimeter wall. Tam handed Gibson off to Mopsy. The kid was visibly shaking now, but he didn’t utter a sound. He simply watched, those bright eyes absorbing everything. He stared at me and Poet9 for what seemed like a long time before Mopsy wrapped his arms around his small figure and huddled over him. Tam set det-cord on a vertical seam in the concrete wall. Some desultory fire strayed our way, but it slunk back, chased away by Flopsy and Cottontail’s replies. Tam stuck the last charge in place and set the timer.
“Ninety seconds.”
He ran back and knelt beside me. He stole a glance at Poet9’s form draped on my shoulders, and I heard breathing again. I gripped Devante tighter and counted the seconds down in my head, trying to beat off the fear that stalked me like a jackal. At fifty-seven seconds, the deafening shriek of turbines swelled around us. An assault transport, a large C-class Wraith, flanked by two black gunships, plunged down at us.
Tam stood and pointed. “Drop them.”
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In the air
“I got them, Major,” the co-pilot exulted. “Ninety meters dead ahead. Looks like six probable suits and one civilian. They’re stationary... shit! I’ve got missile locks.” He slammed a series of buttons on his instrument panel. “Hostile launch! Hostile launch!” he screamed at the pilot. “Two trails. Evasive. Evasive!”
Major Eames was thrown back into the troop compartment as the world wrenched under her feet. Alarms erupted, shrill and frenzied, a counterpoint to the howling engines as the blocky transport thrashed, trying to sidestep the two rockets. The Fury gunships panicked, jinking up and away, popping bright clouds of flares and chaff. One of the rockets hesitated then looped into a sizzling cluster of flash and foil. The second doggedly followed the transport in its turn and burrowed in the starboard turbine. Jessa Eames heard a bang then a snap. The sound of pieces shredding away.
“We’re hit! We’re hit! Wraith Two is hit! We’re going down!”
The transport slewed and started spinning. The major slid across the steel decking, everything blurring faster and faster around her until the transport slammed flat into the ground. Pain and darkness spiked into her and everything stopped. Overhead, the two gunships flitted back and forth like startled ravens.
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On the ground
Flopsy and Cottontail rose to their feet, and a split second later two Balor rockets hissed up threads of fire. The aerial formation jumped apart. One rocket spiraled into a cluster of tinsel and heat, the other augured in and blew apart one of the Wraith’s engines. The massive profile hung in the air, then gyrated off-center, spinning, spiraling downward until it hammered flat on the ground. Our charges blew at the same time and the ground shook like a wet dog.
We were up and moving before the rubble settled. Behind us, the gunships swarmed, confused and spiteful over the fallen carrier. We ran until we couldn’t hear their furious buzzing anymore.
CHAPTER SEVEN: CRISIS AND COOPERATION
Three kilometers east of the E.C.I Facility, Toulouse, France. 4:47 a.m.
It was an advanced model sneakship: a Mk. 5 “Gaki”, all low and sharp, and sexy. With its sinuous trademark twist of dull black carbon composites that enfolded two turbofan engines, the stealth jet was nestled in the clearing, sucking light and sound out of the air like a sliver of black hole. Kawasaki Aerospace had designed the first ones for covert incursions over the deeply paranoid People’s Republic mainland. They were incredibly fast, nearly invisible to airspace defense grids, and best of all, capable of transporting commando teams. During the Taiwan Crisis in ‘35/36, the Taipei government used them to fend off advances from their cousins in the “Glorious Worker’s Paradise”. They worked quite well, until Gakis emblemed with little Red Stars and packed with North Korean mercenaries started showing up in their own night skies. It seemed someone in Tokyo saw the opportunity to make even more money. In fact, the first time I saw Tam, I was deployed with the 3rd North American Peacekeeping Unit, and he’d been dragging himself out of a downed PRC Mk.2 on a beach in Changhua.
Tam walked right up to this one and punched in an entry code on the lock pad. The hatch popped open, and the seven of us climbed in. Squeezing down the aisle, I laid Poet9 out on a back b
ench, and after I got his helmet and torso armor off, started searching for the first aid locker. There wasn’t one.
I did find an old autodoc jammed in the back of one of the overheads. Setting it on the floor of the cabin, I dusted it off and flipped its dented top open. It was practically antique, but it powered up, and I started sticking sensors on his chest and head. Most of the leads were worn and bent, and several of the wires pulled right out of the side. I swore as the small screens blipped to life, willing them to read positive.
Tam was over my shoulder. “Is he…?”
“Breathing? Barely. Heart’s weak. Cortical waves are barely rolling. Crap equipment like this, I can’t tell what’s going on. We need to get him to Doc.”
Tam pursed his lips. “No time. We have to make delivery. APAC will get real nervous if we don’t show. And I bet Dawson-Hull is going into full-blown panic mode, especially after the mess we left. They’ll want the boy back something fierce.”
“This is Poet9, Tam, not some meat shield we hired off the street. He could die,” I said.
“I know who it is, Jace. But if APAC thinks we skipped out, they’ll take all of us down. He’s going to have to hold on. Make him comfortable and do what you—”
“Look at the read-outs!” my voice rose. “Look at this!” I held up one of the frayed cable ends. Gibson and the Triplets turned to stare. “This gear isn’t even mil-spec. It’s a refugee handout from India or the Pak five years ago. His gear might be fused, Tam. This is way over my head. Screw APAC, we need Doc Kalahani. Right now.” I glanced furiously around the Gakis’s sleek, lean cabin. “A four-hundred-million flier with no medical station: real asset prioritizing there. Miserable bastards.”
Tam looked at Gibson then at Poet9’s thin, brown features. They were drawn, waxy, and his breathing was broken and shallow. “All right, I’m listening. You got anything that resembles a plan?” he asked quietly.
“I can stabilize him, but we need to go to ground fast. Somewhere safe and close by; the Gaki doesn’t have the legs to get us back to Belfast. Once we’re under wraps, we call Doc and have him come to us. We can reschedule with the Japanese in the new location,” I said.
“So where’s close and safe?”
“Barcelona’s the only place I can think of right now.”
“Fuck,” Tam sighed.
“What?”
“I don’t want to deal with that on top of everything else.”
“With what?”
“You know… religion.”
“Jesus, Tam. They’re not that bad, and you know it. It’s close, and it’s safe. We can trust Al and Carmen totally. You know that too.”
It was several seconds before Tam responded. “Yeah, I do know that. Not like there’s much of a choice either.”
“Right,” I said.
Tam looked at his watch. “OK. How fast can you weasel around the autopilot?”
“I can have us wheels up inside two minutes.”
“OK, do it.” Tam frowned. “We’ve been sitting here too long.” I started up the narrow aisle.
“Jace…” he called out. I stopped and looked over my shoulder. “I’m going to bounce a message to APAC. I’ll send it through Jaithirth back in Belfast.”
“Hiding usually works better when people don’t know where you are,” I said.
He gave me a shrug. “I have to keep them in the loop. I won’t mention Al and Carmen. Barcelona Metro Zone is big enough to hide in for a few days. I have to assure our employers all we’re doing is changing the delivery time.”
I didn’t answer, just raised my hands and hurried toward the cockpit. At least I’d get to rip something apart, even if it was only the flight panel. Gibson’s gaze followed me.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” he said.
I halted mid-stride, something smart and tough on the tip of my tongue. I turned back and looked straight into those startling green eyes.
“Yeah. Me too,” I said.
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E.C.I. Facility. Toulouse, France. 5:38 a.m.
“Tell them to quit dicking around at the north gate, now, or I’ll shoot every goddamn last one of them!” Major Eames shouted into the radio.
She grabbed the steep flank of the armored vehicle to steady herself. The sounds around her made her head pound more, and the world wouldn’t stop wobbling. The left side of her face had ballooned up brown and purple from where she’d slammed onto the flight deck, and her lip was split. She was spitting blood every minute just to talk intelligibly.
She turned to the radio handset clenched in her other fist. “I said, where’s my satellite cover? I need D-H Aerospace to skywatch everything inside two hundred klicks, even if it’s goddamn seagulls. Ground civilian flights if you have to. We’re cordoning off the facility now, but I’m telling you, that transponder echo was them. Get it done and patch Aerospace through to me.”
When they found her in the wrecked transport, medics had insisted she remain stationary until they could check her out, but she’d pushed them away, climbed off the stretcher, vomited, and staggered off to find the base commander. It didn’t matter that she felt like she’d been run over by a truck. “I don’t have time for pain right now,” she’d told them.
“I don’t care,” she shouted again. “My status? You tell Madrid the Dawson-Hull Conglomerate just invoked the Crisis and Cooperation Act. The Special Deployment Division is starting an investigation, and that means I’ll be apprising them of their status until further notice.” She paused and listened for a second, then growled. “My name is Major Eames of the D-H Corporate Security Services, and I’m in charge of this task force. And right now, you need to shut up and give me what I need.”
She swallowed two pain-tabs, and spit out more blood. A SD lieutenant passed by. “Have Fury One and Two refuel and stay on station for a possible intercept. And find me some ground transport!” She looked back at the handset. “Why am I still talking with you? Get me my satellite cover. Now!” She slammed the unit back into the cradle and looked back at the lab building.
The glimmer of dawn was starting in the east, drawing pale, drained colors into the scene before her. The flames from the transports had been doused, and poison trees of brown smoke blossomed up into the air. Bodies were stretched out in front of her, a parade row of glossy rubber lumps on the black tarmac, their white identity tags troubled by the limp morning wind.
The facility had been breached, its security force neutralized, an Ultra level asset snatched, two assault carriers downed, and half her men had been killed.
She gritted her teeth against another wave of throbbing and rage. Whoever had done this just made first place on her shit list. It would be better if they shot themselves right now.
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Over New European Union Airspace, 5:49 a.m.
Avery Hsiang leaned forward in his chair. “What do you mean, vanished?”
The voice of his secretary, Peter Kanang, came through the small speaker. “We tracked the jet’s transponder as far as the Pyrenees, Mr. Hsiang, but lost it right before the mountains. They never showed up at the coast. It seems the autopilot malfunctioned, or they found a way to override it.”
A sharp jolt of pain shot up Avery’s neck into his clenched jaw. “Do you have any idea where they were headed?”
“Last heading indicated a south-east track. We received a message from their agent in Ireland that they’re heading to the Barcelona Metropolitan Zone, sir. Do you want me to mobilize security services in pursuit?”
“No,” Avery hissed. “Why would I want to advertise a covert operation by storming into Spain? How is it Colonel Otsu failed to plan for the very real prospect of treachery?”
“Sir, the colonel had no way of—”
“You are not salaried to make excuses, Mr. Kanang. I expect results for my money. And one minute ago you informed me a significant expenditure had vanished.”
Avery let his words impact on the other end of th
e line before continuing. “I am gravely disappointed in Colonel Otsu’s performance. Inform him he is to stand by until I have further instructions. Do you think you can carry out that task?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Hsiang.”
“Good. I expect this mercenary team’s personnel files to be on my desk when I walk into my office. Everything we have on them.”
Avery cut off the secure line without another word and stared out the Lear’s view port. The shuttle was soaring through lowspace, and at this height, the bright crescent of the rising sun creased the blue black of the horizon, its brightness expanding over the curved earth. It was magnificent, but all Avery could see was his plan unraveling.
His mind was churned. The Director’s Assembly convened six days from now. This one item would unlock his ascent to the height of the Consortium’s leadership. If he brought functioning nanotechnology to the table as a fait accompli, a seat on the Board was virtually guaranteed. Director Hsiang. That thought sent a warm rush through him. He must possess the prototype.
Six days. He still had time, but how to acquire it quickly and quietly, in Barcelona no less? He could order Colonel Otsu and his unit to Asian Pacific’s Trade Legation at the Port Complex, passing them off as a security upgrade. But they were too conspicuous to go searching in the city, and apparently incompetent. No, Avery Hsiang needed guarantees, loyal agents who would execute his orders ruthlessly, without question, and above all, blend in. He stared out the window and cast his mind over the skein of events. Suddenly another strand fell into place. Avery jabbed at the armrest button again.