Chapter Thirty-Seven: Karma
2252 Hours, September 30, 2564 (Military Calendar) \
Nemesis III, Omicron Laurentian System
Tethys City, Tethys Region, Terra Firma
Alex Ambrose was in a bad mood. Nothing out of the ordinary with the fact; ever since the failed rescue mission in the Meillan Region he had rarely smiled. He had always been in a default black mood since that time, but now he had tacked on another emotion; severe impatience.
Alex had good reason to be impatient, though. After his interrogation of Archibald Melmot, a senior Inquisitor operating out of Tethys, he had gleaned the whereabouts of a man named Jacob Holtz.
This Jacob Holtz, according to Melmot, had been a part of the team of operatives who kidnapped Robin out of his home in Riverside, New York two months ago, in the beginning of August.
Alex's lip curled thinking about the man. The only reason Melmot had known about Jacob Holtz was because his contact in Shade Branch—a quartermaster named Lorring—had seen a formal complaint lodged by Holtz's superior officer at the time about the man. In that complaint, the commanding officer had spoken of Holtz allegedly physically beating their captive. That complaint was filed by the CO of the men who kidnapped Robin after Robin's abduction; the 'captive' mentioned in the complaint could only refer to Alex's son.
Jacob Holtz had hurt his son. That knowledge burned in Alex's heart like a smoldering ember which would not go out. The Ambroses needed to find Jacob Holtz to find his former commanding officer—a man named O'Riley—and Alex would definitely have more than a few things to say to the man when they finally met.
"Let's go back," the whisper came from Sam. She was sitting in the passenger seat of the civilian warthog which she and Alex had borrowed from Percival Blackmoore ever since their assassination mission in San Anselma. "He's not going to be here."
Alex remained silent, gazing across the street at the apartments rising up into the sky beyond the opposite sidewalk. His black mood returned. These were the Forchester Projects, the place where Melmot had said that Jacob Holtz lived.
The Inquisitor had said that two weeks ago. For every day of those past two weeks Alex and Sam Ambrose had driven to the Forchester Projects, only to find Holtz's home deserted. Though Sam often tried to get Alex to take it easy, Alex was determined to wait as long as necessary for their target. If not for the basic bodily necessities of hunger and thirst, he would have remained rooted to the spot in front of the apartments until the sun darkened.
"Ace," Sam used Alex's old nickname from the war. "He hasn't been here for over two weeks; what makes you think he'll be here tonight?"
"I've got a feeling," was all Alex said in reply.
Sam snorted. "Oh, that solves everything then. You have a feeling…"
"I can't explain it," Alex snapped, shaking his head impatiently and rubbing the curve of his nose. "Ah…hell, you're probably right…" he grumbled, powering up the engine as he spoke.
Fate had other plans for the Ambroses, however.
Just as Alex was beginning to pull the warthog out into the road, a dark black compact hovercar rounded the corner at the end of the block. Traffic at this time of night in Tethys City was highly uncommon, so Alex killed the engine as the car passed. It could very well be a patrol of paladins; driving in front of them in the middle of the night would not do wonders for covertness if that were the case.
Instead of simply speeding past, however, the compact pulled up to a stop in front of the Forchester Projects.
"Are you kidding me?" Sam muttered.
The door of the compact popped open and a man stepped out. The man wore a dark raincoat, even though there was no rain in Tethys tonight. Though it was dark outside right then, Alex and Sam, having augmented retinas, could both clearly discern the man's features. He had a square, brutish face with a large, flat nose, stubble covering his chin, and sunken eyes.
Alex reached into his pocket and drew out the photograph of Jacob Holtz which Blackmoore had provided them with for visual confirmation. The man in the photo was identical to the man closing the compact's door and walking into the apartment's complex's entrance.
"Well if that wasn't a deus ex machina, I don't know what is…" Alex murmured, his mouth curving into a smile. It was not a happy smile, but a cold one; one which did not reach his eyes. He reached down into his jacket and pulled out his silenced magnum, checking the magazine and reloading the sidearm before pocketing it again. "Shall we?"
Sam hesitated, and then nodded wordlessly. She did not want Alex to go down the path of vengeance, but this Holtz man was different; he had phyically hurt Robin. Even if her son had lived, she would still have gone after Holtz when she found out.
Alex and Sam both got out of the warthog and headed across the street, approaching the apartment complex. They walked up to the entrance and pushed open the door, walking inside.
The front lobby was dark and deserted; it obviously had no night receptionist.
"Which one does our man live in?" Alex asked as he headed for the elevator.
"Sixth floor, apartment 13B," Sam answered. "That's what your friend the Inquisitor told you."
The elevator dinged and slid open, allowing the Ambroses to walk inside. Sam pressed the button labeled '6' and the doors slid back closed. The elevator ascended up through the building until it reached the indicated level. It came to a slightly lurching halt and dinged, prompting the doors to slide back open.
The elevator was situated in the middle of a long corridor which ran down before turning deeper into the building. The two sides probably turned again and met in a square, but Alex and Sam did not need to go in far enough to find out.
Apartment 13B was situated nearly all the way down the hallway to the right. The number was engraved in the center of the simple gray door.
"You're sure this is the one?" Alex asked as they approached the door.
Sam gave a grunt to the affirmative, nodding her head.
Alex let out a shaky sigh and gave the door a sharp rap with his knuckles. "Mr. Holtz?"
"Who's that?" a gruff voice called from inside. "What the hell do you want?"
That was all Alex needed. With a deep-throated grunt, the blue-eyed Spartan lashed out at the door with a strong kick, shattering it like a piece of thin plywood. Sam leaped through the wide-open doorway before her husband had a chance to, sprinting down through the small front entrance room and into the apartment's living space.
Jacob Holtz was still in the process of taking off his coat when the door caved in. With a surprised shout, he immediately recovered from his initial surprise and reached into his jacket, pulling out a shiny, loaded pistol.
Sam burst into the living space just as he took aim. She whipped to the side, dodging the first bullet, and moved in close, grabbing Holtz's weapon arm in a vice-like grip. The red-haired Spartan grasped Holtz's gun with her free hand and effortlessly wrenched it out of his grip, turning it and bringing it crashing down on the struggling man's head.
By the time Alex made it into the living room, Holtz was out cold on the floor.
Alex released a weary sigh. "Did you have to knock him out?"
"I didn't hit him very hard," Sam shrugged, grabbing hold of the unconscious man's shoulders and heaving him up to his feet. He looked almost comical, dangling on his own two feet like a marionette as Sam held him up. "He should be awake again in a few minutes."
"Alright…" Alex shed his jacket, tossing it onto one of the couches lining the walls. He quickly ducked into the kitchen and returned with a small, heavy wooden chair in tow. He set the chair down in the center of the room. "Put him in there…let me find some bed sheets or something to restrain him with."
"No need," Sam produced several lengths of steel cord from her own jacket. "I wasn't sure when he'd show up, but I figured we wouldn't be sitting him down nicely on a sofa and engaging in conversation over tea."
"Good thinking."
Sam sat Holtz down in the chair and firmly tied his hands and ankles to the chair's frame and legs respectively. Alex brought out a dishcloth from the kitchen and rolled it up into a gag, feeding it into Holtz's mouth and tying it around the back of his head. That done, Alex and Sam both pulled one of the couches over and around, swiveling it so that they could sit across from Holtz face-to-face.
"And now, we wait," Sam sighed, laying back and stretching her arms up into the air.
"Well you're the one who decided to hit him," Alex grumbled.
Sam, not fazed in the slightest by her husband's foul mood, shrugged. She slid over to Alex and gave him a warm kiss on the cheek. "Better?"
Alex considered it for a second. "Better," he agreed.
Jacob Holtz took half an hour to regain consciousness from the blow Sam had dealt him. He groaned blearily, cracking open his eyes and sitting up. He tried to move before he realized that his limbs were bound. That realization probably was what brought him to full awareness. He jerked awake with a surprised grunt, trying to wrench free from the chair and failing miserably.
His first impulse was to scream, but the gag muffled the attempt. He kept at it for a full minute before Alex finally lost patience.
The blue-eyed Spartan drew out his silenced magnum and aimed it at Holtz's knee. "Keep at it and you'll have a limp until you die," Alex warned the thrashing man in a casual, everyday tone.
Holtz finally calmed down, sitting back and regarding his captors with wide, hostile eyes.
"We're going to remove the gag, Mr. Holtz," Sam stood up and started to untie the dishcloth around the bound man's mouth.
Alex aimed his gun at Holtz's crotch instead. "If you scream when that comes off, you'll be doing a hell of lot more of it."
The dishcloth fell away.
Holtz didn't scream.
Sam sat back down next to Alex. The two Spartans simply stared at Holtz for a full minute before the bound man finally broke the silence. "What the fuck do you want with me?"
Alex's response was pistol-whip across Holtz's mouth. A chip of tooth and several drops of blood flew away from Holtz's face as he grunted at the throbbing pain. He did not scream though, still remembering the consequence for doing so.
"First rule of our little game: speak only when spoken to," Alex explained to Holtz, wiping the blood off of his magnum.
"Do you know who we are, Mr. Holtz?" Sam asked, her tones dangerously quiet.
Holtz automatically tensed. He could recognize that Sam was one of the people who, when speaking softly like that, were best avoided. Too bad he was stuck in the chair. Still…there was something familiar about their voices…and the man…
Holtz studied the man, a feeling of familiarity rising from the depths of his mind. Shorter than his wife, light-brown hair, freckles splashed across his face, smaller nose…what did it for Holtz were the eyes.
Holtz got a good glimpse of Alex's eyes. Harsh, electric-blue; they seemed to pierce right through him.
His mind flashed back two months.
Earth. Riverside, New York. Following Captain O'Riley up to the back door of the innocent suburban house.
Slipping in through the doorway, stepping on bad spot in the floor, resulting in an almost deafening creak.
Silently climbing the stairs. Captain O'Riley gesturing for half the squad to get back down to the ground floor.
Approaching the bedroom door, following Captain O'Riley and Pacelle inside.
The eleven-year-old, sandy-haired boy sleeping in the bed. Quickly grabbing and pinning his arms with Pacelle while Captain O'Riley sedates the boy.
The bedroom door flying open, a silhouette in the doorway, clad only in underwear.
Captain O'Riley hurling a stun grenade, a blinding flash, the silhouette illuminated for a split-second. Harsh, electric-blue eyes…
"You…" was all Holtz was able to say.
Alex knew that Holtz truly recognized him. His cold, unfeeling smile returned, casting a shadow over the rest of his face. "It's been two months, Mr. Holtz; I was afraid you wouldn't remember."
"Hey, look-"
"You hurt my son, Mr. Holtz," Alex whispered, his voice entering the dangerously soft area Sam's had dropped into. "You hurt my son."
A chill crept up Holtz's spine. He remembered that eleven-year-old child had said that his parents would hunt him down one day. He had taken it as an empty threat then, but now... "Alright, yeah, I was there when we took him, and yeah, I roughed him up a bit in our safehouse in Philadelphia, but…but…look, you had to have come here for another reason."
"He learns fast," Sam quipped, her eyes almost as cold as her husband's.
"We'll see. Mr. Holtz, I need information from you. If you answer what I ask you, I'll let you go and we'll get out of your hair. You'll never see or hear from me again," Alex assured the man.
Holtz leapt at the lifeline. "Anything! Anything you need, just-"
Sam pulled out her own magnum, took aim, and fired. The round tore into the chair's seat, blowing a hole in the wood less than an inch away from Holtz's family jewels. That shut him up real fast.
"You're rambling," the red-haired Spartan sighed, pocketing her weapon. "That is another one of our rules; no rambling. Answer our questions, nothing more."
Holtz remained silent, probably the wisest thing he had chosen to do so far.
"Now then, down to business," Alex lowered his magnum and leaned forward, looking straight into Holtz's eyes. "I want to know who your commanding officer was during your abduction mission. I want to know who he is and everything you know about him."
Holtz was relieved. "That's all?"
"That's all."
Holtz wasted no more time. "His name is O'Riley. Captain Liam Cathal O'Riley. No…not captain…he's the Deputy Director now…uh… Well, he's been in Shade Branch for over ten years, maybe twenty…he grew up on the world of Hyndareus, was indoctrinated at ten years old…"
"I don't need his life story," Alex snapped, his contempt breaking through his previously calm exterior. "I need his whereabouts. What he's been doing lately. Where he is going."
"I don't know…no, wait!" Holtz quickly amended himself as Alex began to raise his magnum. "Wait! He used to be stationed at the Cruciamentum in Mire City…then it got blown up somehow. He's been operating here out of Tethys City, trying to hunt down the Illuminati. He mentioned something about having a lead right after the last Conclave of War, hopped into a pelican, and flew off. No one's heard from him since."
"How could we find out where he went?" Sam asked next.
"If you could gain access to a Magisterial satellite in orbit, you could probably sift through its visual records and track it, provided you knew the pelican's registration number, which you could find in the Archives."
Alex considered the whole thing. Going back to the Archives and hijacking a satellite seemed to be a large amount of unnecessary work when he already knew where O'Riley had gone. Sooner or later, the Illuminati would contact him; Blackmoore had told him as much. Once that happened, he would find O'Riley one way or another.
He would have his vengeance. Maybe he would have it later instead of sooner, but he would have it.
In the meantime…
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Holtz; you have been most helpful," Alex stood up, raising his magnum and taking aim.
"Wh-what?" Holtz spluttered, finding himself staring down the barrel of Alex's weapon. "What are you doing?! You said if I answered your questions that you would let me-"
Alex squeezed the trigger. The magnum coughed, spitting a round out of the chamber, down the barrel, and into Holtz's skull. Holtz, a neat hole right between his eyes, was dead before the discharge even registered in his brain. His head flopped back in a spray of red and his body sagged, held up only by the bonds.
"I lied," the blue-eyed Spartan said to Holtz emotionlessly, even though the dead man could no longer hear him.
"Come on," Sam said, standing up and heading for the door. "We don't want to be anywhere near here when the authorities discover him."
Alex nodded and followed his wife back out into the hallway. The Ambroses took the elevator back down to the ground floor and left the Forchester Projects, climbing back into their warthog.
Alex powered up the engine and hit the power pedal, propelling the vehicle out onto the road. He turned down the first avenue to come up, heading back towards the abandoned pawnshop where he and Sam had taken up temporary residence during their stay in Tethys City.
The drive back to their base of operations took fifteen minutes. Normally it would have taken more than forty, but there was absolutely no traffic or activity outside at this time of night, allowing for a straight shot home without any obstacles.
Alex pulled the warthog up in front of the abandoned pawnshop and killed the engine. He and Sam climbed out of the vehicle and headed over to the pawnshop's entrance. A light rain had started up, layering the streets of Tethys with rainwater. There was no breeze, though, so the mild autumn night remained mild.
Alex pushed open the door and flicked on the lights…and then jumped in surprise upon seeing the figure sitting at the counter.
"Who the hell are you?!" Sam exclaimed as the door closed behind her, the ancient bell set on its top jingling as it was agitated.
The figure stood up and turned. He was an old, scruffy man, dressed in a tattered black greatcoat and an old black fisherman's hat. With a start, Alex and Sam recognized him: he was the old homeless man who they had run into on their first day in Tethys. He had been sitting on the sidewalk near this pawnshop. He had pointed out John Mansfield, one of Blackmoore's lieutenants, and had planted the idea of using Blackmoore to find the Illuminati into their minds.
"Nice night for a walk," the old man brushed past Sam, pressing a folded piece of paper into her hand. "Appearances can be deceiving," the old man added, opening the door. "Things are happening…strange things…potentially bad things…things are not as they seem. We will have good news for you, should you choose to meet us halfway."
With that, before either Alex or Sam could stop him, the old man was out the door and gone.
"What the hell was that all about?" Alex spoke his mind.
Sam shrugged. "Might as well take a look," she murmured, grabbing the piece of paper the old man had given to her. She unfolded it.
The paper was older and yellowed, but the message was clearly legible.
Things are not as they seem. Trouble can exist everywhere…even in those places where one would think it impossible to penetrate. You can trust this messenger. You do not know me, but I know you. My name is Gerald, and we have to talk. Urgently. Meet me on Dalchester Street, 1600th block, inside the café there at 9:00 p.m. I cannot meet you tomorrow; I will arrange to have a signal sent to you on the day when I am ready. Make sure you are not followed.
Sam read the note aloud. "What's this?" she pointed to something else on the paper; a symbol of sorts, situated just below the last sentence.
Alex leaned in and studied the mark. It was a pyramid without a peak. Above the unfinished pyramid was a shining triangle, exactly the right size to be the pyramid's peak, but it wasn't the peak; it was independent. Right in the middle of that triangle was a human eye.
"The All-Seeing Eye…" Alex murmured, recognizing the symbol from several obscure times in his past. He paused, remembering what that symbol was commonly associated with, and then smiled. This smile was a real one; he was truly excited.
"What is it?" Sam asked, not following her husband's reaction.
"Honey, I think we just made ourselves a date with the Illuminati."