Chapter 10

The boss had, in his various high-profile blood feuds with the most psychotic gangsters in America, learned never to start a rivalry without learning as much as possible about a particular enemy. Philippe Loren and the Morningstar were no exception to this rule. As it turned out, there was a lot more to the Belgian that met the eye.

Before his exodus to America, Loren had headed a particularly vicious Walloon criminal organisation. Nothing as refined as the Morningstar or the Syndicate; they were professional killers, thugs and habitual criminals, with a vicious way of dealing with their enemies that involved sawn-off shotguns and pliers. In the early 1980s, they had made a play for control of the Parisian underworld, which had been a direct affront to the Corsicans and their heroin trade. The feud between the two organisations had quickly become heated, with deaths on each side. By 1985, the Corsican leaders in Ajaccio were promising to name their first born sons after the man who could kill the most members of the Belgian sect, and especially Loren himself. To avoid certain death, he and several of his fellow gang members fled to America. They would form the Morningstar, and then meet up with two powerful wrestlers (who would later become worst enemies) to form the Syndicate. The Corsicans had seen off the challenge, but Loren would always be marked for death.

"I don't think you understand the seriousness of what you're saying," said Tramont. "You must understand that the man who kills, or is responsible for the killing of Philippe Loren will be forever a friend of our people. So much so that if, for example, one of your taxi drivers in Steelport was to accidentally run him down, he would spend the rest of his days on a gigantic estate in the Adriatic, surrounded by Balkan sex slaves."

"I understand," said the boss.

"And if someone were to mislead us about whether or not he killed the Belgian pig, we would not take kindly to it. Not in the least. His death would not be a quick one."

"I know that," said the boss, as Jamal looked around in horror. "I wouldn't make the claim if I hadn't made it 'appen. I done the bastard. Truth."

The Fox studied him carefully. "I will have to verify this. Don't worry; my sources are always correct. If you are telling the truth, I will see you taken back to America in the finest luxury imaginable. This is agreeable to you?"

"Absolutely," said the boss. And they shook on it.

Viola's mood had taken a turn for the worse.

It had been two days since the initial assault on the power plant, and even though she had thrown an incredible force at the much smaller True Saints, they had held the fort. Soon enough, Burns Hill would be sewn up by the enemy, and what then?

Then, she thought, they'll cross over the bridges and grab Safeword out of my hands. Or the Three Count. Before long, they'll be banging on my door.

As these very private thoughts made her face contort into an expression of rage, Kinzie looked at her, concerned. The two of them were alone in the penthouse of the Saints' headquarters.

The tension was broken by Zimos arriving in the elevator. He seemed flustered, uncommonly so for for the usually cucumber-cool pimp. He gave Viola a thumbs up.

"Hello-ladies," he sang. "Viola-the-choppers-are-ready-the-pilots-are-just-gassing-them-up-now."

"Choppers?" asked Kinzie, cautiously. "This is the first I'm gearing. What's going on?"

"This is it, Kinz," said Viola, forcefully. "I thought things were screwed, but if we've got a fleet, we've got a chance. We're going to launch an aerial assault on the power plant and seize the penthouse. They won't stand a chance."

"I think that's a bad idea," Kinzie replied. "Even if a squad of guys managed to take the penthouse, they still have to fight their way down through the building. Capturing the place would be a nightmare."

"That's why it's only the tail end of the plan," said Viola. She paused, as if considering how to phrase her next words. "We're going to have to make sure the building's completely undefended. Thin the numbers and drive everyone upstairs. What I was thinking is that you could get the bridges between Burns Hill and Arapice Island lifted. The zombies will swarm to where there's a lot of people, which means the reactor, eventually."

"You're not serious," said Kinzie, her voice shaking. "That's mass murder. Thousands of people would be eaten alive. Burns Hill would be a dead zone!"

"Kinz-I-know-this-sounds-kinda-extreme-but-we-ain't-got-a-lotta-options," sang Zimos.

"I'm deadly serious, Kinzie," replied Viola. "The other guys kill innocent people all the time. The Saints always have. What makes this any different?"

"The boss was a remorseless killer," said Kinzie, slowly, "but he'd never be as twisted as to do something like this. A quarter of a city. Dead. Deliberately, from one sequence of code."

"Well, I'm your boss now, and this is how I choose to end this feud." Without warning, she pulled a gun from her waist. "But if your conscience is troubling you, then I'll gladly take the pressure away. Open the bridge to Burns Hill, or I'll paint the desk with your brains."

Kinzie, quite defiantly, stood up. But instead of telling Viola to go to hell, she started to pace, the weight of her decision bearing down on her. She mumbled to herself in a voice Viola could not understand, reasoning with herself. Viola let her pace, knowing that if she decided to raise the bridges, she could have what she wanted and keep a good lieutenant. When she stopped, she was on the far side of the room, leaning on the wall.

"I thought going with you would be the best choice, Vi," she said, finally. "I didn't think you were twisted as this, and I thought you were smart. You are twisted, and you're not smart."

"The hell are you talking about?" Viola demanded.

"Well, if you were, you would have seen this coming." She leaned off the wall and Viola saw that she had been pushing the elevator button. The side of the room she had paced to housed the elevator. Its doors opened and before Viola could raise her gun, she had tumbled inside.

The elevator sped towards the basement garage in a matter of seconds. If Viola wasn't so blown away by her subordinate's guile, she would have had the presence of mind to send a message over the intercom to halt the elevator, but she didn't. Luckily, by the time she had collected her thoughts enough to scream her desertion over the intercom, Kinzie was out of the garage, driving away. She wasn't going to participate in something do unthinkable, she would never be able to sleep at night again. No way. When she was far enough away from the Saints' penthouse, she pulled over, took out her phone and accessed Killswitch. It was an app she had designed herself. She pressed a few buttons and a signal was sent to her laptop. Her entire virtual presence would be remotely wiped. All of her files, all of her access codes, they would be gone in an instant. Viola had other hackers that could breach the controls to the Arapice Island bridges, but they were not to her standard, and would take days. In the meantime, she had to warn Shaundi and the others. If Viola did manage to open the bridges, it would be the True Saints, not the police or the army, that would have to fight them off. The sheer lack of response to the siege told her they weren't at all ready for what was happening to the city.

"Come on, Shaundi," she said, softly. "Pick up." But the phone went straight to voicemail. She dialled Pierce and got the same response. They were obviously in one of the parts of the reactor most lined with lead. There was nothing for it; she would have to visit the True Saints in person. She was sure they would appreciate her help - if they didn't shoot her on sight.

She headed to the northwest, wanting to avoid the traffic that usually clustered around the raised bridges to Arapice Island. Traffic was heavy, but she navigated it like a professional. She might have been a computer geek, but she was still a Saint, damnit, or at least in the original sense of the word. Saints ignored the rules of the road, and if a traffic cop didn't like that, then it was too fucking bad.

Kinzie had reached Salander by the time she hit the wall of traffic. It wasn't even rush hour, but the road was totally gridlocked. If she pushed through or even smashed through the last line of cars, she would meet nothing but solid resistance. She swore under her breath, panicking. She hoped she had done enough damage to Viola's plans by blanking her files, but the truth was, some of her hackers could probably crack it within an hour. Viola had recruited some turncoat Deckers, and while they were not a patch on her, they were pretty damn good.

Her thoughts were interrupted by an incredibly loud sound from overhead. She got out of the car, looked up and recoiled in horror. Flying around a hundred feet above the streets of Steelport was a miniature air force. Kinzie counted five helicopters flying in a close formation, with an F69 VTOL in the middle of them. All Viola needed was to play Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries and this would be straight out of Apocalypse Now, with the skyline of Steelport acting as the Vietnamese jungle. The Saints were ready for all out war.

Frantically, Kinzie tried to redial Pierce, Shaundi and Oleg. It was to no avail; all three must have been within the main sector of the plant. That would at least give them an edge over Viola. Whoever was in the penthouse would be swamped, but the Saints would have trouble making their way down.

Sadly, Kinzie was wrong about why none of the others were not answering their phones. They were, in fact, planning their next move from the penthouse, as well as periodically scanning for dangers on the ground. Even Oleg and Matt were there, linking up a new intercom system. Their phones, regrettably, were switched off; Matt had warned them iPhones especially were a cake walk to hack into remotely, and they could be used as eyes and ears for one of Viola's techies.

It was Pierce who saw the ominous procession approach. The choppers and the VTOL blacked out the evening sun for a moment, and cast a shadow on the helipad and balcony as they began to hover. They meant serious business; he saw the thin outlines of high-calibre miniguns on the Eagles and the nib of the VTOL's infamous energy ray.

Shaundi, Oleg and the others joined him in diving behind the nearest piece of upturnable furniture. He shouted loud enough that the rest of the True Saints knew to dive under whatever they could.

The VTOL (that contained Viola) struck first. The beam of energy sprayed forth and cut through the glass of the penthouse wall. A gaping hole was left in it, with the penthouse exposed to the full force of the elements. The defenders inside took the cue to begin firing. Ibrahim and Joey Colerane, one of the other snipers, had still been cradling their sniper rifles even as they sat at the bar, and from their new vantage point behind the couch, they took their shots. Ibrahim's shot took out the pilot of one of the Eagles plain in the head, whereas Joey's hit the tail rotor. The chopper sunk, catching on the round side of the plant's outer structure as it went down. It didn't make much of a dent on the lead structure, but it immediately burst into flames. The other choppers opened fire on the two. Ibrahim managed to dive behind a pillar, but Joey was cut down. He screamed as the minigun rounds ploughed through him, turning him into a mess on the floor.

"We can turn any of you into Swiss cheese," said Viola, her voice broadcasting out of the VTOL. "Throw down your weapons. It's your only option."

Shaundi paused, and her face contorted with panic. "I think she's right! Go on…drop your weapons."

The others did so, reluctantly. Pierce stared daggers at Viola as he put his Desert Eagle on the ground. Shaundi was the last to do so. She put her revolver in front of her. The gang was completely cornered.

"Smart move," said Viola, barely able to control her glee. The VTOL and two choppers landed, and a well-armed group of Saints disembarked. They flanked Viola as they swarmed inside the building and confiscated the guns of their enemies. Two of them grabbed Shaundi and held her by the arms. Pierce leapt at them in rage, but three more restrained him. None of the Saints even tried to restrain Oleg, but they kept him at bay with their shotguns.

"You did well, Shaundi," said Viola, facing off against her nemesis. "For a while. But you're far too stupid to trade blows with me for too long. All of you are." She turned to face the Russian superman who had ten shotguns trained on him. "Except for you, Oleg. No, your problem is misplaced loyalty, not stupidity."

She turned to Matt Miller, who was, embarrassingly, being held by only one soldier. "Matty. You left Steelport to get away from the Saints. Why would you join them now?" He started to speak, but she cut him off. "You know what? I hardly care. That bitch Kinzie turned traitor, so I've got an opening for a techie. The pay's not bad, and you get to live." When he didn't speak, she shrugged. "I'll let you think about it."

She turned to her troops. "Get them out of here, then secure the rest of the building. If anyone gives you any resistance, kill 'em." She grabbed Shaundi by the hair. "You'll ride with me, Shaund. I don't want you wriggling away anywhere." The two Saints escorted the prisoner to the parked VTOL, where she was strapped in to one of the empty seats, unable to move.

Two more guards escorted Pierce and the others, at gunpoint, to one of the helicoptors. Oleg, due to his size, was lead into his own one. Some of the True Saints had surrendered, and were making their way to the top forlornly to join the ranks of those they had only recently shunned. From the sounds over the intercom, the remainders were being swarmed, and were losing. The war, thought Shaundi bitterly as the VTOL took off, was over.