Chapter Six
In the flickering streetlight, the hard, cruel faces of three men could be seen, standing next to a black, luxury SUV. Two were clad in dark-gray business suits, doing an incomplete job of covering their well-muscled, tattooed bodies, while a third one had a modified variant of it, missing one sleeve. One was tall, with a sword-and-cross tattoo sticking past his collarline, up to his right ear. Another, a bit shorter but thicker, had a vicious scar, stretching from just above his chin, across the left side of his mouth, diagonally across the left cheek up to his left ear, the lower half of which was missing. The third one had one eye replaced with a bionic implant, while his right, sleeveless arm was a heavy-duty cybernetic limb, with claws instead of fingers, looking strong enough to crush rocks.
Two natural ones, were armed with shotguns, while the augmented one held a TMP in a one-handed grip, in his human hand. All three were keeping an alert eye on their surroundings, an abandoned yard in front of the factory, strewn-about with discarded equipment, a few pieces of heavy machinery, and a large shadow the factory itself, looming just beyond.
Moonlight was just barely managing to pierce the thick cloud cover above, so most of the illumination was coming from the flickering streetlights itself, and some spillage from another one, about fifteen metres down the street.
"Privet, bratany." - a calm female tone echoed, coming from just behind the tallest of the three.
All three jumped slightly, and spun around, fingers tensing briefly on the triggers, as the tall, statuesque, black-on-green clad figure of Yelena decloaked, in a static charged mirror-like effect. She stood taller then all three of them, but one could almost compare the diametre of of the scarred one's biceps, with her waist. She was still as a statue, even as the tallest of the three scowled hard, shifting his weight slightly, in understated nervousness.
"Ty prosish', chtoby tebya rasstrelyali, suka... i odnazhdy eto sluchitsya, yesli ty prodolzhish' tak krast'sya." - he growled in annoyance.
Yelena's expression didn't change.
"Navyki nuzhno praktikovat' ili poteryat', Bohar. Nadeyus', vy ne slishkom dolgo zhdali? A kto tvoy drug? YA dumal, vy s Vaney priyedete odni." - eyeing the augmented one with some suspicion.
"Prislal boss v kachestve strakhovki. Na vsyakiy sluchay, yesli vy dumayete sdelat' chto-to glupoye." - that one snapped.
His cybernetic clawed arm suddenly made an ominous 'snip' sound, the opposing claws snapping closed like a pair of hydraulic-powered garden-shears, looking like it could snap a steel beam in half.
Yelena made a mental note of it. She had no doubt that she could lose an arm, or have her throat crushed, if it ever got caught in there. But the man's speed with it, left a lot to be desired. She peered closely at the markings on the limb – it was one of the mid-spec Kusangi Corp construction-grade limbs. Not bottom-shelf, by any means, but certainly not anything special. It was very much a brute-force tool, and she imagined it had seen a lot of arm-twisting action, likely literally, given whose property it was. Maiming and mutilation was standard practice for the Bratva, when it came to interrogations and making examples of people. And this guy seemed to be... custom-enhanced for the job.
"Simpatichnaya igrushka. K schast'yu dlya menya, u tebya nikogda ne budet vozmozhnosti yego ispol'zovat'." - she purred, giving him a challenging look. If he wanted to test her, she was game. All the while, she remained completely still, hands clasped lightly behind her back, as the man's face darkened. He shifted his weight, eyeing her...
Statue-like stillness.
It was one of Yelena Fedorova's favourite ploys. She rarely ever moved, until it was necessary. A way to obfuscate her speed, as well as keep the potential threat guessing, on what she planned to do. Many people telegraphed their intentions, even without realising it. A twitch of an arm here, a shift in weight there. Minor, but telling signs. To her eyes, trained in reading body language, each movement observed was like a spotlight, pointing to what they were likely to do. And she took care not to give the same opportunity, to anyone else.
Not to mention, oftentimes people mistook that stillness, for rigidity. Thinking she wouldn't be able to react fluidly. As far as she was concerned, the longer they thought like that, the better.
Which is why it came as no surprise, as he suddenly launched that clawed hand of his forward, reaching for her throat. She leaned slightly back, the claws snapping shut milimetres in front, as she gripped the wrist and pulled on it, simultaneously letting herself drop down to her back, while her powerful right leg shot upward, right knee impaling itself into the man's gut... both knocking the air out of him, and adding to his momentum, sending him over her, to land hard on his face, as she kipped lightly back to her pointed feet, turning to face him in a smooth motion. With a growl of rage mixed with pain, he picked himself up, turning around, an expression of indignant outrage on his face.
"Khvatit der'ma...! Vy odna, Fedorova?" - Boher, the tallest one, snapped impatiently, stepping in between them.
"Konechno. Vrode dogovorilis'. Kogda priyedet tvoy boss?" - she replied smoothly, her expression back to neutral. The augmented one behind, looked a touch more pacified, but she could practically smell the indignation, coming off of him.
M-hm. He's one of those insecure types that can't stand a woman beating him. Fun!
She thought, hiding a smirk. She liked those types. Bruising fragile male egos never got old, recalling how many times she floored Hardesty, during sparring sessions. They had never liked each other, the late Tyrant sharpshooter, and her. She considered him an arrogant, condescending waste of space, while he saw her as unfit to be a part of the Tyrants, given the fact she didn't come from a military background. Time and again, Yelena made it a point to humiliate him. Especially in front of the others.
She glanced at Vanya, the thick and strong one, with a scar. He remained stone-faced, regarding her evenly, but with a strange glint in his eyes, as they swallowed her statuesque figure. The bulge in his pants was telling, too. No surprise there. Ever since first meeting him, she was getting the 'rapist' vibes off of him. As far as that notion went, it only amused her.
Probably the only way he can get any, with THAT face... still. Given the size of that bulge – I wonder if what he's packing is worth it... ?
No wonder why Boher was the one in charge. He was certainly the most level-headed of the three. But also the most dangerous, as a result.
"Skoro. Posle togo, kak my ubedimsya, chto ty govorish' pravdu." - the tall man replied coldly, then snapped his fingers at Vanya. That man nodded, stepping back to the vehicle. He opened the back door, and brought out a handheld scanner.
Yelena recognised a thermal-imaging scanner when she saw one.
~"Irwine, ice protocol. Now."~ - she contacted her backup voicelessly, via Infolink.
High above the yard, tucked within one of the alcoves lining the upper scaffolding of the defunct plant, a prone figure in greyish-black urban camo combat armour, nodded to himself, pressing a couple of buttons on his wrist computer.
The armour was one of the Greyscale Z series models, it's outer layer capable of thermomimetic operation modes, meant to counter thermal-imaging scans. It could match the temperature of the surrounding objects and structures, effectively masking the thermal signature of the person wearing it. At closer ranges it was less effective, as it wasn't a fully-sealed suit, allowing some spillage past it, but at the range he was at – the man very much doubted a handheld thermal imaging scanner would be able to defeat it.
He didn't take his attention off the group below, any longer then he had to, his gaze slightly narrowed, through the Whisperhead's scope. Moments ago, when that augmented guy made a lunge at her, he had to make a heroic effort at restraint, not to squeeze off a shot. To say that he didn't feel comfortable, with her down there, surrounded by those three thugs, was an understatement.
Get a grip! She's a big girl, she can handle herself...
He reminded himself sternly, having observed the casual, practiced way in which she handled the attack. But he couldn't help it. He was very glad indeed, that he was up here, keeping overwatch.
"Nishta." – Vanya reported, after giving the entire area two complete thermal sweeps.
Boher nodded, then moved off a dozen meters to the side, pulling out his phone. He spoke a few words that Yelena couldn't make out, even with her cochlear implants. She suspected that was deliberate.
"Khoroshaya bronya. Nikogda ran'she ne videl tebya v etom..." - Vanya commented, still doing a very poor job hiding that suppressed lust in his gaze.
"Slishkom krichashchiy." - she replied.
Walking back, Boher nodded again.
"On idet."
A few minutes later, a pair of headlights appeared at the end of the street, slowly approaching. They resolved themselves into a surprisingly nondescreipt-looking compact hatchback, one of the lower-end Motokun models. Yelena raised an eyebrow at that. When it comes to people in power, one could learn a lot immediately, just by their choice of vehicle.
So he doesn't believe in showing off. Meantime, his underlings drive around in luxury SUVs... very, very clever. Keep attention away from yourself. And no ego to stroke...
She kept her poker-face, as the car pulled over, next to the SUV. A single occupant emerged. A relatively average-build, somewhat lanky fellow in his late forties, dressed in a simple leather jacket and jeans, with a mop of ruddy brown hair and a rather melancholy blue gaze. Both his hands were augmented, from the elbow downwards, covered by the long sleeves of his leather jacket.
At first glance, the man certainly didn't exude a menacing aura. But only at first glance. Yelena wasn't fooled by the melancholy gaze or the homely countenance. The way he moved as he walked over... the patient aspect of that gaze...
"Zdravstvuyte uvazhayemaya Yelena. Mozhesh' zvat menya Igor'. Vy prostite povyshennyye mery bezopasnosti, no, pokhozhe, nas i ran'she dezinformirovali o vas. Kak moy khoroshiy drug Seyad?" - he asked, extending a hand in a very courtly manner.
Yelena took it, taking notice of the texture of his cybernetic hand, as she did. It was warm, and had a distinctly ribbed feel. One of the high-end models, for sure, that tried to emulate natural feeling. His grip was measured. No attempt to project dominance. She was definitely right about the 'no ego to stroke' aspect.
But the trick-question was telling. As one of Seyad Morumba's business partners, the man must have known he was dead. A simple trick to throw her off track, and expose a lie, if she tried to make up a story. She was briefed back at the outpost, that any details regarding her supposed assignment have already been transmitted to her new 'employer', and that all she had to do, to keep up appearances, is to be honest. She appreciated that approach. Dissembling really wasn't her strong suit.
"Mertvyy. Posledniy raz proveryal, Igor." - she replied glibly. All three thugs tensed at that, but the man chuckled.
"Da. On proizvel slishkom mnogo shuma, kotoryy byl zaglushen. Pogulyay so mnoy..." - he motioned with his right hand, down the street.
The two paced slowly, the three thugs falling in step behind, as Yelena was gradually brought up to speed, on the depth of Bratva's involvement in a secret smuggling operation, of highly classified biogenic material, from a Tai Yong affiliated source in China, to a secret facility in South Africa. The latest shipment, scheduled for this week, was apparently in danger of being intercepted by elements of the South African Liberation Front, the very movement Seyad Morumba was once the head of. Her inaugural assignment, would be to ensure the shipment's security, by eliminating the Front's assault squad already in position, at Sankt Peterburg International Airport, ready to seize the plane with the material, once it takes off for South Africa. She was to thwart that attempt, and ensure the plane landed where it was supposed to. While Igor described the recipients as 'business partners', it didn't take much intuition on Yelena's part to guess that it would be some kind of shell company, for the Illuminati.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave...
The woman couldn't help but mentally shake her head. Here she was, ostensibly a one-time Morumba's associate, contracted by his so called 'friends' in the Russian mafia – who turned out to be anything but, to prevent her former ersatz 'employer's' people from seizing a shipment bound to her former masters.
And as if things weren't convoluted enough already, a new voice spoke, through her Infolink:
~"Mantis, this is control. Additional objectives forthcoming: Once aboard the plane, you are to assist the Front in taking it over. Intel suggests heavy Tarvos Security resistance aboard. Play the part for now, make the Bratva trust you. Prevent Tarvos from getting any reports out, once the assault begins. We have already made arrangements to dispatch a decoy plane, to substitute for the one with the shipment, mid flight, along with a satellite-spoof protocol to prevent the switchover from showing up, and a fake ID transponder. The shipment plane will be diverted to land, at our facility in Panama. Another of our contacts will meet you there, to take over."~
Her mental partitioning coming into play, Yelena did an admirable job, remaining fully attentive to the mission details Igor was relating to her, without showing any outward reaction to this new information.
Inward, however, she felt – challenged. This could go wrong in several different ways. Completing the objective, while maintaining the appearance of completing a diametrically opposed one. Out loud, she only asked...
"Ponyal. Kogda prizemlitsya samolet?" - subtly coming to a stop, halfway down the street.
"Eto uzhe yest'. Gruz pribudet kontinental'nym poyezdom, prezhde chem gruzoviki dostavyat yego v aeroport. Skoreye vsego rano utrom." - Igor replied, with a nod.
It was clearly a dismissal. She nodded back, about to turn a corner, maintaining a good pretense of heading in the general direction of her hideout, before the man's voice behind her called, softly.
"Dokazhi svoyu vernost', Yelena, i na tvoyem puti budet mnogo khoroshego. Bol'she, chem ty kogda-libo imel, rabotaya na moyego... khoroshego druga."
She didn't answer, vanishing around the street corner. As soon as she did, she cloaked, then doubled back, heading into the abandoned coal plant, on her way to the roof.
~"Mantis. Request extraction. And a layout of the airport."~ - she contacted control, then switched channels, to her private one with Irwine.
~"Irwine, did you get all that?"~
Up on his vantage point, the man scowled.
"What control said. That's crazy! They want you to go in alone?!" - the man hissed in his private commlink.
~"Nothing personal. You're not equipped to join me on this one, and they know it. You would need a cloaking system of your own, not to mention certain other implants I think will come useful, if this double-bluff is to be sold properly. But I have another task for you. The Bratva boss said that the shipment will be arriving by train, sometime before morning, before it is loaded on the trucks and taken to the airport. I want you to stake out the train station and let me know the moment they arrive."- - came Yelena's reply.
"Intel gathering?" - he asked.
~"Yes. I'm talking about details. Number of henchmen, their armament, any technology; drones, bots, types of trucks that come to pick it up. I am especially interested if you see any... operatives... involved. If this shipment is as important as they claim, there could be some, and I am supposed to be their backup. I think there is a lot my... new employer... didn't tell me."~ - she explained.
"Got it. So... what's your take on the guy?" - Irwine was curious.
~"Smooth. Confident. Understated. Not hindered by his ego. Did you see the car he came in? Almost... humble. In very sneaky, underhanded way. In a word – dangerous. Not your typical blustering gangster. I don't like him. I don't like men I cannot predict. He is one."~ - she was honest.
Irwine had to laugh at that.
"So you feel more at ease around those meatheads, then their boss, because he's too much like you, keepin' his cards close to his chest?"
The woman's musical laughter came back.
~"Meatheads... are predictable, dear Irw. And after seven years of dealing with overloads of testosterone, in the Tyrants, I like predictability. It is a static variable I can always work with. This man, Igor... has no such variable. You are correct – like me, in a way. And I don't like people like me." - she turned serious, "... they are dangerous."~
He shook his head in amusement.
"At least now you know what's it like to deal with you, every day!" - teasingly.
He could almost hear her petulant glare, over the Infolink, as he added:
"But, you're hotter then him! So take comfort in that... I'll be in touch when I get to the train station." - closing the link.
On approach to the airport...
~Attention. Drop in ten.~
She liked it. A lot. Diving headlong into the abyss. As far as she was concerned, the higher the drop, the more fun it was! Yelena always made it a point to do it head-first, in a stylised imitation of a competitive-jump into the pool. She enjoyed the sensation of the ground below, rushing in at her, as she extended her arms into a point, her legs trailing behind like a shaft of a spear, taking full advantage of the gyroscopic stabilisers she was equipped with, making as aerodynamic a profile as possible, picking up incredible speeds, well above the human form's terminal velocity. The new thermoptic armour she was wearing, only aided in it, as it was less bulky then either her original suit, or the flak vest. She had a feeling she would grow to LOVE it!
Of course, she knew that if she ever actually hit the ground at those speeds – there would be nothing left of her, but a pancaked mush of flesh, augmentations, and bone.
It would be a beautiful way to go, though. More so, if I kill someone I hate, on landing. A human ballistic missile!
Was her fleeting thought, as she almost smiled, biting her lower lip in sudden... arousal... before she caught herself, with an inward sigh. Some things just... never changed. Her nihilism was one of them. Still, to fear death, was a weakness. To invite it, was foolish. To venerate it... was something she had grown – undecided on, during the past three months.
So many people fear that which they cannot influence. Just flow with it...
Her HUD altitude-indicator showed 150 meters before ground-impact, before she gracefully flipped in midair, stretching her arms sideways, palms splayed downward, a ballet posture... her long, hyperextended legs poised to absorb the impact of landing, as she triggered the electrodynamic landing array. A sparkle of interlocking magnetic fields danced around her, as her speed dropped sharply.
She hit the ground at a shallow angle, her velocity still well above that which most manuals would consider remotely 'safe', as she entered seamlessly into a roll, to shed impact-energy. The world spun around her, as she effortlessly controlled her roll, gradually slowing, before she ended up back on her feet, in a half-crouch posture, drawing both pistols in the same motion.
Finding herself next to one of the outlying maintenance buildings, within the airport perimeter, she cloaked, then rapidly sprinted across, from it, to what looked like a locked service door, into the main terminal. This late at night, she expected the airport to be mostly empty, since night-flights were not common lately. Not since the Incident.
Once next to the door, she took a look around, before decloaking, and examining the lock. It was one of those mechanical ones, requiring a key. For a long pair of moments, she remained still, listening hard. Then she holstered the pistols, pulling out a pair of mechanical lockpicks from her belt satchel.
Picking the relatively simple lock took less then half a minute, before she was through the door. Closing and locking it again, she again paused, listening hard. This time, her cochlear implants began picking up faint sonic transducer activity.
Bots on patrol. Maintenance of security... probably some of both.
She jogged down a narrow utility tunnel, her hoove-like toes making very faint clicking sounds on each step, before reaching a flight of stairs, going up. She was midway up, before someone came walking around the corner above, heading down. In a fleeting moment, she cloaked.
"Kakogo cherta..." - the maintenance tech began, catching just a glimpse of a strange – shimmer in the air, moving towards him – before Yelena's metallic foot caught him below the left hinge of his jaw, in a crisp, yet carefully measured snap-kick. The fact that she could kick up the stairs, with her target on a higher elevation, spoke volumes of the woman's flexibility, and the reach of those long cybernetic legs.
With only a grunt, he collapsed, knocked out, about to fall down the stairs. She caught him, and dragged him back down, into a side-room, then took a minute to tie and gag him, with some extension cables lying around in there, then locked the room. He would be fine in there, for the night.
This would be easier with a stun-gun... but what's the point? If they are close enough for it to be effective, I can just knock them out myself. If not...
In less then a minute, she was back atop the stairwell. This time she kept the cloak on, as she turned another corner – finding herself inside a vision-cone of an intellicam, positioned high up on the ceiling. Confident that the device could not penetrate her cloak, she moved on, before consulting the map she was provided for, in her datavault. From it, she deduced she should be right below one of the security hubs. Tempting as it was to infiltrate it, and attempt to shut down all the cameras in the terminal, someone would notice it before too long. And she had no idea where the plane actually was.
I need to get to the tower, and find the departures manifest.
Now inside the terminal's public areas, the woman remained cloaked, even when out of sight of the cameras or the occassional police officer patrolling. She didn't want anyone to see her. Not civilians, not anyone, until she found the elevator to the tower. Keeping an eye on her energy pool, she was satisfied that the new armour was indeed doing a good job, optimising her cloak. If anything, by her estimate, it had an even higher autonomy then her original thermoptic suit.
Crossing the busy arrivals/departures area, she went further upstairs, to the staff offices. The population dropped sharply, with employees and an occassional bot making an appearance here and there, but no civilians. Suddenly however, she heard a faint, telltale sound of staccato beeps, at regular intervals, in the adjoining hallway. Well below the human hearing threshold, but her cochlear implants had no problem picking them up.
EM-scanner! Oh, joy. But that must be the way to the tower elevator. Why else would they need added security like that?
So she couldn't simply cloak-past it. The device was designed to pick up electromagnetic fluctuations, and her cloaking field would show up instantly. She also very much doubted the control panel for it would be found in any of the public-level security hubs. If she could identify it visually, she might be able to interface with it remotely, and get it to go into maintenance-mode for a short time, allowing her to slip through... but that still left the problem of finding it. By the time she did, she would likely have already been detected.
Finding a secluded spot in one of the empty offices, she locked the door, then contacted her control.
~"Mantis. I believe I have found an elevator to the tower, but the way is monitored by an EM-scanner. I need one of your much-hyped hackers, to bypass it."~ - she subvocally reported in.
There was a lengthy pause on the other end, before a well-remembered voice manifested itself in her mind. That of Jamella Couture.
~"So, you need help? Tell me it ain't so... the high and mighty grade-A cyberbitch can't do it all on her own. Tell me again why didn't we just pull the plug on you, back there in the middle of nowhere?"~ - sarcasm mixed with latent rage very clear in that tone.
Yelena rolled her eyes, with a sigh. Now was NOT the time!
~"You could have, remember? And you could do it right now. The phrase does work subvocally. Or you could stop wasting time! If I thought you would accept an apology from me, I would have given you one. I can't take back what I did to your brother. If I could, I would. Nor do I expect forgiveness. I don't deserve it. What I CAN do, is prove that you made the right choice in letting me live. Now please, bypass that scanner so I can do my job."~ - earnestly.
Another pause. Then the young woman's tone came back... vacillating.
~"Yeah... fine. Gimme a minute. Better be in position by the time it's off – unless that's too much to ask?"~ - in a petulant hiss.
~"It is not. I'll sense it. And thanks."~ - Yelena countered evenly, closing the link, with another sigh.
But she couldn't blame the young woman, for her attitude. Far from it. Still, she couldn't help but think that assigning Couture as her tech-support may not have been the best idea on the part of the Collective. Unless it was Quinn's not-so-subtle way of encouraging the two of them to move past it.
M-hm. I DO like that guy.