Chapter Ten
Thirty minutes after takeoff...
Out of Russian airspace, the airplane was currently traversing the Mediterranean towards the designated rendesvous point over the Adriatic sea, where the decoy plane was supposed to meet it, and the switchover was to be attempted – there wasn't much for the plane's passengers to do. Yelena had reported-in to Control, about the missions – seeming – success. In no uncertain terms, Quinn made it clear what a mess was left behind at the airport, a mess that the Russian authorities would take months of exhaustive investigations, to sift through. But – according to first news reports – nobody was certain who was to blame. Given the bodycount involved, and the multiple participants in it, along with a lack of witnesses... the principal objective was met. The cover had remained secure.
The woman thought about the two night-shift personnel on duty, up in the tower.
Lack of witnesses... not quite. Still. They believe I'm a government agent. That should suffice. Probably muddy the issue some more, if they reveal that during questioning.
But things still had to be kept under control. With Irwine out of action for the time being, given his dislocated shoulder and swollen ankle, Yelena was the only one available, to keep an eye on their prisoner, and the pilots. However, the five surviving Tai Yong workers had proven very helpful in that regard, grateful as they were, from – in their words – escape from a future of indentured slavery at their intended destination in South Africa. So much so that Yelena had decided to entrust them with keeping an eye on things. Only one of them had any idea how to use a gun, and that man was posted in the cockpit, keeping a constant eye on the two pilots, to ensure that they didn't try to communicate with anyone not approved by her.
Indentured slavery.
M-hm. That IS how Tai Yong operates.
She thought, remembering the many instances she, or one of the other Tyrants, was charged with escorting... 'hostile acquisitions'... brain drain from whichever company the Chinese corporate giant bought out. And now, after the Incident... the beast just seemed to be gaining in size. That also left a bitter taste in the woman's mouth. Despite the fact Zhao had perished on Panchaea, cutting the head off this particular dragon didn't seem to slow it down much. She heard about Sarif Industries' final fall, as well. So in the end, what they started, was finished. That made the bitter taste stronger. Since she knew all too well, whose interests were ultimately standing behind Tai Yong.
They need to be stopped. Destroyed from within. I used to be under impression that it was a top-heavy arrangement, with that arrogant bitch Zhao holding it together... but the speed of restructuring suggests otherwise. I wonder who is in charge now? A name might give us a data-trail to follow, to... them.
Asking any of the workers yielded no results. They were very much cogs in the machine. Expendable drones to the hive, that was TYM. They knew nothing, beyond what their immediate jobs entailed. The obvious thing to do, was to ask Chow herself... but Yelena had a feeling she wouldn't get a straight answer. Not unless she forced the issue, through enhanced interrogation. And that wasn't part of her mission profile here. Even if it were – she decided to leave that to Quinn and the rest, once the captive was delivered. She wasn't eager to spend any more time in the woman's company then necessary. Else she might actually lose it, and kill her. She acutely remembered Quinn's admonition, and knew that her reliability was also evaluated here.
Paging through the rest of the preliminary news report, on the tablet's screen, the woman set it aside, sinking deeper into the office's leather chair, propping her long legs on the desk. Allowing her eyes to defocus, as she stared through a random spot on the office wall. Listening to the faint, strangely comforting, subdued whine of the plane's engines in flight.
The office, clearly meant to be Audra Chow's personal space during the flight, was cosy and quite richly appointed. On the desk next to her legs, a half-finished glass of wine sat.
"Earth to Yelena, come in?" - Irwine's tone intruded on her thoughts, taking a sip from his own glass, with his good arm. His left shoulder was immobilised in a makeshift brace, made for him by another of the TYM workers, and he was resting comfortably on a couch, off to the side.
The woman stirred, slightly.
"I'm here Irw... just thinking. Trying to connect it all. And failing." - with a sigh, reaching up to idly fondle a strand of her dyed-blonde hair.
As she did, a warning indicator on her HUD momentarily flashed... this one detailing damage to her right elbow's tendons – accompanied by a brief shot of pain. She had sprained that elbow slightly, during her snatch-and-grab of Irwine, down at the landing gear bay. The biorestorative matrix was hard at work on it, but her bioenergy levels, and enzyme stores, were quite depleted, following the demanding mission.
He shook his head.
"Isn't that something for the big-brains back at base, to figure out?" - mirthlessly.
"Probably." - she shrugged, "...but I have spent too long, being a cog in a machine. In a way, not very different from those workers. I was always taught that information equaled power, but all I ever did was follow orders unquestioningly, and brought that information to my masters." - a trace of disgust seeping in.
"We're soldiers. It's a soldier's job to follow orders." - the man reminded her, then continued, before she could say anything, "...as long as they make sense. And not conflict with one's personal principles. There's your clue why I'm not a Marine anymore. And why I gave any PMC's headhunting me, a wide berth." - he laughed.
She smirked, half-closing her deep, dark eyes.
"Smart. Moral principles are something that gets operators killed, in the business. Very quickly. And you are too good for them. Any of them. They want yes men. You aren't one, dear Irw." - she glanced at him again.
"You know what I was? Before... it all? Before it was chosen for me, what to become?" - the smirk fading, into an almost... wistful... expression, looking quite out of place, on that sharp-featured, delicate yet intense, aquiline face.
"A ballerina."
This made Irwine literally almost choke on his wine.
"Excuse me... ? YOU...? A ballerina... ? Well I mean, I'd have pegged you for a competitive gymnast or something but... wow! Like... not that I'm an expert or anything, but... I thought real ballet was pretty much extinct, as a dance form. Now it's all a mix of contemporary styles and pole work."
"Not extinct. Not yet..." - Yelena shook her head, "And pole work has it's place. Especially as a training tool. Nothing builds up your core and static endurance, quite like it! I I was never a gymnast though. Competitive or other. I mean, the two disciplines overlap a lot, so much of what we did could be applied in gymnastics, but that was never a purpose. Dancing was something I enjoyed, since before I even went to school. It's... not easy to remember, but... I think my grandmother enrolled me in my first class." - she fell silent again.
"You miss her, don't you?" - the man asked quietly, picking up on the undertone, and the sharp intake of breath, following her silence.
A single tear slid, from Yelena's right eye.
"Yes." - she admitted softly.
"We were... close. So close. Closer then I was with my parents. I loved visiting her during summer holidays. We spent hours... just walking by the shore, throwing rocks in the sea. Talking. She knew a thousand stories... each more amazing then the last. Myths, legends... magical worlds that would make your head spin...! And at my birthday, she used to make the BEST dumplings you can imagine!" - she giggled, a brief, almost childlike sound.
A spark of... innocence... finding it's way to the surface. A little girl, coming out, ever-so-briefly. It made Irwine choke slightly, himself.
"I am so... so sorry, Yelena." - he whispered, reaching out to grab her hand.
She squeezed it tightly, as a shudder went through her, followed by a keening sound, deep in her throat.
"It never stops, you know. Never. Not when awake. Not in nightmares." - the woman growled, that deep, unquenching sorrow now mixing with equally unquenching fury.
"It shouldn't." - the man whispered, gently. "But it also shouldn't rule your life."
"I know that...! But I can't... help it." - she glared briefly, taking a shuddering breath, "... I can only... shove it aside... for a while. And then... it comes back! That... day. Seeing her – her... and my brother... my little sister-" - she choked off.
Suddenly, she stood up, walking to a window, looking outside at the swirling clouds, and traces of blue beyond. Taking deep, shuddering breaths.
"If I let go, I'll die. If I forgive, I'll die. If I forget, I will kill myself. If I stop... I will fail them. Again." - the woman whispered. Then her expression turned to bottled-up fury mixed with that icy resolve, looking at her reflection, in the window.
"I will never stop. Do you understand? Never. Until I kill them all, or until they kill me, and finish what they started." - she pushed out, slamming a palm to the bulkhead next to the window.
Her thoughts drifted to the late Jaron Namir. A shudder went through her figure, from the pure rage she felt.
"If I could bring him back to life, kill him a thousand times over, it would not be enough. IT WOULD NOT! If I could butcher his family another thousand times over, it would not be enough. IF I COULD KILL ALL OF THEM, A MILLION TIMES OVER, IT WOULD NOT BE ENOUGH!" - she screamed, sinking to her knees, as it finally burst out of her, like a great dam, giving way to a flooded river.
Through all her mental discipline, and conditioning, through all of her determination to keep it bottled in.
"I'll kill them all... ALL OF THEM! Whoever they are... wherever they're hiding, pulling their strings- ALL OF THEM!"
"ALL OF THEM! N-no... matter wh-what it takes! How long it takes me to find them...! They will ALL SUFFER! All of them!"
"Everyone they care about... EVERYONE THEY LOVE... ALL OF THEM! All of them... will p—pay... FOR IT! All their minions, all their puppets, everything they built... ALL OF THEM!"
She cried, and cried, and screamed in pure, raw angst and fury that threatened to tear up her throat, both fists clenched hard enough to draw blood, as she rived on the floor of the office.
Ignoring a sharp spike of pain through his ankle, Irwine scrambled up, and went over to her, firmly embracing her from behind, ignoring a spike of pain through his shoulder, as well.
"LET ME... G-go... LET ME... g...gg- I'll... k-kill th...them all..." - she thrashed, sobbing, but he held her all the tighter.
"I won't." - he said simply, holding her for all it was worth.
"I will never let you go, Yelena. That's a promise." - he whispered gently. Over. And over. And over again.
As he leaned against the bulkhead, he held her in his arms, his right sleeve moist with her tears, for a seeming eternity, as her rage and anguish slowly gave way to exhausted, keening soft sobs. Finally, she fell silent, clutching him tightly. Staring into nothing.
Letting her head rest against his good shoulder, he kissed her hair, relishing her scent. But his eyes betrayed ironclad determination, to be there for her, no matter what. He didn't share the raw hatred and fury that he witnessed here, for the simple reason that he didn't... couldn't... know it. He couldn't understand the depth, of that sorrow. His living family and relatives, thankfully, were safe and sound, under the Sons' protection, and false identities, back in the US. He didn't know how it would feel, to see them all murdered in front of him. He didn't want to know. Or guess.
Or imagine.
But he loved Yelena. And seeing her like this, was heartbreaking. Knowing that she lived with it, every moment of every day, was worse. Suppressed or not. And in a way, the fact she had to suppress it, only made it more horrible. And knowing who did it to her... his own fist clenched.
We'll do it together, my love. Make them pay, together. Whatever it takes. We'll make things right.
Two hours later...
As it always went with Yelena, the moment of emotional vulnerability was gone, replaced by that same utilitarian pragmatism. She sealed it off once more, beneath layers of mental partitioning. Watching her coordinating with the pilot of the other plane, now visible alongside their own, out the cockpit, her tone level and measured, Irwine couldn't fail to appreciate the level of trust she put in him. Opening up to him. Letting her barriers drop.
The switchover proceeded without a hitch, as their plane's transponder signal was seamlessly substituted for the decoy one's, while the reverse took place for the other plane. This high up, and in the middle of a thick cloud layer, in close proximity to each other, the two aircraft were basically indistinguishable on any radars, until they separated.
The two airplanes were visually identical in all respects. Same make, same model, same external paint pattern. Same markings. The Collective had certainly done their homework.
"What happens when you do land at the facility, though? Without the cargo they expect?" - Irwine interrupted, curious.
~"Oh, hey... uh... Irwine, right? Been a while..."~ - clear recognition in the pilot's tone, "...and that's the beauty of it! We're carrying a full platoon of New Sons' troops, and a specialised sapper team. The mission is to raid the site, take all the intel we can get, wipe out the standing Tarvos force there, and all the researchers, then level the facility to the ground! Deny them the site altogether, you know. And they'll never suspect anything, until we're boots on the ground!"
The notion made Yelena grin ear-to-ear, an almost... ecstatic... expression on her face, as Irwine nodded to himself, with a private smirk. It was good to know that his old outfit was involved in this. He didn't recognise the pilot's tone, but clearly it was someone who either served in his unit back then, or was involved on the logistics' side, in one of their operations.
"So it is a joint operation between the Collective and the Sons? I didn't expect L- the boss, to stick his own neck this far out, so soon." - he resisted mentioning Juan Lebedev's name, even on a supposedly short-range burst-channel.
~"Wasn't supposed to be, but when we got wind of it, he was quite insistent we take advantage of the oportunity. I mean, it IS our plane, they just messed up the paint job, and you don't just let a chance like this go to waste. Plus, it'll draw attention away from our operations back home. The Feds are breathing closer and closer down our necks, about the supposed secession-in-planning. We need to throw them a curveball, you know. What better way to do it, then a rogue op on foreign territory? Not that they got any idea what they're talking about, of course..."~ - the other pilot deadpanned.
Irwine smirked to himself. Ever since his reassignment, he wasn't really keeping up to date on the Sons' plans, in that area. But it made sense. The more muddy their real objectives seem to be, the longer it would take for the US federal government to catch on. Working hand-in-hand with the Collective was a big part of that.
"Of course. Tell the boss I said hi." - he chuckled, as the line went dead.
"Secession? So soon?" - Yelena asked, with a smirk of her own, as they headed to the plane's cargo hold, to do a quick inspection on the shipment.
Naturally, the Tyrant files contained information on the New Sons and their projected long-term agenda, and a few of their assignments related directly to curbing their ever-expanding influence. She herself was never the primary, as anything involving the New Sons was headed by Barrett and Hardesty, the two of them being the ones with most relevant experience fighting that particular 'terrorist' group. But she was a part of some of it, either as backup, or recon.
Irwine shrugged.
"That's Lebedev's endgame. Always has been, as far as I know. But I don't think we're quite there yet. Last rumours I heard before getting out of the loop, is that he's got someone new to lay down the framework for a future campaign. An ex-Army general named Leon Woods. Never met the guy, myself, so that's all I know."
They walked into the cargo hold. The canisters were stacked orderly in one corner, all twenty of them, while the containers sat off to the side, stacked atop of each other, in three columns. Yelena approached one of them, then crouched next to it, peering at the label. The Versalife logo was obvious enough, but below it... a text in Chinese script. She understood the language well enough, but reading it, was a different story.
"Infuser... something... maybe?" - she tried to parse it, frowning hard, as she mentally accessed her Datavault, for translation matrices. She had them for several languages, including Simplified Chinese. It didn't work completely, indicating that the label was in Traditional Chinese, but she still got the general gist of it.
"...no. Nanite Infusion... Array... something... something. More or less." - she finished, the frown deepening, as she tussled a strand of hair from her eye, standing up again.
"What do you think that is?" - Irwine asked, over at the nearest stack of canisters, as he removed the protective covering surrounding the cylindrical object, now staring at the blueish-crystalline liquid visible through the mag-sealed transparent sides of it.
"No idea." - Yelena admitted, "...maybe some experimental device used for molecular hardening? Certain types of limb augmentations make use of molecularly-hardened nanoblades. Adam Jensen is equipped with those, I believe. He didn't use them during our confrontation, but I have seen his schematics. And I've seen other applications of it..." - she trailed off, recalling her confrontation with Jenna Thorne, and the woman's forearm-deployed saw-teeth, that she used to good effect, when she assaulted Yelena during a practice session.
It wasn't enough, as onboard weapons relied on the speed, training and skill of the one using them, which the woman was lacking, compared to her, but it certainly was something that Yelena had never seen before. She had a feeling that whatever was in this container, was something similar.
"You know, it could also have something to do with that theoretical augmentation-approach I've read about in Science Today, couple months ago. Nanite-based enhancement? Whatever that'd look like..." - the man suggested dubiously.
But Yelena shook her head.
"I heard about that, but I don't see how. Enhancements rely on a CPU and their own software to work in concert with the user's nerves to get input. That means silicone and circuits, and connective tissue. Unless nanoscale-computers become a reality, there would be no way of controlling a purely nanite-based augmentation framework." - she explained.
With a working knowledge of how her own systems worked, she was familiar enough with the subject, for the purposes of self-maintenance and diagnostic.
"Maybe that's what Versalife research is all about, then? Figuring out a way?" - Irwine stated, still examining the crystal-blue liquid in the canister. For some nameless reason, it made him uneasy.
"We could always ask... her. If we phrase it right - I'm sure she'll spill the beans." - he added, leadingly, glancing back at the woman. A dark smirk dancing on his lips, as he cracked his knuckles.
Yelena scowled darkly, as she moved among the rest of the containers, examining each individual label.
"Oh, I want to ask her, about a lot of things. But I'm under orders to deliver her to Panama, and the contact there, unharmed. I don't think any kind of – direct - interrogation we try, here, will be one that ends up with her unharmed." - turning to walk out of the hold.
"Probably not..." - he nodded reluctantly. But his gaze remained locked on the crystalline-blue liquid, for a moment longer, before he followed suit.