Chapter Twenty
Middle of local night...
Usually, Yelena's sleep cycle was an intermittent period of dreamless black slumber, interspersed with vivid nightmares, and an occassional happy memory that managed to force it's way through her shattered psyche. Tonight, however... sleep eluded her.
She thought about her conversation with Jamella. Her gift to the girl, of the bracelet she was given, four months ago in Panama. It felt – right.
I'm sorry... granny. But rebirth is not something I'm ready for. I tried... but I cannot. She deserves it more then I do. She can forgive. She can stop.
She thought, remembering the old woman's words to her, on the streets of Panama City. Also remembering the ballet dress and tiara she retrieved from her grandmother's home, near Kvariati. Rising from the bed, she padded over to the closet, opening it and taking the keepsakes out. Feeling the delicate, beautifully woven fabric between her fingers, helped focus her. She closed her eyes, trying to conjure her grandmother's kindly face in her mind's eye.
Instead, her mind wandered back to that moment with Irwine in the basement of her granny's home. His claim that it was her work for the Collective, that... looped her back on what she was.
Is he right? Is it the one thing I can't... segment away? Pretend it does not matter?
Pacing back to the bed, she laid down again, staring up at the ceiling. Remembering the exhileration she felt, during the assignment in Mayrhofen. The thrill of combat, the pleasure – no... not pleasure, not anymore... the... satisfaction-
Yes... satisfaction. That's the more apt term now. At least I made that much progress.
-she got from killing those Tarvos mercs, and the delegates. Especially the delegates. They were unarmed, and begging for their life. Assignment or not... she bit her lip.
Halfway there, I suppose. Or am I just lying to myself? Pretending? Denying it? Denying how much I like killing? How much I missed it, for the past four months? Even when – if – I avenge my family, if I kill all those responsible, will it stop? Will it go away? That need. I can keep it in check now. I can be selective. I can restrain it. I know for a fact, that I will never kill anyone I do not see as necessary, or mission-required, again. But the need is still there. The satisfaction, when I do it. It still... hits the spot.
With a sigh, she set aside the dress, and reached for her phone on the nightstand. Oh-three-hundred hours. With great reluctance, she scrolled through the number listings, finding the one belonging to Tiffany Savage. Then she started typing an SMS. She frowned, nearly giving up on the idea.
Counselling... ? Really? Me? What's the use?! I will just get earful after earful of sanctimonious preaching about the need to 'let go'... and she is lying. She did NOT move on! She didn't let go. She did NOT!
She almost put the phone back down. Almost. But then she recalled the face of the old woman in Panama again. Followed by Jamella's. And Irwine's. And lastly, the little boy's, from Detroit. Each telling her variations on the same thing. How she was a 'good person'. How they saw something in her that... that she couldn't see. Finally, she recalled how – empty, self-hating, yet... satisfied - she felt after wiping out Namir's family. And it contradicted itself.
Were they really being – optimistic, or was there something to their claims? She grimaced.
Fine. I'll bite. One session. Maybe – just maybe, a mental health professional can tell me something about myself that I do not know. As absurd as it seems. But FINE. How does the saying go...? 'One should try everything once?' I will try.
With that, she typed a message to Savage, inquiring about the possibility, and sent it. She wouldn't be at all surprised if the woman outright rejected, given their last conversation on the subject, but – at least if that was the case, that would be the end of it.
Eleven hours later, mid-afternoon – fifteen minutes before departure
On her way to the ship's flight deck with Quinn alongside, both of them in full getup, to board the stealth VTOL that would take them to Sankt Peterburg where they would meet and collect their local Bratva entourage, before proceeding to Moscow, Yelena felt the soft vibrations of her phone in the belt satchel. Reaching for it, she saw it was an unread message waiting. It was from Savage.
~I'm glad you reconsidered, miss Cristoff. No hard feelings. And I was far too pushy about it. Let me know when, after your current assignment. I will be away from the Kiss for the next week or so, but we can make arrangements when I return.~
Yelena pursed her lips, letting out a soft sigh through the nose. Savage was professional – remembering to use her new identity across a cell-line. So that was that... she wasn't rejected, and there would be a session. She would actually open up about... her demons... to a psychologist.
What am I getting myself into?
Typing out and sending a quick 'thank you' message, she then shut the phone off and pocketed it again. But the die was cast.
Up on the flight deck, the clear skies and sunshine made her cringe slightly, as usual – thinking of possible satellite surveillance. Yet it felt good, combined with a gentle easternly breeze, as she put on a pair of aviator shades. Sea air definitely agreed with her, more then the continental climate of St. Peterburg.
Past the stairwell near the rear helipad, she saw Irwine and Couture, both clearly wanting to see them off. She smiled slightly at the sight of the young hacker, wearing the bracelet she gave her. She was right – it did look good on Jamella.
"No lengthy well-wishes, I trust? Take it from me, it's as much in Madalyuk's interest as in ours, for this to go smoothly!" - Quinn greeted them both in an elevated voice as they approached, audible over the moderate-whine of the VTOL's landing thrusters on idle.
The older man himself was packing, and decked-out in a Grayscale armour suit of his own. Privately, Yelena was very curious to see how he would handle himself in an engagement, if it came to it. Given his background that she was now privy to – she nodded to herself. Some instincts are never forgotten once absorbed, and she had a feeling 'Quinn' would be a very easy mark to protect, if it came to a firefight. And more then pull his weight in it.
Of course, let us hope it doesn't come to it.
Irwine looked less-then-reassured, however.
"He's not who I'm worried about, sir. I'm more worried about the backup you'll be depending on. And I don't like it. You need someone you can trust." - bluntly, before he nodded off to the side, and craned his good arm, in a 'come forward' gesture.
In some surprise and with a raised eyebrow, Yelena glanced in that direction – to see the sarge, fully decked out as well, come forward. She sighed inwardly. She understood the twin-meaning of the gesture there, that he was both fine with their... interaction, and that he wanted the sargeant out there in his place to watch her back...
"Reporting for duty!" - the man saluted all three of them.
...but it wouldn't work, for a very simple reason.
"Kak vash russkiy, serzhant?" - she asked the man sharply. He blinked, not understanding a word of it, and she grimaced, even as Quinn shook his head to himself in faint amusement, as he addressed Irwine.
"The thought is appreciated, Major, but not feasible. The sargeant here doesn't speak or understand Russian. Nor is he a known associate. His inclusion would raise too many questions, not just from Madalyuk but also our 'friends' in the Bratva. These are very suspicious and paranoid people; for good reason; and only trust established parties. You and the Colonel here were accepted into the fold. Not quickly, or easily. I'm afraid any outside party to this excursion is impossible."
"Look Quinn, if you think I'm gonna trust a bunch of gang thugs to provide sec-" - Irwine countered adamantly, but Yelena stepped in, with a sweet smile, giving him a kiss.
"I'll be fine! I promise! And mister Quinn is in good hands. We will watch each other's back, and our allies have a vested interest in this meeting. Also look at it this way – with members from two rival chapters in the same room, everyone will be too busy eyeing each other to do much else!" - reassuringly.
She knew him well by now, and she knew he wanted badly, to come along and watch her back. And she was touched, by how much he cared. But his injury made it impossible, and he was clearly beating himself up over it.
"And if they DO do something else, you'll be caught in a crossfire..." - the ex-Marine growled with a hard scowl, concern for her radiating from his eyes.
"You need a failsafe!" - Jamella added adamantly, clearly in full agreement with Irwine.
Yelena glanced at Quinn, biting her lip in thought. She couldn't disagree... her own justifiably distrustful and paranoid streak made that impossible. But she also understood the nuances involved.
"What about hunter-killer drones? Do we have any AS-series models in stock?" - she suddenly asked, her mind flashing back to both Mayrhofen, and her experience two years ago in Haifa.
Quinn nodded slowly.
"That could work, possibly... they're designed to operate stealthily and have enough AI capacity to make discretionary decisions on when to intervene based on programmed conditions. But, we would need a localised control centre they can deploy from. The models we do have, AS-17's and a couple of AS-21's, lack the AI alghorythms to operate over long distances, without a set home base."
Jamella rolled her eyes.
"Janus can be a real cheapskate sometimes! Why haven't we sprung for at least AS-27's?" - to which Quinn chuckled.
"Not a question of finances, as much as a question of availability. And H/K drones fall under the UN Ordnance Regulatory Act. Any AS model past 21 is classified as a military, rather then a security drone. Not sold on the open market, even to private security companies."
Yelena nodded to herself. But also waved her hand.
"21's would suffice. I have personal experience being on the receiving end of a swarm of them. Not as intelligent as the later models, but they are still capable of discretionary decision-making. For covert security at a meeting with civilians with likely no advanced scanning methods, they'll do fine. How many do we have?" - glancing at Quinn.
"Two. You're thinking... they should be slaved to my vital signs? A dead man's switch?" - the older man frowned.
Irwine grimaced.
"That's kinda like opening the barn after the horses have burned to death." - to which Yelena nodded in agreement.
"Efficient but redundant, in this situation. We need to-" - she began, but Jamella cut her off excitedly:
"I got an idea! We could slave them to your heartbeat, and program them to activate if the heart rate crosses a certain threshold; say; if you're anxious about an ambush, or expecting an attack, your heart rate would go up. If it goes up high enough, they'd scramble to your location and kill everything that's not you!"
Irwine looked thoughtful, but Yelena shook her head.
"That relies on either of us actually getting anxious to that degree. I would not. I'm used to life-threatening situations. And I was trained specifically to suppress and segment out fear-responses."
"Oh come on! I bet if I popped a balloon behind your back you'd jump just like everyone else!" - the girl rolled her eyes.
The aquiline woman smirked.
"We will need to test that sometime, Jamella. But I would not hold my breath, if I were you!" - slightly teasingly.
Quinn sighed.
"Jokes aside, the Colonel's right. That kind of triggering condition is dependent on the person used on. And too random to be used tactically. We need something more predictable. How about..." - he paused, peering closely at Yelena's eyes. They were natural enough, but the mathematical pattern of her retinae movements betrayed circuitry behind them.
"How about Infolink-triggering? Could we slave a carrier signal to your Infolink, directly connecting you to the drones' receivers? That way, you could remote-activate them and order them subvocally to our location at will." - he suggested.
"Of course!" - Jamella jumped at it, "You two have your private encrypted infolink channel, right?" - she pointed at Irwine and Yelena, "I could link it in, and program the drones to respond to commands through it, and it'd be almost impossible to break the encryption. Even if anyone at the meeting tried to spoof you, the drones would interpret it as an attack, and converge! And if not, you'd have them on-call through your brain, subvocally, when you need 'em!"
Irwine chuckled at Yelena, digging through his pants' pocket with his free hand, to fish out a handheld receiver he always had with him. Then he handed it to Jamella.
"Didn't think I'd ever get replaced by hunks of circuitry and plastic... I feel obsolete!" - to which the cyborg woman shook her head, with a smirk.
"Temporary, love! I would rather have you on overwatch, over a whole squadron of AS's, any day! But we have to make do... and it will be nice to have those things on my side, for a change."
The young hacker examined the device...
"Yeah... this'll do as a template. Gimme about half an hour to program them... but that still leaves how they're gonna be deployed. And someone to monitor the signal, on-site, and make adjustments as needed..." - her eyes lit up.
Quinn shook his head.
"Not a chance, Jamella. You are not a field operative, and I will not have you out there potentially exposed. One of your staff can do it."
"Oh come on! How dangerous can it be? I can handle a gun if I have to, and I'll be safe and sound inside some out-of-the-way basement in Moscow with the things, while you guys have all the fun at the meeting! Besides, none of my guys are field ops either! So I'm as good a pick as any of 'em, to do it! And a better systems tech then all of 'em." - petulantly.
"My point precisely. You're too valuable to risk out there. And-" - before Yelena jumped in.
"Let her do it, Quinn! It will be a reasonably safe field experience for her, and it will do her good to get out of her little den on this ship, for a while." - smiling at the girl.
Geneva, Switzerland, Fairmont Grand Hotel
The opulent penthouse complex on the top floor was tastefully illuminated by a combination of iridescent lighting panels masquerading as ancient-looking chandelliers, and a soft, diffuse flicker of a fireplace in the centre of the grand, fresca-decorated living room, with twin marble fairy dragon statuettes flanking the expansive double-helix stairwell leading up into Beth DuClare's private chambers.
The anachronistic mixture of 18th century grandiosity, and quasi-fantasy decor was in stark contrast to the top of the line security grid permeating the entire place, all of it tastefully integrated into the walls, floors, and ceilings, and ran by it's own AI management software.
On an expensive, sherawood-framed sofa, the regal, gray haired, steely-eyed woman sighed in a mixture of irritation and a trace of unease, reading the latest report from her deep-cover agent in Prague, Delara Auzenne of Task Force 29.
She couldn't confirm who it was, that the Force was dispatched to extradite, following the attack in Mayrhofen. Despite her inquiries and hacking attempts, the after-action report was apparently not even filed, upon their return. Or if it was... some outside party deleted it from the system quickly enough that she couldn't get her hands on it.
All that her mole was able to provide, was the supposed direction of the stopover, before they returned to Prague. It wasn't in the Netherlands, or even anywhere in the region – it was somewhere beyond the Baltic, possibly the Black Sea region. But the specific location was also unavailable, since the VTOL's black box recorder was also apparently tampered with.
No after-action reports. No debriefings. No paper-trail at all. Short of arousing suspicion, and outright asking Miller who it was they picked up, there was no way for her mole to dig up the information. Someone was taking great pains to insure that the latest 'ghost mission' of the TF29, remained exactly that. All highly irregular, of course, but without concrete evidence...
Still, DuClare could read between the lines, as she set the device aside. The level of cyber based information-denial involved, had Janus's fingerprints all over it. The Collective specialised in just this kind of data obfuscation.
Expected. The elusive group of cyber anarchists was nothing if not crafty.
What was unexpected, was the media coverage of the incident. Or rather, the – antagonistic spin on Tarvos involvement, and the lack of it's effectiveness. She knew that Everett was a creature of opportunity, and that media-business in general meant catering to the general perceptions of the public, on a day-to-day basis. On the surface of it all, Tarvos had failed to provide security, and that was what the public saw. She could see how Picus would be interested in going along with it, especially given diminished viewership ratings lately. The gullible sheep had to be appeased, and throwing Tarvos under the bus was one way to do it. But why neglect to implicate the likely culprits? Why no mention of the ARC? Or the Collective, for that matter?
"Madam?" - a servile in a smart-looking tuxedo approached, bowing his head.
"I told everyone not to disturb me this evening. What is it?" - she snapped, glancing at her retainer with the kind of look one might give a cockroach underfoot.
"Now, now, Beth... we both know that the trappings of authority are no excuse not to display a measure of common courtesy to those in our employ, don't we?" - a measured, oily-confident tone in a mixture of French and southern-USA accented English, admonished from behind.
The woman turned, biting her lip in understated nervousness. To invade her privacy unannounced via comms, was one thing, and something that lately was becoming more and more frequent – a not-so-subtle display of dominance, and a reminder of their steadily-cooling rapport... but for the Prima Illuminatus to make a personal, off-Council visit – even given their special relationship...
Almost unconsciously, she tensed-up slightly on the sofa.
"Especially when an old friend finds time in a busy schedule, to drop by for a visit." - Lucius DeBeers added, the graying silver-haired eminence entering the room, gently supporting himself on a tastefully adorned walking cane, made of rare and expensive black ebony wood.
The cordial tone might have fooled someone who did not know the man well... but the glint in his eyes only made Beth DuClare tense further. There was understated menace there, that only someone intimately familiar – which she was – with the man's temperament, would recognise.
This was far from a social visit. And given recent events – and the fact he took the time to drop in on her personally, instead of a communique – this was going to be bad.
"Lucius. To what do I owe this – unexpected - pleasure?" - she managed in a fair imitation of warmth in her voice, as she masked her nervousness well, rising and offering him a courtly hand. The way she slightly emphasised the word, didn't go unnoticed, as his cold smile turned slightly indulgent, taking her hand.
Usually, he made a show of kissing it, sticking to the courtly mannerism that the two normally favoured each other with. This time, he simply grasped it in a perfunctory manner, giving it a not-insubstantial squeeze, enough for the woman to grimace slightly.
"Causes and effects, my dear. Causes and effects. Leave us." - he motioned to the servile, and to his own entourage of augmented bodyguards, to wait outside.
They all bowed slightly and made their way out, closing the doors to the expansive room. Beth motioned to the spirits cabinet against the far corner.
"Gin?" - hoping to at least mollify him slightly, with his favourite choice of beverage.
"For two. The least you can offer, given recent developments. And your lack of foresight in managing them." - he nodded.
"Just mine? Let's not mince words here – the way Morgan handled the media side of it, left something to be desired, to say the least." - the woman protested indignantly, determined to divide the responsibility, as she moved off to the cabinet, and retrieving a delicate bottle with two glasses.
"The masses need their pound of flesh to rip into. For the time being, Tarvos serves that purpose. Something more visible and readily obvious then nebulous terrorist groups that have become so ubiquitous to fall back on, when it comes to assigning blame. Morgan understands that. Too much of the same narrative gets repetitive, even to the sheep." - he countered.
"But that is neither here nor there. Let me be blunt – what the hell were you thinking, having representatives from the WHO at that meeting?! There is a reason we rely on Tai Yong as the middleman, when it comes to negotiating asset acquisitions. That is their express purpose, in fact. Obfuscation of politics from business interests. Something the late miss Zhao understood very well." - he bit out acidly.
"And masquerading them as foreign investors? How long would it have taken for the local forensics team in that backwater town to dig up their true identities, had Morgan not beaten them to it and laid out the facts to the public across the news, before they could do so in a criminal investigation? At least now, the facts are open to public distrust and speculation, as is the case with most mainstream news. As far as damage control goes, Picus did it's job." - he added.
Beth DuClare grit her teeth, but nodded, returning with the glasses, and pouring the crystalline liquid into them.
"I was trying to make our offer to UralPharma a bit more compelling. Especially given the shift in attitude in the Russian government, I felt that more – visible – official backing to the offer, would carry the necessary weight to expedite the acquisition. Had the attack not happened, everything would've gone as planned!" - indignantly.
He shook his head.
"Relying on a best-case scenario is a fool's bargain. You should've anticipated for this contingency, and that is another reason why an intermediary like Tai Yong is the kind of buffer we need. The delay was preferable to raised eyebrows, over the WHO's direct involvement in the negotiations. I warned you, three months ago, that further lapses in judgement would not be tolerated. The only reason you weren't... sanctioned... by now, is Morgan's success in muddying the implications through the lens of mainstream media. You should thank him for it." - he admonished sharply.
"I'll be sure to do so, Lucius." - she hissed, lowering her gaze, feeling her fist clench slightly on the gin bottle, as she drained the glass in her other hand, in one gulp.
"Now. What of TF29? Who was it that they pulled out of there?" - he continued, that piercing gaze still on her.
Beth considered her words carefully.
"My informant traced the stopover to the Black Sea region, following their departure from Austria. No precise destination, and the lack of after-action reports on the attacker's identity, suggests that the Collective had a hand in erasing the evidence. Also, the black box was tampered with, on their return to Prague. She suggests it might have been Jensen himself, or one of his local contacts, who did that." - wording it in such a way to shift as much of the focus away from herself and her informant as possible, and onto external factors.
DeBeers steepled his fingers in front of his chin, deep in thought, then taking a measured sip of his drink. Watching him closely, the woman noticed the sharp edge from his gaze vanishing. She let out an inaudible sigh of relief.
"One wonders if our sleeper did, in fact, eliminate the rogue subject, before we had to cancel him. Or was that simply Janus's manipulation of our perceptions." - the man murmured darkly.
"I never believed that, Lucius. You know that. Especially following the events at the airport. The... utilitarian professionalism... of that operation, even with the apparent setbacks, the seamless capture of Page's little pet, and the nanotech materials... It had Tyrant fingerprints all over it." - the woman pointed out emphatically.
DeBeers leaned back in his chair with a nod.
"The pattern fits, but... I refused to believe it. The Triaxis protocols were time-tested, and vetted-out on many preliminary test samples. She shouldn't have been able to break free, much less willfully defy her loyalty programming." - with a trace of suppressed anger.
"But then, what about the Bratva connection? The fact that our informant inside, was discovered and eliminated, before they could make a positive identification... and that our attempts to trace the hijacked airplane's destination were tampered with... someone else's hand is at work here, covering for her. Both her, and Janus's little gang of anarchists. Someone more... circumspect. This recent sequence of events in Mayrhofen fits the same pattern. This isn't just Janus's work at information denial... it's too airtight. Too – perfect." - narrowing his eyes, as he drained the rest of the gin.
Beth pursed her lips.
"Maybe... but who else is there, with the kind of resources and abilities at their disposal to mislead us like this?"
"Too perfect." - Lucius DeBeers repeated, almost to himself, "...as if whoever did it, had inside knowledge of our preferred methods of information gathering." - his eyes meeting hers.
"Someone on the Council?! You're not suggesting-" - she breathed, with a trace of disbelief, before she cut herself off. Immediately regretting the naivete of it, as he favoured her with another of those damned indulgent smiles.
"Dear Beth, you put too much faith in the purity of our purpose as humanity's stewards, to suppress the base ambitions of our membership. Not everyone is as loyal as you are." - raising a glass to her.
But again, there was no mistaking the twin-edged undertone of the sentence. Nor the glint in his eye, as their glasses met.
"Page?" - she murmured. But DeBeers shook his head.
"He is a coward playing with toys. And he lacks the subtlety for a scheme like this. He has amply proven that, five months ago, with the shipment fiasco. I am not concerned about the enemies I know. He's an enemy I know. Predictable, thus not a threat." - he asserted.
"The enemies I may not know... well. We shall see, shan't we? This is what I want you do, Beth. You will make a public statement, on behalf of the WHO, denouncing the involvement of the organisation in private corporate affairs. Find a few expendable mid-ranking officials, have them dismissed and charged with corruption, as the ones 'responsible' for the initiative of their 'accomplices'." - he paused, taking a sip.
"Mmm. Easy enough. I was meaning to do some house-cleaning for a while. This would be a good pretence to do so." - the steely-eyed woman nodded.
"Meanwhile, I will pull some strings with the IMF, to freeze some of UralPharma's foreign assets. Not all. Enough to put additional pressure on the board, and have our two insiders... gain more credibility in the eyes of the other board members, when we set up another meeting with the TYM. Once they are miraculously rescued, of course, and recount their tale of woe." - the old man finished with a smirk.
"Where are you keeping them, anyway? I would've thought the local authorities would want to debrief them first?" - she was curious.
"Oh, they did. Then our good friends in the Collective did our job for us, and hacked the town's police database, to remove any filed reports. Afterwards, it was a simple matter for our agents to spirit them away to a secure location, and have Morgan spin the story on them still being held hostage." - DeBeers chuckled.
Beth shook her head to herself in amusement. But then another thought occurred to her.
"You do realise that'll likely precipitate another attack? Yevgeni Madalyuk is not the kind of fold under pressure. He is cut from the same cloth as David Sarif, with none of his scruples, to keep him in check. He will double-down, and resort to more extreme means to keep control of his company. Perhaps even assassinating the entire board of directors, and taking full control himself, backed by his Russian underworld contacts. Or just use his reach inside the government, to rewrite the law and nationalise the entire company, especially considering the altered public opinion in Russia lately. We should just remove him directly." - the woman countered.
DeBeers shook his head.
"No! He is expecting that. And you miss the point, Beth. I want him exactly where he is. I want him to throw in deeper with the Collective, and I want him to overreact. He will not jeopardise his position in the government for this, he will want to keep this strictly in the gray area, to avoid his political opponents using it against him. That means Bratva connections, and Collective involvement. I want our unseen enemies to overplay their hand, and attack again." - he paused, expectantly.
"And expose themselves in the process." - DuClare nodded, getting it.