Chapter Seventeen
Hong Kong, beneath the VersaLife building...
"She's less predictable then anticipated." - Page murmured, studying a field report from the MJ12 contact embedded in the Mayrhofen police department. It was too much to hope that their – assistance – would be accepted readily.
"Or she has trust issues. Either that, or our... friends... in the Juggernaut Collective as a whole have trust issues. Given the steps they have taken to lay the blame for the incident squarely at the feet of Tarvos Security. How tragic... especially given the lengths the Council has gone to, to reestablish the company's good name, following the debacle of Rifleman Bank." - the shadowy holographic image remarked with a vague smirk.
Page laughed heartily at that, moving over to a mirror, to straighten up his spotless white suit.
"Maybe so, Morgan. Then again, I could say the same about you. What was it you told me once? 'The problem with sitting on two chairs, is that your ass has a good chance of slipping between them?' Maybe you should take it to heart, before dear Lucius and that highborn frigid whore of his catch onto the game."
The figure waved his hand.
"Don't worry about Beth. Lately she and our illustrious leader have been rather at odds with each other, ever since her failure to keep Jensen on ice in that detention camp. Add to that the paucity of intel being gathered from her mole in Prague, and the credit she accrued with DeBeers has been running low. This will simply be a final nail to that coffin."
Page rubbed his chin.
"And you're sure the Picus report will not give away too much? You know how... overzealous... some journalists can be. Not to mention your pet Eliza's tendency to overmoralise the issue?"
"The Cassan AI has been thoroughly reprogrammed, following the Montreal operation, and the Panchaea incident. It seems sudden inconvenient bursts of conscience are not only a human problem." - the figure replied, coldly. It was clearly a sore spot.
"But in answer to your question, Bob... Picus, and Eliza, will report precisely what I wish them to report. It will serve both our purposes; incentivise your little rogue fish, to take the bait you're so desperately dangling in front of her – and drive a deeper wedge between DeBeers and DuClare. All without being linked to either of us. That's the beauty of the news business. Spin the truth enough times, even the pathological liars will believe it."
Thirteen hours later, Naiad's Kiss
~"Breaking news; following the yesterday evening's bloody terrorist attack on a business reception in Mayrhofen, Austria, there are many within the quiet alpine town's council, who are wondering if the escalating tensions between the United Nations and the various pro-augmentation radical factions in opposition to the new Act, have finally reached regional level. The town mayor has claimed such, during an emergeny press conference, just a couple of hours ago. This question is shared by the Austrian government, who has initiated a full investigation into the incident. Preliminary reports indicate a failure on the part of Tarvos Security, the global contractor charged with protecting the meeting, to properly screen out and identify the infiltrators before they gained entry to the hotel. The casualties included a number of Tarvos Security personnel, as well as a delegation from Tai Yong Medical, and a pair of high-ranking World Health Organisation officials. The third party to the meeting, a delegation from UralPharma, a Russian Federation corporate entity engaged in negotiations with the TYM conglomerate regarding acquisition prospects, was taken hostage by the attackers. As of this moment, no information regarding the fate of the hostages is available, but eyewitness reports indicate the attackers may have been successful in escaping with them, as a stealth VTOL was observed. No attackers were captured during the counter-terrorist operation initiated in response to the attack, casting further doubt on Tarvos Security's ability to respond to radical threats, as well as a decision by the WHO to employ their services in the first place."~
Eliza Cassan's pleasant tone continued relaying the news program, as Quinn turned in some surprise towards Yelena.
"One would expect them not to muddy the issue like this. Especially given the level of exposure we have to bury. Why dissemble like this, and claim that no attackers were apprehended? Why put Tarvos in the spotlight, and lay the blame on them? It would seem to go contrary to their propaganda purposes."
The woman's attention wasn't on the newsfeed, but on her left thigh, examining the newly-replaced polyfibral tissue, and testing the responsiveness, through slow, measured movements she made with her leg. It felt... slightly off, compared to earlier, hence her need to calibrate the response inputs.
She shook her head slightly, lifting her gaze to him.
"I don't know... I was about to ask you the same. I would assume it was Janus's doing, trying to cover up my... failure." - glancing down again. That last word was emphasised enough for Quinn to notice.
"We're certainly knee-deep in damage control, yes... but we were also anticipating an official backlash, and a propaganda effort to lay the blame squarely on what remained of Augmented Rights Coalition, and even us, the Collective. This wasn't quite what we anticipated. It only aids our efforts to cover up our involvement. Nonethless, the term 'failure' is going too far. In three days, I am to depart for Moscow and brief Madalyuk personally. His last communication was encouraging, regarding his perception of the results of the operation. The remaining UralPharma board members are spooked, and the two that escaped have so far made no effort to speak out about what really happened."
This made the woman frown, glancing at the newsfeed.
"Strange. Are they playing along... with this narrative? Selling the perception that they're still hostages and unaccounted for? Why would they do that... ?" - she murmured, confused.
"Have you spoken to either?" - Quinn inquired.
"Yes, actually. And one of them did not strike me as a fearful type. The male one. Not the kind to lay low and give in to pressure."
This made Quinn reach for a pocket secretary on the table, and turn it on.
"Was it this man? Mikhail Grigorovich?" - he handed the device to her, which displayed a mugshot of a scowling, heavyset man she encountered in the hotel. Yelena nodded.
"That's him." - sliding through the bio. She nodded slightly as she read it.
"Former member of OMON. Well that explains a lot, including his grace under fire... What it does not explain, is how a committed patriot like that would turn traitor. OMON unit members have a certain – reputation. Former or current." - she growled, recalling the man's claim how 'times have changed, and patriotism was obsolete'. The thought made her clench her fist briefly, as she set the device aside.
Quinn shrugged.
"You said it yourself, Colonel, back before our briefing with Janus, a week ago. Every businessman has his price. And they have a lot of money to throw around."
The aquilline woman stood up, and paced over to the lounge's bar, her metallic hooves making soft padding sounds on the carpet.
"Next time I see him, he will die." - softly, pouring herself a shot of vodka, which she exed-out in one gulp, tussling a strand of raven-black hair from her eyes. The liquid felt good, burning it's way down her throat, and keeping a lid on her simmering anger at the entire situation.
Traitors...
"Madalyuk shares your sentiment. He wants to meet you in person, to brief you on your next assignment. Apparently he has a good idea where the two may have gone to ground, but will not discuss it over even an encrypted line. Janus has already approved, so you will be accompanying me to Moscow." - Quinn's next words made her turn in surprise.
"I thought the idea was that I would be on intel gathering, during the meeting. A wild card, while Major Irw- oh. Of course." - she trailed off, biting her lip.
With Irwine out of commission for at least the next month, that part of the plan was gone. Quinn nodded.
"The Major's absence has forced us to alter the venue. That and the aftermath of this assignment. We will be meeting Madalyuk at an undisclosed location, with Bratva members providing security. We will not be aware of the location until our arrival in Moscow."
Yelena's eyes narrowed.
"Hold on – not even the Sankt Peterburg chapter?! The Moscow chapter? How do we know we can trust them? Especially given the- nevermind..." - she trailed off, biting her lip hard.
Too late.
"Colonel?" - Quinn regarded her very carefully.
The woman took a deep breath.
"Fifteen months ago, during the Kontarsky assignment. He was under the protection of the Moscow chapter of the Bratva, when the Tyrants penetrated their security and took him out. We... made a clean sweep. I doubt they forgot about us. And I was very much... involved in the cleanup." - significantly.
Quinn nodded slowly, in understanding.
"...and you are fairly memorable. And given how much Bratva holds grudges... hmm. Tell me. How is your – rapport – with the Bratva boss in Sankt Peterburg? Especially after that little – test, you passed? Do you think his inclusion would help smooth things over? Or at least show the Moscow chapter that you're now – in the fold, so to speak?" - raising an eyebrow.
This made Yelena smirk.
"Igor? Honestly – I'm not sure if he loves me or hates me, after that night in the fighting pit. He was hoping to humble me and put me in my - place. I did not play along, and put his pet enforcer in the hospital! But I think I did earn his respect. Certainly the respect of some of the other guys who were around that night. Probably at least as many who heard the story." - the smirk faded into a thoughtful frown.
"Would a local Bratva escort smooth things over? Well – it will make it less likely that the Moscow chapter will shoot at me on sight – if for no other reason that they might hit some of the Sankt Peterburg guys, and start a gang war. But it might also make the Moscowites nervous about rivals on their turf. Traditionally, the different Bratva chapters are rarely on good terms with each other. But I will contact Igor and let you know." - walking over to the exit.
"Be persuasive, Colonel. Either way, we are on our way to Moscow in three days. Make the most of the time you have, not just to make arrangements with your contacts in Bratva, but also recover properly. And... good job out there. Not just on staying alive, but on minimising exposure after capture. Especially being tight-lipped with our Interpol TF29 contacts. You've made mister Jensen's job quite a bit easier, on maintaining his own cover." - Quinn called after her, emphatically.
She paused briefly, looking back.
"That is the least I owe him, after what I did to the people under his protection, eleven months ago." - hauntedly, before she walked out.
After checking up on Irwine in the ship's infirmary, and bringing him up to speed on the upcoming developments, Yelena decided to catch up to Jensen, before he left with the TF29 people on the top deck. None of them save Jensen, were allowed below decks, no surprise there, and she could imagine that Miller character getting quite anxious to leave what he no doubt considered a terrorist base, by now, but she found the stone-faced cyborg nursing a drink in the Kiss's lounge.
She paused briefly, biting her lip. Nervousness and second-guessing were flaws that one could never attribute to the woman, but in this case...
Am I being incredibly insensitive? Or just redundant? Shallow? Superficial? Can any kind of apology be sufficient, for what I – we - have done, eleven months ago? Maybe I should just... leave it be. But it feels – wrong to do so. And I may not get another chance... and this time, there is nobody to overhear.
She thought.
"Mister Jensen." - she spoke, after taking a deep breath.
For a long moment, the dark-complexioned, shaded man didn't give any indication he even noticed her, taking a sip of his drink. Then he motioned to the opposite chair at the table.
"Have a seat?" - neutrally.
She did so, gliding over to the opposite side of the table, and sliding into the chair.
"Drink?" - he offered, raising a hand to the server behind the bar. Quickly, she interrupted.
"No... ah... no thank you. Really. I'm – ah... I'm fine. I ah... I want to say something that... that I am not sure how you will take. Or even – even if it makes any difference at this point. If it can ever make any difference... But I... want to make it clear." - she swallowed.
Jensen said nothing, and all she could see, was her own reflection in his shaded gaze.
"I'm sorry. I am... I am so sorry for... for what I – we – did... back then." - she looked away, suddenly unable to meet that shaded gaze. Feeling – indescribably hollow. Only as she said it, did she realise how – inadequate – an apology was, for what happened that night at Sarif Industries.
"Look at me." - the man's deep tone made her look forward again... to see Jensen's shades retracting sideways, revealing his brown, retina-enhanced gaze. His expression turned... bitter.
"Would you like to know their names? The names of those three security officers you gunned down in the hallway? And the name of the researcher you shot in the back?" - one of his cybernetic hands clenching into a fist hard enough for her to hear the creaking of metal-on-polymer, as it did.
"That... that won't be necessary." - she managed, gripping the edge of the table tightly, as she inhaled sharply.
"Dave Bolinsky. Avery Soule. Mark Vanhauser. Idris LoBue. Three of them had families. Soule was a father of two. It was his first week on the job." - Jensen continued inexorably, in a measured, yet icy cold tone.
Yelena made it as if to rise, shuddering. In a lightning-fast movement, Jensen's right hand shot out, to grip her by the forearm in a vise-like grip, faster then her reflex-boosting array could react. His left arm's forearm sprouted a nanoblade, in a soft swoosh sound – yet he hadn't moved it.
"Sit. Down." - softly. But the look in his eyes turned deadly.
The aquiline woman's expression turned... blank. But she nodded, resuming her seat. Studiously ignoring the escalating pain through her forearm. Her arms below the elbow were mostly natural, with only the harmonic-stabilisation circuits permeating them, alongside a minimal amount of support polyfibral tissue. And sitting at a table, she had precious little opportunity to make use of her legs in any way. Against Jensen's top-grade cybernetic arms... she had no chance of breaking free. And unlike their confrontation in Montreal, this time he did not telegraph the move.
He had her.
If he wanted to, he could snap her forearm like a twig. Then run her through with that blade, in the next half a second. She wasn't wearing armour, and her subdermal plating would not stop a nanoblade.
"I cannot undo what I did. And I don't expect forgiveness." - she stated flatly, keeping the pain completely out of her voice. Her gaze steady on his.
The grip tightened, and she could see her forearm turning... vaguely purplish. The pain jumped another two notches. Her expression remained unchanged, however.
Jensen nodded.
"No. You can't. Just like you can't undo the thirty-one other innocent victims you and your team of murderers left behind, some of them still alive to burn to death in chemical fires. Nor can you undo the stench of charred flesh, and the post-traumatic therapy most of our employees had to go through, following that attack." - he growled.
She remained silent, as her forearm was going numb, from lack of circulation. The pain was making her see stars, yet she refused to acknowledge it with even a gasp. Then suddenly it was gone, as Jensen's hand went back to grip his glass. The blade retracted at the same time, as he took a long sip of his drink.
"You say you're not expecting forgiveness, Fedorova. Good. Because you're not getting it from me. Now or ever." - coldly, as the shades shot out to cover his eyes again.
She nodded, almost... relieved, as she rubbed her arm.
"Too many people have forgiven me already, mister Jensen. I am glad you are not one of them." - earnestly.
"And I'm glad we understand each other." - he retorted, "Just make sure to keep on the right side of the track this time. You seem to be doing right with the Collective. Making a difference in the right direction, in our fight with the cabal. As long as that's the case, you and I won't have a problem, and I'm glad to have you on side, even if I don't forgive you. If that ever changes, you'll be joining Barrett and Namir in hell. And that's not a threat. That's a promise." - calmly, yet with steely purpose.
She believed that.
"Understood, mister Jensen." - Yelena nodded, almost... aroused... by his confidence, not helping herself as she gave him a halfway... hooded gaze. Fear was an emotion she experienced only in traces, and then only fleetingly, given the amount of conditioning she went through, and the level of skill and enhancement she was in possession of, combined with her unyielding, unrelenting mindset.
She could count on one hand, and have fingers left, the number of men who ever made her feel this way. Neither Barrett or even Namir himself, ever reached that stage with her, even during the height of her brainwashed stage. Even Irwine, for all his qualities, and the fact that she did love him and trust him – he didn't have what it takes, to dominate her like this. Yet being very careful not to show it, as she bit the inside of her cheek.
Wasted effort, as Jensen shook his head minutely, almost – disgusted. He noticed.
"Get lost. And remember what I said." - turning his full attention back to his drink, with a sigh.
As the aquiline woman walked out, still rubbing her forearm, casting a last – ambivalent – glance at Jensen's back, neither of them paid any attention to anyone else in the lounge. Most of the patrons were occupied with their own conversations, save one.
In the far corner leaning against the bar, Jamella Couture's face was a mirror of – mixed emotions, as she fidgeted nervously. Her own cochlear implants allowed her to overhear most of what was said between the two warriors. At first, she scoffed at the very idea that Fedorova had the gall to apologise for anything, to anyone. Like it would make any difference! If she tried that on her, Jamella would've spat in her face, like she did back when they first met.
But the... sincerity of it... won her over. And Jensen's stone-cold rebuttal and literal strongarming, made her shoot a withering glare at him. Moments after Yelena left the lounge, she followed, leaving her own drink unfinished.
"What the HELL is his problem?!" - Yelena heard a familiar voice behind her in the hallway, accompanied by a sound of running footsteps. In surprise, she turned around to notice the young hacker rushing to fall in step beside her.
"Excuse me?" - the tall figure frowned.
"You heard me!" - the girl emphasised, "I mean, yeah... he's got no reason to forgive you, given what you did, but – but... but..." - she grimaced, trying to find a way to articulate her conflicting thoughts.
"But what?" - the cyborg woman shrugged, walking on, "...if I were in his place, I would kill me where I stand, for what I did. Slowly. And it would still be better then I deserve. Same with your brother. You should have used the kill phrase, back when we first met. I meant what I said, that in many ways, you would have been doing me a favour." - with a grimace, not looking at the girl.
The younger woman rushed ahead, facing her.
"Dammit Fedorova, people change! I mean... you... you changed! Right?! So... so..." - she trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought. Mixed emotions still running through her.
Yelena stopped, regarding her.
"So I should just be... let off the hook? Is that it?" - with understated bitterness.
"NO! Not a chance...! But-" - Jamella countered reflexively, cut off as the taller woman stepped past.
"I'm glad we agree."
The girl yanked on her arm, stopping her again.
"But when does it end?! Huh?! The hate? The... the... the killing? The pain? The blood? HUH?! What difference will it make in the end?" - on the verge of tears, squeezing her hand tightly.
Yelena sighed.
"I wish I knew. All I know is that you are a better person then me, Jamella. And I hope you never lose that innocence, like I did. Probably a forlorn hope, in this ugly world." - gently laying her hand atop of the girl's.
"I'm sorry about Patrick." - she added softly, trying to gently remove her hand from the younger woman's hold. But Jamella wouldn't let her go.
"I forgive you." - the girl sniffled.
Yelena stiffened.
"Please don't." - tightly, with a shudder.
"Wh... why?"
She swallowed hard.
"Because I do not deserve it. And I can't... take it." - in a keening voice, pulling her arm firmly away from the girl's grasp, and stalking off down the hallway almost at a run.
"Wait...!" - Jamella cried after her, but she didn't slow her pace.
Once in the adjoining hallway, past a sealed bulkhead, the aquiline woman let out a ragged sigh, wiping her eyes. Then... as was invariably the case with Yelena, she sealed it all off behind a mental barrier, and headed in the direction of the intel centre, to contact Igor and the Bratva.
Back to business.
Her face a dispassionate mask.