AUTHOR'S NOTES: Due to the site being down, I had to upload this chapter to AO3 first before here.
Near Groom Lake
Nevada Dead Zone, United States of Canada
24 April 2002
Blake Belladonna dropped down to nap of the earth, going down between the ridges of Papoose Mountain south of Groom Lake. She smiled as she did so. I'm always the one doing the recon work, Blake thought. Cleveland, then Poland…well, they probably won't be giving me a Navy Cross for this one. She watched the altimeter as it dropped down to fifty feet. She had to assume that whoever was at Area 51 had radar, and that meant getting below it. She was happy that at least she didn't have to dodge trees; there weren't any. "Riana," she said over the intercom, "time on target thirty seconds. Get ready."
"Roger," Riana said miserably. The sudden descent had caused her to gag again, but there was nothing left to come up. Luckily, nothing had gotten on the camera. She raised her visor, checked the camera settings, and took the lens cap off. "Ready. How are we going to do this—and do you have to get this low?" Riana held on as the F-18 vaulted a ridgeline, then descended into a ravine. Around her, the ground was a blur. She looked to the right and gasped: the Hornet's shadow was almost right next to them.
"Sorry, yes," Blake said, sounding almost bored as she flung the F-18 to the left and then immediately to the right to dodge two more ridges. "Have to stay below their radar." The mountains fell away on either side, and Blake could see the dry lakebed ahead of them—and buildings. She raised her altitude to two hundred feet. "Okay, Riana, start your pictures…now."
Riana was about to ask what to take pictures of, but there was no time. She raised the camera to eye level and began snapping pictures of anything that looked remotely important. Blake pulled off the speed a little, then put the F-18 over on its left wing. Riana had to raise the camera and resist the pull of gravity with her legs, but she held on and kept hitting the shutter button. Blake began to make a moderately hard turn over the base, then flipped upside down as they went over the tarmac. Riana was now pointing the camera directly upwards as Area 51 was two hundred feet below her. Blake was watching the ground and her instruments; she saw a spike come on the HUD. "They're looking at us," she said. She prayed Ruby was watching the sky, because she couldn't spare a second to do so: antiaircraft fire or a surface-to-air missile could come up at any time, especially a shoulder-fired one.
Then they were clear of the base, headed west, and Blake leveled out and climbed as she followed a wide valley, the old riverbed, back towards the cratered Nevada Test Site. The spike shut off. "There's definitely someone down there!" she told Riana. "Did you get the pictures? We can't make a second pass."
Riana was too busy putting the camera back in its case. "I think so. I won't know until I develop them." She leaned back in the ejection seat. "My kingdom for some way to download these into my laptop." Riana rubbed her stomach. "Blake, um…I'm really sorry, but I had an…accident."
Blake saw Ruby joining up on her left, and waggled her wings to know that she was okay. "That's okay," Blake told Riana. "You won't be the first person to come back with a wet ejection seat. It happens. The first time I did a nine-G turn, I crapped myself."
"Oh, I didn't do that." Riana reached out with a gloved hand and cleaned vomit off the multifunction displays. "I threw up on everything back here. Not the camera, but…" She looked down. "Oh God, I even got it on my boots. The mechanics are going to kill me."
"No worries," Blake told her, smiling. "They won't mind. Mainly because you're the one who is going to clean it up."
"I don't think so!"
"Tough kitty toenails," Blake said. "Tradition. If someone pukes, they clean it up—not the plane captain. They'll hand you a rag when we get back down."
Blake heard a thump—Riana banging her head back against the ejection seat. "Outstanding," she groaned.
Blake switched on the radio. "Ruby, Blake. Mission accomplished."
Ruby looked over at the F-18, and saw Blake's thumbs up. Riana was leaning back, but she was moving, so both were all right. Ew. Is that puke on the canopy? "Blake, Ruby. Bravo Zulu. Rubies, Lead. Let's close it up and RTB. Keep looking around, though—the GRIMM might not be done. Or the Mafia." She wondered if they would have to fight their way back into Las Vegas. "Disco, Ruby Lead," she radioed. "Any contacts north of Bullseye?"
"Ruby, Disco," the AWACS radioed back. "No contacts aside from the four of you." Of course, Ruby thought, the E-3 can't pick up Raven. "All commercial traffic has been grounded due to the air battle."
"Ruby, Disco, this is Bullseye." Ruby recognized Wilkerson's voice. "Be advised, not all commercial traffic. The Godfather took off out of here about five minutes ago."
The Godfather? Oh, he means Glass! Where's he going? Weiss had joined up, and now Yang and Raven were doing so as well. "Bullseye, Raven," the latter came on the net. "Are the Godfather's people getting ready to sortie?"
"Wait one, Raven." It was silent for almost a minute. "Negative. The hangar doors are open but the others are not rolling, I say again, not rolling."
"Ruby Lead, Raven—go to Delta channel." Ruby looked down at the radio frequencies written down on a card. She reached out and turned the radio dial to the new frequency. "Ruby Lead on Delta."
"Ruby, Raven, reading you five-by," Raven replied. "I didn't want Disco or Wilkerson hearing this. Glass sold us out. Raider Flight jumped me while you four were engaging the Kobolds. We might want to consider that that fat bastard is working with Salem after all."
"Thought so," Ruby replied. The sudden disappearance of Raider Flight and the burning remains of four F-16s in the desert made that somewhat obvious. "So Glass realized his plan failed, and he's hauling ass?"
"That's my guess, Ruby."
"Okay, let's switch back." They both went back to the Boba frequency. "Disco, Ruby Lead. Do you have traffic departing Bullseye about five minutes ago?"
"Ruby, Disco, roger that—we have civilian traffic heading northeast out of Bullseye. Given its speed, probably a Gulfstream or Learjet. Your vector is zero-seven-nine, distance 60. Classify target as Godfather, speed 475, angels 20 and climbing."
Ruby checked her fuel. It would be close. "Disco, do you have a tanker available?"
"Roger that, Ruby, we can chop you one."
"Much obliged, Disco." Ruby did some quick computations. "Ruby Flight, let's intercept Godfather. Buster for target." Buster meant full speed. They would be low on fuel, but Disco would have the tanker waiting. "Disco, Ruby—scramble Jolly Greens from Bullseye. We have a Raider down, south of Nevada Test Site." Ruby saw the parachute just before it reached the ground; even if the Mafia flyers had tried to kill them, she was not going to leave a man to die in the desert.
"Disco, roger, sending Jollies."
"Raven, can you cutoff Godfather?"
A pause. "Ruby, Raven, fuckin' A."
Ruby had to grin at that. "Ruby Two, Ruby Four, follow Raven. Raven, you have the lead—we'll catch up." The F-15 and Typhoon could outdistance Ruby's F-16 and Blake's F-18; the Night Raven would be the fastest of all, at Mach 3 plus.
"Roger that," Raven replied. "Ruby Two, Ruby Four, max Mach 2. I'm at bingo plus ten." Ruby was surprised at that, then remembered the dogifight with Raider Flight. Raven would have used a lot of fuel.
"Raven has the lead," Weiss conceded. Yang said nothing, very loudly.
St. George Regional Airport
St. George, Utah, United States of Canada
24 April 2002
Raven raised the canopy on the Night Raven and took off her helmet, then the Snoopy Cap sweat guard she wore underneath it. This freed her black hair to go everywhere, but she rarely cared about that. The ground crew were chocking the wheels, but stared up at the twelve foot distance from the cockpit to the ground. Raven unstrapped and pointed at the cutouts in the fuselage where the pilot could climb down without a ladder, and the crew got the message. They opened them and Raven gingerly got down, dropping the last few feet to the tarmac. "Need fuel," she told them, and was surprised to see that they wore Air Force fatigues. "Need fuel, Sarge," she repeated, to the most senior man.
"No can do, ma'am," the sergeant replied. He pointed to an officer in a flight suit headed to where Yang and Weiss had parked the F-15 and Typhoon. "You'll have to get him."
"Fine." Raven ran a hand through her hair and began walking towards the officer. He was a Captain, tall, good looking, with brown hair tied back in four distinctly non-regulation braids, dressed in a flight suit adorned with Fighter Weapons School and Vytal Flag patches. Huntsman, Raven thought; the USAF tended to be a little more leinent towards hair regulations with Huntsmen and Huntresses. As Raven got closer, she saw Yang run forward and hug him. "Roy!" Yang grinned. "Damn good to see you!"
"You too," Roy said. "Heard about Beacon, of course. Bronze Flight got ordered out a few days before." He glanced at Yang's artificial arm. "Sorry about all of that. Wished we could've been there…maybe we could've saved some people. Heard about Jaune Arc and the others. Damn shame." He nodded at Weiss and shook hands with her as well. "Hello, Hauptmann Schnee."
"Weiss," she corrected him. "Just Weiss." She smiled.
"Weiss." He turned to Raven, and she could read his nametag now: Roy Stallion. "And you are?"
"Raven. Just Raven."
He gave no sign of recognizing her, but shrugged and turned back to Yang. "What's going on? We heard you force down that Lear." He pointed across the tarmac to a Learjet 24, painted in black and silver. "I went ahead and called airport police like you asked—we're too small to rate Security Police here. Just one detachment of F-16s from the 388th up at Hill in case the GRIMM try to interdict the Vegas-Salt Lake commercial traffic." Roy put his hands on his hips. "So want to explain what the hell is going on, before the airport police ask me the same question?"
Yang shrugged. "It's like this, Roy. We're on a secret mission for the CIA in Las Vegas. We got hired by the guy in the Learjet to help him recover a fortune in gold in what's left of old Reno. Turns out he was trying to kill us instead. So now we're going to do something to him." Yang paused. "Probably something bad."
Roy was silent for a minute. "Do you have any ID for this?"
Yang grinned. "Nope!"
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "For some reason I actually believe you. I don't think the airport cops are going to be too thrilled if you kill someone, though"
"We're not killing anyone," Raven said evenly. Yang and Weiss looked at her in surprise. "Who said anything about killing anyone? We just forced him down because we want to make sure if he really did set us up or it was someone else. If he didn't set him up, we let him go. If he did, we turn him over to the police."
"On what charge?" Roy asked.
"He's the head of the Mafia in Las Vegas," Raven replied. "I'm sure we can get him on something."
Roy sighed again. "Okay, look…just do what you have to, and get it over with. I like you, Yang, and you too, Weiss…and I don't know you, Raven…but I have to command this detachment. I really don't need to get involved in this sort of thing, no offense."
Raven slapped him on the back. "Don't worry, Captain Stallion! We've got this." She motioned at Yang and Weiss to follow her. "Oh, Captain, if you don't mind, we could use a refuel."
"Yeah, sure." Roy watched them go. "I never thought I would miss Beacon."
The airport police let them through, after Yang loudly proclaimed that they were from the USAF Office of Special Investigations, and the Learjet's passenger was under investigation for human trafficking—which, Raven thought, was the only true part of that statement. The door to the Learjet was down, so the three of them walked up the stairs, Yang in the lead. Instantly, one of Glass' men had a gun pointed at her. She looked at him. "Shoot me and you're all gonna die screaming. You kill us and take off, and you'll have a Sidewinder up your ass. The rest of Ruby Flight is overhead." That wasn't quite true—Ruby and Blake weren't there yet—but the Mafia didn't know that.
The gunman hesitated and looked at Amoncio Glass, sitting halfway down the fuselage of the Learjet. Glass was sitting in a very nice-looking leather chair, but he looked nervous, and was sweating rather profusely—despite the air conditioning in the business jet being on full blast. They had caught the Learjet over northwest Arizona, north of the Grand Canyon, and when the Learjet's flight crew hadn't responded to Raven calling them on Guard frequency, Weiss had fired her cannon across the nose. The crew had rapidly headed for St. George after that.
Raven gently pushed Yang and Weiss aside. "Let me handle this." She walked down the aisle, ignoring the gun, and took the seat across from Glass. "Amoncio, Amoncio…so nice to see you again."
"We saw each other this morning," Glass replied hesitantly, unsure why Raven was suddenly being kind.
"Yeah, we did," Yang mentioned, leaning against the door to the cockpit. "And then you tried to kill us."
"Kill you?" Glass laughed, high and nervously. "That's—that's ridiculous! We're partners, Captain Xiao Long!"
Weiss felt like she was dealing with her father. Everyone I run into with a mustache or a beard turns out to be evil, she thought. I better make sure Marrow never shaves. "We were going to help you recover the gold from Reno," she said. "And you left Las Vegas? Headed for where?"
"Aspen!" Glass protested. "You can look at the flight plan if you like! The skiing is still very good up there, you know."
"Yeah, you look like you ski a lot," Yang growled. The gun came up again. "Dude, put the gun down. You shoot in here, and a bullet's likely to hit the fucking gas tanks. You want to burn to death? I don't." The gunman lowered his weapon.
"Something tells me if the gold was real," Weiss stated, "then you wouldn't have missed a chance to run your fingers over it when it came back to Las Vegas—or at the very least, counted it to make sure your men hadn't pilfered it."
"The gold never existed, did it, Amoncio?" Raven made it a statement. "You set us up to get killed. Someone told you they would have GRIMM waiting for us, and you sent up your four best with their brand new, shiny F-16s to catch us in a pincer. While Ruby Flight engaged the GRIMM, Raider Flight jumped me." Raven smiled with all the humor of a shark. "Well, things went wrong, didn't it, Amoncio? All the GRIMM got killed, and all of Raider Flight is dead. And if you send up that antique squadron, they'll die too. I have plenty of missiles, and so do they." She pointed at Yang and Weiss. That was also a lie, but once more, Glass had no way of knowing. "And then that would be the end of you in Vegas, wouldn't it? No more air wing, no more boom, and the yakuza and the triads don't fear you any more. I wonder what your bosses back in Sicily or Miami would have to say about that? Will they let the Arisakas or the Wing Kong get you, or send their own hit team?"
Glass said nothing, just looked out the window. "You were wondering who Riana was working for?" Raven asked, and he turned back to her. "The fucking Central Intellligence Agency, Amoncio. Yeah, that's right—you tried to have a CIA agent killed. A high-ranking one. If she dies, then you can expect a fucking cruise missile dropped into your lap within the hour. Remember what happened to the Red Prince? I know you heard about that. That's what is going to happen to you." Raven held up her hand, where the little finger was missing. "Trust me on this, fatso."
Glass, had he had time to think, could have protested that he had no knowledge of the ambush, that his own people had betrayed him, and that he was fleeing to Aspen because he was afraid of Ruby Flight's wrath, to say nothing of Raven's. It was a believable story. However, the knowledge that Raven, Yang or Weiss could have simply killed him in midair minutes before, and that he had come close to killing a member of the CIA, broke him. He put up his hands defensively. "Listen. How much do you want? Cash. I'll pay it."
"For what?" Weiss asked.
"To keep this whole sordid situation quiet."
Raven laughed, got up, and walked to the bar. Another gunman was there. "Can you fix me a whiskey, straight? Better make one for your boss, too." Glass tiredly nodded to the man. "You ladies want anything?" Yang and Weiss shook their heads. "Kids these days. Back in the seventies, we didn't fly unless we were shitfaced." She picked up the glasses and took them back to her seat, handing one to Glass. "I have a better idea, Glass, and it's not going to cost you a thing." She drank half the whiskey. "Not money, anyway."
Glass nervously drank some of his liquor. "What did you have in mind?"
"I was thinking this. You tell us everything you know about the people who hired you to kill us…" Raven clinked her glass against his "…and you get to not only live, but fly away. Off to Aspen, or Mexico, or Tahiti, or whatever."
"And—and if I don't?"
"You get to take off," Raven smiled, "but this time, we shoot you out of the sky, and you die. Oh sure, your boys here can probably shoot us—hopefully they don't blow the plane up with a stray bullet—but assuming the local cops don't just blow you away, you take off, and either Ruby Rose or Blake Belladonna get you. Or you somehow escape, and get to look forward to CIA hit teams with a serious hard-on for revenge hunting you for the rest of your short but exciting life."
Glass finished his whiskey. "It sounds like I'm not in a great bargaining position." He set the glass aside. "All right. But I want immunity, do you understand? For everything." He looked beyond Raven to Weiss and Yang. "You tell the CIA that. Immunity."
"Okay," Yang replied. She had no intention of telling Arashikaze that.
Glass took a deep breath. "I don't know their names. That's how things work in this business. I did overhear someone mention a 'Doctor Merlot.' No idea who that is, but that's the only name I heard mentioned."
"Go on," Raven said, holding up her drink for a refill. She got one.
Glass glanced at Yang and Weiss again, then continued. "A year or so ago, before that Beacon thing, I was contacted by two guys. They called themselves X and Y. First thing they do is put a million dollars on the table. Then they tell me they need laborers—a lot of them. Nobody necessarily skilled, though that was a bonus, just people that could work. I was told I could procure them any way I liked. Then two airliners were flown into McCarran. We were to load them up, and then they flew north."
"Where?" Weiss asked.
"I didn't ask, but I figured it out. Anybody got a map?" Yang reached into one of the clear thigh pockets of her flight suit, and tossed her navigation map to Glass. He spread it out on the table before him, leaned over it, and scanned it for a minute. "Here. Groom Lake. The Air Force used to call it Area 51 or something." Yang couldn't resist a start of recognition, but no one noticed but Weiss. "Anyhow," Glass said, straightening up, "I don't know what happens after that. But I know that nobody comes back…and I get paid a thousand bucks a head."
"Jesus," Yang breathed. "You're a slave trader."
Glass shrugged. "No one's making these people volunteer, lady. I put out the flyers around Vegas, and they sign up. I know it's made the rounds of the Faunus community that no one's coming back, but I've never seen one of those airliners take off empty."
"Yeah, because they're fucking desperate for jobs!" Yang took a step forward, and had a gun put in her stomach for her trouble.
"Yang, please." Raven set her whiskey aside. "Sounds like a good scheme to me. I still think you're not telling us everything, though." Glass stared at her, and just then, they heard the roar of fighter engines above them. The three pilots recognized it as Ruby's F-16 and Blake's F-18; it was pure coincidence, but it worked. "They're getting antsy," Raven prodded.
"Okay, okay." Glass pored over the map again. "I had one of my guys ride on one of the flights. I needed some insurance in case people like you came along…boy, do I." He mopped his brow with a hankerchief. "They didn't allow him to leave the plane—and no, I don't know who they are. I only dealt with X and Y, and the money was put in my Swiss bank account. But he saw a whole line of trucks, and my guy heard someone mention Winnemucca. There's nothing up there, though."
Weiss stepped forward, raised her hands to show she wasn't going to attack, and knelt in front of the table. With her hands, she measured how far the AWACS radar could see from the south or east. "Winnemucca's at extreme range for the E-3's radar," she said, standing up. "I bet they truck these slaves up to Winnemucca, then fly them wherever from there. Or maybe they keep them in the trucks."
"Or put them in boxcars." Yang remembered Junior back in Madison, telling her how smuggling was done over the old rail lines of the Dead Zones.
Weiss looked sick, and to their surprise, so did Glass. "Fuck," he said softly. "I never thought of it like that."
"So what about today?" Raven asked.
"Oh…that." Glass held up his glass for more whiskey. Once he had it, he took a quick drink. "When you showed up, I remembered Ruby Flight from that court-martial. I didn't really care—hell, you saved us from the GRIMM the other day—but then Mr. Y contacted me. He said you people needed to be eliminated. Same with you, Branwen. He told me to get you up to Damnation Alley somewhere, south of Reno, and he'd take care of the rest. There was a big bonus in it for me, and if I didn't do it, I'd be sorry. I believed him. So I made up that story about the gold." He laughed ruefully. "You know, you fooled me. I thought you took the bait. I decided to take a few precautions, so I sent up my Raiders to trail you. They weren't supposed to attack until you people were either out of gas, out of ammo, or mostly shot down. They jumped the gun." Glass shook his head. "Rafe always was impatient."
"No problem. He's dead." Raven picked up the map and folded it. "Anything else?"
"No…no, that's all. I mean that," Glass assured her. Another sad laugh. "I'd say it was just business, but that never works in the movies."
Raven handed the map to Weiss, and finished her drink. "Well, that should do it, then." She stood up. "Okay, ladies, let's head out and not keep Mr. Glass waiting for his extended trip."
Glass' eyebrows raised. "Extended…extended trip?" he stammered.
"Sure!" Raven grinned down at him. "Now that you've admitted to trafficking on a level not seen since the 1960s, I think you're going to have to leave Las Vegas, Amoncio. In fact, I think you have to leave the country. We're going to tell the CIA everything. At that point it becomes a matter of time. You go to any civilized, extradition-treaty country, and you'll be brought back here to stand trial. The old men in Sicily will say they never heard of you. That's assuming you don't just disappear somewhere along the way, which would solve so many problems. Door opens at 10,000 feet, you go for your first and last flight without wings. The Mafia send someone else out to take over Las Vegas, and you'll be known in the Family as that dumbass who fucked with the wrong people." Raven shrugged. "Or…you could take all that money you've got in that Swiss bank account, and disappear. Shave off your mustache, dye your hair, lose some pounds, and you could be on a nice beach in the Seychelles, ogling all the half-naked women. That was always your escape plan, wasn't it? Guys like you always have one, just in case you suddenly became expendable. A couple of million in a Swiss bank, and you've got enough to live on for the rest of your life." She laughed. "Something tells me you weren't going to Aspen. You were going to Denver. A few connecting flights, a false identity or two, and Amoncio Glass no longer exists." She glanced around. "Probably a fat payday for your made men in here, too. It'll set them up nicely."
Glass stared at her. "You mean…let me get this straight. You're letting me go. I disappear with my money, and you forget I exist. You and the CIA."
Raven looked back at Yang. "We did say you had immunity," she said, though the look on Yang's face was that she very much wanted to shoot Glass down the moment the landing gear was up. "Oh, and one more thing." Raven searched around the cabin and found some stationery and a pen; the stationery had Glass' name at the top. "Make out a letter resigning from all of your offices around Las Vegas—"
"How's that?" Glass questioned.
"—and sign them over to me, Raven Branwen."
Everyone's jaw dropped on the Learjet, even Yang and Weiss. "What?" Glass shrilled.
"You heard me." She put the paper and pen on the table in front of him, and tapped it. "Amoncio, you'll never come back to this country. You might as well hand it over to someone who is staying."
"Are you nuts?" Yang yelled, and Glass nodded in agreement.
"Oh, I'll make some changes. Never much on the whole human and Faunus trafficking thing…" She winked at Weiss. "Oh, come on, Schnee. We were never going to sell you to the Tijuana brothels. Vernal was just making shit up to scare you." Weiss' expression was one of utter disbelief. "Anyway, that'll end, and maybe I'll actually pay a decent wage. You know, it's positively amazing what kind of loyalty you get after you pay people lots of money and treat them decently. I started doing that after I took over my Tribe, and look at me now."
"The Mafia will never accept you!" Glass exclaimed.
"Sure they will. As long as they get their cut, they won't mind. After a few months, they'll realize they got a better deal. A donna instead of a don, and one that doesn't call attention to their operations from the US government, and one that has the firepower to deal with the other groups-and the actual skill to use it." Raven gave another shrug. "Or we can leave, tell the CIA everything…well, you know that story by now." He made sounds of rupture, and Raven only smiled. "Come on, Amoncio. It's a good deal. You disappear with millions and spend the rest of your life on a beach somewhere, or you spend the rest of your life hunted…or in Federal Pound-Me-In-The-Ass Prison."
Glass stared at the paper in front of him. Finally, he moaned, "You win," and began writing.
Ruby sat in the chair, stunned. "You…did…huh?"
Raven did not look at her, merely held up the sheets of paper. At the bottom of the second was Glass' signature, along with a thumbprint in blood, which Raven had insisted on. "Simple, Ruby. I now control all the Mafia's holdings in Las Vegas." She did turn around then. "Well, I'm sure the Mafia will have a few concessions they want me to make, but they'll realize it's a good deal. The Tribe in control of Las Vegas, the Mafia gets their cut, and they avoid a rather embarrassing expose courtesy of the Central Intelligence Agency." Raven looked around. "Where is our resident spy, anyway?"
"Cleaning the backseat," Blake supplied. Roy Stallion had treated Ruby Flight to fast food, despite still being thoroughly confused as to what had happened. Blake had not touched hers. After Glass' Learjet had departed, Ruby and Blake had landed to find out what was going on, and to refuel. When Blake had opened the canopy, the sergeant had placed the ladders, climbed up to help Riana unstrap first—and promptly dropped back down the ladder and thrown up on the tarmac. The canopy had turned the backseat into a greenhouse, and the smell was horrific. Blake had barely kept down her breakfast, unstrapped, safetied the ejection seat, and was down the ladder in record time. As Riana climbed out, the sergeant told her to stay right where she was, found a roll of paper towels and a trash can, and demanded that she start wiping everything down. That had been thirty minutes ago, and Riana was still at it.
It wasn't the only reason Blake felt sick, however: Yang had told her what Glass had. "You're going to stop this, Raven…right?" she said in a small voice.
"Yes," Raven said firmly. "Those slaves—hell, that's what they are—they're being sent somewhere. My guess is Salem is involved, since Mr. Y, whoever the hell he is, said he would 'take care' of us south of Reno. Getting jumped by the GRIMM is too much of a coincidence."
Ruby opened her chicken nuggets. "Still doesn't make sense, though," she said. "If Salem's taking these people, how are they getting to Russia? They stick them on a ship somewhere, take them across to Siberia, and then to wherever her base is?" She wanted to say Mount Yamantau, but that was classified; everyone in the room knew it, but the walls were thin.
"Probably. Doesn't matter how many die in transit, so long as a few survive." Raven spread her hands. "Then again, Salem's not dumb. For all we know, these people are treated decently, and they don't realize what's happening until it's too late. Treat people like slaves, and they sooner or later find a way to rebel or escape. Treat them like employees, good employees, and you might just win their loyalty."
Blake nodded. "And these Faunus—and humans—are desperate. All Salem really needs to do is give them a job, treat them well, and pay them. They'd probably accept it."
"And the ones who don't get shot." Yang was leaning back against the couch. "Hey, remember what JINN told us, how Salem's folks survived Stalin? Doubt the apple falls too far from the tree."
"It doesn't matter," Weiss said. "Treated well or not, we must stop it." She had only eaten sparingly, but raised a hamburger to her mouth. Yang's words about boxcars brought up the Holocaust, something the Schnees would always share a cultural shame for. Her great-grandfather had fought well for the Third Reich in his Messerschmitt, but in the end, he had been flying to defend the boxcars, the mass graves, the gas chambers. Her mother had told her once that their great-grandfather had taken his own life a decade before she was born. Willow had put it down to despair after the events of World War III, but now she wondered if it was guilt. And now it is happening again, she thought. She put the burger down and sat back. She gave a start when Blake gently put a hand on top of hers. Weiss looked at her friend, and Blake smiled reassuringly.
"Yeah," Ruby agreed. "But how?"
"We'll start with those photographs I heroically gave my breakfast for." Riana walked into the room, wearing a jumpsuit that she nearly could swim in. "I think that Sergeant burned that flight suit," she said. "At least, I hope he did. He found me this jumpsuit while I took a shower." She patted the camera bag at her side. "Anyhow, when we get those pictures developed, that'll at least give you a layout of the place."
"What do we do, take them down to some one-hour photo?" Yang asked.
"Probably not a good idea. I took a break cleaning the F-18 and called Grandmother. She's sending a Gulfstream out to pick me up. Should be here in three hours. I'll get those developed by tonight, scan them, and e-mail them to you, Ruby."
"Better e-mail them to me," Weiss said, with a smirk. "Ruby struggles with electronics."
"Bullshit! You're still pissed I beat you on Goldeneye!" Ruby shot back.
"Well, whoever I send them to, then you can put together a plan of action. I'll share our findings with Grandmother and we'll go from there. I take it Glass spilled his guts?" She coughed. "Okay, not a great choice of words."
"Yeah." Yang told her Glass' story. Riana's expression changed from interest to shock. "A slave pipeline?" she asked.
"Sounds that way. Though maybe Salem treats them well so they don't turn on her," Yang said.
"Riana," Weiss spoke up, "Glass mentioned someone named Doctor Merlot. He didn't know who he was; apparently his contacts only mentioned Merlot in passing. Does that name mean anything to you?" By the time Weiss said it, her question was rhetorical. From the horror on Riana's face, she knew the name.
Riana staggered over to a chair and sat down, her face paler than usual. "Yes…yes, we know that name," she said softly. "Doctor Adrian Merlot. He was…is…a French geneticist. He was involved in creating the Faunus with Nicholas Schnee."
"What?" Weiss gasped.
"Yes. But Nicholas hated him. Merlot didn't want to stop with genetically engineering Faunus; he wanted to do it to humans as well. He said it would ensure that the GRIMM were stopped. When Nicholas found he was experimenting on children, he had Merlot arrested. Except Merlot didn't stay in prison long before he escaped and disappeared. He's on the FBI's Most Wanted list…and if the CIA had one, he would be on that as well." Riana closed her eyes. "We used to think that maybe Merlot just ran off to an island somewhere, but after Tyrian Callows escaped and we learned he was working with Salem…Merlot may be as well."
Ruby dropped her voice. "Would the Blacksmith know?"
"Probably not. Merlot escaped in the early 1980s."
Blake had gone pale as well. "Oh my God. They're not being used as labor…they're being used as experiments."
"Whoa, Blakey, hold on," Yang tried to reassure her.
"Yang, think about it! All of you, think about it!" Blake exclaimed. "The Kobolds. They're designed to be piloted—like the Ohka, Ruby, remember? Well, we know the Hound was genetically modified, right? That he was a clone, like Penny? What if Merlot is mass-producing them now?"
Ruby shook her head vehemently. "He can't! Pietro said that no one had the technology to do it. And according to Oscar—hell, according to me, after he tried capturing me last year—the Hound was screwed up in the head. He wasn't reliable."
"Then think about this," Blake countered. "Not clones, maybe…but mass brainwashing. Turning these Faunus and humans into mindless pilots—" She stopped herself, and put her head in her hands, her ears flattened back. "I sound like a crazy person."
"It doesn't matter," Weiss said. "We're stopping it. If we find Mr. X and Mr. Y, we can beat it out of them."
Raven chuckled. "Now you're learning." She showed Riana the papers. "By the way, I run the Mafia side of Las Vegas now. Let your grandmother know."
Riana shrugged. "I see slicing off a finger didn't make you learn about taunting my grandmother." Raven went red with anger at that. "Anyway, Weiss is right. We have to shut this thing down. Let me do what I need to back at Greenbrier. I don't think Grandmother gives a damn what you do in Vegas, Raven, and if she does, you'll know about it." Raven's anger faded, replaced by a hint of fear. She abruptly remembered who had the Spring Maiden now. "I can have something to you by in the morning; tomorrow afternoon at the latest."
"Sounds good," Ruby said.
Yang sat down and stole some of Ruby's fries. "Girls, maybe this is a bad time to bring it up, and it's probably in bad taste, but do you know what I want to do tonight?"
Blake smiled in spite of herself. "Get stinking drunk?"
"Yeah. Any objections? I mean, we've got a hotel damn near to ourselves now." She nodded at Raven.
"Normally I don't drink, for obvious reasons," Weiss said, "but I might just make an exception."
"Same here," Ruby added.
"Then it's settled. Tomorrow, we plan. Tonight, we get shitfaced." Yang grinned. "Joining us, Raven?"
Raven stifled a sigh of frustration; Yang would never call her Mom, except sarcastically. "No…I'm going to have to do a lot of meeting with that Dennis guy and a few others. You go ahead, though."
Riana scanned the papers and stood up. "Well…have a drink on me."
Three and a half hours later, Riana stood on the tarmac, still in her borrowed jumpsuit. It was starting to get dark, but after the day's flying, she found that flying at night, which she used to dislike, was not remotely frightening now. She had managed to eat some dinner and grab a little sleep, the camera always at her side. Ruby Flight had taken off two hours before. She wished them well, but privately Riana hoped her role in this was mostly over—at least firsthand. Once upon a time, she had dreamed of being a fighter pilot, but that dream was most definitely over. Riana wasn't even sure she wanted to skydive again.
The sergeant who had thrown up earlier walked up to her. "Plane's coming in, ma'am."
"Thanks, Sergeant. Sorry about today."
He snickered. "Well, ma'am, it ain't the first time."
A few minutes later, the Gulfstream IV came into view and landed at the St. George Airport. It taxied up to the tarmac and shut its engines down, then the door opened. Riana walked to it, and the pilot—the same one who had flown Riana and Ruby Flight from Florida to Greenbrier—came down the steps. "We'll be headed out in about 45 minutes, Miss Arashikaze," he told her. "We need to refuel and file a flight plan—and probably could do with some food too."
"No problem. Okay if I go ahead and get aboard?" The pilot nodded, and Riana boarded the Gulfstream, walking into the cabin. To her surprise, Trivia Vanille sat in one of the chairs. "Trivia!"
"Hi, Riana!" Trivia got up and hugged her. "Is that the camera?"
"Yeah." Riana set it aside gratefully. "I'll have to get in the darkroom as soon as we get back. Probably just sleep on the plane. Anything new?"
"A few things, but they can wait. I'll help you in the darkroom."
Riana cocked her head to one side. "Since when do you know how to develop pictures?"
"Since three hours from now," Trivia laughed. It was that strange giggle that always set Riana's teeth on edge. From what she understood, that laugh was the last vestige of Neo Politan, aside from the mismatched eyes.
"You're on. Be faster anyway." Riana sat down in one of the chairs. "Whew. Ruby Flight's getting drunk tonight. I might just have a nightcap too. It's been one long day." She told Trivia about the dogfight; the information about the trafficking, Area 51, and Merlot could wait, though she did say, "Thank you for the confirmation about Groom Lake. You may be helping to save a lot of lives, Trivia."
"Well, that's what I do now." Trivia squeezed past her, looked in the cockpit, and raised the side door—then locked it.
Riana was relaxing in the chair, then she caught Trivia's emphasis on the word now. She sat up as Trivia returned to her seat, reached under it, and produced a pistol. She aimed it at Riana's stomach. "The pilots won't be back for awhile, so I thought we could talk."
"About what?" Riana managed to keep her voice even. "Trivia, what are you doing?"
"Trivia. That's my name." She was not smiling. "But that's not my only name, is it, Riana? Don't I have another one? One that was taken from me? What's my other name, Riana Arashikaze?"
Riana knew that she was dead. Then again, she had come so close to dying today that it was hard to get worked up about it. "Neo."
