Chapter Twenty-One
Fires from the first attacker's self-destruct detonation continued to spread from the direction of the server room's entrance, as Yelena continued doggedly crawling through the maze of server towers, trying to find any – any – kind of hiding spot. Her HUD overlay remained awash in red-lined status messages, as her onboard antivirus software struggled to excise the intruding scramble-program. Until it did, she didn't dare reconnecting her power grid. Right now, she was – barely mobile. Helpless, but barely mobile. Being paralysed would be infinitely worse.
However, that meant that all – all – of her systems were inactive. Even those on a passive circuit. Including the cochlear implants. And without them, she was half-deaf, and slightly disoriented, having relied on them for many years. The perspective, crawling on the cable-covered floor, with identical-looking server towers all around her, wasn't helping.
She wouldn't hear the attacker coming, and she wouldn't see him either, until he was right on top of her. Tamping-down an onset of panic, she continued to crawl... as the world around her began to spin, from an onset of dizziness, brought on by compromised hearing. The HUD reports were also not helping, in that regard, being very distracting.
Suddenly, over the spreading fires, she heard a voice, almost like from the end of a deep tunnel... no doubt a consequence of her semi-deafness.
~"What the- You! Drop the gun and put your fuckin' hands up! NOW!~
~"What's he doing?! Is that a- shit! DROP HIM!"~
A staccatto of weapons fire, followed by screams.
~"Shit, he... he vanished! What the fuck—aaaAAGHHhh!"~
~"Oh my fuckin' God... ! Somebody shoot that hanzer freak!"~
~"I can't see him! WHERE IS HE?!"~
More weapons fire, more screams, followed by an explosion, beyond the doors. Yelena couldn't help but let out a laugh of pure relief, rolling over onto her back, breathing hard in reaction.
I guess... he has other things to worry about now! More guards from other wings of the building, I take it... that self-destruct wasn't very quiet!
Perfect timing, indeed. Yelena never made it a habit to rely on luck, but in this case... she was under no illusion what would've happened to her, if that second attacker found her like - this. The HUD readouts remained in the red, and given the progress reports... her antivirus countermeasures were still struggling to defeat the scramble-code. No wonder – they were likely never written for something like this. A new form of weapon. And Quinn was not exaggerating – it was terrifyingly effective in crippling her. Had she not disconnected from the power grid...
Product of my time... and honestly, when was the last time I even thought, about updating my firmware package, including antivirus subroutines? Five, six years ago? We almost never needed to worry about cyber-threats, on missions. Our targets preferred direct methods. I may not be able to shield my circuitry, but I CAN at least update the countermeasures! If – when... Jamella is back with us, I'll ask her to design and write a custom firmware package for me.
She thought, feeling a bit disgusted with herself, for not taking that briefing more seriously.
And there was literally nowhere to hide, down here in the server hall. Using her two swords as leverage, she managed to prop herself into a sitting position, leaning on one of the server towers, with a view of the front part of the hall – engulfed in flames by now, having spread upwards, to also engulf the walkway and the exit above.
The fire was spreading, fast, given the high amount of wood used in the Archives interior, and the highly flammable computer components down in the server hall. Even with the jury-rigged sprinklers on the ceiling coming to life now, and trying to douse the flames, alongside a deep wail of a fire-alarm, it wasn't enough to contain it. They slowed it down... but that was all. And it was a napalm-based fire, which made it worse.
Well. Good news, bad news situation, I suppose. Good news – nobody will be able to get to me in here now. Even if he defeats the guards, he will not be able to get through that fire. If the guards take him down, they won't be able to get in here either.
She thought, rather enjoying the feeling of cold water on her face, from the sprinklers.
Bad news... I'm trapped here by the fire. And unless this... scramble-virus, is purged in time, and I can use my systems again, to reach those windows and escape, I will be burned alive!
Yelena could see the poetic irony of it. Oftentimes during her meditations, she wondered what would it feel like, to burn for her sins. She may very well find out, soon, unless her systems are restored in time. By the speed of the fire spreading... less then ten minutes.
She glanced longingly at the row of windows, and the moonlit night outside. Then she closed her eyes, murmuring an Orthodox prayer, to St. Sarov. For months now, she hadn't really prayed anymore. Like she told Irwine – her perspectives changed. But here, now...
...she really didn't want to find out, what would it feel like. Not here. Not now. Opening her eyes, she glanced back at the encroaching fires, reflected in her eyes... the first stirrings of genuine fear. And not just for herself, and her deeply-ingrained conviction, that she didn't have the luxury of dying, yet.
No. For Jamella.
"Jamella... YA dolzhen spasti yeye! I ya ne smogu etogo sdelat', yesli umru... YA znayu, chto ne zasluzhivayu Tvoyey milosti, Gospodi. No ona eto delayet. YA yey nuzhen... pozhaluysta, pozvol' mne spasti yeye! Pozhaluysta, ne pozvolyay etomu zakonchit'sya vot tak... radi neye, a ne radi menya."
She amended the prayer, with a heartfelt thought, her vision blurring more, from dizziness. The fires were getting closer, and, combined with the feeling of – floating – brought on by dizziness, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to compare the experience to approaching the gates of Hell.
Suddenly, the steady stream of red-lined status reports scrolling across her HUD, ended with a yellow one. Then another, making her pay attention. Yelena shook her head, trying to dispel the dizziness...
Her systems were clearing up! Biting her lip briefly, she restored the power grid... and a surge of strength came rushing back into her limbs... still a bit twitchy, but – functional. Her hearing restored, and it was as if a fog lifted from her mind – the dizziness was gone instantly.
A little unsteadily, she got back to her feet, taking a few tentative steps...
Help yourself, then God will help you too.
Granny's old saying came to Yelena's mind, and she smiled. That was what she made a habit of doing, most of her life. Still, she was under no illusion – she lucked out. That despite it's age, her counter-viral response was up to the task at all.
She stepped over to the wall, pulling out her climbing hooks once more. Her legs were still unsteady, and she didn't dare jump to the windows – but she could climb the wall. Looking back at the burning servers, she shrugged.
Not exactly the planned way to do it, but... I don't think anyone will be accessing Lexi or her brother's digital ID for quite some time. Mission complete. And I didn't have to let Kelso into my brain. Bonus points there!
In return, she almost burned to death, and would have to spend some time pulling the flechettes out of her flank, when she gets back to her hideout. Fair trade.
As she smashed the window, and leaped out, not caring about added alarms now that half the building was on fire, and distant police sirens could be heard approaching, Yelena took a moment to eat an energy bar. It didn't fully restore her bioenergy pool, but it would allow her to make use of her cloak – sparingly, to reach her appropriated AI van, parked the next block over.
One of the two sentry bots on patrol outside, caught sight of her briefly, before she cloaked, but by the time the machine turned it's weapons on, she was sprinting to the fence, and jumping over it, out of sight. She didn't stop running until she reached the parked AI van, and climbed inside, just as her energy levels were about to deplete once more.
Once inside, she took the time to use a biocell, of which she packed a few, in the van's cargo bed. This recharged her up to 70%.
Finally back on her way to Hell's Kitchen, Yelena got to wondering who her attackers were. They couldn't have been sent by Volkard Rand. Or they would've been working with the guards, to corner her. Also, he wouldn't have sent only two operatives. He would have sent his Inter-Guarda attack dogs, and likely half the city's police force, given his influence in New York, and the fact that she did kidnap his son.
So who sent them?! And how did they know I would be at the Archives? For that matter – who were they? Golden mask... integrated self destruct failsafe – very enforced anonymity. It smells of the Illuminati. But, if they knew, Rand would have known... he is one of them. I don't understand...
Still, there were only four people who would know where she would be tonight. Irwine and Saxon were two of them, assuming Kelso brought them up to speed. And the other two, who knew for sure.
Lexi Bekrios, and... Anna Kelso. Yelena had plenty of opportunities to gauge the informant's sincerity, over the past two days. Unless Lexi was an exceptional liar, she never picked up even a hint of duplicity, on her part.
The former Secret Service agent, on the other hand... Kelso made it no secret of her – reservations – about Saxon's attack plan on the Newark site. And again, their talk on the assault craft came to Yelena's mind. Thinking back to it – there was a lot of subtext, to Anna Kelso's questions, and her argument with were very much not on the same wavelength, regarding acceptable methods and consequences, of this war. Not to mention – the simple fact that even after two years, there was no doubt she still held a grudge for Icarus, and... everything leading up to it. Which – Yelena had to admit – was a lot.
In the darkness of the van's cargo space, the aquiline woman's eyes narrowed, ever-so-slightly, as she massaged the two bullet-holes in her flank. Making assumptions, and jumping to conclusions – was her long-standing character flaw. But still...
I may not be the only one, after revenge. But I do – try - to keep some perspective. How about you, Anna? Would you sacrifice the organisation's goals, to make me pay?
The cyborg woman thought, as she pursed her lips, absently cracking her knuckles, one by one. Unsure. Granted, it was a reach, but... logic tracked cleanly. Nobody else knew she would be here, tonight. And Lexi had no motive, to set her up like this.
Then again – Kelso never struck her as this short-sighted, either. Holding a grudge – yes. Angry – absolutely. In disagreement with her on many - most things – definitely. But she wasn't a fool. She knew that any contact with the enemy, was bound to make her a target, too. And the entire cell she was a part of. If there was one thing the cabal was good at, it was finding people. Especially people who leave trails like that.
More police sirens could be heard in the vicinity, no doubt response units rushing to the Archives, along with different tonality of sirens – likely firefighters. On sudden flash of insight, Yelena activated the police radio she took from Billy, to listen in...
Most of the dispatches were what she might expect, related to the ongoing disaster in the Archives, as well as an unidentified attacker being neutralised – her second ambusher - but one caught her attention – about a 'suspicious automated van seen leaving the area, with an unknown individual, and to be on the lookout for it'. She scowled, looking at the device.
Well, good thing I have this radio... or the next checkpoint might have been an – interesting – experience. And I think I've had enough interesting experiences for one night!
She hated to leave the van, since it has proven very useful to get around New York quickly – but there was no choice. Opening the cargo doors, she hopped out, nearly getting ran over by a random car following.
"Hey, watch out!" - the driver yelled at her through the window, as she hastily leaped aside, then a flash of shock passed over his face, as the tall, armed and armoured female figure – vanished into thin air.
I should've done that while cloaked... lot on my mind. Focus, Yelena!
The cyborg woman rebuked herself, not paying attention to the driver or anyone else, as she ran the opposite direction, looking for a sewer manhole. The van itself would continue on it's preprogrammed path until it reached the next checkpoint – hopefully far enough to throw the police off track. And she doubted that man would be able to give a coherent description, having only seen her for a split second.
Given her still-unstable limbs, from the aftereffects of being scrambled – Yelena didn't dare risk the rooftops. And frankly, she was exhausted. And more then a little tired, following everything she went through, since her arrival in New York. That left travelling through the sewers. She consulted the maps in her Datavault – the main sewer lines roughly followed the street layout, so she should be able to return to Hell's Kitchen within a couple of hours, at walking pace.
It would be stinky down there, but... safe. And she could take her time.
When was the last time I had a good nights' sleep? I caught two and a half hours in that basement, last night before morning when I met Lexi to take me to Owen's school... none at all since. I can't keep relying on cellular regenerators – they aren't meant to be used continuously. I need rest!
The woman thought, stifling a hard yawn, as she paced down a sewer tunnel, trying to breathe through her mouth, and avoid the stench. Still – all in all, she was lucky to be alive, after what happened in the Archives. And she knew it.
Hilton Hotel, Hell's Kitchen, twenty minutes later...
Having booked two separate rooms at the hotel, Radford and Aria Rand were knee-deep into discussing how to proceed, following what the young punk, one Gilbert Renton, whose uncle was a manager of this hotel, told them. And the contents of the envelope, which were – surprising, to say the least.
It was Owen's watch. The Rolex his father bought him, that the boy was so proud of lately. Rolled-up inside the watch's chain, was a badly hand-written message:
Come alone to meet me in Hell. Or the next time you see your son, will be in hell.
"Why didn't you just hand that little... marauder... over to the police?! He is an accomplice! And have them set up some sort of... stakeout... here in this neighbourhood?" - the stately woman hissed under her breath, as the two sat at their own table, down in the hotel's luxury restaurant.
"And achieve what, exactly?" - Brent countered, "Give our kidnapper, this – Irene - advance warning that we're onto her? This is a classic runaround she's giving us. Fake meeting spots, dispensable middlemen – that kid's probably some punk off the street she found. An easy grand – that's enough to get any of these street-rats to jump in with eyes closed. Plus, getting moon-eyed, if she's a looker. Don't worry – I've got our Gilbert clocked now. First and last name, address, guardian – everything. Soon as your son's safe, I'm gonna call some of my friends in the force, and have him taken in, as an accomplice. He's looking at a decade in jail, most likely. Especially without a good lawyer, and he don't look like he can afford one." - the private detective assured her.
"Better then he deserves!" - she simmered, "Did you see the way he looked at me? Little rabid... uggh... insect! I had half a mind to slap him into next week, unless he learned to keep his eyes up and off my chest!" - her tone even more clipped then usual.
Radford had to laugh at that, shaking his head.
"Well, he's a nineteen-year-old... safe to say he's thinking more with his lower head then the upper one! Probably also part of the reason he agreed so readily to get involved in this. This Irene must've twirled him around her finger. Money was just the cherry-on-top."
Aria Rand glared.
"I cannot fathom, how any woman, would ever stoop so low, to abduct another woman's child, then write a message as – as... depraved... as this, to the mother? What kind of monster are we dealing with here, Brent?" - clenching her fist hard enough for her manicured nails to leave deep dents in the palm.
The detective nodded slowly, rubbing his chin.
"Definitely doesn't fit the usual profile of most kidnappers... but like you said before, this whole thing smells personal." - he paused, "Anyway, for now, it's important that you seem to be following the kidnapper's program. Hopefully make her feel secure and complacent enough to actually meet with you. And then, I close the net."
The woman gave him a nervous grimace.
"Two hours ago, you were concerned about me being out in the open, for fear of being taken as well, and now you want to use me as bait, Brent? I do wish you'd make up your mind." - sarcastically.
The man shrugged.
"You're the one paying, missus Rand, so it's your call. Our only alternative is to do what you suggested and simply inform the police, have them set up a stakeout, with you in the middle – still as bait. But I can pretty much guarantee you it'll tip this Irene off. All due respect to the New York's finest, but... subtlety is not their strong suit. I've no reason to doubt her sincerity, when she claims she'll kill your son if she smells a cop within a mile of you. And I get the feeling that whoever she is, she's not some two-bit miscreant. She's planned this out." - he took a sip of his drink.
"That's also why we've booked separate rooms here, and as far as anyone watching right now may be concerned, you're simply having a drink with a rather homely-looking, graying bum in a trenchcoat, who looks nothing like a cop. Even if he used to be one, long ago." - with a wink.
Aria nodded, slowly, frowning all the while, as she came to a realisation.
"That is also why you didn't tell this... Gilbert... what this is about? Or allow me to show him what was in the package? Why you humoured his belief I am a buyer of drugs? I thought it seemed strange... but yes! If he tells this Irene woman the truth..." - before Radford nodded, face set in hard lines.
"If she suspects even for a moment, that we're onto her, Owen's as good as dead. As far as that little runner punk is concerned, I may as well be just somebody you happened to hang around with, when you made the pickup. Maybe a close friend, or a lover, whatever. Someone to walk you at night, make sure you didn't get in trouble." - he smiled.
"And that is what he'll tell Irene..." - Aria Rand couldn't help but smile back, "Brilliant. I say... I do believe your commission is well-earned." - with a slightly hooded gaze, as her hand slowly slid across the table towards his, grasping a glass. Radford's smile faded slightly, behind an apologetic expression.
"I make it a rule not to touch another man's wife, missus Rand." - to which the woman rolled her eyes in mild disgust, pulling her hand back.
"Pfff... I may as well not be, given how infrequently he deigns to touch me at all! And his... stonewalling, since this happened – it is maddening! I do not care about any secrets he might have, as long as it doesn't endanger my son! But if this happened because of him, in any way..." - she trailed off, in a vicious hiss.
"Then I might have to earn my commission again, perhaps." - Radford pointed out, significantly.
"Perhaps." - she nodded, a flash in her eyes, as she drained her cognac in one gulp.
"Where the hell've you been? Bad enough you're hanging around with that no-good Billy Masters character, or blowing half your money on weed, now you're getting involved with strangers I've never seen around here before? Especially that tightass-looking lady... she looks way too loaded to be your usual company. She booked a luxury suite, and dropped the kind of creds up front that I ain't seen in a year! What did you get involved in now?!" - Gilbert's uncle growled, pulling the young man aside, just as he passed by the reception desk, about to head upstairs to the first floor, where his room was.
Just then, one of the hotel guests was approaching the desk. Looking over Gil's shoulder, he whispered in his ear, adding, "Nevermind. But we'll talk later, got it... ? Get outta my sight." - urgently, before he flashed a wide, polished smile at the guest.
"My apologies for waiting, sir. How may I assist?" - in a noticeably more sophisticate-sounding tone, with a slight bow, playing the role his job demanded of him.
Glad to be off the hook, Gil mumbled something apologetic in return, then rushed upstairs, grabbing two steps at once. In the first floor hallway, he made a beeline directly for his room at the very end of the hall near the elevator, glancing briefly through the inner balcony window, overlooking the restaurant below...
...the two were still there, sitting at one of the corner tables, talking. The man caught his eye, and Gil swallowed, at the no-nonsense expression on that face. Remembering the gun being shoved into his ribs.
Scowling to himself, he entered his room, and, not even taking off his shoes, flopped down onto the couch. Thinking hard.
Shit... damn better hope Irene gets in touch soon...! You're an idiot, Gil, you shoulda asked her for contact details, not just had her bat her lashes at ya with 'I'll find you later'! Stupid... Gettin' held at gunpoint by some bodyguard asshole or whoever that guy is, was NOT part of the job! Something tells me that rich lady's not satisfied with the merch, either... giving the murder-looks she was throwin' at me... but that's for Irene to worry about. At least they gave me a ride back...
He shook his head to himself, trying to calm down, sauntering over to the fridge, and grabbing himself a slice of cold pizza inside, along with a can of Ishanti soda. He grimaced as he took a bite, before he flopped back down on the couch, popped open the soda, and turned on the TV... displaying a Picus emergency report.
~"Breaking news; little is clear at this point, but the National Archives building in New York, appears to have become a target of an unknown form of attack. Preliminary reports indicate possible sabotage, as fire appeared to have been set in the building's main server room, spreading rapidly to engulf half the building as we speak, and completely destroy digital civic records for the city. Emergency-response firefighting units are already on the scene, fighting to contain the flames, and preserve this historic structure, but the outcome of their efforts remains unknown."~ - Eliza Cassan paused, seemingly looking off to the side, before continuing.
~"New information just in, folks; a body of a Juggernaut Collective-affiliated militant has been recovered from the premises. This heavily augmented individual was apparently the one responsible for arson. In the process, he killed four of the Archive's security force, and seriously injured three others. Fortunately, the remaining guards were successful in neutralising him, or there is no doubt the damage, and death toll, would have been much higher. More information as it becomes available..."~
Panama City, Panama, same time...
Watching the news, Irwine scowled hard. At first, he feared it had something to do with Yelena, but relaxed when he heard it was a male individual who was killed. Still, he turned towards Saxon.
"Something doesn't add up here. Wasn't she supposed to be at the Archives tonight, to proxy for Kelso or something, in order to clear the way out for her informant?" - voice laced with suspicion.
Saxon nodded. "That was the idea. Safe to say it won't be happening, but looks like the servers got destroyed anyway, so I'm assuming the extraction plan's still intact." - at which point Anna Kelso walked into the room, temples bearing the marks of a proxy-headset, which she'd been wearing for the past hour.
"I can't get in touch with Fedorova! She's blocking the Infolink frequency. I don't underst..." - the woman announced, annoyed, before her gaze fell on the news screen, and she trailed off, in openmouthed surprise.
"Yeah..." - Irwine replied, watching her carefully, eyes slightly narrowed, "The Archives got attacked by militants, it seems. Funny timing, don't you think?" - subtly testing. Her expression turned into shock, as Saxon butted in.
"Hold on, mate... You think Anna had something to do with it?! Why would-" - before the ex-Marine cut him off.
"You tell me. Since us three are the only ones who knew about it, and both of us were right here for the duration." - sharply, his gaze still on Kelso.
Her expression of shock was replaced with one of strained patience, mixed with outrage.
"Mister Irwine, If I wanted to set Fedorova up, don't you think I'd pick a less obvious time to do it, then when, like you say, the only people who would know about her itinerary would be the three of us?!" - biting off the last three words, before she frowned.
"But that's not true... Lexi would've known too." - softly, before she shook her head decisively.
"That makes no sense. She's fed us reliable intel for a year. A double-agent wouldn't have done so much damage to their side, just to establish rapport. Right...?" - biting her lip.
Saxon got up, beginnings of suspicion forming on his face now, as well.
"Anna? If you know something..." - reaching out to take her hand. She looked up at him, face still locked into a frown, rubbing her chin.
"No... it's just something Lexi told me once. Before she started working for us. She said: 'I don't care about you or your cause, I just wanna make sure I come out ahead, in the long run.' I thought it was just figure of speech; I mean, most informants are in it for either the money, or principles. And she does have an augmented brother, so... she does have a stake in this!" - her gaze turning – hopeful.
Now Irwine stood up too, face hard.
"Sounds like a picture-perfect opportunist, if you ask me. In the Sons, we've got a strict god damn policy of not taking in people who put credit signs before a cause! That's what sets us apart from a PMC, for fucks' sake. You people got played! And now Yelena's in there, helping this bitch escape, who may or may not be a rat? And who probably knows what she's up to, regarding Rand? SHIT!"
- fists clenching.
"Look! So far we're just making wild guesses!" - Anna held up her hands, "And like I said, I can't contact Fedorova... she's blocking the link! You'd think she'd be interested in what the hell happened?!" - motioning at the TV screen.
"And the channel we set up in encrypted through custom protocols – it can't be traced, if she's worried about that."
"Unless she also thinks you set her up... and is keeping comms silence. Or possibly not in a position to respond..." - Saxon murmured.
"Oh this is just great! What the fuck do we do now? We've gotta get word to her!" - Irwine threw up his hands, exasperated.
Early morning, the hostel near Point Pleasant beach, New York...
The chubby receptionist laboured up the stairs, then sauntered down the hall, reaching Room 17. To her surprise, the doors were not fully closed.
That's funny. Didn't see either of 'em leave...
The woman thought, knocking. No response. But the draft from the room could be felt, along with a slight metallic tang in the air.
"Hello...?" - she knocked again. Still no reply. Pushing open the door, she stepped in, feeling on the wall for a light switch. On the far side of the room, a window was open.
Finding the switch, she flipped it on... then started screaming, as her gaze fell upon a corpse of a young augmented man, his throat slit from ear to ear, lying on a bloodsoaked sheet on the bed, an unfinished bag of Cheetos in his hand, stiff from rigor mortis.
Nick Bekrios.