Chapter Twenty Five
Panama City docks, near the container ship Maya Conchita, at the same time...
"Not exactly a glamourous way to travel." - Ben Saxon remarked, eyeing the trio of hard-faced, solidly built men in civilian workman clothing, who disembarked along with the rest of the ship's work crew.
"Yeah well, don't knock it till you've tried it. If you wanna get somewhere without anyone having any chance of noticing you, this is how you do it." - Irwine remarked, remembering his own journey as a stowaway, with Yelena, after the conclusion of their first visit to Panama.
The three men made a beeline directly for Irwine, who grinned, heading forward to shake each of their hands.
"Harry, you stink of fish! I mean more then usual... how's the wife and kids these days?" - he addressed the lead one. The man gave him a mock-scowl.
"Well enough that they don't wanna have anything to do with me, boss. Let's just say there's no such thing as an ex-Son. It's like you're tainted, in the civilised world. Everyone drinking way too much Picus kool-aid." - the other two nodding, one with an eyeroll.
"You look good Irw... rumour has it you've gone hanzer a little?" - one of the other two remarked, as they shook hands.
"It was that, or lose my shooting arm! Not really a choice, huh? Oh yeah... this is Ben." - Irwine pointed at the heavily augmented cyborg next to him, who nodded in greeting.
"Pleasure."
"Ben, meet Harry, Saul, and Bobby! Along with me, you're lookin' at the last of the Squalnomie Rangers." - he made the introductions.
"Last, and best! So... you wanna get in touch with Korbin's crowd, for this balls-to-the-wall op you're planning?" - Saul asked.
"Yeah... last I heard most of 'em went native with the East Coast gangs around DC?" - Irwine nodded.
"That's the story. From one Washington to another, eh? DC, Baltimore, some in Philly... hell, I don't even think they answer to the big L anymore. They're pissed to hell and back that we didn't bust Korbin out yet. Now they're not much more then fixers for the gangs and the mob. Italians, Irish, the Triads... you name it. But what makes you think they'd be interested in hitting this VersaLife thing in Newark? No money in it." - Harry pointed out.
"They take-in a lot of augs, right?" - Saxon remarked, "So if the chips begin serial production, following the ratification, they will be hit hard, once they're forced to get them installed. If they help us take out the manufacturing site, they'll be helping themselves. Not to mention derailing the entire Act, most likely."
Bobby shook his head, as the five approached Saxon's van.
"That's not the kind of sales-pitch that'll get them fired up. Honestly I doubt most of 'em even think that far ahead. If this whole Restoration thing passes; sure, they won't be happy about it, but they won't start a revolution over it either. Those of us who are revolutionary types, tend to stay up North. Like Harry says, they're in it for the money – and hitting corporate facilities and squaring off against private security isn't profitable enough."
"Not even if there's potential for serious black market loot? Aug components, restricted chemical agents, all kinds of hard-to-get stuff that'll fetch an insane price. Especially given increased demand, with the new laws. We're talking VersaLife and TYM combined operation!" - Irwine objected, then added with a sly wink...
"Not to mention, hitting a high-profile target like this would put them back on the map, for the boss. And depending on the kind of loot they can haul out of there, give Lebedev Global a good foothold in supplying high-grade restricted components, and financing the movement better. We could always use more money, right? In short, get them noticed again. Maybe enough for command to reconsider busting Korbin out."
As the van set off, back to the safehouse, Larry eyed Irwine suspiciously.
"You think you can play on their pride, huh? Being abandoned? Wanting to prove themselves again?"
The ex-Marine shrugged.
"I think there's no such thing as ex-Son. Ex-revolutionary. Hell, ex-Marine, in my case. I still believe in my country. And that's why I joined the Sons. Because I wanna help save it. And whatever those guys might be now, some part of 'em wants to get back in the fold."
Saul grimaced.
"I think you're giving 'em too much credit, boss. But it's your call. Once we get to the States, Larry here can arrange a meeting with them. As for us, we're with you no matter what – it's been too long since we've seen some real action! And the possibility of that motherfucker Zelazny showing up – yeah. Too good to pass up."
Irwine smiled at that. He had no doubt his old buddies would be on board... but he also had no doubt he would have to turn his charisma up to eleven, to actually get Korbin's crowd to throw in. The look in Saxon's eyes reflected his misgivings.
Still, that was all in the future... for now, it was time to deal with a more immediate problem. Saxon nodded slightly, before he addressed Harry.
"Be that as it may guys, there's another little thing we need to deal with first. Not something the Cartel here can handle, without raising eyebrows from the authorities. Corrupt as they are, they don't like shootouts in the streets. We've got undercover PMC types watching us. Possibly related to what happened on the Sirine Queen, very likely Zelazny's boys."
"They tracked you? You sure?" - Harry scowled. Irwine nodded his head at Saxon.
"This place is crawling with tourist types, year round." - the ex-SAS cut in, "And these blokes act more tourist-y, then any tourists I've seen for the past three and a half years that I've been here. You know that trying too hard to fit in, type? Taking photos, sticking noses, asking questions... That is, until they forget they're supposed to act scared, when a head-to-toe tattooed roidhead sicario tells them to stop asking too many questions. They don't, they just shrug and walk off. You can smell a uniform on 'em, even though they're not wearing it. And way too athletic for local cops. Plus – augmented in a very professional manner. Mid to high-grade limbs. Especially this one lady I've seen... crew-cut blonde, wired, steely-eyes with gold retinae, could be N-ProTec made occular targeting implants. Way above anything a civvie or even most cops could get their hands on. Especially these days.
Harry nodded, slowly, exchanging knowing glances with the other two Sons. Then he cracked his knuckles.
"Sleepers, huh? So what do you wanna do about 'em? Eliminate, or question?" - he asked Irwine. The ex-Marine smiled inwardly.
Yeap. Even after all these years... anyone even possibly connected with Zelazny, sends my guys into a kill-mode! Sure takes me back.
He briefly recalled their campaign against Zelazny's Belltower team, back then.
"Ideally, both. I'd like confirmation that they're IG. Saxon and I are pretty sure Steel-Eyes is the one calling the shots. Once you've settled-in, we're gonna do a litte recon." - before Saxon took over again.
"I've done some shadowing yesterday, and am fairly sure they're staying at Etana hotel, downtown. The place has a history of being used by shady contractor types..." - he remembered darkly, "...and I know the layout. We need to figure out exactly which floor they're based on, and who are they coordinating with, locally."
The van continued on, through the dense Panama City traffic. After one intersection, Irwine frowned in the rear-view mirror.
"I'm pretty sure we're being tailed. That gray Motokun Scono, two cars back?"
Saxon, driving, casually adjusted his side-view mirror, then zoomed-in with one eye, at the reflection. He nodded.
"Right. Let's see what we can do to shake 'em off, shall we?" - tilting his head slightly sideways, as he opened an Infolink channel.
Hotel Etana, downtown, top floor, twenty minutes later
Ena Vande was pacing restlessly in her makeshift command office. She'd dispatched the latest intel report on the terrorists' movements, to the Inter Guarda comms hub, which was going to relay it to Zelazny in New York.
Unlike the past several reports, this one had quite a bit to say. Despite her operatives' attempts to hack into the docks' arrivals/departures manifest, they were unable to discover the port of origin, of that container ship that Irwine and the other operative – tentatively ID's as one Ben Saxon, another ex-Tyrant – were meeting.
But the woman didn't like this. Fedorova was bad enough... the fact that the Collective seemed to have another ex-Tyrant in their ranks, didn't bode well. Still, they did manage to get a facial ID of the three men the two terrorists met – all former N.S.F. Squalnomie Rangers. That made Vande's hair stand on end. Something... big... must be planned. But what?
She sat down on the edge of her table, picking up a pocket secretary with the latest field report from her team at the docks and studying it. Then she set it down again, and paced to the window, looking out at the vibrant cityscape below.
What could possibly the Sons' royalty be doing this far south?! I know the commander has a big beef with them, and I know Irwine wants Zelazny dead just as bad... their interaction on the Queen made that clear. Verdomme... they must be joining forces with this Collective cell, for some kind of major op. We really need to know more... and by the time the commander comes back with orders, it might be too late!
She thought, conflicted. Zelazny's orders were clear. Observe and gather intelligence, until reinforcements come. But after almost a week of this – they didn't really figure out anything. They couldn't get close to the safehouse, without being turned away by the Cartel, and they couldn't hack into the encrypted NSN comms from it, either.
And the longer they hung around poking, the more likely was that their 'tourist' cover, would be seen through.
"Ma'am? The docks' team has lost sight of the package." - one of her men showed up in the doorway.
"What do you mean? How hard can it be to tail a van?!" - she snapped, glaring.
"Reports of a Cartel shootout – the street got closed by the cops, right after the van passed through, before they could follow." - the man growled, voice heavy with suspicion. Vande grimaced.
"Not very subtle... they must have spotted our tails. But they did a good job losing them, all the same."
He nodded.
"They're going 'round, but for now, we've got no visual on the package. Best guess is they're heading back to the safehouse." - he suggested.
The blonde woman thought about it, then nodded.
"Back to standard observation, then. Hopefully we'll pick them up." - but she sounded unsure of it.
He regarded her for a moment, before he shook his head, fingering his rifle.
"How long we gonna be sittin' on our asses observing, Sargeant? The answers are inside that safehouse, and the longer we play tourist, the more likely we'll get made, even as dumb as those Cartel meatheads are. We could infiltrate while Irwine and Saxon are away next time, and have a little chat with Kelso ourselves. Maybe take her hostage before they return." - tersely.
"Boss said to keep watch. We're keeping watch." - Vande retorted sharply, then added with an annoyed sigh... "But I get where you're coming from. It's been nothing for a week... now this... this whole meetup with the Sons' celebrities – it stinks of a big op in the making. We might have to act before backup comes, if we're to find out what they got planned."
Back in New York...
Why can't things ever be simple?
Yelena thought darkly, as she sat quietly, cloaked in the back seat, listening to Radford argue with an officer, at the third checkpoint they were passing through. For ten minutes so far, and counting.
Despite the previous two checks being no problem whatsoever, and despite the detective's papers clearly being in order, the pig they were currently dealing with, had taken it upon herself, to make things difficult.
"How long you gonna keep me here, damn it? You already saw my papers check out." - Radford protested impatiently, clearly fed up.
"I can keep you here as long as I want to, sir. And since the attack last night, we're taking extra precautions. By the way, your attitude's not helping." - the woman hissed with a glare, in the kind of passive-aggressive tone, that made it clear to Yelena that this insecure little bitch had an attitude problem, herself.
One that likely wouldn't be fixed, without physical persuasion.
Staying as still as possible, not straining her cloak, she slowly glanced around, through the car's windows. A couple of intellicams, two more officers standing around keeping an eye on things... and their body language told the cyborg woman they were just waiting for things to escalate. Almost on it's own, the cyborg woman's HUD came alive with vector calculations and probability assessments, marking all three 'threats', and their relative positions to each other, and herself.
Her onboard systems-control AI knew her well. After almost nine years of harmonious operation with Yelena's brain, it knew what the woman's inclinations would be. She nodded slightly at that, satisfied, mentally preparing herself.
One with the machine.
"Please step out of the vehicle, sir." - the officer then ordered Radford.
"What for?!" - the detective countered, restraining his anger, as his eyes narrowed. Yelena couldn't help but smile slightly at that. He clearly had about as much tolerance for bullshit, as she herself did.
Good. He might not complain too much, on what's about to happen.
The woman didn't answer, but Yelena saw the other two pigs stepping in closer, hands shifting on their tactical shotguns.
"Step out of the fuckin' vehicle." - the female one repeated, her own eyes under the helmet narrowing, even as the two cars behind started honking their horns, because of the holdup, along with an annoyed shout of 'let the clank through, for fucks' sake'.
Yelena slowly reached for the doorjamb, inaudibly pulling it, and cracking the rear left-side door open slightly. With all of their attention now increasingly focused on Radford and the front-right side door, since the car was 'empty' aside from him – it went unnoticed.
"I wanna talk to your superior. Now." - Radford countered darkly. Yelena's lips compressed into a line, as she watched the female cop now finally pull a pistol out, aiming it at him.
"GET THE FUCK OUTTA THE CAR, CLANK! NOW!"
Inevitable I suppose. Time to teach little miss Attitude and her flunkies, a permanent lesson.
The rear-left door swung open suddenly, making all three officers start, their weapons wavering. Nothing came out, aside from a briefest – shimmer – in the air, just as quickly gone.
"What the- who else is in there?!" - one of the other two shouted, aiming his shotgun at the back seat, while the other circled around the car.
"Get that fucking gun out of my face, bitch..." - Radford growled, suddenly shoving his own door open, taking advantage of the policewoman's momentary distraction. The door hit her sideways, making her stumble, as her aim went wide for half a moment, enough for him to reach and grab the pistol, twisting it's barrel sideways and upward, as he slammed her forearm into the window frame. Once. Twice, as she grunted in pain.
BANG!
Within the next four-and-a-half-seconds, everything turned to pandemonium.
-The policewoman letting off a couple more shots, both wide, as Radford slammed her forearm into the window frame repeatedly, until she released it.
-The one circling the car, aimed his shotgun at Radford's face past the windshield, before an onyx-shiny blade sliced through the weapon, and both his arms, right through the armour, making him scream. The other blade flashed under his helmet, beheading him cleanly, his helmeted head rolling partway down the street.
Been far too long since I killed a policeman, anyway...
-Screams behind.
-Radford pistol-whipping the female one into unconsciousness, before he ducked sideways, the last one's shotgun blast blasting a sizable chunk out of the windscreen and the headrest of his seat. That cop then aimed higher, at the shimmering figure holding two blood-dripping swords...
-Yelena's half-decloaked figure jumping over the car at the last cop, evading his second shot, as she landed with a brutal down-kick at the shotgun he was aiming, ripping it out of his arms to slam into the pavement. To his credit, the man wasn't flustered in the least, trying to elbow her, but she checked it... then slid one vibrating blade across his exposed throat under the helmet... a fine spray of blood landing on the upper part of her chestplate, as she performed another decapitation.
-A fourth officer appearing in the doorway of the checkpoint shack, aiming a TMP at her back, before Radford's pair of shots took him in the chest, the powerful .44 rounds easily breaking through his light riot chestplate, dropping him as well.
-Both Intellicams starting to wail in alarm, focused on the bodies.
"Oh for fuck's-" - Radford started in shock, looking around at the racket, but was cut off by several shots – Yelena's Zenith out and targeting the cameras. Within the next two seconds, both were destroyed, and the alarm silenced.
Then she approached, standing over the groaning, half-unconscious female figure, kicking her helmet off. Without a word, she then stomped hard onto her head, her hoof-like foot crushing the policewoman's skull and killing her, some of her brain matter on display as it slid out of the collapsed skull. Yelena almost smiled at the sight.
"She was down for the count! Why the hell'd you do that?!" - the detective demanded angrily.
"No police witnesses. No calls. Should buy us a few minutes." - the aquiline woman stated, expertly slicing-through all three dead cops radios, before she pointed to one of the other cars behind. Then she collected her bundle of clothes from the floor of the car's backseat.
And that little scared, insecure slut deserved it. If anything, insecure women disgust me, even more then insecure men. At least they have excuse – ego. Pride. Appearances. Slim one, but... We should be better then that. How does a pathetic, scared little whore like that become a cop, is beyond me. And fear – is never an excuse.
"We need a new vehicle. All of you, GET OUT OF HERE!" - she yelled at the terrified onlookers, firing a couple more shots in the air, to disperse the small crowd that began to gather.
"We can't leave my car behind, they'll track it to me! Fuck..." - Radford pulled himself forcibly together, mind racing, "...go ahead and get the car. I'mma get rid of mine."
"How? I can hear the drones com-" - before he cut her off, "Just do it!" - as he rushed over to his car's charge-socket, pulling out another of his EMP grenades. Setting the weapon to overload-charge, he jammed it into the socket, then ran back to start the car once more, and set the capacitance-flow to full, building a current in the socket, which would trigger the grenade soon – starting a cascade reaction that would detonate the car's battery.
"It'll blow in half a minute, tops. Let's get the fuck outta here!" - he shouted, running for the car Yelena commandeered in the meantime.
"You drive, Radford. I expect you know the streets better then I! Can we avoid anymore checkpoints before we reach our destination?" - Yelena slid over to the passenger seat.
At that moment, a police-surveillance drone on patrol nearby, came screaming around the corner in powered descent, it's nose chaingun already deployed and tracking. Yelena was ready, her Zenith already aimed, since she could pick up it's approach on her sonics. The laser-dot settled rock-steadily on the drone's one artificial sensor-eye, as she started squeezing off shots. At this range, and with her arm stabilisers – an easy target.
The 10mm AP ammunition easily penetrated the light armour of the drone, dropping it, as it fizzled-out on the pavement, twitching briefly. It didn't get a chance to fire a shot.
"Get us out of here before more come!" - the woman snapped, replacing the mag in her weapon.
The man grimaced, as the car screeched-off, it's former owner yelling obscenities after them.
"If I'd known this would happen, I'd have taken the backstreets all along... fuck. Yeah... I can get us there..." - with a glare.
"Was all that shit really necessary?!" - even more conflicted now. Two blocks back, an explosion went off – his car, no doubt.
"You're asking me?!" - Yelena countered, "...maybe you should ask the lawmakers, for the necessity of checkpoints in the first place, yes? Or maybe the low standard for police recruitment in this city, that would allow a pathetic suka like that to become a cop?! In my country-" - before he cut her off.
"Yeah, yeah... hardass Slavs. Whatever. But you're right... that bitch shouldn't have been a cop, true. I know a power-trip when I see one. Still. What a goddamn mess." - he growled darkly.
The car swerved into an alley, then another... avoiding the main streets, even as police sirens could be heard in the distance, already converging on the checkpoint they left behind.
"Two incidents in two days... god damn it. It's only gonna get worse now, for augs." - he muttered, slowing down to more normal speed, as they continued taking the alleys and side-streets, making distance from the mess.
"Yes it will." - Yelena smiled almost – dreamily – to herself. Thinking of what the Chezh Republic had become, ever since the conclusion of the events in Prague. An all-out battleground between the authorities and the reformed ALF, the Augmented Liberation Front, spilling out of Utulek Complex, and the ashes of the ARC. With more and more rebels joining ranks almost daily. That country would be just the first of many, in the grip of civil war.
"You look like you almost... want it." - Radford eyed her with a scowl. She shrugged.
"We've been the chosen scapegoat, for three years already. Why not embrace the role? Fulfill their expectations? Make them a reality? Go with the flow, baby..." - her eyes sparkling with unsettling, almost... deranged... passion, that made the man shake his head to himself, eyes back on the road.
"That is how true revolutions begin. Chaos. More chaos that even they are prepared to deal with." - she added significantly, gaze fixed out the window now.
"They?" - Radford glanced at her again.
The woman didn't answer, taking the time to meticulously wipe the blood off her armour.
Half an hour later, they ditched the car, not far from the destination, approaching the intersection of Oakland and Ridge avenue on foot, Yelena back in her inconspicuous hoodie/slacks outfit over her armour and weapons... as they came within sight of an impeccably maintained front yard, and a gravel driveway beyond electronic doors, leading to a large, Neoclassical-style structure on a low hill.
The Rand Mansion.
Not far down the road, another car was parked next to a diner. The detective pointed discreetly.
"That's Sammie's car. He must be waiting inside." - leading the way down the street. On one of the billboards some distance away, Picus News was already coming alive with an emergency report. Yelena smirked, lighting another cigaweed.
"Those leeches are fast, I will give them that." - pointing with the smoke.
Once they entered, a thin, balding man sitting at one of the corner tables waved discreetly at them. A waiter approached.
"We don't really serve augs in-" - as Yelena shot him a withering glare, while Radford just shoved past him. The man grimaced, but said nothing more.
"Hey Brent. Who's the gazelle?" - the man tried an appraising glance at Yelena's whipcord-framed figure.
"Someone who will spank you if you call me that again, mister." - the tall cyborg retorted with a mock-glare, before Radford grimaced. Despite her light tone... he'd be lying if he said he wasn't unnerved, by how quickly she could simply shift moods, after the bloodbath at the checkpoint.
He was still in denial, on what they did there. Truth be told, he was in denial on what happened back in Hell's Kitchen too, but things were just moving so fast, that his mind would take some time to catch up. For now, he decided to stick to business.
"Sammie, meet Irene. She insisted on tagging along." - at which the other man's face paled.
"T-the perp?! Why would you bring h-" - as Yelena again interrupted, "...because you will both die if you try to simply walk up that hill to mister Rand's mansion. As well as invite a small army of mercenaries and police. That much I can guarantee with almost 100% certainty. So I decided to invite myself along. Protecting my interests, if you will."
"Alright, enough with the third degree. With all the shit that happened today, I want some fucking solid reasons from you. What's your plan?" - Radford growled under his breath, glaring, as Sammie looked confused – no doubt still under the mistaken impression the detective gave him, that this was not breaking-and-entering.
"It is three hours until nightfall." - Yelena nodded, then began under her breath.
"Until then, we do not go anywhere near the premises, including the street in front. You two are less conspicuous then me – walk the block, see if anyone seems to be loitering around, keeping an eye on the property. I will do the same from a higher vantage point – climb one of the surrounding buildings here."
"Won't you been seen climbing the walls like a spiderman, though?" - Sammie asked with a frown. Radford smirked.
"Nah, she won't. Pulling a disappearing-act is a part of her bag of tricks. Hanzers... keep going. But I don't think nighttime will make much difference. Let's assume Rand has IR and EM sensors installed on the grounds." - motioning her to continue.
Yelena raised her eyebrow, then nodded.
"Indeed. Which is why I will have to go first, carefully, and disable any such security grid, if present. Once we insure there are no human assets watching, of course. They might change shifts at nightfall as well, giving us an easier time to locate them."
"Makes sense, unless the watchers are bots. Bots don't need breaks." - Radford pointed out. Yelena shrugged.
"Maybe. But even the best bot AI is limited when it comes to active surveillance. And bots will be more noticable. Still. Organic or technological, we will have to find and either divert, or neutralise them."
Sammie looked nervous.
"This is starting to look more and more like a break-in, Brent. Not what you assured me. I'm gonna have to charge you triple. Or I walk." - with a glare.
Radford sighed, but nodded.
"Fair enough."
Staten Island, Inter-Guarda Outpost...
Volkard Rand eyed the news report suspiciously.
A second attack? What the hell is DeBeers up to now...? He wants to avoid unneded chaos, and here we have two attacks in two days...
"I've got people on-site now, sir. Preliminary reports from the cops suggest the offenders' vehicle has burned to a crisp. No way of tracing the owner." - Zelazny reported, after cocking his head to one side, no doubt receiving an Infolink communique.
"Witness statements?" - Rand prompted.
"Scattered. Older guy in a trench coat, and a tall leggy augmented woman. They apparently made short work of the checkpoint officers." - the cyborg reported, raising one eyebrow.
This made the bald man scowl.
"Did she kidnap Radford, or are they working together...?! And still no response from your observation team in the Kitchen?" - tensely.
"No sir. Best guess now is, she's making her move. Possibly on your wife, certainly on Radford. But why didn't she just off him... why add another thing to worry about? Holding onto a PI hostage would be hard, especially one of Radford's history." - Zelazny frowned.
"Wait a minute..." - Rand suddenly snapped his fingers, taking another look at the checkpoint where the second incident occured, and it's relative distance and location, from Hell's Kitchen.
"Look at the route... does that look to you like they might be on the way to Jersey? And..." - he trailed off.
"You think she forced Radford to give her the location of the mansion?" - Zelazny's face turned grim.
Rand pursed his lips.
"Forced? Or convinced... you say the witnesses claim they worked together. The good private detective might have been turned. And if that's the case..." - he glared at the cyborg.
"Take a team to the mansion! Immediately. With any luck, we might be able to end this once and for all. And send a second observation team to the Kitchen. They are to question the Hilton staff, aggressively, and check on my wife. As soon as possible." - he ordered, dismissing Zelazny with a nod, as he crossed over to the window, hands clasped behind his back.
"Yes, sir." - Zelazny saluted, and left.
Did you finally overplay your hand, Fedorova?
The bald man thought, fervently.
Unnoticed by him, an Intellicam in the corner of the room, swiveled slightly towards him – it's LED indicator light shifting it's hue from green, to orange – indicating it was separated from the building's security grid, and under independent control.
Then it shifted back to green, flickering slightly every ten or so seconds, almost as if... the change wasn't programmed... but the camera stayed focused at the man.