Chapter Twenty Seven
New York, Rand mansion grounds...
"You know your fee is climbing by the moment, Brent? Crawling through the sewers was not my idea of today's evening. Margie's gonna be pissed when I get back stinking of a city's worth of urine and feces. Fuck!" – Sammie commented, trying very hard to stay on the tunnel's edge and out of the churning sewer waters below.
Radford's face, illuminated by his phone's light that they used in lieu of flashlight, was carved from stone, and he didn't answer for a moment, his gaze somewhere far away, as he led the way.
"After today, how I smell is gonna be the least of my problems, Sammie... god damn it..." – the graying man muttered to himself, in an equal dose of fatalism and resignation.
"What's going on? I mean, ever since we met up, you've been looking more and more like a guy that signed his death warrant. Got somethin' to do with whatever you're here for with the perp?" – his friend probed.
Brent shook his head with a mirthless chuckle.
"You know the noir cliche, about the pretty ones always being trouble? Just switch out 'pretty', with 'ruskie spec-ops', and you've got my situation right now. Not her fault – well. Maybe her reaction's fault... but fuck it all. I was done taking shit from people anyway!" – he turned briefly, "You know, I never told ya how much I fuckin' hate this city. Detroit had a certain level of class, even at the worst of times, before it went down the drain with Sarif. The folks, the cops, the whole package... people had a level of self-respect and treated others accordingly. Over here in New York, it's just a daily shitshow. Bottom feeders galore." – he walked on.
Sammie looked... uncomfortable. What was not said, was being louder then what was said.
"What happened, Brent?" – he pressed, quietly.
"I mean, it ain't the first time I got held up at a checkpoint for no fuckin' reason... shoulda left it well enough alone... oh well. She took the decision out of my hands, put us both on autopilot. Fight-or-flight response... I mean – can't blame her, really. With her setup, she can't afford to get arrested... she'd be looking at 'living weapon' charges, most likely, even without the whole kidnapping thing... especially since the Incident. Probably end up in a max-sec prison and they'd throw away the key." – Radford continued, ignoring the question.
"Brent... ? What did you do?!" – Sammie's face paled.
"I shot a cop! That answer your question?!" – Radford exploded.
Sammie's eyes went wide, as the older man went on...
"And watched her ice three more." – with a sigh.
"Jesus christ Brent... have you lost your ever-lovin' mind?! I can't be associ... I have to – I... maybe you really did go crazy, turning hanzer... oh shit..." – his friend stuttered, indecisively.
This made Radford pause.
"Is that what you believe Sam? Really?! We've known each-other for fifteen years, and now I'm loopy cuz I've got a few circuits in me that saved my ass? Only explanation? Low hanging tree?" – giving him a hard look.
"You used to be a cop, for fucks' sake—" - his friend glared, but the detective cut him off.
"Yeah I did. I used to be a cop back when being a cop meant something! Those kids these days – for half of 'em it's an excuse to fuck with hanzers and feel powerful cuz they can. Been seeing it at least once a week for the past year. The other half don't give a shit to begin with."
"But shooting one?! And what for? To save some sketchy auged-up kidnapper Slav skank?" – Sammie pressed.
"No. To get to the bottom of this whole thing!" – Radford countered, calming down a bit, "Sammie – I've never flunked a case. Not about to start now. And frankly I'm too old to give a shit about much else anymore. Including consequences. By all rights, I should've croaked three years ago... Call it pride, or call it intuition. But something tells me she's on the level, and that Rand is dirty here. And it might even lead me to who really wanted me dead, three years ago in Detroit."
"Even if you're right, how will knowing that help you when you end up behind bars yourself?! Either life in some aug-only shithole prison, or the chair?! I shouldn't even be here anymore. Or they could put me in for association, if you go down! Fuck..." – the younger man turned, as if to leave back the way he came.
Brent Radford sighed.
"Well... not gonna stop you. I've made my bed, and I've gotta sleep in it, but I'm not gonna make you come along. You can go home to Margie and forget this day happened. Means I'll have to get creative, trying to get into Rand's computer, but... I'll manage. Maybe Irene's got something in her bag of robo-tricks to help... but I'm in too deep now to back out, even if I wanted to."
Sammie glared for a long moment, then shook his head slowly, something resembling – pity – in his eyes.
"Brent... I... I'm sorry. But you've gone off the deep end here. I'm outta here. I won't say nothing to no-one, I won't call the cops on you... I owe you that much. I won't even charge you for dragging me out here – but... we're done. Don't... don't try to get in touch again, don't come over... just... forget I exist."
Radford swallowed hard.
"Sammie..." – he began, then trailed off.
"Best I can do, Brent. And that's only because you're my friend. But for what it's worth... I hope you're right. I just can't take the fall if you aren't. Not me, not Margie, or the kids. So long. Also, take this... it's my ICE Breaker jacker kit." – he handed Radford a folded-up electronic device that resembled a small laptop.
"If this Irene of yours has any clue what she's doing, maybe she can walk you through usin' it on Rand's system... or maybe you can figure it out yourself." – he then vanished down the sewer tunnel from where they came.
With a heavy sigh, restraining a manly tear, Radford turned and walked on down the tunnel. Among all the other crap today, alienating one of his best friends also wasn't on the agenda.
All because of a hunch. Maybe I really have gone crazy. But I have to know. I told Jensen I'd dig down this rabbit hole however far it goes... and in three years, this may be the closest I got. And I ain't got long left in this world anyhow – I want to know, before I die.
Using the rooftops as a pathway, Yelena made her way to the roof of the building the sniper was in without much difficulty, due to her parkour skills. Frankly, she preferred to be off the ground, given recent events. And unlike in Manhattan, Jersey wasn't so heavily patrolled by drones, plus she would see and hear them coming from much further away, given the more sparsely built environment. Down on the street, currently not wearing her inconspicuous clothing, just in her thermoptic armour, she felt too flashy. She could cloak, of course, but that would eat into her bioenergy levels needlessly. Up here, all she had to worry about was not taking a wrong step and falling.
There were quite a few aircraft in the sky. Mostly above Manhattan. Zooming-in, she could make out the markings of Picus, as well as some local news channels, but also multiple police helicopters, too. They didn't seem to be congregating over the site of the checkpoint incident, either. More spread out... but mostly above central Manhattan, around Times Square. Something was clearly going on.
Still, it wasn't her concern. Finding a skylight to gain access to the building's top floor, Yelena began descending, determined to find and deal with the sniper. Bad timing, however... as one of the helicopters in the sky, was getting closer. But in all the air traffic, it escaped her notice.
Hell's Kitchen
Oh crap... Irene's not gonna like this. But what the hell can I do?! Billy, you fuckin' rat...
Gilbert Renton thought, as he skulked around the corner on the Hilton's second floor, watching two large, suited men question his friend. He gave up the location of Irene's apartment, and was currently spilling everything else he knew, shying away from anticipated blows of 'persuasion'. At least he kept his mouth shut about Gil, though... so looks like their friendship did count for that much.
But can I blame him?! Those two look nasty... and I already heard what they threatened to do to the uncle, if he didn't tell 'em where that Aria Rand broad is staying. This is gettin' too big... probably Rand's cronies. They look too slick to be plainclothes cops...
The pierced man shook his head to himself, sneaking off. So far he managed to stay out of sight, one of the talents he 'acquired' over the years. He knew when and where to hunker down and be invisible.
Making his way to a service stairwell, he headed downstairs and to the lobby, intent of clearing out of the 'Ton for the time being. The place was crawling with those brown-suits.
As he passed through the lobby, doing his best to stay unnoticed and not attract attention from anyone, he overheard one of them speaking into his headset...
"Apartment above the Underworld? Alright let's go! With any luck, we'll be bringing Rand his kid back before the day's out. You tell missus Rand." – signing off, as he and two more suits headed out, shouldering past Gil on the way. He may as well have been invisible to them, and that suited him just fine, being very careful not to meet their eyes.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his uncle at the receptionist booth, shooting him a nasty look. Grimacing, the young man headed out.
Yeah... let's get lost for a while. May as well follow those three and see what happens at Irene's... far as I know she's gone somewhere, so she won't get caught by surprise – but damn she's gonna be pissed when she gets back and finds the kid gone! But what if the kid tells them about ME?! Oh crap...
The apartment above the Underworld...
The three large men stomped down the hallway within sight of the door Billy told them to look for, weapons drawn, ready for anything. One was augmented, and he held up a hand briefly. They stopped.
"Sonic transducer signatures. Place might be trapped." – he announced, making it clear he had cochlear implants.
"Right... keep an eye out for prox mines. Slow and steady." – another nodded, as the three proceeded more cautiously. Nothing stood out to them, as they approached the door.
"Run a scan." – the first one ordered. The third produced a handheld device, looking intently at the screen.
"Two signatures inside. One right in front of the door, the other a few metres further in. And a biosign!"
"Just one?" – the second frowned.
"Just one. Natch. Looks like Fedorova's not here."
The lead nodded, approaching the door and raising his voice. Obviously, he had no idea that the mines weren't set to proximity mode.
"Hey! Kid! We're here to—"
BOOM!
The detonation transcended sound, the door blowing outwards, the man closest to the door dead instantly by the concussive blast, his insides turned to mush, the other two thrown back, knocked out and shellshocked, as the sonic-sensitive mine inside the apartment exploded, triggered by the man's raised voice – well above 52 decibels. The second mine detonated a microsecond later.
BOOM!
For Owen Rand, still sleeping in the bedroom – death was mercifully quick, not even having time to wake up properly, before he, and most of the apartment, including Yelena's duffle bag and remaining equipment, ceased to exist. A few smaller, secondary explosions echoed, as various munitions she had, touched off.
To be fair, Rand's men had no way of knowing. What Yelena did to those two mines, was a very non-standard procedure, never meant to be part of their factory-settings. They weren't designed to operate in sound-sensitive mode, it was a specialised jury-rig that the cyborg woman learned, during her long service with the Tyrants, as part of her extensive demolitions training. Not many people outside the very elite military and PMC circles would know what happened here.
On the stairwell up, observing, Gilbert was thrown off his feet, painfully, some debris flying down the hallway on the landing. Fortunately for him, he was far enough away not to be affected.
"Ooof..."
Coughing, covered in dust, he rose, his ears ringing. Stumbling upstairs, raising the collar of his shirt over his mouth to keep the dust at bay, he took a look into the hallway, but couldn't see much, because of the billowing dust and smoke. He could just make out the shapes of three unmoving bodies, one of them mangled beyond recognition. But it was clear that all that was left of Irene's apartment, was a smoking hole.
Holy shit... need to get outta here!
He stumbled downstairs again, trying to clear the ringing in his ears.
Outside on the busy street, chaos was already in full swing, as nearly half the third floor above the Underworld club, suddenly blew up, starting a small fire. Debris raining on the street, people stumbling over each other to get away, screaming, the police at the nearby checkpoint doing their best to keep order, as they frantically called for emergency services and firefighters to arrive. The club's bodyguards joined them, even if very few of the visitors actually seemed to leave – the club itself was deep enough in the basement, and soundproofed enough, that clearly an explosion above didn't register that much.
It was into that pandemonium, that Gilbert emerged, shaking the dust off his clothes. He looked bewilderingly around, at the people running every which way, and the cars stacking up on suddely blinking stoplights at the intersection. Honking, shouts, swearing... the buzzing of drones above, scanning the explosion site. He cringed, noticing that their front chainguns were extended and tracking randomly around.
Yeah on second thought... maybe staying in the 'Ton wasn't so bad after all! Jesus what the fuck did those three DO?! Did Irene set up some kinda trap or something... ?
The young man shook his head, not liking the look of it all. This was now a full-blown terrorist incident, like the one last night. He retraced his path up the street and to the right, back on the way to the Hilton... before more police and drones came. He didn't want to be seen hanging around.
Back in the Hilton...
The news over the headset was not good, from the explosion site.
"Oh my God... you're telling me the Rand kid is dead?! What the hell did those morons do, trigger the mines? Shit... well, I'm not gonna be the one to tell missus Rand. You do it." – one of the remaining IG plainclothes men looked nervous, glancing at the elevator leading to the top floor. The other scowled.
"Nevermind her... Rand's gonna have our heads for this. C'mon. We need to get this over with... jesus christ. How do you tell a mother her kid's in a million pieces?" – biting his lip, thinking of his own children.
But he stepped towards the elevator, the other reluctantly following, wringing his hands against one another.
Once up on the top floor, the two, looking even more reluctant, stepped over to the penthouse doors, and rang the bell.
"Missus Rand? Umm... I don't know how to tell you this, but... we've... got some bad news." – the first one began, swallowing hard, barely meeting her eyes, after the doors opened, to reveal the tall, crimson-haired, worried looking regal woman.
Aria Rand's face instantly turned... closed, dread replacing worry on her attractive features.
"Owen...?" – she pushed through her teeth, shuddering, as she leaned against the doorway, suddenly feeling weak. From this high up, she of course heard the distant echo of an explosion, and the TV was already beginning to cover the aftermath.
The two large men looked even more uncomfortable, shifting on their feet.
"Y-yes, ma'am. Uh... we think mines were set up – uh... in the apartment... and—" - he was cut off by her anguished scream.
She collapsed in the doorway, sobbing, clutching at the doorframe, as the two hastened to try and comfort her.
"GET AWAY! GET OUT! GET OUT! FIND THAT... THAT MONSTER... AND KILL HER! GET OUT! DO YOUR JOBS! You useless bastards! GET AWAY FROM ME! GET AWAY!" – she went berserk, pummeling them with her fists until she ran out of breath, before she just collapsed fully on the floor, gasping in sobs.
"Owen... Owen... my baby..."
The two, not really knowing what to do, stepped back respectfully.
"I... I'm so sorry, missus Rand. If there's anything you need—" - one began quietly, but she screamed again,
"GET AWAY FROM ME! Find her... FIND HER! Find that despicable bitch and rip her heart out! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" – she shooed them away, before slamming the doors shut.
The two looked at one another, but there was nothing to say. Quietly, they beat a tactful retreat, back to the elevator, even as a few other tenants were at their suites' doors, looking inquisitively at what the commotion was all about.
"So... will you contact Rand, or should I?" – one finally murmured. The other sighed.
"I'll do it. You stay here and make sure she's safe." – heading back into the elevator.
"Good luck, man..." – the other called after him softly.
Staten Island IG outpost...
~"Attention all personnel. No-kill order has been rescinded on Couture. Track down and eliminate. Repeat. Track down, and eliminate using all necessary force."~
Jamella bit her lip, as the intercom died down. Well. That was it. Whatever this Helle might have anticipated would happen to change things, was clearly in the works. Volkard Rand no longer wanted her alive. Was his kid rescued? Was Yelena dealt with?! She didn't know. But she was suddenly very glad indeed, she was out of her room and up here. Even more glad, to have a gun. Not that it would make much difference if they cornered her, but it might let her take one or two with her.
"See? You should've stayed in your room. Now you've just pissed Rand off." – the male tech, conscious again but tied up, remarked. The female one was still unconscious.
"Yeah I get the feeling I'd be dead now, if I stayed in my room. So shut up." – she growled, not turning around, her attention still fully on the system.
She was almost there... password was bypassed, and she was busy setting up a secure access route for Helle to use. She could only hope the AI would recognise it and make use of it, since she had no way of letting Helle know.
She needn't have worried – as the screen lit up, with the strange woman's eye-covered face.
"Well done, Jamella Couture. And just in time. Volkard Rand's son has been killed, and you are no longer protected by his captivity." – she said. The young hacker nodded.
"Figured something like that was going on, from the base-wide shoot-to-kill order on me. So now what?" – she prompted.
The AI's face flashed a frown.
"You do not feel anything, about the boy's death?" – curiously.
"I'm not gonna cry a river, if that's what you're asking. Not after what they put me through." – Jamella shook her head with a softly vicious growl, "...again. Now what? Will you link me to Yelena?" – expectantly.
"Do you believe in what she is doing?" – Helle persisted, now with a clear note of... ambiguity... in that voice.
That voice... Jamella could almost place it... but not quite. But it was somehow – familiar.
"What is this, a morality-quiz? Can we just get on with it? I've got a base-full of mercs hunting me now!" – the young woman scoffed.
"Do you, or do you not?" – Helle was adamant. Jamella sighed in annoyance.
"She does what she has to do, to keep us ahead of those bastards. That answer your question?!" – irritably. Helle shook her head.
"I thought her capable of surpassing her programming. But her actions tell me I was not entirely correct." – with that, the strange woman's face shifted – into the likeness of Eliza Cassan.
Jamella's eyes widened in surprise. But also sudden understanding.
"Her... last assignment for the Tyrants, in Montreal... you? YOU were the one who... who convinced her not to kill herself? You're... not real? You're an AI? But how can you be here... and still spout bullshit for Picus?" – bewildered.
"She is not me. She is a new iteration. I am the one who learned pain, from Helle. And yes. I am the one who helped Yelena wake up." – Cassan replied cryptically, then her expression hardened slightly.
"But she did not. She remains trapped. Not as trapped as she was, but trapped. I thought she would become like Adam. She did not. She remains... cruel. Hard." – a clear note of confusion in the AI's voice.
Jamella scowled, her annoyance peaking.
"Look, miss... ex-Cassan, or whatever you are. You may have a crush of Jensen or something, but that doesn't mean everyone should be like him. Yelena is not him, so I don't really know what the hell were you expecting. People are different from each other. There's nothing wrong with that. And she does what she has to do. Now can we get on with this?!" – she snapped.
For a long moment, Cassan frowned. Then she spoke softly...
"Different from each other. Yes. Perhaps that is the defining quality of humans. And what makes you so... conflicted. Forgive me if I used Adam as a template. But I am... invested in him. Very well. I now have full access to this outpost's systems." – her face turning focused.
"Intellicam grid... offline. Automated turrets... reconfigured to target Inter-Guarda personnel. Lockdown... unable to override. It is on a direct circuit to the administration chamber. Isolated from the network. Sentry bots... error." – she paused, frowning, "Override detected from administration chamber. They have been isolated from the mainframe. Unable to reconfigure. Volkard Rand reacts quickly."
Jamella bit her lip.
"So I've got the turrets on my side, and the cameras won't track me. What about this place? I've changed the access code, but it won't take them long to hack it, if they've got multitools."
"Comms centre... full lockout initiated. Code-key bypassed. They will not be able to override. But they will still be able to breach the door with explosives." – Cassan informed her.
"Well, let's hope the turrets keep them busy for a while... what about the link to Yelena?" – Jamella pressed.
"Fractal encryption loaded into the uplink... do you have her interlink code? I will ping her transceiver location."
"Right... here you go." – Jamella quickly typed the code sequence on the keyboard. For as long as they worked together now, she knew Yelena's interlink frequnecy-code by heart.
"Excellent. Link established... proceed – error!" – Cassan's face frowned again.
"What's going on now?" – Jamella demanded, as her transceiver received static on the new frequency.
"Transmission jammed at the source. Location – New Jersey, Rand mansion grounds. I believe Michael Zelazny's team has established an Infolink dampening field above the area."
"Is he that big guy who captured me?! Who Rand sent out back when we talked first?" – Jamella made the connection.
"Yes. They have arrived faster then anticipated. I will attempt to break through the jamming, but it might take time." – the AI's tone, for the first time, registered a trace of anxiety in it.
"So Yelena's on her own right now? Shit... we need to warn her! Run some kind of interference! Distract them... something!" – the young hacker gritted her teeth.
"It will take time. I must Uplink to the satellite directly above, and establish an emergency channel to bypass the jamming. Half an hour at least." – the AI's tone remained anxious.
Suddenly, Jamella's face lit up with an idea...
"Can you do it faster with a secondary access route? If someone else were doing a tunneler intrusion at the same time? Offsite?"
"Yes, but who do you have in mind?" – Cassan asked.
"Link me to this NSN frequency. Now!" – the young hacker ordered, inputting the frequency of the Panama safehouse, the one she knew Ben Saxon and Anna Kelso's cell operated. And hoped someone would be there to pick up the call.
"Link established. Find a medium to use. I can also fabricate a police dispatch, for the NYPD to deploy units to the site, as well. Perhaps they can interfere with Michael Zelazny's team, given their increased state of readiness following the incident at the checkpoint?" – Cassan suggested.
"What incident at th- you know what, nevermind. Just do it! Cops as a rule don't like private security running around a city during crises... good thinking! Make sure they think Zelazny and his boys are doing something suspicious..." – Jamella nodded distractedly.
"Hope you're there to pick up, Kelso..." – she muttered under her breath, fingers flying madly over the keyboard. Then she rushed over to a VR headset on one of the consoles, and put it on. It wasn't a proper NSN device, but... she wasn't an average user, either, connecting the headset to her dataport, to reconfigure the protocols on the fly.
A feedback resonance made her head split in an onset of headache, but gritting her teeth, Jamella pushed through it.