Rampant Destruction (CERBERUS Book 10)

by Andy Peloquin

  He resisted the urge to pull into the safe house building. Not yet, not until he was certain no one was on their tail. Instead, he looped a few blocks to the east before doubling back south, then cut hard west. All the while, he kept an eye on the rear-view mirror.

  A flick of the button switched off the signal jammer. “Taia, anyone paying attention to us?”

  “Negative,” Taia said, once again in contact with her primary systems now that the jam field was down. “You’re clear of a tail, and things appear to be business as usual with the Black Crows.”

  “Excellent.” Nolan grinned. He activated team-wide comms with a mental command. “Phoenix and Troll, roll out that welcome mat. We’re coming home, and we’ve got a dinner guest.”

  “Solid copy, Cerberus,” Darren rumbled. “Everything will be ready when you get here.”

  The journey back to the safe house building took less than ten minutes, even with the additional double-backs Nolan added into their route just to be safe. No one was visible on the street outside the building, and the underground parking structure was empty. That made it far easier for Bex and Master Sergeant Kane to unload the crate from the trunk and haul it into the service elevator.

  Nolan joined them, carrying Zahra’s portable signal jammer. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his combat suit, instead throwing a long trench coat on over the armor. Within minutes, the three of them were hurrying down the hall toward the apartment where Darren and Zahra awaited their arrival.

  “We’re coming in,” Nolan said over team-wide comms.

  Darren opened the door as they approached, then shut it quickly behind them. “It worked?”

  “So far,” Master Sergeant Kane said, scowling. “Now comes the unpleasant part.”

  “Set it down over here.” Zahra gestured toward an empty space she’d cleared just in front of the bedroom door. “Nolan, get that jammer ready.”

  Nolan set the device—which bore a strong resemblance to a spherical sporting trophy studded with a forest of metal antennae—onto the nearest thermoplastic military container and switched it on. “Signal jam field’s active.”

  “We’ve got to do this fast,” Zahra said. “Ready, Taia?”

  “Ready,” Taia said.

  Zahra nodded to Master Sergeant Kane and Bex. “Open it.”

  The two unlatched the crate and pulled it open to reveal…nothing. It still looked empty.

  “Beginning scan.” Zahra passed a pair of Djinn drones over the crate, then frowned down at the readout on her datapad. “He’s clean?” The question sounded surprised.

  “No outgoing signals detected either on his clothing or his person,” Taia said. “That’s odd.” A moment of silence, then she said, “Oh, of course! With your permission, Mrs. Askvig, may I make an adjustment to Djinn Six?”

  “Have at it,” Zahra said without hesitation.

  “This will take one-point-four seconds. There! Now try again.”

  Zahra passed the drone over the empty crate once more, and her frown deepened. “Shit, that’s a channel I’ve never seen anyone use before.”

  “It’s a covert signal that the Protection Bureau has only employed once when contacting Nolan in the past,” Taia said. “I simply expanded Djinn Six’s scanners to search beyond the known channels.”

  “So he’s broadcasting?” Nolan asked.

  “He’s not.” Zahra shook her head. “It’s his clothes.”

  “Hah!” A nasty grin tugged at Bex’s lips, and she elbowed Nolan hard. “That’s all yours, Garrett.”

  Nolan scowled, but that only made her smile broaden. With a grimace, he knelt and reached into the crate. His eyes saw nothing, but his hands felt cloth and the human body beneath. Long seconds passed as he fumbled his way along the sedated Agent Styver’s arms and chest until he found the zipper running down the front of the man’s clothing. He refused to look up at a snicker from Bex—he had no desire to see the glee he knew would be shining in her eyes.

  Of course, she couldn’t let it pass without a crack. “How many times did you dream of the day you’d get Agent Styver naked?” Bex asked, on the verge of laughter. “Fantasies do come true, eh, Cerbie?”

  “Shut up and help me!” Nolan growled. “This’ll go faster if it’s not just me.”

  With a half-snort, half-sigh, Bex knelt and set about helping him. Master Sergeant Kane joined in, and within a minute, they’d stripped off the strange garments.

  Agent Styver’s outfit appeared as odd as ever—the same black three-button suit, starched white shirt, and dull gray necktie with its gaudy white gold tie bar—but the fabric itself seemed to shimmer and ripple like cloakthread. However, this was a weave far more advanced and denser than anything Nolan had encountered before. The smart cells had actually been integrated into each thread, as if someone had replicated the full-body digital cloaking of cutting-edge armor but in suit form.

  On first glance, his hat appeared like an ordinary—if incredibly antiquated—fedora, complete with the velvet ribbon and stiff brim. However, gauzy fabric hung from the brim, forming a veil-like face covering that had been made with smart cells to provide complete digital cloaking. Nolan didn’t bother examining the man’s sleek, polished dress shoes—he felt reasonably certain they also contained smart cells.

  All in all, the man’s entire wardrobe was designed to be invisible, from head to toe. And who knew what other technological tricks had been integrated into the smart clothing. Nolan had no desire to find out.

  They didn’t stop until Agent Styver was down to his underwear—of course the upright fuck is a tightie-whitie man, Nolan thought.

  Zahra ran one final scan. “He’s clean.”

  “Troll,” Master Sergeant Kane said.

  Darren moved around Nolan and Bex, stooped, and lifted the unconscious Agent Styver out of the crate with no apparent effort. The pair of them disappeared into the bedroom, while Nolan and Bex retrieved the clothing, hat, and shoes they’d stripped off their captive and dumped it into the crate.

  “Seal it good and tight,” Zahra said. “If my design holds, it should block any and all signals.”

  “Your design is excellent,” Taia replied. “It required no modifications on my part.”

  A hint of a smile appeared on Zahra’s lips, though it vanished quickly. She was proud of her toys, and a compliment like that from Taia definitely carried weight. After all, Taia had repurposed and upgraded the design of her Djinns.

  Nolan stared down at the crate. The thermoplastic exterior hid a complex Faraday cage interior designed to block all incoming and outgoing signals across all channels. They’d tested it before, so he felt reasonably certain it would work. All the same, he couldn’t help a bit of wary apprehension. He’d expected a subdermal tracker or implant of some sort, but Zahra and Taia seemed to agree that the man’s body was clean. That made Agent Styver’s clothing the most dangerous thing in the room.

  He actually hesitated a moment before following Zahra’s order to deactivate the signal jammer. Yet, after he shut it off, Taia didn’t send any warnings, and Zahra’s expression remained content. He took that as a sign the crate’s signal containment field was operational.

  When he glanced at Bex, he found her delighted expression had turned a touch more vicious. A nasty gleam shone in her eyes. “Ready for some fun?” she asked.

  Nolan nodded. Despite himself, he couldn’t ignore the grim satisfaction growing within him. “Gotta love the smell of torture in the morning.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Darren had emptied everything from the bedroom and dragged in a lone wooden chair. With a few blankets thrown over the window and a lamp set in just the right position, he’d transformed the room from a living space into a makeshift interrogation room.

  A mostly naked Agent Styver sat slumped in the chair, unconscious, his wrists and ankles secured by military-grade quick-ties. Nolan took a moment to study his captive. Agent Styver’s physique was a startingly perfect match for his face. He
was the most unremarkable physical specimen, with the first hints of a paunch, a slight droop to his shoulders and chest, and the arms and legs of a man who spent most of his life in a chair. Not a single tattoo or birthmark marred his skin, and the strange-looking patch of freckles on his left bicep was the most interesting thing about him.

  He was, in every possible way, an utterly bland human being, down to his pristine white underwear.

  Except for the fact that he was already beginning to awaken. Agent Styver shifted in his seat, his eyelids fluttering and low groans echoing from his throat.

  Nolan frowned. “You gave him the full dose?”

  “A-firm,” Master Sergeant Kane growled. “Enough sedative to keep him out for another couple of hours.”

  Doubt nagged at the back of his mind. “Troll, got an empty syringe?”

  Darren had moved away from the seated captive and knelt to unfurl a heavy roll bag. From among the sharp implements and tools within, he withdrew a small syringe and held it out to Nolan without a word.

  Taking the syringe, Nolan moved toward the now stirring Agent Styver and jabbed the needle into the man’s arm. He took a quick draw of blood, just enough to half-fill the tube, then retracted it and stepped back. His eyes sought out Bex, who stood on the opposite side of Master Sergeant Kane.

  “Kali, take this and have Bast run an analysis,” he said.

  Bex’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the blood-filled syringe.

  “Nano-scrubbers would explain things,” Nolan offered.

  Understanding dawned in Bex’s eyes. “Gotcha!” She snatched the syringe from his hands and left the room.

  “Taia—“ Nolan began mentally.

  “Of course,” she replied. “If he does have nano-scrubbers in his bloodstream, I can compare them to the nanites in Sladek’s blood. Maybe something there will make it easier for me to reverse-engineer them and craft nanites for you.”

  Nolan smiled. “Thank you.”

  He found Darren and Master Sergeant Kane looking at him with a mixture of curiosity, bewilderment, and interest. “I’ll explain later,” he said. He’d told them about his diagnosis on Diomedra, but after being reunited at the Celestial Cascades, he’d been so focused on the mission that he’d neglected to update them on Taia’s latest attempts to manage and reverse his deterioration.

  If either of the two Silverguards had planned to answer, they never got the chance. Agent Styver’s groaning grew louder and his head lifted. Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open. He blinked into the bright lamplight shining directly on his face, then turned his head to examine his surroundings. All trace of befuddlement vanished the moment he found his wrists and ankles immobilized. His expression changed from one of confusion to one of profound irritation.

  “Whoever you are, you’ve just made a mistake of colossal proportions.” His bland voice was calm, free of fear despite his surroundings. “I cannot overstate just how monumental of a blunder this is. Your best hope now is to run as fast as you can and pray to whatever god or machine you worship that this galaxy contains a hole deep enough for you to hide. Because I warn you now—“

  “Let me guess,” Nolan interrupted, “you’re going to make things very messy for us.”

  His words had the desired effect. For a split second, shocked surprise cracked Agent Styver’s bland face, and his eyes widened in recognition. It passed so quickly Nolan might have missed it, had he not been watching. The man’s calm self-assurance returned, his expression smoothing out.

  “Anapest woolage whitherward uranic tarantas!” Agent Styver said, with a look that reeked of triumph.

  Nolan stared at the man, confused. The fuck was that? Had the man lost his mind? No, that couldn’t be it. Agent Styver appeared fully in control of his faculties, despite the gibberish-sounding words rolling off his lips.

  “Anapest woolage whitherward uranic tarantas!” Agent Styver repeated, leaning forward and speaking louder.

  No, it was definitely done on purpose, Nolan realized. But what did it—

  Of course!

  Nolan let out a cry and clapped both hands to his head. “No!” he screamed, his voice rising to a shrill falsetto.

  Cruel delight shone in Agent Styver’s eyes.

  Nolan squirmed as if in agony, his legs wobbling. “You cursed brat! I’m melting. I’m meelllttiiinng!” His loud shriek turned to raucous chortling.

  Agent Styver’s triumph quickly shifted to confusion. “Hah!” Nolan straightened and slapped his leg as he laughed at the befuddled look on the man’s face. “I knew I should have gone into the theater.” He turned toward Master Sergeant Kane. “Didn’t I tell you I’d make a hell of an actor?”

  The master sergeant nodded. “Just need a bit of green makeup, a wart for your nose, and a pointy hat, and you’d be the perfect Wicked Witch of the West.”

  For the first time in nearly five years, Agent Styver showed genuine surprise. His jaw dropped and his expression grew incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe the evidence before his eyes.

  “Had you going there, didn’t I?” Nolan chuckled. “What were you expecting? Maybe a scream of pain and blood boiling out my ears and nose? Or did you want something less messy? Just a silent collapse as your kill code fried my brain?”

  Agent Styver’s bland expression soured, but he said nothing.

  “Sorry, friend-o.” Nolan tapped a temple. “That particular threat’s been neutralized. One option down. What’s your play now?”

  Agent Styver lifted his chin and fixed Nolan with a glare of silent defiance.

  Nolan pretended an exasperated sigh. “So that’s how it’s going to be, eh? The silent treatment’s never been my favorite.” He glanced at Darren. “Got anything in that little toolkit of yours that will loosen his tongue?”

  The big Silverguard drew out a ballpeen hammer and a long, wicked-looking steel punch. Then, after a moment, he shook his head, set down the tools, and plucked out a pair of garden shears and a corkscrew. He held both out to Nolan, who took them with a nod.

  Nolan glanced up at the ceiling. “Taia, how about some mood music? Something to set the stage.”

  “Of course, Nolan.”

  Loud, dramatic organ music drifted from the room’s speaker system. It was a spiraling tune, replete with flourishes and repeating motifs, a piece Nolan recognized as Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, the work of legendary Old Terran composer Johann Sebastian Bach. A suitably dramatic choice, he decided, perfect for the task at hand.

  “Wonderful!” Nolan turned to Agent Styver and lifted the tools so the man could clearly see them. “Now, which do you want first?” He hefted the shears. “We could go with some good old-fashioned snip-snip-snipping.” He punctuated his words with three clacks of the shears. “Or, we could try something a bit less conventional.”

  Agent Styver held his silence, and though his expression never changed, Nolan saw the defiant look in the man’s eyes. As expected. He doubtless had undergone training on how to not only inflict “enhanced interrogation” techniques, but resist them as well. He’d be a tough nut to crack.

  But Nolan felt more than up for the job. Truth be told, he actually welcomed both the challenge and the opportunity to dole out a portion of the misery Agent Styver had heaped on his life—not only in the last week, but for the years he’d been under contract with the Protection Bureau.

  With a savage grin, he advanced on his captive, wielding the shears and corkscrew like weapons of war. “Now, Agent Styver, I know you’ve been trained to—achoo!” He sneezed violently and straight at the man, not bothering to cover his face.

  The reaction was instantaneous. Every muscle in Agent Styver’s body went rigid, his expression frozen in an inscrutable mask. Yet that slight change told Nolan he was on the right track.

  “Sorry.” He passed the shears to his left hand and used the palm and fingers of his right hand to wipe his nose and mouth. “I think my allergies are acting up.”

  Agent Styver said nothing, but there was a
fractional narrowing of his eyes as he watched Nolan grab the shears once again in his right hand—first by the blades, then by the handle.

  “As I was saying, I’ve got no doubt you were trained to resist interrogation.” He walked around Agent Styver’s left side, and as soon as he passed out of the man’s eyeline, he cleared his throat loudly, then coughed without covering his mouth.

  Agent Styver cringed, instinctively shifting in his chair to move away from Nolan.

  Nolan grinned. “But you know that as Silverguards“—he punctuated his words with another fake sneeze, and this time he made sure saliva droplets peppered the back of Agent Styver’s neck and bare shoulders—“we’re taught the same methods you were trained to resist. So the question here is: which one of us will be better trained? And which of us will outlast the other?”

  He continued walking around behind Agent Styver until he passed the man’s right side. Passing the shears back to his left hand, he rested the palm of his right on Agent Styver’s shoulder, making sure the man saw that it was the hand he’d used to wipe his face after sneezing. He could almost imagine feeling the man’s skin crawling and pulse spiking.

  “I’m not going to lie—“ He sneezed again, right onto Agent Styver’s head. “Damn! This is getting bad.” He looked to Darren. “Got a tissue handy?”

  “Just this.” Darren drew a small square of cloth out from the tool bundle. “I used it to polish everything, so it’s got a bit of mineral oil on it, but—“

  “Ahh, no worries.” Nolan reached out and took the cloth. “Just got something stuck up there that needs to come out.” He tilted his head toward Agent Styver. “Kind of hard to run this interrogation if I’m sneezing every five seconds.”

  After wiping his nose and coughing loudly into the cloth, Nolan tossed it over his shoulder as if discarding it. It was a carefully calculated toss, though. When he turned back, he found the cloth had fallen directly into Agent Styver’s lap. The mineral oil Darren had poured over the fabric—as well as the grease he’d wiped off one of the wheeled vehicles in the underground parking structure—was now in contact with both the man’s pristine white underwear and the hairless skin of his left leg.