"But you'll get there first."
"Exactly."
Ⓥ
Paul Onion rubbed his sore jaw, wincing. The swelling had gone down considerably since the injection of healing accelerants, but his face still looked like it had been used for target practice. Falling down the stairs face-first wasn't good for anyone, least of all a fat bastard like himself. Of course, he hadn't planned on being tranquilized by some girl vigilante when he woke up that morning.
Goddam jade could've killed me.
If Manic Pixie Girl hadn't been there, he would have been toast for sure. She was the one who saved the payload even though he took the credit. Good thing she was crazy enough to believe he was looking out for her. In reality, she scared the hell out of him. Still, he wished she was with him on the current job. But once again, he got stiffed because the big boss wanted her elsewhere.
He shifted his armored vest for the umpteenth time, hating the way it crushed his belly, giving him an even worse case of gas than usual. Not to mention the sweating underneath. The fans in the warehouse ran at top speed, and the swamp coolers blasted at full force, but all it did was create humidity like a tropical rain forest. He didn't even know why he had to be there in the first place. His skills were logistical, meant for remote communication from a cool, safe environment. Not hands-on direction for an operation that required guns and muscle.
I swear, Vigil and his crew have screwed up everything.
It wasn't fair. He'd been on the receiving end of Vigil's attack at the Den of Beasts, and it was like he was on the shit list ever since. Vigil got the drop on Mister Sister and Jake the Flake too, and neither one was put on grunt detail like him. It was like the Vigilant had everyone on edge. Not to mention the cops getting smart all of a sudden. The nightclub busts had multiple parties pointing fingers at each other, and the word was that Janus wasn't pleased. Not at all.
Paul Onion repressed a shudder. Everyone knew that leadership in Diabolis was precarious, prone to swift and sudden promotions and downfalls. Janus played with lives like a kid playing with toys, not caring who he broke along the way. Anyone who didn't pull their weight was likely to be found cold and dead sooner than later, and Paul Onion didn't want to be one of them.
Since the disaster at the docks, he had to pay extra to get the shipment in by truck, including additional bribes to their moles in the RCE to manipulate surveillance for untraceable passage. Even so, he practically held his breath the entire trip, sure that some Vigilant nutjob would launch an attack, or Vigil himself would show up. Or that killer priest. Or an RCE raid. It was too much, and he had to chew nearly an entire bottle of antacids just to cope.
He heaved a sigh of relief. The transit went without a hitch, the trucks driven to a dark, shady corner of Brickland and pulled into a warehouse owned by the Grim Reaper Posse. Their skull-and-bone embossed soldiers guarded the truck and patrolled the area outside, covering the entire block. Snipers were posted in the windows of nearby buildings, alert for any suspicious activity.
The Crimson Kings arrived on schedule for once, swaggering in their loud red colors but efficiently loading delivery vans marked as faux shipping vehicles. Paul Onion watched the activity from a rampart on the upper level, nodding to himself as the correct crates were sorted and packed away. He glanced at his holoband. A few more minutes and—
With an electrical groan, the lights winked out.
"What the hell—?"
He ducked when someone unloaded with a submachine gun, the muzzle flashes painting the room with light in nano-flashes. Men shouted in alarm; boots and sneakers squeaked and scraped across the floor. More gunshots, followed by the sounds like hammers beating raw meat, bones splintering, and men's screams. Paul Onion knew exactly what was happening.
Vigil was happening.
He tapped the datcom in his ear. "We're under attack. Need backup and extraction now. The payload is threatened. I repeat: payload is threatened."
"They can't hear you," a menacing voice said from behind him.
The lights clicked back on with blinding brilliance. Paul Onion winced, blinking rapidly while turning around and trying to draw the mech pistol strapped to his leg. Vigil moved faster, grabbing his wrist and wrenching it at an unnatural angle. Paul Onion nearly screamed, twisting like a pretzel to keep the bone from snapping. Sweat slid from his brow and dripped from the tip of his nose.
Vigil leaned in close, scarlet visor pulsing with every word. "I'll only ask this once: who's behind Cerberus?"
Paul Onion gasped through gritted teeth. "I … can't talk. I'll be … a dead man if I do."
Vigil seized Paul Onion by his harness straps, lifted him off his feet, and hurled him over the railing. Screaming, he fell five feet and slammed into the concrete below. Pain crashed over his entire body like a tidal wave, a crescendo of agony that flared from head to toe. Blood in his mouth, leg not working right, backbone frozen, terror so thick he smelled the stench in his nostrils. He craned his neck, desperate for assistance.
Bodies were strewn across the warehouse, dead or unconscious for all he could tell. They were slumped against stacked crates and vans, hanging out of broken windows, battered and bloody. The sound of approaching boots grew louder. He painfully pushed himself to a sitting position, cringing when Vigil's shadow darkened his vision.
"I got two squads outside right now. They'll be here any second."
Vigil tilted his head. "They'd have to be conscious to do that."
"What do you want?"
Vigil crouched in front of Paul Onion, raising a gloved hand that glowed electric-red, humming ominously. "Cerberus."
Paul Onion's eyes roved, scanning the room. There was no one to hear him, no one to witness his shameless act of cowardice. "It's a three-part op: CKs distribute, GRP provides transport and security, and Diabolis synthesizes and supplies the product."
"Where?"
"The Underbelly. Deep down, where no one goes. They call it the Underworld."
"Who's in charge?"
"The main man himself. Janus."
"In person?"
"He doesn't trust anyone else with this stuff. I don't why, but it's important to him."
"What does he look like?"
"I never saw his face."
"Don't make me hurt you again."
Paul Onion stammered in his haste to spit the words out. "Wears a golden two-faced mask. That's all I know, I swear."
"You better know more, because I can haul you back up and toss you over the railing all day. Not sure how many times you can take the fall, though. Tell me where to find him."
Paul Onion winced. "Okay, okay—I don't know where he lives. But—" he licked his blood-smeared lips. "I know where he'll be."
"Tell me."
"Divinity Church, tomorrow night—the big one in Manhaven. He meets with Bishop Goodman once a week. Some kind of project they're working on. I don't know what it is. That's all I know; I'm serious. They only tell me what I need to—"
He paused, looking up. Vigil was gone, vanished as if he was never there. Paul Onion cackled with panicky laughter, painfully trying to stand up. His body nearly refused to cooperate, flaring with every movement.
It wasn't even a surprise when light flooded from the windows, sirens wailed outside, and the doors burst open, admitting a squad of RCE officers led by a fierce-looking woman with thick, wavy hair pulled back from her face. She and her team looked stunned as they secured the scene, staring at the fallen Crimson Kings and Grim Reaper Posse soldiers. As the squad approached, Paul Onion wearily raised his hands.
"I surrender. Get me the hell outta here and into a safe prison cell, please."
Ⓥ
The Stingray glided between narrow gaps between buildings, fusion thruster silently propelling it along. Vigil glanced out the window, spotting a fearless boy sitting on the ledge of a rooftop, pushing up his holovisor to stare at the gleaming vehicle as it floated by.
Incognito's shadowed profile popped up on th
e dash monitor. "Wolf in sheep's clothing."
"What about him?"
"That's who Dolos told you to follow. And surprise—Bishop Goodman's first name is Connor. I looked it up. Means wolf lover in Irish."
"Well, at least we're getting somewhere. Anything you can find that connects him to Diabolis?"
"I'll do some digging. Not sure if I'll find much—Diabolis agents are notoriously difficult to connect to anything."
"Looks like not much has changed, then."
"What do you mean?"
"Diabolis isn't new, Incog. The name existed before the Cataclysm, passed like a mask from one extremist group to another. The faces and agendas changed, but the name didn't. It just shed its skin like a snake and continued on."
"I didn't know that."
"Well, I doubt this group has anything to do with the last people who used the name. But until we crack the inner circle, we won't be able to find out."
"I'll find out what I can and get back to you."
"Sounds good. I have a stop to make before I call it a night."
"Okay. Call me if you need anything."
Vigil guided the Stingray deeper into the city canyons, watching the darkness claim the buildings as the sun sank in the distance. Lights winked on—intermediately in the poorer parts of the city, brighter in the safer areas, while Manhaven and Haven Core glowed like Christmas decorations. Stirring up a cloud of dust, Vigil set the Stingray down on top of an abandoned building before exiting and entering the rooftop stairwell.
The splintered steps creaked under his weight as he descended. Switching to nightvision made negotiating the dark interior no problem, and it took only seconds to get to the old meat market where Slick was supposed to be waiting for him. Scanning the store with infrared revealed a single figure nervously pacing back and forth. Vigil didn't have the heart to cloak himself with the cape and scare the life out of Slick. The poor man already looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown the last time he pulled that stunt, and he figured he'd be a little more casual the second time around.
Slick still jumped nervously, eyes wide with fear when Vigil entered. "You supposed to meet hours ago."
"I got held up."
Slick's face was damp with sweat, his hair lank across his brow. He lifted a vape to his mouth with trembling fingers. "I got what you wanted. About Cerberus."
"Three-pronged operation. Diabolis, Crimson Kings, and Grim Reaper Posse. Headed up by a man named Janus. I already know all about it."
Slick's eyes widened further. "How could you find out—?"
"Don't worry about it. I'm cutting you loose, Slick. I got what I need, so you can go and do whatever you plan to do. Just stay clear of the syndicates. They're going down."
Slick froze, staring in disbelief. "You're letting me go?"
"That's right."
"Why would you—?"
Vigil turned toward the door. "Figured you could use a second chance, Slick. If you're looking for employment, go to Harry's Plumbing and see Mr. Brown. It's scab work, but it's steady and will keep you out the way of anyone who might be looking for you. Got it?"
"No." Slick squeezed his eyes shut and slapped his hands against his temples. "No, no, no!"
Vigil stared. "What's the problem?"
Slick looked up with a tormented expression. "Thought you were gonna keep stalking me. Just wanted to escape. Didn't mean for this to happen."
Vigil twisted his wrists, charging his g-spans. "What did you do, Slick?"
Slick turned to the window, staring at the building across the street. "I told 'em everything. They're looking for you, got a bounty out for your—"
Vigil's threat detector pulsed. He snatched Slick and propelled backward, smashing right through the sheetrock at the same time that a missile fired from the opposite window. Slick's screams rang in his ears as the store disintegrated into flaming rubble and thick, choking smoke. The floor collapsed under their feet, and they plummeted into the darkness, showered by smoldering debris, the entire structure groaning like a dying beast around them.
Vigil landed on his back, throwing up his hands as the entire upper building fell on his head.
Ⓥ
Agent Red lowered the torpedo launcher from his shoulder, watching the opposite building rock from the damage to the fifth floor. Thick plumes of black smoke clouded the vicinity as angry flames licked the edges of the gaping wound from the explosion.
Tapping his datcom, he motioned to his red-garbed Blood Boyz positioned in the street below. "Get in there and make sure he's finished. Got six minutes tops before the pigs show up."
Leaping out the window, he landed in the seat of his waiting jet-cycle and put it in sentry mode, hovering just above the damaged part of the building. Clicking on the spotlight, he fanned the smoldering interior, fingers hovering over the handlebar triggers to the twin gatlings that protruded from the front faring.
Behind the ghoulish helm, he grinned. Come on, you bastard. Show yourself, so I can send you straight to hell where you belong.
Chapter 9: Trident
"Come on, get up." Slick's voice was a garbled whisper, thick from fear.
Vigil awoke to a world of hurt.
He coughed, inhaling chalky dust and smoke. Something wrong with the helmet filtering system. "Proto, I have problems."
His digital assistant's voice buzzed in his ear. "I'm rebooting your filtration system now, Vigil. Please move with caution. I've run a check on your vitals. You have a stable fracture in the tibia of your left leg, several contusions, and several bruises."
"Tell me about it." His body was half-covered in rubble, injuries painfully making themselves known. He shifted and nearly screamed from the sharp stab of agony across his leg. It took him a minute to realize that Sick tugged at him, trying to free him from the debris. Vigil tried to absorb as much damage as possible to protect Slick, but the smaller man still took some injuries. He bled in several places and was covered head-to-toe in gray dust.
Proto continued his deliberation from Vigil's datcom. "I'm using medi-gel from your suit's inner layer to activate a micro-cast around the leg and administer painkillers, but I would recommend against putting weight on it if possible."
Gritting his teeth, he sat up and shoved the debris away. "I don't think assassins care much about your recommendations, Proto."
Slick looked at him in confusion. "Who you talking to?"
"Not you, Slick." Vigil tried to ignore the pain and accepted Slick's offered assistance, standing to gingerly test his injured leg. A jolt of pain with every shift. He winced as he pulled a small filter mask from the pouch on his belt and handed it to Slick. Scanning the building with his visor on infrared, he picked up several heat signatures coming up the stairwell.
"Put the mask on down. Keep low and follow me."
Slick gratefully placed the mask over his nose and mouth. "Thanks."
"I'm surprised you didn't take off when you had a chance."
Slick took a fearful look around. "This my fault. Couldn't leave."
"That puts us on the same team. So do what I say if you want to live. Five Blood Boyz are coming upstairs, and at least one is outside on a tactical jet-cycle. We have to move quickly, or we're dead. Or you are, at least—I'll survive." Pulling the heavy handgun from his side holster, he handed it to Slick.
"Neo-thermal pistol. You know how to shoot?"
Hesitantly taking it, Slick nodded.
"Good. When I tell you, start shooting out the window to draw the target out. Keep your shots upward, don't hit other buildings. Understand?"
Slick stared with fear-crazed eyes. "What you gonna be doing?"
"Taking him down. Go."
"Now?"
"Now. Go!"
Slick obeyed, limping toward the window and squeezing the trigger. As the rounds boomed, Vigil sailed up through the hole in the ceiling, lifted by his boot thrusters. Just as he figured, the jet-cycle drifted down to investigate, spotlight beaming on Slick. The man on it
wore an impressively fearsome executioner mask and blood-red combat armor. Jett recognized him as Agent Red, the Helmer of the Crimson Kings syndicate.
One of the big guns coming after me in person. I must be doing something right.
Agent Red fired plasma rounds at the lower floor, where Slick dropped low, shooting blindly, tripping over debris, screaming as none of his increasingly errant volleys scored a hit. It was only a matter of seconds before Agent Red took him out.
Vigil fired a repulsor blast that struck Agent Red in the chest. He toppled, limbs flailing as he fell several stories down while his jet-cycle stayed aloft, spinning in emergency hover mode. Vigil dropped from the upper floor and landed in the bike seat, grimacing from the stab of pain from his leg. Ignoring it, he steered the cycle close to the window and beckoned to Slick.
"Let's go."
A body struck him from behind, rattling his teeth. He fell off the bike and rolled to avoid any following gunfire. Flipping to his feet, he faced his assailant.
The antigrav boots that saved Agent Red from his fall made him a human battering ram as he pressed the attack. Vigil spun, hampered by his injured leg. He barely saw Agent Red's arcsaber in time. The weapon looked like a violin bow with a laser in the place of the string. It hummed, laser blade crackling when it missed his head and glanced off his shoulder armor in a spray of hissing sparks and scorched alloy. Pain flared when the hot metal burned into the epidermis armor faster than it could repair itself. He ignored it, ramming into Agent Red to avoid the saber's deadly range. Locking arms, they stumbled across the rubble before Agent Red used a stiff leg to trip Vigil and slam him into the floor. Vigil fired pulse blasts from both palms. Somehow, Agent Red used his arcsaber to deflect the discharges, recoiling from the force.
Vigil shakily stood, charged fists clenched. Agent Red assumed a crouching stance two yards away, holding the arcsaber in a reverse grip with the non-lethal side adjacent to his forearm. Dancing on his toes, he darted forward. The blade cast light spirals in the air with his acrobatic attack.
Vigil engaged auto-lock on his visor panel.
Vigil: Inferno Season (The Cyber Knight Chronicles Book 2) Page 13