Vigil: Inferno Season (The Cyber Knight Chronicles Book 2)

by Bard Constantine

  She slowly smiled. "I think I know the perfect candidate."

  Chapter 15: Styx

  Riding in the confines of his luxury stretch skimmer, Eight-Baller hardly felt safe. His club operations were watched closely by the RCE; the officers on his payroll swapped out for ones he didn't know. It would take some time to buy them off. Agent Red had stopped taking calls, probably embarrassed by his lack of results in taking out Vigil or Heretic, both of whom were more active lately. Then there was the rumor that the Warmongers had plans to move in on his territory, which was the last thing he needed. Trying to negotiate a truce between the Crimson Kings and the Grim Reaper Posse was hard enough without the Warmongers coming through and tearing it all to pieces.

  His intel indicated that Vigil crashed the party, leaving the Furies in police custody afterward. That would hurt Khan slightly, dependent as he was on their support. Hopefully, it would give Eight-Baller enough time to make some moves to fully secure his turf. First, there was the meeting with Pharaoh. The Helmer of the Golden Blades wasn't pleased with the current state of the syndicates and demanded a personal explanation. If Eight-Baller could convince him to provide some Daggers to bulk up security, maybe he'd be able to breathe easier. Even Vigil would have a hard time facing off with—

  He looked up as the skimmer slowed down to a halt. "Hey, why are we stopping? And where the hell are we? This isn't—"

  He cut off when he saw the tall, imposing figure stalk out of the darkness of the alley and approach the car. "What in the…?" His eyes widened, and he pounded the partition glass between him and the driver. "Step on it—that's Vigil!"

  The glass slid down, revealing a teenage girl with oversized goggles over half her face. She blew a large pink bubble until it popped. Then, chewing it back into her mouth, she winked. "I know who it is, yo. Nice helmet, skuzzy. Makes we wanna shoot some pool."

  Eight-Baller stared. "What did you do to my driver?"

  He never got an answer because the door unlocked and the door opened, letting in a gust of heated air. Vigil slid inside and sat beside Eight-Baller as if entering a public cab. The girl hit the thrusters, and the skimmer took off, quickly picking up enough speed to turn the buildings and people into blurred silhouettes.

  Eight Baller eyed Vigil uneasily. The man's size was nearly as intimidating as his silene. In his matte-black armor, he looked invulnerable, towering over Eight-Baller even when seated. Vigil's head turned toward him slightly, voice rasping like an electronic blade over static.

  "Tell me about the memory laundering."

  Eight Baller swallowed. "You mean the Moneta nightclub?"

  "We'll get to that. Start with the Haze parlors. Where do you get the data?"

  "It's on the dark web. I don't ask questions, just purchase the files."

  Vigil held up a gauntleted hand in front of Eight-Baller's face. When he flexed his fingers, blue energy crackled from his palm, humming dangerously.

  "Piece of advice: this goes a lot easier when you tell the truth."

  Under the glossy helmet, Eight-Baller's brow broke out in a sweat. "Diabolis supplies the files. I don't know where they get them from, I swear."

  Vigil stared for an unnerving amount of time, scarlet visor pulsing softly. "The sex den under Moneta. It wasn't just a cash trap for perverts, was it?"

  Eight-Baller hesitated.

  Vigil leaned in, practically exhaling violence. "Don't make the mistake of holding back now."

  Eight-Baller cringed. "It was a profitable enterprise. I got high-paying clientele, Diabolis got the downloads. Everyone who plugged in had their brains scanned. I don't know the particular of the tech, but Diabolis called it harvesting."

  "For what—random memories to collect?"

  "No, it's something else—blackmail, I think. We get a lot of high-profile customers, people with secrets. And there's something about psionic energy, whatever that means. Look—I gave you what you asked for. If Janus finds out, I'm a dead man. What more do you want?"

  "One last thing: Styx."

  Eight Baller felt his heart pump liquid fire into his veins. "What is that, some kind of weapon? Never heard of it."

  Vigil glanced at the girl in the driver's seat. "Spitfire—auto-drive and jump ship."

  "Got it."

  To Eight-Baller's astonishment, she opened the door and leaped out of the vehicle while it still drove at full speed. He turned and stared out the rear window, where he saw her survive the stunt by repulsors in her modified boots before she dwindled in the distance. Whirling back around, he gasped as the dockyard hurtled toward them at frightening speeds.

  "What the hell is this?"

  Vigil glanced at him. "End of the road. Let's hope you're better at swimming than you are at answering simple questions."

  "I can't tell you anything about that, understand? You don't know what he'll do to me!"

  "You mean Janus?" Vigil settled back in his seat. "What he'll do won't matter in few seconds."

  "This is a skimmer, you idiot. It'll hover over water the same as the street."

  Vigil tapped a sequence on one of his gauntlets. "Not anymore."

  The lights on the dash flicked out ominously. Eight-Baller threw up his hands and shrieked when the skimmer plowed through two sets of metal guardrails with a sadistic crunching sound. For a moment, they were weightless as the vehicle soared over the waters of the East River. Then a nauseating drop followed, flinging Eight-Baller from his seat when the skimmer slammed into the choppy river with metal-crushing force.

  Water immediately seeped into the cabin, gurgling as if eager to invade. Eight-Baller gave his head a dizzy shake, clambering back onto the seat. "Please … you can't do this. I don't deserve this!"

  Vigil hadn't moved, sitting calf-deep in churning water. "You're a proprietor of sex slavery and memory theft. This is exactly what you deserve."

  "What are you gonna do—sit there and watch me drown?"

  "If that's what it takes."

  "You think my helmet doesn't have emergency air reserves? It's gonna be a long wait."

  Vigil's fist glowed electric blue right before he punched Eight-Baller in his face. His rounded visor splintered across his vision when his head snapped back from the force. Hands flying to his ruined helmet, he stared at Vigil in horror.

  "Not that long," Vigil said as the water passed his knees.

  Eight-Baller stared at the rapidly-rising liquid. "You can't do this. You're not a killer."

  "I'm a soldier. I do what's necessary to win the war. And right now, I need to know about Styx. You're going to tell me, or hope you can hold your breath for the rest of your life."

  Eight-Baller crouched on the seat, but the cabin continued to fill rapidly. The view beyond the windows was murky, just greenish-black water, air bubbles, and darkness. His heart pounded so forcefully that he nearly passed out from the adrenaline. There was no way he was going to die like that. Not drowning at the bottom of the river, lungs flooded, screams muted…

  "Okay. I'll tell you what you want to know. Just get me the hell out of here!"

  Vigil glanced at the water that was up to his chest. "Better talk fast. Time isn't on your side."

  Ⓥ

  Ronnie stood on the steps in front of the massive Precinct 51 building, bathed in bright light from the news cameras that fixated on her. Most reporters were remotely linked to hovering orbots that circled around, seeking the best angle for their viewers. A few, like popular Cam Danvers, were present in holographic form, able to be on-site without leaving their news studio.

  Ronnie took a deep breath. "Many of you have asked questions about the RCE's official stance on the rise of vigilante activity since the appearance of Vigil this past winter. We've taken our time to answer because our investigation and the subsequent response have been fluid, adapting to the changing circumstances. But our stance on the matter is simple: vigilantism is not tolerated in our city. The Enforcement division's response to criminal activity and anyone who takes the law i
nto their hands will be arrests and charges. I call upon the so-called Vigilant movement to stand down and let us do our jobs. While we empathize with your frustrations, we cannot condone your actions. Justice isn't perfect in this city. It isn't always on time. But our officers are dedicated to their jobs and do their best, risking their lives every day to make sure Neo York's citizens are safe. This rise of vigilantes has led to increased violence, creating a scenario where no one is safe. This cannot continue, and in response, the RCE has created the AVD: Anti-Vigilante Division."

  She gestured to Sergeant Brooks, who stood beside her. "Sergeant Bethany Brooks will head the division, hand-picking seasoned and responsible officers to deal with this pertinent issue. She will now update you on the matter and field your questions."

  Ronnie took a step back so that Brooks could take the podium, face pale with nervousness. But after swallowing hard, she stood tall and withstood the media bombardment. Ronnie glanced over at Isaac, whose approving expression would be impossible to read for anyone but her. But she knew his thoughts as if he spoke the words aloud.

  Nice work.

  She glanced down when her holoband buzzed. Stepping away, she took the call. A garbled voice spoke over the line.

  "Captain Banks."

  "Who is this?"

  "Call me Castle. Listen closely: the Furies are about to be permanently transferred out of your jurisdiction. They'll be as good as dead if you don't do something."

  "How do you know that? Who is this? Hello? Hello?"

  There was no response as the call went dead. Shutting down her holoband, she glanced at Sergeant Brooks, whose commanding presence continued to absorb the limelight. Ronnie jerked her head at Isaac, who dutifully followed in her footsteps as she turned and inconspicuously entered the precinct.

  "What's up, Ronnie?"

  "Anonymous tip. They're shipping out the Furies."

  "What?"

  "I know. Which can only mean one thing: they know something that can hurt someone up the ladder."

  "You sure you wanna open that box, Ronnie? You told me that the Commissioner is riding you hard right now."

  "Are you kidding? I'm not dancing on anyone's strings, Isaac. We're getting to the bottom of this right now."

  ***

  Descending to the prison section, she strode into the Deputy Warden's office. Jeremy Bullock looked up and groaned when he saw her.

  "I knew it."

  "Knew what—that there was a shady transfer going down today or that I'd find out about it?"

  "Take your pick."

  "Whose signature?"

  "Commissioner Miller's. Which means I can't do anything for you, Captain."

  She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Jeremy."

  He screwed his eyes shut. "Don't say it. Please."

  "You owe me."

  "Yeah, but—"

  "You wouldn't even have this cushy job if I didn't stick my neck out for you, remember?"

  He sighed. "Yeah. I remember."

  "A few minutes with Alex. That's all I'm asking."

  Jeremy threw up his arms. "Fine. But it's on your authorization, Captain. Okay? They ask, and I'm gonna get real ignorant about how you got access."

  "Do what you gotta do, Jeremy. So long as I get a few minutes alone with my CI."

  "You got a ten-minute window, Ronnie. After that, you gotta be out."

  She smiled. "I was never here."

  ***

  Alex's head jerked up when Ronnie entered, crimson eyes flashing in the dim light. "What kind of games are you playing, cop? You didn't say nothing about being transferred this quick."

  Ronnie took her time sitting down at the small metal table opposite Alex, who wore an orange transfer jumpsuit and cyber-dampening manacles around her wrists. A thin metal halo encircled her head, programmed to shut down her access to her backup systems.

  Ronnie shrugged. "What can I say? Someone wants you off the premises in a hurry. If I was the suspicious type, I'd think it was to keep you from talking to me."

  Alex studied her, a sneer on her lips. "This is just the type of shit you pigs pull. Head games, trying to knock me off balance. Well, you can just—"

  Ronnie slammed a hand on the table. "Does it look like I'm playing around? You don't have a choice, Alex. Right now, you and your sisters are about to be placed in the hands of people who don't want you running your mouths. I don't have to tell you how that could end for you, because I think you know the possibilities. Just last year, a key witness was shot down while in RCE custody. Today, it could be three bodies. It will be called a tragedy, but there won't be any real investigation. Just another incident swept under the rug. There's absolutely nothing I can do for you once you exit the premises. So right now, I might be the best friend you have."

  Alex's eyes flicked back and forth as she weighed her options. Finally, she nodded.

  "If I talk, you can stop the transfer?"

  "Give me something, and I'll do you better. You've got warrants in Los Diablos, California. A sovereign state outside of the jurisdiction of the United Haven. Sure, you'll have to face the charges, but you and your sisters will stay together and, more importantly, stay alive. I can authorize the transfer change right here and now, but what you give me better be a case-breaker."

  Alex hunched over the table, looking uneasy for the first time. "I can only tell you what Khan was into and who he was dealing with."

  "Better hope it's enough."

  "He was working with Janus."

  Ronnie froze. "The Janus?"

  Alex nodded. "The man who runs Diabolis. It's all tied to the memory laundering operation: Haze parlors, Immersion pods, and memory drugs."

  "Cerberus."

  "Right. Most of the operations are a front for the real deal. Some secret society of elites, some from the Haven, some from outside. They run Diabolis and oversee the whole operation. But from what I hear, they're some kind of cult with their eye on life extension or something."

  "Who are they?"

  Alex gave a furtive glance over the room as if searching for surveillance.

  "The room is clean."

  "Says you. You don't know what I know. These guys—they know everything. They've infiltrated every aspect of the city and have eyes and ears everywhere. They're tied into the cameras, have Sentries stalking the streets, are jacked into everyone's data."

  "You haven't answered my question."

  Alex leaned even closer, dropping her voice to a near-inaudible whisper. "I don't know who they are. But they run the city. You can't trust anyone above your head, Captain. You can't trust anyone around you. Diabolis is everyone, and they're no one. All I can give you is a word: the one thing that ties it all together."

  "What's the word?"

  Alex licked her lips nervously. "Styx."

  Ronnie's eyes widened.

  Ⓥ

  Tim LeBlanc never carried a weapon, preferring to trust his ability to talk his way out of any bad situation he found himself caught up in. In his brief stint as the resident Troubleshooter, he never had to resort to violence, something he understood was a rarity in his line of work.

  But as he entered his tiny shipping container apartment and caught a whiff of cigar smoke, he suddenly wished he had a more lethal option at his disposal.

  Raising his hands, he slowly entered. "Look, if you're here to mug me, then the joke's on you. I'm sure you've checked out my pad and found out I'm not exactly a high-roller."

  The lantern beside his floor mattress clicked on. A man sat in the only chair in the apartment: white hair and mustache, physically fit for his age. He was dressed in all black: sturdy collarless shirt, flak jacket, thick belt, cargo paints, military-grade boots. A wide assortment of firearms, bladed weapons, and cyber-gear was attached to his person. The room was slightly hazy from cigar smoke, but the man's eyes were sharp and alert when he scrutinized LeBlanc.

  "I'm not here to rob you, LeBlanc."

  "Then why are you here?"

&n
bsp; "To talk about a mutual friend."

  "I don't have any friends."

  "Let me rephrase—a mutual ally. Don't make me say his name. Listening ears are everywhere."

  LeBlanc shifted nervously. "Let's say I understand who you're talking about. What does that have to do with you and me?"

  "Our friend is a soldier, and that's fine. But a one-man war will end in the death of that man if he doesn't have a coalition to back him up. I'm part of that coalition. We're a small group but looking to expand. I'm here to see if you want to be a part of that."

  LeBlanc felt a jolt of curiosity despite himself. "And what does our friend think about that?"

  "He doesn't. You have some idea of the forces against him, LeBlanc. You've personally experienced the aftereffects of flying too close to the sun."

  LeBlanc winced, thinking about his daughter. Little Debbie. He wondered if she would recognize him after all the time passed. He wondered if she was even alive.

  "Yeah, I know all about it."

  "Our friend doesn't. But he will, and soon. He's pushing too hard, too fast. His previous experiences have enabled him to do things the former Vigil couldn't. It's only a matter of time before he forces the Denizens to make an example out of him."

  LeBlanc folded his arms. "If that's so, what can one man do?"

  The man held up a pair of fingers. "We're two men now."

  "Who else is involved? Are you with the Vigilant?"

  "In a way. Most of them are children playing games. Unorganized, unreliable. They're not ready for what's coming. They still have to grow. But us? We're grown."

  Tim frowned. "So it's just the two of us?"

  "There are others. The less said, the better. If you live long enough, you might meet them. But, for now, you're either in or you're out."

  LeBlanc sighed. "I can't believe I'm even considering this."

  "I've been watching you for a while, LeBlanc. I know you've felt angry but helpless, unable to strike out against the enemies who robbed you of what you valued the most. You were too good of an investigator, and you paid for it when they stole your flesh and blood from your arms. That's why you're inspired by our mutual ally. Why you said nothing even after you figured out who he was. I think you're tired of being on the sidelines. This is your chance to get into the game."