by Jim Roberts
Abruptly, as if a weight had lifted from them, the gunfire halted. Curiously, Joe peered over the guardrail and saw the reason for the ceasefire.
A mass of Secutors on the second floor directly opposite them were engaged in battle against a far more formidable foe.
Orchid!
Wielding the experimental Electrolysis blade, the armored Peacemaker slashed her way through the enemy like she was reaping corn. The blade arched in the air as it split through the midsection of a Secutor, cutting the trooper completely in two—each half neatly cauterized.
Walker’s eyes bulged at the sight. “Sweet Jesus, what the hell is that?”
There was no time for Joe to answer.
They had less than two minutes now.
Joe called out to the group, “Everyone up. Double time now!”
They were all on their feet, running as fast as they could down the spiral walkway. Every so often, Joe would fire at an enemy that got too close. He could see that Orchid was trying to clear a path for them down the remaining walkway. If they hustled, they still had a chance.
Suddenly, Joe felt something slam into him on the back of his shoulder with the force of a sledgehammer. He lost his footing and fell to the ground.
He’d been shot.
Strangely, he felt more or less okay. The STF suit had cushioned the impact of the bullet enough that it had merely knocked him loopy, rather than kill him outright. Still, the loss in seconds was crushing.
“Two minutes, five seconds, two minutes…”
Joe felt a strong hand grip him by the arm.
Krieger.
“Come on Joe, no napping, da?”
The Russian hoisted Joe back to his feet, one-handing the AA-12 as he fired at the enemy. In another few seconds, they had reached Orchid. Joe could hardly believe the sight. The woman had diced apart six of the elite soldiers as if it were Sunday practice. The beetle-helmet retracted to show Orchid’s sweating face underneath.
“We can’t go out the front,” she said, clutching the Electrolysis blade, “Centurions have blocked the entire perimeter.”
Joe pulled away from Krieger, sore from the bullet impact, but stable enough to walk on his own. The intercom voice spoke like a benevolent god, “One minute, forty seconds…”
Walker pointed over the guardrail toward a door across the rotunda. “The entrance to the parkade is right there. That’s where we need to go!”
The team charged down the rest of the way, unmolested. The remaining Secutors were getting wise to the countdown and were beginning to bug out themselves. Some scampered back up the walls like spiders, using the crampons in their gauntlets to hoist themselves with ease. Joe saw a few remaining cartel members below attempt to escape through the main doors of the mall entrance.
“No! Don’t go out—” Joe tried to call to them, but was drowned out by a waft of gunfire. The men were instantly cut down by the Centurions waiting outside.
The team finally reached the bottom of the concourse. The floor was covered with glass, debris, and blood. Corpses of fallen Secutors and cartel members littered the area in a gruesome tableau of death.
Running ahead of them, Curtis Walker made a beeline toward the exit. Just as the shaggy-haired gunrunner was about to reach the door, one of the Secutor bodies lurched back to life—having played possum. With blinding speed impossible in a human, the elite Olympus soldier pounced on Walker. Its synthetic voice screeched a high pitched wail as it raised its bladed gauntlet to bury it into the man’s face.
Its helmet burst apart as a three shot burst from Joe’s M4A1 minced its brain matter, dropping the shock trooper on top of Walker, pinning him.
The mall intercom continued its countdown, “One minute, five seconds; one minute…”
Joe, with the help of Krieger, pushed the body off Curtis Walker and helped him up. Reaching the door, they saw it was locked. Walker fished in his pocket for the key but was interrupted by Orchid.
“No time!” she said. With a quick slash of the Electrolysis blade, Orchid sheared the door completely off its hinges. The team barrelled straight through into some sort of maintenance hallway. Stenciled on the door at the far end was the phrase ‘La Entrada Parkade’.
Krieger slammed full bore into the door, knocking it off its hinges with his brute strength.
They were in the old parkade now. The aged complex was lit with a few flickering bulbs.
Walker led the way forward, before stopping in front of an old sewer grate. He reached down and yanked it off. A rusted ladder led into the septic area of the city.
“Everyone get in!”
Braddock had been keeping time in his head. He judged they had about fifteen seconds.
One by one, the team disappeared into the fetid smelling darkness of the sewer underneath the parkade. Orchid went first, followed by Agrippina—the two women leaping down into the darkness. Next went Krieger and Rourke who slid down the ladder fireman style. Joe helped Sarah in, followed by Walker.
Joe had climbed down and was just pulling the manhole cover on top of them when the mall beside them blew up.
OUTSIDE THE old shopping center, the small army of Centurions encircling the mall were more than surprised when the carefully placed RDX detonated. Floor by floor, the explosives shattered the support columns with 600 tons per square inch of crushing pressure. The Centurions at the entrance were caught in the detonation and obliterated by the explosion. The blast was multiplied by the untold amounts of ordnance within the mall. The entire structure crumpled like an accordion. Damage was mostly confined to the general area of the mall, with surrounding civilian structures left intact. The Centurions, however, were not so lucky. After a few horrible seconds, the only thing left of Cenador mall was a smoking crater of rubble.
THE LADDER Braddock had been climbing shook violently, causing him to lose his grip. Joe felt himself fall into the darkness below. He landed with a splash in a puddle of God knows what—sore, but unhurt. There was a horrible rumbling that lasted for ten seconds, causing bits of rock and concrete to shower on top of him.
Then, all at once, it got quiet.
Joe heard the sound of footsteps. A light was held up in front of him. He saw Krieger holding a ChemLight stick, bathing the area in blue-green radiance. Behind him was Rourke. Joe noticed the former SEAL limping in the dim light.
“Still with us, Joe?” Krieger grinned.
“I can stand if that’s what you mean.” Joe got to his feet, trying his best to wipe off the gunk on his STF suit. “You okay?” he said to Rourke.
“Fine,” Rourke replied, wincing, “Just a sprain. Nothin’ major.”
Joe nodded. Past Rourke, he could see Curtis Walker. The man was tying a bandage around his arm. His boyish face was twisted into a grimace.
“Where are we?” Krieger asked Walker.
“Where do you think?” the gunrunner answered, angrily. “We’re in the sewer system below the parkade.”
“Are you alright?” Joe asked, pointing at the wound.
“Fine. Just some shrapnel.”
Behind Walker, Joe could see Orchid helping Sarah. The newswoman was sitting on the ground as Orchid felt her ankle. Joe joined them to see what was wrong.
“Landed on it bad when I hit the ground,” Sarah said, wincing as Orchid tested the limb.
“She sprained it pretty good,” Orchid said.
“You and Rourke both,” Joe said remarked. He looking up at Walker, “Thanks for getting us out of there.”
“To hell with your thanks, Sergeant!” Walker spat, picking up his MK 18. “If it hadn’t been for you and your damn group of cowboys, Olympus would never have found me!”
“Olympus knew couldn’t have known where we were,” Joe said, trying not to raise his voice. There was no way of knowing how far their voices traveled and if anyone was listening. “They must have found your HQ some other way. Maybe someone in your organization talked.”
“No chance. My people were loyal.”
&n
bsp; Krieger scoffed, “You hired cartel gangsters—how much loyalty can you expect from them?”
Walker glared at the Russian, “All I know is that before your crew came knocking, my life was fine. Now, I’ve got fucking nothing!”
“Then help us,” Joe said, moving face to face with the gunrunner. “We need to find Lennox. You’re the only person that has a clue where he could be.”
Walker scowled, his face a mask of anger.
Joe went on, “Don’t forget, I saved your life back there. You owe me.”
“I owe you nothing, Sergeant! As far as I’m concerned you and your group can go straight to hel—”
Orchid, having heard more than enough, swiped the Electrolysis blade toward Walker’s throat, stopping within an inch of the man’s skin. Walker gulped as his eyes glanced down at the sparking sword, held by the cyber suit-wearing soldier.
“You may want to rethink your next words,” Orchid’s synthesized voice murmured dangerously.
Joe put his hand on Orchid’s arm, slowly lowering the weapon. He said to Walker, “Look, we’re up shit creek here. You’re our only hope. If you help us find Lennox, I promise, we’ll set you up with a free ride anywhere in the world. Start your business over, whatever you want.”
Walker met Joe’s eyes. “You don’t understand…this was my last chance.”
“What do you mean?” Joe asked, not comprehending.
Walker sighed, leaning against the wall, “I’ve been on the run for a long time now. I made some…bad business decisions with FARC, the Columbian Rebel Army. Lennox was providing me with protection and a means to stay ahead of their killers.”
“Figures,” Krieger said, a hateful smile on his face, “You betray someone else that wants you dead?”
Walker shot an angry look in the direction of the Russian.
Agrippina spoke up, having followed the conversation in silence, “Braddock is important to Lennox. Once we bring him to the Vagabond hideout, I can see to it that Lennox will reward you for your help.”
Walker seemed to perk up at the promise of a reward. “What do you mean?”
“Lennox can help you get restarted…set up a new arms business, whatever. You get Braddock and me to him, he’ll see you compensated, you have my word.”
“Your word. An assassin’s word,” Walker sniffed in derision.
Krieger sneered, “Beats the word of a traitor.”
Joe looked Walker square in the eye, “So what do you think? Will you help us?”
The man looked around the group before nodding in acceptance. “You know Lennox is a careful man, more cautious than anyone I’ve ever met. His last contact with me came from his headquarters deep in Apure province.”
“Okay,” Joe said, “Tell us where to go and we’ll handle the rest.”
“Hell no.” Walker said, his attitude turning adversarial, “If I’m going to get Lennox to restart my business, I’m hearing it from his mouth personally. Besides, it’s deep in the Amazon rainforest. You’d get lost without me to guide you.”
Krieger was becoming agitated. He did not like what he was hearing. “Joe, I will never trust this man. How can you trust him?”
“We don’t need to trust him, we just need to work with him.” Joe turned back to Walker, “So what will it be? Will you help us?”
Walker sighed, rolling his eyes, “Guess I have no choice, do I?”
“Good,” Joe said with a nod. He keyed his mic, “Mother Hen, come in.”
“Go ahead, Alpha Leader.” Headcase’s voice came through clear as day over the comm.
“Package is secure. Tell Lieutenant Reynolds we’re also bringing out Sarah Anders. She’s been wounded.”
Sarah looked up sharply at the mention of Brick’s name.
“Copy that. The barrios are buzzing with Government and Olympus forces. You’ll need to get out of the city before you attempt a pickup.”
Joe checked his PDA, bringing up an overhead map view of Caracas. Showing it to Walker, he asked, “Know a good place for a landing around here?”
Walker looked over the screen for a moment, then pointed to an area east of the city.
“Right here. The sewers will take us to the edge of the slums of Caracas. From there, it’s a one klick hike to a farm owned by some friends I know. It should be safe for an extract.”
Joe relayed the info to Headcase. She responded after looking over the details.
“Roger that, Alpha Leader. We’ll be waiting for you, out.”
Chapter 14
Decimation
Caracas, Venezuela, Corvo Tower, October 5th
STARING AT the morning report, Olympus Tribune Saladin could not imagine how much a straightforward mission could be fouled up any worse. It had been a simple two-prong operation: Vorena’s elite Secutor soldiers would eliminate the onsite security and infiltrate the building, then the six squads of Centurions would surround the building and eliminate anyone attempting to flee. The Secutors would find and subdue this Curtis Walker and bring him out safely for interrogation and execution.
So much for that, Saladin thought. He set down the cup of coffee he’d been drinking as he looked through the massive glass window of the skyscraper at the city below. He had forgone wearing the traditional Olympus Tribune obsidian body armor in favor of his more relaxed Campagna suit with Keffiyeh headdress. He wore a rynohyde body mesh underneath, as the Imperator’s command for all Tribunes to wear bulletproof protection had to be obeyed, even by him.
The man who had once been called the ‘Sand Scorpion of the Middle East’ had thought long and hard about the past three months of service he’d given to his new masters. Once feared throughout the deserts of Syria and Iraq, he had euthanized his tribe of followers—the Riders of the Scorpion—and taken up the brand of an Olympus Tribune. At the time, he thought he understood the backstabbing and games the Olympia Tribunes played with each other to enhance their own status within the brotherhood. He’d naively believed that the Tribunes would put aside their issues for the good of the organization.
That was a foolish error on his part.
It quickly became apparent that the other Tribunes were solely interested in their own status and power, even if it worked against the greater good of the Brotherhood. The great Legate, Tiberius, had proven a grandstanding opportunist, more interested in AI experiments and freaks of nature than actually leading his men to war. Saladin respected the man but doubted his true aims were in the Olympia Brotherhood’s best interest. On the other hand, Secondus Titus was a petulant child who cared little for true victory. His only thought was for the respect his succession would bring, caring little about having to earn it with true success on the battlefield.
Two leaders, two very different choices in the long run.
And then there was the Imperator himself. When Saladin had met him, he had felt an immediate sense of disappointment. The man was a shell—a relic about to crumble away, eroded by time.
Saladin had so far stayed distant from the two men vying for power within Olympus. Strangely, it was Falco who the Sand Scorpion seemed to gravitate toward, trust-wise. The old one-eyed dog of war still had some tricks left in him. Saladin knew that if he were to eventually make a move toward ascending the social ladder of the Brotherhood, Falco could either stand in the way or aid him.
Speaking of the devil, the elevator at the end of the lounge floor of Corvo Tower opened and in stepped Falco. The gray-haired soldier was decked out in his gleaming obsidian combat armor.
Saladin raised his cup as Falco approached his table by the window. “My Lord Tribune, won’t you join me?”
Falco was in no mood for small talk. “There was another attack on one of Damien Sledge’s oil refineries this morning. Why was I not informed?”
“You didn’t ask to be.”
“Sledge is irate about these attacks. He’s threatening to pull out of his deal with Titus. You should have notified me at once.”
“The dealings of our young Secondus m
atter nothing to me. Anyway, Titus has other interests on his mind right now.”
“Other interests?” Falco asked, confused.
Saladin nodded out the window. “He’s down there right now, in the courtyard below. Our men finished erecting the Bremer walls around Corvo Tower. Lady Vorena has decided to hold a…disciplinary action down there with her Secutors after they failed to bring in Curtis Walker.”
“You realize how this all looks, don’t you?” Falco asked, sliding into the chair across from Saladin. A waiter, one of the Olympus staff, came over to see if the Tribune wanted anything. Falco shooed him away. “That attack last night cost us twenty-three Centurions and God knows how many Secutors.”
“Yes, it was an almost complete and total failure.” Saladin agreed.
Falco raised his only eyebrow. “Almost?”
“Walker had help with his escape.”
“The Vagabonds?”
“No. The Peacemakers.”
Falco put a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Oh God.”
“Yes, apparently the US Carrier group waiting off the shore isn’t just here to facilitate the evacuation of foreign nationals. They’ve brought with them General Walsh’s group of terrorists.”
“Who knows about this?” Falco asked.
Saladin shrugged. “Titus, Vorena, everyone in this building.”
“Tiberius?” Falco asked, a worried tone in his voice.
“Not yet, but he will soon enough.”
Falco exhaled loudly. The old vet stared out the window.
There was a long silence before Saladin spoke.
“May I ask you a question, Falco?”
“What?”
“Do you know of the game Shatranj?”