Novak found she could absorb information faster than before her transformation, but noticed Ramirez was no slouch either.
She felt restless.
Novak needed to stretch her legs or go to the shooting range in the basement.
“Ramirez, you up for a break?”
Novak thought Ramirez looked as bleary-eyed as she felt. “What did you have in mind?” he asked.
“Shooting range, downstairs.” Novak saw the bleariness fade in an instant.
“Lead the way.”
Novak had been sitting on the floor with files spread around her. She stood, not bothering to clean them up. “We’ll be back soon. No sense in packing it up yet.”
As Novak led Ramirez down to the range, she thought about how the building appropriated for their purposes was larger than it appeared. With one floor above ground and four below. The bottom floor was being converted into the main armory and shooting range.
The idea of a consulting firm lost with the recent change in Cabal activity. The government tasked them to stop a menace it had inadvertently created though the Minerva Program.
They were becoming a private security firm.
The uptick in staffing was supplemented by former military with special operations training. Others came from law enforcement or internet security backgrounds.
Several hackers were brought in as well.
Unlike the Cabal, everyone working here volunteered after an invitation was extended. All passed a deep background check before a position was offered.
A name had yet to be added to the door.
Many did not see the point.
The only customer was Uncle Sam.
Stirred from her thoughts, Ramirez said, “I don’t have a weapon, though.”
◆◆◆
Novak smiled.
It was the first time Ramirez had seen her smile. He thought Novak should do that more often.
She said, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you squared away.”
Ramirez was glad for the distraction the amount of material they had to read was staggering. He understood he could never breathe a word of what happened in this building to anyone.
At first, he was upset about losing his position at the FBI.
But now. He knew this is where the action was going to be.
Once they finished their background reading.
Ramirez had read the file on Hope Novak nee Katarzyna Sikora. She saw him do it, but said nothing. As they rode the elevator down she asked, “do you have any questions about me? I saw you read my file.”
“Does it bother you? What they did to you.” Ramirez went with his big question first. It might answer the others.
“I’ve had some time to adjust. I’m still trying to figure out who I am now.”
Novak looked uncertain.
That’s a first, Ramirez thought.
“I wasn’t given a choice. So I feel violated. But at the same time, I feel more complete. More stable than before.”
“Because of the dissociative identity disorder?” It sounded rude off his lips, but Ramirez thought he understood Novak well enough to ask.
“The quick answer is yes. Remember the clip they showed in the meeting?”
Novak did not wait for an answer. “In that moment, Katie and Katarzyna fused personalities. Katie was weaker from the mental conditioning. She had, absorbed, for lack of a better term, much of it. The control commands they tried to implant in me. That’s how I feel violated. It was her fury that fueled me in that moment. It felt righteous.”
The elevator dinged as the door opened on the bottom floor.
Novak became quiet.
He recognized the look on her face.
Some called it the ‘thousand-yard stare,’ he thought. It was the look a person gets when they have been through a crucible moment in their life.
Ramirez had one too.
Bagram.
Second time through Afghanistan.
Ramirez knew that was all the conversation they would ever have about her experience with Project Aurora.
It was all he needed.
He knew why they had been placed together.
She was a weapon that needed to be honed.
There were skills she had not been given as part of her transformation. He would help develop those so she would be a skilled operator.
◆◆◆
She understood why Ramirez asked her the hardest question. Novak knew it was the toughest one he could ask.
Ramirez had asked to get her measure.
He was not trying to goad her.
She appreciated the straightforward approach Ramirez used. She respected he waited to ask until she gave her permission.
What she had been through was incredibly personal. Of everyone who had gone through a transformation, only Zoe
Mills could relate to her.
But only so far.
Novak had not willingly agreed to this.
Only after Katarzyna had control was there any consent. Fortunately, Katie had shielded them both from what was planned.
She understood why Zoe wanted Ramirez with her now.
He was the one on babysitter duty.
She needed a mentor to show her the finer points left out of her mental conditioning. She had read his file too.
Ramirez got screwed by the FBI, she thought, their loss.
She led him to the gun lockers. On this level, the locker doors were left open.
“Pick your poison.”
She watched Ramirez.
He looked like a kid at Christmas.
Novak was reminded of a movie, but she could not remember the name.
She could not find fault in Ramirez’s enthusiasm. She liked the choice of weapons too, though she preferred the Sig P320 X Compact in her shoulder holster.
That thought, along with Ramirez’s questions, made her think of her old life.
Katie would not have enjoyed being around firearms.
She sighed.
Ramirez looked at her, and asked, “am I taking too long to decide?”
“No. Just had a thought run through my mind.”
“I used Glocks. Never liked the idea of no safety, though. Isn’t that a Sig in your shoulder holster?”
“It is. I prefer it, mainly for its size. Easier to hide in a jacket.”
Ramirez snorted.
“If you say so. I could see you were packing when you got off your Ducati. Nice bike, by the way.”
Ramirez pulled a Sig P229 off the wall along with two additional magazines already loaded with 9mm rounds.
“That’s a good choice. Mine is the P320.”
Ramirez said, “I used one for a while in the Army. Sigs are excellent weapons. I won’t miss the Glock 17 the FBI issued me.”
Novak asked since he brought it up. “Military Police?”
Ramirez looked wistful. “Two tours in Afghanistan, one in Iraq. Attached to infantry. I did my college courses online. I really wanted to be an FBI agent.”
At the end of the gun lockers sat a desk. Novak motioned to Ramirez to head there next. “Go ahead and log the weapon out. You’re going to need one. We’ll stop at the quartermaster on the way back up to get you a shoulder rig.”
“There’s a quartermaster in the building?” asked Ramirez.
“I noticed it on the elevator directory,” Novak said with a laugh. “And here I thought you were the observant law enforcement type.”
FIFTY-ONE
Ramirez and Novak spent ninety minutes at the shooting range. He was impressed with her skills.
“You learned all this through mental conditioning and virtual reality simulations?”
Novak had just retrieved their latest targets. Her groupings were tighter on each of the five body silhouette targets they had shot.
On this target, she placed twelve rounds, centered on the chest in a three-inch circle approximately where the heart would be located. She placed the final three from the fifteen-round magazine in the fo
rehead.
Ramirez’s target looked like Swiss cheese in comparison. All his rounds found center mass, though they were spread in a ten-inch circle.
“I never held a gun before all this. Until seeing you shoot, I thought what I could do was normal.” Novak felt uncomfortable. She wanted to take pride in her abilities, but seeing Ramirez shoot made her realize how different she was.
Ramirez smiled and said, “don’t sweat it. At least you won’t waste ammo. Are you any good with a sniper rifle?”
Novak returned the smile. “If it’s a weapon, I had training with it. Well, you know what I mean.” She paused. “It is amazing the amount of training a person can get through mental conditioning. It essentially is hard-wired into your brain. I can’t really explain it all.”
With a nod, Ramirez said, “I think we should head back upstairs.” He began cleaning the P229 while Novak did the same with her weapon.
Once their weapons had been stripped, cleaned, and reassembled, they took the time to reload their magazines. Novak then slotted a magazine into the P320, chambered a round, and checked the safety before sliding the weapon into her shoulder rig.
She noticed Ramirez had just completed his weapons check, and he slid the P229 into the back of his waistband. “We’ll stop and get you a shoulder rig or a holster on the way up,” she said.
“Good idea. Not a fan of carrying a firearm like this. It doesn’t feel right.”
Novak was putting the cleaning kits back into the gun locker as the lights went out. After a five second count they came back on, only dimmer. “That normal?” asked Ramirez.
“No. I think the backup generator kicked in. We’ll have to take the stairs.”
Novak was concerned.
“I would call upstairs, but cell phones don’t work down here, and the phone system goes down when the generator is on.” She could see Ramirez had the same thought.
He was still at the gun locker. She joined him as he grabbed a Benelli M3 combat shotgun. Ramirez picked up a box of slugs and began loading. The Benelli offered seven rounds in the tubular magazine with an additional in the chamber. Once the shotgun was loaded, Ramirez stuffed as many extra rounds into his pockets as he could carry.
Novak noted he was wearing cargo pants and took advantage of this. “I’d rather look foolish getting upstairs with this, than be unprepared.”
Novak chose an FN P90. It was designed for close quarters fighting. Like in an office building, she thought. The fifty-round top-mounted magazine and bullpup design made it easier to get around tight spaces. The 5.57mm ammunition could pierce body armor.
“I agree. When the generators kick in, all the exterior doors lock.” Novak grabbed three additional magazines for the P90.
The door to the stairwell opened suddenly.
Both Ramirez and Novak turned, weapons at the ready.
Three individuals entered the shooting range in a hurry, slamming the door behind them. Zoe Mills, Charlie Smith, and Larissa Garcia looked harried.
On seeing weapons drawn on them, all three raised their hands.
FIFTY-TWO
Shortly after the release of her article exposing the Cabal, Big Tech began to silence the raising opposition using the provisions of Section 230 of the Communications Act to do it.
The story was “fact-checked” as “partially true” in the social media outlets. Zoe knew this was a weak attempt to kill the story that killed James Lewis and had so drastically changed her life.
Then, Michael Greenway contacted her.
He had the location of the man behind it all.
Greenway said that Monitor or Malcolm Cross, the new head of NorthBay Conglomerated, was a careful individual. Greenway said he had a plan to not only out Monitor but bring him to justice. It would be tricky and would involve several layers of deception.
Mills agreed to meet Greenway.
That was two months ago.
◆◆◆
The lights went out in Zoe Mills’s office.
Correction, she thought.
All the lights went out in the building.
After abandoning the Ranch, a site had been appropriated for them in San Antonio. This was a temporary home. To use while drawing out Monitor, the de facto head of the Cabal and a rogue former CIA operator.
Known only to Mills and Greenway, several operatives of the Cabal would slip into the security firm they were establishing. The only people from the Ranch that were still onsite were herself, Charlie Smith, and Larissa Garcia. Hope Novak and Hector Ramirez, while not in on the planning, would be essential in the capture of Monitor.
Mills heard weapons fire from four distinct weapons. The three Cabal operatives and one returning fire.
Probably Garcia, she thought.
Since her transformation, she had become loyal to the cause. Her former self, Robert Gomez, had allegedly sold secrets to both Robert Fritz and Monitor. The charade of passing information during the transition to the San Antonio office was kept alive for the short-term.
The city had been picked because Monitor hid here.
If it all goes to hell, at least we are close to Mexico, Mills thought.
The weapons’ fire moved closer.
She could hear another gun barking on this floor. She had worn her Sig P320-M18 today with two extra magazines in her shoulder rig. Knowing this would be a rough fight, she had the P238 as her backup weapon. Time to get to it, she thought.
With only the emergency lighting on, the building would be dark. She, Garcia, and Smith all wore dark clothes the last few days, not knowing when the attack would launch. Their goal was to capture the interlopers, but make it appear the building was destroyed, killing everyone in it.
Mills pulled the P320-M18 from her shoulder rig and flipped the safety. It had a seventeen-round magazine loaded with 9mm ammunition, and the spares were the twenty-one-round variant. The P238 provided an additional seven .380 auto rounds. She hoped to not need that many rounds to accomplish the mission aim.
A flash-bang grenade detonated on the far side of the floor. It was loud but did not affect her.
Either Garcia or Smith are there, she thought.
Good place to start.
Towards the stairs.
Good.
The holding cells were one floor down and Mills wanted to get her quarry to chase her there.
A chair rolled quickly towards her.
Mills moved to the right, and into a previously unseen arm outstretched to clothesline her.
She ducked in time.
Barely.
What surprised Mills was the operatives sent were not the former special forces operators. She, Garcia, and Smith were up against a team consisting of computer programmers.
Hackers.
More likely, some of those missing prison inmates, Mills thought. She remembered Charlie complaining about their skills.
She found they were not coordinating their attacks. Mills would rather capture them alive, however, her attacker recovered quickly. Tackling Mills from behind.
Shit, she thought as her Sig was knocked away. The office was too dark to see where it slid to.
It would now be a hand-to-hand fight. Mills was skilled at Krav Maga and was not worried about the outcome, though she had not seen her opponent yet.
◆◆◆
Smith found herself between two opponents. The crossfire was from an HK MP5 and a handgun, a Glock, she thought, was incessant. She had slid a flash-bang towards the MP wielder. Taking out one would increase her odds. She knew that weapon could have up a hundred-round drum, but heard it being reloaded once.
Thirty-round magazines then, she thought.
Within a second of the flash-bang detonation, Smith was on the move. If she could not incapacitate them here, she had to get her attackers to the next floor down.
A trap to contain them was waiting. Moving in the direction she had slid the flash-bang, Smith found one of the latest new hires knocked out. Larissa Garcia had grabbed a computer cord
and was tying him up.
Smith slid her Sig back into her shoulder rig and took the MP5. She thought, peace through superior firepower, and turned back towards the other assailant.
She and Garcia moved in tandem.
The tables had turned.
Instead of being caught in the crossfire, Smith and Garcia provided it.
◆◆◆
To her right let Mills know where to find her attacker. The emergency lighting provided minimal illumination in the office. She knew it would be more of a melee than an actual fight.
Mills waited for her opponent to make the first move. Krav Maga relied on a close quarter fighting style. Her P320 gone, Mills still had the P238 in her waist holster.
She would save this for when the time was right.
“You may as well come out. We can get this over with,” said Mills. She was attempting to goad her yet unknown opponent into action.
The attack came quick.
A swing of an arm with a knife.
Mills blocked with her left arm.
Right-handed fighter, she thought.
Even quicker, she rammed an open-palm strike to the lower jaw with her left hand. Mills then brought her right knee into her attacker’s groin. She then shoved back.
Zoe knew she was fighting a woman from the grunts of pain. She could not pry the knife loose though.
The woman lunged a second time.
Mills side-stepped this attack and pulled the P238 as she spun behind her attacker.
She fired twice at center mass.
Her attacker crumpled to the floor in a spreading pool of blood.
Mills knew she had five shots left.
She no longer had surprise on her side with her backup weapon. She also knew Smith and Garcia were still on the floor as she could hear the weapons fire moving in her direction. Mills worked her way towards the noise.
Towards the door and the stairwell.
Project Aurora (Hope Novak Thrillers) Page 16