Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1)

by Shannon McKenna

  “Everything about you,” Sisko said. “I checked you out. You’re the perfect bad boy. We liked the data mining, the secret data auctions, the luxury properties. And you gotta tell me how you keep such a low personal profile. It was hard as hell to find a recent picture of you.”

  Asa shrugged.

  “And the real estate,” Sisko went on. “Buildings in Manhattan, penthouse apartments, mansions in Malibu, San Francisco, Santa Fe, Chicago, Boulder, Boca Raton. Bank accounts, stock portfolios, brokerage accounts, offshore accounts, foreign properties. And I liked your algorithms. There’s some good work there. ”

  Asa’s jaw sagged. “Holy shit,” he said. “I don’t know whether to kill you or offer you a job.”

  “Neither,” Sisko said. “I won’t let you kill me and I’m not looking for work right now. But if you need a consultant later, when things calm down, I’d tweak that latest algo to increase precision and speed. I’m expensive, though. Be warned.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Asa turned back to Noah. “There’s the matter of payment.”

  “Money is no object,” Noah said.

  “It isn’t an issue for me, either,” Asa said. “That’s not the point. Although I will expect a huge advance. Upfront expenses, that kind of thing.”

  “Anything else?”

  Asa’s mouth curved in a thin smile. “Yes. If you want to take advantage of my cred and my resources, you have to give me something that I give a shit about. Aside from money. I have plenty of that.”

  Noah waited. “What do you want?”

  Asa’s eyes glittered. “Depends on what you’ve got.”

  The three of them stared at him, blank.

  Asa made an impatient sound. “Don’t insult my intelligence. There’s a crucial detail that you all left out. What’s in the safe? And what’s my cut?”

  The pause was glaringly awkward. “Nothing of monetary value,” Noah said.

  “I didn’t ask what it’s worth,” Asa said. “I asked what it is. What it’s worth is based on a constantly shifting set of relationships between who wants it, why they want it, how badly they want it, and the extent of their resources. Calculating that value is my thing. I’m very good at it.” He tapped impatiently on the table. “So what’s in it?”

  No one answered him. Asa leaned forward. “Understand this,” he said softly. “I owe you nothing, and I will not be your tool. Do not fuck with me.”

  A muscle pulsed in Noah’s jaw. He hesitated so long, Caro had almost concluded that he had decided not to speak at all.

  “Obsidian has made a new generation of genetically and technologically enhanced supersoldiers,” Noah said finally. “More powerful than in our day, according to Mark. Their memories were suppressed. They’ve been folded back into normal civilian life until they’re called for. That safe holds their control frequencies and activation codes. All twelve hundred of them.” He gestured toward Caro. “And she set the code.”

  Asa’s eyes widened. “She’s the only one who can open it?”

  Noah nodded.

  Asa whistled. “Control of twelve hundred cyborg supersoldiers? I could monetize the living fuck out of that.”

  “No,” Caro snapped. “Absolutely not. Nobody will do that.”

  They looked at her, startled at her vehemence. “Why not?” Asa asked.

  “They’re slaves. If you even have to ask, then you’re so far gone you wouldn’t understand my answer anyway,” she retorted. “Those twelve hundred people are human beings.”

  Asa made a noncommittal sound. “Worth saving?” he murmured. “I’ll do what I can. But they’d be a hell of a lot better off monetized by me than by Obsidian.”

  “The slave soldiers aren’t part of the bargain,” Caro said. “Now or ever.”

  “Who even asked you, sweetheart?” Asa sounded only mildly curious.

  “I’m not your sweetheart,” Caro said coldly. “And I have the brainwaves that open the safe. That makes it my call.”

  Asa’s eyebrow tilted up, genuinely startled. “You talk tough for someone who needs a life or death favor.”

  “You could help us to help them,” she said. “You’ve got the resources.”

  Asa held up his hand. “Count me out. That would wreck my image of selfish villainy, and isn’t that what you needed from me in the first place? I’m sure you guys can figure out how to redeem the twelve hundred without me.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Noah said. “Selling them is not an option. But we still need your help.”

  Asa rolled his eyes. “Fine. Wouldn’t want to compromise your principles. If you’re not going to split that ocean of profits, what else can you offer to tempt me?”

  Noah hesitated for a long moment. “I can’t interest you in a simple, straightforward contract? Monetary payment for services rendered?”

  “Nah,” Asa said. “Boring. Come on, big brother. It’s been thirteen years. Thrill me. You guys have special abilities, right? Genetically enhanced this, tech-augmented that? I might find it handy to call in favors from people like that from time to time. Things come up all the time.”

  Noah shook his head. “I can’t speak for the rest of the—”

  “I can,” Sisko said. “I’ll speak for all of us. For Luke’s sake. Just don’t ask us to kill or hurt anyone innocent. Barring that, we’ll do favors for you.”

  “Watch it,” Noah said swiftly. “Shut up, Sisko. That’s way too general.”

  “Take a few hours,” Asa soothed. “Talk to your people. Work out the details.” He slid out of the booth and rose to his full height. “I’ll see you tomorrow at midnight in the Kirkland house, and we can nail down the deal. Then we work out how to make contact with this scumbag and get this thing rolling.”

  “What the hell?” Sisko said. “How do you know where we’re staying?”

  “You mutant types underestimate the obsessive-compulsive paranoia of the one percent,” Asa said. “Will Hannah be there tomorrow?”

  “No,” Noah said. “She won’t be involved in this.”

  The brothers’ eyes met. Tension throbbed in the air like a huge bass note. A complex mix of intense emotions. Anger, fear, pride, guilt. And under it all, the magnetic pull of each man’s own gravitational force fighting for ascendance.

  “You were right,” Noah said. “About Midlands. If that’s any satisfaction to you.”

  Asa’s eyes slitted as he gazed down at his older brother. “Satisfied,” he repeated. “That’s how you think I’d feel. To see you and Hannah get hurt.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Noah said. “I just know that you like to be right.”

  “It’s not that I like it,” Asa said slowly. “It’s just that I am. ”

  Caro stared at the two men in wary fascination as they locked horns. It was plain that neither one of them had ever succeeded in dominating the other, but they were compelled by their essential nature to keep on trying, no matter what.

  Noah finally let out a short bark of laughter. “So you’re infallible?”

  “I never said that,” Asa said. “If I were, I would have found a way to stop you from going to Midlands. Or at least taken Hannah and run like hell.”

  “I would never have let you do that,” Noah said.

  “I know.” Asa’s voice was bleak. “So you see? Not infallible.”

  Noah scowled. “The Midlands fuck-up was on me. I take full responsibility.”

  “It’s a family trait,” Asa said. “When we fuck up, we go all out.”

  He turned and walked out without looking back.

  Chapter 28

  One of two things was certain, Mark had determined. One: that incompetent shithead Carrerra was already dead. Two: he was about to die, for not answering Mark’s calls. It had been over twenty-four hours since Carrerra’s triumphant phone call announcing that he’d picked up Bishop and was heading to the meet-up.

  Nothing since then. Carrerra knew better than to be incommunicado.

  It was not quite dawn, but
for him and the five prototypes, equipped with visual implants and new, improved AVP, light levels were no issue. Mark drove through the canyon of dark pines, noting the glaring lack of guards.

  Sloppy. Or ominous. He was betting on the latter. His tension mounted.

  New kill plans generated on his inner eye screen every time he happened to look at one of the prototypes. He was accustomed to the constantly changing display. Multiple kill plans were useful when he needed to kill large numbers of people in a short amount of time, but at the moment, they only served to remind him how much he would enjoy annihilating the slave soldiers.

  Who continued to annoy the living shit out of him.

  Besides the palpable hostility they displayed, there were serious glitches. Brenner kept blurting out the name of his kid at random intervals, and Raquel was a river of tears, which swelled her eyes and dripped from her her nose. In addition to making him want to smack her puffy, reddened face, the snot and the gurgling and the constant sniffling obliterated her sexual appeal.

  He’d been keeping Brenner and Raquel in the freight container, just to prevent himself from acting on the temptation to hurt them. Life had been simpler when he was alone. The other three in the cab up front had the sense to keep their mouths shut.

  When he saw the building, he knew instantly that Carrerra’s entire team was dead. There were no live thermals within a hundred meters of the place, aside from some small forest animals. An unmistakable stench wafted through the window. Not terribly strong yet, but his sense of smell was acute, and he had extensive experience with that particular odor.

  He stopped the truck, ordered the protos out, and let the other two out of the freight container before starting the damage assessment. The smell indicated that he was going to need the whole crew for the cleanup.

  One corpse lay in the gravel driveway, throat crushed. Dead of asphyxiation, judging by the bulging, sightless eyes.

  Wind whipped the treetops. A rhythmic creaking led him to the hanged man, swaying over the narrow path that led to the house. The third corpse lay facedown in front of the aluminum steps, his livid face turned at an improbable angle on his neck. He’d soiled himself in death. The reek of terror-shit blended with the developing taint of human decomp made Mark circle the corpse as widely as possible.

  He mounted the stairs that led into the small building. The door hung open, banging against the aluminum siding in the wind, letting out a stench of of blood and death that was stronger still.

  Brenner tried to follow him through the front door, but Mark spun around. “Stay out, until I call for you!” he snarled.

  Brenner faded quietly back outside.

  Mark found Carrerra pinned to the floor by the knife stuck through his hand. His face was unrecognizable, swollen and dark, crusted with blood. His eyes were hidden in pockets of swollen, purplish flesh.

  Mark catalogued every detail. The bloodsmears, the bullet holes, the broken plastic restraints. Whoever did this had been looking specifically for Caroline Bishop, but she had no friends or allies capable of rescuing her. She’d been all alone, living off crumbs, huddling in dark corners. The closest she’d come to a bodyguard had been that dickwad Tim Wheaton. Easy enough to crack.

  Whoever had pulled this off was in another class altogether. Considerably smarter than Wheaton. Someone who knew the potential of the info she held in her head. Probably the same man who took down Carrerra’s last team. Acting alone, by Mark’s guess. Stealthy, highly skilled, and possessing formidable strength.

  An extremely gifted professional . . . or else he was modified.

  Carrerra looked like he’d fought hard. Mark had hired him for that, and he’d proved to be ferocious. He’d met his match this time.

  He walked around Carrerra’s body, peering at it from the other side, and saw the yellow paper poking out of the stiff, purplish lips and fragments of broken teeth. He pried the dead man’s mouth open, and extracted the crumpled, bloody paper, smoothing it out.

  Even with AVP, it was a challenge to read. When he did, his combat program surged and seethed. Terms? Arrogant shithead.

  He forced himself to study the note more closely. Looked like a woman’s handwriting. Caroline. Had to be. So she was alive, conscious, functional, and under the other man’s control.

  She’s mine, the note said. The bastard was probably fucking her in the ass right now.

  He pocketed the note and left the building, looking down at his crew of hollow-eyed, staring supersoldiers. Still glaring at him, in spite of their frequent punishments. They looked like zombies who hadn’t gotten around to rotting yet. Soon, though.

  “Take the bodies into the woods,” he told them. “Bury them deep. You get to burn the house before we go. Special treat. Say thank you.”

  They stood there, mute and glaring, until he raised the freq wand and gave them all a pain zap. That shocked them into action. Except for Brenner, who didn’t move.

  “Callie,” Brenner blurted hoarsely.

  Moaning about his goddamn kid again. It was too much. He punched Brenner, sending the big man flying right off his feet. When Brenner crashed heavily to the ground, Mark extended the wand and gave the stupid fuck an excruciating buzz of neural punishment.

  Brenner writhed and screamed for long, satisfying minutes.

  Mark pocketed the wand, walked over and kicked the whimpering man in the crotch, hard. The cerebral inhibitor blocked Brenner from defending himself against his controller. He just curled up, panting heavily with rasping, sobbing breaths.

  “Say that name one more time, and I’ll take you back to where she lives and make you kill her with an axe,” Mark told him. “And when you’re done, you can set yourself on fire. Got me? Do we understand each other?”

  Brenner choked out the name one last time.

  Mark sighed in frustration, switched the wand’s setting to knock-out, and zapped him unconscious. Best to power him down. Let them both chill. It was impractical to flush a thirty million dollar investment down the toilet for nothing. There were cheaper necks to squeeze if he felt the urge.

  Talk terms, his ass. He’d teach the Keyholder all about terms before he was done. That arrogant shithead was going to get a special, intensive private lesson.

  While Mark gouged his eyes out with his thumbs.

  * * *

  The ride back to the Kirkland house was weirdly silent. Sisko slid behind the wheel and took over the driving, as if by prior arrangement. Noah sat in the back with her, but would not respond to anything she said. After a few frustrating minutes, he put out his hand and pressed his finger gently against her lips, without meeting her eyes.

  “Not now,” he said. “Sorry. I can’t.”

  “Caro. Let him be,” Sisko said.

  “Do I have a choice?” she asked bitterly.

  “He’s doing an ASP management thing,” Sisko explained, keeping his eyes on the road. “Self-imposed sensory deprivation. You isolate yourself and blank out all sensory input. It’s problematic, because you have to lower your guard, but when analog diving isn’t working, it’s an emergency time-out, so you don’t blow something up. Or hurt somebody.”

  “I see,” she whispered, even though she didn’t.

  “He’ll be back soon,” Sisko assured her. “Just be patient.”

  Patient, hell. She wanted to blow something up herself. It was not freaking fair.

  Sisko parked outside the Kirkland house, and held up his hand when she opened her mouth to speak. They sat in utter silence for a couple of minutes, just waiting.

  Finally, Noah opened his eyes and looked at Caro. “Sorry,” he said.

  The raw pain in his eyes made something clutch in her throat. She knew how that felt. Painful memories were hard to control. Seeing his brother Asa after so long must have triggered a torrent of them.

  Once inside the house, Sisko looked Noah over keenly. “You OK?”

  “I’m good.” Noah’s voice was flat.

  “Call if you need me. I’ll be
down in the basement tech room.” Sisko nodded at Caro, and headed for staircase.

  Caro took Noah’s hand and tugged it. “Let’s go up and rest.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m going out for a while.”

  She was bewildered, and alarmed. “Out where?”

  “Just outside. I need space.”

  Ouch. Her whole body contracted. “Well. That’s a classic.”

  “Caro, please,” he said wearily. “Don’t get your feelings hurt. It’s not you.”

  “Oh, just shut up,” she snapped. “If you need to blow off steam, I know just how that might be accomplished. Without isolating yourself.”

  The room charged instantly with sex. His eyes flashed, right through the lenses. She could feel the hot magical light on some level other than just sight, and her body answered, softening and melting. Preparing for him.

  He swallowed, hard. Hands flexing, clenching. “Not now,” he said thickly. “My AVP is bugfuck. Happens, after half a lifetime of getting fucked over and pissed off. You do not want me naked on top of you while I’m metabolizing it.”

  “Stop carrying on,” she said. “I trust you completely. AVP or no AVP. You just need to trust yourself.”

  He shook his head, and walked out the door.

  She forced herself to breathe down the hurt. Suck it up. This issue was bigger than her tender feelings, and nobody could criticize the man for not trying hard enough on her behalf. She had to grow up. Go upstairs. Wait patiently for him to work through his crap. He was entitled to his weird strategies. Whatever worked for him was fine.

  Her mind raced too frantically for sleep, so she sat down in the living room for a while, and leafed through a stack of files Sisko had left there.

  One caught her attention. A list Sisko had compiled of the people who had been reported missing the past week in Utah and Wyoming, the states Mark had mentioned in the video they had found in Luke Ryan’s lake house.

  It wasn’t hard to winnow the list. The supersoldiers had to be young, physically powerful, and without family connections to fit the supersoldier profile. In the past few days, ten had met the criteria. Seven men. Three women.