Counterstrike: The Separatist Wars Book 2

by Thomas Webb

  “Oh I’ll bet,” Zombie said. “I’d say it’s been paid—to some of us, at least. I wouldn’t mind collecting on tha—ow! What the hell?”

  A swift elbow from Shane had put an end to Zombie’s impromptu speech. Hale’s skin was light enough to blush. He felt his face growing red. Hale could guess what Zombie meant by that remark. Not that he blamed her. Anesu was a beautiful woman.

  He thought he saw a smirk on Anesu’s face behind her shades.

  “How about you get us all settled in?” Shane asked.

  “Sure thing,” Sanders replied. “Let’s get y’all squared away. I’ll show you where to bunk.”

  The team set to grabbing their gear from the growler. Anesu sidled up next to Hale.

  “Do you need a hand with your bag, Mr. Hale?” she asked.

  “No thank you, Ms. Chewasa. I’ve got it covered.”

  Anesu leaned in close. “I will greet you properly later, Mr. Hale.”

  Hale grinned. “Looking forward to it Ms. Chewasa.”

  “Everyone ready?” Sanders asked. “Y’all can follow me to your quarters. We’ll get your gear stowed. Then we can all go down together and have a look at our boy.”

  -7-

  Shane dropped her gear to the floor, and Gina followed suit. The walls of the abandoned barracks felt close, almost claustrophobic. The place brought mind images of Shane’s time in Officer Candidate School. They’d been a herd of know-it-all twenty-something’s, most fresh out of college. They were shuffled into spartan rooms, the places designed to instill within them a sense of discipline, and a self-reliance born of a lack of creature comforts.

  Much like OCS, the furnishings here also seemed to be at a premium. The room contained little besides two no-frills beds, a window, and a tiny adjoining latrine. A cracked plastiscreen monitor hung on one wall. Gina walked over to inspect it.

  “Damn. This thing doesn’t even have holo capability. How old is this place?”

  Shane sat on one of the beds, letting Gina prattle on. She’d get to what she really wanted to say eventually.

  “So,” Gina began, her brown eyes serious for a change. “You really think it’s him?”

  Shane shrugged. “No way to tell until we see him. Even DNA testing can be beat, with the right treatments. We’ll try interrogating him, but we maybe won’t even be able to tell then. Ramsey’s a wily bastard. And tough, too.” Exactly the qualities you didn’t want in an enemy.

  Shane wouldn’t dare give it voice, but a part of her wished he was on their side. Yet another reason to try and find some common ground and at least try to lay these endless wars to rest. She fell back onto the bed, staring up at the moisture stains blotting the ceiling. “If it is him, I’m not sure why he’d even be here in the first place? He was home free after the last time we tangled with him. Why would he turn right around and surrender himself into custody?”

  Gina frowned. “I don’t like it.”

  “That makes two of us,” Shane agreed. The whole thing didn’t smell right, and it had her guard up.

  “I’m still not sure how me, Kris, and Lash drew the short straws,” Gina said. She’d changed the subject to one of her favorite things—complaining. “We have to go flip through a bunch of prisoner files while you and Hale get to have all the fun?”

  Shane sat up and stared out the grimy window at the compound below. UNIA Special Division personnel and hired mercenaries buzzed about the place. A working bot used an anti-grav sled to shift pallets from one area to the other. The sun broke the edge of the horizon, casting the fort in a mixture of golden light and deepening shadow. Evening in the kingdom was fast approaching.

  “I’ll be fine,” Shane said.

  “Didn’t say you wouldn’t be.” Gina sat on the other bed, folded her muscular arms across her chest, and proceeded to pout. “Just said it’s not fair, is all.”

  What Gina said and what she meant were sometimes two different things. Shane saw the look on Gina’s face. Gina was just worried for her. She didn’t want Shane going into the interrogation without her.

  “I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

  Shane regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. Gina’s pout twisted into a frown.

  “Hey now,” Shane said.

  She got up and crossed the space separating them. Shane moved Gina’s legs apart to stand close in front of her girlfriend. Being the shorter of the two, the only time she got to look down at Gina was when she was sitting.

  “Don’t go sticking your gorgeous lip out like that,” she whispered. Shane softened the scolding further by leaning down for a kiss. At the touch of their lips, a shiver raced down Shane’s spine.

  That got a smile out of the former special forces soldier.

  “I’m dying to get a look at this fucker for myself,” Gina said. “If it is him, I mean.”

  “I know,” Shane nodded, her hands still on Gina’s shoulders. Reluctantly, she pulled away. Ramsey’s escape last year represented a loss. She hated having any loss on their record, just as much as anyone else in the Spec Ops community. They were all, to a person, notoriously bad losers. “We’re all dying for a look. We’ve got some unfinished business with that guy, depending on if it is him. But we need to play it smart.”

  Gina grew serious, her eyes darkening. “Hey—you’ll be careful with this interrogation. . . right?”

  “Of course,” Shane said. “Like I told you. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

  “Ok,” Gina said. She didn’t sound completely convinced. “You better,” she added. Gina moved over to Shane’s bed, pushing her down and straddling her. Gina moved in close and kissed her. Longer, and slower this time.

  “Mmmm,” Shane purred. “That was nice. But anything more and we’ll be late. We can’t keep everyone waiting.”

  A few minutes later they were gathered at the entrance to the squat, three-story barracks they’d be calling home for the duration of their stay. The rest of the ASI team, along with Anesu and Sanders, was already waiting. A small contingent of military contractors and Special Division forces had joined them. After a quick tet a’ tet, Gina, Lash, and Kris’nac split off, accompanied by an escort and headed to the outpost’s small admin section. There they would review the holo files of the facility’s several dozen subterranean guests. All the prisoners here were housed below ground level—Shane juts had no idea where. The hope was that somewhere in those files was a clue as to who the newest prisoner was and, more importantly, what his motives were.

  Meanwhile Shane, Hale, Sanders, and Anesu made their way through the compound area, just as the last light of the day died. They stepped through the darkening outpost, making their way toward a small structure roughly the size of a utility shed. A pair of troops in full armor stood guard to either side. Shane wondered why the prison site would spare fully armored soldiers for a utility shed. She soon found out why. When the faceless soldiers opened the hatchway, it revealed a set of stairs.

  Sanders noticed the look on Shane’s face.

  “Surprised?” he asked.

  “Very,” she said.

  “What’d y’all think this was?” He grinned. “A utility shed?”

  The ‘shed’ was actually an entrance to the sub-ground cells where the prisoners were housed. One of the armored troops entered first, followed by Sanders.

  “Mind your footing there,” Sanders said, pointing to the stairs.

  Shane stepped behind him and saw why he’d warned them. Immediately upon entering, the stairway jutted almost straight down, each step cut centuries ago from the natural stone beneath the savanna and the desert sands. She wondered how many hundreds of years these cells, carved from the sandstone itself, had been in use.

  Hale and Anesu followed behind Shane. The second armored guard brought up the rear. They entered the shed-sized structure single file, as there wasn’t sufficient room for even two people of average height and weight to walk abreast. As they made their way downward, motion-activated
lights jumped to life, illuminating the cavernous stairs and the dark hallway ahead with a soft glow.

  The rough-hewn stairs ended at a level corridor of flat paving stones. Doors along the hall that could have easily been ancient iron had been replaced with modern peristeel. They stood spaced along the walls, stretching at irregular intervals. Shane noticed there were sliding doors for, she assumed, communication and feeding. Murky light spilled from the thin openings beneath each threshold. From what she could tell, there was little chance of escaping this place.

  “This place looks ancient,” Shane heard Hale mutter. “Like some kind of medieval dungeon.”

  Hale was right. Shane wondered at the history this place had witnessed. What age-old conflicts had been waged on the sands over their heads? What ancient battles had been fought above the very tunnels they now walked?

  “These caverns were once used by our ancestors,” Anesu began. “They were cut from the living rock itself. This place has witnessed much turmoil. The defeated enemies of the ancient kingdoms were banished here, to these same cells.”

  “Was as good a place for a UNIA black site as any,” Sanders added. “And some of Anesu’s folks were gracious enough to let us make use of it.” The Special Division operator paused at a door. “Ah-here we go. Interrogation room.” Sanders looked to Shane. “He’s all set up for you.”

  The first armored soldier took up a position beside the door. Just past the entrance, a plexglass window had been set deep into the stone wall. Inside, an orange jump-suited man sat, cuffed and secured to a battered wooden table. He stared at the two-way mirrored plexglass, a smug smile playing across his lips.

  Hale approached the window first, leaning in. “Doesn’t look like him,” the prior-service Marine said.

  Shane moved beside him, wanting to see for herself. Blue eyes and blonde hair like Ramsey’s jumped out at her, but the cheeks and nose were wider. The chin more prominent. He didn’t look like Ramsey, but that was easy enough to change if a person wanted it done badly enough. The prisoner, whoever he was, looked like he’d been treated well. Better than some she’d seen in similar situations. Maybe the most confusing thing about the man was his body language. The prisoner lounged in his chair. Almost relaxed. He seemed very much at ease for someone locked up inside a place where people were sent to be forgotten.

  “It doesn’t look like him,” Shane conceded. “But I’d argue that’s a pretty easy fix. Facial reconstruct is painful, but it can be done quickly. With accelerated healing? He could have the procedure done, look like a completely different person, and be ready to roll in weeks.”

  “Yeah,” Hale grumbled, still studying the prisoner.

  “Alrighty then,” Sanders said. “As my daddy used to say, best way to skin a squirrel is to go on ahead and get to cuttin’. So let’s get to cuttin’.” He turned to the armored guard and pointed at the door. “Open it up,” he ordered.

  “Of course sir,” the guard said, his voice digitized and distorted through his helmet’s amplification system. “Although it may not be much use.” To Shane’s surprise, the merc nodded toward her. “The prisoner says he won’t talk unless it’s just the woman. Told us he was instructed to ask only for Captain Shane Mallory. Says he won’t say a word unless everyone else that came with her is at least a hundred meters away.”

  “How the hell does he know your name?” Hale demanded. Suddenly his guard was up, too. “And how does he know your rank? Not even Ramsey knew who we really were.”

  Shane peered through the plexglass. Her eyes narrowed. She’d swear he was staring right at her. That he was looking her dead in the eye, from deep inside the interrogation room. That was when an idea occurred to her. She decided to play a hunch.

  “Let me talk to him,” she said. “Alone.”

  “No ma’am,” Hale said, shaking his head. “No way in hell.”

  “I must agree with Trace on this,” Anesu added. “It is too dangerous.”

  “I don’t know Shane,” Sanders said, shaking his head.

  Shane’s heart began to beat faster in her chest. She felt the heat rise to her face. “If everyone’s done chiming in on what I can and can’t do,” she began, “I’d like to speak for myself. If that’s ok with you all?”

  Hale raised both eyebrows. Anesu looked away. Sanders held his hands up in mock surrender.

  “Gimme a few minutes with him,” Shane said, lowering her voice. “That’s all I’m asking here. Whoever this guy is, if he’ll really only speak to me? Well, no matter who it is, we’re wasting time debating the point.”

  Hale sighed. “You’re right Shane. I’m sorry.”

  “You know it’s against protocol for you to be in there alone,” Sanders argued.

  Shane laughed. “So a UNIA Special Activities Division guy is worried about protocol all of a sudden?”

  “That’s a fair point,” Sanders said. He studied her for a moment. Shane met his gaze, unflinching. “Ok, lady. It’s your show. My superiors told me I was to give you whatever you needed. So let’s just consider this private chat you asked for as something you need. “But,” he added,” I just wanna go on the record as saying I don’t agree with this.”

  “Works for me,” Shane replied. “Your disagreement is noted.”

  “Zombie’s not gonna like this,” Hale said.

  “You let me worry about her,” Shane shot back.

  “Are you certain of this Shane?” Anesu asked.

  Shane touched the beautiful soldier’s arm. “I appreciate your concern Anesu. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m still not comfortable leaving you down here alone,” Hale said. A last ditch attempt. Shane had to admire the jarhead’s tenacity.

  She nodded toward the soldiers. “You heard what the guy demanded. We can’t risk you all being around. He knows who we are, so who knows what else he’s aware of? We need this intel. Besides, we’ll have fully armored guards just on the other side of the plexglass. Not to mention the prisoner is cuffed and secured. Besides—I can handle myself.” It was the third time today she’d had to remind people of that. That didn’t make it any less true, but she had to admit—it was a little ominous.

  Anesu grinned. “All those facts make it very hard to argue with you.”

  “Damn right they do,” Shane said. “Now why don’t you all go give the rest of the team a hand with those holo files? It’s a lot of data to sift through without X37 here to help. I’m sure they could use an extra few sets of eyes.”

  “You sure?” Hale asked.

  Shane rolled her eyes. “Yes, dad. I’ll hit you on comms when I figure out what’s going on. Until then? Shoo.” She motioned them away with her hands. “Let me see what this guy is about.”

  “Have it your way,” Hale finally agreed. “But you know we’ll just be a comm link away.”

  “Get your asses out of here,” Shane ordered. “I got work to do.”

  Shane watched Hale, Anesu, and Sanders turn back and walk along the corridor until they disappeared. She shifted her focus to the man inside the interrogation room.

  The mercenary stopped her before she could touch the door. “Just going to need that sidearm, ma’am, he or she said. It was impossible to tell under the armor. “Can’t take the chance that the prisoner will get hold of it.”

  Shane looked up at the soldier. “You got me?” she asked.

  “Yes ma’am,” came the amplified response through the armor’s helmet.

  Shane took a dee breath. “Good,” Shane said. She pulled her sidearm from its holster and handed it over. Shane nodded toward the door. “Open it,” she said.

  -8-

  The door to the interrogation room closed shut with a clang. The sound of a strong peristeel bar sliding through the bolt grated in Shane’s ears, ringing home with a finality that sent shivers down her back. The prisoner calling himself Jon Smith sat behind the table, his demeanor more like that of a monarch seated on his throne than a man condemned. He stared straight at her, tried to stare straigh
t through her.

  Shane didn’t blink.

  The man’s eyes were the same shade of blue as Ramsey’s. That much he shared in common with the Separatist fighter, although eye color alone didn’t prove anything. But the man’s constant gaze was. . .unsettling.

  The prisoner smiled. “You wouldn’t happen to have the time, would you?”

  The voice sounded similar. But could she trust that? She’d only heard Ramsey speak a few times, and then only after he’d been beaten and held in captivity. An experience like that might affect a person’s voice.

  Amazing how much stock we put in the way a person looks, Shane thought. Trying to reimagine a person with a different face was a bit like not being able to smell your food as you ate it.

  Shane cocked her head to the side. “That’s a random question. Especially for a man locked up tight in an underground prison cell. Why would you want to know the time?” She needed to get him talking. “Do you think you have someplace to be?”

  He laughed. A shrug of the shoulders. “Maybe.”

  Shane walked up the table. She pulled out the chair opposite Smith and took a seat.

  “So,” she said.

  “So,’ he replied.

  Shane studied him. “Apparently you know me. But I’m not so sure I know you? How did you know my name? How did you know my rank? And why did you ask for me?”

  “I was given your name,” he said. He studied his fingernails. “I was informed that you were the most reasonable person on your team, Ms. Mallory.”

  Shane got it. He knew who she was. Who they all were. And he wanted her to know he knew. He wanted to hold it over their heads, as a show of power. “And what is it that you think you know about me and my team?”

  “Not much, really. Just what I’ve been told.”

  “And what is that, exactly?” Shane wanted to know.

  “You sure you don’t have the time?” he asked.

  Smith wasn’t budging. She needed a different tact. She thought back to watching all those hours of Lima conducting interrogations. She tried to recall the lessons the old spy had inadvertently taught her. Whether he knew it or not, she’d learned from him. “You seem awfully preoccupied with what time it is,” she said. “I mean—for someone who’s probably going to rot down here. I’d think something as mundane as time would be irrelevant for a person in your position?”