by Dan Koboldt
“That company issue?” Logan asked.
“Not exactly. I know guns aren’t allowed across, but I can’t even sleep without the feel of the holster on my leg.”
“I know what you mean.”
Mendez nodded at Logan’s MP5. “I know that’s not company issue.”
“Borrowed it from someone.”
They didn’t talk about the other members of Bravo, but one look at Mendez’s eyes told Logan that he already knew. It was too soon, too fresh, to bring it up now. They still had work to do. When the mission was over, and the men’s remains were brought back Earth-side, then they could remember. And grieve.
“Don’t get attached to the gun,” Logan said. “The lieutenant wants to be rid of them as quickly as possible. You been practicing with the sword?”
“Every day. I’m probably as good as you now. Maybe better.”
“Christ, we’d better get you some food,” Logan said. “I think you’re delirious.”
Logan poured a stream of frigid water on the prisoner’s face. “Wake up!”
The man spluttered awake, tried to move, and found that he could not. His wrists and ankles were bound with flexsteel ties. They were like zip ties, but made of a company-developed polymer that was virtually unbreakable. He struggled only for a moment, and then grew still. He looked around, assessing his captors, the environment, everything. Most normal people would have panicked.
Training always tells.
They were in the enemy camp, or what was left of it. Two of the raiders’ horses were exhausted beyond recovery; Logan had had to put them down. He added their deaths to the mental tally he was keeping; this man had a lot to answer for.
He crouched in front of the prisoner. “Who are you?”
The man met his gaze and held it.
Logan stood and delivered a hard kick under the rib cage. The manual on field interrogation called this part “Establishing physical dominance.”
He tried asking again, once the man had recovered. “What’s your name, soldier?” Logan asked.
“Thorisson. Lars Thorisson.” He had a slight accent, probably Nordic of one kind or another. Raptor Tech loved to hire these Andal types; they were good for show on the private security details. Some of them really knew how to handle themselves, too. “How many men were on your team?”
Thorisson didn’t answer.
“Five?” Logan asked. “That’s counting the janitor.”
The man’s face gave something away at the mention of the janitor. How had they gotten someone in, so close? To say CASE Global did intense background checks was a hell of an understatement—they made colonoscopies seem noninvasive by comparison.
Yet another mystery to unravel once they returned.
“What are your mission objectives?” Logan asked.
“Untie me first.”
“No.” He’d done enough damage here already.
“Am I under arrest?”
“Let’s call it detained,” Logan said. He smiled without humor. “Suspicion of trespassing.”
The way the company saw it, they owned the island, so they owned the gateway, so they owned everything through the gateway. Of course, there was no legal precedent for such a situation, and a fair number of Alissians would take issue with being owned by anyone. Yet another fine line they walked that required absolute secrecy. As far as the gateway went, at least, the company’s lawyers had offered the adage that possession was nine-tenths of the law.
“I want a lawyer,” said Thorisson.
“Got one in your pocket?”
Thorisson scowled.
“Listen, man,” Logan said. He tried to make his voice reasonable, when all he really wanted to do was beat this man to a bloody pulp. Kiara and her damn orders. “We’re taking you back with us, back to the company facility.”
“Where’s that?”
“None of your business.”
“And where are we now, exactly?”
“Also none of your business. Listen, I don’t think you’re quite getting it. You’re our prisoner,” Logan said. “We’ve got a long way to go and I’m not going to play babysitter the whole time. You do what I say, you answer our questions, but otherwise you keep your mouth shut.”
“What’s in it for me?” Thorisson asked.
“I won’t cut your throat right now and leave you here to rot. Like you did to three of my men.”
“So you’re with them, eh? The bearded one and the bruiser?”
“That’s right. You son of a bitch. And we’re not the only ones, so give me your answer.” He put a hand on the hilt of his combat knife. If the man didn’t agree, he’d use it no matter what Kiara said. This was a security matter. They couldn’t afford to risk a captive constantly trying to escape or undermine the mission.
“I agree to your terms,” Thorisson said.
He wanted to kill the man anyway. The guy deserved it; all of them did. But Logan’s comm unit was back in, and Kiara had probably been listening. He put his knife away and hauled the man to his feet. Maybe a touch rougher than necessary. “Let’s see if there’s a horse you didn’t manage to kill.”
There was a contentious debate about where to head next.
“I think we should go after Bradley now,” Logan said, out of earshot of Thorisson—he had Mendez watching the prisoner. “It’s been almost a month since he pulled a Houdini on us. He’s not prepared to last that long on his own.”
“I want him back, too,” Kiara said. “But we don’t even know where to start looking. He could be anywhere between here and Valteron.”
“The trail’s only going to get colder,” Logan said.
“There is no trail. We’re talking a grid search at best, and that won’t be easy while we have to keep an eye on Thorisson.”
“I’ve got a solution for that.”
“And as I told you, I want him alive. Too many questions have gone unanswered,” Kiara said.
“Good luck getting any answers out of him,” Logan said. “I know what it would take, and I doubt the company is willing to go that far. That’s all besides the fact, though. If we’re right about who took Bradley, his information will be far more valuable.”
“As long as we get him back. If magicians do have him, then we’re facing an even more difficult problem,” Kiara said. “The one we encountered in Valteron had our number pretty quickly.”
Logan frowned, remembering his mistake in not taking the slight woman seriously. A moment’s hesitation, and she’d sewn him up like a throw pillow. “We’ll be ready for that, if we encounter another magician. Their magic can’t protect them all the time, from every angle.”
“Tell that to Holt.”
Ultimately the company executives ended the argument. The moment they learned that Kiara and Logan had captured one of the raiders alive, they sent a new set of orders. Bradley was officially placed on the back burner. Getting Thorisson back to the gateway was priority one.
They put Mendez on Bradley’s horse, and Thorisson on the packhorse. That way Logan could keep the reins; the packhorse had followed his mount for most of the journey anyway. Logan bound the prisoner’s boots to the stirrups. They’d had to bind his hands in front of him—which Logan wasn’t happy about—so that he could hold the high Alissian pommel enough to keep from falling.
Letting Thorisson ride was the backup plan—they’d tried sedating him, but the drug hadn’t worked. Either it was a bad batch, or Raptor Tech’s team had taken countermeasures before the mission.
My money’s on the second explanation.
He’d searched the man for weapons twice, first while he was unconscious and later while the man was hog-tied. He’d confiscated the handgun—now in Mendez’s possession—and a SOG tactical folding knife, the kind favored by Special Forces. The second search turned up a sm
all Leatherman tool, another military favorite.
But he still wouldn’t put it past the man to have something hidden somewhere. That’s why the best policy with any prisoner is diligence.
Kiara took the lead. They’d stashed the MP5s in her and Logan’s packs. She wanted swords and crossbows from here all the way back to the gateway. They tied Bradley’s bow to the saddle of the packhorse. Logan moved the quiver of arrows to his own horse, but hoped the sight of another ranged weapon might discourage any bandits or militias they’d meet along the way.
Logan and the prisoner were in the middle. Chaudri rode just behind them, with a bolt loaded on the crossbow and express orders to shoot Thorisson if he tried anything. Mendez insisted to Kiara that he was fine, and played the role of the scout. He took quick control of Bradley’s mare; they worked well together. He ranged ahead. He checked their backtrail. Somehow he even found time to catch a pair of Alissian rabbits and skin them to roast for dinner.
He did everything but look in Thorisson’s direction.
Thorisson clammed up for the next two days. He refused to answer any questions about his mission, or who had sent him. Logan would have applied more persuasive techniques, but there wasn’t time.
The updates from Command weren’t encouraging. Raptor Tech’s drone continued to harass the island facility, disrupting communications and thwarting every attempt to shoot it down.
Mendez appeared over the rise ahead and reined in to wait for them.
“Barometric pressure has been dropping all day between here and Felara,” Kiara said. “Eighty percent chance of a storm.”
“We should stop soon anyway, to rest the horses,” Logan said.
“Agreed,” Kiara said. She got another beep on the comm unit, skimmed it, and didn’t look happy.
Logan gave Mendez a hand signal. Shelter.
Mendez flashed an answer.
“There might be a spot about half a klick ahead,” Logan said. “I’d like to scout it first.” Landor’s capital was on the far side of the country; bandits and highwaymen were the rule in this area.
Kiara glanced up. “Do it,” she said.
Logan untied the packhorse’s reins from his mount and lashed them to Kiara’s instead. Chaudri moved up to cover Thorisson with the crossbow.
“If he gives you any trouble, shoot him,” Logan told her. The reminder was more for Thorisson than Chaudri, and he kept his eyes locked on the prisoner’s just to make sure he heard him loud and clear.
He joined Mendez and they rode ahead. The wooded hollow wasn’t far from the road. They split the perimeter and met on the far side.
“Looks all right,” Logan said. The hollow was bowl-shaped, with a rather steep side of hard earth on the western side that might provide some cover from the approaching storm.
“There’s a lot of angles to cover, but I figure you still have your dog fence,” Mendez said.
“That’s a roger.”
Logan tapped off his comm unit and signaled for Mendez to do the same. They were both alone for a minute. “How are you holding up, soldier?” he asked.
“Just fine.”
He was tough as nails, always had been. But Logan had still been there. “When the mission’s over, it’ll be rough for a while.”
“Trying not to think about it,” Mendez said.
“You’ll get past it,” Logan assured him. “Haven’t seen your skills dip at all, which is good. Stay focused for now, and tell me if you have any problems. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
Logan tapped his comm unit back on. “Don’t call me ‘sir.’ I work for a living!”
Mendez laughed. “Roger that.”
“It’s all clear, Lieutenant,” Logan said over the comm unit. Treetops leaned and sighed in a strong gust of wind. “You’d better make it double-time.”
“We came here thinking the people might dream of the things we take for granted. Peace, democracy, freedom of speech. Instead, most Alissians simply pray for rain.”
—R. HOLT, “REEVALUATING ALISSIAN ASSUMPTIONS”
CHAPTER 21
PRISON BREAK
Logan and Mendez established a base camp and got to work on the plasma field. The wind picked up; they were having trouble even stretching the netting by the time Kiara and the others arrived. The horses were exhausted and panicky. Kiara and Chaudri fought to secure them with hobbles while Logan and Mendez tied the prisoner to a sapling in the middle of camp.
They barely got the plasma field up before the storm hit. The wooded hollow offered some protection, but the tempest thrashed against it like a wild animal in a cage. Kiara allowed a small fire; they all more or less collapsed around it. Even Mendez seemed to have run out of steam; he offered to take watch but started nodding off almost right away.
Two hours later, Thorisson made his move.
His hands were bound behind him, but he arched his back enough to reach his boot. The heel twisted off. Hidden inside was a thumb-sized cylinder. The laser torch cut through his flexsteel bindings like they weren’t even there. He rose silently. The fire had burned down to embers; the chests of everyone in camp rose and fell slowly. Logan had been snoring for half an hour; he snorted. Thorisson froze in a half crouch. The big man rolled over, and resumed snoring in a steady rattle.
Thorisson began to move again. He paused over the sleeping form of Mendez, as if considering finishing the job his team had started. He moved on, though, stepping noiselessly away from the fire. He didn’t go near the horses; there would be no getting one of those loose and away without waking the others. He slipped away toward the trees that were still whipping back and forth in the grip of the wind.
He was two paces from the edge of the plasma field when something tapped him twice on the shoulder. The stock of a loaded crossbow.
“You going somewhere?” Logan asked. He lowered the crossbow so that the tip of the quarrel pressed into Thorisson’s back, right at the kidney.
Thorisson’s shoulders drooped. He emitted a string of violet curses, most of them in a language Logan didn’t understand.
“Sorry, I don’t speak German,” he said.
“It’s Swedish, you bastard!”
“Ah. Thanks for telling me.”
The man’s face was a mix of frustration and disbelief. “You were asleep!” he hissed.
“Just because I was snoring?” Logan laughed softly. “My sergeant taught us that one, back in basic.”
Logan confiscated the laser cutter and searched the prisoner’s other boot heel, turning up a small pocketknife. He’d put a static burst out on the comm unit, once Thorisson was in hand. It woke the others. Well, except for Chaudri, whose comm unit had accidentally fallen out again. No matter, Logan had given her a gentle nudge with the toe of his boot. They’d bound his wrists and ankles with new flexsteel ties, and set a real watch at night. Mendez or Logan kept a loaded crossbow pointed at him at all times.
“A word, Logan?” Kiara asked. They stepped away from the others while Mendez took prison guard duty.
“How did you know he’d try to get away?”
He shrugged. “Just played a hunch. It’s what I’d do.”
“You could have told me about it,” she said.
“If I had, you wouldn’t have slept.”
“That’s not your call.” She’d never admit it, but she was upset at herself for letting the prisoner nearly escape under her command.
“You’re right, Lieutenant. Won’t happen again.”
She gave him a nod; that was that. They returned to the fire. Chaudri, irritable as she was at being roused, had another suggestion. “What about a bell or something?” she asked. “They did that with medieval prisoners sometimes. Tied them up in ribbons and hung bells on them, like they did the fools of royal courts.”
“I think we’re a little s
hort on ribbons and bells,” Logan said.
“I’ve got an IR beacon,” Mendez said. “Seems to me it would serve the same purpose.” Every team sent to Alissia carried these, to help locate one another in a crowd, or rendezvous at night in the rough country. It stood to reason that Alissians wouldn’t have the technology to see infrared, but Logan wasn’t so sure about some of the nocturnal predators. That was part of why they hadn’t used theirs yet.
If a wild dog or something got ahold of Thorisson, hey, that was just bad karma.
Of course, the prisoner would damage or toss the IR beacon the first chance he got. If he knew about it. Logan sauntered over to where Thorisson lay hog-tied. “Got anything else you’re holding?”
Thorisson didn’t answer. Logan searched him anyway, half to check for weapons or tools, and half to attach the IR beacon—a small disc, about the size of a quarter—on his back. He’d be easier to find now, if he slipped away. They couldn’t obsess too much more over security. They had bigger problems in front of them.
The Landorian plateau ended not far to the west, with a mountain range that marked the Felaran border.
“Most stage magicians work alone. We have trust issues.”
—ART OF ILLUSION, DECEMBER 12
CHAPTER 22
HIDDEN THINGS
Quinn didn’t have much to pack. He’d returned his book to the library, and assured Mags that it never left his possession. She glared at him all the while. It was like she could smell Moric’s fingerprints on the pages. Beyond that, his possessions were meager. He almost wished he had a saddlebag or a suitcase, just to have something to do other than pacing in his chambers.
Then the rose perfume hit him. Uh-oh.
Jillaine stood in his doorway, with her hands on her hips. She wore a light, diaphanous dress that was the color of moonlight.
“Hi there,” Quinn said. He smiled to cover the nerves. An old stage trick.