The Rogue Retrieval

by Dan Koboldt

  Logan’s armor had stopped the arrowhead, but left him a nasty welt the size of a golf ball. That reminded Quinn of his sword fight. He took a deep breath and unfastened the torso piece of his armor. His side was a mottled tapestry of black and blue. He touched it and gasped at how much it hurt. Next thing he knew, Kiara had him sitting right beside Logan in her makeshift infirmary.

  “How many of these hidey-­holes does the company have?” Quinn asked.

  “Not as many as we’d like,” Kiara said. “They’re nervous about Alissians stumbling across one.”

  “On a related note, don’t punch the wrong code on that pad outside, unless you want to learn how serious they are about it,” Logan added.

  “What’s the correct code?”

  “You don’t have the clearance for it,” Kiara said.

  He should have seen that coming. He didn’t have the clearance for anything interesting.

  “Noticed the blood on your sword,” Logan said softly.

  “Yeah,” Quinn said.

  “Not yours, is it?”

  “Ah, no. I got into a fight. With someone older than twelve.”

  Logan examined Quinn’s bruise and winced. “Looks like it cost you. Just like I said it would.”

  “I’ve gotten worse from you,” Quinn said. “Heck, I’m fairly certain I’ve given you worse.”

  Logan smiled. “You and Mendez are going to get along just fine.” He leaned over to Kiara, whispering loud enough that Quinn could hear. “Check for head trauma.”

  Quinn woke groggily to the unpleasant sensation of Logan shaking him awake. “What?”

  “Jesus. I’ve been trying to wake you up for five minutes.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “So it appears. Lieutenant wants us to get a move on. You can sleep when we get back.”

  Quinn groaned but forced himself to sit up. His whole body felt like it was made of lead. Kiara had wanted to question him after she patched up his wounds, but apparently he had fallen asleep as she talked.

  Someone had thrown a blanket over him. Chaudri, probably. It didn’t seem like Logan’s style.

  They left the hidey-­hole at dawn, all of them in heavier cloaks thanks to the cellar’s wardrobe. Even Thorisson got an upgrade; it wouldn’t do to transport the man this far only to have him freeze to death in the Felaran snows. These ran even deeper as they rode northwest; sometimes the horses were nearly up to their haunches in it. Having lived only in Tion and the Enclave’s island—­so far as he knew, at least—­Quinn’s mule had never really seen snow. It balked at the white stuff initially. A long conversation with lots of polite words followed. Nothing doing. Finally, he scooped up a handful and put it in his mouth while the mule watched. The mule tried it after that, and eventually was willing to walk in it.

  If the others thought Quinn’s dialogue with his mule was odd, they at least kept quiet about it.

  It was a cold, quiet ride to the foothills. Kiara was grim, Logan and Mendez serious, and Chaudri just distant. Quiet.

  The wyvern didn’t seem to be around, thank the gods. But the Alissian wild dogs took to howling as it grew dark. The sound of it ran a shiver down his spine. Quinn reclaimed his bow and quiver. Having them tied to the saddle, right by his hand, offered at least a little comfort.

  They also crossed a few deer-­like tracks in the snow, some of them fresh, but he felt no burning desire to hunt them. There would be other, less pressing opportunities to hunt someday, and they didn’t need the food. Besides, he had enough blood on his hands to last a while. The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. I think I’m going to throw up again.

  The lieutenant didn’t let that bother her when she gave him full license to shoot Thorisson if he tried to escape.

  Talk about an awkward situation.

  Soon enough they were climbing the slope to the mouth of the gateway cave. Here Logan conferred briefly with Kiara, then went ahead with Mendez to secure the area.

  “There’s probably a bear hibernating right in front of the gateway,” Quinn said. “That’s been our luck so far.”

  “Personally I’d be more concerned about snow tigers,” Chaudri said. “They like caves, and they’re incredibly territorial.”

  “Wonderful,” Quinn said.

  Logan came in over the comm units. “All clear, Lieutenant. Want us to try the gateway?”

  “Not until we’re all there,” she said.

  Right, the gateway had been closed from the other side under some security protocol. Christ, what if it still was? Quinn didn’t want to cool his heels in another hidey-­hole until Kiara figured things out. If it was blocked, then he was leaving and going back to the Enclave. He didn’t care what they said. He pressed a palm against his armor’s chest plate, felt the teardrop-­shaped amulet Moric had given him against his skin.

  Even then, though, he hesitated at the thought. Going to the Enclave might finally put it on the company’s map, and that was a risk he wasn’t prepared to take. Not yet, at least. The longer he’d been in Alissia, the more it had become apparent that the company had a substantial presence here. The communications relays, the hidey-­holes, the carefully built false identities. He suspected that the company’s presence wasn’t quite as benevolent as they claimed.

  They were just as much a threat to the Enclave as the magicians were to them.

  He mulled this over while they made the last climb to the gateway cave.

  “Bradley, take your saddlebags off the mule,” Kiara said.

  “What for?”

  “He’s not allowed through the gateway. Or in the cave, technically speaking.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Quinn asked. They were well past company policy enforcement here.

  “No fauna. Unless you want him going to the lab for study?”

  “No, thanks,” Quinn said quickly. They’d probably do a brain autopsy or something.

  He dismounted and started undoing the leather straps. He piled the saddlebags by the mouth of the cave while the others rode in. Then he unstrapped the saddle as well.

  “Listen,” he said. “You can’t come with me, where I’m going. But you saved my life, and I won’t forget it.” He offered a few handfuls of grain, not the high-­performance stuff, but stout Alissian feed that the hidey-­hole had in dry storage. He patted the mule’s flank. “Farewell, my friend.”

  He picked up his saddlebags and marched into the cave. There it was. The gateway flickered between silver and gray, like a television without a signal. No way to tell if it was open or not. If it was, he had a long-­ass debrief waiting for him on the other side. He wasn’t looking forward to that one. But there was coffee and maybe a hot shower, too. Those, he wouldn’t mind so much.

  “Got it all?” Kiara asked.

  Quinn patted the saddlebags. “Right here,” he said.

  “Good.” She turned to Mendez and jerked her head toward the cave’s opening.

  He said nothing, but unstrapped the crossbow from his saddle.

  “What are you doing?” Quinn demanded. He dropped the saddlebags and took a step. Huge arms wrapped around him from behind in a bear hug. Logan.

  “Let me go!” Quinn shouted. “What’s he doing?”

  “Sorry about this, Bradley,” Logan said. “A burden animal wandering around might attract attention to this cave. We can’t afford that.”

  “No!” He squirmed, but Logan had him in an iron grip. Quinn had forgotten just how strong he was. He fought against it anyway. He cussed at Logan. He tried to shut his ears, dreading the inevitable clack-­thrum of the crossbow.

  It never came.

  Mendez returned and stomped the snow from his boots. He wore a quizzical expression. “The mule’s not out there.”

  “It must have wandered off,” Kiara said. “Go track it down.”

  “There aren�
�t any tracks, Lieutenant. The thing is just gone.”

  Gods be praised. Whether it was some piece of Enclave magic, or just an extra smart mule, Quinn couldn’t say. When Logan released him, he threw the big man a dirty look and rubbed his arms.

  “What did you do, Bradley?” Kiara asked.

  Quinn offered her a little bow. “One last disappearing act for our little journey.”

  Her face was stormy, but Chaudri laughed. Mendez joined in.

  “I did warn you against bringing a magician,” Logan said.

  “The hardest part about our work over there is the moment we must return home.”

  —­R. HOLT, “A DECADE DEVOTED”

  CHAPTER 25

  MODERN WARFARE

  Logan wanted to be the first through the gateway, but Kiara had different ideas.

  “I’m pulling rank on you, Logan,” she said.

  Logan planted himself in front of her. “Not this time, Lieutenant. It’s a security matter.”

  “Command assured us that they have control of the island facility.”

  “Those messages could have been faked.”

  She sighed, but gave in. “Anything looks off, I want you back here in double time.”

  “Roger that.”

  Logan unbelted his sword and handed it to Mendez; anything larger than a knife triggered knockout gas on the other side while the security protocols were in place. A gear retrieval team would be through later to decontaminate all of their gear and take it back to the armory.

  He took a breath and leaped through. Cold washed over him, then darkness. He landed on the stone of the gate room. Spotlights blinded him. He shielded his eyes and looked down. The incoming alarm sounded, a single klaxon. Four neon green dots appeared on his chest and hovered near the solar plexus. Company-­issue laser sights. Sweet Jesus, they had the facility back.

  He laced his hands behind his head and knelt on the stone floor.

  “Sergeant Major Logan, Alpha Team,” he said.

  The Plexiglas door ahead of him remained shut, but there was a speaker inside. A woman’s voice came through it. “Passcode?”

  “Echo. Foxtrot. Seven. One. Victor,” Logan said.

  “What was your first daughter’s weight at birth?”

  “Five pounds, three ounces,” he said. Olivia was a tiny thing; she took after her mother. Thinking of his girls made him smile. He missed the next question. “Say again?”

  “How many hostages survived in Beirut?”

  His smile fell. “Screw you.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “None of them.” His last mission for Uncle Sam had been a bloodbath. It made saying yes to Kiara much easier.

  The Plexiglas slid aside; four black-­clad soldiers lowered their weapons. He stepped out of the airlock. “I’ve got four more behind me, and one prisoner.”

  Kiara came through next. She went through the drill while Logan surrendered his knife, comm unit, boots, and armor to a ­couple of soldiers from the armory. Bradley was next, then Chaudri. The gate room had changed since he last came through; lead panels six feet tall and about half as wide formed a semicircle around the gateway. The men with guns were positioned just beyond. Thorisson stumbled through a moment after, still bound at the wrists. Mendez entered behind him and stepped on his knee, forcing the man down.

  Logan picked up a phone that let him talk to the control room. “Gas them.”

  “Including Mendez?”

  “He’ll forgive me. Do it.”

  A white cloud billowed noiselessly in the airlock. Two thuds. The exhaust fan whirred into motion, clearing the knockout gas. The Plexiglas hissed open. Both men were down, and had fallen in a scandalous position.

  “Well, look at that,” Logan said.

  Chaudri laughed softly. “I didn’t realize they were so close.”

  Logan snapped a photo on his wrist-­camera. “For posterity.”

  Four security officers hurried in to check vitals and drag them clear. Kiara took command of things and ordered the gateway lockdown that was standard protocol after a mission returned. Later, a retrieval team would go get the horses and blow artificial snow out of the cave to cover their tracks leading up to it.

  Mendez passed both retinal and fingerprint scans; they stripped his knife and boots off him, then lifted him into a cot to recover. Two others searched the prisoner thoroughly, turning up a nylon pouch with a tiny pill capsule inside.

  “What is that?” Logan asked. “Looks prescription or something.”

  The pill went into a tiny, portable mass spectroscopy instrument. They had the readout in just under thirty seconds.

  “Hmm,” Logan said. “Sodium cyanide.”

  Kiara pursed her lips; she was impressed. “A suicide pill.”

  “Nice touch,” Logan said. “Very KGB.”

  As all this happened, both men gradually came around. In about two minutes the effect of the knockout gas wore off.

  Mendez sat up and had a coughing fit. “Was that really necessary?” he groused.

  “Matter of security,” Logan told him.

  “Next time, maybe I’ll clear the room and you can bring the prisoner.”

  Thorisson woke to the friendly greeting of guards with machine guns. Logan started to walk over, to offer the man a personal escort down to the brig. Thorisson shook his head. He locked eyes with Logan and slipped out of the flexsteel bindings on his wrists.

  How in the hell? He must have dislocated a thumb. Now he used his free hand to press something on the inside of one wrist. What was it, another suicide pill?

  “Watch him!” Logan shouted.

  No, a faint light glowed there beneath his fingers. Some kind of subdermal electronic device.

  Logan darted toward him. “Hold him still!”

  The guards grabbed him, but they were too late. There was a soft beep.

  Explosions began to rock the complex.

  Quinn was still unlacing his boots when Logan shouted. The force of the first two explosions threw him into a wall of the cave. The fluorescent lights went out, replaced by the weak orange glow of emergency backups.

  “What the hell was that?” Kiara shouted.

  Logan grabbed Thorisson’s wrist while the two guards held him down. He jabbed at the light, but couldn’t seem to undo whatever the man had done. He reared back and punched Thorisson in the face. Really put his shoulder to it. The man crumpled. He was out cold.

  “Take him to holding,” Logan growled. “Find a sedative that keeps him out.”

  Kiara had a radio to her ear; she was getting a report. “It’s the goddamn drone!” She had to shout to be heard above the blaring alarm sirens.

  Another explosion; this one sounded closer. Quinn laced his boots back up. “Sorry, I’m going to need these,” he told the men from inventory.

  Kiara handed out radios. She strode to punch a code into the panel on the wall; the thick steel doors leading out into the complex started to slide open, but halted about a foot apart. “Logan!”

  He ran over and threw a shoulder into one of the doors, heaving. Mendez did likewise on the other one. Quinn ran over to help. So did Chaudri. The doors were six inches thick, and some kind of steel alloy. The four of them managed to heave them apart another foot, just enough that everyone could squeeze through.

  “Logan, Mendez—­you’re on tactical support,” Kiara said. “I’ll be in the control room.”

  “What about us?” Chaudri asked.

  “You’re civilians. Find somewhere safe and low until we get the all clear,” Kiara said.

  She stalked away down the hall; Logan and Mendez had already jogged out of sight.

  “What’s the safest place on the island?” Quinn asked.

  “Theoretically it’s the control room where Kiara’s headed. I’m more of a
mind to try the subbasement, though. When it comes to this sort of thing, I prefer good, solid stone,” Chaudri said. “No matter what they claim about the Plexiglas.”

  That gave him an idea, and it was crazy enough that it might make a difference. “Did you say that we had siege equipment somewhere?”

  “On the roof of the armory.”

  “Come on.” Quinn started down the stairs.

  “Wait! The roof is the other way,” Chaudri said.

  “We’re headed to the prototyping lab first. I need my team.”

  Quinn found Julian Miller and most of the techs down in their lab, frantically securing delicate equipment to the walls and floors. Mostly with yards and yards of duct tape. He and Chaudri jumped in to help. There were millions of dollars in this room. The woodworking equipment would hold, but the three-­dimensional printer and other delicate robotics teetered precariously.

  “Bradley!” Miller called. “I knew you must have gotten back.”

  “Oh, yeah? How so?”

  “Things started blowing up.”

  “It’s the drone,” Quinn said. He helped Miller close and lock the materials drawers that were sliding out of the wall. He did a double-­take when he saw one of them was filled with gold ingots. It took another fifteen minutes before all of the equipment was secure. The lab now looked like a hazmat crime scene.

  “The drone, eh?” Miller asked finally. “Damn thing ruined my best argon laser.”

  “Sorry, chief,” Quinn said. “Hey, you built the siege equipment on top of the armory, right? Is it still there?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “What’s the range on those?”

  “A few hundred yards for the mangonels. But the trebuchets can throw half a mile.” Miller frowned. “You’ll never get the drone that close, though.”

  “Let me worry about that. I need to borrow all of the 3-­D projectors. And a few of your guys.”

  “What are you planning?” Chaudri asked.

  “A little razzle-­dazzle,” he said, grinning.