by Eric Thomson
Decker nodded.
“A black site’s always a good choice when you’re going rogue. Glad to see you’re getting into the spirit of things. Now, where’s the tool closet?”
“I would say in or near the office at the end of the cell block.” She nodded towards an open door.
Less than five minutes later Decker and Talyn stood at the threshold of a hidden room connected to the office, staring at shelves of instruments. These ranged from sophisticated mind probes to more primitive tools, some of which had remained unchanged since the days of the Inquisition.
Along with the tools, they found stacks of prisoner-orange coveralls, hoods, shackles and a sealed locker with medical symbols on its doors. It contained drugs, poisons, antidotes and the means to revive prisoners from cardiac arrest, the most common reaction to chemical interrogation.
“The complete house of horrors,” Decker remarked, “one sanctioned, more or less, by the Fleet. And you objected to my intentions?”
Talyn sighed.
“Not so much your intentions as the disturbingly ruthless streak you seem to have developed.”
“To know your enemy, you must become your enemy,” Decker quoted in a sententious tone. “Sun Tzu.”
“Take care you don’t lose your path back to the real Zack Decker. All this talk of terminating with extreme prejudice, of becoming your enemy is worrisome.” She turned away from the supply room and her partner. “One of us needs to stay human, so the other doesn’t slip into darkness, and that has to be you. I can’t do it.”
He reached for her shoulder and pulled her into his arms.
“I know. But I also know that with friends like Ari and Josh, and comrades like QD and his troopers at our side, neither of us will cross over. They’ll remind us of what’s real. Josh, in particular, will not let me do something that would sully my honor.”
“A true friend.”
“The best.” He released Talyn and smiled. “You’re getting emotional in your old age, honey. I’m not sure whether to be scared or pleased.”
“I prefer scared, and for the record, I’m not old.”
He winked at her.
“Of course you’re not.”
*
“Everything’s quiet?” Decker asked when they rejoined the others.
“Around here, yes. QD called. His troop is ready to leave on its training exercise. They’re bringing unplanned goodies they found in the sanitized weapons depot. He said you’ll be pleased.”
“Tell him he can hit the road now. We’ll meet up by...” Decker paused, searching his mind’s map for an innocuous spot nearby.
“McArthur Park,” Talyn said. “It’s a few blocks west of here and they can use the ring road to get there without cutting through downtown.”
“Roger that,” Bayliss said. He picked up a small, but powerful communicator. “Sword, this is Scabbard, over.”
“Sword?” Talyn mouthed at Decker. “Scabbard?”
“Oh. Did I forget to tell you we’re calling this Operation White Sword?”
Talyn gave him a dubious look.
“Really? Isn’t that a tad dramatic?”
“One of QD’s guys called it lame.”
“Which proves he has more imagination than you do.”
Bayliss raised a hand. “They’re a go and should arrive by late afternoon.”
“Shall we settle into our new quarters?” Talyn asked.
“Groceries first,” Decker said. “The guys are coming loaded with rations, but that’s no reason to skimp on our own catering. Besides, it’s probably best we don’t eat out while we live here.”
“You still let your appetites do the thinking, eh?” Bayliss nudged him with an elbow and simultaneously winked at Talyn.
Decker put on a mock-wounded air.
“Of course not. I’ve merely been reminded of Napoleon’s dictum that an army marches on its stomach.”
*
“You know, what’s strange?” Bayliss asked as he and Decker headed for MacArthur Park at a leisurely pace, having left the car, Redmon, and Talyn at the safe house.
“I’m a spy, Josh. My entire universe is one massive bundle of strangeness. You’ll have to spell it out for me?”
“Here we are, operating more or less like insurgents in Fleet HQ’s own neighborhood, and it’s not a training exercise but for real. We’ve become the enemy we were trained to hunt.”
“Great minds think alike. I had the same epiphany last night.”
“And doesn’t that make you feel strange?”
“Sure it does, but we didn’t start this. We will, however, finish it.”
“Or at least take it as far as we can, Zack. This shit could have spread across the damn Commonwealth by now.”
“I’m sure it has, but the locus of military power is here, and that means Black Sword is centered on Caledonia, on Sanctum. Take out the core, and the edges will crumble.”
They watched a police skimmer whip by, lights flashing but without a siren.
“I’ll tell you what else makes me feel strange,” Decker said after the cruiser vanished around the corner of a drab multistory office building. “Walking around Sanctum, free as a bird, with a starship load of trouble threatening to drop on my head if anyone figures out I’m alive and back. In a sense, I can understand Hera’s mood. Our CO is what? Sitting ten kilometers from here, wondering whatever happened with his two best agents. And he has an impressive amount of power at his fingertips, the kind that would help us cut through this shit without breaking a sweat. But we don’t dare let him know we’re around, let alone what we’re doing.”
“Best not to dwell on it, buddy. Just think of this as Pathfinder family business — at least for now. It need not involve anyone else.”
“Yeah.” Decker kicked at a stray pebble, sending it into the street, narrowly missing a one-person flitter. The driver gave him a rigid digit salute in return. Zack waved an apology and tucked his chin into his chest to keep most of his face in the hat’s shadow.
They turned a corner, and Bayliss said, “If that’s supposed to be a park, whoever named it has a different definition from the one I learned.”
“You object to concrete trees, metal shrubs and other forms of urban art?” Decker asked in a facetious tone. “Philistine.”
“That’s not art,” Bayliss replied. “That’s just an idiot at city hall getting conned by no talent wannabes who can’t find their way into a proper gallery.”
“Meh.” Decker shrugged. “One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure. Let’s grab a seat on that funky looking bench. We’ll be able to see them from a distance when they come off the ring road.”
“On that? My ass will need surgical repairs if I sit too long.”
Decker gave him an amused glance.
“Starting to regret joining the adventure?”
“Nah.” Bayliss shook his head. “Just adjusting my mood to yours. No one will look twice at two grumpy old guys bitching about the universe.”
Decker paused and squinted into the distance.
“If the cars you bought for QD are siblings of yours, your ass will be all right.”
Bayliss followed Zack’s gaze and nodded.
“That’s them.”
Forty-Two
“Cozy.”
QD Vinn dropped his civilian hiker’s pack on the floor and watched his troops spread out into both rooms under Bayliss’ direction. The only clues that hinted he and the others might have a military connection were their fit bodies and watchful eyes.
Otherwise, they appeared as ordinary as can be, wearing unremarkable clothing in various styles, a few clean shaved, others sporting stubble. Though Decker knew each was heavily armed, he couldn’t detect any weapons on their persons.
“It’s even cozier downstairs,” he replied. “A proper house of horrors at the heart of the Fleet’s home.”
“I’ve always wanted to operate from a black site. Show me around.”
“Actually
, I want this to be a group tour. That way we can settle the SOPs as we go.”
“Fair enough.” Vinn shoved his gear into one room and unpacked a well-used mountaineer’s bedroll. “There. Done.”
“Josh says you found goodies in the armory?”
A predatory grin twisted Vinn’s lips.
“Yep. We have an EMP gun in stock. It can fry an unprotected flier from two thousand meters if unprotected fliers were still allowed in the air nowadays. Strictly illegal, of course, to be handled only by specially designated Army and Marine units. Imagine what it would do to a ground car, say Colonel Wynt’s ground car. Unlike aircraft, those things aren’t hardened.”
“Cute. There’s only one problem.”
“What?”
“We burn his car’s electronics, it’ll have to disappear, which will make a believable accident that much harder to stage.”
“Crap.” Vinn slapped his forehead. “Damn forensics. The cops, especially military police, see an EMP trace and the game goes sideways. I was so excited at finding the thing I forgot about consequences.”
“No harm done. Anything else?”
Vinn didn’t reply right away. He dug into his pack again and hauled out a blocky shape wrapped in a rag.
“I heard you weren’t being issued these anymore, seeing as how they always go walkabout during missions, but the regiment can spare one for a good cause.” He unwrapped the weapon and held it up. “Re-powered and re-chambered for Fleet-issue ammunition.”
Decker took the proffered Shrehari blaster with what almost seemed like reverence. He inspected the weapon from every angle after rendering it safe, a big grin plastered on his face.
His first one, taken off a dead Shrehari raider, had vanished into the hands of pirates, along with the life of his partner at the time, Avril Ducote. Vinn interrupted Decker’s near mystical contemplation of the weapon.
“I brought spare power packs and ammo as well.”
Zack turned his dazzling smile on the smaller noncom and bowed.
“May you and your progeny live forever in the memories of men, QD.”
“Try not to lose your new toy this time,” Talyn tossed over her shoulder as she walked by with Vinn’s troop sergeant, attending to the logistical minutiae of their stay.
“Spoilsport.”
“I’m not the careless one.”
*
“We know where Wynt lives.” Decker pointed at the holographic map projection of a residential street on the outskirts of Sanctum, in a suburb known for fashionable properties.
“And we know he works in the largest brothel in human history,” he continued, pointing at Fleet HQ, to the appreciative chuckles of his audience. “We will spend the next week observing his habits, the routes he takes, the stops he makes and anything that might help or hinder a clean abduction. Then, once we’re reasonably confident we know our man, we will snatch him on the way home at the end of the workweek. That way, chances are good no one will miss him for a few days.”
He turned to Vinn.
“QD?”
The younger man stepped up to the projection.
“After this briefing, two of our three cars will get a makeover. It’ll be subtle, but enough so that the target won’t see exactly the same make and model following him every time. Lin’s team will take the one that’s not getting a fresh paint job and trail the target on his way to HQ tomorrow morning. Carrie’s team will take the return trip at the end of the day. You’ll have to find a good vantage spot, one that won’t have the MPs at the checkpoint getting suspicious. If you have to leave a dismounted observation post behind once the target exits HQ, do so. Someone will recover them. The following morning, Andraj’s team will take the inbound and Lin the return home, and so on. This is basic surveillance — routes, times, stops, etcetera. Patrol reports to me thirty minutes after you return to home base. If you get a gut feel someone might have made you, abort and come home. And check for possible tails every time. Do not use active sensors. We don’t know whether the target has detectors, and there’s not enough to be gained at such proximity to risk it.”
Decker stepped forward and said, “I doubt Wynt has much knowledge or experience in terms of fieldcraft as we understand it. He’s not had the right assignments since leaving company command as a captain, but he shouldn’t be underestimated. Traitors who prosper have found a way to cover their butts. Questions?”
*
“Our boy has himself a girlfriend.” Sergeant First Class Carrie Paulus sauntered into the improvised command post, a big grin plastered on her face. “He took a detour for a bit of fun.”
“Do tell.” Decker held out his hand for the data wafer Paulus pulled from her jacket. She dropped it into his palm with a flourish. Since live feeds from the surveillances teams were out of the question, because of detection risks, they recorded Wynt with civilian grade sensors instead.
“Posh area, where admirals, generals, and diplomats hang out.”
The video of a sleek ground car heading up a tree-lined, cobblestone street appeared on the main screen.
“That’s Wynt’s ride.”
It came to a stop in front of a tastefully designed two-story house, and a tall, lean man in Marine uniform climbed out. He passed through the wrought-iron gate fronting an ornate portico and took the short flight of steps in a single bound.
The front door opened to an equally tall woman with long blond hair and a narrow patrician face. Her arms reached out to greet Wynt with a warm embrace. Both vanished inside moments later.
“Girlfriend?” Decker glanced up at Paulus. “Could be a favorite cousin, aunt, or former colleague. Maybe even his stepsister.”
“Wait for it. Wynt comes out an hour later exuding that freshly fucked glow. She’s a girlfriend all right, but could also be a cousin, stepsister, aunt, or former colleague. They’re not mutually exclusive in some circles.”
The recording jumped forward, showing Wynt, a relaxed smile on his face strolling down the steps and to his car.
“Well, well, well,” Talyn said, looking up from her own terminal. “That address is listed as the home of one Anthea Kydd.”
“And she is?” Decker asked.
“A senior counselor on Envoy Harben’s staff. That would be Kula Harben the Secretary General’s personal liaison to Fleet HQ. In other words, Earth’s political eyes and ears on Caledonia.”
“Wynt playing footsie with the executive branch? Why am I not particularly shocked?”
“I’m sure the good colonel and Sera Kydd are playing more intimate games that footsie.” Talyn gave him a half smirk. “But it puts a new wrinkle on this Black Sword business.”
“You think Black Sword intends to help the government roll back Admiral Kowalski’s reforms and return control of Commonwealth defense to the SecGen? How could any decent officer, let alone a senior one be that — that stupid? Political meddling was what caused both Migration Wars, gave the Shrehari the idea we were ripe for an invasion, and is still lighting colonial bush fires along the Rim.”
Decker’s indignant tone made Talyn laugh.
“Everyone has a price, honey. If the SecGen regains control of the Armed Services, he can dole out promotions and plum appointments at will. Suppose Wynt has been told in confidence that a general’s stars would never materialize. Now suppose someone approached him with an offer of promotion, provided certain changes happen. He wouldn’t be the first officer whose opinion of himself was greater than warranted, leading to intense bitterness when his superiors don’t share said opinion. Round up enough people with a similar mindset, and soon you have a full-blown conspiracy against the established order.”
“That sounded incredibly cynical,” Redmon said.
“Only because you’ve spent your life in a part of the Fleet sheltered from internal politics, Ari,” Talyn replied. “It made you an easy mark for Wynt’s sort. Those of us who’ve been doomed to delve into the darker corners of Armed Services HQ know politicking will give you pr
emature gray hairs. And this is even without factoring in the government’s constant meddling. Imagine how bad it was last century, with HQ still on Earth, a stone’s throw from both the SecGen’s office and the Senate. The stories Zack and I could tell you... Don’t feel bad. He’s not become inured to it yet either, as you may have noticed.”
“And with that impromptu lesson on institutional corruption,” Decker said turning back to Sergeant Paulus, “did our boy do anything else of note after leaving Sera Kydd?”
“Nothing worthy of discussion, sir. He went straight home. I left a pair of my guys to watch his house for the rest of the evening. The sergeant major will pick them up around midnight.”
“Thanks, Carrie. Consider yourself off-duty.”
“Ta.” Paulus sketched a salute at Decker, then left the way she’d come.
“Wynt and Kydd doing the beast with two backs can’t be coincidental,” Decker said, slumping into his chair with a sigh.
“No, it can’t.” Talyn agreed. “I pulled up whatever I could about her from the open net. She seems to be a minor celebrity in political circles and is often described as well connected, a heavy hitter, someone to watch, etcetera. Perhaps Sera Kydd is more than just one of Kula Harben’s staff. She wouldn’t be the first of the SecGen’s minions to masquerade as something perfectly innocuous.”
“Interesting.” Decker nodded. “So you’re saying she might be a political commissar. That fits with the general theme of this interstellar clusterfuck.”
“Don’t tell me we’re about to have another impromptu history lesson?” Talyn asked.
“No. You can dig through the net for a definition if you can’t figure it out by the context.”
“Does this change anything to our plans?” Redmon asked.
Talyn made a noncommittal gesture.
“Can’t tell just yet. If Wynt visits his lady commissar daily, we might have to make adjustments. We’re hoping to have at least a weekend’s worth before someone misses him. If it’s not a daily thing, then it shouldn’t become a factor until we unravel Black Sword after interrogating Wynt.”