Sheepdog

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “He wouldn’t be working for Adams if he wasn’t intelligent. If he can’t figure it out, then I’ll be doing Adams a favor by having him removed from the payroll before he gets anyone else killed.”

  “He nearly did with that pointless audition,” she said. “Natural selection would have dictated you left him in the SWAT control truck to meet his end.”

  “He wasn’t ready for Victor,” I said. “Besides, Adams would hold me personally responsible if I let him get erased while auditioning us.”

  “Survival of the fittest—if he couldn’t deal with Victor—”

  “Few can,” I said. “I don’t base my actions on natural selection. If that were the case, RHINOS wouldn’t exist. Everyone on the team is an outlier.”

  “That’s a nice way of saying misfits.”

  “No, you’re the misfit, everyone else is a challenging outlier.”

  “True,” she said. “Still—what if Lydia is tracking him?”

  “Then we disengage. She won’t start a firefight in a crowded area with so many potential casualties.”

  “Liverpool, really?”

  “He’ll figure it out. If he doesn’t, we know what we’re dealing with.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Anvil took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, opened them, and removed items from the bag. I recognized the various wiping cloths, a bottle of Choji oil to prevent corrosion, and a small Uchiko ball filled with ground stone powder. It was a complete katana cleaning kit.

  “How soon do we leave for South Street?” she asked, slowly applying oil to a cloth.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what? Ask questions?” she asked, wiping the blade with a different cloth. “It’s what intelligent people do when they want information.”

  “Not that—the ritual of closing your eyes before you clean the Widowmakers,” I said. “Every time, right before you begin, you pause, take a breath, and close your eyes for a few seconds.”

  She nodded once in understanding.

  “Every day, I realize that I chose a path that may lead me to take a life,” she said, looking at the blade in her hand. “I place myself in this moment completely, acknowledge life and death, and clean my weapons that are the expression of both.”

  “How are they the expression of both? I’ve seen you in action with them…it looks mostly like death.”

  “Because you are only seeing one side,” she said, turning the karambit in her hand and letting it whirl around a finger, until she caught it again. “A life taken means a life saved in our world—every blade has two sides. One that takes life and one that gives it. Remember that when you face Victor again.”

  “I won’t be using a blade when I face him again,” I said, placing a hand on the holster of my Chameleon. “The next time we meet, only one of us is walking away.”

  She continued cleaning her blade.

  “It’s a metaphor,” she said with a sigh. “Stop taking things so literally.”

  “You just wanted to sound zen, admit it,” I said, waving a hand. “Every blade has two sides—deep.”

  She shook her head. “This is why I can’t let you out of my sight,” she answered with a small smile. “What’s our ETD?”

  “Estimated time of departure is fifteen minutes. I’m going to check on Cans and see if he’s made any progress.”

  “Good, maybe I can get this done in silence while you do that.”

  “Yes, oh Zen Master,” I said with a mock bow. “I’ll leave you to contemplate the profound sound of silence.”

  “Are you looking to get stabbed today?” she asked, looking up from her cleaning. “Because I’m more than willing to accommodate.”

  “No thanks,” I said with a chuckle. “I’ve seen you and those things in action.”

  I left the small office before she changed her mind and filleted me.

  SEVENTEEN

  “Progress?” I asked, entering Cans’ workspace. I could tell he was awake on adrenaline and caffeine. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Not yet, I’m close…real close.”

  “To passing out,” I said, looking at his bloodshot eyes. “Go catch sixty and come back.”

  “But, Victor—”

  “Will still be there when you come back. Go, now.”

  Cans stood unsteadily from his workstation and stretched.

  “Don’t touch anything,” he said. “I almost have it cracked.”

  “One thing before you go,” I said, looking down at the Trampoline. “Can Victor still track this thing?”

  Cans rubbed his chin for a second. “That’s a good question. I figured there was a chance Victor wanted us to grab this thing intentionally.”

  “Same thing I was thinking. Not that it was easy to get.”

  “That’s why I removed that”—he pointed to a small square on the table—“sort of a transponder within a transponder.”

  I picked up the small square. It looked like a regular section of printed circuit board.

  “This thing? Seriously?”

  “It’s meant to look like a piece of innocent motherboard,” Cans said. “When you run a current through it, a low-fi signal is emitted. Almost impossible to detect. If I wasn’t familiar with Quemi’s ELF system, I would’ve missed it.”

  “Can you get it to work again?” I asked. “Rig something so I can turn it on outside of R2 and boost the signal?”

  “There’s no turning it off, it’s just on. It’s not that sophisticated.”

  “I’d need a switch to turn it on. Can you do that?”

  “Maybe. I can tell you more when my brain isn’t so mushy,” he answered around a yawn. “I might be able to jury-rig a setup to make it portable by this afternoon. You sure you want me to crack this thing?”—he gestured to the laptop—“Victor is probably long gone by now.”

  “Set this up with a boost”—I held up the small transponder—“and crack the code. Trust me. Victor won’t run. In the meantime, go get some shuteye.”

  “Roger that,” he said, pushing up his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “My eyes are on fire.”

  I pointed to the door with a nod as he left the room. I turned to look at the screen full of code on the laptop. Several wires and cables ran from the USB ports to the Apparatus. I knew I was right. Victor would expect us—expect me, to follow this signal to his location. He counted on my not being able to resist this bread crumb.

  I planned to follow where it led, but I was bringing a surprise for Victor.

  Anvil’s voice snapped me from my reverie.

  “Are you done harassing Cans?”

  “I wasn’t harassing him. I was checking his status.”

  “Right,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the Armadillo. Let’s go see how smart Bullock really is.”

  “On my way,” I said. “Wait, are you driving?”

  “Of course,” she snapped. “I’d like to get there today.”

  “Me too—without a coronary.”

  By the time I arrived at the Armadillo, she had the engine running. It was a testament to my rugged sense of danger and masochism that I jumped in the passenger side.

  “Ready?” Anvil asked with a smile that did absolutely nothing to comfort me. “Quemi requested I test the tolerances of some new features.”

  “I could always take the bus,” I said as she locked the doors. “Really, it’s no trouble.”

  “CITADEL and Lydia are out there, looking for you. This is safer.”

  “Safer? For whom?”

  “For all parties involved. If Lydia apprehends you, I’d be forced to hurt her to liberate you,” she said still smiling. “That course of action would necessitate some pain on your part.”

  “On my part? Why would it require pain on my—?”

  “Which I would, reluctantly but certainly, make sure you experienced. However, if I drive we can avoid all of that unpleasantness.”

  “Your logic is Escheresque at best.”
>
  “I knew you’d understand,” she said. “Strap in—launch control test first.”

  “Launch control?” I asked, fastening my seatbelt. “What launch control?”

  “This one,” she said as the engine roared. “Hold on.”

  Anvil stepped on the gas and shifted into first without the clutch. The Armadillo pounced forward, forcing my head back into the seat.

  EIGHTEEN

  We arrived at the South Street Seaport with time to spare. I stepped gingerly out of the Armadillo and made my way to the Wavertree, which was permanently docked and part of the South Street Seaport museum. This ship was named after a district in the city of Liverpool.

  “Thank you for nearly making me revisit my breakfast—several times,” I said, walking away. “It’s called defensive driving, not sadistic driving.”

  “Quemi wants her tolerance tests,” Anvil answered over the com. “It’s my duty to fulfill her request.”

  “Next time do it without me.”

  “That wouldn’t be as interesting.”

  I was thirty minutes early. I stepped onto the wooden deck and took a deep breath. The smell of old ropes, wood, and pine tar filled my lungs—a mixture of smells called sailor’s perfume.

  “Any hostiles?” I asked over the com, once my stomach settled down. “I’m not seeing CITADEL or Black Wolf.”

  Several tourists walked around me, in order to explore the rest of the deck and lower parts of the Wavertree.

  “None yet,” Anvil answered. “Is there a reason you picked this relic? I’m all for honoring history, but standing on an old ship with limited points of egress is not a tactically sound strategy.”

  “In many ways, this ship reminds me of you.”

  “I remind you of a centuries old boat? I don’t understand why people say romance is dead, really.”

  “You’d be right at home on this ship,” I said, leaning over the edge near the stern. “Do you know what they called the sails way at the top?”

  “Let me guess—top sails?”

  “Assassin sails,” I answered. “They were functional and lethal—just like you.”

  “You should quit while you’re behind. Heads up, you have company. Mr. Bullock has officially leveled up in my estimation.”

  “Make sure he’s not being escorted. His electronics will go dead once we go below.”

  “Which will flush out any surveillance, clever.”

  “I have my moments.”

  “Few and far between.”

  “Ouch, that was harsh.”

  “I hear the truth hurts,” she said, “but is liberating.”

  “Going silent,” I said. “Once we go below deck, you’ll only be able to track and listen. I won’t be able to speak to you. Thanks to Q’s tech, we won’t be completely in the dark. Wrought iron is great for interference.”

  “Which is what I will have to run if he brought friends. Wonderful.”

  “I knew you’d like that part.”

  I turned to look down the length of the ship and saw the lanky frame of Bullock. He was dressed in jeans, a dark polo shirt, and sneakers. He was trying to blend in and failing.

  “You look about as comfortable as a lamb in the middle of a wolf pack,” I said when he approached. I looked at my watch. “You made good time.”

  “Adams wouldn’t tell me until I promised him the full spread at Lugers,” he said with a scowl. “Stubborn as a mule. Told me it was a—”

  “Learning experience?” I finished. “You don’t get to Division Head by being nice or easy—he can be a right bastard. On a good day.”

  “Exactly,” Bullock said. “I’m here. What couldn’t you tell me over the many communication devices we have—all of which are secure, mind you.”

  “Not secure enough,” I replied, heading to the stairs. “Follow me.”

  We took several flights down until we reached the bottom deck, just above the bilge. We stood alone in the cavernous hull. It was off-limits to the public. I locked the hatch behind us. Bullock looked around, taking in the enormous space.

  “Impressive,” he said, his voice echoing through the space. “Especially for a ship this old.”

  “This is now the largest wrought iron sailing vessel that’s still afloat,” I said, tapping the side of the hull. “I prefer it because it keeps private conversations—private.”

  “You brought me down here to give me the tour?”

  “Tell me about the AAx-1 project,” I said, drawing my weapon.

  The split second hesitation before he answered told me everything I needed to know. He was about to lie to me, and I needed to convince him it was a bad idea—so, I shot him in the leg before he could say a word.

  “What the fuck?” he yelled, grabbing his leg as he fell back. “You brought me here to shoot me?”

  “That was a riot round—think rubber bullet, but harder. Won’t penetrate, but leaves one hell of a bruise. Now, I’m going to ask you again, but first I’m going to switch to live ammo.”

  “Shepherd,” he said, raising his hands. “Have you lost your mind? What are you doing?”

  His phrasing was precise. He was expecting the cavalry—the escort that was listening in, to come rushing to his rescue. I decided to enlighten him.

  “Do you know why we’re down here?” I pointed to space around us. “In this old ship?”

  “Because you’re mentally disturbed and like old ships?”

  “HALO surveillance tech isn’t stopped by wrought iron, unless you add being underwater to the mix,” I said, pointing my Chameleon at his chest. “Which is where we are right now.”

  His eyes opened wide at the realization. He was…alone…down here. With me.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, backing up and trying to buy time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. AA what?”

  “Lie,” I said, shooting him in the shoulder with another riot round. His scream filled the hull. “Shit, I must have forgotten to switch to live ammo—one sec. Sorry about that.”

  I made sure he saw me switch to live ammunition.

  “Wait, wait. I may have heard something about this AA.”

  “AAx-1,” I corrected. “If you lie to me again, I’ll erase you and drop your body through that loading hatch over there. By the time they find you, you’ll be a bloated unrecognizable mess.”

  He took a deep breath and started talking fast, telling me what he knew.

  For the first time in a long time—I felt real fear.

  NINETEEN

  I left Bullock in the hull of the Wavertree, alive but bruised. When I reached the top deck, Anvil was waiting for me.

  “You left him alive?” she asked. “I’m impressed.”

  “I channeled my inner ‘Bella’,” I said. “He’s going to hurt for a few days, but nothing permanent. Did you take care of his escort?”

  She glanced over at one of the visitor benches.

  “Yes, and they’re mostly intact.”

  “Kind of you,” I said, glancing over to where she looked.

  Two men, dressed similarly to Bullock, appeared to be relaxing on one of the benches facing the skyline. They were wearing sunglasses and leaning back. To anyone who glanced their way, they were just two tourists taking in the sights. In reality, both of them were unconscious, propping each other up.

  “They were unpleasantly surprised to encounter me,” she motioned to the two men. “They will survive and remember not to underestimate a woman.”

  “Do I even want to know?”

  “Not really,” she said. “I heard Bullock, and it’s worse than we imagined.”

  “Much worse,” I said. “Adams was sending us a message.”

  “Seems he forgot to inform Bullock about delivering it.”

  “Learning experience.”

  “Typical Adams,” she said. “He was always hard. We need to get back to R2—now.”

  I looked around to make sure Bullock didn’t have more of an escort.

  “Bullock came d
own here with just a two-man team?” I asked. “Overconfident or clueless?”

  “Naive,” Anvil said with another glance back as we left the Wavertree. “We aren’t just getting a sample of this chemical now, are we?”

  We arrived at the Armadillo, and I scanned the perimeter one more time before getting in.

  “If what Bullock said is true, we can’t let this chemical get out. We have to burn the entire AAx-1 project down to the ground.”

  “That’s going to anger a few people at HALO. Are we ready for the blowback?”

  She roared the engine as we sped away from the Seaport. I checked the rearview mirror on my side. Something was off.

  “It’s either that, or we’ll be facing killer earthquakes on the regular,” I said, checking our exterior cameras. “Do me a favor, don’t head right back to R2.”

  “You want me to take the scenic route? Do I need to remind you, CITADEL is still looking for us?”

  “That’s just it,” I said. “Lydia was watching Bullock like a hawk. Now, he appears with a two-man team, and we’re supposed to buy that she’s not interested in him, anymore? Something’s off.”

  She raised an eyebrow at me. “I think you’ve been spending too much time around me,” Anvil said. “But if you sense something, let’s get off these streets and see if we grow a tail.”

  “Bullock is good, but he’s not that good. We both know Lydia doesn’t give up…ever.”

  “I respect her tenacity,” Anvil said, pulling onto the West Side Highway, heading north. “It’s this infantile crush she has on you that is taxing my restraint.”

  “It’s not a crush,” I said, holding on to the grab handle as she swerved around traffic. “She’s just upset that CITADEL had to move their base of operations and blames me for it.”

  “Mostly because it was your fault?”

  “We just scrubbed an entire base,” I said. “Occupational hazard.”

  “Maybe you should explain it that way when you see her again,” Anvil answered as she accelerated. “Which will probably be soon.”

  “You see something?” I asked, looking in the mirror and activating the mini-Gatling. “Where? I don’t see anything behind us.”