Sheepdog

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “Not behind. Above.”

  “Above?” I switched on the roof cam and saw the angry-looking, medium-sized Unarmed Combat Aerial Vehicle, bristling with missiles. “Anvil…that thing has missiles—lots of missiles.”

  “Do you think she’s angry enough to use them?”

  A loud, rapidly-repeating monotone filled the interior of the Armadillo, signifying the UCAV was trying to lock onto us. They were usually equipped with Hellfire or Stinger missiles. Both meant bad news for us. The Armadillo was an armored vehicle, but it wasn’t The Tank.

  “That answer your question?” I asked, priming the Gatling. “She probably didn’t appreciate your little maneuver on Roosevelt Island. Getting the drop on her and knocking her out probably has her in a foul mood.”

  “So ungrateful. I could have easily slit her throat.”

  I raised the mini-Gatling when I saw the group of black, unmarked vans merge onto the road behind and in front of us. Lydia was a royal pain, but she was one of the good guys. I’d have to aim for tires.

  “I guess Bullock wasn’t as good as he thought,” I said, “We have incoming. They’re trying to squeeze us.”

  “They can try,” Anvil said, stepping on the gas. She flipped the cover of the switch that gave her access to the nitrous. “How many?”

  “Six vans—three rear and those three up ahead. You think she just wants to talk?”

  The tone grew louder and more solid.

  “Remove the drone before it releases a missile,” Anvil answered. “I’ll lose the pursuit group.”

  I rotated the mini-Gatling and locked onto the UCAV as the tone went solid.

  “Oh, shit.”

  TWENTY

  Hitting an erratically moving missile is about as easy as threading a needle in a hurricane—blindfolded.

  I had about five seconds before the missile hit us. The Armadillo was armored, but somehow I didn’t think this was what Quemi had in mind when she requested Anvil run some tolerance tests.

  I pressed the trigger and unleashed a barrage of rounds at the UCAV, shredding it. Anvil hit the nitrous switch. For a split second, the Armadillo hunkered down, then blasted forward.

  Anvil headed straight for the lead van and switched lanes at the last second, sideswiping the second van on the left, before leaping forward again. I noticed a second, larger, red switch beside the nitrous switch. Anvil had a finger hovering over it as we came out of the slight curve in the highway and into a straightaway.

  She flipped the second switch, and the engine whined for a few seconds before it unleashed a deeper roar. I didn’t think it was possible to go faster, but we did.

  “This is not a fighter plane,” Anvil yelled over the roar of the engine. “I don’t have chaff and can’t perform high G-slices. The turbocharger bought us a few seconds. Shoot the missile!”

  I swiveled around, locked the mini-Gatling on the missile’s heat signature, said a quick prayer, and unleashed a swarm of rounds in its direction. The dull explosion behind us let me know I got lucky. This time.

  “We have a problem,” Anvil said, both hands tightly gripping the wheel.

  “What problem?” I asked. “I just shot it down.”

  “The brakes…they’re gone.”

  “What do you mean—gone?”

  “Are you not understanding the words? No brakes. We can’t slow down!”

  I didn’t bother looking at the speedometer. We were moving too fast for it to keep track of our speed. If we survived this, I was going to have a few words for Quemi.

  “You still have the emergency airbrake?”

  “If I use it at this velocity, there is a good chance it will lock up and throw us into a roll.”

  “Use the barriers,” I said, pointing to the sides of the road, before locking onto the vans still giving chase. “When we get to a reasonable speed, engage the airbrake. I’m going to convince CITADEL to leave us alone.”

  I opened fire on the vans, disintegrating their tires. I missed half of my shots, as Anvil slid us on and off the side of the highway, using the concrete barriers to slow us down.

  “We’re running out of straight road, Shep.”

  “Can you keep it steady?” I shot back. “I’m trying to violently explain why chasing us is a bad idea.”

  “Oh, is my driving throwing you off? I’m only trying to keep us alive!”

  “And a damn good job you’re doing, too. Just keep it steady.”

  I felt her glare bore into me as she swerved extra hard into a concrete barrier on my side, before hitting the airbrake. One of the brake lines must have suffered damage, because the Armadillo took the momentum it had, turned sideways and launched upward and forward into a roll.

  We bounced along the highway, through one of the concrete barriers and into one of the fields that lined the Henry Hudson Parkway. A group of trees acted like a final brake as the Armadillo slid into them with a crash.

  Anvil was unconscious. I undid my harness and fell forward. The Armadillo lay on one side. In the distance I could hear sirens. CITADEL would reach us before anyone else. I gave Anvil a once-over, making sure nothing I could see was broken and removed her from the driver’s seat.

  I reached under the dash and pressed a sequence of buttons that would slag the Armadillo. I hated doing it, but Quemi would kill me if I let her tech fall into CITADEL hands. I looked around at the field we were in and saw signs that said Dinosaur Playground, which meant we were in the 90’s on the Upper Westside.

  I pressed my com and activated the emergency burst channel.

  “Bella, where are you?” I said, semi-slurring my words. I shook my head and made it worse as the ground started to tilt. “Shlit.”

  “Where are you, boss? Cans is losing his shit about something and needs to talk to you, ASAP.”

  “It’s going to have to wait. We have Lydia on our ass, and we lost our ride.”

  “Lost your ride? How did you lose the Armadillo?”

  “Irrelevant,” I snapped. “We need a ride before CITADEL catches up. We’re on Riverside and 97th, moving east. Tell Intern to prep, Anvil looks bad. Better bring him with.”

  “Fuck, I’m on my way. Intern just got in from Union Square. I’ll tell him to get ready.”

  “I’m going to be mobile,” I answered, leaning against a wall to stop the swaying. “I may have some damage. We need to get off the street. I’ll find some place to hole up until you get here.”

  “Stay above ground if you can.”

  “Track my com,” I said. “I’ll keep it on intermittent bursts.”

  “That will give away your location,” Bella said. “CITADEL is slow, not stupid. They’ll find you.”

  “Then I suggest you hurry.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  The Royal Park International was a budget hotel located on 97th Street, just off West End Ave. I made it into the lobby with Anvil. The interior was done in a late nineties decor of rundown opulence.

  The lobby was an L-shaped design with a wide runner of fake Persian carpet dominating the center of the corridor. About thirty feet from the entrance the corridor curved right leading into a open area with a medium-sized front desk covered with a faux red granite counter. Dividing the counter and attached to the wall, sat a thick, Lexan security barrier. A security door closed off the open side of the front desk, turning the space into a small office.

  Across from the front desk was a small security office. It was closer to a security closet, with a small desk and a live camera feed to the cameras installed around the hotel. A smaller, redundant system sat behind the front desk, allowing the same feed to be viewed by the receptionist without having to leave the safety of his office.

  We both must’ve looked like fresh hell because the front desk receptionist looked up from his screen, and opened his eyes slightly, before I showed him my credentials.

  He took one look at my ID, which was fake, but looked official, and my Chameleon which was real, befor
e asking if we wanted a room.

  “I have backup on the way”—I looked at his name tag—“Juan. We just need to sit over there in the corner for a few minutes.”

  “I don’t know,” Juan said, shaking his head slowly. “She looks pretty banged up. Maybe I should call an ambulance and the police? Plus, she’s going to get blood all over the place. You going to clean it up?”

  I gave him a look before pulling out several large bills.

  “Tell you what,” I said, sliding the bills out to him, “you’re going to forget you ever saw us. And I promise not to let her bleed all over the place—deal?”

  Juan suddenly became friendlier.

  “I got you,” Juan said, smiling and palming the bills faster than an illusionist. “You were never here. Solid.”

  “In ten minutes my team should be here, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  Juan gave us another once over as he put the bills in a pocket.

  “She’s not looking so good,” he said, concerned “Are you bringing grief into my place? I don’t want trouble.”

  “Last thing I want is trouble, trust me.”

  “This is New York, I only trust Smith, Wesson, and their cousin Glock,” Juan answered with a grunt. “Everyone else can go screw themselves.”

  “Good policy,” I said with a nod. “Good way to stay alive.”

  “Got that right, brother.”

  I shuffled over to the vantage point of the corner where I could keep an eye on the entrance and the front desk. I propped Anvil in one of the large wingbacks and gave her another cursory exam. It looked like she was mostly intact. She had slammed her head, which was where the blood originated, but the flow had since stopped. I was more concerned about her suffering a concussion.

  She was hardheaded, so I wasn’t too worried.

  The five-point harness on the Armadillo made sure we remained secure, even as it rolled. The fact that the vehicle was armored meant we didn’t run the risk of being crushed. Quemi would be pissed, but she would take this incident and learn from it. I was confident the next Armadillo would be even better provided we stopped Victor, Black Wolf and HALO from cratering the city.

  A groan from the wingback dragged me out of my thoughts. Anvil was coming to.

  “Where are we?”

  “What day is it?” I asked. “Do you remember this morning?”

  “It’s the day Quemi is going to kill you for destroying her Armadillo,” Anvil answered with a groan as she looked around. “Where the hell are we?”

  “Budget hotel, 97th off West End,” I said. “Try not to move around, and for the record, you destroyed the Armadillo.”

  “I must have lost that memory,” she answered. “How soon until Bella gets here?”

  “Knowing Bella? I’d say ten, fifteen minutes on the outside.”

  “We can’t just wait here. CITADEL will be on us soon.”

  “I’m open to suggestions,” I said. “I slowed down most of the pursuit team.”

  “Shep, we have to move,” Anvil said, trying to stand and failing. “We’re sitting targets here.”

  “You’re in no condition to move, and I’m in no condition to carry you—sit tight,” I said, looking out of the front door. “Help is on the way.”

  I heard the engines before I saw them. I moved over to the front desk and looked at the security cams. One of the hotel external cameras was trained on the street outside of the Royal Park. I saw three, black, unmarked vans coast down the street and stop…CITADEL.

  They stopped before the intersection, preventing all through traffic into the block. CITADEL operatives swarmed out of the vans and split into three groups of five. Each group had one operative holding a receiver as they started making their way down the block—closer to us.

  “That doesn’t sound like help,” Anvil said, making her way to the front desk. “Are you using burst transmissions for Bella?”

  I nodded. “Only way she’s going to find us.”

  “Only way CITADEL is going to find us, too,” Anvil answered. “Can you spread out the transmission intervals to buy us time?”

  I tapped my com. “They’re at the outer limits of transmission. We won’t avoid three receivers for more than a few minutes before they triangulate on us.”

  “We only need a few more minutes,” Anvil said, moving to the front desk and knocking lightly on the small office door. A few seconds later, Juan opened the door and looked down at her.

  “Can I help you?”

  “You”—she grabbed Juan by the arm—“you need to get scarce. How many exits?”

  “What?” Juan said, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “How many exits does this hotel have?” Anvil asked, calming her voice. “Focus.”

  “Three,” Juan answered. “Front door, service entrance, and the old employee entrance.”

  “A segregated entrance?” I asked. “Where is it?”

  “Over there,” Juan said, pointing to the small door at the rear of the security closet. I guessed it connected to some nondescript passage that led into what I assumed was a kitchen. “But we don’t use that door anymore. Management said it was off-limits. Some liability thing.”

  “Does it open?”

  Juan nodded. “Yeah, it still works. Sometimes I take my smoke breaks out there.”

  Anvil squeezed the arm she held, grabbing Juan’s attention again.

  “Go to the rear entrance and leave it open, then get upstairs and find an empty room to stay in—now.”

  “How long do I need to stay in there?”

  “How long would you like to live?” Anvil shot back. “Come down when the shooting stops—all of it. Get going.”

  Juan snapped to attention. Anvil had that kind of effect on people. He grabbed what looked like a .22 caliber pistol from under the desk, and ran to the rear of the hotel, disappearing from sight.

  “How do you do that?” I asked, standing to the side of the desk. “I had to give him money to get him to cooperate.”

  “You’re too nice,” she replied. “I don’t do nice. How many grenades do you have?”

  I checked one of my compartments and felt for the slim, modified version of flash-bangs Quemi designed.

  “I have two flash-bangs,” I said, “and two thermites.”

  “We’ll do shock and awe and hope Bella gets here in time.”

  “Shock and awe would need a confined space. This lobby is too spread out.”

  “Pass me your grenades, I’ll funnel them into the rear corridor. You get to be the awe for this one.”

  “You need to watch out for HEMI’s,” I said, passing her my grenades and making sure my Chameleon was set to riot rounds. “You know how Lydia is with the tasing. It’s her go-to conversation starter.”

  HEMI’s or shockers, as we called them, were human electro-muscular incapacitation rounds. They were wireless tasers designed to bring a target down from a greater distance. CITADEL had implemented them some time ago due to dealing with civilian populations.

  I preferred riot rounds, because nothing said calm down like getting punched by a truck. Shockers also had another downside. They had been known to cause accidental deaths, like their wired taser counterparts. Our riot rounds were the cause of much bruising, but no fatalities.

  “This should keep me safe,” Anvil said, tapping the Lexan. “Make sure you don’t get hit. I heard HEMI’s can be unpleasant.”

  “Are you okay?” I asked when I saw her wincing and moving slowly. “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  She removed a small spool of filament from a pocket and started attaching the grenades into a detonation daisy chain. She glanced up at the camera that covered the curve leading to the entrance and hugged the wall staying out of sight.

  “Maybe you should sit down? Catch your breath?”

  “Excuse me?” she asked, giving me a short glare. “I’m still breathing. Cover the back while I plant these grenades. I’ll be with you in five.”

/>   “I’ll get the segregated entrance ready,” I said, heading to the small passage. “I have a feeling it will be the best option.”

  “I think it will be the only option.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  It didn’t take long for CITADEL to lock in on our position. By the time the first team walked through the entrance of the hotel, we were ready. I stood in the security closet opposite the front desk. Anvil crouched inside the office with the door slightly ajar.

  I would reset the burst transmissions to constant, the CITADEL operatives would turn the corner, Anvil would set off the grenades, blinding them and making them easy targets. She would then neutralize them and we would contact Bella.

  In the meantime, I’d make sure no one did an end-around and ambushed us from the rear exit. As plans went, it was thin, but we had no time. CITADEL had no way of knowing how many of us they were facing, and we had the advantage of terrain. I hoped those variables were enough.

  The first team came through the door when explosions filled the street.

  “What the fuck was that?” I heard one of the CITADEL operatives say. “Mobile One, come in Mobile One!”

  I looked at Anvil, who gave me the negative signal. I knew Bella was still on her way, and HALO didn’t know where we were. Two more explosions rocked the street. I saw the remaining vans explode.

  I looked at the security camera feed. The vans were obliterated. I saw a brown UPS truck drive slowly down the street. It rolled to stop in front of the Royal Park. The second team of five CITADEL operatives moved to intercept the UPS driver and three delivery men, unloading packages. Chances are, they were going to inform them there weren’t going to be any deliveries today. It was a mistake.

  The UPS driver reached into one of the long boxes and blasted the closest CITADEL operative with a shotgun at point blank, removing his leg. The CITADEL team took too long to scramble after the initial shock. The UPS driver unloaded another SR frag shell and launched another operative across the street.