Fire

by Jim Heskett

  At least Alejandro hadn’t pressured him. They’d already had a plan for war without a control chip, so maybe it didn’t matter to them.

  Yorick finished clearing the initial pre-breakfast dishes, then he stopped by Rosia’s workstation to check in. A large tub filled with breading and spices sat on the stainless steel table before her. Rosia worked hunks of raw chicken into the breading, coating all sides. Yorick had never seen raw chicken before. Only pictures. Experiencing it live and in person nearly turned his stomach.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Headed upstairs to check out the dirty dish situation.”

  She paused, hands in the breading, and smiled at him. “We haven’t been talking the last couple days. Last night, when I came back to the room…”

  “I fell asleep. Sorry, I wanted to say goodnight, but I was exhausted.”

  Her smile turned sad. She was right. They hadn’t talked much about anything beyond the business at hand for days now. Back in the dorms at the plantación, they used to spend hours in their room in the evenings, talking about anything and everything. Dreaming of life outside the walls.

  “We’re still okay,” he said.

  “I hope so. Because none of this matters if we lose each other.”

  He wanted to respond with something about how freeing the serfs was bigger than either of them, but he held his tongue. He understood her point. No sense in starting a fight now.

  “You’re never getting rid of me,” he said, and then planted a kiss on her cheek.

  “You always did know the right thing to say. Now, go get those dishes before someone sees us talking.”

  “As you command,” he said, bowing to her. Then, he backed away and rode the elevator up to the restaurant to clear the tables, now that the meal had ended. Except, when the elevator door opened, he didn’t see tables cluttered with plates and bowls. He saw only one occupied table. Two men, and the one facing away from him had long black hair.

  Diego.

  Yorick wasn’t in his line of sight, but he moved over toward a large potted plant, anyway. Diego was speaking with the other person, and the man looked terrified. Knee bouncing under the table as he spoke. An interrogation. Diego asked him a few questions, then he waved him away. A moment later, another man came in and sat down in front of Diego.

  “Hey,” Yorick whispered to the bartender nearby. The bartender stopped slicing limes long enough to raise her eyebrows at Yorick. He crossed the room toward her, careful to keep his body pointed away, in case Diego decided to turn around.

  “What is it?” the bartender asked.

  “What’s going on over there?”

  “Private party. This guy is some inquisitor appointed by the king. He’s interviewing computer engineers who work in the capitol building.”

  “Interviewing? Why?”

  The bartender leaned over and lowered her voice. “I’m not sure, but he’s asking them loyalty questions. Trying to sniff out a bad egg, I think.”

  “Bad egg?”

  “A traitor. It’s hard to hear what they’re saying, but that’s what it looks like. They won’t let anyone else come near the table.”

  Interesting. So, Diego had taken a job with the king, to audit the men who worked there.

  A moment later, Diego sent away the last one, and he stood, arching his back to stretch. Yorick pulled back to the side of the bar and ducked down. The bartender looked at him with a frown, but Yorick didn’t care. As far as he knew, Diego had no idea he and Rosia and Tenney were in Denver. Better to keep it that way.

  Fortunately, Diego didn’t turn in his direction. He sauntered off toward the other exit from the restaurant.

  For some reason, Yorick felt compelled to follow him.

  Diego took the stairs down, and Yorick stayed close, but far enough to give him options to hide, if necessary. On the second floor, there was an exercise room, free to all guests at the brothel. And, when Diego turned into that room, Yorick had an idea where he was going.

  Diego marched toward a set of lockers at the back of the room. As he approached, he checked left and right to make sure no one was watching him. He entered something on a keypad, and a locker opened. Again, he checked around, trying to spot any onlookers. Why such a need for secrecy?

  He pulled a cluster of keycards from his pocket. The same kind Yorick had seen the unknown man use in the lobby of the capitol building during their failed attempt to bypass security two days ago. Diego put half of his keycards in the locker, and the rest, he shoved back into his pocket.

  Yorick assumed this meant Diego had access to several floors of the capitol building. He must, if he was working as an inquisitor for the king.

  So, Diego could provide the literal keys into the building to allow Yorick and Rosia a path to spreading their software virus. He must have been keeping them here to have a safe space away from any traitorous engineers. How deep was this corruption within the government?

  More importantly, how would they retrieve those stashed keycards? Yorick needed to speak with Rosia. They had to make a quick plan and execute it. Soon.

  They could brute force that locker open if they had to. But, better not. There could be hidden surveillance in this room.

  Yorick and Rosia were so close to gaining access to the capitol, he could feel it in his bones.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Zan Diaz hurried along the mezzanine when he saw Diego Jimenez enter the exercise room. Canceling breakfast to allow Diego the restaurant to himself had not been a pleasant pill to swallow. Lots of money lost, even for only a single meal. Not to mention the poor customer experience of those hungry patrons who had been turned away. Would he lose their future business? Probably not from this isolated incident. If it became a regular occurrence, though, that would be a problem.

  But, Zan did view it as his duty to the king. Whatever Diego was doing in there by interrogating those men, Zan hoped it was now over and wouldn’t require forfeiting lunch as well.

  A couple minutes later, Diego exited the exercise room. He paused when he noted Zan waiting for him. The young man sneered. “What?”

  “We’re grateful to serve the needs of the king, without question. Will there be anything else today, sir?”

  Diego pulled his hair back, out of his eyes. “Tell the chef the toast was too dry this morning. I want a thin layer of butter. There were spots with no butter at all. Unacceptable.”

  Zan bowed. “Of course, sir. Next time, your meal will be perfect. Thank you for visiting us this fine day.”

  Diego’s head swiveled as his eyes tracked all around the courtyard and mezzanines. Zan held his bow, but he did rise a little to watch where the young man was looking.

  “This is a nice place you have here,” Diego said.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Great location, so close to the capitol. I assume all of your taxes are paid up for the year?”

  “Absolutely.” Zan didn’t know if Diego was authorized to collect taxes, but he wasn’t about to argue with this man who had been presented a medal from the king only a week ago.

  “And your putas? They are all licensed?”

  “Of course. I have all the documentation in my office.”

  Diego nodded, then he took a step closer. Zan didn’t know whether to bow deeper or straighten up to meet the young terror’s sightline. So, he stayed put.

  “The king rewards loyalty,” Diego said, stopping mere centimeters away. “And he punishes betrayal. Severely.”

  “I understand, sir. I am always loyal to the king. Now and forever. If there’s nothing else you require, sir, I’ll take my leave. I’m late for an appointment.”

  Diego said nothing as he marched away. Zan watched him go, confused at this young man’s display of power. Had Diego been only trying to flex, or had he been warning Zan of something?

  Either way, it didn’t matter. Staying in the king’s good graces had to be a top priority.

  A beep came from Zan
’s pocket, and he pulled out his communicator. A light blinked three times, indicating they were ready. About time they had returned with her, after a full two days of searching. Forty-eight hours to retrieve someone was entirely too long. Zan would certainly fire a few people over this, as soon as he had the time.

  He hurried toward the stairs and descended them all the way to the sub-basement. By the time he’d finished descending all those stairs, his heart was racing. He had to take a few breaths to calm himself and used his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. Maybe it was worth it to rig the elevator to come down here. He hardly ever needed this floor, though.

  Either way, no time to worry about it now.

  Zan opened the door to see three of his security guards standing around the woman tied to the chair, bag over her head. She was dressed as a courier, with a messenger bag at her feet. But Zan knew she was no courier.

  “Remove the hood,” Zan said.

  The nearest guard lifted the bag off, and the woman winced against the light. She had one black eye, but that appeared to be the worst of it. Good. Better for her to be lucid and not dazed with head injuries.

  She sat, breathing, saying nothing.

  Zan elected to also say nothing as he strolled over to the table against the wall. He opened the box of tools and removed a pair of pliers, making sure she could see them from her angle.

  He walked the pliers over to her, and she looked up at him, trying to appear calm. But Zan could see the fear in her eyes, the slight elevation in the speed of her inhalations.

  He stopped in front of her, the pliers at his side. “You told my men your name is Persephone, but that’s not true, is it? Camila Sendejo, that's your name. You are the most sought-after firmware hacker in Denver.”

  Camila shook her head, but her eyes wouldn’t meet his.

  Zan knelt in front of her and held the pliers up. “There’s no point in lying to me, Camila. I know who you are.”

  “If you already know everything, then why am I here?”

  “Ahh,” Zan said. “You can talk. That’s good. Maybe you will walk out of here alive if you can tell me what I want to know. Or, we could carry you out in a collection of rubbish bags.” He paused, then spoke to the guards. “Hold her hand.”

  Two guards swooped in and grabbed her hand, then forced it onto the arm of the chair. She resisted, but they were too strong for her. The men bared down. Even though she jerked her hips and shoulders left and right, her hand stayed in place.

  Zan grabbed one of her fingernails with the pliers. She winced down at it, and he held firm, keeping his grip as she tried to worm away from him.

  “I know you met with some of my employees underneath a bridge over Cherry Creek two days ago. Yorick and Rosia. Why? What did they want?”

  “I have nothing to say, you pinche bully,” Camila said.

  Zan jerked his elbow back, and the pliers ripped out her fingernail. The woman screamed, an awful wail that rose to a crescendo and then dissipated. His ears rang from the intensity of her pain.

  He applied the pliers to her next fingernail. “Why, Camila? Are you going to help them hack into my computers? Are they trying to steal from me?”

  She hesitated a split second, so Zan ripped out the next fingernail. Her moaning howl was even louder the second time. When she stopped, she vibrated, spit leaking down her chin.

  Zan felt himself getting angry. “If I run out of fingernails, idiota, I’m going to your eyeballs next. And, I will still get my answer. I can promise you that. Now, tell me: what did they want with you?”

  “Gambling,” Camila said as tears poured down her cheeks. “They’re running a Fours game out of their room, and they wanted to ask me about faking security camera footage. But, they couldn’t pay, so I haven’t done any work for them yet.”

  Zan paused, eyeing her. He felt a confusing rush of emotions. Satisfaction at knowing the truth. Also, suspicion, because he had to assume this hacker would say anything to make the pain stop. Relief, because he did not actually enjoy torturing this woman.

  And, most of all, rage at the fact that these two new employees would be so brazen as to run a gambling ring inside his brothel. Right underneath his watchful eye.

  “After everything I’ve done for them,” he said, his heart rate climbing, “and this is how they repay me?”

  He stood. “Get her up. We’re going to go upstairs and have a difficult conversation with these ungrateful pieces of mierda.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Yorick tapped his foot, waiting for Rosia's answer. Her face was pointed down, toward the food prep table as she sliced carrots. She’d gotten quite good at her job. She kept one end of the knife blade on the cutting surface while she scissored the other up and down.

  "I don't know," she said. "Walking into the exercise room without a good reason could be dangerous. There are cameras in there."

  "I know. But, if Diego left his building keycards in that locker, we have to take that chance. We’re running out of time before the Frenchies launch their assault."

  Rosia paused what she was doing and looked up at Yorick. After a brief hesitation, she sucked in a slow breath and let it out as a whispering sigh. "Okay. But we should go back to our room first and get our guns. We might not be able to come back from this if it goes wrong."

  Yorick nodded his agreement. Rosia ducked down and opened a drawer underneath the cutting table. She withdrew a small ice pick with a wooden handle and inserted it into her pocket. For a moment, Yorick was confused, then he realized it was for prying open the locker door.

  Yorick escorted Rosia out of the kitchen and into the elevator up to their floor. He watched the courtyard from the glass elevator as it rose. Something was going on down there. Security guards and Zan’s admin staff were roving around, talking on their communicators.

  “Do you see that?” he asked.

  Rosia nodded. “A bunch of them left earlier, and looks like they’re back.”

  “Any idea?”

  “Not a clue,” she said. “Whatever it is, it’s not the concern of a couple of kitchen workers.”

  He shrugged his acceptance as they exited the elevator and returned to their room. They retrieved their pistols, and Yorick debated whether or not to take the control chip. He held it in his palm, and Rosia stared at it. "Take it," she said. "We don't know it's going to happen after this."

  “You really think this is going to go bad?”

  “It could. I only know for certain that I don’t trust Zan or anyone else aside from Hamon. We haven’t seen Alejandro today, so who knows where he is. Plus, Diego was here, wandering around. The whole world is teetering on the edge.”

  Yorick smiled. “That’s a little dramatic.”

  “But is it accurate?”

  He had to admit that yes, it was accurate. “Okay, you’re right.”

  “Take the chip,” she said. “We have to plan on not coming back.”

  Yorick agreed, and he inserted it into his right shoe, underneath his foot. The most secure place he had on his body.

  They left the room and opted to take the stairs down to the second floor where the exercise room and lockers were. But, when they opened the door on that floor, Yorick's jaw dropped. He saw Zan sweeping along the mezzanine with a couple of guards on either side of him. That wasn't unusual; Zan made rounds all the time. What was unusual was the woman one of the guards had with him, forcibly restrained.

  The hacker Camila.

  Blood streaked one of her hands. She'd had her fingernails ripped out.

  “No,” Rosia said. "Zan knows everything now. She gave us up."

  Without a word, Yorick dashed back into the stairwell, and Rosia followed immediately after. Out of the corner of his eye, Yorick watched as Zan’s guards sprinted toward them. The door slammed shut behind as Yorick and Rosia drew their pistols and hurried down to the ground floor.

  It was over. Their cover, their safe haven. All of it.

  There was one exit o
ut of the stairwell to the rear of the building, and Yorick tried it. He pressed the bar, and it wouldn’t budge. Locked.

  “Across the courtyard?” she said.

  Tactically, that was the worst path out of the building, but he didn’t know a better way. They couldn’t access the kitchen from here. Unless they went back up the stairs, and that would put them at risk of the security team cornering them.

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” he said as he pointed his pistol at the ceiling.

  Yorick and Rosia burst out onto the ground floor and raced toward the brothel’s entrance. There were couches and garden areas and decorative statues between them and their goal.

  But, before they could cross the courtyard, a gunshot rang out. A half dozen new faces then appeared at the far end, from the entrance. Yorick recognized several of them. White Flames. Survivors of Yorick and Rosia’s assault on their compound to recover the control chip.

  He had no idea how, but three days later, they'd finally been found.

  One of the White Flames raised his arm and pointed a finger at Yorick. "There he is! That's one of them."

  Yorick planted his feet and darted to the left. Rosia followed. There wasn’t a good route for escape, but Yorick figured he could put some of these large objects in their path to deflect bullets.

  The White Flames raised their rifles and shotguns and unleashed a volley of ammunition at them. Potted plants and marble sculptures exploded under the hail of fire. Innocent bystanders, brothel employees, Zan’s personal guard. The bullets and shotgun shells did not discriminate. Shouts and screams filled the courtyard, almost louder than the bullets. Chaos. A blur of motion everywhere.

  Before Yorick ducked into a side hallway, he looked up and saw Hamon standing next to the railing on the third-floor mezzanine. Their eyes met. Hopefully, Hamon knew where to find them. If Camila had given them all up, his cover had probably been forfeited as well.