Preying for Keeps

by Mel Odom

  “I’ve got a warehouse with the Fiat-Fokker juiced up and ready to fly.”

  “We took damage on the freighter raid.”

  “Yeah.” The dwarf rigger nodded. “She may not be pretty, but she’s navigable.”

  “How secure is this place?”

  “I left the amphibian there.” Wheeler pointed out. “We’ve got considerable investment wrapped up in that bird.”

  “Easy in, easy out?” Skater asked.

  “It’s wiz. Place is totally chill. I’ve had access for awhile, just never used it. One of those hidey-holes you keep like an ace up your sleeve.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  “It’s also possible that one of McKenzie’s men sold out the meeting.” Archangel said.

  Skater nodded. “With the meet arranged the way it was,

  Td say there are only three avenues for the information to get to the yakuza. McKenzie, NuGene, and us.”

  “Since us have nearly got our collective hoops shot off on different occasions during the last twenty-four hours,” Trey said, “I vote we be left out of the running.”

  “No problem.” Skater said. “The only other option is that Doyukai has someone planted in either McKenzie’s or NuGene’s camp.”

  “Doubtful.” Duran said. “Those slags seem to play things pretty fraggin’ close to the vest.”

  “Then how did we get tipped to the cargo aboard the Sapphire Seahawk?" Skater retorted.

  “True.” the ork growled. “Me, it’s jamming my hoop where the word came from. I’d like to get the scan before we go much further.”

  “McKenzie’s a pretty involved man at this point.” Archangel said.

  Skater raised an inquiring eyebrow.

  “I don’t have anything solid,” she said, “but I was able to do some prowling around. From what I hear, McKenzie’s trying hard to retire.”

  “You’d never know it.” Trey said. “The slag I saw in action tonight was pure street savage.”

  “Where would he go?” Skater asked.

  “He’s got millions stashed in dozens of accounts.” Archangel said. “I don’t have any solid figures or bank names or the aliases he might be using for the accounts. But I got enough to know he won’t be deprived of anything he enjoys right now. Maybe he’s been skimming from the biz he handles for the Family.”

  “Think he’s about to get caught with his hand in the cookie jar and wants to get out before they take his head too?” Skater asked.

  “The Mafia expects a little graft.” Elvis said. “It’s figured in. A slag who’s good at what he does can afford to get greedy because he’s keeping the Family coffers full.”

  “And McKenzie’s been that kind of guy.”

  “Without question.” Archangel stated. “But lately he’s been investing in more legitimate enterprises.”

  “Have they been good investments or has he been losing his shirt?” Skater asked. “From the way he acted about the money tonight, he must be strapped.”

  Archangel shook her head. “It sounds to me like he’s built up quite an impressive portfolio.” She glanced at notes she’d scribbled. “He’s not really making any profit, but he’s leveraging money from different banks to buy interests in companies and businesses and stocks.”

  “Laundering his own money.” Skater said.

  Archangel nodded. “I think so, too, but it would be hard to prove.”

  “Then he’s dealing with considerable shrinkage working through the money scammers.” Wheeler said. The lights of the sprawl washed over the van’s windshield, a neon jungle war waged in advertising. “Joker taking financial hits like that, this biz with NuGene could sound pretty good.”

  “He came up out of the gutter, kid.” Duran said. ‘Tonight you kicked dirt in his face. No matter what social ladder he might be trying to climb, he’s not just going to turn the other cheek.”

  Trey smiled wanly. “I get the feeling McKenzie works out of the other testament.”

  “How accessible is the info on McKenzie?” Skater asked Archangel.

  “To who?” she asked.

  “The yabos working for him.”

  She appeared to consider that, then nodded. “The ones that are well-connected could probably find out.”

  “Makes you wonder if any of them has designs on the hole McKenzie would leave behind.” Skater said. “They said nature abhors a vacuum. One of them could have cut a deal with the yakuza and sold McKenzie out.”

  “I also traced the nuyen that paid Larisa Hartsinger’s bills for the last few months.” Archangel said. “It took quite a bit of doing.”

  Skater felt his stomach tighten. “And?”

  “The payments were drawn on an account in Exchange First, a smaller bank that does a lot of out-of-sprawl biz. I had to run some real burners to figure out who was ultimately on the bottom line.”

  “Who?”

  “NuGene.”

  “Dragonfletcher said he didn’t know who Larisa was.” Skater said.

  “Maybe he doesn’t.”

  “Did you get a name at NuGene?”

  “Arial Baerenwald.” Archangel said. “She’s an accounts clerk. Probably ran the payments through the bank without ever knowing what they were for.”

  “But someone knows.” Skater said. He began ticking off points on his fingers. “Larisa sets us up with the raid on the freighter. We get the files, which are corrupt and aren’t worth a twisted slot. One step ahead of the yakuza, who’ve evidently also been tipped about the cargo. Dragonfletcher, head of NuGene security, starts trying to move heaven and earth to catch the people responsible. Someone kills Larisa only a few hours before I can get to her, and takes her baby—which was arranged by Ridge Maddock. She’d been hanging around someone named Synclair Tone, who just happens to be very interested in getting rid of me. Now we discover her expenses have been paid by NuGene. And NuGene, a corp that’s been near financial collapse, is suddenly given a new lease on life because Tavis Silverstaff is promoting a new product line. And along comes Conrad McKenzie, Mr. Mafia, taking his own percentage of the action.” He raked the team with his gaze. “Am I missing anything here?”

  “Quite a package.” Duran commented.

  “No drek.” Skater retorted. He gazed out the window at the dark streets of the sprawl rushing by. “We need to know more about NuGene. What it’s got on the books. Where the special interest groups came from. And what exactly’s in those fragging files.” He glanced at Archangel. “How tight is the ice around the Seattle operation?”

  “I couldn’t get inside without major effort and time—lots more time than we’ve got.”

  “Then that leaves the parent corp.”

  “NuGene in Tir Taimgire?” Trey said.

  Skater nodded. “We’ve got two choices: Roll over and play dead, or try to figure out where all the heat is and leverage us some back.” He met the gaze of every member of the team. “Either way you vote, I’m in for the long haul. There’s too many questions I need answers to.”

  “Listen to you.” Archangel said sharply. “You’re talking about invading the elf lands like it was nothing.”

  “Can you get into NuGene from here?” Skater asked.

  She hesitated. “No.” she admitted. “I’ve already tried. The corp’s R&D computers aren’t tied in to the Matrix. They’re keeping them isolated.”

  “We're not talking about raiding the elven strongholds.”

  Skater pointed out. “Just Portland. Security’s not as tight there.”

  “It’s still a suicide run.”

  “One misstep,” Skater said evenly, “and they all are.”

  “Portland security’s no cakewalk.” Archangel said.

  “I wasn’t thinking it was.” Skater looked at her, sensing he had to win her over more than the others. Fear was in her eyes, something he’d never seen before. “The people who set us up, whether it’s NuGene or the yakuza or someone else, they aren’t going to take the hammer off of us until we’re dead. Even if w
e try to vanish, I don’t know if it can be done.”

  “I’m slotting good at disappearing.” Archangel said in a cold voice. “I can do it again.”

  Skater leaned back, not knowing what else to say. “I’ve got to go.”

  There wasn’t much hesitation from anyone else. Wheeler and Elvis agreed readily, followed somewhat reluctantly by Trey.

  “I’m in, too.” Duran growled. “When push comes to shove and the down and dirty gets ugly, I want to see if these stump-skankers can upload it as well as they download it.”

  Archangel shook her head. “I can’t go. Not to Tir Taimgire.” She looked away. “I’m sorry.”

  “Okay.” Skater said softly. He knew from a glance there was no arguing with the cold, angry fear that suddenly shone in her eyes.

  23

  “Gonna be chancey as hell humping it into the Tir like this.” Duran said.

  “Not quite as bad as betting against loaded dice.” Skater replied. He peered into the cargo hold of the Fiat-Fokker. Tightly packed cases filled almost the entire area. “And the odds are a lot fragging better than hanging around Seattle.” Satisfied, he closed the cargo-hold door and locked it tight.

  “And checking on that stuff is a waste of time.” Duran pointed out. “We aren’t going to use none of it.”

  “Who knows? Depending on who canvasses the scene first, maybe some of those weapons will end up in rebel hands. I’ve heard Kate Mustaffah never misses a trick when it comes to turning a profit.” Mustaffah was an ex-arms runner turned businesswoman and crusader for the failing economic sector in Portland, but rumor had it she still kept her hand in.

  Fatigue ate into Skater to the bone despite the few hours of sleep he’d managed in since they’d left Archibald’s the night before. Not all of those hours of sleep had been consecutive, and none had been without dreams of the immediate past and nightmares of what the immediate future might hold.

  He looked up at the ork. “We roll in twenty-six minutes, Duran. You get any bright ideas, let me know.”

  Quint Duran dropped a big hand on Skater’s shoulder and gave a thin, ork grin that had never been stained by honest mirth. “Just grousing, kid. Drek, I think this is going to be one of the best slotting runs that’s ever been put together. The only thing I’m dreading is the long walk back.”

  “Who knows? Maybe we can package a deal on that, too. Depending on what hole cards NuGene is hiding.”

  Ten meters down from them, Elvis pulled the Leyland-Rover to a stop inside the warehouse and yelled for Duran to come help him. Wheeler was finishing the final check on the plane, wearing oil-stained dark blue coveralls and a red and gold San Francisco Forty-Niners ballcap that had seen better days.

  Skater ran a careful hand through his hair. The wound he’d taken the previous night had been tended but was still sore. He walked back to the office set against the wall to his left.

  The amphibian bobbed in a channel of water that cut through the heart of the warehouse while plascrete shoulders on both sides held parking areas and spaces for heavy equipment. According to Wheeler, the place had once been used for marine salvage and was now operated as a front for black-market goods moving through UCAS. The dwarf had earned the right to use the warehouse, but he didn’t tell any stories about why.

  The building smelled of diesel fuel and machine oil, with only faint wafts from the sea-scent of the Sound. The windows were all whole, but had been painted black, giving the place a run-down appearance that belied the expansive security system it housed.

  Cullen Trey sat inside the office watching the quartet of sec-cameras with overlapping fields of view. He was dressed casually, but Skater knew it was a casualness that wasn’t casually afforded. The mage still looked out of place in front of the three-year-old calendar sporting holopics from a trid-action series about three scantily clad women fighting crime with big guns and deadly magic. The show had a cult audience and stayed in syndication despite repeated vicious slams by critics. August showed a bare-breasted Jolie wrestling a hellbender in a swampy bayou. Standing all around her in their boats were Gulf pirates holding automatic weapons and watching her struggle with lust-filled eyes.

  A trid turned to twenty-four-hours news was showing footage from a grisly piece of biz that had happened in the Renton Mall. Evidently a mother who’d been stricken with the mysterious laughing death disease had gone mad and attacked her own children. The woman had been ill and displayed symptoms now associated with the disease: yellowing of the skin, reddening of the eyes, loss of motor coordination, and dementia. Somehow, she’d got herself out of bed and followed her two children to the Mall where she’d severely mauled them both before sec-guards put her down in a blaze of gunfire. Unconfirmed reports said she had recently been treated by DocWagon and, despite lack of definitive proof, reporters were starting to refer to the diseased people as “DocWackos.” Lone Star had not released any report on their findings as to the cause of the disease, stating only that it was a virus.

  Skater listened intently as the aroma of fresh soykaf filled the small room.

  “Ready?” Trey asked. Before him, an arrangement of charms, bracelets, and rings lay on piece of silk embroidered with what Skater assumed to be some kind of arcane symbols. The mage touched them as he watched the screens, then began placing them on his person.

  “Ready.” Skater turned away from the trid and poured himself a cup from the kaf-maker tucked neatly into the corner under three shelves of mechanical reference manuals.

  “She hasn’t contacted you?” Trey asked.

  Skater shook his head. There was only one she the mage could have been referring to.

  Trey finished the last of his preparations. “I really thought she’d be here to see this thing through.”

  “She’s got her reasons for not wanting to go.”

  “True. But we’re operating under a death sentence here. Could it really be any worse?”

  Skater remembered the fear he’d seen in Archangel’s eyes. “Yeah, I think maybe it could.” He checked the time. “It’s almost eight. Let’s button up here.”

  Less than ten minutes later, he and Trey had shut down the office, leaving up the bare-bones security systems. Wheeler was already in the cockpit warming the engine, and Elvis and Duran stood beside the door.

  They loaded into the plane with no attempt at small talk. They’d all been tense since making the decision to hit NuGene, but the various tasks each one had assumed to prepare for the operation had kept them from taking it out on each other. A few hours of rest had helped, too.

  Skater had heard snatches from Kestrel overnight and throughout the day that everyone looking for them—McKenzie, the elves, and the yakuza—was heated up to almost a fever pitch. The net was drawing tighter around Seattle.

  Skater cast the mooring line loose and pulled himself up into the co-pilot’s seat, adjusting to the rocking movement of the amphibian on the water. “Get us out of here.” he told Wheeler.

  The dwarf nodded. He sealed himself off in the plastic rigger’s cocoon to totally immerse himself in the plane’s operations. From now on. Skater knew, all communication with Wheeler would have to be through the aircraft’s radio headsets. Sluggish at first, the plane gained speed, pushing toward the double doors. A press of a button on the control panel to bounce an IR signal off a servo mounted at the front of the warehouse made the doors slide sideways.

  The waterway cut through fifty meters of plascrete and led directly into Puget Sound. Night lay like a cloak over the sprawl.

  As the Fiat-Fokker passed the double doors, Skater spotted the figure standing there. “Hold it.” he told Wheeler over the amphibian’s com.

  The dwarf cut the engine immediately, but the plane continued on across the water surface a few meters more.

  Even without his low-light enhancement, Skater recognized Archangel in the dark.

  She wore black synthdenim jeans and a black turtleneck under a gray trench coat. She held the straps of a heavy backpack
tight in one white-knuckled fist. Tense anger darkened her features.

  Skater popped the door and threw it back. He stood up so she could clearly see him.

  “You’re going through with this then?” she demanded.

  “No choice.” Skater said. Her hesitation probably lasted only an instant, but he felt the weight of it and knew she did too.

  “Damn you, Jack, if we get caught.” Her voice was hard and fierce, and he knew she meant every word of it. She stepped forward and offered her hand.

  Skater took it and pulled her aboard. Even before she could get to her seat, Wheeler had pushed the throttle forward. In seconds, the Fiat-Fokker powered out onto the lake, then rose quickly into the black sky, cutting through the heavy cloud cover.

  * * *

  “How much time before we make the border?” Archangel asked.

  Skater checked the time. They’d been in the air—in silence—for almost twenty minutes, getting up to altitude and speed. “Couple hours, give or take ten minutes. We’re going in slow, looping back in from the Pacific. If everything works out, we’ll meet up with an approaching storm front and should be able to use that for cover part of the way in.”

  “And after that?” she asked.

  Skater looked at her. “After that, we’re black-market arms dealers making a border run. We meet up with resistance, and we take the fall.”

  “Losing the plane?”

  “We have to in order to make it look good. We’ll go down near the Willamette River north of the city and just over the Wall, well beyond the river lock. Once in the river, we’ve got two undersea sleds and scuba gear. With all the action we’ll stir up in the area, both land and sea, we should be clear before the first shock troops arrive. It’s about five kilometers into Portland.”

  “They’re going to be looking for bodies.” Archangel said.

  “Yepper.” Duran said. He held up two thick fingers. “And they’ll find them. Me and Elvis did a little recruiting while these guys were putting together the ordnance packages. We were gonna find us a street doc to sell us a coupla bodies, but then we tripped over a pair of Halloweeners all nice and geeked in some turf action.” He twitched his lips back to show his fangs.