Running Black (Eshu International Book 1)

by Patrick Todoroff

  Colonel Estevana shook his head.

  Jessa Eames spoke her thoughts out into the room. “This is just too goddamn weird not to be connected to our boy. I need to know how.” She stared at the wall across room. Like gathering smoke, hunches coalesced in her mind, phantoms of suspicion that wisped a fraction beyond her grasp. Like faces in a line up, she tried to focus, force identity to them, but they vaporized under her scrutiny, leaving only a hazy dread.

  Enough mystic bullshit.

  She made a decision. “I’m concentrating our search in this district, starting from this neighborhood. We’ll keep the zone-wide checkpoints and general surveillance, but I’m authorizing round-the-clock Predator and Death Star overwatch. If anyone tries to bolt, we’ll know immediately. This is definitely linked to the boy. Let’s tighten the screws and see if anything pops.”

  She looked around the large room one more time. “‘Cause I get the feeling we’re not the only ones looking for him.”

  -----------------------------------

  The man called Hester stopped threading his crossbow and watched the Late Breaking Newscast with growing interest.

  “Yes Jen, the scene here can only be described as chaos. There’s blood and bodies everywhere. Newsnet 5’s exclusive sources with the Guardia Civil say the mosque you see in the distance was treacherously attacked during evening prayer services. An unknown number of gunmen shot down nearly a hundred worshippers, sending the rest fleeing into the streets. District leaders are outraged by this latest incident of gang violence and called for increased security patrols in the zones. North District ombudsman Cameron Salazar decried this “massacre at the mosque” saying it was further proof of deliberate negligence and discrimination on the part of the Montevedo Administration towards the zone populace. It remains to be seen whether this act is linked with the recent reports of a new Basque narco-terrorist group operating—”

  He shut off the hotel wall screen. “North it is,” he said out loud and started packing gear into a small backpack. Last of all, he detached the stock and slid the crossbow next to several other favorite weapons.

  When he finished, he switched the nanite tracker on, its dull blue LED screen slowly brightening as it powered up. “Time to see how well you work, luv.” Setting it on silent mode, he tucked it in his shirt pocket, turned off the lights, and stepped quietly out the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: SHARP JABS EVERYWHERE

  Barcelona Metro Zone, Sant Adrià de Besòs district. Callejón del Apuro, “Trouble Alley”. 4:44 a.m. Day Four.

  I came to on a cool rush of chemical well-being. It was dark, and my body remote. A very familiar numb, I drifted in the sea of painkillers. Couldn’t quite lock exact memories down, but I’d been here many times before, so I was content to lie still, soaking it in. Just visiting—like a vacation, I thought, and felt the endorphins tug a grin at the corners of my mouth.

  “He’s coming around.”

  Now that voice sounded familiar. I tried to place it, but it became another item I couldn’t grip. It was all so far away. Somewhere inside I figured this was a good sign: the fact that I recognized the voice. And that no one was hitting me.

  Time to try and move then.

  I shifted my head, felt my brain slosh inside my skull. Nausea, pain spiked through the happy padding. I groaned. It got muffled seconds later by the drifty analgesic billows, but whatever happened must have been bad.

  “Take it easy.” Hands on my shoulders. I was on my back. “Give it a minute.”

  The accent… it was Ibram. Doc Kalahani was here. A recognizable sound filtered in: the beep of an autodoc somewhere nearby.

  I’d definitely been here before.

  “OK.” I kept my eyes shut. “Tell me again what happened.”

  “They tried to off us, that’s what happened!” That was Tam. Loud, and yelling from my right. Alejo interrupted him from somewhere on my left.

  “We got out. That’s the important thing. Jace, you batted back a grenade, remember?”

  “No, but I can feel it.”

  “The explosion bought us time to get away from those two assassins,” Alejo went on. “Good thing you had that jacket. The concussion only knocked you down. Tam and I carried you through the underground.”

  “Thanks for that.” I tried moving again. That only earned me more sharp jabs everywhere. I breathed in hard. “What’s that smell?”

  “Sewers. We had to go through the sewers the last few kilometers before we got home.”

  “A trace? They get a trace?” I asked. Things were clicking in place now. I remembered the mosque. The cage in the basement.

  Tam muttered, but Alejo spoke again. “No one came after us in the tunnels, if that’s what you mean. Good thing too. Except for a couple knives, we were empty handed. Sniffer sets might pick us up at first, but once they hit the sewers, it’s gone for sure.”

  “Damnit, Jace. APAC tried to off us! Some corporate twat issued a D.N.R. and tried to bury us. Us!” Tam again, still loud, his voice edged with anger.

  “You don’t know that for sure.” Ibram’s accent came from behind me.

  “The hell I don’t! You weren’t there! They were shooting at me! Christ sake, they were shooting at everyone.” Tam was getting louder, and my head was pounding.

  “Hey, could you not do that?” I asked.

  Carmen spoke up. “I thought you went to arrange for delivery and an extraction.”

  “So did I,” Tam snarled.

  “Looks like someone wanted to renegotiate the terms,” Ibram said.

  “Bullets do make a very definite statement,” Carmen murmured.

  “Major goddamn ballistic counseling is what that was. They were cutting anyone down to get at us. Who the hell did Asian Pacific send after us?” I could hear Tam pacing back and forth now.

  “More like what did they send? They weren’t human,” Alejo countered.

  Ibram spoke up again. “You sure they were APAC? What about the Turks? You said they ran the place. You trust them, Alejo? Would they try to pinch the product?”

  “Trust them? No. But they knew nothing, and no one was following us. Besides, they wouldn’t jeopardize their normal business, not like that.”

  My brain was getting back on track. I piped up. “It had to be APAC. They’re the only ones who knew about the meeting.”

  “See? See? I knew it!” Tam started in again. “Bastards are trying to burn us, sending agents in heavy like that. We need to wave Rao, and have him tell those—”

  “Tell them what? To screw off ‘cause we’re fencing the product to some other Corp?” I croaked.

  I felt a hand lift my head up. Long fingers, it had to be Ibram. He brought a cup to my lips and the water went down cool, spreading clarity in my veins. I opened my eyes and the Garcías’ basement swam into gritty focus.

  “Yes!” Tam roared. “They broke the contract! Hell, they violated the terms. Corporates can’t burn contractors without due cause. We were there to deliver! We were keeping our end. We always keep our end.” I could see the veins standing out in his neck. That was a bad sign. He wasn’t just angry, he was scared.

  Tam pointed at me. “Once word of this gets out, no outfit in the system will work for them. I’ll make Rao flash every other contractor. Asian Pacific won’t even have trash pickup.”

  Our situation had boiled over Tam’s mind. He was afraid APAC had just cut us loose and slammed the door. Eshu International out in the cold meant we were exposed, expendable, and fair game to anyone we’d ever done a run against.

  I tried to sit up, but dropped that idea like a hot rock. My head was killing me, especially when I tried to think. Or move. Or breathe. I lay back, but some dim notion nagged at me.

  “Hold on. Maybe I’m slaphappy, or Ibram dosed up the patches, but it doesn’t tetris. Why would APAC issue a burn notice? We got out of Toulouse clean. The kid’s still viable.” More aches were surfacing all over my body, but I reached over and pulled the autodoc’s derm-t
ab off my forearm. I managed to look around before I sank back. “Hey… where is he, anyway? And where are the Triplets?”

  Carmen pointed up. “Still sleeping upstairs. I don’t want him to see or hear any of this.” She smiled at me. “You know the Triplets won’t let him out of their sight now?”

  I was going to answer, but Tam was in a rage. He spun on me. “What was that that flew out of the big guy’s hand?”

  “Looked like a mister to me. A med spray.”

  “Was he trying to snatch me? And they started shooting when it went south?”

  “Well that’s obvious.”

  “Maybe the kid’s not viable like they thought? They found something out and now it’s a cut and run,” Tam muttered.

  “Why not just wave Rao and call us in then? Why try to grab you?” Poet9 spoke up. “Contract has standard abort clauses. We’d be sniveled, but so what? No need for an eraser. You’re right: burning us without due cause would jeopardize all Asian Pacific contracts. Their gray and black ops would grind to a halt.”

  Alejo sat in his chair, a bandaged hand stroking his moustache. “And if the child isn’t still valuable, why do we have this news story about terrorists going after the Docks, and Dawson-Hull Corporate Security ransacking the entire BMZ sprawl?”

  Tam wasn’t answering. I could tell he didn’t like the situation, the questions, or any of the possible answers. “We could call another company,” he finally said. “The Americans… M.S.I. projects have dumped the last three years. They’d snatch him in a microsecond. At least we’d get paid something and be undercover. We could lay low on the other side of the globe.”

  I tried laughing at him. “There’s a reason Microsoft Systems International is called ‘Messy’. They’d have us running ops in Venezuela like a bunch of wet-work thugs, putting counterinsurgency hits on Amazon Indians or something. We wouldn’t last six months.”

  “We could drop the mission altogether. Give Gibson back,” Poet suggested.

  “Right! You want to wave to Dawson-Hull and say ‘We found your top secret clone boy wandering the streets and wondered if you wanted him back. There a reward?’ What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Our offer still stands,” Alejo said.

  “Jesus Christ, Al,” Tam snapped.

  “Look, you’re praying already,” the old Spaniard smiled.

  Tam ignored him. “What are we going to do?” he asked me.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well, you’d better decide on something fast,” Doc said.

  I looked up at him. “Why?”

  “You going to tell them?” Ibram was looking at Tam.

  He scowled back. “Fuck me. I’m lost here. You tell them.” Tam threw up his hands and walked away.

  Everyone turned to Ibram. “Gibson’s headaches, they’re a symptom of a bigger problem. I think the technology inside him multiplies when it’s activated.”

  I sank back onto the pillow. “This just gets better and better.”

  “If it’s inside him, isn’t it active all the time?” Poet9 asked.

  “Technically, yes, but it’s not functional until he interfaces. I don’t know how unstable the nanites are, or how advanced the problem was before you grabbed him, but I’m not surprised he passed out after operation. Instantaneous multitasking like that would put a massive strain on the neural network.”

  “What are you saying, exactly?” Carmen demanded.

  Ibram paused before answering softly. “I’m saying the nanites are killing him.”

  “Is there a cure?” She got to her feet. “You know how to make him better, si?”

  “Carmencita, sit down,” Alejo tugged at her.

  “Don’t ‘Carmencita’ me. A boy is dying in my home, and you want me to sit down?” She glared at Ibram. “How long have you known?”

  “Suspicions, that’s all. I filled in the blanks after examining him and talking to Tam. Nothing is certain yet.”

  “First he’s dying, now you’re not sure. Which is it, Ibram?” This was the second time in twenty-four hours I was glad Carmen wasn’t within reach of a gun. “The companies grow children for experiments now? Inject them with these nanites?” She stamped her foot. “Jesús se vuelve ahora.”

  “What does it matter? I thought you people believed they didn’t have souls?” Tam threw back at her.

  “I don’t think that’s gonna help, boss,” Poet said.

  “How do you know what I believe?” Carmen snapped. “Have you ever read a Bible? Of course he has a soul.”

  “Who doesn’t have souls?” I asked. “What are you going on about?”

  “Clones. Gibson. Isn’t that what the True Life riots were about?”

  “Basura y humos! He’s alive. He saved Devante’s life. It matters to me if he dies. And it should matter to you.”

  “Don’t make this my fault.”

  “You kidnapped him,” Carmen said. “And brought him here.”

  “Poet was hurt,” Tam shouted. “You’re the only people we could trust. How could I know what they’d done to him?”

  “You could have left a little boy alone, that’s what you could have done.”

  “Carmen!” Alejo’s voice cracked like a whip. “What’s done is done. They’re here. And now we help find an answer.” He looked at Tam. “Remember… when the time comes, we can get you out of the BMZ.”

  “Hey,” Poet9 said. “Changing the subject here… Doc, you think there’s a cure for whatever they did to Gibson?”

  Ibram shook his head. “I don’t know. I need time and equipment, neither of which I have here. I have no idea how the nanites integrate with his neurology, how far along the deterioration is, how widespread the growth is.”

  “But there’s a chance.”

  Ibram shook his head. “Ahhh… in theory, yes. But I can’t promise anything without hard data.”

  “Good enough for me.” Poet9 looked over at Tam. “Screw the sushi eaters, I owe the kid. I say we help Gibson.”

  “We’re not voting here, Poet,” Tam said. “Stop being stupid for five minutes and think. The Triplets are shoot on sight. You, me and Jace have jackets that’d get us mind raped and strapped on the next Space Mountain ride to Luna… if we survived custody and interrogation. We’ve stayed alive because we made ourselves useful. We had coverage. But left in the cold, you think the suits wouldn’t terminate us given half a chance?”

  “Seems like they’re trying to do that now,” I said. “The whole ‘coverage’ thing got shot to hell by our two new friends. This isn’t business as usual anymore.”

  “He’s right, boss. If we can’t go to APAC, and you won’t drop the contract, what are we going to do?” Poet9 asked.

  The cellar got real quiet. I heard the floorboards creaking upstairs, people around me breathing, heard my heartbeat in my ears, all waiting for an answer.

  “I don’t know,” Tam finally said.

  For a second I thought he was going to cry.

  CHAPTER THIRTY: TORN

  Gibson: Something’s wrong.

  It’s dark and there’s yelling downstairs. Voices rumble up through the floor, broken and sharp-edged, and for a moment, I don’t know where I am. But then the door opens and light spills in with the Triplets and I remember. They’ve been waiting in the hall for me to wake up.

  This last headache was the worst one yet. Most of the pain is gone, but I’m weak, and it feels like someone is squeezing my head. Something’s different inside. Mopsy has to help me up.

  We go into the kitchen. They move quietly for such big men. The floor is cold and my hands feel huge. We listen together at the basement door.

  I hear Poet. He’s awake, but now Jace is hurt. Tam sounds lost, and Carmen is angry. There’s been more shooting and everything is confused. The tall doctor with the sad face says I’m dying. My interface is killing me.

  I want to shout “No,” but my head pounds and I think he might be right. The net is where I’m free. I fly as fast as thought, and
am alive there. But the headaches always come after, and I think what he says is true because I’m torn inside. Leaking, and each drip pulls a tiny bit of me away.

  They shout about souls. Is that what I feel slipping away?

  Where is it going?

  What will happen when it all leaks out?

  It’s dark and there’s yelling downstairs. The pain is in my chest now and my eyes are blurry. Mopsy holds my hand.

  Something’s wrong, and it’s because of me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: COMPLICATIONS

  Barcelona Port Complex, Asian Pacific Consortium Trade Offices, Bureau D. South Dock, Level Five. 10:17 a.m. Day Four.

  Colonel Otsu glanced at the communications monitor for the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. “He’s over two hours late. Anything on our other dedicated channels?” he asked his secretary.

  “No, sir, nothing yet.”

  “Sit-reps are every eight hours. Lieutenant Kaneda has missed two already.”

  “Colonel, with the emergency measures imposed, there’s bound to be complications. Guardia Civil and Dawson-Hull patrols, network jamming… Weather sats report an incoming storm. It could be as simple as a dead battery. He’s a capable officer. I’m sure he’ll arrive soon.”

  “Capable officers don’t miss sit-reps. Remind me where the meeting was last night.”

  His secretary thumbed through the screens on one of her data pads. “A mosque in the Sant Adrià de Besòs zone up north.”

  Mr. Hsiang’s face flashed in the colonel’s mind. ‘shinigami designation. Highly valuable prototypes…’

  “‘Complications’…” The word tasted flat in his mouth. “Did the Chishima Labs forward any details about these clones?”

  “Only that their appearance had been imprinted for the region,” his secretary answered. “The lieutenant said he’d provide more details after the meeting with the mercenaries.”

  “But he hasn’t. All the more reason for concern then. The executive made it abundantly clear this operation warrants our absolute cooperation, and he’s not a man who takes disappointment well.” Colonel Otsu took in a deep breath. “Send out a plain clothes detail to locate and assist the lieutenant. Have them start with the safe house, and if he’s not there, track his chip. This situation is feeling even more… tenuous than usual. I want him and those clones found.”