Dark as Angels: We are the Enemy

by Dominic Adler

  “Ah, the Italian. Ciao, Mister Paolo.”

  Ignacio of the Black Rifles lounged on an inflatable airbed. He was a sun-bronzed Adonis, with a broad, handsome face, muscles peppered with scars. Other warriors sat nearby, along with a gaggle of half-dressed concubines. “Ah, my good friend Comrade Paolo! Would you like a drink?”

  “Thank you, General Ignacio. Coffee. Arabica, if you have it.”

  Ignacio barked orders at a flunky. He cradled a bottle of beer in one hand, a reefer in the other. “How the fuck did this riot happen?” he said, waving at an omni. The Chief Constable was still taking questions, sneering at journalists and promising war.

  “I’ve no idea.” Paolo replied.

  His mission briefing had included a profile of the Spaniard – the General was a career anarchist, revelling in the contradiction. He’d commanded the Black Rifles in North Africa. Los Fusiles Oscuros, a notorious brigade of mercenary freebooters. They’d fought for any number of revolutionary groups in developing countries, from Angola to Zimbabwe. Their price was always the same – whores and booze, glory and gold.

  Ignacio popped the cap from another beer. “I’m tempted to negotiate with the pigs, but we have a certain reputation to consider.”

  “Better to fight another day, perhaps,” Paolo replied. He knew the Black Rifles had stretched their luck by coming to London. Trouble followed them like fleas on a dog. A year from now? Perhaps things would be different. The Crimson would need men like Ignacio, come the Revolution. Men happy to form firing squads and hang class-traitors from lampposts.

  The General wiped beer from his beard. “Another day indeed, but you know how it goes Paolo. British pigs aren’t like the Germans or Spanish, even those black-uniformed NatSec bastards. They will not use artillery, that is bullshit. Yes, I think we can have a fight to satisfy our honour, then talk.”

  Paolo’s take on the situation was different – the Commune was a convenient scapegoat for London’s intractable political crises. Destroying it would be like lancing a boil. He thought Ignacio an idiot. “A wise compromise, General.”

  Ignacio took a hit from his reefer and smiled. “I’m glad you agree.”

  “I have two people I need to move out of the Commune,” Paolo explained. “Are you able to get them to the west side of the estate, near the PROTEX ramp?”

  Ignacio glanced at his men, who looked back and shrugged. Eyebrows were raised. Paolo wondered if they made decisions via some sort of fell Iberian telepathy. “Yes, that’s possible,” said Ignacio.

  “It’s very risky,” said one of the Spaniards, a pot-bellied man, bare-chested under his long leather coat. “There’s a war going on outside, Paolo.”

  “But not impossible,” said the General.

  Paolo raised an eyebrow. “How would you get them out?”

  Ignacio pulled himself to his feet, kicking the airbed away. “Ah, Paolo. Always asking questions. I simply confirmed we could do it. The rest is my business.”

  “Very well, General. Now, as a goodwill gesture, here are fifty-thousand RDs. A tribute to your cause.” Paolo pulled off his money belt and tossed it to Ignacio. Your cause being your continued wealth.

  “I knew I liked you,” Ignacio chuckled. He took the belt and unzipped it, “I’m sure I don’t need to count it.”

  “Of course not. Perhaps you can feign preliminary negotiations with the police? Buy more time?”

  “Yes,” said Ignacio, “an excellent idea. In fact, I was about to suggest it myself.”

  “Ignacio!” said a woman dressed in black, carbine across her chest. “The omni.”

  A newscaster looked solemnly to camera. “Police sources reveal damning evidence has come to light, strongly suggesting anarchist involvement in the murder of tactical officers in Lagoon City…”

  “What have you heard, Anjelica?”

  “A stolen handgun, belonging to a murdered NatSec officer, was retrieved from the near the Commune International. NatSec is giving a press conference at the top of the hour, pending forensic tests…”

  “The pigs planted a fucking gun!” Ignacio bawled, hurling a beer bottle at the omni. A flunky passed him another. “This is exactly the sort of shit you’d expect them to do.”

  “Absolutely, General.” Paolo replied, stony-faced. “The fascists will use any ruse to justify their aggression. There are bigger webs being spun, I’m sure. Perhaps they plan a new offensive in Free Medway, and this is chaff to distract attention?”

  The camouflaged sentry strode into the room, Kalashnikov ready. “Tacticals arrive in force, General. Assault teams of Federales.”

  Ignacio staggered, beer sploshing on his boots. “Open the armoury. Issue weapons. Send word to our friends on the west side to attack the pigs, draw them away.”

  “Yes, my General,” the sentry replied.

  “Get the secondary generators working,” Ignacio ordered, “and get our fucking Darkwire access back. I need the surveillance cameras online.”

  Paolo accepted a dainty cup of coffee and took a sip. It was excellent, as was the little cookie balanced on the saucer. “And what of our deal, general?”

  Ignacio puffed out his chest, eyes fixed on the dollars scattered on the table. “It shall be honoured, of course. I will send men to your apartment soon.”

  Paolo left the Spaniards, pausing in a corridor to look out of the window. Outside, NatSec carriers manoeuvred near the palisade, tacticals forming shield walls. With them were squads of officers with ladders and door-breaching equipment. The Spanish would need to mobilise quickly, or be overwhelmed. Heading to the basement, Paolo retrieved the explosives for Abid to place in the van.

  He began the slog to the apartment, a heavy kitbag slung across his back. He found the front door ajar. Abid sat on the couch, a bloody cloth held to his face. Rourke was next to him, head in his hands. “What happened?”

  Rourke’s voice was thick with anger. “The girl attacked Abid again.”

  A piece of sharp wood jutted from the Yemeni’s cheek. His eyes shone dully, blood rolling down slab-flat cheeks.

  Paolo balled his fists. In any other circumstance he’d have shot Abid in the head. “I suggest you explain yourself.”

  Abid seemed to grow as he threw back his shoulders, voice a snarl. “The girl ran past me, into the room. She saw her fate – the sword, and went crazy.”

  “Why, Abid? Why were you with her?”

  The Yemeni towered over Paolo. He plucked the piece of wood from his face, blood stippling the floor. “Tomorrow I will be martyred, God willing. I have not been with a woman for two years. If I want that girl, who is going to die anyway, then I will have her.”

  “How many fucking virgins are you people meant to have waiting up there?” Paolo sneered.

  Abid bared his teeth. “Mock my faith again, Kaffur, and I will kill you.”

  “Paolo, would you put the gun down please?” said Rourke.

  Paolo didn’t even realise he’d pulled the HK35. His thumb slid to the safety. Snick. “This is my operation. I am in command. That girl is precious, for reasons you cannot possibly understand.”

  “You tell us nothing,” Abid shrugged. “I die for nothing?”

  “My word isn’t good enough?”

  “You insult me, Colonel.”

  “You insult yourself and your superiors. Focus on the mission, and there’ll be no insults on either side.”

  The Yemeni glowered, indifferent to the blood dripping from his chin. “I do not understand? Why protect the girl?”

  “The Crimson Brigade does not tolerate rape. It’s non-negotiable, Abid.”

  The Yemeni met Rourke’s eye. She nodded slowly, smiling. “You know he’s right, Abid. What would God want you to do?”

  “Very well,” Abid replied. “I will speak of it no more.”

  “Good,” said Paolo. “The Spaniards will escort you both to the west side of the estate. The explosives are in this bag, Abid. Sorcha, you’ll be given an escort to your rendezvous. Fob b
oth Abid and I when your agent provides the location of Rhys’s press conference. Is the encryption node working?”

  Rourke checked the metal sphere sitting on the table. “The node’s ready. We can Lib-net the execution without being traced.”

  “Abid, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Paolo.”

  Paolo unlocked the door to Lottie’s room. The girl lay in the corner, cord lashed around her ankles and wrists. She sobbed, body shaking. He peeled the blindfold from her eyes. “Lottie, listen to me.”

  “Bastard,” she sobbed, face bruised. Sheened with blood and saliva. “You know, don’t you? You know I’m…”

  “Shush, child,” said Paolo, pulling his fob from his pocket. “The sword you saw? It’s a ruse to scare your father. D’you understand?”

  “Who are you calling?” said Lottie, looking at the fob.

  “Vassa Hyatt, of course. Trust me, Lottie, when I say you can get out of this situation alive…”

  eleven

  Tollen jabbed her pistol into Hooker’s chest. “Call your skanky friend. Tell her I want my fucking van back.”

  Hooker brushed the gun away, eyebrow raised. “Put a weapon within reaching distance of me again, and you’ll most likely get shot.”

  “Always the tough guy, Hooker.”

  “Give it a rest, Hanne. If you pull the trigger, she’ll come for you.”

  “Who?”

  “Leah Martinez. Grew up in the refugee camps, used to fight for the Bloc in Brighton. Your worst nightmare, if she takes a dislike to you.”

  Tollen’s men returned to the hall, one with a badly-bruised face. “I’m gonna kill the runty bitch,” he said, fists balled.

  Tollen shook her head. “I doubt it, Traynor. You let the runt get the van keys, didn’t you?”

  “She surprised me,” Traynor protested. “She was fast.”

  Hooker pulled up his goggles. “A quiet word, please, Sergeant Tollen?”

  Tollen walked across the hall, boots scattering McCaffrey’s leaflets. “Best you make it quick, Hooker.”

  “I know what NatSec are like when it comes to fuck-ups,” Hooker whispered. “You’re in the shit, and you know it. Just gimme twenty minutes with Luke McCaffrey and I’ll get your van back.”

  Tollen glanced at her hapless officers. “Those clowns wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes on the Taskforces. Yeah, they’re always dropping me in the shit, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna trust you.”

  “I promise you can take me in if I don’t keep my side of the bargain. I’ll lose my contracting permit, and my fee for the job I’m on.”

  Tollen’s lip curled. “Bullshit, Rufus. You’ll be back in the No-Zone by then.”

  Hooker drew close, breath hot on the cop’s ear. “During the Tribunals, did I ever mention your name? You went a bit… feral, I remember. I might have got a couple of years off my sentence if I’d served you up.”

  Tollen went to say something. Hooker’s finger brushed her lips. “It’s history,” he said gently. “Ancient history. In fact, I’m forgetting it as we speak.”

  Tollen’s skin was the colour of chalk. “We did what we had to do, right?”

  “Only you know the answer to that.”

  Tollen holstered her gun. “Okay, Rufus, in exactly forty-five minutes I’ll have my vehicle back undamaged. Understand?”

  “It’s a deal. Now, what’s the deal with McCaffrey? Were you gonna pinch him?”

  Tollen shrugged, “yeah, just routine detention and questioning. Keeps the Red bastards on their toes.”

  “Hiding in vans? Bit old school, ain’t it?”

  “You can’t put a drone on every bloody meeting” Tollen shrugged. “Resources get sent down to Medway, or up to Scotland. Not to the Green-Zone. Or even the No-Zone for that matter.”

  “There’s rioting there today.”

  “What’s new? If it was going that bent, I’d have heard by now. They’d put us back in uniform and give us shields.”

  NatSec aren’t looking for Lottie Rayne. Not Yet. “Gimme your code,” said Hooker, “you’ll get your van back.”

  Tollen scowled. “What about McCaffrey?”

  “I ain’t got much love for Reds, but I ain’t giving a man up for a quota.”

  “Listen, Hooker…”

  “That’s the deal,” Hooker replied. “You get your wagon back, but you can find McCaffrey off your own back.”

  “I’d better get it back,” Tollen growled, joining her men at the other side of the library. “Or you’ll never hear the end of it. Nor will the No-Zone bitch.”

  Hooker keyed his fob. “Leah, where are you?”

  “Turn left outside the library. Take a right, then another. You’ll pass an old pub. I’m parked up in the car mart, behind an orange trailer.”

  Hooker walked to a yard, crowded with battered vehicles. Potential buyers kicked tyres and rapped on windows, bug-eyed in their smog masks. The NatSec van was parked in a row of caravans and trailers, engine ticking over. The door slid open, revealing Leah’s grinning face. Inside, the vehicle was a familiar tangle of equipment and omniscreens, littered with food wrappers, sudoku books and piss-bottles. “Is he okay?” said Hooker, nodding at McCaffrey.

  “Luke? He’s just peachy,” Leah replied, patting McCaffrey on the knee, “aintya?”

  “What do you want now?” he said, hands trembling. “Why are NatSec after me?”

  “They suspect you of facilitating terrorism,” Hooker lied. He put his feet on the bench and pulled a water bottle from his belt. “They want to stitch you up. Now tell me, where’s Lottie Rhys?”

  “I told you, I don’t bloody know.”

  “NatSec’ll pull your fingernails out,” said Leah, playing with the van’s camera controls. “I also heard they like to take Reds on copter rides. Kick ‘em out over the estuary, just for shit and giggles.”

  Hooker frowned. “You were telling us about Roisin. She buys tea smuggled from the Goons and works as a nurse. Anything else?”

  McCaffrey took in the van’s gloomy interior. An omni showed low-light footage of him entering and leaving the hall. “They were watching me?”

  “Shit just got real,” said Leah. “Ha! I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  Hooker tapped the screen, checking the date and time display. “Luke, what did you expect? This is what NatSec do. They’re fishing, hoping to identify Bloc operatives. If they’re lucky, maybe even the Crimson.”

  “Wocca-wocca,” said Leah, making pretend rotor-blades with an index finger. “I can see you now, falling into the river. Splash!”

  “I can get you to the No-Zone,” said Hooker. “Or even down to Kent, if you want to join your glorious comrades. But I need info.”

  McCaffrey closed his eyes, a tear rolling down his cheek. “Evie was promising. Politically, I mean. Passionate. I introduced her to Roisin. Roisin didn’t seem surprised, almost like she was expecting to meet her.”

  “That’s a start,” said Hooker, “go on.”

  “Over a period of months, Evie and Roisin would have private chats, away from the main meeting. Sometimes in the kitchen at the back of the library, or they’d go outside for a smoke. Then, yesterday afternoon, the Rhys girl arrived. She wasn’t interested in politics, I could tell. She’d come to see Roisin.”

  Hooker offered McCaffrey a bottle of water. He nodded his thanks and drank. “I didn’t know Lottie’s surname, but she was obviously from a wealthy family. She had that air about her. You know? Wessex.”

  “I bet she was nice to look at too,” said Leah.

  “I’m not interested in women,” McCaffrey replied defensively. “Anyway, Roisin and Evie took Lottie into the kitchen. I listened at the door.”

  “Don’t blame you,” said Hooker, “you realised somethin’ dodgy was going on?”

  “Perhaps, but not the way you’re thinking. In fact, it was nothing political whatsoever. Lottie Rhys said she was pregnant.”

  “Whoah, hold on,” said Hooker.

>   Leah laughed. “This just gets better and better.”

  “It’s not funny,” McCaffrey sniffed. “She was asking Roisin if she could get hold of termination meds, because she was a nurse. Then they all left together.”

  “And that’s it?” said Leah. “Why couldn’t she get meds at a birth control clinic like everyone else?”

  “How do I know?” McCaffrey snapped. “I can only tell you what I heard.”

  “Any idea who the father is?” said Hooker.

  “Of course not. I got the gist of a thirty-second conversation, that’s all.”

  Hooker said nothing for a moment, thinking it through. “Okay, Green-Zoners need a doctor’s scrip for termination meds. I doubt a girl living in a Holland Park security bubble could get an appointment without her family knowing about it. And I don’t see Lottie Rhys going to a back-street abortionist, do you?”

  “You think Roisin already knew Lottie was pregnant?” Leah replied. The omnis inside the van continued playing surveillance footage, a small crowd standing outside the library. Young kids drinking beer and laughing, enjoying a rare smog-free London evening.

  Hooker watched the screen. “My guess is whatever Lottie wanted, Roisin’s job was to oblige. Turns out she was in the family way. If she’d wanted heroin or coke or stims? I bet Roisin would’ve offered ‘em too. She’s playing enabler, just long enough to get Lottie close enough to kidnap.”

  Leah pointed at the omni. “NatSec would’ve caught Roisin on camera. What time did the girls arrive?”

  McCaffrey shrugged. “I’m not sure. The meeting began at four o’clock yesterday afternoon.”

  Leah tapped the screen to reverse the footage. A few minutes before the meeting, people began arriving in ones and twos. Mainly students, wearing summer shorts and hats, rummage bags on their backs. Leah froze the omni. Two willowy-looking girls stood outside, both wearing wide-brimmed hats, flowery dresses and sun visors. “Evie and Lottie,” she said.

  “Roisin was already inside the library,” said McCaffrey. “Rewind a little… there she is. The woman in black.”