Cade 2

by Neil Hunter

  “Even they can’t be that tough,” she said.

  “Let’s see,” Janek replied grimly, jamming his foot hard down on the gas pedal.

  The combat droid stood its ground, eyes gleaming with a dull red glow, arms extended.

  Janek gripped the wheel so tightly the plastic began to groan under the pressure. As the howl of the engine increased, Janek let go with a yell of frustration.

  The car shuddered as the point of the hood caught the combat droid in its midsection. For a few seconds it remained there, staring at Janek through the windshield, arms reaching out across the hood, then it sagged forward slowly, sliding across the hood. It arched up in the air, twisting wildly, then vanished over the roof of the car.

  Turning in her seat, Kate saw it crash down on the street, bouncing and rolling across the surface, trailing a shower of sparks behind it. She was sure she could see bits and pieces flying off the body as it cartwheeled along the street. As Janek took the car around the corner, the droid vanished from sight.

  “Friendly sort of guy, wasn’t he?” Janek said airily. “The way he just dropped in to visit.”

  Kate’s disapproving glare silenced him, and he concentrated on driving.

  The day was slipping away quickly. The heavy ball of the sun was sinking behind the city’s tall silhouette, leaving the sky deep and sullen. The heat lingered, persistent, shrouding everything. Janek eased into the traffic, heading for the Brooklyn Bridge. Once they made it across the bridge, he swung under the Queens Expressway and followed the potholed, wreck-littered feeder road that angled in toward the decaying area of the old Brooklyn Navy Yard.

  The long-abandoned shipyard had changed hands a number of times over the years. Street gangs had laid claim to it during the first quarter of the century as Brooklyn went into a long decline. The sprawling borough had seen a massive influx of people seeking protection from the violence and crime sweeping the suburbs of the city. Overcrowding and poor amenities had only added to Brooklyn’s problems. Yet despite the social difficulties, Brooklyn survived, as it always had. Even the darkest times had failed to extinguish its spirit. The famed resilience of the area had seen her through; hard times were borne with stoic optimism, and Brooklyn had asserted itself over the next few decades. Always able to handle its own affairs, the borough had faced the hazards of the new century, survived and forged its own unique place.

  The gangs who had taken over the Navy yard were forced out by the vigilante groups who had decided enough was enough. Pitched battles had raged for over six months, and dozens were killed on both sides. The gangs were finally defeated, and the Navy yard was left empty and gutted. It had stayed that way for almost ten years. Then there began to emerge a new breed of inhabitant of the complex. The Navy yard became the focal point for the traveling groups of traders who moved back and forth across the continent. These itinerants, in their mobile caravans, were the purveyors of black market goods. If it couldn’t be obtained anywhere else, you went to the Brooklyn Yards, as the new venue became known. Some traders established permanent warehouses, becoming brokers who handled goods, bartered and stored for all the others. The law-enforcement agencies tolerated the traders. They had to. The public would have lynched anyone who tried to close them down. In many cases the traders were the only source for certain goods, and everyone sought them out.

  Eddie Culchek was one of those traders. He handled anything that would turn a profit—and one of Eddie’s specialties was weapons. It was said that Eddie could get you anything if you were prepared to pay for it. Eddie himself would never acknowledge that statement to anyone face-to-face, but it was well known that he had never once failed to satisfy his customers.

  Darkness was falling by the time Janek rolled the Dodge into the Brooklyn Yards. Powerful floodlights, powered by generators, lit the crowded area. It had the atmosphere of a carnival. Street entertainers played to the crowds. Music blared from mobile speakers. The rich odors of ethnic foods wafted and mingled in the air. There were stalls selling fresh vegetables from the Midwest, brought in by fast jets. Refrigerated trailers hauled in meat from the independent ranchers and other trucks delivered electronic goods from the California factories. There was even a brisk trade in service droids.

  “Janek, I didn’t realize what went on over here,” Kate said. “Is it always like this?”

  “The traders provide what the people want,” Janek said. “Supply and demand. It’s the American way, isn’t it, Kate?”

  He drove through the crowded area, turning in alongside a warehouse edging the murky waters of the East River. As Janek brought the vehicle to a stop, a pair of armed men slipped from the shadows and stood on either side of the car, their auto-weapons aimed at the cyborg. Janek climbed out, his hands held well away from his body.

  “Easy, guys,” he said. “I’m here to see Eddie.”

  “That you, Janek?” came a voice from the shadows.

  “Eddie, you’ve been watching too many TV cop shows.”

  Eddie Culchek came to stand in the glare of the headlights. He was a slim, dark man dressed in a bright shirt and black pants. He wore a silk bandanna around his neck. It wasn’t there for effect. It concealed a wide, nasty-looking scar—a reminder of his earlier, tougher days.

  “TV cop shows are my favorites.” He grinned. “Hey, you look like you been through hard times, Janek.” Eddie flicked a finger over the dark bloodstains on Janek’s clothing.

  “It doesn’t get any easier,” Janek said. “Eddie, I need the merchandise fast. No time for the jazz tonight.”

  “You need help? Take the boys if you do.”

  “Thanks, but this is something I have to handle on my own.”

  “Whatever you say.” Culchek eyed the Dodge. “Laser-Six. Nice wheels, Janek. They must look after you Justice boys.”

  “Nothing to do with the department, actually,” Janek said, sensing Culchek’s interest. “It’s what they call liberated. From undesirables. Mine to do what I want.”

  “That so? Maybe we could work something out. You need anything extra... something special?”

  “Could be,” the cyborg said. “I do need to borrow something different.”

  “How different?”

  “Something fast. Silent. Like a helicopter, Eddie.”

  Culchek grinned. “I like your style. You always think big. Come on inside, and we’ll see what we can figure out for you.”

  “Be back soon,” Janek said to Kate, and followed Eddie inside the cavernous, decaying warehouse.

  Watching him go, Kate sank back in the comfortable seat and allowed her thoughts to wander. They didn’t take long to define themselves because there was only one thing on Kate’s mind.

  Cade.

  His whereabouts.

  And more importantly, his state of health.

  Chapter Six

  The overpowering stench reaching in through the very walls of his cell told Cade he was in the Chemlands. That was basic information. It didn’t tell him which contaminated area of the American continent he was in.

  The legacy of the war between the U.S. and the Islamic Federation was a number of chemically ruined tracts of land. Anywhere a biological missile had landed, it had spread its malignant cargo of mutated spores. These powerful strains had the ability to multiply and breed and develop new mutations. They were developed to lay waste areas of fertile land, producing enzymes that were virtually indestructible. Secondary missiles contained spores that attacked the human animal, creating mutations that would take generations to breed out of the system. It was only due to errors in the Islamic Federation’s guidance systems that the missiles failed to hit their primary targets—major U.S. food-growing areas. The bulk of the missiles landed in rural areas, away from the great wheat fields and stock ranches. A number got through and lay waste to valuable tracts of land. The missiles aimed at U.S. areas of high population densities overshot every target. But the chemicals distributed infected enough people to create a great number of mutations.<
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  Cade had seen firsthand the results of the missile strikes, and the memories had stayed with him for a long time. They were things he didn’t want to have to see again. Even though the visual memories faded with time, Cade never forgot the smell that greeted him when his Marine unit had entered one of the infected areas. The stench had reminded him of death and decay. It was a rancid, cloying scent that seemed to penetrate through clothing and into the very pores of the skin.

  It was the same stench he was breathing in now.

  The room he’d been thrown into some hours back was small and basic, constructed from prefabricated concrete. The design and layout told him one more thing.

  He was on a military base. There was something about the design and feel of military buildings that was unlike anything else. Cade had seen enough of them during his hitch with the Marines, and he wasn’t likely to forget. Military bases were the same, no matter where they were situated, on earth or an asteroid colony. A military base just couldn’t be disguised as anything else.

  The moment the helicopter had lifted off, Tane had ordered Cade blindfolded. He had been pushed to the rear of the cabin, away from any viewports, and that was where he’d remained during the flight. It had been a long one. By the time touchdown had been made, darkness had already fallen. Cade had been dragged across the landing area and into a building where his cell had been waiting.

  The room contained a metal-frame cot covered by a thin mattress. There was a single chair and table. A recessed light, covered by reinforced glass, provided illumination. There was nothing else. Just the gray, cold walls and a barred window.

  And the penetrating stench of the Chemlands.

  Cade stood at the barred window, staring out across the darkened compound. There were no exterior lights showing. He could make out the perimeter fence. High, steel linked, with tall pylons every so often, topped by inactive floodlights. Beyond the fence lay the twisted shape of the forest, trees and undergrowth radically altered by the effects of the chemical attack. He wondered idly if there were any of the mutated survivors out there. Maybe watching the camp themselves. Not that it made any difference. The mutants had no time for normal people. They held society as a whole responsible for what had happened to them. Cade couldn’t rely on help from the mutants.

  He heard the electric bolts slam back as someone activated the door mechanism. Cade turned to inspect his visitors.

  Lukas Tane was the first to enter. The mercenary leader was clad in a black jumpsuit, with a shoulder rig carrying a large Beretta auto-pistol. He was a tall man, strongly built without looking bulky. His lean, tanned face was slightly marred by a couple of small scars along the left cheek and jaw line, which lent him a dangerous look. He stepped to the side of the cell to allow his two companions to crowd in behind him.

  They were clearly related. Their similar genes showed in the heavy-boned facial resemblance. They had the same small, bitter eyes, almost reptilian in their cold regard for the world around them. They stared at Cade with open hostility. Both were armed, carrying auto-pistols similar to Tane’s, though they wore them in high-ride holsters on their right hips.

  “I have to admire you, Cade,” Lukas Tane said. “One man causing us all this shit.”

  He moved away from the wall to the center of the cell, watching Cade all the time. The mere seemed faintly amused by the whole proceedings.

  “I don’t have the time to dance around with this,” he explained. “Too many things about to happen. So let me spell it out for you.

  “Personally I don’t give a damn whether you cooperate or not. This thing is too big for one man to stop. I’d off you right now if I had my way. But you’ve got the top brass worried in case there’s been a major leak. All I see is a cop who got in over his head, figuring he’d struck lucky. Truth is, Cade, you ain’t got a damn thing, and I figure to bury you along with that.”

  “You finished?” Cade asked. Cade knew he was in danger, but he wasn’t terribly shaken by Tane’s hard act—though he had to accept the man had all the cards. “Just what do you expect me to say?”

  “What did you find on Barney Culver’s boat?”

  “Culver—dead. But you already know that.”

  “You were on that boat a damn long time after you got it back to the quayside.”

  “Police procedure’s as slow as it ever was.”

  Tane’s face suddenly hardened. “Cut the crap, Cade. You find any kind of information on the boat?”

  “Nothing.”

  “The bastard’s lying, Lukas,” one of the other men said. “Ask him what he did in the goddamn bank.”

  “Opened a savings account for my retirement,” Cade said.

  “Son of a bitch,” the man snarled, lunging forward.

  Cade remained where he was, having little space to retreat. It looked as though he wasn’t going to offer any resistance. In fact, he held off until the mere was close enough so he could smell the man’s stale breath. Only then did the Justice cop move, turning slightly and bringing his right arm up in a slashing sweep that struck the man across the throat. The force of the blow lifted the man off his feet, tossing him backward at the same time. He crashed to the floor of the cell, gagging heavily, his beefy face darkening as he struggled for breath.

  The third man snatched his pistol from its holster, swinging it around to cover Cade. Tane leaned forward and pushed the gun aside.

  “Back off, Hog,” he advised. “Help your brother up. I’ll keep Cade under control.”

  Tane slipped his Beretta from its holster and aimed it at Cade.

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Cade.”

  Cade failed to hold back the grin that curled his lips.

  “You mean I should have let him hit me?”

  Tane’s eyes lost their good humor. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and without warning he slashed the heavy auto-pistol across the side of Cade’s head. The sharp impact turned Cade sideways. He felt the hot rush of blood down the side of his face.

  “Yeah, gimme the bastard...” someone snarled.

  Out of the haze that was fogging Cade’s vision he saw a broad figure lunging at him. He tried to pull aside but failed. The heavy bulk slammed into him, knocking him back against the wall. The impact drove the breath from Cade’s lungs, and before he could recover, a huge fist struck his jaw, spinning him off balance. Spitting blood, Cade threw up his arms to ward off further blows, but they were knocked aside. He felt blow after blow banging into his face and body. The initial pain quickly receded, the blows becoming a numbing succession of thumps. Cade didn’t even notice he’d failed until someone started kicking him in the ribs.

  Dimly he could hear raised voices. The kicking stopped, and Cade was pulled roughly to his feet, pushed back against the wall.

  “See what happens when you get mouthy?”

  Cade cracked a painful eye and stared into Lukas Tane’s angry face.

  “Tane, your hospitality sucks,” he mumbled through bloody, split lips.

  “This the best you can do, Lukas?” someone asked.

  “Boys got carried away a little, Colonel,” Tane said.

  Cade blinked, trying to clear his vision. He wanted to see the man standing just behind Tane, but try as he might, his eyes kept blurring. All he could make out was a tall figure in a uniform, insignia glittering under the light. He shook his head in frustration.

  “Give him a break, Lukas,” the voice commanded. Command was exactly the word. The man didn’t ask. His manner was taut, full of authority, and Tane responded to it instantly.

  “Yes, sir. Outside, you two.”

  As they all trooped from the cell, Cade caught the colonel’s final words.

  “Lukas, before you kill this man, I want to know everything he’s found out about us. We can’t afford to miss a damn thing. Dammit, man, I won’t allow the fate of this country to be jeopardized by some stupid cop!”

  The door banged shut, bolts sliding into their chambers with oiled finality.
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  Cade dragged himself to the cot and fell across it. He managed to roll on his back. Lying there, staring up at the ceiling through his blurred eyes, he allowed his mind to go over what he’d heard and tried to make some kind of sense out of it. He failed, because his thoughts refused to gel. The beating he’d received had left him unable to think cohesively. He needed time to get his head in order—if they allowed him that luxury. The problem was he didn’t think they would. When they finally did decide he had outlived his usefulness, he’d be a dead man.

  Chapter Seven

  The sleek, matt black helicopter dropped silently out of the night sky, angling in the direction of a tangled mass of undergrowth. The twisted growth lay against the upper slope of a timbered knoll with a level top. Janek had decided this would provide the most accessible landing place for his strike against the military base.

  Strapped in the passenger seat beside Janek, Kate Bannion stared into the blackness below. As far as she was concerned, they could have been dropping into hell itself. There was nothing to indicate how far off the ground they might be or where they actually were. The night was darker than any she’d ever lived through.

  Easing the stick, Janek worked the foot controls, bringing the chopper down in a perfectly executed landing. He made touchdown with barely a bump. The cyborg’s intricate optical system contained a microchip-controlled night-vision capability. The dense night opened up before his eyes, bathed in a soft green light.

  As the helicopter settled, Janek cut the already silenced motor. The rotors began to slow as he shut down the craft’s power.

  Swiveling his seat, Janek bent over the large hold all he’d brought with him from Eddie Culchek’s. He was already suited up for the night’s activity in a black bodysuit and combat boots. He opened the straps fastening the hold all and exposed the armaments stored inside. Kate watched in fascination as Janek pulled out a combat rifle fitted with a laser sight. He picked up a full magazine of hollow point slugs that had a second magazine taped to it for quick reloading. Janek locked the magazine in place, snapping back the cocking bolt. He leaned the rifle against the bulkhead, then reached into the depths of the bag for a belt hung with pouches. In the pouches were extra magazines for the rifle, a sound suppressor and a number of grenades. He clipped the belt around his waist. Slipping his auto-pistol from the shoulder rig, Janek checked that it was fully loaded.