Lockdown (Fugitive Marines Book 3)

by David Ryker

  Drake motioned for his companion to take a seat on a polycarbonate bench with a spectacular view of the refurbished Golden Gate Bridge. Neither of them were getting any younger, after all, and they had a lot to discuss.

  “He also confirmed an alien invasion, Oscar. Or did you stop watching before that part because it wasn’t about you?”

  Bloom scoffed. “Don’t tell me you honestly believe that nonsense, Morley! It was bad enough I had to hear it from my daughter, but I expected a more reasoned response from someone with your background.”

  Drake reflexively tapped his jacket’s breast pocket to ensure his nitro applicator was there. He had a feeling he would have to use it, just as he had the last time he had a frustrating conversation with an asshole in this park a few days earlier.

  “Toomey is many things,” he said. “But you and I both know he doesn’t make things up. He said in the video he’d been in contact with this man Kergan, and he’d confirmed that the Oberon One had been taken over and that the people there were working on advanced technology. Quinn says the result will be a wormhole generator that will bring an alien invasion force here to our solar system.”

  “Well, I happen to have spoken to the warden, Sean Farrell himself, and he told me nothing of the sort.”

  The nitro was out of Drake’s pocket and in his mouth a few seconds later as his heart began to react to the sudden rage that filled him. After he’d sprayed and waited a few moments, he drew in a deep breath and let it back out. He fixed his eyes on Bloom’s with a steely glare and chewed back the expletives he desperately wanted to let loose on the man.

  “You contacted Oberon One,” he said slowly. “Without telling me. None of my communications to them has been answered since this whole thing started, Oscar, and I’m the goddamn tribune.”

  “I’m the majority investor in SkyLode!” Bloom said indignantly. “And my daughter had escaped with a gang of inmates after a riot! I had to get a lid on it before word got out!”

  “Jesus, Oscar, focus! What did Farrell tell you?”

  “He said people had been killed during the riot, and that Quinn and his men had been responsible. That implicated Chelsea by association, and I needed her free from stains if she was ever going to run for your job. I agreed to send a private ship to Oberon One with some supplies that Farrell needed in exchange for his silence, and I passed the job on to Toomey.”

  Drake swallowed hard, willing the nitro to work better. Overhead, the sun blared down on them through the pollution-free sky.

  “Well,” he said, “it would appear that Toomey and this Kergan struck up a friendship. And from what Quinn says, Farrell is being controlled by Kergan, along with everyone else on the station.”

  “Utter bullshit,” said Bloom.

  “How did they get to Earth from Uranus in three weeks?” Drake demanded, managing to keep himself from adding you stupid bastard to the end of the question. “You know yourself that’s twice as fast as any ship currently known to exist.”

  Bloom was silent, so Drake pressed the advantage. “We can’t ignore the claims about these aliens just because you don’t want them to exist, Oscar, or because your precious family’s political aspirations might be in jeopardy. At the very least, we need to investigate what’s happening. The public is already buzzing about that video—”

  “I don’t care about the public…”

  “No, of course you don’t. Then how about this: I’ve already got the other two tribunes breathing down my neck, and a long list of Congress members and senators demanding to know more about the situation.” He took another deep breath. “I already saw my first piece of graffiti since the cleanup of San Francisco on my way over here today, on the base of a statue of the Unknown Soldier. Want to know what it said, Oscar?”

  Bloom didn’t answer.

  “No?” said Drake. “Not interested in what the common people are talking about? It said Jarheads 4Ever, in multi-colored letters two meters tall with a heart next to it.”

  That was enough to make Bloom react, even if it was a disdainful shake of his head.

  “This is just viral network nonsense,” he said. “And I won’t lower myself to it.”

  Drake clutched at his nitro applicator as his mind raced, trying to come up with a solution to this. They needed to keep the truth about Astana from coming to light, obviously, but they could no longer ignore the very real possibility that an alien intelligence was plotting against them on Oberon One. That was dire on its own, but Quinn’s insistence that they were trying to bring an advanced army through to take over the Earth—he couldn’t dismiss that, as much as he wanted to. He of all people knew that Quinn was no liar, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t crazy, either.

  Then it came to him. “What if I can prove it to you?” he asked.

  Bloom gave him a skeptical look. “How?”

  “I assume that Farrell will still take your calls. Get in touch with him and ask him about Toomey. If he denies being in touch with the doctor, we know he’s lying, and I’ll begin to make the appropriate plans.”

  “How does that benefit me?”

  Drake bit down on the angry response that threatened to burst forth from him, cognizant of the fact his security drone was still recording video of them and that there were several people lingering around the redhead’s food shuttle.

  “It benefits you in that your mind won’t be taken over by an alien parasite, along with the rest of the world,” he said. “To put that in terms you can relate to, it would truly make all humans equal, which I know is anathema to people like you.”

  Bloom returned the sarcasm with an ironic smile of his own.

  “People like us, Drake. Let’s not forget how far you’ve come from your humble beginnings, and how hard you’ve worked to keep what you have now.”

  Hallelujah, Drake thought. The message got through.

  “All the more reason for our interests to align, then,” he said. “The sooner we figure out exactly what’s going on with that station of yours, the sooner we can get to work on our next move.”

  “What about keeping a lid on the King situation?”

  Drake frowned. “I’m already working on something, but the less you or anyone else knows about it, the better.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Bloom, glancing at his wristband. “We should get in touch with Oberon One as soon as possible. Meet me on my floor in an hour.”

  “Isn’t your wife at home?”

  Bloom glowered. “It’s 30,000 square feet, Drake, and it’s after lunch, so I’m sure she’s already well into a bottle of gin. We’ll be fine.”

  Drake dropped his nitro back into his pocket as the two men made a show of shaking hands amiably for the security drone, and he hoped their smiles didn’t look as insincere as his felt. All in all, though, he thought it had gone better than he’d hoped as he strode back toward his drone, which dropped in anticipation of his approach.

  Now if only the rest of his plans worked out as well, he just might make it out the other side of all this bullshit. He hiked up the sleeve of his jacket, hit the encryption function and typed out a text message on the special non-government wristband he’d worn for the occasion.

  Technically, he’d told Bloom the truth: his security drone was only recording video of their meeting. His wristband, however, had been secretly recording audio of it as well, and transmitting it to a third party.

  Under normal tribunal protocol, he would speak his message so that it would be recorded for the government’s classified archives. Instead, he typed out a message that would be erased the instant it was read by the receiver, so that no record existed. In a world where everything was recorded and stored, it was an old-school way to keep secrets.

  He typed out You got all that?

  A thumbs-up symbol popped up on his screen. This should work out perfectly. Keep me updated on developments.

  Drake yanked down his sleeve again, picking up the pace of his stride and thinking about
how little he appreciated being told what to do by others, especially the two people he’d just been interacting with. He’d have to come up with a way to deal with that situation, and soon.

  6

  “I think maybe you have the wrong apartment,” Quinn said evenly as he raised his hands.

  The woman holding the shock rifle to his face was wearing an indigo smart suit that hugged all of her curves, and a helmet with a tinted polycarbonate visor. Behind her were three men and another woman, all similarly clad, all carrying shock rifles. At first glance, Quinn had thought it was Zero’s men, but he quickly realized the suits weren’t armored the way theirs had been.

  And, obviously, their leader wasn’t an asshole cyborg.

  “I highly doubt that,” the woman said through her helmet’s speaker. “You’re coming with us. Move it, we’re on the clock.”

  “You have a timeline for your kidnapping?” Bishop asked from the living room.

  “You’re a riot,” the woman said blandly. “There’s no exit from this apartment except through this door, so don’t bother trying to think up an escape plan. The faster we do this, the happier we’ll all be.”

  “Did my father send you?” asked Chelsea. “Because if he did, you can tell him—”

  “I can assure you it wasn’t Oscar Bloom. Now let’s go.”

  “Was it Drake?” asked Quinn.

  “Why would the man who has you in custody try to kidnap you? I was told you were smart. Guess not.”

  “Then who was it?”

  “It was Mr. Get Your Fucking Asses In Gear. Now move it! We won’t be able to jam the security cameras much longer!”

  “What’s the plan, Quinn?” Ulysses asked. Quinn could hear the menace in his voice.

  Quinn shrugged. “I guess we go along.”

  “Line up behind him,” said the woman, lowering the barrel of the rifle a few inches. “Two to a row.”

  “There’s nine of us,” said Schuster. “That won’t make for even rows.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” the woman groaned. “I don’t give a shit about your OCD!”

  Schuster frowned. “There was never an official diagnosis!”

  “Just do what she says!” Quinn snapped.

  They did, with Chelsea taking the place at Quinn’s side. Once they were lined up, the woman stepped back so they could enter the hallway.

  “What’s the real plan?” she hissed.

  He winked, but said nothing.

  The two of them stepped into the hall and were instantly flanked by two of the smart suits. Now that he was facing down the hall, Quinn could feel air rushing toward them and see the opening in the wall at the end. An airship was hovering outside the window and had extended a small tunnel to the window after obviously cutting through the polycarbonate.

  “You’re kidnapping us directly from the 67th floor?” he asked.

  “It was the most expedient way,” said the woman, jamming the muzzle of her rifle between his shoulder blades. “Move.”

  Quinn glanced back over his shoulder and saw the last of them, Ellie and Bishop, come through the door. He smiled inwardly as he realized his old second in command had instinctively known how Quinn would deal with the situation, and had deliberately taken up the rear position.

  He waited a beat to see how their kidnappers would form up. The first woman took point position, with one man on either side and the second woman behind Bishop at the six. He couldn’t have asked for better.

  “Civilians down!” he barked.

  With that, Chelsea dropped to the floor in front of him, at the feet of the woman who’d been doing all the talking. Quinn reached out and grabbed the barrel of her shock rifle just as he heard Ellie let out a yelp from the floor. He couldn’t see it, but he assumed Bishop had simply pushed her down before going after his own opponent.

  Quinn stepped to his left in the hopes of using his weight to pull the rifle from the woman’s arms. As he did, he caught sight of Maggott to his right. He had the right flank’s rifle in one hand and was swinging his other giant fist directly into the guy’s helmet. It connected with a crack as the rifle discharged in Maggott’s hand. The big man dropped to his knees on the floor as his body was engulfed in the electric blue glow.

  Shit. One down.

  His attention was drawn back to his own opponent, who used the enhanced strength of her suit to counter his greater weight and leverage. Quinn decided instantly on a different tack and dropped to his butt on the floor, letting go of the rifle as he did. Once on the floor, he drove his foot upward between the woman’s legs with all the force he could muster. Under other circumstances, he would have blanched at the thought of doing that to a female, but this was combat.

  The woman’s feet left the floor as he connected, and she fell backward about a meter before landing on her own ass. Quinn stole a look to his left, just in time to see Schuster taking on his own man while Gloom and Ben wrestled with the one who’d dropped Maggott.

  Guess they don’t consider themselves civilians, he thought stupidly.

  Beside Schuster, Ulysses was throwing punches at the helmeted head of their shared opponent. At the rear, Bishop was grappling with the other woman while Ellie backed herself against the hallway wall. Chelsea was up off the floor again, hoisting her foot to stomp on the downed woman’s helmet. Her ferocity sparked a flash of pride in Quinn’s heart, but it only lasted a moment as the woman raised her rifle and connected the muzzle with the sole of Chelsea’s foot.

  Shock rifles could fire balls of electrically-charged dust as quasi-projectiles, but they could also act as a simple taser, which is how the woman used hers on Chelsea. The shock activated on contact, launching Chelsea backward several feet and leaving her quivering on the floor next to Gloom’s feet.

  Behind him, he heard Ben grunt as the loud tack of the taser charge connected with some part of his body, followed by a similar sound from Ulysses as the same fate befell him. Then there was a muttered “motherfucker” from Gloom as she dropped under the taser shock as well. He heard Schuster struggling with the effort of containing his man while Bishop was trading blows with the woman at the rear.

  Several thoughts flashed through Quinn’s mind in less than a second. First, their kidnappers had orders not to hurt them, as evidenced by the fact that only Maggott had taken a full blast from a rifle. Second, that fact confirmed that the woman had been telling the truth about not being sent by Oscar Bloom, who’d never showed concern for the safety of anyone but his daughter.

  Third, and most importantly, was that they were going to lose. It always galled him to accept defeat, but nothing good was going to come from keeping this fight going any longer.

  “Stand down!” he shouted, raising his hands in surrender.

  “Goddamn it!” the woman snapped, looking at all the bodies on the floor. “Now we need all hands on deck!”

  With that, another six men in smart suits stormed through the tunnel from the airship and into the hallway. As they did, Quinn heard a loud thok, followed by a thud and a shriek. He turned to see Bishop out cold on the carpet and Ellie next to him, trying to determine if he was all right.

  Seconds later, the new arrivals were slipping rubber restraints over everyone’s wrists, including his own. Three of the six hoisted Maggott from the floor while the rest divided the others amongst them. Of them all, only Quinn, Schuster and Ellie were still conscious.

  “All right,” he said. “You’ve got us, we’ll come along. Where are we going?”

  “You’ll find out when you get there,” said the woman. Quinn registered her right fist sailing toward the side of his head, but his bound hands couldn’t move to fend it off, and it connected squarely with his left temple.

  He dropped to the floor, and the last thing he heard before losing consciousness was the woman muttering, “That’ll teach you to kick a woman in the crotch.”

  Then blackness.

  Quinn came to just as the airship was starting to descend.

  “Mo
rning, Sleeping Beauty,” said the woman who’d knocked him out. “Your timing is perfect; we’re almost there.”

  “Almost where?”

  He looked around and saw the rest were all conscious as well. Maggott looked the worse for wear, but the others seemed to be recovering well. Ellie appeared to be holding her own for someone so new to what he was starting to think of as the Jarhead Life. A glance out the window showed him parched dun-colored hills below them.

  “San Jose,” said the woman. “That’s all you need to know.”

  As the city grew closer, he could see the slums that spread out through the city. It reminded him of San Antonio in that it was spread out in pockets, rather than the densely populated masses of the eastern cities like New York or Philadelphia. But ultimately, slums were slums, no matter where you were.

  They touched down on the top of a hill that looked to be a few kilometers from any settled area. All he could see outside the window was a rusted shipping container, roughly three meters by six meters, lying on its belly in the tall, thick scrub.

  “Out,” the woman ordered.

  They all stepped off the airship. The dust that had been kicked up by the rotors still swirled around them in a cloud that reminded Quinn of the surface of Oberon after the meteorites struck, way back at the start of this whole mess.

  Good Lord, was that only two months ago?

  “What the hell are we doing here?” he asked as the suits began to remove their restraints. “You going to lock us in this container?”

  Maggott scowled and rubbed his wrists now that they were free.

  “We escaped from a space station, lass,” he said. “Ye think this is a challenge or somethin’?”

  “Looks like the place where I got mah cherry popped,” Ulysses said wistfully.

  The woman pointed to the container’s door as one of the men lifted the steel bar that kept the latch closed.

  “Your answers are in there,” she said.

  Quinn looked at Chelsea, who shrugged. The two of them started toward the door, followed closely by the rest. His eyes had barely adjusted to the dim light when someone slammed the door behind them. They were plunged into full darkness, and the heat was suddenly oppressive.