The Phoenix Reckoning (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 6)

by Richard Sanders

  Raidan would have given them more than forty-five minutes if he could have. He did not want to bomb the planet any more. He’d never wanted to bomb it at all. But, by last best estimate, Caerwyn’s fleet would be arriving from Ophiuchus within the hour.

  When they arrived, whether they still belonged to Caerwyn or if they now belonged to Kalila, it meant the same thing for the Organization’s battlegroup. They were outlaws either way. And so Raidan wanted nothing more than to get his hands on Caerwyn, end him and this war once and for all, and then get the hell away from Capital World before it was too late. But, in order to get Caerwyn, Raidan was determined to stay as long as it took, as long as he was able.

  Here and now, either Caerwyn Martel dies, or I do.

  ***

  Between the helmet’s thick, protective visor and the tinted, bulletproof windows, Hadriana could scarcely see the outside as they zipped along the twisted roads. From the time that they’d all loaded into the government van, she estimated they’d been driving a little under twenty minutes. Until five minutes ago, they’d had to move slowly, carefully choosing routes to avoid the chaos and rioting that was tearing up the capital. Hadriana had been sad to see the chaos, as numberless civilians fought the police—in heavy riot gear—all because of the lunatic in the sky and his threats of destruction.

  “Is there any way we can speed this up?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry, we’re here,” said Sergei from the driver’s seat. Like most cars on Capital World its autonomous driving mode could be disabled, allowing for manual control. On Sergei’s right sat Oliver, neither of the two ministers wore anything out of the ordinary. But the same could not be said for the nine representatives in the back of the van, including Hadriana. They’d been outfitted with body armor, gloves, and helmets with visors, all part of the standard uniform, Sergei had told them; this was the getup he had advised Caerwyn to approve for his personal bodyguards while he hid in the bunker.

  According to Sergei, he’d convinced Caerwyn, as his Head of Security, of the necessity of the guards wearing such extreme gear in the off chance that they are attacked by a mob of rioters, or if some debris from the bombing falls over their heads. Caerwyn had been easy to convince, and since that time, the guards who protected him at his bunker wore such gear. It did seem to be very protective, Hadriana had to admit, but far more importantly, it obscured the identity of the guard really well. Which had been Sergei’s actual goal.

  The van pulled up to a check point, Sergei flashed an ID at a guard in a guard station, and the van was waved through. They pulled up next to a small, box-like structure. It had a steel door and at least three guards were posted there. There might have been more behind the structure itself, Hadriana couldn’t tell.

  “They’re dressed exactly as we are,” said Representative Ogden.

  “That’s sort of the point,” said Hadriana. “Now shut up. Our voices might give us away.”

  They remained quiet while Sergei and Oliver got out of the van and had a conversation with the standing guards. Hadriana wished she could see them well enough to read their lips, maybe then she’d get some sense of what they were talking about. A tiny paranoid sliver of her brain worried that Sergei and Oliver had betrayed them, and were delivering the nine treasonous representatives to the king on a silver platter—or rather, in this case, a black van. But she talked down that paranoid voice in her head and forced herself to concentrate on the present. On the mission at hand.

  The guards rotate, we go in that structure, we descend the ladder, Sergei signals us to take up the guard posts as we descend the seven levels. Then Sergei, Oliver, Taggart and I will go to meet with the king in person. We’ll incapacitate him, speedily dress him in guard clothing, then hoist him up the ladders and into the van, feigning a medical emergency. After that we’re in the clear, all the way to the shuttle which, if Sergei knew his men as well as he seemed to think he did, would be all prepped and ready for launch.

  It’s simple. It’s a simple plan. We can do this. Nothing is going to go wrong. She tried to psych herself up to the task and felt her heart pounding in her chest like she’d taken a fistful of amphetamines.

  Sergei and Oliver finished their conversation with the guards. Oliver entered the structure on his way to go meet with the king, and Sergei returned to the van. This time he opened up the back door. “Okay, soldiers, we don’t have all day, let’s move,” he said, waving them out of the vehicle one by one.

  As each of them climbed out, they were issued a firearm. At Sergei’s insistence they had to look authentic, so they were the real thing, but since Sergei also didn’t trust a bunch of politicians to properly respect the firearms, he’d loaded them with blank rounds—and had explained repeatedly that blank rounds could still injure or kill at close range.

  Hadriana was last out of the van; she took what appeared to be a short rifle of some sort, and her eyes met Sergei’s. His seemed to say, “Let’s roll.” She gave him a slight nod.

  Sergei took a large pack from out of the van and strapped it to his back, then he moved to the front of the group and called them to halt. They’d gone over this so everyone knew to stand in position, forming a rectangle, and not move. They waited for about a minute until guards began to appear, exiting the small blocky structure. Shift change. Hadriana watched them apprehensively as they marched away in single file, seeming not to care too much about the formation of “soldiers” lined up to relieve them. More than likely they were just happy to be getting off duty. Little did they know they’d just completed their final shift ever.

  When the last of the original guardsmen was clear of the structure, Sergei gave the order to move out. “All of you with me,” he said. “Take your positions, Red Shift.”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” they each acknowledged him. Then, following Sergei, they marched toward the structure, passing the standing guards as they did. Hadriana hoped with every racing heartbeat that the guards wouldn’t get too close a look at any of them, that they wouldn’t somehow see through her visor and know something was wrong. Sergei had explained that the guards he could persuade, the ones who were sympathetic or he could otherwise leverage, they’d all been assigned to this shift and had each been convinced—or coerced—to not report for duty today. Hadriana and the other politicians were wearing their uniforms, fitting into them as perfectly as they could manage. Which was to say, not entirely perfect, but hopefully close enough.

  The surface guards, the ones they passed now, were not ones that Sergei had any real pull over. He couldn’t coerce them, he couldn’t leverage them, and each of them was perfectly loyal to the king. So they were the primary threat to this operation. Walking between them and into the structure without any of them becoming alarmed or suspicious would mean overcoming a huge obstacle.

  Here goes nothing, thought Hadriana, as she stepped in between the guards, both of which were standing a bit too close for her comfort. They each gave her a fleeting glance, but neither seemed to think much of the situation. I guess this is how the guard change usually happens, she thought. Of course, if one of them had gotten suspicious, and had decided to remain quiet about it, she would never be able to tell, since these guards’ faces were just as hidden as her own. But she decided to have a little faith and trust that the plan was still proceeding well.

  They descended the ladders, level to level, in single file. At each level, Sergei ordered one of them to stand guard and directed him or her to the position they would be expected to be standing in, in case one of the surface guards came to patrol the lower levels, which was a frequent-enough occurrence that Sergei had briefed them on what to do should that happen. Hadriana worked her way through it in her mind one more time, even though her job was different than the others. Try not to talk. If you must speak, answer with yes or no. Remember your identity, if you forget, the name is painted over the left breast of the armored jacket. The less attention you draw to yourself, the better. Your job is to stand there, making things look like bu
siness as usual, nothing else. Don’t wander off, don’t go patrolling your level, just stand guard next to the ladder and remain there until I say otherwise. Those had been Sergei’s instructions.

  “You,” Sergei pointed, positioning Representative Baldwin to stand guard on the top level. The rest of them descended to the sixth, that level was given to Representative Ogden. The fifth went to Representative Easton. The fourth to Representative Taylor. The third belonged to Representative Blackmore. The second to Representative Brady. And finally they reached the bottom level. Normally, there would be a guard stationed here also, but Sergei decided he’d rather the four of them be in the room together, Sergei, Oliver—who was already there—and both Hadriana and Representative Taggart. Four against one, it should be a simple matter to overpower the king and incapacitate him. How exactly they were going to do that, Sergei had not explained. Hadriana simply trusted him that he knew what he was doing. All of their lives hung in the balance.

  The entrance to the king’s chamber was blocked by a sturdy looking metal door. It looked so heavy and thick that it could likely withstand a bomb, although Hadriana was no expert in such things. She simply couldn’t imagine that door giving way to anything. Well, anything other than the proper code sequence, which Sergei knew. He pressed several buttons on a keypad and then allowed the door’s sensors to scan both his fingerprints and his retinas. “Processing,” said a pre-recorded female voice. Then, apparently satisfied, there was a click and the door slid open, revealing a plush-looking apartment.

  “This way,” said Sergei, and the three of them stepped inside what appeared to be a living room. Neither Oliver nor the king was anywhere to be found. The furnishings were plush and no expense had been spared on the luxury. Of course, knowing Caerwyn Martel’s love of wealth, and of himself, Hadriana had expected nothing less. Still, it was likely the most extravagantly decorated bunker in the history of bunkers.

  Sergei led them to an adjoining conference room where voices could be heard. Hadriana recognized Caerwyn Martel’s voice as he berated Oliver on some minor aspect of the Empire’s finances. When Sergei led them into the room, which had a large table in the center, surrounded by several plush chairs—in two of which sat the king and Oliver—Caerwyn looked at them with raised eyebrows.

  “Sergei, what are you doing here?” asked the king, sounding greatly annoyed. “Can’t you see that I’m already quite busy having to deal with this man,” he nodded toward Oliver, “and his inept control of the royal finances.” After getting a better look at them, Caerwyn’s surprised face turned into one that looked suspicious. “Sergei, what is this about? Why have you brought two guards with you? Don’t you know they’re supposed to remain outside, standing guard?”

  “My apologies, Your Majesty,” said Sergei with a bow. He continued to approach the king and, as he did, Oliver stood up, slowly walking toward the king from the other side, around the table.

  “Stop,” said Caerwyn, suddenly looking intimidated. “What is going on here?”

  “There’s a matter of great urgency,” said Sergei, once he was at the king’s side.

  “Well then deal with it,” snapped the king, who, not wanting to be intimidated, rose to his feet.

  “I am,” said Sergei. In a snap, he drew a baton from his sleeve—it seemed to appear out of nowhere—and smacked Caerwyn Martel in the head so hard that Hadriana thought the man was dead when he collapsed.

  “Oh, my God,” said Hadriana, somehow startled by the violence, despite knowing it was coming. “Is he—?”

  “Dead? No,” said Sergei, feeling the king’s pulse. “He’ll come around in a few minutes, which is why we must hurry. You three undress him, quickly!”

  Hadriana helped Oliver and Representative Taggart remove the king’s clothes—probably the most disgusting thing she’d ever had to do—while Sergei took off his pack and withdrew a helmet, armor, and a guard’s uniform in an extra-extra large size.

  Working as a team, they dressed the king in the guard outfit and then stashed his old clothing out of sight. “Okay,” said Sergei, “All together, ready? On three. One, two, three.” Sergei lifted the king from behind, managing to carry most of the weight, while the rest of them either helped to carry the legs, or else got chairs and obstacles out of the way. They moved until they’d gotten the king, looking very much like a fat, incapacitated guard, all the way outside his bunker and onto the bottom landing.

  Sergei whistled. Representative Brady, upon hearing the signal, also whistled. And the representative above him did the same. When the signal reached the topmost guard, Representative Baldwin, he threw down a padded rope that Sergei had smuggled in earlier and anchored to the wall. When the end of the rope reached the bottom level, they quickly tied it around their unconscious king, swiftly and securely, and then lifted him up. Sergei whistled again, and the guards above—all six representatives—got their hands on the padded rope and began to pull upward on it, while Sergei, Oliver, Taggart, and Hadriana lifted and pushed. As they slowly ascended the ladder, it became more a matter of Sergei pushing the king upward while Oliver tried to help steady Sergei, and Representative Taggart did the same for Oliver. Hadriana was last up the ladder, and couldn’t really contribute from that position.

  “Be careful, but be fast,” said Sergei, a poignant reminder that this was the most dangerous part of their mission. Should one of the top level guards decide to patrol the lower levels, and find them all hoisting a guard, no doubt there would be questions asked and answers demanded. Sergei will handle it, Hadriana reminded herself, but she also knew it would be better if no such encounter occurred.

  As luck would have it, they didn’t run afoul of any real guards until they were carrying the fortunately still unconscious king outside the structure itself.

  “Hold on there,” said one of the guards. Two more took notice and approached. “What is going on here?” No doubt they were surprised to see four guards carrying another guard—who was unresponsive—and then that group was being followed by every other guard assigned to protect the king.

  “This man is in need of immediate medical assistance,” said Sergei. “Stand aside.” The guard didn’t budge right away, so Sergei pushed him, and the group of them loaded the king into the back of the van.

  “What happened?” demanded the guard, following them.

  “Rogers fell from the fifth level all the way to the bottom. I need to get him to the hospital.”

  “But Rogers isn’t on duty today,” said the guard. “I’m quite sure of it.”

  Oh no, thought Hadriana, they’ve got us!

  “What is your name, soldier?” barked Sergei.

  “It’s Smith, don’t you recognize me, sir?”

  “Smith. Good. I’ll need to know who to reprimand later for being so callous about a comrade’s serious injury. Now, stand aside and let us take him, or else—if he dies—it will be your fault. And I will make certain the king knows who is to blame.”

  This seemed to intimidate the guard and he backed down. Not questioning them again until Sergei had taken the driver’s seat, Oliver the passenger’s seat, and the rest of them were loading into the van.

  “Why are all of you going?”

  “Shift change,” said Sergei.

  “You have to hold your stations until the next shift arrives,” said the guard, confused. “And that shouldn’t be for a few more hours.”

  “I’m in charge of security, and I require the assistance of these men elsewhere for an operation that is classified. And one of them is dying as we speak!” Sergei spoke with absolute confidence and so much authority that Hadriana nearly believed what he was saying. “Now, I want you and the others to guard this entrance until I return with the next shift. After I leave, no one goes in or out. Am I making myself clear, soldier?”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” the guard said. He then looked to the other guards, who, behind their helmets, were no doubt as confused looking as they could possibly be. “You heard him. To your pos
ts!”

  That was the last Hadriana heard from the guards, as Sergei closed the window and drove off. As the van sped for the exit, Sergei radioed in for them to open the gate and let the van through immediately, due to a medical emergency. They followed his orders and, by the time they reached the gate, they were able to pass right through, without losing any speed. After that, Sergei really stepped on it, taking the corners as fast as he dared, racing to get to the nearest private skyport.

  “I give it five minutes before they realize what’s happened and sound the alarm,” said Sergei. “Once that happens, everything will be on lockdown planet-wide.”

  “How far away are we from the skyport?”

  “About five minutes,” said Sergei, swerving onto the curb to get around a stalled vehicle, and then with a thud they were back on the road again.

  Every new street, every new corner, Hadriana always expected to see flashing emergency lights, or some other government vehicles coming up from behind or blockading them from the front. We have kidnapped the king, she thought to herself, the realization only now dawning. If that isn’t a capital crime, I don’t know what is.

  They reached the skyport and Sergei drove right onto the tarmac and into the launch bay, not stopping until they were next to a shuttle. Its engines were prepped and running; true to his word, Sergei seemed to have everything planned out.

  They loaded the king into the shuttle and got into it themselves. With a sudden lurch that nearly made Hadriana vomit into her helmet, they lifted off into the air. Once they were high above the city, Hadriana finally saw evidence that they’d been found out. The streets were being blocked off and emergency lights could be seen, like a flood of tiny colors scattered all around the capital. No doubt the ongoing riots had helped tie down government forces long enough to aid their escape.