by TW Iain
But only if the fight became one-on-one. It wouldn’t affect a shoot-out.
The Brothers were already there, seated. Jornas jerked his head to a spare seat, and Rodin lowered himself into it. Cobey shuffled, glaring at Rodin, but Jornas sat with one leg up on the opposite knee, his elbows on the armrests, his hands together. His expression was blank.
“Thought we made our position clear last time,” Jornas said.
Rodin nodded. “I’ve got information.”
“Information you believe will convince us to abandon our own path and join with Genna?”
“Information that may be of interest.”
“You think we don’t have our own sources?”
Rodin shrugged. “I’m sure you do. I might be bringing old news. Then again, I might not.”
Cobey huffed. Jornas waved a hand at his brother.
“Then maybe you should tell us.”
Rodin nodded again. “There’s a growing faction in your district who want to attack the Factory.”
“Any factory in particular?”
The response from Jornas was too fast, and Cobey shuffled again.
“You know which one.”
Rodin waited. Cobey glared at him, but Jornas brought one hand up to wipe across his brow.
“You’re making assumptions regarding knowledge, Rodin,” Jornas said. His tone was soft, and again Rodin noted the words he chose, how he attempted to come across as…as cultured, or book-smart.
“You want me to spell it out?” Rodin said after a pause, when it became clear that neither Brother was willing to lead this conversation. “The Factory, over near the Haze. The one owned by the party you’ve made a deal with. The ones who would no doubt be very upset if their facility was attacked.”
Cobey shook his head and glared at his colleague. “Told you we shouldn’t have let him in. He’s trouble.”
“And it’s better to keep trouble close, where it can be controlled.” Jornas brushed a hand across his trousers. “Isn’t that right, Rodin? What’s the phrase? Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”
“You think I’m an enemy?”
“Bloody killed Nilleck.” Cobey waved a finger at Rodin like it was a loaded weapon.
But Jornas reached an arm across. “An unfortunate but understandable turn of events, my dear brother,” he said. “A risk that must accompany the nature of our work, no? And our assassin here has made no move against either of us, has he?”
“Not yet.” Cobey faced Jornas now. “But he’s a crafty bugger. Don’t know what he’s planning.”
Jornas pulled his arm back. “A good point. You’ve been snooping around in our territory, Rodin. You make accusations regarding our business affairs. What is it you want?”
“You already know what I’m after.”
“And we’ve already given you our response. Yet you return, with an offer of information. You believe you can force us to change our minds?”
Rodin shook his head. “Not trying to force. Appealing to your intelligence.”
“Bloody sneaky bastard.” Cobey’s voice was a whisper, but his eyes shot blades at Rodin.
Rodin ignored him, focused on Jornas, couldn’t afford to get distracted.
Jornas brushed his trousers again. Rodin couldn’t recall him doing that before—must have been a new habit he’d picked up recently. Seemed like a Dome thing to do, brushing non-existent dirt from clothes.
“Intelligence,” Jornas said. “Interesting choice of word. You want us to see you as an ally, and yet—if your assumptions are correct—you’re an enemy to those we work with. So your motives become clear—you wish to drive a wedge between us and them.”
And that was as good as an admission as Rodin was likely to get. He allowed a grin, saw the flash of realisation in Jornas’ eyes.
“Might be easier if we speak plainly,” he said.
Jornas laughed, the sound tinged with uncertainty. “I can’t trust you to speak the truth, assassin.”
Rodin brought his hands up, palms toward Jornas. “Something we can both agree on, then. But can you trust your new friends to speak truth?”
“Business relationships are based on common ground and contractual details,” the man said without missing a beat. “Truth doesn’t come into it.”
“So you admit they lie to you. Good to know you’re not as blind as you used to be.” Rodin paused, let Jornas’ frown fade. “If they lie, do you really believe they’ll honour any contract? Someone I don’t trust offers me their left hand, I focus on the blade in their right.”
Jornas nodded, his composure recovered. “You think we’d rush into any arrangement? We know business—not simple contracts to remove targets, but more complex matters. Our relationships with…with other parties are all in order.”
And that was the in Rodin needed. “So they’d be happy if forces in your district rose against them?” he said.
“You threaten us?” Jornas asked. “This is your play—move against our new colleagues in some feeble attempt to win us over to your Genna?” He laughed. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you?”
Rodin sat back in his chair, watched the man’s cheeks wobble as his laugh faded. The smile remained, as false as ever.
“You remember Garrick?” Rodin said eventually. “Invaded Genna’s district, had help from a certain group of people. They gave him forces she couldn’t defend against, and in return they used Garrick to further their own aims. Only, when he’d served his purpose, they abandoned him, let him die. Never honoured the promises they’d made.”
“And Garrick was a fool.” Impressive, how Jornas remained calm. “We both know he was too temperamental. They might have used him, but only because he was using them. Our situation is entirely different. We’re not after using their weapons to extend our district.”
“But you still gain from their help. And in return they want something from you.”
“That’s the way business works.”
“And when they have what they want?”
Jornas raised an eyebrow. “They want our co-operation, nothing more.”
At least the man was talking plainly now. “You sure about that?” Rodin leaned forward now. “The way I see it, they want free passage across this district. Used that once, getting their forces into Red. Pretty sure they’ll use that passage again.”
“And while it is mutually beneficial, we have no problem with that.”
“But you’re still someone else they have to deal with. Surely it’s better for them to own this whole district.”
“As I say, our relationship is mutually beneficial. They have been nothing but honourable in our dealings. I see no reason why they would go back on our arrangements.”
Rodin struck home. “Unless they have evidence you’re working against them. For instance, if there’s an uprising against them in the district you say you control. That happens, and they declare any arrangement void. You go from friend to enemy. And we all know how they deal with their enemies.”
He sat back, trying not to smile as both men’s mouths moved into thin, straight lines. The female guard glanced over. Rodin didn’t know if either of the Brothers noticed. There was a flash of something in her eyes, maybe fear.
“We need to contact them,” Cobey said, turning to Jornas. “Make it clear this isn’t anything to do with us.”
“And they’ll accept that?” Rodin said. “If they want an excuse to remove you, they’ll play this however they want.” He shook his head. “Way I see it, you need to stop this rebellion before it causes any damage.”
“But it’ll never work anyway,” Cobey said as Jornas sat back, hand rubbing his chin. “They might get close, but the Factory’s too strongly protected.”
Jornas jerked when Cobey mentioned the Factory—a clear breach of whatever secrecy they’d decided upon.
“Doesn’t matter. You run this district, so you’re responsible for the att
empt.”
“But we could argue we know the place is protected,” Cobey said. “We say we know there’s no real danger.” He turned to his Brother. “That would work, right?”
Jornas took a deep breath and shook his head. “I doubt it. Hate to admit it, but Rodin has a point. They’d use this.” He grimaced. “We need to stop the attack. Even letting the rebellion build is a sign of weakness.”
The female guard had regained her composure now. Her male counterpart had shown no signs of listening.
The Brothers’ faces twitched, their brows furrowed. Rodin waited.
“Bet it’s that Arivan,” Cobey muttered.
“We can’t leap to conclusions.” Then Jornas must have noticed Rodin’s questioning look. “Local troublemaker. Has a habit of encouraging others.”
“Genna has a few of those,” Rodin said. “Where’s he based?”
“Moves around a lot. Used to have rooms close to us, but last I heard, he was over to the west.”
“The Haze?”
Jornas shrugged. “He’s a hard man to keep track of.” Then he turned to his Brother. “We should make enquiries. Even if he’s not involved, he might know who is.”
“You want me to do it?”
Jornas started to nod, then stopped. He turned back to Rodin. “Thank you,” he said. “Still not going to align ourselves with Genna, but we appreciate your information.”
Rodin opened his arms. “Pleased to help.” He wanted to say more, explain how this was preferable to killing, explain how Genna sought this kind of co-operation too. But that would sound…not desperate, but something close.
“Do you have contact details?” Jornas asked. “It might make sense to exchange.”
Cobey frowned. “You working with this man?”
“If he has more information, I’d like to hear it.” He turned back to Rodin. “If you’re willing, that is?”
Rodin nodded, pulled out his screen. “Got a basic message system already set up. Solitary—you understand.”
“Of course. And don’t expect to be able to use our reciprocal details for infiltrating any further.”
“Wouldn’t know where to start.”
“But you’d know those who would.”
Rodin nodded, said nothing. He pulled up the details he’d registered before leaving Paskia’s base. “You open to receive?”
Jornas tapped the screen on the desk. “Proximity.”
“Best to be secure.” Rodin leaned forward, pushed his screen until it touched Jornas’. They both buzzed as the data shared.
Rodin stowed his screen back in the wide pocket in his trousers—he’d replace it in his jacket when he picked that up on the way out. Then he stood.
“Won’t say it’s been a pleasure,” he said, “but maybe this’ll work out for all of us.”
“Mutually beneficial.” Jornas stood, held out a hand which Rodin took. “But let’s take each situation as it arises.”
And then Rodin left, escorted from the house.
He didn’t smile until he was some way down the street.
- 20 -
The first thing to hit Cat as he stepped from the warehouse that hid the Factory’s entrance was the earthy, damp smell, the honest aroma that he associated with the edge of the wilds, the point at which nature became the dominant force, mankind pushed into second place.
Of course, there was only a hint of that here—the district around the Factory might be sparse, but there were still buildings, still many signs of human life. Long, flat warehouses mingled with single-storey residential dwellings, all set a distance back from the streets.
But there were still places for observers to hide. Even with so much space, there was no security.
Cat and Iralla were accompanied by two warriors, both male, both tall and stocky. Not what Cat would have selected for a reconnaissance mission, but he had no say in the matter. These warriors were Iralla’s selection, for her own ends.
Bear and Cobra—that was how the trainer had introduced them, with warrior labels rather than original names. Bear was a powerhouse of a man, and his wild beard and hair only added to his intimidating appearance. Cobra was tall and lithe, and moved with the grace of one who would strike with speed and agility.
Either one could kill Cat in a heartbeat. All it would take was a signal from Iralla.
“Where do you want to start?” she said, leaning in to Cat.
“As we discussed, we make an initial circuit.”
She waved a hand. “Plans always change in the unfolding. But we might as well take a walk. Come on.”
She led the way, Cat following. The warriors moved to either side, some distance away. They made no sound, but Iralla’s boots must have had a stone lodged in the tread to account for the tapping every time she took a step.
“What do you think?” she asked with a half-turn of her head.
“I still think a proper reconnaissance would have been in order, with multiple patrols and observation points gathering data over a period of a few days at the minimum.”
“But we need to return to Ross this afternoon, or had you forgotten our instructions?”
“If you were so keen on investigating these disturbances, mentioning it earlier might have given sufficient time to plan.”
“To be honest, I didn’t realise how activities out here might impinge on the running of the Factory. It made sense to have a quick look before we left.”
They’d already had this conversation, at least three times, and each time Iralla had shut Cat down, refusing to entertain his arguments. Her attitude—at least outwardly—was that they should make the best of a poor situation and at least get a flavour of the atmosphere in the districts.
That wasn’t a clear enough argument, and they both knew it, but Cat gave in each time. There was no point fighting battles he stood no chance of winning.
The warrior on the side away from the Factory—Bear—drifted closer and leaned in. “Looks like a few residents watching, some distance off. Shouldn’t be a problem. You want me to take a look?”
Iralla shook her head. “Only intervene if they become a direct threat. Our primary mission is observation, after all.”
“Sure thing, boss.” The mountain of a man drifted back to his original position.
They turned into a wider street bordered by old commercial buildings—many still had signage over their broken windows, although the colours had faded so much that it was impossible to discern any text. Cat studied these surroundings, and could detect no current signs of life.
The warrior would have superior senses, but that didn’t mean Cat had to trust him. He didn’t appreciate the way Bear referred to Iralla as ‘Boss’, either.
Cobra remained at a distance, scanning the area just as Bear was. But now and then he’d glance across to Bear, and when he caught his fellow warrior’s eye he’d raise the slightest of smiles, an understanding between the two of them.
And it was nothing Cat could control. But he could control his own actions.
There was movement up ahead, a shadow behind a broken window. Cat wasn’t the only one to spot it—Iralla looked across to Cobra, jerked her head in a signal to check it out.
The warrior darted along the street. Bear closed in on Iralla and Cat as they moved aside, toward a single-story building that was more a concrete block than dwelling, with windows for anything to emerge from.
But the roof was flat. Cat glanced up, felt adrenaline surge as his fingers eased around the blade on his hip.
“Bear,” he said. “You want to check up there?”
Iralla shook her head. “No. He’s here to protect us. We don’t split up.”
Ahead, Cobra reached the suspect building. The shadow by the window didn’t move again, and Cobra rushed around the side of the house.
Cat heard scraping from the roof. It could have been birds, but he doubted it.
His fingers gripped his blade, and
he eased it from the sheath. Iralla and Bear took a step forward, as if following Cobra. Or as if they wanted more distance between themselves and Cat.
He looked to the ground, to the wavy line that denoted the shadow from the edge of the roof. As a bulge emerged he readied himself. As the shape grew an arm he glanced around to get his bearings. As the shadow became the form of a person Cat prepared.
As the shadow-figure jumped Cat stepped to the side.
His attacker landed, and Cat responded as he’d planned. He gripped the attacker’s wrist firm then swung his blade, tightening his grip as the pressure increased, as the metal edge found its target.
Before his attacker had dropped to the ground, Cat pounced forward, knowing he only had one opportunity to get this right. But he had surprise on his side, and knew exactly what he was doing.
It was too close for comfort. Bear started to turn, and Cat had to adjust his attack at the last moment. But his blade found its mark, sinking deep into the warrior’s neck.
They might be strong and fast, but they were still human.
Bear staggered back, but not before letting loose with a roundhouse punch. It didn’t land with the warrior’s full force but still sent Cat flying to the ground. He rolled and sprung to his feet, a second blade already in his hand. This one was from inside his jacket, lightweight, perfectly balanced.
It spun through the air and hit Bear between the eyes.
Bear staggered, then dropped.
Cat jumped forward, another blade in hand. He ran the edge across the warrior’s throat to make sure.
Then he turned to Iralla.
She held a screen, glass facing her. And rear camera facing Cat.
“So when the assassination is botched, you use footage of my retaliation to ensure my co-operation,” he said.
She shrugged. “Something like that.”
“And the movement in the house Cobra’s investigating—I take it that’s just another part of the ruse?”
“Is that important?”
“I suppose not.” The rear of the screen was polished, a new model, most likely only a few days old. In this light, Cat was able to make out the rough reflections of buildings behind him, the ones they had been walking towards.