The Island Deception

by Dan Koboldt

  They’d reviewed it twice already, but Logan knew she was serious. Good thing Bradley wasn’t here to roll his eyes and make a snarky comment. They went over it again, piece by piece. Then they were five minutes out. Weapons free. Mendez snuffed the lantern so they’d have some time to let their eyes adjust.

  Wish we could all have IR goggles, Logan thought. He’d lobbied for that and about a dozen other things for this mission. Most of them got shot down. The company executives were nervous letting modern tech through. Especially now that they knew just how organized the world’s magicians seemed to be. Granted, that was all based on Bradley’s intel, which had more holes than Swiss cheese. He’d pointed this out, but it made no difference.

  They’d allowed IR on exactly one optic device, and that wouldn’t help at this range. The executives’ casual refusals on Logan’s other equipment requests rankled him more than a little. It was one thing to issue a tech ban from your two-thousand-dollar swivel chair. Another to be the guy with boots on the ground, and wishing you could see your enemies in the dark.

  Logan smiled when he saw the lanterns hanging on the admiral’s walls. Talk about a lucky break. Mendez and Chaudri both fixed on the points of light with binoculars, and made a note whenever someone walked in front of one. Which they did like clockwork, every forty-five seconds. Logan steered; Kiara monitored their progress on the ADR.

  “Two minutes,” she said. “Better let me skipper.”

  Logan moved out of the way and let her take the control rod. Time to break out Slippery Pete. He double-checked the cartridge, cocked it, and uncapped the scope.

  “One minute,” Kiara said.

  Mendez and Chaudri stashed their binoculars and were checking their weapons. Logan went prone on the deck, and rested Slippery Pete’s barrel on the rail. The sound of the surf hitting the rocks rose to a thunder pitch. The cliffs loomed dead ahead. The gap between them seemed smaller than he remembered. Kiara started muttering to herself.

  Narrow as the cog was, they still only had about a yard of clearance on either side. If Kiara was off by more than that, the ship would hit the side of the boulders. Every sentry guarding the wall would hear them coming then, and they’d turn the passage into a goddamn shooting gallery.

  Everything was silent all around them. The wind had fallen to nothing, and the hum of the electric motors became muted as Kiara cut the power. They were pretty much coasting. No acceleration meant no steering, however, so Logan said a small prayer that the lieutenant had put them on the right path. Jesus, everything had to happen just right on this mission, or they’d be in deep. He held his breath.

  The rock wall to port loomed so close that he could reach out and touch it. Then even closer. The hull scraped against the rock. The sound made him hunch his shoulders. Then the ship slid free, and the wall fell away. The water opened up into a good-sized lagoon. Thank God.

  Kiara checked her laser rangefinder. “Seventy-five yards to the wall.”

  Logan eased the pneumatic rifle to his shoulder. “Let’s do this.”

  Mendez was ready. “First two targets, northwest corner.”

  Logan followed the wall up. It was too dark to make the targets, so he found the switch for the scope’s IR mode. Kiara had gotten a tech exception for this scope only, so he might as well take advantage. He flipped it on. Two bright red blobs appeared. There you are. He took aim, fired, pivoted, fired again. Each guard-shape flapped impotently at the dart, and then collapsed like a ton of bricks.

  “Two down,” Logan said. “The blood flies are a bitch tonight.”

  “The other pair should be about twenty degrees south,” Mendez said.

  Logan swiveled the scope of the rifle, but saw nothing. Damn it, where are they? The scope showed only darkness, and the infrared didn’t do any better. “Don’t see them.”

  “Give it a sec.”

  Two heat signatures bloomed out of seeming darkness. They must’ve been behind something. He took a breath, let half out. Pulled the trigger, dropped one. Swung over, dropped the other just as quick.

  “Nice shooting,” Mendez said.

  Two more targets went down, and then the walls were clear.

  “Gods, but you’re good at that,” Chaudri breathed.

  Logan nodded. “Thanks.” I ought to be. He had to admit, it felt good to be doing something.

  “That’s it for the sentries,” Mendez said.

  Kiara hit the throttle on the motors again. The ship lurched toward the shore. Logan broke down the pneumatic rifle, double-checked his pistol, and moved to the bow. Mendez was already there, offering some quiet encouragement to a nervous-looking Chaudri. The whites of her eyes were showing. Mendez’s were pools of darkness.

  “Everyone ready?” Logan buckled on his sword-belt and cinched it tight. He’d use the dart pistol when he could, but it never hurt to bring a backup.

  “Damn right we are,” Mendez said. He grinned, and his teeth shone in the darkness. “Now’s the fun part.”

  Chapter 38

  Recovery

  “Alissian fighters drastically outmatch us in skills and experience. All of our technological advantages and training programs make us, at best, evenly matched.”

  —R. Holt, “Assessment of Alissian Militaries”

  Logan hated going into a building blind. The admiral’s small keep probably had two or three floors and at least a dozen chambers. Not a single mason in Valteron City remembered who’d built it, or had any idea of the layout. The best they had was based on a set of plans for a smaller keep in the foothills north of the city that Chaudri dug up somewhere. The place belonged to a retired ship captain. The strong room was centrally located, on the lowest floor.

  Logan hoped like hell that the admiral’s place would have the same design. Otherwise it’d be a room-to-room search in a building full of soldiers. No thank you.

  Logan signaled Mendez to take up position beside the dome-shaped front door, then tried the handle. It didn’t budge. Probably barred from the inside. They had maybe eight, ten minutes before the first guard started waking up.

  “We’ll have to cut it,” Logan said.

  Mendez unshouldered a black satchel, unzipped it, and took out the plasma cutter. The fist-sized center hub snicked onto the door, about waist-high. A slim metal bar clicked into that. Logan held it in place while Mendez attached the plasma cutter. Sapphire light bloomed beneath it. Mendez swung the blade in an arc. There was no sound, other than a soft hiss. No smell, except a faint odor of char. He swung it in a full circle, thirty-six inches wide. The wood attached to the cutter slid out like a cork out of a wine bottle, except this was far heavier. Mendez strained under the weight. Logan stepped in to help. It nearly toppled both of them when it came free.

  “Jesus,” Logan swore quietly. What the hell kind of wood is this?

  “Easy, easy!” Mendez whispered. They lowered it and leaned it against the wall.

  “Two minutes,” Kiara said.

  A quarter of their op time burned already. Damn. Logan slipped the safety off his pistol, gave Mendez the nod, and ducked through the hole. Mendez came through right on his heels, one hand on his shoulder, covering his blind side.

  Two ingress points. One was a mudroom full of boots and rain cloaks. The other led down a torchlit corridor. Logan liked being the first through a breach, but now he gave Mendez the go-ahead. When it came to being a sneaky bastard, the Cuban had the edge.

  The second Mendez took point, two men rounded a corner down the hallway. Logan raised his pistol, but didn’t have the angle.

  The pfft-pfft of suppressed fire from Mendez’s pistol was a beautiful sound. Both guards slapped a hand at their necks, where crimson tranquilizer darts had bloomed. Mendez and Logan leaped forward to catch them as they fell.

  Logan’s burden had on a light linen uniform in some dark color, but he felt the flexible hardness of chain mail beneath. He lowered the man to the floor. Thought about confiscating his sword, but figured, What’s the point? If t
hey were still in the keep when the guards woke up, one guy’s sword would be the least of their problems.

  The corridor ended at an intersection. Identical hallways ran left and right.

  “Which way?” Mendez asked.

  “Don’t know,” Logan said. “The other keep had the strong room right here.”

  “Logan and Chaudri, take the left passage,” Kiara said. “Mendez, you’re with me.”

  Logan didn’t hesitate, prowling down the left-hand hallway. He was on the lookout for more guards. They passed a closet, then an empty bedroom, then a small kitchen.

  “Now a dining room,” Chaudri whispered. “Then a coat room.”

  She was right on both counts. Logan paused long enough to give her a questioning look.

  “I believe I have the layout now,” she said. “If I’m right, we’ll want the northwest corner.”

  “Let us know the second you find it,” Kiara said. “Four minutes to go.”

  Logan and Chaudri crept forward as the corridor widened. There were doors on either side, all of them plain wooden jobs.

  “Sleeping chambers,” Chaudri said.

  Logan was counting the doorways back to the hall. Jesus, we’re deep in this place. If someone raised the alarm now, they’d never make it out.

  Kiara broke in. “Got a reinforced door. This could be it.”

  “Chaudri thinks it’s on our side,” Logan said. He looked at her. She shrugged. Might as well cover our bases. “Try it anyway.”

  The lieutenant’s voice barely registered. “Stand by.”

  He heard the creak of wood. The hiss of pneumatic pistols. Then silence.

  “It’s the barracks,” Kiara said. Then a more muffled order to Mendez. “You sure? Count again.”

  Logan pressed on as he listened. Chaudri was three steps behind him. The corridor opened up into a wide, dimly lit chamber.

  “Logan, there are twelve beds. But only two guards,” Kiara said.

  He ran the numbers in his head. Shit. “Two are missing.”

  The chamber beyond was some kind of a trophy room. Old military banners and flags hung from the walls to either side, many of them tattered or burned or both. Glass-and-steel oil lamps burned on little tables about every ten yards. Three stone pedestals stood against the far wall. One held a battered set of plate armor, another an old saber. Gods be praised, the third held a familiar canvas backpack.

  “Well, look at that,” Logan said. He strode into the room. He was so relieved to find Holt’s leverage-cache that he forgot to check his corners.

  A blur of movement was the only warning. Something slammed into his side. A goddamn broadsword. It would have cut him in half, were it not for the hidden armor. It still hurt like hell, and sent the pistol clattering away on the floor. Logan spun down and away. Chaudri shouted as two guards converged on her, pinning her arms to her sides.

  The third man was older and still wearing a nightshirt, but holding the sword that had just hit him. He was about six-two, solidly built, with a posture that said ex-military. His beard was longer and grayer than Logan remembered, but he was still easy to recognize. Mainly because he owned the place.

  “Evening, Admiral,” Logan said.

  “So you do know whose keep this is. That makes you an even bigger fool that I thought.”

  “It’s nothing personal.” Logan drew his sword. “I’m just the repo man.”

  He charged and slashed out with the sword. Blackwell slid aside, deflecting it just enough. They circled one another. The admiral made a side cut at him. Logan knocked it aside and countered, though not as fast as he could. Better to hide the true speed of the lightweight sword until he was sure. His opponent leaned away from the blow. He was conserving energy. Smart.

  Logan spared a glance for Chaudri. The two men held her arms tight, but it didn’t look like they’d taken her pistol. One guy had a hand on the hilt of his dagger, but that was it. Strange that they hadn’t tried using her against him. The admiral must have ordered them not to.

  That would change if Logan managed to win this fight.

  “Could really use some help here, Lieutenant,” he muttered.

  The admiral slashed at him once, twice, three times. The clang of steel drowned out Kiara’s reply. It was all Logan could do to keep the man at bay. He gave ground, retreating deeper into the chamber. Blackwell followed, moving on the balls of his feet.

  Logan moved around him and lunged in, trying to lock up the admiral’s blade. Then he could throw a shoulder into him, maybe knock him off balance. But Blackwell guessed his intent and twisted free, dipping his blade to gash Logan’s forearm.

  “Goddammit!” Logan backed off again and shook his arm to keep it from cramping. He hadn’t faced someone this good in a while. Maybe ever. What would Bradley do in this situation?

  Bradley would cheat like hell.

  That reminded him of the dart gun. He was almost on top of it. Blackwell made a sweeping cut at him. He ducked below it, went down on one knee, and fumbled for the pistol with his good hand. He found it. He brought the pistol around, pulled the trigger . . . and nothing happened.

  The admiral pounced, blade flashing in the lamplight.

  Logan threw himself backward. He hit the stone floor hard, and it jogged him to a realization. The goddamn safety’s on. He flicked it off with his thumb, rolled, and fired. Clean hit, center mass.

  Blackwell clutched at his chest and collapsed on top of him. Logan leaned to the side, reaching past him, and shot the guard on Chaudri’s right arm. The one on her left yanked a dagger out of his belt. He reared back with it.

  “Chaudri!” Logan shouted. He didn’t have a shot.

  The guard stabbed downward. Or started to, when a shadow loomed behind him. Hands wrapped around his wrist. Mendez’s face bore a snarl that was pure animal. He stepped on the back of the guard’s knee, forcing him down. Turned the guard’s knifepoint toward the man’s own neck.

  Chaudri remembered her pneumatic pistol. “Julio, stop!” She drew it and shot the guard point-blank in the torso.

  Logan exhaled. That hurt like hell, but probably saved his life. Mendez threw him against the wall as he crumpled.

  “Where’s Kiara?” Logan asked.

  Mendez looked confused. “She was right behind me.”

  Logan ran to the pedestal and scooped up the backpack. The material looked like old burlap, but felt like a poly-blend. Metal clinked inside of it. He held his breath and flipped open the top. There it all was. The laptop, the infrared goggles, packets of genetically modified crop seeds. Binoculars, portable generator, and even the Beretta sidearm. This has to be it. There weren’t any other bags in the room, and they were out of time anyway. He ran back to the entrance just as Kiara appeared.

  “Where were you?” he asked.

  “Got sidetracked. Do you have the backpack?”

  He brandished it. “Right here.”

  “Let’s move.” She about-faced and jogged down the corridor. Chaudri stood like a statue, apparently still shell-shocked from the close call. Mendez turned her around and pushed her ahead of him, but not ungently. Logan brought up the rear, reloading his dart pistol as he followed. That should be it for the guards, but the admiral might have family here, or guests.

  I hate having no intel.

  Kiara led them back to the long corridor, and up it. They slipped past the half-dozen closed doors to either side. Logan checked his watch. Twelve minutes gone. They’d be cutting it close with the guards outside. The keep was eerily quiet as they hustled down the long corridor to the breached front door. Through the hole, the moon’s light shone on the dark waters of the tiny harbor. Just a little bit farther.

  Kiara was out of the hole, then Chaudri and Mendez. Logan had one boot in and one boot out of the hole when the first bell began to ring. Not a friendly chime, either, but a deep sonorous tone that reverberated up from the ground. So much for the covert mission. He and Mendez heaved the door back into position, and freed the plasma cutt
er.

  “Back to the ship!” Kiara said.

  They flew down the stone stairs, taking them two at a time. The sound of the bell grew louder as they approached the waterline. The bell itself was in the top of the stone tower. Logan could even see the guy ringing it. He paused long enough to steady his aim, and fired. The bell ringer slumped, but of course the damage was done. Shouts of alarm came from a guardhouse a hundred yards to the south. Soldiers boiled out of it like angry bees.

  None of them had ranged weapons, but in thirty seconds that wouldn’t matter. Kiara, Mendez, and Chaudri leaped aboard the cuddy cabin and cut the lines. Logan jammed his pistol into the holster, put his hands on the hull, and shoved the hull away from shore. Kiara hit the throttle, and the ship shuddered into motion.

  Logan checked the guards. They were fifty yards out, but coming fast. He looked back to the ship, and it was almost too far to hop on. Crap. He backed up three steps, ran, and jumped for it. It seemed like he was in the air forever, and just when he thought he’d make it, his boot caught the rail. He went down hard, but fortunately his momentum carried him onto the deck. Less fortunately, he landed on his wounded arm, and it exploded in a firestorm of pain.

  No time for that now.

  “Mendez, longbow,” he said. Now that they’d been spotted, Slippery Pete was a no-go.

  “On it.” Mendez found the bow and quiver, nocked an arrow, and tossed Logan the crossbow.

  Logan caught it with his good arm. Pneumatic pistols were fine for stealth, but when soldiers were charging you with cold steel in their hands, you had to show some teeth. Mendez drew, aimed, loosed. The arrow slammed into the guard in front with a wet whump. He went down, tripping up the one behind him. Logan drew a bead on the third soldier. Clack-thrum. The crossbow bucked, and the bolt punched through the soldier’s mail in the same instance. He careened sideways into the water.

  Now the ship was ten yards from shore. It’d take an Olympic long jumper to cross the gap.

  Logan exhaled. Thank the Alissian gods, the admiral’s men hadn’t thought to use the siege engine. Then the bell started ringing again, and he cursed himself for feeling relieved too soon. He peered across the harbor and saw a broad, pale triangle ghosting toward them. What is that? A shadow glided beneath it, glinting with steel weapons. Oh, hell.