“As soon as we can,” Herman said. It would be a gamble. He’d hoped for longer before the balloon went up. “And once we start, we can't stop.”
Hernandez snorted. “We’ve already compromised ourselves, in her eyes,” he said. “I doubt she would care if we stopped now.”
“No,” Tallyman agreed. “We’re committed.”
***
Jasmine kept her expression blank as she wandered through the ballroom, sipping her wine and speaking briefly to a handful of guests. The food was expensive, the wine was literally irreplaceable now that Earth had been scorched clean of life ... and yet, it felt like she was attending a funeral rather than a party. There was none of the sheer zest she’d seen on the streets, none of the willingness to throw off dignity and party, not even the leering looks that trailed after every half-way attractive woman ... the movers and shakers of Wolfbane didn't seem to take any delight in their leader’s victory. Jasmine couldn't help thinking that it probably wouldn't please Admiral Singh at all.
But then, Admiral Singh’s victory weakens their position, she thought. They know it too.
She allowed her eyes to roam the ballroom, silently gauging opinion. The older men and women were talking together in hushed voices, allowing the youngsters to dominate the dance floor. But even the young men looked crushed by events, moving around on the floor as if they were automatons or zombies. The young women looked like flowers, yet their faces were pale and wan. Their expensive dresses were wasted. The only people who looked to be enjoying themselves were the children, too young to understand what was really going on ... and yet, even they were quiet. They could pick up on the sombre mood even if they didn't know precisely what was going on.
Poor kids, she thought. Their parents had spoilt them rotten. They don’t have a hope.
She shook her head as a trio of young boys - they couldn't be older than seven - ran past her, leaving a set of tired-looking nannies in their wake. Jasmine turned away and walked over to the giant window, peering over the city. Hundreds of shuttles and aircars were flying around, their lights clearly visible as they rose and fell. Admiral Singh was bringing down nearly two-thirds of her crew to join the parties, she’d heard. Oddly, that made Jasmine think better of her enemy. A real sadist would deny her crew shore leave, even after their great victory.
But it works in her favour, she reminded herself. Everyone knows the victory is real, now.
A maid touched her arm. “My Lady,” she said. “Your presence is requested.”
Jasmine nodded, curtly. She’d been expecting the summons all evening. Mouganthu and his allies - and cronies - had been meeting for hours, no doubt trying to decide what they should do in response to Admiral Singh’s victory. They were committed, Jasmine had argued, but she wasn’t sure she'd convinced everyone. Too many of the corporate directors and their allies were used to living in a universe that sheltered them from the consequences of their own mistakes. Governor Brown might have smiled and said ‘boys will be boys.’ Admiral Singh was unlikely to be so forgiving.
She turned and headed towards the door, silently glad she’d thought to wear something a little more practical. The skin-tight suit showed off her curves to an extraordinary degree, but at least it covered her. And she’d been able to stick a small pistol in her handbag. It made her feel better, even though she was sure that she wouldn't be able to escape alive if Mouganthu decided to turn on them. But at least she could make him pay for his treachery.
“Hey,” a child shouted. “Look!”
Jasmine turned as she reached the door. A shuttle was hovering beside the tower, far too close to the tower. She tensed, one hand digging into her handbag, as a wave of force slammed into the windows and blew them inwards. Screams echoed through the ballroom as pieces of flying debris found targets, followed by crashing sounds as black-clad men plunged through the window and landed on the floor.
An amplified voice boomed through the air. “GET DOWN ON THE GROUND! HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEADS!”
Jasmine turned and ran down the corridor as she heard the sound of more windows shattering, followed by stunners being fired. Someone had probably offered resistance ... or maybe the policemen had just decided to stun the aristocrats anyway. She’d seen policemen on corrupt worlds come to resent their masters, eventually turning on them or merely looking the other way when the lynch mobs arrived. Not that it mattered, she told herself. The police wouldn't have raided Mouganthu Tower without Admiral Singh’s permission.
The building shook as she reached the door. Alarms were going off now, sounding oddly muted. Someone had clearly hacked the tower’s defences - or worse. The automated air defence systems would have shot down the police shuttles, if they hadn't been taken offline or sabotaged. Mouganthu had rats in his tower ... she shook her head in annoyance. There would be time to think about that later.
She threw the door open. Mouganthu was standing, staring around wildly; there was no sign of anyone else, not even his secretaries or aides. She hoped the other corporate directors had had a chance to escape before the police had launched their raid ... by now, they’d be installing a ring of steel around the tower, just to make sure that no one could get out without being captured. And then they’d search the tower from top to bottom. She had to get out before the ring of steel was firmly in place.
“This way,” she snapped. She keyed her wristcom, sending Stewart and Haverford instructions to run. Mouganthu had to be kept alive. His survival was now her priority. “Come on!”
“There’s an emergency shaft to the bottom,” Mouganthu said. He started towards a painting that covered half the wall. “This way ...”
“They’ll be watching it,” Jasmine snapped. She’d seen enough of the local police forces to know they were thugs, but reasonably well-trained thugs. Cutting off the obvious line of retreat would be second nature to them. “This way!”
Her wristcom bleeped. Stewart and Haverford were making their way out of the building - she hoped, grimly, that they’d have the sense to go to ground afterwards. God alone knew where else was being targeted. Admiral Singh was almost certainly going after all the corporate directors ... in hindsight, Jasmine wondered if the shuttles had brought down troops instead of spacers going on leave.
It doesn't matter now, she told herself, firmly. Later.
She grabbed Mouganthu’s hand. He was trembling like a leaf. Jasmine wasn't surprised. He might be a corporate shark, but he’d never seen real combat. He’d never faced death or killed a man ... he’d never even issued orders to kill a man. She yanked him forward, heading for the servants entrance. Hopefully, the hidden passageways wouldn't be closed so quickly ...
And if they are, she thought as she drew her pistol, I can’t let them take either of us alive.
***
Captain Joshua Forster shook his head in disbelief as he strode down the ramp, through the shattered window and into the ballroom. This ... this ... was how the corporate directors and their cronies lived? Everything, absolutely everything, smacked of unimaginable wealth and power. The food on the table, the dresses worn by the women, the scantily-clad waitresses and maids ... the wisps of silk one young woman wore had probably cost more than his entire salary. And yet ...
A young man stared at him, staggering to his feet. “Do you know who I am? You can't treat us like this ...”
Joshua shoved his shockrod into the young man’s chest and triggered it. The young man doubled over, screaming in pain. Joshua smirked as his victim crashed to the floor, his entire body twitching helplessly. A kick in the groin would probably have been kinder. He briefly considered stunning the asshole, but decided that would be too kind. He’d seen too many women trashed by aristocratic scum like this shithead to feel any mercy.
His gaze swept the room, alighting on a handful of women. Their dresses were in tatters, falling off ... it was a shame, almost, that his superiors had made it clear that none of the aristocrats were to be harmed more than strictly necessary. Shocking a loudmou
thed fool was one thing, molesting a woman was quite another. He shrugged as he looked away, hunting for a particular person. Whoever captured Herman Mouganthu would be promoted on the spot. But there was no sign of him.
“Cuff them,” he ordered. He doubted his men had anything to fear from the aristos - they were too stunned to offer any real resistance - but it would make their new position clear to them. They were prisoners now, not the lords and masters of all they surveyed. “And find Mouganthu!”
He peered at the faces, silently matching them to the files. There would be someone who knew everyone, someone who could be ... convinced ... to talk ... ah.
A dark-skinned man stared at him as Joshua stomped over, trying to look defiant. The act would have been convincing, if his hands hadn’t been shaking so badly. Joshua lifted his shockrod, then pointed it at the woman lying next to the man. His wife? His daughter? His partner or lover or whore? It didn't matter. The man's flinch was enough to tell him that he cared for the bitch.
“I want Mouganthu,” he said, sharply. He pushed as much naked menace into his tone as he could. “Where is he?”
“I don't know,” the man said. His eyes were flickering between Joshua and the woman. “I don’t know.”
He was lying. It wasn't very convincing. Joshua had met hundreds of far better liars.
“I don’t believe you,” he said. He placed the shockrod against the woman’s right breast, twisting it into her clothing until her bare skin was revealed. “Where is he?”
The man folded. “He was in his office,” he said. “But I don’t know where he is now.”
“Very good,” Joshua said. He smiled, nastily. “I thank you.”
He triggered the shockrod. The woman started to scream.
Joshua laughed.
***
Jasmine could hear shooting as she dragged Mouganthu down the corridor. The skyscraper played merry hell with her sense of direction, making it impossible for her to tell who was doing the shooting or where they were. Mouganthu’s security forces were probably responding to the emergency, but how? She had no doubt they were constrained by a reluctance to harm the guests in the crossfire ...
Unless the police are simply shooting the guests on the spot, she thought. She didn't think it was likely, but Admiral Singh had surprised her before. They might have orders to execute everyone.
She let go of him long enough to key her wristcom, but there was no response. The tower’s internal communications network was down. Worse, there was enough jamming in the air to keep her from contacting anyone outside the tower. She tapped a command into the device, hoping to ping Stewart or Haverford, but there was no response. She hoped, grimly, that that meant they were already out of the tower.
“She’s mad,” Mouganthu whispered. “She’ll start a civil war!”
“Worry about it later,” Jasmine agreed. She’d memorised the building diagrams. If she was right, they were close to a maintenance blister. She would have preferred to find a landing pad, preferably one with an aircar, but the police would have secured them as soon as they arrived. Besides, an aircar could be forced down easily. “Stay with me.”
She opened a hatch and stepped out into the corridor. The sound of shooting - and people screaming - seemed to grow louder, but there was no one in sight. She listened carefully, then crept down the corridor to the maintenance blister. The police probably wouldn't think of it as a possible means of escape. But if they were lucky ...
The door was locked. She cursed, then pressed Mouganthu’s wristcom against the electronic lock. It clicked open, revealing a tiny chamber on the edge of the tower. It was open to the elements ... she shivered as the wind blew through the entrance, chilling her to the bone. She pulled Mouganthu inside, then closed the hatch. It was unlikely anyone would check the blister until it was too late, but it was well to be careful.
“There should be a safety pack here,” she said. Building regulations demanded it - and Mouganthu, she knew, was a stickler. She dug out the heavy antigrav chute, checked the telltales and strapped it on. There was only one, but it should be enough. She strapped the control to her wrist, then tugged him forward. “Don’t let go of me.”
Mouganthu quivered. “I ...”
“Don’t let go,” Jasmine said. She hoped he’d listen. Normally, there would be straps and webbing, but both of them were lacking. “Close your eyes, if you think it will help.”
She wrapped one arm around him and jumped from the tower. Mouganthu screamed as they plummeted down, the air tearing at their clothes. Jasmine worked the control, hoping she hadn't found a new - or old - way to commit suicide. The chute hummed, slowing their fall; a second later, a gust of wind struck them, blowing them away from the tower. Jasmine gritted her teeth as they started to spin, trying very hard not to let go. HALO jumps were a great deal easier when her partner knew what he was doing.
He’s probably never jumped out of a building in his life, she thought, as she guided the chute down towards the darkened city. The streets were still thronged with party-goers. She searched for a landing site, hoping to find somewhere deserted. How many civilians go parachuting for fun?
The wind pushed and pulled at them as they fell into a side-street and landed neatly on the ground. Jasmine felt Mouganthu shivering against her, his leg stained ... she did her best to ignore it, knowing he’d be embarrassed when he recovered enough to realise he’d wet himself. It wasn't an uncommon reaction. She’d been told that two-thirds of the recruits in Boot Camp wet their pants during their first parachute jump.
“We made it,” she said, turning to peer up at the tower. The wind had carried them further away than she’d realised. It was a good thing, she told herself. The police wouldn't have a good idea where they’d landed, even if they’d seen the jump. “But we have to move.”
Mouganthu looked stunned. Jasmine glanced at him, then returned her gaze to the tower. A whole fleet of shuttles were buzzing around like angry bees, ferrying policemen and probably removing prisoners. Admiral Singh was going to be frustrated, Jasmine was sure. She’d taken one hell of a gamble, but she’d missed the real prize. Mouganthu had escaped ...
“Come on,” she said. The cold air was starting to bite, but she’d been in worse places. “We have to hurry.”
“That ... that was ... unpleasant,” Mouganthu managed. His entire body was shaking helplessly. “Will we have to do that again?”
“I hope not,” Jasmine said, lightly. She’d grown to like parachute jumping, but only as a solo sport. “But if we don’t get out of here now, all this will be for nothing.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“We searched the entire building, sir,” Lieutenant Glomma reported. “There’s no sign of Mouganthu.”
Joshua blanched. The tower was immense, but his men were experts in searching large buildings. They’d already located and opened the panic rooms, forcing the inhabitants to come out on their knees. The lower levels had been sealed within minutes, the men moving forward as soon as the shuttles had begun their assault. Mouganthu could not have escaped the building. But it looked as though he had.
There must be a secret compartment somewhere, he thought. Somewhere so carefully hidden that even we couldn't find it.
He gritted his teeth as he stared at the prisoners, lying on the floor with their hands bound behind their backs. A rich haul indeed ... but the true prize was missing. Mouganthu had to be found, the sooner the better. He glared at a young girl in a bright yellow dress - she had to be rich or she wouldn't have risked looking so silly - and then back at the lieutenant. Hopefully, the younger man was smart enough to know the danger.
“Get the rest of the prisoners out of the building and run them through the scanners,” he ordered, shortly. “Make sure you check their ID before shoving them into the vans.”
He scowled at the male prisoners, none of whom could meet his gaze. Mouganthu might have already been captured and simply gone unnoticed, although it was unlikely. He’d tortured enough pri
soners to make sure the rest knew that complete submission was their only hope of survival. He would have enjoyed it, if the taste of failure wasn’t at the back of his mouth. The Admiral was not going to be pleased.
“And then get the men to do a floor-by-floor search,” he added. “Check for any hidden passageways below the tower too.”
“There aren't any on the building plans, sir,” Glomma said.
Joshua snorted. “A man as rich as the asshole we’re hunting can easily arrange for something to be kept off the plans, Lieutenant,” he said. “There could be a tunnel leading down to the sewers too.”
His lips twitched. Perhaps that was the answer. Mouganthu might have constructed a secret panic room - a lair - and concealed it within a supposedly solid wall. The skyscraper was overdesigned for its size, he’d been told. There could be an entire network of rooms and passageways completely disconnected from the remainder of the building. Or maybe Mouganthu had just managed to jump into an aircar and flee before the police raid really got going. His security staff were good, better than Joshua had expected. Caught by surprise, half their weapons still locked in the armoury, they’d still killed a number of policemen before they’d been wiped out. Joshua would have been impressed if he hadn't had to write a final report on each of the dead men personally.
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