by Jay Posey
Elliot rolled up to his hands and knees, but stayed there, head down, maybe braced for another assault.
“I didn’t think they’d really be able to catch you,” Elliot said. “And I figured even if you got into trouble, I could get you out. I was half-right about that, at least.”
“And what was your plan after that?” Thumper asked.
“My plan… was to figure it out,” Elliot answered. “That’s always the plan. It’s the only plan anyone can have in this line of work. The only one that actually holds up. Keep your options open, figure it out as you go.”
“That’s not how it works!” Thumper said.
“Oh, it’s not? You know so much, why don’t you tell me how it works, then?” Elliot said, his voice steady, and tone calm despite the acid in his words. He rocked back to his knees, looked up at her then. “I’ve been here for fifteen years, kid. Fifteen. My assignment was supposed to be for five. Any guesses on how I’m still standing? Or why NID keeps refusing to pull me? But sure, you’ve been here a couple of days, you’ve got it figured out, why don’t you tell me how it works.”
“How long did you last once they took SUNGRAZER away?” Wright said; she couldn’t stop herself from twisting the knife.
Elliot moved from his knees to sitting on the floor, now looking truly defeated, and helpless. Her words crumpled him more than the blow she’d delivered.
“When I gave NID the Ava Leyla,” Elliot said, “I had to make up a story for it, because I wasn’t even supposed to know about SUNGRAZER then. I knew something had gone wrong, I just didn’t know what to do or… or how to fix it. And then Gregor… having to figure out what he thought I knew, and what he knew I knew… this whole thing has been a nightmare, just trying to remember what I was supposed to know when, who told me what, and what I found out on my own.”
He looked at his hands in front of him, spread his fingers, flipped them over to look at his palms.
“I’m not asking for your sympathy,” he said. “I don’t expect it, I don’t deserve it, I don’t want it. But I’m not a traitor. It’s just… they ask me to do the impossible. And I guess I’m too stupid and stubborn not to try.”
The room went still after that. Elliot, spent by his confession, had nothing more to say. And everyone else was waiting for Wright to take the lead. Her mind swirled with the dump of new information, of all the possible implications. Of what it meant for Lincoln, out there somewhere, waiting for them to come rescue him. He was counting on her, too, to lead.
“You said we can get both at the same time,” Wright said. “I’d like to hear how that’s supposed to work. But before we get to that,” here, she crouched down in front of him, locked eyes with him. “You’re going to have to convince me that I shouldn’t put you down right here in this room.”
“I’m a dead man no matter what, master sergeant,” he said, and he meant it. “If I go home, they’ll kill me for treason. If I stay here, they’ll execute me as a spy. At least give me the chance to clean this mess up before I go. It’s on me, I made it. Let me fix it.”
He held her gaze with the steadiness that only someone with truly nothing left to lose could manage.
It was probably suicide to trust him. It was a dead end not to. But just about anything they chose to do was better than the grey hell of wait and hope they were facing now.
“This guy you know,” Wright said. “Tell me everything.”
TWENTY-THREE
The series of events leading from the car ride to wherever he was now were so confused that Lincoln had no idea how long it’d been since they’d grabbed him. At the moment he’d realized he was caught, that there was absolutely nothing he could do to escape that car, he had embraced his cover identity fully, in the hopes that he could buy enough time for his teammates to bail him out.
Apparently that had been a miscalculation of epic proportions. He’d been bound, gagged, and drugged in the vehicle. His memories since that time were a jagged blur of jumbled voices, rough hands, and humid darkness. It took him until this most recent span of wakefulness to realize that they’d put a thick hood over his head. He took inventory as best as he could in his current condition. Seated, hands bound behind him. Lincoln swiveled his head around slowly, testing his neck while simultaneously trying to see if he could catch any light through the hood. No luck on that front. The muscles in his neck and upper shoulders were tight, but he didn’t detect any signs of damage. Next he inhaled deeply, held the breath in his lungs. Same deal; sore muscles, no pain. At least they hadn’t beaten him while he was out.
Lincoln turned his attention then to listening, to see what he could discern about his environment. There wasn’t much for him to go on. It was quiet, which was something. A heavy sort of stillness, like a library. More than that. An enforced silence.
“Hello?” he said, loudly. “Is anyone there?”
There was no answer, but Lincoln hadn’t expected one. The sound of his voice died off quickly. Not just an empty room then, but one designed to absorb echoes and sound reflection. Possibly to make recording of conversations easier. Possibly to muffle the cries of the interrogated. Neither boded well.
“My name is Simon Kim,” Lincoln said. “I’m a Senior Operations Officer for Ready Vector Solutions. Can somebody help me?” His throat was a little dry and rough, but no more than if he’d slept with his mouth open for a couple of hours. They’d kept him hydrated, then.
“Hello?” he said, giving it one last try.
“Hello Mr Kim,” a voice answered, warm, feminine, surprisingly close.
The hood lifted from his head; cool air refreshed him even as the sudden brightness stabbed his eyes. Lincoln blinked through the blur as his eyes adjusted. It didn’t take them long; the lights in the room were pleasantly dim, like a quiet restaurant or a firelit study. A woman sat opposite him, her chair turned off-angle from his. More therapist than interrogator.
She wasn’t wearing a uniform, but still looked as squared away as any soldier or police officer Lincoln had ever seen. A crisp, dark suit, her hair pulled tight in a bun.
The room wasn’t anything like Lincoln had anticipated. He’d imagined the cold, sterile, institutional decor of a police station or military base, function only, designed to create feelings of exposure and isolation. Instead, the atmosphere was warm and relaxed. Soothing colors, rich woods, comfortable chairs beside a round table. If his hands hadn’t been bound, he could have believed they’d realized their mistake and were about to apologize and let him go free.
“Sorry about the ride,” the woman said. There was the apology. Dare he hope for freedom to follow? “I’d like to remove your bindings, if you’ll allow me.”
“Uh,” Lincoln said. “Sure? Please?”
The woman nodded and walked around behind him, touched his wrist, and leaned to speak in his ear.
“I’m sure a strong man like you could harm me if you so chose,” she said. “I’m going to trust you not to do so.”
Lincoln nodded, thrown off guard by her manner. But even while his natural instincts flailed, his training detached and ran down the list of what she’d just done; an apology, a favor with request for permission, a compliment and implied submission, an offer of trust. A shotgun blast of social techniques designed to loosen his defenses. Even with his awareness of what she’d done, Lincoln had to shake off the powerful urge to respond in kind. There was an added layer of complexity too, in needing to appear to respond as any normal male would, without actually doing so. A chess game, against an obvious master. And Lincoln had never been great at chess.
The woman released his bindings and dropped them on top of the hood on the table as she returned to her chair. She sat legs crossed, arms folded, with an expression of mild disappointment on her face.
“Look,” Lincoln said, taking the initiative, and slipping a little desperation into his voice. “I’m not a wealthy man. I’m not important. If you’re looking to ransom me, there’s not going to be any money there.”
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“You aren’t in any danger, Mr Kim,” the woman answered. “My name is Mei Dimasalang. I’m an officer with the Martian People’s Collective Republic Internal Security Services.” She produced her credentials and showed them to him, then smiled and said. “I know that’s a mouthful. You can just call me Mei.”
Lincoln still hadn’t decided how to play it yet; scared traveler, outraged executive? He didn’t have enough information to go on to decide. Some of each, perhaps.
“OK, Mei,” Lincoln said. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“Of course,” Mei answered. “We’re just going to have a conversation. I’m going to ask you a few questions, and if you answer them honestly, then we’ll get you on your way.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Lincoln said, “given what you put me through. You could have just stopped by and knocked.” He put a little heat on the words.
“I understand,” she said. “I know this is upsetting. I assure you that we all want to get this matter cleared up as quickly as possible.”
“What matter?” Lincoln said. “I’m here on business. I’m out for a walk last night, and next thing I know your thugs are kidnapping me and treating me like a common criminal. Worse. Am I under arrest? Do you even have the legal authority to detain me?”
“Some unusual methods were used in your case, Mr Kim,” she said, her tone neutral, unmoved. “But I’m afraid your circumstances are equally unusual.”
“Then why don’t you tell me what my circumstances are, exactly.”
“We were made aware of the presence of a number of foreign agents operating within the Republic. Given the current political situation, I’m certain you can appreciate the level of concern this has raised for us.”
“That does sound bad, yes,” Lincoln said. “I don’t know what it has to do with me.”
“You work for…?”
“Ready Vector Solutions,” Lincoln answered. “We’re in navigation. Collision detection and avoidance, really.”
“You are employed by the Earth-based corporation Ready Vector Solutions?” Mei asked.
“Yes,” Lincoln said. “As a Senior Operations Officer.”
“For Ready Vector Solutions,” she repeated.
Lincoln nodded, and waited for the next question. It didn’t come. Mei sat there, looking at him expectantly. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t changed her position or posture since she’d sat down, a sure sign that she was an experienced interrogator.
“I’m sorry, but I really don’t see…” Lincoln said. “I just… I really don’t understand what’s happening right now. I was sent here by my employer to evaluate whether or not the Republic was a good candidate for setting up new operations. I’m an operations guy, that’s what I do. They told me all the travel arrangements were made properly, that everything was cleared. If there’s a problem with my paperwork, I’m sure we could get it sorted out with a call to our corporate HQ.”
“And you say your employer is Ready Vector Solutions?”
“Yes,” Lincoln said, not having to feign annoyance at the repeated question.
Mei nodded. “You’re aware that Ready Vector Solutions is a front company for the United States National Intelligence Directorate?”
Lincoln hoped the surprise didn’t show on his face. He chuckled, as if she’d made a joke. She smiled warmly.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said.
“Well,” Lincoln said. “You can take it however you want to, but this is… this is all so ridiculous. I don’t know what your game is here–”
“This isn’t my game, Mr Kim,” she interrupted. “These are games of state. But it is my job to identify and neutralize threats to the security of the Collective Republic. You’re only being detained for as long as it takes me to determine that you are not, in fact, a threat. I’m afraid so far, you haven’t given me a lot of help.”
“I can’t help you prove a negative,” Lincoln said. “Whatever information you have, I don’t know how any of it connects to me. It’s obviously wrong.”
“Some kind of mistake?” Mei said.
“Must be,” Lincoln said.
Mei nodded, and stood up. “Perhaps you need some time to consider your situation.”
“You keep acting like I have some say in any of this,” Lincoln said, and he started to stand. From the way she looked at him, he understood very clearly that he shouldn’t get out of his seat. He perched on the front of the chair. “I don’t know what you want from me!”
“I know you have friends in the area,” Mei said as she walked to the door. “And I’m sure they’re looking for you. But you shouldn’t expect them to be able to find you. Not until we’re ready for you to be found. I apologized for the rough ride, and I meant it, even though it was absolutely necessary. We couldn’t safely leave you inside the Republic.”
She watched him carefully to see how he took the news; Lincoln let the genuine feeling of shock register, knowing no pretense was necessary now. He didn’t necessarily believe her. It could be an easy psychological trick, to lie about his location, to undermine his hope of rescue and thus hasten the inevitable break. Everyone had their limits, Lincoln knew. Everyone broke, eventually.
Mei knocked on the door three times, and looked back at him over her shoulder.
“I may be your enemy, Mr Kim,” she said, as the door was unlocked from the outside. “But you are not mine. I hope the next time we talk, you’ll remember that.” She paused there for a moment, and smiled at him again, though a little sadly.
Once she’d exited, two men entered and took him by the arms and Lincoln wondered just how long he would last before they broke him.
TWENTY-FOUR
Wright checked the time, then glanced out the side window of the car. Two minutes. Thumper was running another pass over the target site, using three skeeters to provide overlapping coverage over a wide perimeter. Elliot had selected the meeting point with ample input from the team, all of them knowing full well that every advantage it gave them, it also presented to their opposition. By the same token, every vulnerability they accepted was one they also forced on their adversary. This was the Game at its highest possible level. Spooks and ghosts; mist fighting shadow.
And they were down a man. Wright had given up on trying to prevent her concern for Lincoln from creeping in. Now she was embracing it, inviting it in, letting it focus her. They wouldn’t be getting him back tonight. But this was the first step in the chain of events that would bring him home. They would get it done. She would make it happen, no matter the odds.
“Go time,” Sahil said from the front of the car. He’d let the AI handle the trip in, but he’d jacked his console in to override it, just in case.
Wright nodded, opened the team channel over comms. “Thumper, we good?”
“Good to go,” Thumper responded.
“Mikey,” Wright said. “You set?”
“Set,” Mike replied. “And I’ve got the place all to myself.” During planning, he had identified every viable position for a sniper nest, as well as each point he would use for counter-sniper work. He’d made a joke before they’d left the safehouse, about just hoping he wasn’t going to have to share his spot with the enemy. “At least for now.”
“Sahil?”
“Good,” Sahil said from the driver’s seat.
“Roger that,” Wright answered. “We’re stepping out now.”
She opened the vehicle door and got out first, checking up and down the sidewalk before motioning for Elliot to follow. At her signal, he clambered out and stood by her side. Alert, but relaxed. His demeanor surprised her, for some reason. For the first time since they’d met, he seemed solid, capable. Almost trustworthy. In his element, maybe. It occurred to her that she’d never actually seen him in action.
“Thumper, you got us?” she asked.
“I got you.”
“Mike,” Wright said, “if any of this starts to go sideways…” She turned to look at Elliot, waited until he
met her gaze.
“Yeah?” Mike said.
“Kill him first,” she answered.
“No sweat.”
Wright gave it a moment, staring hard into Elliot’s eyes for any sign of betrayal. But there was none. His eyes held hers, calm, steady. Resolute.
And then, while she was still staring him down, a smile broke across his face like a slow sunrise; he bowed slightly, and offered his arm.
“Shall we?” he said. Definitely in his element.
“We’re moving,” Wright reported. She didn’t take his arm.
In another life, Wright may have enjoyed such a walk, on such a night, in such a place. They walked alongside one another for about a kilometer through the quiet streets, in a residential area, removed from the bustling night life on the other side of town. It was a place of families; of dinners around a table, and bedtime stories, and evening routines. The windows were mostly dark, reasonable people in bed at a reasonable hour. Dreaming children, probably, all safe in their beds, with parents sleeping close at hand. And not a one of them aware of the deadly dance playing out on their streets.
They reached a low apartment building and stopped, their break-off point. He escorted her up the steps to the entryway, and as she was reaching to open the door, he took her by the elbow and gently halted. Wright turned halfway back to look at him.
“You’re a good woman, Ms Wright,” Elliot said. “Wish I could have gotten to know you under other circumstances.”
Whatever response he was hoping to get, she didn’t have one for him. After giving her plenty of time to reply if she’d wanted and receiving none, he nodded.
“Well,” he said. “Here I go.”
“Yep,” she said.
“You won’t have to shoot me, I promise,” he said.
He looked at her for a moment, held her gaze long enough that it might have become uncomfortable, if Wright hadn’t been used to staring people down. There was something more he wanted to say, but for once, he didn’t seem to know how. To her surprise, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. She didn’t react. Just held still as he drew away.