Du Bois (Frozen Apocalypse Book 1)

by T. J. Mines

  "You should avoid any council member, foremost Koval and Lopez," Ebo says, "the little brat has been calling you a fraud the whole evening."

  "Really? I'll have a talk with her tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow is fine, leave her be for tonight. If she comes looking for you, find an excuse."

  "I will, thanks." Quint looks at himself in the mirror.

  "Oh, and Quint," Ebo adds, "no flirting."

  Quint gives Ebo a hurt look.

  "But I realy like these ugly old fucks," he says with a mock pout.

  Ebo laughs.

  "You know what I mean."

  Quint nods and straightens his jacket. He pulls open the door and walks out.

  The party is boring. There is some dancing on the live music. The drinks and food are excellent. The people gathered are the elite of Du Bois, so Quint is one people taking the average age down. He does see nice girls to play with, but he respects the instructions by Ebo and doesn't give them any attention. Most of them are servants anyway. Guests should never hit on the servants, it just looks like they can't get anything better.

  Ellen tried to latch onto Quint a few times, but Quint evaded her like an expert. Each time he saw her coming, or Ebo gave him a sign, he excused himself at the people he was talking with and weaved through the crowd to end up with the people Ellen just stepped away from. This served Quint two ways: Ellen could not with a straight face connect with the same group of people twice and he could straighten out the stories she would have told about him.

  It is late and he should get ready to head back home. He has done all he can here. Koval has been gone for hours already and staying here doesn't benefit him any more.

  Quint goes looking for Ebo, who he finds talking to a tall brunette in high heels. She's wearing a long gown, covering her from the neck down. The whole thing is rather elegant. She looks familiar to Quint, but he can't put his finger on it.

  "Ebo, my man," Quint says, "Let's blow this party and head back to my place. I've got some good Scotch out ready for a toast on tonight's success."

  "Sure, do you mind me bringing this beautiful creature with me?" Ebo asks.

  "So, I have to behave and you can flirt at these parties?" Quint teases Ebo. He turns to the lady and extends his hand. She takes it and gives him a weak lady like handshake.

  "I'm Quint Seif," he says, "but you already should know that if you've seen the debate."

  "Hello Mister Seif," she says with a posh English accent, "My name is Lady Jo-Ann McIntosh."

  The name doesn't ring a bell. She's not from Du Bois, Quint hasn't heard the family name before and as councilman he knows all the elite families in town.

  "Where are you from, my Lady?" he asks.

  "I'm from the old English country," she says. Lady McIntosh doesn't elaborate any further and Quint is left standing wondering about this woman.

  He looks at Ebo, who stands there beaming at his catch.

  "You can come if you don't have anything else to do," Quint offers the woman.

  "I'll be delighted," she accepts.

  Quint leads his two guests to the exit. The lady excuses herself to visit the bathroom and Quint is left waiting with Ebo.

  "Who did she come with?" Quint asks Ebo.

  "Lady Carla herself, apparently," Ebo answers.

  "Has she been screened?"

  "Yes, of course, everybody is checked."

  "Good, I don't want any trouble, least of all in my own home."

  "She won't be, I'll make sure. By the way, she's my catch, you can't have her."

  Quint laughs. He knows he can deny Ebo the pleasure. He is still his employer, mentor and benefactor. Without Quint Ebo would still be in the market selling junk. But Quint needs his sleep tonight, so Ebo can do with her what he wants.

  "I won't get in your way Ebo," Quint says, "if you want you can use the spare bedroom."

  "Oh no, that's not necessary," Ebo refuses the offer, "I'll take her to my place after the drink. I could use a ride though."

  "You got it," Quint says and slaps Ebo on the back.

  Jo-Ann is sitting next to the campaign manager in the councilman's house. The room they are in is decorated with only one purpose: envy. The pre-ice furniture in immaculate state is balanced with modern art from all over Europe. The more ostentatious works of naked people in arousing poses have a prominent place on the wall adorning a huge fireplace.

  Quint is sitting opposite her and the three of them are chatting about nothing while drinking a very expensive and rare whiskey. He is still dressed in his tuxedo, as is Ebo. Jo-Ann, while also in her party gown, threw a vest on as soon as they left the venue. On the ride she focused on Ebo and his charms, so as to make Quint believe he is of no interest to her. It worked. He now is trying his best to catch her attention by telling the tall tales of his youth.

  Jo-Ann, in automatic conversation mode, sets her mind to figuring out how to assassinate Quint without getting caught. They arrived at the basement of the town house where the security had been tight. Four men positioned at the elevator exit and three more posting at each garage door. The basement has two, one going to the inner city and one giving a way out outside town. All men were armed with semi automatic pistols and stun guns. They went up five stories in the elevator and exited at what must be the first floor above ground. Here she saw what once was the front door of the house. Now it is boarded up and decorated as if it used to be a normal dead end by design. It even had a small table with a vase standing there. She wouldn't be able to get out through there. The windows she's seen so far are all shuttered tight to guard against any light exiting.

  Distracted by her planning she fails to catch Quint's direct question.

  "Oh, I'm sorry Mister Seif," she says, "I was a bit distracted by the painting behind you."

  Quint turns to look at work hanging behind him. It is a painting of a sitting lady with a small smile.

  "Oh yes, this little trinket," he says, "I got this from a friend of mine a few years back. It's not worth much."

  Jo-Ann knows the painting well. Back at home they still school in the classical arts and this is one of the most famous works. It was rumored to be destroyed when the leadership of Al Bari burned the largest museum in town, the Louvre. Her teacher at the time was furious at the act and was willing to go there and strangle each and every one of the leaders there himself. He didn't go, and was never the same again.

  "Does it have a name?" Jo-Ann asks, trying to get Quint to admit the painting is one of the last surviving master works.

  "I don't know," Quint dismisses the question and goes on with his original topic, "But you still haven't answered my question."

  "What question was that?" Jo-Ann asks.

  "He wants to know if you have any children," Ebo says.

  Jo-Ann laughs but doesn't answer.

  "See," Ebo says, "she doesn't have any children. Look at that body. No woman can keep that shape after giving birth."

  "I don't know, Ebo," Quint says, "I've seen women without bellybuttons and huge balloon tits, plastic surgery can do anything right now."

  He looks Jo-Ann up and down as she is sitting. Her cleavage is hidden by her vest, but the shape of her bosom is still visible.

  "How much have you altered yourself?" Quint asks.

  "Quint!" Ebo scolds, "you don't ask a lady something like that."

  "Why not? I am a gentleman and if she would ask me the same question I would answer."

  "Of course," Ebo says, "you're a man and most men don't use that shit. But women need to keep looking their best to keep up with life."

  "That depends," Jo-Ann joins the conversation, "if you have a profession where you have to look young, you have to stay young the rest of your life. If your youth doesn't influence the earnings you get, you better not spend too much on your looks anyway. Unless you are very vain and want to keep up appearances."

  "But to answer your question, Mister Seif," Jo-Ann continues, "I haven't done any modifications on my body wha
tsoever. This is all natural and in prime condition. I exercise every day and keep to a strict diet, as befits one of my standing."

  "Right," Quint says and raises his glass, "to staying fit."

  The three of them toast and down the last of their drinks. Ebo gets up and holds out his hand for Jo-Ann.

  "Shall we go to my place?" he asks her.

  This is not what Jo-Ann expected. She thought they would spend the night there so that Ebo wouldn't have to show his inferior apartment to her. She hoped she could make Ebo happy with some cuddling and kissing before claiming to be too tired to do anything more. Then, after he dozed off she would get out and kill Quint. Now, with Ebo's apparent need to get home, she's out of a plan and has to improvise.

  "But it is so late," she says, "how far is it to your place?"

  "You'll take one of my rides," Quint offers, "the driver can protect you when needed."

  "Thanks Quint," Ebo says, feigning surprise at the gracious offer.

  Since she cannot claim to feel afraid going about town in the dead of the night she turns to another strategy.

  "In that case," she says to Ebo, "I think I would want to ask you to take me to my hotel."

  A hurt look crosses his face. Quint snorts behind his hand, enjoying the rejection his campaign manager got.

  "Oh, Ebo," Jo-Ann adds, "you can come up if you want."

  A broad smile splits Ebo's face. He grins at Quint in victory. Quint shows no emotion now.

  "Right, let's go," Ebo says and offers Jo-Ann his arm. She joins him.

  Together they walk to the door. Ebo acts the gentleman and gives way to Jo-Ann. On their way to the elevator Jo-Ann stops.

  "Oops!" she says, "I forgot to thank the councilman. You call the elevator up while I go and thank Mister Seif."

  She unhooks her arm and turns around. Ebo grunts and walks on. Now she can go back in and do her duty. Her knife is concealed at her thigh and in her purse she has a handgun disguised as a phone. The old relic was found in the rubble of a former police station in London. It is crude and unwieldy in most situations, but now it would be of use to her.

  As she reaches for the doorknob the door opens. Jo-Ann stops mid motion, looking Quint in the eye at the other side of the door frame.

  "Oh, uh," she stumbles, "I was coming back to thank you, Mister Seif."

  "For what?" he says.

  "For your hospitality, of course."

  "Oh, that's nothing," he dismisses her, "shouldn't you be going with your date?"

  The elevator doors open. Jo-Ann looks back at Ebo, who holds the doors open with one hand and motions her to join him with the other.

  "Right," she says turning back to Ebo, "I should. Thank you again, Mister Seif."

  She walks into the elevator. Together with Ebo she leaves the building in one of Quint's carts. At least she got out without a fight.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Putting the launcher down Ismael looks at his team mates. They all look relieved at defeating the tank. Chitra, noticing the cuts on Ismaels hands, starts rummaging in her backpack for bandages and disinfectant. He lets her treat him.

  At the dig site everything is silent. They lost this battle but are retreating for the next. Ismael and his team can hear boots stomping down to the lower level and when the dust settles they see the shadows moving again. Then the lights are cut and everything is pitch black again. From the back of the garage sounds of more boots get louder, a lot more boots.

  "Captain?" says a voice over the radio, "this is Alpha and Beta team, where are you?"

  "Lee," the Captain says, "ignite a flare to indicate our position to the backup."

  Lee grabs one of the flares he brought and walks back to the barrier of cars. There he lights the flare, casting the scene in a red glow.

  "Alpha and Beta team," the Captain answers through the radio, "we are at the location of the flare. You can't miss it."

  "Roger," the team commander replies.

  Moments later two dozen men in full combat gear arrive at the small exploratory team. They carry crates of hardware and a large metal device sprouting antennas.

  "What's that?" asks Marjory. She winces at the pain in her ribs as she points at the device.

  "A signal booster for the rover and our communications," the commander replies. He signals the two squads to set up camp and start the booster. The team sets in motion like a well oiled machine, doing what needs to be done with efficiency. From the crates comes a minigun for the rover.

  "Xabier," says the commander, "come in."

  "I'm here," Xabier answers.

  "Where is the rover?"

  "I lost the signal when the tank shot at us."

  "Can you get it back when the booster is up?"

  "I'm not sure," Xabier says, "The rover was close by when the projectile hit. I hope it is still working."

  "Can we look for it?" the commander asks the Captain.

  "If you do," the Captain answers, "be careful. I'm not sure what they are doing back there. Ismael can take point."

  "You two," the commander points, "join Ismael to get that rover back."

  Ismael and the two soldiers don their goggles and stalk towards the entrance to the lower level.

  "Commander, are you the only backup?" Ismael asks.

  "No," he answers, "there are three more teams on their way. We were on duty, the rest on standby."

  "Good, we need all the help we get."

  Ismael and his two new team mates start off slow to keep the noise level to a minimum. Behind them the two squads and Ismael's group sound like they're having a big party. The clamor of metal on metal, patting of fabric and the hushed voices seem to carry on like a tidal wave. It makes it difficult for Ismael and the two soldiers to focus on what's ahead. Who knows, maybe the enemy came up and is now combing out the blast site for survivors and ammunition. After all, if Ismael judges right, this is the bulk of their stockpile. If not, he is afraid to think of what is waiting for them on the lower level. The squads are never enough to defeat a force equipped with the hardware stored here, let alone what they could have down there.

  The night vision goggles work like a charm, showing outlines of debris all around them. Picking a route to minimize stray sounds from their travel, Ismael makes his way towards where the rover should be. His present company following him without any problems. The pattern of the junk lying around and the way the shelves have collapsed indicate where the brunt of the blast hit. All around them are busted crates and boxes, spilling their contents on the floor. Ismael can see shells used for artillery, large caliber bullets, grenades and plastic explosives. The people responsible for storing all this equipment have been smart enough to keep volatile combinations away from each other. So when they stumble upon a box of detonators, there is nothing explosive to be seen around.

  Pick up anything you deem worthy of taking. Ismael types on his wrist communicator. They are in a private chat group so no-one other than them, and the communications officer on duty, can see what they are typing.

  Ismael gives the right example and gathers up a dozen detonators and bullets for their rifles. The other two take his lead and start rummaging through the spilled goods to pick out the things they can use.

  Together they walk on through the rubble, picking up what they can use but keeping a wary eye out for movement. Then they arrive at the spot where Ismael last saw the rover. Only a small ways away from where the impact was the carnage is absolute. Looking through bits of tank strewn across the concrete floor it is hard to recognize anything from the rover. The bulk of the tank is still in one piece, but anything loose flew off and is now littering the scene, blackened and bent.

  Working his way away from the tank Ismael tries to look for pieces he knows are from the rover. A short walk reveals one of the tracks, ripped from the main body and now useless but complete. Ismael instructs his companions to leave it be and walks on. With every step they see more pieces, like the camera and receiver. At last they find the main body.
It is mangled to a point where it can't be salvaged.

  Well, that's a bust, Ismael types in the private chat group, let's head back.

  As Ismael takes point on the way back he reports his findings to the Captain.

  Found rover, destroyed, need new one, he types.

  No replacement available, comes the reaction from Xabier.

  Need to work with what we got, types the Captain.

  Coming back to… Ismael starts to type when one of the soldiers behind him drops to the ground.

  Ismael and the remaining soldier duck behind a busted set of crates.

  What happened? the soldier types.

  Sniper, Ismael answers.

  The other soldier lies where he was dropped, a hole the size of a pencil in the back of his head. The shot had been silent and the man died as soon as the projectile hit him. The way the body is sprawled over the bits and pieces on the floor makes it hard to guess where the shot came from.

  Ismael and the soldier scan the area but can't locate anything alive or moving.

  They don't show up on the thermal, the soldier types.

  Ismael knows the won't. Just the other day he found three people in the wasteland just above ground hiding behind a tarp that masks heat. It would be logical to assume the same technology is used by the snipers attacking them now. Instead of looking for heat Ismael looks for lumps that look natural among the hard lines of crates, boxes and husks of cars. The opposition is good and well hidden.

  From the corner of his eye Ismael sees movement and ducks as another projectile comes rushing by. It hits the rack behind him cracking the wood. The top half of the structure leans over the two people hiding. One of the boxes on the top shelve slided and drops down between Ismael and the soldier, who jumps out of the way.

  We need to find better cover, Ismael types.

  He looks around but can't see anything more than busted racks, boxes and crates to hide behind. Except for the concrete wall shielding the ramp to the lower level. But to reach it they must cover a wide open space, leaving them vulnerable to attacks from multiple sides. The other option, staying put, is no good either. The sniper will notice the lean of the rack behind them and try to shoot it down on them. At least, that's what Ismael himself would try. Retreating to the group won't work either. The line of sight for the sniper is unimpeded while Ismael and his surviving partner must wind their way between the debris and still standing racks.