“Anti-camera lasers built into the window,” Taia said. She actually sounded irritated. “The cameras in your scope and helmet won’t penetrate that light screen, and there are no comms close enough to that room to give me ears.”
Nolan’s jaw muscles worked. It seems Agent Styver’s dossier undersold just how paranoid and prepared our friend Gustav really is.
So what now? He had Gustav Wylun and Declan Tian in the same room. Two seconds, two bullets, and he’d be done with the job. But not if he couldn’t see to aim.
He could do the kill up close and personal. He still had the semi-automatic rifle module for the MK75, not to mention his blaster pistol and two smoke grenades. With his proper combat suit, he could simply wing his way to the skyscraper’s roof and work his way down from the top. But this old-model suit had no wings and inoperable boot thrusters. His only way in would be through the ground level.
“Taia, how many White Sharks are in that building?” Nolan asked. “Not counting those in the room with Gustav.”
Images of the building’s interior cams flashed across Nolan’s HUD. “I count thirty-seven.”
Nolan growled a curse. Add to that the twenty-some thugs meeting with their boss, and those were rubbish odds, even if Nolan had a fully operational combat suit and the Balefire.
No chance I’m getting in that way, then. He lifted the rifle once more, squinting in a fruitless attempt to see through the blinding light.
Of course! He kicked himself for a fool and tore off his helmet. A chill hung in the early morning air, and the wind that whipped across Grove District rooftops filled his ears with its low, humming whine. Reaching up to the MK75’s scope, he clicked a button and switched it to telescopic lens. This time, when he looked down-range, he saw only clear glass and the figures of his targets beyond.
The anti-camera laser lights only work on digital lenses, but the telescopic sight was nothing more than high-precision glass based on the Old Terran refracting telescope. His naked eyes couldn’t see the laser lights—it would require a far stronger and more concentrated light source than emitted by the window’s defenses.
Grinning, Nolan swept his view across the figures in the room. Without the cameras built into his helmet or scope, Taia wouldn’t be able to zoom in and read Gustav’s lips. But that didn’t matter. Through the telescopic sight, he had a clear view of his targets.
For a moment, he rested the crosshairs on Wolfe’s forehead, right between the man’s eyes. After what he’d done—or promised to do—to Bex, the White Sharks lieutenant deserved the same ending as Gustav and Declan. Two more seconds was all he’d need to add a third kill to his list. No way the gangbangers could react before he took out their three leaders.
But Agent Styver would be pissed if he did. The fact that he hadn’t included Wolfe on his kill list made it clear that the Protection Bureau wanted the bastard alive. Doubtless they’d brokered a deal with him—a share of the proceeds from the drug sales, most likely. Whatever it was, taking out Wolfe wouldn’t earn the goodwill he needed to get into the Vault to see Jared.
With a grimace, Nolan swiveled his sights to take aim at Gustav. The White Sharks’ boss stood alone amidst his goons, separated by an invisible barrier of fear and respect. Only Declan was within an arm’s length of Gustav—Wolfe stood opposite the two of them, gesticulating wildly, his face flushed and red.
Not taking his eye from the scope, Nolan worked the MK75’s bolt action, chambering a round. He drew in a deep breath, held, and let it out slowly through his nose. Another breath, and he brought his finger up to the trigger. Everything outside of that scope disappeared into the background, faded into a featureless blur. All that remained was his breath, the feel of the rifle against his cheek and armored shoulder, and the face on the far end of his crosshairs.
One shot for Gustav, one for Declan, and he’d have his chance to see Jared. In that moment, nothing else mattered.
A final breath, a two-count to hold it, and he slowly tightened his grip on the trigger as he exhaled and prepared to fire.
“Wait!” Taia’s voice startled him. “Don’t shoot!”
Nolan froze, the trigger just short of the break point. Letting out his breath, he slowly released the trigger and removed his finger.
“What is it?” he growled. His eyes never left the figure visible in his crosshairs.
“The glass,” Taia said. “It’ll stop your bullet.”
Nolan’s forehead creased. “What?” His heart began to speed up, his finger twitching just a fraction. “You sure?”
“Sure as I can be. I’ve been poring over specs of the building, looking for anything I can use to get eyes or ears in that room with Gustav, and I found the work order for that window.”
Nolan had no doubt the images were flashing across the HUD of his helmet, on the ground beside his knee.
“It’s not just regular glass with the anti-camera laser lights,” Taia said. “It’s permaglass.”
Nolan’s breath hissed between his teeth. Permaglass, a Terran League material so durable and impact-resistant the IAF had been forced to create the Balefire specifically to punch through it. His MK75’s metal-jacketed round would scratch it, maybe even a hairline crack or two, but it wouldn’t penetrate on the first shot. It’d take three, maybe four shots to finally shatter the glass—more than enough time for Gustav to rabbit.
If he took that shot and missed, Gustav would know someone was after him. Not a rival gang trying to squash their competition, but someone coming for him personally. The paranoid gang boss would go so far underground he’d burrow all the way to the core of Exodus VI. The chances of him popping his head above ground any time soon were nil.
He let out a slow breath and removed his finger from the trigger. Once again, Taia had saved him. If not from death this time, from certain failure. He’d have one chance and one chance only to take out Gustav. A rookie mistake like shooting at bulletproof glass would have robbed him of his singular opportunity to fulfill Agent Styver’s contract.
Nolan let out a long breath. “Remind me to thank you properly later, Taia.”
“You know I will,” Taia purred, once again using a tone that sounded suspiciously familiar. “I’ve got all kinds of things in mind.”
Nolan almost regretted giving her the idea of mimicking Jadis’ voice. Just being near Jadis was distracting enough; now, having her in his ear when he needed to be fully concentrated, made things a whole lot worse.
Gritting his teeth, he returned his concentration to the image visible through the scope. Gustav Wylun was talking, and though Nolan couldn’t hear his words, his command was immediately visible by his posture, the way he asserted himself as the dominant figure in the room. The fact that he stood taller than all but Declan certainly helped. He had the exact air of authority one would expect from the ruler of a gang. A far cry from German French, that’s for sure.
Gustav’s speech to his gangbangers ended, and evidently so did the meeting. The White Sharks boss turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, Declan and half a dozen of his thugs flanking him.
Nolan snatched up his helmet and slipped it back on. The sounds Taia streamed from within the building reached him—the clacking of Gustav’s shoes, the low chatter of the White Sharks.
“Taia, record everything that’s being said and see if you can use the audio to figure out what Gustav ordered.”
“You got it, boss.”
Agent Styver—and possibly the IDF—would need to know if the White Sharks were gearing up to go to war.
Nolan, however, had only one thing to focus on: his mission to put down Gustav and Declan. From his current perch, he had a clear view of the parking garage Gustav’s skimmer had entered.
“Tell me we’ve covered the only way out, Taia.”
“Searching.” A moment of silence elapsed. “Affirmative. The parking garage’s far entrance is sealed off.”
Good. Nolan nodded and switched his scope back to digital. The paranoid
boss had sacrificed a quick getaway for the sake of defensibility. Then again, he doubtless had a bolt hole—probably something underground—in case someone managed to trap him within the building. A clever man, this Gustav, he thought. Unfortunately, no one can foresee every outcome.
Specifically, a sniper of Nolan’s skill waiting for his vehicle to emerge from his stronghold.
He’d already gotten a good look at the skimmer. The pleasure craft was built for speed and maneuverability, which meant it had to be lightweight. Though the windows were doubtless triple- or quadruple-paned armored glass, using ultra-heavy permaglass would have slowed the vehicle down too much. This time, he’d sacrificed protection for speed of flight.
“Bring up interior footage of Gustav, Taia.”
Video popped up on the HUD of his helmet, displaying the White Sharks’ boss and his goons marching through the parking garage. Gustav, Declan, and two more gangbangers—both heavily armed and clad in tailored clothing nearly as fancy as Gustav’s—got into the four-man pleasure craft, while the rest went for a heavier vehicle, the sort used for driving through rough terrain or off-roading.
Nolan’s rifle barrel never wavered from the entrance to the parking garage even as he watched Gustav’s skimmer pulling out of the parking garage, heading down toward the street. The vehicle moved quickly, weaving its way around the parking structure’s narrow downramps. Whoever drove the skimmer was clearly skilled—former IAF or IDF, almost certainly. Once he hit the street, he’d gain speed and disappear into the streets of Grove District far too quickly for an accurate shot.
Nolan had just one chance at taking down the White Sharks’ boss. There would be a moment when the skimmer reached the end of the downramp, just before he turned right or left on the street.
More than enough time for Nolan to put a bullet into the vehicle’s engine. All craft, whether ground-locked skimmers or space-traveling behemoths, had the same weakness: find a way to cut the power, and it would be little more than a hunk of metal. With the engine killed, Nolan would have the five seconds he’d need to put bullets through the skimmer’s windshield and into Gustav and Declan.
He drew in a deep breath, then another. His finger went to the trigger and he slowly squeezed, pulling it to the break point. He’d have to be quick to pull this off. Fire, work the bolt, fire, work the bolt, fire. Three shots as fast as he could manage. Difficult, to be sure, but far from the hardest shot he’d ever taken. A skimmer engine block was far larger than the tiny permaglass screens he’d had to hit to take down the Old Terran mechs.
“Five seconds,” Taia said softly in his ear.
Nolan let out his breath, sucked in another, and slowly exhaled as he prepared. Prepared to pull the trigger and put an end to two more lives. It would be over so quick Gustav would never know what hit him.
“WARNING!” A flashing red light suddenly blared to life on his visor. “WARNING, INTRUDER ALARM!”
Chapter Fifteen
Nolan recoiled from the video footage that popped up on his HUD. A speeding vehicle whipped down Glitter Trail, burning fuel and leaving behind massive clouds of smoke. With barely a hissing growl, the skimmer engine slowed the vehicle down. Right in front of the Spacer’s Paradise.
“Shit sticks!” The footage and the red warning light suddenly disappeared.
Grove District, the building where the White Sharks had held their meeting, and Gustav’s vehicle swam back into focus on his visor’s display. Barely a second had passed. It was enough to throw off his concentration.
Before he could take aim again, Gustav’s skimmer pulled out of the parking garage and raced off down the street, away from him.
Every muscle in Nolan’s spine tensed. He tried to track the movement of the vehicle, tried to adjust his aim and compensate for his velocity. Yet he realized the moment had passed before Gustav’s skimmer raced around the corner.
“I’m so sorry, Nolan!” Taia’s voice echoed in his helmet.
“What the hell was that, Taia?” Anger flared within him—he’d lost his target, all thanks to that momentary distraction.
“The intruder alarm sub-routine was set to priority alert,” Taia said, an apologetic tone in her robotic voice. “Any time someone trips it, it—“
“I know what priority alert is, Taia! I was the one that set the damned thing. But what the hell triggered it?”
Taia seemed to hesitate. Nothing showed up on his HUD.
“Play the footage, Taia!” Nolan insisted.
After a long second, the video footage popped up. First, of the staircase outside his front door. A handful of barely dressed women and their half-clothed clients raced up the stairs, screaming, panicking. The sound of the Spacer’s Paradise music was distant, but through it, Nolan could hear a faint, gut-wrenching pop, pop, pop.
“Front entrance video, now!”
Taia brought up the video, and Nolan felt acid rise to his throat. The vehicle that had pulled to a halt in front of the Spacer’s Paradise rolled down its two curb-side windows, and a trio of automatic rifles unleashed a hail of bullets and blaster bolts into the peeler bar. The chattering of the mechanical firearms was accompanied by the quieter sizzling of bright blue hissing from the blasters. Loudest of all, however, were the screams that rang out from within the Spacer’s Paradise.
Bloody hell!
Instinct shouted at him to move, to act. He half-rose before remembering he was in the Bolt Hole, more than a hundred kilometers away from Shimmertown.
Long seconds passed as the guns within that vehicle unloaded their ammunition into the front of the Spacer’s Paradise. The two mechanical firearms ran dry first, but the blaster rifle followed half a second later. The moment the guns stopped firing the skimmer took off on a mad, zigzagging course down Glitter Trail.
Nolan had only an instant to decide what to do. He’d lost his chance on Gustav, but that didn’t mean he was done with the White Sharks yet.
“Taia, keep a close track on Gustav’s vehicle,” he shouted as he holstered his rifle, spun, and raced toward the fire escape ladder he’d climbed to reach his sniper’s perch. “And follow those bastards that just shot up the Spacer’s Paradise. I want to know exactly where they’re going!”
“Copy that,” Taia said. “But where are you going?”
“Toward Shimmertown!” Nolan leaped over the rooftop wall, dropped two stories, and caught himself on the metal railing of the fire escape. Pushing off the steel frame, he hurtled toward the next building over. “The minute those pricks go to ground, I’m going to be there waiting for them!”
Nolan’s anger burned hot as he watched the footage Taia displayed on the upper-right corner of his HUD. The front of the Spacer’s Paradise was a mess of shattered glass, splintered wood, bent and twisted metal, and blood. So much blood, more than he’d seen since his days in the Silverguard.
He hadn’t installed cameras in the Spacer’s Paradise—Mimi, Jadis, and the other girls didn’t need anyone else watching them on stage—but the cameras outside the peeler bar’s front entrance gave him ample view of the carnage.
He watched as the IDF officers raced through the doors…fifteen minutes too late. Then he watched the paramedics rushing into the peeler bar, and again those who emerged. Some running and pushing stretchers laden with bleeding men and women. Others moving more slowly, carrying black bags heavy with corpses.
Sixteen people had died in the attack. Sixteen civilians. Mostly men enjoying themselves in Shimmertown. Two women, too. A pair of servers had been closest to the door when the bolts started flying, and there was barely enough of them left for their next of kin to ID. A stray bullet had clipped Gallia’s leg, and the paramedics had arrived too late to stop the club manager from bleeding out due to a severed femoral artery. A bartender—Nolan didn’t know his name—had been mid-pour when a bolt tore through his vodka bottle, ribs, and heart.
And Clive. IAF training had kicked in hard and sent him running toward the threat rather than fleeing like everyo
ne else. He’d thrown himself on Mimi and Scarlett, shielding them with his body. They were alive because of him. Because he’d sacrificed himself to protect them from the blaster bolts that would have torn them to shreds.
Too many dead, far more wounded. Closer to fifty, everything from minor grazes to life-threatening bullet wounds.
Nolan’s heart nearly stopped as he saw the first victim rolled out. Jadis had been on stage when the guns started firing. The paramedics got to her first, but blood still gushed from a puncture in her neck as they raced her to the ambulance. Nolan didn’t know if she’d make it; he’d seen far too many soldiers die from wounds like that. Even if she lived, would she ever talk again? Would she ever sing the way she did whenever she’d had a good day?
The rest of those who worked at the Spacer’s Paradise had gotten off unharmed or with minor injuries. Taia had hacked the comm device of all the paramedics until she found the one treating Mimi for a blaster bolt wound. “Just a graze,” the paramedic had said. “It oughta heal up just fine.”
Stedd, the bouncer who worked the front, had been called into the back to deal with a drunk customer who’d gotten a bit too handsy. The bartenders and three of the four girls serving cocktails had ducked for cover when the bolts and bullets flew. The fourth had been one of the sixteen in body bags.
Fury raged within him, bright and hot, like the lava flows of Firedeep Canyon. He had no idea who’d attacked the Spacer’s Paradise. The camera at the front entrance hadn’t gotten a good look at whoever had fired the guns—the skimmer’s privacy windows were up, the shooters firing from within the shadows of the speed craft’s interior. The “why” of it all left him even more confused. Gallia, the peeler bar’s manager, made sure to pay her dues to the IDF. Nolan suspected it might have had something to do with Wolfe’s presence in the bar the previous night. Maybe the White Sharks lieutenant believed one of the girls there helped Bex escape.
Assassination Protocol: An Intergalactic Space Opera Adventure (Cerberus Book 1) Page 12