Hunter (9780698158504)

by Carroll, Michael

  Cam regarded him for a moment. “Hunter.”

  “What?”

  “I’m three foot nine, and I’m not likely to grow any taller. You want to train me to work in the field?”

  “Well, yeah,” Lance said. “Unless it turns out you don’t have any aptitude for it.”

  “No, you’re not seeing the problem here. I can’t be a field agent. People stare at me because of my size. They notice me.” He looked around the café. “Family at the back there . . . They haven’t taken their eyes off me since we came in. I’d draw less attention if I were average-size and dressed as a cowboy. People make assumptions about dwarfs.”

  “What was it you said to me the first time we met?” Lance asked. “Get over it. Well, that applies to you as well, Cam. You’re letting your height hold you back.”

  “No, it’s society that . . .” Cam stopped, and smiled. “I get it. All right, I’m in.”

  They shook hands, and Cam asked, “So what is it that Deliverance does, exactly?”

  “We hunt people,” Lance said, smiling. “Mostly supervillains, but sometimes we’re hired to catch ordinary criminals too. We track them down and bring them to justice. Not the big guys like Casey Duval—or Ragnarök, as he’s calling himself now—or any of those people. The smaller ones that keep slipping through our fingers. We track them, find them, capture them. We’ve recently got hold of some tech—we stole it from Duval—that can temporarily nullify a superhuman’s abilities, so we’re working on finding somewhere we can use as a prison for them.”

  “Wow. You’ve been busy, Hunter. Makes me look like I’ve been wasting my life.”

  “Not anymore, Cam. And the best part of it all is that we don’t work for Max Dalton.”

  “And what’ll I be doing, exactly? Not sitting in an office all the time, because I do not wanna do that.”

  “There will be some of that, yeah, but most of the time you’ll be working directly for me, coordinating the teams and designing missions. Taking part in a few too.”

  Cam grinned. “Man, this is going to be so cool! When do I start? I have to give a week’s notice at work.”

  “A week is good. I’ll send someone to collect you. We’re based mostly in Austria, so you’ll need a passport. We’ve already got it in the works. It should be ready by the time I get back.”

  “Where are you off to?”

  “Fact-finding mission to check out one of the possible locations for the new prison. I think it’s going to work out pretty well. It’s a platinum mine in Lieberstan.”

  TWICE SINCE HIS CAPTURE Lance had become aware of someone else nearby. Though he could hear and see nothing, the breeze coming from his left was interrupted, and he picked up a faint smell of stale sweat and gun oil.

  Now he was certain that there was someone crouched in front of him, a man with his face very close to Lance’s, exhaling a regular waft of slightly garlicky breath in his direction.

  He forced himself to remain calm. Whoever his captors were, they were very good at their jobs. The knots in the ropes binding his hands were tight, the ropes themselves positioned to keep his limbs immobile without cutting off his circulation. He was sure that if he wasn’t being watched, he’d be able to work his way free, but there always seemed to be someone present.

  At least that means they want me alive, he thought. For now.

  But that kid who changed his size . . . Has to be superhuman, but who is he? And is he the only one they have?

  And what have they done with Cam?

  In the last phone call Cameron Sharkey made to Lance, Cam had spoken of his certainty that he was close to locating the villain known as Schizophrenzy in northern Africa. But there’d been no further contact from Cam, and Lance had known he’d have to investigate for himself.

  “Schizophrenzy has some ties with Duval,” Cam had said, “and he’s unstable. That’s a risk, but it could have great reward if we can nail him down and get him to talk. My source tells me that Schizophrenzy’s real name is Horatio Schriver. After his parents died he inherited their home in Eastern Equatoria, South Sudan. It’s a small house close to Nawarayeng. Lots of land, but most of it’s not even cultivated. Woods and bushes and a few old ruins. Schriver hasn’t been back there in eight years.”

  “Who’s living there now?” Lance asked.

  “No one. The house is empty. There’s a groundskeeper who comes twice a month. Well, I say groundskeeper—it’s just a local kid who mows the lawn. He gets forty dollars a month, paid into his mom’s bank account by direct transfer. A standing order. The money comes from Schriver’s own bank account in South Sudan. Right now that account has a little over eighteen thousand dollars, and aside from the groundskeeper’s payment and a couple of other regular automated withdrawals, the account hasn’t been touched in years.”

  Lance wished he’d told Cam to wait for backup, but it hadn’t seemed necessary at the time. Despite his size, Cam had proven to be more than capable of looking after himself in most circumstances.

  His investigation showed that Cam had missed a step. He hadn’t thought to thoroughly check out the town of Nawarayeng itself. If he had, he’d have discovered that four months earlier a local cabdriver had been called out to pick up a fare from the Schriver home.

  This told Lance that the house had not been abandoned. A rookie mistake, and Cam should have known better.

  Most of the members of Lance’s organization worked alone much of the time, for their own protection as well as everyone else’s. If one was captured, he or she wouldn’t be able to inform on the others. Still, Cam should’ve gone in with some backup.

  Lance’s contacts in African immigration supplied him with details of every tourist who’d arrived in South Sudan, and it hadn’t taken long to find that Cam had been masquerading as Alexander Kennelly, a wildlife photographer.

  Cam’s trail had led Lance here, to a long-abandoned fort close to Nagongitela. The fort was so overgrown with vegetation that it was almost invisible from the air, and from the ground it was accessible only by foot.

  Moving quietly through the surrounding jungle, Lance had set up a series of ultrasonic probes that bombarded the fort with precisely controlled pulses. By timing how long it took for the sonic pulses to be reflected back, each probe was able to construct a detailed model of the side of the fort that it was facing. When combined, the models formed an almost complete three-dimensional plan of the outside of the fort.

  With this information, Lance waited until nightfall before sending his tiny flying camera into the fort. The infrared camera was suspended from a small helium-filled Mylar balloon connected to three silent battery-powered propellers. The software in Lance’s portable computer used the camera data to map much of the fort’s interior.

  Finding Cam had been a matter of determining which of the fort’s inaccessible rooms would be most likely to hold a prisoner.

  He’d scaled the overgrown wall to the lowest window, climbed through, and found himself in a long room facing four black-clad men armed with semiautomatic weapons. Keeping their guns trained on Lance, they stepped aside for a fifth man. He was tall with a slight build, and was striding toward Lance. With each step the stranger took, he seemed to grow bigger, more muscular, and Lance found himself growing weaker. By the time the stranger was close enough to jab his now-powerful fist into Lance’s face, it was all Lance could do to stand upright. And moments later, he wasn’t even able to do that.

  Now the cold ground beneath Lance trembled a little. What was that? A door slamming?

  Then a new smell reached him: the unmistakable scent of gunpowder.

  Another tremble, much stronger this time. Something brushed against Lance’s knee, and he flinched.

  He felt a series of sharp, burning pains in his left arm as a wave of hot air rushed over him.

  He threw himself to the right, curled up into a tight ba
ll.

  Something large and heavy collapsed on top of him, trembling and twitching, and he knew that it was a body. Hot fluid ran across his bare hands—blood—as the body moved, squirming slightly.

  Then the weight was gone, pulled away from him, and seconds later he felt gloved hands touch his, the sudden jerk of a knife slicing through the ropes that bound his wrists. Then the same again for the ropes around his ankles.

  The gag was pulled free from his mouth, and whatever had been blocking his ears was removed.

  In the distance, the sound of gunfire and screams, the crackle of something burning. Closer, heavy breathing and moans from the wounded man on his right.

  A woman’s voice said, “Close your eyes. Gonna cut your blindfold off now, and it’s pretty bright in here.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Just do it, Hunter!”

  He closed his eyes and felt a thin line of cold on his left temple. Then his blindfold fell away from his eyes.

  Strong hands gripped his arms—at least two on each side—and lifted him to his feet.

  “Here,” the voice said, and he felt something being pressed into his hands. “Put those on.”

  Sunglasses. He slipped them on, then tentatively opened his eyes. Two dark figures loomed over him, silhouetted against a strong glare from the doorway. They were wearing helmets and light body armor—one mostly red, the other mostly silver—and carrying weapons.

  “You OK?” the woman asked. “Able to walk?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. Follow me. Yoshiya will watch our rear. Once we’re past the hallway the glare won’t be so strong.” She turned and walked toward the light. “Two-inch steel plating on the walls and doors,” the woman said as Lance followed her. “They sure didn’t want you getting out. We had to use thermite to burn through. Don’t touch the sides—the metal is still white-hot.”

  “I came here looking for a friend.”

  “We’ve got him—he’s a couple of minutes ahead of us.” She picked up speed, and Lance almost had to run to keep up.

  The shadow of the woman behind Lance blocked out the light from the burning metal doorway, and he was able to get a better look at his rescuers. They both wore full-face helmets, and there was something familiar about their armor. “Who are you?”

  The red-armored woman said, “I’m Nika. A friend called us in when you disappeared. You know where we are, right?”

  “We have to still be in South Sudan—I don’t think I was unconscious long enough to be taken anywhere else.”

  “Right.” Ahead, a man darted out of a doorway and swung his gun in their direction.

  Nika pulled Lance to the side and the second woman—Yoshiya—darted forward to block the gunman’s line of sight. She grabbed his gun with her left hand and jerked it away, at the same time slamming out with her right fist to catch him in the chest. The soldier collapsed back into the room.

  Nika said, “Yoshiya, secure him, and check that room.” She flipped a switch on the jawline of her helmet. “All units. Target two acquired. Hold your positions until he’s clear. We’re heading up to the roof—call in the Hopper.”

  They made their way up the sloping corridor, Nika’s heavy boots pounding over the uneven flagstones.

  They emerged on the roof, and Lance was surprised to see that it was daytime, though the sun was low in the sky. On the far side of the roof, Cam—looking as battered and bruised as Lance felt—was with two more armored women. One of them was helping Cam into what looked very much like a dark gray spacesuit, and when the other spotted Lance she rushed over to him with a similar suit.

  “Legs first,” Nika said. “Then arms. Quickly. Transport’s coming, ETA thirty seconds. Hunter, we’ve no clearance to even be in this country, so we’re moving out right now. Anything you’ve left behind is gone for good. You ever travel by wire before?”

  “By wire? What do you mean?” Lance pulled on the suit with the armored women helping him.

  “Then you haven’t. You’ll see. Long as you’re not scared of heights, you’ll be OK.”

  The other woman slapped Lance on the shoulder and nodded. “He’s in. All sealed.”

  Cam said, “Wish these things came in different sizes.” He looked over at Lance and smiled. The suit’s material was thickly bunched around his elbows and knees. “I feel like a kid playing dress-up. How you doing, boss?”

  “Still not dead, Cam. You’re fired, by the way.”

  “Again?”

  The woman named Yoshiya called out, “Boss, it’s here.”

  “Good.” Into her radio, Nika said, “All units, withdraw. You’ve got one minute. Move it, people!” She grabbed Lance’s arm again and pulled him over to the side just as a bright green circle—no bigger than a splayed hand—appeared on the rooftop.

  Something dark and heavy darted down through the air and hit right in the heart of the green circle, striking the roof with enough force to bury itself deep into the stone. One of the armored women switched on a flashlight, and Lance could see that it was a large metal harpoon with a thin nylon cable attached to the protruding end. As he watched, more of the cable drifted down, spooling around the harpoon.

  As more of the armored figures—all women—emerged onto the roof, Lance glanced at Cam, who was staring upward, one hand shielding his eyes.

  “I don’t see anything,” Cam said. “What’s the cable hanging from?”

  “Questions later. Just grab it and hold on tight.”

  Lance did as he was told, and found that the gloves of his suit seemed to adhere to the cable as though it was covered with superglue. Cam jumped up and grabbed the cable a little above Lance’s grip, still staring up into the azure sky.

  One by one, moving quickly, each of the armored women took hold of the cable.

  “Your gloves are bonded to the cable,” Nika said. “But hold on tight anyway. The better your grip, the easier this will be. This is going to be fast—flight time from here is thirty minutes. It’ll be cold up there but the suit should insulate you.”

  Cam began, “What do—?”

  The cable was suddenly pulling them into the air, and Lance looked down to see it become taut at the harpoon end. Just before it snapped, the harpoon withdrew itself from the rooftop. It trailed behind them as they rocketed up through the night air.

  Above, Lance could see that the cable was snaking up to a large aircraft, the underside of which was almost the same color as the sky. The cable retracted until he was only a few yards below the undercarriage, and then stopped. But instead of reeling them in, the craft simply towed them over the landscape.

  Cam pressed his face close to Lance’s, and over the roar of the wind he shouted, “Man, we’ve got to be doing five hundred miles an hour! You OK?”

  Lance nodded, his long hair whipping about his face. “Yeah, I think so!”

  “How did you find me?” Cam asked.

  “Investigation!” Lance shouted back.

  “Cool!” Cam glanced down at the armored women hanging on to the cable below them. “And how did they find you?”

  “Don’t know yet. But I’m sure glad they did!”

  IN TOTAL, THERE WERE SIXTEEN women, all but one wearing silver armor. When they set Lance and Cam down on a vast empty plain eighty miles north of their rescue point, the red-armored woman—Nika—pulled off her helmet and approached Lance. “You were lucky we were close enough to pull you out. How did they capture you?”

  “Our intel was . . . patchy. We were on Schizophrenzy’s trail. Didn’t know they had another superhuman with them.”

  “Someone new, then. Because from what I’ve heard about you, Hunter, you know who everyone is.” She smiled. “Well, everyone but us. We’re—”

  “Poder-Meninas,” Lance said. “Most of you are Portuguese, and everyone thinks there are only five in yo
ur team. But there are nineteen of you, right? So you’re Nika. Cam?”

  Cam said, “Nika’s a nickname. Your real name is Paraska Azarov. You’re twenty-two, of Ukranian descent. Your parents fled the Soviet Union in the late eighties. Two brothers, one sister, all younger. Known superhuman abilities: enhanced agility and strength, perfect vision. Disadvantage is low stamina—you burn out quickly, and take a long time to recover. That’s why you put the team together, and why you all wear identical costumes. You don’t want anyone to know how many of you there are, so you only ever appear in public five at a time. It’s a good cover too. It means each of you will have an alibi for most of the team’s appearances.”

  Lance said, “Nika, you obviously know who we are. Now that you’ve rescued us—thanks for that, by the way—are you going to arrest us, or let us go?”

  “Hunter, your organization is dangerous,” Nika said. “We probably should arrest you. But we’re doing this to repay a debt.”

  “To Paragon,” Cam said. “He’s the one who asked you to pull us out, right? That armor you’re wearing is one of his designs.”

  “How many are in your organization, Hunter?”

  “Not saying, sorry. We have to protect ourselves.”

  “We know there are at least eight of you.”

  Lance shrugged.

  “We can help.”

  “Nope. We try not to work with superhumans.”

  Nika raised an eyebrow at that, and Cam explained, “Because we might find ourselves on opposite sides one day. We don’t want you knowing too much about how we do things.”

  After some discussion, the Poder-Meninas agreed that they would take Lance and Cam back to Europe. “We can drop you in Crete.”

  “How about mainland Greece?” Lance asked. “We have contacts in Athens. It’d make things a lot easier for us and it’s only a few hundred more kilometers out of your way.”

  “Very well,” Nika said. “But we still have our original mission to complete, so we’ll take you to Athens on the way back. And you owe us a favor. A big one.”