by Cameron, TR
He replied, “Might have to take you up on that. I took three rounds. Potion did most of the job, but not all of it. Hopefully, I can manage not to get hurt again.”
“Guess we have to clear as we go.” They’d hoped that speed would be their best defense, but that situation had changed.
“Affirmative.”
She swapped magazines, and he reloaded, then they crept cautiously forward, opening each door they came to and engaging defenses where they were present.
The trap had been well-set. Some of the turrets were ground-level, others high up. A couple had launched grenades instead of bullets, gas-filled canisters that forced them to reroute, having neither gas masks nor the ability to use magic to contain the vapors. Cara asked, “Ever get the feeling you’re a rat in a maze?”
“Totally. We can handle anything the mad scientists out there throw our way. Exit door is about thirty feet ahead if I remember right, one more turn between here and there.” He gestured at the corner in front of them. “Think we’ll find a welcoming committee in the entry?”
“Could be. Got turrets in all four corners though, so maybe they’re trusting the equipment to do the work.”
He shook his head, and she heard the grin in his words. “You really shouldn’t have activated the base. Everything was fine until then.”
She scowled at him. “You’re a moron.”
Hank laughed as he reloaded the shotgun again. “You must be worried if that’s the best you can come up with. Thoughts on how to defeat the turrets?”
“Take the far two from the hallway, then stick the guns around the sides and shoot at the nearer pair without exposing ourselves. I think it works most optimally if you stand right in front of me and I shoot around you.”
“Not cool, Croft.”
She laughed. “But you’re so big.”
He looked down at himself. “What do you know? Guess I am. That explains all the jealousy I get from y’all. I’ll take left. You take right.”
“Works for me.” She swapped out her partially emptied magazine for a full one, then lifted the rifle to her shoulder. “Ready.”
“Let’s do it.”
They rushed down the corridor, blowing by the turrets inside the offices they passed. Gas canisters landed in the hallway behind them. Cara held her breath in an abundance of caution as she stepped forward and fired at the turret in the far corner of the entry room, blasting it into pieces before it could adjust its angle enough to hit her. Hank did the same on the other side. Then they stuck their weapons around the edges, shooting blindly into the spots where the walls and ceiling met in the corners.
When the cacophony of the turrets’ firing stopped, they crept carefully into the room. She tried again to access her magic and once more discovered that she couldn’t. Hank shoved his last rounds into the shotgun. “Get outside, portal to the van?”
Cara shook her head. “They might have surveillance on it. Worse, they could be waiting for us there. We can’t simply pop in without knowing if it’s a trap. We should leave it.”
Hank growled, “We are not leaving my van behind. Not an option.”
“Seriously?”
“Some things are nonnegotiable. I’m not abandoning my van. If you can get away, you should.”
A sigh escaped her as she made the only possible choice. “Hell no. We’re partners. If you’re going to be stupid, I guess we’ll be stupid together.”
He chuckled. “Won’t be hard for you. You’ve had a lot of practice.”
“You are, without a doubt, the most —
Hank interrupted, “Hold that thought. Let’s go.” He hit the button to open the front door and rushed outside.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When they’d entered the bunker, the large area in front had held nothing but overgrown grass. Now, two death machines stared at them from that expanse of green. The mechanical beasts had earned that name from the Army the first time the prototypes had deployed in the field. The units were intended for base defense and designed with two primary objectives: absorb incoming damage and wipe out scores of enemies at once with their offensive weapons.
She and Hank ran in opposite directions as the first rockets flew in, slamming into the bunker behind them and sending concrete shrapnel flying everywhere. She’d never trained against the things, had no knowledge of how to deal with them at all. A grenade might work, although that heavy armor is a problem. It would have to detonate right on one of the weapons ports. Without my magic to guide it, I’m not that good. Plus, I don’t have a grenade.
The monoliths offered no visible vulnerabilities, only huge interlocking metal shields designed to absorb damage with occasional openings for offense. Behind the armor would be a big column filled with weapons, sensors, and other vital components. The death machines were incapable of relocating at any speed because of their tall cylindrical shape, by design, but were entirely lethal once in place.
Cara embraced her only reasonable option and ran like hell for the tree line. She tried calling up her magic as she pelted over the ground, but again, it wouldn’t come. She growled under her breath, “Damn bastards and their bloody freaking anti-magic emitters. If there’s one thing I detest, it’s a level playing field, or worse, one tilted in the enemy’s direction.”
She angled through the hole Hank had made in the fence and went to ground in the woods, crouching against a tree and pulling a fallen branch across her body to break up her outline.
She waited, trying to calm her breathing, and devoutly wished they could risk using their comms. Even without the booster units they carried as part of their normal loadout, the small devices in their ears would’ve been enough to connect her and her partner. The existence of the signals would probably give us away.
A rustling came from behind her several minutes later, and she slowly shifted to aim her pistol at it. Then, at the edge of her hearing, the source of the noise said, “Okay, you were right. We should’ve portaled.”
She softly laughed as Hank joined her. “We can’t. Still have anti-magic going on.”
“Must be backpacks, which means we have people nearby.”
“Yeah. Those things in the front yard were a smart play. I’d guess they deliberately drove us to the forest. They probably could’ve gunned us down the moment we came through the door.”
He muttered, “Hope my van’s okay,” and set the shotgun on the ground. “I’m empty.”
“I’m embarrassed to say I lost count somewhere along the line. There are at least a few in each mag. Maybe keep yours as a club, though?”
He lifted his fists. “I have all the clubs I need right here, baby.”
Cara shook her head, surprised to find herself smiling. “You know, you’re certifiably insane.”
The insult earned her a grin. “Yeah. I get that. Stay together or split up?”
“Together. You lead.”
He moved out, and she followed carefully, putting her feet right where his went. They were both trained to notice traps, both experienced at being in the woods, and capable of handling anyone they might find in hand-to-hand combat. As long as we don’t get shot first. He stopped suddenly, and she crept up close enough to whisper in his ear. “What you got?”
“Noise off to the left. Might’ve been deliberate. I’m guessing there’s one up to the right, too.”
“Okay. Sixty seconds.”
“Good deal.”
* * *
Hank moved stealthily through the forest, watching the ground before each step, then raising his gaze to check the area all around him. He was headed toward the noisemaker because they were sure that something, at least, was in this direction. In this particular situation, needing to remain nonlethal, he was more skilled than Cara, which didn’t happen very often. I guess all those nights at fight clubs paid off.
He hadn’t shared his hobby widely, but Cara knew. She’d needed to blow off steam at one point and wouldn’t accept help from anyone, so he’d found her someone to fight. Things had gotte
n better after that, and whenever they flared up, another night out to blow off some steam solved the problem.
A whisper came from his left, and he altered his course. His target had apparently moved since making the first sound. Makes sense. They’re probably tightening the circle, creeping in toward the base. They’d best not be messing with my van. He’d paid for the vehicle out of his pocket, and shortly after buying it was forced to abandon it when they relocated to the vimana. Now that they were reunited, he was eager to get going on the customization project he’d planned.
Hank was the type of person who couldn’t relax unless he was building something, fixing something, or fighting something. He spotted the enemy, wearing camouflage with a helmet, a rifle, and one of the same backpacks seen on the base cameras during the invasion. The figure moved like it was comfortable in the woods, and Hank immediately assessed his target as a moderate threat, probably Special Forces.
In a standup conflict, he might’ve been more concerned, but he had no intention of giving the other person an opportunity to fight back. He slipped in beside him and wrapped an arm around his neck, gripping it tightly with his other hand and choking and squeezing. It would’ve been over in a second if he’d been able to kill the man, a crushed windpipe ending him, but instead, he had to wait while the lack of blood to the man’s brain rendered him unconscious.
He quickly pulled the man’s communication unit off and trussed him with his zip ties. Nothing presented itself as an easy solution to a gag, and Hank didn’t want to risk punching him in the head. Besides, if he does make noise, it might turn out to be a useful distraction.
He rose and barely jerked back in time to avoid the rifle butt that whipped across in front of his face. The man’s partner had apparently snuck up in complete silence while Hank was tying up his buddy. Okay, some of these bastards are better than we thought.
The newcomer shouted for help, and Hank popped him in the facemask to shut him up. The man took the blow and swiped the butt of his rifle back, reversing the path taken in the first attempt to bash his brains in. Hank got a hand up to block but still got knocked to the side as the rifle struck it.
He turned the stumble into a circle, darting in and kicking out at the other man’s leg. His foe lifted his boot to block the kick, then launched a sidekick without setting the foot down.
Hank slapped it contemptuously aside, the blow not having enough power to make it worth the time it had cost. He darted in and punched the man’s ribs but encountered protective padding. He whipped an elbow at the side of the man’s head, but his foe tilted his helmet down to take the shot. Hank’s elbow ached from the impact, and he hoped the man’s skull did as well.
Crashing sounds came from the left, signaling the potential for yet more enemies. He ran in the general direction of his van while muttering a steady stream of curses.
* * *
When her mental clock hit zero, Cara dashed forward at her opponent and swept his legs out from underneath him. He fell with a cry, and she punched him in the throat to shut him up, pulling the blow so it wouldn’t do any real damage. She yanked off his helmet with a grab and a twist, then delivered a punch to his temple, again taking care to moderate the power of the strike.
A crashing to her right alerted her that another enemy was present, and she snarled in frustration. She ran toward it, hoping to get to whoever it was before they could put out an alarm.
Shouts came from the direction Hank had gone, and she mentally reviewed all the curses she knew. She reached her target as he yelled, in shock, alarm, or warning, she didn’t know, and threw a punch at his face. He got his rifle in the way to knock her arm aside. She spun and delivered a back kick to his midsection that drove him a couple of steps backward, but he had armor, so that wouldn’t be the end of the fight.
Cara reached under her coat and drew Angel and Demon, then reacquired her target. She threw Angel as he lifted the rifle, her right hand whipping forward and hurling the dagger blade-first into his near shoulder. His rifle chattered, but the shots went wide as he recoiled in pain. She raced at him and jumped into the air, kicking out at the damaged limb. He went down with a cry, clearly in agony from the wound, and she ripped the blade out, careful not to make the injury worse. She screamed, “Medic, medic over here, man down,” then raced for where they’d left the van.
Bullets followed her as she smashed through branches and wove around trees. They’d set the trap exceedingly well, but their foes had overestimated the skills of the people in the forest or underestimated her and Hank. Either way, since the shots were coming primarily from behind, they’d made it to the outer cordon before engaging.
She burst from the trees and saw Hank already running to the driver’s side of the van. She rushed to the passenger door, yanked it open, and jumped in. Without a word, he stomped on the accelerator and peeled out. She tried to make a flame again, and this time succeeded. He growled, “Back doors. Handholds on the roof.”
She nodded and climbed down the space in the middle of the bucket seats, then threw the back door open while holding onto the grip he’d mentioned. When they reached the side road that connected the parking lot they’d been in to the main road, two vehicles sped up behind them. Cara grinned, remembering Rath’s obsession with caltrops a month or so before. She summoned ice, formed it into spiky balls, and tossed them out onto the road.
When the trailing cars ran over them, the small objects shredded their tires, and they smashed into each other before stopping. She yanked the door closed and went back to the front of the van, settling in beside Hank with a laugh. “Well, that wasn’t exactly fun.”
He nodded. “I’ll pull over as soon as we’re a couple of miles away. They probably put a tracer on the van.”
Cara shook her head. “You know, you should leave this thing behind.”
“Never.”
“It’s only a car.”
Hank stared at her, deliberately not looking at the road as he intoned, “If you keep talking, you’ll force me to punch you.”
She laughed and grinned widely. “Now there’s the Hank I know and love.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bryant was back in D.C. although people were looking for him, and if a single place existed where he was most likely to be recognized, Washington was it. It’s not like I’m going to sit here and do nothing while our enemies draw a cordon down around us.
Frustratingly, Diana was following protocol, which meant she wasn’t reaching out to him and thus he couldn’t reach out to her, despite wanting more personal reassurance that she was okay. If I’m able to find some useful information, it might get us to the point where we can be together faster.
He’d always figured that if things went wrong, she’d be at his side, and vice versa. To have it fall out this way was downright irritating. So, if I need another reason to be ticked off at whoever’s behind this, I have one.
All of that was why he was slowly walking down the street across from Aaron Finley’s brownstone. As a matter of routine, he’d researched the man’s regular schedule before all this happened so he could make contact anytime he wanted. He wore a suit, carried a briefcase, and looked nothing like himself. At the moment, he was using illusion to change his features.
The case held a few cosmetic disguise pieces in a hidden compartment he could employ if anti-magic emitters came into play. The coat over the suit was reversible, and while he wore a fashionable fedora, he had a knit cap in one pocket and a slouchy driver’s hat in the other. It wasn’t the best spy craft, but it would do. Plus, it’s all I have, so it will have to.
Finley emerged within a minute of when he usually exited the house and got into the car waiting for him. Bryant kept walking, turned a corner, and summoned his ride. The driverless vehicle took him to the Senate building, and he got there in time to see Finley walk up the stairs toward the main entrance with a cup of coffee in each hand. He reliably, nine days out of ten, stopped to pick up a to-go cup from his favorite coffe
e shop for himself and his secretary.
Bryant sighed, wishing he’d had time to stop for coffee, then settled in for a long day of surveillance.
After a couple of hours, an app on his phone signaled for his attention. He hit the right buttons and popped one of the phone’s earbuds into his left ear. Sloan’s voice came to him. “Heading inside now. Anything you need me to check?”
Bryant chuckled. “Who are you today?”
“Kyle Strang, lobbyist for a group of small biotech firms. Not surprisingly, I was able to put together a bunch of meetings real fast. I managed to get some from both sides of the aisle, which is a notable change. The last time I did this, the Democrats weren’t interested.”
“Everybody wants money, especially these days.”
“Too true. The kicker is, I think I might manage to do some deals. That’s going to come as a major surprise to the biotech firms involved, but I imagine they’ll be grateful.”
Bryant shook his head in moderate disbelief. Their unit’s best spy, Sloan, was equal parts con man and intelligence agent. He could be anyone at the drop of a hat. They’d had evenings out where he’d blended seamlessly from personality to personality, chosen more or less at random by using the people in the bar or restaurant as inspiration. He always had the table crying with laughter by the time he finished.
“Stop in unannounced on Senator Finley, if you’d be so kind, and let me know if he’s in his office. Other than that, maybe see if you can get an appointment with either of the senators from Nevada.”
“Right into the lion’s den, eh? Sure, will do. Gotta go for a bit.” The connection closed, and Bryant switched over to an audiobook and hit play. There are worse ways to spend a day than relaxing amid the hustle and bustle of government and listening to The Martian.
About half the time, Finley left his office and went directly to a restaurant in the blocks surrounding the capital buildings for dinner. Tonight was one of those occasions, and Bryant followed as the senator and an unknown man walked to their destination. Finley had often complained to him about the difficulty of finding time to exercise, so he tended to walk whenever possible. Which isn’t the best thing for him, safety-wise, but works in my favor at the moment.