The Pride of the Damned

by Peter Grant

  He took a small, easily-concealed, silenced pulser from a hidden, shielded compartment of his suitcase. He inserted its capacitor, and set it to top-up its charge while he checked the rounds in its three magazines. He hung a cord around his neck supporting two thin fixed-blade polymer knives, one hilt-down on his chest, the other hilt-up between his shoulder-blades. They would not set off metal detectors, but were strong enough to inflict a fatal stab wound if wielded expertly. A steel folding knife went into his left trouser pocket, along with his emergency supply of cash and gold taels. The pulser would fit into a holster sewn inside the left chest of his jacket. A flashlight balanced it on the right side, along with two spare magazines of ammo and his passport chip. His wallet went into his right trouser pocket.

  Finally, he took a printout of a three-year-old magazine article from his suitcase. He’d picked it up during his previous visit to Neue Helvetica. It described, with many images, the adventures of a gang of teenage daredevil misfits who’d spent a couple of years exploring the drains and utility tunnels beneath New Geneva. It even included a helpful map showing much of their layout. One of the major nodes was accessible through the service basement of this very hotel – which was one of the reasons he’d selected it. A man never knew when he might need a back door, after all. He scanned the article quickly to refresh his memory, then folded it and put it in a jacket pocket.

  He glanced at the time display. It was almost five. The city would be waking soon. Any watchers keeping an eye on him would expect him to be up and moving within an hour or two. Better to leave now, and try to avoid detection as he made his way to the basement. With luck, the service staff would not have arrived yet to set up the cleaning bots and other equipment.

  He looked up a code in the files of his comm unit, and wrote it down. He might need it after all. He erased all the codes in the unit’s index, set it to wipe its memory clean, and left it on the desk, where signal triangulation would continue to locate it for the benefit of any observers.

  He slung the messenger bag over his shoulder, walked out of the room, and closed its door gently behind him.

  “What do you mean, he’s not in his room?” The senior man’s voice was furious.

  “Sir, I came on duty at six, and checked the signal from his comm unit. It was still in his room. He normally comes down by seven, so when he didn’t, I checked last night’s vid. He left the room just before five, and went down to the lobby. From there, he turned toward the back of the hotel. Security vid didn’t show him coming out of the rear entrance, so he must have gone somewhere in the building. That’s all I have so far, sir.”

  “Verdammt! Find out whether he got out aboard a utility vehicle, or perhaps hid in the basement. I want the names of the overnight crew. They lost him, so they’re going to pay for that!”

  “Yes, sir.” He mentioned two names.

  The boss was only half-dressed when the second call came in. The surveillance operator sounded out of breath. “Sir, I checked the security vid for the basement. Target went down to the utility level. No-one was on duty there so early in the morning. He went through to the rear, opened the grate separating it from the city utility tunnel that runs under the street, and climbed through, securing the grate behind him. No trace of him since then, sir.”

  “All right. Get whatever he left in his room, then bring it and your team to the warehouse. We’re going to have to blanket the city. He must not get away!”

  It took the team a little over an hour to make their way through morning rush-hour traffic to the warehouse in the industrial area. The guards on the doors checked their identities carefully, then waved them inside. The team leader parked their van, and handed over Pal’s suitcase and garment bag to a waiting specialist. “That’s everything he left in the room,” he informed him.

  “Passport? Travel papers?”

  “None that I could see.”

  “Scheiss! He could be anywhere in the city by now. Go to the meeting-room. The boss wants to see everyone who staked him out. The others are already there.”

  The leader led his team to the back of the warehouse, where a double-story bank of offices had been erected against the rear wall. He took them to a large room on one side of the lower level. They found about twenty others gathered, sitting still as mice. Their boss stalked the front of the room, his face dark with fury. To one side, two of their number were tied to chairs, their faces marked with bruises and cuts, bleeding freely.

  “There you are at last!” the senior man snarled. “Sit down!”

  He waited until they had taken their places, then snapped, “I told you all how important this job was. You have no idea how much money we’re talking about. It’s more than you can imagine in your wildest dreams! My ass is on the line right now with the big bosses. They’ve given us an ultimatum. If we can’t find this guy, they’re going to discipline all of us. I don’t need to tell you how unpleasant that might get!” A shiver of fear through his audience proved they understood all too well.

  “As for these two clowns, they must have been fast asleep. They had the same access to hotel security vid as Wolfgang and his team, but they didn’t use it at all. They let our target waltz right out of his room, down the corridor, down the elevator, past the reception desk and down to the basement, then get into the city utility tunnel. At any time, they could have seen him and stopped him. They failed. I asked the bosses, and they said there’s only one penalty for that sort of neglect.”

  He produced a silenced pulser from inside his jacket. The two men cried out in fear and horror, but he ignored their pleas as he aimed carefully, then fired one round into the center of each face from point-blank range. Blood and brains were blown all over the wall behind them, leaving two ghastly red-and-gray splotches on the white paint as they toppled sideways in their chairs.

  “Any of you fail like they did, and you’ll wish you had it as easy as them! Do I make myself clear, damn you?”

  He looked around, dominating them. “Every section leader in the city has been put on alert. All our people are looking. Our next job is to sweep the utility tunnels, checking all the security vid from them, visiting everything in easy reach of the hotel basement, trying to find any trace of where the target went. Don’t expect to get home to your families until he’s found. All right, here’s how we’ll do this…”

  21

  Evasion

  NEUE HELVETICA

  Pal sat huddled between the heaped garbage bags loaded aboard the utility robocart. He’d made a hole in the pile, crawled in, then pulled the bags closed and tugged a couple over his head. Small gaps allowed him to see out to either side.

  The robotic cart bumped over debris and trash as it trundled toward the next stop on its route. Its electronic sensors detected an obstruction ahead, and it slowed, then stopped. As the whine of its electric motor died away, Pal could hear raised voices.

  “Like I told you last time, I haven’t seen anyone go past at all! Why the hell do you keep coming back and asking me the same thing, over and over again?”

  “Because we want this guy badly.” The second voice was cold, remorseless. “You’d better wise up and cooperate, junge. If you don’t, we’ll have a word with your union rep. Next thing you know, you’ll be wading knee-deep in raw sewage, clearing blockages at the processing plant. If you don’t show me some respect, you’ll be doing it without protective gear, too!”

  Pal peered through the gap to his left as the cart moved forward a few meters, then stopped once more. He could see a sanitation worker in a white protective suit, with its head covering pulled back. He was talking to a man wearing smart street clothing, which looked completely out of place in this garbage tunnel.

  “All right, all right, keep your shirt on! I’ll let you know if I see anyone.”

  “See that you do.”

  The man in the suit turned on his heel and walked out of sight toward the front of the utility cart. A few seconds later, there came the whine of an electric motor
as a vehicle moved away.

  The sanitation worker muttered, “Like hell I’ll tell you, you bastard! Who do you think you are, anyway, you stuck-up pimp?” He turned to the cart as it began to move, and raised his voice. “Wagen, halt!”

  The robocart obediently stopped, and the worker began to toss bags of trash onto those already in its load bed. As he did so, Pal was struck with a sudden idea. He moved a bag away to reveal himself, looked out at the man, and put his finger over his lips. “Shhhh!”

  “Zum Teufel?” The sanitation worker goggled at him.

  Pal motioned him closer, trying to look as conspiratorial as possible. “Don’t give me away!” he whispered, hoping he sounded scared enough to be convincing. “It’s not ‘they’ who want me – it’s that bastard. It’s personal. You see, I screwed his girlfriend.”

  The worker broke into delighted laughter. “Ach, so! I knew there was something weird about this! I haven’t seen so much fuss since I started here! How did you manage that?”

  Pal hung his head sheepishly. “I’m a contract worker at the casino. I saw him there with her one night. He was concentrating on the cards, and she was bored. We got to talking. One thing led to another, and… you know…”

  “I sure do! And he found out, huh?”

  “Yeah. She got mad at him one night, and told him all about how I was a better lover than he’d ever be. He lost it. Kicked her out, and now he’s after my blood. He’s using his goons to help him.”

  “He sure is. There’s a few dozen of them searching the tunnels. They must know you came in here.”

  “Yeah. Will you help me get out?”

  “Sure I will! Crawl out on the far side of the cart, staying low, and crouch down next to it, so the security cameras in the middle of the tunnel don’t notice you. When it starts moving again, stay next to it for about fifty meters. You’ll come to a yellow door. Open it, slip inside, and close the door quickly, before the cart moves past. Wait there. I’ll be along in about ten minutes, and I’ll show you a way out.”

  “Thank you so much! I owe you, friend.”

  “Hey, buy me a beer sometime. I’m glad to help put one over on that overbearing bastard. All right, get going. See you in a few.”

  The worker was as good as his word. He came in, whistling cheerfully, and closed the door behind him as he winked at Pal. “They’re in all the tunnels, so we’ve got to get you past them. Here, put this on.” He pulled a clean white sanitation oversuit from a locker and tossed it to him. “Sling that pack of yours behind your back, so it looks like just another lump in these cheap suits. Leave your head covering on, with the mask, so they can’t see your face. We’ll take a cart to an exit about a kilometer away. If anyone stops us, let me do the talking. You keep your mask on the whole time. When we get there, I’ll show you how to get up to the street. It comes out next to a workers’ café in the industrial area. Stay out of sight and off the streets until dark, then you should be able to call a cab and slip away.”

  “I owe you for this. Can I…?”

  The worker accepted the proffered hundred-franc bill. “Hey, thanks! This’ll buy a few beers for myself and my mates tonight.” He looked abashed. “Say, I don’t even know your name.”

  “Better that you don’t, or I yours. Say, do you know anyone with wheels I can borrow or rent for a couple of hours, or even buy?”

  The sanitary worker grimaced. “With all the fuss going on, I don’t know who else can be trusted to keep their mouth shut. I’ve only got an old city scooter.”

  “I can ride one. What’s it worth?”

  The other shook his head. “It’s twelve years old, and it’s pretty worn. Tires are almost bald. Can’t be worth more than three, four hundred.”

  Pal peeled off ten notes. “Here’s a thousand. When do you go off shift?”

  “Tonight at eighteen.”

  “Wait until then, then report it stolen, and you can collect the insurance, too. I won’t need it any more by that time. Do we have a deal?”

  “Ja, genau! My helmet’s clipped to it. For this much money, you can have that, too! It’s in the worker parking area next to the exit you’ll use.” He took an ignition fob from his pocket and handed it over.

  “Danke. You just saved my life again, giving me a way to get clear of that bastard.”

  “I’m glad to help. Get into that oversuit, and let’s go.”

  An hour later, Pal emerged onto a side street, looking around cautiously. He’d spent a precious half-hour in the employee washroom, removing his beard and mustache, thinning and reshaping his eyebrows, then coloring them and his hair an iron gray, making him look older. He’d parted his hair at one side, rather than combing it straight back, and removed the cheek pads he’d used to widen his features. Facial recognition software wouldn’t be fooled, but hopefully a human observer, looking for a man resembling his previous appearance, wouldn’t identify him in time to stop him. He’d also put on his gray utility coverall, so as to look more like a sanitation worker and less like a businessman.

  Sure enough, there was a heavyset man standing near the door. A bulge beneath his coat indicated that he was probably armed. He glanced at Pal, but didn’t say anything. Pal ignored him as he walked past, heading for the parking area placarded ‘Nur Sanitärarbeiter’. Pressing the key fob caused an urban scooter to flash its lights from the second row of parked vehicles. He walked over to it, took the helmet from the rack at the rear, and strapped his messenger bag in its place.

  He inserted the battery into the newly acquired and totally anonymous comm unit, powered it up, and dialed the code he’d written down that morning. After a few rings, a voice answered.

  “Ja?”

  Pal said simply, “Commodore Cochrane told me to call this code if I was in trouble and needed help.”

  “Ach, so. You are Pal Sejdiu?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “The Commodore informed us of his arrangement with you. The Gesellschaft is looking for you all over. This will be difficult, but we shall do our best. Where are you?”

  “I’m on Zufahrtsstrasse, in the sanitation employees’ parking lot.”

  The voice sounded unwillingly impressed. “You have done well to get so far without being picked up. Can you get to the Stadthöfe shopping mall?”

  Pal thought rapidly, consulting a mental map of the city. The mall was about twenty kilometers away, on the other side of town. A scooter wasn’t allowed to use the elevated ring road, so he’d have to ride through stop-start city traffic all the way. “Yes, I can be there in about an hour.”

  “Very well. We shall send someone to meet you at the third level entrance to the parking garage in concourse A. Look for a man wearing a black mourning armband on his left arm over a white shirt, with a gray jacket over his right shoulder. He will take you somewhere else. Ask no questions and do everything he tells you, on pain of forfeiting our help if you disobey.”

  “I will. I’ll be wearing a gray coverall, and carrying a messenger bag. Thank you.”

  Pal removed the battery from the comm unit. There was no sense in letting anyone track it from here to his destination, and perhaps link it with him. Better to reserve it for emergencies only.

  He put on the helmet. It was a little too small, which was uncomfortable, but the ability to lower its visor over his face was too useful to forgo. He started the bike, hearing its small electric motor whine shrilly, and rode off, a little unsteadily, into the traffic.

  Pal parked his scooter on the third level, then walked toward the mall entrance. His utility coverall looked sadly out of place among the fashionably clothed shoppers as he went inside, but he hadn’t found anywhere convenient to change.

  Sure enough, a man dressed as described was waiting for him, just inside the entrance. His eyes narrowed as he turned toward him.

  “Pal?” he asked baldly.

  “Yes.”

  “Come with me.”

  The man led him to a door set into the wall of the parking gar
age. Inside was a small room filled with cleaning gear. Another man waited there, casually dressed. He was about Pal’s size and shape.

  “Quick, take off that coverall and give it to Manfred. He will walk around the mall for an hour or so, to let any watchers find him and realize that despite his clothing, he is not you. Perhaps that will help to throw them off the scent.” He reached for a garbage bag. “Put everything from that messenger bag in this, and give Manfred your bag and helmet. It will help him look more like you.”

  The exchange was soon made. Pal handed over the scooter key fob, providing quick details of where it was parked, then dressed in the spare street clothes he’d packed early that morning. They let themselves out of the room, and Manfred disappeared into the mall.

  His escort led Pal to a car in the parking garage. He opened the hatchback lid, then retracted the flexible cover over the baggage area. “Lie down in here, and I’ll cover you. It will be an uncomfortable journey, lasting up to an hour or even more, but you will be out of sight.”

  Pal obeyed. The man closed the cover over his head, then shut the hatch, plunging the baggage area into Stygian darkness. He drew the silenced pulser from his jacket, and prepared to sell his life dearly if the need should arise.

  The journey turned out to be nearer two hours than one. The driver constantly changed direction, turning left and right, and sometimes appearing to make U-turns, always at slow speeds, presumably because he was in evening rush-hour traffic. The noise of other vehicles, warning horns and sirens, and the bustle of the city never stopped.

  At last the vehicle turned off the street and up a ramp. Pal heard a gate sliding back, then the car drove into an echoing space that sounded like a parking garage. He heard the gate close behind them as the driver turned, then halted the car. A brief pause, then the hatch opened and the flexible cover was slid back. Pal blinked in the sudden bright lights of the garage.