The Sector

by Kari Nichols

  “It’s why they didn’t see us coming.” Tate grunted as she pulled the second, much larger man from his chair and dragged him over to the corner. “Can you patch Tommy in?”

  “Already done,” she replied. Her fingers flew over the keys as she tested the system. She spoke with Tommy while he used her USB’s satellite uplink to download everything from the hard drives.

  Tate had no idea what she was doing and didn’t care. She and Tommy could geek out all day if they wanted, though Tate didn’t think they’d get that long.

  “I think I’ve found it,” Emily said.

  “Found what?” Tate asked. She watched as multiple windows popped up on the monitor, disappearing just as swiftly. Reams of data scrolled down the second screen.

  Emily just grunted. Tate knew the response well. Tommy did the same thing when he was distracted and didn’t want to be. Wandering around the room, Tate picked up random objects, inspected them and then put them back again. At the second work station she saw a toy that she recognized from one of those popular cartoon space shows. When she tried to move the arms one snapped off and she put it down. Next to it she found a replica of what had always looked to her to be a mechanical buffalo with foot-long legs. When she tried to move the legs to make it walk, one snapped off.

  Frustrated, she leaned against the back wall, her arms crossed, and waited for Emily and Tommy to remember the outside world existed.

  Emily turned to Tate. “McMaster’s techs are trying to change the code so that a single command can detonate the bombs in any synched locator.”

  There’s the wholesale slaughter, Tate thought. With over one hundred thousand of the bombs already implanted, Godin would have a very effective bargaining chip. “Tommy, are you plugged into the cameras here?” Tate asked.

  “Yeah, what do you need?” he asked.

  “Where is everyone?”

  Tommy accessed the security system for the building and started to switch through the various camera views. The guards were back at their stations guarding the perimeter of the building. Gibson was nowhere in sight, as expected.

  “There’s a warehouse at the other end of the compound. It’s a large space and there are a group of people huddling around a workbench.”

  “Can you see what they’re working on?” Tate asked.

  “No, you’ll have to do that.”

  “When you want something done right,” Tate winked at Emily. “Are you done here?” she asked.

  “Tommy is downloading the data to a dummy terminal in his office. We’ll be able to access and analyze the data once he’s got it all.” Emily saw the semi-glazed look on Tate’s face and grinned. “Yes, I’m done here.”

  “Good,” Tate smiled. “Let’s go blow shit up.”

  “Bugger that,” Gibson said, his thick brogue whispering over their ear pieces. While they’d been inside playing with the computers, he’d been outside seeing to their exit strategy. “If you’re going to blow shit up, then I’m coming inside to play, too.”

  Tate led the way out of the computer room and followed Tommy’s instructions to reach the warehouse. He forced them into a janitor’s closet to avoid a roaming guard and then again into the ladies’ room. They arrived at the warehouse door and Tommy gave her the code to bypass the security panel. Tate punched in the numbers and pressed the enter key, unlocking the door.

  Gibson edged around the corner of the warehouse and headed for the facility’s exterior door. He was halfway there and completely exposed when he heard a vehicle coming his way. Checking over his shoulder, he saw that the truck hadn’t rounded the corner yet. Sprinting past the door, he hurtled a row of 18-gallon drums and skidded in the dirt. He watched from his position as two trucks rounded the corner and approached the side entrance to the warehouse.

  Tate stuck her snake-cam through a crack in the warehouse door. No one was in the immediate vicinity and there were a number of drums just off to the left that they could use as cover. Gesturing for Emily to come forward, Tate pointed to the barrels and pushed her into the room. Tate shut the door behind her and duck-walked over to Emily’s position.

  She could see the exterior door and knew that they’d be hidden from view. Her main concern was if anyone decided to enter from inside the building. Looking around for a higher vantage point, Tate saw there were no offices on an upper floor. There was no upper floor at all. The building had a sixty foot ceiling with a metal support structure stretching all across the length of the building that held the roof in place.

  Turning to Emily, Tate asked, “you afraid of heights?”

  Emily looked up at the support beams, back down at the look in Tate’s eyes and gave a resigned sigh. “No, I’m not afraid of heights.”

  Tate steered her over to the wall next to the door. A ladder attached to the wall extended all the way up to the ceiling’s support beams. Emily went first, so Tate could guard her back. At the top of the ladder there was a four foot gap between it and the structure. Emily had to stand on the second-to-last rung and then balance herself enough to reach the lowest beam. Hanging from her hands, sixty feet in the air, she tried twice before she managed to lever her legs up to the beam.

  “Shuffle down to the end and use the cross section to get your legs on top of the beam,” Tate instructed.

  Emily inched her way along the beam until she was close to the cross section. Lifting her right leg over the beam, she secured it before releasing her left leg and bringing it around the beam to the same side and swinging it up next to her right. She inched a little further along, until her butt hit the cross section and then she released her right hand and grabbed the ceiling support and hauled herself into a seated position.

  Tate had a longer reach. She stepped up to the last rung and balanced herself, leaning forward until her fingers reached the beam. Getting a grip on the top side, she used her arms to haul her body up and then swung her legs over the top of the beam. Standing, she led the way down the support to a cross section that allowed them to traverse the entire width of the ceiling. She moved two beams to the right and continued to walk forward, toward the work benches.

  Standing above the work bench, Tate tried to make out what they were working on, but the distance was too great. She pulled out her Bionacles and stuck them on her face. Pushing down on the right arm, she watched as the scene below came rushing up at her. Taking a second to focus, she hit the trigger for Wi-Fi.

  “Uploading now,” Tommy whispered. He’d be able to record what she was seeing and examine it further, but she already recognized it.

  “What is it?” Emily asked.

  “Put on your Bionacles and see for yourself.”

  When Emily had them on Tate showed her how to adjust the zoom and the focus. Emily fiddled with the controls until she had the zoom working properly. Looking down, she focused on the objects on the table. “Is that a handgun?” she asked.

  “It is. That’s the gun based off Bailey’s stolen prototype.” Tate explained how McMaster had stolen the prototype nine months ago and started replicating it. “It’s a dart gun, but it fires very special darts.”

  “How special?” Emily asked.

  “Nano-bombs. The dart housing is a shell that allows the bombs to be changed as needed. An ampoule is inserted into the housing. It could be a bomb, a GPS device or a cyanide capsule. When the dart comes in contact with flesh, it grabs on and injects the ampoule beneath the skin. What happens next depends on the contents of the ampoule.”

  “Tate, I can see locator beacons on that table, too,” Tommy’s voice whispered in her ear.

  Tate took a complete scan of the table for Tommy and saw what he was referring to. She zoomed her glasses in as far as she could. “They’ve modified it. It’s bigger than the one they put in me.”

  “That one looks like an older prototype. I’ll send the pictures to Bailey and get her take on it. In the meantime,” he reminded her.

  Yes, Tate smiled. It was time to put a small hiccup in their production lin
e. She was about to contact Gibson with the go-ahead when his voice echoed in her ear.

  “Incoming, through the side door. I count five; one leader and four guns.”

  Tate looked down at the exterior door as it swung open. No one at the table appeared surprised by the intrusion. Tate raised the volume on her glasses and the conversation floated up to them, loud and clear.

  “Vlad, very good to see you again,” Vasili shook hands and kissed cheeks with the leader. The four guns arranged themselves around the table, ignoring the other scientists.

  Vlad gestured at the gun. “It is done?”

  “Yes, sir, it is ready. We have not tested it with the darts from your Dr. Ho. He refused to send us any samples.”

  When the scientist looked like he was going to ramble on, Vlad picked up a gun and tossed it to him. Pulling a package from his inside coat pocket, he opened it and removed a single bullet. “Load it.”

  The scientist loaded the round and set the selector. He passed the gun back to Vlad. Vlad chambered the round, pointed the gun at one of the other scientists standing around the bench and before the man could react, pulled the trigger.

  The gun fired; the dart flew out the end and struck the scientist. Tate watched as the scientist dropped straight to the floor. Tate switched her goggles to motion infrared and saw that his heart was still beating, so he’d only been knocked unconscious. He’d had no time to react, no time to even raise a hand in defense or attempt to extract the dart. Whatever drug they were using to subdue them, it worked damn fast.

  The other scientists moved away from their fallen associate as though he carried the plague. Vlad examined another gun and decided it was good enough. “Is this all you have ready?” he asked, gesturing to the five guns on the table.

  “So far, yes,” the man admitted, distracted by his fallen associate. “The rest of your order can be delivered anywhere you decide, in one week.”

  “Grab them,” Vlad demanded of his men.

  “What do we do with him?” the head scientist asked, pointing to the unconscious man.

  “They haven’t perfected the drug yet,” was all Vlad said before walking out of the warehouse, his men trailing behind him.

  The head scientist gestured for one of the warehouse guards standing nearby to come closer. When the man was next to him, he pointed down at the unconscious man. “Kill him.”

  Without hesitation, the guard pulled his service revolver and shot the man twice, in the head.

  “Burn the body,” the scientist suggested and the guard dragged the dead man out the door.

  “What kind of nano-bomb did they shoot him with?” Emily asked.

  “No idea,” Tate admitted. She’d love to get her hands on one of those bombs so that Bailey could analyze the compound inside of it. Recalling Gibson’s position, she told him about the bombs. “Inside coat pocket on the left side.”

  “Roger that,” he whispered.

  Gibson’s exit strategy included several bricks of C4 placed around the bulk of the main warehouse, band-aid bombs on the larger vehicles and Tate dropping smaller bricks of C4 inside the warehouse. As they backtracked to the ladder, Tate placed several pre-synched bricks along the beam. Once among the barrels again, she placed several more in a cluster at the centre of the barrels. Filled with highly corrosive acids, they would assist in the overall destruction of the facility. Tommy guided them through the complex, to their entrance point. Exiting, they hunkered down next to the building, surveying the grounds.

  “Gibson, we’re making for the exit in the fence. Where are you?”

  “I’m near the outside exit to the warehouse. I need a diversion to get at those bombs.” Gibson was still tucked in behind the drums, unable to move in any direction without giving himself away.

  “The trucks?” Tate asked.

  “Yeah, do it,” he agreed.

  Tate pulled a remote device from her pocket and keyed in the band-aid bombs that Gibson had stuck to the gas tank of each one. She steered Emily toward a truck. “You drive, I’ll shoot,” she yelled. She paused long enough to rip the band-aid off the side of their truck and stick it on another vehicle.

  Emily jumped into the driver’s seat and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the keys in the ignition. She slammed the clutch to the floor and turned it over. Thrusting the gear shift into first she popped the clutch and sped off toward the main gate.

  Guards poured out of the gatehouse, guns spitting bullets. Tate attached the grenade launcher to her M4 and squeezed the trigger. The grenade flew out ahead of them and struck the ground near the gate. The blast weakened the fence, but didn’t take it down completely. The guards scattered, but soon regained their footing and spread out to block their escape.

  “Drive through them,” Tate instructed. She sprayed bullets to keep the guards down. Emily hit the gate hard. It offered up little resistance to the much heavier truck. As they passed through, Tate heard engines fire up behind her. She pushed the button on the remote device.

  “Here comes your diversion,” she whispered to Gibson.

  The remote, already synched to the bombs, took less than one second to send the destruct signal. The bombs blasted a hole in the gas tanks of each vehicle. The explosion ignited the gasoline. Trucks flipped, end over end, down the dirt road. Blazing hot shrapnel whipped out in every direction. Anyone who had lived through the explosion was shredded by the flying metal.

  Vlad sent his men off to assess the damage. Leaning against the back of his truck, he pulled a cigarette from his jacket. Striking a match, he puffed until the end lit and then flipped the match to the ground. Gibson stepped out from behind the barrels and snuck up behind Vlad. He whacked Vlad on the back of the head with the butt of his gun. Reaching in to an inside pocket of Vlad’s coat, Gibson pulled out the package containing the bombs. He extracted one and put the package back where he’d found it.

  Gibson used his knife to slit a hole in the lining of the jacket, along a side seam. He stuck a band-aid bomb inside the lining and pressed it to the side of the jacket. He stuck a second bomb to the truck. Activating both of the bombs and synching his remote detonator to them, he pocketed the device and headed away from the truck.

  With the guards focused on the gate breach at the far end of the complex, Gibson cut through the wire fence behind him and wiggled through. He headed due west at a steady run. Tate had told Emily to swing around to the west and drive two miles out. Gibson met them fifteen minutes later.

  He pulled the detonator from his pack and handed it to her. “It’s synched to Vlad’s jacket and to the truck.”

  Tate attached the device to the USB port on her cell phone. Tommy uploaded the IDs from the bomb and began tracking them.

  “They’re moving in synch, a half mile from the complex,” he confirmed.

  Tate deactivated the detonator so they wouldn’t accidentally blow the bombs and handed it back to Gibson. She pulled a detonator from her pocket and pressed the button. The bricks of C4 she’d left inside the complex exploded. Gibson triggered the bombs he’d set up outside the complex. Inside the warehouse, the concussive wave tossed the scientists around like rag dolls. Part of the roof collapsed and crushed them. The fireball raced through the hallways, engulfing everything in its path. When the dust cloud had dissipated, a crater thirty feet in diameter was all that remained of the complex.

  Ura-bay Naval Base, Russia

  Tank stopped his truck at the gate to the entrance of the naval base. It was after five pm, a little late for a visit, but they’d had to wait until darkness set in. He and Jimmy had sailed their Stingher down the Tuloma River and parked it a mile outside of Murmansk. They’d walked into town the next afternoon and rented two trucks. Jimmy drove around to the south side of the naval base to come in the back way while Tank knocked on the front door.

  He presented his passport for inspection to the unsmiling guard. The man returned to his booth and picked up the phone. A second guard did a careful visual examination of his t
ruck. He opened the passenger and rear doors and shined his flashlight into all of the dark spaces. He took out Tank’s pack and rummaged through it. Tank had expected his pack to be searched, so he’d strapped his Glock to his calf, beneath his pant leg. If they insisted on a full body pat down, he was in trouble.

  Tank watched the man in the booth. He was doing a lot of listening. The passport checked out, as Tank had expected it would. Petar did excellent work. The guard returned to the truck and passed his passport through the window.

  “Drive straight ahead. Park in visitor’s, on left.” He pointed to a poorly lit area off to the left of the main building. “Drachov will meet you at front.”

  Tank nodded and waited for the guard to lift the barrier. He drove down the short road and selected a parking spot closest to the front door. Grabbing his pack from the passenger seat, he left the vehicle and headed for the entrance.

  Yevgeny Drachov stood inside the door, opening it for Tank when he appeared. They shook hands and touched cheeks before Drachov directed him down the hall to an empty office. He closed the door and motioned for silence. Pulling a remote from his top drawer, Drachov pushed a button near the top.

  Tank felt more than heard a high pitched whine ringing in his ears. He couldn’t see any equipment, but felt certain that Drachov had initialized some sort of jamming device.

  “We may freely speak now, my friend,” Drachov confirmed, his thick accent stumbling over the less familiar English words. “What is it you seek?”

  Fluent in four languages besides English, Tank made the switch to Russian. “A friend of mine has gone missing and I believe he’s on that submarine you mentioned. I need to find him and free him.”

  Drachov opened another drawer and pulled out two glasses and a bottle. He poured a healthy two fingers of vodka into each glass and passed one to Tank. “None that left the sub are here now.”

  “They’re gone?” Tank scowled. Shit! He’d taken too long! “Where were they taken?”