by Todd McAulty
“What if someone comes sniffing around, starts asking where our centrifuges came from? Perez may be tacitly supporting us, but he’s not likely to ignore accusations of grand theft. We’re one investigation away from having half our team arrested.”
Sergei dismissed my concern with a wave. “Perez does not care about theft of low-value medical equipment. There are thefts in city every day. He has far more important things to concern him. There will be no investigation.”
“I hope you’re right. But the centrifuges aren’t the only theft we need to keep a lid on. If Hayduk sees the video of me in the basement of Columbia College, he’ll know the suit is still out there. I don’t want to stir that hornet’s nest, bring him crawling around here.”
“Not likely. Do not forget, Hayduk cannot publicly acknowledge he had suit—not even to Venezuelan officers. It is crime to possess it. It is likely he and Nasir were the only ones to know of its existence.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “He probably didn’t appreciate me parading it in front of all his soldiers when I left the Sturgeon Building, then.”
“Nyet. I would not think so.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Less than an hour until my meeting with Van de Velde. I stood up. “I need to get ready.”
Sergei accompanied me out. “Where is Joy?” I asked.
“Dr. Lark? I have no idea.”
“Didn’t she come back to the hotel with you and Black Winter?”
“Yes. She wanted to examine me, inspect my wounds, but it was not necessary.”
“She was really worried about you. She insisted on accompanying Black Winter to go find you. You could have at least shown her the courtesy of letting her check you over.”
That seemed to surprise him. “I have no time for such things,” said Sergei.
He’s completely oblivious, I thought. One of the most observant men I’ve ever met, and he has no idea when a woman is interested.
When all this was over, he and I were going to have a talk. I was pretty sure he’d thank me later.
XXIV
Wednesday, March 17th, 2083
Posted 5:54 pm by Barry Simcoe
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My underground excursion with Van de Velde took a lot longer than I thought it would.
Honestly, I’m not sure what I’d expected when I suggested we retrieve the bodies of her fallen soldiers. Like I told Sergei, mostly I was just trying to prevent another bloodbath. I was pretty sure I could get us in and out without much trouble, and I didn’t think much beyond that.
I probably should have.
Van de Velde met me in the lobby, as promised, and then marched me wordlessly outside the hotel, where she put me in an armored car. All my attempts at conversation were met with stony silence while she drove through the streets. I was hoping to get to know her a bit better on this trip, but it didn’t look like I was going to be given the opportunity.
She took us to a staging area on the western edge of Grant Park, about fifty yards from Columbia College. The operation to retrieve two fallen Venezuelan soldiers from the underground enclave of a renegade Argentine war machine was not a small one, and large-scale preparations continued regardless of my offer to Van de Velde. There were easily a hundred troops massing on the grass. I saw a squad of hover drones doing low-altitude test runs and several young soldiers struggling under the weight of heavy assault weaponry.
“What’s going on, Sergeant?” I asked.
“Get out of the car,” she said.
I was left to cool my heels while Van de Velde hustled to join an outdoor briefing. The briefing was given by a balding middle-aged capitán, who ended the conclave with a brief prayer. The group of officers broke up, and the troops began to prepare for the assault.
Van de Velde didn’t return right away. When she did, it was with the capitán and his retinue of senior officers, including a translator, a young female lieutenant.
Van de Velde didn’t bother with introductions. She simply marched over to my side and came to attention. The capitán sauntered up, a black tablet tucked under his arm. A name tag on his left breast read leon. He looked me up and down with barely concealed contempt.
“¿Quién es usted?” he said.
“Who are you?” said the translator.
“Barry Simcoe, CEO of Ghost Impulse technologies—”
“Why are you here?” he said, through the translator.
“I am here,” I said slowly, giving the translator plenty of time, “to assist in the recovery of . . . of your deceased soldiers. I offered my services to Sergeant Van de Velde—”
“What is your business with the AGRT?”
What the hell did that mean? “I have no business relationship with the Venezuelan military, or any other member state of the AGRT,” I said awkwardly.
Leon took a step forward, getting in my face like a drill sergeant. He smelled of coffee and aftershave. “How do you know about the death of my men, Mr. Simcoe?”
I glanced over at Van de Velde. She continued to stare straight ahead, hands at her sides, her body at rigid attention.
What was this? Was this Van de Velde’s way of setting me up? Of exposing me as the man in the combat suit, without having to rat me out personally? Or was this asshole just naturally suspicious?
I kept my eyes fixed on his as I responded. “Are you joking? You want me to point out which of your young recruits told me about it first? Everyone in the hotel knows about the death of your men, Capitán. By tomorrow, everyone in Chicago will know.”
Leon’s face soured. He didn’t like my answer, but it was obvious he found it entirely plausible.
“You will surrender your personal computing equipment to Primer Teniente Acardo,” he said, nodding to a man on his right. “And your access codes.”
“I don’t have any equipment with me—”
Leon nodded to his first lieutenant, and Acardo stepped forward and frisked me. He wasn’t gentle about it. I had a pen in my pocket; Acardo tossed it to the grass. He also found the drone jammer and my recorder; they followed the pen to the grass. A minute later my wallet and passport were in Leon’s hands as well.
Leon went through my wallet slowly, examining my ID cards. “¿Canadiense?” he said, holding up my passport.
“Yes, Canadian.”
He dropped the wallet and the passport at my feet.
“I don’t care where you are from,” he said. “Perhaps you are used to delicate treatment from the Venezuelan Diplomatic Corps. Perhaps you were brought to the city with promises of quick wealth. I do not care about that either. If you are an intelligence operative for a foreign power, I will find out. If you are here to interfere with my operations, I will find out.”
“I’m not a—”
“I did not give you permission to speak. You will accompany Primer Teniente Acardo, and you will answer all his questions regarding the rogue machines under this city. If you lie, I will have you shot. If you withhold information crucial to the safety of my officers, I will have you shot. You will tell Primer Teniente Acardo everything you know, and then I will decide what to do with you.”
Capitán Leon and I stared at each other for a few seconds. He seemed to be assessing me. Well then, let’s give this shithead something to assess, I thought.
I looked over at the translator. “You know what? Tell him to kiss my ass.”
The lieutenant, who’d been translating everything with smooth efficiency, choked on my words.
“Right now,” I said. “Do it.”
The lieutenant translated with thin lips, eyes fixed on the capitán’s shoes.
Leon’s reaction, however, was a very thin smile. He turned and whispered something to Acardo in a low voice.
His first lieutenant nodded, then unholstered his sidearm and leveled it at my chest.
On my right, Van de Velde took a step forward, surprise evident on her face. “Capitán Leon—”
“¡Silencio!” he barked at her. Van de Velde immediately snapped back to attention, her face red.
When Capitán Leon spoke his next words, it was with a clear sense of satisfaction. “It never ceases to astonish me how you Americans respond to civil discussion with insults,” he said to me. That was fast. Thirty seconds, and he’d already forgotten I was Canadian. “I will be wasting no more time with you,” he continued. “Primer Teniente Acardo will now interrogate you. If he encounters any discourtesy, he has my permission to shoot you.”
With that Leon strode off, clearly happy to be done with this distraction to his operation. Acardo remained at my side, his pistol unwavering. Van de Velde looked shocked and affronted.
“Have you ever seen an Argentinean Orbit Pebble up close, Capitán Leon?” I called after the capitán. “They have two front-mounted antipersonnel weapons, both capable of delivering two hundred rounds per minute.”
The capitán stopped before the lieutenant had translated my first sentence. A group of soldiers to our left stopped talking, turning toward us to see what all the fuss was about. So did a squad of about a dozen men by the car, a third of whom were being equipped with shoulder-mounted antimech missiles.
I raised my voice. “If things get interesting, they fall back on heavy weapons. Short-range ninety-millimeter explosive rounds. Turn a man to jelly. They’re most effective in close quarters. Like an underground tunnel.”
The capitán turned around. His face was an angry red.
“They have the best antimissile tech ever deployed. No Orbit Pebble has ever been killed by a missile. Not one.”
The soldiers on our right looked at their missiles, exchanging worried glances. Soldiers on both sides were stepping closer, curiosity and concern evident on their faces.
“When your men step inside the tunnels, my best assessment is forty percent casualties in the first fifteen minutes,” I said.
The lieutenant never completed translating that final sentence. Leon shut her up just before she finished.
He closed the distance between us in four quick strides. He locked eyes with me, but spoke to Acardo. The first lieutenant raised his gun. It was now aimed squarely at my head.
“Please,” said Capitán Leon to me. “Say one more word.”
“Capitán—” I said.
Acardo fired the gun. The retort was deafening. I swear I felt the bullet zip past my head on the left. I flinched. On my right, I saw Van de Velde cover her mouth and look away.
Capitán Leon, however, did not flinch. “That will be your only warning,” he said.
My only warning. That was ironic. No one had warned me about the Juno mech that killed Corporal Maldonado right in front of me. Or about the plague that had an excellent chance of killing me in the next few weeks. No one warned me about Hayduk, who’d kill me with excruciating slowness if he learned I had his combat suit. No one warned me about Armitage, the Sovereign Intelligence that was trying to kill me. And no one warned me about the goddamned Orbit Pebble that was very likely going to pump me full of high-caliber lead in the next thirty minutes.
The only guy willing to give me a warning was a cowardly Venezuelan capitán who would have arrested me already if he’d had the balls.
Acardo’s gun was back in my face, but I kept my eyes on Leon. “Either have him shoot me, or tell him to get that goddamn thing out of my face,” I said.
Leon spent the next few seconds very clearly trying to decide if he had the courage to have me killed.
I lowered my voice, forcing the translator to step closer. “I don’t like you, Capitán Leon. You’re an asshole. You don’t like me; I’m an arrogant foreigner. I get it. But if we’re through posturing, I can explain how to get your men back without bloodshed.”
Leon may have been an asshole, but he seemed to appreciate straight talk. “You have ten seconds,” he said.
“I’ve been studying the Rajapakse Colony under the city for some time,” I said. Which was bullshit, of course. But in my experience, if you want to be treated like an expert, you have to be ready to sound like one. “They know me, and I know them. There’s a good chance I can take a small team underground and retrieve the bodies without incident.”
“How many?”
“Two, at most. Me, and one other person.”
“How long?”
I shrugged. “It depends on where the bodies are. And if the colony has already disposed of them.”
“Are they likely to do that?”
“It’s possible. They’re in the middle of a major construction project.”
“What kind of project?”
I stooped over and picked up the drone jammer and the rest of my stuff, grateful that the worn disk of metal looked entirely inconspicuous. “If you want a briefing on the colony, Capitán, I’m happy to tell you everything I know later,” I said as I tucked my ID back inside my wallet. “Right now, I suggest we move quickly.”
The capitán folded his arms, considering. “Why are you doing this?” he said.
“I meant what I said about that Orbit Pebble. It’s a monster. It can be killed, but there will be many casualties. I don’t wish to see my friends slaughtered.”
Leon gave a meaningful glance in Van de Velde’s direction. “Your friends,” he said.
“The Venezuelan military has been very courteous to me,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.
“I am certain it has,” said Leon, his eyes still on Van de Velde. I didn’t respond. If thinking I was sleeping with Van de Velde made this easier for him to understand, I was happy to play along.
“If it is so dangerous, perhaps you should go alone,” said the capitán.
“I don’t know where the bodies are,” I said.
“No?”
“No.” Another lie, of course, but Leon wasn’t going to catch me incriminating myself as the man in the American combat suit that easy.
I looked at the circle of young faces around us. I pointed at the first one who looked familiar. It was the loudmouthed soldier in Van de Velde’s squad. “But she does.”
Leon turned to see who I was pointing at. “Her?”
“Yes. She took part in the battle. She could direct me to it.”
The soldier took a step backward, aghast to be on the receiving end of such thoughtful scrutiny from the capitán. I felt a little bad for her, but as long as the opportunity presented itself, it couldn’t hurt to sow a little doubt on just who had told me about the battle. Otherwise, it was pretty clear that Leon would suspect Van de Velde.
“Or him,” I said, pointing to another member of Van de Velde’s squad.
Leon took note of the second soldier. “I will determine who accompanies you,” he said.
“As you wish.”
“However, I have not yet made up my mind,” said the capitán, “whether or not to have you shot.”
“Let me know when you do,” I said. I turned my back on him and returned to the car.
I was not shot in the back. I was not shot at all, in fact. From inside the car, I watched Van de Velde in a lengthy discussion with the capitán, one that looked like it got pretty heated. But Van de Velde kept her cool, and she was eventually dismissed with her hide intact.
She showed up at the car ten minutes later. I got out, to face a withering glare.
“You’re either here to tell me I’m going to be shot or that we’re going into the tunnels,” I said. “Which is it?”
“I should shoot you myself.”
“Yeah. Seems I have that effect on people today.” I grabbed my flashlight out of the car. “Did I get you in trouble?”
She opened her mouth, then bit back her first response. She seemed to be struggling to control her anger.
“You are a fool,” she managed.
“Also well establ
ished.” I started walking across the street, toward the entrance to the college. “Let’s just get this over with. Are you coming?”
She fell in line beside me. About fifty soldiers sitting cross-legged on the grass watched us silently, weapons in hand, but I didn’t see Leon among them.
She lowered her voice so that only I could hear her. “Do you want to get shot?” she asked me.
“I just volunteered for a suicide mission, to retrieve the bodies of two soldiers who were trying to kill me less than ten hours ago. I think the answer to that question should be pretty fucking obvious.”
Van de Velde stopped walking. Her face betrayed a lot of different emotions, but the predominate one looked a lot like fear.
I walked back to her, already regretting my answer.
“You tell me,” she said. “You tell me right now. Can you talk to those machines or not?”
“Yes. Yes, I can.”
“Because if you want to die, I can save us both a lot of trouble and put a bullet in your head right now.”
“Nobody’s going to get killed today,” I said. “Just . . . forget what I said.”
“Capitán Leon thinks you may be insane. Or a spy. I told him you weren’t. I told him you were one of the bravest men I’d ever met.”
I was so startled to hear her say that, I didn’t know quite how to respond. “Thank you,” I managed.
“He asked me how I knew that. And I lied to him. Jesus, I lied to a goddamn capitán to protect your secret. I should have just told him to shoot you.”
“What did you tell him?” That was completely irrelevant, of course, but for some reason I found myself suddenly curious.
“I said I knew your reputation. And I knew your character.” Her face flushed. “It doesn’t matter what I said. The capitán thinks . . .”
“I know what the capitán thinks.” The capitán thought we were sleeping together, that much was obvious. “Don’t let it bother you.”
“I don’t want to die in those tunnels,” she said, “just because you have a death wish. Can you get us safely to my men or not?”