Outriders

by Jay Posey

  Without speaking, Lincoln knelt down and braced himself against the building. Wright used his leg as a step stool, then stepped up on his shoulder, and affixed a slender device to the window frame. That done, she stepped back down and gave him an OK sign.

  “Gemini ready to make entry,” he whispered.

  “Ready for entry, roger,” Thumper said. “Thirty-second window, on your mark.”

  Lincoln looked up at Wright; her face had a slight shimmer caused by the light-intensifying protocols in Lincoln’s augmented vision. She nodded once.

  “Mark,” he whispered.

  “Thirty seconds starts… now,” Thumper said. And on her final word, the streetlights came back up at half intensity. Immediately, Wright stepped forward and Lincoln boosted her to the window. He held her steady for a few moments, until a quick hiss like air escaping from a torn e-suit signaled that she’d breached the locking mechanism. She lifted herself off him and he looked up in time to see her feet disappearing through the window. Ten seconds later, she reappeared, stretching her arms down to him. The cylindrical bundle he was carrying on his back made the movement more awkward than it normally would have been, but together they got him through the window with hardly any noise.

  “Ten seconds,” Thumper said.

  Lincoln drew into a corner of the corridor, pistol at the ready, aimed down the hall towards the three marked hostiles just two doors away. Wright slid the window shut, resecured the lock.

  “Five seconds,” Thumper said.

  “We’re in,” Lincoln answered. After twenty seconds or so of waiting, the hostiles down the hall still hadn’t made any move to investigate the window. Obviously Lincoln would have preferred to do the whole thing with the power out, but Thumper had insisted that flickering it on and off was the best way to keep her manipulation of the sensors undetected. Lincoln didn’t have any way to see what she was doing to Apsis’s sensor displays, but there was no question she’d done a good job of conditioning the bad guys to ignore their own alerts.

  “From the first floor window, first door on your left, through the room, up the stairs at the back,” Thumper directed, calmly directing them through the plan for clarity. They’d all memorized the layout, of course, but having the confirmation let Lincoln keep his mind focused on the immediate.

  Wright slid in beside him. Confident that their entry had gone unnoticed, Lincoln came up in a high crouch, weapon ready, and moved down the hall with quick, light steps. The door was open at the first room on the left. Lincoln paused at the door frame, checked over his shoulder to make sure Wright had the hall covered. Of course she did.

  Lincoln carefully peeked into the room, got as much of a view of it as he could without risking exposure. His augmented vision wasn’t showing any marked hostiles in there, but that didn’t guarantee anything. Could be they just hadn’t found them yet. But what he could see of the room was clear. Without taking his eyes off the room or lowering his weapon, he reached back and tapped Wright’s lower leg. She responded with a hand on his shoulder. When she squeezed, he pushed aggressively into the room with her right on his heels, each checking the corners and moving rapidly through to the stairwell at the back. The room was clear.

  At the bottom of the staircase, Wright turned and covered the door while Lincoln edged around and verified there was no one on the stairs. Also clear. He patted Wright’s shoulder, and started up. She sidestepped then backpedaled up the first few stairs, keeping her pistol trained on the door until they’d moved far enough upstairs.

  “Continue up the stairs to the third floor,” Thumper said. “The VIP is in the last room on the right.”

  Lincoln and Wright reached the top of the stairs, and paused. The stairwell led out right into the hallway, and two Apsis guards were stationed on this floor, one on each side of the hall. At the moment, they both appeared to be sleeping. The stairs to the second floor were beneath those to the third, so Lincoln and Wright moved into the hall, then doubled back to reach the base of the next staircase. Lincoln again led the way, while Wright covered their rear.

  “Gemini, moving to third floor,” Lincoln whispered, once he’d checked the stairs.

  “Gemini moving to third, copy,” Thumper repeated.

  “Careful, Gemini,” Mike said over comms. “Looks like you got a restless sleeper up there. Hostile’s fidgety.”

  “VIP?” Lincoln asked.

  “Hasn’t moved. But it’s weird. Kinda looks like he’s sleeping sitting up.”

  Lincoln’s view was only tracking the location of the other people in the building, so he didn’t have a good view of the guard in question or of Prakoso. But Mike, with his powerful optic, was likely seeing the full heat signatures and had a better read on what was happening up on the top floor.

  “Keep me posted,” Lincoln said, as he ascended. Fortunately, the doors on both sides of the hall were closed.

  “Last room on the right,” Thumper reminded.

  Lincoln moved silently down the hall, Wright shadowing his every step. At the last room, Wright swiveled and kept her weapon aimed at the door of the guard’s room. Lincoln touched the door handle, slowly, slowly applied pressure. It was unlocked.

  “Update on VIP?” Lincoln asked.

  “Still hasn’t moved,” Mike said. “Make it quick, though, your friend down the hall just got out of bed.”

  “Gemini to target,” Lincoln whispered. “Bump it, full black. Two minutes.”

  “Two minutes, copy,” Thumper said. A moment later the power went completely out. Lincoln nudged Wright, and she pressed back against his shoulder. He squeezed the grip of his weapon, activating a low-intensity red light underneath. When he pushed the door open, Wright rolled smoothly in behind him. In a quick, precise motion, Lincoln checked left with his pistol and swept it to center, sweeping the room with the red light and looking for threats.

  When it came to rest on the VIP, Lincoln was surprised to see the man sitting at the foot of the bed with his hands folded in his lap and his eyes wide open. He was even dressed. Wright closed the door behind Lincoln, and the man didn’t move at all.

  “Yayan Prakoso,” Lincoln said quietly. The man didn’t respond, he just sat there with his hands in his lap, paralyzed in the red light. “Yayan Prakoso?” Lincoln repeated. The man gave a short nod. “It’s OK, we’re friends.”

  “I have no friends,” Prakoso answered.

  “Well you do today, buddy,” Lincoln answered. “We’re getting you out of here.”

  Prakoso didn’t respond. He was small framed, and his wild hair and beard made him look almost cartoonish in his proportions.

  “Tango, tango,” Mike said, his voice calm but with an obvious note of urgency. “Bad guy just left his room, headed your way.”

  Lincoln motioned sharply to Wright, directed her to the closet by the door. She understood and moved there immediately, out of sight of the door, and kept her pistol trained on Prakoso.

  “Shhh,” Lincoln said, as he slid over by the door. If the guard opened it partially, Lincoln could stay hidden behind it. If he opened it all the way, though… Lincoln tucked in on himself, kept his weapon pressed high against his chest with the muzzle down, ready to make a close-range snap shot if it became necessary. In his vision, the brackets marking the hostile floated down the hall towards him, paused outside the door.

  Don’t, Lincoln thought. Don’t do it, buddy. Keep on walking.

  He was disappointed. The handle of the door turned; a burst of white light spotlighted Prakoso on the bed.

  “What’re you doin’?” a gruff voice said with a hint of Russian accent.

  Prakoso squinted his eyes against the light, but he kept them locked forward on the man at the door. Lincoln brought his weapon up, the muzzle nearly touching the door. The door itself seemed to be made of some cheap plastic composite, and Lincoln was counting on it being hollow rather than filled. The first gel round likely wouldn’t have enough velocity to penetrate and still be effective, but a followup shot
or two probably would. Probably.

  The guard swept his flashlight around the room cursorily, obviously irritated, though he didn’t seem to be looking for anything in particular. The room itself was sparse; the bed, a small table laden with Prakoso’s equipment. A chair.

  “Sixty seconds,” Thumper said.

  “You’re not doin’ anything stupid in here, are ya?” the guard said.

  Prakoso didn’t answer. The guard shone his light back on the small man on the bed, and in the movement opened the door a little wider, just enough to make bare contact with the muzzle of Lincoln’s gun.

  “Huh?”

  “Meditating,” Prakoso answered, quietly. The same tone of voice he’d used with Lincoln moments before.

  “Meditating, huh?”

  The guard just stood there for a span, and Lincoln wondered if that had been some kind of code between Prakoso and the guard that something was wrong. His finger tightened on the trigger.

  “You should sleep,” the guard said finally, then added, almost to himself, “Wish I could.” He lingered a moment longer, and then the door receded from Lincoln and closed again.

  Lincoln kept his pistol trained on the door until the brackets identifying the guard had descended to the floor below. He turned back to Prakoso and switched his light on again. The fact that Prakoso apparently hadn’t tried to signal the guard in any way was a good sign.

  “Thirty seconds,” Thumper said.

  “We’re going to get you out of here,” Lincoln repeated. “Is there anything you absolutely must take with you? If so, grab it, and let’s go.”

  Prakoso didn’t answer and didn’t move. He didn’t seem to be afraid at all, or anxious. He almost seemed bored.

  “We’ve been trying to find you for a long time, Yayan,” Lincoln said.

  “Someone is always trying to find me.”

  The man remained in place, neither resisting nor complying. Lincoln was just about to lower his weapon when he heard a puff from his right. Prakoso’s head jerked back with a wet slap and he flopped backwards onto the bed, limp like an empty pile of clothes. Lincoln looked sharply at Wright. She was already holstering her pistol.

  “He had his chance,” she said. “You cover, I’ll carry.” There wasn’t time to argue. Lincoln turned back to the door and kept watch while Wright moved over and wrestled Prakoso up and across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. She came up close behind him, touched his shoulder. Lincoln switched off his light. The light intensification of his lenses was enough for him to see by, and Prakoso certainly didn’t need to see where he was going now.

  “Gemini has VIP secure,” Lincoln said. “We’re on the way out. Give us another ninety seconds on power.”

  “Roger that, reset to ninety seconds,” she said. “Everyone’s still busy downstairs, you should be good to exit to roof.”

  “Copy, Gemini moving to roof.”

  “Gemini moving to roof, copy,” Thumper confirmed.

  Lincoln eased the door open, scanned the hall before committing. Clear. He moved forward and turned right, led the way to the end of the hall and the door facing them there. It was narrower than the others, only about three-quarters the width of a normal entry. Lincoln tried the handle. Locked.

  “Of course,” he whispered. Wright turned and backed up to the wall next to him, drew her pistol and covered the hallway. Lincoln crouched and pulled a slender black device off his belt. With it, he scanned the locking mechanism. A moment later, the device pulsed twice in his hand, and the lock clicked. Good. An easy one. Lincoln returned the device to his belt, and eased the door open before coming out of his crouch.

  “Sixty seconds,” Thumper said.

  The room inside was roughly the size of a closet. The walls were bare concrete, and the only feature was a ladder going straight up to a hatch in the ceiling. The hatch was square, and looked just big enough for Lincoln to get through without scraping his shoulders on either side. He glanced over at Wright, with Prakoso dangling across her shoulders.

  “Great,” he said.

  “Problem?” Wright whispered.

  He pointed into the room, up at the hatch. Wright leaned around the door frame to take a peek.

  “Great,” she said.

  “Taking the roof might have been stupid,” Lincoln said.

  “If it works, it ain’t stupid.”

  “If.”

  Lincoln holstered his weapon and started up the ladder. The hatch was also locked.

  “Thirty seconds,” Thumper said.

  Wright backed into the tiny room as far as she could but didn’t have enough space to get around the door to close it behind her. Lincoln took the unlocker off his belt again, but held off on activating it.

  “Ten seconds,” Thumper said, and she counted down from there. As she reached zero, the power in the building buzzed back on to half strength. “You’re good to exit.”

  Lincoln fired up the unlocker. Five seconds. Ten.

  “Got a mover,” Mike said. “Friend from earlier, looks like he changed his mind. He’s headed back upstairs.”

  “Gemini, you’re covered,” Thumper said. “You can pop the hatch.”

  “Working on it,” Lincoln answered.

  Fifteen seconds. Whatever kind of lock they’d used for the hatch wasn’t friendly. Wright shifted back, tried to work the door shut, but there just wasn’t room enough.

  “He’s on the second floor now,” Mike said. “Sahil, you might want to start the car.”

  Twenty-five seconds. The unlocker pulsed, the hatch unsealed. Lincoln pushed it open, scrambled through to the roof as quickly as he dared. A quick check to confirm no one else was up there, and then he was on his belly stretching his arms back down to Wright.

  “He’s on the stairs,” Mike said.

  Wright stepped up on the ladder, but there was no way she was going to get Prakoso through like that.

  “Take him, take him,” Wright whispered, and Lincoln tried to grab hold of the limp man on her back. He managed to get a grip on Prakoso’s belt, and a tenuous hold of an arm. A moment later, Wright moved out from under, leaving Prakoso dangling in midair, and Lincoln bearing the dead weight that threatened to drag him headfirst back through the hatch. She closed the door smoothly, holding the handle so the mechanism didn’t click shut.

  “Tango’s on your floor,” Mike said.

  Lincoln shut his eyes with the effort. Prakoso probably only weighed about fifty to sixty kilos, but Lincoln was in such an awkward position he couldn’t do much more than just try to hold on. Wright sure was taking her sweet time.

  “He’s in the hall,” said Mike. “Not sure what he’s doing. He’s kind of just standing there.”

  Lincoln opened his eyes. Wright was still at the door, her hand still on the handle. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to move, for fear of the latch making some noise that might draw attention. But that wasn’t going to be nearly as noticeable as the sound it was going to make when he lost his grip and dropped Prakoso on top of her. He crushed his grip closed as tightly as he could.

  “He’s back in his room now,” Mike said. “Door’s still open though.”

  A moment later, Prakoso magically lightened. Wright was back underneath him again, taking some of the load. Lincoln let go with his right hand to shake it out, letting Prakoso’s arm flop back down. When it fell, it made a thunking sound and Wright exhaled sharply.

  It took a minute or so for the two of them to work out getting Prakoso’s limp form up and onto the roof. Lincoln dragged the man through and laid him beside the hatch. By the time he’d gotten Prakoso situated and turned back, Wright was already up and closing the hatch. After she’d secured it, she stayed next to it, crouched on one knee. They were both a little out of breath, probably as much from the close call as from the effort. When she noticed he was watching her, she looked over at him.

  “Coming up on the roof was probably stupid,” she said. Lincoln chuckled.

  “Gemini’s on the roof wi
th the VIP,” Lincoln said. “Moving to bridge.”

  “Copy, Gemini,” Thumper said. “Watch your step.”

  Lincoln left Prakoso and moved over to the edge of the roof on the southern side, where the closest neighboring building stood. Its roof was maybe four meters away. Lincoln pulled the bundle off his back, and went to work setting it up.

  “You sure no one’s going to see this?” he asked.

  “No,” Thumper said. “Sky’s still dark enough you shouldn’t get silhouetted too bad, and the streetlights will make it hard for anyone to see you from the ground. But I wouldn’t hang around up there for too long.”

  From the bundle, Lincoln drew out two small domes, each a little larger than his hand, connected by a nearly transparent polymer ribbon. These he placed next to each other on the lip that marked the roof edge, about two feet apart. When he activated them, four legs unfolded from both and clamped down on the synthetic concrete of the ledge. Lincoln pulled out two more similar devices and rigged them up to the first. Miniature drones with whisper-quiet operation.

  “You set yet?” Wright asked from behind.

  “Just about,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw she already had Prakoso up on her shoulders again. “You want me to carry him across?”

  “Nah. You just make sure there’s nobody over there to greet us.”

  Lincoln activated the drones, and they flew in tight formation across the gap, spooling out a net of the flexible polymer behind them as they went. Once they’d reached the other rooftop, they settled down on the ledge and automatically locked their clamps on.

  “Ladies first?” Lincoln said. Wright kicked him in the rump. Lincoln tapped one of the domes twice, and it clicked. A moment later, the drooping net tightened up and went rigid as steel. Lincoln tested it with his foot before he fully committed. As many times as he’d used these things, he’d never had one break. And yet still, every time, he had to convince his brain he wasn’t stepping out on a thin layer of ice or glass. The surface held firm; Lincoln drew his weapon and quickly made his way across. Wright followed, not quite as quickly. He couldn’t blame her for taking her time on that narrow bridge, especially with the awkward dead weight of Prakoso on her shoulders.