She stood up from the console and paced around the room. “Throughout history, humans have fought and murdered each other,” she said. “It wasn’t until you Bzadians came that we all started to get along. There have been no more terrorist bombings, no genocides, murder rates have dropped away. I could go on.”
“It helps to have a common enemy,” Price said.
“And perhaps now you start to glimpse your future,” Azoh said.
“Are you saying that the Fathers sent Bzadians here so that we would stop fighting each other and start fighting you?” Chisnall asked.
“The ways of the Fathers are known only to the Fathers,” Azoh-zu said.
“This is all bull, any way you look at it,” Price said. “You think you’re more evolved than us? You’re the ones who started this war.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Barnard said.
“Why do you say that?” Chisnall asked. “How was it our fault? They attacked us.”
“We forced them to,” Barnard said.
Chisnall turned back to Azoh, who nodded.
“Your governments restricted us to arid deserts, in which we could not subsist. For months we pleaded and reasoned, but to no avail.”
“But you came from a desert planet,” Chisnall said.
“One with great underground lakes,” Azoh said. “We cannot live without water. We had to take more land in order to survive.”
Azoh sat quietly as the Angels digested that.
“The war has not been good for my race,” Azoh said. “Aspects of our nature that we thought were gone forever have resurfaced. To fight savage man, we have begun to descend back into savagery ourselves.”
“Like in Indonesia,” Price said. “Bzadians have committed some of the worst atrocities of the war.”
An image came to Chisnall’s mind from Operation Magnum. A simple farming family, men, women and children, callously murdered at their dining table. He did not mention it. All he said was, “War changes people.”
“What you say is true.” Azoh shook her head sadly. “I do not like what some of my people have done. I do not like what we have become. Indonesia was a particularly unfortunate case.”
“We met him. Colonel Nokz’z, the Butcher of Jakarta,” Price said. “We had the misfortune of running into him in the Bering Strait.”
“Azoh, you said that kidnapping you would not alter the course of the war, would not stop your people using their superweapons,” Chisnall said. “Why is that?”
She was silent for a moment and when she spoke, it was reluctantly.
“I am a toothless dog,” Azoh said. “A leader in name only. To my people I am a spiritual guide, but to the councillors and generals who rule our society, I am a joke. An inconvenience. I am not even welcomed at High Council meetings.”
“The chair is always empty,” Chisnall said. “I assumed you did not lower yourself to such trivialities.”
“Even so,” Barnard said. “Would it not change their thinking?”
“My disappearance would allow the High Council free reign,” Azoh said. “Without my presence the wolves of war would go unrestrained.”
“There is a group of Bzadians who believe the only way to end the war is if you were killed,” Chisnall said.
“The Peacemakers,” Azoh said.
“You know of them?” Chisnall asked.
“Of course,” Azoh said.
Azoh-zu laughed. His glasses slipped down his nose again.
“Did you know it was them who sent me to poison you?” Chisnall asked.
“Of course,” Azoh said again, without a trace of emotion. “They work for me.”
SACRIFICE
[1035 HOURS LOCAL TIME]
[BZADIAN CONGRESS, CANBERRA]
Field Marshall Leozii was a small, pudgy creature with the hands of a farm worker. When he talked those hands moved, illustrating every sentence with short, brutal gestures. It was a very human trait. Nokz’z could not take his eyes off those hands, even though he knew he should be staring Leozii in the eye, or at least gazing respectfully at the floor.
Leozii’s office was on one of the lower levels of the government building, indicating his importance, his seniority.
Leozii was the Supreme Military Commander, the Leader of the High Council. In meetings he sat at the central table.
“You know Colonel Kriz?” Leozii was asking.
Kriz was seated in a chair by the window, her hands clasped in her lap, tightly, as if to stop her from doing something else with them. Or was his imagination going too far, Nokz’z wondered.
Colonel Kriz had been a major the last time Nokz’z had met her. Severely injured at Uluru and transferred to the Coastal Defence Command Centre at Brisbane. She had a good reputation although her prospects for advancement were probably limited by her fear of flying.
He acknowledged her with a touch of his hand to his shoulder, wondering what she was doing in this briefing. Goezlin sat at the back.
“Your report, Colonel Nokz’z,” Leozii said.
Nokz’z hesitated, wondering how much to reveal. Only what he had to, he thought, especially in front of Goezlin. He shifted in his chair. His back ached from the impact of debris from the explosion, but his Vaza had saved his life. In a micro-second, as the blast hit, she had grabbed him and twisted around, taking the brunt of the explosion on her body armour. It wasn’t the first time she had put his life before hers and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
He raised a hand to his forehead and cautiously touched the bandages there, suddenly sure they were leaking, but they were dry. His head was pounding, however, and his vision blurred, evidence of a mild concussion. He forced himself to concentrate.
“We know the location of the Angels. We are confident that Azoh and Azoh-zu are still in their custody,” he said.
“But what are you doing about it?” Leozii asked.
“We have surrounded the communications centre,” Nokz’z said. “We are evacuating all Bzadian personnel. The Angels cannot escape. We will contain them there and negotiate for the safe return of our people.”
“Our beloved leader and her successor are in the hands of scumbugz,” Leozii said, “and you want to wait? To negotiate?”
“If we attack, it might place their lives at risk,” Nokz’z said. “In the meantime we are digging through the rubble in the tunnel. Once we are through we can come up behind them and surprise them.”
“How long?” Leozii asked.
“I am unsure,” Nokz’z said. “It is slow work. We don’t want to bring the rest of the tunnel down on our heads.”
Leozii was silent for a few minutes. His pudgy, workman-like fingers tapped lightly on the desk.
“I should go and continue to coordinate the search,” Nokz’z said.
Leozii looked up. “You allowed enemy soldiers to penetrate the Congress,” he said.
Nokz’z dragged his eyes away from those fidgeting hands. “Sir–”
“Colonel Nokz’z, are you interrupting the Leader of the High Council?” Goezlin asked from behind him.
Nokz’z was silent.
“You are responsible for the defence of our coast and defence of the capital,” Leozii said. “Yet you have failed to stop infiltrators entering our city. You have failed to protect the Congress and now you have failed to protect Azoh.”
“Sir–” Nokz’z began but Leozii was not finished.
“Just as you failed in the Bering Strait!”
The Field Marshall’s next words seemed to be coming through a thick fog. Nokz’z could barely hear them. But he didn’t need to. He knew what was being said.
“Colonel Nokz’z, you are relieved of command,” Leozii said. “Colonel Kriz will be taking over, effective immediately. You will return to your quarters and await reposting.”
“That would be a mistake,” Nokz’z said calmly. “I have firsthand knowledge of these Angels.”
“So does Colonel Kriz,” Leozii said. “You are relieved, Colonel.”
Nokz’z glanced at Kriz and got an apologetic wave of a hand over her face in return.
“Of course, Field Marshall,” Nokz’z said. “I understand completely. An unfortunate set of circumstances. I have no doubt that an opportunity will arise which will allow me to redeem myself.”
“I doubt it, Colonel,” Leozii said. “One way or another, this war will be over before that opportunity arises.”
Nokz’z said nothing further and waited until he was dismissed with a curt nod of the head from Leozii.
His Vaza was waiting outside the door and joined him as he stormed down the corridor.
A black rage was welling up within Nokz’z, intensifying with each throb of his headache. He fought to contain his emotions. At least until he was alone. He had been a rising star in the military once. On track for General. Until Jakarta. He had done what had needed to be done in Indonesia and his reward had been a demotion. It had taken years of grovelling and playing political games to restore his reputation. Then after the debacle in the Bering Strait he had been pulled from Chukchi and given a lesser post. Now he had been removed even from that. It was a long and ignominious fall.
His Vaza put a hand on his arm. He brushed it off. She put it back, stopping him from walking further.
“I have information,” she said.
“It had better be important, Vaza,” Nokz’z said.
“My half-sister works in the computer records section,” she said. “She has been scouring the old human databases as you asked.”
“And?”
“And she has discovered the plans of the tunnels.”
“I’m into their coms systems,” Barnard said. “You’re not going to like this.”
The safe room fell silent. All eyes were on Barnard. She wore headphones, with one ear uncovered. She was listening intently.
“They’re digging through the rubble in the tunnel,” she said. “They’re going to try to come up the tunnel behind us, surprise us.”
“Are they through yet?” Price asked.
“Not yet,” Barnard said.
“I can take more C4,” Monster said. “Blow up more of tunnel.”
“Go and rig it,” Price said. “But don’t blow it yet. We’ll wait as long as we can, in case we need to use that tunnel ourselves. But if they do come up behind us, we’ll bring the roof down on top of them.”
Monster nodded and disappeared.
Chisnall turned back to Azoh.
Azoh-zu was sitting on her knee, playing with the jewellery on her face. He seemed fascinated by it, perhaps knowing that one day he would wear something similar. Azoh tolerated him with clear affection. Chisnall watched, bemused. One moment Azoh-zu was uttering profound statements about the nature of creation, the next he was playing with baubles. He was a strange and complex child.
“Azoh, you knew I was going to try to poison you,” Chisnall said.
“And I knew you would fail,” Azoh said. “And I knew why. But it would have been easier had you succeeded.”
“And you knew we would try to kidnap you,” Chisnall said.
“It was the most likely of the possibilities that I had considered,” Azoh said.
“How many possibilities did you consider?” Barnard asked from over on the weapons console.
“All of them,” Azoh said.
Chisnall was silent, trying to get his head around that. What she was saying was almost incomprehensible. Azoh had thought through every permutation, every possible action of every person, and had accurately predicted the future.
“You knew what we were going to do even before we decided to do it,” Chisnall said.
“To some extent, yes,” Azoh said. “You took actions that had to be taken, given the circumstances. I simply had to evaluate all the variables and decide on the most likely outcome.”
“That is incredible,” Barnard said.
“You seek to flatter me,” Azoh said. “But compared to my predecessor my deductive skills are very basic. My vision is very limited. And my predecessor was like a blind infant compared to the Fathers.”
“The Fathers taught you these skills?” Chisnall asked.
“In the process of becoming I was trained in some of the ways of the Fathers,” Azoh said. “But other things cannot be taught.”
“What kind of things?” Chisnall asked.
“I think you know,” Azoh said.
The strangeness.
Azoh-zu was staring at Chisnall as if he had caught his thought. “We call this ‘zoh’,” Azoh-zu said.
The zoh. The strangeness. The information all whirled around and around inside his head. But there was no time to reflect on what that meant. Not now.
“Azoh,” Chisnall asked. “If kidnapping you would not help stop the war between our races, then what would?”
“The world is a complex puzzle,” Azoh said. “Everything is interconnected. A change here causes a change there.”
“A tap of a finger, carefully placed, can cause a million-year-old boulder to topple,” Azoh-zu added.
“I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me,” Chisnall said.
Azoh looked at Azoh-zu and they both nodded. There was clearly some deeper conversation going on here and Chisnall was not a part of it.
“I must talk to the High Council,” she said. “I must go now.”
“Why?” Chisnall asked. “Why would it make a difference now?”
Azoh was silent. Azoh-zu stopped playing with her jewellery and put his arms around her neck. She stroked the back of his head.
“I could answer your question,” Azoh said. “But you would not like the answer.”
“Don’t trust her,” Wall said. “She wants us to let her go.”
“Azoh doesn’t think like that,” Brogan said.
“Price, you’re the skipper,” Chisnall said. “It’s your call.”
Price stared at Azoh for a moment, as if by doing so she could read the other girl’s mind.
“You go with her,” Price said. “Keep an eye on her.”
“This one also,” Azoh said, indicating Brogan.
“Why?” Price demanded. “Why do you need Brogan?”
“That will become clear,” Azoh said.
“I can handle it,” Chisnall said.
“No, take her,” Price said. “We don’t need her here. We have enough people to man the defences. But we’ll keep the little Azoh here, as a security.”
Azoh began to speak, but Price cut her off. “That’s not negotiable.”
“We will need a writing instrument,” Azoh said. “Do you have one?”
Price looked at Monster who rummaged around in his medical kit and produced his surgical marking pen. He crossed the room and handed it to her.
“We will go now,” Azoh said. She lifted Azoh-zu so his face was directly in front of hers. “You stay here, do you understand?”
The boy nodded.
She turned to Price.
“Whatever happens, he must stay here,” she said. “Azoh-zu is the future leader of my people. He has powerful zoh. More than I do. Even greater than my predecessor. Keep him safe, at all costs. I may be a toothless dog, but he will have teeth and claws.”
“We will,” Price said.
Goezlin made a point never to hurry, never to seem in a rush, or under pressure. It unnerved other people. But he was hurrying now.
The fool of a guard had had express instructions not to leave the prisoner alone under any circumstances. Yet somehow the prisoner had convinced her to do exactly that.
He had a dangerous kind of charm, this prisoner. “The Tsar” they called him, although that was not his name. And he had been alone for far too long. That worried Goezlin. The Angels had a reputation for resourcefulness.
Perhaps he should not have left, but the business with Nokz’z could not have been avoided, nor delayed.
He waited calmly as the guard unlocked the door of the interrogation room.
His prisoner sat securely, still
facing the far wall, shoulders slumped in defeat.
It was a far cry from his attitude previously, his head held high in false confidence, a cocky grin hiding the fear that he must surely have been feeling.
Goezlin allowed himself a small murmur of relief at the sight of the boy. The room was secure, the building was secure, the compound was secure. But even so, it was good to see The Tsar was still where he had been put.
The Tsar’s wrists were secure, the cable that secured him to the chair was intact, and the chair was still bolted to the floor. Not even an Angel could escape from these bonds.
The Tsar sat quietly, unmoving. Defeated.
Sometimes that was all it took, a little time. Time for the prisoner to anticipate the horror that was to come. To dwell on whether the price was worth it. The carefully masked lighting and the grim concrete block walls were designed to increase the psychological pressure.
“You have been lucky,” Goezlin said. “We have located your friends, and your information is no longer required or relevant.”
The Tsar remained silent.
“You will be taken to the cells now,” Goezlin said. “You will not be mistreated.”
When that got no response he walked around to the front, to face The Tsar.
He was wrong.
The Tsar had not been lucky.
He had jerked the drip out of his arm and somehow managed to dislodge the dressing on his neck. The bandages hung loose, and the wadding that had been stuffed into the hole in his neck lay in his lap, sodden and red.
The front of his uniform was soaked in blood and it was pooled on the floor below him.
Goezlin stood and stared at the body of the young man for a long time. Too long. There were things he needed to do, places he needed to be, but the body had become a magnet, and he could not pull himself away.
He considered calling for medics, but he knew there was no point. It was too late for that.
The Angels’ reputation for resourcefulness was not unwarranted.
The Tsar had found his own escape.
MOUSE BAIT
[1045 HOURS LOCAL TIME]
[OLD US EMBASSY, CANBERRA]
Vengeance Page 18