Unlike the unsuspecting dupes propped up by the door, the woman in the room below could have no loss of memory or unexplained blackouts. A research scientist for the government, the woman wore a piece of technology that was regularly monitored. Reinforcements would be called to her side should any trouble arise.
Katriona smiled when the sleeping doctor’s features came into view. She was slightly heavier than Katriona and prematurely graying at the temples. Not prone to hesitation or overthinking, Katriona extended a tube from her specially made tool into the room below until it was only a few centimeters from the sleeping woman’s eyelid.
A puff of air from the end of the tube caused the unconscious woman’s eyes to flutter. Without waiting for a command, a sliver one tenth the width of a human hair shot from the end of the tube and attached itself to the doctor’s cornea — or rather, it grabbed onto the edge of an almost invisible polypropylene lens. At the same time, a small amount of anesthesia was released, allowing the lens to be extracted without the doctor feeling its removal.
Katriona held her breath as the doctor brought a hand up to her eye. If the woman woke and opened both eyes, she couldn’t help but notice the device that hung only centimeters from her face. Through the tiny camera Katriona watched as the woman’s eyes flew open and then fluttered. She had no choice; the woman was coming fully awake. If she hadn’t yet seen the tiny umbilical hanging from the ceiling, she soon would. Slowly, painstakingly, Katriona reeled in the device until all she could see was the optic lens resting against the room’s ceiling.
Surprisingly, the doctor rolled out of bed, padded off to the restroom and turned on the shower.
Katriona wasted no time. With speed borne from necessity, she slipped behind the mattress leaning against the balcony door, clambered over the railing and dropped to the balcony below. Carefully flicking open the door, she entered and released the lens into her waiting hand. Setting it into a slim box she retrieved from a pocket, she waited for a moment while the mechanism within replicated the lens. When the device reported completion, she extracted the old lens and flipped it onto the rumpled sheets.
“Is someone there?” the doctor called from within the bathroom. “I’m in the shower. No housekeeping, please.”
Katriona considered answering, but instead slipped back onto the balcony, closing the door behind her. She balanced for just a moment on the railing before jumping to the balcony overhead, deftly swinging her body to the relative safety of the room above.
Katriona kept an eye on the time as she watched the doctor reenter the room, fresh from the shower and wrapped in a towel. The doctor must have realized she’d lost the contact lens because she began frantically searching the room: scanning the floor, patting the bedding and finally running her hands through the folds of the sheets. Relief was evident when she located the lens Katriona had left for her.
She watched the doctor for another twenty minutes, listening as she made several comms to colleagues. If she knew about the substituted lens, she gave no obvious indication. Finally satisfied, Katriona set about methodically restoring the couple’s love nest. The more details she got right, the less likely it would be that the two would even realize she’d been there.
It was difficult business, moving bodies and placing them into the bed without also mussing it up beyond recognition. She had no idea what the man wore to bed and left him in a t-shirt and drawers with one arm draped over the middle-aged woman.
Katriona considered returning the woman’s bracelet. It was an inconsistency that would reinforce the couple’s unease when they awoke. The fact was, however, that her victims often lost much more than a bracelet and still never figured out her game. Plus, Katriona couldn’t help the fact that she loved shiny, expensive things.
She took a simple black dress from her backpack and pulled it over her cat-suit, then retracted her leggings. A pair of heeled shoes, a blonde wig, broad sunglasses, and shims that she stuffed into her cheeks above her gums transformed her entire look. The changes would be sufficient for the scanners she was sure the hotel had installed. As far as she knew she wasn’t on anyone’s watch list, but there was no reason to skip reasonable precautions.
Touching her earwig, she turned comms back on and smiled at the man who chivalrously held the elevator door for her. It was an unnecessary gesture, as the hotel’s lift system had the ability to quickly call multiple cars per shaft.
“Going down?”
“Yes, thank you,” Katriona said, nodding as she hustled into the car.
Her eyes paged through the numerous calls she’d received from Marek while on mission. She had wondered how he’d deal with her going off-script and disappearing. Well, Katriona was about to find out; his ident popped up on her HUD.
“I’m just on my way to the lobby, dear. Did I miss you?” she answered, elevating her voice so the man who was looking at her intent on striking up a conversation, knew she was on comms.
“Did you get it?” he asked, the sound of his voice flinty. It was less of a reprimand than she’d expected.
“Of course,” she answered, laughing and smiling as if she were talking to an old friend. “I think that would look lovely with the green dress.”
“Someone’s there with you?” he asked. “Tell me you got it.”
“Here we are,” the man announced unnecessarily, waiting for her to exit first.
“Thank you, dear,” she obliged, giving him her best smile.
“I’m going to throw up,” Marek said. “He’s staring at your butt.”
“You all do, my dear,” she said. “A good sashay is better than any disguise.”
She felt a warm hand slide over her own as she exited Hotel Grand onto the wide, open sidewalk that bordered a meandering crystal-clear river. It was a far cry from where she’d grown up in the slums, twenty kilometers to the north. Ironically, her community had the same river running past, its water so dirty with pollution that it could only be safely consumed through filters doled out by the government.
“Where is it?” he whispered.
“You must think a lot of your performance this morning,” she said, only half joking. “I have yet to see a change in my accounts. The deal is half now that the job has been completed and the other half upon delivery.”
“Don’t mess with me on this, Kat,” he said. “The people I represent cannot be taken. We found you once and we would find you again.”
“Why, my dear Mar,” she said, shortening his name as he had hers. “I do believe you’re questioning my honor.”
“I don’t want to see you get hurt,” he said, not insincerely.
She waggled her eyebrows. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
Chapter 3
Fallen
System: Sol, Planet: Earth, Guatemalan Jungle
Gabino Alcazar, or Gob, as virtually everyone called him, shifted uneasily on the small cot. At just over two meters tall and weighing in at one hundred twenty kilograms, he was a poor fit for nearly everything in this man's army. Glancing at the simple HUD provided as standard equipment for every soldier in the North American Army, he read the time as 0330 and gave up on any notion of sleep. Agile for a big man, he grabbed the gear he'd need for their upcoming patrol and slipped quietly from the tent he shared with three squad mates: Big Bob, Chuckles, and Nickle.
"Not sure how you all live down here," Sergeant Thomas Balltrain said, wiping sweat from his neck as Gob set his SAW (Squad Automatic Weapon) onto a wooden table and pulled out a cleaning kit.
"My home is three hundred kilometers north of here, Sergeant," Gob said. "The mountains of my home are hot, but the air is dry and the nights are cool."
"Mexican bodies are built better for heat," Balltrain pushed. "It’s a known fact."
"That so?" Gob continued to disassemble his weapon. He knew Balltrain was just trying to make conversation. Nothing would be gained by pointing out that, as a big man, he suffered more than most in the steaming jungle.
"Yeah
, this place is shit hot," Balltrain continued. "Always wondered why anyone would live in this. So, why'd you join up if you knew what it was going to be like down here?"
Gob looked up from the weapon he was cleaning. "I have cousins who live only a hundred kilometers to the north. I fight so the Nicaraguans do not claim more territory as they have with El Salvador."
"An honorable man," Balltrain said, thoughtfully. "I knew I liked you, Gob. You're one good hombre."
"Gracias," Gob replied, hoping to end the conversation.
"Where we headed this morning, Sergeant?" the ironically named Big Bob asked as he approached the table.
"Lieutenant wants us over on Lagartija Ridge by 0530," Balltrain said. "That reminds me. Gob, your E-5 promotion is in. Lieutenant wanted to tell you himself, but said it'd have to wait until we get back. Apparently, he needs his beauty sleep. Congratulations, Sergeant."
Gob accepted Balltrain’s extended hand. "Thanks." The promotion wouldn't change his situation much beyond a small bump in pay. As Corporal, he was already in charge of Team-Two. Still, he felt pride at the recognition.
"Well, hot-damn," Nickle drawled, having come in at the end of the conversation. Dramatically, he threw an arm over Big Bob's shoulders. "Our boy done all growed up." He mockingly wiped away a tear.
"Not many people up," Gob observed, ignoring Nickle's antics. "Won't we need more squads if we're going over to Lagartija?"
Balltrain nodded in the general direction of Lagartija. "Strictly a scouting mission. We're to high-tail it out of there if we come into enemy contact."
"Shit, Sergeant, that's forty clicks into enemy territory," Nickle protested, sitting at the table.
"According to Centcom, we've a twelve-hour open window," Balltrain said. "That's why they're sending us in for a look. Problem is, Cruddies spread camo nets across fifty square kilometers and birds can't see anything."
"What makes them think the bad guys are gone if we can't see them? Can't they send in bugs or something?" Big Bob argued.
"Not open for debate," Balltrain said. "You know as well as I do they've dropped EM generators all over the place. Bugs are grounded. That's why they need us. Sergeant Gob, please have your team ready to go at 0430 for transport."
"Hooah, Sergeant. We'll be ready."
Gob pushed the barrel of his weapon back into the receiver with a satisfying clunk. Like Nickle and Big Bob, he felt the same trepidation about their upcoming mission. He also knew that gut-feelings never changed orders.
Wind flowing through the open sides of the personnel carrier provided a small amount of relief from the heat as the entire squad was transported around the back side of the low mountain. The squad was down a member, leaving his team short at four. That suited him just fine this morning. There would be better missions for fresh meat.
Movement outside the vehicle caught his attention. Balltrain walked down the narrow aisle of the truck bed, holding onto the frame which held the cloth cover in place over their heads.
"Make room, Chuckles," Balltrain ordered, holding his free hand out. Chuckles accepted the hand and stood, giving up his seat next to Gob.
"What's up?" Gob asked.
"You'll take your team southwest," Balltrain said, unrolling a map so both men could look at it.
Two paths, orange and green, glowed on the map. Without his Army issue goggles, Gob wouldn't have been able to read the map, much less see their route. As it was, the details were crystal clear. His team, Team-Two, would follow the four-kilometer orange route. The first part of the route would be a ball-buster; they'd gain four hundred meters over the first two clicks as they walked up the back side of the mountain. After that, they'd turn east and follow the ridge until they came across a dirt road which they'd follow north to an extraction point.
After dropping off Team-Two, Team-One would be transported to a point much further east where they'd essentially execute the opposite trek, meeting Team-Two on that same dirt road at 0730. Gob recognized his team would be humping it a whole lot harder than Balltrain's, but such was the privilege of command, he supposed.
"Looks straightforward enough," Gob said.
"Walk in the park." Without another word, Balltrain stood and worked his way to the back of the truck.
Trying to unwind the knot in his stomach, Gob pulled out his own map and stared at the route. Before taking off, he'd uploaded the most recent data from Centcom. He flicked at the map's surface, looking for anything Centcom's AIs might have missed. Not unexpectedly, he didn't find anything on his cursory search. This mission was going considerably deeper into Cruddy territory than ever before and he couldn't shake the feeling that they should have brought a much bigger force than a single squad.
The personnel carrier slowed to a stop and Gob tapped the side of his goggles, sending a command to his team to disembark. Back in camp, Big Bob, Nickle, and Chuckles were as raucous as any group of eighteen to twenty-year-old men could get, but when go-time came, they were all business. They'd each seen more than their fair share of combat, having been in-country for an average of fourteen months. Gob was the old man, deployed for 30 months, he thought as he jumped from the back of the transport.
Gob signaled with his hand, sending the team to cover in the ditch beside the road. It was a cardinal sin to stand in the open, especially when the area hadn't been cleared. They waited quietly until the personnel carrier disappeared with only a cloud of dust marking its passage.
"Big Bob, you're on point," Gob ordered in hushed tones, knowing his AI would pick up his order and amplify it to the team members. A green sphere lit next to Big Bob's name, showing his acknowledgement of the order. "Chuckles, you've got third. Nickle, you're in back."
Gob's team had patrolled hundreds of kilometers together and his orders were standard. Theoretically, he needed to find a replacement for himself, as team dynamics had him carrying the biggest gun. Given his size, he was best suited to carry the heaviest weapon and loadout. However, if shit hit the fan, he couldn't very well be laying down suppressive fire and making tactical decisions at the same time. For almost three years he had successfully resisted the constant path of promotion that would take him out of the field.
"Nickle, give me an aerial package, three kilometers," Gob ordered, unfurling his map.
A quiet pop was the only indication of the launch of a pea-sized sensor that would take a series of snapshots of the surrounding three-square kilometers. Small details on the map in front of him updated, but nothing indicated an immediate enemy presence.
"Move out," Gob ordered. As a group, the four men emerged from the heavy brush and started up the mountain.
Twenty minutes into their hike, Gob received a ping from Balltrain. Team-One had deployed from the transport and were trekking up the mountain on a mirror course.
"Take five," Gob said, wiping his brow before pulling deeply on his canteen.
He'd pushed the team hard up the mountain and while they still had the steepest portion of their climb ahead of them, they'd hit the ridge at 0600, just as the Lieutenant ordered. The path was becoming easier to make out without the aid of goggles. What they could see of the night sky through the jungle's canopy was giving way to the emerging sun.
"Want help with that pack, Sergeant?" Nickle asked, sitting next to Gob on a fallen tree. "I could maybe give you a break for half a click."
Gob found the offer tempting. His burden was nearly half again the weight of the other squad members’ gear. The fact that he out-massed all of them by at least fifty kilos had to be in the consideration somewhere. Unfortunately, separating himself from his ammo would render him nearly useless if a fire-fight broke out.
He clapped the smaller man on the back while he stood. "Appreciate it, but where I'm from, these aren't even considered hills."
Once again, the team continued along the narrow mountain path. The sound of their boots crunching along the path was obscured by the jungle as its inhabitants started to wake to the new day's sun.
&nb
sp; Gob recognized a change in Big Bob's attitude a moment before Bob held up his fist and sank to a crouch. Instinctively, Gob held up his own fist and crouched, as did every member of the team behind him. A grainy image flickered onto his goggles as he paired with Big Bob's. The smaller man was tracking movement twenty meters up the hill and just off the path to the west.
Cautiously, Gob pulled his weapon so it pointed into the moving brush. He was proud of his team as they held tight, refusing to fire into the unknown. They all understood the gamble. Surprise was an advantage they would not give away cheaply.
After a few minutes, the movement stopped and Big Bob lowered his arm, giving the all-clear. It was a sequence that had been repeated over and over again on this and every patrol, the frequency of stops depending on just how uncomfortable the man in the lead was.
At 0610, Gob's team crested the hill and crossed to the south side of the ridge where the small path they'd been on intersected with a well-used trail. Gob pushed the team down the path, preferring not to rest at an obvious intersection.
"We'll take five," Gob finally said. "Chuckles, scout forward and see if you can get a look into the valley."
The Cruddies had spread camouflage netting to obscure the valley from flyovers. Centcom had marked the position on his map as a possible break where he could finally get a look under the covers.
"Copy that," Chuckles said, removing his backpack and setting off with just his rifle in hand.
The sound of jungle birds was nearly deafening as the team sat and rested tired legs. Gob took the opportunity to check in with Balltrain, sending a ping with Team-Two’s location and status. Stretching the map out in front of him, he located Team-One as slightly behind, still in the process of scaling the ridge four kilometers due east of their current position.
"Gob, I got something." Chuckles' voice was a scant whisper in his ear.
On a Pale Ship: A Privateer Tales Series Page 3