“To be exact,” Natalya said between clenched teeth, “General Shen Xue believes we are not doing enough to ferret out the location and weaknesses of the Thulians. He is of the opinion that all means necessary should be used to track the fashistas to their center of power and eliminate them. When I suggested that laying waste to entire cities of workers, or engaging in total war, might be counterproductive, Fei Li vanished, leaving only a letter saying that Verdigris understood the concept of acceptable losses. I believe she does not know that I know Verdigris and Blacksnake are one. I am relieved we did not include her in Overwatch. Small favors.”
John merely nodded. He had a feeling that this was going to get worse before it got better. Best to wait and see, and roll with the punches.
“I am assignink you to retrieve her. You are powerful enough to defeat, and if necessary, eliminate her.” A spasm of grief and pain flashed across Saviour’s features; John almost flinched, witnessing it. So, that’s what’s behind the iron mask. “I cannot think of anyone in CCCP, even Chug for all of his strength and resilience, who would be able to best her hand to hand. Not so long as she holds Jade Emperor’s Whisper. But you can keep her at a distance. You are also a skilled tactician, when you are actually thinkink, and not actink like nekulturny John Wayne. You are excellent at covert operations. With sorceress, you are more than excellent. And you are not so attached to the comrades as any of my countrymen or long-term CCCP members. You should be able to remain . . . detached, and not let past relations get in way of what needs to be done.”
John felt his stomach twisting tighter with each word that she spoke. He thought that he had been somewhat prepared for this, but it didn’t make the situation any more palatable. “What’re your conditions for conducting the operation? What’re the parameters, Commissar?”
“You will persuade her back if you can, and neutralize her if you cannot.” Saviour’s eyes were now nearly black with barely restrained emotion. This was probably the most unsettled that John had ever seen her. “Absolutely neutralize her. Blue Girl is not being trust Verdigris so far as he can be thrown by infant. Neither do I. Maybe he wishes to end Krieger menace, but I am thinkink he is quite ready to throw us all under tractor to do so, as long as he is still drinkink champagne in bunker at the end. When Shen Xue was alive, he did not blink at ordering what would cause the deaths of hundreds of thousands. He will not hesitate now at actions that would kill billions.”
He bit his tongue so hard that he could taste blood; it didn’t show on his face aside from his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. “Understood, Commissar. And what about Blacksnake personnel on-site, if there are any?”
“Your best judgment.” She shrugged. “Lackeys are of no concern. It is Fei Li and Shen Xue that are dangerous.”
“To review, my orders are to retrieve or . . . neutralize Comrade Fei Li, contain any Blacksnake personnel on-site, and procure any intelligence on-site once the primary objective is completed. Correct, Commissar?”
“Da.” The word was bitten off.
John was very uncomfortable with this entire damned mess. Fei Li was dangerous; to the CCCP, his comrades, and the war effort against the Thulians. With her on their side, she was a tremendous asset. With her gone over to Verdigris . . . she could very well sabotage everything they’ve worked towards while trying to accomplish her own goals. He’d wondered at the time why Saviour hadn’t included her in the merry gang of conspirators; now he was just glad it hadn’t happened. If Fei Li had known about them—about Overwatch—
He didn’t relish the idea of having to fight one of their own, though, no matter how misguided she might have become; being able to rely on your team was something he had learned early when he was a soldier, and it had been reinforced through the years. Being ordered to reign in—and potentially kill—a one-time ally . . . it all tasted of the Program in a way that he absolutely hated.
Some of his doubts vanished when he began to think about Sera, and the danger that Fei Li posed to her. He had promised that he would keep Fei Li from hurting Sera again; this was official sanction to do so. It didn’t mean he had to like it, however.
John must have allowed some of what he was thinking slip out onto his face. “Murdock. Fei Li was my mentor. My sestra. There . . .” He could hear her teeth grind. “There is no one dearer to me. But Shen Xue . . . go to your Wikimedia. Look him up. He was—is—brilliant, a genius, and a monster. If he has decided that CCCP is of no more use to him and may be an obstacle to him, he will not hesitate, not even for a moment, at eliminating us. And Fei Li is party to all of our weaknesses and strengths. She is only not knowing of Overwatch, and of the—device.”
And the CCCP, and the people associated with it, are important to the cause, from what Sera has hinted. “I understand, Commissar. Permission to speak freely?”
“It is not just CCCP, Murdock. He has decided that the Thulians must be destroyed, and he will allow nothing to interfere with that. If someone, or something, holds what he believes to be a key, he will have that key, by whatever means it requires.” She smoldered a moment, then waved at him. “Permission.”
“I don’t like this. Y’know my background, and this is an aspect that I’m uncomfortable with. But I realize the necessity, the dire urgency . . . and I’ll carry out your orders.” He believed what he was saying, fully; it all made sense. But that didn’t stop his words from tasting like ash in his mouth.
“I would do it myself. I had rather do it myself.” Her shoulders sagged. “I have not a chance of a butterfly against an eagle against Shen Xue and that sword. You are not only the best hope, you are the only unhandicapped hope. Shen Xue has not seen you fight as much, or worked beside you for years. You are unknown to him.” She shook her head. “Further questions?”
“Only one, Commissar. When do I ship out?”
Her lips thinned into a hard line. “Now. Verdigris is here. So probably is Fei Li. Be going to sorceress. Likely she can find both.”
* * *
Victoria Victrix lived in a five-story brick apartment building in a blue collar area of Atlanta. There wasn’t much of anything here that was newer than the fifties. The elevator was so old it had a brass grille you pulled back after the door closed, and it creaked and wheezed its way up to the top floor. The hall carpet was so worn you could see the warp threads, the lighting had to be twenty-watt bulbs at best, and at intervals along the wall were things John guessed had to be old gaslight fixtures. But it was clean, and in fairly good repair.
He knocked on her door, checking the hallway again as he did so.
There was a long pause. Then the sound of one lock after another being unlatched. Finally, after the fifth one, the door opened.
“Afternoon, Harvey. How’s kicks?” John hooked his thumbs in his belt, trying to look casual. Truth be told, he was still on edge from his meeting with the Commissar.
Vickie didn’t look as if she felt any easier than he did. “Saviour said she was sending you over. I said I don’t see people. She said I was seeing you.”
He held up a manila folder. “I’ve got an op; this is all of the particulars. It’s something she didn’t want sent through the usual channels, and I figured it’d be best to review it with ya in person, anyways. I’ve already read it.” He cocked his head to the side, offering her a lopsided grin. “Mind if I come in? Unless you’re cool with the whole building knowin’ ’bout super-secret spy shit.”
She scuttled out of the way so he could come inside, then threw five of the locks. John noticed out of the corner of his eye that there were ten on the door. The apartment was—cozy was the only appropriate word for it. There was the faint smell of cinnamon and vanilla in the air, the lighting was dim but not uncomfortably so, it was wall-to-wall books and music, the furniture was all . . . soft.
There was a cat. The biggest cat that John had ever seen, outside of zoos, but not because it was fat. A huge gray thing. It was looking him up and down as if he was being sized up for an interview. O
r just possibly a meal. He hadn’t known that she had a cat.
Vickie sidled past him and saw where he was looking. “Oh. That’s Grey. He owns me. He allows me to buy him cat food and provide him with an apartment. And Internet. And cable.” She said this as if the cat really was actually using the latter two. Then again, maybe it was.
“Huh. I’m more of a dog person, to be honest.” When John spoke, she seemed to shrink into herself. She was definitely a different person from the one that John had spent hours with over a radio connection; the confidence wasn’t there, in person. “So, y’wanna get started?” He held out the envelope for her.
She took it, gingerly, in gloved hands, then took a seat as far away from him as was physically possible, while still allowing them both to review the operational material. He noticed then that she was completely covered from the neck down, with almost less skin showing than a devout Muslim woman in a burka. There’s a lot more to this witch than meets the eye. He instinctively wanted to poke and pry for more information, but his gut also told him that he’d be overstepping some serious boundaries in doing so. And he couldn’t have his Overwatch operator seizing up and not trusting him, so he let it rest for the moment.
She went through the papers, quickly developing a fierce frown. “This isn’t good,” she muttered several times. And when she finished, she looked up at him with the expression of a stone. “This is seriously FUBAR.”
He leaned against a wall, his arms crossed in front of him. “I know. And I told Nat as much, personally. But it just might be necessary, too. Got any other morons lining up that can pull it off? Better question: any that can do it without getting a lot of people killed?”
She clutched the papers, which trembled in her hands. “That sword . . . you know what that thing is? I mean . . . okay, magically speaking, most of the rest of the world is Steam Age and that’s like a Jedi Lightsaber.”
“So, are you saying I’m dead and I don’t know it yet?” She was the expert here. The number of magicians available to Echo was still low; having one as strong and knowledgeable as Vickie was a major plus.
“No . . . no, the Commissar is right. Since you’re a distance kinda guy, you have the best chance against her of anyone that can get pulled in. Can’t call in any of our crew that’s in Echo; Verd’ll find out in a heartbeat. Especially since Fei Li is an OpThree, and there aren’t a lot of those floating around. Wouldn’t surprise me if he had the OpTwos and Threes tagged and watched twenty-four, seven. So anyone we rope in to deal with her is going to show up on the radar on the instant.” She ran her hand nervously through her short hair.
“Concerning the particulars, I think it’s doable. I drew up a basic operations order, that I’ll need your help reviewing and tweaking. We can get to that in a minute. What’s more . . . do you think that this is a justifiable mission?” John had mostly reconciled the necessity of this task with himself. He needed her to be okay with this. If she wasn’t, he couldn’t do his job. Or at least not nearly as well.
Vickie licked her lips. “I hate this. ’Cause she hasn’t actually done anything yet. It’s like Mind Police. But . . . look . . . I’ve worked with you and . . .” She seemed to decide on something. “Murdock . . . I’m a certified paranoid. ’Kay? So . . . don’t freak on me. Gonna show you something.”
She led the way to a locked door, and unlocked it. Inside . . .
Inside it looked like a movie set for what movie directors fondly imagined the computer room of, say, the FBI looked like. Six, no, eight flatscreen monitors, enough equipment to make him blink because it filled virtually every inch of space.
“This is where the magic happens,” she said, sounding not proud, as he would have expected, but . . . sad. She sat down and began typing. Windows popped up, with encrypted passwords. Lots of them. She typed too fast even for him to figure out what they were. Finally she opened a folder marked “CCCP” and there were . . . lots of little folders, all with names on them.
“All right, I’m lookin’. So, what am I lookin’ at?”
“You remember when I showed you your file, right? I go that deep with everyone, even the paperboy. I’m . . . paranoid, John. I’m not kidding about that. I . . . have a lot of reasons to be. Like you saw, I can go very, very deep indeed. But when it comes to people who are magical? I can go a lot deeper.” She closed his file and clicked on Fei Li’s.
Fei Li’s was actually two. The file on the pretty little Chinese woman was actually fairly slender. But the one on General Shen Xue . . .
And when Saviour had said that the General was a monster . . . she had not been exaggerating. Collateral damage seemed to be a completely acceptable option for him; if something prevented the General from completing an objective, it was swept aside. Entire cities, tribes, even the damned livestock in an area. The General was single-minded in his pursuit of a goal; it was this tremendous drive and determination that allowed supremely heroic acts right along with some of the most deplorable crimes against humanity that John had ever heard of.
And as for the sword . . . it seemed to be a major magical artifact, on the order of the Holy Grail or the Horn of Roland, or Excalibur. Vickie’s own note, written in a cramped text on the margin: “I’m not sure what it can’t do.”
“So. We’re in the right, then. Even if it sucks, it’s something that might have to be done if it can’t be avoided.”
Vickie sighed. “I hate it. But . . . I’m with Bell. Verd is almost as bad as the Thulians, and if Fei Li has just thrown her weight in on his side . . . I don’t think we have a choice. Oh. If you’re wondering how to find her, that’s no problem. That sword casts a big honking magical shadow. I have more trouble shielding out its influence than in trying to locate it. I don’t think she realizes I’m working with CCCP, and she knows Nat loathes magic, so the last person she would expect Nat to allow on an op against her is me. As long as she doesn’t know I’m looking for her, she’s on my radar.”
Some of the tension left John. Vickie was with him on this; now that he had that settled, the rest would be routine. “Let’s get down to brass tacks, then.”
* * *
The location that Vickie had used her hocus pocus to track Fei Li to wasn’t the only old, apparently abandoned motel in Atlanta that was surrounded by chain link fence with razor wire on top of it. Too many old motels became the home to squatters and druggies, especially now, with all the folks made homeless in the destruction corridors. This one would have made a good target for that, since it was about ninety-five percent intact.
This had been a big motel too, on old Highway 20 before the Beltway and the freeways came in. It had three big units, each four stories tall, in a U-shape around a swimming pool long since filled in to prevent the skaters from using it as a free ramp. It still looked abandoned . . . except just out of sight, there were a couple of vehicles that were way too armored to be civilian trucks.
John had inserted into the motel through the roof; through Vickie and Bella, he was able to procure one of the Echo jetpacks that their front runners sometimes used. He had picked it up from a dead drop in one of the destruction corridors, and lugged the package on foot until he was about three miles from the target area. Then it was time to play Rocketeer. Vickie had given him a crash course in its operation over the headset; there were a few abortive false starts, but he eventually was able to get it off the ground and heading in the right direction. After getting to a safe altitude, well above any visual searches or passive scans that Blacksnake might have been running, he had cut the jetpack, fallen, and then trigged his parachute. Airborne trained are cocky for a reason, suckers. As he descended, he scanned through his NVGs for any lookouts while Vickie gave him some help through the use of one of her seemingly innumerable gizmos; the coast was clear as far as the two of them could tell. He’d made a perfect landing on the roof, dragging his chute in quickly. After stuffing it under an inoperative air conditioning unit, he made his entry into the building’s roof access. Inside, what had be
en separate units and rooms had been made into a single, large room, at least on the top floor. On the first floor down from that, there were several rooms, and it was pretty clear that the utilities were all live. They’re confident, I’ll give them that. All of the floors leading down were abandoned as he swept through the building.
It was when he got as far as the basement . . . and the brand-new subbasements . . . that things got interesting.
There were surprisingly few traps in the motel: a couple of Claymore mines, a few trip-wire flashbangs, and a single laser sensor near the basement access. John chalked this up to the large number of personnel they had patrolling; there were over ten Blacksnake troopers going through the hallways or waiting in rooms, almost always in pairs, throughout the entire building. They reported in regularly, too. With the entire working building situated almost completely underground, however, Vickie’s witchcraft came in handy. She was able to hack quickly into their systems using magic, replicate their voices and call in for multiple troopers at once, in order to answer their designated sentry calls. She’d gotten a lot better at that since the Kansas op. That, combined with the knockout drugs that John had been equipped with, made getting to the subbasement easy.
All of the Blacksnake troopers were alive; most of them never saw John coming, before they felt the sting of a syringe in the side of their neck. He figured that, while the Commissar wouldn’t quite approve of leaving them breathing and relatively unharmed, it was within his discretion to do so, and what the Commissar didn’t know, she couldn’t excoriate him over. They were all low-level flunkies, anyways; veterans, most likely, guys just in it for the pay. They didn’t know shit, and probably figured they were the good guys.
Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle Page 42