She gripped her cup. Tightly.
“I’m sorry. What happened to him?”
“Nicky. Brave lad. He infiltrated a so-called refugee charity group and worked at the Chios refugee camp. He wanted to see what was really going on inside the camp. He spoke to the locals, other volunteers, the ‘refugees,’ and took undercover videos. The terrorists shot him there.”
Cyrus’ face darkened, and now he was just a tired old soldier fighting yet another war.
“What were the videos for?”
“Evidence. If he found proof that the migrants were planning crimes or if the charity group was aiding them somehow, he would send the videos to the proper authorities and the press.”
“The videos could also be used for reconnaissance.”
“Don’t say that!” he snapped, his expression hardening. “We’re soldiers, not terrorists. They may be Musafireen, but even they don’t deserve to be massacred like that. That’s not what we stand for. That’s not what I stand for.”
There was fire in his voice and steel in his eyes. His words carried the ring of conviction—the same conviction she had witnessed when she had first floated the idea of Hexenhammer to him.
“What I’m saying is if the police get their hands on the videos, they’ll claim that we surveyed the camp in preparation for an attack,” she said soothingly.
“Yes. Which is why I disposed of all of the videos.”
“Great. I knew I could count on you.”
Cyrus’ coffee arrived. He paused for a moment to savor it.
“What’s the status of your guns?” Eve asked.
“You mean the ones at our club?”
Cyrus owned a shooting club in the island of Crete. Popular with tourists and locals alike, Hexenhammer Krakens visited the club semi-regularly to hone their firearm skills.
“The other guns.”
Cyrus had another cache of guns on Crete, buried deep within an olive farm his family owned. Hexenhammer hadn’t had a chance to use those yet. At this rate, that day might come closer than she thought.
“Those?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Small arms only. No machine guns, not the kind we saw in Chios. And the ones we have are all Western designs, not Soviet.”
She nodded. “Very well, but I need to check your records and audit your inventory in person.”
“Audit? You don’t trust me?”
“Trust, but verify. I need to prove to the others that I did my due diligence.”
“Of course. But times like these are difficult. The police are always watching. I’ll mail you my inventory when I’ve returned to Crete. We’ll link up there, and you can check out my arsenal.”
“Sounds good.”
“But if you ask me… You should audit the Italians.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“I recall they’re holding on to most of our Soviet-era firearms. If the guns used at Chios came from Hexenhammer—and I’m not saying we did it—they would have come from the Italians.”
She knew that, of course, but she wanted to know what he thought—and how would he would react to her.
“Understood. Have you heard anything about who might have done Chios?”
He shook his head. “No. Come to think of it, the ground reaction is… odd.”
“Odd?”
“You know we have inroads into various nationalist groups, some of which have, shall we say, controversial opinions. Yet all of them are shocked by the massacre. They are falling all over themselves to distance themselves from the perpetrators. Only the lunatics are praising the attack.”
“Could any of these nationalists have done it?”
He shook his head. “No. They are activists and politicians, and they are vocal about their views, but we have been monitoring them, too. They have no stomach for bloodshed. For murder. Likewise, we have found no indications in the black market of unusual sales to nationalist groups.”
She smiled tightly. “Is that so? I heard sales of illegal firearms are on the rise here.”
“Yes, but only handguns, sawed-off shotguns or homemade weapons. Individual weapons that can be easily concealed. Not machine guns like the ones used in Chios.”
“Ah.”
She asked a few more questions, mainly to check his story. Everything held up. He was telling the truth… or a well-prepared lie. But she doubted the latter. With Hexenhammer exposed and demonized, he had nothing to gain and everything to lose.
As the interview closed, he asked a question of his own.
“How is Jan doing?”
Jan Martel, the former head of the Swiss psionic special operations forces, had made many contacts during his time in the military. Cyrus was one of them. Her father had brokered the initial introduction, but since then, he had not involved himself in the organization.
Different people had different callings, she supposed.
“He’s doing well,” she said carefully. “Still retired.”
Cyrus laughed. “Man like that, he can’t retire. What’s he doing these days?”
“He really is retired. Helps around the home and dabbles with the stock market sometimes. I think he consults with the government now and then, but that’s it.”
Even as she spoke, doubt filled her heart. What did she know about what her father did? Nothing beyond what he had told her. Maybe they were just lies, the same kind of lies she told her mother.
She didn’t know.
“You look solemn,” he said. “Is something wrong?”
Her disguise had cracked. Damn.
“Nothing. It’s… I’ll be fine.”
***
Eve and Cyrus continued making small talk for a while. I only heard her end of the conversation, but it seemed mostly to do with Cyrus’s family and business. It didn’t matter; I could listen to her recording later.
I sipped my drink. The berry mix was surprisingly refreshing, cold and sweet in equal measure. And the menu claimed it was packed with antioxidants. I would have to try the recipe someday.
The conversation eventually drew to a close.
“Let’s leave separately,” she said. “You’ll go ahead first; I’ll get the bill.”
The old man shuffled out the door, favoring his left leg, taking the time to scan the street. I kept him in my peripheral vision, taking another sip. No sense spooking a friendly.
A couple of minutes later, Eve said, “I’m headed out.”
I hummed tunelessly, letting her know I heard her.
She exited the coffee house. I lifted my glass to my lips and drank again. There was no need to hurry.
At a nearby table, a young couple got up. They had ordered fruit juice, too, and must have paid when they received their order. As they headed down to the pavement, the male stiffened subtly. There was a slight hitch in his step. His head locked in on Eve.
And he continued walking, arm-in-arm with his date.
In the same direction Eve was going.
I casually glanced around, studying the people around me. If the duo were a surveillance team, they might have a security element to watch their backs. Seeing nothing out of place, I left the ouzeria and followed the couple.
“Eve, turn right at the end of the road,” I said.
“Trouble?”
“Maybe.”
Reaching the end of the street, she turned right and disappeared. Exactly three seconds later, the couple looked both ways and dashed across the road. Once on the far side, they widened their strides.
I sped up to match them, keeping them in my peripheral vision.
“You’re being followed,” I said. “A man and a woman. Male is wearing blue shirt, brown chinos, white sneakers. Female has long blue one-piece dress and white pants.”
She cursed softly. “I need to let Cyrus know.”
“Go for it.”
Crossing the road, I followed the couple, staying behind them and to their right. Eve’s voice floated into my ears.
“Cyrus, it’s me. We’re compr
omised. You have to run.” A pause. “Fisher, I’m back.”
“We need to lose them,” I said. “See a pedestrian crossing?”
“Yes. Up ahead.”
“Head there now. Try to time yourself so you arrive when the red man goes on.”
“Roger.”
I slipped past a couple of passers-by and spotted the crossing. The green man flashed. Eve kept strolling, seemingly without a care in the world. When the light turned red, she stopped dutifully at the crossing.
Ahead of me, the couple stopped, peering at the window of a clothing store, no doubt studying the reflections in the glass while keeping an eye on Eve.
I slowed down and kept them in my periphery. The female dug out a holophone and took a photograph of the display. Then, I drifted past, camouflaging myself behind a family of four.
If the surveillance team were larger, the couple would have simply sidled up alongside Eve to keep up appearances. As soon as they crossed the road, the couple would turn away and hand her off to someone else. Since they opted to buy time for themselves by pretending to take photos, there might only be the two of them.
“Cross the road when the green man goes on,” I whispered.
The light turned green. Eve walked. The couple walked around me, completely ignoring my presence. They kept a safe distance from her, drifting off to her side in case she stopped and turn around.
“Are they still there?” she asked.
I stepped away from the family. “Yes. Make your way to the Emerald Metro. We’ll lose them there.”
Last night, we had purchased public transit pass cards for just this eventuality.
“Okay.”
Eve made a few more countersurveillance moves. Nothing obvious, just a few more extra turns than necessary, as though checking her back. The couple adapted, following her on a parallel road. Now and then I discretely consulted my street map on my holobuds, ensuring we were going the right way.
We were now in a warren of houses, three or four stories high. Some had basement apartments sunk below the streets; others had offices or shops on the ground floor. The cobblestone road was just two cars wide, with one lane perpetually occupied by snaking lines of parked vehicles. The pavement, too, grew so narrow that at many places only one person could walk at a time.
I slowed my pace, giving the surveillance plenty of lead. There was no cover here, and there were few people to blend into. The last thing I needed was for them to stop in the middle of the street, turn around and see me coming.
One final turn, and Eve emerged into the main road. The surveillance team was still doggedly following her. I was hot on their heels, but before making that last turn, I waited for ten seconds, long enough to wait out a sweep, and then moved on.
Multilevel shophouses lined both sides of the street. They were coffee shops and restaurants and cafes, offering the best of Hellenic and Turkic delights. Radios and songs blared all around us. I took the time to study the shopfronts, just another tourist interested in exploring the city, giving me an easy opportunity to turn away should the couple glance my way.
The road opened out into a traffic circle. Beyond that was the modern part of the city. No more shophouses now; in their place, polygonal skyscrapers climbed toward the heavens. Right across the road was the tallest building in the nation, the Emerald. A mixed-use shopping mall and luxury residence, with an underground metro station and above-ground taxi stands, Eve could disappear from here.
And the opposition knew it.
As she hustled down the steps to the Metro station, I saw the surveillance team speed up. They had abandoned subtlety and were now trying to catch her before she slipped away.
“They’re still on you,” I said.
“I’m going to the washroom to change.”
“Go for it.”
I was confident the couple still hadn’t seen me. They were too intent on their target to realize that two could play the surveillance game. As they sprinted down the stairs. I took the escalator and walked down. Around me, holograms blasted advertisements, public service announcements and train schedules.
“Washroom is too crowded,” she reported.
I glanced at the schedule. Three minutes until the next train.
“Make for the train. You have three minutes.”
“Roger.”
I headed down another set of escalators and caught a glimpse of her. Eve made a beeline for the gantries. The couple increased their strides. I maintained a brisk walk, keeping my distance, and scanned.
There were no uniformed cops in sight. The sole station employee was manning what looked like a customer service counter. Other people waited by the walls. A man and a woman in business casual studied the street directory.
As Eve passed them, the businesspeople stepped aside and approached her from her rear.
And, by the gantry, two men leaning against the wall stepped off and moved to intercept.
Damn. We’ve been outplayed. They’d anticipated our moves and placed a team ahead of us. They were good.
“Eve, they’ve got you surrounded. You have to run.”
She dug into her handbag. The businesswoman grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.
“Eve, run,” I urged.
She just stood there, staring at the badge, still digging in her bag.
“Who are you?” Eve demanded. “I am an Anglian. Let me go!”
The businesswoman said something in Hellenic. Behind her, the two men closed in. The young couple separated, going for her flanks.
“That’s not gonna work,” I said. “You have to break out now.”
“You made a mistake!” she said. “I don’t know you, I don’t know what you’re saying, and I am leaving!”
She spun around. The men extended their arms, holding her back. The one on the right held up his badge.
“I don’t know what that says. Speak Anglian,” she demanded.
By now the civilians were staring at her. One of the interlocutors switched to Anglian, but I was still too far away to make out what he was saying.
“Eve, let them take you aside. Wait for them to drop their guard.”
“Fine,” she said. “But this is a mistake.”
Surrounding her, the six of them led her aside. The businesswoman inspected her bag while the other woman held her by the elbow.
They were headed for a nearby door. The sign read, “Station Office.” A biometric reader restricted access. One of the men, a tall, strapping specimen, separated from the group and approached the customer service counter.
Now or never. I slipped my hand into my pocket. Drew the aethertool. Reversed my grip and flashed the knife.
“Eve,” I said, “fight.”
“Where are you touching me?!” she yelled.
She jerked her arm, breaking loose. She grabbed the shoulder of the man to her right, spun him around and clawed his eyes.
He shrieked, hands flying to his face. She stomped on the side of his knee, dropping him. She ran.
Five steps later a man launched himself at her, tackling her to the ground.
“Help! Nazis! Terrorists!” Eve yelled.
They dogpiled her, trying to secure her limbs. Classic police tactics. Muscleman hustled back to rejoin them. Slipping up behind him, I kicked out the back of his knee, grabbed his head and rammed it into a nearby pillar. He dropped. I kicked him again and moved on.
“Help! Help! They’re Golden Dawn!” I yelled.
Golden Dawn was an ultranationalist far-right political party linked to violence against migrants. Eve looked like a Musafira. Her attackers were white. Confusion and deception were always useful.
“Golden Dawn bastards!” I shouted again.
The nearest guy was pinning her left ankle. I stomped on both of his. They shattered. He yelled but continued to hold to her. I kicked him in the ribs, she wriggled, and he finally let go.
“Go to the crows!” I shouted.
One man rolled off her leg and assu
med a boxing guard. He stepped in with a left jab. I slipped into him, batting the arm aside and puncturing his upper arm. He swung a right hook. I intercepted his arm with my left forearm and stabbed at his biceps. As his arm dropped, I kicked him in the groin and stomped on his ankle. He dropped.
A heavy weight slammed into my side. Twisting, I landed on my back. A man mounted me, screaming orders. I bucked and kicked, trying to shake him loose. He swooped down, crossing his arms against my neck and latching on to my collar.
It was a cross collar choke. He was sunk in good, his weight attacking my neck. My windpipe closed off. Red spots danced at the edge of my view. I couldn’t break free.
But I still had my knife.
Transitioning into a hammer grip, I grabbed his left forearm and held it in place. The knife pierced his upper arm and carved through his bicep.
His grip weakened. His eyes widened.
I thrust at his eyes. He reared back, releasing the pressure. I sliced through his other bicep and thrust again at his eyes.
Screaming, he got off me. Too slow. I crunched my knees to my chest and kicked him in the groin. As he doubled over, I scissored my legs, catching his right leg and disrupting his balance. He fell, landing on his face. I got up and kicked him in the skull.
I coughed, forcing air through my lungs, and looked up just in time to see Eve throw the businesswoman to the ground. Gasping for breath, she kicked her in the head.
The other threats were either unconscious or immobile. The man Eve had eye-clawed seemed to be whispering to himself, but it sounded like he was calling for backup.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
We ran.
7. The Obvious Suspects
“Who were they?” I asked.
“Police,” she said.
I hadn’t seen any cops following Eve when she left the hostel. That meant the police had been tracking Cyrus. We were caught up in the dragnet.
“We need to split up. Regroup at the emergency RV at fifteen hundred. Second rendezvous at seventeen hundred. If either of us aren’t by then–”
“Assume you’re captured and leave the country. I know.”
At least she remembered her training.
Hammer of the Witches Page 9