Apparently the security system was a custom program and I'd been right in thinking I'd have to load it up on a Guild Computer to get the video to play.
The playback started at a time index of exactly twenty four hours before I had told the system to burn the disc, so I had to do some jumping around to find what I wanted. It was a standard video setup; four cameras displayed images simultaneously. One in the kitchen, one in each of the common rooms, and one in the main lobby. That was Feed One. An icon at the bottom of the screen yielded Feed Two, which was a single camera pointed at the main entrance. Why there was a camera in the kitchen when there weren't more outside was beyond me, but I wasn't the one who designed the system. If I had there would have been more cameras and they would have been pointed at higher-priority targets, not there in case someone was stealing the silverware. They also would have been tied to the alarm system, though it was possible that had been deactivated from outside.
At a clock marker of twelve after four in the morning, or oh-four-twelve as I'd been trained to think of it, the first of the external lights went out. I could tell only because I'd jumped around till I saw the first gunman enter and I backed it up fifteen minutes and watched Feed 2 carefully.
Within thirty seconds all the lights had been shot out. Entry was effected rapidly, en masse, just over one minute later. Bastards had been hustling to get around the building that fast.
I switched back to Feed One once the first gunman entered the building proper and tried not to think about what I was watching as the slaughter began.
It took a total of four minutes from when the first light went out until the first room after the entrance was breached. I watched as, in slightly jagged movement, a very familiar canister was passed from gunman to gunman till it reached the guy in front. He loaded the under-barrel launcher and stuck his short-barreled assault rifle around the corner, fired, and pulled back to escape the gas. They waited for a thirty-five count and stormed the room. They broke into four three-man teams, one team per room, and secured the individual rooms. Sure enough, everyone they ran across was suffering from the disorienting effects of the gas. Some were flat on their back or stomach, others were struggling to get to their feet, their muscle-control and conscious minds nearly totally destroyed. Normal effectiveness of the gas lasted between fifteen and twenty minutes with lingering effects sometimes taking as much as an hour to clear up after that. They had plenty of time.
I stopped the playback at that point even though I still had a few minutes of the recording that was still pertinent. I wiped some sweat from my forehead and realized I'd been gripping the arms of the chair rather tightly. I hadn't damaged it but my knuckles were complaining about not moving for several minutes.
I played around with the mouse briefly, seeing if I could zoom in on the frozen image on the screen and all I managed to do was call up the menu. Luckily the menu had a tools submenu that let me manipulate the image size. I looked closely at the weapons the assault team were using to make sure I wasn't mistaken.
Four heavily-modified M4 carbines, barrels shortened and heavily-compensated to prevent barrel climb during automatic fire and to reduce recoil, complete with 40mm barrel-undermount launchers, loaded saddle magazine that would hold a hundred rounds, a bandoleer of six thirty-round magazines as backup, and a sidearm --- though I couldn't tell much about it because the resolution was lower than I'd have liked --- a helmet-mounted radio of a type I was unfamiliar with, and a combat knife hanging hilt-down made up the armament of one third of the team. The rest of them were carrying similar loads but with stock MP5 submachine guns instead of the assault rifles. Every fourth team member had a hand-held radio of a type I'd carried into South America a few times in addition to their helmet-mounted ones. The commander of this team obviously liked covering his ass.
That was Alpha Zulu. There was no mistaking the tactics, armament, or the spent AGAG canister. Once I explained things to Jackhammer and pointed out all the little details...
I was startled by the door opening so I clicked the mouse a few times quickly and spun in the chair so I was facing the door.
"I really don't know why I was sent here. I haven't found a single thing out of place. In fact, I think I'll approve your request to increase funding as soon as I get back. It's amazing how well you've done with such little resource at your disposal. I had no idea things were so expensive in this city. I've audited at least twelve other Guild Halls and none of them have the trouble making ends meet you do. So, to make it easier on you I'll leave first thing in the morning. I don't think they'll authorize a jumper, not that I like traveling that way, but I should be able to catch a flight back to Albany some time tomorrow without a problem." I watched a portly man with a red face and his back to the room hold the door partly open as he addressed whomever he was talking to. I had a hunch I knew who it was.
"Thank you, I appreciate it. I have no clue why anyone would insist I wasn't running this place according to the book, either." That would be Firebug. He started to push past the man he was speaking to so he could get into the office. "You've seen the books and what the fuck are you doing here?"
The last part was addressed to me. It made me smile.
"I said I'd be back, Firebug. Imagine my surprise when you weren't here waiting for me. I got bored so I put in a movie." I pointed at the computer screen. "I hope you don't mind."
Apparently when I'd clicked the mouse I'd quit out of the video and I'd bumped the enter key in my rush to turn in the chair. I'd managed to load the spreadsheet on the desktop.
Firebug took one look at the computer, realized I'd gotten it working and that I had been poking around for some time, and immediately panicked.
"I don't know what the hell you put on there but I've never seen that file before! I have no idea what you're talking about! I'm not stealing anything!"
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the most spectacular case of a man implicating himself in crimes nobody (but me) suspected him of I'd ever witnessed.
The Guild investigator stared, dumbfounded, as Firebug began denying everything under the sun. He accused me of hacking into his system, stealing his computer key, breaking and entering, and by the time I was done laughing at him I think he'd even proclaimed me to be a harbinger of the Apocalypse.
I got up from the chair and walked around the desk to physically confront the cowering Firebug. He'd collapsed into a sobbing heap, curled up in the fetal position, mewling like a wounded kitten between the body-shaking sobs.
I shook my head. This was not what I'd been expecting.
"I say," the red-faced man said suddenly, drawing my attention, as he pointed at my shirt. "Is that blood?"
Firebug had allowed Redgrave to collect his car from the mall, sending one of the garrisoned supers along to make sure he came back. At least the bastard had kept his word, though how he was planning on stabbing me in the back was still a mystery --- unless he honestly thought the complaints he filed would have any effect. Probably hadn't had time to get things going on that, what with the investigation I brought down on his ass and everything. Redgrave was, at that point, sleeping on a fold-out couch that had seen better days at a flea market.
Mister Portly Redface, known as Livingston Buckley to his friends, had been horrified that he'd been duped so badly. Once he got to look at the spreadsheet I'd inadvertently uncovered he had to be physically restrained from attacking Firebug. Apparently the prick was quite the smooth talker. Why I'd unnerved him so was a question I didn't have an answer to, unless he thought I was going to kill him, not that the thought hadn't crossed my mind.
And boy, had he ever been stealing.
He'd manipulated things so that, by that point, fully sixty percent of all Guild funding was going straight into his pockets. He had managed to negotiate bargains, deals, and wholesale rates on and for everything from food to electricity to the antibacterial soap in the showers. The totals were staggering. He'd been holding that position for seven years, three mon
ths, two weeks, and five days. He'd been stealing since day one, though it had taken fourteen months to reach the rate of theft he'd managed to attain. He paid for any shortfalls, not that there were many of those, out of the interest accruing on the dozens of accounts he'd set up to funnel the money into.
It was almost beautiful in its elegance.
The local police had been more than happy to lock Firebug in the specialized cell he'd insisted it was Guild policy they had to build. The savings had lined his pocket and nearly caused a major bridge to collapse. They'd been forced to delay repair for two years to pay for the cell and a crack had developed in a main support that forced the city to tear the bridge down and replace it instead of just refurbishing it. If inspectors hadn't been two days ahead of schedule getting to the bridge they wouldn't have shut it down before the convoy of heavy equipment scheduled for the next day had gone through...
Oh yes, they were more than happy to lock his sorry ass up once things got explained to them. A phone call to the mayor and the district attorney got things moving along very quickly.
By then I was starting to feel a little tired so I commandeered a bed assigned to a super who was, at that point, on leave visiting her family in Arkansas. Some people might have been put off by the rattlesnake motif in the room. I barely noticed before I was curled up and getting some sleep.
I'd put a couple of badly-overworked technicians on the footage from the Canton assault. I asked them to get as many details as they could and prepare a summary for me. My original plan had been to grab a shower and maybe a bite to eat, but when I yawned so hard I popped something painful in my chest I realized I needed sleep.
It had been a busy night.
It became a busy morning.
I'd managed to hit bed about two and had fallen asleep almost instantly. It wasn't quite three yet and I was being shaken awake by a very excited and very young technician. Judging by the look on her face when I snapped awake and snarled at her she didn't think she'd be getting much older, though she did look like she aged a few years in the couple of seconds it took for me to compose myself. I sort of regretted not only snarling but not showering. She was, actually, quite cute.
"What?" My brain was a little fuzzy still. Only getting half an hour of sleep can do that to a bloke.
"I'm sorry, sir, but we got something we thought you might want to look at." She blanched. "You were right about P- about the attack. Once it was over they were, ah..."
I grunted. "Tortured. Right." I yawned and blinked a little. "Was it the guy leading the assault?"
"No, sir. It was the last guy in."
I nodded. "Commanders often go in first or last." I didn't know why the hell I was having this conversation instead of sleeping. "Was there anything else?"
"Yes, sir." She swallowed and some color seem to come back into her face. "He didn't come in till someone called him on the radio."
I sat up. That didn't sound right. "Someone called him?" A sergeant wouldn't hold back and let his men breach without him. That meant a lieutenant or captain, but why would they come along on a simple twelve-man operation like this? True, Alpha Zulu had an interesting organizational table --- three troopers to a corporal, two corporals per sergeant, and two sergeants to a lieutenant --- but I couldn't get my mind around there being thirteen people under a normal table of organization.
Even with a specialist...
I looked over at the technician. She was standing by the bed patiently, that eager look still gracing her wide-set green eyes and thick, sensual lips. As I looked she licked her lips.
"I think I need a shower and to get out of this room." I sniffed the air and felt a rush of blood flowing away from my brain. "It's making it hard to think."
"Yes," the tech said a little nervously. "Scales has a rather unique set of powers and a very healthy appetite for men." She swallowed and wiped her forehead. "And women. I think she needs to air her room out. The pheromone levels are a little high."
I'd taken my shirt off to sleep. I didn't want to leave any pieces of Sablewing in the sheets for whoever did the laundry to find after I'd left. I could almost feel the young woman's gaze on my chest as she looked me over.
"I'll meet you at your desk in fifteen minutes," I said quickly.
"Sir!" she said smartly and turned around.
I waited till she got to the door before I said anything else. "And make sure someone knows to air this room out before what's-her-name gets back."
"Yes, sir!"
My hair was still wet from my rather-hurried shower and I hadn't put my clothes back on for obvious reasons.
Apparently the cleaning staff had been pared back to an old man (with a mop and a wheeled bucket he never changed the water in) who walked up and down the halls, pushing the bucket around for six hours a day, so any laundry would be done by the person responsible for it. I threw my shirt and pants in the trash on my way out of the bathroom. Luckily I'd liberated a bathrobe from Firebug's room that fit me well enough. My underwear I'd rinsed out in the sink and put back on. I didn't especially like the feeling of the wet cloth clinging to my nether regions, but beggars can't be choosers. Better the cold than, well, having another reaction.
I'd scrubbed extra hard with the soap (no shampoo to be had) just to make sure I got the last bits of Sablewing off. I didn't know if they'd cling, so I figured better safe than sorry. My eyes still burned from a small slip.
"Alright. Show me what you got," I said by way of introduction as I dripped my way into the shared workspace of the two technicians. It was only after I'd stepped closer that I realized my statement could have been taken several different ways and that at least one of them would be very embarrassing --- doubly so considering the way I was dressed. I quickly checked to make sure my belt was still tied.
"Sure thing," the male technician said. "We ran a quick scan of the video stream with a couple of filters, focusing on the fifteen minutes leading up to the assault, the assault itself, and the fifteen minutes immediately following." He adjusted his glasses and scratched at a pimple on the side of his nose. "This froze the computer and we had to reboot the system. We're about sixteen months behind on program updates because Firebug wouldn't shell out the cash to get the new video card this beast needs, so that's why the computer's a bit twitchy. So we tried again, pulling the filters off and doing a fast scan. The computer highlighted five frames as being of particular interest. We currently have a slower, more thorough scan going on in the background, but when we looked through the frames... Mary here thought you should see them."
"Okay, then. Mary? Would you show me the frames?"
She blushed at the sound of her name but punched a few keys on her computer. "The first four are, as far as I'm concerned, false hits. The last one, however..." She trailed off as the images stared to load on her screen. "The last one speaks for itself."
It was a face, I could see that much without really looking. She clicked her mouse a couple times and the image flared to fill the screen with a slightly blocky but perfectly recognizable face. At least it was to me. My last memory of the face on the screen was of it twisted in pain as I ripped the front of his throat out with my bare hands.
"Kinsey," I growled.
"Excuse me?" The male tech turned to face me. "Do you know who that is?"
"Show me the whole frame," I said, my voice trembling.
"I'm sorry?"
"Show me the whole fucking frame!"
"Alright, alright, Jesus. No need to shout!" He hit a few keys on his keyboard and the monitor on his computer started to load with the image. That's when the computer crashed again and he went white faster than a pair of jeans splashed with bleach.
"Get it back," I said quietly, stifling the urge to put my fist through the computer screen. "I don't care if it takes all night, just get it back." I turned to Mary and tried to smile. "Is there anywhere I can get a cup of coffee around here? I didn't get much sleep."
I was lead to a shabby-but-functional kitchen w
ith a cheap drip coffeemaker that looked like nobody had cleaned it in months. Mary located the coffee and dumped a measured amount from a small green can in the permanent mesh filter, filled the urn with bottled water, poured it into the back and started the machine. She took a seat at the chipboard table, the plastic chair sagging under even her light frame. She looked nervous.
"I'm sorry for snapping back there," I began. "I have had the day from hell. You toss in the lack of sleep and getting the shock I just got by seeing that face and it made for a volatile combination."
"It's okay," she said, forcing a smile. "I think the pheromones I got in Scales' room are still affecting me too. The dose you got must be really throwing you off."
"Tell me more about Scales," I said, strangely anxious to continue the conversation. I was also curious about a super that threw pheromones like that. "What's her power set?"
Mary shifted in her chair and chewed on her lip before answering. "Jenna is a sex witch."
"A what now?"
"A sex witch. Basically she has a supercharged sex drive and pheromones to match. It's a rather limited power set, but holy shit can it cause havoc. Anyone she sets her eyes on to take to bed ends up in bed with her; gay, straight, male, female, and if you believe some of the rumors she doesn't stop at two legs." She looked lost in thought and leaned forward. Her loose-fitting top tented slightly, exposing more skin. "Jenna actually managed a composite score of forty-eight if what she says is true. Apparently it's hard for someone to actually attack her if they have any kind of sex drive. Very hard."
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