The Phoenix Variant: The Fifth Column 3

by Nathan M. Farrugia

‘You mean Jay?’ Aviary said.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Don’t blow him up.’

  ‘Copy that.’ She popped the panel on the motion sensor. ‘Roger that, in position. Over. Standby. In progress. Over and out.’

  Damien shook his head in silence. He hoped she knew what she was doing. He watched her remove three wires—red, black, yellow—and then pop a small disc-shaped battery from the panel.

  ‘Disabled,’ she said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘No.’

  Aviary slid down off the roof and sprinted to the train on the other side of the platform. She climbed between another two carriages and moved carefully across the roof to the sensor. Within moments she’d disabled that sensor as well.

  ‘OK, that’s the easy part,’ she said.

  Aviary crawled under a length of wire and continued along the carriage roof. Her hands were black from the grime on top of the carriage.

  ‘Thanks for helping me,’ Damien said. ‘Get to the subway, before.’

  Aviary blinked, then seemed to realize what he was talking about. ‘Right, yeah. Glad you got there in one piece.’

  Damien shrugged. ‘They got me in the end though.’

  ‘Well, you got the rock to Sophia,’ she said. ‘So … any ideas on how I can do this?’

  Damien’s stomach dropped. ‘You don’t have … a plan?’

  She slowed when she reached the corner of Damien’s invisible box. This motion sensor was active, so she didn’t move any closer.

  ‘Yeah, I did,’ she said. ‘That was it. Disable the inactive ones.’

  ‘Don’t go any closer, they’re aimed at each other.’ He indicated to the sensor opposite her. ‘You’ll set that one off.’

  ‘We got past the sensors in that base on Long Island,’ Aviary said. ‘Last year, remember?’

  Damien hadn’t thought of that. ‘Yeah, you could hang a blanket or sheet from the wire.’

  Aviary stared at the sensor, then shook her head slowly. ‘They’re more clever than that,’ she said. ‘They take the average temperature at difference points across their field of view—which in your case is a thin barrier. Not very wide but still very long. If the temperature at one point changes past the tolerance level, more than the other points, then it triggers.’

  ‘Oh,’ Damien said. ‘So you’d need a very long sheet. Well, if it was me I’d just slap duct tape over the Fresnel lens,’ Damien said.

  ‘But they’re overlapping, genius,’ Aviary said.

  ‘Yeah, keep forgetting,’ he said. ‘So that works for every scenario except this one.’

  ‘Do you have an infrared filter on your torch?’ Aviary said.

  Damien padded his tuxedo pants pockets. ‘No torch, sorry.’

  Aviary frowned. ‘I don’t have one yet. Crap.’

  ‘They’re wireless, aren’t they?’ he said. ‘I don’t see any wires. You could disable it with your phone—’

  ‘If I use the right frequency,’ she said. ‘They have onboard batteries though. I need to disengage the battery first otherwise it might trigger the alarm.’

  ‘Which in our case is not an alarm but a very large explosion,’ Damien said.

  ‘I’m guessing you don’t have an EMP grenade handy?’ Aviary said.

  He shook his head. ‘All out.’

  ‘OK,’ Aviary said. ‘We can do this. We just have to think.’

  ‘The sensor is infrared, right?’ Damien said. ‘So you could cover yourself in something to conceal your infrared signature.’

  ‘Like what, mud?’ Aviary stifled a laugh. ‘Just like Predator, huh?’

  ‘Predator? Like an animal?’ Damien said. ‘No, the mud would warm up too quickly—’

  Aviary sighed. ‘Never mind. Yeah, it’s passive infrared. It triggers on rapid change of infrared energy, not gradual change. Wait, there is a way.’

  ‘Tell me it doesn’t involve mud,’ Damien said.

  ‘There’s a joke there somewhere.’ Aviary shook her head. ‘The sensors have a threshold. You know, six hertz and you get radio frequency interference. Like point five hertz and you get the sun moving across the sky. But if I move slowly enough—’

  ‘I have no idea what you just said,’ Damien said.

  ‘OK, I need to be slow enough so I’m indistinguishable from the thermal fluctuations behind me,’ Aviary said. ‘Very, very slow.’

  She had her multitool’s screwdriver in hand and started moving her arms very slowly toward the active sensor. He could see her trembling.

  ‘You’re shaking,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry.’ She stopped, waited for her arms to steady and then continued. ‘So are you.’

  Damien looked down. He clenched his fists.

  Aviary’s screwdriver-wielding hand touched what Damien was sure to be the invisible barrier. No explosion. She moved again, a fraction of an inch. He realized he hadn’t breathed in a while and slowly inhaled.

  Aviary’s screwdriver head reached the first screw on the panel. She held it in front of the screw, waited a moment, then seated the screwdriver into the top of the screw. Then held it. Then applied pressure to make sure it was seated properly. Then held it. Then started to turn her hand slightly.

  It was painful to watch. But he couldn’t look away.

  Ten more movements and Aviary was unscrewing the panel. One screw dropped and he held his breath. Nothing triggered. The screw wasn’t exactly warm, so its movement wouldn’t have registered. The sensor was designed to identify movement in infrared energy, not the infrared itself. While Aviary’s arms probably burned hot on the infrared spectrum, they weren’t moving enough to register on the sensor. She’d found a weakness.

  The panel popped open. Aviary kept her hand in place for a moment, breathed—her face safely out of range—and began the slow, arduous turn of her multitool to shift from screwdriver to needlenose pliers—located right in the center of the multitool. Once she finally got there, she took a few more cycles to get her grip, then raised the multitool fraction by fraction to the panel itself. She moved the needlenose pliers through a red wire until the wire was nestled inside the wire cutters.

  Aviary snipped.

  Chapter 50

  Sophia checked her phone. She’d tried to call Nasira but it didn’t ring. She called Aviary but hers didn’t ring either. She hoped they were just out of range. A new camera feed had appeared, showing a bar of some sort. It was empty. She swiped to another feed and found the Main Concourse inside Grand Central terminal. It was empty. Good.

  ‘Which way?’ DC yelled. ‘East side?’

  She switched back to the map to check for operatives. They were all behind her, although one pair was close.

  ‘Scratch that.’ DC swerved, taking a sharp left into a narrow road.

  ‘Here!’ Czarina yelled. ‘Here!’

  Sophia looked over to see the MetLife lobby on their left. DC lurched to a stop. Sophia collected her ruck—the meteorite inside—and slipped it over her shoulders. She pulled on the straps, pressing it firmly against her back.

  Sophia took it while Czarina opened the rear doors and leaped out. Sophia followed her. Her right leg was tender and she couldn’t put her full weight on it after fighting the operative in the gunner’s platform. DC was already moving toward the MetLife building, carbine in both hands. He left the Marauder on the street. It was no use to them now.

  Czarina slowed her pace and fired a short burst from her carbine—shattering a glass pane on the other side. DC saw it and changed direction, crossing to the far left and using the butt of his carbine to smash away the fragmented glass, still bound in place by protective film.

  Sophia reached him by the time he’d cleared the glass and stepped through. She tossed the ruck to him.

  ‘You’re faster,’ she said. ‘Get to the platforms.’

  DC slung the ruck over his shoulders. ‘Which one?’

  ‘I don’t know, the suburban tracks,’ she said. ‘Dining concourse.’

  DC moved, c
arbine in both hands. He’d have to find the correct platform because she didn’t know.

  Czarina pulled her pace back to offer Sophia some rear security. Sophia tried to run but her ankle threatened to buckle. She followed DC’s trail, under a jagged glass sculpture, and risked a glance at her phone’s map. Two operatives were very close to them now.

  Behind her, Czarina opened fire. Sophia turned to see someone manning the .50 cal on their abandoned Marauder.

  Denton.

  She could see his shaved head, slick under the rain. His lips curled with delight.

  ‘Shit.’

  Sophia ran behind a marble wall. Czarina was with her, pulling her along. The marble wall erupted beside them, spewing chunks, fragments and a white dust cloud that stung her eyes.

  Huge rounds tore through the MetLink lobby. The glass sculpture came cascading down. Sophia clenched hard with her teeth and put her full weight on her ankle. Fuck it, it’ll heal soon. She moved with her hips, sprinted under the falling glass.

  The sculpture crashed behind her. Shards of glass bounced past her. A large triangular shard struck Czarina’s shoulder. She yelled, her grip on the carbine slipping. Sophia tried to change course, scoop it up, but a blizzard of fine glass particles washed past them. She shut her eyes and forced her way through. Czarina collided with her, trying to find her carbine. Sophia pushed them both forward.

  More .50 cal rounds punched through the lobby, shattering entire pillars.

  Sophia kept running. She blocked out the pain. Czarina was still in front of her, unarmed. Either she’d removed the piece of glass from her shoulderblade or it had fallen out. All Sophia could see was a jagged tear in Czarina’s red jacket.

  The machine-gun fire ceased.

  Czarina reached the escalators that fed down to Grand Central terminal’s main concourse. Sophia was five paces behind Czarina, checking the map on her iPhone. She realized her phone was dead. In the center of the main concourse, crouched inside the circular information booth, DC had his carbine in his shoulder, ready to fire on anyone pursuing Sophia.

  Sophia didn’t even realize there was a stairwell below the information booth, but she could see the spiral staircase behind DC.

  ‘Go!’ Sophia yelled at him. ‘Nasira and Jay’s platform. Get them out!’

  What was he waiting for?

  DC saw Czarina had no carbine and placed his own on the ground, slid it toward them as they approached. Then he turned and disappeared down the stairwell, sword and ruck on his back.

  Sophia followed Czarina out into the main concourse.

  ‘Stop!’

  The voice didn’t come from behind her. It wasn’t Denton or the operatives that accompanied him. It came from in front. From the south end of the main concourse. She drew to a halt, ready to draw her Glock.

  The Commander emerged from the Vanderbilt Hall into the main concourse, flanked by masked Blue Berets. This time, the Commander wore no mask. This time, Sophia saw the resemblance.

  His attention shifted from her to the top of the escalators. Sophia moved for the information booth but one of his Blue Berets took aim.

  ‘Sophia, one more step and my men will shoot you both down,’ the Commander said.

  Sophia halted before the information booth. Czarina was a few paces behind her. They were caught out in the open.

  The Commander held a pistol of his own, an old Colt .45. But he wasn’t aiming it. He left that for the Blue Berets, who could manage accurate shots even at this distance with their carbines.

  Sophia turned to see Denton at the top of the escalators, his own USP pistol leveled at the Commander. On either side of him, operatives had taken up positions behind pillars, their Glocks barely visible but carefully aimed at the Blue Berets.

  ‘Sidney,’ the Commander said. ‘You have a choice. You can—’

  Denton opened fire.

  The operatives opened fire.

  Sophia whirled to circle around the information booth with Czarina.

  The Blue Berets opened fire as they moved.

  A round punched through the Commander. He retreated to the Vanderbilt Hall, staggering. Sophia saw him collapse. She ran across the open ground at a right-angle to both parties. She shunted the last of her energy into her sprint, making it as difficult as possible for anyone to hit her. But the rounds didn’t crack past her.

  The gunfire echoed off the walls in the concourse. Five firearms sounded like fifty. Sophia hit the stairs under the mezzanine just a step behind Czarina. They both moved along opposite walls down the stairs.

  Something rippled before them.

  It was the masked operative she’d fought on top of the Marauder.

  He aimed his pistol.

  Czarina aimed her carbine.

  Sophia drew her pistol.

  ‘Well, hold up there,’ Denton said.

  From the corner of her vision, Sophia saw Denton standing at the top of the stairs, his own USP pistol aimed downward. She couldn’t get a fix on who he was aiming at, not without turning to face him.

  The masked operative aimed at Czarina, but his attention seemed to be on Denton.

  ‘Sophia,’ Czarina said.

  ‘Yes?’ Sophia said.

  ‘Operative X,’ Czarina said. ‘Hostile.’

  She had no idea what Czarina meant, but she seemed to be stating the obvious.

  ‘What side are you on?’ Sophia shouted.

  The operative didn’t respond.

  ‘Lycaon loaded,’ Czarina said. ‘Request command.’

  ‘Oh really?’ Denton said. ‘Now that’s interesting.’

  Sophia knew she had to make a decision. Fire on the target already in her sights or change targets and try to shoot Denton. There was a good chance he’d beat her to it, but she was willing to take—

  ‘Open fire,’ Denton said.

  Czarina squeezed the trigger.

  The carbine didn’t fire. It was DC’s carbine, she realized, not a stolen one. No operative could fire it. A nice safety measure for him. Not for her.

  ‘No!’ Sophia yelled.

  The masked operative opened fire.

  Denton saw it coming early and ducked. She saw blood in his wake.

  Sophia kept her sights on the masked operative, squeezed her trigger. Slammed three rounds into—

  Air.

  The masked operative was gone.

  Crypsis, she thought, recalling Grace’s prototype chameleon suit, worn under her clothes. Looked like this operative was wearing one too.

  The slide on Sophia’s Glock locked to the rear. She reached for a magazine from her ruck—the ruck wasn’t there. DC had it now.

  ‘What happened?’ Czarina clung to her carbine, pressed against the wall. Sophia could feel her confusion: it was soft and clammy.

  Sophia discarded her Glock and sprinted up the stairs. Her ankle was holding up. All she could hope was that Denton had taken a critical hit. She reached the top of the stairs and stepped out from the center, not wanting any surprises from a corner. She saw Denton on her far right, a good distance from the corner.

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ he said, pistol aimed at her.

  Chapter 51

  DC ran for the platform entrance. A few tracks ahead he could see a train with blue livery. He reached the platform and peered around the corner.

  Nasira was pacing. Behind her, he could see Jay sitting on the ground. Trapped inside the box perimeter of the motion sensors. He started down the ramp. Nasira saw him and stopped pacing. He picked up his speed and ran the length of the platform.

  Nasira held out her hand. ‘Don’t come too close,’ she said.

  He knew, so he stopped well short of her.

  ‘I don’t think there’s another perimeter but just in case.’

  He realized she was also trapped in a perimeter. ‘Good to see you too,’ DC said.

  Nasira’s attention shifted to Sophia’s ruck on his back. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘It’s the only way.’ DC moved
for the doors on a nearby train carriage.

  ‘The hell you talking about?’ Nasira yelled.

  He paused in the doorway. ‘Denton won’t trigger the explosives if the meteorite’s here.’

  Nasira’s eyes burned into him. ‘You’re not saving us, are you? You’re saving that stupid rock.’

  He slipped the ruck from his shoulders, leaving the sword on his back. ‘This rock is saving you.’

  ‘You’re full of shit,’ Nasira said.

  He stepped into the carriage and walked halfway, picked a luggage compartment at random. He stowed the ruck inside, making sure Nasira and Jay couldn’t see. He was about to step out of the carriage when he noticed movement at the edge of his vision. Someone was walking the platform toward Nasira and Jay. He froze, resisting the urge to duck. The train’s windows were tinted: they wouldn’t see him unless he moved suddenly.

  There was more than one individual. He counted four in his field of vision. They were dressed casually but he noticed tactical vests under their jackets. He noticed blades on their hips, swords in sheaths. They all carried carbines.

  Except the fifth figure who slid between them. She carried only a sword.

  ‘We’ll be meeting again now,’ she said.

  Her accent was Jamaican, but DC did not recognize her from the Fifth Column or any of its projects. Not that it surprised him. Even as the former General of the Fifth Column’s Tactical Division, he hardly knew any of the organization’s special projects—at least until he’d volunteered for one.

  ‘Nice sword,’ Nasira said.

  ‘Not believing we’ve been introduced,’ the Jamaican woman said.

  ‘Not believing I want to be introduced,’ Nasira said. ‘Didn’t I hear you guys were at the Astoria? How did that work out for you?’

  The woman smiled and moved past her soldiers, toward Nasira. ‘Five by five. Slide your pistol out where we see it now.’

  Nasira did as instructed, placing her stolen NYPD Glock on the floor and stepping away.

  ‘I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you,’ Nasira said. ‘This platform is rigged to blow.’ She pointed to an imaginary line of the platform. ‘Motion sensor. Step over that line and we’re toast, pal.’