by Sam Sisavath
“So they’re human shields; they just don’t know it.”
“Essentially.”
Quinn wondered how many of those “human shields” were part of the casualty numbers attributed to Porter over the years. “Twenty or so people at a time to run a place this big, this complicated, doesn’t sound like very much,” she said instead.
“This is Houston, Quinn,” Porter said. “It’s not DC, LA, or New York. As vast as this operation seems to you now, it’s nothing compared to those other places.”
“Like Kobalcom. Another small fry.”
“Yes. They’re both part of a much bigger web.”
“Is that why you chose the city? Because it’s smaller, easier to hit?”
“The smaller branches have the same access to the main databanks as the bigger ones. That, and Houston was the ideal place to reinsert into the country and do what I had to do.”
“So does this mean I’m going to need new broadband Internet service?”
Porter looked back at her. “Is that a joke?”
“I guess.”
“Interesting time for jokes, behind enemy lines.”
“It’s a coping mechanism.”
“Speaking of coping,” he said, glancing down at her arm.
They had fashioned Shorty’s retracted metal rod as a splint and tied it in place with a “borrowed” shirt from one of the Rhim agents. The result was a slightly bulky-looking cast, but it did the job of keeping her from putting unnecessary pressure on the broken bones.
“How is it?” Porter asked.
“Still broken.”
“The pain?”
She shook her head. “It’s numb. I’m not sure I can even move my fingers.”
“Try not to move the arm.”
“Gee, thanks for the advice, Porter. I was going to start doing handstands with it, but your way sounds a whole lot better.”
He smirked before facing forward again.
Quinn looked down at the wrapped bundle. Despite what she had told Porter, there was still some pain, but it had dulled enough that she wasn’t in any danger of blacking out. And there was something else—with every step she took, Quinn thought she could feel something happening under the makeshift tourniquet, around the break in the bone, though what that “something” was, she couldn’t put into words.
They had been moving steadily through the hallways, and every now and then Porter would pause briefly at the sight of a domed surveillance camera along the walls, even though she had already told him about the faceless woman who had freed her from the chair and sabotaged the building’s security so she could move freely.
“You know who it is, don’t you?” she had asked when she saw his reaction. “The woman who helped me.”
He had thought for a moment before finally shaking his head. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“So she was just some random person who decided to help out a perfect stranger?”
“Must be,” he’d said before moving on.
She didn’t know why—maybe it was the way he turned away when he answered—but she hadn’t completely believed him.
Her head was swimming with questions (Hofheinz’s, Porter’s, her own) as she continued to follow Porter down the whitewashed hallway. He had taken the lead right away, and she was more than happy to let him. He seemed to know where he was going, or at least didn’t look completely surprised by the layout of the place. And despite her misgivings, he had found a way out of the data room.
Quinn hefted the stun baton she had picked up in her right hand. The fact that it was a lot heavier than the metal rod pinned against her broken left arm nagged at the back of her mind, but it was just one more mystery that had to be shelved because it didn’t help her get out of here.
She had lost track of how many hallways they’d walked through and how many corners they’d taken because each one just gave them another long white corridor to traverse. The fact that they had so far walked unopposed since 5A wasn’t too much of a surprise given what was happening in front of them—a gun battle that was starting to grow in volume with every corner they navigated. If it was indeed Xiao that was fighting her way to them, she had stalled and it was now they who were closing in on her.
Quinn wasn’t entirely sure if that last thought should please or disturb her. After all, she wasn’t going to be very useful in a gunfight armed with just a stun baton. But Porter didn’t look deterred, and she’d be damned if she was going to let him know how leery she was of walking toward a gunfight without guns of her own.
Porter finally slowed down in front of her, his own salvaged stun baton gripped tightly in one hand.
“Are we almost there?” she asked.
“Almost there,” he nodded.
“How can you tell? Every hallway looks the same.”
“I can tell.”
“Is that the truth, or are you bullshitting me?”
“Mostly true.”
She sighed.
“Trust me,” Porter said.
Like I have a choice, she thought, when the now-familiar thoom! shook the walls around them.
It was the loudest one yet because it had come right from around the turn in front of them, and was followed by smoke billowing through the air as if it had a life of its own.
They flattened their backs against the wall, and Quinn held her breath as smoke engulfed them. Her eyes were starting to sting when the very loud roar of gunfire crackled, and she had no difficulty making out the ping-ping-ping! of bullets slamming into the walls of the connecting corridors.
Screams, shouting, and more smoke wrapped around the turn in front of them.
She exchanged a look with Porter. “Is that Xiao?”
Porter was pulling his shirt over his mouth when he shrugged back at her.
“If it’s her, she might need our help,” Quinn said, just barely able to suppress a cough.
He nodded, and they walked the short distance to the end of the hallway. Smoke lingered in the area, forcing her to pull her own shirt up over her mouth and nostrils. Quinn’s eyes continued to sting, and water formed at the edges. She blinked away tears and slowed down her breathing into small spurts.
Porter was leaning around the turn, taking up all the real estate, so Quinn crouched next to him so she could also lean around the edge to get a glimpse of what awaited them.
She didn’t know what she expected to find, but another whitewashed hallway sounded about right. This one, though, wasn’t nearly as long as the others, because she could actually see the other side despite the flurries of smoke wrapping around it.
And it had gone quiet again. The gun battle, as vicious and intense as it had been, had lasted less than a minute. Quinn wasn’t sure if that was good or bad for her and Porter.
She pulled down her shirt and whispered, “Still think it’s Xiao?”
“Who else would it be?” Porter said behind the fabric of his own shirt.
“You mean who else would be stupid enough to fight their way down here to rescue you?”
“I thought that was already implied.”
I bet Xiao will love to hear that. If that’s actually her out there and not more people we have to fight to get out of here.
She said instead, “So where’s the exit?”
“Around that corner,” Porter said.
“And that’s the last one?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“Porter?” she said.
“Maybe.”
“You don’t sound very sure. Are you still spew-impaired?”
“No. I’ve never felt better. It’s just that I’ve never been here. The layout is a little bigger than I thought.”
She stood back up as Porter slipped around the corner and hurried up the corridor. She jogged after him, neither one of them making a whole lot of noise with their bare feet even though Quinn thought she could hear Porter’s slightly accelerated heartbeat in front of her, and wondere
d if her own chest was beating just as hard at the moment.
Quinn gripped and regripped the baton in her right hand as they slid through a thin fog of smoke. She fought back a cough and wiped at tears that formed around her eyes. The air was thick with gunpowder and explosive residue, very good indications they were getting closer to the source of the recent gun battle.
As they neared the end of the short hallway, Quinn thought she could hear voices—multiple people talking calmly—from around the corner in front of them. Porter heard them too and stopped just as a black-clad figure rounded the turn. A man with a submachine gun, turning fast—but not fast enough, because Porter grabbed the barrel and shoved it upward and to the side.
The man squeezed the trigger anyway and sent bullets into the wall to the left of where Quinn was standing. She dropped to the floor on instinct, even as Porter punched the man in the chest. The blow sent the shooter flying across the narrow space and into the corner, where he crumpled back down to earth in a bruised pile.
It was a hell of a punch, the impact so loud Quinn could actually hear the contact of Porter’s fist against the man’s chest. It would have left her in shock if she hadn’t already witnessed Porter doing the same thing back at the warehouse with the HRT commandos.
Porter was already turning the corner with his newly-acquired submachine gun when someone shouted, “Whoa, whoa, easy on the trigger there, Tex!” from the other side.
“Tex?” Quinn thought as she picked herself up from the floor.
Quinn recognized the voice just like Porter did, and he took his finger off his weapon’s trigger and let out a relieved sigh.
Xiao appeared around the turn and smiled at him. “Nice to see you too.” She held out her hand to the black-clad figure Porter had sent into the corner and dragged the man back up to his feet. “I told them you were too mean to die. And to think they actually doubted me for a second or two.”
Xiao was dressed in slacks and a black blazer and would have looked indistinguishable from Shorty back in 5A if not for the MP5K in her hand or the six-shot M32A1 grenade launcher she had slung over her back.
That explains the explosions we heard earlier. She must have used every single one of those rounds.
Ammo pouches surrounded Xiao’s waist, but most of them were already empty. She had bloodied strips of gauze wrapped around her right thigh and another one over her left arm, but it didn’t look as if the wounds were slowing her down.
The man Porter had punched and disarmed groaned as he attempted to stand by himself on shaky feet. Xiao gave him a pat on the shoulder. “You okay, sport?”
The guy nodded. He was in his mid-twenties, dressed in black commando fatigues with an urban assault vest that still had an impression of Porter’s fist on it. The young man had on a gun belt with ammo pouches; like Xiao’s, his was almost empty.
“Anyone get the license plate of that truck?” the young man asked.
“Sorry about that,” Porter said, and handed the UMP 45 submachine gun back to him. “I didn’t know who you were.”
The man took his gun back. “You’re John Porter,” he said as if that should explain everything.
“That’s his name, don’t wear it out,” Xiao said.
Porter nodded. “What’s yours?”
“Jack,” the man said.
“Sorry about that, Jack.”
“No harm, no foul.” Jack stuck his hand inside his vest and rubbed at his chest, then winced a bit. “The only permanent damage here’s to my ego.”
“You’ll get over it,” Xiao said. She finally turned to Quinn. “You look pretty good for someone who’s been abducted and almost blown up.”
“Better than being dead, I guess,” Quinn said. “Is Aaron…?”
“Still a pain in my ass, but otherwise in one piece.”
“How did you get out of the warehouse?”
“Back door.”
“There was a back door?”
“There’s always a back door.” Then, nodding at Quinn’s left arm, “That’s a pretty bold fashion statement. Did it come with the stun baton, or vice versa?”
Quinn smirked. “It came with a broken arm.”
“Talk about costing an arm and a leg.” Xiao reached behind her back and took out a Sig Sauer and handed it over. “This works better as an accessory.”
“Have I told you how much I love you, Xiao?” Quinn smiled. She tossed the baton and took the gun, then pocketed the two spare magazines Xiao also passed over. It wasn’t going to be easy reloading with a broken arm, but it was a nice problem to have.
“Then you’re really going to love me after this,” Xiao said, and took a small capsule out from one of her pockets.
Quinn took it and snapped it open and looked in at a large white pill—identical to the one Porter had given her to give to Xiao after the alley. “Is this what I think it is?”
“It ain’t Tylenol.”
Quinn put it on her tongue and tasted sugar.
“It goes down faster if you break it up,” Xiao said. “Or you could just let it sit there and it’ll melt on its own. Either/or.”
Quinn nodded and bit into the pill until it broke in two. They started to dissolve almost right away against her tongue, and soon she could barely feel them in her mouth.
“How long before it works?” Quinn asked.
“Give it a few.”
“How about you?” she asked, nodding at Xiao’s bandages.
“Mosquito bites,” Xiao said. Then, “Come on, let’s get out of here,” and turned and led them around the corner and down the hallway.
“You said you told ‘them,’” Porter said. He glanced back at Jack trailing behind them.
“The boys,” Xiao said.
“What boys?”
“I meant your sons,” Xiao said, barely able to contain an amused grin.
Porter sighed. “Tell me you didn’t involve them.”
“Not like I had any choice. Sure, I could have gotten into the lobby by myself, but getting down here and keeping the building while I went traipsing around these hallways one by one looking for you? I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
Porter didn’t look happy as they turned a second corner and found two more men waiting for them. They wore identical black clothing and were carrying identical gear to Jack and were surrounded by bodies on the floor. The walls were stitched with bullet holes, and there was a large pile of rubble in the center where Xiao had fired one of her grenade rounds. The remains of two bodies, both charred, were buried by a collapsed ceiling.
The oldest of three men was in his fifties, with gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. The only white piece of clothing on him was the bloody gauze wrapped around his left leg. The other one was slightly older than Jack, but standing next to the older man’s grizzled face, he looked very young. At first she thought they were both wearing camouflage paint on their faces, but it was just smoke and powder clinging to their clothes and faces.
When they saw Porter, she saw how their eyes went wide before zeroing in on him—and only him—and stayed there. She wondered if they had even seen her.
Don’t take it personally. They’re called the Sons of Porter, after all.
“What did you tell them?” Porter asked Xiao in a low voice as they walked down the corridor toward the two men.
“The truth,” Xiao said, not bothering to match his pitch. “Well, most of it. Mostly I confirmed what they’ve suspected about you, about the cabal behind everything.”
“Cabal?” Quinn said.
“Cabal. New World Order. Shadow government. And a billion other names they have for the Rhim. Same difference.”
Xiao stopped and crouched next to a bullet-riddled woman and pulled out two spare magazines from her waist and shoved them into one of her empty pouches before standing back up. Porter also picked up an MP5K next to a fallen Rhim agent, while Quinn thought about raiding a nearby dead body, but decided she was better off with just the handgun Xiao had given her. The e
xtra rounds of a submachine gun were tempting, but there was only so much accuracy you could hope for shooting with one hand.
“A dozen-ish volunteers in all,” Xiao was saying. “I could have brought more, but not all of them were ready—or able. These are the cream of the crop.”
“You’re him. You’re Porter,” the younger of the two men said as they neared him.
“That’s him, in the flesh,” Xiao said. “Try not to drool.”
“For a while there, I didn’t think you were actually real,” the man said. “Thought they were all just stories some other SOP made up.”
“Hits like a tank, too,” Jack said as he walked past them and over to join the other two.
“Did you do all the things they said?” the older one asked.
“Depends on what they’re saying today,” Porter said.
“Don’t believe everything you hear, especially on the news, right?” Jack said.
“Now that’s a man who gets it,” Xiao said. Then, pointing at the oldest of the three SOPs, “Handsome macho man there’s Mack. You’ve already met Jack, and the other one’s Jill.”
“Kyle, actually,” the second younger one said.
“Jill-Kyle. Close enough.”
“Hate to break up this reunion, but we’ve already been down here way too long,” Mack said. “Time to head back topside.”
Quinn stared at the two bodies buried in the collapsed ceiling before looking over at Xiao. “Your handiwork?”
“Had to blast our way in,” Xiao said, patting the short barrel of the grenade launcher behind her. “Used up all my rounds just getting this far. To be honest, we weren’t sure if we were going to make it any farther, so it’s a good thing you two showed up when you did.”
“And you said this is one of their smaller branches?” Quinn asked Porter.
He nodded. “The one in DC is ten times as large, with ten times the personnel.”
“Glad we’re not in DC,” Xiao said before turning and nodding at Mack. “What’s the situation outside?”
The SOPs had come fully prepared: besides their weapons, they were wearing communications gear that linked earpieces to a radio clipped to their vests and plastic throat mics.
Mack clicked his Push-To-Talk switch now and said, “Can anyone hear me out there? Anyone?”