by S J Hunter
“Ah, yes. Well, my dear, I’m quite sure Bruno will talk to you,” the voice said, then, in a muffled shout, “Bruno. It’s Chris’ Botticelli Venus.”
“How is Chris?” the voice asked, back on the comu.
“Currently missing.”
“Hmm, and how long has that been going on?”
“Over 28 hours now.”
“I see,” the voice said, and then again, muffled. “Bruno, you might as well get dressed and take the call in the car.
“Hang on. He was in the laver, but if you give him another moment, he’ll be in the car, and you can explain it to him while he’s on his way.”
Twenty minutes later Livvy was in Bruno’s office in the Special Tactical unit. She’d told him as much as she could over the comu while he was on his way. Given the blanket order from the Chief, that wasn’t much. In the end, he knew little more than what she’d told Cara: Chris was missing and hadn’t responded to communication for over 28 hours, and that she and Chris had been working on a major case that had given Livvy reason to be worried.
“Look, I know how LLE works. I’ve been supplying McGregor with bags of tricks for almost 60 years, and never asked a question I didn’t need answered to do the job. But you are one little… “ Bruno said, frowning briefly and then giving her an apologetic smile, “… woman, and most of the guys LLE goes after have plenty of resources, which means brigades of lethally-armed muscle-bound security lugs.”
“Yes, but I’m quick and strong on initiative,” Livvy said. “Look, Bruno, I’m going after McGregor with or without your help, and I don’t have much time.
“If it comes down to numbers, which we can surely anticipate it will, McGregor, or even you, won’t weigh in that much heavier than I do. It’s your tricks and my enterprise. Synergy.”
Bruno assessed her. He wasn’t going to find a nick in her resolve, she thought, which meant that he was worrying about her capabilities. She sat up straight and firmed her jaw, concentrating on projecting the kind of image that would dispel his concerns about her atrophied tactical skills.
“Okay, so we need to start with the basics,” Bruno said finally. “I’m gonna guess it’s been a while since you’ve been on the street in some situations. You know about the reversal implants the pros are getting now? They’re better than ours.”
Livvy nodded.
“These mickey-mouse gangs of security guards most of the rich are hiring get them, too. The guards put it on their friggin’ resumes.
“So. In a take-no-prisoners kind of scenario you want to use duoloads and put two in everyone. They have a short, very fast-acting sop and a much longer-acting one. They’re still considered safe so you can use two even on non-players, but even three is unlikely to kill anyone, especially if they have an implant. Use ‘em if you need to. I’ll set you up with some clips of duoload darts that will work with a standard Stinger.
“What else do you think you’ll need?” Bruno asked.
Livvy put her elbows on Bruno’s desk, rested her chin in her hands, and prepared to pay close attention.
“What kind of bombs do you have?”
Bruno smiled.
*****
When Agnew had called Bedford’s mansion a fortress he had exaggerated. There were no ramparts, canons, or visible guards, other than one man at the gatehouse. There was a complete seven meter tall perimeter wall topped with glass and razor wire with an ironwork gate at the driveway – the old ways were often still the best, especially if one worried about technical failures – and there were undoubtedly security acueyes with comprehensive coverage of the house, inside and out. The rest of the guards would be inside. Not a fortress, a fortified mansion. She parked three blocks away, and resigned herself to waiting. She was so tired of waiting.
During the half hour she’d delayed before confronting Agnew in the bar, she’d accessed 3-D utility maps of all of Bedford’s known properties in the city and narrowed her search down to a few possibilities. By mentioning the bunker, which of course wasn’t portrayed on anything official, Agnew had given her a final direction. She couldn’t confirm; Chris’ comu positioning system was jammed, as it had been all day, but this was her one chance and her best information. McGregor had to be in this house.
“Why should our luck start now?” Livvy muttered to herself. From the passenger seat, Louie wagged his tail hesitantly.
“Yes, Louie, we’re going in to look for Chris,” she said. “Soon.”
She had an hour before the time she had selected for going in, and while she waited she unpacked and repacked her satchel of Bruno’s gifts, reviewing the use, operation, and position of each one. LLE was even more powerful than she’d imagined but she knew she was going well beyond its legal mandate, both in what she was going to do and how she was going about it. It no longer mattered. Later, when she had time, she’d dwell on the twist LLE gave her philosophical question: did this make her a good cop or a bad one?
Chris had warned her: a private little war. Megan and the Chief had unofficially sanctioned it. Bedford had asked for it. At the moment, fueled by rage over Mickey Bedford’s death and Jesse’s kidnapping, she was looking forward to it. Handy thing, rage.
She was counting on a number of factors to make her effort possible: Chris would be in the underground bunker, safe from her first assault and retaliation from the guards. The element of surprise, and the fact that she would be almost alone, would make it difficult for Bedford’s security to respond effectively. And more importantly, Bedford’s guards wouldn’t be calling in anyone from the public sector because the last thing Bedford wanted was regular Enforcement responding to the breach. She was cool with that; secrecy was part of her mandate, and everyone she met would be his private security, and fair game.
And last but not least, they wouldn’t expect that she could be lead straight to Chris’ location. They wouldn’t expect Louie.
Her hour was up. She got out of the car, Louie following, and hefted her pack onto her shoulder, where it settled securely. It was a cool night with a quarter moon and a slight breeze. The only sounds were from a few mechanicals along the distant arterial roads, the whispery scrunch of her shoes on the sidewalk, the crickets, and Louie’s intermittent excited panting. When she got to a point across the street and far enough from Bedford’s property that she should still be out of range of the acueyes at the gate, she paused and dropped to one knee by Louie’s side.
This part couldn’t be helped. She could only hope that Louie was as smart as she believed he was.
“Louie, gate,” she said, speaking clearly and pointing at the ironwork gates 80 meters ahead. “Gate. Sit. Stay now.”
If Louie was puzzled, he didn’t show it, other than to cock his head to one side and look her in the eyes. He sat silently and watched her walk away.
This part of the city was full of mature trees and some of them, fortunately, were close to Bedford’s perimeter wall and probably cherished by neighbors who didn’t share his paranoia. If Bedford was obeying the strict privacy laws enacted at the beginning of the century, and she was counting on his powerful neighbors to compel him to do so, then he’d have no acueyes overlooking his neighbor’s property. On the other hand, Bruno had assured her that those same neighbors would respect her LLE sleeve insignia when they saw it glowing for their acueyes. They would certainly monitor her intrusion like an owl tracking a mouse, he’d said, but would know better than to interfere. She was LLE.
She crept along the outside of Bedford’s perimeter wall a short distance through the neighbor’s yard and approached the tree she had spotted earlier during her drive-by. Using it would allow her to avoid any early contact with the wall, which was probably touch-sensitive, or at least she had to assume so.
Tonight, getting into her first position would be the last time she would be able to hesitate. Once she left there, she couldn’t stop again until she found her partner. As she climbed up and settled into a good place to sit in the lower branches she thought briefly o
f Robert Maas, and experienced a bitter aftertaste of vulnerability. If there was after all a perimeter acueye capturing her every move, they were just waiting to find out if she was alone before starting to take shots at her, and she would have no chance at success.
Forcing herself to wait one more minute, she took her first good look at the house. As far as she could see Bedford’s house plans and the security plans for the neighbor’s were both precisely matching the plans she’d gotten from the city’s building permit files. She opened her expandable pack, and while she continued to survey the compound with half her attention, she took out the launcher piece by piece and she assembled it by touch. Now, she heard only the crickets, the soft rustling of the leaves surrounding her, and the incongruous clicks of the launcher pieces snapping together. Other than the guard at the gate, she saw no movement.
Here we go, she thought. With the launcher set to automatic fire and her entire supply of 30 Spritzer’n’Smokes, or Spritzers as Bruno called them, fit into the magazine, all she had to do was aim so that they landed, one every 2 seconds, in variable positions on the roof. The launcher made only a small puff when the bombs were fired, but they hit the roof and occasionally the side of the house with thumps and clanking that was surely enough to awaken everyone inside. The Spritzers that landed on the roof all rolled off onto the balconies and decks and terraces with which the mansion was generously outfitted, making rattling sounds as they rolled.
When she’d fired off the last Spritzer, she tossed the launcher over the wall into Bedford’s yard and lobed the Basebombs at the windows across the side of the house by hand. They exploded instantly with a louder pop, still quiet enough to keep the noise within the perimeter wall, and sprayed dangerous dissolving liquids over the glass, giving her a choice of entrances. Thirty seconds after landing, the Spritzers began going off with a soft hiss. They were as spectacular as Bruno had promised, sort of a combination of sustained low-key, sizzling fireworks that confounded infrared and motion detectors, and copious thick smoke that not only enclosed the entire two floors of the house, but billowed across the yard with the slight breeze.
It was time to move. She threw her armored tarp over the sharp hazards, tossed her pack after the launcher and jumped, briefly settling on top of the wall. From there, she grasped the lower edge of the tarp hanging inside the wall and swung down into Bedford’s home territory. Her grip on the tarp was enough to let her hang for a second and then she dropped with a soft thump, rolled, and got to her feet in one continuous, unforgiving move.
There was no phalanx of gunmen rushing like apparitions out of the engulfing smoke and the sustained flaring of the Spritzers, so she wouldn’t need to drop her pack, throw hands in the air and pretend she’d made a wrong turn. They hadn’t spotted her approach, and now, the acueyes had to be in a three-way daze. Cloaked in the sensory confusion, she should be essentially invisible.
First Louie. Since she was as blind as they were, it was a matter of vectors of planned movement, using the house for orientation. A 50 meter rush to the house through drifting smoke and the sparkling light show she’d created, then a turn towards the gate, tossing some pure Smokes through the dissolved windows as she picked up speed passing along the side of the house. Her advantage approaching the gate was that she knew where the gatekeeper had been standing. She ran towards that spot out of the smoke, already aiming, and hit him with two duoloads without slowing down. He went down like an axed tree.
Louie was there before her, bouncing on his forefeet with pent-up urgency. The lock plate for the pedestrian gate was conveniently labeled so she hit it with her Masterkey and had the satisfaction of watching Louie wiggle through while it was still opening. With her faceplate down, she couldn’t talk to him without shouting, but he fell in at her side and they ran back together into the smoke and erupting flares towards the house.
It was a strange sensation after so many years doing only investigative work, to have her world narrow down to her weapons and the house, with whatever remaining guards it held, and her firm objective. In Tactical, she’d been part of a team. Tonight, she had Louie.
She wanted no one at her back, so she chose the last set of French doors at the back of the house and paused only long enough on the outside to lean close to Louie’s ear and say distinctly “Find McGregor. Louie, find Chris.” He leapt in over the ruined glass and wood smoothly and disappeared into the smoke-filled room as Livvy scrambled through after him. Immediately, she sidestepped to brace up against the adjacent wall. A small table went over with the loud crash of what was probably a priceless Chinese vase. The smoke still made normal vision impossible so with her back now to the Spritzers, she toggled her faceplate to infrared and looked around. There was Louie, crouching with his head down on the other side of the room just as a human figure appeared at what had to be a door. It was embarrassingly easy to eliminate the man with two Stinger shots but she didn’t delude herself into thinking that they would all be so simple. Quickly groping her way through the room, she used her hips and knees to locate the obstacles so that she could have her hands free for her Stinger. She’d have bruises tomorrow.
Louie was waiting for her when she got to the door. She tossed one of her Smokes through but couldn’t wait for full dispersal because Louie was picking up speed as though he had picked up a scent and was half way down what was apparently a long, wide hall when she went through. There were two men running towards her at the other end of the hall, and she barely had time to scream “Louie, down” before she dropped and rolled, aiming and firing as she moved. She got the first man as she went down, before he got off a shot, but the second sent two missiles – silenced bullets she thought from the sound – that impacted a wall above and behind her before her duoloads caught him. Four. How many more guards did the old man have?
Louie was already up and moving again – a dog on a mission now – and Livvy pushed herself to her feet to follow. He stopped in front of a door under a stairway. Livvy had time to register that they were standing beside a grand stairway that lead up out of an impressively marbled and chandeliered entryway when the fifth man poked his gun around the corner of a doorway across the room and started spraying her with more bullets. Most of them ricocheted off the lovely oak balusters but one of them hit her shoulder, above her sore arm, before she could duck.
“Hell,” she said. Despite the armor, it hurt.
Louie, sensible Louie, crouched at the side of the door, keeping his head down.
Livvy decided she couldn’t wait. She opened the door and followed Louie through, with a quick command to him to wait. This stairwell went down between more oak-paneled walls to a broad landing, then turned towards the front of the house at a ninety degree angle. Two stairs down Livvy turned, toggling back to photopic. Very little of her smoke had wafted down the stairwell. She was a highly visible target at this point and she couldn’t go past the corner with Guard Five at her back. Feeling trapped, she’d whispered “wait” seven more times to herself inside her helmet, when the fool opened the door just above her and she shot him twice at point blank range. Five fell forward down the stairs.
Louie was waiting for her just above the landing, staring straight down towards the lower floor. She bobbed her head to check and saw Guard Six crouching behind the Newell. He shot at her but she’d already ducked back and the bullets dug into the paneling behind her. Okay, I’m in armor, she thought. She stepped out and fired twice. One of her darts caught him in the face just below the eye. Possible permanent nerve damage, they always warned, but she couldn’t summon any regrets. Six went over and she took the lower stairs at a two-at-a-time plunge and put a second duoload in his chest.
Even down here the floor was smooth marble so Louie scrambled doing a hairpin turn at the base of the stairs until he found his traction again and took off down another long hall towards the back of the house. As Louie went passed it, a door near the base of the stairs opened. Guard Seven had certainly heard all of the prior shooting and must�
�ve heard and glimpsed Louie dashing by, because he came all of the way through the door and leveled his gun at Louie’s backside. Livvy got him with two duoloads in the back before he could shoot. The easiest yet. She did a quick sweep of the room before she moved on. There were no windows down here, but the walls and ceiling had numerous small light sources. All of the other five doors behind her stayed closed and she left them alone for now.
The sixth door, the one that had attracted Louie’s attention, was at the end of the hall. Superficially, it looked like any other of the heavy wooden doors on this level, but when she got closer she saw that it had been retrofitted with a simple palm lock. She pulled out her Masterkey and pressed it against the lock just as Guard Eight, who had apparently bided his time before come out from behind one of those other doors, started firing at her from behind the same damn Newel. The door swung open to a cacophony of falling metal and Louie yelped, then darted passed her. This man’s aim wasn’t any better than any of the others but she was standing still and neatly outlined against the door. As Livvy turned to face the shooter the repeated painful impacts basically propelled her through the door and into the room. Just inside the door, she stumbled then fell over a chair and what appeared to be a collection of pots and pans.
*****
Chris woke up around 3 AM. He was still in what he was starting to think of as “the room that never gets dark.” The muted sound of gunfire which had awakened him ended abruptly. It had appeared to be coming from above him. A short silence, and more rapid, muted gunfire, lasting longer, again from above, further away, and abruptly silenced.
After the second set he moved as quickly as he could to the door and started dismantling his crude trap. The sleep had only stiffened his sore muscles and made his ribs throb with every breath. The third distinct set of gunfire came from the same level as the room he was in. He hadn’t been able to get his trap fully dismantled by the time the fourth set started, apparently right outside the door. Whoever it was, they were moving quickly.