Shadow Ops 3: Breach Zone

by Myke Cole

  The crowd that had overrun the fence, the human tide, was gone. In its place was a slick muck blanketing the parking lot, spattered across the walls of the building, dripping from the fenders of the parked police cruisers. The stink of rot made Harlequin retch, leaning over the carpet of purple slime still dotted with shards of desiccated bone, twitching lumps of muscle.

  People. Hundreds of people, in an instant.

  Grace stood, ignoring the pain in her ankle, hand outstretched. She was smiling.

  She turned to the flattened section of fence. A mixed crowd of police and civilians stood beyond, frozen in their fighting to stare openmouthed at the wet patch that had once been a horde of men and women. Alfano stood at their head, his uniform tattered, bronze stars long since torn from his shoulders. ‘You wanted me,’ Grace said. ‘Here I am.’

  She raised a hand, and they doubled over as a single body, some screaming, some vomiting out a black porridge that had once been their insides. Alfano simply crumbled, drawing up into the fetal position as his skin blackened, sagged, then sloughed off him, running over the asphalt to join the egg-yolk ooze that had once been a crowd.

  She turned to Harlequin, dusted her palms against one another. ‘Come on, lover. Let’s go.’

  Her eyes were wide, almost fever bright. Her cheeks jerked upward in a coyote smile that showed too much teeth. Blood leaked from her nose, dripping off her lips to patter the ground between her feet.

  What had happened at the Channel building had been an accident, the unintended collateral damage of a desperate woman trying to escape.

  But this. This.

  Harlequin shook his head slowly, Binding his tide across hers, rolling her magic back.

  Her feral smile went ugly. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

  ‘What the fuck are you doing, Grace?’ Harlequin asked.

  ‘I am surviving, Jan. I am walking out of here and living my life to the potential it has always had. I have been doing good in the world, and I am going to keep doing it, whatever your stupid, narrow-minded laws say.’

  ‘Good?’ Harlequin gestured to the mucous remnants of hundreds of people all around them. ‘How is this good?’

  ‘That’s on you and your fucking system,’ Grace snarled. ‘That’s not my fault. You’d let me go, this would never have happened.’

  Ice ran up Harlequin’s spine to the base of his skull. He shivered. ‘I’m not letting you go, Grace. Not now.’

  ‘Are you fucking kidding me? You want to live the rest of your life as a dog to a system that despises you? They’ll keep you poor, Jan. They’ll only let you do the things they say are authorized. Fuck them and their rules. Think of what we can do if we just let ourselves be what we are! They can’t stop us, Jan. I see that now. We don’t have to be scared anymore.’

  ‘I’m not kidding you, Grace. And I’m not letting you go. You have to . . .’ He swallowed. ‘I’m sorry, but you have to pay for this.’

  All pretense of goodwill fled her face, her expression crunching into an animal snarl. She reached for him, took a step, sinking to one knee as her swollen ankle gave way. ‘They were here to kill me, Jan! I defended myself. How is that wrong?’

  Harlequin only shook his head.

  ‘You fucking government whore! Give me my magic back!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Grace,’ Harlequin said, his voice breaking. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  She covered the rest of the distance on her knees, rose unsteadily to her feet. Her voice went smooth, her eyes little-girl wide. ‘I thought maybe you loved me.’

  Harlequin wasn’t fooled, but it didn’t stop the tears from coming as he answered her lie with truth. ‘I thought maybe I did, too.’

  ‘Fine.’ The little-girl voice went businesslike, and she leaned in for a good-bye kiss. ‘Do your job.’

  He knew what was coming and let it happen. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the last time he might touch her, and a part of him wanted that no matter the price. He cinched the first zip cuff in place as she leaned in, closing her eyes, then grunted as she brought her knee up into his crotch. He’d been ready, and turned aside, but her knee impacted with the point of his hip, hitting a nerve cluster there, doubling him over sideways.

  His current slipped from the pain, and she spun away from him, her arm jerking inside the plastic cuff, almost ripping from his grasp. But he held her fast, and she grunted as the plastic dug into her skin. He felt her current gather, surge, Bind. It was inexpert, poorly focused, but still far better than any Selfer he’d ever known. He reacted instinctively, launching his current at her, not even thinking to Suppress. She went rigid as a burst of electricity gripped her. She spun, dropped. Her suit smoked.

  He knelt, checked her pulse. She moaned softly, stirring as he resumed the Suppression. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, cradling her head in his lap. It was the truth.

  But it didn’t matter.

  Harlequin had raised his right hand. He’d taken an oath. He was a sheepdog.

  He hadn’t been to church since he’d been assigned to the squadron in Florida; he’d felt nothing more than a vague sense of discomfort over the absence, like leaving a window open during a rainstorm. If God missed him, there’d been no sign. But now he couldn’t help but feel the hand of something larger at work here. You lost focus. You forgot why you do this. Something . . . someone had to remind you. He looked down at her face, the beautiful contours of her mouth now creased in pain.

  He’d forgotten the change magic had wrought in the world, forgotten what it could do. He’d forgotten why it was critical that the system keeping it in check be upheld.

  He’d forgotten, and been reminded.

  He would never forget again.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Push

  The issue is, and always has been, one of funding. For a while, we were living in the age of counterterrorism. Then cyber threats were the new sexy. Now, it’s all magic, all the time. The sheer volume of money, not just from government appropriations, but from private firms interested in ‘researching applications,’ is staggering. Think about the havoc unleashed in the financial sector when maritime shipping routes or agricultural yields are guaranteed due to weather control? Magic creates a lot of uncertainty, but it also eliminates it. We are only beginning to plumb the depths of the money involved here. And when sums this high are at play, the game can be very serious indeed.

  – Robert Helm, Business analyst, Richmond Capital Investments

  They came more quickly than expected.

  The remains of the vehicle park became a de facto muster point for a small but growing group of Selfers. Harlequin marveled at their diversity. A woman with a shaved head in hiking gear. A man in the saffron robes of a Buddhist monk. Many wore tactical gear and surplus military uniforms. More than a few carried guns. They clustered around Britton, talking quietly, the look of reverence on their faces unmistakable. A few of them had already taken up positions on the walls, relieving the exhausted Novices, who joined the cluster of grumbling soldiers, keeping their distance, whispering to one another. Harlequin could tell they didn’t like it, but it didn’t stop them from accepting the relief, the chance to rest and eat. They knew they needed the help, wherever it came from.

  Harlequin was painfully conscious of the mixed pulse of the magical currents. ‘We just need one of them to be secretly working for Scylla, and all hell is going to break loose.’

  Bookbinder sighed. ‘We don’t exactly have time to run background investigations on them. If they move against us, we deal with it. What other choice do we have? We have to have faith in Swift and Britton.’

  Harlequin shook his head. ‘I am so sick and tired of taking the least awful of a host of terrible options.’

  ‘There are good options in war?’

  Harlequin opened his mouth to respond
, then froze, listening to a whirring thump, echoing between the buildings surrounding the park. ‘What’s . . .’

  ‘It’s a helo,’ Bookbinder said.

  Another moment’s listening confirmed that it was. Harlequin’s stomach clenched at the thought of one getting so close without his knowledge, but there was nothing to be done. Their comms array had been badly damaged in the attack, and it would be a while before they had radar again.

  The Selfers surrounding Britton began to hear it, too. Swift rose into the air, hovering over his comrades’ shoulders, head craned skyward.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Bookbinder said. ‘I’m sure our antiair defences will take care of it.’

  Harlequin snorted. ‘Let’s just hope it’s one of ours.’

  The helicopter finally cleared the buildings and banked into view. Harlequin’s mouth went dry. ‘That’s not one of ours.’

  It was an old Bell 210, a utility model, painted neither the deck gray nor camouflage patterns that would mark it for military service.

  ‘Police?’ Bookbinder asked hopefully.

  ‘Those are blue,’ Harlequin said, and shot airborne, Swift following him up a moment later.

  Harlequin Drew his magic frantically, readying a Binding on the air around the whirring rotors. If he put a bad enough storm cloud right on the blades, he might be able to . . .

  And then he was dropping down, hand reaching out to Swift, waving him back. ‘Ease off!’ he shouted. ‘Stand down!’

  Swift shot him a questioning glance, lightning already balling around his fists.

  Harlequin pointed to the side of the helo, a red swoop of a logo, the words below reading, ENTERTECH.

  They followed it down, landing to either side as it touched down on a patch of cleared grass, opening the cabin door and pushing out a ramp, keeping the rotors spinning.

  Two tough-looking men sat inside. They wore the kind of understated tactical clothing that could be mistaken for civilian shirts and trousers at a distance. Their weapons and body armor were professional grade.

  A third man in Entertech coveralls was pushing a pallet onto the top of the ramp. He gave it a final shove and the ramp’s small wheels slowly slid the pallet down until it came to a gentle stop, canted against the grass. The man kicked the end of the ramp out of the helo and moved to pull the cabin door shut.

  Harlequin jogged the last few paces before the rotor wash began to drive him back. ‘What the fuck!’ he shouted at the closing cabin door. ‘Wait!’

  ‘General Gatanas sends his regards!’ the man shouted back, then the helo was rising, banking hard out over the bay and into the distance.

  Harlequin felt Swift’s magic Drawing and turned to him. ‘Don’t. We don’t have time for that. Let them go.’

  Bookbinder had already reached the pallet, was detaching the bungee cords that anchored a tarpaulin over whatever was stacked on it. Harlequin went to his side, helped him until they had it unsecured. He met the general’s eyes across the top, nodded.

  They both pulled back the tarp in a single motion.

  Revealing stack upon stack of syringes, each filled with yellow liquid.

  Bookbinder’s jaw dropped. ‘Do you know what this is?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I do’ – he looked up at the Selfers beginning to gather around them – ‘and I think I know what it’s for.’

  ‘That’s as much as a green light as I think we’re going to get,’ Britton said.

  Much as he hated to admit it, Harlequin felt almost weak with relief. He’s with us. Gatanas is with us.

  Harlequin turned to Britton. ‘I’ll get . . . your people organized and dosed. You said you would talk to Truelove. Now’s the time.’

  Britton nodded. ‘I’ll be back.’

  Harlequin pointed to Swift. ‘It might help if you went with him. You were with him in the village. He knew how much you hated the SOC, and . . . well, how much you hate me. If he sees you’ve agreed to help, it might move him.’

  ‘I don’t hate you,’ Swift said. ‘I can’t be bothered.’

  ‘Swift should come,’ Britton agreed, ‘but I need Downer again.’

  ‘She’s hard to spare,’ Harlequin said.

  ‘Do it anyway,’ Britton said. ‘She’s got his number. I’ve never seen him actually get angry before Downer put him to it. If there’s anything that can tip him over the edge, it’s her.’

  Harlequin exchanged nods with Bookbinder before turning back to Britton. ‘Fine, but you’ve got to make it quick.’

  ‘One last thing,’ Britton said. ‘Got any sugar?’

  Much of the fighting had moved north through the broken barricades, leaving the exit for the Battery Tunnel clear. The double maw gaped, surrounded by gun positions jutting out from heaps of sandbags. Two precious Sorcerers had been drawn off the SOC LE support team to guard the entrance, the only land route leading off the island’s southern tip.

  Truelove emerged from it now, still in his goblin leathers, still painted half-white. He looked tiny before the huge expanse. He advanced a few more steps, small and alone, and the darkness of the tunnel spat out the army behind him.

  The dead had shambled along at his back for nearly two hours, slowly making their way from Greenwood Cemetery, across Brooklyn and under the bay. A cordon of soldiers escorted Truelove, ostensibly to keep residents away from the column, but precious little of that was needed. There were nearly half a million dead under the ground in Greenwood, and it looked to Harlequin like Truelove had raised them all.

  They slumped out of the darkness, silent and steady, in various states of decay. Some stumbled along upright, their bodies fresh enough to be nearly whole, others dragged their fragmented skeletons along by what remained of their fingers. They stank, but not as Harlequin had expected. There was no stench of rot. Rather, he smelled the rich, loamy scent of upturned earth mixed with the chemical reek of embalming fluid.

  Cormack sat in an armored Humvee just outside the tunnel’s mouth. Harlequin could see his face curdle at the sight of the Probe magic, but he nodded and turned the Humvee the wrong way down Morris Street. Truelove turned to follow, and his army of dead came behind him. Broadway had been cleared in the plaza around the statue of the charging bull, where he’d walked with Grace in search of ice cream. It’s going to end where it began.

  The troops were dug in all around the plaza, armed with as much of Bookbinder’s ensorcelled ammunition as they could carry. The plaza was rimed in the gray slush that was the remains of slain Gahe. Goblin and giant corpses littered the ground. A knot of the enemy still clustered ahead of them, blocking their progress. Harlequin thought he could see a human or two in the mix, Selfers drawn to Scylla’s banner, husbanding their energy as they waited to see what Harlequin’s game was. One of them must have been a Terramancer, as an earthwork had been drawn up along the length of the street, the edges of the buildings to either side bleeding into it. A lone Gahe flashed before the wall, snarling. Goblins shouted insults from atop it, hurling javelins that fell short of the massing forces.

  Truelove entered the plaza, and a hush fell across them. The troops drew back in revulsion, clustering to one side. The goblins went silent as well at the sight of the dead slowly marching in, rank after rank of the corpse tide spilling across the cobblestone street.

  Harlequin turned to Britton and nodded. ‘That’s it. They’re staged. Now let’s get our end moving.’ Britton opened a gate onto the Source, and they stepped through, then through another onto the rooftop above Barricade One, where Downer awaited them.

  The fight raged in earnest as the enemy pushed back south, alerted to Harlequin’s moving out from the park. The fighting below was mostly hand-to-hand. Here and there, a bullet exploded with magical force, but most of the ensorcelled rounds had been entrusted to snipers on the rooftops around the street, instructed to shoot onl
y at Gahe.

  Above them, rocs and wyverns circled, pulsing forward and pulling back from a formation of Blackhawks that turned miniguns on them whenever they threatened the top of the building, ensuring the defenders the high ground for now. An Aeromancer, one of the Fornax Novices, hovered between them. Harlequin couldn’t see any enemy Selfers from his position, but he knew they were there, keeping hidden in the buildings, unleashing their magic when they had a chance. He could feel their currents whipping about the battlefield, saw one police officer fall to the ground, raking at his rapidly drying skin until it crumbled into dust, desiccated by some hidden Hydromancer.

  Broadway north of the barricade now looked much like the Financial District: burning shops, corpses in the streets. The war-tourists had learned their hard lesson.

  Harlequin turned to Swift. He sheltered with his group under a thick concrete shelf raised by one of his own Terramancers. He recognized a few of them, including the duo of Iseult and Guinevere. Guinevere had come up Latent after Harlequin had taken Scylla down, what felt like a lifetime ago. She glanced past him now, and he had to stop and close his eyes for a moment to clear the memories that came rushing to his mind. Coming up Latent had scattered them both. Scylla had gone to the Source, first to be convinced to help the SOC, and when that failed, and she proved more dangerous than they could have imagined, into solitary confinement. Guinevere had gone under the streets of the city, where Harlequin and she had met. And now she stood alongside him, ready to fight against her former colleague.

  The bald, muscular Pyromancer known as Flicker stood beside them. Harlequin had actually hoped to see the Houston Street Gang’s most notorious member, the Physiomancer Render, but he wasn’t among the group that Britton had gated in. Render had a great deal of SOC blood on his hands, and it wasn’t surprising for him to doubt any amnesty the government might promise, no matter what aid he provided. Render had been not much different from Swift, angry, unpredictable. Rending was some of the worst Probe magic out there, but man would it come in handy in this fight.