Lioness’ Legacy IV—Torment

by Valerie J. Long

  Access to the Freedom Tower—sorry, One World Trade Center—was in the dark. That might be convenient for the lonesome guard in his armor suit. First, his camouflage didn’t have to prevent casting shadows. Second, the bearer didn’t risk being blinded when he wanted to see something himself. Third, his suit gave him infrared sight and thus another advantage against intruders.

  I didn’t have to see him to know his location. His reactor gave him away—but there was no one except me in the entire world who could make use of this. He, on the other hand, could neither hear nor see me, not even in the infrared spectrum.

  As they also had left the entrance open, probably so that no random observer—who had passed the mine field—could see the invisible guard come or leave, my way was free.

  Of course I should neither disturb the ultrasonic motion detector nor the infrared light barriers, but there I had enough experience.

  Velvet was inside, just so. In the Syndicate’s heart. No more guards, no cameras, no sensors. Only another guard in an armor suit before the armory in the basement. And, during the day, two secretaries before the sanctum on the topmost-but-one floor.

  Oh, sure—in between were a few stairs. I had to climb one-hundred-and-four floors or almost four hundred meters and then find a nice hiding place in the central conference room.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  The safest place, regarding shadow-cast as well as involuntary jostling, actually was right above the big conference table, sticking to the ceiling. However, I could see at once that it wouldn’t work—the ceiling was covered by large wooden tiles that could hardly bear my weight—and if they did, they’d sag.

  Maybe under the table then? No, even if the space was ample, I couldn’t be entirely safe from an accidental kick. That kick wouldn’t bother me, but the kicker.

  Near the large windows was even less my place due to the shadow problem. Finally, I opted for an inside corner, where a solid column promised good support, and squeezed myself into the angle under the ceiling.

  The position was everything but comfortable and pain-free. With the aid of my nanos I found a mode to soothe my protesting muscles, and with a few additional suckers in unusual places I could distribute the load in a way that my joints didn’t have to suffer it all.

  After completion of my preparations, I shut my body largely down. There wouldn’t be breakfast, so there wouldn’t be digestion. I had no use for a rumbling stomach or a demanding bladder, and my circulatory system wouldn’t have to provide top performance, either, as long as I wasn’t spotted.

  My nano suit so-to-say formed the cocoon for the pupated Velvet.

  The worst that could happen to me was the cancellation of the regular leader board meeting. If it was more than one night late, I’d have to leave empty-handed in order to keep my appointment.

  Before nine o’clock, not much would happen. Time for a break.

  Briefly after seven o’clock, the conference room door opened. Already?

  A crisp guy in a dark suit came in and had a look around, nodded contentedly and left. A few minutes later, two younger men entered. One wiped the table, the other checked the waste baskets. Then it became busy—glasses, cups, dishes, coolers with small bottles, cookie plates and small thermos jugs for every single seat were set. The next round brought notepads, pencils and small shredders for the waste baskets.

  At the inner wall, they prepared a buffet with sandwiches. Very appetizing, but out of reach for me.

  Girl, you’re not on vacation here, I chided myself. Better focus on what can be heard from outside while the door is open.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  The talk between the employees remained professional and trivial. Only after another hour did it become interesting.

  “Good morning, boss,” I heard, and immediately several more “Good mornings.”

  Six men in gray suits and likewise gray temples entered the conference room. They ignored the buffet and approached their seats.

  “Thanks for being able to come so early,” the first-arrived man welcomed his colleagues. His edgy face was dominated by a remarkable scar across the left cheek. “We have a lot of news to talk about.”

  To his right, a fat guy with bald forehead dropped into his conference chair. “We must talk about this Velvet.”

  “I’m not inclined to waste my time with this woman,” the haggard man opposite of him objected. “We have more important problems.”

  “Our cash situation—” the pale man next to him began, but the scarred man cut him short. “Later, Homer. Anthony is right, we have a more important issue. Rosco, please.”

  Rosco turned out to be a greasy guy next to the bald forehead. “Thanks, Fred.” He glanced at his neighbor. “Bob, that’s your topic, too. Grant me a few minutes. I have news from Vegas.”

  So? That promised to become exciting. My trip would pay off.

  “We still haven’t heard anything from the local police. That source is entirely blocked. But our scout collected important information. First of all—all our contacts are in jail. The cops there have made a major cleanup. Anyone who ever belonged to the Cartel was locked away. At least all we know of.”

  “And how? Vegas had been well-protected!” the haggard man—Anthony, I remembered—chimed in. “They had the most suits!”

  “There’s no immediate information about it. But one thing’s sure—the day our contacts failed, the Inferno and Invasion were entirely vacated.”

  “We already heard about that.”

  “Sure, Bob. But we didn’t know why. Our scout dug out one of the Invasion’s valets. Briefly before the mess started, a car with the license plate VELVET arrived, driven by a short sex bomb in a skintight black suit.”

  Several attendants jerked up, were already opening their mouths, when the chairman interrupted. “Quiet!” he roared. “It’s Rosco’s turn. Please, Rosco.”

  “This could still be a chance event. In any case, there were a few witnesses for what followed—people who were too curious despite the vacating, who were still watching when the cops arrived all around. The statements our man collected are partially unclear and contradicting, but it seems as if a single Marines armor suit would have eradicated an entire police squad. A carnage.”

  “Marines?” Fred asked.

  “Marines,” Rosco confirmed. “Thereupon the police capitulated. They stood no chance against an entire company of armor suits. So, Vegas must be considered lost for now.”

  “If they’ve found anything,” Anthony said.

  “We must assume that. The witnesses watched the Marines carry out other armor suits that looked like statues. The suits must have been frozen. Moreover, there were a lot of injured security staff who’ve been distributed to the hospitals around. And—now comes the exciting part—together with the Marines, in the end some women came out, too, and not as prisoners. Injured hussies with torture traces.”

  “Crap. Then they’ve cleaned the seventh level.”

  “Right, Bob. Among the hussies again was a short woman in a black dress who got along well with the Marines. And right after that, they carried two men away under strictest security.”

  “The central?” Bob guessed.

  “Assumedly. Well, to me that means we don’t have to hope for Vegas. Fred?”

  “Sadly, I have to agree, Rosco.” He gazed around. “We have to arrange ourselves accordingly. Anthony?”

  “Sadly, that fits. Washington and Atlantic City are complaining every other week that we’d have to do something, as the old President’s sitting in Annapolis, and they fear he’d come for them with the Navy.”

  “What do they expect from us?” Fred asked. “That we’re waging war with the Navy? Let them take a few hostages.”

  “We can write off our outstanding debts in Vegas,” Homer now added. “That will tear quite a hole into our cash.”

  “How bad is it?” Fred asked.

  “As long as nothing unexpected happens, I can be a bit creative. If the people f
ind out that we’re tight, we’ll have a problem.”

  “Okay. As the situation is, we’ll have to wait out that issue until we’ve rebuilt a buffer from moderate additional income. That remains in this room, okay? Consider where you can find some additional liquidity in your area.”

  All around the men nodded. Fred looked right. “Okay, Bob. You had something, too.”

  “Velvet.”

  “Yes. She’s here now and keeps our people busy. You haven’t got that issue under control yet?”

  “No, sadly not,” Bob admitted. “I sent out six cleanup teams last night. Five returned without success.”

  “And the sixth?”

  “Dead.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  “Quiet, guys!” Fred demanded aloud and rang his spoon against a glass of water. “Quiet!”

  He looked at Bob. “Details?”

  “No witnesses. A police patrol found them on Broadway, at Seventy-Second Street. All four with torn-out throats. Their car and the plasma rifles are gone. We’ve found plasma hits in the vicinity, and according to that, they’d shot upward, too. Only—whatever got them must have been fast as hell.”

  “Marines.”

  “That would be an explanation. But I think if they were already in the city, we’d have noticed more. No, they were after Velvet.”

  “No single woman takes out an entire cleaning team bare-handedly.”

  “No. There must be another player—or an entire group. And that makes the search for Velvet difficult.”

  “I’d say, that new group must have priority,” Fred decided. “We can’t currently afford such negative publicity.”

  Homer nodded affirmatively.

  For the first time, the short sixth man at the table chimed in now. He removed his glasses and rose. “I’m worried that someone took their car. Martians can’t be stolen, it’s said. Okay, if they’ve towed it away—but that means a lot more pre-planning and organization than a simple raid. It wouldn’t be good if that became public. I propose countermeasures.”

  “What are you thinking?” Fred asked.

  “I think we should rearrange next weekend’s show program.”

  “How?”

  “We have to remind the people who’s in charge here. I don’t want them to come up with bad ideas only because this Velvet cocked a snook at us two or three times.”

  “And the floggings won’t do for you?”

  “They do—only I’d like to apply the whip with the steel tips again this time.”

  Ouch. From the others’ grimaces, I could tell they didn’t like that idea, either. This guy was mean.

  Why didn’t I kill the six men right away? I was in the right place, and the subsequent escape wouldn’t be a problem, either.

  But I didn’t do it. I remained in place, listened to him developing his ideas for the show program further, and left it to my Analogy to fight my upcoming nausea. Luckily, my stomach was already shut down.

  At the same time, I was highly glad that they neither attributed Vegas nor the cleaning team to me—Velvet. Once they made this connection, everything would be after me.

  I already felt sorry for the people who’d become part of the show program. Again, I faced the bitter decision whether to risk my overall mission to spare them pain, or to allow them being systematically tortured in the public while I continued my preparations as if there’d be nothing.

  No. I’d have to disrupt their show a little, make it my own show—and thus turn the publicity effect around.

  “Of course, I expect,” the dwarf concluded and scrutinized Bob, “that the event will be appropriately shielded, so that there won’t be undesired incidents.”

  “Naturally. We all know what’s at stake. Thus, it might be appropriate to discuss the core measures right here. Agreed?”

  “Good point,” Fred agreed. “That’s affecting all of us—more or less. Anthony, is that okay for you?”

  “Yes, sure. I’ll take care that the event will be appropriately reported internally and externally.”

  “Okay. To be sure, I’ll deploy a suit for the show.”

  From there, the discussion quickly descended into deep details. Duty rosters, shielding, rings, subway traffic interruptions, police equipment with shock sticks and pistols, hidden cleaning teams—I recorded every detail. Oh yes, this trip had paid off well!

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Very watchfully, I placed one step after another. It was already close to midnight again, and anyone still on the streets wasn’t necessarily my friend.

  With all the new-found intelligence, I could no longer just amble on easily, even if there were neither cops nor gangsters around. Velvet was deliberately being searched for, as the Syndicate could no longer help but take me seriously.

  At the same time, I had found out too much to think about. Most of all, this show act next Sunday worried me. Sure, it was a regular event, and the thought of the poor bastards having their appearance there hurt my soul—but I was the one to blame for the current aggravation of educational measures. If I only had stuck to reconnaissance!

  I had only wanted to help, but at the moment it looked like I was leading the people only deeper into their doom. Crap—all that was way beyond my pay grade! A single woman against organized crime, what insanity!

  Was I insane?

  —Negative.—

  Oops.

  I had to grin involuntarily. No, perhaps I wasn’t insane, but with a second, at least partially independent thinking machine in my head, I was a split personality—and still entirely healthy.

  Entirely healthy, and one of the most skilled thieves, gamblers, whores, and scientists on this planet—that had to count for something!

  Nor was I alone. Achrotzyber’s reassuring presence wasn’t far away. That thought encouraged me. The task I had given myself was insanely ambitious, but not freaking unsolvable.

  Mmm—I’d need a plasma rifle, plus perhaps some balloon silk, but that would be difficult to procure. On top, something that would smoke and smell, and I’d be in business.

  Why did this Asian now give me such a funny glance? Was he so desperate?

  At the next corner, I pretended to watch for traffic—although there weren’t many cars driving around at night—and peeked back from the corner of my eye. He still gazed at me. What did he need the telephone for?

  With swaying hips, I crossed the street. I quickly passed the next block, and then I stepped into a doorway and blended with the background. I wanted to see what game they were playing here.

  A buzzer came down the street from the north and slowed down. Asian faces searched the sidewalks. The van stopped, and five men in black suits exited and looked around.

  “Tell us when the cops reach Sixteenth,” the driver just spoke into his cell phone. “There’s nothing here. We must search.”

  While the five men hurried away in different directions, the driver drove on alone. I followed him.

  The van stopped again in front of the shop of the guy who had been gazing after me. There the driver left his car and entered the shop. I eavesdropped from the door.

  “You called us.”

  “She was here, a few minutes ago. She walked north.”

  “Did she notice anything?”

  “I’ve been completely inconspicuous. She didn’t notice a thing.”

  “Well then. I don’t have to explain that to the Grand Master.”

  “She was really here! I’d never—”

  “Okay. Thanks. We’ll get her.”

  You’d have to be better for that, I said to myself.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  In addition to Syndicate killers, cops, and gangsters, I needed the Dragon cult on my heels as urgently as athlete’s foot. Didn’t I have enough trouble?

  First, I was hungry—after all, I hadn’t had any meal for more than twenty-four hours, and the continuous camouflage had foraged on my reserves, too. Finally I hoped for a few quiet and relaxed minutes of sitting down and
enjoying nice food in nice company, for example, a veggie burger with Mandy and Dad.

  Dad’s deli was dark, a pity. So he had closed his shop early. Only there were glistening glass shards on the sidewalk before his shop—I’d better have a look.

  The sound of rattling breath let me change from the cautious walk to a short sprint. Window and glass door were completely smashed, so I simply jumped through. Inside the unlit diner, a dark silhouette was lying in a large puddle—Dad?

  “Dad?”

  I dropped on my knees next to him and placed one hand on his open chest wound. Oh damn, he had lost too much blood! But he was breathing, and his heart was still beating.

  One healing nano column began its work.

  For the second, I had a different task—my knees were resting in the sea of blood anyway, valuable raw material that only had to be sucked up, cleaned and returned. I couldn’t come up with a quicker idea to help Dad, as I couldn’t refill him from my own substance.

  Now, I had to be patient until my nano machines had done their work, eventually had to place my free hand into the puddle on the opposite side, and better not think about the fact that my own body and my own vessels served as a pipeline for Dad’s blood.

  Finally, the rattling in his lung faded. The stab wound closed. My columns returned. His breathing calmed, an expression of peace snuck in his features—until he regained his consciousness.

  His eyes mirrored uncertainty, grief and pain. Then he looked at me. “Velvet?”

  “It’s okay, Dad. The blade missed your heart. You will live.”

  He briefly closed his eyes. “Yes. They didn’t want to kill me.”

  “For that, you were looking quite bad.”

  “They took Mandy with them.” His hand tried to reach for me.

  I came across him and took his hand in mine. “What are they up to?”