Soul Raging

by Ronie Kendig

  * * *

  THOREAU SUBMERSIBLE, CARIBBEAN SEA

  “Mercy,” growled Manche, “you taking a vacation?”

  “Can you read cracked code, Admiral?” she shot back, watching Baddar rigging an external monitor, by way of a tablet, to her shattered laptop. “This is not as easy as it doesn’t look.”

  “We’ve lost communication with the team, and I don’t want to lose their lives, too. Do you want that on your head?”

  “I don’t even want it on my pinky,” she muttered, her sarcasm dark and perhaps tasteless. Which happened when she was pushed beyond reason.

  “Ariadne,” Alisz said. “They trained you for this. You can do it.”

  “Shut up,” she huffed.

  “Here.” Baddar held up the tablet—now displaying her coding.

  “You sexy man.” Mercy grinned, shifting her gaze to the clear screen, and immediately the strain on her eyes relieved. “Okay, we’re better off than I thought,” she said to Command. “I think if I—” She sucked a breath, then laughed it out. “I’m in!” She laughed again, disbelieving how close she’d been when the screen cracked. “Yes, I’m in. Uploading the worm now.”

  “I think you doubly owe Baddar now,” Jones said over his shoulder. “But I guess since you have to marry him, it’s not going to be a problem repaying that debt.”

  She laughed, then frowned. “What?”

  “That kiss,” Jones said. “In Afghanistan, that’s a very intimate gesture, only done between a husband and wife. I’m going to guess he expects to marry you now.”

  Mercy knew her eyes betrayed her startled panic when she whipped toward Baddar.

  A blush spread through his cheeks, and though he tried to smile, it came out like a nervous waver. “We not live in my country,” he said quietly.

  Her thoughts vibrated at the idea, what he wasn’t saying. Or that he wasn’t arguing. Was he . . . ? Did he really . . . ?

  No no no. “I can’t do love and marriage right now. I have to save the world first.”

  * * *

  UNDISCLOSED LOCATION NEAR CUBA

  A sense of falling jerked Leif awake. His face hit a hard surface, and he rolled, groaning and pressing a hand to his temple. In front of him lay an unconscious Saito. His lips weren’t blue, so he was still alive. Right?

  “I’m impressed, Mr. Metcalfe.”

  Climbing onto all fours, he struggled to shake off the fog of unconsciousness. A roar of pain from the bullet wounds and pounding headache strangled his thoughts. But there was no mistaking who stood over him. “Veratti.”

  “Did you really think you would stop me, Mr. Metcalfe?”

  “Didn’t think—just did the best violence I could,” Leif ground out around the thuds in his head. “I won’t stop until one of us is dead.” He pulled a leg under him and lifted his torso so he wasn’t cowering like a dog. The world tilted and swayed, but he steadied himself.

  “Is that what you told Director Iliescu on his yacht?”

  Anger jolted Leif, along with outrage at what this man had cost him and so many of those he cared about. “No, it’s what we did to your men.” He squinted around the pounding. “Heard there were extra body parts floating in the Atlantic. Think the Coast Guard had a strainer to pick them out?”

  Veratti’s gaze darkened. “You cost me a lot.”

  “You’re welcome.” Leif scanned his surroundings, trying to figure out what he could use as a weapon, since they’d stripped him of his. “You know what they say about payback. You cost me months of my life and the last four years looking for answers.”

  Veratti laughed. “That wasn’t me, Mr. Metcalfe. If you had but asked, I would’ve told you everything.”

  “Only at the cost of my soul.” Around the perimeter of the room were at least twenty men in black tactical gear, faces concealed behind black masks. “That’s your currency, isn’t it? Souls. You have plenty right here. I won’t give you mine.”

  “That,” Veratti said, “we had five years ago. Now you will see what we’ve done with it. And these . . .” He nodded to the Gen2s. “They are my enforcers. Counselors, if you will—helping people understand the importance and benefits of Risen.”

  “Benefits,” Leif snorted.

  “As you will see. We will all see.” The prime minister stood proud amid a group of men in suits, all watching a screen where a series of numbers and names blipped, each addition nudging the lines of information up. It reminded Leif of the stock exchange, except with countries, not businesses. “How are we doing, Dhruv?”

  “Good, sir,” a man with jet-black hair said. “Risen is completely uploaded, and they’re bringing it online. With the encryption and the level of sophistication, each country packet and component has to be brought online individually.”

  The same way they’d taken down countries and rearranged leadership.

  Leif wanted to nuke this place. These suits were the men who’d assumed power in the wake of disasters and murders that had killed their predecessors.

  In his periphery, he saw Saito’s eyes flicker open, and he silently signaled him to stay still, quiet.

  “Sir,” an Asian man said from a computer, “I think . . . no, I’m positive someone is trying to hack the system.”

  Leif nearly grinned. Do your stuff, HackerGirl. Kill this.

  “That’s impossible,” another man argued. “There are multiple redundancies and repeaters, and at this depth, they’d have to be—”

  “In a submersible.” Veratti’s gaze struck Leif without question or confusion. “It’s a shame we’ve had to hit it with a missile.”

  When Veratti focused back on his techs, Leif knew he had no time to panic. If Mercy had been taken out, his mission here was more important than ever. He’d have to blow this place—even if he went down with it.

  He searched the room for anything flammable or explosive. Anything he could detonate. He eyed the cabling. But it was just him and Saito, who was awake now but not moving, waiting for Leif’s instruction.

  Needing a better perspective, Leif struggled to his feet. Feigning dizziness and more pain, he stumbled back a couple of steps.

  In a fluid, graceful—but deadly—move, the Gen2s produced their weapons and trained them on Leif. Tension forced the suits to shift away, realizing they would be in the crossfire.

  “Your guards are kind of twitchy, Ciro,” Leif said around a faked groan, the heel of his hand to his head. But his ploy had worked. He was now within striking distance of the two nearest Gen2s, but better yet—they were focused on him. Not on Saito, who’d dragged himself out of sight between two waist-high vented systems.

  “I would be careful, Mr. Metcalfe,” Veratti snarled. “They are much faster and harder to kill than you.”

  “Sir, we have a problem,” the tech said, his expression taut and concerned. “Sensors picked up several unfriendlies around the perimeter. Reports say they’re setting explosives.”

  Veratti snapped his gaze to the Gen2s. “Go, before they kill us all!”

  Man, that was a nice sound—fear in Veratti’s voice. Leif had to find a way to create more of that.

  The exfil of more than half the Gen2s was swift and quiet, like a whoosh of wind. Or maybe that was Leif releasing the breath he’d been holding. That announcement had evened things out a little. He liked these odds. A lot.

  “Uh, sir?” the tech whined. “I . . . I think . . .”

  “What?” Veratti growled.

  The tech put his hands on his head as the screen blipped, went black . . . then the ooga-chaka baby splayed across it and started dancing.

  “What is this?” Veratti demanded.

  “A little Mercy.” Seizing the distraction that filled the room with worried chatter and that annoying song from the ’90s, Leif stepped back and drove his elbow into the face of the nearest Gen2, then snapped his fist hard and violently into the man’s nose.

  Even as he delivered that potentially fatal blow, he knife-handed the other guard in the throat.
Gen2s might have better endurance or heal faster, but they were still human. They still needed air.

  By the time he’d freed the weapon from the first man and fired off several rounds, he heard other shots—both the remaining Gen2s and Saito. Leif moved in an elimination arc through the Gen2s and suits, aiming for the system, the software. He wasn’t discriminating. Suits cried or died.

  The return volley of bullets forced Leif down behind a table, which he upended for cover.

  “Mr. Metcalfe!” Veratti shouted. “I have something you want!”

  The room fell strangely quiet, and whimpers thickened the air that was now rank with the metallic scent of blood. A side door whisked open, and Andreas entered.

  Good. They’d settle this. Win thi—

  In lurched Iskra, gagged and carrying a clinging Taissia.

  Leif dropped back down against the upended table, gripping his weapon. Swiped a hand over his mouth, anger roiling. He’d tried. Failed. Again. Iskra and Taissia needed him. He wouldn’t give up. But for now, the smarter play was surrender. So he could figure a way out.

  Across the way, he noted Saito hunkering out of sight.

  Leif slowly came to his feet, Gen2s taking a bead on him as another person entered, weapon trained on Iskra’s back. Not Bogdashka but . . .

  “Braun.” How? “You were in lockup.”

  The admiral met his gaze evenly. “I convinced Manche he needed me onsite. Remember what you said? That Dru said to watch out for me?” Braun shrugged, giving him a nearly apathetic smile. “I think you misunderstood.”

  Like lightning, the moment in the Atlantic surged in Leif’s mind, recalling the director’s dying words. “Dru knew.” He hadn’t been telling Leif to protect her. “He was trying to warn me.”

  “She did not become an admiral through her good looks,” Veratti mocked. “She is shrewd. Tenacious. Once Manche brought her down to Guantanamo, I sent a Gen2 in as a Marine to retrieve her.”

  “Pretty stupid, risking your men for her,” Leif said. “I think you missed a memo: she’s not that important.”

  “Maybe not to you. But to me—how do you think we got the American component?” Veratti was way too calm. “Risen will be implemented in doses, since fear of the mark of the beast”—he laughed—“scares even the atheist into avoidance. But the gullible will accept it because they’ll think—oh, this makes life so much easier. It removes limitations. I can get what I want—faster, better, easier.”

  Leif gritted his teeth, knowing how easily convenience drove people.

  Veratti angled his head. “That’s what you thought, was it not, when you joined Netherwood?”

  “I wanted to keep my men alive.”

  “Yes! Easier to live without the weight of deaths on your conscience.”

  Leif forced himself to stay cool, his grip firm but light as he held his weapon in a low-ready position.

  “It’s a good thing you had our training,” Veratti said with a laugh. “I saw the intent in your gaze when the ladies entered. You thought another threat was coming, so you were ready! Then”—he raised his arms—“it’s your girlfriend. And Braun! Your implant increased your ability to process that information at an incredible speed and cut emotional entanglement in carrying out your job. Without that, you might have shot the lovely Iskra. Maybe her innocent daughter.” He smoothed a hand over Taissia’s head, who violently recoiled at his touch.

  Fury thumping his rib cage, Leif wanted to kill him.

  He noticed the way Andreas moved not into a tactical position to defend his sister or Leif, but closer to Braun and Veratti. The ArC mastermind nodded, and Andreas took Taissia from Iskra.

  No. Leif’s belief that they had a prayer in stopping Veratti slipped several notches.

  Veratti noticed. “Yes, wasn’t that brilliant? Having Andreas pretend to be such a loyal friend and advocate to Rutger, the disloyal imbecile. One would think killing Katrin might’ve kept him in line.” He shrugged. “I suppose I cannot be right all the time. And neither can you eliminate all the newer models in this room.”

  “Maybe,” Leif said, “but I’ve changed the odds a little.” He toed one of the bodies on the floor.

  “Perhaps.” Veratti ambled toward Andreas. “But will you try to shoot us when there is such precious cargo in the way?” As he lifted the girl from Andreas’s arms, Taissia cried out, but he held her fast.

  I am the weapon.

  Dru’s dying words wafted through his mind. “‘Al’el must go to the deep and there yield a mighty blow . . . At last the final war comes. Al’el must . . . move fast . . . and use his mind . . . to wit and war. Blood . . . spilled . . . then so much more . . . raging soul delivers . . . lethal blow . . . back where it started . . . stands against those who reap. Facing . . . betrayal and danger, his blade has come, sealing . . . fate.’”

  Blood had been spilled—a lot. Too much.

  Seeking the enemy back where it started—this facility.

  Standing against those who reap—he’d thought that meant Reaper, but what if it meant those who cut and gather, just as Ciro had done, bringing the suits and Gen2s here?

  But the blade . . . the lethal blow . . . Was this all a part of his lethal blow? His. He was Al’el. He almost laughed. This whole thing had been about his journey. Doubt existed—how could it not? But his confidence was bolstered by those words. His determination to give it his best.

  A man spoke to Veratti, drawing his attention away for a moment. A suit in the corner nursed a chest wound. Another held his bloody arm. Suits wouldn’t be a threat, but the Gen2s were. And with only Leif and Saito here, odds were pretty narrow for victory and coming out alive. Unless . . .

  Iskra. His gaze landed on her tactical pants—in particular, her ankle. Did she have her knife? If she could get it, then cut the line . . . a spark was all they needed.

  “Runt,” came Cell’s quiet voice in his internal comms. But how? They were too far belowground. “Mercy did us a favor—when the worm uploaded, she gave us a back door into their servers. I have eyes on you. The man working on the system.”

  Not wanting to betray the new voice in his head, Leif checked his periphery for the tech, who was hovered over a computer.

  “I need you to kill that computer he’s on. He’s already found Mercy’s worm. He’s disabling it.”

  Understood.

  He visually traced the cables coming out of the system. First—cut those. To do that, he needed a distraction. He looked to Saito. Gave signals to relay the message.

  Saito stilled, confusion in his brown eyes, but then recognition flared.

  Leif wanted a double measure of reassurance that they could kill this program. He glanced again at Iskra’s pant leg and thought he could see the imprint of her knife there—surprised Andreas had missed it. How could he get her to understand?

  Her boot shifted, snapping his gaze to hers. She gave the barest of nods.

  His heart leapt a little. Man, he loved her. Loved her tactical mind. No doubt she’d been working out how to stop this, too. He made a deliberate visual line between her and the cables on the ceiling.

  No nod, but intensity. Determination. Tight lips.

  Verifying Iskra and Saito were watching, Leif lifted one of the fingers that braced the barrel of his weapon. One.

  Two.

  Saito erupted in a flurry of kicks, curses, and thrashing. Attention swiveled his way.

  Leif snapped up his weapon and fired two rounds into the tech’s computer as screams erupted from the suits. Agile Iskra used a counter to shove off and leapt upward with a violent thrust of her knife against the electrical cabling.

  Sparks flew.

  A guard to his left barreled at Leif. He struggled to stay upright. Hooked the man’s neck and spun him around into a chokehold. Used him as a shield and fired several times at the system for good measure.

  The tech leapt backward, but not fast enough. Smoke and chunks of plastic and metal exploded. A bullet pierced his lower abdomen.
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  Instinct forced Veratti to turn away, thereby protecting Taissia.

  Bent in agony, the tech clutched at his stomach and let out a strangled cry. “You idiot!” He gaped at the system.

  “No!” Veratti roared, his eyes ablaze. “You can’t!” He thrust the child at Braun, who missed catching Taissia as the girl slid to the floor and ran toward Iskra. “Shoot! Kill him!” he ordered Andreas, who swung toward Leif but then caught Taissia in mid-flight.

  Braun aimed her gun at Leif.

  “Admiral, don’t! Don’t make me do this.” Leif peered down the stock at her. Through the earpiece Cell gave the abort command to the contingency team, confirming the Risen upload had failed. Relief checked Leif. They’d succeeded.

  Now to exfil and make sure Veratti didn’t surface again. Literally.

  Braun’s eyes glittered. “I’ve done a lot I’m not proud of,” she said, her voice surprisingly thick with emotion. “Including helping Veratti for years, letting him sway influence to advance me up the food chain.” She winced. “Dru found out, but he tried to play the game against me. You always wondered why he kept telling you not to dig.”

  A chasm opened before Leif, so many things making sense. “Because you were watching, reporting back to your master.”

  Her face contorted. “And in the end,” she said, “I killed one of my closest friends. I let the future, Ciro’s future, determine my course. I didn’t listen to my own better judgment.”

  Veratti frowned at her.

  There was intention in her eyes—the same intention that had been there right before she killed Nesto. Now grief was swallowing her whole, forbidding any other course of action. “I hate that he died thinking of me as a traitor.” She aimed the weapon at her chin.

  Leif lunged. “No!”

  Even as their bodies collided, she fired.

  They landed hard on the concrete floor. The sonic boom of the weapon exploded near his ear, the damage instant and excruciating. Despite it, he held Braun’s wrist above her head.

  Men slammed into him, and his wounded leg didn’t appreciate the impact as others piled on, trying to intervene.

  Prying the gun from Braun’s hand, Leif saw Veratti rushing for a door. Fighting the two Gen2s pinning him, he managed to fire off a few shots at the escaping enemy. The weight on him lifted as chaos engulfed the room.