Brigends (The Final War Series Book 1) (4 page)

“Vladu didn’t make it, sir,” Cob reported.

Emil looked at the youngster. He hadn’t aged a day; he was still boyish for a man in his early twenties. Cob went to offer Adi his hand. She nibbled on the corner of her mouth, a tale-tale sign of her graceful annoyance. She accepted the offer and he pulled her up. She tolerated his blatant affections and he used every opportunity afforded to chase after her. She of course didn’t have the same feelings for him, but nevertheless loved him like a brother.

It was good to see some things hadn’t changed.

“Orders, General?” Minsk grabbed Emil’s arm and brought him to a standing position.

“Get us out of here, Chief.”

“Da.”

Adi went to him. “I better get you to the infirmary.”

“No. I’m good. Don’t worry about me now. You get to the bridge and see us out of this mess.”

“You sure?”

He eased her concern with a firm pat on her cheek. “Yeah. I just need to rest.”

“Okay. Course suggestion?”

He thought before speaking. “New York. Best possible speed.”

His choice of destination created confusion.

“Don’t look at me that way. You have your orders.”

The crew nodded and left him alone in the cargo hold. He leaned against a bulkhead to settle his balance. What he needed was a stiff drink.

Less than a minute later, the levitation drive spooled. Even with the inertial dampeners stabilizing the ship’s movements, he could feel it lifting off the ground. It wasn’t wise to travel in such unpredictable headwinds, but the Bandit was a tough old bird, and they couldn’t remain stationary for long without the enemy discovering their location.

He made it to his cabin with only a couple of rest breaks. Once behind the locked door, he let out a deliberate exhale. He expected to shiver, but somehow he preserved his composure.

The compartment was exactly as he had left it three years prior. The bunk’s sheets were creased and folded to the cot. The bulkheads were bare, and so was the small desk. His body odor clung to everything. He untucked his shirt and sand peppered the deck in yellow specks.

He sat down at the desk and looked at his reflection in the cracked mirror. Glazed eyes, bulging out from sunken orbital sockets, watched him. He understood what scared Adi back at the camp. He was the image of death.

As he admired himself in the glass, something pushed on the seam of his right trouser pocket. He dug in and found an object hard and cold to the touch. When he removed it, he was stunned to see the red crystal from the vault. It shimmered as the light from the overhead lamp struck it. Astonished by his possession of the wretched object, he held it at a protected length from his person.

How did it get in my pocket
?

He sat it down on the desk, half expecting the thing to spring at him. Nothing happened. Scratching his beard, he mulled over the mystery of its familiarity. Was it a Zolarian plot?

The Zolarians called it trancing — mentally linking with a victim’s mind and reworking their mental processes. Three years was more than enough time for them to have tranced him. It was plausible. The gaps in his littered memories were wide enough to fly an airship through. Unfortunately, the missing segments were useless in deciphering this mystery.

He measured the likelihood he could be doing exactly what they tranced him to do. If that were the case, why would they want him to go to New York? He debated ordering the Bandit to fly somewhere else, but that could have been the wrong choice as well. How would he know what were his choices and what was theirs? He needed to fill in the missing pieces.

General Emil Pavel looked down at the ora on his desk. Learning the truth would require him to let events transpire on their present track.

The brigend — Zoe

Max leaned on the ledge of the crumbling rooftop overlooking the slapdash ambush site. His perch was four stories off the ground and he could see and hear everything going on below. That was his function — serving as the team’s lookout. So far, even with his freakish senses, he couldn’t detect anything worthwhile.

The locale wasn’t the ideal place to lie in wait, but he wasn’t calling the shots. Several times he did hear the brothers in their separate hiding spots breaking the night’s tranquility with either stupid laughing or lethal flatulence.

The Vegas longevity in this profession was a peculiarity he couldn’t figure out. Any brigend with half a brain and a spoon for a weapon could end those two dinks careers damn quick. How and why it hadn’t happen yet was a mystery of the highest rank.

He scoped the perimeter again. Nothing to report; he was getting bored. Propping his shoulders against the ledge, he keyed the tel-link. “Still nothing, guys.”

Through the earpiece he heard Paz’s indecipherable guttural speech. There was no need to ask the moron to repeat himself; Max assumed that whatever he said, it wasn’t polite.

A low-level aircraft traveled overhead. He looked up at a glossy shuttle flying away from the Hi-8. It was unusual to see one of those leaving the security of the city’s upper level. Where it was going, he really didn’t care.

A loud emission of trapped rectal gas broke the stillness. Asinine laughter soon followed.

Max shook his head in disgust. “Dumbasses.”

Hunkered down, he did his best to get as comfortable as possible. He had to remind himself, these aggravations were worth the money.

Elsewhere...

The night was quiet. Zoe Chacon ran her fingers through her wavy salt and pepper hair. She never liked the silence. Its unsettling nature made her hairs stand on end. She believed bad things happened when the world was quiet.

She didn’t have an urgent reason to worry. Their lookout point was tactically perfect in every respects. Nestled among the collapsed ruins of the waterfront warehouses in old Brooklyn, it had provided incident free coverage for her and her team on many occasions during the last few months. Regardless of the track record, she was paranoid. The reason? They were smack dab in Boss Cho’s turf. This particular crime lord’s hunters were the fiercest in New York. If they ran across one of his roving squads, she and her boys would have a hell of a fight on their hands. For good measure, she kept her sensitive ears attuned to the surroundings.

The nerves on her neck tingled again, this time making her brigend mark itch. The damn thing always bothered her, especially when she was cold or tense from stress. The tritium-laced dye was to blame. Its radioactivity guaranteed brigends couldn’t completely remove their marks if they attempted to do so. Even if one could cut off all the layers of inked tissue, the radioactive signature left behind would linger for decades. A majority of brigends didn’t have this problem. Unfortunately for Zoe, she was one of the few who were prone to the irritation. In spite of this biohazard, the authorities continued to use tritium without sympathy.

A glossy shuttle flew overhead, earning her attention. She nudged Chadwick. He crouched behind the crumbled wall and aimed his trinoculars through a gap. Bronson, his partner, sat opposite of him, jotting down scribbles in a journal. Neither of the battle-hardened fighters looked old enough to wipe their own noses, let alone recon a dangerous op so far above ground. She had selected them, because they were the best. Their youth was immaterial.

Compared to them, her shorter physique stood out. Although getting on in years — forty-five exactly — she was strong as a Class-A piston. Some would say she was freakishly strong. If need be, she could have taken on her boys single-handedly and kicked both their backsides without breaking a sweat. Thankfully for the boys, they were on the same team.

The night had been long. After glassing the Zolaris Spire for hours, she had tired and turned over the duty to Chadwick. With his fresh eyes keeping guard, she tried to sleep, but somehow her mind wouldn’t comply.

She looked to the sky and ran her fingers through her hair again, feeling the dirty oil clustering under her nails. It had been days since her last shower and her whole body felt dirty. As she thought about issues of hygiene, an itch on her inner thigh grew worse. She reached down and pinched the skin through the fabric of her trousers and vigorously attacked the intruder. The relief was so relaxing she didn’t notice Bronson staring in disbelief at her brazenness.

When she did, she returned his disgusted glare with one of her own. It wasn’t like she haven’t watched those two apes shamelessly scratching themselves for the past couple of days. Unsympathetic to his discomfort, she applied increased comic motion to her relief effort. The kid rolled his eyes, and without making a peep, laughed. She smirked. It was a brief instance of levity in an otherwise boring recon. They needed it.

There was a mild noise, like someone laughing. It didn’t come from Bronson. No, the disturbance was in the distance. She tried to zero in on the source, but the reverberation had already died. She scrutinized what she had heard for any red flags, but none waved for further analysis. Not convinced of its innocence, she remained alert.

Yep, the night’s going to be a long one
.

The cabal gathers

The shuttle descended from the sky and skimmed the harbor. Automated Gun turrets on Governors Island trained their sights as it approached. Once over the wide tarmac, the craft’s levitation drive created an invisible blanket for it to float on. The skids gently contacted the blacktop less than fifty meters from the main complex.             

While the shuttle powered down, three Vityaz platoons marched out and formed two parallel lines. The hatch opened and Kroll emerged from the dark interior. He stepped to the ground and the soldiers snapped to attention in perfect synchronization. He strutted past, not bothering to acknowledge the salutation. Their blackened eye-slits stared from mock faces of embalmed pallor with no sense of insult.

The Zolarian administrator, Isoles, arrived on her levitating carrier to block his passage. She greeted his presence with a sickened sneer. The younger Zolarian reciprocated the feeling.

He despised her for her un-Zolarian-like persona. Her sagging face and decrepit shape declared vulnerability. In truth, her mind was as dangerous as a viper strike, deep and penetrating. On each hand, she wore three ora rings, which she clicked in rapid unison. Kroll knew better than to turn his back on her.

She halted her conveyance. “You are late.”

He opened his stance and his sinewy body grew tall. She turned and floated toward the Spire, expecting him to follow like a trained pet. He was silent and walked behind her, allowing his self-discipline to hold his hand, for the time being.

They entered the complex and passed through a milky rotunda. Hundreds of people, from technicians to visiting world dignitaries, robed acolytes, and adored celebrities bowed their heads in fearful deference. The pair proceeded without pause to a cluster of lift shafts in the center and boarded a waiting car. The capsule’s doors closed and it ascended to the upper levels of the central networking hub.

The doors reopened and they exited into a large hollow. The gathering was already in progress. General Sergei Serov, supreme commander of the Global Alliance Peacekeepers, was delivering a report via a holo-cast projection. James Orock, the polished president of the American Interim Council, cowered in an alcove. In the shadows were the ever present Vityaz, watching in silence.

Malus listened with a statue’s immobility. His plain guise contrasted in his favor against Serov’s imposing military style. On his right forearm, the aging Zolarian leader wore a golden gauntlet with a sizeable purple ora entrenched at the wrist. The crystal changed hues with the shifting moods of its master, reflecting colors onto his pure white robe.

“The last elements of the resistance are on the run,” Serov said. “I have ordered two regiments to find any members of the Vanguard War Council who may have escaped.”

“Have you also deployed your resources throughout Europe and along the lines with Asia?” Malus asked.

“Yes, your eminence. Both my 7th and 9th fleets are stationed and awaiting instructions.”

“You have done well. When can I expect your arrival here in New York?”

“By the end of the following day, if weather permits.”

“Do whatever you must to assure your safe arrival. No harm must befall the cargo you carry.”

Serov’s posture tensed. “Your eminence, I do not believe it wise for me to abandon the battlefield before victory is certain. I demand to stay here and personally hunt down the last Vanguard commander, Emil Pavel. He is still unaccounted for.”

“Serov, the Resistance is broken. Their futile campaign against us has failed,” Isoles interjected. “This Romanian has not been seen for more than three years. He likely perished long ago.”

“Do not underestimate him, madam. If he is alive, he will pose a threat.”

“He is no longer a danger, General.” The unsettling exclamation came from Kroll.

The assassin moved into the light. His coat parted, exposing the dagger-shaped ora tucked in his belt. The crystal was noticeably bigger than those of his compatriots and refracted light from Serov’s hologram as he walked around the chamber. Orock almost tripped on his own feet to avoid the demon.

“He was killed earlier today while attempting an escape.” Kroll did not face anyone.

Serov was livid. “What? He was in custody? Why was I not told of this?”

“Because, I deemed it necessary.”

The Russian turned to Malus. The elder allowed the encounter between the two men to play out.

“Pavel is dead? Impossible. Have you confirmed this yourself?”

Kroll stopped. “His body was lost in a dust storm. It will be recovered, eventually.”

“Then he is alive. I demand the right to pursue —”

Malus intervened. “No. You have been given your orders and you will see to their completion. Remember your place. Your precious Alliance would never have achieved so much without my guidance. I will not have your petty need to defeat a single man jeopardize my plans. Am I clear on this matter?”

Serov quickly bowed his head. “As you command, your eminence.”

“Do not disappoint me.”

With a gesture, the transmission ceased.

Kroll could taste bile on his tongue. “Why must we —“

Malus raised a gentle hand to address Orock and also cut off his disciple. “Mr. President.”

The human came when beckoned. “Yes, yes, sir?”

“I wish to thank you for your service. You have been a valuable asset.”

“Thank you, your eminence. If there’s anything else I can do for you, just ask.”

“What I require from you now is to keep up appearances. Your countrymen must not be given reason to fear us.”

“That will be easy. They don’t have a clue.” The statesman hesitated. “What about this fugitive? Is he really a problem? Do you think he’ll come here? Am I in danger?”

“No, on every account. He is an anachronism of an old system. There is no place in our new world for his ilk. If he is alive, he will be eradicated. Have I said enough to quell your fears?”

“Oh, yes, your eminence. You see, I was just fearful for you.”

Orock’s selfless masquerade tickled Malus. “As always, your help is appreciated. Now, go. You have preparations to attend to before the inauguration.”

“Yes, sir.”

Malus pointed in the direction of the lift. Several guards ushered the man from the chamber. Once they were out of sight, Kroll turned on his heels and paced.

“Why must we rely on these cretins?” He wasn’t posing a question.

Malus stared disappointedly at his disciple. “As always, you underestimate their usefulness. Your shortsightedness is a weakness... a trait common with humans.”

Kroll turned away from his master.

Isoles saw the injury to his ego. “Perhaps they are of more use to us than you.”

Kroll palmed the hilt of the crystal dagger. “How dare you!”

She recoiled. “Violence. Is that all you know? We strive to build a utopia of peace. What do you build, slayer?”

“Speak to me again in such manner and I will —”

“Stop!” the elder roared.

The assassin knew well to yield to the consternation. Isoles smugly slithered to the side.

“Why was I called here?”

“I require answers. There has been a ripple in the Collective. Have you not sensed it?”

Kroll displayed no deceit with his expression. “No, my eminence, I have not.”

“Understandable. The source of this emanation faded rather quickly. I may have been mistaken.” He paused. “Why was I not aware of Emil Pavel’s imprisonment?”

“It would have been premature to do so. I did not wish to inform you until I could thoroughly interrogate the man.”

“How long have you been keeping this from me?”

“Three years.”

“Three years? During this time, what did you uncover?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? You could not extract one useful piece of information?”

“His free will proved — impassable. I employed my best agents; sadly, all failed to break him.”

“You disappoint me. On issues of this importance, the proper action would have been to immediately alert me. Perhaps another of us could have been successful where you admittedly failed.”

“I apologize.”

“No apologies required. I only desire achievement.”

Kroll bowed his head and turned to leave.

“One moment, please.”

He stopped and pivoted to face Malus.

“Regardless of your ineptitude, I feel it is necessary to have you close when the Spire becomes operational. If a threat does present itself, you will eradicate it. No harm must befall the Six. They are the key to the future. Do you agree?”

Kroll thought before speaking, “Yes.”

Malus studied him for subtle changes. There were no emotions to read. “Very well. Leave us and do not return unless I summon you again.”

The assassin obeyed and stormed out of the chamber. The Zolarian crone slinked to her master’s side.

“I want you to remain vigilant,” he confided.

“We do not foresee a need. An isolated human is of no threat to us.”

”Do not give in to hubris, dear Isoles, for I do not speak of the Romanian.”

“We do not understand.”

“Kroll.”

“Does he conspire against us?”

”He is not to be trusted. He shrouds his thoughts from me while quietly probing mine.”

“Should we rectify him?”

He contemplated the offer. “No. We may need his skills if a threat were to arise. Make no aggression toward Kroll without my consent. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your eminence.”
”You are loyal. I trust you and you alone.”

She conceitedly accepted the praise. “We live to serve our kind.”

“Yes, I know. Remember your vigilance.”

As she left the chamber, Malus gestured with his ora at the darkness. The chamber’s giant eyelid lifted, revealing the crowned skyline of New York. The conquering Caesar surveyed his empire with an architect’s pride.

Once outside on the tarmac and away from watchful eyes, Kroll slowed his pace and strolled toward the shuttle. Neither the witch’s scathing remarks nor were his master’s undeserved judgments of any importance to him.

The guarding troopers again snapped to attention. He boarded the craft and soon after, it lifted off on a return trip to the Hi-8.