Codename: Night Witch (18 page)

"So," Angel said, ignoring the two of them, "what's the op?"

"Hang on," Jaffer said, silencing him. "Wait a minute. If this is what I think it is, Magistrate, this isn't just a military operation you're proposing. This is wetwork. Assassination. We're not mercenaries. We're transport drivers."

"But you were military once. All of you. You, Ms. Kalivoda," she said to Marta, "your service record was most impressive—rising to the rank of chief petty officer, no less. Your friend Tomás here was gunnery sergeant. Three tours, was it?"

"Four," Tomás said.

"Four. Of course. Forgive me."

Jaffer jabbed a thumb over his shoulder behind him. "Any one of those mercenaries you've got out there would be happy to take this contract, Magistrate. You don't need us."

"Those
mercenaries
might be fine when it comes to guarding my grain silos, Mr. Talamantez, but I would hardly trust them with an operation as sensitive as this."

"But you would trust us?"

"Your record speaks for itself. Twice decorated for gallantry under fire—the Grey Cross! You served with great distinction. And you delivered Ms. Novak here well enough—even though you
knew
she was a wanted woman. You could have turned her in at any moment. Yet you didn't. Instead, you were willing to risk fines—even incarceration. That speaks of trust, loyalty; that is the kind of trust for which I am willing to pay. Will you help me, Mr. Talamantez? If not for the Crossroads or for my daughter, then for Ms. Novak?"

"Jaffer," Sigrid said, "you don't have to do this. None of you do."

"I do!" Angel said. "For one million, you bet I do."

"You don't even know what the op is," Marta said.

"It's an op that pays one freaking million! I say we hear the lady out."

The magistrate turned from Angel to look expectantly at Jaffer, as if waiting for permission to continue. The big trucker shrugged, holding his palms open and wide. "It's your briefing, Magistrate."

Sigrid turned to him, whispering, "Jaffer! This isn't what you think. You don't know what you're getting into."

He put a calming hand on her arm. "We're just here to listen. Don't worry, kid."

"Excellent," the magistrate said. "Colonel? The floor is yours."

Colonel Bhandari, who had been standing quietly to the side, turned to the monitor. With a wave of his hand the image of Lars Koenig vanished. In its place sprang an extraordinarily detailed satellite image of western South America. All in real time, of course. Sigrid saw the puffs of white clouds floating high above the Andes Mountains, even bits of satellite debris drifting through the thermosphere.

Drawing his arms wide, the colonel zoomed in. High in the snowcapped mountains east of Santiago, a bright red dot blinked for their attention.

"They call it the Crow's Nest," he said, zooming in. "It's one of the old corporate enclaves abandoned after the rebellion. The marquis has established his base of operations here."

Sigrid recognized it for what it was instantly. All corporate enclaves were built following the same pattern. High walls formed a fortress-like perimeter. Inside, isolated and protected from the masses of the indentured working poor, sat hundreds of villas and estates, along with enough military barracks and facilities to house the security forces charged with guarding Earth's ruling elite.

"It's hardly a military stronghold," Tomás said. "Looks more like a resort. Why not just drop a few bombs over the entire area and be done with it?"

"The thought
had
occurred to us," the colonel said, irritated at the interruption. "Normally we'd consider an orbital drop insertion. But even if we had the manpower, orbital access is restricted. CTF traffic only."

"What about a ground assault?" Marta asked. "It wouldn't take much to breach those walls."

"True. The Crow's Nest isn't fortified, but the high mountain location makes it particularly defensible. Any force we send will be seen coming long before they can get within effective range."

"And therein lies the rub," the magistrate said. "I can't afford to have the marquis fleeing in the face of an attack. If he runs, we are sure to lose him. It is imperative our first strike be precise."

"Transports," Tomás said. "That's why you need us. No one would look twice at a convoy of cargo carriers."

Jaffer gave a grunt. "Not just transports. Free contractors. We're not affiliated with the CTF, the Independents—not even the Consortium."

The magistrate nodded her approval. "The marquis's expansion has not come without a price. They need fuel, weapons, food. They've been pulling in supplies from wherever they can. Four days ago, we intercepted a shipment of refined thorium bound for Portillo. Their war machine needs power. As you can imagine, they will be very eager to get their hands on that. I want you to take over that contract."

"So," Marta said, "that's the plan—we run this load straight up the mountain to the Crow's Nest. Then what? There's got to be over three thousand troops stationed there. You can't expect us to take them all on."

"Confronting the Cabal is not your mission, Ms. Kalivoda, only delivering Ms. Novak. Get her to Portillo. She will take care of the rest."

"She will?" Angel said, wagging his thumb at Sigrid. "That's your plan? What makes you think one little girl can handle three thousand troops when those squads of mercenaries you've got traipsing around outside can't?"

Marta crossed her arms, fixing him with a scorching look. "That
little girl
handled herself pretty well last night. Better than you, Mr. Soiled Himself."

"She's enhanced," Jaffer said bluntly.

As one, Tomás, Marta and Angel—even Sigrid—turned to look at him. Jaffer, for his part, remained staring straight ahead, kneading the whiskers of his chin.

"Enhanced?" Tomás said. "Jaffer, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Jaffer…?" Sigrid said, prodding him. "You…you knew?"

Jaffer chuckled. "I didn't know shit. Not for sure—not until we got ushered in here. But I knew something was up. I saw the way you handled Bins. I've seen plenty of people who were good in a fight, kid, but not that good. And last night? You took a load of buckshot that would have killed any of us. Now, here you are, right as rain."

"Wait, hang on a second." Tomás was waving his hands and leaning in. "What exactly are we talking about here?"

Jaffer ignored him—he was staring at Sigrid, and with a gleaming Cheshire grin that threatened to consume his entire face. "You're Kimuran, aren't you?"

Sigrid nodded and his grin widened, if that was possible.

"Goddamn son of a bitch."

"Kimuran!" Tomás said. "As in
the
Kimura Corporation? As in biogenetic weaponization? As in genetic reengineering?"

"Alcyone," Marta said breathlessly. "You're talking about Alcyone. But—but we thought those were just stories! Rumors. Something they made up for the newsfeeds!"

"Ms. Kalivoda." The magistrate leveled her finger, pointing pridefully at Sigrid. "You are looking at the result of more than forty years of bio and genetic research. Hundreds of billions of dollars of capital investment. The perfect melding of woman and machine, designed and trained by the top military minds of the Federation of Corporate Enterprises."

"Well, fuck me," Angel said, perfectly echoing what they were all thinking.

"So…does that mean we're really doing this?" Marta said. "We're going?"

"No," Sigrid said. "You're not going. None of you are."

Angel half-rose from his seat. "Now, hold on a second. That's not your call."

"I know what this marquis is after," Sigrid said, "and I know the lengths he'll go to get it. You don't know what you're agreeing to."

"I'm agreeing to one freaking million!" Angel said. "Fuck that! I'm going!"

"And so am I," Marta said. "Jaffer, you
know
what this could mean for us. All of us! I mean, seriously. One million?"

Sigrid turned to Jaffer, pleading. "Jaffer…!"

Jaffer rose. Standing before her, he placed both of his great hands on her shoulders. "And what about you? Why is this so important to you? Because the magistrate will get you off-world? Sigrid, we'll find another way. I promise."

"It's more than that, Jaffer. The magistrate's daughter—those girls we rescued—this is personal. It's important."

Jaffer nodded slowly. "It is, isn't it?"

"Yes, Jaffer, it is."

"Then it's important to me. We're going. All of us or none of us."

Sigrid shook her head. "Jaffer…"

But it was already too late. There wouldn't be any changing Jaffer's mind—or the others, for that matter. Sigrid saw that. Marta was already studying the tactical map, scrutinizing it, with Angel and Tomás leaning over her shoulder. These weren't the simple transport drivers of the previous night. In Marta she saw a glimpse of the proper military woman she once was, the tactician, the planner. She had a purpose now. They all did. Perhaps this mission was personal for them, as well.

Personal, and with the promise of one million in adjusted Federated dollars. It wasn't hard to imagine what that would mean for them. A life free of running from creditors. A fresh start. A chance.

"I don't get it," Marta was saying. "We know Lars, Magistrate. He's a con artist. A thief. There's no way he could pull off something like this. Gathering all these forces, the resources. He can't have done it on his own."

Lady Godelieve nodded her agreement. "The same thought occurred to us, as well. The marquis was never a threat to the Consortium. At least, not until four months ago. All that changed when this man showed up. Colonel?"

The colonel engaged the monitor with a wave of his hand. The image of the Crow's Nest vanished. In its place, a new image appeared. It was a holo-photograph of Lars Koenig, but this time he was standing next to a new figure. A man. He was thin, and painfully so. And he was looking not at the marquis but in the direction of the camera, almost as if he knew his photograph was being taken.

He was staring right at the lens, though Sigrid knew he was staring right at her.

Sigrid gripped the edge of the conference table—hard. Hard enough to crack its plastiform surface. Shards broke off in her hands, spraying dust and splinters and sending Angel and Marta scuttling back.

"It…it can't be!"

Jaffer sat up. "What? What is it?"

It couldn't be. It was impossible. She'd killed him. She'd watched him burn!

Her hands reached instinctively for her twin sidearms.

"Sigrid, who is he?" Jaffer said, though Sigrid didn't hear him. Her heart thundered in her ears, blotting everything else out. Jaffer shook her, trying to get her attention, but her eyes remained glued to the image. "Do you know him?"

Indeed, she did.

His hair was new, and his face wasn't exactly as she remembered. In fact, he looked a good ten years younger than the last time she'd seen him. That was on Bellatrix.

The first time she'd met him was on Konoe Station. He'd looked different then, as well. There, he'd appeared as an elderly gentleman, thin and frail. But Sigrid had learned his harmless appearance was nothing more than a trick, a clever disguise. And he was anything but harmless.

He went by many names. Smith and Bernat Wereme amongst others. But those were mere aliases. This man, the one talking to Lars Koenig, smiling and shaking his hand, was none other than Harry Jones.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Courier

"Jones?" the magistrate said in disbelief. "As in Harry Jones? Ex-attaché to Randall Gillings, chairman of the Council? I'm sorry, Ms. Novak, but I believe you're mistaken. I
know
Harry Jones, and that's not him."

The magistrate pulled up a new image. This new photograph was of a much different-looking man. He was older, taller, and even thinner if that was possible. But Sigrid knew these were both the same man.

"That's him, Magistrate. That man is Harry Jones."

The anger welled within her. Until now, the only thing keeping her going was the knowledge that Harry Jones was dead. She'd killed him. She'd launched a missile straight through his fleeing car and watched him burn alive. Her sisters were free of him. No matter what else had happened since Bellatrix, Sigrid took comfort from that one simple fact.

Except he wasn't dead. He was alive.

Blast it
, the man was worse than a cockroach. After everything that had happened, here he was again, smack in the heart of things. The holograph floating above the table was proof of that. She'd failed her friends on Bellatrix, and now that failure was complete. Somehow, Jones had fooled her, tricked her, and not for the first time.

It wasn't hard to figure out what he was doing in the company of a man like Lars Koenig either. He was using him, just as he'd used Nicola Kirk on Scorpii and Connor Lachlan on Bellatrix. Lars Koenig might have crowned himself marquis, but she knew it was Jones pulling the strings.

Something else occurred to her then, and a wave of icy chill coursed down her back. Her escape from the southern facility…perhaps she hadn't escaped at all. Was this all some sort of trick? A distraction? Was Harry Jones directing her even now?

Twice she'd had him in her grasp. First on Konoe, then on Bellatrix. She wasn't going to let him escape a third time.

"I'm going to Portillo, Magistrate," Sigrid said. "I'll do what you ask. You won't have to worry about the
marquis
anymore."

Sigrid turned, striding toward the door.

"Wait!" the magistrate called after her. "Ms. Novak, stop!"

Two guards stepped out to block her way. For a moment, Sigrid considered bowling them aside. But it was Jaffer who stopped her. He reached out and clamped his hand to her wrist.

Sigrid spun angrily about, her fist raised. "Let me go, Jaffer."

"Not until you tell me what's going on!"

"That
man…
" Sigrid stared back at the glowing image of Jones hovering above the table. Blast it if those eyes of his weren't mocking her.

"Sigrid, if that man did something to you, I swear I'll kill him myself. But, goddammit, you're going to sit down and tell us what's going on!"