Earthbound (The Reach, Book 1) (11 page)

“They’re backing out,” Tunks said, a frown creasing his brow.  “Th
ey know something’s not right.”

“Not yet,” Duran said, his eyes glued to the monitor.  “Deimona is cautious.  That’s how he’s avoided capture for so long.”

“So how’d you draw him out?” Tunks said.

Duran leaned in closer.  “I don’t operate on guesswork or luck, Sergeant.  I research my quarry.  I learn everything there is to know about the guys I’m after, every single aspect of their lives.  I learn what makes them tick, and then I use it against them.”

“Fuckin’ hogwash,” Tunks muttered.

“Take Deimona, here,” Duran went on.  “He’s got a habit, a very strong need for a certain stimulant.  He’s also got several reliable suppliers who keep him well stocked, but over the last week I’ve managed to take each of them out of the picture.  Two behind bars in the Cellar and another, who decided not to go quietly, in the Infirmary.  It was only a matter of time before Deimona went looking for a new source, and all it took was a word or two dropped on the street about Feng, and here you have it… the target about to walk up to a man that we own.”

“Lucky he turned up in person, I guess,” Tunks said.

“Research, Sergeant.  He always makes a personal appearance with a new dealer.  Likes to try out the stuff before he buys.”

Tunks made a slow handclap. “Brav
o.”  He turned to Symes.  “The i
nspector here was in line to become c
ommissioner, y’know?” he said with mock sadness.  “That was until the business up in the Atrium, right
, Duran?”

Duran ignored him and watched as a man stepped forward from the group on the street and moved slowly and deliberately toward the entrance to the shop.

Come on, you bastard.

“Yeah,” Tunks went on. “Sad to say that our intrepid inspector had a run-
in with some radicals and allowed a security breach.  There was what?  Twenty-seven died in the explosion?  Did I get that number right, Duran?”

“Breach Team, move to positions,” Duran said, oblivious to everything but the image of the man approaching the door.

The camera flipped back to the view above the counter, and in a few moments the man appeared before Feng at the counter.  He was tall and muscular and had red dragon tattoos twisting up either arm.

“Target confirmed,” Duran said.  “It’s Deimona.”

“How you doin’, man?”
Feng said.

“Get me a cola,”
Deimona said, his voice like gravel.

“Uh, sure.  You got a preference?  Got a few varieties here.  They’re all shit imitations of
the stuff you get off-world, ’course, but–”

“Something wet.”

“Haha, yeah.  Sure.  Sure.  I like that.  Something wet.  That’s nice.”

Duran scowled.  “Shut up, Feng.  You’re talking too much,” he muttered to himself.

Feng took a bottle from the fridge behind him and placed it on the counter. 
“That’s seven creds.”

Deimona uncapped the drink and took a swig, making no attempt to pay.

“Breach Team, wait for the target to clear the store before moving in,” Duran cautioned.

Deimona place the bottle back on the counter and wiped his forearm across his mouth.

“I’m also looking to catch a little Breeze,”
he said. 
“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Yeah, man, I got Breeze.  Sure.  I don’t deal it out of the store, though.”
  Feng laughed nervously. 
“I can meet you later.  Say, in an hour?  Over on Seventh?”

“How much you sellin’ for?”

“Uh, whatever, man.  I’m sure we can work something out.”

Deimona’s eyes narrowed.
  “A dealer who doesn’t give a shit about the creds, huh?  You in this for charity?”

Feng wiped sweat from his brow and his false smile faltered.
“Nah, man–”

“You know what I think?  I think you’ve got an Enforcer dick up your ass.”

The two men stared at each other, their gazes locked, bodies still.  The bubbles that
crept up the sides of the half-empty bottle of cola were the only things that moved in the entire store.

Duran opened his mouth to bark an order, but as he did so, Feng fumbled under the counter for the weapon he’d hidden earlier.  Deimona moved like lightning, gripping a 9mm from behind his back and firing off a round in one fluid motion, sending Feng’s brains splattering across the refrigerator that sat against the back wall.  Then he was gone, bashing through the door with such force that he almost knocked it off its hinges.  In moments he had reunited with his crew back out in the street.

“Breach Team, go go go!” Duran yelled.

Chaos ensued as Deimona and the others tried to flee.  They’d only made it a few paces before they were cut off by the Breach Team at either end of the street.  There was gunfire through the video feed, and it was also loud enough to be heard outside as it echoed through the streets of Juncture Nine.

Tunks sat forward so suddenly that his belly almost knocked the monitor over.

“Is that… pulse weapons they’re packing?” he said, disbelieving, cocking his ear as he attempted to make out the distinctive sound of the weapons.

“These guys aren’t amateurs, Tunks,” Duran said.  “They’ve got access to serious hardware.”

The leader of the Breach Team could now be heard through a loudspeaker.

“Deimona, you’re under arrest for illegal entry into the Reach.  You are trespassing.  You and those aiding and abetting you will–”

He was drowned out by more gunfire and shouts from Deimona’s crew as they tried to coordinate themselves.

“They’ll fall back, probably into Feng’s place,” Tunks said.  “They’ll be trapped.”

As if to contradict him, the crew suddenly sprang up as one and sped down the street in the opposite direction to which they had come.  They moved with such startling fluidity that, on the monitor, they appeared like shadows scattering under the streetlights.

“No,” Duran breathed.

There was a hail of bullets and three of the crew fell, but the others were upon the Enforcers with such speed that they caught them off guard, their pulse weapons punching through the Breach Team’s body armour, one after the other.

“They’re out,” Duran said, aghast.  For the first time he felt as though he
weren’t in complete control of the situation, and that thought sat like a lump of ice in his abdomen.

The gunfire was louder now, and Duran’s hand went instinctively to the .40-calibre pistol at his hip.

“They’re headed this way,” he said.

“Huh?  So what?” Tunks said.  “Let the Breach Team give chase.”

Duran moved to the doorway.  “They’re already too far behind.”

“What?  Oh, hell no,” Tunks said.  “Fuck your personal crusade, Duran.  I don’t care if you get your ass handed to you over this–”

Duran heard no more, already out the door and hurtling along the alleyway.  He heard footsteps behind him and saw Constable Symes following on his heels, his sidearm clutched in his fist.  He looked as though he wasn’t exactly sure what to do with it.

“Stay in the command centre,” Duran said.  “I’ve got this.”

“No, I’m with you,” Symes said bravely.  “All the way.”

Duran nodded and waved for him to follow.

They don’t get past,
Duran thought. 
Whatever happens, they don’t get past.  I’m finished if they do.  I won’t survive another embarrassment like the Atrium.

He could hear the footsteps of Deimona and the others approaching and positioned himself on the corner of the alleyway.  Duran signalled silently for Symes to take the next
one
along, figuring they might split up.  Much to Duran’s chagrin, Symes trotted over to the alleyway and then turned into it, disappearing out of sight moments later.

“Find cover,” Duran hissed, but the constable was gone.

There was no time to go after him.  The fugitives were already in the alley.  Duran edged back,
watching surreptitiously as the
men approached.  There were two that he could see, running right at him at full tilt.

Duran waited for the right moment, that split second when their cover on either side was most sparse.  Another five steps.  Three.  Two.  Then he s
wivelled and brought up the .40-cal.

The first shot took one of the men in the shoulder, and the second shot punched through his chest.  The other man tried to find concealment, but another shot from Duran shattered his ankle.  He screamed in pain and began firing indiscriminately.  Part of the wall next to Duran was pulverised into dust by a pulse round, and the spray of grit splashed across Duran’s face and caught in his eyes.

Duran dropped to one knee, taking an instant to steady himself as more pulse rounds detonated all around him like cannonballs.  He squeezed the heel of his palm across one eye to clear his vision.

He pulled
the trigger, and the shot collected the fugitive in the neck.  The man fell backward with a shout and then lay silent and still.

Duran started forward cautiously, aware that one or both of them might have been foxing, but he soon found that they weren’t.  Both were dead.

Deimona was not there.

There were shots fired in the next alley, and Duran cursed, sprinting back the way he had come.  After a brief exchange, everything went silent again, and as Duran reached the place where Symes had disappeared, he pressed against the wall.  He could see no movement in the alley at all.

With the .40-
cal held in two hands at his side, Duran began to creep forward. 

Above, frightened faces began to appear in the apartment windows.  Some lingered, eager to witness the action, while others disappeared almost as suddenly as they had come, switching off lights or drawing curtains to avoid bringing unwanted attention upon themselves.  Duran kept his attention on the alleyway, but there was still no sign of movement before him.

Then he heard something.  A scuffling sound, a grunt of exertion.  Something sliding.

A body being dragged?
he wondered.

Duran continued to place one foot after the other, and now his .40-
cal had risen to a forty-five degree angle from the ground.  He was ready to take the shot.  He just needed the target to
appear.

He rounded a dumpster and saw the body slumped against the wall, unmoving.  Even in the dim light there was no doubt about the identity of the person who lay there.

Symes.

Duran edged forward and pressed his fingers to Symes’ neck.  There was no pulse.  Looking down he could see a ragged
, wet tear in Symes’ chest where the pulse weapon had chewed through clothing and flesh and bone.

You’re in safe hands.

“I’m sorry, kid,” was all he could say.

Duran got back to his feet, reeling.  Where was the killer?  Where was Deimona?  Had he backtracked along the alley and headed back toward Feng’s?

Duran heard that scuffling sound again and then
a muffled scream from above.  Looking up, he could see the terrified face of one of the citizens at their window, and not far away the form of a man scaling the wall.  As the light from the apartment fell across him, Duran saw the unmistakable dragon tattoos on the man’s arm.  Deimona.

Duran brought up his weapon, but Deimona reached the roof and swung out of sight before he could take the shot.

Damn!  What is this guy?  Part mountain goat?

Duran got moving again. He ran at full speed
, one eye on the path before him and the other on the rooftops.  He saw Deimona leap between buildings, his powerful and muscular form bridging the distances with seeming effortlessness.  Duran knew that he would lose him if he stayed at ground level, so he burst through the door of the next building he came to, past a startled cleaning woman with a blue handkerchief tied around her hair, up the stairs to the first floor.  His strides only got longer, and on the second floor a
wide-eyed old man hobbled so quickly back inside his apartment that he almost fell over.

The third floor went past, then the fourth.  Duran’s lungs were about to explode.

He reached the exit to the roof and plunged through the doorway, spotting Deimona two buildings over, striding out and about to make another jump.

He was too fast, too powerful, and Duran was breathing heavily from the climb.  He’d never catch him.

Duran dropped to one knee, brought up his .40-cal and steadied himself, one eye squeezed shut.

I’m finished if this guy gets away.

He couldn’t make this shot.  It was an impossible shot.  There was no way…