Harsh Lessons (2 page)

'Yes, Garland.  Send me the decryption key.'

Garland's face, although still expressionless, had paled.

'You'll want to take that seat now, Adam.'

Eagle accepted the short personal-range transmission with an inclination of his head, then shut his eyes for several seconds to examine the results.

Garland's weapons-comp was having a small meltdown, spamming his visuals with possible sight-lines for the laser cannon while simultaneously trying and failing to re-establish a net link.  He sat, ignoring it.  Certain that if Eagle didn't want him to leave the room, he never would.

Scant seconds later, Eagle opened his eyes again, pinning Garland to the chair.  'Good: the decrypted contents confirm the stream destination was your team, not some more
external
party.'

Garland felt dazed.

'Welcome to the Bureau of Internal Development.'  Eagle's smile was merciless.

'It was that, or have you killed.'  Eagle allowed him a full three seconds to absorb that bombshell.  'Before you relax too far, though, let me make one thing clear: the Bureau's operations require the highest security we can achieve.  You have no idea of the forces aligned against us.  Would you care to guess the penalty for your attempted transmission of our conversation?'

Garland straightened.  'I accept full responsibility, sir.  The secure channel was set up at my request.  Not my team's.'

'Very well.  In view of your exemplary record, and upon my own authority, we can let the matter end here.  Especially as you'll find your team received not one byte.

'But you need to re-evaluate your attitude, Garland.  Do you have any concerns about trusting the Bureau, or my own capabilities?'

'No, sir.  No concerns.'

Eagle looked at him, then sighed.  'Very well.  I've read your report, and I'm happy to hear the mages were able to revive your colleagues, Berlusconi and Irons.  I also know you're annoyed by my transfer of the offenders to the Bureau.  Let me reassure you there is good reason for that.'

'Yes, sir.'  Anyone who knew Garland would have known the flat response meant he was far from reassured.

Eagle waited.

Garland said nothing.

Eagle's expression changed.  'I must say, reading your report, I was surprised how poorly the much-vaunted lead PASWAT team of New Francisco fared in the execution of its duty this morning.  You were given every co-operation at the Institute.  You were directed to the private rooms of Dr Harmon.  There, you found his young charge bound and helpless.

'Yet you and four of your best – a team of six, counting my own agent, "Stark" – was almost taken down by an unarmed teenage girl.  Within sixty seconds of her release.'

Garland's expression seemed to close in even further.  'Yes, sir.'  His gaze was now as friendly as that of a Colt Terminator.

'Would you care to expand on your report?'

'It's all there.'

Eagle simply looked at him for long seconds.  'No.  Not for my purposes.  It covers just the bald facts.  And for me to do
my
job, in our
nation's
service, today I need you to trust me enough to share your frank
impressions
of the two offenders.'

One thing Garland knew about the coyly-named "Bureau of Internal Development" – the secretive agency created, it was said, by the man now questioning him – everyone knew: Eagle always won.  Never even made mistakes.  Or if he did, always managed to make them look like pre-planned moves that won even bigger in the end.

The fact was, the more he thought about it, the surer he was that the whole thing had been orchestrated.  Orchestrated, by the man in front of him.

As he remembered how his team had become involved at all, Garland's suspicions finally gelled. 
To hell with this
, he decided.  Their gazes locked, and Garland rose to his feet again.

'My
impression
is that my team was set up: that you specifically wanted a PASWAT team to attempt to bring those two in; that your own agent Stark was used to feed my team
mis-
information.  My
impression
is that this was a test.  Of me, maybe, or…'

Eagle watched.

'No, it wasn't me, or my team; or her magician "uncle".  It was the girl, wasn't it?  This was all a test of the fucking
girl!'

He bent back down, putting his fists on the desk.  'And maybe you do it with your own people, but I don't like people playing games with the lives of
my
team.'  Garland's look openly challenged.

'Better.’  Eagle laced his fingers together.  ‘What makes you think Stark fed you false information?'

It was not the response Garland had expected, and he hesitated a moment.  'He'd been there undercover for over a week.  He was friendly with "Sara" and, I assume, properly trained.  Yet he gave us
no
indication we should expect any trouble from her.'  For a moment, Garland thought perhaps Eagle was smiling.  The impression was fleeting.

'Consider – your own report clearly shows the
girl
was the real threat, not the magician.  Could Stark have simply demonstrated a spectacular lack of perception?'

Garland scowled.  'Are you saying he wasn't there to smoke us?'

'Correct.  How did Stark seem afterward to you?  It's not in your report.'

'Well… I'd have to say it was like he was in shock.'

'And how did he seem today?  I hear you called in on him.'

Did you, now,
Garland thought, somehow not surprised.  'Still seemed pretty out of phase,' he admitted.  He mulled over the implications.  'You were testing the girl, Sara.  Twice.  First, you wanted to see what she could do to an agent sent in unaware, with no preconceptions: Stark.  Then, to a group who were prepared, but not for anything specific.'

Eagle ignored the remarks.  'And your assessment of her?'

It was all the confirmation he was going to get, Garland realized.  He considered the question.  'Surprising.  Dangerous.'  His eyes narrowed.  'Unnaturally strong, and apparently aware of us outside the room-'

'Not the facts, Garland.  I have those.  Your
impressions
.'

'Unstable.  A killer – as I said at the start of our meeting, probably a psychopath.'

'And the mage?'

Garland raised one eyebrow.  'I suspect
you
know better than I do.  I only caught him in the middle of molesting a teenager.  For all I know, that’s exactly what you need!'

Eagle sighed, more tiredly.  'Very well, Garland, thank you for your frank opinions.  But at the Bureau for Internal Development you will need to work on keeping your emotions in check.  We swim with sharks; and they
do
enjoy the scent of blood.'

Garland's eyes narrowed.

'And don't worry, I won't ask you to work with the girl or her guardian.'

Garland saw the unspoken rider: 
Not ever.

He frowned.

Chapter 1 
 

Agent Emma Salt, her slim figure hugged by the white, zip-fastened cat-suit, followed the maze of underground corridors leading to the Department's private dojo and gymnasium.  The new inductee would be there, having her first session with Paul Kawatsu. 
A first session with Dojo in the dojo.
  She shook her head.  Why did Paul's unimaginative code name bother her so much?  The wrongness of it was like an itch she couldn't quite reach.  Maybe the
other
new inductee could tell her – he was a trained psychologist, Mother had said.  She wondered what he'd be like.  And the girl, too.  Young, they'd said.

Gods!  She was actually excited by the prospect of a new face. 
I've been between missions too long.
  She wished James were back.  But a new face would do as well, for a while.

Of course, each person joined the Bureau with a clean slate and no obligation to discuss their past. 
Thank god!
  Although in practice – with sympathetic listeners who were sworn to secrecy – well, things came out in their own time.  Meanwhile, though, there was the opportunity to penetrate a pleasant little mystery from whatever inadvertent clues were dropped.

Sometimes it wasn't hard, sometimes it was.  Take Paul, for instance.  With his Japanese background and knowledge of that country's criminal underground, it had suggested Yakuza membership – except for the lack of tattoos.  The truth, in the end, had turned out to be stranger.

Of the new pair's history, she gathered even Father and Mother, the nominal Heads of the Department, knew little.  Less, even, than Eagle normally passed along with one of his "finds."  They'd told her the man, the girl's legal guardian, was a mage –
about time we had one again, too
– and a researcher in magical theory, which was impressive.  He was to be called simply the Doctor.  The girl's name was "Leeth," and apparently there was something strange about that, from the look Father and Mother had exchanged.  Father had stressed her youth, and that she would receive special mental training from "the Doctor" and intense martial arts training from Dojo.  They'd also asked Emma to be friendly, but to avoid any philosophical discussions of the ethics of combat, or morals in general.

Emma considered those last points, recalling the look on Mother's face – she’d
not
been happy.  Emma wasn't at all sure she herself liked the direction the clues were leading – martial arts training, immorality, and a strange name that suggested the word "lethal."

Most disquieting, though, were the final, casual instructions.  'Oh, and in the interest of clear communication, use plain English with our new colleagues.  We don't want to burden them with learning our technical jargon.' 
So they were disposables?
  Perhaps that explained Mother’s unhappiness.  Perhaps.

Her mood lightened as she turned the corner into the final stretch of corridor, the overhead lighting tuned to match the leafy woodland scene displayed on the corridor walls.  On her left, a swallow dipped low under a branch, reappearing on the wall to her right before disappearing in amongst the trees, heading deeper into the forest.  Sometimes she wished she could step into that landscape and follow them.  She sighed in appreciation.  If they did have to spend so much of their time buried in these deep concrete corridors, at least the Department went to the trouble of brightening them up.  She wondered what Checkbook had thought of the expense.  No doubt Eagle had simply overridden his objections.

She was near the dojo now, and a thump from beyond the double swing doors recalled her own introduction to Paul's teaching techniques.  She smiled wryly.  It had been an ego-battering experience.  She'd been glad James and Preacher had been there to share the suffering.  Even Father had trained with Paul, bearing the punishment without complaint: the old man was tougher than you'd guess.  She wondered how the new recruit would handle it, alone.

The sound of bare feet slapping the floor at a running pace met her as Emma reached the doors.  Looking through the small perspex window into the room beyond, she was just in time to see a young woman's body arc gracefully into the air and land with a bone-jarring slam on the blue mats on the floor.  Emma winced in sympathy, but watched with interest.

Paul, of course, looked completely fresh, and completely in control.  The girl lay stunned, briefly, before rolling to one side and pushing herself up onto hands and knees, breathing hard.

'Never lose your temper,' Paul admonished.  'Head and heart must balance.  When the animal dominates, judgment vanishes – strength undirected is easily deflected.'

Ahh.  They're at
that
stage.
  So "Leeth" must have some degree of skill.  And a temper, too, since this
was
her very first session.

The girl didn't respond, merely stayed on all fours, her sides heaving, drenched in sweat.  Her hands were bunching up the material of the mat she crouched on.  Emma frowned.  From memory, that stuff was really quite tough, you couldn't-

The muscles of the girl's legs were subtly tightening, her weight shifting microscopically.  Then she was up, flying toward Paul even as she spun into a flashing crescent kick.  She was fast!

But Paul was ready, of course.  Swaying aside, he pivoted then chopped down and back – a powerful elbow-strike into her side which the girl absorbed without a sound.  Emma winced again, then more so as the girl landed hard, rolling, and struggled to come to her feet.  She failed, clutching her side instead.

Emma replayed the engagement. 
That had
not
been a very elegant attack.
  She looked the girl over more carefully.  Quite young, despite the womanly curves; and now huddled into herself, obviously in pain.  Paul's blow must have been harder than it looked.  Emma felt sorry for the girl as, head bowed, she rose clumsily to her feet, hugging herself to relieve the pain.

The tableau stretched out, neither person moving.  And at last Emma realized something was wrong.  Paul hadn't moved forward to assist her in any way: in fact, he kept his distance.  Looking as if he expected another attack.  And more than that: he seemed tense.  Far more tense than she'd ever seen him.

The girl seemed to shrink slightly, a breath sobbing out.  Still Paul didn't move – except for a minute rising and falling of his shoulders. 
Wait –
Paul's
breathing hard?
  Then Emma's eyes widened in surprise as the revelation hit her – the girl was trying to
lure him closer!

What the devil
was going on?
  This looked far too serious for a training session.

The girl seemed to realize her trap hadn't worked, slowly unwrapping her arms from her waist, raising her face to meet Paul's cold gaze.
He's angry
.  And then she looked at the girl's face. 
Quite pretty
, she started to think, just as it transformed into a mask of focused hatred.

Emma stood transfixed as the girl raised her hands before her in the Mantis position, and moved slowly toward Paul.  The Mantis position?  Did she think this was some silly movie?  Just
who
had trained her?