The Nexus Series: Books 1-3 (53 page)

Finally she
typed: 
Don’t assume we’re so naïve.  We know good and well to be
cautious of Agent Oaks.  We know equally good and well to be cautious of
you, whoever you are.  If you want us to trust you over him, you’ll have
to give us a good reason.  I’m sure you can find a way
.

She switched
off the mobile and settled into bed.  She was asleep in minutes.

24

THERE
was a reply when she powered up the mobile the next morning. 
You’ll
simply have to choose for yourself whether or not to believe me.  At the
moment it would be foolish of me to divulge anything more.  I can’t give
you a reason.  I’m sorry.

Jill
replied: 
You can’t, or you won’t?

THEY
spent the morning going over Oaks’ plan.  It was far from
unambitious.  Jill doubted it would work.

And, she
realized, she couldn’t wait to try it.

That afternoon
they took the tram to the
Earthside
transportation
sector of the port.  On the way, Jill checked the mobile.

She still
hadn’t received a response.

THEY
made the trip to Moscow in Oaks’ private jet.

Despite a
thousand things that should have been on Jill’s mind—the whirlwind events of
last night and the daunting tasks that awaited them tomorrow—all she could do
the entire flight was gawk out the window.

At first there
was only lush rainforest as far as she could see.  As they flew north, the
lushness merged into plains.  Then the plains gave way to endless desert
sands.  Jill’s eyes bugged.  There was so much. 
So
much.  And then
Dizzie
, who chattered nonstop in
exhilaration from the next window seat, reminded Jill that they were only
catching a view of one slice of one continent named Africa.

People said
Anterra
, being a stair step into space, gave you a better
appreciation for the vastness of the universe.  Maybe they were
right.  But as Jill now came face to face with the expansive and wildly
varied territories of Earth, she sensed a different sort of vastness. 
Sure, outer space was big; but it was empty, mostly, and the stars so far away
that they felt practically irrelevant.  The land stretching below this
plane, on the other hand, seemed like a much realer and more impressive kind of
big.  MS9 suddenly seemed impossibly distant and small, its inhabitable
surface area almost insignificant.  She wondered how many thousands of
Anterras
, arranged side by side, would account for as much
land mass as she could see out that small jet window.

Maybe even more
impressive was when the land disappeared and she saw nothing but water below
her.

“The
Mediterranean,” said
Dizzie
.

“The what?”
asked Jill.  “Is that the ocean?”

Dizzie
shook her head.  “It’s way smaller than the
ocean.”

Jill’s eyes
bugged again.

Soon they were
beyond the Mediterranean and flying over land again. 
Dizzie
informed Jill that this was Europe, another continent.  This terrain
looked different than most of the African terrain.  There seemed to be a
lot more towns, laid out in tiny grids across the rolling landscape.  Some
were not so tiny.

Just as amazing
as the land or the sea was the sky.  Jill was in awe of the atmosphere of
natural, non-manufactured air that surrounded the planet.  And there were
clouds—actual fluffy, white clouds, not like the pitiful wisps or the layers of
haze choked out by the Climate Control Center back home.  For a while an
expansive layer of cloud passed beneath the jet, obscuring any view of Earth at
all for miles on end.  Eventually it thinned in some places and Jill
caught glimpses of the land.  It seemed pale, almost frosty white.

“Snow!”
exclaimed
Dizzie
.

“Really?” 
The only “snow”
Anterra
ever had was a few solitary
flakes that melted almost immediately.  Apparently in the early years of
MS9’s history there had been a flood of requests for the CCC to produce
significant snowfall on Christmas morning.  It had not been easy or
inexpensive.  Not to mention snow removal had been a nightmare.  That
was the end of that.

Seeing snow from
the air was one thing.  They were about to have a much closer encounter.

“A
blizzard—that’s like a big snowstorm,” a giddy
Dizzie
explained.

Night was
falling as the
skybus
brought them from the airport
to Moscow’s central districts.  Vortexes of wind whipped flakes flashed
ghostly patterns in the headlight beams.

Despite limited
visibility Jill could see this city was a lot different than
Anterra
.  It was...well,
older.
  That was
the best way she knew to describe it.  Much of the architecture was very
outdated.  Jill actually liked it.  The stonework and the window
frames were much more decorative.  Even the plainer brick buildings seemed
quaint.  The stark modern structures jutting up from among the more
antiquated buildings looked strangely out of place.

Soon the heart
of Moscow appeared through the haze of snowfall, choked lights of towers, and
spires rising up from the urban plain.

The snow stopped
falling as they neared the middle of the city.  It had left a white
blanket on everything but the traffic heavy streets.  Jill thought it
might be the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.  She almost forgot she
was looking at a city.  The tiers of white-covered sidewalks and rooftops
might have been the natural habitat of some wild polar region; the hardy
pedestrians tromping around clothed in fur hats and coats might have been the
region’s indigenous creatures.

As they
approached downtown the bus followed
skytraffic
over
the Moskva River, a wide trail of cracked ice snaking its way through the city.

“I’m pretty sure
that’s the Kremlin,”
Dizzie
pointed.  A red
towered wall bordered a piece of land along the river.  Hulking palatial
residences and golden domed cathedrals stood within the perimeter.  Just
outside the red walls stood another beautiful church which
Dizzie
called “St. Basil’s.”  Even with its dusting of snow, Jill could tell that
the building’s many domed towers were patterned and slashed with bright colors
like a candy castle.  Beyond rose layers of the city’s most contemporary
skyscrapers.

The
skybus
followed the river around a bend and another
luxurious structure rose from the shore.  Jill recognized this one from
the photos Oaks had shown them last night—the
Kotelnicheskaya
Embankment Building.  Jill eyed the central hexagonal tower, trying to
recall which section of the rows of window marked
Zykov’s
apartment.

Farther down the
river the bus descended to street level and dropped them off a few blocks from
the riverbank.  Their hotel was situated within the complex of the city’s
glamorous performing arts center.  Oaks led the way past the lobby’s glass
sculptures and decorative pools, babbled in Russian with the perky
receptionist, then brought them up to their sixth floor suites.

“Rest well,”
Oaks urged them.  “I don’t need to remind you how critical it is that we
be thoroughly energized and focused tomorrow.”

JILL
stood at the window next to her bed.  Up the river she could
see the floodlit white walls of the
Kotelnicheskaya
Embankment Building, bright against the urban backdrop.  She tried going
over the plan again in her head.

Her mobile—she
was starting to think of it as hers—vibrated.  She had a message. 
You’re
putting me on the spot, Jillian.  Allow me to return the favor.  If
you believe knowing my identity will help you decide whether or not my advice is
reliable, guess whom it is you think I am.  I promise I will willingly
tell you whether or not you have guessed correctly.

She thought a
long moment before formulating her next message. 
I could start
guessing random names if you really want me to.

The response
came seconds later. 
I said nothing about a name.

The mobile
slipped from her hands.

She left the
room.  The mobile was still on the floor.

THE
hotel restaurant occupied the majority of the top floor.  Everything was
white—the floor, the walls, the chairs, the tables, the bar, the bartender’s
clothes.  Agent Oaks sat in a contrastingly dark suit at the far end of
the bar, idly turning an empty shot glass between thumb and finger.

“I wouldn’t have
pegged you as an alcoholic,” a voice said behind him.

He smiled sadly
without turning.  “Agent Branch.  Join me?”

She sat on the
stool next to his.  “Seems like I remember you telling us we should get a
good night’s sleep...critical to be focused tomorrow, and all that.”

“I don’t believe
alcoholic is the right term.  As I understand it, alcoholics drink because
they can’t help it.  I drink very deliberately.”

“Another rough
day at the office?”

The smile grew
sadder.  “I only wish the sorrows I attempt to drown were job
related.  In a roundabout way I suppose they are.  The pain I try to
numb with the bottle is the pain of a family lost, and it was an obsession with
my career that lost them.”

“I’m sorry,”
Jill said sincerely.

The bartender
handed Oaks a new shot.  Oaks waved it away.  “Tell me, Jill—if I may
call you by your first name—do you like what you do?”

She looked down
at the bar.  “It’s not an easy question to answer.  I know what I’m
doing matters...”

“But?” he
prompted.

“But I still
can’t help wondering if there’s something else out there for me.”

“Something that
would matter more,” he finished.  Not a question.  An
agreement.  “I know enough about your record to realize you’re very good
at what you do.  You’ve found a place at The Nexus.  But don’t become
so entangled there that you’re unable to find a place elsewhere if the time
comes.”

Jill shifted on
the stool.

He sighed. 
“Forgive me.  I’m sure you didn’t come up here to get advice from an old
drunken fool.”

“I came up to
tell you
you
should get some sleep.”

“Did you? 
I wonder if you had other motives.  Perhaps to have a look at me...to see
if the liquor might loosen my tongue and prompt any important revelations?”

“I have no idea
what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t tell me
you’re not skeptical about me, Jill.  If you’re not, you should be.”

She looked
amused.  “Agent Oaks, please.  My teammates and I have been through
enough to be just as suspicious as we should be about you.  And in case we
haven’t, it just so happens that a third party has contacted us to warn us not
to trust you.”

He raised an
eyebrow.  “Oh?  It wouldn’t be a certain Director Giles Holiday,
would it?  I’ve never met him, but I understand he’s quite the cynic.”

Jill didn’t
answer.  “So, can I walk you to your room?”

“You did come to
tell me I should get some sleep, didn’t you?”  He slipped wearily off the
bar stool.

“Big plans
tomorrow,” she said as they left the polished white world of the
restaurant.  “Very well-conceived plans, by the way.  If we find the
Pautina
headquarters, we’ll have you to
thank.”

“You don’t need
to patronize me.  I hardly blame you for not trusting me, you know.”

“I said someone
told us not to trust you.  I didn’t say I didn’t.”

SHE
woke up and looked out over the snow-covered cityscape aglow beneath the sun,
her mobile clutched in both hands.  She took a deep breath and started
tapping...and erased what she’d typed.  Instead, she typed: 
I’ll
consider your offer.  In the meantime, if you’re so bent on us not being
duped by Oaks, tell us how to outsmart him.

She wondered if
she’d get an answer before it was too late.  Or at all.

She got one
immediately. 
At the moment his objective coincides with yours. 
But once it is reached, don’t assume he is willing to share the fruits of
victory with you.

So we should
continue with the mission?
Jill asked.

For the
moment.  But keep your eyes open.  My guess is he will contrive a
reason to take you and your team someplace private, perhaps back to his hotel
room.  Do not comply.  It will most likely be a trap.

Jill forwarded
the message to her teammates.

OAKS
walked through the plan with them once more later that
morning.  By the afternoon, everything was ready.

Night fell over
Moscow.

25

A
small but competent security team patrolled the
Kotelnicheskaya
Embankment Building’s varied rooftop strata after dark. 

Besides a
handful of suspicious characters surfacing from inside the building or
wall-crawling, there had recently been a number of attempted break-ins (and one
known assassination attempt) via
skytraffic
.  So
far, all of the aerial attempts had been thwarted.

The streak was
about to end.

The guard posted
near the central tower’s base, more than a hundred meters directly above the
main entrance, was the first to see the four approaching lights.  They
hadn’t emerged from the steady
skytraffic
over the
nearby river; they were coming from the north.  He reported the sighting.

The four
airborne vehicles gained altitude as they neared.  They were going to pass
well above the building.  One of the security team followed protocol and
noted the sighting to local police.  Though apparently posing no threat to
this building, rogue
skytraffic
still had to be
reported.

A moment later a
security man atop the north wing informed the rest of the team that each of the
vehicles had left a package.  The closer they descended toward the
building, the more human the packages looked.

LATER,
Jill would wonder how much the equipment for the endeavor had cost.

First of all
there was her department-issued armored uniform, along with weaponry.

Next there was the
military-grade
skybike
, equipped with
state-of-the-art AI guidance, programmable route and destination, and the
latest in obstacle detection.

Finally there
was the automated chute with which she now descended.

All this, times
four.

Expert skydivers
could steer a chute in order to land at a desired spot.  There had been no
time for that type of training.  These chutes steered themselves. 
The built-in AI took rapid-fire pictures of the terrain below until it found
the top of the
Kotelnicheskaya
Embankment
Building.  It matched the pictures with those Oaks had uploaded and
targeted the desired landing spot atop the north wing.  Then it alerted
Jill when to leap from the bike.  (“And you’d better do it when you’re
told,” Oaks had warned them severely.  “Give yourself a pep-talk now if
you need to—there won’t be time tonight.”)  She’d grit her teeth and
slipped over the side of the bike.  Her vital organs seemed to lurch up
into her throat.

Then gravity
suddenly slowed down.  The open chute tilted and leaned according to the
measured air pressure and wind currents.  Now she felt herself circling
gently down toward the north wing of the building.

“That was quite
the rush,” Corey’s voice buzzed in her helmet’s earpiece.

She finally
thought to look around for the others.  They were descending almost in
formation.  From the sparkling layout of streets and buildings below them,
the
Kotelnicheskaya
Embankment Building rose slowly
to greet them.  She could see the security team assembling on the roof of
the north wing.

“Go, Bradley!”
Amber’s voice crackled urgently.

“Not yet,”
Bradley countered.  As he descended he hoisted the large tubular device
strapped to his uniform.

“They’ll start
shooting at us soon!”

“Don’t
worry.  You’ll hear the alarm the same time I do.”

The pulsing
sound in Jill’s ear came the second Bradley had stopped talking.  She
watched him aim the end of the large tube downward and sweep it slightly as he
pulled the trigger several times.  The launched canisters were blurs,
disappearing against the dark rectangle that was the top of the building’s
north wing.

Muffled popping
sounds reached her.  Thick fog blossomed from several points and began
enveloping the west half of the rooftop.

MENACING
black vehicles with tinted windows escorted the luxurious silver
groundcar
that pulled up to the
Kotelnicheskaya
Embankment Building’s front entrance.  The first two figures who stepped
out of the silver car wore armored gray uniforms streaked with green,
expressions hidden behind masked helmets.

A third figure
stepped onto the curb between them, a wiry, middle-aged man with silvery hair,
hollow face, and deathly serious expression. 
Miroslov
Zykov
, long-time analyst and now chief of records at
the Moscow Criminal Investigation Department, was coming home for the
night.  He strode to the front doors as his chauffeured car and its
accompanying security vehicles departed.  The two members of his personal
bodyguard matched him stride for stride on either side of him.

From here they
couldn’t see the choking fog that had suddenly gathered over the roof of the
north wing.

JILL’S
visor gave her a digitized view of the rooftop through the fog below her
dangling feet.  The security team scrambled blindly in the zero-visibility
atmosphere.

Her chute automatically
retracted as she landed and immediately drew her weapon.  The visor
painted the scene in a pixelated yellow-green that filtered the fog like
magic.  She saw her three teammates and they saw her.  The security
team saw nothing, though they heard the shots and briefly felt the impact of
the stunners.

Smoke from four
guns added to the cloud that cloaked the rooftop.  Well over a dozen
security men lay motionless along the elongated rectangular surface.

“
Dizzie
, we’re almost there,” Corey reported.

A message from
Dizzie
flashed on the screens on their wrists: 
In
the lobby.

“
Zykov’s
already back from the office?” Amber exclaimed.

“Let’s move!”
urged Corey, leading the way along the rooftop toward the building’s central
bulk.

A series of
ledges and maintenance ladders led them past ledges, protrusions, and statues
until they reached the base of the central hexagonal tower.  They didn’t
have time to admire the spectacular view of the city, didn’t have time to
glance down to the building’s front drive and courtyard more than one hundred
meters below.

“You’re on,
Jill,” said Bradley.

Jill was already
heading toward
Zykov’s
living room window.

ZYKOV
exited the elevator and approached the door to his apartment.  He gave a
curt nod to dismiss the guards.  The pair in green-streaked uniforms
obediently about-faced.  In the old days his guards would have checked his
rooms thoroughly before he entered.  In the not-quite-as-old days they
would have at least suggested it, and he would have refused.  Nowadays
they never even offered.

He keyed his
apartment door and swung it open—and barked for his guards to return.  The
living room window had been broken from the outside.

The guards drew
their weapons and stepped into the dark apartment while a trembling
Zykov
crept along behind them.

No one was in
the living room.  The guards turned down the hall.  At the end of the
hall, pale shifting light showed from the open doorway of
Zykov’s
study.

They stepped
silently closer to the door.  Peering between his guards
Zykov
could see a shadowy figure at his computer.  The
figure was apparently wearing a dim headlamp.

The guards
stepped closer.

A floorboard
creaked.

The intruder
glanced backward through the eye slits of a ski mask, then hit the floor behind
a filing cabinet.  The guards lunged toward the figure. 
Zykov
heard a girl’s voice crying out.

The scuffle had
hardly begun before it ended.  One of the guards switched on the desk
lamp. 
Zykov
saw the girl, clad in what appeared
to be an armored black suit and black ski mask, straining in vain to escape the
other guard’s grip.  “Get your hands off of me!” she shouted in English,
still struggling futilely.

The guards
pulled off her headlamp and mask.  Long black hair spilled down below her
shoulders.  She glared at them with cold, dark eyes.  “Creeps!”

“So,”
Zykov
said in accented English, striding into the room with
a smile, “a visitor!”  He had a gun of his own trained on her.  “But
somehow I don’t remember inviting any Americans to visit me tonight.”

“Turns out I’m
not American,” the girl retorted through a frown.

“No?”  He
glanced at his computer.  The screen showed that his system was logged
off.  “Tell me,” he asked her, “did you find what you were looking
for?”  His mobile rang before she could respond.  He answered the
call in Russian:  “What is it?”

“Building
security, sir.  We wanted to alert you of possible burglars on the
grounds.”

“How kind,” he
growled.  “Next time you might try warning me before I’ve run into the
burglar myself.”

“I...I
see.  Very sorry, sir.  Would you like me to send any of our men—?”

“My own
bodyguard has proven very capable of doing what you incompetents could not,
thank you.  The intruder has been incapacitated.”

“I see. 
Local police are on their way.”

“Tell them to
take their time,”
Zykov
snarled, breaking the
connection.  He smiled at the girl again and switched back to
English.  “Now, then, where were we?...Ah, that’s right, you were about to
tell me what information you’ve stolen from my computer.”

The girl’s dark
eyes shifted.  “N-nothing.  Your system’s security turned out much
too difficult for me to bypass.”

Zykov
chuckled.  “For your sake, I hope you’re better
at burgling than you are at lying!”