The Silent Army (21 page)

“Zoe, this way,” I said. Her eyes were shiny as she closed the distance between us.

“You okay?”

“Can we just get this over with?” she asked, wiping her eyes.

“Yes. His name is Leon Buckster. He’s the head of one of the local Second Chance chapters.”

She nodded.

“Just follow my lead, but work inside the reference I gave you.”

“Fine,” she said, “and before you say it, yes, I’m sure. I know what I look like and I know what you’re thinking, but I can do this.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

She followed me to the interrogation room where Buckster sat, looking down into a paper coffee cup. He wasn’t happy.

“Mr. Buckster,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting like that. My name is Nico Wachalowski, and this is Zoe Ott.”

He gave my hand a firm shake, then held it out to Zoe. When she didn’t take it, he leaned back into his chair with his palms on the table. He noticed the lacerations on the left side of my face from the explosion, but he didn’t ask about them.

“I’m here to help,” he said. “Kind of like to know what this is about, though. Am I in some sort of trouble?”

“I want to talk to you about Second Chance.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Second Chance? What for?”

“You’ve heard of the Rescue Mission Clinic?”

“Yeah I’ve heard of it.”

“Healing Hands? Mercy Medical?”

“Yeah, they’re free clinics we run downtown. What is this about?”

“When was the last time you were in contact with any of these facilities?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks ago?”

Galvanic skin response indicated curiosity and some stress, but it didn’t look like he knew about the bombing.

“Do you know what sort of work goes on there?”

“Yeah, they offer quality medical care to third tier citizens who otherwise can’t afford it,” he said.

His GSR jumped while he talked. The topic of Rescue Mission had him tense.

“Anything else?”

“They’re authorized to distribute methadone. They do basic blood work, mostly AIDS testing. Aside from that, it’s mostly handing out antibiotics and the like. Why is the FBI interested in a bunch of free clinics? The paperwork for the drug treatment program—”

“It’s all in order, Mr. Buckster. That’s not why you’re here.”

“Then if you don’t mind Agent, why am I here?”

“The Rescue Mission, Healing Hands, and Mercy Medical clinics were all bombed late last night.”

“What?”

“The facilities were completely destroyed.”

His shock looked genuine, but there was something else underneath it. He was shocked but not completely surprised. He knew something about those places, something he was hiding.

“That’s impossible,” he said.

“Impossible?”

“I just mean . . . why would—”

“Do you recall the Concrete Falls bombing, Mr. Buckster?”

“Of course.”

“The bomb that destroyed the Rescue Mission facility was of similar, if not identical, makeup. We have found links between the attack at Concrete Falls and your medical centers—”

“Hey, they’re not my medical centers. I’m just—”

“You’re the head of a local Second Chance chapter that covers Bullrich as well as Dandridge. We’ve combed security archives that put you coming and going from each of these facilities as early as three days ago. Are you sure you don’t want to change your story, Mr. Buckster?”

His face fell a notch. I reached into my jacket and pulled out an envelope containing two photographs. One was the photo of Henry Uris alive, and the other was the image of Henry Uris’s revivor lying on the gurney. I dropped them both on the desk in front of him.

He looked down at the gray face. Black fluid had pooled in the socket of its missing eye.

“You were caught on a surveillance camera at the Brockton-Stark train platform, talking to that man,” I said. He didn’t say anything, but he recognized the face.

“I want my lawyer.”

I held up a card with the number I’d pulled from the phone system, the one with no name attached.

“Who does this number belong to?” I asked.

“Never seen it.”

“It was registered to the SCO, run by the organization Second Chance. Who used it?”

“How the hell should I know? You want to search our records, get a court order.”

“I will. You’re lying, Mr. Buckster. Right now I have you tied to three separate acts of domestic terrorism; that’s enough to put you in the ground.”

“I had nothing to do with that! I said I want my lawyer!”

“No,” Zoe said. When I turned to her, she was staring down at him, eyes filled with tears.

“What the hell do you mean, no?” he asked. She glared at him, and her pupils went wide. A moment later, Leon’s eyelids got heavy, and he slumped in his chair.

“Enough bullshit,” she said. She walked up to the table and stood in front of him. Before she could do anything else, I crossed behind her and pulled the plug on the surveillance camera.

“Zoe . . .”

“I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me you understand.”

“I understand.”

“Did you talk to the revivor in the picture or not?”

“I did.”

“When he was alive or dead?”

“Alive.”

“Were you there when he died?”

“No.”

“Do you know how he died?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she said.

I’d never seen her like that before. Her stare was intense and angry. She didn’t let up after she put him under. If anything, she pushed harder. He seemed to drift further into whatever trance he was in. Saliva began to collect in one corner of his mouth.

“Zoe, take it easy,” I told her.

“Who uses that phone number? The one he showed you?”

“We’ve got no connection to illegal—”

“I didn’t ask that,” Zoe snapped. “I asked who the number belongs to.”

“Heinser. Michael Heinser.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know anything about—”

“Who is he? Who does he work for?”

“He works for . . . Heinlein . . . Industries ...”

A heat spike appeared on the scanner monitoring his GSR. It started growing, causing his skin temperature to rise.

“Zoe, wait. Hold on.”

I moved behind him and found the source of the heat on the back of his neck, near the base of his skull. A component there had gone active. Whatever it was, it was drawing a significant amount of power.

I accessed his JZI and brought up a schematic. The configuration was old, but some upgrades were fairly recent. Despite the fact that he was unconscious and not coupled to the implant, a lot of energy was moving around in there. It was building in a single component.

“Zoe, stop!”

“What was going on in those clinics?” she asked. “How many more of them are there?”

“They . . . have to wake up . . .” he said softly.

The device was a kill switch, and it was about to go off. It was monitoring him, ready to blow his brains out if he fell under the influence of hypnosis or mind control.

“Zoe, let him go!” I shouted, louder that time, but she wasn’t listening.

“Where is Samuel Fawkes?” she snapped, but I didn’t have time to ask her where she’d heard that name; the device was about to trip.

There wasn’t any time to be delicate. I spun Zoe away from him and slapped her across the face.

Her eyes went back to normal, but the look on her face was one of pure shock. A blush began to swell in her pale cheeks. Off to the side, I sensed the energy surge from Buckster begin to ebb, easing back.

“Zoe, I . . .”

I reached forward and she slapped my hand away, backing up and knocking over her chair.

“Zoe, wait!”

She turned and shoved the door open, running down the hallway.

“Hey, G-man,” Buckster said. When I turned back to look at him, he seemed a little confused, but there was a wary look in his eye. Anger was brewing on his face. “I want my fucking lawyer.”

“You’re free to go,” I told him. “If we have any more questions—”

“You know where to shove them,” he said, brushing by me on his way out the door.

I watched him leave. With what we had, I could hold him. With what we had, I could hold him indefinitely, but Leon Buckster was a drone. He wasn’t behind this. I put a call through to Calliope. After a few seconds, she picked up.

Buckster’s on his way out of here,
I said.
I think he’ll try to run. I want to know who, or where, he runs to.

It’s done.

Be careful. He’s dangerous.

I still had the image of the scan in front of me. The kill switch wasn’t the only surprise. Despite being a vet, Leon Buckster was also wired.

The connection closed. I thought about it for a minute, then called Noakes.

Wachalowski, what the hell’s going on down there?

I got something. I need a meeting with Heinlein Industries.

Faye Dasalia—Parking Garage, Roof Level

I lay in the car’s backseat and listened to the raindrops drum on the roof. Electric signs had begun to flicker on. Nico still hadn’t returned.

A persistent cluster of old memories kept coming to the forefront—memories of winter, when I had tracked Lev. I had crouched down on a snow-covered sidewalk and leaned into the car where he had waited. The woman behind the wheel was hours dead, her body covered in blood. Lev had waited in the backseat of that car, while the sun set and snow covered the windows. When she returned, he’d grabbed her and targeted the beating mass of her heart. While streams of shoppers passed by them, unaware, he’d stabbed her through the breastbone.

I couldn’t identify the blade he’d used. That had really bothered me.

I would have been horrified to know, I think, that one day I would walk in that killer’s shoes. It was that same killer who instructed me how to avoid the security cameras and access the vehicle.

The clinic, and three others, had been destroyed in response to police raids. That implied a coordinated attack. Motoko and her people were closing in. If they located the ship, then we might lose everything. When I died and realized the truth of my life, I knew I’d found my purpose—one more important than the law I’d upheld. That absolute control over so many could not go to so few; it would change human society forever.

I knew that we couldn’t fail. Still, when I was alone and it was quiet, I imagined the attack that was to come. The more I learned, the clearer I pictured it. When I did, that academic doubt returned:

This isn’t right.

The memory of the man at the clinic, the one that Lev injected, wouldn’t seem to leave my mind. What was it that I had seen? Lev had killed him, there was no doubt about that, but near the end, I knew I’d seen him move. Somehow the man had been reanimated. Fawkes wouldn’t respond to questions about it, nor would Lev, which meant he had been told not to. There were things in play I wasn’t aware of, and I wondered exactly how far that went. At the restaurant, when I’d recorded them, some things were said that I couldn’t reconcile:

“. . . it won’t just be this city that is destroyed. Fawkes will destroy this city, and then, one by one, the rest will begin to fall. . . .”

Was it just a ploy of theirs, a scare tactic? Or had they really seen it?

The rain picked up and began to fall harder. A message came in from Fawkes.

Call accepted.

Has he returned yet?
he asked.

Not yet. Were all of the safe houses destroyed?

No. They missed one, but we’ll have to step up the plan. The ship has begun its approach. When it arrives, the forces inside the city will be awakened, and will be joined by those on the shore. The devices will be distributed at that time, and carried into the targets during the assault. At that time, a pool of names and identifications will be accessible to all units. Eliminating them will be the top priority.

It’s going to be chaos. How will we locate them all?

The new units will become active at that time, and you’ll be connected through your secondary communications node. The new units will have an information-sharing array that will be very useful in tracking individuals. They will pinpoint them, and update the locations in real time.

I understand.

Do you?

I understand enough.

Good. When you’re finished with Wachalowski, regardless of the outcome, there’s one more thing I need you to do before the ship arrives.

An abduction?

An assassination.

Who?

An image appeared, floating above my face. A woman with large eyes peered through long red hair. Her beaklike nose protruded over thin lips. I recognized her face immediately. She had been with Nico at the restaurant.

Zoe Ott,
I said.

Yes. Do you remember her from the factory, two years ago?

I sifted through the field of my memories, isolating the specific time and place. I was inside the clean room, and Nico was there with me. He had removed my Leichenesser capsule, which had nearly destroyed me. He meant to save me, I think, like he hadn’t yet realized it was too late. . . . The door he’d come through opened, and a woman stormed through, dragging another.

The first woman’s name was Calliope Flax; I’d seen her with Nico too. The one being dragged was a red-haired woman, Fawkes’s target Zoe Ott. I recognized the white smock she was wearing.

She was part of the original testing,
I said. That meant two years ago, Lev had taken her.

Yes. She was designated Patient Nine. She exhibited some abilities that I’d honestly like to study further, but I won’t have the luxury. We have to move soon.

Why bother to kill her now?

Wachalowski’s using her, and she nearly got to at least one of our operatives. We can’t take any chances at this stage. Make sure her body can’t be found.