Fugitives (The Silent Wars Book 2), page 1
FUGITIVES
©2024 ADRIAN J SMITH
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CONTENTS
Also By Adrian J. Smith
Recap
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Thank you for reading Fugitives!
Acknowledgments
About the Author
ALSO BY ADRIAN J. SMITH
THE SILENT WAR SERIES:
END WATCH
FUGITIVES
RAIDERS
Extinction Nz Series:
THE RULE OF THREE
THE FOURTH PHASE
THE FIVE PILLARS
THE SIXTH LAW
THE NAMELESS SERIES:
WHISPERS OF ASH
SHADOWS OF ASH
MASKS OF ASH
SILENCE OF ASH
For more on Adrian J Smith, visit his website:
www.adrianjonsmith.com
“As long as one keeps searching, the answers will come.”
Joan Baez
RECAP
Three centuries after the catastrophic Genetic Wars, humanity has divided into three factions:
The Thule: Genetically engineered for intelligence and long life. They have total authority over the world and live a contented existence of wealth and prosperity.
The Echoes: Modified to thrive in every vocation and environment. They have freedom and opportunity.
The Gnats: Natural born humans. They are slaves, and most are fated to work in massive subterranean mines.
In the Pacific Seafloor Mining Complex capital, Lincoln, the High Council created the Watchers to keep law and order. Above all else, children are to be protected.
All Watcher Eli Miller wanted was to find the man whom he believes was responsible for the death of his niece, the masked figure Simon. Eli also suspects that he is involved with the Cabal, an organised crime family. But nothing is ever easy.
After a year, he has nothing to show for his efforts, apart from a bruised ego and a few broken ribs. Tired of his failures, Chief Furillo reassigns him and his old partners Leylani Haru and Colter Stone to the Fugitive recovery squad, to put an end to rampant people-smuggling and track down those involved.
While following leads, Eli and Ley uncover a strange hand-written journal. Penned before the wars, it contains clues to the whereabouts of a renowned genetic scientist. Before Eli can unlock the mystery, the mayor comes with an urgent mission: Locate his runaway wife and return her before it causes a political shitstorm. As the team scrambles for information, they are hit by more bad news – Kora, the adopted daughter of one their friends, has vanished. Suspecting the two cases are linked, Eli races into the labyrinth of tunnels beyond the city, only to face the Cabal and a new foe, The Nine, a sinister organisation hellbent on returning to the surface at all costs.
Soon after being attacked, Eli is saved by an Echo agent, Jade Wilson. He discovers that she has troubling evidence that The Nine are experimenting on children, have plans to destroy Lincoln, and want the journal because it holds the secret to immortality. With the clock ticking, Eli and his team are determined to stop the organisation’s nefarious plans, but before they can, Colter and Ley are captured, and Eli and Jade are left for dead by The Nine’s soldiers.
To survive, and desperate for answers, Eli makes a deal with Jade: he will help her locate the remains of the scientist if she destroys the knowledge they hold. They succeed in freeing their friends, stopping The Nine, and discovering the fate of Kora, who has volunteered to go the surface.
Already staggering with this news, Eli is shocked to learn the identity of Simon: none other than the Thule commander of Lincoln, Zapata. Zapata escapes and sets off a series of bombs to cover his tracks. Narrowly avoiding death, Eli, Ley, and Colter head home while Jade returns to her agency to warn her superiors about The Nine.
Now a month on, Eli and his team thought the worst was over, but the mayor is determined to ferret out all members of The Nine from their hidey-holes, and some don’t want to come quietly.
PROLOGUE
Wey Mining Corporation.
Guam, United Countries of America.
The décor in the antechamber hadn’t changed much in over twenty years. The floor was still a vomit-inducing grey-speckled marble, the walls clad in garish black tiles with shiny gold trim. Hanging from the high ceiling above the front desk was the same red flag as always. Zapata had always hated the sigil in the centre — a griffin clutching rocks in its claws. It felt out of place to him, and looked like it belonged on the cover of some old-world fantasy novel. Not in the headquarters of the country’s biggest mining conglomerate. It didn’t fit. Then again, who was he to judge? He knew nothing of symbolism or marketing. Zapata was a soldier, bred and trained to do one thing: kill the enemy — something he enjoyed doing. He was glad it was the path laid out for him.
“You smell like them,” the clean-cut man sitting behind his ridiculously large desk said. He stared at Zapata as if he thought Zapata some Gnat lowlife. The bronze nameplate on the desk said Orson.
Bringing his rising anger under control, Zapata ignored the taunt and focused on the flag, reminding himself why he was here. Why he had sworn the oaths he had. To build something new, first you had to destroy what was corroding the old. Or in his case, become more wealthy and powerful.
“CEO Young will see you now.” Orson gestured with an arm towards the thick oak door behind him — like Zapata didn’t know where the office was. Again he buried his anger, and nodded at Orson as he strode past. When the door clicked behind him, he moved deeper into the office and took a knee in front of his boss and mentor.
Young cut an imposing figure at nearly two metres tall, trim but muscular, with eyes that shone like blue steel. Zapata knew those eyes well. He had felt their penetrating stare many times.
“The Nine are safe?” Young asked.
“Yes. Barracked in the warehouse district, as you instructed.”
“Good.”
“I trained them for war. Sitting around like this, they grow restless, waiting.”
“I know this. Move all but one battalion to the Philippines and meet up with my mercenaries there. Let’s see how they do against the Asian Federation. Test their mettle. The more battle-hardened they are, the better. Leave them under the command of someone you trust.”
“I’d prefer to stay with them.”
“I have another task for you and your most trusted soldiers. An elite force of my mercs will join you also.”
Zapata frowned, confused. This was the first time he had missed Young’s intentions.
They had come through the ranks with the elite Rogue Legion together, until Young had been tapped on the shoulder for high command. They were the ruling Thule’s best soldiers. They had seen the corruption, foreseen the emptiness. The Thule had grown fat on greed and laziness. Young had recruited Zapata when he was honourably discharged. Given him a job. Trained him. Shown him what was possible. And saved his life. Now, all Zapata saw in Young’s eyes was disappointment.
“I don’t understand.”
“Lincoln still operates. Your plan failed.”
“I…”
Zapata clenched his fists by his side. He knew what had happened, who had foiled everything. Miller.
“Yes. Your intuition serves you well. The Watchers live. My spies informed me yesterday. I was preparing a press release announcing the tragic accident of the Lincoln, Gladstone and Pitt mining cities, when the news reached my ears.” Young moved with superhuman speed and locked a hand around Zapata’s throat. Squeezed. “For two decades, we searched for that bitch’s offspring. Every Census. Then success. We got a match. We took that whole damn family one at a time, thinking it would help. Cursed Gnat DNA was too weak and tainted with their cesspool of mixed races to be of any use.”
“Helstrop?” Zapata asked, hoping to calm Young.
“Promising results but not what we are looking for long-term. He’s too obsessed with finding a cure for that vapid wife of his.”
“I have something that may answer everything we seek.”
Young released Zapata. “Well?”
Regaining control of his breathing, Zapata reached into his satchel and removed the handwritten journal. “Do you know what the most annoying thing about Gnats is?”
“Their penchant for holding on to outdated beliefs?”
“Close, but no. I lived down there with them for twenty years. They all put on brave faces, but they’re all a little scared, all the time. Knowing that they die.”
“How is that annoying?”
“Because of it, they like to talk about their feelings and their emotions. It’s tiresome. They discuss the afterlife and, most annoying of all, they hold on to family heirlooms like they’re important.” Zapata tossed the journal to Young. “Lucky for us, that annoying habit is actually worth everything.”
The atmosphere in the room changed as Young scanned the journal entries, as if the heavy fog of disappointment dissipated in new winds of hope.
Young flicked to the back of the journal, read it, then snapped it shut. “Why didn’t you inform me of this?”
“I couldn’t risk it falling into the wrong hands. I wanted to give it to you personally.”
“Yes. I can see why. Who else knows of this?”
“Some Gnats. And until a few minutes ago, I thought them dead.”
“The Watchers?”
“Yes. And the TSS agent I informed you of.”
“That is being taken care of.”
Young walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a brandy, then offered one to Zapata. Zapata nodded, and Young sploshed some of the amber liquid into a snifter and handed it to him. Young inhaled the vapours coming off the alcohol. “Maybe it is fortuitous that you were foiled. Here’s what I want you to do.”
Young spent the next five minutes laying out his plan. Zapata kept his mouth shut, fearing another choking.
“Don’t fail this time,” Young said.
“Understood. The journal?”
“Have someone you trust look at it. A historian. Complete the mission and I’ll grant you the resources you need. Stay focused. What we desire is almost in reach, old friend. The off-world mining contract tenders are due to be announced any day now.” Young took his seat behind the huge desk and dismissed Zapata with a wave.
Zapata was happy to leave the office and the antechamber. The decor might not have changed in twenty years, but Young certainly had. Gone was the energetic man with ideals, replaced with someone bitter, avaricious and narcissistic — everything they had vowed to work against all those years ago. Though it troubled him, Zapata wasn’t surprised. Power corrupted. He had to tread carefully. He got the sense he was only alive because he was useful.
Making his way to the clear garden dome at the top of Wey Tower, Zapata grabbed a coffee, then gazed down at the city below. Not that there was much to see aboveground. The buildings were coated in a thick ash-like dust. Beyond the edges of the city, where tropical jungle and agricultural fields once thrived, was a toxic wasteland. A memory from his childhood surfaced: swimming in the azure waters of the Pacific Ocean while his parents enjoyed the sunshine on the white sand beach. They had been happy times, filled with laughter, drinking and eating all the delicacies Guam had to offer. Zapata had loved the island in those days. A hundred years could change so much.
Casting his gaze over the land beyond the city, he felt nothing but sadness. The Thule didn’t care. They were safe in their mountain cities and pristine countries, confident in their technology. Perhaps relying on it too much. Some saw the future for what it was. Time was running out for parts of Earth. In some countries, nature was returning after concentrated effort. Earth was healing, but slowly.
Zapata snorted as he looked at the mine head. The huge cranes used to lower the equipment down and bring minerals out hummed as they had for decades. To create the future, the Thule believed they had to strip Earth bare, so they could create a new Elysium on Mars. He shut his eyes to block out the view. He hated what the Thule had done, what he had been part of. Finding Stacy Fisher would be his ticket back onto the High Council — where his family belonged, among the elite. Once there, he could eliminate the corrupt and implement real change.
Chuckling, Zapata shook his head. That was what he told anyone in Young’s inner circle. Personally, all he wanted was to be on the High Council and reap the rewards. He would show those fools what wealth and power really were. Fisher was the key. Hold that, and everyone would bow down to him.
Turning his back on the vista, Zapata wended his way through the thriving orange trees, heavy with scent, and made his way to the two large fig trees at the centre of the dome. Their roots clung to the white structure between them. He sat down on the bench and rolled his shoulders. Meetings with Young always wore him out. Maybe it was the fact Young always put him on edge, like the smallest thing could spark Young into a rage. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe the anger. The fact that Eli Miller was still alive gnawed at him with greater urgency. That little Gnat shit had cost him years of planning. And he knew of the journal. Savouring the last mouthful of coffee, Zapata swirled the bitter liquid around his mouth, then swallowed.
As he took the elevator down to the train station below the skyscraper, the anger at learning of Miller’s escape threatened to come boiling out. He hated the mining complex. The air had a weird, plastic taint to it. The Gnats had such vapid faces, and men like Mayor Sousa and General Turing thought they were important. He hated the place with every fibre of his being.
The train arrived and Zapata boarded. It was time to implement the final phase of his life’s ambition. Time to make the fools pay for their arrogance.
CHAPTER 1
Lincoln City.
Pacific Sea Floor Mining Complex.
“It’s an ambiguous question, that’s all I’m saying,” Eli said.
“Come off it, professor. Just answer it,” Colter said, shaking his head.
“It’s not that easy. There are many factors to think of. Genre. Skill. Do they write songs or are they just some shredder? Then we have to think, what classifies them as the greatest guitarist of all time?”
“Ugh. Faith was right. You are an incorrigible shit.” Ley grinned and elbowed Eli in the ribs. “I know you. You definitely have an opinion on this.”
“I do. Everyone who loves music does. But what I’m saying is, I have several, depending on the genre, and not just a GOAT. That’s impossible to say. Let me ask you this: who’s the greatest scrag player?”
“Hell if I know.”
“Why not?”
“Because the game has changed so much over the years. Maybe Jortles?”
“I rest my case.”
The trio sat far enough away from the Van Halen cover band so they could talk without shouting. Colter had suggested this place to meet, and Eli had accepted. They all needed to unwind after an exhausting week interrogating council members — who Furillo had suddenly decided they needed to investigate — and their advocates, and the few captured members of The Nine. With all the councillors refusing to talk, it had been a fruitless and bothersome waste of time.
“Tell us your several, then.” Colter gestured with his head towards the stage, and the band that played there. The lead guitarist was showing off her skills, her fingers flying over the fretboard at a dizzying speed. “Like her. Edina Van Halen?”
