Dead World 3, page 4
Takeo shook his head. “Better him than me,” he said, as a shiver sliced down his spine. If he were a gambling man, he’d say it was a sign. Lucky for him, he wasn’t, but it still took several seconds for the sensation to fade.
Raphael was a fool to let a woman get under his skin. He should know better given how many years he’d walked this planet.
Takeo lifted his beer to his lips. No thanks. He didn’t want any woman sinking her claws into his hide. He’d avoided feminine traps thus far. He should be able to hold out for another fifty years or so.
Juan canted him a glance. “I hope I’m around to see you fall, big guy. From the look on your face, it won’t be long now. That woman won’t know what hit her, and neither will you, when it happens,” he said.
Takeo glared at him. “Don’t hold your breath. It hasn’t happened yet and there’s been plenty who’ve tried to tie me down in the past.” He held up two fingers. “Tender, bring us another round of synth-beers.”
Juan’s dark eyes sparkled knowingly.
Takeo didn’t like the way Juan was looking at him. It was as if Juan knew something he didn’t. Damn psychic! They could be wrong sometimes. Right? Right!
“I’m not going to end up like that miserable bastard Raphael,” Takeo said. “Mark my words.”
Juan laughed softly.
“What’s so funny?” Takeo asked.
“I’m sure Raphael thought the same thing, before encountering Chaos.”
4
Roark Montgomery sat behind his desk in his expansive office and stared out the window at the illuminated biodome that kept everything inside bright, lush, and green, while everything outside the dome shriveled and died.
As a political representative for the Republic of Missouri, he was used to working late, but it wasn’t work that kept him here tonight. He shifted in his padded leather seat and winced.
Despite being put in a healing vat, his sides were still tender from where Gina Santiago had sunk her claws into him. Roark could still recall the shock of that particular discovery.
Up until that moment, he’d thought Red was a pureblood like her grandfather, Commander Robert Santiago. His mistake nearly cost him his life. He’d been lucky that the bitch had missed his vital organs.
One inch to the left and he wouldn’t be sitting here. Whether she’d missed on purpose or by chance, wasn’t important. The only thing that mattered was that she pay for her treachery.
He spun his chair away from the darkness beyond the dome to face his assistant, Michael Travers, who stood nervously clasping his hands. His pale skin was pastier than usual and his black eyes never stopped shifting.
“What do you mean they haven’t found them yet?” Roark’s thumb hovered above a small green button on a small, innocuous device in his hand. “I told you to double the IPTT patrols.”
“I did as you asked. Please,” Michael begged, his gaze darting to Roark’s hand. “I’ve done everything I can. It’s like they’ve disappeared off the planet.”
His oily black hair normally molded his scalp like a second skin, but today it stuck out in random tufts around his head. He backed away, clutching his skull as fear contorted his expression into a macabre fleshy mask.
Roark smiled. “Obviously you haven’t done everything or we’d have Gina Santiago and Sheriff Morgan Hunter by now. There are only so many places they can hide.”
“I’ve had every place I can think of scoured, but they aren’t there. The satellites are no longer picking up their registration chips,” Michael said.
Roark frowned. They should’ve been able to pick up the identi-chips. There were ways to mask the signals and temporarily block them, but it was impossible to stay hidden for long. So where were they? Why hadn’t they found them?
His hard gaze landed on Travers. “I will not tolerate incompetence.” Roark pushed the button. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to.
Michael Travers screamed and fell to his knees. “Keep them away.” He swatted at thin air, fighting off invisible attackers that only he could see.
“Are you going to try harder?” Roark chuckled as his assistant squirmed helplessly on the floor.
This was more entertaining than an underground clone fight. He should’ve implanted the frontal lobe A.I. chip long ago. If he had, Roark would’ve never had to worry about his assassin turning on him. It would have saved him a lot of sleepless nights.
Of course, had he known from the start that Travers was a bloodsucking Other, an abomination that should’ve been eliminated long ago, Roark would have.
“I will. I promise,” Mike pleaded, curling into fetal position. “Just make them stop. They’re everywhere.” He covered his head with one hand while the other scratched blindly at the air.
Roark lifted his thumb and Travers stopped screaming. He lay on the floor, panting helplessly, his body trembling. Sweat covered his pale face.
“Get up. You’re embarrassing yourself,” Roark said.
Michael laid there, his hands still clutching his head.
“Don’t make me ask you again or I’ll give you something to whine about,” Roark said. “And you better not have soiled my rug. You know how much it costs to get it cleaned.”
Michael unfurled, then grasped a nearby chair. He pulled himself to his feet with a wheeze. “I’ll try harder,” he said. “The rug is fine. See?” He stepped away so Roark could look.
“The next time you come in here to report you’d better have some news or I’ll keep that button down until you pray your brain explodes.”
“Yes, sir.” Michael backed away, his gaze wary and unfocused.
“From this moment on, I want you to conduct the search yourself. I don’t trust Commander Robert Santiago to send out his best men to find his granddaughter. Oh, and Travers, if you don’t find them, do not bother coming back,” Roark said. “Now go before I change my mind.”
Michael rushed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
With any luck Travers would die soon and save Roark the trouble of killing him. He should probably interview people for the position now, he mused.
When Roark had first found out that Michael Travers was an Other, he had been outraged. His secret would’ve ruined his political career had it come out.
Roark had done the only thing he could think of and had Michael’s brain chipped. With the touch of a button, a small electrical current would stimulate his frontal lobe, causing delusions, paranoia, and best of all—pain.
According to the people he’d paid to do the procedure, a person with this particular chip would slowly be driven insane as the artificial intelligence linked to their brain and made its own demands. Erratic behavior was the first sign of deterioration. Eventually, the link would eliminate impulse control.
Until the A.I. kicked in, Roark had to use a remote to trigger the chip. Travers had already begun to mentally deteriorate. Roark just needed him to hold it together until the election was over. After that, he could stay in his imaginary world where shadow people lurked around every corner. He deserved it. They all did.
The image of a freckle-faced girl popped into his mind. Roark could still hear her laughter and see her bright smile as she professed her love for the dark-haired boy she’d brought home to meet him.
I love him, Daddy.
Roark had been happy for his daughter. It wasn’t until he’d held her broken, bloodied body that he’d discovered the dark-haired, innocent-looking boy that she’d loved so much was actually a monster disguising himself as a pureblood human being. A monster that shouldn’t have existed.
On the day Amanda’s body was recycled, Roark made his daughter a promise. He’d vowed to fight until he’d eliminated all the “Others”. No parent should have to go through what he had.
Roark scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping the painful memory away. His office slowly came back into view.
He took a deep breath and opened his desk drawer. Roark pulled out an unmarked navcom and punched in a series of numbers, then waited. The second the transmission was answered he stared speaking.
“Scarlet,” he said, praying the influ-gas he’d administered to Private Catherine Meyers and Lieutenant Bannon Richards nearly a month ago still worked.
“Yes,” a sleepy voice said.
Roark grinned. “I have a job for you to do. I need an insurance policy.”
There was a pause. “I do not understand.”
“Just listen,” Roark growled. “I want you on standby. When the opportunity presents itself, you are to assassinate the woman known as Gina “Red” Santiago. Got it?”
“Kill Red. Understood, sir.”
“Good,” Roark said. “Have you recovered from your trip?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Be sure that you do. I need you in top shape for this mission. I’ll be in touch.” He disconnected the call and put the navcom in the drawer. Roark sat back in his chair and stared at the digital map projected on the wall. “Where are you hiding?”
His gaze scanned the areas that had already been searched. It was possible that Travers had missed his targets, but Roark didn’t think so. He was thorough when it came to hunting, even under duress.
His eyes dropped to the boundary fence. Would Morgan and Gina be stupid enough to cross into no-man’s-land?
Roark considered what he’d do if he were being hunted. First he’d remove his republic identi-chip and store it inside something that blocked the signal, then he’d disappear. There was no better place to disappear than into no-man’s-land. Satellites didn’t even track movement there.
It was the one place Morgan and Gina could go where they’d be sure the IPTT wouldn’t follow. Fortunately for Roark, he wasn’t with the International Police Tactical Team anymore.
He activated the comlink. Michael Travers answered on the first ping.
“Get your gear together. You’re going on a trip,” Roark said. “But first, I want you to send out a communiqué.”
“What should it say?” Michael asked.
“Grant immunity and registration to the first Unknown who brings me Gina Santiago or Morgan Hunter. If they can get them both, I’ll add an additional fifteen-thousand-credit reward. We can’t have them turning up unannounced before the election. We’re in the home stretch.” With his backup plan in place, Roark wasn’t feeling nearly as stressed out.
“Where do you want the message sent? The Northern Hemisphere republics? Southern Hemisphere republics? Or both?” Michael asked.
“I want it sent to no-man’s-land. Better yet, tomorrow you can go there yourself to make sure the message has been delivered.”
Michael was silent for a moment. “Do you really think they’ve crossed the boundary fence? That would be suicide.”
“It’s what I’d do,” Roark said.
“Very well, sir. Should I add anything else to the communiqué?” Michael’s voice sounded small, like the man.
“Such as?” Roark asked.
“Do you want them dead or alive?”
“Glad to hear you’re thinking ahead, Travers. Have the Unknowns surprise me.” Roark grinned. Having unregistered individuals, Unknowns, pursuing Morgan and Gina was a stroke of genius. Even if they succeeded, the Unknowns would have no recourse if he decided not to pay because in the eyes of the republics they didn’t exist. “You might want to think about getting to them first, if you ever want that chip out of your head.”
“Sir?” Hope filled that simple question. “You’d really take it out?”
Roark let the silence stretch.
“Sir?” Michael asked.
“Bring them to me alive, Travers and we’ll talk about it,” he said, then disconnected the comlink.
He’d never remove the chip, couldn’t now that the A.I. had attached itself to Travers’ brain, but his assistant would work harder if he believed that were the case.
Roark looked back at the map. Gina and Morgan thought they could hide from him by crossing the boundary fence, but they were about to learn nothing and no place was out of his reach.
It was getting worse. Michael didn’t know how much longer he could go on before his mind simply refused to return. The power inside of him was building.
He could feel it in his limbs, a sort of itching pressure that never subsided. Michael had no idea if he’d be able to control it. He feared for his safety and that of those around him.
“Raphael, my brother, what will become of me?”
As usual, there was no one here to answer.
A flash of movement caught Michael’s eye. Gray, amorphous, and threatening, the shadow rose to taunt him. They were growing weary of waiting on the fringes, lurking in the corners of his mind.
Soon they’d become emboldened. A few more presses of the green button and they’d have him. He’d be too weak to fight. Everything he’d worked for, everything he’d recently found would all amount to nothing. What would happen then?
Michael knew the answer, of course. Madness and death. The question was how many would he take with him before they silenced him forever? A dozen? A few hundred? A thousand? Death would be preferable to genocide.
Perhaps he should spread his arms and welcome death now. Save it the trouble of courting him. Death would make a most fascinating lover. There’d be no lies or deception. Only truth.
Michael found its whispered promises of pain-free peace more seductive than any human caress. Not that he had many to compare it to. A few brief encounters where credits were exchanged could hardly count as having relationships.
That said a lot about the choices he’d made in his life. Existence more like it. He had stopped living a long time ago. His brother, Raphael, was the only thing that kept him in this world. Without him, he’d be lost.
5
I sat in the darkness holding the navcom in a white-knuckled grip, unsure of what had just happened. Conflicting images raced through my head. The pictures didn’t make sense. My thoughts morphed into crimson blobs as the orders tumbled round and round in my mind.
Kill Gina Santiago.
That couldn’t be right. But there was no mistaking the directive. I needed to move. My body was restless, full of unused adrenaline. Despite my initial misgivings, my target was clear. The urge to hunt ate at my insides until I was a sieve of seething emotions.
I had to do my duty.
The world would be better off without Red in it. She’d brought shame to the International Police Tactical Team. The second-string force she’d formed in Nuria had been created out of spite.
Nuria. I snorted in disgust. What a piss-ass excuse of a town. It’s crumbling down before everyone’s eyes and no one was doing a thing about it. The desert blight should’ve been leveled long ago. Perhaps I’d do that once I took care of her.
Gina didn’t deserve the rank of lieutenant. It should’ve been stripped the second she handed in her resignation. That was normal procedure for anyone processing out of the IPTT.
If it hadn’t been for Commander Robert Santiago, I had no doubt the rank would’ve been removed. He protects her at every turn. Ignores her mental incompetence and the deaths that have occurred on her watch.
Maybe he was the key to finding her...
A plan started to form, the details still amorphous and too general.
A direct approach wouldn’t work. The IPTT commander—like Roark Montgomery—was too smart to fall for any obvious ploys. Robert Santiago would be suspicious, as would anyone in his situation. Divided loyalties could be easily toppled.
Fortunately, he wouldn’t suspect me. I am the kind of person who’s easily overlooked. I’m not above reproach. No one was at IPTT. But I was underestimated. And because of that, I’d be able to get him to drop his guard. Convince him it was in his best interest to trust me.
If he knew or even suspected where Red was hiding, I’d find out. I’m good at uncovering secrets. I’ve learned to make myself useful. I take my responsibilities seriously. And once I got out of here, I intended to prove my loyalty to the team.
My fists clenched in frustration. Waiting was intolerable. I preferred action. Always had. Always would. It was one reason I was so good at my job.
I glanced around, unseeing. Nothing seemed familiar or real. Yet I knew it was. This room. The furniture. All solid, not a dream, nor were they figments of my imagination. They were as real as the orders I intended to carry out.
In my present predicament, accomplishing them would be difficult, but I’d figure out a way. I had before. I would again. No man, no matter how powerful and intimidating, would stop me.
Catherine sat on the rest pad, wrapped in sheets, clenching her navcom. She slowly set aside the communicator as Raphael entered. He paused, his attention split between her actions and a distant voice whispering frantically in his mind. It was too faint to make out the words. So faint that Raphael wasn’t even sure if it had been real.
Was he hearing things? Had his brother, Michael, tried to contact him? Whatever the voice was, it was gone now. He shook his head.
“Are you going to give me my clothes back?” She glanced at her watch. “It’s been one week, two days, and nine hours. But who’s counting?”
He shut and sealed the door behind him. “You weren’t in a hurry to have them an hour ago.”
Catherine blushed and ran a hand through her tangled hair. “I’d like them now,” she said, ignoring his statement.
“Who did you call on the navcom?” he asked casually, feeling anything but.
“I didn’t contact anyone. I received a call,” she said as if it were of little importance.
“From anyone I know?” Raphael was shocked by the surge of jealousy pounding in his blood.
She shook her head. The move made her red curls bounce. “I’d rather not discuss it.” Catherine’s gaze dropped to the rest pad and color rose up her neck.
Raphael wondered how long he had before IPTT arrived. “We need to talk.” He stepped deeper into the room. “I think you and I can help each other, if we can come to an agreement.”
