Shadow of War, page 15
I nodded. “The big problem is, how?” I waited for them to speak.
No one did.
“Shit,” I muttered. “It’s that dire?”
“No,” Meg answered. “There just don’t seem to be many ideas other than a smash and grab.”
“That’s too dangerous,” Richard said.
“Well, I know that, but still. I couldn’t think of anything else.”
Cliff said, “What about a distraction? A diversion?”
“You mean like a celebration going on somewhere to divert attention? I think we’ve got that covered.”
He frowned. “I was thinking of something else. An emergency perhaps.”
Meg said, “That might not go over well with Sahar. She doesn’t want anyone endangered.”
A silence settled over the group. Then I cleared my throat. “Something came up earlier that might work. Johnny and I have spoken about it.” I turned to him.
“We just talked with Mayor Noor,” he said. “Clarke can get one or two of us inside the labs the day before. Once there, we’ll find the weapon and place a transmitter near it. Then we leave. The next day, the real mission happens.”
“We?” Meg said.
Johnny said, “I’d like to do it. I’m used to this sort of thing.”
“How are you going to get in?” Richard asked.
“They’re going to get me a BSF uniform. I’m going to march right in, with the Commodore at my side.”
Meg swore. “Dammit, Mac. I don’t want to involve this guy. I don’t trust him.”
I said, “I know. But does anyone else have a better idea? We need to know where the weapon is.”
“What if we scan for a fusion reactor? Locate the emissions?”
I knew the lasers used a small fusion cell for power. “Useless. It’s not functioning. It’s only one piece of the entire weapon. It could be in a crate for all we know.”
“Well, how are we going to find out? That would be a disaster. The fake component has to be put exactly where—”
“That’s why it makes sense to send someone first,” Johnny said. “I can do it.”
Meg said, “But the Commodore is a question mark, Johnny.”
“Sahar vouched for him,” I said. “And we are pressed for time here, Meg.”
Her eyes flashed. “It’s a danger we shouldn’t expose ourselves to.”
I sighed. “I agree, actually. His involvement doesn’t exactly make me enthusiastic. If anyone has a better idea, please speak up.” I turned to Richard. “What about Jessica? Is she available for this?” Jessica Ng was his partner; she’d been involved in the independence movement for just as long, and had also worked with my father in the early days. I hadn’t seen her in quite a while, but hadn’t thought much about it, because we were all so busy, all the time.
A look passed across his face. It was hard to interpret. “I’ll fill her in when I see her. I’m sure she’d agree with you.”
I stared at each of them in turn. Then, “Okay, it’s time to start working on the details.”
—••—
Sahar had sent us more information than we could have hoped for. The locations of the guard stations. The entry points for each deck. She’d also arranged to prepare a BSF uniform for Johnny.
We worked long into the night. Then we met again the next day, then the next as well. Soon Renée was up and feeling far better, and she began working with us on the plans. Weeks passed like that. She was all smiles at first, excited to be involved and working on efforts to steal the weapon, but I realized that she was likely trying to protect me from guilt at what had happened. She had said that it was a good idea for me to accept the guard detail, but I’d deflected and suggested we get one for her instead.
I was also anxious about spending too much time with her. Although I loved her deeply, I didn’t want another attempt on my life to involve her.
Again.
But my idea of a guard for her didn’t go over well.
The suggestion infuriated her.
We’d argued after, but not for long. In fact, within minutes we’d already made up.
And that had been enjoyable, to say the least.
Now we were back in my office, reviewing the plan details for the tenth time. But, I had to admit, we didn’t have much. Richard said, “We still don’t know how to get the weapon out. It’s damn large.”
“They got it in, so we’ll get it out.” I shrugged. “It’ll be a skeleton crew. We’ll have to avoid them.” I hoped, I thought. It seemed that we would be relying on Clarke for more and more. We’d need a way to avoid the guards watching the laboratories, and he was going to have to help us with that as well.
Meg was glaring at me, and it made my stomach churn.
If we’d had more time, we might have come up with something better.
We had no choice.
—••—
We needed to figure out a way to take the device out. An airlock made sense, but we quickly realized that there was no way the device would fit through the umbilical or airlock in SC-1. There was an elevator—or hydraulic lift—in the schematic, however, and it led downward to the first deck. I said, “What about the moonpool? If we have to get out, and that’s the only way, we need a way to open it.”
Sahar had mentioned that it was always sealed shut, to maintain security at the labs. I said, “I can likely get past that.”
Meg said, “This isn’t a common hatch. It’s controlled by security.”
“I know.” And we can’t let anyone know we were there, so we had to be careful not to leave evidence behind. Still, I had an idea on how we could get past the moonpool. “Once we get it open though, we need to get the weapon out. It’s large. It can’t get wet. Any ideas?” I glanced up from the map at them.
Johnny said, “Why don’t we use a large tarp? We cover the weapon with it, seal it shut with a watertight zipper. Then we push it into the pool.”
“And it sinks to the seafloor . . . ” I prodded.
“And we have a seacar there with a grapple or a harness. Divers connect the weapon and we sail away, dragging it behind.”
The thought of dragging a delicate piece of weaponry behind the seacar, watching it tumble over the seafloor, made me shudder. “It would be better to load it into SC-1.” Still, I considered the Johnny’s idea to push it into the moonpool. “So the biggest issue is finding the weapon—”
“Which I’ll do, the day before.”
“—and then avoiding the guards and getting it to the moonpool.”
There was silence at my statement. All looked satisfied, except for Meg.
—••—
Two minutes later, I was dealing with the full brunt of her wrath.
“Dammit Tru!” she snapped, leaning over my desk with her face only inches from mine. “This is bullshit! We can’t trust Clarke. And you can’t even call this a ‘plan’! There are too many variables!”
I took a deep breath and tried to maintain my cool. Siblings sometimes have tumultuous relationships, and ours was no different from others. I knew that she respected logic, though, so I tried to placate her using reason. She still wasn’t having it, however.
“Clarke is the enemy. He’s a senior officer in the military!”
“Cliff was in the USSF too. He’s trustworthy.”
“That’s your Chief Security Officer! He’s paid his dues and he’s proven himself to us a thousand times over. He’s dedicated to your survival.” She began pacing. “Clarke is unproven.”
“Sahar says—”
“We don’t know! Sahar might betray us too.”
That startled me. “You don’t trust her? After meeting her?”
She hesitated. “She seemed totally with us. You’re right. And her culture and religion is a powerful force. I don’t think she’d betray anyone. But still.”
“Yes?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe Clarke has tricked her.”
Now it was my turn to pause. “It’s possible. You’re right. But we’re pressed for time on this.”
She grabbed me and pulled me to face her. “Tru. If we get caught, it means prison. It means cells. It means no more independence, no more Oceania.”
The panic was clear in her face, and her eyes were wide. Scared.
She continued, “It means torture, dammit!”
So, this is where it was coming from. The trauma from what she’d endured at Zyvinski’s hands after murdering Admiral Benning. I stared at her for a long moment. She was breathing heavily and her chest was heaving. Her face was red.
“Meg,” I said in a soft tone. I pulled her to the chairs in the corner and we sat. “You don’t have to do this. You can stay here and keep working. We’ll do the job and return. You’ll see.”
Her expression grew angry. “You want me to stay here and repair seacars while you’re in danger? While Clarke might arrest you? Haul you away to—”
“If you’re scared, then you can—”
It was the wrong thing to say.
“I’m not scared! I’m just being safe!”
I stared at her, silent. I recalled that she hadn’t wanted to join with me until we’d learned about the SCAV drive and how we could use it as leverage to convince colonies to join us peacefully. Since then, there had been a lot of pain and suffering and death and fighting, but she had stood by my side the entire time, mostly because we’d thought things through first. She relied on logic and reason, I reminded myself. “Look,” I said. “We’ll review the plan first. I know you’re not scared. But if you’re not convinced, then we’ll consider changing whatever you’re concerned with. But if you think it sounds good . . . ”
“Then what?” she snapped.
“Then we go. We do it.”
She frowned. “You’re giving me the final say?”
“You can lead the heist. It’s your mission. You coordinate. If you’re worried, then you can abort it. We’ll follow your orders.” It was a massive gamble, because we didn’t have an alternative. I just had to make sure that the plan was solid before we started. “Agreed?”
She stared at me, her eyes lasers.
Chapter Thirteen
Renée was by my side as we marched through the travel tube toward the Research Module. She had fully recovered now, and our relationship had also improved. The evenings had been romantic once again—with meals followed by lovemaking, as was our routine—and there had been no further problems, though Cliff kept warning me to keep an eye out. Just being with Renée in public put her in danger, I knew. When the assassin made another attempt on me, which I assumed would happen, I didn’t want her in the line of fire again. Once was too much, and now there had already been two attempts.
My hands were at my sides and I reached out and grabbed Renée’s. Her fingers intertwined with mine instantly and she squeezed. I could feel the love and the pressure and it felt like a warm, comforting blanket. I smiled to myself as we walked. People passing us nodded and said hi, and many grinned when they noticed my smile. I barely registered what they were saying because I was so happy.
The danger was so very real, though, and I had to make sure nothing happened to her. A part of me felt that she was actually safer with me, where I could protect her, until I realized that being near me had put her in danger.
I growled inwardly at that.
We were approaching Doctor Sonstraal’s lab, where she had been hard at work for weeks. I had assigned a team of people from Meg’s division to help her, and they were fabricating the outer components of the laser weapon and the fusion containment structure. All fake, of course, but it had to appear real. Panels and readouts even had to light up if touched. Otherwise, the BSF would figure out what we were doing, and the other three components would immediately go into lockdown and our chances at getting The Water Pick would be close to zero.
The guards admitted us to the lab, and soon we were standing in a chamber looking at a device taking shape in the center of the deck.
I swore.
It looked like an artist’s sculpture fused with a brutalist’s twisted view of pain and death. Curled glass tubing circled a large cylinder, aiming to a common point along the weapon’s shaft. Ten large steel barrels, each lined by glass tubing, connected to the barrel. A fusion sphere with injection ports and heavy black cabling led to and from it. There was a large metal Y-shaped cradle, supporting the barrel at three points, which rested on the deck at three equidistant points along the . . . cannon? . . . and a console with digital and holo readouts. There were currently blinking lights on the console, and the glass tubes were pulsing with power.
I swore again.
Beside me, Renée said, “Putain de merde!”
“It looks deadly,” I said. Indeed, it seemed as though she could activate it right there and obliterate the entire facing bulkhead.
“It’s still not done,” a voice said from my side.
I turned slowly, almost unable to tear my eyes from the lasers. Doctor Alyssna Sonstraal was approaching from a bank of computer consoles.
“It looks damn realistic,” I said.
She shrugged. “Still. They’d realize it’s fake.”
“What more is there to do?” Renée asked.
She pointed at the fusion reactor. “That’s not done. It’s missing deuterium injection ports. The radio wave plasma generator. We’re working on it.” She pointed at the barrel. “There, the internal components are not in.”
“But we’re not doing the internals.”
She snapped a look at me, as if to say, Don’t tell me how to do my job. “The glass tubes . . . you can see inside them. There should be sensors and frequency modulators in there. We have to insert them still.” She exhaled, exasperated. “Then there’s the fusion control panel, the inputs for the other three components, and the injection point for the neutral beam!” She exhaled again. “And there’s more.”
I nodded. “Okay, okay. I got it. There’s more to do. But good job, so far. It’s looking great.” I stared at her. “How’s the team? Are they working well with you?”
She smiled through her frustration, which seemed to melt away instantly. A warm personality shone through immediately. “They have been wonderful, and highly effective. They can manufacture whatever I want, and fast too. They know what they’re doing.”
Some of them had worked on our fusion seacars—Swords—at our secret base, The Ridge. They had extensive real-world manufacturing experience. I knew they’d work hard for a mission that involved Trieste and TCI. “Great,” I muttered, staring at the weapon. It seemed to pulse with power and glow with deadly danger.
I peered down the void between the ten “lasers.” The channel was twelve inches across. It was difficult to comprehend. An artificially generated vacuum channel two hundred meters long, through which a stream of neutral particles would blast. It would hit a warsub’s hull, knock protons from atoms, tearing the structure of the sub apart and weakening its integrity. It would dissolve solid titanium in only seconds and trigger enormous death.
A prickle worked its way up my scalp. I thought about someone using it against Trieste. Ripping into a Living Module. People within would drown, or the water would crush citizens as it churned through the corridors like poisoned blood through veins and arteries.
“How much longer?” I murmured, picturing the calendar in my head. It was now the eighth of March. Travel time was about two days, and we needed to insert Johnny and Clarke on the sixteenth.
Which gave us six more days.
She tilted her head. “Eight days.”
“Alyssna, we need—”
“But I’ll do it in five.” She grinned.
“Shit, Doctor.”
She chuckled. “Just teasing you.” She turned to Renée. “He is wound a bit tight, wouldn’t you say?”
Renée hadn’t actually had a chance to spend time with Alyssna yet, but I could tell that she enjoyed the jab at my expense. “He is indeed,” Renée said with a matching smile. “But he has good reason.” She punched me playfully in the shoulder. “There’s a lot riding on decisions that we make. And he takes it all personally.”
“I am in charge, don’t forget,” I said.
“You think you are.”
“I am.” But I smiled at her and grabbed her hand again. Then I recalled that I had actually put Meg in charge of the first operation . . . she could abort it whenever she wanted.
I swallowed.
Alyssna studied Renée. “I heard there was an accident recently. A couple of them, in fact. I hope you’re doing okay now.”
A shrug. “I’m still breathing. I’ll be fine.” Renée pointed at the object in the center of the chamber. “As long as that’s ready, at least.”
I smiled at that. Renée always seemed to know what was on my mind, and the things that concerned me most. She also knew my inner demons.
Alyssna said, “I’ll have it done in time. I promise.”
—••—
More days passed and before we knew it, it was time to depart. We’d been in frequent contact with Sahar Noor, and she with Commodore Clarke. He was going to escort Johnny into the labs the day before the theft. They had to locate the weapon or our plan would not happen. That would be a major setback, for the window was closing. Earlier in the week, Cliff had pointed out an ominous news story.
It was the usual collection of reports of bloody battles on the surface, populations starving, cities flooding, and so on. Ice sheets sheering from massive land glaciers and crashing into the warming oceans. Swarms of locusts, dying cropland, and economies crashing. It was depressing and I’d been trying to avoid it, frankly. I knew what was happening. Dad had predicted it all years before. He had known that Trieste would have great value to the US, and that other colonies would also provide the lifeblood of resources to the topside superpowers.
