“Be careful,” she said.
“Will do. Turn fast at that intersection, cruise behind the market. Drop me, park in front, shop for a bit, then go elsewhere. I’ll walk it.”
She turned fast enough to seem she’d forgotten an errand, but not fast enough to be remarkable. The access behind the shop was rutted and worn, with a portable chiller trailer, dumpster and waste tanks. The side was fenced against a broad expanse that looked like it might be a golf course or trotting field.
Silver slowed over the ruts and potholes, and I popped the door, hopped out and flipped it closed again. I felt decent enough, except for the stench of garbage. She powered gently forward and around, and I was alone.
CHAPTER 7
It was a bit chill but I found it rather refreshing, actually, and the evening damp was pleasant rather than the type that sucks the heat out of you. I turned and walked the other way, across the inlet she’d taken. There was no sidewalk, but there was a well-worn path through the grass along the verge, that occasionally dipped onto that lot, which was the rear of some commercial campus. That was good. Pedestrians weren’t unexpected here.
Just past there was the business park. I needed to get into his space before the cops did, accomplish either his execution or an intel sweep, and get out. For the former, exfil was less critical.
My pocket phone had unit numbers on screen. Those were probable locations.
Dressed as I was in a pullover shirt and slacks in gray, I wouldn’t be out of place. Still, I was exposed and would have limited time before I did get questioned, and at the least asked to depart the area.
This was an active evasion scenario. I could most likely get questioned safely, but once I did, I was done with the recon. So I’d be skulking around while pretending I wasn’t.
I could see two police cars from here, so they might be able to locate me if they had multispectra imaging. There was a rising fog from the well-watered growth, and some evergreens and local flat-leafed bushes that would disperse my image somewhat. I kept walking, and angled across the “park” aspect of the facility toward hard cover—other buildings.
Shortly I slipped into visual shadow, then into real shadow, with building and treeline to mask my presence. I took a glance at the comm on its dimmest setting. Silver had eliminated one building, leaving four, and changed two. The new one was the one closest to me. I bet it wasn’t the right one, but of course I would check it. I walked over the lumpy ground to it, then onto the pavement alongside.
This one was officially vacant, which made it a worthwhile hide. There was a rear emergency exit. I gave good odds to it not being alarmed, and possibly not even locked. I was half right. The door moved slightly at a pull, and I slipped a flexitool in to shim the catch. It opened and nothing happened.
Inside was dark, creepy and had some odd shadows from the windows, trees and distant lights. Some few bits of litter decorated the tiles, and it took seconds to determine it was well-vacant. I slid back out the way I’d come in.
My choices were across the street or three doors down. Down was also vacant. Across was a recent rental for a packaging company. That fit his MO better, but the vacant was easier to check. Cops were closing in as fast as Silver and I, and I had to get results, not be safe. I decided to cross.
A few buildings farther down still had lights and vehicles. Some of them likely ran three shifts. This back end, though, was largely vacant, less modern and cheaper. Perfect for needs such as ours, but harder to be invisible in at the moment. I crossed at an angle away from my current position, and oblique to the next target. There was a car at each end of the street, and if they were paying attention at all they could see me even through the rising fog, but neither made a response. Either they didn’t consider me worthwhile, or they had me under surveillance and were watching.
I strode between two other buildings, the southern of which was occupied, and disappeared from their view again. I glanced for an update.
Patrols on foot, it said. Yeah, there was that, and the risk of boobytraps if he wanted to protect something critical. That wouldn’t be logical, since it would definitely trigger a response. However, he was plenty willing to kill, and depending on what he had hidden, he might.
I’d just have to watch for triggers. To that end, I pulled on my own spectral glasses and looked for anything out of place. I started back north behind the building, toward the fence that separated me from the target. I’d have to clear that somehow.
I paused frequently, in short halts that let me check around for police, under the guise of sorting messages on my phone. Tension built, but I felt calm and secure enough. The fence wouldn’t be a problem. I could see a hole from here. Apparently, other travelers came through here, whether laborers or inquisitive youths I couldn’t tell. The tear was big enough for me to climb through, and the mesh crushed down enough to act as a step about a half meter up. That indicated regular traffic. The mesh they used for fences here was tough stuff.
I looked around and through and down before I stepped. This would be a good place for a trap. Clear. I tested it with my foot, rose, over and down.
That put me in the lot proper, and I could see a police car cruising slowly along, lights off, just a wraithlike outline in the street. They were very close, very cautious, and this was now a race.
I sprinted across a drive and into the car’s visual shadow, though there was little real shadow here. A light post stood between this and the next unit, throwing lengthy dark shapes. I hugged the building and stepped foot over foot along the wall. I dropped down below the frame of a window, and reached up to check it as I went past. Latched.
Then I was past, and into the alcove of the emergency exit. It had a code pad, a scanner, a handle and a key box for admittance.
That suggested an approach. I held my breath and listened. Car engine, a faint hum over the delicate rumble of traffic a kilometer away, which brought back memories of the distant sound of destroyed Minneapolis as I’d departed it on Earth, after inflicting ten million casualties. A flush ran through my brain and guts, and I shook it off. The now mattered. The past was gone.
I tapped a message to Silver. Need emergency response override code for building. If she could get me that, I’d be inside with much better chance of silence. Randall wouldn’t want alarm bells any more than I would, though I’d expect it would instantly light on a board. But, would the police be told at once, or would the fire team be sent first? I should have a few minutes. He might have alarms of his own, or boobytraps, but those would be silent, hopefully.
I’d set the buzzer and felt it tingle. Silver had replied, and yes, she had a code. I reached up, tapped it into the pad except for the last letter, then stood as far back as I could. I was almost out of the alcove, stretched out a finger and tapped, and swung around to the outside fast.
There was a puff, and I saw and smelled a bare whiff of gas. I held my breath and counted ten, leaned far along the wall for a deep draft of fresh, damp air, then swung back around and through the haze, pulled the door and slipped inside. I had seconds to clear this building before the police came in.
Inside the entryway was clear. Doors ahead on each side were open. Beyond them the space opened into the main bay, with offices far up front. I saw no indication of sonar sensors, nor of any frequency of laser, nor of IR. A passive thermal sensor was possible, but awkward. With hyperaware senses I heard and felt nothing, so I stepped forward while drawing weapons and leaned into the left side room, left arm presented ready to block with knife, pistol refused in the right.
Sleeping pad, blankets on the floor. Small box of clothes. Dark curtains pinned in place. It was vacant of people and tools, so I ducked, twirled and went for the other room.
Tools. Boxes. Clothing. Printer for ID. Pocket coordinate machine on a table. Cut scraps of several materials in a box in one corner. No Randall. I swept and cleared and checked under a cabinet to be sure, then pocketed the pistol and went for evidence. No comm, no coder, no high t
ech tools, but I did grab a handful of scraps and pocket them, along with a sheet that might be an invoice, though he should have burned that if so. It was worth the checking.
A buzz of message tingled me. I took a quick glance. It read, Incoming.
That’s when I heard the front door being worked.
I assumed front and rear entrance, coordinated.
I made it back across to the sleeping room, quickly determined nothing was of note, and leaned to glance behind the curtain. I couldn’t see anyone holding an overwatch, so they had men front and rear but I could clear the window.
I Boosted.
They yanked the outer door and jumped through. I had a long, leisurely second to reach through the curtain, pop the latch, place my fingers on the window lip, and snap my arm. The pressure tossed it open a good fifteen centimeters, I flicked it with the other hand, stepped up, out and down, pulled to reclose it, turned and ran as I heard them rustle and shift into the room I’d just vacated. I cleared the drive, hopped the hole in the fence, and moved for more shadow.
The area was quickly filling with a lot of cops, and someone would question me at length if they saw me now. I had what I hoped was good intel, figured he would be leaving system, and had to plan ahead for that. He wouldn’t rush. He’d arrange three routes if he could, switch between at least two of them and possibly improv another.
I slipped out through bushes and was behind this entire row of buildings, on the broad verge to a main road. I kept the growth as visual blocks. I shifted around and zigged back north, slipped aside, then again. It was something I’d learned early in my training, and it was fun as well as useful, the tension adding spice. I dropped down, duckwalked around one, and kept easing back, watching the arc in front and periodically behind.
In a couple of minutes I was free, crouching through a shallow drain cut on the east side, just a landscaping feature, not really a ditch. Once on the sidewalk I stood and walked as if I belonged. I clicked my phone and called Silver.
“East side, bushes, heading north on walk. Come get me.”
“Rog.”
Pedestrians weren’t common in this area, but I was dressed like a laborer returning from work, and believable in context. Ordinarily, no one would have given me a glance. With the heightened security, though, I got tagged.
I saw the lights shift in the mist, knew it was a car, and clicked the phone again.
“Yes?”
“Hey, lovey, I’m on my way home now. It was a long night, eh? Lots of customers.” I kept an eye on the lights’ approach, and knew the car was stopping.
She said, “How long are you going to be? Any stops?”
“No, I should be home on the bus.” I heard the door, turned slowly enough to not be any kind of threat, and said, “Oh, wait, there’s a connie needs to talk about summin. Lemme call back, okay, lovey?”
“Okay,” she said, and we cut.
That should give her enough lead to come bail me.
The cop kept fair distance. While he wasn’t handling his stunner, he looked very ready.
He said, “Good evenin’, sir. May I see your ID, please?”
“Surely,” I agreed, and slid it out of my pocket. “Is summin up?”
“Nothin’ serious,” he lied, “I just need to verify people in the area due to an investigation.”
“Oh, right, then,” I agreed. My accent wasn’t perfect, so I kept my answers short.
Of course the card was fake, and made so it scanned FAULT. The question was, would he accept that? Laborer with a work pack, not the suspect. I shouldn’t look a lot like the me they wanted, given what they had. I didn’t fit Randall’s assumed description.
Then he said, “Sir, I’m reading a fault on this ID. You are also in an investigation area, and it’s quite late. Where are you coming from?”
“Work,” I said.
“Work where?”
I hadn’t had time to develop a cover, of course, so I had to bluff. “Garden Estates. I just hired on in the kitchen.”
Of course he pinged that, queried the employee list, and found no one matching both my name and description.
“Sir, please step over and place your hands on the hood of my car.”
I could take him easily, but it would be more discreet to go along. Their lockup couldn’t be that bad, and it would hide my motives behind something less obvious, perhaps petty theft.
I placed my hands on the roof of the vehicle, and let him pat me down. I didn’t immobilize him. I wouldn’t have been able to. My hands cramped slightly as a neural field gripped them in place. I knew how to break from that, but that would be tantamount to violently resisting arrest, and this scene would not get smaller.
I did say, “Phone in the right front pocket, folding knife in left.”
He replied, “Thank you, sir.” He carefully relieved me of those.
Another vehicle rolled up, and two more constables got out. They were all rather polite, a bit aloof, and reasonably professional, other than the fact they didn’t treat me as a dangerous threat. Maybe I’m paranoid, or maybe it’s my experience. I was being courteous, so they were decent back to me. Well enough.
They went through my jacket and the pack, found technical tools and the pistol. That got their attention in a big way. They focused on it, rather than the intel cracking stuff, which should have been far more interesting under the circumstances. Or maybe they wanted to deal with easy charges first.
“So what is your purpose in being here with a pistol, sir?” he asked as he drew my arms down and cuffed them behind me.
“I should probably wait for an attorney to discuss that, sir,” I replied.
“Are you sure? That means a ride to Processin’.”
“I’m sure.”
“Very well. Sit down carefully on the kerb here, please.”
I did so. It was chill, slightly damp and a bit gritty.
Nothing happened for several minutes, and I presumed Silver had gotten well clear. They chattered on comm, without mentioning her, or pursuit, or anything in the area. It was just me. So she could continue pursuit primarily, and work on release for me second.
Eventually, a van came. It was an unremarkable egg without insignia. It pulled up right in front of where I sat. The officer lifted me to my feet by one elbow and faced me against the back of the van. I kept spatial awareness up for threats, but didn’t try to glance around. As long as it was peaceful, I’d play by the rules.
The driver was my height, male, light brown hair. He slapped a pair of binders above the existing pair. The arresting constable thumbed his pair off.
The driver asked, “No statement?”
“None. Possessions here.”
“Understood.” He then patted me down himself. I approved. That was pretty good procedure.
He thumbed the door, it opened, and he assisted me up into one side of the rear.
“Watch your head on the roof,” he said.
Inside was a featureless metal block, with howling air conditioning and bright lights. A claustrophobe would turn into a gibbering nut in about ten seconds. The driver took an interminable time, and I couldn’t track direction or distance enough to matter. Believing that hands behind the back is a dangerous position should there be an accident or “accident,” I maneuvered my hands in front of me, by dint of athletic flexibility. I rolled, arched, got them past my buttocks and stepped through.
It’s a good thing I didn’t need to relieve myself. The vehicle looked designed to be sluiced out, but there was nothing one could use for facilities.
In the Freehold, if you actually commit an infraction worthy of response, City Safety will arrive with lots of weapons and escort you peacefully to Citizens’ Court. Put up a fight and you’re likely to be dead. They transport you in the back of a car, and very few people resist. The Citizen sorts things out and schedules hearing dates, etc, and you’re released. If you are really brained out or vicious, you could be detained with a shock collar. I’d studied detent
ion on various planets and nations, so I found this entire industry of specially-made vehicles, restraints, doc programs, all fascinating.
Twice we stopped, sat for several minutes, and then someone was shoved in alongside. One man in his fifties, then one in his twenties. We didn’t talk. I presumed there were others in the other half of the vehicle.
Believe it or not, one of the big things for me was trusting the driver. I’d frequently traveled in ships, aircraft, boats, locked in and having to rely on someone else for my life. It was always either by contracted choice or with a fellow soldier I had commonality of background in and could trust. This was merely a ground vehicle, but manual only and subject to collision. The odds were remote, but they bothered me.
When we arrived downtown, we were marched out into a stark, lit bay. I expected to be hassled about the cuffs, now in front of me, but no mention was made. So why the insistence that cuffs be behind your back? An elderly lady there was presented as detained for domestic violence was not cuffed due to her age, yet she obviously had been accused of violence, so why wasn’t she?
What a bizarre proceeding was to follow. These constables and officers were theoretically part of the same organization, but seemed to follow some strange, Kafka-esque plan detached from reality.
We were slowly processed in, thoroughly and not uncomfortably searched, and stuffed into a holding tank. The only toilet was in clear view of everyone, male, female, prisoner, employee, whatever. My experience made this no issue, but I’m sure for many it would be demeaning and embarrassing. I couldn’t decide if that was its purpose, or if it was just lack of concern.
After being biometrically IDed, we were led to another holding cell. I asked about contact and was told, “You won’t see a phone for the next four to six hours.”
That was interesting. They had mine, and complete control of me. It still didn’t seem repressive or dangerous, but what harm is there in allowing someone to communicate? Presumably the idea is to process them into either detention or release, allow the legal process to commence. All this takes time and money, and I can’t figure out how further communication is bad for that.