Rogue-ARC

  We were stopped again at a checkpoint halfway down the hall. I could see trails of debris from panic flight. People had run screaming, if I made my guess. It stank. I’ve smelled better morgues.

  A senior detective checked our IDs, made us pose for pics, which I strained to stand still for. My cover was pretty much trash at this point. I’d have to hope that everyone would continue to vouch for me, rather than trying to get clear of the pending blast. My choice was be imaged, or start a scene. I needed the intel. I let them do it.

  My image didn’t trigger any alarms. Detective Marquardt waved us over, and in a slightly muffled voice said, “I saw you at Empire Repair the other day. In a recently abandoned car. So I can stop worrying about that connection in my investigation.” He glowered over his mask. I guessed he was a tiny bit annoyed, in that he’d had a false lead, and been unable to trace me. Not an auspicious start.

  “That was me,” I admitted. “I was only seeking information, and didn’t touch the scene.”

  “Fair enough. I’m not happy, but I know how these things work.” He turned, pointed at a couple of things and nothing in particular. “Please be careful. There’s considerable dispersal and we need to preserve as much as possible. Some of it will have to be compromised, I’m afraid. You’ll need masks.”

  Meyerson whimpered softly behind us, and handed us some medical masks. Silver followed Marquardt. She seemed eager to get into this one. I pulled the filter over my face and followed her.

  He pointed to a desk set up as a collection and monitor point and said, “We found this halfway across the room. It’s mostly intact. I’m calling that the murder weapon for now. You’ll need gloves or. . . .” He grabbed a pair of tongs, grasped the item and handed it over.

  Silver took it, raised her eyebrows, and carefully passed it over.

  I examined the projectile. It was just crude enough to indicate it was custom made, but of sufficient quality to be professional. And it was a creepy little thing.

  I passed it back to Silver. “What do you make of that?”

  She took it, held it carefully and examined it, then said, “Great Goddess.” A few more turns and long looks and she punctuated it with “Holy hell!”

  It was a syringelike dart, with a reservoir in the body. Said reservoir had been breached on contact. Then it had dumped a large volume of ultracompressed fluid—my guess was about a liter—out the syringe and into the target, in this case, the target’s abdomen.

  It had been a hypergolic fluid or fluids.

  “What was it? Any idea?” I asked.

  He said, “Residue indicates chlorine trifluoride.”

  All I said was, “Daaamn.” I handed it back very carefully.

  There really wasn’t much that profanity could emphasize. The substance in question is more reactive than straight fluorine, self-oxidizing, and the decay products are hydrochloric and hydrofluoric acid.

  What followed was a low-order deflagration burn. You might know it as a “fuel/air explosive.” I’m very familiar with them.

  Only this one had been inside a human body. Inside the lower GI tract. Hence the reeking mist of blood and shit pervading the atmosphere in this locale. A liter of outrageously reactive gas inside his guts had flashed them into burning vapor, blown him into cooked shreds coated in acid, and splattered those shreds on the walls, which were now etching bubbling pink paisley moirés into the surface. It was beyond excessive or obscene. It was awe-inspiring.

  The body stopped just below the shoulders, with the arms hanging from muscle around shattered joints. One leg wasn’t far away, the other lay below a trail of blood down the wall it had hit in flight. The entire torso had been gooified.

  Among the smells, though, were things I knew, even through the mask. “I can smell the chlorine,” I said. “The acid level seems rather high. The victim eats a lot of seafood and bitter vegetables.”

  Behind me, Meyerson overloaded again and mumbled as she staggered back a few meters.

  Marquardt watched her leave, then turned and said, “There’ve been a number of really sophisticated assassinations the last few months.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I said.

  “The rate seems to be increasing, and this is the third one on this planet in a few days.”

  “Yes, it’s disturbing.”

  “You don’t mind if I inquire with your embassy as to why you’re here, do you?” he asked.

  “You can ask. They can confirm my ID but that’s about it.” There was a code in the choice of names, numbers, etc, that would tell the embassy it was military. If they asked, the military, meaning Naumann, would confirm that.

  “Well, I’d certainly like to know why important people are getting sliced up, suffocated, blown to paste, and you’re on the scene within minutes, obviously familiar with the matter.”

  “I’m here to investigate,” I said. “I wouldn’t be a very good investigator if I wasn’t on track in a hurry.”

  “Be advised this has to go through the Dominion Police. I expect they’ll have some questions, too.”

  “Hopefully we’ll all have answers very shortly. What’s next after sponging up the DNA?”

  Down the hall, poor Meyerson made gagging noises.

  “We’re trying to determine delivery method. We presume a pneumatic method.”

  Silver said, “Subsonic pneumatic. Probably ten meters or so. He’d have been dressed as a cleaner or maintainer and carrying some kind of tool approximately a half meter long.” She indicated with her hands.

  “That’s interesting,” Marquardt said. He turned to the staff working over the debris crumb by crumb and said, “Vitkin, you heard. Interview the witnesses.”

  He didn’t question how Silver had that information. It was obvious to all, but would remain unsaid, that we were probably military, and why we were after this particular suspect.

  We went through the entire scene, escorted by the locals. I couldn’t fault their willingness to share information. I think the high profile and exotic nature of the assassinations had made them eager to put aside any jurisdictional or other issues and get what they could. Silver had already given them a nice lead.

  Vitkin came back, with Meyerson, who looked a bit less green, though she made a point of looking at us and not the scene. It was hard not to. The walls, floor and ceiling were the scene, and it had been so efficient a blast nothing dripped from overhead. It was just paint.

  He said, “I think we have a match. Three witnesses saw a caretaker come down the hall with a cleaning buggy. Two say they remember him wearing a protective hood. It could have been reinforced with flex armor.”

  “It would be,” Silver said.

  “Two box trucks left the area right after that. Janus Janitorial and Leonov Electrical.”

  Marquardt said, “So we’re looking for two vehicles.”

  I said, “Double check witness locations. I expect it was one truck with a different logo on each side. They’ll both be real companies, the logos will match, and he’s already scrubbed them off. You’ll waste time and manpower investigating each while he goes a third way.”

  “I’ll pull traffic records then.”

  “You’re looking for an anomaly. Either it was reported as a fault, or it was reported as on zone control but actually wasn’t.”

  “I certainly hope information like this will keep coming.”

  I said, “Whatever we can, though I’m an investigator, and not up to date on a lot of this. Ms Wickell has more recent information, but is only a technical specialist.” Once again, everything I said was true. It’s an important skill.

  Marquardt said, “I get the impression this suspect is a former member of your Blazer units?”

  “That’s what I’m told, yes.”

  “This also reminds me of a recent incident on Caledonia. There were a lot of bodies involved, all good officers I’m told.”

  They might not all have been good, but I wasn’t going to speak ill of the dead and none of them had des
erved that ending.

  “Yes, we suspect the same perpetrator. My goal is to try to locate and cordon him. Then I’m going to try to negotiate a peaceful ending. Otherwise there will be diplomatic requests over status of forces.”

  He raised his eyebrows as he understood that, sighed and shook his head.

  “This is not a good thing, you understand. Especially as our nation was actively neutral during the War, unofficially supportive, and helped with a lot of rebuilding.”

  “I know, and I appreciate it. That helped my family. That’s also part of why I’m here now.”

  “Well, let’s get this resolved. I also want to know about that incident in the park last week. Him?”

  “I’m pretty sure he was involved.”

  “Were you on scene?”

  That made me a bit nervous. I had to offer something, but didn’t want to incriminate myself.

  “I didn’t see him. I did see some of the aftermath.”

  “I expect that you will consult with me on these matters, not intrude on my crime scenes, and inform me of any such incidents at once. Otherwise, I will see about having you removed from the system. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir. I respect that. I’m shackled by my own orders and need to keep it discreet.”

  “I understand. I hope you understand I can’t care about that.”

  “Yes, sir.” He was quite reasonable, really.

  It was an hour later before we left. Marquardt seemed somewhat mollified due to our information. He agreed to keep providing data as they sifted it.

  We still didn’t have much, though. Randall’s techniques were mix of mostly old with some new from Cobra Joe and study.

  As we drove, Silver said, “That was pretty revolting.”

  “Yes. Are you okay?”

  “Mostly. I almost leaned against the wall once. I need to shower for my mental health. I want to just run hot water over me until I feel clean.”

  I wanted her not to put those images in my head.

  So I asked, “Why the hell go to so much trouble? Any bullet would do. Or a bomb. Why this?” It was rhetorical. He liked the show. Still, this was outré even by his standards.

  “To send a message,” she said.

  “What message?” I asked. “It’s excessive, crude and in that context unprofessional. None of these people care how they die.”

  She stared at me for a few seconds, and I knew there was something I wasn’t getting. “The message was for you,” she said.

  That was not a pleasant thought. “Hell,” I said, “I don’t care that much about how I die, either. It’s not any scarier than any other way. Relatively painless, in fact.” Actually, it would likely hurt enough one would beg for the inevitable death. But I wasn’t going to say so.

  “I’m not sure it’s you he intends to shoot with it,” she replied softly.

  Oh, shit. I didn’t want to go there. I really didn’t want to go there.

  She needed reassurance, though. She looked at that goo and saw herself, young and healthy and attractive with a long life ahead, in the middle of a fight between a sociopath and the insane narcissist who trained him, herself considered tactically expendable by each to get the other.

  “I can’t see it. He’s not going to stop me with a message. This ends when he does. Nothing else. He knows that.”

  However, he might be sociopathic enough to do it as a fuck-you gesture on the way down.

  I didn’t mention that, but there was a good chance she guessed.

  I’d have to keep her reassured as best I could, because I needed her attention on her duties, and I just might have to throw her out as a decoy.

  If it came to that, we all died. I’d take him down, and then I’d finish myself, because she was competent, decent, attractive, a very nice young lady all around.

  Who I shouldn’t care that much about tactically speaking, but I did.

  Shit.

  Intellectually, I knew some of that was just the stress and proximity. Any combat relationship has a certain intimacy of a unique type. However, she had a personality I meshed with, and accepted me as a human being even with my legion of flaws. Add in that incandescent body I could only pretend I was carnal with, and it was a recipe for emotional disaster.

  And yet I was friends with this man.

  I didn’t know why any of this mattered. It shouldn’t. It did.

  CHAPTER 19

  I ignored Silver showering, though to be honest, it wasn’t that sexy after the human tartare.

  Randall was really dialing it up. This had to stop, and soon. The sheer mess and body count were noticeable. Also, if he escalated, he’d find out I could escalate more. Naumann would probably sign off on a few hundred kilos of hyperexplosive and collateral damage. I wasn’t ready to go there yet, but realistically, there was a break point. That made me furious again. More innocent people could die. The War had been over for a decade our time. Just stop.

  One of the phones buzzed. It took me a moment to determine which one. It was the disposable we’d gotten from Krezny.

  I answered, “Dobrij den’.”

  “I am calling about a dinner service.” The voice was very cultured, with definite Russian overtones.

  “I remember. What can I do for you?”

  “We should meet. There’s a business matter we might talk about.”

  “I’m agreeable. Where would you like to meet?”

  “North Line Park. We can decide where exactly once we get there.”

  I said, “Nineteen hours.”

  “We shall talk then.” He disconnected.

  Well, that was interesting. I’d got the mob’s attention. Were they running him and wanted more? Wanted better? Wanted to eliminate me? Not running him and wanted parity?

  We’d find out.

  Silver came from the shower, dressed with wet hair and looking fresh. I told her about the call.

  “You’re insane,” she said. “It’s a setup.”

  “Possibly,” I said. “I’ll be armed, with what are likely their guns.”

  “As will I. I’m just hoping we don’t die in the process.” She looked scared.

  “It’s traditional. They like to see who they’re dealing with, get a feel for them. It also gives them some control, or so they think. I’ll do it.”

  I rented a vehicle, since the police had contact with us. We took the rifle—a professionally shortened hunting job that made a decent carbine—the shotgun, two handguns each, knives and light armor. This could be more flat-out combat. The gear was in a bag in the rear seat, not really hidden, so I drove very moderately.

  At the park, we chose one end of the lot, so I could figure out which car was theirs. There were civilians out, children playing, and I assumed there was some attention after the shoot-up across town the other night. It was probably safe enough.

  Ideally, Silver should go talk while I covered her with a good rifle, since I held the Master rating to her Marksman. However, I had to be the one doing the talking. I reached back and slid the rifle low under her seat, and said, “Cover me. If I throw prone, kill him. I’ll be shooting with a pistol.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, a bit too formal. It was still getting to her.

  I climbed out and walked across the lot, and my opposite number did likewise. I felt safe enough, though it wasn’t impossible a sniper would drop me. There was also nothing I could do about it. It was a nice day, though, and some plants in bloom. It wasn’t a day to die.

  “Good day,” I said.

  “We need to discuss the future,” he replied, and indicated a curb. I checked the bush nearby then sat, as did he.

  “Go on,” I said.

  “A certain associate of yours works for us. He’s becoming unstable and less reliable. Stress.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” I said.

  The sarcasm was lost on him.

  “Exactly why we’d like to discuss employment with you.”

  “Can you afford both of us?” I asked, though I
suspected what he meant.

  “We can, but we only need one. You’d take his position.”

  I wasn’t going to play stupid. My brains would be one of my assets for said task.

  “Go on,” I prompted.

  “You replace him, we continue the financial arrangement, including the prior assets. If you can find the account he used for previous activities, we’d be agreeable to sanitizing that, too.”

  That was quite an opening bid.

  So, for some time he’d had an agent, rather than being truly freelance. It did make sense. It also meant he could call them for resources, such as official ID, flights and passage, raw materials.

  I wonder how tempted I’d have been, without my daughter and a military obligation. A decade ago, I might well have considered it. I had the personality for it, the skillset, and the lack of attachments.

  The problem with being so dispassionate was that I could see how it would end for me, too. One has to sleep sometime. Sooner or later the odds catch up with you, or someone hits you from behind, or you have to go into permanent hiding, which doesn’t fit most personality types in this field. Randall had set himself up for the midterm, without a long-term plan. That fit his youth and personality. He’d gotten into it a little late, but he’d always been a little immature. I snagged him for the team for several reasons, but I kept him where I could watch him because under his brilliance, he was abrasive, too clever for his own good, and liked to show off, as he continued to do in every hit. If I’d needed fewer bodies, he would have been one I’d done without.

  Basically, I’d killed him on duty. He just didn’t know it yet.

  Timurhin was looking at me, wanting an answer, and probably wondering what that expression on my face was.

  “Definitely worth considering,” I said.

  “Worth considering? It’s a fortune, and not a small one.”

  I needed to stall, so I said, “You’re asking a lot, though. I don’t really need the work, and there is an element of risk or you wouldn’t want someone like me.”

  “Yet you contacted us,” he said. “Ten percent incentive is doable.”