The sound of the compact’s engine starting up seemed incredibly loud amongst the dark, empty streets.
With two big marines and their weapons, the interior of the compact was quite cramped. Both the marines, like Harper, were out of uniform, wearing what dark-coloured civilian clothing they had found. They were still wearing their webbing, however.
‘I think it only fair to warn you that if we’re caught in civvies we may be executed as spies. If either of you want to back out, I’d understand,’ Harper told them. Fenn said nothing.
‘I hope we see one of these Ceph,’ Fry said in his strong Scouse accent as he flipped the night vision goggles down over his eyes. ‘I’ve never seen an alien before.’
Fry had studied the map, and many of the old street signs were still present. The Scouse marine had adeptly navigated through the abandoned city. They’d had to detour around rubble, push burnt wrecks of cars out of the way and, with an eye on the deadline, their journey had seemed horribly slow.
Harper had visited New York on a number of occasions. The place had always seemed teeming with life. This ghost husk of city he found impossibly eerie.
They had caught sight of Manhattan on several occasions. It was lit up, but lit up like a construction site. Much of the most famous skyline in the world was dark and broken-looking from damage received during the Ceph invasion. Harper could see new structures going up but struggled to make out what they were from this distance.
They saw nothing on their journey, not even wild dogs, the only movement the lights in the sky from the helicopters over Manhattan.
They crossed over the Bronx River and into Southeast Yonkers. The city was built on a number of hills rising from the Hudson River in the west. Like everywhere else, it seemed deserted. They were travelling along a wide road lined with empty apartment buildings and deserted businesses.
‘Sir?’ Fry asked.
Harper knew that the Resistance had spread out across the city in a bid to avoid making themselves one big target. Harper knew that this was one of the areas where CELL’s Archangel orbital weapons platform had found heat readings.
‘I would imagine they should find…’
Headlights dazzled them. The glare momentarily blinded Fry, and he cried out as he simultaneously tried to push the NVGs up and bring the car to a halt. Harper was thrown forwards but was aware of Fenn bringing her SCAR up to bear. Fry was reaching for his weapon.
‘Wait! Stand down!’ Harper shouted. Some kind of aging armoured vehicle had been pulled across the road in front of them. There were dark figures running towards the car. The car doors were yanked open and Harper found himself face down on the tarmac, his hands being cable tied behind his back.
Harper felt that his explanation, that he was the captain of a stealth missile destroyer well within firing range of them and that he needed to speak with their commanding officer, lost something of its import when delivered through a black hood.
They had been searched, searched again, searched one more time in a way that bordered on violation, and marched to a number of different places before finally being tied to chairs. Harper’s hood was removed and he found himself sat on a chair in a basement that had several inches of water covering the floor. Fenn and Fry were on either side of him, still hooded.
There were three people in here, all male. The first was a stern looking Caucasian man in his early sixties wearing urban pattern combat fatigues that looked very worn but still serviceable. He was in excellent physical condition for his age. His arms were crossed and he looked less than pleased to see Harper and the marines.
The second man was Hispanic. His hair was closely cropped, and he looked to be in his early thirties. He wore sleeveless jungle pattern fatigues under body armour and had an enormous Majestic revolver holstered at his hip.
The third man was sat opposite Harper. He had no hair and was thin, verging on the gaunt. He looked to be in his eighties but in very good shape for it. His eyes seemed younger, somehow. They were very much alive. He looked familiar to Harper, like someone he had seen on television.
‘Do you know who I am?’ the man asked. He had a strong German accent. Harper finally placed the man.
‘You’re Karl Ernst Rasch, the ousted head of Hargreave-Rasch BioChemical,’ Harper said warily. He glanced at Fenn and Fry.
‘And Cry-Net Systems, who own CELL , who in turn now own the Royal Navy. Or should that be the CELL navy?’
‘My name is…’ Harper started.
‘We know who you are. We have had your identity confirmed.’
Harper didn’t even ask how.
‘And these gentlemen?’ Harper asked.
‘Don’t particularly want their names known,’ the stern-looking man said. He was clearly used to command. Something about him made Harper think special forces. He wore no insignia on his uniform, just a small stars and stripes patch on one shoulder.
‘You are the Captain of the Robin Hood?’ Rasch said. Harper nodded.
‘They know where you are,’ Harper told them.
‘That was to be expected. Whilst I was CEO at Hargreave-Rasch I was aware of the contract to provide the Robin Hood. I am aware of its rather frightening capabilities. CELL have chosen not to deploy what used to be the US marines in New York due to fear of mutiny. Provably loyal CELL military contractors defend the city. In many ways, the Robin Hood is our biggest threat.’ He paused as if considering something. ‘Some would say it is an odd thing for its Captain to be riding around South East Yonkers at this time of night.’
‘I need to know why,’ Harper told Rasch. Corporal Fenn turned her head as if to look at him through the hood.
‘Are we courting the HMS Robin Hood?’
‘I need to know that this isn’t some kind of corporate vendetta.’
‘Think we’d be here if it was, ese?’ the Hispanic soldier asked him.
‘Please take the hoods off my men,’ Harper said. ‘And we’re unarmed, you can remove our restraints, you have my word that we will take no actions against you.’
The Hispanic soldier laughed. Rasch looked to the stern-looking soldier, who nodded. The Hispanic soldier took the hoods off Fry and Fenn and then cut the cable ties off their hands with a knife that bordered on machete-sized. The marines rubbed their wrists and looked around but said nothing.
‘I would imagine,’ Rasch began. ‘That like most rational people, you have significant doubts as regards the privatisation of previously national militaries.’
‘A national military is accountable to its government and ultimately to its people. A company is accountable to its shareholders at best, but more likely its bottom line.’
‘I left Hargreave-Rasch, a company I helped found…’ That can’t be right, Harper thought. Somewhere at the back of his mind he was sure that the biomedical company had been founded in the early 20th century. ‘Because I had become significantly concerned with its practices. The company as itself was out of control. There was no one person running it, no strong personality with a grasp of morality at the helm after the death of my partner Jacob Hargreave.’
‘Yourself?’
‘It was easy to get rid of me when I started objecting to policy. There was a board-wide vote of no confidence. The problem is that it is a company doing what a company will do, taking corporate capitalism to its nth degree because there is nothing to tell it to stop. With the energy monopoly, it now has endless resources. It has stopped being something that we would recognise as a business. Instead it behaves like a particularly rapacious virus. It will consume and consume until there is nothing left. It is the corporate meme out of control, and it will settle for nothing else than total global domination.’