On one hand, if I forced my way in and they were making something totally benign and unrelated to what happened in Washington, then that would make me a murderer. On the other hand, if I shot my way in and there was proof that Valen Oruraka’s devices were tied to an official Russian agenda, then Washington was an indisputable act of war. And there would be a war. Some kind of war. Cold or hot. My pulse was racing and I felt trapped by colliding realities and possibilities. And I couldn’t really fall back and ask for advice. I was the director of the Special Projects office. I was the guy who any other DMS field agent would contact to make his call.
I looked down at Ghost and he looked up for the pack leader to actually lead.
The two guards stood between me and some kind of answer. The Modern Man inside of me pleaded for mercy. The Cop told me that we needed those answers, and I could feel that part of me hardening his heart. The Killer’s heart was already hardened. Not against feeling, but against failing to act because of those feelings. It reminded me of a Navajo guy I knew in college. We’d go deer hunting and before he even loaded his gun he would pray to the deer, honoring it, thanking it, becoming somehow in alignment with it. There was never disrespect, even when, later, he sighted and pulled the trigger. There was never a loss of his compassion and humanity, even as he dressed his kill. That is the difference between a warrior and a soldier. The warrior never loses sight of his humanity and his place in the completeness of the natural world.
So I said a silent prayer in my own head, then ran down the last steps and killed both of them.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIVE
Bunny and Tate moved quietly through several rooms filled with machinery for manufacturing sound equipment.
They were the two biggest men on the team, but each knew how to work within the skin of silence, leaving no mark on the air to signal their presence. Twice guards strolled by within easy arm’s reach of them. Bunny could have reached out of the shadows and taken the men, ended them right there; but this wasn’t that kind of day, and he was glad of it. Like all good soldiers he could kill with professional efficiency and natural diligence, but never for fun. He never got a thrill from it, even when taking down the worst of the worst. To give in to that kind of pleasure was a long step down a very bad road.
Tate, he suspected, was much the same. And Bunny was wise enough to know that it was more typical with large men to be brutal at need but gentle by nature. Rudy had explained it to him once, saying that since they did not have the fears of being physically inadequate because of size and strength, they felt no juvenile desire to demonstrate their strength.
He was curious to see how Tate would be if this went south on them. Top had given his nod, but Bunny had his own standards. He looked for the emotional connection between soldier and action. Between the person and what that person was called upon to do; and how that manifested in the visible emotions. He’d given red cards to a few shooters over the years, sending them off the field if they looked like they were getting high from spilling blood.
Tate was cool, though. There was no flicker in his eye, no twitch in his fingers as if he wanted to grab and hurt. Bunny nodded to himself.
The second guard reached the far side of the room they were in and then used a keycard to exit. When the door closed, Bunny and Tate stepped out from their places of concealment between hulking machines. They moved off, staying close but maximizing their time by looking at different machines, opening different cabinets and desks. Tate understood technology better than Bunny and he took point when giving details to the TOC, and occasionally directed Bunny’s bodycam to help him get a full picture of each large machine, which Doc Holliday quickly identified. Machines to shape and mold plastic or metal; machines to attach component parts; machines to weld and seal.
“Gorgon and Sergeant Rock found crates of the stuff these machines make,” explained Doc. “Leave chameleon sensors and move on.”
Tate removed a bag of nickel-sized devices and they went to work. The sensors had plastic strips on each side. Once the top strip was removed, the sensor was placed against the surface where it would be left. The photosensitive chemicals adapted to the color of the surface within seconds; then the sensor would be removed, the back strip torn off to expose adhesive, and then the device would be set in place. Once placed, they would blend in perfectly and, unless you knew where to look, they would vanish from notice. It took several minutes to tag all of the machines, but the effect would be a constant feed of data back to the Hangar.
They moved on. Snugged into one corner they found a large cabinet that, when opened, proved to be a false front, behind which was a very large industrial safe. Bunny stepped back and kept guard while Tate took a set of electronic devices from a pouch on his web belt and set to work bypassing the security.
“This is freaky,” said Tate quietly. “Most dial-type safe locks are three-, four-, or five-digit combinations. This is twelve. Screws the math up something fierce.”
“Shit,” complained Bunny. “How long’s it going to take you to—?”
Tate pulled the door open.
“Oh,” grunted Bunny. “Well, okay then.”
As the massive door swung open, the darkness was suffused with an intense green light so bright that it made both men throw arms across their faces and wince as they backed away.
Bunny had to squint to see through the glare. He felt strangely sick and gagged as he stared inside. There were a dozen shelves and each was stacked with pieces of glowing green crystal. Bars and disks, milled tubes and uncut chunks. Hundreds, maybe thousands of pounds of the stuff.
“Close it,” he gasped.
“What?” asked Tate, but it wasn’t a response to his statement. Instead he stood there, eyes wide and mouth open, looking like a sleepwalker.
“Close it,” Bunny growled, and when Tate still didn’t move he stepped forward and kicked the door shut. It slammed and there was an audible click, and the green light vanished all at once. Bunny sagged back and caught himself with a hand on the edge of a machine. He swayed, dizzy and sick.
Tate dropped to his knees, his big body convulsing, and then he tore off his balaclava and vomited all over the front of the safe. Bunny tried to say something to comfort the new guy, but when he opened his mouth he threw up, too. The thought that ran through his head, though, made no immediate sense.
I can’t hear myself think.
Over and over again, while his stomach heaved.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIX
The sentries dropped where they stood, their weapons clattering to the floor. Ghost swarmed past me to check up and down the hall, then he came back and sniffed at the bodies. Maybe he could hear the silence in their chests. Maybe there is some canine way of knowing wounded from dead. Probably. They had a dead look to me, too. Inside my head the Modern Man flinched and turned away, ashamed of being part of me, repelled by my actions.
I removed the magazine from my gun and replaced the four bullets I’d used and rammed it back in place. Then I dragged the bodies out of the way and used my gizmos to bypass the security. It took time, and I felt my face go stiff and wooden as I worked. A defense mechanism. The clinical term for my psychological condition is, I believe, bugfuck nuts.