Rogue sequence, p.27
Rogue Sequence, page 27
Black-clad PSF forces swarmed her, shouting and pointing weapons. She was forcefully flipped onto her stomach and her arms were wrenched behind her back, cuffs clamped over her wrists. She was hoisted up onto her knees as one of the officers approached her with a black bag ready to go over her head.
“Stop what the fuck you’re doing,” someone shouted.
The hands came off Moreno and she looked up to see government agents closing in with the letters NOA stenciled across their armored vests. Ian Mazur pushed his way to the front. “She’s going into federal custody,” he said. “Now fuck off.”
Outranked, the PSF officers shuffled off without a word.
Mazur undid the cuffs and crouched down in front of Moreno, resting his arms on his knees. “Well. This is fucked.”
Moreno stared back at him. “Ian.” She exhaled heavily, relieved. “It’s not over. Turin’s in that building over there with the trigger device. We can’t let him get away.”
“Yeah, TRT’s on it.”
“Tac Response? What about GCD interdiction?”
“Looks like you’re it.”
Moreno sagged. It was as she’d feared. “Navick. He’s still running interference.”
“If it’s true, it’ll be his funeral.”
“Ian,” Moreno said, looking up at him. “I’ve got an asset in that building closing on Turin right now.”
“Rade,” Mazur said.
Moreno wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a question. “You have to let TRT know.”
Mazur rubbed worryingly at his jaw. “Look, Morgan. I can get you out of this, but I can’t do anything about Ander Rade. The whole thing’s too hot and even if Navick’s involved in some kind of double cross, whatever Garvin put you up to definitely wasn’t on the books either. That APB is still out on you and until we can clear this whole shit show up, you’re still in the crosshairs. I know you think I’m an asshole, but I’m trying to help you, Morg. And I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything for your asset.”
“Then get me a weapon,” Moreno said, forcing herself up to her feet. “I’m going in with the teams.”
Mazur moved in front of her, blocking her path. “Hey, come on. You know you can’t do that. They’re already moving in and we need to clear you from the scene. Come on,” he said, half-heartedly hand-fighting with her as she tried to get around him. “Morgan, there’s nothing you can do for him.”
“So that’s it?” she snapped, shoving Mazur off. “We just use him and dump him off like Xyphos did?”
Mazur held his hands out, pleading. “Morgan, I have to get you out of here before someone else comes and takes you into custody where I can’t keep you safe. If you have any hope of making things right you need to let me get you out of here right the fuck now.”
The blare of sirens from approaching medical and rescue units grew louder as Public Security Force officers and NOA agents worked to clear people from the wreckage, while counterdemolition and EOD searched for the explosive Turin had hidden somewhere nearby. Moreno knew Mazur was right, but it still felt like betrayal as she let him usher her away. Before she climbed into Mazur’s cruiser, she cast one last glance at the tower and hoped that Rade would be able to get out of there before TRT closed in.
* * *
Ander Rade entered the twenty-eighth floor, leading with the Stryker, sights up and at the ready. He only had one round left, but Turin wouldn’t know that. There were more stacks of construction materials and steel framing, plastic sheets flapping in the wind that pushed through the glassless windows of the upper floors of the tower. Rade moved cautiously, uncomfortably aware of the knife wound to his ribs and the accompanying pain that didn’t seem to be going away. He resisted the urge to check the injury, but he could feel the warm, wet trail of blood soaking into his shirt. A clean cut like that should have closed up by now, but it hadn’t. That, the throbbing in his skull, and the aching pain in his body from the hard landing after jettisoning the wing pack earlier were undeniable indicators that something was wrong. Nothing to do about it now, though. He ignored the pain and swept the Stryker around the corner.
There was a plastic table set up near the east-facing side of the building with a black nylon bag on top and some small handheld electronic devices of some type next to it. Didn’t look like any kind of construction equipment Rade had ever seen. Tactical gear, and whoever it belonged to couldn’t be far away.
Rade kept his focus trained down the gun sights as he moved forward, nerves thrumming, heart pumping combat-tuned chemicals through his blood. His senses picked up a tiny distortion of sound, the slightest perception of electrical impulses from behind, and he whirled about to find himself staring at the business end of a needle gun.
“Ander,” Darius Turin said. “I had a feeling you’d show up again.”
Rade aimed the Stryker at Turin’s heart. “They know about the bomb, Darius. And the ambassador. You’re not slipping out the back door this time. It’s over.”
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” Turin said through gritted teeth.
Rade wasn’t buying the act.
Surprisingly, Turin lowered the needle gun and stared back with pained eyes. “Tell me,” he said. “Do you get headaches yet?”
Something cold spread through Rade’s chest. “What are you talking about?”
“The headaches. Like someone’s sticking a hot needle in your brain. I didn’t pay much attention to them at first, but they kept getting worse.” He shrugged. “That’s how it started for me anyway. I guess it’s different for everyone. Ursus grew tumors, Mara had early-stage neurogenic atrophy.” Turin paused and gestured at Rade’s side. “You’re bleeding. Not like you to bleed so much.”
Rade resisted the urge to look down, but he could feel the wetness spreading all the way to his waist. He thrust the Stryker forward. “You’re stalling.”
“I’m explaining, Ander,” Turin said. “It’s the least I owe you after everything.”
“You mean after you betrayed us in Myanmar.”
“Self-preservation is one of my primary operational parameters,” Turin said.
“Yeah, you’re just a victim of your programming,” Rade snarled.
“Xyphos made us what we are. I mean look at you. You’re the heavy hitter, the bullheaded grunt. A living, breathing wrecking ball. Look at what you’ve come through to get to this point. Something like that could only be accomplished with the kind of single-mindedness and physical superiority the program hammered into you. We are both products, Ander. Faulty, outdated products.”
“We chose that path, Darius,” Rade shouted. “We let Xyphos turn us into whatever it is we are because we wanted it. That’s on us. And you made the choice to betray us. No one else is to blame for that.”
Turin waved him off. “Xyphos was about to betray us. The whole engineered-human, gene-modification movement was going under. Don’t you understand? They fucked us up, Ander. They promised us lies. Scrambled our codes, made us into weapons and used us until we were no longer profitable.”
Boiling rage washed over Rade and he lunged at Turin, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him against a steel column, the barrel of the Stryker jammed under Turin’s chin. “But you saw it coming and sold us out first. You traded the only family you had for a few silver pieces.”
“I did what I had to to survive,” Turin said, turning his chin away from the barrel of Rade’s gun. “That’s what this is all about. Survival.”
“How is blowing up the Unity Summit about survival?”
“Because they promised to fix me if I helped them change the policies that condemn people like us to slow deaths. The same policies that prevent them from making a fortune in the field of genetic research and applied science. I help them instigate change, and they see to it that I don’t wither away and suffer a drawn-out, agonizing death.”
Slowly, Rade lowered the Stryker. Turin straightened his jacket and holstered the needle gun at his side.
“Who promised you this?”
“I thought you had it all figured out.”
“Who?”
“The Tryvern Corporation. Who else?”
Rade paused, considering. “But you targeted Tryvern. How is that helping them?”
“Misdirection,” Turin said dismissively. “Those targets were assigned by my handler at Tryvern. They were slated for upgrade, and the damages put the company in line for some kind of expansion funding. They were never in any real trouble. It was all planned. Make them appear the victim. Shake up the public sector and make a big scene right at the pivotal moment. Garner support from the United American Provinces and convince the Unity Council to retract the ban on human gene modification as part of a ‘fight fire with fire’ initiative or some shit. Tryvern’s already in production of some new lab-grown human hybrids … and they have the means to fix old models like us. They just need the legal approval to make it all on the level.”
Rade felt like the ground was falling out from under him. He took another step back, putting some distance between himself and Turin. “Bombing the summit … the ambassador…”
“She’s not in any danger,” Turin said. “But it has to appear that way. Like I said. Misdirection. But you’ve made this complicated. The GCD was supposed to be in Tryvern’s pocket, but thanks to the nature of fractured governmental departments, they managed to fuck that all up. For this op, at least. Who would’ve guessed they’d find you and put you into play? But it doesn’t have to go down like this. If we move now, we can still make this work. Last chance, Ander, come with me. Let’s finish this op and fix what Xyphos did to us.”
“No.” Rade had heard enough. He was done with dark ops, done moving in the shadows and doing others’ dirty work. Done being strung along. Enough lies. Enough deceit. “Do you have any idea what kind of hell I lived because of you? What kind of hell Sevrina and Hab must’ve suffered because you chose to save yourself?”
Something changed in Turin’s posture, a tensing, coiling threat behind the shifting of his body. “I don’t suppose I could ask you to forgive me.”
“Forgiveness is long behind us,” Rade said, knowing what those words meant would come next.
Turin nodded. “Retribution, then. So be it.”
Rade still clutched the Stryker in his hand. Turin’s fingers hovered over the butt of the needle gun strapped to his hip. The two men stared at each other, waiting for some unspoken signal, both fully aware of how this would end.
Both so focused on each other that neither noticed the new arrivals.
“Oversight! Drop your weapons!”
A swarm of black-clad operators with the letters TRT on their body armor rushed the floor, aiming assault rifles as they closed in. They spread out through the network of naked framing, moving into a superior fighting position, weapons bristling. There were at least a dozen, and more coming judging by the sound of stomping boots and rattling gear in the stairwell. Even if he’d wanted to fight, there were too many. And these were just innocent men and women doing their jobs, trying to stop a madman and a rogue mod. He had no intention of doing any more harm.
Rade remained motionless, not wanting to risk moving even to put his gun down. As highly trained as these operators appeared, they were still human and had just witnessed firsthand the carnage that one raging mod could inflict, and now they were faced with two.
Then Turin moved.
Before anyone could react, the needle gun was in his hand and leveled at the nearest operator. The snap of the cartridge charge, the whistle of the needles leaving the barrel, and the steel projectiles punched through the operator’s chest plate. He dropped to the floor, dead.
“No!” Rade shouted, and lunged at Turin before he could draw down on the next operator. Gunfire boomed as the TRT assault team opened fire, rounds ripping through the air, punching through concrete and pinging off steel. Rade felt a bullet bite into his hip, and another tear across the back of his shoulder as he tackled Turin through a barrier and fell through a hole in the floor where the concrete had yet to be poured. They crashed through a grid of crisscrossed rebar and fell two stories before slamming down onto a solid surface, chased by bullets and pieces of broken metal. Rade felt the slab crack under the impact from his body. Turin had managed to turn in the air and land on his shoulder, but he, too, had struck hard and was slow to get up.
The TRT assault team poked their helmets over the edge above, then their rifles, and opened fire. Rade rolled away as bullets smacked into the floor around him, sending chips of concrete flying through the air. Instinctively, his hand reached for his own gun, but it slapped an empty holster. Not that he’d intended to fire back, but he could’ve at least used it for covering fire. Or Turin. It was lost to him now anyway.
Rade moved out of the line of fire and turned in time to see Turin raise the needle gun and clack off a shot at one of the TRT agents. There was a high-pitched scream from two floors above and a pause in the gunfire as the projectiles found their mark. Turin kept firing as he backpedaled out of the kill zone.
This was shitty place to be unarmed. Rade glanced around for something to fight with, desperate to stop Turin from doing any more harm. He found a length of rebar on the ground, about three feet long, and snatched it up, then rushed his old teammate. Turin spun and brought the needle gun up, but Rade was already halfway through a swing that connected with Turin’s wrist. The gun flew from his hand and clattered across the floor. Rade followed through with a backhanded swing, but Turin ducked and came up inside Rade’s reach. An elbow to the jaw snapped Rade’s head back. A blow to his already damaged ribs, a kick to the leg, and Rade stumbled back. Another powerful strike to the inside of his forearm loosened the length of rebar from his grip and it, too, went clanging across the floor.
Turin stayed on him, furious and desperate, unleashing a relentless flurry of blows. Rade was no stranger to beatings, but the last few days had battered him something good before he’d even started on this fight.
Rade dropped his elbows, blatantly protecting his ribs, knowing it left his head exposed. Turin took the bait and threw a wide right hook that Rade was waiting for. He caught the punch and locked the arm, then turned his hips and threw Turin over his shoulder, sending him crashing through an unfinished wall.
Having bought himself a second to catch his breath, Rade poked at the laceration along his ribs and found it was still bleeding. No way to know if it had been reopened by Turin’s attack, or if it hadn’t healed at all. Something he’d have to worry about later, if he got that far.
“Damn you, you single-minded fuck,” Turin snarled as he climbed to his feet. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”
“Don’t give a shit,” Rade said. “You’re done. That’s all that matters.”
Turin didn’t take his eyes from Rade as he began circling around the ruined framework. “Your bullheaded determination against my superior instinct to survive. Poetic, isn’t it?” His eyes flicked to the stairwell, where the sound of thumping boots grew louder as the TRT assault team closed in.
“Don’t even think about it,” Rade said. “You’re not doing any more damage here.”
“No,” Turin said, turning his gaze back to his old teammate. “That’s your specialty.” He reached out and jabbed at a control pad on the wall to his left. Rade was about to charge at him when something metallic bounced across the floor between them. Rade knew that sound and threw an arm up in front of his face just as the stun charge went off.
The blast of blinding light and the nerve-rattling pulse wave nearly took him off his feet, but both Rade and Turin had been designed to withstand such forces and were able to shake it off after a second. By the time Rade’s vision cleared, the assault team was pouring out of the stairwells at the north and south ends of the floor, rifles up.
A shadow fell across the windows as a deep groaning sound shook the walls of the tower. Rade heard one of the TRT agents scream a warning just before the massive boom of one of the tower cranes from outside slammed into the side of the building, smashing through concrete and steel, and knocking several support struts free from their mounts. Splintering framework sent cracks spiderwebbing across the floor.
Through the floating dust and debris now choking the air, Rade caught sight of Turin sprinting toward the boom, where he grabbed hold of a gangway that ran the length of the crane and started climbing toward the rooftop. If Rade lost him now, he’d lose him for good.
Screaming servos went into overdrive as the crane struggled to work itself free from the building, and the whole place began to shake. Huge chunks of concrete fell from the ceiling and smashed through the floor, creating a cascading effect that took more and more of the structural support with it. The NOA agents were diving for the protected stairwells, but one of their members had gotten trapped beneath a steel girder that had fallen from the ceiling and punched through the floor, threatening to continue on and take the agent with it. Two of the trapped agent’s team members were struggling desperately to lift the beam and free their teammate before the floor gave out beneath them.
But Turin was escaping.
Rade didn’t have time to consider options. He did what he had to do.
41
Rade planted his feet, grabbed the underside of the collapsed I beam, and hoisted. The two Tac Response Team agents trying to free their comrade snapped around to look up at Rade, but instead of reaching for their weapons, they continued to haul on their partner. Rade risked more than just getting shot here; there was also the danger of the beam shifting, falling back down, and crushing the TRT agent completely. But if he didn’t do something, in another moment the floor would collapse and the agent would die anyway.
The grinding of steel against concrete, and the beam lifted a fraction. Rade strained, forcing the beam upward a few more inches. The floor shuddered, but the trapped TRT agent suddenly slid free as his teammates grabbed him by the drag straps on his armor and pulled him to safety. With their teammate extricated, they stood and faced Rade, and looked like they were about to say something when gunshots rang out from somewhere in the stairwell. As soon as they turned their backs on him to face whatever threat had appeared below them, Rade dropped the beam and sprinted for the boom, which was still shuddering as it tried to work itself free from the entanglement. He barely kept upright as the floor fell apart beneath him, cavernous pitfalls opening beneath his feet as he charged forward, and then leapt for the crane just as it ripped free and began to swing away from the building.
