Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle - eARC Page 27

  It was his captor, not Red, who gave her the answer. His taunting told her, after a few moments of racing thought, that they were some fancy high tech, and they could kill him, possibly with shocks. That would explain the feedback. English was not sufficient for her response to that. “Kutyafasza,” she swore. She was reasonably certain Red did not know Hungarian. “Okay. Okay. Give me a minute, I’ll figure out if I can do something about your bracelets.”

  “…I feel like a brain-dead badger right now. And spare me the schadenfreude, okay? You’re holding all the cards here.”

  The badger reference. Code-red, in Djinni-speak. At least five Thulians; they’d agreed to use poker-talk for counting things. Then, when he said that his captor had both hands—that was ten. And—

  Vickie felt a shock of panic. Schadenfeude? But that was ECHO’s codename for…

  The answer came to her, a mere second before her voice recognition program flashed the name up on her monitor.

  “Good God!” Vickie screamed. “It’s Doppelgaenger!”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Red muttered.

  Not good. So not good.

  “Bazd szájba a jó kurva anyád…” Vickie swore, and slammed Bull’s panic-button. Hopefully he was wearing his Overwatch ear. Not a good time to get Bella on this, and Vickie needed a tactical brain. Bull would get a steady alarm on his Overwatch freq until he answered her. And in the meantime…what? Red was being held by Doppelgaenger! He was helpless against a man that, by all accounts, was the most sadistic Krieger they had come up against to date. What could she do? What could she…

  “Red!” she shouted. “Keep him talking! I’ve called for back-up!”

  “Well that’s just not going to cut it,” Red answered. Vickie frowned. Was he talking to her or to Doppelgaenger? Her mind raced with possibilities. She didn’t have time for anything fancy—time or accuracy. No cam, no good way to read what was on him or around him, only the crude location and what he was feeding to her via the headset. Damn him and his refusal to go fully wired! It wasn’t as if he couldn’t just hide a button-cam and grow some skin over it! All she’d need would be a pinhole—

  Concentrate, bitch! “There’s not a lot I can do at this range and shooting blind, Red,” she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “I can’t do the tech-magic, it’ll all have to be witchery and geomancy. That’s not exactly needle-surgery we’re talking about.” Nevertheless, she sketched in diagrams over his spot on the map, laying in prep-work she hoped she wouldn’t have to use. “It’s like hitting bugs with the Oxford Unabridged, and I don’t want you to be the bug.” Her heart raced and her mouth was dry.

  Her heart sank as she heard Doppelgaenger mention transports. They were running out of time.

  “Well, like my old uncle Sparky used to say…”

  Sparky? He can’t be serious…She was a techno-mage yes, but for the gods’ sake, that required finesse and a lot of data, this situation was absolutely blind and…

  “Have you lost your mind?” she demanded, leaping to her feet. “What’s electrocuting you going to do other than leave you helpless and fried?”

  “Just do it,” she heard Red say, defiantly. “This place looks depressingly like Detroit on a bad day. If I’m going to have to listen to you, I want better scenery.”

  Detroit. He wanted her to fry his cuffs…she’d read about how he had goaded that electric-powered meta into an uncontrolled surge to fry off his monitoring bracelet. Great. Just great. Who does he think I am, David Copperfield? It would be one thing if she could at least see what the damn things were, but she was operating completely in the dark and under time-pressure. And there was only one way to do it. The nasty, dirty, primitive, and ugly way. Which was inherently the dangerous way.

  She began to draw the crudest, clumsiest diagrams and equations she’d done since her high school days…no, earlier…and berated the Djinni while she did it.

  “Right, shit-for-brains, have it your way. I am going to try to spring the cuffs but I don’t know what they are so I have to do this the old-fashioned way, which means fry the tech. All I have is that piece of your claw so I have to use you as a channel, but I can’t risk hurting you, so…szar napom van, this is going to have to be kibaszott medieval. I hate medieval magic, hate, hate, hate…”

  This was horrid stuff, worse than hitting bugs with books, this was going after a gnat with a sledgehammer, and Red had to be just outside of where the sledgehammer came down. Reverse Law of Unity, with the piece of claw as the target. Magic to be confined to what once belonged to this. Fry if you are not part of what this was part of. Like nested Venn diagrams. So many ways to go wrong. So little time to set it up. So much at stake. Was Bull going to answer? Who to call next if he didn’t? Inside ECHO and chance blowing the Overwatch program to Verd? Corbie? The Samoans?

  Medieval was as good as it was going to get. “Okay Red, we are a go, but I don’t like this; I’m having to sacrifice your Overwatch gear along with the cuffs. I kind of have you protected but I still could fry you; my odds are—” she glanced at her Prognosticator and blanched. “—about 50/50. I can trip this if I have to, but there has to be a better…”

  “PUNCH IT, VIX!”

  She punched it, unleashing Mother Earth’s own electricity into him in a terrible surge. The spell, massive and unwieldy, fed off her own energy. Vickie gasped as everything literally drained out of her, and the world went black.

  * * *

  She woke up. A frantic glimpse at the time on one of the monitors told her she’d passed out for maybe thirty seconds. Another check showed her, as she expected, that all of the Djinni’s reads were as dead as last year’s leaves. Whatever was going on now…

  I just hope the Kriegers near him got a dose of that too…

  Feeling as if someone had been beating her with bags of sand, she punched back into Bull’s Overwatch freq, interrupting the alarm. “Bulwark. Bulwark, this is an emergency.” If I can’t raise him, it’ll have to be Bella, she’s the only one I can think of that knows who I should try for next. Then what? Go out on her own? Bad idea, she couldn’t call anyone from out there. “Operative Bulwark, this is a Code Screaming Freaking Red emergency!”

  “Bulwark here,” Bull’s voiced rumbled in her headset. “Apologies, Miss Victrix, I was in the shower.”

  “Bull, the Djinni’s in trouble. As in ‘ass-deep in aligators and pteradactyls descending’ trouble. He’s at grid 32-101-12 in that east Atlanta des—”

  “Roger that, Overwatch. I will dispatch a squad to his location immediately.”

  She felt her mouth falling open with astonishment. “Are you even listening to me? Your freaking squad is gonna get squashed like bugs on a semi! Assuming Verd even lets them go without intercepting them! It’s Doppelgaenger and at least ten Kriegers, and they’re trying to take him alive! I’m LOS on him on ECHO and Overwatch both, I had to—”

  “Doppelgaenger?” Bull sounded confused. “What would Doppelgaenger want with Red Djinni?”

  “Will you stop asking questions and move already?” she shrilled, unable to keep her voice from spiraling up. “I’m calling Bella. If you won’t move your bloody broad ass, maybe Pride will!” Her hands were flying over the keyboard. She knew she could use text-to-speak to Bella, Ramona, and Yankee Pride. “Then I—”

  “Victrix, cease and desist.” Bulwark said. “You’re about to cause an enormous uproar, and you know certain parties would have to be deaf and dumb not to overhear it.”

  “You’re not the boss of me!” she shouted back. “Bella and Pride are!”

  “Stop and think, woman. If you start blaring an emergency on all your frequencies, you run the risk of compromising our network.”

  “Goddammit jarhead, it’s Red!” she choked on the last word.

  “Breathe, Victrix. Don’t go rushing into this, you know it’s a mistake, you’re too good not to. Get your head back in the game, keep your heart out of it, at least until the crisis is over.”

 
“While you’re blathering they’re taking him.” Keep your heart out of it, he had said. He knew. He knew how she felt about Red, but she didn’t care. “Fuck this. If you won’t let me call anyone I’m going in.” Somehow. How the hell was she—

  Apport, I can apport to the closest pad and—something. All she knew was she couldn’t let Doppelgaenger take him. Not after what she’d been listening to. “I’m going after him. Nobody gives a shit about me,” she said, bitterly, without even thinking about it. “I’m expendable.”

  And then, Bulwark was shouting at her. She had never heard him raise his voice any more than he needed to, and certainly with nothing even approaching anger. It was like a verbal slap in the face, and though he was miles away she felt herself flinch away from her keyboard, as if he could somehow reach right through her monitor and shake some sense into her.

  “WILL YOU STOP ACTING LIKE A SCARED, LOVE-SICK TEENAGER AND THINK BEFORE YOU LEAP!”

  Whatever he intended, the effect was to make her freeze, scarcely even able to breathe with the hammer-blow of panic and fear that hit her. All that came out of her mouth was a strangled sob as tears leaked down her face.

  “Now listen,” he said, resuming his usual rumble. “You will not fix the situation by performing some ridiculous kamikaze charge. You need a plan—a plan that does not compromise Overwatch, that does not compromise you. We do not have the time to assemble our covert operatives. You will have to come up with something, right now, that will work with the limited resources you have. And when this is over, you and I are going to have a long talk about your incredibly pointless lack of self-worth. It’s shameful and counter-productive.”

  “Please,” she whispered. “We have to go. Now. He knows all about Overwatch and…and…if they…” Why was he stalling on this? Hell, give him a more urgent asset to safeguard, if he thought she was worth so much. “If you won’t save him, then save me. They’ll red-light me as soon as they know I exist and it’ll be game over.”

  “Go and do what?” Bull asked. “What is your plan?”

  Vickie cringed. What did they have? She took a breath and fought to control her fear. They didn’t have access to ECHO personnel, not without endangering all they had worked for. They didn’t have fire power, not unless the Seraphym suddenly decided to show up…not likely. The big thing was those ten armored Kriegers; Doppelgaenger by himself wasn’t so bad. Only fire made the outside of those things brittle, but where would she find a force large enough to break—

  “Plan. Got one,” she said, and briefly filled him in. “…but unless you’re there nobody’s getting out alive.”

  “That’s a risky bit of business,” Bull said. “I can think of a hundred things that can go wrong with…”

  “Bull!” Vickie shouted. What was wrong with him? This was Red, a member of his own team! What was possibly going through this man’s head to make him hesitate? “I! Am! Going! Are you coming or not?”

  He didn’t answer, not right away. She strained to listen, gritting her teeth, the beads of sweat falling down her face, while his rhythmic breathing betrayed his indecision.

  * * *

  Red cringed as sparks flew from the shackles, and he winced as mild shocks erupted from his throat and right ear. The shackles fell away as he clutched at his head. Vix had done it, she had freed him, but the surge had also overloaded his Overwatch communications tech. He was quite alone now, alone with—

  Pike gripped Red by the neck, but he wasn’t Pike anymore. He had discarded his disguise, and Red flailed helplessly as the man known only as Doppelgaenger lifted him high above the ground. Red gagged as he fought to release himself from Doppelgaenger’s choke-hold. He groped at the huge fingers which held him like a vice, to no avail.

  Christ, this guy’s strong…

  “Very clever, schweinhund,” Doppelgaenger growled. “Who was your co-conspirator? This ‘Vix’? Of course, that would be Victoria Victrix, the witch. I shall have to see she is rewarded for her diligence. Perhaps I shall send her one of your fingers. Is she nearby, Djinni? Are you still in contact with her, through her accursed magic perhaps? I can only assume so. So much for the pleasantries, we will have to move quickly then…”

  Doppelgaenger tightened his grip with one hand, freeing the other to swat away Red’s desperate swings. Red’s eyes widened in panic as he took in the Krieger’s massive build. He had read Doppelgaenger’s file, and no where did it mention him being a giant. In fact, he was reported to be of average weight, average height, with slim if toned muscle mass. And he had been, just moments before, beneath the meek and naive facade of “Pike.” Now, he was easily eight feet tall with a powerful build, and each of his hands looked big enough to encase Red’s entire head. Of course. Red’s own file was fairly scant. He had kept much of himself secret. Doppelgaenger was much the same, surviving by stealth, by hoarding secrets. He was a shapeshifter, a chameleon, and it made perfect sense that someone who could alter their appearance at will could bulk up to a muscle-bound powerhouse when needed. Except for Red, of course. At that moment, the ability to morph one’s skin seemed like a very insignificant thing. He considered just how much power Doppelgaenger must possess, how much he had kept under wraps, just for moments like these when necessity called for more than just guile. Red would have done the same, and he still hadn’t seen it coming. Maybe he needed a touch more of Vix’s paranoia. She seemed to plan for everything to go wrong, where he pretty much made it up as he went along.

  Still, he had always considered his ability to improvise as one of his strengths.

  “Say goodnight, Brother,” Doppelgaenger said, and reared back to deliver a knock-out blow. “When you wake, we will have much to discuss, you might even say—”

  The giant stopped, cried out in surprise, and released the Djinni with a start, his hand flying back in pain. Red collapsed to the ground and quickly rolled away. As Red came to his feet, his tattered scarf fell away to reveal his face-of-the-day, a dapper rendition of Daniel Day Lewis, and beneath that, a forest of needle-sharp spikes protruding from his neck.

  Doppelgaenger glanced at his hand, which was starting to ooze blood from a multitude of tiny pinpricks.

  “Yes, very clever,” Doppelgaenger sighed. “It seems we will have more to discuss than I previously thought. You play the fool so well. Another act, it would seem, another layer to peel back and discover what delights you hide beneath.”

  “What, you think I’m an onion?” Red said, stalling. “Careful, I might make you cry like the little bitch you are.”

  “Ah, the name-calling portion of the entertainment,” Doppelgaenger said. “Really, Djinni, there will be time enough for that later. As I said, we have to move quickly.”

  It didn’t take Red long to size up the situation. He was hopelessly out-matched here. Even if he could somehow out-maneuver and out-run Doppelgaenger, he had an entire squad of Death Troops to get past. It didn’t look good. He had grossly underestimated what Doppelgaenger was capable of. Having Vix free him of his restraints had been his Hail Mary pass, and it had backfired. On his feet, able to fight, he was now a threat, one that Doppelgaenger and his group of armored goons were forced to deal with violently. If he had only waited, Vix would at least have been able to track them. Instead, he had opted to force their hand, and worse, Vickie’s surge had destroyed any simple means she had of locating him. His only hope now was to fight, to last long enough for Vickie to come to his rescue.

  She’s never going to let me forget this one, is she?

  One of the metal-clad Kriegers raised his energy cannon and aimed it at Red’s heart.

  “Nein!” Doppelgaenger barked. “Hirnlose Trottel! Idioten! Denkst du, ich brauche ihn am Leben zu bleiben! Stehen im Kreis um ihn herum, ihn zu beschränken, und ich werde ihn kontrollieren.”

  At Doppelgaenger’s command, the Kriegers backed away, their cannons at the ready. Red considered his options as his adversary advanced on him. There weren’t many. He had his back to a wall in an otherwise
open area of the old factory floor. No cover to speak of, no handholds on the wall, nothing to get him to higher ground. All that marked his immediate surroundings were dirt, a few structural supports holding up a high ceiling and the smug bastard that was casually strolling towards him.

  Maybe his new-found bulk will slow him down.

  Red waited until Doppelgaenger crossed an invisible threshold, close enough to distract with a quick feint to his left. He followed with a sudden reversal and dove right, rolling with a nimble tuck and tumble to weave past his foe.

  He felt Doppelgaenger’s knee slam into his stomach, and he was driven back against the wall. Red saw stars as he lurched to his feet.

  Nope, he’s as quick as ever.

  Red yelped as he ducked Doppelgaenger’s punch, a solid blow which pounded into the concrete, raining dust and rubble down onto the Djinni’s head.

  And still strong as an ox.

  Desperate, Red landed a palm strike against Doppelgaenger’s midsection and was rewarded with a grunt of pain. He attempted another tumble, but was caught by the scruff of his neck and slammed face-first into the wall.

  “I would advise you stop resisting,” Doppelgaenger said, as he brought Red’s limp form back and slammed him against the wall again for good measure. Red remained still, but groaned, still conscious. Doppelgaenger shook his head in impatience, and turned back to his troops. “What is our ETA?”

  One of the Death Troops answered in German, an eerie and low, metallic-sounding noise accompanied by heavy breathing.

  “Ten minutes?” Doppelgaenger barked. “Did the transport get caught in traffic? Unglaublich, it would seem I have much to attend to on our return.” He turned back to Red. “Yours will not be the only blood spilt this day, it would seem.”

  “Yer damned skippy!” Red shouted, his head snapping up, and drove a newly clawed hand into Doppelgaenger’s stomach. He felt his own stomach threaten to heave, as his hand tasted the cesspool of Doppelgaenger’s guts.