START AT THE BEGINNING OF THE FIRST SECTION
“Okay…,” said Tirion, watching the monitors. Soul had them inside the university’s surveillance system and they could both see it all happening on the displays at Soul’s console. Aikins was acting like a corporate V.P. — animated, laughing, still locked in conversation, but the alpha had arrived, and now his team was trying to orient Aikins for a walk down the hall, struggling to keep the package moving on schedule.
“Okay, they’re ready. Soul’s gonna start the count while I get us in the air.”
Tirion was strapping in, and his mind focused on the panels at his own chair. He could hear Soul next to him at the nav console — a voice that was steady and emotionless. He might as well have been reading out of the dictionary: “Alpha team is on floor five building H. Alpha is center-left, a step behind X. Two deltas forward right and left and one center rear. Tight formation. Confirming four plus package. Overwatch team one, roof, southwest corner building H: Two deltas—heavy ion rifle. Overwatch team two, roof, northeast corner building S: Two deltas—big 50. Nothing’s changed; that’s all they’ve got. Alpha team at southeast corner H. Elevator opening in 13... 10... 5...doors. Forward deltas spread-and-clear with alpha on X. I have Armand climbing bottom flight northeast corner stairwell, building S. Stairwell is clear. Floor five elevator doors closed. Armand at top of first flight. Alpha elevator opening on floor two in 14...10...5...mark."
The main bay doors were going up on the hangar and Tirion was flaring the main engines. Text hit his retina from Finch in the lower turret.
[Finch: we got company at the side ent – port authority]
Tirion looked down at the hangar feed in disbelief.
[Finch: its ur bud that old guy]
Tirion was glancing between monitors.
[Tirion: just him?]
[Finch: y]
Tirion’s eyes darted to the feed from the campus. Armand was halfway up the second flight and the sec team was moving down the hallway in building H with a clear view of the mezzanine. Soul was calling the play in focused, measured syllables. His tone was methodical, even bored. Soul had ice for blood and it made a big difference when things climbed from yellow to orange to red. You couldn’t hear anything in his voice. Not a spike of emotion. Nothing. It kept everyone calm.
The P.A. guard was strolling into the hangar at the edge near the tool lockdown where the two of them had been bullshitting yesterday. He was smiling that big dopey smile of his, looking up at the cockpit, one hand raised in a wave, the other hitched blithely on his belt. The guy was clueless.
Tirion’s mouth was working. He cursed and slammed the lip of the console panel as he scribed to Finch.
[Tirion: he have headset or implants?]
[Finch: headset looks like]
Tirion hesitated, watching the guard who was waving both hands at the ship like a drunk in a street parade.
Soul’s voice never wavered. “Alpha is crossing into the kill-zone. X in white. Alpha behind X on right.”
—— —— ——
“I've got him,” said Kel, releasing through her nose.
The autocannon was bolted to the floor of the empty office with an angel’s view of the covered walkway. She had sealed molecular fiber over the polycarbon surface of the window so that it wouldn’t blow out when she fired through, but the target image was still crisp and her eyes favored the diffuse gray daylight. Aikins was wearing a white suit. There was a cream colored handkerchief folded in his left breast pocket.
What a jackass.
Team Blackout had an excellent reputation. They never missed. Kel felt the weight of that reputation settling squarely on her shoulders as she sighted on the handkerchief.
—— —— ——
Finch gripped the weapon control rig impatiently. He was cradled in the lower turret waiting for T.S. to give the word on the guard.
[Finch: should I take him]
[Finch: ?]
Tirion turned and grabbed the ten-gauge down from the wall.
[Tirion: no]
[Tirion: he’d see the turret swing around]
[Tirion: he might transmit]
T.S. turned the shotgun to the side and glanced down into the chamber, then slung it over his shoulder before stepping into the lift behind the cockpit.
[Tirion: plus theyd see him flatline at hq – gotta bring him in here]
Finch began to scribe a reply, but checked himself as the lift came down next to his turret. The gate went back and Tirion stepped out, eyes on the guard.
—— —— ——
Armand was coming to the top of the staircase, right in time with Soul’s count. It looked the way he had imagined it. It smelled the same too—that carpet adhesive under a layer of old vending machine crumbs. He was waiting on the count. He could see it happening as Soul talked them through it word by word. The secteam at the mouth of the mezzanine, as they walked up under the glass dome, as they got closer and closer to "zero"—the center of the mezzanine, the contact point.
Armand was listening to Soul's play-by-play, waiting for his cue. He waited, waited, placed his hand on the fire door’s release bar, waited, then pressed down. The mag-lock disengaged and the door swung back. Light came flooding into the stairwell as Armand stepped into the hallway and looked right.
As expected, Soul was right on – the team was exactly where it was supposed to be: Two deltas in front, Aikins in his silly white suit talking on the comm as he walked. At his side and a step behind was the alpha. Armand and the alpha locked eyes, and Armand knew immediately that it was an error. The alpha said something, placed his hand on Aikins’ shoulder, and jerked him back, stepping in front.
Armand brought the pistol up and slid behind the open door for cover, firing twice into the dome of the mezzanine on the way to his knee. None of the deltas flinched, but Aikins threw his arms up around his face as the rear delta took him to the ground. Armand saw dimples where his rounds had gone into the dome. He saw one of the deltas look up next to Aikins where Kel’s rounds were impacting the dome. The rounds weren't coming through.
—— —— ——
“It’s not glass. Abort. Extract."
That was the last thing Tirion heard as the lift came down on the hangar floor beneath the ship and he was deafened by the engines. The guard recognized him, laughing, shouting something. Tirion forced a smile and waved him over to the lift. The guard took a few steps, blathering some more of what was probably good-natured chit-chat. Tirion maintained his best unconcerned smile as he headed over to the guard at a controlled run. He couldn’t make out Soul’s narration anymore, but he knew that it was going down. Armand needed the Recluse in the air. The op was already going south. They had no time for this nonsense.
Tirion reached the guard, whose name he still could not remember, putting his arm around the man’s shoulder in an over-friendly gesture. The old man smelled like laundry detergent. He was saying something about making his rounds and asking about the engines being fired inside the hangar. Tirion smiled and shook his head, pointing to his own ear and yelling gibberish that was obliterated by the engine noise. He was gesturing towards the Recluse’s lift and the guard was shaking his head “no” as the text hit Tirion’s retina.
[Armand: i cant make it out - good luck brother]
Tirion lifted the headset cuff off the the guard’s right ear and yelled, “Come on in, buddy. We’re barbecuing in the cargo hold. I can’t remember your name.” The guard was shaking his head, saying something about company policy.
Tirion threw the guard’s headset aside. As the guard turned his head to watch the headset hit the ground and slide, Tirion pulled the 10-gauge over his shoulder and leveled it at his waist. The guard was turning back when Tirion tilted up and shot him in the chest.
The guard never saw the shotgun but he felt the impact and took a step back. He had an expression like he’d been punched in the face and showed his teeth like he was cramping up.
“Tony,” said Tirion, finally remembering his name. “Sorry, Tony.” He pulled the trigger three more times.
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